[Barsoom] A Boy And His Thoatling, Part The Second

[we_dont_fly]

It's just before nightfall when the Thark hunting party returns to the ancient ruins known as the Old City. The settlement, once full of grand buildings with huge columns and broad paved plazas, was now home to the Thark Clan of Barsoom's green men. Since the war between Helium and Zodanga had ended, the Thark had taken their place as the biggest, most stable clan in the South under the guidance of the strongest tactician and most feared warrior in the entire Warhoon.

Tars Tarkas paces the stones in front of his encampment. The women have tried to bring him water, to bring him food. He will have none of it. If Dejah Thoris thinks he kidnapped one of her people, she will raze this place to the sand to get him back. The boy must be returned home and in one piece.

How in the seven hells they got separated, he has no idea. One moment he was riding and that stupid magical pocket universe opened up and swallowed him. The thoatling followed them through, and the crechemate* that had bonded to the little one almost stomped the boy into a grease stain. When they'd ran, Tars had watched the sky open up and swallow both boy and thoatling.

It had taken him half a day to make it back here, and the moment he did, he'd sent out riders. If he didn't return soon, he was going to have to swallow his pride and contact Helium. They would lend flyers to the search. Hopefully the boy had survived the night.

Alone. On the Warhoon. With only a thoatling to keep him company.


The cry goes up from the perimeter and ripples through the settlement. One of his lieutenants comes running through the crowd.

"Riders! And they have the boy! He's alive!"

"Praise Issus. Bring him here to me. He is to be treated with respect. Else Helium will see us ended."

"As you will it, my Jeddak! Right away!"


*Thark have words for mother and father. They just don't use them in polite company.

Comments

[hate_gettin_older]

"You behave yourself," Edgar's starting to say to Nitwit, but stops and glances up at Majat.

"What?"

[we_dont_fly]

"Once a thoat picks a rider, there's no giving them to another. They end up meat for the stew pot before they'll be broken to the saddle. And well, you did bring her out of the desert. I don't think anyone will dispute your claim to her."

He throws a glance back at the feast hall. "Not even the Jeddak, who seems to already have a soft spot for you."

[hate_gettin_older]

"... ah, Christ," he groans, half-laughing. "Look, can you -- just make sure she stays here while I go back and tell him?"

[we_dont_fly]

"It is my duty and my pleasure to do so, Sark-Iljat. Have you given her a name yet?"

[hate_gettin_older]

"Uh," he says, struggling free through the gap between Nitwit's head and tail, "not exactly a name, no -- let me get back to you on that."

And to the little thoat again, firmly: "Look, you stay here for now, right? Hear me?"

[we_dont_fly]

"Wonk." The thoat shuffles her feet again and then knuckles down until she's laying on her belly, feet tucked under her. She lays her chin on the ground and she watches him with bright eyes.

Waiting. Here.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Good girl," he says, and turns to head back to the feast hall.

And hopes, as he goes, that he'll get a chance to explain things to Tars without the whole crowd hearing.

[we_dont_fly]

He's welcomed back into the press of the party as if the conflict of five minutes before is completely forgotten. Hands clap him on the shoulders as he walks passed, and as he sits down, someone lays the lower section of the beak on the table next to his plate. It's been cleaned and polished, and someone has crafted a leather holder for it, so it can be used as a drinking cup.

"Everything all right?" Tars says to him as he settles beside the Jeddak.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar breaks away from admiring the cup -- it's actually very pleasing to the eye now, with the beak polished up to a gleaming iridescence -- to say "Oh yeah, fine."

A beat.

"Except I think I may have adopted that baby thoat by accident?"

[we_dont_fly]

Tars frowns, his gaze looking across the feast hall to where the thoat pens are. He grunts and pokes at his steak with fork held in a lower hand, while the upper hand holds the cup he's drinking from.

"Looks like you owe me dinner."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Looks like," he sighs. "Man, if you can get me back to where we met I'll buy you a fuckin five-course dinner. With mints. If you even like mints."

[we_dont_fly]

Tars leans down so he can ask Edgar, sotto voce. "What are 'mints'?"

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar grins. "Fancy sweet you eat after dinner. I'll show you."

(From the assurance in his tone, one would never guess that his very first experience with mints was last month.)

[we_dont_fly]

Tars hesitates, and then nods. He takes another sip of wine and wipes the back of his upper hand across his mouth.

"Are you going to leave her here, or do you intend to take her back with you?"

[hate_gettin_older]

He can't really tell from Tars's tone which option he's expecting (or hoping for).

"I'd take her back," he says, "except I don't have a pen to keep her in, and last time she was outside on her own she ran straight into the lake. Could you keep her here for maybe a few weeks? Just till I get something better set up?"

[we_dont_fly]

Tars grumbles, chewing on the idea for a moment or two.

"I will ask Majat. But if you are not here, and she decides to leave to come find you, hmm..."

Resources are scarce. Leaving warriors to look after a thoatling who is not content to stay with the herd? That's asking a lot, Edgar.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar grimaces. "Yeah, that ... that won't do."

A beat.

"Maybe she could stay in the stables."

[we_dont_fly]

The Jeddak's face brightens. "That is where I leave Lutha when I am there. She is content to be tied to a post, though, so long as there is a pile of moss at her feet."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar's face lightens in turn. "Right then. Stables it is."

A thought strikes him; he hesitates for a moment before voicing it. "Lutha's her mum?"

[we_dont_fly]

Tars frowns. "You would say -- creche mother. Thoats are raised in clutches, the way Tharks are raised in clutches. No thoat or Thark knows his mother or father. He is raised by the clan."

He glances across at Sola, a sad but fond look in his eyes. "To know your father or mother in our society is considered taboo, just as among humans, not knowing one's mother or father makes one a pariah. Or so John Carter explained it to me."

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar frowns too, down at the table.

"Guess it's different when nobody knows."

[we_dont_fly]

The Jeddak grunts, looks away, obviously uncomfortable with discussing it further. Sola watches, glances at Edgar, concern lining the delicate features of her face.

"My Jeddak," she interrupts. "Should I send word to Helium, that Sark-Iljat is here with us?"

"No, no it is my hope to return him to -- where he came from before Dejah Thoris even knows he's gone. If we are lucky, that place I told you of? Will admit us entrance in the old observatory." He sighs, fingers laced together as he contemplates. "If that does not work? Then we will send word to Helium."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Sounds like a good plan." Edgar knocks back a gulp of wine out of his trophy cup, suppresses a cough, and reaches for another sliver of the roast.

(Some tiny unconscious tension in his chest relaxes at that. He's been assuming they'll be able to return to Milliways, mostly because there's nothing he can do about it if they can't -- but it's good to know that if they can't, at least there'll be a way to let Curtis know.)

[we_dont_fly]

Sola nods and settles back, giving Edgar a gentle smile.

Tars throws the young man a glance. "The trick will be getting your new friend back with you."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Don't I know it." Rueful. "Won't be too hard to get her to try and follow me, though, so there's that."