RVA: The Red Vixen at Sea, Part Thirteen
Nov. 11th, 2016 02:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalWell that’s completely non-reassuring, she thought, stifling a sudden urge to giggle in hysteria. The only saving grace they had at the moment was that they were still hidden, and their opponents were both unarmed and sickly looking. Still, it’s two to one, neither of us are in full health either, and even a half-dead wazagan has a significant advantage in strength over either of us. Mother Goddess she wished she still Alinadar. Even unarmed the little bodyguard would have made short work of all these creatures.
She backed up further, rising to a crouch with Rolas as they went deeper into the trees and brush. Melanie gripped his paw tightly, listening as the quartet called out again for their surrender.
“What do we do?” Rolas asked softly, when they were perhaps ten meters distant.
You’re asking me? she almost said aloud. But no, it made sense that Rolas would fall back on looking at the nearest authority figure, meaning in this case the sole vixen present, in an emergency. It was drilled into their culture, as surely as a cub was told to look for the closest civil protection officer if they were ever lost. “Follow the thicker tentacle. It might lead us to whatever is controlling them.”
“You want to run toward it?” he muttered, but didn’t try to argue any further, crab walking with her along the ground, following along the ridge of fallen debris that covered the tentacle. Behind them, they heard the four figures crashing back into the trees, trying to follow, their own movements hampered by the tentacles hanging off their spines.
They began crawling uphill, the slope a nasty combination of sandy soil over what seemed to be ancient volcanic rock, pausing to catch their breath every few moments. Melanie could feel the aching fatigue in her muscles as they climbed that hill for the third bloody time, not even the benefit of stairs this go round. Fortunately the tentacle ridge veered sideways, and they eventually found themselves at a, hah, little spring, flowing out of the side of the hill from a flat outcropping of stone, debris and roughly removed vegetation indicating this was probably what passed for their opponent’s camp. Below them, the eerie calls and crashing noises faded as their hunters moved away in the other direction.
They both drank greedily, scooping up water from the flow coming out of the rock with their paws. Melanie hadn’t realized how parched she’d become until she finished getting her fill some minutes later. “That’s so much better,” she gasped.
“Yes,” Rolas agreed. “Now if we could just figure what they’d been eating.”
“Leaves, as a guess,” Melanie said, picking at a denuded branch jutting out from the side of the hill. “Can’t imagine it’s doing their digestions any good.”
“Not for a kinis, that’s for certain. They’re almost exclusively meat eaters.” Rolas ran a hand over his head pelt, wincing as he touched the back of his skull. “But what are those damned tentacles?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she asked, some of her reason returning thanks to a chance to rest and refresh. “We’re dealing with an ardie.”
“What’s an ardie?” Rolas asked, looking confused again.
Melanie rubbed her forehead, reminded once again of Rolas’ patchy memory. “An ardalian. They were discovered about eight years ago. Or to be more accurate, they were discovered by legitimate researchers eight years ago. It’s suspected that pirates like Bloody Margo knew about them a lot longer. They dwell in the shallows of large bodies of water on their world, I suspect ours is in that lovely bay no one else was using. They’re intelligent, but very alien, or so I gather. They don’t think of air breathers as people, just disposable tools.”
“And the tentacles?” Rolas demanded, looking peeved.
“The ends have thousands of little thorn-like nerve sheaths. If they catch someone they can press those thorns into their victim’s spine and override the body’s nerve impulses, using them to manipulate the environment outside the water. I’m told the experience is excruciatingly painful, not that the victim is allowed to scream for very long. Even if a victim is removed from the ardie’s control, they’re usually driven utterly mad by the experience if it lasts any real length of time.”
“How charming,” Rolas said, deadpan.
“Indeed,” Melanie agreed in the same tone.
“So, we either starve to death, or get caught by our unexpected host’s puppets and made part of its collection,” he concluded.
She nodded. “I just wish I knew how it got here. As far as anyone knows, an ardie is sessile if it survives its larval stage, never leaving its bay, and existing on organisms washed in on the tide or gathered by its puppets.”
“Let’s not try an ask it, shall we?” Rolas pushed himself back to his feet reluctantly. “We should also find a hiding place. The ardie’s puppets will surely return here eventually.”
“Agreed.”
Rolas helped her to her feet and together they traversed the hillside sideways, trying to avoid their hunters. Twice they stepped over the thinner puppeteer tentacles, which squirmed and sometimes were suddenly yanked taut by some unseen force.
“All these trees must make it difficult going, when you’ve got several tens of meters of leash dragging behind you,” Rolas observed.
“It’s an advantage for us,” she said, picking her way along a steep bit of slope. “We can maneuver more easileeeeee!” Melanie let out a surprised yelp as rock and sandy soil gave way under her feet. She made a grab for Rolas as he reached out for her, missed, then suddenly she was tumbling ears over tail down the hillside, arms wrapped protectively around her belly, landing on her back in a stunned heap.
