《Of Blood and Bones》


 Lone Hunt

    Along an isolated range of mountains in the frigid northern coast of an unclaimed land, spring came. First to the valleys, thawing rivers, and renewing streams that had, until recently, been frozen beneath a carpet of snow. Fuzzy dark green moss and thick carpets of stone-colored lichen were the first of the hardy mountain plants to renew their slow march of life, awoken from their sleep like many of the animals they shared this mountain with, by the warming of the air and melting of the frost. While much of the snow still persisted in the shaded areas, for the first time in months the mountain range showed more color than the white of snow and the dark grey of broken slate.


    The green of a small patch of grass growing between two stones, reaching up as if to grasp the sun. A quick brown blur as a skrat left its den for the first time this year, surveying the area to see if it''s safe to wake the rest of his family. A splash of red blood as the skrat learned, quite without warning, that he wasn''t alone in leaving his den. The glint of bronze as untrained hands part the skrat from its hide. The crystal blue of engorged mountain lakes, shedding their skin of ice like a junsk sheds its scale-skin when it reaches adulthood.


    Vizsha stood from his work and wiped his bloody hands on one of the last snowbanks this deep in the valley. Surveying his work, he removed his junsk hide parka sweating from the exertion of breaking down a creature the size of a man into pieces that could fit on his sled. Looking at his handiwork Vizsha clicked his tongue and sighed sitting heavily on the ground next to his sled. Leaning his back against the sleds frame he hefted the heavy hukar in his hands. It was a thing of beauty. All hukars are made from the tusks junsks shed when they reach adulthood. Once shed they were flattened, hardened, dried, shaped, sharpened, then capped. The final hukar only shared a small resemblance to the tusk it started as. It was to Vizsha a beautiful thing; twice as long and half as wide as his hand, fire blackened, curved bone with inlaid bronze edges and intricate carvings exposing the bright white of the bone beneath. The hukar showed the story of his people, their forced exile, and eventual salvation found in these mountains. Looking at it Vizsha could only think of how better the weapon fit in the hands of his father.


    Sighing and complaining of soreness in his joints and the fire in his muscles Vizsha raised himself to his feet again and got to work storing the skrat meat hide and bones on his sled. With this warmer weather he will have to smoke most of the meat over the next few days on his way back home. Groaning again at the prospect of the work ahead of him Vizsha hurried to finish loading the sled only stopping long enough to say in his best impersonation of the elder "Now Viz, I''ve told you how many times now, any man worth his sled can skin a skrat in one piece leaving only the hole his spear made." Looking down at the two ragged pieces of hide strapped to the sled he started to count the holes he could see but stopped after he ran out of fingers to poke through furry holes his untrained hands left in the hide.


    With a grunt of effort, he grasped the bone handles of his sled and began to push it upwards. Taking a sled this deep into the valleys usually meant a lot of work getting it back to the peaks and this time was no exception. Vizsha pushed the sled with all his weight, moving it from patch of snow to patch of snow as he climbed higher and higher out of the valley and back into the safety of the peaks.


    The rhythm of his steps began to fade drowned out by his panting breaths as he struggled with the too-thick air. Even the sound of his boots plodding on the loose stone scree began to fade as his mind wandered. He thought to thank the ancestors for the "man weight" he had put on in the last few years, knowing if he were any smaller some of the inclines would have forced him to unload the whole sled and carry all his cargo up the grade by hand. He thought about the air and how glad he was to be returning to the air of his home, not thick and soupy like the air became in some of these deeper valleys. The air in the Lowlands was even thicker, or so he had been told by his brother last winter. Thinking of his brother brought to mind his own predicament and that of his tribe. Attempting to keep his mind on the task at hand, he put aside the difficult thought and pushed on.


    Pausing in the saddle of a low pass Vizsha took a drink from his waterskin and he surveyed the rocky windswept valley he had just climbed out of. It was by far the least covered in snow of all the valleys he had traveled these last few days. Boulders blanketed in moss and thick pads of grey fungus with short bone white stalks covered the ground where the snow had melted. Vizsha thought he could still see the sickly-looking bush that grew from the top of a boulder near where he killed the skrat and shuddered at the prospect. Any plants that big were a warning sign, if plants could find enough air to breathe then so could others. Bracing himself, he replaced his parka and began riding his sled down towards the next valley. He would feel much more comfortable when summer came and he would no longer have to come this deep into the valleys for game.


    As Vizsha continued upwards, pushing his sled, he found himself lost in thought. He found himself letting his feet carry him upwards out of the valley and his sled downwards into the next. While gliding down a particularly steep patch of ice, moving towards the next valley, he was abruptly reminded of why the deep valleys were off limits during spring and summer.


    Blood. Lots of it too. Fresh enough that he was certain it was from a kill today. He had been so lost in thought he hardly noticed the scene till he was right upon it. It was the carcass of a railm, well part of one anyway. Really just the head and better part of a shoulder could still be said to be intact. Its chest had been busted into and its fire heart had been eaten then, by the looks of it, most of its lower half had been pulled down the mountain to be eaten in comfort away from our thin air.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Hand still on hukar but confident that whatever had killed this creature couldn''t still be close or he would definitely know, he quietly approached moving quickly and guarded as he gathered what clues he could about the thing that must have traveled from the Lowlands all the way up here for an easy kill. The fact that anything big enough to hunt a railm came this high up in the mountains worried him greatly. The mountains are his tribes last and greatest defense.


    Most of the body missing, the railm didn''t appear as monstrous as usual, still the skull alone dwarfed the yurt his family lived in Vizsha drew his hukar as he left his sled behind him walking close to the corpse. Closer the size difference became even more apparent. Railms almost never are hunted, there really isn''t anything in the mountains big enough to kill one. A full grown railm is often 16 sed tall (*one sed is approximately 2.5 meters long) [40 meters (130 ft)]. Well long really as Railms were not strong enough to support themselves upright for more than a minute or two. They spent a majority of their time moving from valley to valley, stripping the rocks bare of moss and lichens, eating fungal mats bare, and eating any animal dumb enough to get close to their heads. They had 2 arms and 2 legs but from any distance they looked like they were much too small to support their hulking weight but it wasn''t till you got close that you saw their limbs were several times thicker than the chest of a man, ended in hands bunched in fists the size of a full grown junsk. They were covered in thick blubber below a hard white skin, but by far the most disconcerting thing about them was how they moved, slowly dragging their bloated bellies along the ground with their legs splayed around them. Ever so slowly these horrible creatures drug their gargantuan bodies from valley to valley looking for any food they can eat in the thaw and hibernating in place beneath the snow in winter.


    As he circled the corpse he could nearly hear the elders soft dry words, smell the reek of fire blood and old suka on his breath as he spoke, horns scratching the ceiling of the yurt as he leaned forward to tell his stories to the captivated group of pups sitting eagerly on the ground in front of the bone and skrat fur chair he rested on.


    "Many generations ago our people lived in the lands of endless ice and water." Vizsha stepped over a cord the size of his arm connecting the empty eye socket with a deflated eye several times larger than himself. "We lived many generations happy there. We lived on the lifeblood of the junsk and the sea." The first time he heard the story Vizsha had asked what the sea was. He hadn''t quite been satisfied with his sisters¡¯ assessment that it was a really big lake but the elder only laughed and agreed that yes it was in fact a very, very, big lake.


    Vizsha approached the side of what was left of the railm¡¯s face. Once close enough he removed the hukar from his hip and tried to pry the object that had caught his attention free from the thick skull. Finally, with the sound of stone cracking the plate sized canine broke loose from the skull.


    "But we were young and forgetful. We didn''t know so much about the world We were a part of." Remembering the story Vizsha could almost smell the burning junsk oil lamps, the smell of bodies packed inside a yurt for far too long, the smell of too much suka alcohol on the elder¡¯s breath, the smells of any long winter.


    "We didn''t know. How could we? How could we know the air was so thick it strangled our minds and poisoned our bodies? How could we know that the gods we worshiped were not dead, only asleep?" The Last words were a drunken jumble mumbled into the beard of an old man. In the silence that followed everyone found themselves holding their breath, feeling as if they breathed to loudly the gods themselves would find them again. Suddenly a cry shocked the room as Vizsha''s youngest brother Hebo screamed for a teat. The whole room seemed shook for a moment but soon the baby was quieted, his demands momentarily met. The room was significantly subdued after, the adults talked in hushed tones over games of luck or skill. The elder stroking his beard with one hand, swirling his skin of suka with the other, did not seem to be eager to continue his sorry but that didn''t stop the restless children trapped inside for months on end from wanting to hear the rest.


    "Come on Boab! Why did our ancestors settle here? It''s because the air is thin up here right?" Said Vizsha¡¯s older brother Jamb, desperate to be the elders favorite.


    The elder stirred from his thoughts and managed to give a lopsided smile to Jamb¡¯s pleading expression. "Yes, it''s because the air, but I''m not there yet. Let me finish." Taking another long pull of fermented junsk milk the elder continued his story. "At the time the greatest of our gods was Halmund. Halmund was said to hear any prayers that were spoken to him and to be able to make junsk birth healthy pups." At this point his younger sister Haka burst in having waited all she could to ask her question "ImSorryButWhatsAGod?" She asked in one word.


    Turning the corners of his mouth down the elder paused for a moment and answered the question "Gods are a bit like ancestors. They hear you when you pray but unlike ancestors, they weren''t supposed to provide advice or counsel. They provided you with power and nourishment. A drop of their blood and a man could do the most miraculous things. A skin of their milk could keep you fed for many days on the ice. A spear made with their bone was said to never miss a target. A parka made from their hide would keep you warm even on the coldest nights. But all of that was useless compared to their blood. Now children what do we know about blood?" His last sentence came out clear as a bell and stony eyed sober. At once the four kids sat up straight and belted out together in practiced unison "Blood begets power. Power begets death. Death feeds them." As they spoke these nine words together all other conversation in the yurt stopped for a brief moment as the adults around the room paused their conversations, all eyes on the children, making sure that this lesson was heard. The elder grunted affirmative and took another healthy swig before returning to his story.


