Like an itchy scab, three long days covered the Ceremony; the more my mind picked at this unsightly clot of time, the worse it got. I’d have surely failed my T’ghasta if not for Tak, who, today, just as each day for three months prior, had dragged me out to work at first light.

The hunter’s apprentice, Tak, was fleshing a boar hide strung between two aspens, scraping it with a flake and throwing chunks of fat and meat into a pot simmering over a fire. In typical Tak fashion, he sketched a grid on the flesh side of the hide with a piece of charcoal and worked one rectangular patch at a time. After every few patches, the crude angular features of Tak's face softened for a brief moment as he surveyed his progress.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, I was certain that Tak had long since finished his T’ghasta; that fifteen boar hides, obtained and prepared with nothing but tools he made himself, were already stashed at his hut, waiting to be proudly displayed at the Ceremony. There was too much serenity in Tak’s work for somebody who was yet to meet the quota for the biggest test of his life.

Meanwhile, I, a student scribe, had been copying, word for word, a hefty recipe book, which made me both hungry and bored. Time and time again my thoughts drifted to the Ceremony, and time and time again I had to throw away painstakingly calligraphed recipes which got ruined by unrelated thoughts spilling onto the page. Three days and about a hundred pages left, I thought, scrapping yet another page, assuming six hours for sleep per night, it amounts to fifty-four hours or, roughly, one page per —

“Hey,” Tak all but barked over the shoulder, jolting me out of my calculation. “Haven’t heard your pen in a while.”

“I’m practicing silent writing,” I jested, “it’s a technique when –”.

“Nothing gets done,” he interjected. “I’ve heard you’re a master.”

“Listen, Tak, I just can’t work like that,” I said, laying down my pen. “It’s not like your hunting when you, well, concentrate for a bit to get the kill, but then can just let your hands work and your mind wander.” I glanced at my friend, realizing that such words might offend him, but Tak’s back looked unperturbed. “Here I need to concentrate all the time, and I just can’t stop thinking about what kind of N’keles we’re going to get.”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“Kanne,” Tak spoke in a soft voice, putting down his flake and turning to me, “you know precious little about hunting. If I let my mind wander, I’d ruin this hide sooner than you put a single word on the page.”

I nodded in apology and picked up the pen.

###

Late that night, stumbling home in exhaustion, I tripped over a root and flopped face down, spilling ink and smearing dirt over half of the thirty pages I’d managed to copy. The quill in my breast pocket snapped in two, and with it, my will to resist the temptation that I’d shunned for the last week. I picked up the remnants of my day’s work and snuck away from the main trail towards Joso’s hut.

Joso, or M’Joso as he demanded to be called after passing the Ceremony last year, stood at the threshold, fidgeting with his N’Kele.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, as I approached him. “I won’t help.”

“But Joso. . . Sorry, M’Joso, look!” I said, showing him the ruined pages, “I was gonna finish it myself, but this. . . It’s not my fault, is it? Just fifteen pages to get me back on track, please, I’ll do anything.”

“No, Kanne,” Joso said. “I am sorry.”

“I helped you, did I not?” I demanded.

“So you did,” Joso said. “And I’ve since paid my debt, have I not?” He poked at the knife hanging at my waist – his bribe from a year ago.

"Fine, then I’ll tell the elders how you cheated!" I blurted out, ashamed of my own words.

Joso said nothing, squeezed his eyes and pinched one of the beads on his N’Kele between his thumb and forefinger. He then moved one bead ahead and pinched it too, all the way till the last, fourth bead. A minute passed, filling my heart with repentance and self-loathing; I resolved to take my words back when Joso was done, regardless of his decision.

“You won’t do it,” he said at last. “You will finish your T’ghasta, but it will be without my help.“

I nodded, mumbled “I’m sorry,” while staring at my feet, then trudged back home.

“One piece of advice,” Joso said, catching up with me, “finish it yourself. I don’t care how little you sleep or how much your hand cramps. Finish it yourself, in clear conscience. Trust me, you’ll thank me for that.”