“I went travelling on a Strider into the Forbidden West and I took an apple, a Banuk, a Charger, a Dreadwing, an egg, a Fireclaw, a Glinthawk, a hammer, Ikrie, a jug, kindling, a Leaplasher, medicine, a net, an owl feather, a Plowhorn, a quail, a Ravager…”

“Or a Rockbreaker?”

“Rollerback.”

“Stop it…you’ll make me lose my train of thought.” Naltuk lamented. “Where was I up to? Ravager…Ravager…L, M, N, O, P, Q, R…S…S is next…So…ugh…what starts with S?”

Ikrie opened her mouth but before Kotallo could hush her, Tunk held his finger to his lips and she clamped hers shut and nodded. Naltuk tapped his teeth together, desperately thinking.

“Think upon the names of machines,” Kotallo urged, “they are the most common words across all our tribes.”

Naltuk nodded and frowned, thinking hard. “Oh…oh wait…Scrounger!” He looked at Kotallo who nodded.

“Now spell it.”

“I hate spelling it…” Naltuk lamented. “Right,” he activated his FOCUS and said the word ‘Scrounger’ and proceeded to identify the letters in it. After a couple of stumbles he made it to the end. He visibly relaxed and looked at Tunk. “Your turn…and I can’t tell you how relieved I am to say that!”

“You did really well,” Ikrie urged, “better than all the other times.”

Naltuk beamed at her praise. “Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered by her good opinion. “Uh…do we need to gather supplies?”

“Chainscrape is just ahead,” Kotallo pointed to a plume of smoke and an increasing smell that could only be sulphur, solder and forge fire, blended together, “it’s an Oseram settlement.”

“Okay, are you ready, Tunk?” The mute Banuk nodded then used his FOCUS to join in the game.

Kotallo just listened, having bowed out of the game long ago. He was amazed at the ability Naltuk and Ikrie had of picking up the language. And Tunk, while older, was adapting even faster to using the FOCUS, able to articulate his thoughts like he hadn’t been able to in years. If anything, his ability to learn was not just based in eagerness…but out of relief and necessity. The game they had been playing, trying to familiarise themselves with the alphabet so they could better read the glyphs and understand the knowledge they were being presented with, had become a daily habit. Once they began reaching the end, Kotallo challenged them to not only come up with a word for their letter, but to spell it.

It had filled in the long hours crossing the mountains, their Striders wading through knee high snow. At one point a terrible storm struck and they used the Striders to stand in a wall formation, constructing a tent over the top to protect themselves. When the storm had passed, the Striders were ruined beyond repair, their machine fluid rupturing and freezing. They had to continue on foot, clambering down to a ridgeline that brought them to the Oseram’s lift. Kotallo watched Ikrie, Naltuk and Tunk’s awe as they stood on the platform that descended from the top of the mountains to the valley floor with the simple turning of a wheel by the stout Oseram who manned it.

Having become used to riding, the Banuk had spied a mount herd but Kotallo pointed out that by the time they had overridden mounts, they would have made Chainscrape.

“While we could make Barren Light by nightfall, it is a Carja fortress and might be unpleasant for you to stop in.” Kotallo explained as they came upon the Oseram settlement where the sound of hammers on metal never ceased.

“More unpleasant than that scrape we stayed in on the other side of the mountains?” Ikrie snorted.

“The one full of Shadow Carja refugees?” Naltuk added.

“Exactly, refugees,” Kotallo eyed them, “Barren Light is the fortress that allowed the Carja to invade the West and slaughter hundreds of Tenakth and Utaru.”

“We’ll stay at Chainscrape.” Ikrie decided.

“But will they let us in?” Naltuk looked around at their party. “A Tenakth and three Banuk?”

“The leader of Chainscrape is a friend of Aloy’s.”

They crossed a bridge over the river that threaded its way through the Daunt, the valley protected by walls made from mountains and the fortress of Barren Light at its mouth. The weather was perfectly clement and welcoming. Ikrie had shed her outer layers once more and even Naltuk and Tunk had forgone their heavy travelling gear, their skin soaking up the sunshine.