    Vizsha found himself sitting against his sled again, leaning back against the cargo he hardly noticed the skrat blood seeping onto his clothes as he turned the tooth around in his blood spotted hands. Once around the head and shoulder Vizsha hadn''t been surprised to see the bloody drag marks leading deeper into the valley. Whatever had made this kill had probably drug its¡¯ prize down to the Lowlands to eat his kill in comfort. Again, he found his eyes drawn to the tooth. "I''ve never seen anything nearly this big. And by the looks of the markings this is one of its smaller teeth." Vizsha said to himself in a low whisper. In the dead quiet of the moss-covered slope of loose rocks the whispers seemed much too loud for comfort. Catching himself he berated his stupidity. While whatever had killed the railm must be gone, this much blood would attract every scavenger for valleys astound. Vizsha picked himself up quickly and decided it wouldn''t be safe to stop again till he was firmly in the peaks.

 Blood and Fire

    Boab released a soft moan as he leaned his head against the cool scale-skin of his god. The wall of scale-skin seemed to burst from the snow-covered ice beneath his feet, continuing upwards many dozens of sed above his horns. Wandering where he was, Boab looked around for a leg, tentacle, or fin he recognized, but whenever he thought he might recognize something in the distance his vision swam, and his head throbbed something fierce.


    Giving up Boab rested his head against his god¡¯s side again, cool flesh against his feverish forehead gave him a moment''s relief. As he rested eyes closed, he traced the outlines of the thick cartilage plates beneath the surface the off-white blubber-skin of his god. He still marveled at the size and thickness of each scale, years of proximity did nothing to take away from the awe in him whenever he tried to comprehend the size of the deity. Some scales were so large and ancient that the blubber-skin no longer stretched across, leaving patches of dark red scale-bone exposed. Each of these irregular holes was wreathed in a layer of dark purple inflamed flesh that shed large flakes of wet dead skin.


    Leaning back Boab tied to spot the sun over the back of his god but the clouds were too thick and low this day to even guess where the sun may be. He wondered if the god¡¯s spikes would be long enough to cut into the clouds above but no matter how he tried he couldn''t get his eyes to focus enough to see.


    The effort of straining his eyes had caused a fierce pain in his head, throbbing from behind his eyes all the way to the tips of his horns. Had it been long enough? He reached for his hukar at his waist, hands trembling with desperation and fear. Had he waited long enough?


    The first time he had tested his gods¡¯ powers he had been a boy of barely 15. Thinking on that first euphoric time, mind muddied by the fever and the need, he could almost feel the strength he had once commanded. A boy hardly in his teens he had been the only one of his tribe to survive the god¡¯s patronage. And what did he do with it? He killed, and burned, and died a thousand times, by the end he returned to his tribe pushing a sled filled with the small corpse of a child and the scalp of every man woman and child from the Umbata tribe.


    With a jolt Boab released the image of a tiny smiling corpse covered with a mat of blood, hair, and flesh from his mind¡¯s eye. He must not have waited long enough. The visions only came when he could still feel his god''s power. How long had it been? One day? Two? If this is how he was to feel with some power still within him would he die without it? Where was his hukar? Did any of it matter? In a moment of sobriety, he realized he was scratching his god with long broken talon like nails attached to wizened wrinkled liver spotted hands. What had happened to him? He remembered many of his early fights. Drinking deeply of his god he could rage and burn for days, leaving anyone who opposed him broken in the snow behind him. How long ago were those glory days? How long had it been since he last left the side of his god suckling like a deformed pup?


    His head burned, not the cleansing fire of a god coursing through his body, but the burn of a man waking from a night cradling a skin of suka. His bones felt like they were made of ice. His skin crawled with tiny creatures stripping his skin from the flesh beneath.


    He woke with a start reeling trying to stand up and run from the creatures tearing at his flesh. His body barely remembered which muscles were used to support his weight when he finally brought himself to his feet, he clutched his throbbing head as his weak legs gave out below him. As he fell, he cried out reaching for his god, hand grabbing the hilt of his hukar protruding from the wall of flesh in front of him. Unfortunately, this didn''t stop his descent but did do a little to slow the fall, before the knife slipped out of his god. Boab fell to the ice crying out as his arm broke and twisted against the ice beneath him as he tried to stop his fall. Still holding onto his hukar with his good hand, he lay there sobbing to himself and cradling his broken arm. His cries were interrupted as he felt something warm trickle onto his head. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Blood.


    He looked up, no longer caring about his age or brokenness, he saw the fat drop of blood drip from the long gash his hukar had left in his god''s side.


    He could have avoided it. Simply moved his head an inch away. The drop would have splashed harmless against the snow.


    Moving closer and opening his mouth his last sober thought was "Has it been long enough?"


    A single drop of copper tasting blood landed on his tongue. The fire spread from there as if he had tried to swallow a burning oil wick. Racing down his throat and filling his belly he screamed louder than any man he had killed in battle, louder than any woman whose children he tore apart in front of them. He screamed like a man burning from the inside out.


    Just as he thought that he had finally tried his luck one too many times the fire passed leaving him with the low smolder that was all the blood blessed him with now. But even this is enough he thought to himself flexing his now whole again arm as he sat in the snow besides his god. Removing the many layers of hide and fur that covered him he bared his chest to the cold and enjoyed the glow of a low fire burning in his chest.


    Taking stock of himself he ran his now youthful hands over his body, feeling the strength of the muscles pulsing slowly in rhythm with the light coming from his fire heart. Seeing the light of his fire heart radiate through his scale-skin he could trace the lines where the scales beneath his skin met by the bright red lines that seeped light through his pale white skin. Content with his strength he ran his hands through his scale-mane. Starting from the back of his head, between his horns, and flowing down to the base of his short tail in the back, completely covering neck and shoulders in the front. Long central scales made up the bulk of the mane on his back, each of these scales reached about half the length of his forearm and only a finger''s breadth wide while many of the other scales covering his chest and neck were half as long but twice as wide and much thicker. Feeling the heat build within him Boab flexed his back raising his mane in what would usually be a threatening way, each scale lifted off his back making his mane look many times larger than it looked lying flat on his back. However, this served a different purpose for Boab. As his scales raised he became clouded by the steam released from beneath his scales as his body tried to vent some of the heat that was building inside.


    Placing a small bone bowl to collect the drippings of blood he settled content leaning his back against the familiar cool scale-skin of his god. Closing his eyes as he let himself be taken by the visions of death and fire, he began humming a song his mother had sung to him as a boy. Picking up his hukar from the snow besides him he spent the next several days in a daze dipping his blade into the blood and licking it clean over and over again. He occasionally would eat fistfulls of snow to keep him alive, but he partook in no other sustenance besides the blood. He continued his ritual for three days till he began to feel the fire build to something even venting his scales wouldn''t help. Then he knew he would have to stop lest he let his god¡¯s fire take him that day.


    So again he began to wait. At first there was no pain, just the great fire burning within his chest. But like any fire that burns too large it began spilling out of its confines in his fireheart, scorching every nerve in his body, leaving nothing but the pain of old burns his gods power left him. Burning, feverish, broken and crying softly to himself Boab repeated the same question over and over in his head till it began spilling from his mouth in a soft burble.


    "Has it been long enough?"


    "Has it been long enough?"


    "Has it been long enough?

 Terrors by Night

    Sitting quietly by the edge of a small fire Vizsha found himself poking the embers trying to coax more heat out of the fungus and dried moss fire that smoldered fitfully in front of him. Giving up on the futile task he began to repack the mostly raw skrat meat he had hung over the fire. He was frustrated knowing that if he hadn''t rushed himself and gathered enough of the dried fungus stalks in the valley he wouldn''t be in this position.


    Thinking back, he was amazed the trip hadn''t gone worse. For his first lone hunt in the low valleys, let alone in spring when the low valleys were forbidden, he thought he could have done much worse. He was returning with enough meat, fur, and bone to keep his now reduced family in comfort till spring reached the high valleys and hunting would be much simpler.


    Spring never entirely reached the peaks where he had set up camp tonight. A dry hot spell in late summer was the only time of year you would find any of the peaks not capped in snow. And even then, that was the lower peaks. The higher peaks stood perpetually capped in snow, year-round their height resisting any weather that may be affecting the Lowlands. Even great storms knew to bow before the height of the peaks. From up here you could watch the clouds course through the high valleys, swirling like the torrents of a rain swelled spring river. But no matter how it swirled, crashed, or lit the clouds below with flashes of lightning, the storm could not raise itself to the height of the peaks and the peaks weather was the same as every day. Windswept with light snow that blew from below carried by the ever-present wind.


    Just thinking about the wind seemed to make it worse Vizsha thought as he finished tying the leather draw straps on the bag filled with skrat meat. Clapping and rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth, he began to set furs against the side of his sled. He never got truly cold with his fireheart beating in his chest, but without shelter in this weather his fingers and toes still grew stiff and painful. Looking at the nest of furs he had laid out they looked inviting as they ever had.


    He took the chance to relieve himself a short distance from his sled before wrapping himself in furs and settling in for the night. He covered his eyes with a thick leather strap to keep out the light of the heaven trail. Even in the darkest of nights the heaven trail and it''s 3 sister moons lit a man''s path bright enough to walk. On a night like tonight where all three moons and the heaven trail were bright in the sky you had to cover your eyes if you wished to sleep at all.


    Vizsha found his mind wandering to painfully places but couldn''t help himself from worrying, like picking at molting that wasn''t ready to shed he knew it wouldn''t help but he couldn''t stop himself from doing it. He thought about his brother and father''s decision to travel to the fort they had found on their last scouting trip to the Lowlands. How could they have not seen that their decision would lead to the loss of three members of his family instead of the inevitable one. Travelling to the lands of these humans to seek their healers and their medicines to save a sick child seemed the brave thing to do but knowing the results now Vizsha wondered if he shouldn''t have put his hukar through Hebo''s eye the moment his father had suggested the trip. He would have suffered much less... maybe he could have saved his father and brother too... what was he thinking? His brother and father aren''t dead. It''s only been 93 days... Baba will come home soon... He promised...


