《Phire Chronicles》


 Chapter 1: Initiation

    The effects of the herbed water dwindled like the twilight around them. Darkness consumed the light and Ebskil watched the stars emerge while the induced calmness sapped out of him. It felt unnatural to relax as the initiation approached, especially with his terrible luck. The knot of dread in his gut returned but he grasped onto the small pleasantries for dear life.


    For once, he blended in among his friends. Mud covered his white hair, dirtying it to a dark colour to match the rest of the teenagers. The only features making him stand out from his tanned clan were the watery blue eyes and an unusual birthmark on his thumb. Ebskil painted over this bleached skin, shaped similar to a tree, and felt unlike himself. He treasured the birthmark, as if it held some wonderful secret about how to be the destined hero he was repetitively told about.


    ¡°Ya ready, Ebs?¡± Tamil asked, his chubby face breaking into a large grin. His nervousness showed throw his shaking fingers.


    ¡°As ready as Changil on hunting day.¡±


    ¡°Oi, that ain¡¯t my fault!¡± Changil exclaimed from across the fire, over Tamil''s laughter.


    The first day of hunting occurred at fourteen, where the boys kept close by the older men of the tribe to learn. Ebskil stayed with his uncle instead of his father, the chief, since he feared to be an embarrassment. They all hunted a ¡®gunder¡¯ ¡ª a grey, feline which stood nearly as tall as a man ¡ª together, hiding in the branches of tall trees. Changil ruined their opportunity to attack, as he disturbed a nest of territorial birds which swooped him with the aggression of a large predator. It spooked the gunder but everyone was too lost in laughter at Changil¡¯s demise and squeals to care about the lose of a meal.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Alright, boys! Time to show the clan our new men!¡± Ebskil¡¯s uncle, Clatil, announced. He blew a bird whistle and it sounded like a million species flew through the air around them.


    After fixing his leaf skirt, Ebskil followed his friends towards the camp. They chanted with each step, keeping their voices low and stance proud. One by one, they left the shadows and entered the open space. Cheers grew in volume as each person returned to the tribe, celebrating their re-entrance as a ¡®man¡¯. Above the small trees and huts, green phlames appeared. It triggered Ebskil¡¯s anxiety. His heart beat louder than the drums echoing in the forest and his palms turned clammy. What if it went wrong? Would the tribe accept him? What if his father failed? All these questions and more swirled in his head, encouraging his nausea to return.


    ¡°What are you doin?! Go!¡± Clatil barked and shoved Ebskil, last in line as per tradition of chief children, into the clearing. ¡°Make us proud!¡±


    The crowd hushed. Ebskil stumbled but tried to move his heavy feet along with the drum rhythm. He glanced around, marvelling at the large bonfire, torches and transformation of huts into coloured tents. Slowly, he arrived in front of a specific tree, hidden by many shadows, as planned, and ensured hisback hit the trunk. In the tribe¡¯s ancient language, he announced his promise as a man, to protect the tribe, and lifted his arms to the side. Bright, green phlames emerged from his hands and fuelled the bonfire. It rose in bright greens, oranges and yellows swirls, creating the greatest display of all.From this, everyone felt safe, comforted by the heir chief¡¯s glorious power that matched their current leader.


    Too bad it was all a lie.

 Chapter 2: Oras Prophecy

    Phlames acted as extensions of being, as if casted to be an extra limb on the body. The magical essence swirled from the skin like perspiration and after practice, could be directed into the hand. People used the phlame for a variety of purposes, depending on the welder¡¯s training. Primarily among the forest tribes, it became useful for combat or hunting by forming long whips or balls of energy that stunned the target. A few elderly masters discovered the effects on nature, able to heal and flourish the landscape but the skill belonged in legends, many convinced it was a story rather than truth. No matter, everyone had their own phlame. Except Ebskil.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he grunted, trying to feel the energy and envision the phlame forming in his hands. Nothing happened. ¡°Please! Gods, I don¡¯t even care if it isn¡¯t green! I wouldn¡¯t cuss at a blue phlame like the annoying mountain tribes. Please! Do something! Anything!¡±


    His desperate pleas went unanswered. After a few more minutes, he gave up, exhausted and still a failure. He secretly tried this every morning in his tent, motivated by his father¡¯s stress over it, but to no avail. What am I doing wrong? he wondered. No one offered wisdom.


    ¡°Maybe I just let Momil be chief. He would love that,¡± he grumbled and stormed outside.


    The sun peaked through the treetops high above and he sighed at the greenery, which seemed to mock the absence of his green phlame. The forest looked plain, lacking the additional decorations arranged for the manhood initiation. Dried, weaved chains of leaves had been disposed of and all the handmade torches hidden in tree hollows until the following year. Ebskil couldn¡¯t spot a single mask either, which had been worn for a week leading to the final bonfire night. The near non-existent signs of celebration eased Ebskil but he knew the same pressure remained; he was a man without a phlame. This truth gnawed at the back of his mind.


    His father and mother arranged the phlame display at the initiation bonfire to fool the tribe. They instructed precisely where Ebskil needed to step and where he should stand to speak his claim of protection. In the shadowy area, his hands had remained hidden and no one saw that the glorious phlame came from behind him, wielded by his father. Although a few days passed, he kept waiting for the secret to be discovered yet no one approached.


    ¡°Oi!¡± A cracked voice shouted.


    Tamil jumped over a large tree root and stumbled downhill on monster-sized feet. His high-waisted pants flapped in the wind while his bare, upper-torso flab bounced. As soon as he stood beside Ebskil, he slapped his pale back hard. Today, they wore the same coloured pants and burnt orange headbands for the phrophecy reading.


    ¡°Ow!¡±


    "Mosquito," Tamil explained simply, proud of his red handprint marking. ¡°Are you going to see Ora?¡±


    Crap. I can''t escape now. Ebskil wanted to avoid the visit. ¡°I heard some Lacha birds migrated south of here and I was gonna check that.¡±


    ¡°Nah! Ya coming with me now! Ya ma came by and told me ma to tell me to take ya to Ora too. We are the last to see her.¡±


    Ebskil groaned. ¡°Why do we have to see the old, crazy bat?¡±


    ¡°Tradition is tradition. ''Go and find ya part of the tribe or I will flog ya'', me ma said.¡±


    ¡°But how do we know if she spouts truth or nonsense? Who is she to tell us what we will be.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Tamil agreed. ¡°Who wants to find out if ya will be a disgrace to ya family!¡±


    Ebskil tried to offer his friend some comfort. ¡°Ya will be a warrior and your ma will be overjoyed. Look at the size of you! The enemies will run away, fearful to face a warrior like ya.¡±


    ¡°Nah, ya should have heard her this week. She reckons I am the same as me old man. Lazy. Fat. Grumpy.¡±


    ¡°She got the fat part right.¡±


    Tamil playfully shoved him and Ebskil tripped over sideways at the power from his stocky friend. He scraped along the dirt and a bunch of insects smashed into his mouth. The taste was more mortifying than the pain from his grazed knees and hands. Laughter filled the air and Ebskil glared upward.


    ¡°What a pair we make! Fatty and Clumsy!¡± Tamil exclaimed with a great grin and helped his friend to his feet. ¡°How are ya supposed to be chief if ya can¡¯t walk properly?!¡±


    ¡°Least I won¡¯t get a beating from me ma about what Ora says.¡±


    Tamil¡¯s face darkened dramatically and his grin fell in an instant. ¡°Oi, don¡¯t jinx me.¡±


    ¡°Believe me, my prophecy will be worse,¡± Ebskil admitted pessimistically.


