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ELEVEN

Revni’s words hit them like she’d snapped a whip. To her relief, now that she braved a better look, the people definitely didn’t look like the boy she’d killed on the shore. For one thing, they were all women—well, not all. One man with a limp leaned on a long spear to help his balance. But they were covered head-to-toe in mud, stinking of sewage, and wearing clothing that looked like it was simply the skin of some huge animal, sewn to stay on, their legs and feet bare. The boy at the beach—Caerdeneii—had been wearing cloth breeches and a dyed tunic. His people had attacked with flaming arrows and short, thrown spears—but there wasn’t one bow among the small circle of women surrounding them, and all the spears were almost as tall as they were. What she had thought might be haystacks she could now see were a crescent of cone-shaped huts, their pointed roofs thatched with graying straw. The must of cooking grain was strong.

She didn’t know what she’d expected, but if this was what the locals had to offer, Revni was even more eager to find her own people. It was dirty, and small, and the buildings looked like they might collapse in too rough a storm. It didn’t even have what could be called a path—just this handful of structures arced around a massive firepit, cold from lack of use. A few people continued about their business—one person was carving a fishing hook out of bone—but that only made her wonder if everyone else was maybe off somewhere in boats. They didn’t even have fences for animals. She couldn’t fathom how a village like this could survive.

“I’ve come to trade,” Revni tried again. They winced, looked to each other in surprise, looked at her. Revni’s cheeks grew hot. She had practiced her Brigfaen over and over, her tongue growing tired from flicking against her palette every night while she’d lain in her furs back at home, testing and proud. And for what?

A brown-haired woman—the first that had stepped from the trees to make herself clearly visible—flicked her hand in a clear back up. Gingerly, Revni obeyed, stepping away from Eavus. They stayed still until she was a proper distance, then the brown-haired woman took a step closer and poked him, like she was testing meat for doneness. Eavus mumbled a groggy protest.

Oh gods. Had she sought out the wrong people? They weren’t actively trying to kill her, but they looked more desperate for resources than she was. Again, that grief threatened to swallow her, but she shoved it hard to the side. Her parents wouldn’t have been in this mess. They’d have killed Eavus the moment he turned his back, and they wouldn’t have stumbled into an enemy village, begging to negotiate. They would have skewered as many as they could and put the homes to flames. Revni had given up the world she knew on their command. Now here she was, in the world they chose for her, and she wasn’t sure how to be without them.

Questions had been asked of the brown-haired woman, whose response Revni couldn’t make out—not Brigfaen still, not Caerdeneii either. Similarities, though. Revni strained her ears.

“Are you asking if he’s alive?”

Again, surprised looks. It wasn’t how the woman had pronounced it, but Revni thought it might be close enough.

“He’s alive,” Revni confirmed. “For now.”

“S’alive,” she agreed. Her Brigfaen was worse than Revni’s, unnatural on her tongue, but even that bare sliver filled Revni with relief. So the language did exist.

Revni caught movement behind her, but a small sting touched Revni’s spine—the tip of a spear. Revni’s muscles tensed, holding her instinct. A blond woman gestured towards the sword on Revni’s belt, clearly telling her to take it out. Revni’s cheek flexed, but she went ahead and set it down.

The point reappeared at Revni’s back. People came up behind her carrying long poles and what looked like a sheepskin stained with old blood. The skins they wore weren’t from a single animal, Revni realized—they were cut and sewn to look that way. The stitches were clever, precise and hidden, and the realization that their primitiveness was purposeful—a trick—made Revni still with even more wariness. She lost sight of Eavus quickly, all the bodies surrounding him. Clacks as spears were transferred hands, grunts as they lifted him onto the makeshift litter. Somewhere in the hubbub, the sword was snatched up.

“Wait.” Revni started forward, but the limping man lowered his spear to block her. “Wait. I’ve come to trade him. You can’t just take him!”

But they disappeared into the largest of the huts, the rickety door clacking shut. Revni sensed motion behind her, but it was the sudden lift of weight from her belt that made her spin.

“That’s mine!” A flash of red hair, a mouse-like scurrying. Her antler-handled knife! Revni lunged, but her shins exploded in pain and the hard dirt smacked into her. She groaned against the impact. The man had tripped her, and now his spear point drove into her cheek, his foot ground into her back.

No. She couldn’t afford to cry again. Revni forced everything from her mind but the copper scent of the dirt in her nose, the lump jabbing her in the stomach. Someone spoke, and the point lifted off her cheek enough that Revni could crane her neck. The brown-haired woman was calling to someone in the large hut.

The girl that had taken Revni’s knife was squatting on a tree stump, twirling the point of the blade on the tip of her finger, watching Revni with a look that could only be described as smug. She was young, twelve maybe—the same age Revni had been. A rival clan’s raider in the night, silhouetted against the fire, blood burbling from his lips when Revni had driven a fire poker through his gut.

Twelve wasn’t so very young.

Revni’s heart pounded, steady as a war drum.

Bjerluk.

She was ready.

Revni gathered her muscles, preparing⁠—

“Calm yourself.” The old woman’s tone was annoyed rather than intimidating. “You’re more useful without fresh holes.”

Thank the gods.

Brigfaen.

The old woman who had come out from the hut where they’d taken Eavus was already heading back in.

“Useful?” Revni called.

“We need you.” She said something in that other language to the people holding Revni down, and they yanked Revni to her feet and pulled her after.

We need you. For someone new to this island, a whole lot of people certainly seemed to need her.