    Vizsha ran out the flap of his yurt knowing that his father would be riding his sleigh over the rise ahead any moment. He waited for what felt like an eternity passing him by in the briefest of moments, scanning the horizon for the red and white banner his father always flew over his sleigh. Soon or forever later he saw a blur of movement on the horizon, running towards it he found himself there in a few bounds. He could tell that it was once his father''s sleigh, but now all that remained was the fire blackened bone runners and foot boards that still seemed as large as they had when he was a child. Stepping up onto the ruined platform he questioned for a second how the sleigh had gotten here without a junsk to pull it, or why the bones were still smoldering when he saw no smoke in the air.


    His line of thought was interrupted when he heard the whimpering sobs of a small child coming from a bundle of charred skins he had missed earlier along the back rail of the sleigh. He began walking towards it reaching for his hukar, he paused not finding it on his belt, but the cries still called him forward. As he walked closer, he trembled with fear. Somehow, he knew what was going to be in those skins. "The burnt head of my father is going to be in that bag." he said aloud as he continued to walk the much too long distance between him and the skins. Each step began to slow down and lengthen as he struggled his way forward the skins seemed farther and farther away. Pushing forward, fueled by the need to know exactly what happened to his father he began to sprint and immediately found himself standing over the charred hides. The bundle seemed no larger than a basket but when he picked it up it felt as heavy as a mountain. Turning it over slowly in his hands he found a skin to peel away exposing the item beneath.


    Vizsha let out a scream to match that of the screamer eel that jumped from his hands at its earliest convenience, soaring down the mountain swimming through the air as if through water.


    A very unique contagious laughter bubbled out from behind him. And despite his fright Vizsha couldn''t help but smile. Whipping around Vizsha punched his little brother hard in his arm. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Smiling he asked "Where did you even get a screamer eel Hebo? They only live in the valley rivers."


    "Oh, I think the real question is how are you ever going to live this one down? I swear you jumped twice as high as the last time I got you!" Said the energetic youth.


    Vizsha took a moment to really look at him, it couldn''t have been very long since he saw him last but looking at him now Vizsha got the feeling he had spent far too long away from his younger brother. He was only a head shorter than him now, spindly but always full of energy, eager to show anyone who would listen the two little bumps poking out of the top of his mane on the back of his head. Small bumps now but promising size for a grand set of horns someday, or so he told anyone who would listen to his constant chatter.


    "Viz, buddy, pal, did I scare something loose in your head? Or are you just in a stare-y mood again?" Hebo piped in while walking closer to Vizsha.


    Vizsha knew something wasn''t right. Where was the sleigh that he had just been standing on? Why was he back in his yurt? Had they already walked home? Just as he began to feel a bubble of anxiety build in his stomach an old wizened hand landed on his shoulder. Looking the way the hand came, he felt a scream building deep in his throat as he recognized the flask the elder handed him. He tried to refuse the flask, but his hands still grabbed it''s smooth ivory surface as if his body was under the control of another.


    Looking to where Boab pointed he let out a wracked sob as he saw what he had feared. Hebo laid on the floor surrounded by furs and pots of bloody water. The rot had been at him for too long. He hardly looked alive at this point covered in weeping greasy sores exposing much of the scales beneath, Vizsha knew if the leather pasted to his chest were removed, he could see the lung beneath slightly expanding and contacting with each breath Hebo labored. At first they had tried to cover all of the places where his skin had slid off the scales beneath with ointment and oil covered leathers to reduce the pain, but now the rot had spread fully to the scales and in some places the meat beneath. He should not still be alive. Everyone knew that once the rot appears you have days at best before you die. Weeks if someone is stupid enough to prolong your horrible death. Hebo had been sick for months. Somehow, he held on. Maybe it was his indomitable spirit, maybe it was his young healthy body, maybe it was the words of his father whispered in his ear before his departure. Whatever reason it may be Hebo had held on for longer than anyone had the right to, suffering more through his survival then anyone ever should have. But even still Vizsha had kept him alive and with him the hope of his father''s return. But with the progression of the disease and how weak Hebo was even Vizsha knew he wouldn''t last the night.


    "Pour him just a drop. He will heal or he will burn. Either way his suffering will be over." The elder rasped in a near reverent whisper.


    The elder¡¯s logic was sensible. It spoke to his need. He looked down on the small form of his baby brother, still a child, but battered to this point he had no question if there was another way to save him. His only chance was the blood.


    He dipped his finger into the burning blood of the flask and prayed to the spirit of the god within it.


    "Please, if any of your sons deserve your patronage it is Hebo. He is brave and strong. He brings light and life to everyone. He gets on my nerves and never shuts up, but my father said it just means he will be a great speaker one day. If you have any kindness in your fireheart spare my brother and heal him so he may one day worship you."


    Vizsha placed his wet red finger in between his brothers chapped lips and stepped back as Hebo''s thirsty tongue lapped the red smear off his lips.


    Almost immediately Hebo struggled through a deep breath and began to stir. Groaning he began to toss and turn showing more strength than he had in days. His eyes began to flicker beneath their lids as a light grew in his chest.


    Falling to his knees weeping Vizsha grabbed the now quickly healing hand of his brother and let the stress and pain of these last few months boil away for just a moment. He had saved his brother. The old gods had listened. His family might still be broken but with the three of them still alive they could make a new family. They could rebuild. Feeling a tightening of his brother¡¯s hand on his he looked up to see his brother¡¯s eyes blinking and unfocused as if he had just woken up.


    "Good morning sleepy head. How did you sleep?" Asked Vizsha wiping tears from his face with his good hand.


    "Why are you burning me?" Asked Hebo in a small unsure voice.


    "Back away Vizsha. The goods choose him to burn." The elder said while pushing the yurt flap open with one hand drinking from a suka skin with the other.


    But Vizsha hesitated, not understanding what the elder said. Hebo was getting better, wasn''t he?


    "Why are you burning me?" Asked Hebo in a more insistent voice sounding more childlike then then he should.


    Vizsha looked back to the form of his brother piled in a heap on the floor and balked at the visage looking back at him. Where his eyes used to be now pits of yellow flame yawned. The nubs of horn he had been so proud of grew out of his head at a rate that destroyed his skull in the process splashing steaming brains all over the furs he laid on, but still he opened a mouth full of smoke and screamed "Why are you burning me? Why are you burning me?" over and over even as his tongue caught fire and the flesh of his face charred over, he still screamed. As his chest swole up and burst like a water skin left too close to the fire. As his scales popped from beneath his skin and burst from him in little gouts of flame. As his limbs burst to flame, hands clutching his brothers he screamed, and burned, and healed and screamed.


    The scream echoed out into the night as Vizsha frantically unwrapped himself from furs and removed the leather cover over his eyes. He already had his hukar in his hands as he searched the small campsite for the source of the scream. Realizing only after his right hand throbbed that he must have had another nightmare and the source of the scream was himself. He put his hukar away and removed the glove from his right hand. The burn had healed well over the last month but still it pained him whenever he thought about Hebo.


    Replacing his glove, he began to break camp knowing he would have no more luck sleeping tonight. The three sisters had already passed through the night sky but Vizsha knew the heaven trail would light his way. Pushing onward he tried to let the feeling of physical exertion and exhaustion distract him from his nightly reliving of his part in his brother¡¯s death. Like most days it wasn''t nearly enough

 Sky Lord鈥檚 Wake

    Cirine woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of pounding on her door. At first she attempted to ignore the noise but as the pounding on the door increased in volume it began to sync with the pounding behind her eyes and she knew there was no chance of falling back asleep with the hangover that was brewing in her head. Calling out to the person pounding on the door she crassly informed them of where she believed their first would be of more use and demanded "a fucking minute for a young lady to get dressed in peace.¡±


    Well at least that shut them up Cirine thought as she put on a night smock, shifting piles of open books, notepads, and sketching slates from her bed to the floor making room for her to reach the edge of her large fungal mat bed. Rubbing the bridge of her nose she grabbed her glyph pen off the small table next to her and uncapped the fireheart fragment in the tip of its silver length, both to light the dark room and also to protect herself should the unwanted intruder prove to not be the friendly sort.


    As the light spilled from the glyph pen it lit her room with the brightness of a small candle, the sliver of fireheart was no larger than a candle flame after all and revealed the chaos that was left over from the night before. Her experiments cluttered the small table pressed into the dark corner of the room, piles of shavings taken from the firecages of leviathans small and large, small boxes containing fireheart slivers, each dated and catalogued precisely by species, size, and hue. Small porcelain preservative jars filled with a multitude of solvents each labeled and expertly sealed with wax. And above all else books. Piled on the corners of her bed, strewn open in circles around pillows on the floor, even stacked in leaning towers between items on the desk, books dominated her room.


    Against the far wall two heavy black woolen curtains were drawn and latched over the two small wooden framed windows in the brick wall above her bed, giving no hint as to the time of day outside. A wash basin and chamber pot occupied one corner of the room, the other two were taken up by simple wooden wardrobes while the center of the room was dominated by an old fireheart furnace.


    By far one of the most pleasant inns she had found herself visiting in many years she thought as she stumbled to her makeshift desk and uncorked a small porcelain solvent. Working off muscle memory and instinct she began expertly portioning ingredients from various piles into a small bone kettle that she unearthed from a pile of books and loose papers that had accumulated on the sturdy wooden stool that stood before the table.


