《Winds of War [Progression LitRPG, Kingdom Building]》


 Chapter 1

    ¡°Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.¡± - Napoleon Bonaparte


    The bleating noise of his alarm woke afresh the storm raging inside his skull. Without opening his eyes, Julian Beaumont found his blaring phone with his hand and snoozed the alarm, letting peaceful silence eclipse his bedroom once more. Only it didn¡¯t stop the pulsing headache pounding behind his eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m never drinking again¡­¡± he mumbled, turning over and burying his face in the soft pillow, the words crawling out from his parched throat. So dry it felt as though he hadn¡¯t had a drink for three days.


    Julian couldn¡¯t tell how long he¡¯d managed to shut his eyes, or if he drifted off into a dreamless sleep once more, before the door to his room smashed open, heralding another storm. ¡°Julian, get up,¡± Cassandra said, her snappy voice a noise even more annoying than his alarm. ¡°You have work today.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± he moaned. As if he could forget. ¡°Just a few more minutes.¡±


    Not even a moment passed before she ripped the duvet off him, exposing his bare body to the chilly breeze. ¡°You¡¯ll be late!¡± Cassandra snapped. ¡°If it weren¡¯t for your father and how much business he does with David, he¡¯d have fired you months ago.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s welcome to fire me now.¡± Julian opened his eyes, and the blurry form of his wicked stepmother fast became sharp. Her wavey black hair falling past her shoulders, the beige gown she wore, and her two brown eyes alight with furious fire. ¡°It¡¯s a shit job anyway.¡±


    ¡°A ¡®shit job¡¯ is all you¡¯re good for.¡± Her voice cracked like a whip, its lash leaving a wound that cut deeper than he¡¯d care to let on. Julian wouldn¡¯t give her the satisfaction. ¡°Your brothers had all graduated from Oxford by now, and your sister is about to finish a PhD at Cambridge. And what are you doing? Living in my house, treating it as a bed and breakfast after your benders.¡±


    Julian arched up, yawning, scratching his hair as though it would stop his terrible headache. ¡°In normal bed and breakfasts the staff don¡¯t moan at me, and the food they serve is edible.¡± He smirked at her.


    She slapped him.


    ¡°Cheeky cunt,¡± she spat, turning around. ¡°Get up and go to work. Why your father tolerates you, I have no idea.¡±


    ¡°Stupid bitch,¡± he muttered as he crawled out of bed. Approaching the window of his London penthouse, he wondered why his parents made him work such a menial job anyway. The Beaumont family already had money. Wasn¡¯t that the point of working, to get money? If you already had mountains of gold, why keep working?


    I thought rich people got rich to stop working, not continue it. The grey London skyline was something that always depressed Julian. A dim smog shadowed the many skyscrapers that littered the horizon. How it was possible for anyone to be happy here, he had no idea. So ugly and mundane, just like his existence.


    My palace in the clouds¡­ Clouds of exhaust fumes and pollution. The waste of an industrial hellscape built on sweat, tears, and depression.


    Oh, he had access to his toys and gadgets more than anyone else. He wasn¡¯t ignorant, after all. But that was all on the condition he worked for it. Nothing was given for free in the Beaumont family. He liked his new phones, watches, gaming PCs, and gold jewellry as much as the next person, but the toys that gave him the most peace and pleasure were slightly more unconventional.


    Scores of model tanks and airplanes, carefully painted over the course of many days, accompanied by model soldiers and stacks of history books. His most recent read sat open on his desk. A book about the battle of Agincourt. One he would be too tired to read after work, no doubt.


    Such hobbies and interests he could not find in common with many others in London, who cared more for getting high every weekend or dining in restaurants they couldn¡¯t afford so they could put it on Instagram.


    Julian opened his wardrobe and got ready for work. A sleek white Armani shirt that he buttoned up, fitting tightly over his lean, wiry body. He slipped the charcoal grey Hugo Boss blazer over his shirt and put on his slim-fit Saint Laurent trousers. He finished his look up with a pair of crocodile skin Jimmy Choo shoes, gleaming black as though they wore a fresh coat of polish.


    It made him feel no better on the inside, but he looked like a million dollars on the outside. His clothes were one of the few things that made him feel important. The armour of the 21st century¡ªdesigner clothes. To strangers, he looked like an important businessman. They didn¡¯t need to know he had little prospects, and only lived on the good graces of his wealthy family and the prestige of his family name.


    Adding the finishing touches, he slipped on a golden signet ring engraved with the Eye of Horus, a Rolex, and wrapped himself up in his vintage suede fur-lined coat.


    Avoiding the kitchen, where Cassandra sat, Julian rushed out of the penthouse and headed for the elevator. As it slowly descended toward the bottom of the building (they lived on the top penthouse, because it had two floors), Julian stared into his vague grey reflection in the cold steel of the elevator. A shadowy caricature of his face, yet he could see the deep bags under his tired eyes. His casually dishevelled wavey brown hair falling just past his ears, and an expression on his face that told of dread and misery. He really couldn¡¯t be bothered to go to the office today, as he couldn¡¯t yesterday, and the day before that.


    The many faces on the underground tube that headed toward the City told the same story. Rows of nameless faces hanging down, staring into the mindless rot their phone screens projected to them, talking to no one around them.


    A banner above the seats read: WORK HARD, DREAM BIG, showing a man with the biggest smile on his face sitting at a computer, hunched over all day.


    The slightest smirk tugged at the corner of his lip. Keep dreaming, keep working, and keep making us rich, is what the poster really said. Julian knew that all too well. He had seen real wealth, he knew how much of it there was, and he knew how little of it really trickled down to the proles.


    After his commute passed by in a blur, he found himself walking through the clear doors of his office building. A glass skyscraper belonging to Sterling & Crowe Partners, a large investment bank with which his father did a lot of business for his estates, and the only reason he had a job there.


    Julian drank his morning coffee and had a ham and cheese sandwich for his breakfast before getting the elevator up to his floor, where rows of grey cubicles awaited him. The endless click-clacking of fingers tapping keyboards was akin to a fly buzzing in his ear. No matter how many times he tried to shut the noise out or swat it away, it would inevitably come back. The endless numbers in the rows of the digital spreadsheet chiselled themselves into his brain, only making his migraine worse.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Not even an hour into his shift, he was already fed up. Mindlessly dashing numbers into the computer, making sure there were no mistakes, that every name was spelled correctly, lest he get a verbal lashing from his manager. An old woman with a nose like a vulture¡¯s beak endlessly snooping through the cubicles, making sure each corporate cog performed like a well oiled machine.


    Julian sometimes wondered, randomly, what the great men of history would have done in today''s world. What would Alexander the Great or Julius Caesar do if they were born in modern day England, where the days of conquering on horseback were long over? Would they too be stuck in these cubicles, wondering what the point of it all was? Would they just be another face riding a train, forgotten to the pages of history, voicing their views on an edgy internet forum instead of the great Forum of Rome?


    When he closed his eyes, trying to be free from the mundane noise for just a moment, giving his eyes a rest from the relentless blue light of the computer, he only heard the disappointed voices of his family. You shouldn¡¯t have dropped out of Oxford. You should have worked harder. Claire¡¯s son is an investment banker. What are you? And then the silence became more irritating than the noise of the office. Lazy! You¡¯ll never make anything of yourself by getting drunk every night!


    But getting drunk was the only way to cope.


    His father had hoped that Julian would follow in his footsteps, becoming a shrewd businessman in helping to manage his estates in the countryside as well as his lucrative property portfolio of commercial buildings in London and abroad. His mother, his true mother, a sweet woman who now only existed in his fond, distant memories, must have hoped he¡¯d marry a nice girl and give her plenty of grandchildren after building his own property empire. But Julian had failed them all. Such things gave him no pleasure, no joy, no meaning. It was all a great game, and everyone who played it forever ran on their little hamster wheels, trying to be better than those around them, flaunting their wealth and achievements like peacocks, forever showing off to people they did not care about.


    He always had the feeling he never fit in around here. He could never wrap his head around how people just tolerated this life. Working, eating, sleeping, and getting up the next day to do it all again.


    His daily train of horrible thoughts was broken when Lucy Harrington walked by the cubicle. The one person that made these boring days slightly tolerable. His team leader, with fiery orange hair held back by a white headband, a pretty face peppered with freckles, and a smile that could light up a room. Her curvy figure looked as though it had been carved by angels, the way her knee-length skirt wrapped around her waist and legs, how the emerald in her necklace matched her lush green eyes.


    Julian often fantasized about dating her and had been working at it since he¡¯d started working here. They were friendly by now, and when she walked past his cubicle, flashing that cute smile with a hearty, ¡°Morning, Julian. How are you?¡± He decided that today of all days was finally the day he¡¯d ask her out.


    He¡¯d never gotten more than friendly chatter out of her, but she was a busy woman, after all, and a couple years his senior too. She¡¯d risen high here for a 24 year old.


    On his morning break, he¡¯d make his move in the break room. In his mind, it always played out the same. He¡¯d tread through the swamp of formal workplace banter, making her laugh with his wit and charm. He¡¯d comment on how gorgeous her eyes were, and the walls she used to protect herself would melt in his presence. Their date would be amazing, holding hands as they walked along a picturesque stone bridge, below which a lush stream flowed by, drifting off into an enchanted wonderland. They¡¯d have a house together, get married, have kids, and live happily ever after.


    Yet, when he popped the question in the break room, her professional demeanour did not crack. She instead let out a surprised gasp, as though he¡¯d caught her off guard. Julian couldn¡¯t tell if that was a good thing or bad, and then Lucy said, with an awkward look on her face, ¡°Sorry, Julian. I don¡¯t date my colleagues.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± It was a stab in the gut. He scratched his head, making sure to show off his Rolex, his gaze lingering on the floor. ¡°Why not? I mean¡ª¡±


    She held her hand up to shush him. ¡°Don¡¯t shit where you eat, Julian. I should get back to work.¡± Lucy left him with a friendly smile.


    I was never good enough¡­ he thought as he watched Lucy walk back into the office, as he watched her laugh and joke with another colleague. Another man. He turned away with a heavy sigh before the jealousy overcame him.


    Should have studied¡­


    Should have worked harder¡­


    Should have dreamt bigger¡­.


    But how can one work hard when one dreams of nothing? How can one work hard when he dreams of not working all day?


    It was the straw that broke the camel¡¯s back.


    Those were Julian Beaumont¡¯s last thoughts as he walked out of the office on his break, never to return. For once, he did not care about the consequences, the fallout, or the lashing he¡¯d get from his parents.


    And he¡¯d never felt more alive.


    He lit up the most liberating cigarette of his life, had a few drinks at a posh cocktail bar not far from his office. He had to enjoy this now, he knew, because the storm it would bring would be his undoing.


    Julian stayed out drinking for most of the day, not quite having the courage to go home and break the news of his unemployment just yet.


    As he stumbled out of the cocktail bar and walked past his office building, the sky had become dim. He noticed groups of passers-by gazing up at the sky. ¡°Oh my god, an eclipse!¡±


    Julian looked up, and sure enough, saw the moon, black and dark, slowly drifting in front of the sun. There was a majesty to it he had never witnessed before, and found his gaze fixated on it as the moon all but blocked the sun out, casting a dim shroud over the whole city.


    As the dark shroud fell upon his world, Julian fell into a state of hypnosis, his gaze transfixed on the celestial event taking place above him. The black orb rimmed with the last vestiges of sunlight just working past its edges. Like a great black eye staring back at him.


    ¡°Where have you been all day!¡± he heard a woman yell. Was she grabbing onto him? Was someone tugging at his blazer? Was it Lucy? ¡°Those accounts aren¡¯t going to resolve themselves, you know? You just made the team fail its daily target! Julian, are you even listening to me?¡±


    The minutes turned to hours, and a strange clarity washed over Julian¡¯s mind. Something akin to being on the verge of passing out. A spinning sensation when one has too much to drink and doesn¡¯t know when to stop.


    ¡°Don¡¯t stare at it!¡± the woman with Lucy¡¯s voice screamed. Though she seemed but a silhouette in the darkness.


    The voices became dim around him. The sky was not getting brighter, and the black orb covering the sun seemed to expand, blotting out all light in the sky as though the Earth had become shrouded in the dark void. Someone tugged at his coat.


    Julian did not know when it happened, but he noticed there was no one around him now. No buildings, no roads, no pavements, no London.


    No people.


    ¡°Hello?¡± he tried to say, but there was only silence. He tried running, but his feet were glued to the floor as though stuck in quicksand. Suddenly his heart pounded like a drum. His head span so fast he began to lose track of all his senses except for the sickening sensation that he was falling at the speed of light.


    ¡°Sleep now, child,¡± a voice whispered in his mind. ¡°You shall wake on the other side.¡±

 Chapter 2

    The first thing he noticed was the cold.


    He rubbed his groggy eyes as his jaw chattered. Gooseflesh covered his skin. The harsh wind bit through his vintage suede fur-lined coat and the blazer beneath. His breath escaped him in steamy plumes. A gust of wind howled from the north, giving him an icy kiss. He shivered, huddling up to himself.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Julian groaned, looking around.


    Tall, thick trees, sprinkled with thin layers of frost surrounded him in every direction. Their leafless branches reaching out like the crooked fingers of a thousand skeletons. Where am I? he thought.


    One minute he was in London, and the next¡­ This eerie forest. What was this place? Was it still England?


    He reached inside his pocket for his mobile phone, but it was missing. ¡°Shit¡­¡± Where had he put it? Did it fall out of his pocket when that eclipse happened? He couldn¡¯t recall. His memory of those final moments in London came to him in fragments at best. Almost like forgetting a dream after waking.


    Perhaps he dropped it. Or, knowing London, someone probably stole it.


    ¡°Julian¡­¡± Lucy¡¯s voice called from the distance, though he could not exactly place where it came from. ¡°Come here, Julian¡­¡±


    ¡°Lucy?¡± Julian yelled, his heart skipping a beat. She sounded close, yet far. He seemed very much alone. A shiver crawled through him. He recalled her telling him off for quitting his job. She seemed mad then. Lucy always got mad when someone underperformed, because it made her look bad. But she might have a better idea of where they are, so he pressed on.


    Already, his hands were going numb, and he shoved them in his pocket after buttoning up his coat. He had never felt cold like this in England, and he thought it could get freezing there in the winters.


    But it wasn¡¯t winter in England¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m up here!¡± she called again. ¡°Follow my voice.¡±


    He turned, shaking by the second, searching behind every tree. ¡°I can¡¯t see you!¡±


    The dry, frost-bitten leaves crunched under his shoes as he trodded on through the forest. His leather shoes were possibly the worst footwear one could wear in a forest, he fast discovered. The hard edges bit into his ankle every time he stepped on a bit of uneven ground, which was near enough every step. He would probably get blisters later.


    If he didn¡¯t die of hypothermia first.


    ¡°Come, Julian¡­¡±


    He followed her voice, one grueling step at a time, until it led him to a rocky cave. The entrance sat atop a small mound, and he climbed it with great reluctance, using the cold trees to balance himself as his shoes slipped over the leaves on the steep ascent.


    ¡°Come inside, Julian. Follow my voice.¡±


    Staring at the entrance of the dark cave, Julian walked in, trying to watch his step, but it was impossible to see anything. As he stepped further into the dark, a dim, teal glow began illuminating the cave. Neon fingers spreading like thousands of thin vines. Perhaps it was some kind of fungus. Either way, he was grateful for the light.


    Julian kept walking until he stepped into a wide chamber, at the center of which a still pool sat. It was so calm it looked almost like a mirror laid flat on the ground. At the center was a little island from which sprouted a small stone obelisk. Strange runes and letters in a language he could not recognise covered the obelisk.


