Chapter 14: Passages

I thought this chapter would be easier. I knew what it needed to cover, what it need to resolve and set up; execution's hard! Oh well, I've refined it a little bit, you can help me do that some more!

I guess maybe I'm expecting more from the ending of the second episode? I'm calling them episodes because they're closer to TV episodes than they are installments of Harry Potter or Game of Thrones books; much more bite-sized. I have a logical understanding that the stakes and the tension and the conclusions are gonna vary from chapter to chapter, but my emotional understanding isn't there yet. Maybe this one just isn't quite right yet?

"I'll just throw it up for now and then fix it later" - another on a long list of candidates for my epitaph.

-+=+- If you're new to this series, start here. If you want the beginning of this episode, Chasing Wind starts here. Finally, click below or this Protagonize link to read in different colors. -+=+-

Chapter 14: Passages

Inga opened her eyes to a sunny sky. Hadn’t she just been in her tent, laying on the ground near the man she killed? That was moments ago, she was certain! She sat with a start.

Cascata glanced over as Inga regretted her maneuver. She’d be feeling that in her lower back for the rest of the day. Of course that wasn’t moments ago, you old fool. You’ve probably been out a whole day.

“How long was I asleep?” Inga asked.

“All night.” Cascata answered. “It’s almos’ midday now.”

How was that possible? Inga considered. If she’d absorbed enough sunlight, then maybe... “You brought me out here as soon as the sun rose?”

“Aye. Trent said ya used too much light. I remember ya started ‘avin’ Idris sleep outside and durin’ the day ‘cause he don’t hold light as well. Figured this was worth a shot.”

Cascata had gotten better at her calculations. Even after all this time, Inga was surprised at her continued growth. “What happened?”

“Where ta start?” Cascata shrugged. “We won, fer starters. Take a gander’t that kill.”

It took a moment to get her bearings. The matron and elder were on a hide blanket in the field, not far from camp. An enormous carcass jutted out of the foliage between. Her family was crawling over it like ants, slowly peeling bits of armor and flesh away and walking it back to camp. Whatever it had been in life, it was now the single biggest butchering the clan had ever attempted.

“Is that a type we’ve seen before?” Inga squinted and shielded her eyes.

“Nah.” Cascata shook her head. “We callin’ it Fleahorn, and we’re pretty sure it’s like Stinger and Chomp. I doubt we’ll ever see one like it again.”

There was smoke on the air. Wincing as her back protested, Inga twisted to look behind her. Countless fires were burning a good distance away.

“The enemy?” Inga asked.

“No survivors, near’s we c’n tell. Some were dumb enough ta get ate by the herd, and there’s th’ one you killed. I guess there could be more, but we think they all grouped up when Fleahorn came out.”

This was all good news. Inga was sure there would be bad news to come with it, and she had to force herself to ask. “What did this cost us?”

“Three hunters,” Cascata took a swig from her waterskin. “Nor, Uda, and Hadar.”

Their faces flashed in Inga’s mind as Cascata recited their names. She felt like her heart had been pierced. Falling onto her back and covering her eyes as she wailed at the sky. Nor and Hadar had been born to the clan, and Uda had been in his mother’s arms when she stumbled into camp. They were all children to Inga. Why did they have to be taken before she was?

Inga fought the grief as best she could, but trying to suppress the sobs only sent them wracking through her body. It made sitting back up that much harder. All the while, Cascata remained silent, taking long drafts from her waterskin and staring straight ahead.

“You think crying makes me weak?” Inga hated blubbering like this in front of her children; this child, in particular. It added a touch of indignance to her grief.

“Nah. Does not crying make me a monster?” Cascata replied.

Inga sniffed and wiped her nose. “No, dear, no. Sorry.”

They sat without speaking for a long time, taking turns on Cascata’s waterskin as Inga let the tears dry out. There was much to discuss and much to be done, and Inga didn’t really know where to start.

“Trent’s okay?” Inga asked.

“Everyone’s fine. Lael took a couple too many slashes, but yer healers’re lettin’ Jedrek practice on ‘er, so she can’t be that bad. Everythin’ else is jus’ scratches n’ bruises.”

“How many enemies were there?”

“Thirty-odd.”

Too many. This didn’t make sense. “How did you beat so many, Cascata?”

The younger woman rubbed the back of her head. “C’mon, ya know I ain’t good with numbers. There were like four for e’ery one of us, jus’ like when Kirana’n them killed the first ones.”