    3.4 Hair (1.5 g) iron flakes for heat.


    2.2 Hair (.97 g) dried leviathan blood of at least Prince purity.


    6.5 Hair (2.87 g) of any purity firecage shavings.


    10 Hair (4.4 g) dried powdered vaccie root. (Best if aged at least 5 years)


    15 Drops (.75 ml) of her own blood. (Like most essence pills, the remedy would only have effect on the one who''s blood made the base)


    3 Blood (13.5 ml) firestone Alkahest. (Cirine donned thick hide gloves while pouring the Alkahest. Taking care to not spill a single drop of the incredibly precious and dangerous liquid.)


    Her hands moved deftly as she prepared the solution. She had no need for formulas or measuring devices as she worked from decades of experience. Even in her exhausted pained state she was still confident of the accuracy of what she created.


    As soon as the Alkahest was added to the solution the kettle started smoking and giving of a sound like deep ice cracking. Taking care to reseal and place the Alkahest on a relatively clear portion of her table she swiftly removed the gloves and took her glyph pen off the pile of books where it had been lighting her work.


    The silver rod sizzled as it plunged into the liquid, giving off a black curl of smoke as the Alkahest attempted in vain to dissolve the silver it was made with, plunging the room into darkness, only lit by the soft gold glow that rose from the kettle.


    With practiced movements she began to stir the kettle in small figure eights with the fireheart sliver on the end of her glyph pen. The fireheart reacted with the solution causing sparks and bubbles to form as the dissolving iron shavings heated to molten white at the touch of the fireheart.


    As soon as the elixir boiled thoroughly, she removed the pen and waited for the liquid to cool. Most of those who practiced the art of crafting elixirs would pour off the solution into pill molds at this point and wait for the elixir to harden before consuming it.


    Cirine lifted the kettle and poured a shot of what looked like glowing molten gold down her throat.


    Almost immediately the dry ache behind her eyes subsided and was replaced by a mild euphoria. Releasing a long breath, she exhaled a cloud of golden fog, picking up her pen in one hand and carrying the kettle in the other as she walked to the fireheart furnace in the center of the room.


    "Truly one of the greater injustices in the world. Any glyph that fixes hangovers also "fixes" my ability to get drunk." Said Cirine to no one in particular. "In fact!" She exclaimed stopping to take another gulp of the golden liquid "I think it''s wholly unfair, don''t you Hasp?" The last word was a breathy word that seemed to come entirely from the front of the mouth but was accompanied by a deep rumble that seemed to originate in her chest causing her whole body to vibrate. The vibrations moved down her legs and through her feet to the wooden floor and were intense enough to rattle the large fireheart furnace in front of her.


    "Whoops, inkeep isn''t going to like that one is she?" Cirine said as she took a handful of iron shavings and sprinkled them through the furnace grate causing the ancient nearly dead fireheart suspended in the bone furnace to give off a low light and produce enough heat to keep the morning chill at bay.


    "You know? I actually don''t mind there not being a glyph for this." She said draining the last of the elixir that had already started to turn into a sludge like white substance that would have eventually hardened into a light gold pill. The effects of the elixir were in full effect now, but the euphoria had already started to lessen leaving her in a sour mood, much less than a few minutes past, but still sour.


    Taking a moment to enjoy the small luxuries she had grown accustomed to while in this town she walked to the basin and tried to rouse herself with the chilled water that poured from a stone tap set in the wall.


    The pounding resumed on her door, sounding rather insistent and immediately ruined the good mood she had been working so hard on. "Just a moment if you would please man! Or would you burst in the chambers of a young woman dressing herself?" Cirine yelled to the door. Checking herself in the polished brass mirror that hung over her water basin she attempted to put on a presentable face. That having failed she quickly went to work with a brush trying to convince her bushy brown hair to come to some sort of agreement.


    Several broken bristles and a drop or two of krin seed oil later she had dark brown hair that fell in glossy sheets to her shoulders. Reddening her lips with a touch of colored oils and straightening her smock to come down between her breasts she confidently strode to the door with glyph pen in hand. Only thinking as she opened the door to put the hand with the pen behind her back as to not frighten whomever was beyond the door.


    The door opened to bright sunlight which immediately made Cirine regret leaving her bed as her eyes seared and throbbed reminding her of her night before. "What do you want?" Cirine barked at the vaguely man shaped blur that was all her sun shocked eyes could see through the doorway.


    "Y-y-you were suposto speak at the academy today!" Yelped a young man with dusky colored skin and dark hair of maybe 15 years who was indeed wearing academic robes. "The professor said the class would wait an hour for me to find you and return. It has already been forty minutes." He had a deep resonant voice that sounded years beyond how old his face looked even if it did crack as he spoke. His pale blue eyes kept shifting to her exposed breast and hip then quickly back to her face as if a child stealing sweets in pain view, knowing that he was being caught but too tempted by the treats to ever consider stopping.


    Cirine couldn''t help but be amused by the way she saw men look at her here in these lands where women lived so wrapped up the sight of an ankle is considered risqu¨¦. In her village clothing was optional but when it was worn it was used to embellish the beauty of the body beneath it, not hide it.


    Eyes adjusted to the bright day outside and head seeming much subdued in her amusement she chuckled at the boy and waved him in. He entered hesitantly, closing the door behind him as he nervously looked around the messy dark room. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Cirine spoke with a husky teasing tone that she was sure would get her anything in the world from this young man in front of her. "The way I see it is I have to get changed and I have to ask you some questions, if I were to do them separately I might be even more late." By this point she had already pressed the glyph pen into his surprised hands. Walking towards the wardrobe she had begun to untie the waist wrap of the smock tied at her hip. As she dropped the band to the ground, she said over her shoulder with a half hidden smirk "Or is that too embarrassing for you?"


    As if snapped out of a spell the boy responded as quickly as he could "ThatWouldBePerfectlyFine! You know I was trained for battle with a grown leviathan so I think I can handle..." His story was cut short by a finger pressed against his lips.


    "Let me change then we can talk on the way there." Cirine said with a knowing smile. "I would love to hear all about how strong you are and all the battles you''ve won." She said playing with his jet-black hair with her free hand as she unlaced the two knots at her waist pulling her smock aside and onto the floor beside her. "But first I need to find something to wear to this presentation."


    At this point the boy¡¯s face was firefern red in the flickering light of the glyph pen and Cirine was having a blast. Nothing feels quite like the undivided attention of lust she thought as she took her time slowly getting dressed in front of her wardrobe.


    She gave the poor boy a moment to recover after she "dropped" a hat in front of him and "had" to bend down away from him to pick it up. But as soon as his color returned, she began to question him about the engagement that she must have agreed to one of the nights she had been out drinking. To his merit the boy really did manage to put most of his sentences together correctly and even tried to maintain eye contact when she spoke to him.


    Apparently, she had agreed to share her knowledge of the seven principle materials with the class of a professor that she had, go figure, met while drinking. She also learned that the Rola city academy was considered the greatest repository of arcane and leviathan knowledge this side of the lake-sea. And yet they taught of only 5 principal materials. The obvious juxtaposition consumed her thoughts as she finished dressing, having the boy she now knew as Tomaim lace up the side of her dress. She took a quick look at herself in the mirror.


    Dark green eyes covered in thin intricate lines of branded flesh starred back at her. Those eyes looked amused yet intense. The eyes of a condemned woman who could still laugh at her own plight. Those eyes found themselves in the heart shaped face of a young woman barely still in her teens. Short of stature but commanding of presence Cirine Sky Lord found herself almost accustomed to the face that looked back at her. Thin red lines of branded flesh led from the corners of her mouth and eyes to a cluster of intended glyphs that formed a circle around each of her temples. Each mark held dormant power that would activate whenever she was casting. One enabled her to see clearly for miles even on the cloudiest of nights. Another strengthened her jaw so she could bite through enemy armor and bone alike. These were just two of the ten intended glyphs she had marked around each of her temples. A small part of the whole canvas of brands that covered her body. Worried for a moment Cirine turned to Tomaim and asked in what was maybe a little too leading of a tone "Tomaim am I pretty? Even with all these scars?"


    Impressively he held his ground much longer then Cirine had expected him to, taking time to look over her head to toe before saying anything. He took in her dark silky hair spilling around her pale heart-shaped face, her stunning black woolen dress that exposed all the right side of her body from ankle to shoulder aside from a leather belt that crossed over her hip on the right side. Not wanting to miss his opportunity he took a step closer, holding the glyph pen less than an arm''s reach from her as he slowly walked around her. Gone was the blushing boy who stole glances and in his place was a man appraising every detail of her person, looking intimately with a critical eye he somehow raised a blush in Cirine she didn''t know she had.


    Emboldened by the blush, not shying away from his task at hand he closed the final step between them as he began running his fingers along the streams and straps of her dress as if looking for any fault or flaw he could find. After the dress passed his inspection his fingers began to wander to her skin. At first, he just traced the brands that crossed over her exposed shoulder, fingers ever so lightly tracing the lines from one set of glyphs to next, but soon his hand began to wander tracing the lines of seared flesh up her neck and across her face.


    A ragged breathy gasp, that she didn''t realize had been growing in her chest, burst from her mouth as she felt Tomaim¡¯s other hand slip in her dress from the side reaching toward her womanhood. She firmly grasped both of his wrists and stepped back while holding them in front of him. She was more than half a foot shorter than him but at this moment with nothing more than his hands in hers and a quiet reproachful look she held complete control over him.


    Tomaim looked quietly to his feet already hunching his shoulders to fend off the scolding and yelling that he was certain was coming his way. Cirine took a deep steadying breath, composed herself, and began packing the leather tote that lay on the ground next to her desk. Several heavy moments passed before Tomain spoke.


    "I''m sorry. I just wanted to show you how wrong you were for even questioning yourself. I wanted to show you how I saw you. I wanted you to know you were the most beautiful, entrancing, woman I''ve ever met." He paused for a moment seeming to struggle with what to say as she continued her packing. "You know my mother was branded too. Not nearly as many as you have. I''ve never seen that many brands on a person before. But still my mother has had them my whole life, the older girls at the academy have already started earning their brands too. And look!" He nearly shouted as he parted his robes showing the single brand line that crossed his chest and spread down his four limbs.