    ¡°Julian¡­¡± the voice sang, louder and clearer now. A bright blue light glowed beneath the still water, getting wider and brighter until it shone white. From the water emerged the figure of a woman. Translucent and astral, she radiated a cold blue light. On her back, fast wings buzzed in a blur to lift her up like the giant wings of a wasp. Her white hair floated calmly in the air as though she were still under water. She wore a stunning silk robe, flowing down well past her feet, still glowing with that blue hue her entire form seemed to radiate. Patterns of flowers decorated the robe.


    The woman was beautiful, with skin like porcelain. But his awe quickly washed away in a torrent of fear. Where¡¯s Lucy? His chest tightened.


    She smiled as he gazed upon her. ¡°Hello, Julian. You have arrived at last.¡± Her voice had now changed. This wasn¡¯t Lucy¡¯s formal, usual snappy tone. This voice sounded softer, like an astral echo floating through the wind.


    ¡°Who¡ªWhat are you?¡± he muttered, his voice bouncing around the silent rocky chamber. His reflection in the water below him was so clear it was as though he looked at glass. ¡°What have you done with my friend?¡± They weren¡¯t really friends, but that was the first word that came to mind.


    ¡°I used the voice of your companion to bring you here, but I¡¯m afraid I do not have her. I am the spirit of this forest,¡± the woman replied, still smiling, her voice still ethereal. ¡°In our tongue, they call me Arahka.¡±


    ¡°Arahka?¡± he repeated, unable to mimic the guttural, harsh sounding way she pronounced it. Worse was that whatever this creature was, it deceived him, stealing the voice of someone he knew. It must have some idea of where she is. It was one of the many hundreds of questions racing through his mind. ¡°Where is my friend? How did we get here? Where are we? How do we get back to London?¡±


    The ghostly woman, this ¡®Arahka,¡¯ tilted her head, her expression now stoic. ¡°Those responsible for your coming are the Vakrul. Creatures of the void who corrupt the souls and poison the minds of those who accept their cursed power. Their tendrils have seeped into every great dynasty in this realm by now. The more they tore through the heavens and poured into our world, so too did they open the rift into your realm. I¡¯m afraid the void has caught you in its grasp, and it will be quite impossible for you to return home while the Vakrul traverse the rift.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Suddenly, the cold had all but retreated from the chamber, and Julian felt hot under his coat as a sheen of sweat covered his palms. It was beginning to dawn on him just how far away he was from home. The sort of distance not able to be covered by his feet, a car, or even a plane. This talk of the void and that eclipse¡­ Could I have been pulled through space time itself?


    He was half convinced this was still some crazy dream. But it didn¡¯t feel like it.


    ¡°Impossible?¡± he said, barely a whisper. The words struggled to crawl out of his tightening throat. ¡°So that¡¯s it then? I¡¯m stuck here? I need to go home! My father will lose his mind if I go missing!¡±


    The luminous woman smiled, hovering above the still water. ¡°Then you must defeat the Vakrul, Julian.¡±


    ¡°D-Defeat?¡± His heart drummed in his chest. He gulped. ¡°You mean, like, k-kill someone?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that! I¡¯ve never¡ª¡±


    The floating spirit-woman held her hand up, and from her palm shot multiple tendrils of blue light that enveloped Julian before he could react. The flash almost blinded him. A cold, yet calming sensation washed over him.


    When the light faded, he was on his knees, the damp soaking into his designer trousers. He shot up, brushing them off, and then almost got a heart attack when he looked upon the palm of his left hand.


    An eye. A feline looking eye.


    At first glance, it looked real. But then, after a frightened gasp and a curious touch, he realised it was like a tattoo. The image of the amber, feline eye embedded into his skin. Yet it still moved around, as though it was looking at its surroundings. The narrow slit pupil dilated and contracted seemingly of its own accord.


    ¡°What the hell is that!¡± Julian yelled, shaking his hand as though he could flick it off. It made his skin crawl, the way it looked at him, how it blinked as though it was a living eye. When would this nightmare end? He looked up to the Arahka woman for answers.


    ¡°That,¡± the woman answered calmly. ¡°Is power. You are Arahkin now. A piece of the great sky Arahka rests within you, and with it, the power to absorb the souls of those you slay, or those slain at your command. Man and Vakrul alike.¡±


    ¡°T-Those I slay?¡± his lips quivered, and he glanced down at the eye tattoo on his palm, staring up at him. ¡°I don¡¯t want to absorb anyone¡¯s soul. I can¡¯t kill anyone!¡±


    ¡°You will have little choice in that regard now,¡± the woman replied solemnly. ¡°Each soul will give you power. The more power you acquire, the greater will be the weapons in your arsenal. Reap the souls in their thousands, and the power to destroy the great Vakrul will be yours.¡±


    ¡°What the hell is this!¡± Julian raged now, his anger bubbling up and blotting out his fear. It was so much to take in. And his home¡­ How long would it take for his father and Cassandra to notice he was missing? They¡¯d be on a wild goose chase forever.


    That¡¯s if they bothered looking at all¡­ he thought sadly. More likely they¡¯ll be happy I¡¯m gone.


    ¡°Enough now,¡± the woman snapped, and then rubbed her hands together. When she released them, a small, gleaming violet gem hovered between her palms, floated into the air, and fell behind her. ¡°On the obelisk behind me is an ancient power you can tap into. Take the gemstone. Once you have it, you may begin your quest by traveling south. There you will find a wide river. Your answers await there, along with your woman companion. But tread carefully, for shadows stir where light dares to linger. Good luck on your journey, Arahkin.¡±


    ¡°Lucy¡­¡± Julian gasped, and the woman faded into the darkness. ¡°Wait, I have questions!¡± But she was gone, and he was alone in the dark chamber. The only light being the dim violet hue of the gemstone now sitting atop the obelisk. Only the water separated him from it.


    ¡°Ugh¡­¡± he moaned. ¡°I have to swim to get it?¡± He couldn¡¯t wet his clothes. Not if he had to go back out there in the freezing cold. But he had to hurry, because Lucy was out there and could be in danger. He felt his sudden concern for her safety quite odd for himself, especially after she just crushed his hopes of dating her earlier today.


    But now, it seemed, she was all he had left.


    He undressed, throwing his clothes in a pile by the water and slowly stepped in. It was warmer than he expected, and he swam to the obelisk and retrieved the gemstone, swimming back.


    Holding the gemstone in his hand, he gazed at it. A smooth, perfectly carved, violet rock. It seemed to pulse its dim light in his hand. What do I do now, then? What power does this have for me?


    In his other hand, he noticed his eerie¡ªrather disgusting¡ªeye tattoo staring at the gemstone. The pupil widening, as though it was excited to see the gemstone. ¡°You want this, huh?¡± Julian placed the gem in his left palm and on instinct shut his hand.


    He felt the gem crush under slight pressure, and a feeling of cold energy trickled under his skin, then coursed through his veins like an icy torrent.


    A bright blue fire shot forth from either side of his closed palm, though it did not burn. Instead, in its wake, the flames left a wooden shaft that curved into an exquisitely carved bow. Dim lilac veins ran between the wooden pieces that collectively made up the bow now held tight in his grasp, and the string wove itself from tiny little threads until it was a hard line.


    ¡°This is Sarigen, the Ghost Bow,¡± a deep voice whispered from within him as though it were his own thoughts, like a sudden understanding, yet he knew it was something deeper. Something alive.


    Great, now he was hearing voices in his head. Am I going insane? he thought, slightly worried.


    And yet, he didn¡¯t even need to ask what the voice was, because he already knew it was the spirit of the Arahka that merged with his soul. As though something had plugged a USB into his brain and uploaded information into his mind.


    The deep, quiet voice continued. ¡°You have power. The power of Sarigen. Forged from the fallen souls of the nomads of this land. Never will you wield a stronger, more accurate bow.¡±


    He frowned, examining the exotic weapon in his hand. ¡°Except that I¡¯ve never fired a bow. You¡¯d have been better off giving me a sword. Or a gun.¡±


    A deep, thrumming laugh resounded within him, and Julian knew this voice in his head, and the eye on his palm, were somehow linked. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of this ¡®gun.¡¯ But Sarigen is no ordinary bow. You need not a quiver, for Sarigen will conjure arrows at your command. And when they loose, your eyes only need tell the arrow where to find its mark, and the arrow will go. You could hit a man hiding behind a tree with this bow.¡±


    Julian raised a brow, looking at the bow with renewed hunger. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    ¡°Yes, and the more souls you feed the Arahka, the more potent your weapons become. Their abilities will surprise you.¡±


    He pointed it towards the obelisk, pulled the string back, and sure enough, an arrow snapped out from nothing, purple and crackling, violet embers floating away from its shaft. He let it fly, aiming with his eyes, and watched the magnificent, magical arrow twist and turn through the air like a heat seeking missile until it disintegrated into the ceiling of the cave. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned¡­¡±


    Julian had always fancied hunting as a hobby, but never got round to it. Now he had to find Lucy and figure out how the hell to get out of here. Feeling more confident to brave the wilderness with his new weapon, he set out of the cave into the howling winter forest.

 Chapter 3

    Her frightened screams echoed nearby.


    Julian dashed to the sound of Lucy¡¯s voice, ignoring the growing ache in his feet caused by the constant gnawing of the hard leather of his shoes against his skin. He clasped his bow tightly in hand, now anxious for any lingering threat in the forests.


    Comparatively, English forests were always safe, so one never had need of weapons. But if she was screaming, then he only wondered what could be causing it.


    Though, knowing Lucy, she could just as easily be screaming over missing a work meeting as she would being attacked by a bear.


    Following the screaming until it became louder and louder, Julian finally found Lucy stuck up a tree. Below her, a big, angry white cat roared and hissed at her. It looked like some kind of leopard. It kept dashing up the tree, trying to claw at her with its large paws, and she kicked it back each time. Her feet bare, her black high heels abandoned at the base of the tree.


    Julian took aim at the leopard while it was still distracted with its petrified prize. The burning spectral arrow ignited into being before his drawn bowstring. He let it fly, guiding it to the pouncing leopard. The arrow struck it in the side, and the leopard let out a painful whimper before falling to the ground. It stumbled away from the tree a few paces before it fell over and died, its blood staining its immaculate white coat red.


    He ran toward the tree, looking up at her. ¡°Lucy?¡±


    Her hair was all ruffled and disheveled, littered with forest debris. Her hair band fell out, leaving rogue strands of ginger hair obscuring her face. Her white shirt was torn in areas, as was her skirt and tights. Muck matted her hands. All in all, it was impressive how she managed to get up that tree. Julian might have been done for in the same position.


    Her eyes widened when she saw him. ¡°Julian! Oh my god! Where the hell are we?¡± Then furrows formed above her brow, and she brushed her hair back over her ears. ¡°Where did you get a bow?¡±


    ¡°Come on down,¡± he said, anxiously looking around in case another predator fell upon them. ¡°It¡¯s a long and weird story. But I have no clue where we are.¡±


    She started climbing down the tree, glaring at the dead leopard just a few yards away. The arrow that struck it had since disappeared. Once close enough to the ground, she jumped down, letting out a soft whimper as her soft bare feet smashed against the leaves. Her steamy breaths shot from her mouth like the smoke of a dragon, and she started shivering.


    ¡°Are you cold?¡± Julian asked, already taking off his coat to give it to her.


    She frowned as she huddled herself. ¡°I don¡¯t want your coat.¡±


    ¡°Your jacket is thinner than mine,¡± he said, dangling it in front of her. ¡°Take it, or you¡¯ll freeze to death.¡±


    ¡°Never mind freezing to death.¡± She snatched his vintage coat from his hands and wrapped herself in it. ¡°We have to get back! I have a meeting in three hours for god¡¯s sake!¡±


    He pursed his lips. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll be going back there for a while¡­¡± Remembering the words of the Arahka. We¡¯re stuck here, in this strange place¡­ For all he knew, they could be the only people around for miles.


    Lucy shook her head in disbelief, checking her watch. Her chest pulsated; her breathing became quicker. Was she having a panic attack? ¡°No¡­ no. I can¡¯t miss it. They¡¯ll wonder where I¡¯m gone. I¡¯ll get f-fired!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s seriously what you¡¯re worried about right now?¡± Julian released his grip on his bow, and the weapon slowly disintegrated in a ribbon of lilac flame.


    Lucy jumped back, in awe at the display. ¡°How are you doing that? What the hell is that tattoo on your hand? Oh, I must be in a nightmare!¡±


    ¡°Calm down,¡± he said, sitting her down by the base of the tree. He explained everything, from the Arahka woman to how they were stuck in this odd new world, and those things called the Vakrul, which Julian still did not fully understand himself. ¡°We have to stick together, work out a plan to survive.¡±


    ¡°How can I calm down!¡± she erupted once more, on the verge of tears. ¡°I¡¯ll lose everything. My job, my career, my house! And I¡¯m stuck here with a quitter. How can we make it in the wilderness when you can¡¯t handle sitting at a computer?¡±


    He scoffed. ¡°That quitter just saved your ass.¡± He rubbed his hands together, trying to keep warm as he shivered. ¡°Do you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree?¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Oh, are you a fish?¡± she quipped, with that authoritative tone of a team leader.


    ¡°I may as well have been one in that god forsaken office.¡±


    Their trivial quarrel was interrupted by the rumbling sound of horse hooves clopping in the muck, louder and louder until it was clear they were coming to the pair.


    Focusing his concentration, Julian mentally summoned his bow once again by clenching his fist, looking around.


    From the rows of the tall, dark trees surrounding them like sentinels, these strange, primitive looking horsemen galloped out from the shadows. Well, this world just got a whole lot weirder. The horses were massive, at their sides carrying fur pelts and dead game.


    The riders themselves were layered up in thick leather fur lined clothes, topped with fur hats that covered their ears. A few of them had their faces covered by a cloth or thick scarf, and others were bare, revealing hard, gruff faces. A few of them held composite bows with curved tips, and another held a lasso.


    Hunters, but whether they were hunting game or people would remain to be seen.


    Lucy glared at them and ran behind him, clutching his arm. ¡°Julian, who are they?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± His fist clenched around his bow.


    The riders rode in circles around them, their horses kicking up clumps of crusty dry leaves and frosty mud. They yelled at one another in a strange language, similar to the harsh, guttural sound in which the Arahka woman spoke.


    Julian frowned, but did not raise his bow. I shouldn¡¯t appear threatening, he thought, but was ready to shoot on a moment''s notice.


    One of the riders stopped before him, looking at the bow in his hand. He said something, speaking quickly with a certain lash in his tone that made Julian¡¯s hairs stand. He nudged towards the bow, then said ¡°Tashin daluk!¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t understand you,¡± Lucy exclaimed from behind him. Her breath brushed his ear. He might have taken a moment to enjoy this situation, being her protector, if his heart wasn¡¯t beating like a drum for fear that these hunters might slay them both. ¡°Why do they look like that?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re hunters.¡± Julian looked back up at the rider glaring at him. ¡°We don¡¯t speak your language,¡± he said calmly, shrugging his shoulders.


    The horsemen mumbled to each other some more. Julian tried not to let one slip out of his gaze long enough, but there were too many of them. They looked like nomads, and from what he knew about nomads, they were about as expert as one could get with a bow. Provoking them would mean death.


    But they took that choice away from him when the rider with the lasso threw his rope around Lucy, yanked her off her feet, and tried to ride off.


    She screamed, her voice piercing the dense frost-bitten tree line. ¡°Julian!¡± The riders laughed, and the one with the lasso tried to gallop away.


