The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 15-17

It takes a few minutes for the weight of Rick's body on top of hers to register. Slowly, his soft cooing voice breaks through her panic. Her muscles ache from being so tense. When she stops struggling, Rick still remains, holding her down onto the pillows. She continues to get lost in his eyes, letting her body go limp against his. Only when her breathing slows does he loosen his grip-but he doesn't let go. She must have been thrashing violently in her sleep.

"You were dreaming..." the words he speaks finally make sense.

She draws her gaze out of his eyes to look upon him; his handsome face is moist with the sweat of struggle. Mora must have fought hard against him.

"...I've never heard anyone dream like you do," he whispers. When the words connect to a meaning in her head, the confused look that is slow to appear on Mora's face makes him continue, "You were speaking in poetry; beautiful, eloquent words about...a brush tiger...and a hunter? When I came over to you, you started kicking and clawing, pulling on your collar...I had to...pin you down so you didn't hurt yourself..."

Rick lets go of Mora's wrists, shifting his weight off of her to sit on the edge of the pit. Mora doesn't move. When he disappears from her view she continues to stare up at the cherry wood ceiling. Every part of her body hurts in one way or another. Her dream was so real. She swallows hard, thinking of what Amyee said about her after she killed her first tiger; it was as if the tiger loved her and gave its life to her. Tears rush to her eyes. Laren calls her the brush tiger. She has finally found her Hunter and he will be the end of her. She tries to blink them away but they fall down her face regardless.

Warm, tough hands wipe her face dry; a tender voice coaxes her out, "It is time to get dressed, the tavern will open in a few minutes."

Mora doesn't move until Rick is dressed and gone. She slowly sits up, taking time to collect herself. She doddles, stretching carefully before pulling on her pants, shirt and vest. She finds the brush and undoes her hair. Mora brushes and brushes, taking the time to straighten her hair before she pulls it back and tightly braids it.

Though her heart is crushed, her mind struggles to come to peace with her situation. Not only does she yearn for Rick, now that she has had a taste of love she desperately wants more. Before, she might have been able to convince herself to be vaguely content in her relationship with Irron but now that her heart has awakened, even though it lies shattered in pieces, she knows that her marriage will condemn her to a fate worse than death.

Torn by her obligation to the people of Derven she knows that neither the bonds of captivity nor the cold mountains of Alumenia are the right setting for a flower of love. She pulls on her boots, lacing them too tight so that the extra pressure will give her something real to be concerned about. Eric was wrong; perhaps it is easy for any man who met the Princess to fall in love but as an ordinary person she is nothing more than another woman in the crowd.

She tries to convince herself that if Rick had wanted her, he could have taken her. Because he hasn't...it must mean that he doesn't harbor an attraction for her. Chivalry is something only known to royalty; as he is her Master and she is but his slave not many would think less of him for doing what he wants to her. Because he doesn't, it must mean that his heart beats for another. While she is trapped by her false identity, it allows her to see the truth of others.

Mora feels the darkening sadness she felt when her father found her in the orchard but this time it feels worse. She wishes she could see Amyee, or even Laren—someone who knows her, who she could possibly trust to give her some comforting advice to help her out of her hole.

Her shoulders droop and she has no bounce left in her step as she wanders out the door and down the stairs. Her lack of energy is quickly spotted by both Todd and Rick. Weaving her way in and out of tables, she walks slowly to her spot from before where she sits quietly in the same chair. Wanting to just close her eyes and never open them again, she resorts to staring at the wooden planks in front of her, though she sees nothing.

She can hear Rick's sturdy but quiet footsteps lead him from the bar over to her. He hovers near her shoulder—Mora is thankful that he doesn't touch her but instead sets something down in her field of view: a soft looking, dainty pair of gloves. Despite his words, his voice is kind, "If you wish to fight tonight, I would like to have a go."

Mora nods to the table. She doesn't want to fight him—she doesn't even want to be near him. When she doesn't speak he leaves, taking the seat across from her. She hears Todd's loud footsteps. There is a clink of glass, meaning he set some wine in front of Rick. When he walks to her side, she still doesn't move. Slowly a bowl of steaming stew slides into her view. A beautiful looking flower carved from a vegetable, floats on top of a rich brown broth. Her spirits lift slightly but she isn't able to muster a smile for Todd, only a tiny, "Thank you."

