[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

[we_dont_fly]

"Wonk!" Nitwit didn't seem to think there was any problem with it either.

Tars just holds up a hand and turns back to the climb. Almost there.

The old observatory looms into view, rooftop shattered away long ago, the edges of the sandstone worn soft by the wind. Every surface of the rock is carved with intricate images. There are tall figures in robes looming over the crowds of worshipers below. And the face of every one of these robed figures has been dug out, recently, judging by the tool marks. Some so vehemently, they cracked the stone itself.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar shudders a little, seeing the chipped-out faces. Something about that wordless evidence of violence, against those silent defenseless figures, is deeply disquieting.

He looks down at the stepped path instead, because looking out at the horizon has already demonstrated its own problems.

[we_dont_fly]

Nitwit's hind foot slips and she stumbles a little, but she recovers without incident. The steps are getting wider and deeper.

Tars is waiting at the top, one arm resting on the top of his sword. He points to the huge archways leading into the ancient structure.

"Through these doors here. If the bar will be accessible anywhere, it should be through here. Issus willing."

[hate_gettin_older]

He leans one hand against the carved cliff wall, working to catch his breath without looking like he's working to catch his breath.

"Okay," he breathes. "Right. ... All together, then?"

[we_dont_fly]

Tars looks down at the little thoatling, and then bends to look her in the eye. Nitwit glares up at him, like she's daring him to change his mind.

"You take care of this one, all right?" For a moment, it's unclear whether he's speaking to the thoat or to Edgar.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar glances up at Tars, and grins.

Obviously, this is another one of those moments he's not supposed to tell anyone about.

[we_dont_fly]

Tars returns that glances and narrows his eyes at Edgar. Right in one, Edgar.

"Go," he gestures with one hand.

The threshold across the archway blurs, like a heat mirage. Edgar can hear distant voices, warped and tinny.

[hate_gettin_older]

"I think --" Hope swells in his chest. "I think I can hear them --"

And without waiting to see if Tars is coming too, he starts toward the archway with Nitwit at his heels.