***
By the next day, news of the “witch” had spread throughout the caves. With each retelling, Eli’s supposed powers had grown. His glance, it was said, could curdle milk, and the touch of his hand was lethal. The fact that he hadn’t bewitched Ul-Rott at the welcome feast was clearly just a testament of the chieftain’s inner strength.
Never mind that he’d been struggling with a heavy flagon and a drooping sarong throughout the entire meal.
My men were garrisoned in a long, narrow chamber with natural vents in the ceiling to clear away the brazier smoke, and a steady trickle of sulfurous water down the far wall. Each guard had a chest for his own possessions and a reed mat to shield them from the heat of the floor. From time to time, I inspected the quarters, always unannounced. I’d never found anything more concerning than a stash of vision mushrooms Taruut had forbidden the men to eat, saying it wreaked havoc with theircoordination. But that morning, I noticed, some of the guards shifted uncomfortably as they stood at attention.
Grok was so nervous, I could hear him swallow from ten paces away.
I targeted him first. “Open your chest and turn over your mat.”
He was clearly reluctant—but an order was an order. Shoulders slumped, he did as he was told.
The bottom of his mat was covered in charcoal-drawn symbols.
I looked it over carefully. Circle and cross—evil eye ward. Three triangles—strength, fortitude and will. Circle in square—protection. The entire mat was filled, from one side to the other. “This must have taken you all night,” I finally said.
Another loud swallow. “Yes, Captain.”
Did he think I was praising his effort? I most definitely was not. “You weaken yourself and you dishonor your shaman.” I nodded toward the trickle of water. “Scrub it off. All of it. And once you’re done, I’d better not be able to tell which side of the mat you’ve scribbled on.”
Grok ducked his head in submission and hurried off to do as he’d been ordered.
I scanned the rest of the men. “Now. Has anyone else wasted their time on this nonsense?”
The men shifted uncomfortably. In all, while no one else had gone to the same extent as Grok, most of them had scrawled at least one or two symbols on their gear.
I ordered all of their sleeping mats added to Ulka’s pyre. Even those belonging to the few men who’d refrained from any superstitious nonsense. If the punishment itself didn’t prove my point, the fact that their fellow guards had to suffer for their foolish actions would do the job.
When I was a boy, Taruut often told me, “The thing about mysticism, Kof, is that magic is what wesayit is. A clever shaman takes credit when his predictions come true. But an even smarter one will simply change his mind when they don’t.”
Once the mats were smoking on the pyre, I headed over to the larders. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to find. But if the venison truly was blighted, there should be some outward sign of it by now.
The chieftain had eyes on the larders now—a smart move, considering the Lost Clan had so many mouths to feed, and no concern as to making our stores last the winter. By the time the bitter snows came, they’d be long gone. Ul-Rott’s guards nodded respectfully as I passed, and I did the same.
Trawg was busy with his grubs, humming to them as he layered fresh leaves into their bed for them to devour. “What is it now?” he called over to me. “More special requests from the caves?”
From our human, was what he meant. Trawg would never openly sneer over the Bearer of the Prophecy. But there had never been any complaint from him back when Taruut was alive. And he was quick to dismiss Quinn’s notions about the sick deer.
No doubt he’d be eager to accuse Eli, too.
“How are the provisions looking?” I asked, as casually as I could manage.
“Same as always. Why, do you think Lost Clan’s scrawny human cursed them?”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. At least Trawg hadn’t bought into the ridiculous rumors. “Of course not. But with Ulka dead, people will say anything.”
“Bah! Witchcraft, my ass. Most likely, Ulka took too many knocks on the head and it finally caught up with her.” Trawg snorted. “Everything’s wearing thin these days—people, patience, and ale. You think those Lost Clan bastards will leave a drop for the rest of us? They drink like it’s going out of style. I keep watering it down, pretty soon we’ll find minnows swimming in the barrels.”
“They are us. If you ration them, you have to ration everyone.”
“I know,” Trawg grumbled. “But I don’t have to like it.”
As I glanced around the larder, I was pleased to see no sign of Ul-Rott’s deer. “What about the venison?”
Trawg flitted his hand like smoke. “Ulka’s children demanded it. An offering for the ancestors.”
I couldn’t have thought of a better way to get rid of the carcass. I felt the tension I carried in my shoulders unclench. But then, tucked away in the corner, I spotted something that made my blood run cold.
