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Again, Revni. Again.

Even as she made her ax, she wrestled with whatever this instinct was—he wasn’t hers to save. He had his own mission, as she had hers, and their paths would need to split, soon, every day growing sooner.

But not yet, some small voice within her pleaded. Not yet.

Another strike tightened it. It wouldn’t hold forever. But she needed a proper weapon, one with length, one she could swing and maneuver. She’d only been in so many raids, and she needed every advantage she could take.

She criss-crossed the leather strings around the juncture, pulling them tight, then wound the excess down the handle as far as they’d go, tying them off. She hefted it in her hands, testing the grip, wiped the sweat from her brow.

It was the worst battle ax she’d ever seen.

It would do.

Revni sharpened the blade, taking her own drink from the dripping water before she finished, and then jogged back into the light. She paused only to swing the pack onto her shoulder and take one final steeling breath. She probably should have called on the gods. This was their type of space, the caverns and the wild, the sheer stone cliffs and a singular purpose, an Isfolj weapon in her hand. She could practically feel them, breathing down her neck.

Revni. My child.

Revni shoved the helmet on, cutting off the whispering breeze. He’d be wanting the helmet back.

She left the rest behind, and followed.

THIRTY-FOUR

Eavus’ head was pounding so hard he could barely feel the scrape of dirt at his back or the rocks cutting his legs. His eyes fluttered before he thought better and tried to pretend he was still unconscious, but an inadvertent grunt escaped as his body wrenched over something solid. A shadow fell over him, and something slammed into his head.

When he woke the second time, the vision in one of his eyes was cloudy. He tried to blink it away, but that made the ache in his head evident, and squeezing his eyes shut was even worse. The crusty tightness at his temple must be dried blood. He tried to touch it, but found that his wrists were tied above him, his armpits stretched and sore. Cold stone pressed into his back. He was on the ground, tied to a boulder or a standing stone. He twisted, trying to get a better view. He’d clearly been dragged, probably behind that donkey that was munching on grass. There was a vague smell of manure, and Eavus had a sinking feeling it was coming from him. He’d been shat on, or at least dragged through it. No sign of Revni—hopefully, she’d hidden herself, or gotten away. Every bone and muscle ached, once he gave them permission, and his head started pounding again. But his vision wasn’t as off as he’d first worried—it was almost night. He tried to twist the other direction, towards the light at his back—sunset? A fire?—but the movement caught someone’s attention, and another shadow loomed over him, a spear butt raised to come down, once again, on his face.

“Wait! Wait!” he tried to hold up a hand in protest, but obviously couldn’t. The man was nothing but a silhouette, whites of his eyes shining above a pointed beard. The man paused, turned to say something to the people behind him, and then flipped the spear barbed point first and proceeded to poke Eavus in the butt, the back of his knees.

“Hey, hey! I’m up!” Eavus awkwardly scrambled, trying to rise to seated, but the position of his tied hands made it impossible. Another man joined the first, and they briefly discussed. Eavus had never seen a Sculpae before, much less heard the language. He and Revni had called the other tribe they’d met the Blue Men, but those people had been a pale imitation. Eavus closed his bad eye to better let the good one adjust. The Blue Men had painted their bodies, but the Sculpae had them permanently tattooed, in intricate designs that covered them collarbone to toes, leaving only their faces almost untouched. The man that had poked him had the head of either a wolf or a bear covering his belly—in the dim light, Eavus couldn’t be sure—while the other’s central design was more abstract, with swirling lines that resembled the sun. His assailant had a necklace of claws around his neck, but otherwise the two men looked similar, the same pointed beards, their hair tied into the same loose, ribbon-like knot on the sides of their heads.

Eavus resisted shrinking as the second man leaned over him. He considered striking out, kneeing him in the arm or even kicking him in the groin, but the spear point pressing into his side stayed his instincts. The man plucked Eavus’ dagger from its hilt and tested the tip on his fingers, then tucked it into the string tied around his waist. Eavus held in his curse. Disarmed, tied up… His mind raced with possibilities for how he would escape now, before it suddenly came to him that he might just…not.

Eavus swallowed. All the blood rushed out of him at once, except that his head was still throbbing. A dull panic began to pulse. The belt the man wore—the source of that strange clacking⁠—

Those were human bones.

They hung gray and pale in the budding moonlight, and in the short distance, Eavus could make out other Sculpae grouped around the bonfire, their own belts swinging and clacking. Beyond that, tents, capped at their tops with human skulls. He could only imagine what the tent poles were made of.

