He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sphere. Not now that he knew what it contained. His father’s memories. It would not be simply useful knowledge, or things to help him lead the tribe, either. He knew his father well enough to know that he would have left personal memories there, too. Memories of them, together. Memories meant for nobody else but him, and perhaps his mother. His eyes shot back to the Inari-da as he remembered what the bearded one had said: It is not wise, boy, to refuse before you know the entirety of what you sacrifice.

“Those memories—the ones my father left—they should go to me. They are mine by right. The others—”

S’aana scoffed. “Nothing on that tanae is yours by right. It belongs only to the next Chief of the Su’roi—whoever that may be.”

T’aakshi was on his feet in a heartbeat, hot fire surging through his veins.

“He left them for me! I don’t care about any of the others,” he stepped forward, fists clenched, “but you have to give me the memories he left—”

The air left him as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He keeled, vision spotty, gasping for breath. A pressure gripped his throat like an iron hand, and he felt himself being lifted off of the ground, his feet flailing wildly. S’aana stalked towards him, index finger upturned like a meat-hook.

“Do not presume to tell us what we do, and do not have to do, boy,” she rasped, hawk eyes boring into him.

The pressure vanished, and he crumpled to the floor as though she had actually hung him on that meat-hook finger, and he lay there gasping for breath, trying to focus his eyes on her, on any of them.

“You would keep them from me? My own father’s memories?”

“Memories he preserved for his successor. There are rules, boy. Rules that must be followed, even for the grieving sons of great men.”

“Why?” T’aakshi ground out, hauling himself back to his kneeling position.

“If you prove yourself worthy of becoming Chief, I will tell you. You have my word. Those answers, these memories—they wait for you at the top of that peak, not here at the bottom.”

“And how can I prove myself?”

S’aana sighed, and rubbed tiredly at her face, the power that had exploded from her earlier fading to nothing, leaving a tired old woman in its wake.

“The creature that killed your father. The descriptions we have—there are no records of anything like it. Tall tales from hunters that range deep into the plains are nothing new, but every man that came back tells the same story.”

T’aakshi had to resist the urge to run. He knew what was coming and the certainty of it hit him like a lance of ice through his heart.

“You want me to kill it.”

“Yes,” she said simply, as though she were asking him to fetch her a drink. “Even if the stories are exaggerated, they will spread to the other tribes and keep people afraid to hunt. But if they aren’t, the beast needs to die before it can do any more harm to our people.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then that is your right, boy. The task will go to somebody else, as will your father’s memories—provided they survive it, of course.”

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T’aakshi narrowed his eyes. He may simply be a boy, but that did not mean he was some goat fleeing the wolf, unaware that he was being shepherded towards the rest of the pack.

“What are you not telling me? Why are you pushing so hard for me to do this when I clearly don’t want it?”

“Boy, I could fill an ocean with the things we aren’t telling you. Not a single one would change the reality of your situation. I will, however, tell you one thing that might.”

T’aakshi’s eyes narrowed even further. The lack of denial meant that he was on the right track, but what difference did that make when he could do nothing to change things?

“What?” he asked.

“In all the stories the hunters of the Su’roi told us, one truth stood out above all others: whatever that creature is, not a single one of your hunting party did a damned thing to it. Nobody but you.”

“There are other channellers among the tribes.”

“By all means, if you think you can convince one of the other Chiefs to risk a channeler on a problem only affecting Su’roi territory, go right ahead.”

“You could order it.”

“Certainly.”

But we won’t. And if that was the case, then of all the people they could send, T’aakshi was the only one who had a chance of success. Of survival. They were trying to paint him into a corner, to force him the way they wanted him to go, and he had no idea why. Worst of all, they might well succeed.

“Do not rush your decision, boy. You may remain in Kuchisoto for three days. We will receive your answer before you leave.”

“No need,” he spat, rising to his feet once more, his fists clenched but held tight to his sides. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to throw my people’s lives at a problem that only I can solve? I’ll do it.”

T’aakshi didn’t give any of them a chance to respond. He spun on his heels and stalked from the room. Cold fury took him from the chamber, and all the way down the marble steps before the fear set in. Kill the beast? What on earth was he thinking? Just remembering the damned thing had him breaking out in cold sweats, and he hadn’t gotten to the fact that the creature’s awful eyes made channeling Self feel more like trying to catch fish with his bare hands.

“T’aakshi.”

A horrifyingly familiar voice broke him from his thoughts.

“T’aarak? What—”

But almost immediately he knew exactly why T’aarak was here. He was, after all, one of the best that the Su’roi had to offer. When T’aakshi had seen him last, he was a man broken by what he had seen. Now, he looked solemn, his brows folded into a sort of concerned frown. His back, though, was straight. His shoulders squared. This was very much the T’aarak that he had revered as a boy.

“I, too, received a summons. I am to meet the Inari-da to find out my task, just as you have.”

T’aakshi’s mouth worked, but no sound left it. After all that, he wasn’t even the only candidate. If they had been truthful about the beast…

“They want us to kill the creature,” he said, finally forcing the words out. T’aarak’s shoulders dropped—the only sign the revelation affected him.

“I see. Either way, before I go in, I wanted to apologise to you. My behaviour at the shrine, no matter what I felt—it wasn’t acceptable.”

“I under—”

“But I also want to make this clear, T’aakshi. I do not think you are fit to lead us. You are not ready, and there is no guarantee that you ever will be. I will not leave our people’s fate to chance. I will kill the beast, and I will become our next Chief. No matter what it takes. I would think hard on whether you truly wish to stand in my way.”

And with that, T’aarak strode past him, leaving T’aakshi standing at the bottom of the temple’s marble staircase, mind racing and mouth agape.

❖

S'aana

S’aana watched T’aarak of the Su’roi leave with distinct disinterest.

“He is capable,” Aram ventured, hand stroking that abominable beard.

“Not for what we require.”

“And you believe the boy is?” A’alein asked.

A’alein had remained silent throughout both audiences. It was required that as many of the Inari-da as were available attended when they vetted candidates to lead the tribes, but the final say would be S’aana’s as the representative of the Su’roi.

“He is the best choice we have. He is untested and raw, but everything we need is there. All accounts say he is well-liked and respected. His people believe he is capable, even if he is yet to himself.”

The others said nothing, but she could feel the uncertainty churning inside all of them, herself most of all. Things had changed. The tribes were weakening, and what few alliances had ever existed between them were collapsing in on themselves. Food was scarcer than it had ever been, and violent blizzards now wracked places they had never before touched.

They had all read the signs, just as they could all feel the change in the winds. It was an unmistakable feeling, like the oppressive weight of the air immediately before a storm.

The boy had been right. They were not telling him everything—if they had, he may well have run south and never looked back.