Eight magnificent creatures had Kiet for his mother captured from the heart of the nameless woods; one every year since his sixteenth namesday. The only exception had been during his third-and-twentieth year—the year he spent in Anglioc—though that had quickly been rectified by his capture of the mooncat the following blooming season. The rarest, deadliest beast he had yet to find, and also his grandest and final gift for his mother.

Now all her creatures were from her menagerie released; purchased by rich collectors, scattered to seas and rivers and mountains and forests across the realm, or lost to the city and skies.

He thought his hunting days were over, yet there he was once again, deep in the nameless woods. But now it was his father's tent erected across his, made of silver curtains rimmed in black. A silhouette of the royal capradon was printed upon each downturned wing of the tent, the beast's head and ever-branching horns fluttering upon the flag capping its peak.

Kiet's own tent was far less grand in comparison. Silver and blue. They were the colours of his maternal House; so long had he worn them he had grown attached to the combination. Perhaps it was time to reclaim them from his mother.

'Can't sleep?' Akai had wandered from the campfire bridging the five royal tents to pass him a tankard of wine.

Kiet took the drink, watched over the men keeping warm by the fire. He avoided it himself—it was already hot and humid enough as it is, especially with spring nipping at their heels. Neither were any of his family present. His father had passed out the moment his tent had been assembled, Khaisan kept himself busy with a handful of serving girls in the privacy of his own tent; the other two belonged to Persi and his younger brother, Andhika—though Kiet had seen neither since they arrived that afternoon.

'The hunt begins early at dawn,' warned Akai.

'Gods, you sound like my mother.'

'What troubles you, maharaj?'

'Nothing.'

His eyes trailed south, where beyond the trees and further scatter of tents lay the road to the Water Palace.

Akai sniffed. 'I can catch up to the academy instructor and your dhayang if you wish. See them safely through.'

'Nonsense. They'd be at the Water Palace already by now.' Isla had used the Blooming Season Hunt as an opportunity to visit her friend at the so-named palace. At least that was what she claimed; but Kiet knew by now the way that duplicitous mind of hers worked.

She must have acquired it from Chei. It had been months now since Sindhu confirmed her parentage. Somehow he had managed to trace Alain back to a small fishing town in Djatiswara, where he had assumed his wife's family name, and from there did Sindhu find records of both Isla and her sister's births. Funny how Chei never had to raise her to pass on her affinity for scheming.

Kiet played now with the chain around his neck, the copper wire caging Isla's bloodrune cold against his chest.

She knew the hunting party would—before returning to Kathedra—dine and rest at the Water Palace, and she only looked for the excuse to test Judhistir's mind where he least would suspect.

Three months. She was sure enough time had passed.

So was his father more swiftly weary, so had slowly his acumen waned over his past Days of Audience, and so was he calm and agreeable and his attentions oft strayed ... still Kiet liked to take no chances.

And still is he my father.

Kiet sighed, handed the goblet back to Akai, and crossed the small clearing into Judhistir's tent.

He was awake when Kiet entered, sitting atop a pile of sheepskin rugs, propped between blankets and cushions and a small table at his side. The oil lantern upon it hissed and cast a yellow glow over the pavilion.

'Kiet! Mine son! How pleased am I to behold you, ere the morrow our grand adventure commences!' He flung his arms out to greet him, and Kiet folded down to his knees to clasp his father and help him sit a little straighter against his cushions. The skin of his arms were soft and stretched, now that neither robes nor sleeves hid them from Kiet's touch.

He found himself lingering in Judhistir's embrace longer than intended.

'Speak!' His hands trembled even when he gave Kiet a simple pat on the back. 'What brings you to this humble shelter of mine?'

'Can a man not visit his own father?'

'Ha! I am near eighty, not near delusion.'

'I only wished to see how you fared, following our ride. My Rama joined us not for the evening meal.'

Judhistir waved his concerns aside with a flap of a hand. 'Blessèd is mine blood with the grace of crowns. Long and prosperous do we remain, far beyond those of the ungraced; and e'er moreso once lies the prized beast within mine hands.'

'The red king crane.'

'Aye! The red king crane! Two cycles of the moon ere now came it upon a night visitation, and since has it remained in mine every waking thought ... a dream so vivid, so rich in its clarity ...'

Kiet nodded, chuckled to himself as Judhistir—once more—recounted the dream he dreamed of the red king crane.

Every year it was the same. In one manner or the other would he become fixated on a particular creature, and in that year's Blooming Season Hunt would it become the Rama's prized beast. Some years would it be a futile hunt—a search for the mythical gold-bearded nagha; other years would be more improbable than impossible—a hunt for the near-extinct kanōhi or the elusive silver stag. Then there were challenging or even mundane years—the pursuit of a gumara serpent or a wild hog ...

