Page 12 of The Huntmaster

I tugged at a particularly nasty knot, and a piece of leaf crumbled into my lap. "It's sap! From your stupid, homicidal trees! How exactly do you expect me to fix this? Do you have a spa hidden in this overgrown birdhouse? A bottle of alien conditioner, perhaps?"

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. He stood close enough that I could see the fine lines of scars on his ribs, the way his skin seemed to hold the heat of a furnace. I was terrified of him, yes, but the annoyance was a lot easier to handle than the fear.

"There are thermal springs near the base of the nest," Kaelen-Thul said, his voice dropping back into that guttural resonance. "The water is heated by the planet’s blood. You will go there."

"Great," I said, struggling to stand. My legs felt like jelly, and I had to clutch the furs around me like a toga to keep from flashing him. "Point me to the elevator."

He looked at me as if I’d spoken in tongues. "Elevator?"

"Never mind. Just... show me the way."

"I will not take you," he said. He looked toward the vine curtain, his jaw tightening. "I have matters to settle with the elders. They are... displeased with my choice to bring you here. Some believe you should have been given to the roots hours ago."

I felt a cold prickle of dread. "I can't imagine why. I'm such a delight."

"I will have others take you," he continued, his voice hardening into a command. "Do not try to run. My people... they are not all as patient as I, Ly-ra."

The way he said my name was clumsy, the syllables heavy and strange on his tongue, but it sent a weird shiver down my spine. He didn't move toward the door immediately. Instead, he stopped and turned, his eyes beginning a slow, deliberate journey.

He looked me up and down—sweeping over my bare shoulders, the furs clutched to my chest, and down to my trembling legs. It wasn't the look of a scientist, and it wasn't quite the look of a hunter. It was something unknown, powerful, and utterly dominant.

My cheeks burned under the scrutiny, a sudden heat that had my pulse thrumming unevenly in my throat. What the fuck, Lyra? I chided myself, clutching the furs tighter. I was clearly still delirious from the fever. There was no other reason to feel this flushed under the gaze of a literal monster.

"Wait," I called out, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be. "You're just going to leave me with others who want to turn me into fertiliser?"

He paused at the entrance, his tail snapping behind him. He looked back over his shoulder, those amber eyes pinning me to the spot.

"They will do as I command. I am the Huntmaster," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low-frequency hum. "But if you value your skin, do not test them. Or me."

With a final, sharp click of his teeth that sounded like a door locking, he vanished through the curtain, leaving me alone in the dim, humming silence of his home.

I didn't have long to contemplate my status as a "guest of whim" before the vine curtain rustled again.

I expected the giant to return with more threats, but instead, two females stepped into the hut. They were smaller than Kaelen-Thul—perhaps only six-and-a-half feet tall—but no less intimidating. Their skin was a darker shade of mahogany, and their ears were more elongated, twitching with every sound.

"Ka-vra sha?" the one on the left hissed, her amber eyes raking over my torn suit with a mixture of suspicion and something that looked like clinical disgust.

"K’rrak zha, Vahn-re," the other replied. This one had softer features, her skin a warm ochre, and the copper markings on her collarbone glowed with a steady, gentle light.

They began to chatter in a rapid-fire sequence of clicks and trills. Even without a translator, the tone was obvious. The one on the left—who looked like she’d been sucking on a lemon for thirty years—was clearly voting for "throw her off the platform," while the softer one seemed more interested in the fact that I was actually breathing.

"Look," I said, clutching the furs tighter as I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a very underdressed diplomat. "I don't suppose either of you has a robe? Or a towel? Or a basic understanding of human modesty?"

Both females froze. Their rigid ears rotated forward in unison, trembling as they caught the frequency of my voice. I watched, fascinated, as their pupils dilated until their amber eyes were almost entirely black, their brains seemingly "tuning in" to the vibrations of my language.

"It speaks," the hostile one sneered, her English harsh, as if she were spitting out stones. "The sky-parasite makes sounds like breaking glass."

"Be silent, Mara," the softer one chided. She stepped closer, her tail swaying in a gentle, inquisitive arc. "I am Sora. The Huntmaster commands you be cleansed. The Pulse is agitated by your... scent. You bring the smell of dead metal into the heights."

"Yeah, so I've been told," I muttered, sliding off the dais. My legs were still shaky, but the fever was gone, replaced by a dull, aching soreness. "Apparently, I'm a 'disharmony.' Let's go get me harmonised."

They led me out of the hut and onto the suspension bridges. If I thought the view from the platform was overwhelming, the walk through the village was a sensory assault. We were a parade of the bizarre. As we moved across the swaying walkways, the Oru-Ka emerged from their dwellings to stare. I heard the clicks and trills rising from the levels below, a constant, buzzing commentary that I knew was centred entirely on me.

"Zha-ka star-fire," a voice whispered from a doorway. "Is it true she has no claws?" another clicked. "Look at the gold on her head. It is a sickness."

I kept my head down, focusing on the woven wood beneath my feet, trying not to think about the three-hundred-foot drop. Suddenly, a blur of motion darted out from behind a massive iron-bark trunk.

A young one of their kind—no taller than my waist, with oversized ears and bright, curious eyes—skidded to a halt in front of me. It let out a barrage of high-pitched chirps and whistles, pointing at my hair and then at my boots, its tail wagging with frantic energy. It reached out a tiny, three-fingered hand to touch my flight suit, its eyes wide with wonder.