“Melanie! Are you alright?” Rolas called from up the slope.
“Dislocated my shoulder, I think,” she called back as she regained her breath, then froze as she heard their hunters crashing through the trees off to her right. Melanie went flat, rolling off to one side into a clump of bushes, praying she wouldn’t be spotted, trying to ignore the shooting pain running from her neck to her shoulder.
The wazagan emerged into view, and Melanie found herself staring at his ankles, not a half meter away from her hiding place. You don’t see me, you don’t see me, you don’t see me, she chanted in her mind, praying the draconic alien wouldn't look up the slope either and spot Rolas.
Another pair of feet came into view, the blistered paw pads of the kinis this time. They swiveled around, until they were facing her. She heard the kinis take in a deep breath through its nostrils, obviously sniffing the air.
“Oi!” she heard Rolas shout from upslope. “Hey there, you boney bastards! Here I am!”
Oh, no! Rolas, no!
There was a thump to the left of her hiding place, as a fist sized missile hit the ground. Rolas threw another rock, and suddenly the kinis was swiveling around and away from Melanie, trying to climb up the slope towards him.
“That’s it! Come and get me, if you’re hard enough!” Melanie raised her head as the wazagan and kinis turned away from her, just in time to see Rolas heave a small boulder down them. It struck the kinis a glancing blow to the skull, sending it falling backwards to the ground. She ducked down again, watching in horror as the kinis, one eye socket crushed and bleeding from the strike, simply stood up again and started climbing, following behind the wazagan. Rolas kept throwing rocks, backpedalling up the slope as he led them away from her position. “Mel, run!” he shouted. One of his feet slipped, and he scrabbled to regain his purchase, sliding a couple meters down towards his pursuers.
Melanie pushed herself out from under her cover. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Think of our child, Mel!” he shouted back, as the wazagan and kinis continued their relentless climb upward, the horrid tentacles trailing behind them.
She froze, terror for Rolas warring with his words. It wasn’t just herself he was trying to protect, no. The nascent embryos in her abdomen were at risk as well. If I’m caught, I’ll lose them. Worse, if I’m caught, they might become more of those poor things that the ardalian has enslaved.
“Mel, for the love of the Mother, run!” Rolas shouted, as the wazagan reached his position. He gave it a vicious kick to the face, tearing open its cheek with his foot claws. It didn’t even flinch as it reached and grabbed his leg, pulling him free of his precarious perch.
She turned and ran down the beach, Rolas’ scream of pain as he fell echoing in her ears.
She backed up further, rising to a crouch with Rolas as they went deeper into the trees and brush. Melanie gripped his paw tightly, listening as the quartet called out again for their surrender.
“What do we do?” Rolas asked softly, when they were perhaps ten meters distant.
You’re asking me? she almost said aloud. But no, it made sense that Rolas would fall back on looking at the nearest authority figure, meaning in this case the sole vixen present, in an emergency. It was drilled into their culture, as surely as a cub was told to look for the closest civil protection officer if they were ever lost. “Follow the thicker tentacle. It might lead us to whatever is controlling them.”
“You want to run toward it?” he muttered, but didn’t try to argue any further, crab walking with her along the ground, following along the ridge of fallen debris that covered the tentacle. Behind them, they heard the four figures crashing back into the trees, trying to follow, their own movements hampered by the tentacles hanging off their spines.
They began crawling uphill, the slope a nasty combination of sandy soil over what seemed to be ancient volcanic rock, pausing to catch their breath every few moments. Melanie could feel the aching fatigue in her muscles as they climbed that hill for the third bloody time, not even the benefit of stairs this go round. Fortunately the tentacle ridge veered sideways, and they eventually found themselves at a, hah, little spring, flowing out of the side of the hill from a flat outcropping of stone, debris and roughly removed vegetation indicating this was probably what passed for their opponent’s camp. Below them, the eerie calls and crashing noises faded as their hunters moved away in the other direction.
They both drank greedily, scooping up water from the flow coming out of the rock with their paws. Melanie hadn’t realized how parched she’d become until she finished getting her fill some minutes later. “That’s so much better,” she gasped.
“Yes,” Rolas agreed. “Now if we could just figure what they’d been eating.”
“Leaves, as a guess,” Melanie said, picking at a denuded branch jutting out from the side of the hill. “Can’t imagine it’s doing their digestions any good.”
“Not for a kinis, that’s for certain. They’re almost exclusively meat eaters.” Rolas ran a hand over his head pelt, wincing as he touched the back of his skull. “But what are those damned tentacles?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she asked, some of her reason returning thanks to a chance to rest and refresh. “We’re dealing with an ardie.”
