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Jordan's World

By Allen Steadham

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JORDAN WOKE TO THE LIGHT from the distant twin stars Hylot and Ghorot, “The Brothers” in the Mokta language. She rolled to her side, half-tempted to go back to sleep. But icy winds forced open the flaps of her tent and made her squint, holding close the furs covering her until the gust ceased. Whether she liked it or not, she was awake now. As with most mornings, she dragged herself out of her tent, stood up and stretched. The frigid air bit into her lungs as she took a deep breath. She then exhaled slowly. Moisture from the snow-covered ground and the smells of the nearby tall, slender trees and fall flowering plants greeted her. The scents of the rest of her hunting pack, still sleeping in their tents, mingled with the freshness of the morning. She ran her hands through her long, soft dark brown hair, untangling waves as she went, and then secured it into a braided ponytail.

Looking at the mountain in the distance, the birds and clouds in the sky,
Jordan smiled at the wonder of another day. Soon, she and the other hunters
would be pursuing a giant Sasstonn, an animal that looked like what would
happen if a woolly mammoth crossbred with a cheetah, or two. It was their
job to secure a meat supply for the coming months.

She performed additional stretches to loosen up her limbs and to ready for
the coming challenges of the day. A tent’s flap rustled, and footsteps crunched through the thin soft snow.

“Will you be performing the fire dance for us soon, Jorr-Don?” Zoska
asked in the Mokta language. “Or were you intending to break your spine to
avoid the hunt?”
“Neither. The stretches loosen me up,” Jordan replied in Mokta. “I do them
every morning and they help me.”
“I eat a hearty meal every morning. That helps me!”
“Are you saying I do not eat well?”

Curious, Jordan turned to her friend. Zoska tilted her head slightly and
raised an eyebrow.

“You eat well enough now. You used to eat like an insect. That is why it
took so long to train you.”
“You were a good mentor.”
“I am still a good mentor!”

Jordan chuckled.

“Yes. But I do not understand why you parent me so much. You are only
two cycles older than me.”
“You are a handful, darkhair,” Zoska said with a smile. “Maybe you need a
second parent!”
“Maybe,” Jordan said, returning the smile. “Shall we start the morning
meal?”
“Why should we do that?” Zoska replied. “Let the other member of this
pack make it!”
“You have tasted Reiban’s cooking, right?” Jordan grimaced.

Zoska stared at Jordan for a moment. She wrinkled her nose in dismay.

“Yes. Yes, I have,” Zoska said. “I will get started on the food.”

Jordan pulled some kindling wood from one of the bags and started a fire
for the cooking. She caught a glance of Zoska entering her tent to get
ingredients. Jordan then returned her attention to maintaining the flames.
Zoska befriended me when I still did not want any friends, ties or
connections to this world, Jordan thought. She helped me out of my despair
and self-pity. She listened to me and then reached out and told me what I
needed to hear. I will always owe her for that.

“Do you remember when we met, the night I arrived on Algoran, four
cycles ago?” Jordan asked as she started the fire.
“Yes, I was the first to find you. You had such thin clothing and were
shaking from the chill.”
“Even the coldest nights where I grew up were warm compared to here,”
Jordan said.

She wasn’t feeling frigid at the moment, but the memory made her
involuntarily shiver.

“You were hurt from going through the, what did you call it —‘porr-tahl,’”
Zoska added. “Reiban and I were not sure you two would survive.”
“I could not understand a word you said but I could tell you were worried
about me and Gemta,” Jordan replied, using the Mokta word for mother.
“You were strange-looking, with your light skin, brown hair, and white
eyes,” Zoska said. “But Chieftess had told us that your kind might be brought to us. And that you would not be prepared for life on this world. I knew I had to help you, even if you did scare me.”
“I scared you?” Jordan chuckled. “I would never have known.”

Jordan had never been frightened of the Mokta. She considered them a
handsome people, with their red skin, black scleras instead of white, amber
irises, pointed ears and white hair. They were about a foot shorter than Jordan and her gemta, but they were stronger and faster than any human.

“I could not tell you that. It would have been a sign of weakness,” Zoska
replied.
“I would not have seen it that way.”

Jordan added a little more kindling wood to the small fire, watched the
flames and smoke build along with the heat.

“I did not know you well then. I could not take that chance,” Zoska
continued.
“I am glad you told me now,” Jordan replied.

Zoska smiled in response.

“It surprised me that you and your mother learned our language so quickly.
It made things … easier.”
“Gemta has always been good at languages. I guess I am, too. At least
learning the Mokta language gave us time to adapt,” Jordan said. “Once we
could understand what you were saying to us, your gifts for storytelling
helped us learn Mokta culture, history and the importance of this mountain we live on. How do the Mokta remember all those details? The Mokta have no
written language.”