    Julian tried to fire his bow, but the rider before him charged, knocking him over with his horse. He collapsed to the ground, but did not lose sight of the rider trying to carry Lucy off. He took aim from the ground and let his arrow fly, knowing that it would find its target no matter his position, so long as he looked at him.


    The burning purple arrow flew, homing in on the running rider and struck him square in the back. He grunted and fell from his horse, rolling in the mud, leaving a screaming Lucy tied up and alone.


    The riders burst into an uproar, shouting and screaming at each other, or at Julian, he couldn¡¯t quite tell. He tried to fire another arrow before a rider stepped down on his hand so hard that Julian thought he broke it. The bow disappeared as his bones cracked, and Julian screamed in pain.


    The leather-clad horseman looked down from above and unsheathed a scimitar. Half his face covered by a scarf. ¡°Fulun,¡± the man said. Now Julian saw the most curious thing about these riders. It was not their weapons or strange language, no. It was their eyes. The man standing above him, about to end his life, had eyes like amber gems. A full yellowish colour¡ªno white in the eye¡ªand his pupil was a narrow slit, like that of a cat or a snake.


    Julian frowned, all but accepting the abrupt end of his life, when someone yelled, ¡°Minar!¡± The horseman paused, looked up, and another feline eyed man, this one with clear ice blue eyes, looked down on him and said something quietly to the rest.


    The rider released his throbbing hand.


    Looking across at the man Julian just killed, he noticed strange, luminescent smoke drifting off the body. A pale blue in colour. Then he felt a strange pull on his wrist¡ªwhere the tattoo was¡ªand noticed the eye was glowing. On instinct, as if he¡¯d known to do this his whole life, he reached out for the corpse, and the eye on his palm widened. The horsemen seemed to stop their activities, watching the curious display. Then the wispy, ethereal smoke coming from the man¡¯s corpse began flowing into Julian¡¯s palm, as though his hand became a vacuum cleaner. He felt a surge of energy as the last of the wispy smoke flowed into his palm and felt oddly reinvigorated after his tiring struggle.


    The horsemen bickered to each other, likely about what they just witnessed, and wrapped up the man Julian had killed in a thick white blanket, putting him on the back of one of the horses. After that, they fetched Lucy, tied her up, gagged her because she kept screaming, and put her on the back of a horse.


    Julian had the same fate, and he was carried through the icy forest a prisoner. Seeing nothing but a blurry forest floor as the horse galloped through the woods, giving his core a good kicking. If these people were as primitive as they looked, he only imagined what kind of fate was in store for him.


    Boiled alive? Flayed? The best he could hope for was to be made a slave. His stepmother always called him a pessimist, after all¡­

 Chapter 4

    He awoke buried amidst a fur blanket, a sheen of sweat glistening across his chest. It made him itchy across his shoulders and some spots on his back. The bed beneath him¡ªif you could call it that¡ªfelt rough and hard, making his back ache raw.


    He rubbed his groggy eyes. How far did we travel? he thought. They had given him something to drink at one point when they stopped riding, and he blacked out after.


    Now he was here.


    A dim room¡ªno, it was some kind of tent. Round, with felt walls that flapped with each gust of wind outside. A wooden frame held it together, with narrow planks in a net-like pattern holding up the walls, and in the middle, eight thicker beams standing tall, holding the structure up. A narrow stream of light spilled in through the flaps around the other side of the tent, and through the middle, where a small hole marked the top of the tent. Below was a small hearth, surrounded by a few pots and pans, its smoke drifting in grey swirls lazily out of the hole. The logs crackled quietly in the flames. The fire warded off the chill, at least. And the smoky scent of the burning wood almost had a sweet aroma to it, freshening the air in the tent.


    Toward the back in a small, shaded area sat a crudely carved wooden totem of sorts, standing about three feet tall. Symbols and patterns woven around the base, and at the top was some sort of pointed, reptilian head. It was painted white with dots of blue, green, and red.


    Julian propped himself up on an elbow. Beside him were three wooden bowls. A small one containing a white liquid he presumed to be milk, though it was a bit bubbly. The other was boiled meat, he figured lamb based on the bones and how it smelled. And the next contained something he couldn¡¯t quite figure out what it was. Small, whitish chunks in a squarish shape.


    What suspicion he had was swept away at the urging of his rumbling stomach, so he started with the lamb. He ate generously, but the meat was rather bland. Chewy and fatty with an earthy aftertaste. Could use some salt, and mint. Julian could teach the chef here how to BBQ properly, but he¡¯d save that for another time.


    He reached for the drink next, since his throat was parched. It smelt sour and odd. If it was milk, it might be expired, but lacking other options he took a sip anyway. He nearly retched. The sour, tangy taste lingered on his tongue. Very potent. That milk was expired. Could he not have had water? He would have to go about finding some.


    After his experience with the sour milk, he decided not to try those weird whitish chunks until he could find someone.


    He got out of the blanket, and only now realised he was naked. Looking around, he saw his shirt and trousers folded up by his little bed. Next to the pile were his shoes and socks. His watch, ring, and coat, however, were missing. Those bastards stole them! Was his first thought, but he had many more things to figure out on top of that.


    The first being: Where was Lucy? She was not in this empty tent.


    As he put on his trousers and shirt, a small woman entered the tent holding a basket. Her pale, delicate face was rosy from the wind outside, giving her an elegant and youthful appearance. She had those familiar feline eyes with oval pupils and no whites in them, but hers were a vivid jade green, oddly reminding him of Lucy¡¯s lush green eyes. Were all the people here like this? Are they even human? The woman¡¯s ink-black hair was tied into two braids that flowed down her back.


    She wore an old looking faded green woolen robe which was belted at the waist. The robe was secured diagonally by buttons across her chest, and some decorative embroidery of reds, blues, and greens lined the edges of her robe. Over her shoulders was a thick brown fur cloak. Her trousers looked to be made of felt, the same material which covered the floor, and her worn boots were leather.


    They looked at each other blankly for a moment, and then the woman knelt over and set her basket down on the other side of the tent. ¡°Shazai?¡± she said, pointing to the food by his bed.


    He looked at it, then back at her, fearing he may have offended her for not eating it all and not drinking that rancid milk. ¡°The milk is off,¡± Julian said, pointing to the bowl of milk. ¡°Off. You hear? Do you have water?¡±


    She tilted her head in confusion, her narrow serpentine pupils dilating then shrinking again. It kind of freaked him out.


    ¡°Water,¡± he said slowly, using his hands to make the motion of drinking from a cup.


    She seemed to glare at him, as though she were either disgusted or distraught with his presence. ¡°Taruk ka?¡± The woman nodded, pointing to the bowl of milk, making a similar signing expression with her hands to indicate to drink from the bowl.


    He looked at it again, understanding that he was indeed meant to drink this beverage. Julian shook his head at her. ¡°No, no. This is bad. Bad.¡± He waved his hand over his stomach, trying to show her it might make him sick. Likely it was fermented milk, which was also alcoholic, but his stomach was much too soft for that.


    She just frowned, taking the bowl, sipping from it and swallowing without a care in the world, then handing it back to him.


    Julian grimaced. ¡°Water?¡± he tried again, but only furrows formed over her brow. This is hopeless, he thought. Maybe he would come across water some other way. He could just find a river, he supposed. That or, if he got thirsty enough, his body would force him to drink the rancid milk either way. At least he could get drunk. God, I¡¯ll need that.


    ¡°Taruk ka,¡± the woman replied.


    ¡°Where is my friend?¡± he said, though not sure why he kept asking. She wouldn''t understand him. He simply didn¡¯t know what else to do or say. ¡°My friend? Is she out there?¡± he pointed outside of the tent.


    The woman bowed her head and went to the far side of the tent, picking up a thick woolen fur lined coat. She handed it to him, bowing her head down.


    Raising a brow, Julian took it. ¡°Thank you.¡± This he would not refuse, based on how cold it was when he first got to this weird world. He threw the thick coat over himself. It carried an odd, lingering smell of sweat or some other body odour. It quickly dawned on him how much he was going to miss the conveniences of his old world, like washing machines and detergent.


    Either way, the coat kept him warm as he stepped out of the tent and the brisk wind glazed over him. Outside, similar wide, round tents dotted the little hillside. In fact, he knew exactly what these were. Not tents exactly, but Yurts or Gers (they were the same thing). His earlier guess was correct: they were nomads. He knew that well enough from his self taught history lessons. The signs were all there: the composite bows, the gers, the horsemen. And with that, he knew these people were dangerous. This tribe, and if there were others in this vast area, probably lived a hard life in a lawless land, the law being the end of the sword and whatever chieftain¡¯s word.


    There weren''t many gers, about eleven at first glance. A small community. Down the hill was a gentle flowing stream cutting through the hillside like a slithering snake, for which he was grateful that he could get some water.


    Further beyond, the land held a breathtaking beauty that even despite his curious predicament, he had to take a second to appreciate. A vast, rolling landscape stretched before him, covered in a lush blanket of golden brown grass that swayed to and fro with the breeze. Nature untouched in its purest form, something almost impossible to find in the dense urban landscape he had called home not long ago. And in the distance, vast, snow capped jagged mountains lining the horizon like the teeth of a great god.


    Toward a grassy plain that looked a short walk away from the camp, horses grazed in the fields, watched by a few people. And beyond that, pens full of goats or sheep, though Julian couldn¡¯t quite tell from here.


    ¡°Arahkin,¡± the woman called. Julian hardly noticed her standing a little ahead of him, beckoning him to follow her with a flicker of her wrist. That word, he knew, at least. It¡¯s what the spirit woman had called him. Do they know what I am? Or is that what they have named me? He couldn¡¯t quite tell, but it was a start.


    The other members of this little tribe walked about, going about their business, staring at him curiously as he went by. The men seemed to be short, even shorter than him, though they were thickset and broad. Far stronger than Julian, with his lean skinny frame. Those who didn¡¯t wear their thick fur hats had bald heads, with hair growing around the sides that flowed down into thin braids. Some had thick beards, others had thin moustaches that drooped past their chins, and others were clean shaved like Julian.


    The women looked similar to the woman guiding him, their hair black, brown, and a few had blonde hair. All woven into braids or buns. Their robes were similar too, with faded colours like brown, blue or green. They carried baskets of milk or water, as well as chopped wooden logs. Some of the men butchered parts of animals or carried bundles of hides on their shoulders.


    They muttered things amongst each other as Julian walked past, following his guide, but he tried not to pay them any mind or make eye contact lest he provoked them somehow.


    A few hounds wandered around the village, too. Some lay by the gers taking a rest. Massive, wolfish beasts with thick coats of fur they were. A few barked at him as he walked past, and their owners had to yank them back. They looked like mastiffs of some sort.


    The woman led him to a tent that looked grander than the rest in this humble little settlement. Still white like all the rest, but it was decorated with ribbons of silk in a vast rainbow of colours, animal hides, and some skulls¡ªskulls belonging to animals that looked alien to him. The strangest one being a vaguely ape shaped skull with four eye sockets.


    I¡¯m being taken to their chief. He figured easily enough. He picked at his nails, anxious as to what lay beyond those flaps, or what their chief looked like. They may have already met, and he may have already watched Julian kill one of his men. That¡¯s what made the hairs on the back of his neck stand now. What if they want revenge? What if they punish him? I still have my bow. He flexed his tattooed hand, ready to summon Sarigen at a moment¡¯s notice.


    The woman held her hand up to stop him as they approached the entrance of the tent. It was flanked by two guards who eyed Julian carefully. Their steel pointed helmets were lined with fur around the rim, and metal breastplates covered their chests. They each held a scimitar and had composite bows across their backs.


    She peered into the tent, said something, and then bid him to come inside. Julian walked nervously past the guards, feeling their glares burning into his back.


    Inside the chieftain¡¯s ger, a larger fire burned in the center, kicking up a thick haze of smoke which shot through the hole in the roof. A totem, similar to the one in Julian¡¯s ger, though far larger and made of some kind of metal, with the same reptilian head, sat in the east side of the ger. This ger was busier than the rest, with a few adolescent boys sitting on some fur mats sharpening some knives or arrow heads. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    They watched Julian carefully with those eerie serpentine eyes. Most of those inside this ger were women, though, and Julian figured either most of them were slaves or wives of the chief. The chieftain himself sat at the far end of the ger towards the back atop a wooden high chair wrapped in animal hides. Two elk skulls with large, spiky antlers adorned it.


    The chief was a brawly man, with a thick skull and arms like tree trunks. He had a full set of black hair, peppered with grey, woven into five braids that fell around his head. His long pointy black beard fell just past his collarbone. His blood red silk robe shimmered with the light of the hearth like a shining ruby, decorated with golden threads.


    That looks about as expensive as something I¡¯d wear, if not more, he pondered. What angered Julian even more than the chieftain¡¯s fine robes was the golden Rolex glinting on his wrist, and the Eye of Horus signet ring tightly sitting across his chubby finger. He stole my things! And no shit, his vintage coat was hung on the side of the primitive throne, too. He clenched his fists out of anger but simmered down just as fast. He wasn¡¯t fool enough to try to lash out here, in front of the chief¡¯s little court.


    He still didn¡¯t know where Lucy was, either. He¡¯d half feared he¡¯d find her here bundled with that harem of women in the shadowy corner. Though her absence was just as worrying.


    Beside the chief, sitting lower next to his little throne, was a man who looked to be adorned in some kind of ceremonial dress. He looked far different than anyone else here. A mask wrought from the fragments of a weathered human skull covered his face, leaving his jaw exposed. The skin under the mask was painted black. On the edges of his mask, beaded cords and small animal bones hung, rattling every time he moved his head. A head dress wrought of pheasant feathers sat on his head, making him appear far larger than he was. His tattered, earth-toned robe was embroidered with strange tribal symbols of white and blue threads. And, most impressive of all, was the black raven feather cloak hanging from his shoulders. It made him look like a shade moving through the light.


    The chieftain leaned toward the feathered man, said something quietly, and the man got up. Perhaps he was some sort of shaman or druid, a priest of sorts. Either way, he looked like a spiritual figure. Julian just hoped he wasn¡¯t about to be sacrificed or condemned to some other horrible fate.


    ¡°Arahkin¡­¡± The man approached him, his raven feather cloak trailing behind. He bowed his head, then held out his hand. ¡°Askar kalan.¡±


    Furrows formed above Julians brow. He looked around anxiously, everyone watching him in silence. The strange man kept his hand held out, then peered up at Julian when a moment of awkward silence passed. He jerked his hand. ¡°Askar kalan.¡±


    Does he want me to take his hand? Julian tentatively raised his tattooed hand, opening the palm, where the strange magical eye embedded into his palm looked around, seeming to examine its surroundings.


    ¡°Ohhh,¡± the feathered man cooed, his eyes widening under the shadow of the eye sockets of his skull mask. He placed his coarse, leathery fingers across Julian¡¯s palm, right on the tattoo and began muttering some words with a horse, gravely voice.


    Then, as though a tidal wave had hit him, Julian felt a surge of energy rush through his veins, pulsating from the man across him. The man before him muttered some words, and then a voice in his head spoke, ¡°Can you hear my voice, Arahkin?¡±


    His heart jolted, and he wanted to yank his hand back, yet found himself frozen by fear. ¡°How are you doing that?¡± Julian said aloud. The small crowd around him leaned closer, listening keenly and whispering amongst themselves. The chieftain watched him with the eyes of a hawk, his chin resting on his fist.


