Story Preview: Savage Politics

Vidarr is a former outcast struggling to raise his children and navigate the politics of his homeland. His ambitious nature invites him to circumvent nature’s order—as defined by the tree spirits that rule his land—with disastrous results.

Photo by Sergi Ferrete on Unsplash

In Sulveig, might rules everything except the trees; they, the Rhizodia, did whatever they pleased and bent everything else, save the weather, to their whims. Vidarr’s place among “everything else,” was clear enough: he was one of the Grizoid, the collection of mammals and mammalian creatures that inhabited the forests and woodlands of Sulveig. Being a lion, he generally didn’t care about the Rhizodia—or anything else that couldn’t be hunted—but they happened to stand quite firmly between him and his ambition.

Vidarr stood near the river that ran through the southern edge of the western forest. He and his two cubs were playing in the late afternoon haze of summer. Their favorite game was to hide from their father and attempt to catch him by surprise. They had gotten significantly better at hiding, but their attacks left much to be desired. Their mother, Erna, having observed the rearing of other cubs, assured Vidarr that their development was quite normal. The lion, until recently, had wandered Sulveig alone—excluded from his birth pride at a young age. Such exclusion was typical, but he found the subsequent animosity from other Sulveigards—leonine and otherwise—to be quite atypical.

Vidarr was shaken from his musings by a small, furry body attaching itself to his face, albeit with little traction. A light shake of his head sent it tumbling to the ground. The lion cub lay there quietly, his eyes closed and body still. Vidarr nudged it with his nose. When he got no response, he used his snout as a wedge with which to tip over the little creature. It let out a giggle, then resumed feigning unconsciousness. Vidarr was not amused.

"Get up, Jarek. I told you and your brother that trick was only going to work once, didn't I?” He received no response, so he ground his nose into a certain spot on the cub's exposed midsection, causing it to erupt in peals of laughter.

"Aieeeee! I surrender! I'll get up!"

"Surrender? There is no such thing in Sulveig,” Vidarr said. He kept attacking the same spot with his nose while using his front paws to prevent the cub's escape. This went on for a few moments until a shrill, avian shriek echoed through the forest—all the way to the riverside where they had chosen to play this afternoon. Vidarr and Jarek both stopped moving to listen further. Several pained yelps followed. Recognizing them immediately, Vidarr dashed into the forest, leaving behind a stunned cub.

Thankfully, neither of the cubs had gotten far away from Vidarr during their game, so the lion soon burst through a thicket of trees into a small clearing. Here, a bird-like creature advanced upon his other offspring. The predator’s body was like a vulture’s, but with a torso too long and too broad—almost humanoid—and a wingspan slightly larger than Vidarr's own considerable, leonine profile. It was one of the Malvolares, the conglomeration of birds and bird-like creatures that inhabited Sulveig alongside the Grizoid.

Vidarr’s relief at having arrived in time overrode his tactical sense. He immediately called for his cub. “Rolf!”

Rolf ran past his father and hid in the nearest bush. Vidarr caught the whiff of fresh blood as his cub ran by. Before he could think on it further, the odd creature shrieked—presumably alarmed by the potential loss of its meal—and lunged at Rolf’s hiding place. With barely a grunt, Vidarr leapt after it. He tackled the Malvolares out of the air.

On the ground, their eyes locked momentarily. The Malvolares screeched at volume, causing the lion’s ears to fold back reflexively. Some of the more ordinary Malvolares—mere birds, frequently—were easily dispatched when caught. This one had strength belying its slender figure. The Malvolares used it to topple the stunned lion. Vidarr rolled to his feet quickly.

His bird-like opponent dove once more for Rolf’s hiding spot. Vidarr made a second leap, catching a narrow leg in his mouth. He clamped down as hard as he could, eliciting additional shrieks from the Malvolares. They hit the ground—where the lion wasted no time sinking his teeth into the fleshy ventral muscle of each wing, rendering them useless. Unable to fly, the Malvolares wrestled feebly with the much heavier lion.

Vidarr soon emerged alone from the bloody whirlwind of claws, fangs, and talons. He sported several splotches of blood, very little of it his own. His cub, accustomed to brutal post-hunt scenery, ambled toward him with no regard for the carnage.

"Let me look at you,” Vidarr said. The superficial wounds had already closed, leaving a few scabs behind. He could see no permanent damage. “It looks like you'll live through another meal, at least."

Rolf didn't look up, even though the inspection was done. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “I shouldn't have run away."

Vidarr was taken aback by Rolf’s expression of regret. It certainly would not have occurred to him to apologize for being ravaged by one of the Malvolares. “You did what your instincts told you, right?" Vidarr asked. He knew he did not rely on his own instincts to a degree of which the other Sulveigards would approve. As with his other shortcomings, they were quick to criticize him for it.

"Yes,” Rolf mumbled. He still didn't look reassured, despite his father’s conspicuous lack of judgment.

"And that kept you alive, right?” Vidarr asked. Silently, he lamented Rolf’s self-doubt, since he knew the feeling so well. The circumstances of Vidarr’s upbringing were unclear, but he knew his very existence was a contentious subject among the Grizoid. It hadn't been enough for the lion to live and work alongside them—he had to do more and be more than his peers to earn the slightest recognition. Under circumstances that would typically garner a Grizoid praise, Vidarr only earned muttering, which frequently included the word “Iriseed”—the latter always spat out as if it tasted bad. He had no idea what it meant—only that it was a subject of consternation among the Rhizodia—nor would anyone explain it to him. He was quite young when he learned to stop asking about it.

“Yes,” Rolf mumbled again.

“That's good enough for me,” Vidarr said. “Don't think about it anymore.” He could only make sure his children didn't learn to second guess themselves the way he had always done. He was overjoyed when his children were born without any obscure markings or the like. Their good fortune would be for naught if he caused them to stand out in other ways. “Go tell Jarek and your mother there’s dinner.”