Bastial Steel (22 page)

“You make it sound like you’re performing some difficult stunt,” Lysha said. “My Bastial stars, it’s just a smile. Just think of something that’ll make you smile.”

Cleve imagined returning to Kyrro and opening the door to his home. Steffen then Effie were there, greeting him with happy grins. He hugged Effie and shook Steffen’s hand. Then Reela burst out of her room and ran toward him.

“There we go,” Lysha said. “Now we can get to the dancing.”

Cleve felt his grin fade.

Lysha grunted. “But you’d better practice keeping that smile while we do it.”

He pushed it back onto his face…and again, they were overcome with laughter.

Luckily, picking up the dances was much easier for Cleve than learning the false smile. It seemed that he had far more control over his body than his face.

The
polite introduction
dance was the simplest, involving only two outstretched arms shifting left and right with a lift of both shoulders each time.

Lysha explained that once a dance is initiated by a Human, the mooker will start dancing along, chanting, “mook, mook, mook, mook” usually four times, and the Human must move with the rhythm of the chant. If the mooker keeps chanting after four, the Human has to keep moving, otherwise it’s considered an insult and the mookers are likely to attack.

The other dances were a bit more complicated.

We have a gift
involved a fancy twirl, but luckily only the gift giver needed to do the dance, so Cleve didn’t have to learn that one.

Lysha showed him her many “mooker flowers” that she’d been given by Danvell Takary. The round, gray plant was quite ugly and apparently the same color as a mooker’s skin. No bigger than Cleve’s palm, the mooker flower was riddled with holes of all sizes.

“Isn’t a mooker going to be insulted by that?” Cleve pointed at it.

“No, they love this hideous plant,” Lysha said. “They use it for a mating ritual. I don’t know how that custom started because the mooker flower doesn’t even grow in Karri Forest, and that’s the only place they’ve ever lived. I assume it used to grow there until it went extinct from all the mookers picking it.”

“Why don’t they leave the forest?” Cleve asked.

Lysha shrugged. “It’s their home, always has been.” She leaned forward. “And they’re very protective of it.”

The most important dance was
we are peaceful
. At any point, doing this dance should alleviate any aggression other mistakes might’ve caused. Humans performed it by tucking their elbows against their sides and gyrating their hips in a quick motion, creating a full circle for every “mook” chant a mooker uttered.

“If at any point the mooker doesn’t start ‘mooking’ along with you—chanting ‘mook’ and matching your dance—then you’re not doing the dance right,” Lysha explained.

“Is it better to stop at that point or keep trying?” Cleve asked.

“It’s better to run,” Lysha answered. “Oh, and you should know that turning your back on a mooker is the worst insult. You need to show them the
goodbye
dance if you’re going to leave before them.”

“This one, I remember,” Jek said with a smile. “It’s my favorite.” He broke into dance by thrusting his pelvis, lifting and dropping one leg at a time in rhythm. Although only one leg was moved with each forward thrust of his pelvis, both hands were balled, and both elbows swung behind him to emphasize the thrusting motion.

“You’re not leaning back far enough,” Lysha said.

Jek bent backward, making his thrusting pelvis his forward-most body part besides his knees.

“That’s it,” Lysha said, her face deathly serious, as if teaching Jek how to dodge the slash of a sword.

It didn’t feel right to Cleve when he tried, but apparently he got it on his first attempt.

“How long do we have to do it?” Cleve asked.

“Until they stop mooking and leave,” she answered.

“Please tell me that’s the last dance,” Cleve said, beginning to worry he would forget at least one of them.

“It is the last one you need to know, but there’s something just as important you should remember.”

“Oh, yes,” Jek added. “I’d forgotten.”

They both spoke at the same time, each pointing at Cleve. “No talking.”

Lysha added, “At least not loud enough to be heard while a mooker’s around.”

“They take grave offense to it…for whatever reason,” Jek said.

“It’s like when we whisper to each other in the presence of others,” Lysha explained. “To a mooker, talking seems like we’re keeping a secret from them.”

“I can manage that far easier than the smile,” Cleve said.

“We’ll practice again in the morning,” Lysha said. “Jek, you should keep closer to us tonight. We’re on the western edge of Zav, not nearly as safe as the rest of the territory. Who knows, maybe this will be the night you actually kill your darkness and you won’t wake us up,” she teased.

“Yeah, and maybe we’ll get to the center of Karri Forest without running into a mooker,” Jek said sarcastically.

A silence followed. It was solemn, tightening Cleve’s previously relaxed muscles, for he knew what it meant. Everyone did.

That will be the last joke we hear until this is done.

Chapter 20

“The trees look blue,” Cleve commented.

“I’d say turquoise,” Lysha said.

The rising sun was pouring in from the west—the opposite side from which they were entering Karri Forest. The trees along the outer rim were narrow, with few branches covered in small leaves. But many layers of thick green shrubbery hid the rest of the forest ahead, so much so that there was no clear path to take.

“How will we ride through?” Cleve asked.

“We may have to walk for a mile,” Lysha said. “There’s more space farther in.”

She turned out to be right. They led their horses through thick clusters of plants and trees, eventually making it past what Lysha called “the barrier.”

Just after they remounted, Jek held out a hand. “Wait, listen.” A light breeze was gliding through the trees, giving the branches a spirited shake. Nulya whinnied. Cleve pet her mane and shushed her.

Then he heard it, a dull roar of voices, like a distant crowd. It came from deeper within the forest, growing louder and more thunderous with each breath Cleve took. A group of elk darted past them, running away from the sound.

“Shit.” Lysha nearly spat out the word. “A mooker gathering.” She turned to Cleve. “Hundreds of them have chosen a place to meet, so groups of them will be headed there from all directions.”