The man who had taken his knife untied Eavus from the rock, though his wrists were still bound. Blood rushed into Eavus’ limp arms. He was jabbed to standing, and prodded towards the tents. Should he run? Better to be murdered quickly than to be boiled alive. But they steered him away at the last moment, forced him to stop, then jabbed him repeatedly, gesturing over the edge of the cliff. Eavus shivered in the harsh wind. Did they mean for him to jump? It was a long, sharp drop, the wind biting at his cheeks.

The first man jabbed at him once more in frustration, then shifted the point and jabbed him right in the genitals, gesturing again. Eavus flinched, then reddened. Oh. He did his best to maneuver with tied hands, and went ahead and peed over the edge.

The two men wrestled him back, while Eavus considered his options. They would know the territory better than him, and could chase if he ran. Maybe he should have jumped, or at least tried to push one of them over. He cursed his own slow thinking. If he could get a weapon…But they weren’t taking him to the tents, or towards the people. They took him right back to the same rock. Eavus struggled when they pulled his aching arms back over his head, but the spear point shot pain up his armpit and he gave up. There had to be a reason they were keeping him alive, or keeping him separated, or both. And until he got this headache to stop pounding and could figure something out, it did no use to sustain extra injuries.

The two men tied him—tighter this time, but at least sitting up—and left again. It grew darker, and Eavus grew colder and, if he was honest, more afraid. He and Revni hadn’t seen many animals in the mountains, but it didn’t mean they weren’t there. Sure, the wind made howling noises, but this was more than the wind. Yips and howls jumped from peak to peak, and at one point, he heard what he was sure was a bear coming up behind him, or at least something large and menacing. The men at the campfire heard it, too, because a few stood and started to approach. But it was nothing, or went away, because the men sat back down. One of them shouted angrily at one of the tents, and what sounded like a child crying suddenly went muffled.

Eavus’ back hurt, the cold rock jabbing his spine. He wiggled his fingers, trying to dislodge the rope. Is this what Revni had felt when he’d tied her up? No wonder she hated him. She was long gone by now, he was sure of that. An odd relief flowed through him. At least she was safe. And the Sculpae hadn’t thought to examine the rest of his belt, thank the gods. They’d taken his weapon, but if he could get out, he could still get his message to Norbucum. A long howl split the night, and a shiver ran up his spine. It sounded close. Eavus froze as the men at the fire leaped to their feet. The bones at their waist clapped in an eerie arrhythmic rattle, a concert that was all percussion—but it wasn’t just theirs, there were more, a whole cacophony of clattering echoing closer, and suddenly the tall man, the one with the sun on his belly, threw back his head and howled.

Panic flooded Eavus, urgent and unforgiving. They were animals. Monsters. He had to get out, now, while no one was looking. A whole group of Sculpae crested the hill, women and men mostly naked from the waist up except for their tattoos, and they broke into cheerful conversation in their weird, guttural language with its rolling r’s. The men who had been waiting pointed their spears at the tents, and then behind—and then all the gazes turned towards him.

His headache was gone in an instant, his mind clear as a bell. He’d have to fight. He groped for anything—dirt, a rock, anything he could reach to throw or blind them—but his stiff fingers met only the tips of dew-covered weeds, his hands tied too high to grasp at anything else. He re-adjusted as a small group came closer. He’d wait for them to untie him and stand him up again, and then he’d head-butt whoever held him. If they brought his hands in front, he’d hammer-punch, wrap the rope that tied his wrists around a throat and squeeze. He’d take a few down with him before they killed him.

The two women were both clothed, one curvy and one so slight she looked sickly. His two tattooed friends were back too, along with others, but he could barely make out anything beyond shapes with the fire at their backs. His original captor jabbed him again, but not to stand. He spoke to the others, asking a question.

The thin girl had a hardness to her. She stepped closer, holding a spear ready, as if waiting for the signal to drive him through. Eavus held every muscle as still as he could, and dared himself to meet her eyes.

The girl’s expression shifted to surprise and she took a bare step back. She shook her head, lowering her spear, and said something to the others. She looked familiar, in that generic Faenish way he supposed, but whatever she had said made them relax their spears and furrow their brows in disappointment. Eavus had the sudden feeling they were looking for someone specific, and it thankfully wasn’t him—though the girl had looked as if she recognized him somehow anyway. His sunshine friend came back around to untie him. Eavus was prodded to standing, jabbed in the back and marched towards the tents. He craned his neck to try to get another look at the girl, but his head turn was met with a punch behind his ear that sent him reeling. Maybe he’d seen her in Lordinius. Maybe on one of his patrols. Or maybe they simply thought all Aleterians looked alike.