“The first wave was exhausted when they found Evan and Nuray. I’ll count the numbers, dear. Just tell me how the fight went.”

“Oh, ‘kay!” Cascata seemed more excited now. “So I was kinda duelin’ one guy far from e’eryone else…”

“I wish you hadn’t been,” Inga interrupted, pointing at Cascata’s injury.

Cascata just shrugged. “... so I couldn’t really watch. But Kirana’s story kin’a explains how e’eryone did it! First off, numbers weren’t so bad ‘cause some died away from our fight.”

Inga killed one, and Cascata claimed the herd killed three more. 26, at fewest.

“They ambushed us ‘fore we knew they was there, righ’? We los’ 2 and they los’ 1 then, so whatever that brings us to…”

25 to 11.

“Then when the real fight started, that’s when it went bad for ‘em. Kirana says e’eryone did somethin’ like her: two or three were rushin’ one of us, all aimin’ for soft spots like Svara ‘ad us practice. So we moved all unpredictable, right?  Kirana jumps torward ‘em even though she’s usin’ a bow, and they get all confuse’ and she takes one down before the other two know what ‘appened. About ‘alf my hunters did somethin’ like that, they lost lots on their first charge.”

20 to 11. Cascata had claimed it was originally four to one, but Inga expected it was more like three; by this point, it had become two to one.

“Then it slowed down lots ‘cause Fleahorn was in play. It killed 2 o’ them first, an’ the second guy was they leader. They sorta panicked or got angry after that. Fleahorn got half of the rest, we did the other half.”

Then the monster brought us to one-to-one. Not so miraculous as it was just bad fortune for the enemy. We were prepared, and Fleahorn was much worse for them than it was for us.

Inga sighed. The price was still far too high, but… “We were fortunate. They could have ended us. With so few hunters home, their numbers were enough to kill us all.”

“Well, the herd woulda been fine.” Cascata argued. “Soko might even get bothered ta sic ‘em on the enemy, if it got bad enough.”

“They were many and they were skilled, Cass,” Inga said. “Were it not for for Svara’s guidance, the herd might be all that was left of us now. If it had been 30 against 13, and especially without Svara’s tactics, their survivors could have killed the rest of us at their leisure.”

“Aye,” Cascata admitted. “Aye. It coulda been much worse.”

Despite the night’s overexertion - Inga knew it could have killed her - she now felt restless. How many children will I sacrifice before I’m satisfied? How long can this go on before I lose them all? She’d lost count of the years, but she knew it must be close to a century since she played in Midway’s sunny meadows. Was there any hope for reclaiming her homeland?

There were still no traces of Robin Priest, or even the city’s ruling council. They must have fallen to that faceless enemy who took the light away. Without speakers of their caliber, what chance did the clan have?

Is there anything left to save? Do I risk leaving this agenda as my sole, spiteful legacy?

“It may be time we abandon the woods, Cascata.” Inga hated the thought, but she could bear the guilt even less.

The hunter matron laughed. “Good luck with that! Ya got enough argument ta convince the hunters - convince anyone - o’ that?”

It wasn’t the response Inga expected, but she knew Cascata was right. Inga had never shared her own agenda with anyone; she wasn’t the original leader, and her predecessors’ purpose here had never involved Midway. Hers was always a secondary objective. Why had she thought she was subjecting anyone to unnecessary danger?

“Perhaps,” Inga bluffed. She still had concerns. “If we remain, I think we need to increase the amount of hunters. No, increase the amount of warriors. We are always finding family among political exiles, and while none of them have lead to a confrontation until last night, we also need to confront the possibility that we encounter a group who doesn’t need such a reason to attack us. We’ve become too big, we have things that other people are willing to kill for. We need to have a force devoted to protection at all times.”

There was movement near Fleahorn’s carcass. Inga recognized Svara as she emerged from the crowd. It looked like she was headed their way.

“Sounds good ta me,” Cascata shrugged. “I have lots o’ time to train youngin’s, and we got lots o’ chil’ren who ain’t apprenticed yet. Idris n’ Jaquan’re both prime.”

“Really?” Inga was surprised she said those names first. “Jaquan’s fears will be hard to conquer. They’re very deeply-routed. And Idris? He’s a large boy, but something in his body doesn’t work right. I don’t know if he’s capable of the endurance he would need.”