Methodically she dips her spoon into her soup and transfers it to her mouth. The warm, complex flavor warms her body but not her heart. She glances up when a tall glass of thick wine is poured for her. Mora slowly drinks the entire thing; as the alcohol pluses through her veins she can feel some of her darkness retreat. Revived a bit, she begins to taste a few flavors that don't seem to belong to the stew—orange, lavender and chamomile. She knows Todd slipped them in there to lift her spirits and is grateful that he is trying to look after her.

Feeling slightly better, she rationalizes with herself. Though she is a prisoner in Sceadu, she is free from the oppression of her duties at home and free, for the time being, from King Irron. As Todd pours her another glass, she decides to lock away her guilt, since worrying about it won't change anything. By the time she finishes her second helping of wine, she comes to the conclusion that she should see her time in captivity as a vacation from real life; instead of wasting it she should make the most it.

For the first time she is allowed to be a real person, to be talked to and treated like anyone else. At the moment she doesn't have to worry about looking out for anyone but herself. Sulking around for a week isn't going to change her fate—but then again neither will enjoying it; of the two, she would much rather enjoy herself while she still can.

Todd removes her bowl and refills both her and Rick's glasses. She discovers, after looking up to Rick, a cold expression on his face. Somehow she knows that she has done something to offend him. Refusing to turn away, she stares him down. Slowly anger wells up inside of her. It is absurd that he dares to look at her in such a frigid manner—he was the one who refused her, not the other way around. She had let him in to her heart and when given the opportunity, he simply walked away and left her alone.

She starts to get irritated at the way he sits, so casually leaned against his armrest. She wonders if the kindness he has shown her was just a means to cover up his arrogance and conceit. After all, he didn't stop Lucas from picking a fight with her—he didn't know she could fend for herself he only guessed—what if she got injured? He pretends to be better than the other Masters but in actuality he isn't. Even though he lets her sit at the table he still treats her like nothing more than property—she might as well be an unfeeling, unloved piece of furniture. Just as she is about to boil over and give him a piece of her mind a dagger slams down, tip first into the table in front of her. Mora whips her head around to see where it came from; her eyes land on Sari, who stands only a few feet away with Lucas, Daniel and James next to her.

"Since you two were staring daggers at each other, I figured I'd throw a real one into the mix," she says, eyes locked on Mora.

She realizes that her and Rick, caught up in glaring at one another didn't even notice the arrival of his friends. Mora blushes for her rudeness. She looks over the group quickly, trying to find a way to change the subject. It is when her eyes come back to Sari that she sees change. Sari's unattended hair from yesterday has been washed and is now down, draping carefully on her shoulders. She appears to have dressed with more attention as her vest is laced evenly with a perfect bow at the end. There is even a small amount of rouge on her cheeks and lips.

The smile that comes to Mora lips doesn't have to be forced, "You look lovely today." After she mentions it, everyone turns their attention to Sari.

She shifts uncomfortably, stomping her way over to the chair right of Rick, making it a point to still walk like a man. She sits down before she mutters, "Well I couldn't let you have all the attention."

As the other men sit, James, who sits to her left, nudges Mora, "I thought you were going to take that dagger and slit Rick's throat. Luckily for him, I bet you only use sticks to beat people with in Derven."

Todd pours everyone a round of wine, refilling Mora with her fourth helping. She wraps her fingers around it, lifting it to her mouth while she tries to think of a way to respond. As the cool liquid snakes down her throat, she feels it ignite the anger inside— anger, this time, directed towards the seeming weakness of her country. She decides she should set the record straight and have a bit of fun at their ignorance. Mora sets the glass down before her taking care to position it in the center of one of the planks. Letting her hand slide across the wood she feels its surface worn smooth by years of use. When her hand lands on the pair of gloves Rick left for her, she is hit with pang of guilt. They are very well made and the leather is of the utmost quality. They are soft not because of use but because of the extra attention the maker gave them. They must have been expensive. Breathing deeply and in a very lady like manner she lifts one and begins to slip her left hand into it, "Do you know what a brush tiger is, James?" Even though she looks at James when she speaks, she can feel Rick staring at her.

