Obsidian: Retribution (Book 2)

Twenty: Teach Me How to Swim

It took Lasura a while to realize what Djari iza Zuri was doing. In her hand was a small piece of what looked like fresh meat of some kind, staring at the piece of meat was his young spotted eagle, wings opened and head held high, stomping its sharp talons into the ground one foot at a time, the other lifting awkwardly high in the air.  The eaglet, now as tall as a man's forearm with a wingspan that reached twice the length of a sword was just learning how to fly. Lasura had left him here, tied up while he went out to hunt. When he returned, Djari was already there, both eagle and bharavi too occupied with what they were doing to notice him stepping into the cave.

Or they had but proceeded to ignore his presence in any case. He had a feeling she would do that. The damn eagle, however, had no excuse.

Lasura squared his shoulders and stepped forward, putting on an air of aggressive confidence he believed his father might have exuded, made sure he puffed up his chest to match. "Are you training my eagle to dance, iza Zuri? Without my permission?"

The bird and the bharavi turned. Two matching pairs of yellow eyes blinked as if noticing his presence the first time, before both saw fit to resume their interrupted activity.

That fucking chicken, Lasura thought, is going to be roasted alive and eaten for dinner tonight, I swear.

"Naa'ul," he pitched his voice to carry, cranked up the hostility in it to make a point, and followed through with a whistle. The call filled the cave with its high-pitch echoes, gave the command an authority to rival the whip Djari often cracked at her horses and Lasura a brief sense of accomplishment.

The bird, of course, didn't move an inch.

Djari, still ignoring his presence, tossed the food in her hand at Naa'ul and dropped the leash she had been holding. When the bird finished eating, she turned to him and said, instructionally, "Try calling again."

For some reasons unknown to him and his missing manhood, Lasura found himself responding to her command with award-winning promptness and obedience to rival one of her horses before he could stop himself. "Naa'ul."

The eagle, this time, came quickly. It landed on his left shoulder, struggling for a moment to find balance, forcing him to hold back a wince when those sharp talons dug into his flesh. You didn't do that in front of a woman, especially one with the potential to have you roll over and play dead on command by the next Raviyani.

"You can't distract an animal from its meal before it's been meticulously trained," she said, brushing the sand off her tunic as she rose to her feet. "He's very young and early in the stage of his training. Start with simple commands and be consistent. Only add another when he's learned the current ones to near perfection. Repeat often. They can be forgetful if you neglect the exercise."

He did know those things, but you didn't interrupt a bharavi when she was in the middle of giving you instructions. Or any woman, for that matter. There was a reason why he was popular among girls in the Black Tower. Most of the time they just wanted to be listened to, respected, and taken seriously (if not also deified at the highest possible standards). He didn't see why they shouldn't be given these things. He liked women, and they liked him.

Just not his mother.

Perhaps also Djari.

Or maybe bharavis in general.

She walked up to him––to the bird to be precise––and reached out to touch Naa'ul. The eagle lurched forward to snap at her hand, and Djari hissed sharply at the response, got the bird to straighten abruptly out of sheer terror. Perhaps also Summer waiting outside, and had he not been gripping on his ego with his life he might have done so just as promptly.