Every muscle tensed and pulling against every other, I threw my head back and roared into the jungle. I hopped off the mound of dead hide and wobbled. My head felt like it was splitting, sharp copper taste in my mouth. I felt about my streaming nose and breathed a sigh of relief to find it luckily felt the same shape as ever.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I walked back to my companions. Alator was inspecting the wound on his hand, picking thorns out of the skin. We met eyes and shrugged at each other. Then the familiar grin split his face, showing the pointed wolf’s fangs at the sides of his mouth, and he raised a hand. I gave him a high five.

“Absolutely brilliant, as always,” he said, complete warm forgiveness radiating. “You’re improving well.”

Any tension between us evaporated and my chest swelled with the praise. Well that makes a change!

Maybe it was just because I stood so upright in victory, but I noticed we weren’t so different in height. I hadn’t grown significantly, but my previous life had me hunched and slouching everywhere I went.

Killing beasts is better than any chiropractor.

Through the pain and panic, looking over wild, reckless Alator and the fearful looks on my other companions’ faces, I reaffirmed my decision to enter the World Gate to Barbican.

I pushed the butt of my spear steady into the dirt and lowered myself to the ground, leaning on it. I held my head back as the blood slowed from my nose. Alator stepped close to the Stranglethorn and inspected it. Lenya and Drya moved from the jungle’s edge and crunched over the dry leaves towards us.

“D-dat was. . . .” the golden furred jungle-folk started, but trailed off.

“You said we’d have . . . no chance of escaping,” I explained through sharp breaths. “And it could . . . topple trees with its charge, so it made sense to . . . meet the Strangethorn in an open space where we could . . . at least manoeuvre.”

“Yes, it made sense,” Lenya mumbled. There was a fire burning in her eyes past her worry — I recognised the excitement she’d shown before, kept down as if only by decorum. She held her staff to her breast.

“An impressive beast,” Alator said, looking at the fallen demon elephant warrior, then said aside to me, “There was hesitation during the battle — something changed partway through.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “It was stronger than I first thought. I told you I could glimpse souls, read potential, ability and weaknesses . . .” I took a deep inhale and steadied my heart, steeled myself. “. . . Seems it is still an imperfect power.”

Lifting myself to my feet, I found the breather had helped. My vision no longer swam and my nose had slowed breathing to a trickle. I licked my lips and tugged up the collar of my tunic beneath the Linothorax and wiped my mouth, staining the off-white linen.

“Dis hide is valuable . . .” Drya said. She had straightened her back and was once again a hunter of the Wardship.

“Yes, but we do not have time. Its tusks are burnt beyond use, but it should have a heartseed buried deep. I will take that as spoils,” I grunted. I walked over to it and brought the Bronze Dagger from my belt, and with Alator’s guidance, found the right place and carved into the carcass. Lenya’s face went pale and she turned away, but Drya watched on without so much as a flinch — happily this sort of looting seemed quite acceptable.

Item :

Stranglethorn Heartseed

Rarity :

Rare

Description :

Deep green, almond-sized natural power core of a great beast, pulsating with energy

Effect :

With [Crafting], it can imbue the power of nature’s wrath

Another enchantment ingredient, I thought. Turning it between my fingers, Drya was on tiptoes next to me gazing at it. I stashed it away.

“Never seen one such a deep green. . . . De men and women of da Shrewdship wear dem as jewels — it would fetch a great price.”

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I stashed it away and looked over the treeline. The suns were high in the sky now, casting even the deepest green bright and shining, burning the glistening steam away. The jungle was alive and there was an anticipation in the air.

“We need to move, that would have drawn attention,” Alator said. He cast one more look over the Stranglethorn, almost in respect, then set back off towards the edge of the trees. Drya snapped out of her trance and bounded after him on all fours a few paces, then righted herself and led the way.

Re-entering the jungle now the day’s heat had truly set in was like walking out of winter cold into a heaving shop with the heating on full blast at the door. Sweat instantly burst out of every pore, my hand was greased on the spear, and my clothes were quickly damp with the humidity.

Not too long had passed tamping heavily through ferns and avoiding coiled branches, hanging moss and vines when Drya stopped to let us catch up. She pointed out. Through the dim filtered light I could see the first of the Shadow Prowlers’ breadcrumb signs: a large vulpine skull, stripped clean and bleached, was set on a carved totem dark wood totem pole.

