Fortunately, the hunting we’ve done recently has been yielding more and more Tier two beasts, especially as we’ve started diving deeper into the valley itself. That has itself created more conflicts, especially in times when Kalanthia has been absent to greet a local Tier three. I don’t know if I’m glad or disappointed that in our first contact with another samuran village, she isn’t present.
On the one hand, it would be an awesome intimidation factor to present the new samurans with: a friendly Tier three, even if she’s of a different species. On the other hand, she’s not under my control, and if one of the newcomers offended her, she could easily turn around and kill them. That probably wouldn’t end well.
We settle around one of the most recently hunted beasts, something that looks like Pride does since his Evolution, though it was called a pasis rather than a scalla. It has a large sail on its back and, when alive, stood a couple of heads taller than me with wicked teeth and claws. Against our numbers, though, it died before it even managed to make it into melee combat.
I do wonder whether Pride will one day gain its ability to mesmerise opponents by flashing colours through its sail, though. That could be quite a good addition to our arsenal even if it did appear limited to the weaker of our numbers. Shrieks, Tarra, River, and I were practically unaffected.
The other Pathwalkers appear impressed, though on the part of the leader, grudgingly so.
“This is a fine meal,” the leader says politely, though without a huge amount of enthusiasm.
“Thank you,” I respond automatically, though a quick reprimanding message from Tarra makes me continue. “Of course, this is but the least of what we would wish to offer you. We must excuse ourselves by saying that the hunting has been poor. Hopefully we will be able to offer you a better meal before we arrive at the Festival of Tribes.”
“We shall supply the next carcass,” the Pathwalker promises. “May the forest offer us the opportunity to find a carcass at least the equal of what you have presented to us.”
With prompting from Tarra, I reach down to cut a slice of meat from the carcass. Though I could probably grow a claw from my finger by using my flesh-shaping to extend and sharpen my top finger bone, I decide to instead use my knife. The fact is that I am not a samuran, and am not pretending to be one. But showing that I am capable of everything they are – and more besides – can only be to the good.
I slice through the pasis’s hide with some effort – my knife is sharp but the hide is thick. The flesh is easier to cut through and I take out a chunk of meat. I’m glad to see the other Pathwalker struggling more than I did to get through the hide, though I hide my reaction as best I can, maintaining a polite expression. Not that they can probably interpret things such as smiles anyway.
The other Pathwalker eats the slice of raw meat that she manages to pull out, her expression and the colours rippling through her spikes indicating that she is mildly impressed. Her eyes go wide as I make my next move, though.
Again, I am not a samuran and don’t intend to be. So I don’t even pretend that I like raw meat. Instead, I pull off a trick which I once used with Tarra, only this time I’ve improved it with practice.
Holding the chunk of meat between my forefinger and my thumb, I focus. Fire flickers around my hand, its heat and flames concentrated entirely on the meat and not on my own flesh. Last time, I badly burnt my fingers by doing this; this time I have enough control over the flames to barely do more than warm them. The hottest part is when heated juices run over my fingers.
The lead Pathwalker is not the only one with wide eyes before I finish grilling the meat to my tastes – the rest of her retinue have followed suit, most even less composed than she is. My own group, of course, takes no notice. They help themselves one by one to the carcass, prompting the other Pathwalkers to do the same.
Once my food is ready, I take a bite. Mm, higher Energy density definitely makes this meat tastier, I say to myself.
“I am Pathwalker Tamer,” I tell the other group, probably more casually than I should strictly be. “These are Pathwalkers Herbalist, Reducer, Grower, Wind-whisperer, Weaver, Wood-shaper, Smith, Enchanter, Reflector, and Water-shaper,” I continue, introducing everyone by rank order – according to what Tarra tells me, this is always the way. Given that it’s also the order by which they’ve helped themselves to the carcass too, I have to assume she’s right.
“Greetings to you Pathwalker Tamer, and to your sisters,” the lead Pathwalker says, regaining her composure and tilting her chin upwards slightly. “I am Pathwalker Mind-Mover, and these are my sister Pathwalkers: Water-controller, Plant-whisperer, Wood-former, Earth-whisperer, Fabric-maker, Plant-grower and Stone-speaker.”
“Greetings to you Pathwalker Mind-Mover and to your sisters,” I repeat her greeting, though don’t add the chin-tilt. Apparently that’s only a requirement for the weaker party and that she’s offered it is a good sign that she indeed considers us to be the stronger group.
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Hearing the names of her Pathwalkers makes me wonder whether they have a different naming tradition in their village, or whether a ‘Wood-former’ is indeed different from a ‘Wood-shaper’. Perhaps I’ll find out in time.
We continue exchanging small talk, the other Pathwalkers becoming involved one by one. They seem to do so in a very structured way – Tarra being the next to join the conversation, then River, and then the others going according to their place in the internal hierarchy. Conversation focusses mostly on the recent journey, the individual abilities of each Pathwalker, and the strength of the Warriors accompanying them. I get it, I do. It’s all about subtle and not so subtle bragging, jockeying for position to decide which group has the advantage.
