Dyed parchment lanterns had been strung up across the huts, lighting up the camp with red glowing orbs. Musicians played their pipes and banged away at their drums. Circles of dancers jittered erratically. Sizzling skewers of meat and vegetables cooked over grill pits. Around campfires they shared platters of juicy fruits and trays of sweet bread. Others served heaping bowls of chilis, maze, oats, and yams.

Yuliko found it all wonderful, and despite her immense desire to partake in the Great Journey, a part of her was now deeply saddened to be leaving her home behind. She sat round a campfire with her mother, Lion, Makala, Tati and others, eating her second bowl of maze with ucca-yacca. Yuliko wore her new headband proudly. She had noticed Gidiya spying at the lovely gift, but she quickly turned her nose up when Yuliko made eye contact with her.

Lion was in the middle of retelling the infamous story in which he got his name, with the whole campfire chuckling along. “And so there I was, chased up into one of those fat bloated savannah trees, naked, and carrying a basket of stolen melons. I swore that white lion was right there behind me the whole time. So then my new flathead friends come looking for me, and I’m up in the tree shouting ‘Lion! Lion!’ But would you believe it, you could see for a mile in every direction and that damned lion had disappeared!”

Everyone sitting around the campfire burst out laughing. Makala laughed the hardest of all, though surely she had heard this story dozens of times before.

“And by the time I was finally able to bring the watermelons to my mo’huran all the flatheads refused to call me anything but ‘Lion,’” he said. He finished up by patting Yuliko on the back. “You’re going to have a few good stories like that soon enough.”

Yuliko hoped that would be true. She hoped that her new stories would outshine the old one. That she would bring pride to her clan and no more shame.

She scanned across the campsite, in search of Eshika, she hadn’t had a chance to speak with the shaman at all since the nomination, and Yuliko had been keeping an eye out for her all night. So far the shaman had not made an appearance. Gidiya had mentioned Eshika got strange readings from Maw’Goro’s plume. Yuliko wondered if that had anything to do with the tremors.

Many of the other young women and men of her mo’huran were around other campfires with their blood families. Pykor played his bone pipe for a fire with his father and mother accompanying him on the drums and lyre. Zana laid flat on a bench with her buttocks exposed as she got a new tattoo, while all her siblings sat around her. One of her sisters was inking a spotted leopard’s tail onto her backside. And, Minty, normally so shy, threw off her meek demeanor to dance wildly around another fire.

Kardan was the youngest of five brothers, and around their campfire they were busy teasing him as much as they were congratulating him. Three of them were goading him into overdrinking soota, a sour goatmilk beer, which Kardan happily obliged. Then they all raucously began singing a rendition of Brun’s Ballad, punching Kardan in the arm as they went along. One space sat empty around their fire, their missing brother had died on his Great Journey, killed by a foreign tribe.

Faydayo sat beside his chieftain mentor, Domylo. A pavilion had been erected to house the chieftain’s throne, plumed with dark red tyrant bird feathers as long as a person’s arm. Domylo hosted Faydayo and his blood family on mats beneath the throne as his honored guests. Yuliko knew her father would be testing Faydayo’s accumulated knowledge of Black Glass law and custom. It gave her just a bit of pleasure to see a strained expression on the mo’huran leader’s face.

Yuliko wondered what her father would do about the Razor Boar’s slight against his clan. Knowing her father, the offense would not be challenged until the next gathering of the clans, where it would be aired as a formal grievance. That was the way of the Black Glass People, so as not to escalate conflicts unnecessarily. Though, a chieftain was within their right to respond in equal measure instead of making a grievance claim. When Yuliko had been the chieftain’s apprentice she had been taught that a wise leader does not antagonize just to get fair, but that provocation is done only to gain advantage.

The flatheads were another matter. She imagined that the high chieftain Vogon may send a runner to bring Lion to the Razor Boar camp as an interpreter for the flatheads, and that Domylo would want to go with him. It was rare to have migrants enter Glass People territory, especially of another thinking species. It was rare enough for even man kin tribes to pass through. The nearby tribes that traded with the Glass People, like the Quengu Tribe who dwelt upstream of the Hungry River, and the Swamp Walkers of the Mudmarsh Basin, they understood how to approach Glass People territory and appeal for permission to trade. But they knew that migrating and living off the Maw’Goro’s land would not be permitted.