The red king crane would be a challenge. They were rare and fast and came only in pairs, not flocks. A symbol of prosperity and longevity—it would make a suitable gift for the Rama, now that Kiet looked upon his sagging cheeks and darkening spots on the edges of his forehead. How thin his hair had grown; how white and balded now, without a headpiece or crown to hide it.

'East and south, it whispered into mine ears,' finished Judhister. 'O'er the deep-blue waters of Spiderseye, far across the sprawling spires in whose shadow it stretches ...'

The Maha Rama yawned. Kiet smiled. 'I see I must beg leave of you, Rama.'

'No, no ... that is why we camp here, Kiet, so close to the palace ...'

'Yes, Father.'

'You must tell no other! This secret I impart upon you, mine son, so that you can claim the beast!'

'I shall do my best.'

'Ah ... but how cold ... truly this thunder in mine veins has for too long cackled.'

Kiet pulled the furs over him, bowed his forehead low against the backs of the Rama's hands. 'Sit out the hunt tomorrow, Father. Let me find for you the red king crane.'

'And escape the joys of youth?' His father laughed, shaky and faint. 'How little you know me, Kiet. Alas shall you see me in the morn. Only pour me a drink before you leave; it is so, so cold.'

The Rama waved at a table paces behind Kiet, where a jug and clay cup stood perched upon a tray. For once was it not the cobra and scorpion entangled in death that made his stomach churn. Kiet took a deep breath and poured.

   
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'My father felled the prize last blooming season,' Khaisan's voice drifted into the air far ahead of him, 'but it was I who tracked it down. A silver-tusked hog. You see this spear? It is made of its left tusk; a gift from the Rama for my part in his success, and today—today will I use it to strike down the red king crane!'

Not with all that noise you're making.

Khaisan's men laughed and cheered alongside him.

Most of the company that rode with them were the younger nobleborn men and sons of Surikhand; the only exception being Persi's sattwapeut, who for some reason rode not with his master, but his master's son.

Fadjira, that was his name. A middle-aged man with wide ears and a shrinking hairline. He had tried several more times to meet Kiet and his swiftlet, and Kiet was running short of excuses to deny him. Perhaps that is why he rides with Khaisan.

The hunting party had that dawn all scattered into groups: Persi rode west for the marshes, Andhika scouted back north to trail the river they had yesterday passed, whilst the Rama and his noble guests headed south towards the Water Palace.

'Remember,' Judhistir had stopped him when he brought his horse up to join them. 'east and south.'

So was he trapped with his nephew, riding east into the deep of the nameless woods, trailing the distant, undulating song of birds. Akai and Taeichi flanked his grey djarwadi. The trees were fresh with the first kiss of spring; half-bare branches coated with a sunburst of sprigs and buds. The forest undergrowth was still light with moss and grass that broke into patches of dry earth as their horses trampled through.

'The durumi, we call them in Tsunai,' muttered Taeichi under his breath, the scowl never leaving his face, 'and on our side of the Kapuluan Raja, it is blasphemous to harm a single crown upon its head.'

'Don't you eat their eggs?' asked Akai.

Taeichi's eyes were deceptively calm when he regarded the captain, but he said no more. One of Khaisan's guests had slowed his sandalwood enough to ride close to Kiet. 'I believe this is the first time you're joining the Blooming Season Hunt, maharaj.'

'That is so.'

'Might I ask what convinced you to attend this year?' He wore marbled peach and powder blue robes, printed in a seamless pattern of the great white trillium.

Raj Andaru, the youngest son of House Dyaspar. And a distant cousin of his on his mother's side. She had been an Almandanu prior to her marriage—a House of high nobility in their own right—but her mother had from the grander Dyaspar line come.

They boasted ancient blood of both Tsun and Surikh monarchs alike, if the stories were true. House Dyaspar were as soft and serene as the Obusirjan were hardened and proud, and Andaru was no exception. He wore an ossa so long its tunic flowed to his ankles, and on horseback the satin spread around his mount like a blanket. He'd not much changed since last Kiet saw him; months before his delegation to Anglioc. 'The truth is my mother had always kept me from the hunt. You know how she felt about the practice.'

Andaru lowered his face. 'Of course. May Ogbu embrace her.'

'Ogbu embrace her.'

'She would take you every year to visit your maternal home, maharaj, back when we were children.'

