Maid For The Alien King

Chapter 1

Talan

My steps are firm and sure. And utterly silent. I’ve trained for years to walk this way - feeling the earth beneath my leather-clad feet. No stone rolls after I walk near it. No branch that lies in my path will snap.

It pays to be silent as the softest breeze. Only then can you catch the choicest game.

Like the bozsell I’ve been stalking for two days now. They are skittish creatures and attuned to everything around them. They can be fierce if backed into a corner but are largely docile. Their six legs and heavy trunks make them a desirable game. The meat can feed several families.

The one that has had me rapt for two days is one of the largest I’ve ever seen. And it is in my sights. Just a few more feet and I’ll have the perfect shot.

Except for the boszell, I haven’t seen much else. The occasional bird or vermin but no humans. And certainly no Kiphians. Although we are mountain people, I’m one of the most adventurous.

Or the one that doesn’t mind being lonely for long stretches. Back in Cygoth, the Kiphians like to gather, carouse and gossip just like, I suspect, the rest of our species. But I’m a Gatherer - specially suited for tracking and bringing down game.

My mother was like this, too. We used to sit for long stretches, side-by-side, without speaking as we went about our day. It never felt wrong or odd. 

My father, however, is a different story. He talks from the minute he awakes to when he lays down his head, usually after several rounds of drinks. His dream is to elevate himself from merely one of the  merchant kings to something much more powerful in Cygoth. I have no doubt he’ll succeed someday.

But whatever appeal that kind of life has, it’s lost on me. Political machinations are not for me - much to my father’s disappointment. I do not need to be King of Kings the way my father does.

I miss my mother. It’s been several years since she passed on, but I still think of her quiet grace as we whiled away the day in silence.

I still seek it out - the silence. It surrounds me now, like a comforting blanket. It has to, if I’m going to bring this bozsell down. 

Hunching low in the sparse shrubs that cling to the rocky mountainside, I stay perfectly still. The animal stands about thirty feet away, just within range. It seems to be oblivious to my presence, contentedly munching on some young shoots that somehow flourish despite the high altitude.

I nock an arrow and raise my bow. I could just blast it using an ion gun, but that chars the hide and ruins the meat, in my opinion. Much better to stick to the old fashioned way of bringing down a kill. 

Shows respect, too. To thank the animal for its gift, I think. 

That’s my mother talking - I can practically hear her voice. This is comforting, given that I’ve had trouble recalling her face these past few years.

Taking in a deep breath, I set my target. I know I won’t breathe again until the animal breathes its last. A ritual of sorts, I do not take a life lightly.

My arm stretches back, holding the arrow in that beautiful space between stasis and flight. Upper arm muscles tense as they strain against the tension.

Wait for it. Just a little longer…

Suddenly, a tumult erupts before me. Two human children burst out from behind a large boulder, laughing and braying. With a start, the bozsell bolts, its six legs bucking. With rage and dismay, I see it bound down and away from me, disappearing into a craggy outcropping.

An indescribable feeling of anger wells up in me. Two days of tracking were absolutely wasted. And just when I was about to end it all.

I shove my arrow back into my quiver and hook my bow over my arm. There’s no silence this time - I can hear my aggravated breathing through my nose. One thing is clear: I am going to find those children and give them a piece of my mind.

How dare they? Who are they, anyway and what are they doing out here? 

Looking up, I almost lose them entirely. A tiny hint of a ragged shirt winking back at me is all that’s left of them. I have to catch up fast if I’m going to have a ‘talk’ with them.

They have looped around a boulder to my left and seem to be clambering up a very steep slope. Though it’s isolated, there does seem to be a path, of sorts, worn into the dusty ground that snakes around the blue-gray rocks.

I thought I knew this area but this path is not one I’ve seen before. Who are these children and what do they know that I don’t?

The human village, Tlisan, is a few miles off. While it’s closer to this spot than Cygoth, it’s still quite far for two children to be out on their own. I’m not sure how old they are - human children are a mystery to me.

But, children or not, they are about to get a piece of my mind.

Rounding a corner, I come to an abrupt stop. The children are several paces ahead of me but now they, too, have stopped. The entrance to a cave appears before me. I knew there were caverns around here, I have used them when a sudden rainstorm has popped up, but why are these children here now? 

Standing still, I watch as the boy, the younger of the two, takes a small bundle which is more like a bag made out of rags out from his back and carefully, almost reverently, places it at the mouth of the cave.

Instantly, they scamper away and hide behind a nearby rock. Without meaning to, I find myself doing the same. Why am I, a hunter and Kiphian, suddenly so apprehensive around two raggedy human children? They could be playing a game, for all I know.

Several minutes elapse and the children’s attention never wavers from the cave. Though I have no idea why, I stay there as well. My eyes and ears are set to high alert, fixated on the cave - waiting to see what, or who, might take the bait.