“Combat’s compl’cated,” Cascata replied. “I know ye’re used ta thinkin’, but ya only got yer first kill las’ night, right? War’s a new kinda math fer you, I been doin’ it longer. I got some ideas on how ta use cowards n’ sloths. Trus’ me, they got potential.”

Inga shuddered as she remembered the boy she killed. For decades she’d been lecturing on how traumatic the first kill was. As she feared, her imagination had fallen short of reality.

“I suppose I’m not as worried about their competence as I am about their wellbeing,” Inga confessed. “Won’t it break them?”

“It’s jus’ work, like any o’ the other duties,” Cascata replied. “If they’re suited for it, they’ll be fine. If they’re not, I’ll let ya know, they can do somethin’ else.”

Like any other duty? Inga had her doubts, but she trusted Cascata’s judgment more than most - perhaps any- of her childrens’. It wouldn’t hurt to let her try.

Svara was close enough for Inga to be certain of her destination. She sighed, expecting she was coming to say goodbye. It was bound to be a bittersweet conversation, but she supposed she ought to finish this talk before that one started.

“So Idris and Jaquan. Do you have any other names in mind?” Inga asked.

“I have one!” Svara called. Inga furrowed her brow. How had the girl heard her?

The older women watched as Svara increased her pace. Each step was more like a leap, but the jumps lacked any sign of exertion. It looked like she was skipping in reduced gravity. Inga felt a pang of envy; it looked like fun.

Svara came to an abrupt stop at the edge of their blanket. “You should accept me as one of your warriors.”

Inga nearly choked on her breath, but Cascata didn’t seem surprised. “Oh? Weren’t ya gonna move on?”

“When I was being chased, yes, that was the plan,” Svara nodded. “You freed me from the chase. The way I see it, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe us,” Inga argued. “If you stay, it should be because you want to. Don’t get me wrong, you’re welcome to! But don’t do it for the wrong reasons…”

“I have to and I want to and I need to. Right, wrong, I’m doing it for every sort of reason there is.” Svara’s smile was so sincere that Inga couldn’t muster any more resistance. She wanted this daughter, and she wouldn’t turn her away.

“Then welcome to the family, child.” Tears began to cloud her vision again. “Still, are you sure you want to be a warrior? It sounds glamorous, but there’s a heavy cost. To take a life…”

“She can ‘andle it, she done it once,” Cascata pointed at Fleahorn. “She and Dahlia done him in.”

“That monster?!” Inga’s eyes bulged a little. “How? And why did you allow them to fight?!”

Cascata rubbed the back of her head. “I didn’t really ‘allow’ nothin’...”

“I was raised to spy and kill, Elder Inga,” Svara said. “Well, raised to teach those arts, at least. It’s more or less the same.”

With a thoughtful frown, Inga considered. She glanced at Cascata. “She’d be your charge, matron. What do you say?”

“I wouldn’ let ‘er hunt yet. I’d let ‘er fight. Well, maybe. We’ll dance wit’ ‘er, get her ta add the things we do well ta her art.”

“In the meantime, I’m an ideal scout,” Svara added. “I can cover lots of ground, and the wind brings me rumors. I came over here because I heard your voice on the breeze.”

If that was true, then Svara was uniquely qualified for keeping watch. If the wind acted as an extra sense for her, then she could serve a warrior’s purpose without endangering herself. Inga didn’t need any more convincing.

“I’m satisfied. You have auspicious timing, dear. I fear we might make immediate use of you.”

“Yeah?” Svara tilted her head. “Why’s that?”

“The Elder’s jus’ rattled ‘bout last night,” Cascata claimed before taking another gulp of her drink.

“Cavalier as ever,” Inga grumbled. “No, Cass. I appreciate your resilience, but we’ve taken big losses. Kadmus, Gelilah, Nikhil, Conan…” Inga counted them off with her fingers. “Seven hunters between the last two camps. That’s about as many as we lost in the entire year before, Cass. Something is changing.”

“Hm.” Cascata smirked. “Maybe ye’re right. Maybe something fun is comin’.”

Inga sighed, but she actually envied Cascata’s attitude. It would help see them through this. “The entity who took the light away is still in there. It’s still perverting the woods with monsters like Fleahorn and Stinger, and it can’t be a coincidence that Fleahorn appeared when the Breathers did. We’ve now killed two of the war-types, Cass. Its creator might not appreciate that.”

“Ya can’t create beasties,” Cascata scoffed.

