The air sharpened and there was frost on his sleeping sack in the morning. Kotallo shook it off and rolled his sack up, crushing it into his swag. He tightened his winter cloak around his shoulders and it hung down his back, keeping the chill away. He felt the touch of tags around his neck. Unlike most other Tenakth, he didn’t just wear his two identifying tags. Instead the string around his neck held the tags of all the deceased members of the original Orphan Squad.

There was no one else to wear them

He was the only one left.

“Sir, food.” He accepted the bowl of gruel and hunkered down at the campfire to eat. As he did so his back ached. The wounds the arrows had left liked to ache when it was cold. Kotallo suspected they would ache for the rest of his life.

“You either need to relieve yourself or you have a question, Ekto.” He remarked without looking up.

“Sorry sir…I was just wondering…what Chief Hekarro will say when you don’t return to the Grove.”

“I was never of the Grove. I was of the Sky Clan, like all of you.” Kotallo said quietly, wiping his bowl clean and handing it back to the cook of their small party.

“Yes but sir…”

“Ekto,” Kotallo sighed, standing up, “those that return to Memorial Grove will receive accolades, praise and inking according to their deeds at Barren Light.”

Ekto looked at the remains of Ram Squad and the other two Sky Clan soldiers that walked with them.

“You of all people, of all the Tenakth, deserve such an honour.”

Kotallo gazed at him, not angry but oozing a terrible, bone aching sadness.

“Praise and commendations will not change what I did…or what I lost.” He slung his swag onto his back. “We can make Stone Crest by nightfall if we do not delay.”

“Yes sir.”

The rest of the Sky Clan soldiers walked together, talking and laughing as they crossed the land south of Salt Bite, heading for the Sheerside Mountains. Winter had set in and even the lowlands suffered coldness. For Kotallo, nothing tasted more like home than catching snowflakes on his tongue and feeling them brush his cheeks.

He closed his eyes and Jayko’s smiling expression filled his gaze as he fell from the cliff.

Kotallo should have realised that Jayko never intended on coming back from Barren Light.

He had fulfilled his promise. He did not let Kotallo fall or fail.

The assault on Barren Light had been an unparalleled success, even compared to that of the Battle of the Burning Blooms. Not only was it a cakewalk, it had done what the Carja had mocked them with saying it was impossible. The Carja had been driven from the fortress, from the Oseram scape of a settlement further east and even the transport lift that worked on a pulley system had been torn down. The Tenakth had not restrained their rage at the living, tearing Barren Light apart in their fury.

The wooden gates had been burned and the metal gate that Kotallo had kept from falling had been removed. The towers were torn down, the wooden beams and scaffolding had been burned and the Carja…

…the ground had been sticky with their blood.

Undoubtedly Kotallo had added his own drops to the mix.

When the Tenakth had poured into Barren Light, they drove back the frantic Carja soldiers. When their presence in the fortress could not be denied, Kotallo had felt the weight of the gate taken from his shoulders. He had fallen and was dragged to the side. A healer had dressed his wounds and left him to lie in a protected space while the Tenakth chased down the Carja. Kotallo had opened his eyes and watched blearily as a lone Utaru walked through the fortress, blurred by the smoke and haze, her eyes hollow and haunted. She felt his gaze at turned to him, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Kotallo knew exactly how she felt.

In the aftermath of the battle, Kotallo could not muster a single cry of victory or exclamation of triumph.

He felt hollow.

After Arakko’s death he had been motivated by responsibility and obligation.

After Alaika’s death, he’d been fuelled by rage.

After Jayko’s death…Kotallo had given up feeling.

He had tried to recover his friend’s body but his wounds had prevented him from doing so. Kivva of Ram Squad had delivered his tags to him, her eyes conveying what Kotallo already knew to be true.

“You didn’t need to see him like that, to remember him that way.” She whispered, pressing the tags into his hand.

The moment Kotallo was well enough, he’d left the Daunt, Barren Light, No Man’s Land…

He’d gone on his own, ignoring the cries of the healer who claimed he was not fit for travel.

Kotallo couldn’t stand to be there any longer.

He was not needed.

The Daunt had been cleared of Carja within days.

All that had been left to do was tear down their monuments to the superiority and celebrate their victory.

Kotallo just wanted to go home.

The healer must have squealed to the other Sky Clan soldiers and they had caught up with him as he skirted the far west of the Utaru’s borders at the base of the foothills, heading for a gap in the mountains that would take him across the top of Desert Clan territory.

He actively avoided Tenakth settlements.

Only when they reached Sky Clan territory did Kotallo allowed himself to be goaded into staying the night at Sheerside Climb for the soldiers posted there begged to hear about the end of the war with the Carja.

To Kotallo’s surprise, they already knew of the victory of the Tenakth. After Barren Light had fallen, Hekarro had sent runners to all the corners of the three clan’s territory with the news and praise for the tribal soldiers.

He was obligated to tell them what happened and left his accomplishments out…only to have the other soldiers extol what he had done and tell the tales over and over again.