    The man smiled, looking up at him, and muttered more words in the foreign tongue. Then, in his head, Julian heard, ¡°I speak to you through the Arahka spirit that has linked itself to your soul. The Arahka are of Bagutan¡ªour realm under the heavens. It knows my words, and it knows yours now that it is a part of you. It is a conduit through which we may speak.¡±


    Julian frowned, now getting a little worried. What sort of power was this? This world got stranger the longer he lingered in it. ¡°How do you know to call me Arahkin? One woman called me that when I first got here, but she wasn¡¯t human.¡±


    He muttered in his own tongue again. ¡°You bear the mark on your hand. The eye of the Arahka. Our people have long awaited for an Arahkin to rise against the dreaded Vakrul dragon lords, but we know not why a strange outsider was chosen for this duty. This is a question that greatly interests Orkhun Targan.¡±


    ¡°Who is Orkhun Targan?¡± Julian said, but as he spoke the last words, the chieftain¡¯s eyes widened, and he leaned forward with great interest, then said something to the feathered man.


    ¡°The one who leads us,¡± the man said. ¡°The mighty one that sits the throne behind me. Only the strongest of us may become Targan. I am his shaman, who interprets the signs of the Arahka. My name is Batzir. What is your name, Arahkin?¡±


    ¡°I am Julian Beaumont.¡±


    The shaman nodded, then said to the ¡®targan¡¯ behind him, ¡°Arahkin zuldat khar, Julian Beaumont.¡±


    Orkhun Targan nodded, stroking his black pointy beard, then said something to his shaman, and loudly shouted, ¡°Ortunak!¡± seemingly to everyone around him.


    He must have told them to piss off, because as he boomed the words, everyone in the ger stood up and left one by one, bowing to the targan before leaving.


    Already, Julian¡¯s nerves calmed because he realised he was not a prisoner in a sense that he originally thought. They won¡¯t execute me, so long as I behave, but what do they want? But he still had to tread carefully. Based on their knowledge of the Arahkin, he was likely a guest of sorts.


    The targan approached him and repeated in a very thick accent, ¡°Jooliyan Beyo-mont¡­¡± He pointed to himself and smiled. ¡°Orkhun Targan.¡± His serpentine eyes were a cold ice blue colour, the oval pupils narrow.


    Julian gave him a curt nod in response, trying to show some kind of respect, even though seeing his watch and ring on this man¡¯s finger enraged him. The targan beckoned him to follow, so Julian did, with the shaman Batzir following closely behind. He led Julian to the metallic totem around the side of the ger and began talking quickly.


    The shaman touched Julian¡¯s tattoo once more, and began speaking in his mind. ¡°My ancestors have lived off this land for thousands of years, forever wandering the great plains, defending themselves from rival tribes and the Vakrul. They forged this totem to Zaghatai, the great dragon, the mightiest hunter of the sky, and harbinger of fire and death.¡±


    So, the totem is a dragon¡­ Julian thought, wondering if this religious icon is a made up fairytale shrouded in mythology, or if there really were dragons in this realm¡­ this Bagutan place. It spoke to the strangeness of his experiences thus far that he really did not know anymore. If there were dragons, though, that would be both awesome and terrifying. No doubt some king around here has tamed the beasts already. This shaman has already allured to ¡®dragon lords.¡¯ The Vakrul¡­ A shudder ran down his spine.


    ¡°What of your ancestors, Arahkin?¡± the targan said. ¡°Where do you come from?¡±


    Feeling emboldened, and perhaps still angry that the targan stole his things, Julian ignored the question. ¡°You dragged me all the way here to ask where I¡¯m from? Or is it that you want to plunder more of my things?¡± He nodded towards the watch on the targan¡¯s wrist.


    The shaman gasped, then reluctantly repeated the words in his tongue.


    Orkhun Targan just laughed, then looked upon the watch as the shining gold drank in the fire of the hearth. He spoke, and the shaman repeated. ¡°You surrendered your possessions when we defeated you in battle. It was only that you bore the mark of the Arahkin that you were not slain. But as an outsider, such customs must seem strange to you. Still, even among foes, after battle is said and done we offer guestright. And it is considered very rude to ignore a targan who has offered you his guestright.¡± He looked back upon the dragon totem, holding his hands behind his back.


    Julian cleared his throat. ¡°I come from a land called England. My ancestors rode with a man named William the Conqueror who claimed the English throne and was made its king. My family was given land and made counts in England, where we have remained ever since.¡±


    ¡°He sounds like a great man,¡± the targan nodded. ¡°We will speak more in due course. In the meantime, I suggest you try to learn our words so that we may speak without my shaman holding your hand, hm?¡±


    ¡°Where is the girl who came with me?¡± Julian snapped, not eager for this meeting to end just yet. Who knew what they¡¯d make him do, or when he could speak to this targan again. ¡°I have not seen her since I woke.¡±


    Orkhun Targan raised a brow. ¡°Tulgatai captured her, so he may make her his wife. That is what we do with Sarugani women, though with an outsider, who knows. He may simply keep her as a slave.¡±


    Oh, fuck, Julian thought, having to quickly think of a way to get her out of this mess, ideally without bloodshed. But if it came to that¡­ Could I take them all with my Sarigen? Maybe if I was quick¡­ but they are quick too. He couldn¡¯t leave her to be made a wife of these strange nomads.


    ¡°No,¡± he snapped, making sure to glaze his words with authority, though it took an awful lot of courage to do that. He felt somewhat in limbo now. ¡°Her name is Lucy, and she is¡ªshe is my wife.¡±


    When the shaman translated the words for the Targan, he seemed somewhat stumped, raising a thick black brow. ¡°Defeated men lose their wives, this is known.¡±


    His blood ran cold. Oh, God, don¡¯t make me have to do this¡­ But the thought of some horseman forcing himself on Lucy was far more sickening than Julian¡¯s potential death. ¡°You said I was the Arahkin, you said I was chosen to fight these Vakrul, whatever the hell they are. Yet you would take my wife? I¡¯ll use my bow and kill him, if you would make an enemy of me.¡± Where those words came from he had no idea, but he knew his pounding heart drowned out all other thoughts. He had to be ready to summon that bow on a moment¡¯s notice.


    The targan frowned at him after the shaman translated the words, then the two spoke amongst each other for a little while before the shaman reached for Julian¡¯s hand again. ¡°Orkhun Targan says that there is no need for violence. We did not know the girl was your wife, as she wore no jewels to mark her as such. Normally¡­ the girl would be taken regardless, but as the Arahka have sent you to us, we can make this exception on the grounds we do not know each other''s customs. Tulgatai can find somewhere else to stick his prick. He has three wives already.


    ¡°Your wife will be brought to Khorjin¡¯s ger, where she will be waiting for you. Consider this a token of good faith from the targan.¡±


    ¡°Who is Khorjin?¡± Julian asked now before they could dismiss him.


    ¡°The woman who fed you when you woke. You must also take her as your wife.¡±


    Julian¡¯s mouth gaped open. Could this day get any weirder? The most serious thing he¡¯d had with a woman was a one year fling with a girl called Charlotte he met in college, the rest he could hardly remember the names of. ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°You killed Karagan, her husband,¡± the shaman spoke the targan¡¯s words in his mind. ¡°If you are to be part of our tribe, then honour bids you to take her as your wife and raise her children in his stead. They will perish without a man to hunt for them, and her children are not of an age to do that themselves.¡±


    Julian let out a sigh. It was becoming a bit much to process, and he found himself panting. ¡°Children? H-Her husband¡­ I killed him?¡± The man who tried to drag Lucy away¡­


    His anguish seemed to confuse the pair of them, and the targan put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Why are you sad? It was a good death, and you took his soul. He lives on within you.¡± The targan patted his chest. ¡°Khorjin would be honoured to marry you and bear your children.¡±


    ¡°Bear my children!¡± Julian stepped back, shaking his head. ¡°This¡­ this is a lot to take in. I can barely take care of myself!¡±


    The targan laughed once again. ¡°Then learn fast, Arahkin. Do not mistake the beauty of our land for softness. The Sarugan Steppe is a cruel mistress¡ªthose who wander her alone soon perish. Now off with you, I have work to do.¡±

 Chapter 5

    Returning to Khorjin¡¯s ger, Julian found his soon-to-be wife sitting on a stool, milking a brown and white goat. She stole a glance at him and then returned to her work, seemingly unbothered. But she must be bothered. I killed her husband. It made him uncomfortable to be around her, to have to sit in her home and have her feed him. He could not imagine a greater dishonour or humiliation.


    Pushing through the flaps, he found two young boys staring at him with curious looks, sitting amidst their furs. The older one must have been 8 years old at least, whereas the younger was still a toddler. They both had their mother¡¯s jade serpentine eyes. The younger one pointed at Julian and mumbled some words to him, yanking on his brother¡¯s furs. But the older one sat still, stoic and quiet.


    Behind them, near the totem of Zaghatai at the back, was a dishevelled Lucy.


    ¡°Julian!¡± she gasped when he pushed through the flaps. Her white shirt was covered in so much muck that it was basically brown. Holes marked her tights from the snow leopard''s claws. He also noticed that her watch and jewelry were missing. She pushed herself up. ¡°We have to get out of here. One of those brutes tried to undress me!¡±


    Tulgutai¡­ Julian thought. The man who tried to claim her, and he has already tried to lay with her. The thought sent a cold rage through him even though they weren¡¯t involved romantically. He was still incredibly jealous of people around her. There would likely be a reckoning with this Tulgutai, Julian thought. At least I have my bow in this world, and I can kill anyone who tries to touch her. He couldn¡¯t do that in the office when one of his co-workers made her laugh, as much as he¡¯d fantasized about it.


    ¡°You¡¯re fine now, don¡¯t worry.¡± Julian knelt by her. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±


    Lucy shook her head, though her trembling hands told a different story. ¡°We¡¯re not fine. Far from it. And those fuckers stole my watch! Use that bow and get us out of here. There aren''t that many of them.¡±


    ¡°Calm down,¡± Julian said, placing his hands on her shoulders to stop her shaking. ¡°We¡¯re not prisoners, we¡¯re guests. I just spoke with the chieftain here, they call him Targan. He wants us to learn his ways.¡±


    Her eyes widened with horror. ¡°What!¡± she yelped, shaking her head. ¡°No, no. Learn what ways? Look at these people! They¡¯re savages, they¡¯ll have me cooking and cleaning for one of these brutes. Milking some goat and wiping a baby¡¯s shit from its arse! I was about to be a project manager at Sterling & Crowe for Christ¡¯s sake!¡±


    Khorjin rushed into the tent, likely prompted by Lucy¡¯s screaming. She quickly went and hugged her boys, herding them outside, and then turned to Julian with a flash of fire in her eyes. Raising a finger, she yelled in the strange language they spoke here, her voice cracking like a whip, oddly reminding him of his step mother Cassandra, which immediately started irritating him. Then she pointed at Lucy while still yelling at Julian.


    ¡°I can¡¯t understand you!¡± Julian snapped, the anger rising because he couldn¡¯t handle the pair of them being hysterical in both his ears. ¡°Jesus Christ.¡± He was already beginning to understand why a lot of people he knew avoided marriage like the plague.


    Khorjin kept yapping, then shoved some utensils in front of Lucy, pointing at her and then pointing at them. She stormed out after that.


    Julian sighed. ¡°Bloody hell, what was that all about?¡±


    ¡°Look,¡± Lucy yelled, shoving the wooden bowl in Julian''s face as her green eyes became glossy. ¡°She wants me to cook! The most complicated thing I¡¯ve ever cooked is a microwaved lasagne.¡±


    ¡°No shit,¡± Julian said, oddly finding that amusing. ¡°We shall have to invent microwaves here.¡±


    The way her face twisted into a grimace, he knew he overstepped. ¡°Is this a fucking joke to you!¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Chill out. If you¡¯d let me explain. We¡¯re stuck here whether we like it or not, and we won¡¯t be returning back home for a while¡­¡± Possibly forever. ¡°But I convinced the targan to take you away from that man, and brought you here to me.¡±


    Creases formed over her brow. ¡°You ¡®convinced¡¯ him? How? You have the charisma of a lobster. How did they even speak with you?¡±


    ¡°Thanks for that, Lucy.¡± Julian laughed. ¡°Well, there was a condition¡­¡± He scratched the back of his head, avoiding her gaze. ¡°How to say this¡­ Well¡­ I told the targan that you are my wife.¡± He cringed as the words left his mouth, already knowing this would not go down well.


    ¡°YOU DID WHAT!¡± she screamed like a volcano exploding. She looked frantically toward the bowls and utensils on the ground, at the dwindling fire at the center of the ger. ¡°Is that¡­ Is that why she wants me to cook? For you! Ha! I won¡¯t be your little maid, if that''s what you think. And I certainly won¡¯t be consummating this marriage. I couldn¡¯t marry a spreadsheet monkey.¡±


    Of course you couldn¡¯t. That insult, reminding him of how beneath her she thought Julian was, felt like a sword through the heart, though he tried not to show it. She always wanted some big investment banker or doctor. He rolled his eyes. ¡°You¡¯ll be marrying the Arahkin now, which seems to be important to these people.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll snap anything you try to put in there¡­¡± she warned him with a harsh glare. This new information seemed to make Lucy even more repulsed by his presence.


    Julian just laughed, thinking her to be overreacting. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid. Of course I¡¯m not going to force myself on you, nor would I expect you to clean for me or whatever. I only told the targan that to save you from Tulgutai, the man who claimed you.¡±


    That seemed to calm her down, though she still looked at him with suspicion. ¡°Right¡­¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    He frowned. ¡°Now you say thank you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t exactly have a lot to thank you for. The best I can hope for is to be your wife. Lucky me.¡±


    Julian shook his head and sat in his little corner with the furs, which he assumed was his bed. ¡°Well, if you haven¡¯t noticed, Lucy, we are among a primitive society. No more policemen or courts or laws to protect you, right? I¡¯m going to take a wild guess that women here do all of the house work, and men do all of the fighting and hunting. You think that''s a walk in the park for me, as well? I¡¯ve never hunted shit, and I used to spend most of my time rotting in front of a computer screen. I suspect I¡¯ll have to murder a lot more men if we are to survive here, and it¡¯ll probably start with the man who¡¯s would-be-wife I just reclaimed, which is a meeting I don¡¯t look forward to. So how about you drop that pretentious demeanor and show some bloody gratitude for saving your life twice in the space of two days?¡±


    His chest pulsated slowly, his breathing heavy. That anger seemed to erupt out of nowhere, but she pissed him off.


    Lucy glared at him, her lips quivering, but for once, it seemed she had nothing to say. After a moment of silence, she brushed her messy ginger hair to the side to try and regain a bit of dignity. ¡°Sorry, Julian. And thank you. I¡¯m just¡­ I¡¯m just upset.¡± A tear fell from her eye. She wiped it away and sniffled.


    Julian went to her and gave her a hug. She embraced him back, her slender arms wrapping around him which sent a warm feeling through his chest. ¡°I¡¯ll be the first man in this village to have two wives who despise him, I think.¡±


    She frowned, leaning back against the totem. ¡°Two?¡±


    Julian nudged his head toward the outside of the ger. ¡°The woman whose house we¡¯re in. I¡¯m ¡®honourbound¡¯ to take her as my wife, too, because I killed her husband. So I must now protect her and help raise her children.¡±


    Lucy¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Fucking hell. I¡¯d rather slit my wrists than marry a man who killed my husband.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not that ugly, surely,¡± Julian quipped.