“And you can’t take the sun away from an entire nation!” Inga retorted. “But something can, and we’re neighbors with it. If it had any affection for Fleahorn, then we might have earned its anger.”

Svara looked pale, even for a Northerner. “Have… have I doomed us?”

“What? No!” Inga smiled and shook her head. “No, child, it had to die. You should be proud, you did a great thing. I’m just saying that survival has consequences.”

“And we’re hopin’ these cons’quences’ll be fun, lass,” Cascata said. “Ya done me two favors by killin’ Fleahorn.”

Inga groaned. “You reacted to the circumstances. That should be celebrated. I’m just trying to prepare for what comes next.”

“Only so much we can do when we don’ know what’s comin’,” Cascata observed.

“Could we actively try to find out?” Svara asked. “Or maybe find a more defensible place we could go?”

“Yes, to both!” Inga said. “But we’ll need to wait for the hunters to return. Our next camp is unique, and I’ll feel much more comfortable once we’re there.”

Thinking of the destination was comforting, though it would mean skipping one of their usual stops. Inga had a sister and a son waiting at the end of the coming trek. Their unique nature inspired them to make a permanent home there. The reunion was always joyous, but there would be an extra layer of comfort this time. The two of them had survived the longest excursion into these woods than anyone she’d ever known. They were certain to have some insight.

“Avoid the city and don’t follow any roads; don’t make extra stops on the trail and don’t extend the migration; if you hear a river or reach the silence, you’ve gone too far.” Her sister gave lots of advice, but was reluctant to share the memories related to that wisdom. Perhaps it was time to ask a difficult favor.

That would have to wait. The clan needed to get there before it could solicit advice, and Inga doubted this would be the leisurely hike they were used to. The path had been safe for a century, but the currents of history were as fickle as the winds. Sooner or later, they would have to shift.

Chapter 13: Unleashing

Once again, it took too long. Ah well, I'm feeling pretty good about things. I'll try to speed things up for the next one! If my other obligations allow, I may even get 14 out before comic con! Don't hold your breath, though. You're not? Nobody was? Good!

I didn't have as much of a plan going into this one. I only knew of a couple things that needed to happen. Right now, I like the way it turned out, but it is an experiment. Tell me if I've failed!

The series begins here, this episode starts here, and here's the Protagonize link for this chapter. Enjoy it, if you can! No, I ORDER you to! Please?

Chapter 13: Unleashing

The apprentice hunter was impressive. Svara thought Dahlia resembled her enemy as they charged each other; sculptures of muscle, thickness, speed with weight. For a moment, she envied them. Wielding that sort of power had to be intoxicating.

She shook her head and smiled. Since when did she envy the drunk?

Dahlia had implied that the two of them were racing, but Svara would use a more cooperative approach. While the monster was occupied with the clan’s monster-in-training, Svara would exploit the weakness she’d found. As the collision approached, Svara wondered if Dahlia would survive long enough to be the distraction she needed. She pushed these worries from her mind and moved into position; the clan had crushed every doubt she’d ever had about them.

The leader of her pursuers had been the first to die to the fleas, and thankfully, he’d wandered a good distance away from the human battle. She tried not to think about his withered corpse as she retrieved his scimitar.

The monster didn’t react to Dahlia’s rush, sights apparently set on something behind this tiny obstacle. Likewise, Dahlia didn’t seem to give much regard to how her target might react. She leapt with all four limbs in front of her, collapsing against them to cushion the impact against its crest. Svara winced, but Dahlia half-grunted-half-growled as she scrambled to secure a foothold. All according to plan, it would seem.

Dahlia braced herself with her left hand and foot on the blunt backside of the creature’s horn. Once her right foot was secure on its crest, she raised her axe and brought it down with as much force as she could muster.

The blade struck a metallic tone off the armored skull. Svara couldn’t detect any damage, but the blow must have startled the beast. It planted its feet and skidded to a stop, nearly dislodging Dahlia in the process. Its stunted neck didn’t have much range of motion, so its young passenger managed to recover even as it tried to shake her loose.

Svara chuckled before Breathing. Axe blows were raining down as Svara sprinted towards her own target. She doubted Dahlia could ever get through that skull, but the monster wasn’t enjoying its head doubling as a drum. It would never notice the whispering footsteps at its flank.

The strategy was as much Trent’s as it was hers. Any assassin would need to know about armor and how to circumvent it. Breathers were no exception. Those lessons had included the exploitation of joints and seams. The monster’s armor wasn’t the kind a blacksmith would make, but Svara knew it wouldn’t be able to move without weak spots of one sort or another.