    Taking a moment to look at the brand work she noted that while the brand seemed to be very crude in origin and calligraphy it was still a powerful endurance brand that would provide strength and durability to whomever wore it, considerably less whenever not casting, but still enough to make this young man much stronger than he looked.


    Finished packing her bag Cirine stepped up to the confused and hurt looking young man that she invited into her room and held out her hand for the glyph pen that he still held. He reluctantly gave it to her accepting the silent treatment that she gave him knowing that he deserved it. She took the pen from his hands and quickly covered the fireheart fragment with its cap plunging the room into darkness again.


    Immediately Tomaims senses were overwhelmed by the smells, tastes, and tactile sensations that assaulted him. The taste of old wine, hot musk, and sweet lip balm invaded his mouth felt smooth lips press and part against his, a foreign tongue exploring his mouth as he breathed deeply through his nose filling him mind with the smell of her. She smelled like a woman should, sweaty and sweet, flowery and musky, with a hint of something he couldn''t place and was too preoccupied currently to try.


    Again, Tomain let his mind and hands wander as he fell deeper and deeper into this pitch-black kiss. He began by tracing the muscles of her back with one hand as the other lifted her leg around his waist and explored the area close at hand. This time Cirine did not hesitate or pull back, instead she entwined her hands in his thick hair and pulled his body closer to her with her leg around him. Letting ragged breaths escape from between their lips the kiss lasted less than ten seconds but felt like much longer to both parties lost in the moment.


    Tomain was so lost in the sensation and pleasure of the moment he didn''t realize it was over until he felt his wrist being firmly pulled from where it had strayed too far between her legs. But even as she pulled her soft lips away from his he still rejoiced in her closeness to him and her not removing his other hand from her breast seemingly ok with that show of affection.


    Both of their ragged breaths filled the scene for a moment before Cirine spoke. "You didn''t need to apologize Tomaim." She said in a content voice. "It is me who should have apologized to you. Bringing you in here and teasing you like a boy. Not recognizing the man you had already become." As she was talking, she braided together the fingers of her hand with the one she had just removed from her dress, drawing little swirls in the back of his hair with her other hand, leg still wrapped comfortably around his hip. He found himself tracing the contours of her bare hip, focusing mainly on the part that if he brushed just right sent shivers through her entire body.


    "But then what did I do wrong? Why did you pull me away from you twice?" Tomaim asked as he leaned down and began kissing lightly along her neck, paying attention to how every part of her reacted to his touch.


    Thoughts broken by a low moan she tried to collect herself enough to say at least one of the quips she had been saving for this moment. Oh gods, it was easy to forget that not much more than a youth sat before her in the dark. Especially when he spoke in that low rough voice so full of need, running his strong calloused hands over her breasts like he was doing now. She tried to think of the quip she had prepared earlier and after the third time she forgot what she was saying, mind to muddled by wandering hands and lips, she just said what came to mind. "Didn''t your mother ever tell you to knock before coming in?"


    Instantly the room was dead silent as both parties took a moment to process what she had just said. Hearing Tomaim shift his arm she reacted quickly. "I swear if you knock on me, I will never speak to you again." She heard his arm quietly lower, somehow sounding dejected even in that small movement.


    Sighing and unwrapping herself from him she walked over to her bed and opened a curtain letting daylight permeate the room. "What I meant to say was would you enter my home without knocking? It was intended to sound wise and sexy. But as it were, I couldn''t quite focus at the time." She said while digging through the books on her bed for the one she would need. Looking back up at him smiling like a little kid made the age gap feel as expansive as any ravine.


    "So, you''re saying that all that was stopping us was me asking permission?" He asked in that particular way men had of taking what you just said and saying it back in the worst way possible.


    "No. It''s much more then permission." Cirine attested, "Its consent. I am not permitting you to touch me like a schoolteacher permits you to go to the restroom or a guard permits your entry into the city. I am giving my consent from equal footing. Remember that next time." She commanded as she put the last book in her satchel and placed it over her shoulder.


    "Next time?" Asked a stunned Tomaim.


    "Next time." She whispered as she passed him on the way to the door. Grabbing her bone stave from where it leaned against the bed. Stopping in the now open doorway she turned and smiled.


    "Well aren''t you going to lead me there? I''m afraid I''ve never been to the academy in this city before." She said in a playful manner.


    Snapping out of what he was sure wouldn''t be the last time his brain stopped working on him today he hurried out the door and began the process of leading them down larger and larger roads as they approached the inner city.


    "So, what can you tell me about this professor I will be speaking to today?" Said Cirine smiling, deciding she had enough things to be happy about with a day as nice as this.


    "Well fist to note that he is the city governor." He said with a suspiciously straight face.


    "Oh, I hate working with city royalty." She said with some spite. "Every single one is a pompous good for nothing who sits on an inherited throne boning their cousins and sisters while honest people doing honest work would rather have their heads off then deal with all the rules they pass down."


    Tomaim made a sound similar to a choking toad and turned about the same shade of green.


    "What did I say? Are you not allowed to criticize city royalty in Rola?" Asked a concerned Cirine in a hushed voice.


    "No, I wouldn''t quite say that''s that problem." He replied keeping his unhealthy hue.


    Stopping he turned to her and despite the emptiness of the alleyway around them nearly whispered "He''s my father."


    "Oh, oh shit."

 Rosh-hasha Academy

    Tomaim walked in silence up the Grand Stairs. Made of pale white marble, the stairs stretched from the base of the city and the airdocks that hung precariously off the western cliff all the way to the castle known as the Crown. The city of Rola-di was found on the tallest of six high peaks cutting their way through the clouds low below. This small kingdom controlled all six peaks and even had several keeps built in the lower valleys to protect the peaks from any leviathans strong, desperate, or dumb enough to try to climb the peaks in search of food. However, only the highest cleft peak, known as the elder brothers, had the full fortifications of high city walls and armed battlements. The city loomed over the lower peaks, covered in white stone as if a blanket of marble buildings had been draped over the peak at some distant time in the past. The city of Rola contained a little over half of the small nation¡¯s population, making it home to just over a million souls.


    Passing through a throng of bodies, Cirine and Tomain still made good time traveling the main path from the inn near the city''s walls to the academy near the peak of the city. Walking in silence began to wear on Cirine so she decided to work past the extreme awkwardness of the last few minutes and ask more questions of the city she found herself in.


    "So, I''ve seen a few Yetri in the city, however it seems everyone else in this city is a man. Most walled cities I''ve seen have have many races. What makes Rola so different?" She noticed a pointed stare from a loaded down merchant that was walking uphill next to them as she asked the question. Yet with their good pace, and the merchants large backpack, they were quickly past him as they hurried upwards.


    "Well it''s certainly no different for us," Tomaim replied almost harshly. His previously cheerful demeanor had been replaced with a look of concentration on the task at hand and possibly some hurt hidden by his hard features. "Ages ago, before the time of my family, Rola was full of different peoples."


    Leaving it at that Tomain began quickening his step leaving the significantly shorter Cirine to take the stairs 2 at a time. She knew without her brands she would have been left far behind and yet it took almost no extra effort to bounce along besides her guide. Her interest now sparked she asked, "What happened to change?" Trying to keep her tone cheerful and light despite her growing concern.


    "The Blood Wars happened, that''s what." Tomaim nearly spit out, anger palpable in his words. "Some bloody scale-skin bastard snuck gods blood into the city proper and started feeding it to all the blood addicts in the city. After the inevitable string of spontaneous combustions, one of the addicts awoke to the blood¡¯s power. Before he could be stopped nearly a third of the humans within the city had been killed. Once he was stopped the remaining scale-skins were expelled, those who resisted were executed." Stopping he turned to the woman following silently besides him. "I understand as a Sky Lord you must have a different view and may not agree with how things are done here. But understand this, we humans are smaller, weaker, and less inclined to manipulation of blood or rasa than any of the scale-skins. We can only survive by our numbers and our wits. And we will do what it takes to survive."


    Cirine was surprised by the air of authority that Tomaim mustered in saying that. She understood that it was probably due to years of being told the same thing by his father, yet he still spoke his own mind in this. Not here to try to change a nation she decided to play it safe and agree with him. "I understand and I will not call the decision of you or your ancestors into account. You must always do what is right for your people."


    Nodding Tomaim seemed to accept this answer and began striding quickly up the stairs in front of him. Cirine was again taken aback by this young man''s confidence and maturity for his apparent age as she resumed following after him.


    The rest of the short trip was filled with questions Cirine asked about landmarks and shops they passed and Tomaim''s short replies. By the time they were reaching the top of the stairs Cirine had managed to get Tomaim to relax and speak comfortably with her, even managing to make him smile with several jokes she cracked at the expense of some of the stranger inn signs they passed. They reached the gates to the academy''s courtyard in light spirits as she recounted some of her recent drinking misadventures.


    "Without even a moment¡¯s hesitation I smashed my stave as hard as I could into his jewels. Which I must say he deserved for where he had decided to grab ahold if me. But you wouldn''t believe what happened after that..." she trailed off waiting for his question.


    Tomaim stopped laughing and involuntarily groaning at the thought of this deceptively strong woman swinging her stave into his manhood to ask with an expectant look "What? What happened?"


    Suddenly from ahead of them a low authoritative voice spoke "Absolutely nothing happened. You see Grackian women are the ones who grow beards. Admittedly it''s not really a beard but rather is a scale mane, but it still tends to throw people off." Stepping through a marble arch on the side of the long courtyard they were quickly moving through was a mountain of a man in a royal purple robe embroidered with gold designs that went a few fingers past his knees showing off toned branded legs and leather sandals beneath.


    Stopping suddenly and quickly bowing at the waist, Tomaim sputtered out surprised "Father, I mean Town Master, I was surprised to see you. I brought the Sky Lord as you asked."