“A dozen arrows struck him from behind and yet he held the gate aloft!”

“It was three arrows, Ekto.” Kotallo admonished but even that seemed to dazzle the soldiers at Sheerside Climb.

In the morning they bestowed food and gifts on him and farewelled their party as they climbed the snow covered paths to Stone Crest where, to Kotallo’s lament, he was waylaid again from getting home. The leader of Stone Crest put on a grand feast for them and gave up his lodge for Kotallo to sleep in. Kotallo suspected he would have been happy had he bedded his eager daughter but Kotallo had gone to bed alone and gratefully so.

He lay on the bed, listening to Ekto and Kivva tell the tale over and over again of the climb, of his prowess in battle and his feat of holding the gate up while Tenakth took Barren Light from the Carja. In the darkness he clutched at the tags around his neck.

“What could I possibly do now?” He whispered. “What kind of life could I live?”

He closed his eyes and tried to remember a time when he was at peace.

To his surprise, the memory of the days he’d spent in the Utaru healer’s hut at Stone’s Echo returned to him. It had hardly been peaceful but he recalled the taste of the food, the way they tilled the soil…the stories of how veteran Tenakth trained the Utaru…and he began to hope.

“Perhaps Tekotteh will grant me a boon…could I ask for such a thing?” Kotallo mused. “If…if he offers…I will request it.”

With that hope in his heart he set out from Stone Crest in the morning with two squads who were due to return to the Bulwark, to be replaced by fresh soldiers.

The valley had not changed. Kotallo’s skin was nipped by the frosty air and oh how it brought back memories and of a childhood that had been innocent and full of hope.

When the Bulwark came into view, he was surprised that though it was still as impressively large as ever, it seemed…less somehow to him.

“Sir, would you like to do the honours?” Kivva held out the horn made from a Longleg throat. Kotallo took it and put it to his lips, taking a deep breath and blowing long and hard.

“Who goes there?” A sentry called out but before Kotallo could reply he stammered and exclaimed. “Kotallo! Holder of the gates at Barren Light and slaughterer of the Carja! One moment sir!”

The lift descended and they climbed in, crowded into the small space. The lift rose and Kotallo watched the land grow smaller, the detail diminishing until it was a blur.

“Strange that you can see further yet see less from here.” He murmured.

As he stepped off the lift, the sentries saluted him sharply. Kotallo walked forward then paused and turned back to the lift. The other soldiers waited.

“Are you not coming?” He asked.

“Sir, this is your honour. We want you to have it.” Ekto insisted.

Kotallo sighed and strode into the heart of the Bulwark to the sound of applause, cries of praise and shouts of victory. His hands were grasped and shook, his swag removed from his shoulders by eager hands and he was saluted constantly. Kotallo was overwhelmed and highly uncomfortable when Tekotteh descended from the Commander’s Lodge.

His bearing was as strong as ever and he commanded attention…yet Kotallo’s focused fractured when he saw Gerrah standing to the side, her face happy and sad at the same time.

Kotallo turned from Tekotteh’s welcome and walked to Gerrah.

“Chaplain…” He whispered. “I…”

“Kotallo…” He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing in and out shakily. “You’d better pull it together. You have a hero’s welcome to endure.”

He let out a sad chuckle and nodded, turning his attention back to Tekotteh.

“Little ‘Tallo!” He cried, his arms outstretched. “The Bulwark welcomes back its favourite son.” Kotallo cringed, thinking of all the times he had been mocked. He’d hardly been anyone’s favourite. “You have returned to us!”

“Not all who left have returned.” Kotallo confessed.

“Of course, of course,” Tekotteh shook his head, “but they gave their lives to end the Carja…and bring you home. Come…”

“Sir?” Kotallo felt his arm go around his shoulders.

“You must feast with me tonight and of course you must stay in my lodge and become one of my bodyguards, sworn to my protection.”

“Commander,” Kotallo stepped back, recoiling from such an honour, “I…thank you for your offer…but my old bed in the male lodge is more than enough for me.” Tekotteh stared at him in astonishment. Kotallo faltered. “After more than two years of sleeping on the ground…a soft bed would be the end of me.” He joked weakly.

“You…you will join us for the feast…it is in your honour.”

“As long as it honours all of the Sky Clan soldiers, both living and deceased.” Kotallo insisted.

“Naturally.”

Kotallo nodded and went to the lodge. He knew he would have to endure feasts and celebrations. He hoped the other Sky Clan soldiers who had returned with him would do the talking and story telling.

“Perhaps one day, the tales of their sacrifice won’t make the stories more bitter than they are sweet.” He muttered.

He couldn’t begrudge their celebrations. To have ended the Carja threat in the west and to have done so because of the Sky Clan’s March of the Ten proving, the Bulwark deserved to echo joyful proclamations for days upon days. Ale flowed, meat was cooked on spits and they seemed determined to live in a perpetual state of victory.

