Zov’ha had spent nearly a week in the forest at the foot of the Urumoi Mountains. She had camped in a glade, guarding the mouth of a cave within which Efiros slept. The birds and insects of the forest never seemed to stop humming or chirping or buzzing or squeaking, but when they did, Zov’ha could hear the bear’s loud snores and it echoed within the glade and beyond. A lemming had curiously ventured into the mouth of the cave, only to come scurrying back out when Efiros grunted. She had also noticed a majestic snowy owl that had taken up residence in one of the few pine trees that grew at this altitude. The owl eyed the rodent as it zipped into the wilderness and immediately took wing to pursue it. The great bird had come down from the mountains, where it had overwintered, to spend the spring in open grasslands. She had learnt a lot about these lands in the two months she had spent with her tribe — about the animals, the plants, the seasons, and even about herself.
It was from them she had learnt that Efiros was long past his time for hibernation. He had carried on through the winter to bring Zov’ha to safety. But now, with spring around the corner, the bear had fattened up for his late nap and had found a decent cave in Urumoi. Zov’ha could not anticipate how long he would remain there — the shaman had told her that if he started in late winter, it would probably be only a month before the rising temperature stirs him awake, and he would have to make up for it next winter. Zov’ha had decided to continue on to Neva without him and meet him on her way back. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave him behind.
She had hunted and eaten whatever she found. More comfortable in the wilderness than she had ever been in the city, her journey through the mountains had been easy, as she had followed the river through the valleys. Efiros had grown big enough for her to ride on top of him whenever she felt like it. Her tribe had gifted her a simple saddle that she could equip on to the Elken bear. He was still a cub, but he was now taller than her. His face was as big as her torso, she thought, smiling as she remembered that he loved head rubs.
It was just after noon — the spring sun drifted lazily across the sky, visible over the thick canopy of trees that blanketed the Urumoi lowlands. Lying on the relatively flat surface of a boulder, Zov’ha practised rematerializing the fingernails of her right hand into sharp stonelike claws. She could feel the surface of the hard sandstone rock with her left hand. Mimicking it felt easy. It was not as hard as frost. It was simple — she thought, like giving a command. She could sense some sort of system in her body, executing her will. There were errors… like a program that she had witnessed Marana working on in her laboratory. She could fix those errors, modify the code… she could make her claws curl downwards or straight, enlarge or flatten… all the while using the hard surface of the boulder to… program her own body?
For hours, she pondered over any fragment of her memory that would give her a peek into what she really was. Amaha had told her to find answers in Neva. But going there only frightened her. The thought of finally understanding what she was… she had many theories, and to her, they all ended in her being someone she did not want to be. The people need you… Someone called Yar’cax had told her long ago. Someone from Asenya. Does he have something to do with this?
She opened her eyes and placed her right index finger on her upper canine tooth. She concentrated, feeling every grain of the stony surface with the other hand, deciphering the enigmatic pattern of the matrix… It was easy. So easy! Chaotic… unstructured.. Easy to replicate. She knew her teeth as well as she knew the back of her hand — the enamel’s smooth texture, the curve, the sharpness… I can turn it into this chaotic lattice of stone. As the simple code executed, her teeth swelled up, and her canines turned into sharp stone fangs that poked her lips. A stinging pain caused her to wince as the swelling fangs cut through her gums. She felt blood gush out as if she had bit into a ripe berry. Tasting the metallic liquid flow onto her tongue and into her throat, she sputtered, coughed, and pushed herself up. Error! Now there was bright red blood on the boulder and on her clothes, she could make out through tear-filled eyes. She noticed it was tainted with iridescent, dark — almost black — liquid. Trying to catch her breath after being choked by her own blood, she wiped the blood and saliva dripping from her mouth with the back of her hand, where her fur had regrown. She yearned for a shear-and-sanitise tank bath again; the only thing she liked about cities. No matter how many wild flowers she had rubbed on herself, she always thought she reeked of perspiration.
She did not have time to clean up though — something seemed out of place. There was movement to the south. She could sense it, not through sight or sound, but she felt it like an instinct. It seemed like her entire body was put on high alert. Her heart raced and she felt an adrenaline rush. I’m being hunted.