    A quick laugh escaped Lucy, the first time he¡¯d seen her somewhat smile since they got here. ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s a first world privilege,¡± Julian remarked. ¡°This is a steppe culture. Life here will be brutal. I¡¯m sure the kidnapping of wives is a normal occurrence. The will to survive and raise the next generation will trump any notion of pride here.¡±


    ¡°Ugh¡­¡± Lucy moaned. ¡°This is too much to take in right now.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Julian said, going to the corner where his clothes were folded up. The targan may have taken his nice coat, but they didn¡¯t take his blazer. In the little breast pocket, he found his packet of cigarettes and his lighter. ¡°Fancy a cig?¡±


    Lucy eyed the packet. He knew she didn¡¯t smoke, but she said yes without hesitation. He grinned, and they walked out of the ger. ¡°Let¡¯s take a walk. The last thing I need is getting these people addicted to nicotine, or worse, stealing my cigs.¡±


    Outside, Khorjin¡¯s younger son helped her with the milking of the goat. The older son was in the process of skinning a small rodent-like creature. It looked a bit like a rat but was larger and brown, with a strange head. Khorjin saw them walking off and stood up, yelling some words at Julian.


    ¡°We¡¯re just going for a walk,¡± he said, but obviously she just stared at him in confusion. ¡°A walk!¡± He moved his two fingers in the way a pair of legs move, trying to sign his meaning, but she just replied with more words he didn¡¯t understand. ¡°We¡¯ll be back soon, okay? I¡¯m just walking.¡± He turned to Lucy. ¡°Come on, before we draw more attention to ourselves.¡±


    In the distance, other boys of the village rode horses, and some as young as 10 years old practiced with bows on horseback. Julian was amazed at their accuracy in hitting straw targets while the horses galloped past at an impressive speed. He was reminded of a time when he was that age and struggled to ride a donkey during a holiday in Spain once.


    Lucy watched with equal fascination as the horses trotted past with their young riders. ¡°They train them to kill so young¡­¡±


    ¡°Mhm.¡± Julian nodded as they strolled through the little village, walking up a rocky hill with a lovely view of the stream below. ¡°I don¡¯t imagine many of them live very long.¡±


    Further along, the hammer of the blacksmith sang a song of ringing steel. The crouched man bashed a crude, sharp arrowhead still glowing orange from the heat of the forge. Some younger boys close by stretched some dry animal hides. Likely for saddles, Julian imagined.


    They both watched this small, primitive economy with great awe.


    ¡°Do you think they have shops here?¡± Lucy asked as they walked by a shepherd guiding a small herd of long haired yaks through the village. She jumped when one of them made a strange sound at her.


    ¡°Probably not the way you imagine.¡± Julian shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m sure they rely on barter for everyday transactions.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s so weird,¡± she remarked, reeling back when a hunter with a stunning, large hawk perched on his leather gauntlet walked past. The raptor tried to nip her as they passed each other, but the man calmed it down while regarding the pair with a strange glance.


    ¡°What¡¯s weird about it?¡± Julian asked, finding it to be quite interesting. ¡°Imagine a world where everyone¡¯s life didn¡¯t revolve around money. Doesn¡¯t seem so bad to me.¡±


    She scoffed, brushing a lock of hair past her ear. ¡°Well I¡¯m glad one of us is settling in¡­¡±


    They perched themselves on a moss-covered rock and watched the village below. Some of the men, along with the younger boys, wrestled on a patch of clear grass not far from the gers, and a few others sparred with wooden training swords. The hollow clacking echoed across the plains.


    Julian took a cigarette from his pack and lit it, taking a long draw, holding it for a moment, and exhaled slowly. ¡°Ahh¡­¡± he sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. ¡°That cig is gorgeous.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t hog it,¡± Lucy snapped and pinched it from his fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve always hated smoking, but under the circumstances, I¡¯ll make this exception.¡± She smoked it like a natural, the blue smoke twirling into the breeze as the burning ember etched its way down the cigarette, leaving ash in its wake. She must have tried them at parties or something, as most people usually did. ¡°We really are stuck here, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    He flexed his palm, staring at the eerie eye tattoo which looked back up at him. It made him ponder his new destiny here. She passed Julian the burning cigarette. ¡°Yes.¡± He took a toke, blowing out another cloud of smoke. ¡°Look, I know you don¡¯t want to hear it, but at some point we will have to make it seem like we are husband and wife. I don¡¯t want to think about what they will do to the pair of us if they realise I lied to them, and robbed one of their warriors of a new bride.¡±


    Lucy¡¯s face went pale, and she huddled to herself, bringing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. ¡°That¡¯s a poor attempt at trying to get into my pants, you know? Pass that cig.¡±


    He passed it, laughing. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that. But whether you like it or not, you are going to have to take up some household duties and help with chores. These are not the sort of people who tolerate useless mouths, I¡¯ll tell you that now. About, well¡­ sex¡­ I don¡¯t know. Khorjin will likely find it weird that we won¡¯t be doing that, but I don¡¯t know. We can make something up. I¡¯ll just say it''s part of our culture to be modest, or we only do it in private, away from prying eyes.¡± He shrugged.


    ¡°Will they buy that?¡± She flicked the ash off the dying cigarette burning away into a stub.


    Julian finished off the cigarette, nipping the bud on the rock. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll find out.¡±

 Chapter 6

    His new family sat cross-legged near the central hearth. Khorjin passed them each bowls of food. Shade shrouded them, the only light coming from the small fire in the hearth and the little stream of pale morning sun through the top of the ger.


    The dish was the same as he¡¯d had when he woke up yesterday: sliced, boiled lamb with the bones still on; the fermented milk drink whose sour taste he would have to quickly get used to; those strange white chunks that her sons nibbled on like snacks; and a bowl of broth.


    ¡°The broth tastes better than the off milk, at least.¡± Julian sipped from the bowl, slurping loudly, which drew a strange glare from his feline eyed, soon-to-be wife.


    Lucy took the bowl after him, because she almost hurled when drinking the fermented mare¡¯s milk. ¡°The food is horrible,¡± she snarled. ¡°I¡¯d kill for a Starbucks coffee and grilled cheese sandwich.¡±


    ¡°The sooner I forget what those things are, the better,¡± Julian said.


    Next to him sat Khorjin¡¯s older son. A cold atmosphere still reigned between them. Has his mother told him that I am his father¡¯s murderer? He wondered. Probably not, he thought at first, but at the same time, it wouldn¡¯t surprise him if they were brutally honest about these things. The boy looked with a fascination at Julian¡¯s eye-tattoo on his palm. Could he know the significance of the Arahkin? Would it perhaps make him fear him?


    The boy passed Julian the bowl of whitish chunks, and now, judging that they were safe to eat, he elected to try one. He bit into it. A sour, tangy taste invaded his mouth. The things had a chalky texture, becoming quite gritty as he chewed. He grimaced, trying to get it down with a straight face lest he offend his hosts, but he couldn¡¯t hide his distaste very well.


    ¡°What are they like?¡± Lucy asked, though he already sensed she could tell they weren¡¯t nice by his face.


    He gulped it down all the same. ¡°Not great,¡± Julian sighed. When he noticed Khorjin and her children staring at him, he held the chunk up, smiled, and nodded, eagerly taking another bite. ¡°Very nice,¡± he said to her and then turned to Lucy. ¡°Try one.¡±


    She reluctantly took one from the bowl, lest she too offend her hosts, and bit a small chunk out of it. ¡°That¡¯s fucking gross,¡± she said calmly, then smiled and nodded to Khorjin, passing her the bowl.


    Khorjin filled their wooden bowls with the herb-scented boiled lamb, giving them each a bit of broth to go with it, and they ate in awkward silence, with brief lapses of talking between Julian and Lucy and Khorjin and her sons.


    Even despite their awkward sleep last night, it did little to bring them closer together in the morning. Julian had been dreading it, knowing that, essentially living in a big tent, they would all have to share a bed to keep warm. Even in England, which was warm by comparison to this place, Julian had occasionally went camping up in the hills in the countryside enough to know how freezing it could feel inside a tent. The last time he did it, the wind thrashed against his tent all night, crashing against the flaps like a battering ram to a thick gate. He had to keep his socks on, wear thermals under his waterproof trousers, and keep his waterproof coat on, even despite wearing a hoodie and being wrapped up in a sleeping bag. And he still shivered.


    Thankfully, they all slept wrapped up thick in their furs, but god it was still cold. At least it maintained a bit of modesty, because Lucy would have never undressed in front of them. She had complained that the felt woollen coat that Khorijn gave her stunk, but it was better than shivering all night. Lucy¡¯s shirt would have never kept the heat out. Julian had gotten used to the smell by now, so he didn¡¯t mind. But he had been sandwiched between Lucy and Khorjin, and her two sons slept in front of her.


    He didn¡¯t get much sleep that night. Too awkward, too squished together, and the roaring cold winds howled till early morning. There would be very little privacy here, Julian thought, if any at all. That¡¯s something he¡¯d struggle to get used to. He liked the peace and quiet that being alone in his room offered him. He had never thought himself a recluse, but maybe he was one.


    After they finished eating, and Julian had just managed to get half of his fermented mare¡¯s milk down without his stomach seizing up in a tight knot, the boys said something to Khorjin, and they ran off, both holding two small wooden sparring swords.


    Lucy got up and stretched. Her long, ginger hair looked far more windswept and messy than he was accustomed to seeing, since she had no hairbrush or a shower here. Yet it made her look more wild, almost fierce. He kind of liked it. The steppe suits her well. Julian imagined he resembled some skinny ape by now for the same reasons. His stubble was starting to come in along his cheeks and jaw.


    ¡°Want to sneak off for another cig?¡± Lucy went and got her felt coat, but Khorjin stood up, gathering some of the bowls.


    ¡°Arilchin bolta sharun!¡± Khorjin snapped, pointing at Lucy and then to the dishes. Then she turned to Julian. ¡°Darshin karashok! Arilchin bolta sharun!¡±


    ¡°What are you saying?¡± Lucy said, though the frown on her face meant she knew Khorjin had gotten riled up about something.


    ¡°I think she wants you to help her tidy up,¡± Julian said.


    ¡°Ha! I¡¯ll clean my own dishes, but I¡¯m not cleaning everyone else''s,¡± Lucy complained. She walked up to Khorjin, shaking her head. ¡°I¡¯m not a maid! No.¡± Lucy went to put on her shoes, but Khorjin grabbed her, and Lucy shrieked, ¡°Get off me!¡±


    Then Khorjin started screaming, and Julian got between the two before they started clawing each other''s eyes out. ¡°Stop it!¡± he yelled, separating them, and then turned to Lucy. ¡°Just help her. Remember what we talked about yesterday?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s degrading!¡± she stubbornly screamed, and now Julian was starting to get annoyed.


    He pinched the bridge of his nose, losing his patience with the pair of them. ¡°Be degraded or be dead then. You won¡¯t eat if you don¡¯t work, mark my words.¡±


    She snatched her arm from Julian¡¯s grasp, sighing. ¡°Ugh. I have a fucking economics degree!¡±


    Ah, yes. From Cambridge, as well. ¡°Not here you don¡¯t.¡±


    She glared at him, then relented. ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll clean your fucking dishes then. Enjoy playing with swords or whatever. What actually is your job around here?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll find out soon enough, I imagine.¡± But his blood ran cold thinking about it. The Arahkin had to confront these ¡®Vakrul,¡¯ whatever they were. But the shaman had said they rode dragons¡­ Julian shivered. He hoped these dragons were some sort of big exaggeration of what he knew a dragon to be. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    As Lucy reluctantly helped Khorjin, Julian took a stroll outside. Lucy¡¯s words echoed in his mind as he wandered around the windy steppe, watching Khorjin¡¯s eldest son sparring with a boy similar his age. Long black hair, and two full blue serpent eyes.


    They sparred on a open plain not far from the ger, their wooden swords clacking with each thrust and parry. The boys giggled as they performed their mock dance of death, yelping and running when one of them was hit. Julian couldn¡¯t help but smile. They are not so different from us, really, he thought as he remembered when he was that age, playing football with his friends in some back alley or a street.


    The boys ran near him when the long haired one fell over, and Khorjin¡¯s son forced him to yield by pointing his sparring sword at his throat. The boy¡¯s sword fell near Julian¡¯s feet, so he picked it up, smiling at the pair, and offered it back to the boy.


    Instead of taking the sword back, he gave a slight bow of the head. Then, Khorjin¡¯s son raised his sparring sword tentatively. He wants to dual me, holy shit. Julian grinned, accepting the challenge. He wouldn¡¯t go too hard on the kid. It would be good to have some bonding with this child he was supposed to protect and raise now.


    The boy lunged, a sudden fire in his eyes, and Julian quickly stepped out of the way. He swung his sword to deflect the incoming attack, and the clacking of the wood echoed across the village. The lad looked to be swinging his hardest to the point where Julian wondered whether he was trying to actually harm him. Is he trying to avenge his father?


    Whatever it was, Julian kept deflecting the attacks, never really pushing it, even though he could easily just grab the sword and knock the kid over. As he parried one of the boy¡¯s attacks, he hit the kid¡¯s fingers. Khorjin¡¯s son cried out, dropping his sword.


    ¡°Oh, shit!¡± Julian rushed over to him, holding a hand up. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Tak!¡± a deeper voice boomed behind them. Julian turned to see three men glaring at him. Covered in furs they were, each wearing a fur lined leather hat that fell past their ears. The one in the center, with a short cropped auburn beard and a long moustache that drooped past his chin, approached Julian. His arms folded. In his fist he held a larger sparring sword.


    He looked toward the two young boys, then at Julian, and mumbled something. The kids looked awkward, as though they were being put on the spot, but the man stared daggers at Julian. He nudged his hand toward the sparring sword Julian held. ¡°Shugan kel, Arahkin.¡±


    Julian¡¯s heart started beating louder and louder, and he felt adrenaline flood his veins. Is he challenging me? An awkward moment indeed. He didn¡¯t want to look weak in front of these people, but at the same time, didn¡¯t want to get his ass kicked. Not in front of the whole village. He just looked blankly at the man, not doing anything.


    The Sarugani man frowned, his lips twisting into a snarl, and yelled, ¡°SHUGAN KEL!¡±


    The sudden thunder in the man¡¯s voice almost gave Julian a shock. But, keeping a stoic face, he raised his blade. He still had no idea if it was a challenge or not. The man could just be telling him to piss off and leave the kids to their games. But either way, a show of strength was the best way, Julian calculated. Win or lose.


    The man¡¯s amber serpentine eyes fell toward the blade, and he frowned. His arms unfolded, and he give his sword a couple of spins in his fist before he pointed it toward Julian.


    He¡¯s going to embarrass me¡­ Julian thought with shame. Why couldn¡¯t he have just stayed in the ger?


    The cold wind bit at his face, carrying with it the faint sound of chatter from the other villagers starting to gather around the pair. His two new wives were among them. Khorjin looked stoic, but Lucy stood huddled to herself, biting her nails.


    The Sarugani warrior took a slow step forward, sword raised in both hands. The polished wood caught the light of the sun for just a second. His lips curled into a smug sneer, likely knowing how this contest would end as well as Julian.


    Julian braced himself, clumsily holding his wooden sword, which was heavier than it looked. The sweat seeping from his palms made his grip feel awkward, as though the smooth sparring blade would slip from his hands at any moment. The man circled him slowly with measured steps, a wolf to a fawn. Julian¡¯s heart thrashed. I¡¯m going to get my ass kicked in front of everyone. In front of Lucy!


    The warrior struck first. Sudden and vicious, a slash that whistled through the air so fast Julian barely had time to react. He raised his sword clumsily, catching the blow at an awkward angle. The impact sent a jolt down his arms, and his knees buckled ever so slightly under the weight of the blow.