“What’s an ardie?” Rolas asked, looking confused again.
Melanie rubbed her forehead, reminded once again of Rolas’ patchy memory. “An ardalian. They were discovered about eight years ago. Or to be more accurate, they were discovered by legitimate researchers eight years ago. It’s suspected that pirates like Bloody Margo knew about them a lot longer. They dwell in the shallows of large bodies of water on their world, I suspect ours is in that lovely bay no one else was using. They’re intelligent, but very alien, or so I gather. They don’t think of air breathers as people, just disposable tools.”
“And the tentacles?” Rolas demanded, looking peeved.
“The ends have thousands of little thorn-like nerve sheaths. If they catch someone they can press those thorns into their victim’s spine and override the body’s nerve impulses, using them to manipulate the environment outside the water. I’m told the experience is excruciatingly painful, not that the victim is allowed to scream for very long. Even if a victim is removed from the ardie’s control, they’re usually driven utterly mad by the experience if it lasts any real length of time.”
“How charming,” Rolas said, deadpan.
“Indeed,” Melanie agreed in the same tone.
“So, we either starve to death, or get caught by our unexpected host’s puppets and made part of its collection,” he concluded.
She nodded. “I just wish I knew how it got here. As far as anyone knows, an ardie is sessile if it survives its larval stage, never leaving its bay, and existing on organisms washed in on the tide or gathered by its puppets.”
“Let’s not try an ask it, shall we?” Rolas pushed himself back to his feet reluctantly. “We should also find a hiding place. The ardie’s puppets will surely return here eventually.”
“Agreed.”
Rolas helped her to her feet and together they traversed the hillside sideways, trying to avoid their hunters. Twice they stepped over the thinner puppeteer tentacles, which squirmed and sometimes were suddenly yanked taut by some unseen force.
“All these trees must make it difficult going, when you’ve got several tens of meters of leash dragging behind you,” Rolas observed.
“It’s an advantage for us,” she said, picking her way along a steep bit of slope. “We can maneuver more easileeeeee!” Melanie let out a surprised yelp as rock and sandy soil gave way under her feet. She made a grab for Rolas as he reached out for her, missed, then suddenly she was tumbling ears over tail down the hillside, arms wrapped protectively around her belly, landing on her back in a stunned heap.
“Melanie! Are you alright?” Rolas called from up the slope.
“Dislocated my shoulder, I think,” she called back as she regained her breath, then froze as she heard their hunters crashing through the trees off to her right. Melanie went flat, rolling off to one side into a clump of bushes, praying she wouldn’t be spotted, trying to ignore the shooting pain running from her neck to her shoulder.
The wazagan emerged into view, and Melanie found herself staring at his ankles, not a half meter away from her hiding place. You don’t see me, you don’t see me, you don’t see me, she chanted in her mind, praying the draconic alien wouldn't look up the slope either and spot Rolas.
Another pair of feet came into view, the blistered paw pads of the kinis this time. They swiveled around, until they were facing her. She heard the kinis take in a deep breath through its nostrils, obviously sniffing the air.
“Oi!” she heard Rolas shout from upslope. “Hey there, you boney bastards! Here I am!”
Oh, no! Rolas, no!
There was a thump to the left of her hiding place, as a fist sized missile hit the ground. Rolas threw another rock, and suddenly the kinis was swiveling around and away from Melanie, trying to climb up the slope towards him.
“That’s it! Come and get me, if you’re hard enough!” Melanie raised her head as the wazagan and kinis turned away from her, just in time to see Rolas heave a small boulder down them. It struck the kinis a glancing blow to the skull, sending it falling backwards to the ground. She ducked down again, watching in horror as the kinis, one eye socket crushed and bleeding from the strike, simply stood up again and started climbing, following behind the wazagan. Rolas kept throwing rocks, backpedalling up the slope as he led them away from her position. “Mel, run!” he shouted. One of his feet slipped, and he scrabbled to regain his purchase, sliding a couple meters down towards his pursuers.
Melanie pushed herself out from under her cover. “I’m not leaving you!”
“Think of our child, Mel!” he shouted back, as the wazagan and kinis continued their relentless climb upward, the horrid tentacles trailing behind them.
She froze, terror for Rolas warring with his words. It wasn’t just herself he was trying to protect, no. The nascent embryos in her abdomen were at risk as well. If I’m caught, I’ll lose them. Worse, if I’m caught, they might become more of those poor things that the ardalian has enslaved.
“Mel, for the love of the Mother, run!” Rolas shouted, as the wazagan reached his position. He gave it a vicious kick to the face, tearing open its cheek with his foot claws. It didn’t even flinch as it reached and grabbed his leg, pulling him free of his precarious perch.
She turned and ran down the beach, Rolas’ scream of pain as he fell echoing in her ears.
