So it would be a gold, jeweled comb for his drahi, which would take time to have made, but then again, he needed time to learn to communicate with her. He needed her to understand what the first mating ceremony entailed so that she would come to him with full knowledge and willingness. He wanted her to choose to be his forever.
He stuffed the expensive garment back into his pack, knowing that he would be trading all the kivan for the materials to have the comb made. He would also need to add even more kivan to have it crafted by the most talented jewelry smith in his skilev. His sacrifice as Jotaha had been well rewarded, with some of the tithes paid to the temple being diverted to the guardians of Theia. Still, the harzek he planned for his Sarah would be exceedingly expensive, even for him. He could not help but think she was more than worth it and was eager to see her use his gift.
As he sat there watching her, he considered other ways to make her more comfortable. She had not demanded much in the way of hygiene products, though perhaps she had and he simply hadn’t understood her, but nixirs in the past had not been known for hygiene. Granted, the other ones he had encountered in the urvaka had seemed far cleaner, despite their exertions, than he’d been told to expect when learning about nixirs and their history.
Though Sarah had been dirty when he’d found her, he’d gained the impression that it was recent dirt, as her flesh beneath the dirt had looked clean, without grime layered into the porous skin. That was yet another reason he’d believed her to be shataz, who were unusual in their hygienic practices among the normally filthy nixirs.
He had intended to teach her about proper hygiene, once they returned to the skilev, and imagined that one of the elders who communicated with the nixirs would know ways that the nixirs could clean themselves better than any other yan-kanat would. Until he could communicate with her, he had not considered it an issue, but now he was growing concerned as the moisture her body produced slicked her skin, creating streaks in the dirt that encrusted her face. Her scent was strong in that moisture. It was pleasant to him when it was fresh, but when it grew stale, he scented what he took to be sickness. It could simply be the scent of dirty nixir, but he’d never smelled the like in the others that he’d hunted.
Her breath had also changed, growing sour and pungent with each struggling gasp she’d taken in this last stretch. He’d expected her to be pleased with the anetaak berries to sweeten her mouth, but she had only eaten two of them before she’d rubbed her stomach, shaking her head as she pushed the pouch aside with her other hand. Her eyes had been pinched in the corners, her normally puffy lips thinned out and tight and surrounded by skin paler than the rest of her face.
She had refused any other food, shaking her head at his offers. She had also seemed to gag when she’d tried to drink a crock of xirak, which she had never had an issue with before. She had eventually set the crock aside, unable to continue drinking it. The most concerning thing was that she had only been able to eliminate liquid from her body for many cycles now without any solid waste, despite eating solid food. He didn’t think this was normal, even for the nixirs.
It was these worries that kept his mind occupied even as the chanu zayul tried to lull him into his usual trance-like rest that allowed him to remain aware of his surroundings while he traveled.
His awareness sharpened when he heard the shift of movement on hard-packed dirt beyond the circle of light and heat cast by the inferno stones. He looked towards the direction where he’d heard the sound.
A barren stalker would be warm-blooded, like his drahi, making it easy to spot in the darkness once his inner lids were closed over his eyes. Since he only saw the shifting of shadows in the darkness, nearly the same temperature as the night air, he knew that it was not a barren stalker creeping up on this campsite.
Rage filled him as he drew his bone dagger from the sheath on his forearm, rising gracefully to his feet in near silence. Not that it mattered. The ring of warming stones lit him up like a beacon. The multiple shadows moving towards them stealthily could easily see him. They could also easily see the threat he posed.
He had fought many sentils during his training. They sparred against each other during their trials of passage, the best warriors being selected to become jotahs, and the best of those being chosen by the chanu zayul to become Jotaha. He was a better fighter than the sentils surrounding the camp, even without the help of his diminished chanu zayul. If it wasn’t for Sarah’s vulnerability, he would relish the thought of taking them all on at once in a vicious battle to punish them for daring to offend him like this.
They had not come here for him, and he had no doubt that they would not consider the sacrifice of a few of their number to his claws in order to keep him busy a small price to pay to dispatch the nixir invader. He could not even hate them entirely, though his rage sparked through him unchecked, adding a fierce glow to the light of the warming stones.
If he was the one on the other side of this situation, he might not be deterred by his reverence for the will of Seta Zul either. Hatred for the nixirs was strong in so many of the yan-kanat—and had been in himself, before he met Sarah. He had been naïve to think an activated seal alone would be enough to wipe away generations of anger towards the creatures that had chased the yan-kanat from Gaia and slayed an Ajda.
He was prepared for the battle when Kevos left the shadows, stepping far enough into the light that Jotaha could see him clearly.
“Just take a walk into the darkness for a single sandfall, honored Jotaha. You deserve better than this creature as a drahi. In this, Seta Zul has erred, but we will make it right and free you from such a terrible obligation.”
Jotaha snarled, his head spines fully erect. “And what makes you think I want to be free of this ‘obligation?’” He squared his shoulders, dropping them back as he took a fighting stance, positioning himself between Kevos and Sarah, who still slept soundly. “My drahi has already claimed my heart.”
Kevos hissed, his lips peeled back from his sharp teeth. “You are blinded by the fire of Seta Zul’s blood. The seal can be removed. You know this. You do not need to sacrifice in this, as you have in taking the role of Guardian of the Dark Paths.” He jerked his chin towards Sarah. “This creature will sabotage our skilev and murder our people, as so many like her have done to our kind in the past.”
Jotaha flexed his claws around the hilt of his dagger. His awareness spread with the aid of the preternatural senses of the chanu zayul within him. There was a half dozen other sentils surrounding them. The fact that the normally solitary hunters had come together like this showed how serious their intentions were.
“You do not know her, Sentil Kevos. She is not the nixir you have been trained to hate.” He returned his focus to the foe in front of him—the leader of this blasphemy. “It is you and yours who should walk away now. You will never escape justice if you harm one fiber on the head of my drahi.”
Kevos raised his chin, his head spines fully erect as his jaw tightened, muscles beneath the scales lining it twitching. He was still empty handed, failing to draw his dagger as Jotaha had, but Jotaha knew that there were others who were already armed and prepared to slit Sarah’s throat while he battled Kevos and whoever else was ready to die with the sentil.
“We are prepared to make this sacrifice, as you were prepared to accept a life in the darkness of the urvaka. To protect our world and our people from the evil nixirs, we will gladly shed our own blood.”