Page 1 of Remmen

REMMEN

Fyrat had ivy twined around his horns.

My lips threatened to twitch at the sight of it. The male had once torn a wild vorr to shreds in front of an audience of thousands, and then gone back for more. Now he shuffled from hoof to hoof and looked at the still-closed door of the bride transport like it might strike him down.

Six years ago I could not have imagined this. Our freedom had been bloody and hard won. The brothers who’d died for it still haunted my dreams. And at least once a week I woke up certain I was still in my cage with sand beneath me, and not in the nice bed I’d made for myself in the mayor’s home.

Those dreams and the violence of our past brought me here, not the brides. On board with those women were three counselors who would, hopefully, be able to cut out some of the worst of the hurts within my men and make us…

We would never be whole.

Murdering beasts did not have hope of wholeness, not even when we had new, civilized lives on an almost hospitable planet.

Still, it was a better morning than most, and I meant to have it half to myself for as long as the ship took to settle on its struts.

That lasted until Theeodus found me.

“Papers.” He held the folder out. “Nezara wants the counselors’ contracts signed before they come off the ramp, and she’s a witness short for the arrivals log. If you could⁠—”

“After I’ve greeted them.” I kept my eyes on the ramp. “Walk it to the office. I’ll sign there.”

He kept talking anyway, and I let the requests wash over me. It was never only one thing. The Council wanted an hour I didn’t have. The cider house was short a delivery and blamed the road. Some fence was down east of the market, and by now two households would be arguing over whose goats had done it. By midday all of it would be my problem.

There was a rail along the edge of the receiving bay. Behind it a dozen of my males stood in their best clothes, hair oiled and combed around their horns, waiting on women they’d never met. One of them had wound ivy around his points to match Fyrat.

I hoped it didn’t become the style.

They were nervous. Grown males who had killed in front of crowds, and every one of them looked ready to bolt back up the ridge road. A young one caught my eye and started toward me with a question already on his face: how did a male greet a human female, was there a word for it, should he bow?

I gave him a look and he got back in line.

Two others were shoving like calves at the far end. I lifted a hand without turning my head, and they went still.

Mostly the job was a raised hand and a voice that carried far enough. The town had elected me because someone had to say where the fences went, and re-elected me two years ago because no one else would take the office when the term came up. I’d stood in the square ready to hand it off. No one stepped forward. So I kept it, and the settlement stayed standing, and every morning there was a list with my name at the top of every line.

The bride program was mine. I’d hunted the Agency down through the old trade channels, argued the Council into the cost of it, dragged the first males to the office by their pride. The counselors were newer, and I’d greet them myself.

If they failed, it would fall on me.

The men at the rail wanted wives. I wanted the counselors safely off the ramp and the day’s work started.

“You could put your own name in this time.” Theeodus had given up on the slate and was looking up at the ship. “Nezara says it’s a good lot. There’s no rule the mayor has to go without.”

“I don’t need a bride.” I didn’t turn around. “I’m too busy to be lonely.”

“Of course,” Theeodus said, and it didn’t sound sincere. “Duty above all else.”

“Go and witness the log,” I grunted, and was spared the rest of it when the ramp came down.

The humans came down together, the brides and the three counselors both, and I couldn’t have told which was which. Small, careful bodies taking the measure of a dock full of males three times their size. Behind me every male on the rail leaned forward at once.

It broke.

I heard it go, the scrape of the barrier, hooves on wood, the low eager rumble a dozen males made at the first sight of the brides. They surged. Someone’s shoulder caught a stack of star-fig crates and the top one went over and burst, and the smell of it flooded the bay, sweet and stupid.

One of the counselors went down under a bull who never saw him, and a man screamed. Human. High and hurt.

I was already moving. A guest bleeding on my dock, the whole bay tipping into a brawl. I put my shoulder into the first male in my way and drew breath to shout the rest of them into stone.