Not at any point do they challenge my position here as a non-samuran. I’d be happy for that if the lack of challenge truly indicated that there was no question about it, but I’m sensitive enough now to the undercurrents of a discussion to tell that it’s actually the query uppermost in all of their minds. But apparently, it’s not suitable conversation material. Not yet, at least.
I let the other Pathwalkers do most of the talking, too concerned about accidentally putting my foot in my mouth. Instead, I just listen, trying to absorb the way they talk to each other for later use. I’m already exhausted at the thought of having to repeat this again, multiple times probably. It’s worse than when I was invited around to a friend’s house after school – those times were also made uncomfortable by an unspoken question that no one dared to ask.
Lucy’s parents never made me feel like they were wondering about where my mother was; that was one of the reasons I felt comfortable with them. More comfortable sometimes with them than I was at home with my dad.
But all that is long gone, now, and was before I even came to this world.
Eventually, the tortuous experience is over. The other Pathwalkers return to their own group, and we continue on the route together, but not right next to each other.
“You know those guys, then?” I ask Tarra now that she’s not having to concentrate both on her own conversation and mine whenever I opened my mouth. “What kind of terms are the two villages on? It seemed rather…stiff,” I judge.
Tarra sways her tail in a shrug.
We are on fairly neutral terms. They are a small village, much like ours. We have much in common, but do not dare to be seen as too friendly with each other.
“Why’s that?” I ask curiously.
They are blues, we are greens. The larger villages of our tribes don’t like to see the smaller ones of different tribes getting too close, Tarra answers darkly. The last time three small villages of different tribes became too friendly, one of them was attacked and taken over by a large one not too far away. None were left to tell the story of exactly what had happened. But we all know why.
“Samurans do that to each other?” I asked, surprised. Although I’d had the sense that inter-village politics weren’t always completely peaceful, I hadn’t thought they were quite as warlike as Tarra’s words indicate. I wonder if it’s a tool of punishment from a larger authority rather than inter-fighting between tribes. “In the same way as there’s a lead Pathwalker among the other Pathwalkers, is there a lead village among the other villages of a tribe? And maybe a lead village overall?”
There is no ranking tournament to decide a leader, Tarra answers hesitantly. But villages are judged in strength according to their Evolved, particularly Pathwalkers. The village with the greatest strength of Evolved – which is not always the same as numbers, but is usually closely linked – is considered the leader in the Tribe. Among the Tribe leaders, one is usually judged to be the strongest overall, though that position means little in practical terms. The biggest village last year had over seventy-five Evolved, and there were almost twenty Pathwalkers among them. Even if it only brought half its number to bear, it could overrun most small villages. Therefore, its leader is given respect and obedience, whether we are of its tribe or not, because none of us wish to be that village.
“Wait,” I say thoughtfully. “Almost twenty Pathwalkers, meaning at most nineteen. We’ve got eleven already, and thirty-four Warriors. That’s forty-five Evolved already, which is more than half what this biggest village had. We must be doing pretty well in the implicit rankings, then.”
Tarra shrugs again.
We are certainly better placed than we feared we would be. It is why the village of the blue tribe acknowledged us as more powerful: they only had eight Pathwalkers and fewer Warriors accompanying them. But we are still not strong enough to be able to fend off the biggest three tribes if they decided to come to obliterate us. So, please, be polite.
I wonder whether she’d say the same if she knew that Raven still owes me at least three favours, I think to myself. Better not to reveal that card right now, though. I suppose I’d better play their game until I can't for whatever reason. Which means…. “Does that mean more small talk over carcasses?” I ask out loud with a hint of a whine to my voice. Tarra looks at me flatly as if to say ‘suck it up’.
Yes. Part of the Festival is doing the rounds to visit each village and share a carcass. Our Warriors will be busy during the day times to find suitable kills for us as their own ability to mate with other Pathwalkers will depend on how successful we are in convincing the other village of our power.
I groan, though doing my best to keep it quiet. After everything I’ve experienced with the samurans, I was expecting this more to be like a tournament, not a tea-party.
“So there’s no fighting?” I ask, resigned. It’s not like I like fighting, exactly, but between that and what I’ve just experienced, I’d choose the former every time.
Did I say that? Tarra asks innocently. I have a feeling she knows exactly what she’s doing. At any time, our Warriors may be challenged by other Warriors, and we may be challenged by other Pathwalkers to display our skills and talents. Challenges between leaders are particularly common. Fights are not to the death, but a loss can have serious consequences for the village if the expectation is that the samuran should win. And honestly, she continues even as I absorb that, considering that you’re not actually a samuran in body, I suspect that you will receive challenges more than anyone else.
They do say to be careful what you wish for – because you might just get it.