Yuliko thought the flatheads must have come from very far away, and her father would want to know about the great fire that had chased them this way. The flatheads had come from the north. Yuliko tried to remember the people and places that way. Directly to the north beyond the rainforests were supposedly a valley with rolling fields of giant flowers. Some say the plants there will grab hold of people and strangle them in their stems. She couldn’t quite remember what came after that, but according to legend at the farthest end of the known world lay the White Wasteland where nothing survives. The legends say there was once an ancient and mighty tribe there, but they lived out of balance with their spirit, and now the land is cursed.

But surely the flatheads did not come from all the way out there. Unfortunately, Yuliko would be well on her way into her Great Journey before an answer could be coaxed out of the strange visitors.

Elsewhere at the feast, Krissa had finally awakened and sat with her head bandaged, staring up at the parchment lanterns. A hot plate with a mutton skewer and a helping of sweet yams lay in front of her, but she didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. One of the younger kids swiped the skewer off her plate and munched at it greedily. Yuliko decided she would go see how Krissa was doing, and perhaps see if she knew where Eshika might be.

She excused herself from the campfire and grabbed two cups of soota.

“Pleasant greetings, Krissa,” Yuliko said, standing over the shaman’s apprentice. “Are you feeling better?”

Kriss smiled lazily. “Oh, hi Yuliko. I am feeling well. Thank you.”

Yuliko held out a cup to her. “I brought you soota. Care for a drink with me.”

“If you wish,” Krissa said and she took the cup.

Yuliko knelt down next to her and sat on her ankles. “I’m glad you weren’t too hurt by those brutes,” she told her.

Krissa touched her head bandage. “Oh, yes, it was nothing. Maw’Goro would never allow any true harm to come to me.”

“Right.” Yuliko nodded, then sipped her soota. It was creamy and tangy. “So, I wanted to ask if you had seen Eshika tonight.”

“No, I haven’t seen her here at the feast,” Krissa said. “Though I did see her in Makala’s hut when I woke up.” She drank from her soota cup and made a sour face as she gulped. “I told her that I knew what the dead ibex meant. I told her that our mo’huran was special.”

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“Oh?” Yuliko said, perking up. “What did she say about that?”

“She said every mo’huran was special,” Krissa answered. She took another drink, almost gagging. “This is the strongest soota I’ve ever tasted.” Then she thrust the cup back towards Yuliko, who took it from her. Then Krissa spat on the ground between her and Yuliko. She smacked her lips, getting the last of the taste out of her mouth, then locked eyes with her visitor. “You’re not special either.”

“What?” Yuliko said, surprised.

“That’s what you wanted to see Eshika about, right? To ask why she marked you with the red hand. You want to ask her if you’re special. Well, I’ll save you the trouble, you’re not special.”

Yuliko was stunned. “Well, I’d like to ask Eshika about it myself,” she said.

“You’ve always wanted to be special. That’s why you made up the tale of the green man,” Krissa said.

“What? No,” Yuliko stammered, but Krissa continued.

“You’re not worthy to encounter the green men,” Krissa said.

Yuliko genuinely did not know what she meant by that. “I wish I never had encountered him,” she said. “That was the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Krissa kept her stare. She had rich brown eyes, like pappo bark. “If it happened,” she said.

Yuliko got to her feet, still holding both cups of soota. “I don’t need to explain what happened for the millionth time. And I don’t need to explain myself to you,” she said.

“You do if you are lower than me,” Krissa said.

Yuliko stood up abruptly. “Glad you’re feeling better,” she said insincerely, then spun around and walked off. She hadn’t done anything to upset her, and wasn’t going to be harassed even if she was the lowest status. She strode away, in no particular direction, with the two cups of soota in hand. She looked around for Eshika again. But there was still no sign of her.

She decided she wanted to walk around the outside of the feast for a while, and moved to a quiet area of the camp, without all the light cast from the lanterns and campfires, where banging of the drums was dulled somewhat. A growing nervousness fell upon her. She had spent so much time worrying that she might not be able to Journey, but now that she knew she was going and the time was at hand, she was overwhelmed by what it actually meant.

She had never been outside Black Glass territory. Her whole life had been lived under the shadow of Maw’Goro. She had frozen in fear when she saw the green man, and that had cost her everything. Would she freeze again out there in the far lands when her mo’huran was counting on her? Yuliko wanted to say she would never let fear take over her again. But she doubted herself.

She heard footsteps behind her. She turned around to see Kardan had followed her. He wobbled as he stood there grinning at her.

“Are those both for you?” he asked, pointing to the cups in each of her hands.

“Oh,” Yuliko said, having forgotten the soota. “I suppose I just need one. I was just talking to Krissa and she was being . . . . Here, take this,” She handed Kardan the extra cup, which he accepted happily, though he clearly did not need another drink.