Then Cleve noticed the same noise coming from the opposite side.

“Where’s their meeting point?” he asked.

“There’s no way to know.” Lysha spoke with a pressing tone. “But we don’t want to run into them.”

“We have to go back!” Jek said urgently.

“No, we don’t have time to go through the barrier again if we’re going to make it to the center before sunset, especially when they could be meeting here for hours. Follow me.” Her horse galloped forward.

Cleve and Jek followed. The strange dialogue of the mookers was on either side of them but not ahead.

The horses’ speed soon proved to be too fast when Cleve nearly had his head taken off by a low branch. Lysha’s horse stumbled, slowing too suddenly, and Jek’s nearly rammed into hers.

“We have to slow our pace!” Lysha shouted to be heard.

“They’re ahead of us now!” Jek yelled.

Cleve heard it as well—the noise of a thousand creatures grumbling, like a dozen boulders rolling down hills.

Then a line of mookers pushed through the plants, stopping at the sight of the three of them.

Each mooker stood on two stumpy legs, but some leaned forward to rest the knuckles of their long arms on the ground as well, putting them on all fours. Their faces looked like a mix between an Elf and a dog, with a small round nose, two gray eyes with dark circles around them, a massive mouth that basically split their head in two, and a square chin. Their ears were even longer than Rek’s, pointed just like his.

Behind their ears were horns that were the length of Cleve’s hand. A few of them sat, plopping down on their rears in a motion so quick it looked painful. They leaned forward so that their elbows rested near their short legs, their long outstretched arms with black claws resting on the forest floor as well.

While they were gray overall, a dark hue covered the top of their heads down to their tails. Each had a massive chin and a pronounced underbite, with two large teeth coming out to point up toward their eyes.

“Dismount slowly, tie your horse, smile, and don’t talk,” Lysha whispered.

They did, and when they were done, three mookers had come forward, each speaking loudly.

“Mook kakamook,” one said, waving a claw at Cleve. It seemed to be talking to the two mookers next to it.

“Bra kuka mooka,” another said, pointing at Jek.

The last one pointed at Lysha. “Guba yarka mook.”

Lysha started the
polite introduction
dance, swaying her arms left and right with a lift to her shoulders. Cleve joined in, noticing Jek doing the same.

Cleve tried to think of Reela to make his smile genuine, but it was hard to picture her with all the little mookers watching him. He could feel his grin wasn’t sitting right on his face, so he tried to make some adjustments.

The two mookers in front of Lysha and Jek each started dancing…no,
mooking
with them, chanting “mook, mook, mook, mook.”

But Cleve’s mooker wasn’t joining the other two.

It approached Cleve, stopping at his knees where it twisted its head up to study his face. He tried to smile wider, but it only felt more disingenuous.

Lysha and Jek continued to dance, so Cleve figured he should do the same instead of stop. Though it instantly became harder when the creature jumped up and grabbed onto Cleve’s thigh. With the agility of a monkey, it swung around Cleve to grab his shoulders, placing its feet on his back.

He almost asked Lysha what he should do. He knew he shouldn’t talk, but fear was gripping his heart, making it harder to follow the rules. He shot her a glance. Her smile was still there as she danced, but her teeth were gritted. She seemed panicked.

Lysha lifted a thumb to her mouth, only for a blink, quickly bringing it back so as not to disrupt her dance.
Is she telling me it’s my smile?

The mooker balanced its plump belly on Cleve’s shoulder to lean around in front of his face. It took its black claws and patted his cheek, muttering, “Mook zuka nook. Mook zuka zuke.”

Cleve tried to fix his smile again, but it was becoming even more difficult just to keep his lips bent. The mooker bit the air in front of him threateningly. Cleve was feeling himself coming close to tossing the mooker off his shoulder. Then he remembered the
we are peaceful
dance that should be used whenever trouble has begun.

He tucked in his elbows and twirled his hips in a circle. Lysha and Jek joined him.

The creature leapt off his shoulder, gaining some distance before turning back with a tilt to its head, studying Cleve. With the newfound respite, Cleve felt it easier to smile.

The mooker in front of him shifted its elbows against its body and twirled its waist, chanting, “mook, mook, mook, mook.”

It stopped chanting after four, and the other two stopped with it.

Immense relief flowed into Cleve’s body with his next breath, as he let his dancing come to a halt.

Lysha immediately started her
I have a gift
dance, twirling in a circle with her arms over her head.

Her mooker came forward and joined her, chanting along.

When they were finished, she opened her bag and placed a mooker flower on the ground and stepped away from it. The mooker ran to its gift with startling speed, tumbling over the flower and grabbing it, as if the ugly plant could’ve gotten away if left for another second.

A roaring chatter rang out from all the mookers. Cleve thought the rest of them were upset that they weren’t given a gift, but then he saw the smile on Jek and Lysha’s faces and realized the mookers must be happy.

Cleve soon realized it was a good thing he’d figured that out. For he surely would’ve drawn his weapon when, soon after, all the mookers ran at them, galloping on their little legs and long arms like lopsided horses.

But then Cleve noticed that one of the mookers hadn’t moved yet—the one that had danced with him and climbed on his shoulder. It sauntered right up to Cleve and tapped his shoe with a claw, scooping up some dirt to toss on it.

Cleve still didn’t know if he should speak, so he remained quiet. A few of the mookers running by had stopped, investigating the exchange between Cleve and the mooker, which was now slapping his shoe with both hands.

Two other mookers joined it, and soon they had pulled his shoe off without even undoing the laces. They gave it to the first mooker, who lifted it above its head, waddled a few awkward steps, and hurled Cleve’s shoe into a sea of bushes.