    The men continued their work in silence, trying to find comfort in the rustling leaves or wildlife noises surrounding them. An unusual flower path led the way to Ora¡¯s home, which climbed over roots and wound around large boulders. Moss covered more of the earth the further along they went until the landmark waterfall told them the place was near. At the top of the hill, a large, mystical tree greeted them. In height, it surpassed all the other trees, growing beyond their reach, and the width had to be wider than two tribal huts in the valley below. On low branches, small trinkets of bones and clay pots dangled, hinting at the rituals which occurred inside.


    After blowing the carved whistle, placed into a crevice in the tree, Ebskil and Tamil ventured further into the place. They struggled to snake through the roots which hid a hut built into the tree trunk. The men looked at each other, neither willing to enter first.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Should we leaf pick? Loser has the smallest leaf,¡± Tamil suggested, referring to a child¡¯s game. Ebskil nodded. ¡°Ready? Go!¡±


    Ebskil searched the ground with his eyes closed. His hand brushed around the forest floor and he willed his fingers to feel for the largest leaf. The dried foliage made it difficult to determine shapes or grab one that remained intact. Tamil counted down and Ebskil panicked, blindly grabbing a shape. He really didn''t want to go first.


    ¡°Show!¡± Tamil ordered and they revealed their find.


    The defeat was humiliating. Tamil waved a bright, green leaf while Ebksil held a twig with the lamina crumbling away as they stood. Sighing, Ebksil entered the hut and tried to ignore Tamil¡¯s shouts of relief. He always had the worst luck. Maybe, I should volunteer instead of wasting time gambling with fortune, he thought as he pushed the door open.


    ¡°Ah, welcome young Ebskil of the Lef family and new man of the Valley clan,¡± an old, strained voice croaked.


    Ora sat in the middle of the room, where rays of light landed through cracks in the trunk. She looked small and her grey, matted hair touched the ground along with red beads, which clung onto the strands. The layers of colourful clothes, wooden jewellery and charcoal markings on her skin made her look more like the tribe oracle than normal. With the clan¡¯s green eyes, she started at him as if lost in a trance.


    Around her, carvings climbed up the wooden walls. Each told of the tribe¡¯s history or legends about their gods. To many, the ancient language looked like scribbles and Ebskil struggled to understand it, especially when the smoke fogged the room. He choked on the fumes, hating the incense; it always made him unspeakably tired and nauseous.


    After smearing red paint under his eyes, leading to his temple ¡ª complying with tradition of entering a sacred space ¡ª and wiping the excess over his neck, Ebskil approached the elder. He sat on the flowers laid in front of her, ignoring the bugs which crawled among them.


    ¡°Greet the gods,¡± Ora ordered.


    ¡°May ya all welcome me,¡± Ebskil said softly and clapped his hands, slapped his chest and raised his dominant arm while keeping his eyes low. Slowly, he dropped his hand and touched the ground, as if connecting to the earth.


    ¡°They welcome ya, new man.¡±


    Ora offered some dark water from a carved bowl, which Ebskil unwillingly drank; it tasted of dirt and charcoal. He coughed at the fowl liquid but Ora seemed to be oblivious to his disgust, already casting her own phlame. It spluttered alive, the green twinkling and she sprinkled some dust to make it flicker in shades. While the phlame danced in one hand, Ora began chanting and her eyes glazed over. It felt like minutes ticked by before she spoke again.


    ¡°Are ya ready for your prophecy, Ebkil Lef?¡±


    Ebskil swallowed audibly. ¡°As ready as I will ever be.¡±


    The phlame crept away from Ora¡¯s hand and began to cover her whole body. Her clothes did not burn and she showed no sign of discomfort. Then, she stared at Ebskil with dark, emerald eyes and it felt like she saw into the depths of his soul. He felt unable to move or breath. The helplessness nurtured his panic.


    Born with the blessing of a full moon,


    You must not fear to attune.


    In your path is peril and despair,


    and many other burdens to bare.


    Yet, after sacrifice will come light,


    and a hero emerges to cease the endless night.


    The spell, which trapped Ebskil, lifted and he sucked in a desperate breath. After the fog cleared from his head, formed from the gross liquid she made him drink, he tentatively sat up straight again. From the whole prophecy, one word rang loud a clear. A hero. He flinched when thinking the words. He heard that part of the prophecy since infancy and each time, it added more dread to his soul. Most men would now seek clarification about Ora¡¯s mysterious riddle but Ebskil did not dare. Instead, he avoided the source of his anxiety and remained convinced she told this prophecy to the wrong person.


    ¡°What of the Phlame-less?¡± Ebskil blurted, the discomfort the question brought apparent in his voice.


    All night, he practiced how to ask about phlames subtley but without success. No one wanted to discuss the awkward topic and he hated being the cause of conflict. He preferred to be accommodating and agreeable with others, especially when he found himself lacking in every other quality from brute strength to intelligence. Yet, this was his only chance; Ora held the wisdom of generations of tribes.


    Ora looked up in surprise, her phlame withdrawn, and dusted her hands. ¡°Phlame-less?¡±


    ¡°Y-yeah. Y-ya see, I overheard that some people can be born without a phlame.¡±


    ¡°There are some born this way-¡± Hope fluttered in Ebskil, ¡°-but they always develop it soon after.¡±


    Ebskil swallowed his sudden despair and continued to push for more information. ¡°How? Do they eat some ancient berries? Or do they go to the mountains for wisdom¡ª¡±


    Ora spat on the ground angrily. ¡°Mountain tribes know nothing but arrogance. Spineless, pathetic wind-breathers-¡±


    ¡°What do the Phlame-less do to get their phlame?¡± Ebskil interrupted, trying to redirect Ora''s thinking.


    ¡°It comes naturally. It always does or they are banished. Ya need not worry. Ya phlame burns bright.¡±


    ¡°Banished,¡± Ebskil muttered to himself and fear consumed him.


    His parents hadn¡¯t told him this. What should he do? The tribe expected a chief with a phlame when the eclipse came in a few years. They needed a protector. He had nothing to offer. Panic made him shake. It felt impossible to breathe.


    ¡°The gods wish ya to leave this place. They must greet the next new man and give the last prophecy. Goodbye, Ebskil the hero.¡±


    On numb feet, Ebskil wordlessly moved towards the hidden door behind Ora and emerged into the blinding light of day. Too caught up in his own problems, he didn¡¯t notice his younger brother, Momil, fall to the ground and rub his head. He must have been eavesdropping against the door.


    ¡°Ow! Bloody¡ª¡°


    ¡°Momil?!¡± Ebksil exclaimed and some fear left him, replaced by anger. ¡°What the hell are ya doing?!¡±


    ¡°I was just passing¡ª¡±


    ¡°That is a load of crap. Were ya listening? Ya know that is punishable. Father will not have his own blood breaking laws.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t! I swear! I came to tell ya to mark tha back valley path. Father wants a man to do it.¡±


    Ebskil frowned but a flicker of relief settled, since his brother appeared to be oblivious what was spoken in the ancient tree. ¡°Ya is meant to do it. Yesterday, father told ya and he warned it needed to be done before sunset today or¡ª¡±


    ¡°Please help me!¡± Momil begged suddenly. ¡°I forgot cos tha boys and me played Chunt yesterday! Please!¡±


    Of course. Momil only talked to Ebskil if he wanted something. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Ya the greatest! Can you manage it all?¡±


    ¡°Are you not helping me?¡±


    ¡°Nah. Me and the boys have the final round of Chunt today. I gotta win! They will call me a coward if I don''t show.¡±


    Ebskil ground his teeth. Momil didn¡¯t ask for help, he actually asked Ebskil to do all the work. It vexed him but through his irritation, he grasped onto some composure. The neighbouring tribe would be visiting at the end of the week and if the job was not done, they would look like fools. It would be easier to do it than argue with Momil''s ego and pride. Besides, he might gain some muscles doing the tedious task.