Tekotteh invited him to his lodge every night and Kotallo attended, eating and drinking what filled his belly and quenched his thirst but no more. Olenka was always at the feasting table and he felt her blue eyes on him more than once. He didn’t encourage it though she was as beautiful as ever. If any of the soldiers begged for a recount of the deed he had performed, Kotallo gave them it in a perfunctory manner and was astonished that, despite his blunt honesty of any of the facts, the stories spread and grew until he was sure he was more myth than truth.

Kotallo found the accolades and praise made him feel claustrophobic. He seemed to be continually flanked by eager young soldiers, older squad leaders and even Tekotteh’s bodyguards snuck away from their posts just to shake his hand and thank him.

His favourite reaction, however, was that of the children.

Having been not much more than a child when he left the Bulwark, Kotallo had never been particularly fond of children. He had hoped for one or two some day but that was only when Olenka had been part of his fantasies. However, he found as he sat by the fire, sharpening his blade, that children, some not even old enough to be allowed in the Pit, watched him with wide eyes and crept ever closer and closer.

Kotallo liked looking up suddenly, causing them to scatter. After a while, they realised he was playing with them and some of them pretended to shoot him with arrows as he walked past their poorly concealed ambush. He clutched at his chest and collapsed to the ground, waiting until they edged closer, calling his name softly before he roared loudly, scrambling to his feet, catching the nearest child and swinging them around before setting them on unsteady feet. Their antics never failed to cause mothers to laugh, fathers to chuckle and the children to adore him all the more.

Kotallo brushed a child free of light snow and patted them on their backside to go toddling back to their mother when he felt Gerrah’s touch on his arm.

“The mothers of all those children would happily accept an offer of bonding should you make one.” Kotallo looked up at alarm to see several coy looks from women, some of whom looked familiar.

“Uh…would they not already be bonded?”

“Don’t you recall the foolish game when you were just marked as a solider of the young adults having sex at various machine sites?” Kotallo blanched, remembering it with painful clarity. “There were a number of mothers who remain unbonded out of that idiotic competition.”

Kotallo swallowed. “I swear, none of them are mine.”

Gerrah smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. “I never said any were although I do recall that you were infatuated with a certain young woman at the heart of the matter.” She laughed at his stricken expression. “Perhaps one day, you will make a much better choice in your bond mate and now that the Carja are gone, you could raise a family in safety.”

Kotallo recalled the healer’s words and the damage to his person. “I…I am not sure that will ever be for me.” He said quietly.

“Just because one foolish woman couldn’t see your value, don’t cut love out of your life altogether, Kotallo.” Gerrah warned him kindly. “You might be a legend among the Sky Clan and even the Tenakth…but you’re not an all knowing Chaplain.” He laughed softly then caught sight of her expression. “What is it?”

“One of the sentries at the lift just ran up to the Commander’s Lodge.” She mused.

“Probably a patrol returning…” Kotallo shrugged then paused. “Why would they need Tekotteh’s permission to use the lift?”

“Would you see who it is?”

Kotallo nodded and walked to the lift where a sentry held fast to the wheel that would lower it.

“Sir!” He snapped a salute.

“At ease,” Kotallo peered down, “who requests entrance to the Bulwark?”

The sentry’s face twitched. “Marshal Fashav.”

“Did he give the code?”

“Yes sir but…”

“Then let down the lift. At once, soldier!” Kotallo ordered and the sentry, after a brief hesitation, released the lock and turned the wheel. Once it was down for ten seconds, he began to turn it to raise it back up. Kotallo waited at the top, hand on his weapon just in case the arrival was not the Marshal.

However, there was no mistaking the former Carja’s face or his unique circular inking.

“Kotallo, thank goodness,” Fashav greeted him with an outstretched hand which Kotallo grasped, “I was dreading having to climb the Bulwark again.”

“You climbed the Bulwark?” Kotallo shook his head. “Was the lift broken?”

“That’s what we were told.”’ Marshal Fashav chuckled. “I am pleased to see you, Kotallo. I heard you were injured badly at Barren Light.”

“I have recovered, for the most part.” Kotallo led Fashav and his two bodyguards from the life and into the Bulwark where there were many stared from the Sky Clan. “I’ll take you to Tekotteh.”

“I should, of course, make myself known to the Commander.” Fashav nodded and fell into step with Kotallo. “I feel I owe you an apology, Kotallo. My information on Barren Light’s gate did not include the metal barrier which you had to lift on your shoulders. Either I didn’t notice it or it was installed by the Oseram after my capture.”

“It was your insight that allowed us to take Barren Light.” Kotallo insisted. “You helped end the war with the Carja.”

“I just wish I could have done so sooner.” Fashav admitted. “However, I think any attempt would have failed if not for you and your squad.” Kotallo didn’t want to defy or accept the praise so they walked in silence. “You surprised everyone, even Hekarro, when you did not return to Memorial Grove with the rest of the war party.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Is that why you are here?” Kotallo turned to Fashav outside of Tekotteh’s chambers where the bodyguards were scrambling to inform the Commander of the Marshal’s impending visit. “To discipline me?”

