The Ibex mo’huran stared at the mutilated goat from which the clan takes their name and pride. Yuliko could see the fury raging in Faydayo, but unexpectedly, also in Kardan. For once, they were of shared minds and wanted to immediately start a sweep of the area. Krissa kept saying this was another bad omen from the spirits.

Yuliko was more shocked than anything else. She couldn’t imagine why someone would do this. And here so close to the heart of Maw’Goro. It was blasphemous. What was its purpose?

“We will find these intruders and cut their bellies open too,” Faydayo said, then he began organizing the party into two groups to start the sweep.

“I must study this omen,” Krissa said.

“Enough about omens!” Faydayo yelled at her. “This was done by intruders, not the spirits. Let's move out now.”

“This means something,” Krisssa told him, drifting her arm dramatically over at the butchered white ibex. Red smeared across its snowy coat.

Faydayo narrowed his eyes at her. “Fine. Stay with the dead.” Then he ordered everyone else to form up in their search groups.

“Oh, I don’t have a weapon,” Minty whined. “I can’t fight intruders.”

Faydayo shoved his spear into Minty’s hand, then he unsheathed his war club from his belt.

Minty looked even more uncomfortable now that she was armed. “I wasn’t prepared for this,” she said.

“We’re going,” Faydayo said. “If you’re too cowardly to follow, then you stay with the corpse too.”

Then Yuliko remembered something her chieftain father had taught her when she was still his heir apprentice. Enemies are always prodding for weaknesses. They will wait until you are vulnerable and then they shall strike, like a wild animal out of a bush. For there are many tribes that would like to steal Glass People land and resources, and even enslave their people. It was a leader’s job to be mindful of their vulnerabilities. “Faydayo, we shouldn’t act rashly. This was meant to upset us.”

Faydayo snorted at her. “Are you afraid too, Yuliko? Scared you might get stabbed again?”

She envisioned the green man’s black eyes staring down at her, crackling in her mind like lightning. “Yes,” Yuliko admitted. She was always scared of getting stabbed again. “And you should be too. We were meant to find this. They want us rattled.”

“We can’t let whoever did this get away,” Kardan said.

“Better that than one of us getting hurt,” Yuliko said. “We should all stay together.”

“Enough talking!” Faydayo cried “We’re going to catch the scumrats that did this, and we’re going now.”

Krissa flippantly got in formation. Minty too, nervously ringing the spear in her hands. Faydayo would lead the two of them and Pykor around the westward bend. And Zana would lead Yuliko and Kardan eastward. They trekked back down the cliff into the open flat area.

But before either group had gotten very far, a loud “WHOOP!” sound echoed across the yard. That was a tribal call, meant as a provocation. “WHOOP! WHOOP!” Their antagonizers emerged from behind the rocks going up the side of the volcano, about a hundred feet away. It was another group of young people, Glass People, they had handprint markings on their bodies as well. There were eight of them. They jumped up on the rocks, still shouting, “WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!” The loudest and closest one, a boy with a mohawk haircut, jeered at them, “Hey Ibex! Looks like you lost your horn!”

They were referencing the totem stolen by Yuliko’s green man. It was a beautifully carved ibex horn, from the head of a monster goat, engraved over generations by Ibex Clan craftsmen with images from the Great Maw’Goro’s birth story, banded with impeccably polished rings of obsidian and red jasper. Now it was likely gone forever.

“WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!”

Most of the whoopers had black handprints on them, though the mohawk boy had a red one over his belly. Dangling around his neck hung a torc made with two white tusks. The tips of the tusks were painted blue and jangled wildly as he danced obnoxiously on his rock.

“Razor Boars,” Faydayo and Kardan grunted at the same time.

The mutilation had not been an intruder or a sign from a spirit, but just a cruel jape by their rival clan. This was more than a joke though, this was a desecration of Maw’Goro’s sacred land and creatures. Only brutes could find such a thing funny. And only fools would risk the wrath of the great spirit.

The Razor Boar Clan was of the highest status, and this was their mo’huran. Yuliko realized that the boy must be Sarkola, the son of the high chieftain, Vogon. She had seen Sarkola at the last tribe gathering. He had won many games of wrestling and hoopball, but he had also been a sore loser when his clan had lost the team hoopball championship to the Ibex Clan. Winning the championship had helped secure the Ibex top status back then, but that was before Yuliko’s incident.

“Your clan is totem-less. How could you possibly be worthy in the eyes of Maw’Goro?” Sarkola yelled. “You should offer yourselves as tribute. Throw yourselves headlong into Maw’Goro’s heart and your clan may be cleansed of some of its shame.”

