On the Usefulness of Others

Oriala could hardly keep her eyes open against the low-angled glare of bright, early morning sunlight beaming from behind her. She had been riding Arroyo since the previous nightfall, and was wondering how long it would be until she fell off her mount’s back. Surely she could not stay awake for much longer.

The long, bizarre shadow she and Arroyo cast together stretched along the street ahead of them, leading the way West, towards the mountains on the far side of Syla, capital city of the spreading empire of Sibbol. Somewhere beyond those mountains was Kesh, her homeland, and the homeland of the short-faced fuserdu she rode.

The bipedal creature stood taller than a man, strutting away from the dawn like a giant rooster. Perched on his back, Oriala could look down on any person she met. Not only his movement but also his shape was fowl-like at a glance. At a second glance, the illusion of a cockerel would be broken. Arroyo did indeed have long ankles that looked like backward-bending knees, and he balanced on three-toed feet tipped with talons, but no barnyard bird had a thick neck like that of a horse, nor a short, iguana-like head counterbalanced by a long and muscular tail. Arroyo’s hide was unfeathered, scaly lizard skin.

On either side rose huge stables where fuserdus were housed for taming, training, and fuserdu fighting, as well as buildings towering six levels high and crammed full of poor, low class people.

Oriala had never thought of herself as rich, but she certainly did not count as poor. Her body and clothing were clean, and she had always had enough to eat.

All that was over now. She had nothing but the clothing she wore, and the food and flasks of water crammed into the pack on her back and the bags hanging from Arroyo’s saddle.

Without Arroyo, she doubted she would ever have had the courage to flee. Too many Fortunate tried, only to be caught again and punished for their ‘ungratefulness’. No escapee could get far on foot without secret helpers and safehouses. Oriala had always thought it foolish to put her trust in another, especially someone she had never met who could easily turn her in.

When Arroyo was dragged into the stable where she was assigned to work, fighting in spite of the heavy blinding cloth held over his eyes by his head harness, Oriala recognized a fellow captive. She hid behind the dangerous fuserdu to shield herself from the constant, close presence of the master’s son, Tucal. When her constant kind treatment of Arroyo calmed the animal, she took measures to ensure he remained frightening to others. Even now, his gape chains hung loose, jangling a little with Arroyo’s every step and head movement. She had never heard of anyone else giving their fuserdus a free mouth.

“Good morning!” a voice said.

Oriala jumped in the saddle before she remembered to look down. A little boy was looking up at her, hands reaching up as he hurried to keep pace with Arroyo’s long strides. She pulled back on the reins, bringing her fuserdu to a halt. Since it was only a child speaking to her, she also firmly pulled on the gape chains, and Arroyo closed his mouth. His experience with her taught him he would be released later. Oriala clasped the chain so Arroyo couldn’t open his mouth until she was ready.

“Do you have anything to spare, Fortunate One?” the boy asked.

“No,” she said sternly. She was aiming for Kesh. She could not afford to spare any of her precious, carefully scrounged supplies.

The boy’s hopeful smile warped into a frown. “My brother is ill and hungry,” he pestered.

Oriala also frowned. She could see the boy’s arms alone were too skinny; both limbs together would hardly match the girth of a fence bar in a fuserdu stable. Still, she had nothing in excess, certainly not enough for her entire journey. “Be off,” she said coldly.

The boy’s mouth pressed into a flat line of determination. His uplifted hands closed on one of the dangling bags and yanked so hard the strap broke. Before Oriala could shout, he was running away. The sudden touch of the bag against Arroyo’s side startled him. He spun towards the feeling, jerking his head against the reins and working his jaw against the gape chains. For a moment, Oriala was glad she had closed Arroyo’s mouth. A moment later, frustration overwhelmed her. She’d been robbed! If she had left Arroyo’s mouth free, the boy might have kept his distance, and if he had not, Arroyo might have snapped at him and made him drop the bag.

Perhaps she had put too much work into taming Arroyo. Perhaps he could serve her better if he was more afraid of things.