"Never heard of such a thing," James huffs.

"Well, in Derven, brush tigers run bountifully in the forest," Mora lets her eyes fall from James down to her hand as she begins to adjust the supple leather around each of her fingers, one at a time, "they earned the name because they bury their bodies deep within the brush thickets, to where they are impossible to get at. There used to be so many of them that they would come out during the day to kill the children playing in the villages. The men of Derven, like all men-with their unloving, cruel solutions," her eyes flicker briefly to Rick, "thought the best way to solve the problem was to burn down the forest. Three villages were lost to the fires that they started, as were more people than the tigers originally killed."

She squeezes her left hand into a fist, stretching the leather around her skin, "The women of Derven were not pleased. Collectively, they gathered up weapons and supplies and told the men that they would go into the forests and hunt down the tigers," her right hand slides slowly into the other glove, "the men laughed. They thought that there was no way a group of small, delicate women could hunt down the brush tigers. You see, a good sized brush tiger is about, oh, about the size of a pony. Their fur is dark brown so they blend into the trees, their ears are tall, their hearing is sharp and they only come out at night, which means that they have extremely good vision. But—being native to Derven—the strong willed women marched off into the forest at sunset, willing to risk their lives to make a point to the men."

Mora pauses, adjusting each finger of her right glove. She can see that everyone at the table has leaned in, captured by her story—that, her good story telling skills, she owes to Laren. She continues to let the tension grow until Lucas can't stand the suspense any longer and blurts out, "Well, they all died, right?"

She smiles at him, "No; as a matter of fact, none of them died. Within a week's time they slaughtered a few hundred of the brush tigers, knocking their population down to a manageable rate. Ever since then, twice a year, all of the women of Derven gather in the woods for the Huntress Festival. While it has become a rite of passage and a way to induct young girls into maturity, it still serves the purpose of keeping the brush tiger numbers under control."

Having her gloves situated, Mora pulls the dagger out of the table. She examines it carefully, testing its weight in her hands. It is much lighter than her hunting knife and the blade is straight but she knows that won't be an issue. "The Festival is led by a single woman, the Head Huntress. In order to obtain that title, she must have successfully killed five brush tigers by herself, with only a knife and her bare hands."

Mora looks up at Rick. His face is no longer cold; she can see remnants of his flirty attitude from the night before. She doesn't care what she did to offend him. Her body, her soul, even her heart are stone: they are solid, strong and cold. When her heart does not race but instead remains steady, Mora knows that she will be able to make it through this week just fine.

Her fingers grasp the dagger by the tip. She continues her stare at Rick. She lifts her left arm over her head so swiftly that no one has time to react. By the time her arm jerks straight, fully extended to her side the dagger releases from her finger tips before anyone at the table has moved. In their delayed reaction they all jump from their chairs, ready to attack Mora to protect Rick—whom they think is her target. When they finally realize she doesn't have the dagger anymore, they turn their heads swiftly when Todd screams in surprise. Rick's eyes never leave hers.

The dagger flies so dangerously close to Todd's face that he drops an armful of mugs out of shock. As her five companions realize she wasn't trying to kill him either, the dagger slams into the wall behind the bar with a nice, solid sound, tucked neatly between two bottles of liquor.

The group stares at the knife, some thirty feet away. Todd scrambles to his feet, walking swiftly over to the bar. He has to pull out a stool and stand on it to reach the dagger. When he begins to make his way back to the table, Mora lets her eyes leave Rick's and drop down to look at her empty glass. She carefully folds her hands in front of her, offering up a shy smile that captures everyone's attention, "I have been the Head Huntress for five years now."

Todd drops the knife down in the center of the table. On the end of it, a mouse twitches before it dies. He wipes his forehead off on his sleeve and fills up Mora's glass, "I'd rather we leave the mice to the cats, Mora. I don't think I could survive your quest to rid this place of vermin."

. . . . .