    Just as Momil opened his mouth to say something else, probably to worm his way out of more work, the brothers hear dthe horn. The eerie sound echoed in the forest, scaring the birds and spooking the toughest of predators. Sometimes, when blown in the dead of night, the noise reminded Ebskil of dying animals.


    ¡°What horn are they using? I haven¡¯t heard that before,¡± Momil said and stared towards their home.


    ¡°Intruders.¡±


    No one had come unannounced to the Valley tribe in years.

 Chapter 3: Prisoners from Foreign Lands

    Blood rushed in Ebskil¡¯s veins faster than the felines of the forest in heat. He felt it pound throughout his body. It ringed in his ears. The fear hit him so powerfully that he didn¡¯t feel the rocks collide with his feet as he ran.


    ¡°Momil, you idiot!¡± He called, wishing to turn back to the safety of Ora¡¯s magical abilities. I shouldn¡¯t have followed, he thought. If he wants to get in trouble, than he should alone. Yet, for some indescribable reason, Ebskil felt unable to turn around and continued to chase his brother with panicked ideas.


    What if the camp was in set in wild, blue phlames from the mountain clans? What if the intruders were the neighbouring tribe and brought trained beasts with them? What if they were stumbling into a bloodbath? The worst part of all these thoughts came from the fact Ebskil would be helpless. No phlame meant no protection. Right now, he really wished he stayed back at Ora¡¯s tree house. Why did he follow? What had possessed him?


    In the distant, Ebskil heard the crowd do their intimidation mantra; their voices turned to growls and they chanted the ancient language. He could envision the stoic dance which accompanied the gruff faces of the tribesmen. This meant no blood had been spilled so far. Knowing this, Ebskil found a steadier rhythm to breathe as Momil and him jumped back on the well-used path back to their home.


    Passing the largest of trees, the boys entered the clearing. In the middle of all the huts, they saw a crowd gathered in a circle around something. Ebskil wanted to stay on the outside but somehow, the crowd drew him in. Their intimidation movements pushed him closer to the front and he saw the cause of the horn.


    A group of three travellers remained trapped by vine ropes. They looked young, around Ebskil¡¯s age, and judging by their clothing, came from different tribes across the lands. The larger boy looked like a hero and exactly what Ebskil should be; he was handsome, built solid with bulging muscles under his loose shirt, had wavy chestnut hair and his golden eyes pierced everyone who met his stare. In legends, a writer would describe him as a god. Already, he had more facial hair than Ebskil dreamed of. My prophecy is meant for someone like him, he thought absentmindedly.


    ¡°Let us go, savages!¡± The hero-boy demanded. Even his voice rang deep and husky like a warrior. It made Ebskil want to curse the gods at the unfairness in traits between them.


    The Valley tribe ignored the prisonersand instead, grouped together to discuss their own idea of problems. Their low grumbles becameundistinguishable from afar. Since Ebskil caught no clear words, he studied the invaders instead. They looked harmless, apart from hero-boy. The girl ¡ª who Ebskil thought was cuter than the women of his tribe ¡ª tied up must have come from a water tribe. Dark freckles sprinkled her honey skin, especially on her nose and cheeks, and her blonde hair had been sun-bleached due to the many shades on various strands. It reminded Ebskil of the time Momil¡¯s brown hair got lighter once when he chased Ebskil with his phlame in the treetops on a blindingly sunny day. The game gave both Ebskil and his mother a heartattack.


    ¡°We mean no harm!¡± The girl tried to explain and nudgedthe other boy in their trio to speak up too, who had traits of dessert dwellers. His dark skin, black mop of hair and sandy-coloured clothing, which covered most of his body, screamed of foreign lands. ¡°We are on a quest, you see. To bring a stop to the black venom and evil-doer himself!¡±


    The tribe all looked at her as if she had gone mad. ¡°Sounds like something da mountains would claim to fix to act godly,¡± someone said, referring to their rival clan, while another added their own belief, ¡°it¡¯s the Thicket tribe tricking us again.¡±


    ¡°This is not the time nor place to discuss such matters,¡± Maller, Ebskil¡¯s mother, interjected and matched her husband¡¯s wisdom. No other woman dared to speak out so freely.


    ¡°We will hold a meeting, away from their eyes and ears!¡± Zerkil, Ebskil¡¯s father, proudly declared.


    The suggestion received many content nods and satisfied smiles. From this, Zakil puffed out his large, scarred chest and his lips twitched upwards. He brushed his wavy, oak hair from his tanned face, revealing a chiselled jawline and bright hazel eyes. Then, he held up his large hand and signalled for his people to gather closer.


    ¡°Alone, all the men will decide what to do with them! Come! Let us choose their fatebefore sunset at the ceremonial tree!¡±


    ¡°But who will guard the prisoners? The women can do no such task,¡± a gruff voice asked, belonging to the weapon gatherer of the group.


    Mutters filled the air and Ebskil¡¯s stomach dropped when he met his father¡¯s eye. Somehow, he knew what was coming. Zerkil spoke again. ¡°My son will! He is now a man and will be chief once my rein has passed in the gods¡¯ eyes. It is fitting for the prophesied to prove his worth. The other new men can decide to either be guards or join the meeting.¡±


    To Ebskil¡¯s dismay, most of the tribe agreed with the chief. He gulped. Why didn¡¯t he just stay with Ora?


    ***


    <hr>


    ***


    The prisoners sat on the ground, tied up by more thick vines, inside a tree. The tree formed from multiple different plants growing, creating pockets of space which then clan weaved through and used as shelter on occassions. Ebskil stood adjacent from them, leaning against a trunk and focusing on their surroundings rather than the invaders themselves.


    Most of the new men decided to join the meeting, apart from Tamil, whose mother demanded he prove himself worthy by not lazily sitting in a meeting, and Changil, who still wanted to show his tough, masculine qualities after his traumatic hunting disaster years ago. Ebskil, at first, felt relieved his friends accompanied him but this ease vanished when he learned they had to walk and guard from afar. This left Ebskil, believed to be a great hero by the whole tribe, alone with foreigners. The pressure of protecting the tribe made him uncomfortable.


    To distract himself, Ebskil tried to figure out the prisoners. Their clothing hinted at far away lands and their rumbling stomachs suggested struggles in the forest region.Ebskil ignored this sound but he struggled when the girl coughed profusely. When it didn¡¯t stop, he took off his tough, or a poor imitation of tough, exterior and offered water from a hardened fruit shell, hidden behind a root. He put it to the girl¡¯s lips and helped her drink, keenly aware of the small distance between them. He only been this close to his mother and sister, since all the tribe¡¯s women stayed well away. Whether it was due to his appearance or father¡¯s reputation, he did not know.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Thank you. My name is Reefer Stone, from the Tide Tribe. What is yours?¡± The girl suddenly asked. Ebskil flinched, surprised by the sweetness of her voice and willingness to talk. He expected for the pregnant silence to last until sunset.


    Should he answer? His father wouldn¡¯t or if he did, it would only be promises of impending torture. Yet, Ebskil did not share the same malicious tongue or frightening attitude.


    ¡°Yeah, okay.¡± The awkward response made him internally cringe. The tribe should¡¯ve picked someone else for this job.


    The girl smiled warmly. ¡°Nice to meet you, yeah okay.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, nah. That isn¡¯t¡ª Not that it matters ¡ª but it isn¡¯t me ¡ª my ¡ª name. Umm. Nah.¡±


    ¡°What is your name then? This is Pend from the Dunes,¡± Reefer said and pointed to the sand tribe boy, ¡°and this is Wildem from¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell him our names,¡± Wildem, the hero-boy, hissed.