    "I see that." He said giving the boy¡¯s bow a critical eye. Turning to the young woman he said with not a little disdain in his voice, "I must say that story was much funnier with a few drinks in my belly." Giving a slight nod of the head he continued more formally "Thank you for coming to today''s class. I am honestly surprised you made it after the condition you were in last night."


    Looking over this man Cirine did have a vague memory of sharing several drinks and stories with him last night. At the time she had no idea he was the City Lord but upon realizing the most powerful man in the city was drinking at a commoner bar, her opinion of him rose a few notches to nearly a simple distaste. He was a gargantuan man and if she had to guess he had spent at least a few of his younger years in the Lowlands to grow up to his size. Dark black hair with a heavy sprinkling of gray cropped short in a military fashioned cutting stood above the handsome chiseled features of a clean shaven face only marred by a nose that looked as if it had been broken a few too many times and a pair of intended glyphs on each temple. Looking now she immediately saw the resemblance to her guide that had brought her here today.


    "Well I must say I did cheat a little and brewed something that took care of my pounding head for me." At the note of this the City Lords eyebrows shot up but, holding his peace, she continued. "And thank you for sending your son to guide me. He was an absolute pleasure and he taught me a lot about this city of yours City Lord." At this Tomaim blushed and looked at his own feet.


    "Please, call me Town Master. It is far too much pomp to call me lord. I will have to inquire into this brew of yours as even our academy alchemists do not know of such a brew. But as for now you have a class full of students who are eager to be enlightened by your alchemical knowledge Sky Lord." As he said this, he gestured behind himself towards a set of doors revealing his hands from the folds of his robe where they had been hiding.


    As he did this Cirine choked back an involuntary gasp upon seeing what was left of his hands. At the center of the backs of each of his hands he was branded with a large sacrificial glyph. These glyphs gave an incredible amount of strength and endurance to both his arms and would continue up to his shoulders and connect behind his back, however the tradeoff for this incredible power was what had happened to his hands. Both of his thumbs had rotten off long ago leaving him with four long stone-gray talons tipped with blood red scale like claws that she knew could tear out even the strongest leviathan''s throat.


    After composing her thoughts and only giving a moment''s thought to the monster that may be hidden underneath that regal robe of his, Cirine nodded her head and stepped past the City Lord towards a large set of pale green doors. These doors dripped luxury and appeared to be carved from jade slabs at least twice as tall as she was. As she approached closer, she noticed each half of the door was carved with half of the sun or the moon transmutation grids. Noting the quality of craftmanship she pushed the heavy doors open and entered the lecture hall.


    Finding herself in the center of a large open-air amphitheater surprised her for a moment but she quickly concealed her emotions as she saw several hundred faces staring back at her. The low murmur of talking she heard walking in completely quieted as she walked up to the raised stone podium, leaning her stave against it she began bringing books and bottles out of her bag and arranging them in front of her on the large podium. As she finished, she saw Tomaim take a seat near the front next to several other students near his age and take out a pad and quill expectantly. Seeing her glance, he gave her a sweet smile and a thumbs up. Smiling back, she began to speak but was interrupted by the City Lord.


    "Please welcome the Sky Lord miss Cirine to our classroom today students. She will be giving a lecture on principal materials. Please give her your undivided attention. She is a great alchemist of no little renown." The words boomed out aided by a glyph that was hidden but Cirine knew would be located near the base of his throat similar to her own.


    "Yes, Town Master!" The students resounded in unison with practiced ease. Then Cirine was greeted by the enthusiastic clapping of a genuinely interested audience.


    Thinking to gauge the understanding of the class she decided to start with a question. "Could anyone please tell me about the principal materials?" Her voice echoed out powerfully to the back rows aided by her glyph but, while understandable, it was not nearly as loud as the City Masters words. After asking she saw a flurry of hands raised. Deciding to operate a little differently than she suspected this class usually worked she pointed to a large furry hand near the back row. "Yes you Mr. Yetri in the back. What are the principle materials?"


    As she expected the man looked shocked at being called but quickly stood up to his near 5 bow (~20 foot) height and spoke clearly if a little slowly in a voice that easily carried over the audience "The five principal materials are the materials that make up any alchemical reaction. Not all are required for every brew but the reaction that requires the least amount of materials still requires three." To Cirine this man seemed educated if not fully correct in what he knew. Already he had made several mistakes as she knew of seven principal materials and the formula to a brew that only required two materials. However, she listened intently as the Yetri continued speaking.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    "The materials are as follows. Firstly, and most importantly, is blood. As it is known the spirit resides in blood. The blood of a leviathan must be added to provide the spiritual energy to any reaction and the blood of the one using the pill must be added to bind this spirit to the user. Secondly fireheart, the gem within any leviathan that is a source of energy, warmth, and rasa for any leviathan. This material provides rasa for the reaction and only a minuscule amount is used for each reaction. This is usually added by stirring the solution with a glyph pen." Raising his large hairy fist and giving a large grin past his low tusks, he beat his fist on his broad hairy chest. "Even I have a fireheart within my chest. It beats away and provides me with strength greater than my foes. However, my fireheart is a spec compared to any master or higher graded leviathan." Saying this he almost seemed downcast for a moment before continuing, enjoying the attention and ability to show off the knowledge he had gained through his studies.


    "The third material is firecage. Every fireheart is surrounded by a wall of metallic flesh that both protects and activates the fireheart. This material reacts with the fireheart to give off the heat and rasa required to catalyze the reaction along with the different metallics of the cages reacting with the life or herbal material that is the fourth principal material. Life or herbal materials provide living energy along with nutrients that fortify, heal, or manageably poison the consumers in a beneficial way. And the fifth is metallics. The most common use of metallics is to add iron shavings to the reaction to further react with the fireheart and increase the temperature of the reaction. However, some metallics such as silhydra, the flowing metal, can vastly alter the reaction usually changing the state or the temperature of energy within the resulting pill." Finishing abruptly, he gave a small bow and sat back down.


    "Very well done. At first I couldn''t believe what I heard when told you only taught five principal materials, but I''ve begun to realize you follow the ancient teachings of the Ayurvedic Medicinal Church. Is that right?" She addressed the question to the City Lord sitting behind her and to her left. With a simple nod he acknowledged her question.


    Turning back to the class she began to flip throughout a book in front of her as she continued to speak. "The first point I will make is simply one of clarification. The materials of life and herbal I consider two separate materials. Even if many herbals have life energies and many things that have life energies have herbals, they are two separate materials." She looked up from her book to see many hands deftly scratching away with quills as she was speaking, and she smiled to herself continuing "Life energies are actually the same energy you use to fuel your own bodies. This writer named Bouillon¡± she said tapping the book in front of her ¡±first discovered the distinction through experiments with the humble potato. I would challenge you to do the same. The potato has no herbal materials unless is left to sprout and has gone green. Before then it is simply what you referred to as life energies and what Bouillon refers to as starch." Many of the students had a shocked expression on their face however they all continued to write what was being said dutifully as she said it.


    "The next point I will make is one that it seems has gone undetected even in this great institution. The seventh principal material is the material of decay or as some refer to them, consumers. To many they don''t ever think about it but just simply accept that when bread is left out for several days it begins to rot and fall apart. However, a group of lowland alchemists in the western plains discovered something remarkable. This was discovered just a few decades ago, sadly only a year before their whole civilization was overcome by the leviathans they came to the Lowlands to hunt and study. There are living creatures so small they cannot be seen without incredible lenses made by a type of glass smithing I have never seen before or since. The only other way I know of to see these creatures is with a specific glyph that, while it lets you see the incredible world of the inexplicably small, is a sacrificial glyph that in a short order of time will consume your eye and leave you irreparably blind. These creatures when mixed in to an elixir in high enough dosages will change the fundamental properties of the elixir and if what the rumors say is true..." she paused for a moment to let those frantically scribbling to catch up "with the power of the consumers, elixirs can be made that can completely stop aging or even bring the dead back to life."


    She let that sink into the crowd as the inevitable whispers broke out and people began to talk amongst themselves. The two thoughts that kept being repeated were "There is no way. She''s making all this up. First potatoes are an alchemy material, and now invisible creatures can revive the dead." and "How incredible, a Sky Lord really is something else." She was only able to hear these whispers due to her glyph aided hearing and years of experience sifting a single voice out of a crowd.


    After the murmuring quieted down she took a few questions from the group and recommended several books that just maybe a passing sky trader would have then excused herself from the podium and let the City Lord take over the class. As she was leaving, he asked her to wait outside for him so they could discuss her compensation after he finished with the class.


    She soon found herself sitting on a white marble bench in a long empty courtyard waiting for a man that made her feel nothing but uncomfortable.


    Becoming bored, she began to fidget with her stave. About as long as her forearm and made of a smooth alabaster colored piece of leviathan rib, Cirine spun her stave around her hand and wrist expertly as she waited. She admired how the fireheart set in the end glimmered in the sharp mountain sunlight. About twice the size of her fist this large egg-shaped crystal was covered in an intricate web of intended glyphs that the leviathan she harvested it from was born naturally with on its fireheart. The surface peaked and crested like agitated waters and, if one looked closely enough, they could see a small pulsing fire deep within the gem. This heart was the heart of the first queen grade leviathan she had ever killed. She remembered that fight like it was yesterday despite the many years that had passed. It had nearly ended in her death at least a handful of times, but this heart she harvested, and the glyphs she learned from studying it, as well as all the materials and blood she was able to harvest from the corpse, made the fight worth every risk.


    Lost in thought she didn''t give much mind to the doors behind her opening and students beginning to pour out. First one to her was a middle-aged woman in the dark blue robes of a master student. She quickly walked up to her and gave a quick but deep bow.


    "Lady Sky Lord, thank you so much for your lesson today. You really broadened my horizons. I had given much thought to the alchemical processes of decay, but I had no idea what to make of it. I will have to research it and learn more of lenses. My husband''s brother is a glass smith for the Crown, and I will see what he makes of it." Seeing the growing line of people queuing up behind her to speak with Cirine, she gave another quick bow and quickly walked off with books and notes clutched tightly.