Trent had guessed that the blood was being deposited in the host, and Svara knew that humans had a lot of blood. Breathing lessons had included the importance of armor fitting its wearer, and taking so much blood would surely affect the host’s size. That change in size would have to affect the host’s armor.

Now that she was closing in, she could confirm. Its abdomen was swollen, revealing seams between armor plates. As the host expanded, those cracks had widened enough to fit her scimitar through. She was sure the membrane would be easy to puncture with so much blood pressing against it. This would be her first kill, and she was grateful it was this easy.

Without slowing, she slipped the scimitar into a seam that ran from flank to flank. She applied just enough pressure to slice as she ducked under its belly and emerged on the other side. The sound and scent of blood followed her.

As the stolen blood flowed, its abdomen contracted, eventually causing the different armor plates to lock together. The gushing stopped, but Svara was sure the internal bleeding would continue. The beast continued its attempts to buck Dahlia off its face, but the thrashing was sluggish now. Even as it collapsed, the monster was unaware of the wound that killed it.

Dahlia could scarcely climb down before the rest of the clan mobbed them. If Svara had any regrets about what she’d done, they were lost in the jubilation. As many as could manage embraced both of the young women, jumping as they did. Others crowded the kill; an older sibling had to stop Trent from burning himself as he tried to climb behind the crest with a makeshift torch.

Svara didn’t expect her first kill to be like this. The crowd’s energy was intoxicating, and she was just as giddy as they were. The clergy had told her this would be sacred; her parents said it would be somber. Was this uninhibited joy because it was only a beast?

Whatever the case, this was okay. This was more than okay.

“‘ow’d ya do it?” Dahlia had managed to push her way through the crowd. She had a strange look on her face, like she was both defeated and overjoyed. “I couldn’t see, was too busy tryin’ not ta get tossed!”

“It got too big for its armor,” Svara shouted back. They could barely hear each other over the clan’s celebration. “Its belly started poking through, and I was able to slice it open.”

“Good thinkin’, stranger!” Dahlia clapped her on the shoulder, but Svara could still sense her wounded pride. “Ya won the race.”

“I never agreed to a race, Dahlia,” Svara countered. “I couldn’t have done it without you. If it hadn’t stopped running, I couldn’t have made such a big wound.”

From the look on her face, this was exactly what Dahlia wanted to hear. “Really?”

“Really! Why do you think they’re praising you so much?” Svara put her own hand on Dahlia’s shoulder. “This kill is as much yours as it is mine.”

The apprentice hunter beamed at this. Her eyes glistened a little, and Svara got the impression that Dahlia wasn’t really listening anymore.

The human battle had been nagging at her ever since the monster collapsed, but she recognized several of the hunters inspecting the carcass. Even Kirana was perched on its back, pondering ways it might be put to use. Svara figured if she was here, then all the Breathers had either been killed or routed.

It was over; Svara was free. Sending this unit after her had already been an over-commitment, the Destroyer would not devote more resources to her. She doubted he even knew this pursuit had happened. He wouldn’t make that choice when he didn’t even know there was a choice to make.

Just yesterday, Svara was ready to die. These people wedged their way into her life and trampled her resolve. She couldn’t be more grateful.

There was much to think about, but the clan was slow to let her start. She lost count of the times she explained the wound, and the only injuries she suffered that night came from overzealous congratulations. Some of the children even asked her and Dahlia to critique their reenactment of the kill.

“What should we call it?” Evan asked, motioning at the carcass.

“You’re asking me?” Svara raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why not?” Evan shrugged. “Ya killed it, ya can name it if ya want.”

“I’ll pass.” Svara glanced around and spotted Trent inspecting the creature’s skull. “Trent, what should we call him?”

“Who cares?” Trent was as terse as ever. “I have better things to do.”

“Come on, we need your brain for this one, Trent!” Svara coaxed, hoping she wasn’t cruel for teasing him. “Do you need me to beg?”

Trent groaned. “Fleahorn. There, it’s named. Leave me be!”

Those who heard shared a good laugh. The name was terrible, but as the story spread, the name began to stick.

As the night wore on, she began to realize why they were so focused on celebrating the kill. They were stalling. The dead still needed dealing with, and Svara could understand why nobody wanted to get started. The hunters - outnumbered three-to-one - accomplished a miracle that night, but that did little to mitigate their grief for those who fell.