“And dere’s da next,” she said. Following her gaze — it took me a moment — I saw another in the steamy haze, almost claimed by the reaching undergrowth.

“This is where we part ways.”

“Will you be —”

“Don’t worry about me, I can travel a lot faster than ya t’rough dese jungles, and I certainly make much less noise than ya. See ya back at da Wardship!”

We exchanged quick goodbyes and she raced off low, sometimes using her long arms to steady herself on the ground, almost completely silently. Within six seconds she was gone.

The noises in the jungle seemed to press in. Without a guide, it suddenly felt extremely foreign and dangerous. Of course I’d never visited the Mandated Jungle Area — the little that was left in the South Americas — my one permitted holiday each year hadn’t taken me out of Europe, but from old nature documentaries this seemed just as oppressive and . . . wondrous as those that used to exist back on Earth.

Glancing to both of my companions, we nodded, and set off along the trail of skulls.

The trees, lichen, tall broken mossy stones — all closed in tighter as we pushed through. The dappled sunlight shifted like liquid gold as clouds of fat insects buzzed frantically around us. It was all loamy earth, decaying plants, the washing machine detergent sweet stink of enormous flowers.

At one of the totems, Lenya stopped, chest heaving, and doubled over to her knees. I adjusted my damp and slick grip on my spear as I heard shifting leaves from the darkness, but nothing presented itself, and the noise was absorbed by the constant chittering of beasts. Analysis. Nothing. After a moment, she came back up.

“These totems are fresh,” she whispered. “They’re not just markers; the Shadow Prowlers are maintaining them.”

“It’s a warning,” Alator said from behind us. He brushed a hand across the back of his neck and flicked away sweat.

“They do not want visitors,” Lenya nodded.

“We’re walking right into their den,” I shrugged. “Captain Paresh spoke very highly of the leader, we just need to hope we’re not picked out as enemies by a scouting party first.”

“Killing a few of them would force them to take us more seriously,” Alator’s voice was like granite.

“Yes, let’s see to it that it doesn’t come to that,” I rebuffed, waving a hand.

Following the path of the skulls, they became more frequent, and each was more ornately displayed than the last. On one, a jaguar’s skull hung from braided vines, knitted into the canopy above, eye sockets stuffed with vibrant red flowers.

“Picked less than a day ago,” Lenya said.

The next was set atop a carved pedestal, the bas relief was of grotesque animalistic shapes. The stone was ancient, but the carvings were cleaned and maintained. After that, the ground sloped downwards, the ferns thinned and revealed exposed roots and patches of mud, and descending into a valley, the air became heavier still. The canopy thickened, blocking most of the light. After a mile, each step squelched into damp earth, and pulling my sandalled feet up, thick with muck, was an ordeal. I began to quietly urge [Vigour : Endurance] into my veins as I went, but after three, my heart was beating fit to burst and my mind was exploding with urge to action, my fingers twitching on the spear — Not enough exertion to justify the Skill, I thought.

Even the wildlife faded — the place was hostile even to jungle dwellers. The noises drifted away and only the far echoes of birds of paradise calls and marsupial cries reached our ears.

Then it came.

CRACK. We all froze in place. I brought my spear up and out, head on a swivel. Lenya crouched low, her staff close, and her hand shimmered with drawn energy. Alator stood still, setting himself on a raised, drier patch of earth, and his eyes flashed yellow as he watched the periphery.

The silence that followed was deafening. No animal sounds were heard, only the dripping of the last of the morning dew and early noon condensation from the leaves above.

“Keep moving,” I muttered, voice tight in my throat.

We stepped forward cautiously, our damp footfalls suddenly terrifyingly loud.

Then the shadows came alive.

Whistling soared out and instinct had me flinch down a few inches. A tree’s bark shattered next to my head, a lead sling-bullet lodged deep. I heard Alator grunt as one hit his shoulder, off-balanced, throwing one of his feet into the mucky puddle.

Figures emerged from the undergrowth — half a dozen lean, sinewy jungle-folk with paint streaked across their faces, wearing animal skins. They each held ready a crude Bronze Dagger.

Slingers must be waiting in the dark.

There was one further moment of caution, and, words failing me, I put my hand out. To no avail — one of the attackers let out a shrill, ululating pant-hoot, and they all charged forwards, weapons raised.