Dread-Beak (Delfii's Song, Snippet 1)
Dread-Beak (Delfii's Song, Snippet 1)
A story fragment from the Southsong Cycle
(Click here to read Delfii’s Song, Snippet 0.)
Delfii forsook the urge to tense up as Turtle plunged her into the defile. They bounced off the dusty creek-bed and sailed to the first bend. Delfii’s cape flew behind her. The mother of leviathans is chaos. Abandon yourself to her.
Turtle’s paws barely touched the ground before they took the hard left turn. Delfii gripped the cat’s sides with her legs and held her javelin and shield tight. But she otherwise released herself to the thrill of the hunt. Their dizzying speed washed over her. ’Tis the nearest thing to riding the waves. She trusted Turtle’s keen balance to keep her from being thrown into the ruddy-brown walls of the gully.
Delfii and Turtle leapt and careened their way through the narrow, twisting ravine. Grunts and pawfalls confirmed that the others followed close. Ahead, the southwest face of the mountain loomed. If there was any further bird-sign in their path, Turtle moved too quick for Delfii to see it. She has its scent. That was sufficient.
The savages at the South Mountain village hadn’t told them false. These monstrous avians were real—and close by. Or one of them is, at least. Not that Delfii had supposed they lied. Imagined, maybe.
The gully ended—or began, more like—with a short incline. Turtle climbed it with ease and then halted abruptly. The others’ cats likewise clambered or leapt out of the defile and froze. Two hundred paces away, where the nearly barren plain turned to thicker scrub at the foot of the mountain, was the bird.
Dread-beak, the villagers called it. The name fit. Even at this distance, the beast was terrible. It was similar to a young tree in its size and spindly build. Bent over an antlered carcass, it tore at its meal with a hooked beak and talons like curved long-knives.
In the bird’s shadow, reclined against a small outcrop of ruddy rock, was a man. He sleeps? Unlike the locals, the barbarian was shaven clean and wore nothing but a loincloth.
A few murmurs arose from her warriors. Delfii fixed her gaze on the bird and its dozing master. “What do you make of this, Palma?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Trap,” her second muttered from her right.
“And Cranc, what say you?” Delfii inquired.
From her left, the freeman’s voice resonated even at a whisper. “Trust not a sleeping foe, my thaen.”
Precisely. “I concur,” Delfii said. “His allies lurk either in nearby gullies or on the lower slopes. Either way, we will not meet in a place of these raiders’ choosing.” Her verdict met silence. No grumbling, now that they’ve all laid eyes on the creature. “But soon.”
She signaled to the half-dozen hidden warriors she’d tasked to watch their flanks from afar. For now, back to the fort.
Note from the Author
Welcome to the launch-in-earnest of Delfii’s Song! In several ways, it’s a decided shift in perspective for me, after writing Len and Zshurii. I underestimated the extent to which it would feel strange to write a character who’s culturally disconnected from the Wright. Len didn’t have a great relationship with the Wright, while Zshurii adhere to the cult of the Wright as an inheritance from her forebearers. But Delfii is, in fact, a devout adherent to the Southrons’ dominant cult of Livyat. (Yikes!) This ought to be an uncomfortable challenge. I’m interested to see what kind of personal religious journey Delfii goes on, in the course of her story—because at the moment, I’m quite unsure!
Happy reading! (On which note, if you don’t already have a copy of the origin story Dustsong: Len the Wanderer in your hands or on the way, please take a look. You can get the e-book on our website or either format on Amazon. Thanks, y’all.)