    Ebskil didn¡¯t know what to do. Prisoners which intended to harm never introduced themselves. Did this mean they were friendly? He couldn¡¯t deduce that by himself. What if he was wrong? But then, what if they were to be sentenced to death by his tribe? Did a name mean so much then?


    ¡°My name is Ebskil.¡±


    ¡°Are you a cursed child?¡± Reefer blurted, as if the thought had been on her mind for hours.


    Ebskil blinked like a confused cub. Cursed? He realised what caused her curiosity when she continued to marvel at his white hair and pale skin.


    ¡°In my own way,¡± he finally replied, mulling over the idea. Cursed. Did it count if he was cursed to bring his family shame? Was it a curse to be prophesied a hero?


    ¡°I felt like a curse in my tribe too. Everyone thought my family brought trouble and problems. They cussed at us and called my brother insane.¡±


    ¡°My clan treat me well,¡± Ebskil replied defensively.


    The tribe had grown used to Ebskil¡¯s abnormality in appearance over the years. At a young age, they all showed him kindness, finding relief in Ora¡¯s early prophecy; ¡®a hero¡¯s heart resides in thee¡¯. This dampened most dark fears in the village and the few skeptical did not involve themselves with Ebskil. It gave him a peaceful life, except for the pressure to lead the people without a phlame.


    ¡°Your accent isn¡¯t thick like the rest of you clan.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Ebskil mumbled, not sure what to say to accompany his blushing face. It felt like a compliment. No, wait. Was it an insult? She just emphasised how much he continued to not belong to the tribe. Yet, she looked too sweet to be so cunning. He had to be overreacting like always. His mind loved to wander over every possibility without permission.


    ¡°Flattery won¡¯t win him over. The forest tribe are too thick in the head,¡± Wildem said with a glare.


    You sound like the mountain tribes, Ebskil thought and then, the truth dawned on him. Arrogant aura, sharp features and golden eyes meant only one thing; the person had to come from a mountains. His name even started with ¡®W¡¯ like their tradition upheld and he scorned the forest. If they weren¡¯t dead before, they are now.


    ¡°Ya have someone from the mountains. Our tribe definitely won¡¯t let ya go freely now,¡± he muttered, picturing the bloody battle ahead with the mountain tribe.


    ¡°Told you they are barbaric!¡± Wildem shouted.


    Ebskil wished he had the courage to say something threatening like Tamil or Momil. Maybe ¡®I will show you are barbaric I can be!¡¯, then throw a blade, or ¡®least I don¡¯t have a wind chime shoved up my arse all the time¡¯, but he cringed at the idea. Nothing sounded good when it came out of a lean, pale boy¡¯s mouth instead of a stoic Valley tribe-man.


    ¡°Is this to do with the feud thing?¡± Pend asked, exasperated. ¡°So the reason we have been getting into so much trouble is because of you, Wildem!¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t my fault the forest is full of primitive animals!¡±


    ¡°Can ya stop fighting please?¡± Ebskil asked, conscious of the noise booming from the boys. They ignored his softly spoken plea.


    ¡°Fish-heads! Stop! If you keep yelling, we will get into more trouble!¡±


    ¡°What trouble? Look at him! He is too scrawny and wimpy to do anything! If my hands weren¡¯t bound, I¡¯d¡­¡±


    Oh no. This was bad. The hero-boy spoke truth since Ebskil had no phlame. He learnt a few fighting moves from his father but they were still poor. If the prisoners realised this, they might build enough courage to escape. Ebskil had to bluff otherwise, his tribe would skin him alive if a mountain tribes-man escaped.


    ¡°As expected from the mountains, ya act like a fool!¡± Ebskil roared, then lowered his voice to growl. Was it threatening enough? Did they notice his shaking hands or hear his beating heart? ¡°Why do ya think they let the cursed child guard ya? It¡¯s because I bring trouble and have powers beyond ya wildest nightmares. Try to escape. I dare ya.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t do anything!¡± Pend and Reefer shouted at the same time. Still, Ebskil didn¡¯t relax since Wildem kept up his deathly stare.


    ¡°We just want answers! Like I said, we are trying to help the world! Black venom is destroying everything. It has taken tribes and nature like a toxic plague. We ventured into the forest in search of answers.¡±


    They were heroes. Of course. The gods played a cruel trick on him, as if wanting to taunt the fact he had no heroic qualities. It made him feel ashamed.


    ¡°If ya want to learn anything, ya go to Ora,¡± he said. "If they let you live."


    ¡°Who is Ora?¡±


    ¡°Our oracle.¡±


    Wildem scoffed and rolled his eyes. ¡°Typical. Forest tribes having oracles. What a load of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh shut up, oyster-guts!¡± Reefer scolded and attempted to headbutt him. If the friendliness didn¡¯t win Ebskil over, this did. ¡°Look, Ebskil. I just want to know if you have seen anything unusual. That is why we came: to ask a simple question.¡±


    Ebskil knew he needed tokeep his mouth shut but her kind eyes made him hesitate. Against his better judgement, he mulled over the week. They would die with a mountain tribe member anyway. What was the harm in talking?


    ¡°There hasn¡¯t been anything too unusual. Some birds migrated early and off their usual path. A few black flowers sprouted on the outskirts of our hunting territory but that might be the Palm tribe tricking us. They have before. And then there is¡­¡±me who hasno phlame, Ebskil wanted to add but kept the confession in his head.


    Without warning, a sound screamed through the trees. Another tribal horn, mimicking a bird''s warning cry, accompanied it. The noises made Ebskil¡¯s bone chill to the core. The fear must have been reflected on his face because Reefer immediately questioned him.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± She asked. ¡°What is that sound?!¡±


    ¡°The predator horn,¡± he managed to spit out and noticed the continuing questioning gaze from the prisoners. ¡°We have different horns to protect us. The horn you hear warns of large beasts entering the camp.¡±


    ¡°Crap,¡± Reefer muttered and turned to her companions. ¡°What if it¡¯s the venom?¡±


    Pend nodded, considering the possibility of something Ebskil didn¡¯t understand. ¡°We saw black flowers near the shoreline too before the attack.¡±


    ¡°The wimp said there hasn¡¯t been¡ª¡± Wilden began to say.


    ¡°The birds migrated early. That means trouble must be in their home. The black flowers were also speckled across the field of Halimden. It is a wild guess¡­¡± Reefer continued to mutter, ignoring the voiced worries of her gang.


    ¡°What about phlame-less?¡± Ebskil blurted, gripping his spear tighter and reaching for the bag of rocks carried around his bare waist. The assurance he wanted from the weapons did not come. The panic in his heart grew, as if hungry for chaos.


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°If someone in our tribe has been born without a phlame, would it match the sightings in Halimden?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Reefer yelled, over the top of Pend and Wilden. ¡°Yes! Untie us because I know how to handle this now! Please! We can help!¡±


    Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I cannot make this kind of decision, Ebskil realised. Trouble comes from my choices. Yet, he found no other solutions. If they ran away after he freed them, they would be as useless as if they were tied up here. However, if they were heroes like he thought, then the tribe needed their help. Their foreign phlames could annihilate a forest predator.


    Taking a risk, Ebskil used the tip of his spear to cut the vines free. The screeches of animals made him tremble, especially when he also distinguished the cries of his tribe. He looked into the blue eyes of Reefer and tried to convey how much trust he put in her.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t make my life more miserable,¡± He pleaded to the invaders before running outside without thinking.

 Chapter 4: Gunders Rampage

    Feral gunders attacked the tribe. Scratches marked the tree trunks leading to the homes, snarls richoetted in the air and the screams of people emphasised the danger ahead. Yet, Ebskil kept running but couldn¡¯t decipher his terrifying thoughts of what lay ahead. Then, he suddenly stopped before the tree clearing. His stomach churned at the sight of the animals.