Leaves skittered across their path, orange and yellow, purples and reds and bright green and yellow water plants bobbed in the flow of the water, their roots tethering them to the stony riverbed. The land of the was lush and fertile, a nook of plenty surrounded by jagged, frozen mountains and the desert of No Man’s Land.

“I had no idea the world could be so wonderful.” Ikrie said softly. “Imagine…living my whole life in the Cut and never seeing any of this…”

“It really is beautiful…”

Kotallo didn’t look at Naltuk but he suspected he was gazing at Ikrie when he spoke. The young shaman had developed a serious crush on the freckled warrior of the North. Kotallo wondered if Naltuk would ever realise that Ikrie was suffering a broken heart, not just of brokenness within her werak but with a young woman who might have been more than just her childhood friend.

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He shook his head, removing the responsibility of meddling in relationships from his mind.

He was hardly qualified to comment on such matters.

At the gate their names were inquired but almost immediately Kotallo heard Petra’s voice.

“Let them in! Kotallo! Good to see you!” Petra, an Oseram woman of formidable experience and a rather too plunging neckline for someone who liked to lean over, waved them forward. “I had a message from that Gaia person that you were coming down in the lift. Good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Kotallo introduced the Banuk.

“Come into the mess. You look like you could do with a good feed and we’ve got an excellent cook.” Petra led the way into the largest building Chainscrape. Unsurprisingly it was both the mess and the tavern, smelling of ale and spices. The Oseram gave Kotallo and his crew odd looks but Petra’s glare put them all back in their place. “Milduf! Four of your finest for Aloy’s friends.”

“Aloy’s friends?” The cook looked up, ruddy complexion and a hearty smile. “Of course, at once!”

They sat at a table and at Petra’s gesture, ale was provided at once. Kotallo tried not to smirk as Ikrie and Naltuk coughed at the first mouthful. Tunk seemed to hold his liquor better.

“You can always tell the ones who haven’t drunk good ale before.” Petra snorted.

“You and I have very different ideas of what ‘good’ is.” Ikrie challenged.

“I’ve heard how Banuk drink machine fluid,” Petra rapped the table, “this is all you’re getting from an Oseram.”

Milduf hurried over with four bowls of stew. After travelling rations and frozen bellies, Kotallo felt no compunction about falling upon his food heartily and saw that the others did the same. Petra waited, drinking her ale, recognising that their hunger came first. Kotallo lifted his head and wiped his mouth clean.

“How are you handling the FOCUS?” He asked, gesturing to the side of her head where the metal triangle gleamed.

“I gotta tell ya, it gives me the worst headaches,” Petra confided, “and as for all those glyphs…not interested in learning them.” She sighed. “But…getting messages from across the land…” She made an awestruck sound. “That’s quite the advantage. Not sure if I’ll get any of the lug nuts here to join the cause…they’re blunt instruments, not big learners…but if Aloy needs grunt or muscle…I’ll have them on the front lines.”

“Thank you,” Kotallo nodded, “on that subject, did Erend come through with Zo?”

“They did indeed, only two days ago,” Petra rapped on the table and more ale appeared, replacing hers and Kotallo’s empty steins, “along with a couple of Nora of all things and a Carja.”

Kotallo frowned. “Just the one? Talanah?”

“Nah, not that rather fine specimen of a woman,” Petra was almost drooling, “a young lad with eyes too big for his face and skin that was peeling from too much sun exposure. I reckon he’s been hiding under a rock.”

“Two days…they’ll be at the base by now or close to it.”

“Probably. You need somewhere to stay tonight or will you be pushing on to Barren Light?”

“We’ll stay here if you’ve a tent free.”

“I’ll always make room for Aloy’s friends,” Petra winked, standing up, “if I’d happily have her in my bed, I can’t refuse any of you.”

Nultuk’s eyes were wide and Ikrie’s face blushed. Kotallo just stared at Petra, unflinching.

“Our own, empty tent, will be just fine.” He said with a slight warning in his tone.

