“I went travelling west on a Strider and I took an arrow, a Behemoth, a Charger, a Dreadwing, an egg, a FOCUS and…G…g…g…” Naltuk winced. “G…Jar!” He looked around at his companions astride their mounts, dismayed by their sniggers. “What?”
“That starts with J, not G.” Ikrie winked.
“Ugh! J and G…”
“How about something…” Ikrie pointed into the air.
“Clouds don’t start with G.”
“Glinthawks.”
“Oh…” Naltuk grimaced. “My head hurts…and I wasn’t wrong about the clouds.”
Kotallo looked up and frowned at the storm clouds that were coming across from the west. “We should find shelter.” He checked his map on his FOCUS. “There is an old bandit outpost not far from where we are. We’ll head there.”
“Afraid to travel in the snow?” Ikrie mocked lightly.
“That’s not snow,” Kotallo pointed, kicking his Strider into a faster pace, “that’s rain and we do not want to attempt to climb the mountains when they are slick and wet.”
“Rain?” Ikrie asked then let out a squeal as prewarning drops hit her skin. “Rain!”
They raced towards the settlement, reaching the outskirts as the downpour opened so that they were soaked through. The residents of Shattered Kiln were made up of displaced Oseram and Carja, some of whom gave them very suspicious looks but let them find a place to stay by the campfire, their mounts tethered nearby.
Kotallo looked at Ikrie who was muttering angrily about the rain.
“Banuk don’t have rain?” He asked dryly.
“We don’t have rain.” Ikrie responded and he blinked, surprised. “It snows in the cut. Doesn’t rain. Just snows. That wet stuff…thankfully most of my gear is dry because I was sitting on it. Where’s Naltuk?”
“Trading for food for us.”
“Good. Cause he goes a bit slack jawed whenever I change.” She ducked behind a partition to swap her clothes over for dry ones. Kotallo turned to Tunk who was silent as always.
“How are you finding the FOCUS?”
Tunk waved his hand then opened it up. Kotallo waited patiently, knowing that Gaia had been speaking to him to help understand his FOCUS better and even use it to talk. Tunk tapped in the air then looked at Kotallo expectantly.
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“Tunk…learning…words…new…head…sore…heart…full.”
Kotallo nodded and clapped him on the arm. “I understand.” He reassured him. “Take some time off it if your headache persists. You’ll adjust more quickly. Trust me.” He looked after his belongings, spreading out his travelling cloak so that it could drip dry. The supple leather, oiled cape had protected himself from most of the rain.
Ikrie reappeared, fully dressed again. She sighed, looking at her arms.
“The weather can be very warm where we’re going,” Kotallo said when he saw her expression, “and after experiencing the Cut, I can honestly say that at its coldest, it does not get that cold.”
“I never thought I’d miss the cold,” Ikrie admitted, sitting cross legged in front of the fire, “I hoped it would freeze my heart and keep the pain locked inside.”
“I don’t think the coldness of the weather has much to do with it.” Kotallo said then tilted his head. “However, the Cut could prove me wrong.”
“The Cut has proved many wrong…” Ikrie said sorrowfully.
“The cook’s specialty,” Naltuk announced, balancing four bowls in his arms, “roast rabbit stew with vegetables. Sir, your soup…”
“Thank you and there’s no need to ‘sir’ me.” Kotallo assured him.
“It’s a sign of respect for your position of teacher,” Naltuk insisted, “I would treat Aratak the same way.”
Ikrie rolled her eyes and took a bowl from him. “Weraks and their ways…”
“It’s how they’ve survived.”
“And how they’ve hurt.”
Tunk held up his hand and rapped his chest. Kotallo watched the silent former shaman as he eyed them both, Naltuk nodded and Ikrie sighing.
“You’re right, of course, Tunk.” Naltuk said, handing him a bowl.
“As always.”
Kotallo tried not to smile for fear of the Banuk misinterpreting it as mockery. In a way he was impressed with their acceptance of their maimed tribesman. Though Tunk couldn’t speak a word, he carried a quiet authority. It told Kotallo that, before the Carja punished him so cruelly for refusing to aid their blood bath at the Sun Ring, Tunk engendered a great deal of respect and trust that persisted even to this day.
As he thought about the Sun Ring, his brow furrowed.
“Your thoughts just became as dark as the weather.” Ikrie remarked.
“The way west,” Kotallo cleared his throat, “you ought to know…it takes us north of the Sun Ring.” Tunk continued to eat while Naltuk and Ikrie shared a look. “There is no reason for us to go anywhere near it…but I thought you should know.”
“Given how many Carja are in Shattered Kiln,” Naltuk swallowed, “I figured we had to be close.”
“Why would it make a difference how many are here?” Ikrie asked. “There are Carja everywhere in the Sundom.”
“Yes, but here…they’re remnants or refugees of the Shadow Carja,” Naltuk licked his lips, “the cult called the Eclipse that worshipped the darkness cast by the sun.”
“They’re the ones that wanted to resurrect…HADES?” Ikrie looked at Kotallo who nodded, confirming that she got the name right. “Should we keep watch tonight?”
“Mightn’t hurt,” Kotallo admitted, “seeing as Aloy was the one who stopped, what they believed to be, god from taking power and giving them back Meridian. If there had been anywhere else to camp, I would have done so but even amidst the camp of the enemy are innocents who do not deserve to be maligned for their association. These people could well be those. As it is, I do not feel so tired and will take first watch.”
“Yes sir.” Naltuk said and Ikrie nodded. The three Banuk finished their soup and hunkered down for the night. Kotallo sat with his back against a hut and gazed at his three followers. He smiled almost fondly at them, recalling his own journey that they were now embarking upon. And it had nothing to do with the distance travelled by foot but the expanding of their minds.
Though it would be overwhelming, he knew they would settle in, each at their own pace.
After all, Kotallo felt that if he could learn the ways of the old ones, anyone could.