Three hunters were dead and one was low on blood, or so she was told. There were no signs of a live enemy, and the last report she heard numbered their dead around thirty; nine or ten had been crushed or drained, the rest slain by human hands. None of the human deaths were being celebrated. Enemy or no, the dead should be mourned.

Svara wondered if even Fleahorn’s death was a tragedy. Were they right to celebrate it? None of them knew what it was like inside its head. Were they sure it was so different from them?

She shook the thought away. This is the harshest home I’ve ever seen. This is the kind of kill that allows them to survive in it. There’s no other choice, so what’s left to regret?

Home. The word reminded her of how much she had to consider. The last few weeks had acclimated her to being homeless. While she didn’t watch it happen, she was sure her family was dead. Even if they weren’t, she couldn’t return to the monastery.

The pursuit had gone so long, and the pursuers were of such a caliber that she thought the chase would never end. Like the wind, she’d rush across the world’s surface until she was physically incapable. Svara still gusted, but her wake was empty now. What came next?

“Ya miss the North?” Dahlia asked. The elder had offered her tent to Svara, but she’d lost her apprehensions for sharing one of the apprentices’ tents.

“No,” Svara replied. “I miss my family, but not the North. I’ve always wanted to see the rest of the world. I wish I’d had time to enjoy the places I’ve been, and I still wish I could share them with my parents. But no, I don’t hear the monastery calling me.”

“What was the East like?” Idris asked. “The South?”

“Big,” Svara laughed. “So big you can’t describe the whole thing the same way. Especially the South! The North is like that too, I’ve never been to most of it. There’s so much out there. I can say this much: the East was dry, and the South was hot.”

“It gets hotter as we go South too,” Jaquan observed. “Why is that?”

“You guys travel a lot?” Svara asked. “Do you have more than one camp?”

“You could say that,” Jedrek said. “We’re nomads. We travel along the woods’ western border. We even dip into southern and northern territory at our route’s extremes. What are the names of those nations, again?”

“The North is Matorbihumi.” Svara grinned when she thought of the South. “I don’t remember the South’s name. I like that you guys have more than one home. I always wished I could leave the monastery.”

“Was it bad there?” Jaquan asked.

“No,” Svara admitted. “I just like moving. It feels free.”

“Well, we move a lot.” Lyn didn’t even try to be subtle. “You could always share our home. We carry most of it with us, sort of like turtles.”

Svara resisted the impulse to decline. She had to refuse when she was being hunted. Now she found herself on the opposite extreme, inundated with infinite choices. Sure, she was used to fine clothes, sturdy walls, and soft beds; but this wasn’t so bad. Among infinite options, what could she say to disqualify the first one?

-CUT-

1.) Anticlimactic? I'm happy with a sigh of relief, but if you were never worried or feel disappointed, then I have problems to fix.

2.) Is the flow okay? Y'know, pacing. The beginning of the chapter is an action sequence and by the end we're jumping between highlights of the aftermath; does that work for you, and can ya help me make it work?

Muchas Gracias

Chapter 12: Glory

It's been said that some writers are like architects and others are like gardeners. I think I usually fall under the 'architect' category, but I gotta say, this chapter feels pretty organic. I'm pretty proud o' that, because I want this project to have some of that heart that previous endeavors have lacked!

The series begins here, this episode begins here, and you can click here for Protagonize or the one below for this chapter.

Chapter 12: Glory

Cascata rotated the blade as she inspected it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen something so marvelous. The edge was curved and razor-sharp, with a hilt of ivory wrapped in pristine leather. It was lighter than any weapon she’d ever held, as light as the knives they used at meals. The hunter matron could appreciate this object, but not as a weapon. It seemed too fine for the battlefield, too fragile for that purpose.

Curious, she knelt and ran the blade against her leg. The edge made a crisp sound as it shaved the hairs from her skin.

“I’ve never met an enemy half as rude as you.” Nabhi’s voice was filled with agony.

Cascata flinched and stood back up. “Was that rude? Ah’m sorry, lad, I di’n’t mean it that way.”

Her enemy was crouched nearby. His right arm was broken at the elbow and his left leg at the ankle, so he had to divide his weight between his remaining arm and leg. Cascata was confused about this posture; he was harmless now, so she wouldn’t hurt him anymore. He may as well find a more comfortable position.

He didn’t respond for several labored breaths. “You don’t have much tradition when it comes to battle, do you?”