She noticed someone standing below her on the street, next to her leg, and looked down. Suddenly she was in the dark stable again, Tucal leering up at her, reaching for her, but his face was that of the boy who had stolen her bag. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Why was she back here? Her whole escape and ride through the night streets had been a dream! Arroyo felt stiff and dead between her legs, unmoving though she leaned forward and tapped his sides with her heels. She had to move and get away! She was falling from Arroyo’s back—

Oriala jerked herself upright in the saddle, barely saving herself from a fall, blinking in the morning glare. Her eyes had closed without her even realizing. She dismounted her fuserdu. The drop was brief, but her landing was clumsy, her feet numb with sleep and anxiety. She managed to keep one hand on Arroyo, and she ran it along his side and neck until she had walked all the way to his head. Oriala flipped the reins forward over Arroyo’s head and released the clasp on the gape chains. He opened and closed his maw a few times, sticky saliva stretching between his upper and lower teeth, rotten meat stench billowing out. Oriala knew of no one besides herself who dared to stand beside a fuserdu whose mouth was free. She began walking, and Arroyo followed at her tug on the reins.

The street opened into a market square. Merchants were awake, arranging wares. This was a market full of practical things for the poor who lived in the surrounding area.

Smells wafted from a market stand selling hot food. Oriala’s mouth watered as she looked at a small loaf of bread topped with a thick hunk of melty cheese. She’d been going hungry at meals so she could hide the food and pack it for her journey.

“Bartering or paying?” the woman tending the little fire behind the counter asked.

Oriala had not meant to stop and stare. Her stomach felt so empty. She was not familiar with hunger. “Neither,” she said. “Only looking.”

“I don’t recognize you,” the woman commented. “Are you a new trainer?” She squinted as she leaned over her counter.

“Oh! You’re one of the Fortunate! They don’t usually come here. Where are you traveling to?” The woman was peering at the obvious bags hanging from Arroyo’s saddle.

Anger burned through Oriala, and she clenched her reins tighter. She wanted to back away and leave, but her refusal to answer might arouse suspicion. Tucal would surely come after her once he was sober again, and she had no desire to leave a trail of tales and sightings behind herself. “I am—”

Something touched Oriala’s shoulder, and she whirled to face the toucher, ready to duck under Arroyo’s throat and scramble into his saddle on the far side, fully expecting to see Tucal standing behind her.

It was a young man, younger than her, hardly more than a boy. “I apologize,” he said, “but I have an early start at my apprenticeship. If you are still deciding, may I make my purchase quickly?”

“I am making no purchase,” Oriala said to both of them. “I am on an errand for my Beloved.” The dreadful word used in place of owner slipped from her lips so easily, as they expected it to. She seethed inside as she tried to look calm and obedient and fortunate to serve a beloved master, instead of enraged at these disgusting people who lived in a disgusting empire. “Would you help me up?” she asked the young man. He made a stirrup of his hands and boosted her. As she settled in her saddle, Oriala got an awfully appealing idea. It would be so easy for Arroyo to stomp through the flimsy market stand if she drove him forward into it. The little bucket of fire could be steered around. He would make a grand mess of the inquisitive woman’s morning.

Tempting as it was, that would certainly draw attention. Someone might even call for a soldier patrol to kill the rampaging fuserdu. She needed to move on quickly.

Arroyo walked forward at her urging, seemingly content to do what she asked. He was not suffering hunger pangs like her. That shop held little interest for him.

People shied out of Arroyo’s way as he passed through the market. Some cast dark looks up at Oriala, angry at her parading the dangerous animal through their neighborhood.

Tall buildings rose around her again as she entered a street on the West side of the market. The style of the buildings slowly changed as they progressed, shortening and spreading out in less levels. The streets were clean instead of full of trash and fuserdu droppings. There was even a pattern of colored paving stones worked in among the plain ones. Other Fortunate were exiting the grand houses, some riding on fuserdus like her. All the animals’ mouths were shut, held by gape chains cinched tight. Questioning looks were aimed at Oriala, but she pretended not to see, focusing hard on holding the loose gape chain in one hand and the reins in the other. These were her people, fellow Fortunate. They would not bother her. They all had their own business to attend to.