    The next two hours were spent answering a seemingly endless stream of questions, shaking many dozens of hands, giving many tips on what kind of elixirs they should begin with in their potato alchemy experiments, and even giving a few simple recipes away to students she liked.


    A few moments stood out from the flood. The first one was when the Yetri she called on came to speak with her. She soon found out his name was Oonmar. Born of a trading family that had settled in Rola-di several generations ago. Their hive was now known for sending gathering and hunting parties into what he dubbed the midlands at the uppermost edge of the Lowlands. Standing at nearly four times her height and being covered in a thick white coat of hair, he had what appeared to be a torn students robe tied as a loincloth around his waist. He would have been terribly intimidating if Cirine hadn''t known several Yetri before and was able to interpret their body language. His lower and smaller set if arms were clasped behind his back in a sign of deference and respect while the short-spiked cluster of fleshy tails running along his lower spine were flicking back in forth in a playful and happy manner.


    After asking several questions about the outside world and specifically about the dispersion and the wellbeing of his people, he asked a question she didn''t expect.


    "Lady Sky," as he had taken to call her "I must ask is there a way to increase the health or size of one¡¯s fireheart? I know you do not come from a species that is born with one, but I find that I must ask for my family''s sake. You see my youngest father was born with a stunted fireheart and my mother/wife has been worried to the point of becoming ill herself over it."


    Cirine had almost forgotten the complicated family relations of the fiercely matriarchal Yetri society and had to keep in check the natural repulsion that wanted to creep onto her face as she thought about it. Yet she relinquished the thought and feeling as she remembered that Yetri are hatched from eggs anyway and had no external sex organs to speak of. It was beyond what came naturally to a human like her. Putting her feelings aside she responded "I know of no way to enlarge a fireheart. I''m sorry. However, I am well versed in many dozens of healing alchemical arts and may just know of something for him. Let me come and take a look tomorrow morning. I will be staying at the Fat Skrat Inn near the city''s walls. I hope there is something I can do for your family."


    Bowing nearly to the ground while holding his tails perfectly still, as is a customary form of Yetri respect, he agreed to find her tomorrow and went off his own way.


    She also had the opportunity to see Tomaim as he came through the line. He kept it short and surprised her by leaning forward gesturing as if he had something to whisper to her, and as she leaned in, he kissed her on the cheek. Her surprise and blush were enough to set him laughing as he invited her to an upper city restaurant for dinner this evening. Partly due to shock, and partly to see that smile again, she said yes.


    Thinking about Tomaim, she halfheartedly spoke to the last few students. "This is dangerous." She thought to herself. "All I can find myself thinking about is his smile. Those damn lips..." as she argued within herself, she gave the last student a simple recipe for a pill that gave a strong resistance to cold and would heal any injuries less than life-threatening. "He is just so damn young." She thought so herself. As she began gathering herself to leave, she couldn''t stop imagining the age gap between them as an insurmountable chasm.


    Turning away lost in thought she was surprised to see the intimidating silhouette of the City Lord waiting for her as the last of the students departed. "I see you and my son get along well." He said in a low voice full of implications.


    Gulping past a suddenly dry throat she felt at this moment very unsafe. Not that she couldn''t kill this man in a moment. Despite his strong brands, her decades of combat experience and the strong glyphs she had harvested over several lifetimes of killing leviathans gave her confidence in her victory even in a battle with even a king or emperor class leviathan. She knew she could rip this man in half. However, for the first time in a very long time the free and unbounded Sky Lord felt cornered.


    "Yes he is a charming young man and I''ve agreed to get dinner with him tonight." She managed to almost seem confident while saying.


    "Does he have any idea how old you are?" He asked with a fire in his eye. "How many lifetimes you have lived? How many lovers you have had and then discarded?" Voice now ringing out in the empty courtyard, Cirine flinched at each of the questions that was spit her way.


    "No, I don¡¯t believe he does. And I don''t believe he needs to until I feel he needs to. It is my life to share and my past to keep. As is the right of any Sky Lord." Her last sentence rang out with an air of authority as she remembered to act accordingly with who she was.


    "Even a re-bonded? One who let her savior and friend die horribly and still chose to tie her cursed fate to another Sky Scraper? One who is not even respected or accepted among other Sky Lords?" At this last question her brows rose and lips began to quiver in shock, hurt, and confusion.


    "How did you..?" Before getting to finish her questioning, he interrupted.


    "Because I am the City Lord and Academy Grandmaster of the great city nation of Rosh-hasha. Not a single soul, not a single coin, nor a single book comes through my empire that I don''t know everything there is to know about. Did you think it was a coincidence that I found you in that greasy bar last night?"


    As the understanding struck her that she had been watched since the moment she got here she went to grab ahold of her stave. Faster than she thought possible the City Lord''s hand flashed out and grasped her hand on her stave. She saw that his hand was already coated on his own blood which is what it took to activate a sacrificial glyph such as his.


    "Let''s not get nasty to each other." He said in a sickly-sweet tone and he held her hand in his talons, nearly grabbing hard enough to break her strengthened fingers. "I have no doubt that if we were to actually fight you would destroy me in a moment." The City Lord confessed as he removed his claws from her hands. "It is said that only another Sky Lord or a god can kill a Sky Lord and I have no intention to test that."


    Backing a few steps away, Cirine kept her hand on her stave as she asked, "What do you want then?"


    "To be fair." He said with a hint of mockery. Reaching into his robe he removed a small pouch and tossed it to her. "In there you will find 20 nail of gold. I believe this is adequate payment for the services you rendered to the academy."


    Checking the bag, it appeared to be what he said. 20 small crescent wafers of gold. This was beyond fair. She had never been paid a fraction of this for a simple speaking event. "What''s the catch? Why are you paying me like this?" She asked with her suspicions full on display.


    "Well I figured if I treated you well in this small exchange, we might be able to come to another agreement."


    Groaning Cirine prepared herself. She knew it wouldn''t be easy when dealing with city royals. Especially one as twisted as this. "Again, I find myself asking, what then do you want?"


    Smiling the City Lord took a moment to respond. "Well you seem rather fond of my son, and I''m not entirely sure he would be as fond of you if he really knew you. How about this, for the low price of me letting my son go blissfully unaware, and I''ll even throw in letting you do whatever you want with him, all you have to do is inscript this slate with the sacrificial glyph you spoke of in class today." Reaching again into his coat he removed a square piece of gray slate and held it her direction. "In fact, it is well past time Tom became a man. And who knows, maybe we''ll get lucky and have some sky brats running around."


    The slate hung in the air for several long seconds as Cirine thought to herself. "Man, I really fucking hate city royals."

 Blood and Water

    Vizsha raised his head from the work of pushing his sled as he came into the last valley of his trek. This valley was the home of his family ever since their fleeing to the peaks. The valley found itself between three of the highest peaks in this ridge and could well be considered the highest valley in the region. Each of these peaks were named after the Three Sisters that were found in the night sky and amongst his people this valley was known as the Trail to Heaven.


    A handful of yurts surrounded the small lake that rested in the middle of the valley. It was due to the unique nature of this lake that his family was able to exist here at all. A great time ago, in the distant past, a giant of a leviathan must have died. After ages passed, all that was left of him was his hulking fireheart. This heart found its place in the depth of the bowl-shaped valley, giving off enough heat to melt the snow around it. this melt formed a lake that, while mostly frozen overtop, was still liquid beneath. It was this source of water that provided the breeding and feeding places for the junsk that were vital to the survival of all the families that found their home in this remote mountain range.


    Coming into this valley, Vizsha set his course for the largest of the yurts. Where this structure was once nearly too small for his family, he knew it would be all but empty when he returned. He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand as he coasted down the path towards his family¡¯s yurt.


    Before he could reach the first yurt nearest to the saddle pass he had crested over a young girl ran up to his sled. ¡°Vizsha, you¡¯re back!¡± She yelled with a large grin on her face. ¡°We were so worried about you. Well Kunn was worried. I told him you¡¯d be fine. You¡¯re strong and smart and there¡¯s nothing in the Lowlands that you couldn¡¯t handle.¡±


    Vizsha couldn¡¯t help but smile at that. Suni was only a year younger than he was, but she always seemed like a little kid to him. He couldn¡¯t help but notice that she had feelings for him, and he knew his mother had planned on their union before she had passed last year.


    Thinking about his dwindling family took the smile from him and replaced it with a determined grimace. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too Suni. Yes, I am ok, but don¡¯t think the Lowlands are something to play around with.¡± Taking the tooth from his bag he held it up to show her. ¡°This belonged to something big enough to kill even a railm. I¡¯m ok because I barely got close to the Lowlands. Never forget why we live in these mountains.¡± He came across harsher than he had intended due to the hurt of remembering his loss, but he needed to know Suni would stay safe up her in the Trail to Heaven.


    ¡°I know Vizsha, don¡¯t treat me as a kid.¡± Suni responded with some hurt. ¡°I just know you, and I know you wouldn¡¯t leave me here. That¡¯s all. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re safe.¡± Her last words stung a little as she stormed back to her family''s yurt. He remembered that her father had gone with his own down to the Lowlands to try to make contact with the humans. The whole of that party had left just under 4 months ago and still hadn¡¯t returned. Cursing his insensitivity, he pressed onwards towards home, making a note to do something for Suni soon to make it up to her. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Leaving his sled near the junsk pup igloos, he stretched his sore muscles and braced himself for whatever he would be greeted with when he entered his home. Opening the flaps, he didn¡¯t make it more than a step into the yurt before he was nearly taken off his feet by a heavy scaled weight. ¡°Brother!¡± Came a voice from the back of the hut. After his eyes adjusted, he saw his sister moving quickly towards him as his trusty friend Loona tried to wrap her tail around his legs and gnaw a hole in his coat to show him how much he was missed. Grabbing the loose skin behind her neck spines, he brought her up to his shoulders and let her wrap herself around his neck and shoulders as her two squat legs hung over his left shoulder and her head rested between his horns.