“War?” Cascata asked. “Nah, we don’t do that often, ‘specially not against people.”

“It shows,” Nabhi grunted. “There needs to be etiquette. Protocol. War is a terrible thing, and it benefits everyone to make it less-so.”

“Aye,” Cascata supposed that made sense, but she didn’t understand how her behavior could be violating his rules. She decided to change the subject. “Why’s this curved?”

For a moment, Cascata thought her question made Nabhi even angrier. He sighed. “It cuts better and sticks less. We can strike while remaining mobile.”

“Ahh, okay.” Cascata nodded. Svara had explained that the Breathers would aim for veins, and such delicate targets wouldn’t need much force. Hunters were used to much more brutal methods, and that made their methods more thorough. The Breathers’ insistence on finesse seemed like a weakness, but she supposed it had its advantages. “Makes ya wonder who first thought ta try making it curved, don’t it?”

“Finish me.” Nabhi ignored the question.

“Why?” Cascata furrowed her brow. “I didn’t think ya’d be in that much pain.”

“It’s not that,” Nabhi said, exasperated. “Mercy only shames me. You won. In a fight to the death, the loser must die. There’s no honor in surviving the loss.”

“What’s an honor?” Cascata asked, but quickly changed her mind. “Look, I dunno what ya mean, but you and ya friends’re crazy. Look at ‘em.”

She turned to watch the massacre again. Breather after Breather was falling, yet her kin stood as strong as ever. The attackers were breaking against the hunters like water on rocks. “Svara’s a sweet lass and we ain’t gonna let ya hurt her. Why would ya rather die than accept that?”

“This has nothing to do with the girl!” Nabhi snapped. “I didn’t come for her!”

“Ya didn’t?” Cascata was taken aback. “Why ya’ll here then?”

“Well, the unit was ordered to kill the girl, but I wasn’t going to be the one to do it. I only came for the glory.”

“Wha’s that?” Cascata asked. “Some kinda food?”

Nabhi grunted like he’d been hit. “This is why people call you ‘savages.’”

Cascata shrugged. “Our lives are savage. We like ta learn things, but we gotta focus on survivin’ first. Can honors or glories help us live easier?”

There was a sigh, and Cascata thought she saw him glance towards the monster. “I suppose not. I cannot fault you for savagery. But you need to finish me. I need you to finish me.”

“Why? Ya not int’rested in hurtin’ Svara, right?” Cascata gave him a dismissive wave. “Heal up. Go on home an’ be wit yer family. Stay wit’ us and be part of our family. If we got glories or honors ta share with ya, ya just need ta ask. They can’t be worth dyin’ fer...”

“They are!” Nabhi roared. “You should understand! You do understand, you just don’t realize it.” He shuddered and coughed. “If your life were more important than honor, you would have given us the girl. You may call it something else, but you value honor as much as I do. You must take my life.”

The sounds of battle seemed to dim as she considered. “Explain more. By fightin’ back, we made honors?”

“Honor made you fight.” Nabhi nodded. “Guarang was a vengeful moron, so he didn’t approach peacefully. After those first kills, though, he gave you the opportunity to prevent more death. If you’d surrendered the girl, he’d have killed her and we’d have left in peace. You fought because there was something more important than your lives. That something was honor.”

“Guarang was yer leader?” Cascata asked. “He was wrong ta wanna kill Svara. We woulda been just as wrong to let ‘im.”

“To risk your life fighting against wrong is honorable. I understand why you did it, woman, because I understand honor. You said glory and honor couldn’t be worth dying for, remember? Yet you refused to make the wrong choice, even if it cost you your life. You value honor more than your own life.”

“Alrigh’, I getcha.” Cascata stroked her chin. “Fer that part, at least. Why’s that mean I gotta kill ya, though? What makes killin’ ya right?”

“I attacked you intending to either kill or die. There could be no other outcome.”

“Mebbe, but I never thought nothin’ like that. I was ready for all sorts o’ ends.”

“We are warriors, woman! ‘Kill or die’ is our covenant, it is the etiquette of war. When you meet an enemy, and if they are worthy to be called warrior, you must meet them with those intentions!”

“Ya keep sayin’ tha’, but ‘til ya tell me why, ye’re gonna keep breathin’.”

“I killed my first enemy when I was twelve.”

The two were silent for several seconds as Nabhi contemplated how to continue.

“I wasn’t born a warrior…”

“Nobody is.” Cascata interrupted.