    The creatures weren¡¯t normal gunders. Instead of shiny, oak coats, their fur looked black and wet. This covered a body with bulging muscles and protruding veins. Their enlarged pupils scanned the area, as their muscles tensed, deciding on the most vulnerable prey. Too bad they eyed humans instead of large birds they often fed on.


    Already, they tore into flesh. Ebskil froze in place, unable to tear his eyes from the bodies on the ground. He knew them, despite all the blood and gashes on their skin. He knew them. The little girl on the far right, twisted on the ground, was Peitra, then the newborn baby was Nakil and the man laying with broken legs and a shattered skull was Ordil. He talked to them. He helped them. He knew them.


    ¡°Ebskil!¡± His father roared and instinctively, Ebskil ducked without registering his movements.


    A gunder pounced over him, swiping its silver claws which lightly scraped Ebskil¡¯s back. He felt the razor sharp edge track across his spine. When he looked up, he saw his father race towards him, swinging rocks in rope ¡ª a traditional tribal weapon for hunting birds ¡ª and flinging it at the beast. The gunder snarled as hand-sized rocks smashed into its face. Yet, Zerkil hadn¡¯t finished; he trapped the beast in place using his phlame to mimic a fire. Then, while still running, he raised the club by his side and whacked the beast. It yelped, Ebskil felt a terrified noises escape his own lips and his father stood tall as the gunder dropped to the ground. Zerkil used the blood spatter on his face to paint symbols as he chanted their prayer for the sacrifice of life.


    ¡°What are ya doin?!¡± He exclaimed after, looking at Ebskil cowering. ¡°Get up!¡±


    ¡°W-w-what happened?¡± Ebskil stammered, his voice shaking unlike his heroic father.


    ¡°No time for ya foolish questions. Guard the young! Go!¡± He shoved Ebskil away.


    Only moving because of his father¡¯s forceful push, Ebskil stumbled towards the large trees. The women and children climbed into the large, woven baskets, which strained under their weight, and grabbed onto the attached rope ¡ª made from vines ¡ª for dear life. Men, both young and old, heaved the other end of the plait as if fell from the other side of a thick branch. This pull-system raised the basket, very slowly, to safety in the trees with no low branches. Yet, Ebskil already saw one problem with the system; although the men were protecting their families, no one was protecting them.


    A gunder broke free from the group of warriors attacking, ignoring the green phlames they used as distraction, and raced to the basket, seizing the opportunity to grab vulnerable prey. With one swipe of its paw, it sent the two men pulling the rope soaring, and the women and children fell to the ground. A sharp, piercing cry from the little boy filled the air and Ebskil saw he broke his leg.


    Be a hero.


    No one else was as close to them as Ebskil. If the warriors tried to help, it would be too late. What can I do? I have no phlame, Ebskil panicked. I am no match for a gunder, especially one so feral. I am no¡ª


    The little boy met his eyes. The hazel irises glistened and silently begged to be saved.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Be a hero.


    As if controlled by the other voice in his head, he ran towards the gunder without a plan. He let out a scream, which sounded too feminine for a war cry, but it did what he intended; the beast looked at him and growled, the fallen family momentarily forgotten. What next? What next? What next? Ebskil chanted, almost in range of the beast¡¯s attack. Unsure and irrational, he grabbed a broken spear from the ground. The top was angled from the break but not as sharp as a carved rock. It will have to work, he hoped.


    ¡°Run!¡± He shouted at the fallen family, internally wincing at the fact he was ordering a boy with a broken leg to move. ¡°You must run!¡±


    Suddenly, the gunder lunged at him. Eskil rolled to the side and narrowly dodged the attack. However, the gunder wanted to continue. It circled him, as if toying with its prey, and often tried to swipe him. Blood roared in Ebskil¡¯s ears and he felt the adrenaline cool his blood, making it tingle as it spread through his veins. He tried to think of a plan but nothing came to him except to be a distraction. Hopefully someone else would come. There had to be a hero like his father who would act.


    He didn¡¯t expect it to be Momil.


    In the corner of his eye, he saw a figure race towards the family, lift up the boy and guide them to safety. Or, at least, he hoped it happened. He didn¡¯t risk breaking his concentration on the gunder who closed the distance between them. A second later, it attacked once more.


    No quick dodges or rolls saved him this time. It came too quick. Ebskil, panicked and unsure, shoved the stick forward and kept his eyes open, too scared to die if he shut them. Was this the end? He wondered in terror. Was this Ora¡¯s prophecy? Is this how I am a hero? By failing to rescue a family?


    Everything happened too fast. Ebskil fell back onto the hard ground and the gunder followed his movement, baring its teeth in victory. By pure accident, Ebskil shoved the broken spear into it¡¯s mouth then, through his hands fumbling, twisted it upwards instead of down its throat. The beast yelped which fuelled Ebskil to shove the spear harder, wherever it imbedded itself. The weight of the gunder broke the spear and Ebskil became lost under fat and fur.


    It took a few moments to realise he wasn¡¯t dead. A few more seconds later, he noticed the gunder lay deathly still on top of his lower half. The spear had lodged itself in its head and blood poured out from his mouth, mingling with Ebskil¡¯s own from scrapes torn by the creature¡¯s teeth. However, Ebskil didn¡¯t register any unbearable pain. Instead, as if engrained into his soul, he instinctively completed the same traditional prayer his father had; he smeared blood into circles on his forehead and recalled their ancient language to explain the sacrifice of life.


    ¡°Ebskil?¡±


    Ebskil blinked back his shock and stared up. ¡°Momil?¡±


    ¡°Ya alive, ya bastard!¡± Momil shouted, his voice raspy.


    Without a moment to waste, he tried to push the gunder but it only moved marginally. Still, Ebskil found this enough to pull his legs free. He sighed in relief, finding he could wiggle his toes and, from this, stand without pain. Then, he remembered those hopeful, hazel eyes.


    ¡°The boy. Is he safe?¡± Ebskil asked, searching for the family.


    ¡°Hid in shrubs near mushrooms.¡±


    ¡°That ain¡¯t safe!¡±


    ¡°They have broken limbs and no energy. They can¡¯t survive in the trees.¡±


    Speaking of¡­ Ebskil glared. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you in the basket?¡±


    ¡°I want to help¡ª¡±


    ¡°You are not a man yet! Get in the basket now!¡± Ebskil yelled.


    He looked around but saw no more baskets on the ground; they all were sailing into the treetops. This meant Momil would have to stay in the caves with the men; their father would be furious for his own family disobeying rules.


    ¡°But¡ª¡±


    Ebskil grabbed Momil¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Please. This is not time to argue with me. I beg of you. Go to the caves. Take the injured too. Please.¡±


    Momil went quiet. At first, Ebskil thought he won but he should¡¯ve known better. His brother was born stubborn. A plead would not change that.


    ¡°Momil?¡± He questioned, looking into the widening pupils of his brother.


    ¡°Use your phlame!¡± Momil screamed.


    Behind them, a gunder had crept up and intended to maul them. Its jaws opened, flinging saliva everywhere, and its raised paw came crashing down.


    ¡°Ebskil! Now!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± Ebskil blurted, filled with fear.


    They couldn¡¯t run. They had no weapons. Momil had to learn more to control his phlame. Ebskil didn¡¯t have any phlame. They were going to die.


    Be a hero.


    Ebskil shoved his brother away. This time, he shut his eyes because he knew it was the end. The whispering voice silenced as the gunder shrieked in glory at its prey''s demise.

 Chapter 5: Saved by Strangers

    Something lit up the behind Ebskil¡¯s closed eyes. He heard a great whoosh and when he dared to look, he saw a brilliant aqua phlame wash above him. The beauty stole his breath; different hues danced above him like performing in a grand ritual. More incredible, he spotted speckles of dirt inside the stunning flickers. The grains, moved by the phlame, targeted the gunder¡¯s eyes and nostrils, causing it to lean back on its hind legs with a cold screech.