Abbess Anandil Homa was given absolute control over the hunt for the Ghost of Urumoi. With the onslaught on the High Cathedral of Neva, all of Rud’vyr had been put on a state of emergency by its capital city — Kalgez. The Kalgezi Chief had relinquished control of the matter to the Order of Saint Awynyth, and the Order had in turn supplied Anandil with everything she required for the hunt, including the release of Subeya — a nine-foot-tall, muscular Poban convict, who until now had been guarded in a high security prison in Kalgez. Anandil speculated, since bullets failed to work on the Ghost, a hand-to-hand brawl might surely bring it down. At least, that’s how it used to be done in the days before the Divine Purge, as per the Cathedral’s records.
It had been a peaceful week with no more sightings of the Ghost, but that did not mean it had disappeared for good. She knew what she was hunting — it would surely return, and they needed to strike first this time. The hunting party was made up of twenty-five disciples of Awynyth, who were battle-trained monks, twenty Kalgezi warriors, the Abbess Anandil Homa, and Subeya. The woods were too thick to use vehicles or animal mounts — travelling by foot would be faster, and more effective.
Six days after the attack on the Cathedral, the Abbess had commenced the hunt at dawn. The first two days of the hunt had passed uneventfully, as they ventured towards the foothills of Urumoi. They had camped sparingly and avoided unnecessary lights. Anandil’s plan was to surprise the enemy — not bait it. But knowing what the Ghost really was, she expected that it already knew exactly what they were up to — it was probably hiding patiently, bidding it’s time to pounce and wipe out the entire hunting party.
The gigantic Poban, Anandil had feared, would likely blow their cover, but to her surprise, she was quite silent, grunting a word or two in response to questions. Subeya travelled relatively noiselessly, her unbooted feet only soft thumps on the ground. It seemed like the Poban was trying her best to be silent — for everyone knew that her regular stride was quite heavy.
Anandil did not have to worry about Subeya becoming too aggressive. She had been bound by a shock collar, which the Abbess could control in case things got out of hand. The monks still stayed away from Subeya because of how daunting she appeared.
She had deep set eyes, with pupils so large, one could hardly see any whites. The only thing she wore was a long vest made of cuirass to protect her chest, abdomen, and back. Subeya’s limbs were covered with thick, short, golden-brown fur — like an equine coat, but her burly shoulders, neck, and thighs were relatively bare — where veins were visible over sinewy muscles. The skin on her face was coriaceous, pockmarked with brown spots, and she had a shaggy hairdo — the same colour as her fur. Clearly, other than her gargantuan height and excessive fur, she was a perfect fighting machine, with all four limbs intact, which was more than what anyone could have wished for in the centuries following the Divine Purge.
On the second night, they camped stealthily by a narrow stream that issued from the mountains. Anandil hoped that the constant rippling of the water and the sounds of the nocturnal wildlife masked any noise they made. Every night since Subeya had arrived at Neva, Anandil had spared some time speaking to her. This night, the Poban seemed lighthearted, lazily lying under a tree and munching on cold rations.
‘I gather that being out in the open is bringing out a lovely colour in you,’ Anandil whispered in fluent Neolish, as she approached the bulking silhouette. ‘I don’t suppose the jailers ever let you out into the courtyard.’
All she received from Subeya was an affirmative grunt. She knew that the Poban could talk — she had seen recordings of her speaking in a clear voice during trials, and then singing melodiously in her cell. But it seemed that years of isolation had made her untrusting and suppressed. Subeya’s only crime, she knew, was drunken tantrums — but for someone of her size, a simple bar fight meant death to people around her, which had happened on many accounts.
‘I reckon a simple hunt like this is child’s play for you,’ Anandil continued, comfortable with her monologue — it felt like she could share her thoughts freely with Subeya without expecting a response, and the Poban would simply listen without giving her uncalled-for advice. ‘But if our enemy doesn’t show up… we won’t return empty handed. We will head straight into the mountains.’
‘Does our enemy know that we hunt them?’ Subeya asked in a soft musical voice that startled the Abbess.
Anandil smiled, though she knew that Subeya could not see her in the darkness. She picked her words carefully, so as not to sound too surprised, ‘Our enemy is not human. I will give you a complete explanation, I promise, once we have captured it and taken it to Neva’ar’s Dagger. There it will cause no harm. It is a secure facility of sorts. Do you trust me in this?’