    Then the man came at him again, faster this time, like a coiled rattlesnake springing into a strike. Each one relentless, powerful, and stronger than the last. Julian stumbled back, blocking one swing, then another, the wood clacking loudly in his ears. Each blow chipped away his little remaining strength and confidence.


    On the fourth strike, the Sarugani man feinted to the left and then swept low. He weaved his sword with the effortless grace of an artist¡¯s brush. Julian¡¯s legs were too slow to move. The sparring blade cracked against his shin. ¡°Argh!¡± he cried out in pain and he fell hard into the mud, his vision blurring for a moment.


    Laughter rippled all around him. Only Lucy did not laugh. He met her gaze for a brief moment, and saw that she was covering her mouth in horror. Were those tears in her eyes? Or was he still dazed?


    I can¡¯t let her see me like this¡­ not like this¡­ Julian gasped for air, struggling back to his feet, despite his throbbing shin. His palms caked in cold muck. Once more, summoning all his will, he gripped his sword tight, glaring at his opponent through the haze of his pain.


    The man waited with a sort of irritated twitch on his lip. His amber eyes watched Julian with a certain glint, daring him to try again.


    Julian struck, gritting his teeth against the pulsing in his shin. He swung wildly, putting everything he had into each clumsy strike. The Sarugani man sidestepped easily, his sword catching Julian¡¯s exposed side with a swift arc. The blow landed with a sharp crack against Julian¡¯s ribs, sending another jolt of pain up his torso.


    He tumbled over, wheezing, his chest heaving as he dragged air into his lungs.


    Still, once more, he pushed himself up. His arms trembled, his knees wobbled, but he refused to stay down. Not here. Not in front of her.


    The warrior¡¯s smirk gave way to something else¡ªcuriosity, perhaps or just more irritation. Maybe he saw Julian as something akin to a stray dog who wouldn¡¯t go away when kicked. He raised his sword again, this time pressing the attack.


    Julian tried to counter, more desperate than calculated. The man slipped past his defences completely, smashing the flat of his blade into Julian¡¯s shoulder. Then, when Julian¡¯s arm fell, he got another whack straight to the nose. The force sent him reeling back into the muck, looking up at the spinning sky. His nose went numb. A warm trickle oozed from his nostrils, running down his face.


    This time, he didn¡¯t get up right away. His body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every breath slow.


    The man eclipsed the broken Julian like a conqueror surveying his fallen foe. He said something in the Sarugani tongue¡ªshort, clipped, and final. Julian couldn¡¯t quite make it out, but he heard the word ¡°Arahkin.¡± And then the man pointed his sword at Lucy, barking some more words. Then, he turned and walked away, his sword resting against his shoulder.


    The fact the warrior addressed her worried him. So, with one final, desperate push, he managed to turn on his belly. But, before he could push himself up, the sparring sword came crashing down onto his spine. His limbs buckled under the force. His back throbbed with pain, and muck clung to his face, mixed with the sticky, drying blood leaking from his nose.


    ¡°Galta, Tulgutai!¡± another man boomed. Through his hazy vision, Julian saw the form of Orkhun Targan standing over him. The exquisite silken robes underneath a patchwork of fur lined leather. His Rolex glinted on the targan¡¯s wrist. And his Eye of Horus ring, curiously staring down at him.


    For some reason, Julian thought the targan would end him there and then. But instead, he folded his arms as the stoic expression on his face remained stern, and turned around. The onlookers cleared shortly after that, leaving him in the muck.


    All except Lucy.

 Chapter 7

    ¡°Tulgutai was teaching you the way of the Sarugani warrior,¡± Orkhun Targan said, his words translated to Julian by Batzir, the exquisitely dressed feathery shaman. The targan sat naked in a hot spring, his arms stretched wide across the rocks that made up a natural tub. Water cascaded from a small stream above that flowed through a wooded valley from the base of a small mountain not far from the village. The stream then filtered out below, keeping the hot, steamy waters clean and fresh.


    The targan sat alone, and Julian and the shaman spoke with him while standing by the tub¡¯s rim. Julian made a note to come here to bathe when it was free. If only I could take Lucy here¡­ wouldn¡¯t that be a sight!


    ¡°He humiliated me for taking his wife off him,¡± Julian said, glum. The shaman translated. His face still went red at the thought of being beaten up in front of the whole village. In front of the targan. In front of Lucy.


    The targan laughed, throwing his head back as he breathed in the thick steam emanating from the hot spring. ¡°Men have their pride, don¡¯t they?¡± Orkhun Targan leaned forward, submerging his arms in the hot springs. The water stirred around him, rippling in a circle. ¡°Heavy to bear is the burden of pride. It drives men to conquer mountains and to fall from their peaks.¡±


    ¡°What am I doing here?¡± Julian asked impatiently. He still struggled to breath through his nose, feeling throngs of pain when he inhaled. A deep purple bruise blotched his shin.


    ¡°Learning, are you not?¡± The targan raised a brow. ¡°I always believed one learnt best by doing. But just as you must learn, so must I. Tell me about your land. This ¡®England.¡¯ It must be far from here, for you do not look like those Nagarans of the South with their coppery skin. Their Vakrul princes bind the ash of their slain foes to their flesh, which makes them look grey and half-dead. Nor are you of the east, beyond the Veyral mountains, with their eerie white eyes. Did you come from the north-east, perhaps? Beyond the great, icy forests?¡±


    England¡­ how he missed it. He got flashes of the rich green English countryside as he looked over the vast mountain valley. A land of small hills and forests. Crawling with red squirrels and foxes. And cities, of course. Many, many cities. ¡°England is further away than that. Further away than you could imagine, I think. It is not of this world.¡±


    The targan frowned, rubbing his soaking beard. ¡°I do not understand. Does it lie in the heavens? Or in the realm of the dead?¡±


    Julian hummed. How to explain it to him? He pointed up at the sky. ¡°England is on a planet called Earth. A planet is a type of ¡®realm¡¯ or ¡®world¡¯ as you may call it. And it is somewhere out there.¡± He looked up at the clear, crystal blue sky as the breeze brushed his hair back and forth. Somewhere out there indeed. Unless he was in a parallel universe or something, in which case it may not be there at all. But Julian reckoned it was, somewhere. But how far, who knew. He could very well be in a different galaxy, hundreds of billions or trillions of light years away. It made him dizzy just thinking about it.


    The targan looked up. His lip curled in confusion, revealing a chipped tooth. ¡°So it is in the heavens. In the sky realm.¡±


    ¡°No, beyond that. When you see the stars lighting the night sky, that¡¯s where my Earth is. Somewhere among them. Each star is a sun, like the sun that rises in the morning and sets in the night. All of those stars you see are like your sun, some bigger, some smaller.¡±


    Julian hadn¡¯t noticed, but when he looked back down at the bathing targan, his mouth formed an O, and his eyes were wide with fascination. It actually surprised Julian that he was keeping a fairly open mind about this, considering Julian was essentially challenging his religion. Such crimes carried harsh punishments in England once. Then again, he knew various older pagan religions were quite tolerant of other gods.


    In the targan¡¯s eyes, as he looked up at the sky and toward the sun, Julian almost saw a flicker of understanding, as though something had clicked inside his brain. ¡°But how are they so small? Why do these other ¡®suns¡¯ only reveal themselves at night, when our sun brings the dawn?¡±


    ¡°Because they are so far away. Further away than you could possibly imagine. It would take you a million million lifetimes to reach them. Some of them are brighter than your sun, but you only see their light from so far, so it appears a twinkle in the night sky. Each of those stars have planets around them, though most are barren and inhospitable landscapes. Too harsh for anything to live on.¡± Julian had forgotten that astronomy was one of his many passions, one of his earliest, in fact. He still remembered reading picture books about the solar system, memorising all of the planets that orbited the Sun. Saturn was his favourite because it had a ring. He always found that cool for some reason and remembered wishing Earth had a ring once.


    ¡°Huh,¡± the targan said, nodding. ¡°What an interesting myth this is, Arahkin. Your realm must have had wise shamans. Our shamans tell that when Eternal Sky Arahka mated with the Great Earth Arahka, they spawned four children. Zaghatai, the dragon, and great hunter of the sky. Karkulun¡ªthe Yak, Erdenek¡ªthe Man, and Chalgunar¡ªthe Wolf. From them all other beings came to be.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Julian nodded, not interested in trying to explain the theory of evolution to him next. Though it was an interesting tale. They weren¡¯t far off, really. The sky glazes the ground with its fertile spray, and life grows. It¡¯s quite clever.


    ¡°And your warriors?¡± Orkhun Targan said, standing up out of the spring to reveal his soaked, broad naked form. His round belly wobbled. Julian averted his gaze. ¡°Are they as fierce as our Tulgutai?¡±


    Julian sighed. ¡°Does it really matter? They are very far away.¡±


    The targan shook his head, laughing as he dried himself and threw on his crimson robe. ¡°I¡¯m curious.¡± He put the Rolex back on his wrist, admiring it as the gold caught the light. ¡°We are both of noble blood and forged by war, are we not? The nobles in your land do not fight?¡±


    Julian scratched his head as the targan put on his felt coat. ¡°The nobles in my land have not fought for many generations. Our way of war is different to yours, and our nobles prefer to intoxicate themselves and have orgies rather than do anything honourable.¡±


    Orkhun erupted into laughter, holding his belly. ¡°Ha! That doesn¡¯t sound so bad to me. Sarugani targans are oft drunk on the milk of the mares, celebrating their victories with their many wives, and the wives of those captured in battle.¡±


    Julian pressed his lips. He¡¯d seen exactly what that sort of lifestyle does to people and their countries. And he¡¯d read enough about fallen empires to know just when abouts they start crumbling. ¡°And then your nation and people will grow fat and weak, rotting under you while you drink your milk and fuck your wives.¡±


    ¡°Watch your tone!¡± the shaman Batzir hissed at him.


    ¡°I will not hide my thoughts,¡± Julian replied curtly. The targan looked at both of them strangely, but then the shaman translated anyway.


    The targan just chuckled, beckoning them both to come. They walked away from the hot springs, down a pleasant wooded path that wound past the base of the mountain. Trees and branches rustled in the breeze, and small birds flew overhead. ¡°And yet you are not fat nor weak. A poor representation of your people, then? Such a fate will not become the Sarugani. The land has made us hard and taught us how to survive.¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Don¡¯t you have animals to be hunting, or herds to capture?¡± Julian asked, in no mood to argue further. Should they become great, the weight of their victories will bloat them until they crumble under their own indulgence. Such is the destiny of all empires.


    The targan pulled his belt up, strangling his bloated stomach. ¡°I do, and it is high time you began learning with us. I know not how a noble like yourself can not ride a horse, but with Sarigen, you don¡¯t require much training with a bow. Either way, you must be taught in the Sarugani ways before I can present you to the Targashar. The Arahkin will be of great interest to them, but not if he can¡¯t ride a horse.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the Targashar?¡±


    ¡°A meeting of Targans,¡± the targan clarified. ¡°There we discuss everything and anything of importance. Which tribes we shall raid, where we shall migrate and settle as the seasons pass, how much tribute each of us is to offer the Nagaran Vakrul of the South, lest they scorch us all with their dragons. Among other things. There are also festivities.¡±


    ¡°I see. Well, it¡¯s about time I started doing something useful¡­¡± he said. He was starting to get bored wandering around with nothing to do. It had begun sinking in now how much he missed the odd conveniences of his old life like a phone or computer. Something to pass the time when bored. Hell, he¡¯d even kill for a book right now, but there was none of that here. These people¡¯s sole focus and occupation was surviving, which clearly left them little time for anything else. That and fucking, he supposed. It was no wonder these primitive people had so many children, there was nothing else to do!


    #


    His training began the next day, fresh in the morning. A man named Tolgruk guided over a huffy horse with a light grey coat. It wasn¡¯t the biggest horse he¡¯d ever seen, with a thick neck and a stocky build. Tolgruk was short and stocky, too, with a long, thin grey moustache and light green serpentine eyes.


    The shaman, Batzir, would have to accompany them until Julian began picking up enough of the language to understand the trainer¡¯s instructions.


    Julian stood in the middle of the training ground, the golden-brown grass beneath him flattened by dozens of hoofprints. The grey horse before him snorted, pawing the earth with its shaggy hoof. This animal was bred for the harshness of the steppe, unlike himself, made soft by a lifetime in a cosmopolitan shit heap.


    Tolgruk barked something in Sarugani, pointing at the horse. His weathered face scrunched up into a scowl. Batzir grabbed Julian''s tattooed hand to translate. ¡°Tolgruk says to stop looking at the horse like it will eat you. They smell weakness like a fly smells shit.¡±


    Julian glared at Tolgruk. ¡°I almost fell off a donkey once¡­¡±


    After the shaman spoke, Tolgruk threw his head back with laughter and flicked his hand toward the horse. ¡°Get on! Donkeys are for children. Men ride horses.¡±


    Yet I see children as young as nine riding horses here¡­ Are they toddlers when they train on donkeys? ¡°Great,¡± Julian said instead. He grabbed the reins while Tolgruk kept the impatient steed calm. He caught a glimpse of Lucy watching him from the edge of the field. She must have finished gathering wood for the hearth early today. She didn¡¯t look as glum as she normally did, all wrapped up in her furs and leathers. It suited her, really.


    ¡°Be careful, Julian,¡± she said, biting her nails. ¡°Don¡¯t stand behind it, either! I knew a girl in school who had all her teeth knocked out when a horse kicked her.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for that, Lucy,¡± he said, scrunching his eyebrows and shaking his head. And just now he remembered there¡¯s no dentists here. If this thing knocks my teeth out, I¡¯ll be wearing a toothless smile for the rest of my days.


    Before she could put him off anymore, he hauled himself up on the saddle, swinging his leg over the horse. Even though the horse wasn¡¯t that big, just sitting atop it, he felt like he was very high. Too high. High enough that, should he fall, he knew it would hurt. No modern healthcare here either¡­ He ought to stop thinking about all that. Things like broken bones and what not just made him more nervous.


    ¡°Just think of it like riding a bike!¡± Lucy yelled.


    He scowled. ¡°How the fuck is this anything like riding a bike?¡±


    ¡°Sorry!¡± she squeaked. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help!¡±


    Tolgruk said something in Sarugani as he looked back at Lucy, then said something more. The shaman rushed to grab his hand. ¡°He says to sit up straight like a warrior, not a sack of manure.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Julian muttered, straightening his back as best he could. A back bent from years of slouching in a computer chair. He probably looked like some kind of golem to these people. He gripped the reins so hard his knuckles whitened, trying desperately to steady himself as his weight shifted from side to side. He feared he¡¯d slip off if the horse swayed anymore.


    ¡°Ha!¡± Tolgruk snapped, giving the horse a light tap on its hind. It jolted forward. Julian yelped, his legs trying to grip the sides of the trotting hose.


    ¡°Easy!¡± Julian yelled as he bounced awkwardly in the saddle, fearing he¡¯d swing off at any moment. ¡°Easy!¡± He clutched the reins desperately in his sweaty hands.


    ¡°You¡¯re getting the hang of it!¡± Lucy¡¯s cheerful voice carried across the grounds. It may have given him confidence if he wasn¡¯t busy fearing for his life.


    Tolgruk jogged beside him, yelling more words in Sarugani, but as the shaman was now left behind, Julian had no idea what he was saying. The horse then broke into a canter, and Julian¡¯s panic peaked. The ground shook and swayed beneath him, and each time the horse¡¯s hooves connected with the ground, it sent a shock through his spine. He managed to balance himself quite well for an amateur until the inevitable happened¡­ The horse gave a swift jerk, and Julian¡¯s balance gave way.