    ¡°Get out of the way, squid-breath!¡± Reefer shouted and ran closer. The short distance seemed to strengthen the phire twirling from her fingertips.


    Any exclamations of relief or surprise got lodged in Ebskil¡¯s throat. He fell backwards but didn¡¯t register the pain from his tailbone on impact. Instead, his focus remained on the battle in front of him. Reefer kept her phlame ongoing and temporarily blinded the creature. Its eyes rimmed red and it swung around to stop the attacker. Just as its paw breezed passed the girl, Wildem joined her, closely followed by Pend.


    ¡°Pend, check the area for oncoming beasts! Reefer, keep blinding him from different angles! I¡¯ll take him down!¡± Wildem ordered and as he leapt in the air, Ebskil swore he saw beams of light radiate around him like a god; this was a true hero.


    He ignited his blue phlame and it rippled down his arms onto the strange axes in his hands. Unlike the clan¡¯s weapons, these were crafted using a shiny material, not rocks and somehow, without vines, held onto the thick, stick handles. Where did he hide these? Ebskil wondered and no sooner did he think of this, he noticed the incredible phlame of the mountain tribe. The blue phire pulsated around the blades and caused them to grow longer and thicker. Originally, they must¡¯ve been the size of a man¡¯s forearm but now, they were as long as a child¡¯s height.


    The axes sliced at the blinded gunder. Blood spurted everywhere. The beast howled in pain. Yet, Wildem never paused. He continuously stabbed at fur and flesh until the gunder collapsed.


    ¡°Another coming from the left trees!¡± Pend shouted as he remained rooted to his spot. A yellow phlame left his squatting feet and clawing hands to furrow into the ground.


    ¡°Reefer!¡± Wildem called.


    The girl grinned and with a sweep across the ground, shot her phlame ¡ª with more particles than earlier ¡ª at the oncoming gunder. ¡°On it!¡±


    The trio worked together perfectly, using each ability to their best advantage; Pend relayed movements around them, Reefer stole senses of the beasts and Wildem took them down. This continued without fault as creature after creature attacked. It rained blood. The night became filled with agonising cries of gunders. Through this, Ebskil slowly returned to reality. When the third gunder struggled against Wildem¡¯s precise combinations, his mind rebooted. Momil, he realised. Did he get hurt? Where is he?This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Through the darkness and failing torch-light, Ebskil scanned the ground. Ripped up soil and scattered branches created a challenging walk, causing everything to turn unfamiliar. He continuously gagged when the tribe¡¯s warriors used their green phlames, as they lit up lifeless bodies on his path. He tried to forget they were people he grew up with but failed to trick his mind. Find Momil, he instructed himself, fearing to be lost in sorrow and give up. Find Momil. Find Momil. Then, he saw something small move behind a tree. Without a second thought, he raced towards it.


    ¡°Momil?¡± His voice cracked and as his eyes adjusted, he nearly cried; Momil curled up beside a boy. ¡°Thank the gods. Are you hurt?¡±


    His brother glared up with tears streaking his cheeks. ¡°Why didn¡¯t ya use ya phlame?! Why! Why! Why! Why didn¡¯t ya save us?!¡±


    The words felt sharper than any blade. They stabbed true and deep into Ebksil¡¯s chest. A lump formed in his throat. What was he supposed to say? He, the villager¡¯s ray of false hope, could save no one in this time of need. He had no phlame to protect them as the future chief. No. The truth was far worse than a simple lie; his parents understood that, hence fooled everyone during his upbringing and manhood initiation.


    Just ignore it. Deal with it later. ¡°Ya must get to safety. Is this the broken boy? I¡¯ll take ya both to the caves.¡±


    ¡°Will ya use ya phlame ta protect us then?!¡±


    The comment stung and Ebskil wanted to scream out his failure as a person. He wanted to profusely apologise to Momil. However, the image of his panicked father and the angry tribe stopped him. They couldn¡¯t handle a phlame-less tribesman right now.


    ¡°Boy, me name is Ebskil. I know ya hurt ya leg so I¡¯ll carry ya to the caves. Ya will be with the men tonight. Doesn¡¯t that sound cool?¡±


    ¡°Mama!¡± The boy sobbed.


    ¡°Where is she?¡±


    ¡°She went ta search for the last basket. I think she may ¡®ave gotten up,¡± Momil muttered, unwilling to make eye contact with his brother. Strange. Ebskil recalled no baskets left for use but then again, he was too preoccupied with gunders to notice much else.


    ¡°Hear that? She went searching for a basket. I am sure she will be so proud of ya for making it to the cave. But to do that, I am gonna lift ya up. It¡¯ll hurt for a little bit, okay?¡±


    The boy nodded. Trying to be gentle, Ebskil grazed his forearms on twigs under the boy, and lifted him up. Turned out the small size hid his true weight and Ebskil struggled to stand with him.


    He turned to Momil. ¡°Ya ready?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, nah. No one can be ready ta die.¡±


    Ebskil took a deep breath and surveyed a safe path to the caves. They needed to sneak behind the tree line of the clearing. He prayed to avoid any rocks and logs for the sake of the injured boy in his arms. Worried to wait a second longer, he took the first step towards safety.

 Chapter 6: Aftermath

    The tribe suffered a horrendous blow to their numbers and hopeful spirits. When dawn rose, it signalled a gruesome reality rather than a fresh start. Ebskil left the cave, where a limited number of men hid for the night, to find his life destroyed. The smell hit him first; the foul ordor spoke of rot and death. Then, the damage came into view. The huts scattered the clearing, claws marked the surrounding giant trees and bodies, both human and beast, lay in pools of dark liquid. It was enough to make his stomach churn and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat, trying to copy the strength of his father.


    Zerkil acted life a true chief and warrior. After a devastating exhale, which spoke volumes of emotion, he turned to his men and gave orders. Every man went to a body and moved it near the exit of the territory, toward the designated family burial grounds. After a count, the dead were taken to a sight for burial with a seedling. Their tribe of a eighty-four turned into fifty-one overnight; the forest gods won more trees this time.


    As the final bodies left the tribe, Ebskil took initiative and went to the ropes. New men followed his lead which made his chest drop. He felt unworthy to be looked towards; he couldn''t fight off any gunders and because of that, they killed more people. No one should copy his example. Yet, he pushed the daunting truth to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand.


    With a steady grip, he undid the knots and levered the baskets ¡ª full of traumatised women and children ¡ª to the ground. Many cried over missing family members which Ebskil handled, as ordered by his father. Uneasy and lost, he directed them towards the winter food stash to seek comfort from full stomachs. However, the best distraction came from the nomadic strangers; they entertained the children with their odd phlames for hours. Ebskil wanted to join, ignoring his lacking qualities and responsibility, but felt his father''s eyes watch him; he needed to prove himself after failing to be a hero. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The afternoon came quickly and with it, the tribe prepared for the funeral. Everyone dressed in traditional costumes, including bright green leaves, flowers and body paint, then went to their own family''s burial grounds. At each location, relatives performed their dance of life to symbolise the passing and birth of a soul; the forest gave them life, which they needed to return. Hence, they forest gods demanded any death replenish the forest with a token like a seedling.


    While this occurred, Ebskil followed his father to each burial; thankfully, none of their family suffered loss of a relative.


    "Keep ya chin high," Zerkil said, his voice cracking. "Da people need someone ta look toward."


    "That shouldn''t be me," Ebskil blurted. Despair washed over him at the suffering of his friends. Ora foretold he was a hero but why couldn''t he save his own tribe? It wasn''t fair. Why couldn''t he inherit a phlame?


