Maverick dommer's Arc

Chapter 1 of 8

Maverick Dommer wanted a son. He wanted a whole line of four-armed sons and daughters spread across the stars, each one strong enough to carry his blood. But no mate would follow a man with no roof. And tonight the wilds of Xyni proved it. He stood in a shallow rock hollow, all four arms braced against the storm. Rain hammered his bare chest. His loincloth stuck to his thigh. Somewhere out in the dark, a spore-beast screamed. He had slept under open sky for three seasons now. A mate could not raise a child here. A child would not last one wet night. Maverick had scouted this valley for weeks. He knew every ridge and every hunting run. But knowing the land did not solve his problem. He needed walls. He needed a place a woman would enter without fear, a place an heir could grow safe. Then the lightning showed him the grove. Downslope stood a cluster of huge glowing mushrooms. Their caps burned blue and violet against the rain. At the center rose one giant fungus, hollowed and shaped like a cottage. Warm light spilled from round windows. Curved tunnels linked the outer caps to the central dome. Someone had built this. Someone had left it. Maverick climbed down fast. Mud slid under his feet. He reached the arched door and shoved. It held. He set two hands on the frame, two on the wood, and pushed with his whole back. The latch snapped. He stumbled inside. The storm cut off behind him. Dry air. Steady light from the glowing walls. He stood dripping on a floor of packed stone. A dead hearth waited in the corner. Passages branched off toward the smaller caps, dry and wide enough to store food. Maverick walked the whole place with rain still running off his arms. He counted three rooms. He found a well fed by water dripping through the fungus canopy above. He tasted it. Clean. He pressed a hand to the inner wall and felt no leak, no cold, no rot. This would hold a mate. This would hold a child. He worked through the night. He hauled fallen caps to block the broken latch. He dried the hearth and lit a small fire with dead stalks. By dawn the grove was his. His breath no longer fogged. His hands no longer shook. Maverick stepped back outside as the sun rose. The storm had passed. The wet caps glowed pale now in daylight. He had a home. He had walls, water, and warmth for the family he meant to raise. He had solved the first problem. And standing there, dry at last, he faced the next one plainly. A home meant nothing empty. In all his scouting of this valley, he had never once seen another of his kind. To sire an heir, he first had to find a mate on a world that seemed to hold none.