The tavern fills up quickly that night. Only one Master comes in with his slave—a girl a few years younger than Mora. He makes her get them food and drinks from the bar before letting her sit on the floor next to him. After a majority of the tavern fills up, two women walk through the door. They aren't dressed in pants like Mora or Sari, but in dresses.

The dresses they wear aren't exactly what Mora would describe as flattering but the style might be lost on her conservative Derven mind. They are tight around the torso and the skirts don't have enough fabric to allow for a free range of motion. The necklines plummet past good taste—with their breasts squeezed so close together she wonders how they keep them from popping out entirely. Both of them have big hair, painstakingly stacked as high on their heads as they could get it and their faces are each painted to match their dresses. The tall one in blue has overly thick matching make up around her eyes which make her seem extremely surprised, whereas the shorter, plump one in yellow's make up only has the effect of making her appear ill.

She can't help but look at the disaster with amusement, until she catches Sari shifting in her chair. When she turns back to the table, the irritation on Sari's face is evident. Mora realizes why, when the two women plod over to them, smiling and winking at the hoots and hollers from the men they pass. As if entirely comfortable around Rick, the tall one sits in his lap lovingly while the shorter one attempts to perch her wide bottom on the arm of his chair.

"Hello Master Rickan," they gush, almost in unison.

She clenches her jaw and looks at Sari, allowing herself to huff with some realization. Sari rolls her eyes before winking at Mora. Sari, ignoring the close proximity of the two women, raises her glass and drinks her wine.

"Ladies," Rick says curtly. Though he doesn't look happy to have them fawning over him, he doesn't exactly shove them away.

Mora tears her eyes off of them, forcing herself to look at the table so that she doesn't get angry with jealousy. She thinks she now realizes the kind of man the Queen entrusted her life to.

"Master Rickan," the plump one says, trying to sound seductive, "Why do you stay in this dreary place? Come with us to the dance hall."

"We promise to share you this time," the other one chimes in.

"I'm free," offers James, scooting out from the table and patting his lap, trying to get some attention. Daniel and Lucas snicker at him. When the ladies look up to James, who is sitting directly to Mora's left, they spot her. She tries to keep her face blank but she has a hard time wiping off the vexed, smug smile on her face.

"What is this—do you have a new pet?" The one on Rick's lap says, too overly excited.

"Rebecca, Fanny, please meet Mora. She is staying with me for the week," his voice is calm.

"Lucky," Fanny, the fat one mutters.

"What a pleasure to meet you!" Rebecca, the tall one pours out.

Forcing herself to look up for the introduction, Mora is unable to remove the hostile tone from her voice, "Charmed."

"Mora is nobility from Derven," Rick adds, drawing her attention to him; he searches her face for a reaction. She isn't sure if he intentionally added 'nobility' to irritate her or the two women fondling him. They see the obvious threat in her eyes at their rivalry, even if he doesn't. The frantic look in their faces lets her know that they view her as an obstacle in getting what they want from Rick.

Quickly they get up and scurry over to Mora. Rebecca perches herself on the edge of the table next to her, while Fanny stands too close to her side; she reaches out and grabs Mora's braid.

"Oh do come with us, Master Rickan...you can bring your pet too. We will fix her hair and paint her face so that she shines like a star in the night," Fanny's words, though meant to be flattering, annoy Mora.

"Or at least we'll try... it's unfortunate that we can't do as much as needed with so little time," Mora doesn't need to look at Rebecca to know that she is trying to insult her.

She turns her head to the yellow one, reaching up to grab her braid back from her, "Thank you but I much rather prefer the company in the tavern." James and Lucas snicker in amusement.

"Huh," the one in blue huffs, "For someone who is supposed to be nobility I am surprised you would decline such an offer from a Lady. I would think you'd know your own kind, when you see them," her face is distorted with a sneer; because of her thick make up, Mora can't help but think she looks like a poorly conceived child's painting.

"Yea," the other one says, taking a hint from her friend.

"Trust me, when I say that I mean this in the nicest way possible," Mora says slowly, making sure that the two pathetic excuses for nobility understand her; she looks up to Rebecca but with the cold demeanor of a Princess emanating from her, everyone knows that she is talking down to the woman, "but we are not of the same kind."