    He crashed to the ground, tumbling over on the flattened grass. The impact smashed the air from his lungs. Dust rose around him, and mud clung to his leather coat. The horse trotted on some more without its rider, snorting. Julian felt as though it were mocking him, laughing.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Lucy yelled from the sides, but he ignored her, just groaning instead as he nursed his chest.


    ¡°I hate this place,¡± he moaned, pushing himself up to a sitting position. His body ached all around.


    Tolgruk and Batzir rushed over, the pair towering over him. Tolgruk gave him a hand. Julian took it, and the short man pulled him to his feet with ease. He said something, and the shaman took Julian¡¯s hand. ¡°Tolgruk says you must fall many times before you ride as the Sarugani do. At least you shed no tears. You did well.¡±


    Julian glanced at the grey steed that just threw him off, casually nibbling on some grass just a few feet away. ¡°I have time for tears yet.¡± He looked over at Lucy who smiled at him, the green in her eyes glinting, her ginger hair flowing from the leather fur lined hat she wore. Her presence comforted him.


    Tolgruk patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Again,¡± he barked, nudging his head toward the horse.


    Julian heaved a deep breath, muttering as he approached the horse, ¡°The bloody things I have to do here.¡±


    And so that is how the next few months of Julian Beaumont¡¯s new, humble life passed by. Days spent mostly training on horseback, quickly bringing him up to a level where the small children, like Khorjin¡¯s son, were currently at. Other times he would practice at sword play, and in his own time, he summoned Sarigen and shot at targets.


    The ghost bow seemed to fascinate everyone in the village, and he became somewhat of a performer for them, especially the children, chasing them with the ghost arrows (never hitting them, of course).


    Otherwise, he and Lucy were usually treated like unwelcome strangers. Stray dogs, one might say.


    He enjoyed learning to hunt the most. Of course, he had it easier since he could use his ghost bow, which was basically like an aimbot for archery. It''s where he tended to earn the most respect as he could bring down great elk with ease, feeding a good portion of the village. Things like fishing and learning to skin game, from rabbits to wild boar, were particularly enjoyable for him. Julian found it odd that he, as a lover of animals, took no distaste with hunting. He had always understood that if one is hunting purely to eat, for survival, then there is no ill in taking an animal''s life. These people had no supermarkets or fridges. It was only those who hunted purely to kill, for the enjoyment of watching something die, that he took issue with.


    Learning the harsh, guttural Sarugani tongue was the hardest of all, though the most necessary. After all, he had to be able to speak to his new wife and her sons. The wedding ceremony could only take place when he learned the words.


    Julian had never imagined he would ever be married, truthfully, and yet found that he would soon have two wives.


    One night, as he laid on the grass with aching thighs and a sore back after a hard day of horse riding training, pondering it all, he noticed something peculiar. In the stunning, celestial sky, among the millions of stars twinkling brilliantly and the great arch of shimmering galactic dust that swept across the vista, he saw that this world had two moons.

 Chapter 8

    He was finally getting used to the food around here. And the clothes, the bed, the smells, and just about everything else. His brain was probably back to its primal, pre-technology dopamine levels. Not constantly being bombarded with brain rotting, sensational clips, porn, or urban noise pollution.


    The stupid, attention-span destroying clips, he did not miss. The porn on the other hand¡­ That demon within him would always miss that. It didn¡¯t help that he hadn¡¯t had sex in the past five months because his supposed ¡®wife¡¯ Lucy would not sleep with him, and nor would Khorjin, who he was supposed to take. He couldn¡¯t marry her until he knew the Sarugani tongue, but he was the patriarch of her family all the same. Either way, he¡¯d had a horrible case of blue balls more often than not, and getting a tiny bit of privacy to rub one out was near impossible around here.


    As they sat around for their breakfast, Julian finished off his fermented goat¡¯s milk, something else he¡¯d finally gotten used to, and said to Khorjin, ¡°Archa olo gor?¡± which, to his understanding, meant: May I have some more?


    The kids¡¯ eyes widened, looking at him as though he¡¯d discovered fire. Khorjin¡¯s face remained stoic, but there was a strange look on her face. Fascination or worry? He couldn¡¯t quite tell, but in any case, she didn¡¯t seem pleased. He wondered why that was. Not that it mattered. She said something back quite fast, which he couldn¡¯t quite make out but assumed meant ¡°Yes,¡± because she took his bowl and filled it with more milk.


    Lucy also looked at him strangely as she dined on the dried yoghurt kurds, which she seemed to have developed a taste for these past few months. ¡°You can understand them now?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Julian said as he took another sip of fermented milk. ¡°But I¡¯ve picked up some words. Maybe it''s because I¡¯m the Arahkin; I can learn faster.¡±


    ¡°I hope that''s the reason.¡± She sipped some water. ¡°They talk too fast, and it sounds like gibberish. I don¡¯t even know ¡®yes¡¯ yet.¡±


    The kids¡¯ excitement only seemed to grow the more Julian spoke now, and they kept trying to speak to him, mumbling what seemed a hundred different words at the same time. He laughed. ¡°Slow down, slow down.¡± He took one of the empty bowls and pointed to it, saying, ¡°What is this?¡± He kept pointing at the bowl.


    The elder of Khorjin¡¯s sons realised his meaning. ¡°Khukam!¡± the boy exclaimed with a beaming smile on his face.


    ¡°Khu-kam,¡± Julian repeated, nodding.


    The younger son started laughing louder, high-pitched and cheerful, then pointed to his nose. ¡°Zorat! Zorat!¡±


    Now Julian was laughing, and he caught Lucy smirking to the side. ¡°Not so fast,¡± he said, trying to calm himself down. After gulping down a bite of boiled lamb, he patted his chest, pointing to himself. ¡°Julian.¡± He nodded. Then he pointed to Lucy, saying her name slowly for them.


    ¡°Loo-see,¡± the younger of the sons replied, giggling at her. ¡°Loosee, Loosee!¡±


    ¡°Joo-liyan,¡± the older son replied, smiling as he slightly bowed his head, then he pointed to himself. ¡°Temur.¡±


    So, that¡¯s his name¡­ ¡°Temur¡­¡± Julian repeated, butchering the pronunciation, but the elder son smiled all the same. It¡¯s about time they became acquainted. Julian had been putting food on their plates long enough.


    He pointed to the younger and said, ¡°And you? What¡¯s your name?¡± They couldn¡¯t understand his words, though given the topic of discussion, the boy understood well enough.


    ¡°Ardan!¡± he said, jumping up and down until Khorjin calmed him. ¡°Ardan!¡±


    ¡°Ardan.¡± Julian nodded and let the young lad settle down. Then he looked to Khorjin and slowly said her name, needing no introduction.


    She glanced up, meeting his gaze with her cold feline eyes. Khorjin did not laugh like her children, nor did she even smile. She looked still, dead almost, and went back to eating her meal. She hates me, Julian thought, now feeling awkward. It was a bridge he would have to mend, but how?


    After that, for the better part of the day, Julian tried to catch some fish in the wide, winding river the tribe always camped at. They had moved up and down it over the past five months, but never strayed too far from it. He¡¯d found a new appreciation for rivers and understood now why so many civilizations started on their banks. In a land of no running water, no one could easily bathe, wash clothes and dishes, or hydrate themselves. And they were a convenient source of food, although this river never yielded many big fish such as salmon like the rivers Julian had fished at back home. He normally caught smaller fish, if any at all, and understood after a while why the Sarugani preferred to hunt game in the forests.


    Still, fishing had become a nice, relaxing pastime for him. He sat quietly on the banks of the rushing river with his fishing spear, watching for a silvery shimmer to glint under the waters. When he caught a glimpse of a fish, he¡¯d thrust the spear. He missed more often than not but by the evening had managed to skewer a few.


    After he brought the fish back, Orkhun Targan rode to the center of the small little village and raised his voice. While Julian¡¯s understanding was still patchy, he vaguely understood the targan saying, ¡°We¡¯re moving out. Gather your belongings and prepare the herds. We march to the great Targashar!¡± Then he pointed to Julian. ¡°You too, Arahkin. Make your preparations.¡±


    The shaman Batzir rushed to grab his hand and translate for him, but Julian waved him off, replying in the Sarugani tongue, ¡°I understand.¡±


    The great big targan, perched atop his black horse, smiled and let out a small chuckle. ¡°Very good, Arahkin. Let us not waste a moment more!¡±


    And with that order, the village burst into action, rapidly disassembling their homes to get on the move. The men, without paying much heed to Julian, went off ahead of the village, leaving only a few to guard the women and children while they packed up their gers.


    At his own ger, Khorjin had already begun untying the thick ropes that held the felt covering in place. Lucy sort of watched awkwardly. Funny, it reminded Julian of his own time training at Sterling and Crowe under Lucy¡¯s guidance. Only then she was showing him what to dash into a spreadsheet while he himself stood dumbfounded. It was quite satisfying to see it the other way around.


    The wind caught at the edges of the fabric, causing it to billow like a restless sail. Khorjin muttered commands to Lucy as she gestured to the wooden lattice frame beneath. But her words fell on deaf ears. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Dalui kan,¡± Khorjin said, pointing to a section of the ger¡¯s wooden supports. Her jade serpentine eyes flicked between the ger and Lucy, who just stood there looking at it like an idiot.


    Lucy shrugged. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± She clutched the edge of her thin woolen coat tighter as the wind tugged at her ginger braids that slipped through her leather fur lined hat. ¡°Ugh! I can¡¯t understand you!¡±


    ¡°Dalui!¡± Khorjin snapped, her patience at an end. She began yelling so fast that Julian couldn¡¯t make out what she was saying.


    Lucy crouched awkwardly, fumbling with the ropes. The knots, hardened from long exposure to cold winds and rain, refused to yield under her slender, meek fingers. ¡°I can¡¯t do this!¡± she wailed, looking like she was about to cry.


    Julian winced as Lucy, on the verge of tears, yanked at the stubborn rope, only to stumble backward when it refused to budge, nearly falling on her ass. He stepped forward, crouching beside her. ¡°Let me.¡± He brushed her hands away and grabbed the knot, his fingers straining as he untied the stubborn rope.


    ¡°See?¡± Julian said, shooting her a cheeky grin. ¡°You just need a bit of technique.¡±


    Lucy folded her arms, blowing a wisp of hair from her face. ¡°You dismantle it then!¡±


    Khorjin watched him while taking down the heavier, central logs that held the center of the ger up. Julian rushed over, moving to help her with a log. ¡°Let me take that,¡± he said in butchered Sarugani.


    She frowned, not letting go of the log. ¡°Sarugani men do not help with this,¡± she said with a scornful venom.


    But Julian insisted, snatching the heavy beam out of her hands. ¡°I¡¯m not Sarugani.¡± And he himself took the rest of the heavier beams down while Khorjin folded sections of felt to load them onto a waiting cart. Khorjin¡¯s demeanor softened a little as she realised how willing Julian was to help, though she said nothing.


    By the time the ger was half-dismantled, Julian¡¯s back ached, and the coarse rope had rung his hands raw. But, for the first time, he caught a glimpse of approval in Khorjin¡¯s gaze. Even Lucy was more enthusiastic about finishing up with some of the easier tasks.


    ¡°You¡¯re not so bad at this, you know?¡± Lucy said, taking a drink of water as the two took a brief break. ¡°You¡¯re finally useful for something!¡±


    He lightly smacked her shoulder. ¡°You can talk. All you¡¯ve done is complain most of the time we¡¯ve been here.¡±


    The two laughed. Most of the gers had been dismantled by now with the village all nearly ready to move. The sounds of footsteps muffled by the grass sounded behind him, and he turned to see Tulgutai walking towards him as a group of men guided some herd animals further down.


    ¡°Arahkin has become a woman now,¡± he said, letting out a hearty laugh. ¡°You can¡¯t wage war by dismantling gers, boy.¡±


    Julian glared at him. In his best Sarugani, he replied saying, ¡°They needed my help,¡± before turning away.


    Tulgutai snorted. ¡°The men scout the route ahead, hunt for the journey, and protect the herd animals. Do not shirk your duties for easy tasks.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°I¡¯ll do whatever is required of me.¡±


    Tulgutai snorted, shaking his head, then returned to his men. He said something, and they all laughed, but Julian couldn¡¯t make out what it was. He just shook his head and averted his gaze from them. He may have said something back, but he feared that Tulgutai would simply beat the shit out of him again. I¡¯ll get you back one day, just you wait.


    ¡°What did he say?¡± Lucy asked, looking over at the group of nomads now walking down the path.


    ¡°Just what a fine job I¡¯m doing,¡± Julian muttered, then took her hand. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get a break from this lot before we have to move out.¡±


    They walked up a grassy hill as Khorjin packed the rest of the ger in the waiting cart. Temur helped as much as he could, and Ardan mainly pranced around being a nuisance, but most of the heavy labour had been done.


    They sat on the soft grass beneath. A cold wind lashed at them. Beyond lied the endless plain of the Sarugani steppe in all its beauty. Miles and miles of grass and hills stretching as far as the eye could see to the mountains further beyond. A land raw and untouched in perfect harmony with nature.


    ¡°I¡¯d kill for a cig right now,¡± Lucy said, watching the plains as the wind tugged at her thick braids.


    ¡°They were gone long ago,¡± Julian said, thinking the same. ¡°Maybe tobacco plants grow somewhere in this world?¡±


    ¡°I bloody hope so.¡± She laughed. ¡°Thank you for the help today, by the way. I¡­ I really appreciated that. Khorjin can be difficult sometimes, and it''s worse when I don¡¯t know what she¡¯s saying.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you learn the language if you want,¡± Julian said. ¡°I¡¯m picking it up pretty fast, now.¡± Maybe it was the Arahka spirit within him. But Julian was also a polyglot. He could speak French by the time he was five years old. He knew polyglots tended to be able to learn languages faster.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that, it¡¯s¡­¡± She sighed, leaning back. ¡°I just miss home, you know? I miss my parents, my friends, my siblings. I miss going for a drink on a saturday night, dancing to loud music, and going on holiday. I miss dating and having flings. This is just¡­ The work never ends. It¡¯s like you''re always on the brink of starvation unless you keep moving, keep working.¡±


    ¡°Is that so different from our old world?¡± Julian said, but he noticed the glint of tears in Lucy¡¯s eyes. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m being insensitive. I guess in my case I don¡¯t really miss my parents. It¡¯s horrible to admit, but I don¡¯t. I never got anything but insults and vulgar language from them. And friends, well. I don¡¯t know. I haven¡¯t had friends since I finished high school.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Lucy said, surprised. ¡°You always seemed quiet, but I didn¡¯t take you for one of those weird reclusive types. Not even any girlfriends?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had a girlfriend in five years, and even the one I did have, I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d even call it a relationship.¡± Charlotte she was called. Quite pretty, not stunning like Lucy was, but easy on the eyes all the same. They were always on and off, and he was sure she was with other men in their ¡°off¡± times whenever they¡¯d had some argument or had to take a ¡°break.¡± Not that Julian cared. She was never that interesting to him, and he always preferred to stay at home playing on his computer or reading his books or painting with his models after she¡¯d milked him dry for the day. Some relationship that is¡­ He was never a romantic.


    ¡°Wow,¡± she said, her jaw almost hanging to the ground.


    Julian laughed. ¡°Are you really so surprised?¡± If anything, it was a little flattering.