“They were.” Nabhi pointed at the few remaining Breathers. “Where I’m from, the children of warriors are born to become warriors. It’s supposed to be the only way.”

“Strange.”

“Regardless; I was born to be nothing. I am the son of no one and therefore was bound to be nobody. I stole and begged and starved, surviving on the kindness and weakness of the real people in my city. Another nobody once tried to take my food, and we fought. I won, and a warrior saw it. He adopted me.”

“That made ya a warrior?”

“That’s right.” Nabhi looked her in the eye. “I was taught to Breathe and march and fight. I was taught to obey, even if I disagreed with the order. I confess, I’m not as obedient as I’m supposed to be, but I never violate my honor. After all, if I’m to reap the rewards of combat, I must obey the rules.”

“Rewards?” Cascata raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Rewards. People make war, they always have and they always will. Land, population, riches, revenge - there are as many rewards as there are people. It’s as necessary as food or shelter, so we need people in the business of war. Warriors. Warriors will do the work, but they must be paid.”

“In honors?”

“In glory, by fighting with honor. The payment is blood. The moment I killed that first boy, I knew: nothing else could compare. You’ve killed, you must know what I mean!” Nabhi’s eyes went wild, and Cascata thought she saw drool on his chin. “I won my own life! I took everything from someone who had nothing, someone who tried to take my nothing! I thought the reward would be more nothing, but it was something greater than I could have imagined!”

Nabhi trembled, and Cascata thought it wasn’t from pain anymore. “It was mine against his, we couldn’t both continue to exist; I emerged the victor! That rush, that sublime moment of supremacy… we march and die and obey, all on the promise we’ll feel it again. That is glory, and that’s the coin our commanders pay us with.”

The words cut more than Nabhi’s scimitar ever had. Cascata fell back a step. She’d felt what he referred to, felt it every time she killed. It was a thrill, but a guilty one, and far too fleeting to seek for its own sake. Besides…

“Tha’s glory?!” She spat. “Yeh make war an’ hunt children an’...” Cascata glanced at the camp. The clan was a family of exiles, a place for people who had no place to go. Every member had either been driven here by war or had been born to such a refugee. “Yeh take lives an’ ruin all th’ connected ones jus’ fer some dumb glory-thrill, and ya dare speak ta me about honors?!”

“War is a complex thing,” Nabhi growled. Cascata suspected he didn’t expect this reaction. “The commanders untangle the complexity. Warriors trust their commanders to justify the war, and in return for that trust, we are allowed our glory. There is honor in that, for if we fall, we become our enemy’s glory. War is terrible, but honor and glory make it less so.”

“Enough.” Resolve tightened her jaw. Death would be too easy for him. “All that be madness. Yeh can’t kill and trust it was right ‘cause yer leaders told ya so. Ye’ve killed and warred for all the wrong reasons, lad. Ya need ta start livin’ with it. Yer warrin’ days are over, but I ain’t killin’ ya. Get out my sight, and start fig’rin’ out how ya gonna make good on all the bad ya done.”

“No!” Nabhi strained to stand on his unbroken leg. “You can’t leave me like this! You’ve won this glory, now take it!”

“No. You take another look’t things.” Cascata turned away. “‘Cause ya saw it wrong th’ first time.”

Nabhi took a deep Breath and roared as he leapt after her. Even with only one leg, his art allowed him to close the distance in an instant. Without time to think, Cascata whirled around and slammed the sword’s pommel into Nabhi’s head.

She grimaced as she felt his skull collapse under the blow. He can’t hurt you without a weapon, and he’s so fragile while he Breaths. Call his bluff! Years of hunting in darkness had honed her reactions, and the mistake was made before sense could prevent it.

The life sparked out of his eyes as he was thrown aside. Cascata sighed and stared at his corpse. Now she was the one who’d done wrong. For several long seconds, she grimaced at him, hating his weakness. Then it occurred to her: was this really so bad?

Fine, broken warrior; former nobody. I’m taking your burden. I hope you’re watching, because I’m going to show you how it’s done.

Turning back to camp, she saw the monster begin to thrash and barrel towards the camp. She gulped; it was so far away, and so much faster than her! How had she strayed so far from the others?

Her dread worsened as two distant figures left the firelight to meet its charge. The hunter matron gritted her teeth and broke into a sprint.

-CUT-

 Whatcha think. Do we like the conversation? Do ya understand both characters' motivations, and do their reactions to the others' points of view make sense?