Some Fortunate on foot were slightly unsteady in their walking. Oriala felt Arroyo’s gait smooth under her, and saw his stare settle on those unsteady. In response, she pulled on the gape chain. He resisted, triggered to hunt, but finally allowed his mouth to be closed when she stroked his neck to both distract and soothe him. She slumped in exhaustion.

“See the wild girl speak to her beast!” a woman sneered up at Oriala. Her clothing had a little colorful embroidery on it, meaning she likely worked in a house near her Beloved, not in a stable like Oriala.

“She looks tired,” another woman’s voice called out, and this one Oriala recognized. A woman who had once seen Tucal shadowing Oriala, and had laughed at her after he walked away. “Did drink make your Beloved’s son overcome his fear of your pet? Have you had a long night with Tucal?”

Oriala’s throat clenched, and tears burned her eyes. Everyone, all the Fortunate in the street, could hear those words.

All these people were terrible! They could not even give her the help of quietly mingling with them to avoid suspicion! She freed Arroyo’s mouth and reached back to slap the dangling bags against his sides.

The reaction was quick and violent. Arroyo snapped at every moving thing around him, people and fuserdus. The sneering women screamed and ran, nearly getting rammed by another fuserdu whose rider was trying to urge it away from Arroyo. The panic ran down the street, Oriala and Arroyo the cause of it all. It felt exhilarating.

The chaos Oriala had created spilled out of the rich street and into a market for the rich, full of silly trinkets and expensive clothing and luxury imported goods. The running Fortunate and their mounts dispersed into the maze of the densely packed marketplace, leaving Oriala breathing hard atop Arroyo. He snapped at a vendor, and she yanked one side of his reins with both hands to pull his head away. With an insistent kick in both sides, she managed to drive him into a hesitant walk.

Up ahead, Oriala glimpsed a family of four under an awning striped thinly with yellow and red. Five short-faced Keshan fuserdus were tied to a hitching post nearby. The family had wares spread on blankets on the stone pavement. Their skin was a bit darker than hers, but the hair looked the same, straight and black. The woman wore a yellow scarf around her head.

Keshans. Keshans in the market on the day she was trying to escape to Kesh. None of their fuserdus were wearing gape chains. Their mouths were held by loose ropes, obviously long enough to let them open a little, but not wide enough to bite anyone.

She urged Arroyo closer to the stand, then slid to the ground as he was still walking. “Hello—” she started, when a little boy darted forward and said something she couldn’t understand. Arroyo’s head plunged down and his mouth opened. Oriala hardly managed to shove his head away from the child. “I apologize!”

The man snatched his son away. “Keep your ikar under control!”

“I did not expect—”

“You should have! I saw you chasing the others into the square! This ikar is obviously untrained and dangerous.”

“I am sorry, but I want to ask for—”

“No! You may not ask me for anything. Be off!” He was glaring, his little son held behind him with one hand, the other pointing her away.

“Please! Listen to me!”

“I am listening to your accent. You are one of the Fortunate of Sibbol?”

She nodded hopefully.

“You are dressed like the Sylans. You are riding an ikar like the Sylans. You have been corrupted by these people, to treat a beast like your tool instead of your faithful companion! Even now he is under no one’s control and is a danger to all. Be off with you!”

Oriala turned away, tugging on Arroyo’s reins. He strained against her, flicking his head back and forth in agitation at the pressure. Just as he had when she had first tried to lead him. When he feared her along with everyone else.

Arroyo stepped away from her pulling, just as she had stepped away from Tucal's touching. She yanked harder, frustration growing. "Move!"

Her tone sounded just like Tucal's when he wanted her to stand still instead of distancing herself from him. When he wanted her to serve his pleasure. When he expected to be given whatever he wanted, no matter what it was or who it came from.

"I apologize," Oriala whispered as Arroyo moaned in distress, and she slackened the reins.