'Indeed.' Kiet smiled at the memory. When did that stop? When his theurgy erupted and all their attentions were diverted to its study? 'We would make time to visit also the tranquil halls of the Dyaspar Temples. The wind used to sing through its cloisters.'

'They still do, if you care to revisit, now that your errand is well behind you.'

If only that were true. 'I shall certainly make time for the Temples, though I doubt it would be appropriate for us to climb the bell towers like we used to.'

Andaru chuckled. Someone snorted from the company ahead of them—Khaisan or his horse, it was difficult to tell. At any rate, it was the crown prince who spoke, 'Need I pitch a tent for the two of you?'

His men laughed. Andaru flushed. Kiet shared with his captain a weary look.

'You'd like that, would you not?' He nudged his djarwadi to a gentle trot until they came up close behind Khaisan and his dark buckskin. 'Whatever it takes to keep me from winning this year's hunt?'

'How can you hope to find the red king crane when you cannot even say where your own bird has flown?'

Would you not like to know where he is? Khaisan had been keeping a close eye on him indeed if he knew of Nagha's absence. Kiet had last seen him two, three turns of the week ago. 'He comes and goes as he pleases, nephew. Our Rama is not the only one who craves a good hunt.' His hunger has been insatiable, of late. He had grown as large as a griffon vulture and with an appetite to match.

'How unfortunate. Now must you rely upon your own skills to track the Rama's prize.'

Kiet laughed. 'If it weren't for all the noise you've been making, I'd have already the crane in my net.'

'If my methods dissatisfy you, feel free to test your own. Or were you hoping to filch off my lead?'

I thought you'd never ask. 'Very well; I can see where my company is not desired.' Kiet pulled his horse to a stop, motioned for his men to follow suit. They had ridden east far enough. East and south, over the deep-blue waters of Spiderseye, his father had said. Any further east and he'd never find the lake. 'Best of luck, Khaisan.'

'Luck is for the untrained.' Khaisan pulled on the black cuffs around his wrists. 'This is my eighth Blooming Season Hunt; three of those saw me claim the prize, and in three more had I been the first to track the beast.'

'Ah, but you never had me to contend against.'

'How about a friendly wager, then?'

'What are we, children?'

'Not so confident after all?' Khaisan sneered. 'Come, a bird for a bird. If I win the prize this year, you'll allow my sattwapeut to inspect your abomination of a swiftlet.'

'Nagha is no more under my control than he is yours.'

'Would you prefer allow me a night with your sister?'

Kiet drummed his fingers upon the pommel of his saddle. He knew what Khaisan was doing, but still it irked him some. 'Sure, though enjoy explaining that one to the Rama.'

'You're right. A mahasuri is best saved for the marital bed. A dhayang, on the other hand—'

Kiet caught his men's warning glares, and he clamped his ire down upon his saddle. 'Come Akai, Seiji,' he called to his men, using Taeichi's false name. 'We're wasting time.'

'What? Afraid to put your fish in the crocodile's mouth?' Khaisan called out as Kiet started south.

'No, nephew; it is simply a matter of principle. I cannot gamble what belongs not to me, and neither my sister nor the dhayang are mine to stake upon for some child's play.'

'You hear that?' Khaisan looked to his men in glee, but none dared this time to give more than a chuckle. 'My uncle knows he'd only lose his concubine to me.'

It was Akai now who gripped Kiet's saddle to keep him from turning back. Kiet stared over his shoulder at the maharam, separated by a shoot of trees and enough space between them for a proper clash of steel.

'I've no interest in a wager against you. You have nothing I desire, nothing worthy of competition, so tell me, why must I engage?'

Khaisan's face turned swiftly red. 'You forget yourself, Kiet.'

'Am I wrong? The only thing of value you have is title to the throne.'

'Obviously waging the throne is going too far—'

'Afraid to put your fish in the crocodile's mouth?' Khaisan's hands shook where they gripped his reins. Kiet waved him down before the maharam could build himself an aneurysm. 'But as I've said, you have nothing I desire, Khaisan, including your throne. So you better praise Fjōr for your fortune.'

   
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☆ this chapter is dedicated to Faithfully_Munchkin ☆

Video: Atmospherious
Image: Left images—original artist unknown; right image—© David Benzal at ArtStation

Random fact: Like everything else in this story, the animals mentioned in this chapter aren't all completely made-up! The red king crane is very loosely based on the red-crowned crane, also known as a durumi in Japan. A gumara is loosely based on several Southeast-Asian mythological snakes including Philippine's markupo and the Bornean nabau. Even Kiet's djarwadi is based on the historic Marwari horse breed from India. I wonder if you can guess more?