“Kotallo, if I have given you that impression, then I am deeply sorry.” Fashav put his hand on his chest and bowed his head. “I…I think we all understood why you could not stomach praise for what you did.”

“Not just I,” Kotallo sighed, “no one seems to tell of how Fareak fell or of Jayko…” His voice caught in his throat and he swallowed it down.

“All who perished will be remembered.” Fashav replied firmly then looked up. “Ah, it looks as though Tekotteh is ready to receive us.”

“You want me to come in with you?”

“Please.” Fashav held out his hand and they entered the lodge together.

Tekotteh was reclined on his throne as Fashav and his two Lowland bodyguards stood before him. Kotallo made sure to stand off to the side. He spied Olenka leaning against the wall and cursed his ability to find her whenever she was in the same room as he. He didn’t want to look for her.

“Marshal Fashav,” Tekotteh remarked, “you seem…well rested.”

“Yes, your lift is a much more convenient means of scaling the Bulwark.” Fashav said brightly.

Kotallo wondered at Tekotteh’s stiff jaw and unamused expression.

“And who gave you permission to enter? I’ve only just spoken with the sentry.”

“I did, Commander,” Kotallo wondered if Tekotteh was angry that his security had been circumvented and did not want the sentry to get into trouble, “I recognised Marshal Fashav and ordered the lift for him. He is here on Chief Hekarro’s word, after all and I would not want to dishonour the chief by dishonouring his Marshal with tardiness.”

Everyone in the room nodded in approval while Tekotteh only look grimmer.

“Well, that’s that then.” He cleared his throat. “What have you come to say then, Marshal?”

“As you are already aware, in the taking of Barren Light, Marshal Fareak, formerly of the Sky Clan was killed and Marshal Cato formerly of the Lowland Clan was maimed in a way that prevents him from performing his duties. As such, Chief Hekarro has called for a Kulrut to take place and requests that you send warriors to answer the call.”

Tekotteh leaned forward. “Hekarro still has a Desert Clan Marshal and a Carja at his beck and call,” he gestured to Fashav, “can you not exact the Chief’s will amongst the tribes?”

“It is Chief Hekarro’s wish that all the clans are represented at all times in those worthy to be called Marshal.” Fashav explained. “With the death of Fareak and the maiming of Cato, the Sky Clan and the Lowland Clan are not represented. The Kulrut will take place in seven days.”

Tekotteh sighed. “If Hekarro wishes to deprive the clans of their best warriors to serve his will alone, then so be it.”

Kotallo frowned at this. He didn’t think much of Tekotteh’s tone. In fact, ever since returning to the Bulwark, Kotallo had found himself recoiling from his old friend and rescuer’s presence. He couldn’t put his finger on it but he was repelled. Kotallo guessed it was something to do with burn out from being on the front lines constantly and he supposed that being a Commander of a clan was a large responsibility that would change a man.

“A runner would have sufficed to bring us news of the Kulrut. There was no need for you to come all the way here.” Tekotteh added.

“I come bearing a gift.” Fashav announced, turning to one of his bodyguards, adorned with Lowland Clan feathers. A leather parcel was placed into his hands. “Marshal Fareak was the master of the silent strike and as such, named this magnificent weapon,” he unwrapped the leather, exposing the perfectly polished curved blade to the glow of torchlight, “Silent Kill. As you know, Fareak fell in battle and as he was formerly of the Sky Clan, it was deemed appropriate that it be placed into the hands of his clan’s greatest warrior.”

“Oh, well…in that case…” Tekotteh went to get up.

Fashav turned from him to where Kotallo stood, walked towards him and held the parcel out, the blade glinting against the treated hide.

“Me?” Kotallo asked, astonished.

“Yes, you.”

“The clan’s greatest warrior?” Kotallo half choked on his words.

“You are known as the Sky Clan’s champion.” One of the bodyguards insisted.

“But I…”

“Kotallo,” Fashav said quietly but firmly, “Fareak often spoke proudly of the warrior you had become and of the suffering you endured without complaint. I know it would give him great pleasure for you to wield this weapon.”

Kotallo swallowed. How could he say no to that?

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, the leather straps giving him something textured to hold onto and the curve of the blade catching the light like no other weapon had ever done so before.

“I will try to act in a manner that will bring this blade and its former master glory.” Kotallo said solemnly. “Please, tell Chief Hekarro I am deeply honoured by his gift.”

“The presentation of Marshal Fareak’s blade to you was collectively agreed to by the leaders of squads and clan Commanders who were at Barren Light.” Fashav said pointedly. “This,” he held out his hand and the other bodyguard stepped forward with another leather parcel, this one as long as the length of Kotallo’s forearm and rolled firmly, tied with straps, “is the gift to you from Hekarro, commissioned by his personal inker.”