“How kind of you,” he said, and gulped.

“You know we must wake early for the Pledge Rite,” Yuliko said.

Kardan waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine,” he said, swaying. “But I came over here to check on you.”

“I’m fine too,” she said. “I was just . . . looking for Eshika. Have you seen her tonight?”

Kardan shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Why do you need to find her?”

“I have a question. That’s all,” Yuliko said.

“About why she nominated you? I can answer that,” he said. Apparently everyone could tell her about that except Eshika herself. “She nominated you because you’re encountered something from the far lands, and you survived. And I think this Journey may require survivors.”

Yuliko sipped her soota. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” Kardan said. Then he drained his cup. “Hey. I want to show you something.”

“Sure. Show me what?” Yuliko said.

“Hold on,” Kardan said as he started digging around in his pockets. He showed her an obsidian shard he had been holding onto, about the size of a crab apple. “Lion says I’m not ready for it yet, but I’ve been practicing.”

“Ready yet for what?” she asked.

“Vibrational knapping,” Kardan replied casually.

That was the most advanced form of knapping that required great skill and magical prowess. Only knappers like Lion were capable of harnessing Maw’Goro’s power to craft items in such a manner. Vibrational knapping transfers the surging kinetic force of the great spirit into the obsidian to form the shape in the knapper’s mind. Channeling the force of Maw’Goro takes years upon years to learn, let alone to control without hurting oneself.

“Kardan, I don’t know if you should try anything right now,” Yuliko said. “You’ve been drinking soota like an aurochs drinks from a spring.

“Well, an aurochs has a big thirst,” he said. “Besides, a bit of a buzz is good for vibration channeling, I bet.” Kardan brought her over to a pappo tree stump between two huts, and he placed the obsidian shard in the center of the stump.

“Hey, are you sure this is a good idea,” Yuliko said. “I don’t want anything else bad to happen before we even leave camp.”

“Oh, relax,” Kardan said. “I’ve trained for this.”

He knelt next to the stump and stared at the obsidian. “I saved this piece for you. I saw what was inside of it. And I knew I wanted it for you.” Kardan closed both hands over the chunk of glass, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed, and steadily between breaths he would extend his hands outward.

Yuliko felt a stir, a subtle shift in air pressure, the air felt warmer. A static tingle crawled over her skin, making her shiver. The obsidian shard began to vibrate in place where it lay on the stump. Red began trickling down from Kardan’s nose. A drop of blood fell onto the pappo wood.

“Kardan, stop,” Yuliko said. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Kardan said, and he sniffled, but his nose still dripped.

“You don’t need to impress me,” Yuliko told him.

Karden ignored her, focused on the orb, breathing in deeply and exhaling forcefully crouched over the shard. He continued to widen the gap of his hands, like there was an ever expanding bubble forming over the stump. Kardan expanded the invisible bubble almost until his arms could stretch no further. The static buzz in the air intensified. “Hyah!” he shouted, then Kardan clamped down his hands back over the obsidian.

Yuliko heard the break of the glass. Not like knapping with a hammerstone. This was a shattering sound, more like lightning. Kardan pulled his hands away and turned up his palms. They were sticky with red, like his dripping nose. Dozens of obsidian fragments had burst outward and pierced his skin.

“Maw’Goro’s ashes!” Yuliko said. “You’re hurt. Why did you do that, Kardan?”

“Look,” he gestured with his bloody hand.

On the stump lay a nearly perfectly knapped heart-shaped obsidian token.

#

Yuliko and Kardan’s last night in the Ibex camp ended in Makala’s hut getting Kardan’s hands bandaged up. They were able to easily remove most of the glass, but Makala had to pull out some pieces with her wooden tweezers. She applied a poultice to his cuts and wrapped him up with cotton linens. Karden was well and drunk, and didn’t feel much pain, and fell asleep while the healer treated him.

When Yuliko explained what happened Makala was less worried about Kardan’s hands and moreso concerned about his bloody nose. She thought his brain might have been filling with blood and she worried she may have to drain him by boring a hole in the skull. Thankfully, Kardan’s nose had stopped bleeding by the time he fell asleep, and Makala decided that wasn’t necessary yet.

Yuliko turned the obsidian heart token over in her hand. Despite the bloody mess, the token Kardan had crafted was beautiful. It had a smooth finish impossible to achieve with normal knapping. And the obsidian had light red sheen that seemed to absorb firelight.

Before she went to bed that night, Yuliko carefully packed away Kardan’s heart with the rest of her belongings she would be taking into the far lands.