Getting down from the Cut was far faster than climbing it. If they’d had to clamber down with handholds and footholds, it would have been dangerous and slow. Thankfully, Kotallo and his Banuk companions were all happily rappel proficient and they landed at the campfire on top of what was cheerily named, the Grave Hoard that was tangled up in the tendrils of a HORUS.
“What a cheery sight…” Naltuk shuddered, almost unrecognisable without his shaman headdress. He had taken it off when Aratak granted his request to volunteer and left it in his shelter in Song’s Edge. When Kotallo had asked if Aratak would appoint another shaman, he said that he felt that the time for shaman’s was coming to an end. Aratak himself vowed to be Cyan’s companion and in doing so, Kotallo suspected he would have volunteered to join Aloy had he not had the responsibilities of being chieftain of the werak on his broad shoulders. Doing what he would, would bring him as close as he could to volunteering.
“You have never left the Cut before?” Kotallo asked and Naltuk shook his head…and the Tenakth noticed that the other Banuk did the same. “None of you?”
“This is a first for us,” Ikrie admitted, gathering her belongings and tying them onto her back, “so we may seem a little…wide eyed…all except Tunk here.”
The stern Banuk who had volunteered had done so with a spear raised. He had been a shaman that refused to obey the Carja. Rather than kill him, they cut out his tongue and taunted him with the knowledge that he could never communicate again. Kotallo felt an affinity for the forever altered Banuk, understanding the despair of physical loss.
“From here we will head south, override mounts and head west.” Kotallo explained.
“Do our FOCUSES override mounts?” Ikrie asked.
“No, that is a separate device which I have.”
“Can you override any mount?” Naltuk asked.
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“Any mount of which we have the override code for.”
“Can we ride any machine that’s overridden?”
“No,” Kotallo cleared his throat, “not all machines can be ridden.”
“Shame…I’d love to see the world from atop a Thunderjaw.”
“I was thinking that too.”
Kotallo sighed, bracing himself. Their questions continued to pepper him down the step decline towards the snow covered valley. However, after the Cut, the chill in the air was quite pleasant by comparison. There was a herd of Chargers halfway down but Glinthawks patrolled the sky and screamed an alert the moment they were spotted. It was a fast dash across the stream, past a convoy of Shellwalkers and two indignant Watchers that bellowed after them. Thankfully the Banuk were not just excellent rappelers, but fast runners and the snow did not bother them in the slightest.
They had to travel by foot for over half a day before coming across Striders grazing. The Banuk had no problem in their stealth approach. Naltuk and Tunk had been shamans and understood machines better than almost anyone, though it was tied with mysticism rather than fact. And Ikrie had come from the Banuk Hunting Grounds where she ran her own trial alongside the original master. Using the device and having it linked to all their FOCUSES, when they were all close enough to a mount, the signal linked to the Striders and they stiffened, the code flooding their machine bodies until they lifted their heads, awaiting orders. There were only six in the original herd and only two hostile machines remained. Kotallo downed one and Naltuk the other. Then the Tenakth watched as the former shaman of the Banuk knelt, laid his hands on the machine corpse and spoke an apology to it.
“You think it requires your solace?” Kotallo asked, bemused over scornful.
“It was simply not chosen, nor was yours,” Naltuk said quietly, standing, “their lives are ended because we did not require them as mounts. I simply wished to apologise.”
Ikrie rolled her eyes. “Shamans are a bit soft in the head.”
“No,” Naltuk shook his head and looked at her, “we’re soft in the heart.”
In the end it was a good thing they had less than half a day on the backs of Striders because it only took a few hours before the Banuk’s backsides to become achingly sore.
“And I thought sitting on rock was bad…” Naltuk moaned, stumbling off his mount.
“I thought ice was bad.” Ikrie groaned.
Tunk pulled a face and glared at his mount.
Kotallo couldn’t help but laugh. “I promise, it will become easier…but it’ll hurt more tomorrow before it does.”
“We are Banuk!” Ikrie snorted. “We survive!”
“We prevail!” Naltuk chanted with her.
Tunk held up his hands in a defeated posture as if to say, ‘what else matters?’.