I unearthed a well-made dagger and held it up hopefully.
Archie shook his head. “I’m sorry, Kof. You won’t pry the man out of his master’s grasp for anything short of gold.”
My heart sank. If anyone understood people’s unspoken machinations, it was Archie. I knew he was right. “Then it’shopeless. Four days we’ve been preparing for the pig roast. The crescent of the moon grows wide. Soon it will be full.” And soon, Eli would be gone for good.
And not only that…but when Pilgrim had shown up back at the river, Eli’s scent soured with fear. Outwardly, he’d shown nothing but resignation. But the smell of a man doesn’t lie.
Archie tutted. “Don’t give up hope just yet. You might not have a fortune at your command, but the shaman does. And how should he use it, if not to help his most devoted person—aside from me, that is?”
I would never be so presumptuous. Asking the shaman to dip into his treasury? What Archie spoke of simply wasn’t done. It was practically blasphemy. But before I could convince him otherwise, he hopped from his perch and slipped away down a tunnel.
Archie can navigate them surprisingly well now. And he’s very light on his feet. Not to mention the fact that his scent is everywhere.
By the time I finally found the human, he was already in Droko’s ceremonial chamber, where the costumes inherited from generations of shamen before him lined the walls. The shaman himself stood before a looking glass, scowling at his cloudy reflection.
“There’s a time to be coy,” Archie was telling him, “and a time to make a statement. With the Lost Clan here among us, Ul-Rott needs you to act especially shaman-y. And that means dressing the part.” Archie draped a necklace of finger bones over Droko’s head. “See? Magnificent! Creepy…but magnificent.”
Droko flinched and plucked at the necklace. “These are ridiculous.” He tossed the bones onto a nearby table laden with ceremonial trinkets, then swatted some brightly colored plumes affixed to his broad shoulders. “And these feathers—they’re annoying.” He shrugged them off, sending a small cloud of dust swirling into the air. “I told you, I’m not Taruut.”
“While I’d definitely vouch for that,” Archie’s voice was laced with amusement, “you really do need to make a few concessions. A bit of flair never hurt anyone, especially when the Lost Clan is at the table.” Turning, he caught my eye and cocked his head for me to approach.
I took a knee. “Droko the Mystic, my spear is yours.”
“This again?” The shaman turned to me with a few tufts of feather clinging to his topknot. He looked nothing at all like the starry-eyed prophet who’d spoken on the frozen river. “When it’s just you and me—and Archie—call me Droko.” He scowled. “Well? What is it?”
Words wouldn’t come. Service was its own reward. It was unheard of to ask the shaman for even a single copper. I looked to Archie, silently pleading for him to intervene on my behalf. But he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, making it clear that either I spoke for myself, or the words would remain unsaid.
“Shaman, I…” I swallowed dryness. “Eli. The human. I want to buy him. I…need gold.”
Droko’s brow furrowed even deeper. After an awkward silence, Archie said in a rush, “What a wonderful idea. It would be refreshing to see another human face around here for a change, don’t you think? Besides, dearest, it’s not like you’ve got anything else to spend your fortune on. Why, even yesterday you were telling me there was too much furniture everywhere—”
“Enough.” Droko didn’t raise his voice, but it echoed with authority nonetheless. “Kof can’t buy the human.”
I suspected Archie might have continued to argue, but it was my case to plead. Bowing my head, one hand over my heart, I said, “Shaman—Droko—I have served you faithfully since you stepped into these caves. If you could find it in you to—”
“Enough,” Droko repeated, more firmly now. It would’ve been his right to have me beaten for not listening to him, but instead, he chose to explain. “I don’t care about the gold. But you have to understand the Lost Clan. Remember, I’ve seen how they work. And to leave one behind—even one as inconsequential as a straggling human? Forget whatever nonsense you’ve heard about them cutting anyone loose. They can’t afford to let anyone slip from their grasp. How do you think they keep their numbers from dwindling?”
Maybe not, but we had to try. “When Gorgul turned the weaker guards against you,” I reminded him, “I never wavered.”
“I know.” Droko sighed heavily. “But it isn’t just a matter of keeping up their numbers, Kof—it’s a matter of pride. The Lost Clan leave a valued member behind? No.” He paused and picked up a ceremonial staff topped with a crudely carved raven’s skull. “They’d sooner gut him themselves.”
In a clatter of unwanted bones and beads, Droko turned and stomped out of the chamber. Archie paused at the threshold, turned back to me open-handed, and mouthed, “I tried.” Then he hurried after the shaman, leaving me there alone.
I suspected what Droko had said was true—the Lost Clan could never give, only take. But then I remembered the way Eli had looked back on the island when the others rejoined us. The way his wintery eyes clouded and his face fell blank. I may nothave known many humans in my life, but even I could read his expression. It was the look of a man who’d lost all hope.
And then my gaze fell on something that lay beneath a pile of discarded feathers and bones. Something that glinted.
I nudged the shaman’s feathered regalia aside gingerly, as if it might rise up and sting me. Beneath it, tossed aside like a soiled tunic, lay an intricately tooled golden collar. It was dwarvish work—thick and heavy. There was enough gold in the piece to buy not only every slave in the market, but the tents, carts, and horses, and probably the slavers’ wives, too.
Yet, when the collar’s links folded in on themselves, it fit so neatly in the palm of my hand.
And even better in my belt pouch.
My shaman would not only be in his rights to have me beaten for this…he could take my head. He would look weak if he didn’t—but he wouldn’t stop me from making the trade. We had to present a unified front to the Lost Clan, so the consequences would come later. And even when he did demand my head once they were gone, at least then, Eli would be free of Pilgrim.
***
I trailed Droko to the feast. The occasional crunch of snow beneath my boots outside the caves was a reminder of the storm that had ravaged our hunt. In the village commons, most of the snow had been shoved aside, but blinding white mounds surrounded the clearing. The cold, too, still lingered. It bit at my nose and ears.
