Hasda stabbed the skeleton through its sigil as Gunarra screamed for him to stop.

Sliding beneath the rim of the skeleton’s weathered helmet, the sword pierced its forehead with a dry thunk. Even without djinn fire, the blade passed through easily and knocked the helmet off as the tip exited the back of the skull. Silent, the skeleton disintegrated into a puffy pile of rusty dust. Sword and buckler thunked to the ground, the helmet rolling away behind the pile.

Gunarra gave a strangled cry. Head beneath her paws, she stared at the orange powder and whined. “What have you done?”

Shaking residual dust from his blade, he frowned at her. “What do you think? I’ve had enough with the undead.”

“That was not the Stitcher’s work,” she snarled. “My mistress chased those phantoms long enough to doubt her sanity. We thought them a fairy tale. And you.” She pushed to her paws and shook her head. “The first one you see—the very first!—you put a blade through without a second thought.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s gone now.” Sheathing his sword, he turned and stomped off, purposefully striding through the dust and scattering it.

Gunarra barked at his backside. “You scorn what you know not. The Duraeins were the stuff of legends, warriors worthy of turning the tide against Marudak’s aggression. If only we had found them sooner.”

That gave him pause. When he turned, his face was riddled with confusion. “That? It went down so easily.”

“Because it sought to communicate with you, you imbecilic dunce.” She snapped her jaw in the air. “If it had wanted you dead, then you would have met your god of death before realizing its intentions.”

“We’re already well acquainted.” A soft smile slipped across his lips. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get something to eat for a third time. And this time I might just eat it as I go, poison be damned.”

And with that he stalked off.

“He has no idea the riches he’s squandered.” The jackal collapsed next to the orange mound and laid her head on her paws.

“More history you’ll only mention in shredded scraps?” I asked.

She humphed. “Hithia should have been her sanctuary. Unable to find the Duraeins and with no tuzshu to her name, after her failure to contain the Sea Mother, the bastard bull found her destruction an easy task. But you would never understand.”

“I’ll leave you to your moping, then.” I jogged to catch up to Hasda. He’d wandered off to kick at some roots that looked promising, but eventually moved on to yet another berry bush. I stood silently behind him as he picked at the fruits, dark yellow clumps that looked like a distant cousin of mulberry.

He chewed at a strand and spit out a pit.

Sighing, I took a step to the side so I wasn’t blocking the sun. “You doing okay?”

“Not really.” Another stringy berry went in, another pit went out. “I’m tired, still hungry, and taxed from losses and past grievances.” The welt in his armor pulsed with purple light, and he glared at it. “You’re not helping. I need to focus on finishing the tax at hand, and all you want to do is cry like you ran into a former lover.”

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“Hasda.” I waited as he finished another honey-colored berry. “I know it’s been difficult for you, losing your men, and now this, but you don’t have to finish this Trial. They’re designed to test you, not break you.”

His laugh almost caught the fruit in his throat. “It wouldn’t be called a ‘Trial’ if it were easy.” He sighed. “And I’m not a child anymore. You don’t need to coddle me. Yes, ‘the mantle of leadership weighs heavy on those who bear it,’ and all the other pithy wisdom you’ve tried to instill in me for as far back as I can remember. Just because I’m upset doesn’t mean I can’t still bear it.”

I frowned. “You don’t need to force yourself beyond what you’re able. Another aspect of leadership is knowing when to cut your losses. It’s no use rowing a sunk ship.”

“It’s taking water, but it hasn’t gone under yet.” He tried picking the seed out before eating the clump, but succeeded only in pulping it. Shrugging, he popped the juicy mush into his mouth. “It’s more than wanting to keep their lives from going to waste. They served well, and they went to their goddess of death when their time came. I don’t feel any remorse over that.” The next pit went sailing towards a nearby tree. “And it’s not even about the prophecy, although I do still think about what would happen if I broke it.”

“Fail the Trial, if it means keeping yourself alive.” I crossed my arms and met his angry look. “I mean it. There’s no shame in admitting when you’ve met your match. And tempting fate may not be the most pleasant experience, but I’ve fought greater than destiny before.”

He snorted, half a laugh. “It’s not like that.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Sighing, he picked at the most recent fruit he’d plucked. “It’s…a feeling. Like I’m heading towards a metamorphosis, and the challenge of the Trial is the pressure I need for the transformation to occur. As if I’ll lose the opportunity to reach such heights forever if I give up now.”

I frowned. “The only way you’ll fail to soar is if you stumble your way to the grave. There’s no possibility of future growth after that.”

He shook his head. “It’s an opening in a fight. True, others may come, but at a cost, and a totality of victory not even approached by later windows.”

“If you say so.”

His eyes glistened with certainty. “I’m sure. And it’s not Saran, or the prophecy, or any other whispered superstitions. I can feel it in my bones.”

“All right.” I sighed and unfolded my arms. “But promise me you’ll turn aside if continuing would mean your end. I could force you, if I had to, but I’d rather not watch you waste away after I’d done that.”

“That I can do.” He nodded. “I don’t think it will come to that, but I’m not so sure of myself to ignore your advice. And I have people I want to get back to.”

Grunting, I raised a brow at him. “I thought I taught you your bestiary better than that.”

His ears colored slightly. “She’s not the only—”

“No, but she’s first in your mind.” I patted his shoulder. “And that’s okay. It’s good to have external anchors to keep you grounded from foolhardiness.”

“If I’m interrupting, I can return.” Gunarra approached from behind us.

“Done moping?” I asked, keeping my hand on Hasda’s shoulder as I turned.

She sniffed. “The expected jackals have arrived, bearing strange tidings besides. It seems the Stitcher has been otherwise engaged with an encroaching force from the east, though not the Elthiians. They did not recognize the scent.”

Good to hear Malia was still doing well. “So that would explain why the Stitcher has been sending animals instead of the Sleepless.”

“They also smelled oglelov trailing them. Both from the river and in the Weeping Queen’s train.” The lion-faced jackal tilted her head. “It is strange for them to be so far from Oglevaas.”

I frowned. “They’re ambush predators, and this forest is practically empty. What prey is there for them? Unless they eat jackal.”

Gunarra shook her head. “They don’t. And you know of them?”

“Long-neck feline things with scales instead of fur?” I grunted. “Ran into a few of them after I met the Weeping Queen.”

“So you’re death aspected, then.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Even stranger, that you would send a mortal to deal in matters of death.”

Hasda squashed a handful of berries and drank their juice before tossing the leftovers. “I’m as sated as I can be on those. Will these oglelov be a hindrance?”

“Not if they remember my face.” I smiled. “But even then, not likely. The worst they’ll do is fall on you as you pass beneath them. You’re short enough that their necks won’t likely reach, and they’d have to abandon their cover.”

“Which they’re loath to do,” Gunarra added.

Pushing to his feet, he wiped the residual juice off his hand. “Then let’s make use of what day we have left. I want to find a place to rest, and potentially observe the Stitcher’s hold, before sunset.”

“I’ve already sent my jackals ahead.” Her three tails twitched as she took to her feet. “They will alert us, should something amiss lie ahead.”

Hasda turned, then paused and knelt down to scoop a few handfuls of golden fruit into a pouch. “Let’s hope they find nothing, then.”

Gunarra dipped her head as Hasda set off. “Lead on, Gracious One.”

I frowned and shooed her ahead. “Stay close to him in case your jackals miss something or the Stitcher outsmarts them. I’ll bring up the rear.”

Shrugging, the Sukalla loped after Hasda, keeping a few strides shy of his heels.