Fashav indicated for Kotallo to come into the centre of the lodge where the light was the strongest and unrolled the leather. On it was a piece of ink-work that was like no other. There were two rectangular shapes with curved tops ending at centre peaks on either side of a gap where lines of a metal gate were depicted and underneath was the marking of a man, partially kneeling, the gate upon his shoulders while his hands pushed it up.

Adding detail to the doors that had been thrown open were four shafts of light through them, striking the man in the back.

Kotallo was speechless. “That’s…” He breathed.

“You throwing the doors open at Barren Light and holding the gate up for the Tenakth to charge through.” Fashav nodded, the lodge thick with atmosphere of awe. “The four shafts of light represent the four wounds you suffered in that fight.”

Kotallo sighed. “All credit due to your inker but there were just three arrows, not four. I cannot bear an inking that is not accurate.”

Fashav eyed him firmly. “No, Kotallo…there were four wounds. Three arrows…and one death.” Kotallo’s eyes stung but he refused to weep in the presence of his Commander and Hekarro’s Marshal. He nodded, accepting the accolade. “Hekarro also asked that I remain to see it mark your skin.” Fashav explained.

“Kotallo,” Tekotteh said tightly, “take the mark to the inker so that the Marshal can be on his way as soon as possible.”

Kotallo did as he was told. The inker studied the design, praising its boldness then looked at Kotallo. “It is a large design. It will only fit on your chest or on your back. Where do you want it?”

“My back.” Kotallo said quietly.

“As you wish.” The inker gestured to the stool. “You will have to remove your upper armour and clothing. Marshal, would you be so kind?”

Fashav pulled the curtain across so that Kotallo was not exposed to the frosty air while only partially dressed. He helped him wrestle out of his armour and upper tunic and Kotallo saw his eyes study the marks on his chest.

The inker was excellent and followed the design carefully. Fashav complimented his work.

“You have credited the design accurately.” He nodded.

“I will have to take your word for it.” Kotallo admitted.

“I was surprised you did not want it on your front…to admire, perhaps?”

“If anyone ever follows me again, they will bear witness to what I have done before and be encouraged.” Kotallo explained as he thanked the inker and left his hut. Fashav fell into step with him and the bodyguards walked behind them.

“I have to ask…”

“I thought you might.”

“The absence of a mark over the left side of your chest…is that intentional?”

Kotallo looked up at the sky as snow lightly drifted down. “It is.” He felt Fashav’s curious gaze and sighed. “My parents were killed in a skirmish with Desert Clan soldiers not long before Hekarro took the Grove. My memories of them include tracking machines with my father, planting in the garden with my mother and witnessing their love. My father’s chest was inked with my mother’s mark and she, in turn, was inked with his.” Kotallo confessed. “I hoped that, one day, I would bear another’s mark.”

Fashav thought on this a moment. “You speak as though that will never be.”

“I have given up on the notion.” Kotallo thought of Jayko and Alaika. “Romance struggles to bloom in war.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fashav chuckled softly, “however, I doubt its longevity.” He turned to Kotallo as they reached the entrance to the Bulwark. “Well, it has been an honour seeing you again.”

“Are you really going now?” Kotallo turned to the bodyguards who nodded. “It’s getting late…you’ll be hard pressed to reach Stone Crest by the time it is dark.”

“We’ll…make do with our own camp, thank you.” Fashav excused and Kotallo’s eyes narrowed.

“Marshal, would you be blunt with me?”

Fashav sighed and drew Kotallo aside. “Our presence, or should I say, my presence, causes much awkwardness among the clans, none more so than amongst the Sky Clan, especially here at the Bulwark. While I would withstand any repercussions of prejudice, my bodyguards,” he nodded to the Lowland soldiers, “do not deserve to be maligned with me.”

Kotallo felt a surge of rage and indignation. He turned and said with greater authority and strength than he’d had since returning from the war, “Marshal Fashav and his bodyguards have been sent to the Bulwark in service to Chief Hekarro and they will be afforded every courtesy and respect that the Sky Clan can offer. And let it be known,” his voice became stern, “that I will take any slight against them, verbal or physical, as a personal affront.”

Silence cast over the residents of the Bulwark. Then Gerrah bowed and declared, “You have decreed a good thing, Kotallo and we shall heed it.”

Kotallo turned to Fashav who looked at him with admiration. “Please, stay the night. I guarantee your safety. I will not cast you out into the night.”

“And I will not disregard your generous offer.” Fashav said warmly then turned to his guards. “Come, let us eat. I hear the cooks of the Sky Clan could rival the Lowland Clan ones.”

He chuckled at their gasps of indignation and hurried to where the cook was serving food. Fashav clapped Kotallo on the arm and followed his guards. Kotallo kept his eye on them. The cook was generous with his servings and several Sky Clan soldiers stood up to give them a place by the fire. Ram Squad, with Kivva taking her cue from Kotallo’s proclamation, made sure to sit with the Marshal and speak to them until the mood softened and they were accepted.