“You bring shame!” Faydayo shouted pointing towards the de-horned ibex. “You are sick dungballs! You’ll walk the Other World with weights on your limbs and ants on your face!”

Sarkola signaled to the whooping jokers and they pulled out their slings. He loaded a blue painted ball into the sling pouch. “In the Other World your ancestors are all lost without their totem! You bring shame to all the People of the Black Glass!”

Then they began walloping the Ibex mo’huran with bullets. Blue dots rained down from their position. They were downhill from the Razor Boars and spread out in the open, easy to assail with the slings. Faydayo was hit with a barrage. Pykor yelled out. Then, Kardan was walloped too. And soon all the rest of them yelped in pain as they sprinted for cover.

“WHOOP! WHOOP!” the Boars cried.

Yuliko was pelted in the shoulder, it almost knocked her down, but she managed to stumble to a hiding spot. Behind her Krissa yelled the loudest of all of them, she had been knocked down, and was rolling in pain. Faydayo was dashing back out to get her, taking more hits.

Yuliko took a moment to examine her own injury. A large red welt was forming on top of her shoulder. It hurt a great deal, but honestly, her shoulder blade should be broken from how hard she had been hit. Slings at this range were deadly weapons. Animals as big as hyenas can be taken down with a single crack to the skull with a stone. Yuliko peered around from her hiding spot and saw a stray bullet bouncing across the rocks. The Razor Boars were attacking with rubber bullets, pressed balls of sap from the rubber tree and painted blue.

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Kardan and Zana took cover alongside Yuliko. They also had welts. Faydayo was now carrying Krissa to the rocks where the rest of the Ibex had taken cover. Krissa’s face had been marked with a great big welt right in the center of her forehead.

With all of the Ibexes having taken cover, the whooping and the walloping came to a halt.

Faydayo laid down Krissa, then picked up one of the stray rubber bullets scattering the lava yard. He threw it on the ground angrily and the blue ball danced over the black rocktop erratically.

“Alright, Sarkola, enough!” Faydayo shouted. “You do all this as a prank? You think you’re funny?”

Sarkola started making his way down from their rocks, smiling widely, very pleased with himself. “It may be funny, but it’s no prank. It’s a warning.”

Sarkola’s goons followed behind him, all carrying their war clubs out. The Boar mo’huran poured into the flat grounds, rallied around their leader. Unlike the Ibexes, they wore moccasins on their feet.

Faydayo marched right up to Sarkola with his own war club in hand. “A warning about what?” he asked.

“To stay in your place, Ibex,” Sarkola answered. “The Razor Boars finally hold the highest status amongst the clans, our rightful place. This is to warn your mo’huran not to do anything foolish in the far lands. You can’t hope to reclaim your clan’s status with any tribute, so don’t go after something crazy.”

Faydayo inched closer to the Boar leader. “I’ll lead my mo’huran to whatever tribute Maw’Goro deserves,” he said.

Zana and Pykor stood behind Faydayo, also wielding the war clubs. Kardan joined as well, but he was only armed with a throwing stick. And Yuliko followed too, she carried no weapon.

Sarkola nodded to his colleagues and they tossed two stained red ibex horns at the feet of Faydayo. The symbol for ‘Thrall,’ a rope, had crudely been etched into one horn, and the skull symbol for ‘Death’ had been etched into the other.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Faydayo asked.

“Those are your choices,” Sarkola said. “When we return from our Great Journeys we shall be active members of our clans. My father is high chieftain, which means I shall be high chieftain someday. I want to establish the terms between our clans now. Either you can submit to Razor Boar supremacy, or your clan can die.”

His father, High Chieftain Vogon, ran his clan very differently than Chieftain Domylo. Vogon favored returning to the same few campsites as they migrated, planting seasonal crops in cleared areas of land. It produced more food, and the Razor Boars were the biggest clan, requiring more food. However, the practice of removing trees for planting was very controversial amongst the clans. Now that Vogon was the high chieftain he was pressuring the other clans to follow his way.

Faydayo grunted and shook his head. “You’re a foolish boy. Black Glass People don’t threaten each other so readily. And you're even more foolish if you think the Boars could defeat the Ibexes. You can’t even win at hoopball.”

Sarkola laughed “You’re the fool. You led your mo’huran right where I wanted.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Faydayo said, raising his club to strike.

Everyone gathered on the flats, tense, ready for action, but Yuliko rushed forward. “Stop! Wait! Don’t fight!”

The Ibex leader turned to look at her, hot in the face, still poised to attack.

“Faydayo was right that Glass People don’t threaten each other like this,” Yuliko said. “We are civilized people. Status is decided at the gatherings, we all know that.”

