Page 86 of Born for Silk
Now, citizens live for Purpose. With value. And, yes, it's flawed, like most things, but it stays true to its code and assurances—you will be safe in The Trade system.
Outside it, nothing is certain.
“Well, you're still young for a Xin De, but I see that some space between us will be good.” As he continues, he pulls a large hide case from under his single bed and places it on the perfectly crease-free sheet. “You'll be glad that I'm taking my leave to visit the Half-tower. The Shadows have completed their task, and the unrest is imminent. They need me now.”
Turning to leave, an odd sense of relief loosens my muscles, but then he says,
“Sire. She asked a lot of questions about the woman who birthed her. She is curious. It’s quite dangerous for one so young to be so inquisitive in these matters. I would punish her with a firm hand if she were mine.”
“But she is not,” I state, curt. “So, the pregnant Silk Girl? She is Darwin’s, then? What becomes of her?”
“Lantana. Yes. She will join another Trade after the birth. If she has a girl, they will become an excellent Silk Girl, I am sure,” he continues, dutifully laying the procedure out for me. “If she has a boy, we will wait to see what kind of babe he is and what Trade he fits.”
I leave. Shutting the door, I stride away. He could be in the Half-tower for months, reappointing lords and settling the unrest.
I grin at that.
After I shower and dress, I head outside with my rifle. First-light mist touches my shoulder from the east; it filters the sun, creating an eery glow.
Fortunately, I know the woods surrounding The Estate. Know the edges that cut along the windmill farm and the greenhouses, know the valley where the Aquilla cats stow away chickens stolen from our hutches.
And I have Odio.
Stalking across the gardens to the tree-line, I hear a branch snap in each ear. I scan the area, finding Bled and Turin Two at my left shoulder and Medan and Kong at my right.
Ready to hunt—we share this message in our stance, our weapons braced in front of us.
Behind them, Trade Hunters.
We hunt for leisure.
They hunt for Purpose.
With a nod, we stalk forward, weaving between the trees, woody limbs and leaves becoming mesh walls that filter the sand-burdened winds. As even the foliage in The Cradle has adapted to the gale.
The forest is dense.
Fielding off from me, my Collective disappear from view. The forest reaches all the way to the ocean, the bottom of the world.
We hunt in isolation, the only camaraderie shared is silent approval as short rounds echo, sending birds to the skies, wrenching howls and hisses from the surrounding cats.
Over the following hours, Odio guides me, hovering over warrens, and the forest reverberates with tormented squeals and cries.
The island’s native cat was once fucking extinct and now a damn pest.
It is crown-light, the brightest time of day, when I stroll into the forest clearing with three dead beasts hung around my neck, legs dangling down my chest.
Ahead, Turin Two, Medan, Kong, and The Trade Hunters are already regrouping, one by one, with their kill.
“How many did you see?” I ask Turin Two.
He is on his haunches on the grass, stabbing his knife into the thick coat of the cat, carving a seam down the stomach, and opening it up. He is wrist-deep in the guts while he says, “I saw at least a dozen make a break for it before I got this one and the other two in the sack. I shot down another two, but they dropped off the cliff into the ocean.”
“Kong?” I ask, looking over at him as he wraps a bite wound on his forearm with a piece of cloth.
“Ten, maybe fourteen,” he replies. “They breed as fast as the fucking chickens in summer.”
“Good.” Bled approaches from the east, dead cats stacked on his shoulders like logs. “I like the taste of cat. Better than chicken, and you know I’m not partial to ocean game.”