    ¡°Well, yeah¡­¡± Lucy looked away, fiddling with the grass between her fingers. ¡°You¡¯re not bad looking at all.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, I guess.¡± Julian said, now looking down, ripping some of the grass out himself. ¡°I always had a bit of a crush on you, you know?¡±


    ¡°Well, you did ask me out.¡± Her cheeks went a little rosy, and he now noticed her freckles were far more prominent without all her makeup on.


    ¡°You¡¯re very beautiful,¡± he said, now looking into her stunning jade eyes. ¡°Really, the look of a tribal woman suits you, with your fur coats and braids.¡±


    She just laughed. ¡°Well, I¡¯m pleased you think so, because I feel like a scruff. I probably smell like a wet dog, too. I¡¯d kill for a bath bomb and some shampoo.¡±


    ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t matter if everyone else around you smells like a wet dog, too.¡±


    They both laughed, and for a brief, lingering moment, Julian felt something spark between them. He almost thought she¡¯d kiss him there and then, until something in the distant sky stole both of their attention.


    There, almost like a spec, a shadow soared amidst the vast azure sky. Its tail cut across the heavens like a trailing comet. For a moment, it circled lazily, its wings barely visible from so far, yet he could just catch them cutting through the air with effortless grace. It roared so loud they could faintly hear it echo across the steppe. Then, with a sudden dive, it folded up its wings and descended past the horizon, its image lingering in his imagination like a faint dream.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± Lucy gasped, shooting to her feet. ¡°Julian, was that¡­ was¡ª¡±


    ¡°A dragon,¡± he finished for her.

 Chapter 9

    ¡°Are we nearly there yet?¡± Lucy moaned. They had stopped to set up camp for the evening, leaving them plenty of time to get the gers erected before nightfall. ¡°We must have been travelling for over a month now.¡±


    ¡°I know, it feels endless,¡± Julian replied, getting off his horse to help Khorjin and Lucy unpack the carts. All around them, the mobile village came to a sudden halt, stopping and choosing their spots not far from the same winding river that they always kept close to. It was hard to tell how much ground they had covered, but he knew they hadn¡¯t been moving fast because they had a herd of animals to guide and protect, and not everyone rode a horse.


    Another strange thing was how often he lost track of the time that had passed since he had no way of tracking the days, weeks, or months. All of that could be different on this planet. He definitely felt like the days were shorter, but by how much, he couldn¡¯t say.


    Once the ger was all set up, Lucy went to fetch some water while the kids took a rest in their furs. In the ger, Khorjin lit a fire and got to mending the saddle that Julian used to ride his horse. She did it in silence, as she always did, her hands working delicately to mend the leather. The thing he noticed about her was how little she seemed to speak to anyone else in the village. Does she not have friends? he thought sadly. Or had she lost the will to live after her husband had his life taken by her new husband?


    With an aching heart, and finally feeling brave enough to confront her about the issue, Julian went and knelt beside her, just by the fire. Its warmth warded the chill away from his thin bones. He had practiced the words over in his head. Khorjin looked up at him, the fire catching in her jade eyes.


    Julian bowed his head slightly, laying his hands across his thighs. ¡°I am sorry for your husband, Karagan. I am sure he was a brave man.¡± He likely butchered the grammar or structure of that sentence in the strange Sarugani tongue but hopefully she would understand.


    Her hands stopped moving in that moment, and she only stared at him. Those narrow, feline pupils expanded just a little bit, and she bowed her head in return. Her black braids dangled past her cheeks. ¡°It is the cycle of nature. He did what he must, as did you, and the rest of us adapt to the new order. Only the strongest live to carry the song of their ancestors.¡± Her lips almost curled into a smile, revealing two small dimples in her cheeks. Then she got back to her work as though nothing had happened.


    Julian pressed his lips and nodded. He couldn¡¯t think of a reply. Though he found it strange. Did she say that because she needed him? Or was it really such a common occurrence for these people that their husbands just die, and they simply carry on?


    ¡°You speak well now for an outsider,¡± she remarked after a moment of awkward silence. Ardan mumbled something in his sleep in the dark corner of the ger, and Temur embraced him.


    He grinned. ¡°Thank you. I haven¡¯t had much of a choice.¡±


    ¡°Once you learn the words for the ceremony, we shall marry, and I hope I can bear you many children,¡± she said casually, not even looking at him.


    Julian nearly choked hearing that. Oddly, even though he knew he was to marry her at some point, it always seemed so far away, something he never had to worry about. And children¡­ How would that even work? These people looked like humans, but he wondered what sort of eyes such a child might have. The eyes of an Earthling, or these strange serpent eyes?


    Khorjin looked up at him with concern. The logs in the hearth crackled. ¡°Did I misspeak? Have you no children of your own with your wife?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ uh¡­¡± He scratched his head, avoiding her gaze. A gaze that looked increasingly more curious. How to spin this¡­ They still had to play man and wife, after all. ¡°Yes, back home¡­ They must miss us, I think. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°I notice you have not made more while you are here?¡± She raised a brow.


    Fucking hell, when did she get so talkative¡­ It made him almost regret apologising to her. ¡°How can I make more?¡± he replied, adding a tone of scorn as though he was getting mad, though he just wanted to get off the subject. ¡°There is never a moment to be alone with her. Where I come from, those who marry have privacy.¡±


    Even Julian had to admit he was doing terrible work with Lucy. He had always been awkward around women, really. Never really knowing what to say or how to act. Especially around those he liked. It¡¯s like all of his normal ways of talking went out of the window as soon as a pretty woman sat before him, and he would go out of his way to try to impress them or big himself up, only making himself look like a fool as a result.


    ¡°If you wish to be alone, you need only say the word.¡±


    Just then, Lucy came in with a big basket of water. It sloshed around as she walked, some falling out of the sides.


    ¡°Let me get that,¡± Julian said, taking it off her and setting it down by the felt wall.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, her cheeks rosy from the cold wind outside. She sat by the fire and warmed her hands up.


    Khorjin set the saddle down after she finished mending it. ¡°You should go and hunt with the others. They will respect you more. Temur can accompany you.¡±


    ¡°Temur hunts?¡± Julian asked, looking over to the boy, who now lay watching the three with his eyes open, still in the furs.


    ¡°Temur is all but a warrior. They may be small, but they are strong and must learn to survive as soon as they are able should anything happen to me.¡±


    Julian smiled. ¡°He may well teach me a thing or two then.¡±


    The pair set off as the sun began to set. The chill winds picked up, forcing a layer of goose pimples to cover his skin despite the thick layers he had over him. Julian was no expert hunter himself, but it now occurred to him that he wouldn¡¯t be able to see shit in a dark forest at night, and he had no torch. Temur took one of the smaller horses, and Julian took the horse that was once Karagans. ¡°How will we see in the dark?¡±


    The boy looked up at Julian, confused. ¡°Forgive me, I do not understand your question.¡±


    ¡°Have I misspoke?¡± He was still a bit rough with the language after all. ¡°You know. Dark. No sun. Can¡¯t see?¡±


    ¡°We see when there is no sun? No?¡± The boy¡¯s narrow feline pupils widened, and then it just clicked for him. Of course, their eyes! Cats and snakes could see better in the night, and it was because of the way their eyes were shaped!


    ¡°Oh, of course,¡± Julian said. How fascinating. Some of the biology students he¡¯d known at Oxford would have a field day with these people. He recalled how the days seemed to be shorter on this planet. Maybe that was why these people have such eyes? Could it be an evolutionary adaptation so they had more hunting time? Or perhaps prey animals here came out more at night.


    ¡°Can you not see without the sun?¡± Temur asked as they began riding away from the village, joining the other men just setting off to go hunting. He looked every part a man of the village with his small composite bow, his arrows. It was only his youthful face, buried underneath his leather hat and felt coat, that gave him away. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Not very well,¡± Julian admitted. ¡°You will have to guide me.¡±


    Although Julian and Temur trailed behind the group of hunters, they were never far off. The two moons gleamed like gemstones in the night sky, one silver, very much like Julian¡¯s own moon, while the other had a strange, reddish-brown hue. The red one was bigger, too.


    As they got further into the forest, Julian could not shake off an uneasy feeling of anxiety. How pitch black it was, the only sounds that of horses huffing, men speaking in muffled tones, and the crunch of twigs under hoofs.


    ¡°Are the forests not more dangerous at night?¡± Julian whispered to his young guide, still trying to focus on balancing on his horse. He¡¯d become a lot better at riding, but there was still much to be learned. Temur rode as though the horse was part of his body.


    The boy glanced at him, his wide pupils reflecting the faint moonlight. ¡°Danger is never far, but we are the hunters here. My father told me we must be braver than the beasts.¡±


    Julian chuckled, admiring the boy¡¯s spirit. Imagine if they were like this back home¡­ ¡°You can teach me alot. Where I come from, people don¡¯t hunt anymore. And those who do, do so for leisure, not survival. We buy all our meat and herbs from¡ª¡± his tongue twisted for the word ¡°shop.¡± He didn¡¯t know the Sarugani word for it yet, or even if they had a word for it, so he just said in English, ¡°Shops.¡±


    Temur frowned, tilting his head. ¡°What is this ¡®shops?¡¯¡¯¡±


    Julian shrugged, trying to find the words. ¡°A place where people trade. We give them coins or paper, and in exchange, the merchant gives you whatever you need. Food, clothes, anything.¡±


    The boy narrowed his eyes in confusion. ¡°This is strange. Can your people live without these shops?¡±


    Julian laughed, his steamy breath visible under the moonlight. ¡°I doubt it. I¡¯d have perished in a day had your people not found me.¡±


    Temur grinned faintly. ¡°You ride, hunt, and protect your family well enough. I think your people are not weak.¡±


    Julian¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Family?¡± he echoed, almost refusing to believe the words coming out of his mouth.


    ¡°You will be my mother¡¯s husband.¡± Temur nodded. A seriousness in his tone made him sound far beyond his years. How could this be a ten year old? ¡°That makes us your family. My father is gone, yet you are here, taking up his duties.¡±


    For the first time, Julian felt the weight upon his shoulders of what it meant to take Karagan¡¯s place¡ªnot just in Khorjin¡¯s life but in her children¡¯s as well. He could have never imagined himself being a father before, but he reached over and patted Temur¡¯s shoulder all the same. ¡°I¡¯ll try my best. For all of you.¡±


    Further into the forest and into the night, the hunting party got wind of some large game. Julian summoned Sarigen, the lilac fire emitting from his palm and materializing into the magical ghost bow. It was still a struggle for him to ride whilst holding the bow; meanwhile, Temur beside him had his bow at the ready, riding effortlessly.


    ¡°Arahkin,¡± Tulgutai sneered, riding up beside him. ¡°We¡¯ve traced a monstrous elk not far from here. Would you like the first shot, seeing as your bow is more accurate than everyone else''s?¡±


    Julian met his gaze. He didn¡¯t know why, but just by the way Tulgutai addressed him, he sensed some kind of trap or trick. ¡°I can hardly see anything. Why don¡¯t you teach me? Isn¡¯t that why I¡¯m here?¡±


    The horse beneath Tulgutai snorted, getting restless, and he yanked on the reins. His scowl deepened. ¡°A shame the Arahka did not give you a better pair of eyes.¡± The other hunters behind him chuckled. ¡°Even with a witch¡¯s bow you can not hunt. What the targan sees in you, I have no idea.¡±


    Temur bristled beside them, and he rode up next to Julian. ¡°I will take the shot for my father.¡±


    An odd feeling of warmth spread from his heart when he heard that. It made him feel paternal in a way. Does the child truly have so much respect for me? He said nothing, but he did smile, and nod his approval at the boy.


    Tulgutai just laughed. ¡°You¡¯ll be the first Arahkin who needs a boy to fight his battles for him, I suspect. Go on then.¡±


    Temur took the lead, and the group continued moving through the dim forest. Even though Julian¡¯s vision had adjusted to the night, he could still hardly see a thing. Orkhun Targan, who had been leading the hunting party, raised a hand to silence the hunters. His nostrils flared at the air.


    Then Julian caught it.


    The scent of smoke. Pungent and invading his senses like a dense mist.


    ¡°Riders!¡± the targan hissed, and everyone drew their bows.


    Julian got Sarigen ready. His heart was already pounding. Having to keep his balance on a horse, in the black of night when he could hardly see, against a rival tribe of horse archers? It would be a miracle if he survived.


    They had hardly drawn their arrows when the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the trees. From the black woods emerged the shadowy silhouettes. Deadly shades heralding death and destruction. Their hooves thundered. Their shrilling war cries pierced the air, getting louder and louder. Their dark, tattered furs became visible before the arrows began whistling past his face.


    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± Julian hissed, quickly ducking and beckoning his horse to move out of the way.


    ¡°Attack!¡± the targan screamed, and his own tribesmen shot their arrows. Temur had already disappeared into the night, so Julian set about finding him as quickly as possible.


    The shades dashed back and forth, getting harder to tell who was who. When he managed to still his horse, he let his ghost arrows fly. With the darkness, it was hard for him even with Sarigen to land the arrows, but a few hit their mark. Horses dashed through the woods without their riders, and others crashed into the hedges.


    Julian could tell the ones he slew because their souls hovered over their corpses with wispy blue light, ready for him to suck them into his hand. He could do that after the battle, assuming he didn¡¯t die.


    Further ahead, Tulgutai unsheathed a scimitar and charged into the fray with a thunderous roar. He glanced at Julian after slaying a rival warrior, then nudged his head toward the darkness. ¡°Shoot the ones at the back, Arahkin!¡±


    Julian nodded, respecting that Tulgutai was clearly more experienced, and dashed with his horse around the outskirts of the battle. He camped in a spot dotted with bushes and let his ghost arrows fly one by one, felling the riders at the back.


    In the heat of the battle, Julian spotted a rider trying to chase down Temur. The boy was out of arrows and now looked far more petrified than Julian, his small bow no match for the man¡¯s monstrous spear. Julian shot a ghost arrow. It winded past three trees to meet its target straight in the chest, saving his adopted son.


    And so it seemed, just as quickly as it began, that a triumphant cheer, led by Orkhun Targan, ended the fight. Julian, catching his breath, jumped off his horse. On instinct, he raised his hand, and the eye tattoo on his palm glowed blue. The souls of all those he slew flowed into his palm like tendrils of mist, leaving the forest in darkness once again.


    A surge of energy rushed through him as the fallen warriors¡¯ souls merged with his own, and he sensed inwardly that with every soul, Sarigen became stronger. He sensed the ghost bow wanted to feed, to grow¡­ It wants to evolve. It wants to eat and change with me. He didn¡¯t know how he knew, but it was like an instinct, like a knowledge buried deep within him. The Arahka.


    The hunters regrouped around Julian, panting and bloodied, but victorious.


    They returned to camp a thinner pack than they left, without any game to show for it. Julian guided Temur back to the ger with a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. But before they got back inside, Julian noticed Tulgutai watching him from the distance.


    ¡°What?¡± Julian spat, his blood running too hot for another contemptuous lecture. Perhaps it was the new infusion of Sarugani souls flowing through his veins.


    Tulgutai smiled, approaching him. ¡°Calm, Arahkin. I do not mean to scold you now. You fought well¡­ for an outsider.¡± His tone was far from friendly, though his eyes did not hold the contempt they usually did when he watched Julian.


    ¡°And you didn¡¯t die. That¡¯s a victory for the pair of us.¡± Julian smirked.


    The man scoffed and walked away, leaving Julian with Temur. The boy looked up at him with wide eyes. ¡°You saved me,¡± he muttered. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Julian ruffled the lad¡¯s hair. ¡°You said I¡¯m your father, didn¡¯t you? It¡¯s only my duty.¡±


    The boy grinned, and they returned to the ger. For the first time, Julian felt like he truly belonged somewhere.