“Thank you, Gerrah.” Kotallo said as the Chaplain approached.

“Thank you for giving them the honour they deserve.”

“Even after all the Carja have done?”

“I heard how Fashav advised Hekarro on the best way to take Barren Light. I can’t imagine he will ever be full trusted by the Tenakth or be without his bodyguards…but he did a good thing.”

“It is true, without his insight, we would never have broken the Carja stronghold.” Kotallo admitted. “Gerrah…Marshal Fashav was here once before, was he not?”

“He was.”

“He climbed the Bulwark?”

“He and his bodyguards, yes.”

Kotallo looked at her. “Was the lift broken?” Gerrah’s face contorted with conflict. Kotallo closed his eyes and sighed. “I see…”

“Petty and vain was the decision to make them suffer like that. Your declaration has started a season for change for the Sky Clan. It is in need of such a revelation.”

Kotallo was going to eat with the rest of the Sky Clan and even sit with Fashav but a scent that was vaguely familiar to him got his attention just before he heard a woman’s voice speak.

“Kotallo, champion of the Sky Clan,” he turned and saw Olenka standing nearby, “your Commander invites you to dine with him.”

Kotallo knew he couldn’t refuse, even if he could make his voice work. Her presence still managed to turn him mute which he hated. He followed her dutifully, trying not to watch her hips sway as she walked, her body as beautiful and lithe as it was the day he…

Kotallo shook his head and cast the thought from his mind.

She was clearly Tekotteh’s and he would not entertain such memories again.

Tekotteh declared his name as he entered the lodge and insisted that he sit next to him.

“Ah Kotallo, little ‘Tallo,” Tekotteh chuckled, on his way to being drunk, “did you escort Fashav and his Lowland shadows to the lift?”

“I was going to…but offered them accommodation and Sky Clan hospitality instead.” Kotallo said, starting to suspect he knew what the reaction would be.

Tekotteh let out a huff and rolled his eyes. “Your loyalty to Chief Hekarro is to be commended…but I wonder at the wisdom of letting a Carja just walk into the Bulwark.”

“I hear he climbed the first time.” Kotallo heard himself say.

“The lift was broken. The man would not wait for it to be fixed.” Tekotteh snorted. “Many have suffered at the hands of the Carja…I hope none take it into their hands to exact a little vengeance.”

“The ones who have suffered were at the front lines with me,” Kotallo argued lightly, “and they know that it was because of Fashav’s knowledge of Barren Light that we were able to succeed. He did not have to volunteer the information.”

He noticed the mood around the table was quiet after he had spoken and wondered why he felt like he was suffocating in his old home.

“How did the inking go?” Another soldier asked, breaking the silence.

“I am told it was a success.” Kotallo admitted, gulping a mouthful of ale down.

“Show us!”

“Oh, I don’t think…”

“Come on, little ‘Tallo,” Tekotteh teased, “or are you still shy of your spindly form?”

Kotallo sighed deeply and removed his chest armour then turned and lifted up his tunic. He heard whistles and praise for his inking.

“A mark no other wears in all the clans.” Kotallo heard someone say and let his tunic go, covering it back up and slid his armour on. “A tremendous honour.”

“I am humbled by my Chief’s honour.” Kotallo said, wishing Tekotteh would stop glaring at him. He couldn’t think how he had angered him so. Perhaps it was just the drink. He recalled again the idea that he might be offered a boon and to be able to ask for a life as a tribute to the Utaru but he discerned that now was not the time for such a request.

He sat down and stayed as long as could be passable as polite before escaping the lodge. He breathed in relief as he walked down the slope towards the main campfire when his hand was grasped and he was pulled into the stitcher’s hut. The similarity of the moment was not lost on him as lips found his and hands groped at his body, her throat issuing forth moans of pleasure.

“I thought I could resist you. I thought I could remain strong…but then you removed your tunic and I saw the mark of greatness…and I had to have you…”

Kotallo disentangled himself from her hands, grasping her wrists and looking at her in the dim light of the hut.

“Olenka, what the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing,” she urged, her armour already discarded and her tunic barely clinging to her body as she had deliberately undone the ties on one shoulder and it was slipping down her curves, “I’m yours, Kotallo.”

Kotallo grasped at her tunic and pulled it up, clamping his hands hard on her shoulders. “That’s not what you said years ago.” He said bitterly.

“I was a fool, Kotallo!” Olenka exclaimed. “I thought you were only ever going to be a patrol soldier. You lacked any and all ambition but seeing you marked by the Chief, bearing the blade of Marshal Fareak…my body ran hot for you.”

“And Tekotteh?” He asked bluntly.

Olenka lifted her chin. “He’s not the man I thought he was, Kotallo. He is lazy and selfish and vain…he’s certainly no longer a great warrior!”

“Is that your measure of a man worthy of your attention? By their success as a warrior? By the extent of their reputation?” Kotallo put his hand to his face. “What of love, Olenka?”

“You would have me love a man who will lose command and control of the Sky Clan, even losing his life?”