    "It has ta be. Ya our future chief. Show da people ya strength dat will protect dem."


    "Nah! I don''t deserve such honour! I couldn''t save anyone! So many people died and¡ª"


    "Sometimes, da forest demands payment for what we take. No one can stop dat. It is da gods'' will and part o'' life. So keep ya head high and find hope for others."


    Despite his father''s words, Ebskil struggled to stop diving into darkness. The stranger''s words popped into his mind. Are you a cursed child? It made him scoff.


    "Maybe I am cursed."


    Zerkil stopped suddenly and grabbed Ebkil''s shoulders. "Never speak like dat! Ya not cursed!"


    "But I have no phlame!"


    "Does a phlame get us water? Does a phlame find food? Nah. Ya mind does. Ya mulacha does," his father explained, using their traditional language for guiding optimism. "Ya mother barks this at me everyday. It makes me a chief, not my phlame. Okay?"


    Ebskil swallowed past the lump in his throat. The words embraced him like a warm blanket and after the ordeal of death, he struggled to keep from crying like the men were expected to do. Not trusting his emotions if he spoke, he replied by a nod. This satisfied his father enough for them to continue to the next burial grounds to offer their presence.

 Chapter 7: Mourning

    After the sobbing diminished and the people had no tears left, they returned to the tribe centre by nightfall. The darkness covered the grimness of the events from last night, as did arrays of flowers placed over the blood. A smoothed trunk lay down, holding empty, hard shells of fruit ready to be filled with the vile liquid shared on ceremonies. Ebskil refused to drink any and instead, monitored the crushed faith of his tribe. The more he witnessed people losing themselves to an intoxicated state, the more guilt ate him. He should¡¯ve done more. He should¡¯ve died instead of so many others.


    ¡°Heylo,¡± Momil greeted, his bowl half-empty already.


    They hadn¡¯t spoken since the gunders'' triumph and avoided each other during the village cleanup. It hurt Ebskil as much as it made him anxious. Had Momil realised the truth? Had he seen him fail to use a phlame? Would he expose him to the tribe? The possibilities worried Ebskil more than the wounds on his arm from the brawl with the gunder.


    ¡°Have ya seen the boy?¡± Ebskil blurted in panic, referring to the child with the broken leg. ¡°Is he okay?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ Nah. None of his family made it except an aunt. His leg don¡¯t work.¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow will be better. Our heads will be clearer to think of a new way to live. He is young and will heal. Until then, the tribes people will help them out,¡± Ebskil said to comfort his brother and himself. It didn¡¯t work.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t ya use ya phlame?¡± Momil asked abruptly.


    Ebskil¡¯s breath caught. ¡°Wha?¡±


    ¡°Ya phlame! Ya could ¡®ave. Ya phlame impressed everyone at da manhood ceremony. Why didn¡¯t ya use it?! Why? Many died last night. Me friends died. Why didn¡¯t ya use ya bloody phlame?! Ya could ¡®ave saved ¡®em!¡±


    The words hit Ebskil like a club, beating him until his soul crumpled into a heap. His legs weakened at the accusation. First, he wanted to defend himself and scream that it wasn¡¯t his fault but he hesitated. Thinking over it, the fault was truly his. All the other tribesmen did their duty and protected their families. What did he do? He only ran into danger to chase Momil, not to be a hero. The realisation of this selfishness hit him harder than Momil¡¯s words. Why was he such a coward?


    ¡°I am not worthy,¡± he said, more to himself than to his brother.


    ¡°Worthy of what?!¡±


    ¡°Nothing. Just drink and forget the woes of today,¡± Ebskil said with a sigh and walked off.


    He didn¡¯t know where he intended to go but apparently, it was somewhere away from civilisation. The forest grew denser around him but his feet marched on, seeking solace in the night¡¯s silence. The nocturnal creatures cawed and scurried around him. Rustles in the bushes prickled his skin. The wafts of smoke from the bonfire diminished and signalled him to turn around. However, he wandered off path to tempt his fate. This gave him the comfort of sinking into this despair in private and release the emotions building inside. An hour passed before he felt empty of sorrow and ready to return to a nearby path. Yet, something stopped him.


    Up ahead, orange flames danced to the ground. Approaching it with trepidation, Ebskil exhaled when he saw it was neither a wildfire nor unknown phlame. The once-imprisoned travellers huddled around the fire for warmth and light. They each sat on a fallen log, talking and laughing as if the gunders never attacked. Stranger still was the long material placed over their legs. Ebskil had never seen hides used to blanket people; the forest remained humid most of the year and they slept outside to cool down.


    A twig snapped under his feet and Wildem spotted him first. ¡°Oh great. The weak warrior is prowling us.¡±


    ¡°No wonder they treat us so terribly: you insult them with every breath you take!¡± Reefer complained and looked to Ebskil. ¡°Was it Skel? Ebskil? What are you doing away from your people?¡±


    ¡°I-ah¡ª¡±


    ¡°See, he was spying on us for his tribe!¡± Wildem exclaimed. ¡°By dawn, they will be chewing on our flesh and gnawing on our bones!¡±


    ¡°Cannibals live towards the chuckil plants,¡± Ebskil blurted to defend himself. The group stared at him in horror. ¡°It is far away. You are safe. We don¡¯t eat people. I was just seeking space because of¡­¡±


    ¡°Join us,¡± Reefer said and elbowed Wildem before he had the chance to refused. Ebskil''s body accepted before his mind did, and before he realised, he sat next to the girl. ¡°Do you want roots?¡±


    Fresh guilt churned Ebskil¡¯s guts. The group had no food apart from their own gathering attempts. The tribe already ostrasized them; rumours speculated their presence created an unbalance in the way of life and caused the gunders to go wild. Now, they were left to huddle away from the comfort of people.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°I will bring some dried meat later when the tribe is resting,¡± he promised to ease his discomfort.


    ¡°Lies,¡± Wildem mumbled.


    ¡°I promise. Ya can even have this to exchange.¡± In his hand, he offered his leather bracelet to signify his tribe. Wildem took it without hesitation.


    ¡°We were just talking about food for our travels,¡± Reefer said in attempt to start a flowing conversation.


    ¡°Are ya leaving?¡±


    ¡°Tomorrow. We must keep going if we are to reach the Conquer River by two days time. Besides, we can¡¯t risk staying in case those creatures attack again. What even were they?¡±


    ¡°Gunders. I think. I haven¡¯t seen them act so feral before. During mating season they become wild but not so savage to destroy homes in packs,¡± Ebskil mumbled to himself, lost in the memories of them. When he looked up, the travellers stared at him strangely. Were they still frightened? No. There was an odd look in their eyes. He cleared his throat. ¡°I wish to thank ya for saving us. Without ya help¡ª¡±


    ¡°You would all be dead,¡± Wildem finished. Ebskil didn''t argue.


    ¡°Do you know which path to take to the Conquer River?¡±


    The river rested toward the rising sun. Stories of Conquer gods passed between forest tribes but no one took interest; the tribes had their own gods to worry over. The Valley tribe were no different except for Ebskil. Sometimes, he grew curious of the world outside their clan. He couldn¡¯t determine if he received this wonder from his mother or he wanted answers about his strange appearance and lack of phlame. But how could he leave his tribe? He was to be chief in a few years and he had no phlame to fight. The idea to travel was ludicrous.


    ¡°We can find a way. We always do,¡± Reefer said, smiling at Wildem and Pend.


    In that moment, while proudness shone in her blue eyes, she looked as stunning as an enchantress. Ebskil couldn¡¯t find words to explain the appeal of her appearance. He had seen other tribes produce women more beautiful but Reefer had a natural prettiness. The way her hair remained in unmanageable, wild waves and her skin tarnished by freckles and scars created a realness.