    After Loona took her place, he walked forward and wrapped his arms around Haka. ¡°It¡¯s been too long sister. I see the yurt is still in one piece. You must have done a good job of taking care of our home while I was gone.¡±


    Blushing a bit, she responded ¡°I don¡¯t know about that Vizsha. Without the elder I don¡¯t know what I would have done. There is still so much I need to learn before I could take care of your home husband.¡±


    Cringing and pulling away, Vizsha responded harshly ¡°I told you not to call me that. I am your brother. There are still many days for father to return and I will not accept you giving up on him or Jamb.¡± His harshness made Haka¡¯s blush deepen as her smile turned. ¡°It is customary for the eldest left without father or mother to join to keep the family name. Yes, even the elder will not proclaim father dead for another month, but please grow accustomed to knowing me as your wife. You don¡¯t have to take me alone, as I am sure there are others that would wish to be a chieftains wife, but for the sake of our mother and father please remember your duty to me and to the future children of this family.¡±


    Her words cut with truth as Vizsha reeled from the intensity of her conviction and the emotions her words brought. He still thought of her as a child, yet she had seen nearly as many winters as he had and just as much loss.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Haka.¡± He decided to call her by her proper name in this moment despite the insult it was to not name a family member by their relation. ¡°Please just give me till the fifth moon and Boab¡¯s proclamation. Then you will share my bed and be my wife. Let me hold onto this hope till then. We don¡¯t know that father is gone.¡± The last sentence came out weaker and more childish than he wished, but his emotions had caught up to him in the moment.


    Seeing the pain in her brothers face, Haka relented and simply came close and held him in her arms. Vizsha contained the sobs that bubbled within him. He felt as helpless as he had when Hebo had burned. Then he had sobbed for many hours as Haka had held him and tended to his burnt hand. While she was younger than him by two winters ever since their mother had fallen ill and eventually passed, Haka had to be the mother of the family. As the oldest daughter she had to consider the possibility of becoming her father''s wife as well. While that never happened, Haka still took the responsibility of mother onto her shoulders since that time.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Haka, you¡¯re always taking care of me.¡± Vizsha said as he wiped the tears from his eyes. ¡°I know you will be a wonderful wife to someone someday and an even better mother.¡± This seemed to put her on the edge of tears as they both moved into the center of the yurt and sat together near the fire. Loona curled her long serpentine body around the two of them as Vizsha began to tell her about his hunt and all that he had found out during it.


    They both knew there was much work to do before the end of the day. Meat to smoke, pups to feed, and families to greet, along with all else that needed to be done. These responsibilities were pressing in from all sides; however, in this moment, all that mattered to this small fractured family was this moment of being together with each other. The rest of today''s worries could wait.

 Empty Home

    Vizsha took a moment to lean back against the cool, blubber coated scale-skin of the jusnk he had been working with. Panting from exertion, he knew he would have to keep moving or risk letting the cold creep in. Patting the junsk on his rump they maneuvered to the edge of the open water of the lake and, after taking a deep breath, they jumped in. Together in practiced unison, they swam to the bottom of the lake to collect junsk bones and hair algae form the lakebed.


    While most junsk were slaughtered and harvested for meat, the alphas were left to grow old and sire many pups. Once an alpha reached the end of their life, the hulking beast would swim down to the fireheart searching for warmth one last time before it passed. There the body was left to feed the life that lived in this lake along with and provided for the junsk pack. In doing this, the lake was fed and it, in turn, fed the junsk and his people.


    Holding his breath was an unpleasant experience for Vizsha, but today he didn''t have a choice. He needed to collect hair algae for the weaning pups but more importantly he needed to collect the larger bones left only by an alpha. With these bones he could begin to form his own junsk sleigh and be able to lead a hunting party come spring.


    After several arduous trips down to the murky deps, hooking large bones to the harness on his junsk companion, and returning to the surface with what hair algae he could carry, Vizsha decide that one more trip would be enough algae for the pups daily demands and enough bone to get a good start on the platform of his sleigh. Diving in again, he and his companion quickly found themselves in the much warmer murky depths. Without the low light given off from the boulder sized fireheart some distance away, the job would be nearly impossible. But as it was, Vizsha was able to wrap the leather hoop around a rib bone half as wide as his chest and signal for the junsk to begin pulling with little difficulty. As the bone pulled itself free from the thick mud beneath a bright glow appeared. Thanking the ancestors for his luck, Vizsha swam to the hole left by the bone¡¯s removal, and after a little effort, was able to pull a head sized fireheart with intact cage from the mud. With a great effort, he managed to swim to the surface with his prize.


    Pulling himself up onto the ice with one arm, and dragging the fireheart behind him with his other, he managed to exit the lake for what he hoped would be the last time today. The water was pleasantly warm near the bottom, but it was always a shock to come back to the surface. Clutching the fireheart near his chest for warmth he raised his scale-mane and shook all the water he could off himself before it had the chance to freeze. Moving quickly, he redressed in dry skins and tied the bundle of today¡¯s bone haul together for his junsk to pull to the yurt. As they walked together, he admired the gem in his hands. Large and yellow cream colored the heart beat in a steady rhythm giving off a semi-steady light and heat. The gem itself was maybe the size of a child¡¯s skull while the firecage around it made it larger. The firecage looked to be made of polished brass and formed a lattice of bands and ridges over the shape of the heart. Vizsha admired the gem, surprised as always by its heat contrasted to the fact that it looked so similar to a piece of frozen ice.


    Usually an alpha¡¯s fireheart like this one would be left in the lake to feed its warmth and ensure the survival of the lake once the gargantuan fireheart inevitably gave out. But there was one exception to that rule, and that was the commissioning of a sleigh. Every sleigh needed a fireheart at its core for heat and light. One couldn¡¯t expect to make a fire on the move in a packed sleigh and carrying enough fuel to keep a hunting party warm was impossible for long expeditions. Unhitching the junsk from its burden near his home he set Haka to heating the water and oils he would need to begin shaping the bones he harvested. Before he set to work forming flat planks and sturdy runners out of the large bones, he went from igloo to igloo and fed the pups the algae they would need to learn how to eat solid foods.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    After the better part of a day of work, Vizsha couldn¡¯t help but see the sleigh taking shape. The bones still needed to be fire hardened and sealed, but the bone nails fit the boards together nicely, and the fat-soaked leather straps were tied just as his father had taught him to. Admiring the clean workmanship that his father had spent many winters instilling in him, he found himself startled as he sent a prayer to his father¡¯s spirit among the thanks he sent to all his ancestors that had come before. He was surprised and yet not hurt like he thought he would be. Feeling the connection he would have with his father throughout all his days through both the ancestors watching over him, and the skills and memories he had been given, he was able to smile and truly feel at ease for the first time in many days.


    ¡°Thanks to you Father, it is your spirit guiding my hands that allows me to know I can support our family even if it means I must do it alone. Well not alone.¡± He thought as his prayer was interrupted by Haka bringing another bone bowl of bubbling oil to him. With a simple kiss on the cheek, Haka returned to her work within the yurt, comfortably not needing to say more. ¡°Living or dead, you still guide me. Thank you, father. I will do best to protect what you have left for me.¡± Leaving his thoughts at that he rose from his momentary resting place and continued the work he had started.


    It wasn¡¯t until long after the light from the heaven trail and the alpha¡¯s fireheart were all that he was working by that he decided to finish his work for the day. Admiring the sleigh coming into shape, he tried to imagine it packed for a hunting trip. The sleigh was a little under 2 sed wide and 4 sed long. With the two junsk needed to pull it, it would be a little over 5 and a half sed. Just the frame, the runners, and about half of the boards were in place but he could already imagine a five-man strong hunting party loaded onto the sled. There was still a need for the rails, the rest of the boards, the drag cart to bring home large prey, and the light mast for the alpha¡¯s heart, but all that work was for another day.


    Tired, yet pleased with the day¡¯s work, Vizsha headed the few sed between his workstation and his yurt. Taking a moment, he gazed over the valley. Of the near 25 yurts in the valley, he knew that close to half of them were missing their fathers. 10 men and 5 young men took the tribe¡¯s only two sleighs as well as almost every strong arm from this valley when they traveled into the Lowlands now close to 5 months ago. He understood the risk and didn¡¯t blame his father for making the choice, and yet he couldn¡¯t help the small seed of resentment from growing in him. ¡°Father, if only you could see where we are today, you might not have traded Hebo¡¯s chance at life for your whole village¡¯s future.¡± He said to the three silver spheres dancing through their paths in the heavens. He knew it wasn¡¯t wholly fair to say that was the only reason his father had gone. The humans new fort was right on the edge of their spring hunting grounds and they had seen patrols come as far as some of the lower valleys last spring. The village needed to make contact and they needed to make it with what little force they had. But it was true to say that it was only due to his father¡¯s desperation for Hebo that he took the party out in the depth of winter and as rushed as he did.


    Giving up his resentment and fear, he gave a small bow of respect to the sisters that lit his work into the night as he entered the yurt. Surprised to see there still so much light in the tent, he approached the source, only to see his sleeping sister curled up near a glowing bed of coals on which a pot of bone broth and mushrooms simmered near the edge of the fire ring. Smiling, he made note of the coals and realized she must have fallen asleep no more than an hour ago. Gently picking her up to her low murmurs of protest he promised to get a bowl of broth before he went to sleep to placate her complaints as he tucked her into her sleeping skins next to Loona who had already curled herself into a scaly heap. After drinking two large bowls of savory and salty broth, he took the scale-bone pot off the fire to cool and placed two red-hot coals into a small sealed stone jar lined with skrat fur to keep lit till morning and covered the rest with ash. Moving his quickly stiffening body to his soft skrat fur and fungal mat bed, he quickly fell into a deep and restful sleep, sleeping soundly through the night for the first time in months.