Kotallo stared at her. “Who is going to challenge Tekotteh?”

“You!” Kotallo’s mouth fell open. Olenka licked her lips. “Everyone knows it. Everyone wants it. No one with any honour can stand Tekotteh, a man who refused to send soldiers to the front lines and complained about the impudence of those that volunteered without his blessing.”

“But…me?”

Olenka came close, her heat mingling with his as she pressed her hands against his chest.

“Yes…you…it is only a matter of time before you will take his place and stop hiding the Sky Clan behind the Bulwark.” She went on her tiptoes and nuzzled his neck, kissing him over and over, Kotallo too stunned by what she had said to realise what she was doing. “I was a fool before, Kotallo…I should have seen who you would become...”

Kotallo gently pushed her back, her big blue eyes gazing at him intensely.

“Would you bond with me?”

“Yes.” She vowed.

“Have children with me?”

“Only you…” She came closer. “An honourable warrior who will lead the Sky Clan…”

“And steal his Commander’s woman from his bed?” Kotallo stepped back. Olenka stared at him, aghast. “Integrity is not something you pick and choose where to apply it. And honour is the public outworking of integrity. I could never take you from Tekotteh…”

“But I’m giving myself to you!”

“And if I said I had no intention of ever challenging Tekotteh?” Kotallo’s answer was in her falter as she doubted her resolve. “We’re done here. Don’t ever approach me again, Olenka.”

He turned and left the hut, striding down to the campfire. Halfway there, he paused and leaned against an alcove, his hands trembling.

But while his core was shaken by the words she had spoken, he noticed with a cruel irony that his body was not aroused.

“So…it’s true.” He whispered, recalling the healer’s prognosis of the damage done by the Stalker mine. “I…am broken.” He smiled darkly. “Olenka would have pledged herself based on rumour to a man who was effectively barren.”

He swallowed the emotion and went to the campfire. Fashav seemed to sense his unease and suggested that they have an early night. Despite the humble accommodation of the male lodge, Fashav and his bodyguards were grateful not to have to sleep outside in the snow, taking turns to keep watch.

Kotallo watched as Fashav sat on the edge of his bed and, by the light of a nearby torch, dipped a slender brush into something that looked like what was used to mark the skin of Tenakth and scribed strange and unfamiliar glyphs onto a piece of very fine leather. Fashav worked painstakingly, filling the leather with the glyphs until he reached the end and then breathed on it and set the brush aside.

He looked up and Kotallo suddenly felt foolish for staring. He blundered and asked, “I hope you have been treated well.”

“That lovely young woman from Ram Squad made sure we were not isolated and after their initial distrust, we had some excellent discussions of which I am grateful.” Fashav admitted. “I have wanted to know more about all the clans but knowledge of the Sky Clan was the hardest to come by. You’ve done me a tremendous service.”

“Without meaning to disrespect your tribe of origin but…what on earth would a Carja want with knowledge of the Tenakth, unless you mean to hand it over to our enemies?” Kotallo asked without bite.

“I want to relay truth where hearsay and cruel rumour have taken its place.” Fashav explained. “In the Sundom, the Tenakth are seen as blood drinking, child stealing monstrosities that would sooner stab you in the back and feast on your flesh as to walk along side you. But what I have come to realise is that the Tenakth are noble, stubborn, brave…and your culture has many notable and valuable attributes, some of which are in common with the Carja.”

“In common with the Carja?” Kotallo huffed.

“I know,” Fashav lay down, “as strange as that sounds. One day, if the records of my dealings with the Tenakth are ever read by anyone in the Sundom, I hope they generate understanding and, possibly, peace.”

“Peace…”

“Not while Jiran lives, I grant you.” Fashav sighed deeply.

“What is he like?”

“The Sun-King Jiran?” Kotallo nodded. “Brilliant, charismatic…and clearly given to delusions that he is doing the sun’s will by sacrificing hundreds as if that will turn back the derangement of the machines.” Fashav’s mouth turned down. “I assure you, Kotallo, whatever the reason behind the madness of the machines, it cannot be appeased by blood sacrifice. What right to we have to expect to live in peace because others died?” He sighed long and deeply. “I cannot imagine what it must be like in the Sundom now. Not even the Carja are safe from Jiran…”

“At least the Tenakth and even the Utaru can enjoy peace now and pick up the pieces of their shattered tribes.” Kotallo offered.

“If I helped in even the smallest way to bring that about, then any suffering I endured and will continue to endure, is worth it.” Fashav nodded to him. “Sleep well, Kotallo.”

“Marshal.” Kotallo closed his eyes and felt sleep drift over him.

Four days after Marshal Fashav had left, with the Kulrut looming, Tekotteh finally called the residents of the Bulwark together. Kotallo stood at the back, his memories of Tekotteh when Kotallo was just a child conflicting with his current experiences. He reasoned that it didn’t help that Olenka was standing by his side without any hint that she resented him the way she insisted she did.