Petra gave him a cheeky smile and nodded before striding away.

Naltuk trembled. “I…I can’t believe she just said that…”

“That she has designs on Aloy?” Ikrie snorted. “She’s a strong, confident, beautiful woman…”

“But Petra is a woman,” Naltuk looked around at them, “isn’t she?”

“So?” Ikrie demanded.

“So?” Naltuk exclaimed softly. “It’s…unnatural!”

Ikrie glared at him and Kotallo sense an implosion was about to occur in the group.

“What’s unnatural is denying your feelings!”

“Who said anything about denying them?”

“You did, by saying it’s unnatural!”

“Keep your voices down…” Kotallo urged, seeing some odd looks from the Oseram. Thankfully, in the peaked ceiling, thick with drinking atmosphere, most were too drunk or distracted to take much notice.

“It’s unnatural because it’s not the way we were designed!”

“You’re such a shaman!” Ikrie snarled. “Always telling us ‘How to behave’ and ‘what to believe’…”

Naltuk stared at her, pain across his features. “I…I’ve never told you that.”

“It’s all shaman ever do, thinking they know best…driving wedges between people because of standards you can’t even live up to…” Ikrie stood up. “I’ve had enough of being told who and what I should be.” Her fists were shaking and her pale eyes were glassy but he suspected they weren’t angry tears but bitter sorrow, seeping out from where she had locked it away. She grabbed her swag and hoisted it over her shoulder. “I’ll find my own place tonight.”

Naltuk stood as she left, his dark brown youthful face stunned, his eyebrows peaked.

“I…I didn’t mean…” He looked at Kotallo. “I only meant that the way it was said…I mean, if I said anything remotely like that…”

“Sit down,” Kotallo pushed on his shoulder and Naltuk slumped in his chair, “and let her grieve.”

“Grieve?”

Tunk nodded, confirming Kotallo’s suspicions.

“Ikrie…heart…hurt…bleed…blinded…grief…”

“Oh…” Naltuk swallowed. “I guess I see…I wished I’d seen…I’ve made such a mess…”

Kotallo watched as he put his head in his hands. “Do shamans not marry?”

“No.”

Kotallo raised an eyebrow. “I suppose, for a very young lad who lacks confidence with those he finds attractive, being a shaman is an easy way out?”

“Nothing about being a shaman is easy.” Naltuk argued lightly and Tunk agreed. “I’m not unaware, though…of men and men and women and women…but it’s rare with the Banuk,” he looked at Tunk who nodded at him, “because…they don’t produce children. And a tribe without children…”

“Each…one…make…choice…authority…responsibility…”

Naltuk gazed at Tunk. “We both made the choice to follow our hearts…” Kotallo’s own heart twisted inside his chest as Naltuk sighed and stood up. “I should apologise…but I don’t think she’ll talk to me.” Tunk tapped his lips and shook his head. Naltuk smiled. “Of course…she need say nothing. It’s up to me to apologise for wounding her…regardless of whether I agree or not.” He gulped some more ale and swallowed it down hard. “I’ll find where we’re camped after.”

“How will you know where we are?” Kotallo asked.

“I’ll ‘see’ you.” Naltuk tapped his FOCUS and smiled before leaving.

Kotallo felt the young man’s pain. It mirrored his own. For a time he had forgotten…or perhaps he’d been too busy or cold to pay it any attention, much like Ikrie had done, shoving it into a corner and turning his back on it. But in the blink of an eye, it had returned…and yet, if Kotallo was honest, it wasn’t with the same voracity as before.

Perhaps…perhaps he was finally healing…

Instinctively he pressed his hand against the place on his chest where the image of Aloy was inked, hidden beneath his chest plate. He caught sight of Tunk looking at him, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Heartburn…” Kotallo said then winced at the unintentional way his words had uncovered the state of his heart. “I mean…too spicy for me…perhaps…”

Tunk raised his eyebrows, telling Kotallo he wasn’t fooled in the slightest. But rather than press the issue, he raised his stein to his lips and drank deeply and said not a word.