"I told him of troubles all through the south. All you hear are tales of marching and treasure."
Loria listened with some interest. Even a blind guide will sometimes find the trail, she thought.
"You hear so many things, but I am hungry. How about some more meat?" Winton was feeling lightheaded. Maybe a fuller stomach would anchor him.
Tayva had been basting and seasoning meat from Winton's crane. Finally the meat was cooked to her satisfaction.
Winton ate everything set before him. The skewers of crane meat went to his plate alone, and he never thought to share. Loria pressed him with strong drink, but in truth, she was hard put to keep his cup full. Tayva watched and said nothing.
"I heard that the ice fields are still retreating to the north. We live in a better world every day!" Winton proclaimed. The cousins thought of the luxury and power that they had enjoyed years before and were silent.
The women ate from one of the waterfowl and only moistened their lips as Winton downed great draughts of liquor. He was a bore and a glutton, but no expression of displeasure ever crossed their faces. The birdcatcher was finally in such a state that Loria decided it was time.
Winton cleared the table of its food and sat blearily looking at the cousins. "What now?" he asked and let go a great belch.
"Why, let's go fishing," Loria said brightly and winked at the drunken man.
"Why, what a marvelous idea!" Winton exclaimed and rose to his feet. He thrust himself up, using his hands against the table. The cups and clay plates slid to the floor, but he was too drunk to notice.
"Take my hand, Winton," Loria simpered, and he reached for it as she retreated through the door. Tayva had to hold his shoulder to steer him from the hut.
Winton stumbled as he was led out into the night. The moon was bright, but the landscape lacked detail to catch the eye. The dovecot was a den of darkness, and the slough was a meadow in the background.
"Come, Winton. Night fishing is fun. We've caught many in the night," Loria claimed coquettishly. She was ghostly in the moonlight, drawing him after her with her voice. Tayva was holding his right arm, keeping him oriented toward Loria. Tayva's feet instinctively drifted to the center of the narrow path, and Winton began to trip and lurch as he was forced to the side.
Winton's mind was cloudy, and he wondered if this was still a romantic game being played by the cousins. The dovecot was a mass of darkness, and Winton shook his head in its dark shadow.
"And how do you catch them?" he joked. "With clever lines?" Winton was breathing deeply and leaned on the woven lattice of wood and wicker. It groaned loudly, and the pigeons called briefly at the noise. Tayva dragged him on by his right arm.
"With this. We spear them." Tayva brandished a large skewer with a great barbed point with her free arm. Winton thought it a hilarious prop, for it was too short to be an effective spear. He giggled and stumbled even more. Loria drifted closer as Winton laughed and lurched against Tayva.
"I'll fish out the lake!" he boasted and listed so heavily that Loria had to slip under his left arm to keep him walking.
The cousins pushed from either side to quicken the pace. They were almost to the water of the slough, and both were running out of patience. Winton tried to grab the barb from Tayva.
"Give it to me, and I'll show you how to use it."
"You'll get it," Tayva stated and slipped beneath his arm and behind him. To Winton's sight she had disappeared, and he began to grope Loria in the belief that they were alone.
They stepped into the water, and its chill and sudden foul odor shocked him. The bottom mud and weeds clung to him even as Loria led him deeper into the water with great splashes. His head began to clear as the stench crowded out the drunkenness.
"Far enough, " Loria said in a cold voice, and she ducked out of his arms. The ripples from his clumsiness stopped, and still water converged on him. Tayva kicked behind Winton's knees, and he fell face first into the water.
Winton tried to break his fall but hit the water with a loud slap. His lungs emptied from the force of his fall, and he panicked as his hands were caught in the treacherous mud. The water was relatively shallow, but Winton couldn't free himself. By arching his back he could keep his head above the water. He began rocking violently from side to side. Each motion enveloped him in even more foulness, and he was nearly blind in the polluted air. Loria was kneeling in the water to his side. Her hands held flat to the surface of the slough, and water roiled beneath them. Winton's struggle irritated her. She looked on the gasping hunter with disgust.
"Tayva, " Loria commanded, and Winton felt a great weight between his shoulders. Each time his head broke water, Tayva forced it back down beneath the surface. Now Winton could not lift his head at all. His struggles peaked, and then he moved no more. Liquid forced itself into his mouth, nose, and down into his lungs. Everything in his body-energy, will, courage-everything but awareness, drained into the water. It crushed him, and when nothing more could be squeezed out, he floated to the top.
"Tayva, finish him up and put him in a deep spot. " Loria sounded tired but replete, as if a fine dessert had been devoured. She stood and teetered as drunkenly as Winton had minutes before, then retreated to the hut.
Winton felt pressure and tearing as Tayva forced him to deeper water. She ran the skewer through his chest and abdomen.
Loria returned from the house, still weaving from the aftermath of what they had done. She carried Winton's bolas wrapped over one arm and a stack of dirty crockery.
"We need to erase any sign that he was here tonight. Scrub these clean after we finish up here," Loria directed as she set the dishes down on the ground.
Tayva only grunted and pierced the hunter through one final time. They wrapped the bolas over his wrists and then turned him face up. Water and scum oozed down his countenance, and one last bit of air burbled out his lips. The cousins were waist-deep in the water, and the slough was growing icy cold.
Tayva's teeth were chattering, and she muttered peevishly, "Why did you get the best part?"
Loria laughed. "You can still get the last taste. I received enough for now."
They both trailed their hands down his legs to his feet and began the last ritual.
"Hold him," they chanted and forced his legs to the bottom. The dead limbs caught, and the mud began to pull him down.
"Devour him," Tayva crooned as only Winton's head showed above the surface. "Obliterate him!" she finished and felt a rush of warmth course through her. Whatever remained of Winton vanished beneath the water.
The next day the cousins rested. They were sated with power and dreams, gravid with desires and dark hungers. They accomplished nothing till late evening when Loria broke the contented silence that surrounded them.
"Do you think there is more unrest in the south than usual? It has been so long since we really paid much attention. Maybe that fool hunter said something sensible before he died." Loria stretched out her legs, reveling in the suppleness that Winton's death had girted her.
"I could call in the flocks," Tayva replied, "but we would need them all to get a clear picture."
The dead pigeons that she sent out into the world were excellent spies and recorders of events, but they did not return unless called. The act of hearing their reports destroyed every trace of power left in their corpses, and Tayva then had to create more spies from her limited stock of birds. Each spy cost the sacrifice of several pigeons, so Tayva rarely called in her creatures. Often, little more than tattered skeletons answered her call.
"Why we should listen to the words of an idiot escapes me." Tayva was too content to contemplate action.