“Sky Clan!” Tekotteh called. “Chief Hekarro has called for a Kulrut. Since the death of Marshal Fareak at Barren Light, the Sky Clan has not been represented at Memorial Grove or to the rest of the clans of the Tenakth. To be a Marshal is to shed any claim of the clan in which one was born and pledge their life to the furtherment of Hekarro’s vision and will.” He paced back and forth before them. “The warrior I must choose to send must be of the strongest will, the bravest heart…the best the Sky Clan has to offer. As such, only the best the Sky Clan has to offer will do and so, at this Kulrut, I send my champion, Kotallo.”

He jaw fell open as all eyes turned to him, Tekotteh gesturing to him from high above.

The silence was stark like shadows on snow in a full moon.

“The Kulrut is only two days away. In order to attend, you must make haste. I speak for all the Sky Clan when I say I know you will represent us well. What the Sky Clan loses, Chief Hekarro will gain. To Kotallo!”

His name was chanted loudly, Kotallo still stunned.

As Tekotteh turned to leave, he saw Olenka looking at him…with a smug smile on her face.

Kotallo’s heart sank like a stone.

He knew he was being congratulated as he made his way up to the Commander’s Lodge but their words buzzed in his head and their faces were a blur. He asked to enter and the bodyguards let him in.

“Kotallo!” Tekotteh greeted him as warmly as he recalled he was when Kotallo was young. “What are you doing here? You have a Kulrut to attend!”

“Tekotteh…” Kotallo’s voice rasped into a whisper. He licked his lips and tried again. “Commander,” he attempted to sound strong, “the Kulrut…to become a Marshal…I am not…”

“I won’t hear of you saying that you are not worthy. What else could be more natural than the man who is a legend in the war against the Carja and dubbed as my champion!” Tekotteh laughed and it grated on Kotallo’s mind.

“But I…there must be…others…surely…that are worthy…”

Tekotteh snorted. “None who have received a former Marshal’s weapon as a blessing or a mark created by Hekarro’s very own inker. You are the only one I could send. No others compare to you and I would be selfish indeed to keep you from Hekarro’s service.”

“But I don’t want…”

“What?” Tekotteh’s false smile shattered in a heartbeat and his mouth turned down. “You were able to accept the snivelling offerings of that,” he spat on the ground, “Carja dressed up like a Tenakth, grovelingly humble as you received your Chief’s gift…and now you disregard the boon I offer you, the greatest of all honours of any Tenakth! Do you so despise me that you would reject my best for you?”

“I don’t want to be a Marshal.” Kotallo blurted, a life constantly in service something akin to torture after all he had endured against the Carja. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t have the heart for it. He was terrified of it. “Tekotteh, offer me in tribute to the Utaru,” Tekotteh mocked him with a scornful laugh and turned away, “send me to the western watchtower for the rest of my days. Don’t send me to the Kulrut. I…I belong here…”

“Until what? You usurp my position with your deeds and accolades, laying the groundwork for your claim that you are worthy?” Tekotteh snapped as hard at him as a Snapmaw’s jaws could crush a man. Kotallo recoiled from his anger, sure Tekotteh was about to strike him. “When I found you, you were grovelling in a hole, a little boy who had soiled himself in terror while his parents were gutted mere feet away. You were nothing! I saved you! I made you who you are and I’ll be damned if I let you remain at the Bulwark for you to challenge my command of the Sky Clan!”

Kotallo stared at him, a stranger standing in front of him where a friend, a hero and even a father figure had once stood.

Tekotteh stepped back from him, his lips twitching with scorn.

“Now get out.”

Kotallo turned and left.

He went straight to the lodge and packed his things. He couldn’t stay another minute. He had to go. He had to leave. Regardless of what everyone thought of his abrupt departure, Kotallo knew there was no place for him at the Bulwark anymore.

He slung his pack on his back and strode towards the lift, feeling all eyes on him.

“Kotallo, wait!” He paused for Gerrah, his eyes on the ground at her feet. She took his face but he would not meet her eyes. “My son, not of my womb but of my heart…”

Kotallo’s heart ached endlessly.

When would it ever stop?

He put his swag down and drew the rope from around his neck where four sets of tags hung.

“I know they would want these to remain in the place that they loved.” He said hoarsely. “And as for mine, either I die in the Kulrut or I live to become a Marshal. Either way, the tags no longer have a place with me.” He put them into her hands and she grasped them tightly…then pulled him into her embrace.

“You hear me, Kotallo,” she whispered, “don’t allow this petty scheme of exile masquerading as honour take your life. Don’t give him that power over you. Whatever else may happen, you are to hear my words, the words I know your parents would also echo…find something or someone to live for again.”

She kissed his forehead and let him go. Kotallo risked a brief look into her eyes before escaping to the lift. The sentries saluted him as he sank from the Bulwark and struck out for Stone Crest then Sheerside Climb and, finally, Memorial Grove.

With every step, he put his past behind him…and never looked back.