Sarkola looked her over, and then broke out into laughter once more, “Whoop! Whoop! What do we have here? The very girl we have to thank for raising our status. What was your name again, Totem-Loser?”

“Yuliko,” she said.

“Ah, yes, Yuliko. The one who was gored by an elk or something like that?” Sarkola said.

“Something like that,” she answered.

Yuliko noticed that not all of the Boar’s seemed eager to fight. Half of them were hanging in the back and didn’t seem to be having the fun that Sarkola was. One of them, a girl with a bowl cut, who carried a medicine bag, was looking at Krissa’s head injury with concern.

And Sarkola noticed that Yuliko also had a red handprint, which gave him another wry smile. “What’s this? Were you tasked to be Faydayo’s babysitter? Too inexperienced, is that right?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Faydayo yelled, getting up in Sarkola’s face.

“My red means nothing,” Yuliko said, then she lowered her head. “Faydayo is our mo’huran leader and he is worthy.”

“If you say so,” Sarkola said. He puffed up at Faydayo before moving past him to stand in front of Yuliko. “What about you, huh, girl? Are you worthy? If you were in my clan you wouldn’t even be allowed to Journey. I would have made you my thrall.”

“I guess it's a good thing for me that I’m not in your clan,” she said.

“Are you sure about that?” Sarkola said, grazing his hand down her arm. He had a prominent chin and cheekbones. His eyes were shallow and mischievous. “You might like being my thrall.”

Yuliko swatted away his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“He’s gonna make you a thrall once he’s in charge,” Sarkola said, nodding at Faydayo. “Except he won’t be nice to you like I would. I’d show you how thankful I am for raising my clan up, Yuliko.” He said her name with emphasis, to show he remembered.

Yuliko was struck by the truth of those words. It was no secret Faydayo resented her. The whole clan resented her. They’d all be happy to make her a thrall. It was only her father’s status as chieftain that had protected her from such a fate. Maybe she would be better off in another clan.

“She’s an Ibex,” Faydayo said. “And she’s done talking to you.” Then he tapped her arm. “Stand back, Yuliko.”

Yuliko lowered her head again to Faydayo as she stepped backward. “Can we please just agree to put away our weapons. We are all Black Glass People.” She made a show of setting down her own spear.

“I said you were done talking, Yuliko,” Faydayo said tersely.

She lowered her head further.

Faydayo stared at Sarkola harshly. Yuliko thought she could feel furious heat radiating off of Faydayo the same way she felt the heat of Maw'Goro on the soles of her feet.

“We came out here to collect obsidian cores. We have done that,” he said, and then he sheathed his war club back into his belt. “You’ve said what you had to say. We should both go our separate ways now.”

The amount of restraint shown by Faydayo just now surprised Yuliko. And relieved her. A fight with another clan before their Great Journeys would be a bad omen if there ever was one. She didn’t need to be a shaman to know that. And thankfully, Faydayo realized it too.

“Yeah, I’ve said what I had to say,” Sarkola replied. “But you haven’t made your choice.” He pointed to the two ibex horns. Thrall or Death.

Faydayo looked back at his mo’huran, pelted with welt marks, all visibly afraid and angry. Minty had begun treating the especially bad welt on Krissa with a healing clay. She may have a concussion. The fighters were ready for action. Kardan especially, who had moved next to Yuliko. They all knew the smart choice. This was a child’s game, with no bearing on the real standing of the clan. And besides, the Ibexes were already the lowest ranking clan. But picking up the thrall horn would make him look weak. It would be shameful. Both the Thrall and Death choices were meant to make him look weak and shamed. But one choice led to violence.

Her eyes hooked into Faydayo’s as looked over his crew. She pleaded with her gaze for him to put aside his pride, just for this instance. She thought she caught recognition in his golden-brown eyes.

Faydayo turned back to Sarkola. “I’ll answer you.” And he knelt between the two red painted horns. He raised both his hands, letting them hover ambiguous for a moment. Then, slowly reached down and grabbed the thrall horn.

Yuliko felt the tension in her body release. Most everyone else appeared relieved as well. The air felt palpably lighter. Kardan though, shook his head disagreeably.

Still knelt down, Faydayo said. “The Ibex swear service to the high chieftain. Not you.”

Sarkola scoffed. “Fine. Very good. I shall be the high chieftain someday though, and I’ll remember this vow. Rise and our mo’hurans may both be on our way.”

“There’s just one thing,” Faydayo said, clutching the ibex horn. “You shouldn’t have hurt the goat.” Faydayo swung the curved horn like a hook club at Sarkola’s ankles, tripping him. Then Faydayo sprung and pinned Sarkola to the ground.

Then the rest of Ibexes and Razor Boars attacked.