Jordan watched as Zoska tied her own hair into a ponytail. Jordan had
observed that younger Mokta kept their hair in longer styles while elders kept theirs short.

“Once we hear or see something, we always know it. We can see it in our
thoughts and recite it the way we experienced it.”
“Then I was right. It is a gift,” Jordan said.
Zoska smiled. “I suppose you could say that. I had never given it much
thought. It is a normal thing to the Mokta, like living in the village.”

The Mokta tribe occupied a mountainous region which was relatively easy
to defend from invaders or rival tribes. The hunters wore tough animal hides
and furs. Those in other village professions wore more elaborate clothes made from woven fibers and colored with dyes.

From inside her tent near the flap, Zoska was still pondering which
ingredients to use for breakfast. She looked into one of the bags and called out to Jordan.

“Do you want wibb eggs, wibb eggs, or wibb eggs?” Zoska asked.
“Wibb eggs are fine,” Jordan smiled. “Oh, tell me you still have some of
your spicy lahna to go with it.”
“Fortune smiles on you this day, my friend!”
“Yes! Your lahna is so good, you could sell it at the market.”
“My torkomm does sell it at market,” Zoska said, alluding to her father.
“And for a good price, too.”

Jordan’s smile faltered as she suddenly felt wistful and lonely. Zoska had
stopped gathering eggs and Jordan could see the concern in her eyes.

“You mentioned your torkomm and it reminded me of mine. I miss him,”
Jordan answered her friend’s unspoken question. “I was angry with him right
before my gemta and I were taken. I regret not making things right.”
“Forgive, Jorr-Don,” Zoska said. “I did not think about my words.”
“No, it is okay. I am okay. I know my family is here now … with the
tribe.”
“Tribe is family but not like blood,” Zoska said.
“No, not like blood,” Jordan repeated. “I miss my torkomm—and my
younger brother, Mark.”
“Do you sometimes wish he had been taken with you?”

Jordan shook her head nervously.

“No. At least he is still on Earth with my torkomm,” she said. “I do not
know what I would have done if he had gotten sick with the Shilvaba like
Gemta.”
Zoska nodded. “You are the reason she survived.”
“I only stayed with her. Healer Latas gave me good instructions: when to
give her the medical salve, how to handle her fever and tremors—the loss of
her sight. I would not have been able to watch my brother also.”
“Chieftess Kitranor would have told the tribe to help with him. And your
gemta still would have lived.”

Jordan put her hand on Zoska’s shoulder and smiled at her.

“Thank you. I noticed you did not say you would have helped with my
brother?”
Zoska grinned. “No, I did not. I had to parent you.”
“You did. And so did Chieftess.”
Zoska’s expression turned sympathetic. “Your only blood relative on
Algoran could have died from the Shilvaba. Many have, even during my
cycles,” she said. “You were so … lost during that first wintertime. I feared you might perish from sadness.”
Jordan felt older than her twenty-one cycles. “I had to live,” she said. “It
was the only way she was going to make it.”
Zoska nodded somberly. “But she did recover. You were able to learn the
hunt, as all young ones do. And your gemta helped in the harvest fields.”
“Yes. She can use her other senses well there—touch, hearing and smell.
Sight is not as important.”
“And because of my training, you are a decent huntress,” Zoska added.
“’Decent?’” Jordan raised an eyebrow in mock offense. Zoska laughed in
response.

Reiban had arisen and approached his hunting companions. He was lean for a Mokta but strong and fast. He had almond-shaped eyes, a long and thin nose and somewhat small mouth. He had his own share of hunting scars on his arms and legs.

“This hits the spot,” Jordan said in English as she savored her eggs.
“Dizz hitz thah spaht? What are these words you speak, Jorr-Don?” Zoska
asked.
“I think she said something in her old language,” Reiban added.
“I am sorry. It, um, lost something in translation,” Jordan said. “I was
saying I really enjoyed the meal. Thanks.”
“We will need to go soon,” Reiban said. “The Sasstonns will be stirring
and it is best to catch them unaware.”
“For once, Reiban is right,” Zoska deliberately provoked an irritated glare
from the young man. “We should go, Jorr-Don!”
“Pack up your gear then, I will be right behind you,” Jordan allowed the
last of her eggs, which were smothered in lahna sauce, to slide off the stone plate into her mouth.
“What a beast!” Zoska taunted. “Perhaps we should be hunting you!”

The trio laughed at that as Reiban attended to the rinsing of the plates.
Zoska began packing gear.

Jordan drank some water from the stream and organized her hunting gear
within a handful of minutes. She looked at the silver ring on her right hand, which had a sapphire gem embedded at its center. It had been given to her by her father a year before her abduction.

Dad, Mark, I have not given up hope! I may not know where Algoran is or
how The Abductors brought us here, but if there is a way for me and Mom to
come home to you, I swear I am going to find it!

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