Chapter 20

Pino POV:

“Pay attention!” I snapped at Atilla.

While staring at him sternly, right hand gripping my dagger, while using the left to hold the branch steady.

“Learning how to make spears is extremely important to a hunter, if you can’t even do this, you’ll have a hard time attracting a Chosen!” I warned, the fire helping to cast shadows across my face.

I’d frozen my butt off, finding branches thick and flexible enough to use as spears. I figured that instead of waiting for starvation, I’d teach Attila how to hunt, to mitigate the food problem. I never thought he would be so lazy! Does he not appreciate the severity of our situation?!?!

Attila seemed undisturbed, yawning as he said, “But brother, why should I learn how to make such barbaric weapons?”

“BARBARIC?!?!” I yelled in agitation.

“How do you even-” I said exasperatedly.

“Trust me when I say, there is nothing better than such ‘barbaric’ weapons at this time!” I continued.

“Brother….” Attila said, looking a bit disappointed.

“How is this the best? Aren’t black rock spears sharper and more durable?” he asked.

I stared at him blankly for a while…

“Black rock… as in a rock as the tip of the spear?” I questioned.

Attila now looked at me with pity, “Yes, what else could it be?”

Tana-il POV:

The remnants of the Tamul tribe shifted about restlessly as they sat in a clearing near their smoldering settlement.

Some shed tears as they witnessed the only home they ever knew burnt to the ground.

Others simply grind their teeth and wish to bludgeon their ears as they listen to the screams of fear, pain and agony.

Tried not to lose control of their stomachs as they smelt the strange scent of burnt flesh melded with fecal matter and cured hide.

Presiding over this nightmare was Tana-il, standing tall as he struggled to count the spoils of the successful raid.

“There are more spears here than the amount of hands all of my men have! How can I plan for the usage of this if I don’t even know what I have?” I pondered.

I often considered this problem, the fact that as the quantity increased, the harder it became to count using hands. Hands are an inefficient measuring method, but what can I do? This is sacred knowledge that’s been passed down for generations.

“Yet that’s only amongst our forest kin… how far might the steppe have progressed since our ancestors departed?” I mused aloud while glancing at the captives.

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“Honorable Il’?” A battered clansman questioned as he stepped closer.

“Nothing.” I responded, snapping free from my ponderings.

“Ensure that all the captives are properly tied, and remain vigilant against any bantilas in man's hide!” I further commanded.

“Yes honorable Il’” The three men who accompanied me confirmed as they went about the task they were given.

Looking at the paltry number of clansmen made me grimace. I knew that the battle would be tough, but to lose so many…

Bringing myself in front of the nervous captives I began to speak in my broken steppe tongue.

“Your tribe, the Tamul tribe… as of today it no longer exists.” I slowly enounced, my words reverberating throughout the clearing.

“From now on, everything here, including all of you… belong to me!” I continued.

No longer able to contain himself, an older man jumped up yelling, “We the great Tamul will never be slaves! As long as Banta is Master of the Hunt, we will never yield.”

Although he was far beyond the prime years of a hunter and his hands were bound, he still struck an imposing figure.

His heated words caused some of the other men, of varying ages, to stand as well.

“He’s right! There are less than a hand of you, and more of us than you can possibly hope to beat! We don’t fear you, the Tamul will fight to the death!” They exclaimed excitedly.

Hearing these words and seeing the various expressions on the captives faces, I couldn’t help but to smile. “Just as planned.” I thought.

“Tamul?!?!” I ridiculed.

“All that is left of the Tamul are you old men, women, and children not even old enough to hunt!” I remarked.

“Tamul?” I asked again.

“Gathered here are four hands of men, of you men, which are slaves?” I pressed.

The men, both standing and sitting, looked at one another in confusion.

“I’ll repeat myself, who among you are slaves?” I asked in a slightly irritable tone.

Whether due to fear or simply curiosity, the men started to distinguish themselves.

“Tamul?” I whispered.

“Of your four hands of men, half of them are slaves, a hand is made of old men, and the last of children!” I barked

“TAMUL?!” I roared

“You are what I say you are, so you are slaves!” I uttered sinisterly.

“And if you don’t like it,” I said while grabbing a black stone spear.

“This will be your end!” I finished, thrusting the spear through the chest of the man who first rose up.

There was a deep silence in the clearing as the old man fell to the ground. All those who were previously standing quickly knelt back down, not daring to look me in the eye. It was hard to tell whether the surrounding people shivered due to the cold or their fear of me. Either way, this is the optimal atmosphere. The old man was right, if they decide to rise up, if they decide to put their lives on the line, we can only flee.

Only by striking the fear of Aki into these people do we have the hope of bringing the spoils home!

“Now!” I said calmly.

“Who amongst you is gifted at counting?” I asked.

There was a short pause, but an aging man stuttered as he rose from the frigid ground saying, “L-Lord, among all the Tamul, I dare s-say that I’m the most gifted at counting!”

I looked at the man deeply before snapping my head towards the remaining captives.

I couldn’t sense any deceit in his words, nor did any other tribesmen jump forth to challenge his claim.

“What name do you go by?” I asked, my tone more commanding than inquiring.

“To- Togba!” He hastily responded.

“No family name? You look like you’ve survived many seasons, yet you don’t have a clan name?” I questioned critically.

“I have always been more interested in travel than in hunting master… I never earned the right to a clan name.” Togba said embarrassedly.

“So your travels helped you with counting?” I continued to interrogate.

“Yes master! In my travels, I came across a land flat as a clearing, surrounded by tall golden grass. Many tribes lived inside cases of wood, and these wood cases were surrounded by many trees stacked together closely! It was in this wonderful place that I learned how to count well!” Togba said with fervor.

I couldn’t help but sneer at his fantastical story, who would sleep in a wooden case? Yurts and caves have more space and they are likely more comfortable!

“Enough stories! Count for me the total amount of people in this clearing.” I ordered.

“At your command master! …However, I will first need a few strips of hide.” Togba requested, eager to prove his skills.