Subeya was chewing on her rations, but it seemed like she had expected this answer. Anandil had told her about the Ghost before — that it could change shapes, but if Subeya used her strength, it could be brought down easily. ‘Look, Abbess. I’m only thinking about what happens after this is all over, right? You’ll write me a letter to freedom, and then I’m gone. I’m putting Kalgez and everything behind me.’
‘That was already decided,’ Anandil replied. She fiddled with a rectangular key in her pocket — the control for Subeya’s shock collar. After a minute or two of silence, she handed it to the Poban. ‘This is not needed. Now… Do you trust me?’
Subeya’s massive jaws stopped moving as she looked up unexpectedly. Surely the Abbess was joking! She took the key cautiously with two fingers that were as long as Anandil’s hand. Steadily, she brought the key to her palm and crushed it, all the while looking at Anandil for a reaction. Nothing — she was free — not lawfully, yet. Anandil heard an elation in her voice, ‘Let’s take down that bloody Ghost.’
Morning came sooner than Anandil expected. Sleep deprived, she felt like she was in a state of limbo between dream and wakefulness. Seated by the stream, she had summoned Friar Dew to a private council. When he arrived, she folded her arms and whispered, ‘It’s been two bloody days! No sight nor sound of the Ghost.’
Friar Dew knew that she trusted only him. As much as she had relentlessly tortured him with clerical duties, he had grown to respect her as a formidable leader. No matter how much she scolded him, he knew that she was kind and caring behind her dark facade. She was humble as well, thinking about how she spent her days standing on the dias in the Cathedral during sermons rather than sitting on the intricately designed throne. He had seen her sitting upon it only once, during her initiation into her service as Abbess. Whatever she did, it was always for the people of Neva. Her religious knowledge and love for the Order of Saint Awynyth were unquestionable, and her love of Neva was unmatched.
‘Should I call for a change in strategy, your Holiness? We haven’t strayed from the path to Neva’ar’s Dagger.’ He said to the back of her head, standing a few feet behind her.
‘Do so,’ Anandil replied with a wave of her hand. It would be easier to track the Ghost from the facility. She heard the friar fiddle with his device, probably sending out radio transmissions to the rest of the party. ‘Friar… only to the monks. We don’t want the Kalgezi soldiers questioning our strategy.’ When the friar did not reply, Anandil peeked over her shoulder and noticed his bulk just standing behind her, quivering, his head bowed in apology. Realising what that meant she turned back and took a deep breath, pursing her lips to abate her annoyance. ‘You’ve sent the message to the whole party already, haven’t you?’
‘Apologies, my Abbess, I fear I…’
‘What’s done is done,’ she interrupted. Anandil breathed out slowly through her mouth. It was no use yelling at him now. She fiddled with some blades of grass with her long fingers. The friar did not understand the burden she would have to bear by sending those innocent warriors to their deaths. They were not aware or skilled enough to deal with what they faced. The monks had better martial training than the warriors. To the ghost, unskilled fighters would be ripe for the picking. Pawns in my battle… Why, Lady Awynyth, are we to suffer this even after centuries of peace?
A rustle in the bushes made both Abbess and Friar aware that someone was approaching. It was only a monk who walked swiftly up to both of them and whispered, ‘We have found the Ghost. It’s taken the form of the white-haired woman again.’
When the Abbess nodded they followed the monk into a small tent they had set up, which had been so well camouflaged that it took the Abbess some time to work out the storm flap to enter. Within the tent, several devices with screens had been neatly arranged. One of them had a blue blinking light.
‘That’s not the Ghost!’ Anandil whispered hotly, seeing a thermal image of a woman on a screen above the blinking light. ‘The Ghost doesn’t have those heat signatures! What camera is this?’
‘Er… AB-35, a drone on the northern edge,’ came the monk’s reply.
‘Maybe we could go speak to this woman,’ Friar Dew suggested. ‘She’s unarmed. She may have seen…’
‘Wait,’ Anandil interrupted, looking intently at the screen. ‘Switch to echo… see if you can get any micro-signatures from her body composition.’
The monk took her time to adjust the sensors remotely on the drone and stepped back when she had finished. The screen showed dark spots all over the woman’s body.
‘That’s the Ghost alright,’ Anandil whispered, half-smiling. I have you now, little hellion!
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