    ¡°Where have you travelled?¡± Ebskil asked in fascination.


    ¡°I started at the Dasna Coves. My clan is from there. Then, as I journeyed inland, I met with Wildem who just completed his own quest. We teamed up to return to the mountains. On our way, we rescued Pend. That¡¯s how we all ended up together.¡±


    ¡°So ya seeking the mountains.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Then ya shouldn¡¯t be goin toward Conquer River.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Reefer asked, her cheery expression dropped.


    The shift in mood flustered Ebskil. ¡°I-Nah-Well I just meant I know an easier path.¡±


    ¡°Unless you plan to be our guide, keep your opinions to yourself,¡± Wildem snarled. ¡°The mountain tribe map directs us to Conquer River and that is where we shall go.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°You meant no harm,¡± Reefer sighed and her original, carefree smile returned. ¡°Have you ventured to the mountains often?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes. The furthest was when I was young but I don¡¯t remember it. Me ma and pa called on the forest tribes to find me. By the time I was tracked down, I passed out near the forest edge.¡±


    Pend¡¯s eyes widened from under his cloth mask. ¡°Rad.¡±


    ¡°Wha?¡±


    ¡°It means he¡¯s in awe,¡± Reefer explained.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t that great. It was an accident.¡±


    ¡°Do weird things happen to you a lot?¡± Reefer suddenly asked. ¡°Wandering great distances, defeating beasts with a stick, having white hair and more stuff like that?¡±


    Having no phlame, Ebskil added in his own head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how weird that is.¡±


    ¡°You seem like one of us. We all have wild stories which has bound us together.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± But you act like heroes while I run away from my problems. I am not part of your group.


    ¡°My point is, if you wish to join us¡­¡±


    Wildem¡¯s expression morphed into pure hatred and disgust from across the fire. ¡°Absolutely no way! You can¡¯t be serious, R. That is the dumbest thing you have ever said. Even dumber than these forest primates. No! He is not joining us!¡±


    ¡°I cannot leave my tribe,¡± Ebskil said, trying to diminish the tension. ¡°I can help ya pack though. Our tribe owes ya. When will you leave tomorrow?¡±


    ¡°As early as we can.¡±


    ¡°I best get ya meat then.¡±


    <hr>


    Just as they told, when the sun peaked through the treetops high above, the nomads left. The tribe watch them with wary eyes; in their mourning, the travellers presence became more concerning. They believed the strangers turned the gunders'' foul. Ebskil mulled over the idea from a tree but instead of hate, it heightened his curiosity. He wondered what other strange things they encountered and wished he asked last night. Now, his questions would go unanswered.


    ¡°Pack ya things.¡±


    Ebskil yelped in surprise as Ora popped up from behind him, managing to climb the tall tree with ease despite her age. ¡°What the bloody¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ya journey has begun.¡±


    What is she mumbling about? She must have drank too much potions last night, Ebskil thought. ¡°Ya should rest. The new spirits must be draining ya energy.¡±


    ¡°Dis is ya journey and ya end.¡±


    ¡°You make no sense.¡± Like usual.


    Ora smiled. ¡°Da hero is not listening ta me.¡±


    ¡°I am no hero! Look what happened when the gunders attacked!"


    ¡°The spirits told me ya protected Momil.¡±


    ¡°That isn''t¡ª¡±


    ¡°It is time for ya to choose a path. Follow the strangers or stay with da tribe. One direction will give ya answers and another will give ya comfort. The choice is for ya, Ebskil the hero.¡±


    ¡°For the last time, I am no hero! Stop this nonsense. I''m not in the mood. Just accept your sight was wrong and I am not a hero.¡±


    ¡°Not a hero yet. Ya must overcome barriers of da throat, hands, feet, mind and heart. Only den, can ya fulfil ya fate, that is, if ya choose da right path.¡±


    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to be a hero? What if I just want to be normal?¡±


    Ora ignored him and crawled down the tree. The melodic hum which followed her contrasted against the seriousness of their conversation. It did nothing to alleviate Ebskil¡¯s darkening mood. When he looked back towards the travellers path, they disappeared and for some unexplainable reason, he felt left behind.

 Chapter 8: Stalking

    The heavy heat swept through the forest like an invisible fire. It faltered the travelling groups steps, as did the destroyed landscape probably caused by a thunderstorm, and made their journey slow immensely. In comparison, Ebskil remained spritely, acclimatised to the endless summers of his home. He watched them from the treetops, jumping and swinging on branches, without alerting them of his following


    Just checking they aren¡¯t attacked, he convinced himself the day after they left. He told no one except Ora and his mother of his sudden adventure. Or to check they didn¡¯t harm our tribe. That is all this is. When they reach the river, I¡¯ll leave. However, deep down, he didn¡¯t trust himself or his growing curiosity.


    Within minutes of sitting with them two nights ago, he felt more welcomed than he did in his own tribe. They accepted him despite thinking he was cursed. It confused him. Who did that? Even he had been cautious of them on their first encounter. Who were they? Where did they really come from? What phlames did they have? And how many phlame styles existed?


    The last questions interested him the most. He heard stories of different lands developing other phlames. In the forest, he only saw green powers used to either heal the earth or provide greater strength in battles. However, the aqua phlame Reefer manipulated played in his mind. What did it do? She didn¡¯t throw any rocks with it like his tribe. If he recalled, dirt swirled in the tentacles of it, so it didn¡¯t have great power because it moved small objects. Opposite of that, the mountain clan¡¯s phlame, vibrant blue, shared similar properties to the green forest phlame. Yet, it was not the same either as it made those blades in Wildem¡¯s hands grow. The tribe''s green phlame didn''t change their weapons. Then what about the other member of the group? Ebskil saw no phlame from him. Were they the same? Was he ¡®cursed¡¯ too?The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    You are only making them get to the river safety. He couldn¡¯t leave his tribe after the devastation which occurred. Right? But staying meant facing his brother, who learnt he had no phlame. How did he explain that? What if Momil told everyone else? How did he convince his tribe that, without a phlame, he could still be a hero? He couldn''t. A phlameless person brought bad omens and destruction. At least deep in the forest, he had time to prepare for the dreaded conversations.


    The travelling trio came to a halt, agreeing on a solution for the rising complains spouted. Ebskil looked down to see them covered in sweat and snacking on his gifted dried meat while sitting on a large, protruding root. He took this as his signal to copy; he snaked his way down the tree tops and found a patch of forest floor to rest. This, of course, was hidden from view of the strangers by bushes speckled with orange berries.


    ¡°No spots to make you stop,¡± he murmured, repeating his tribe¡¯s mantra for inquisitive children. Unworried, he plucked them, then popped one into his mouth and relished the burst of sweetness. ¡°Pray to the god it isn¡¯t poison. Killed by berries would be more humilating than discovered phlameless.¡±


    A tiny boarisk rustled the bushes as it approached him. It stood at a similar height to Ebskil¡¯s knees and shook its dirty, straw-like fur. After a guttural sneeze, it looked at the berries accumulated in his hands with innocent, dilated eyes.


    ¡°Ya sweet thing,¡± he said and extending his full hand.


    The creature cautiously stepped closer and it made Ebskil smile. A warm feeling rushed through his body; the mountain clan saw the forest tribe as savages, yet he was proud of the strong bond they had with animals. As if sensing his gentle nature, the boarisk mustered up enough bravery to steal the berries. Unspoken trust grew between them. Animals are no different to us, his mum once said. They want a full stomach and comfort. Kindness extends passed humans.


    ¡°Where¡¯s ya mam?¡± Ebskil asked as he stroked the pup, careful to avoid the lined horns on its face. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. Hot day, a pup the size of a year-old boarisk and the ripped up land all signalled something terrible. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡­¡±