Audiobook Version

https://youtu.be/q7yMO4to8fU

What do I do once she's gone?

For the next hours Alam felt alone, surrounded by a sea of joy. Around him there was no talk of sadness. Food was eaten. Drink was drunk. Songs were sung. Even through his gloom Alam could tell that a feeling of peace and joy permeated the camp.

Once the eating was finished Urlock brought out the prizes. The clan gathered around excitedly. He started by giving out the weapons and armour claimed from both the valley raid, and the dargu attack. The recipients accepted them eagerly and loudly: swinging swords in the air, and flashing the mail and shields around. Urlock then revealed the veteran's sword and armour. They were things of beauty which caused an intake of breath from more than one warrior. Urlock passed them around so that they could be appreciated more fully. The crowd looked from face to face, wondering who would be the fortunate person to receive them.

"These we trade," said Urlock. Disappointment was clear on many faces. "They will fetch a good price. We will exchange them for furs, or perhaps breeding mares. Also, I do not want to give the impression that I think any of our warriors are more important than others. If I were to give these to anyone, including myself, it could set up envy among friends, and eat away at the unity of our clan."

Many of the warriors knew they would never hold a blade and armour of their like again. None the less, everyone bowed their head twice to show that they agreed with the wisdom of their chief. Next, he brought out the clothing, food items, and boxes of general supplies. These were shared out evenly among the families. After that were the horses. They had been corralled separately from the rest of the clan's horses, and had been a big topic of speculation. A good horse was central to a family's prosperity and status. One at a time he called someone up to claim a beast. As he did so he explained why each one was given. The last horse was the finest - the tall, magnificent, proud grey that had belonged to the veteran.

"The final horse goes to Alam."

The shock was enough to pull him out of his misery.

"What? Why me?"

Tajar nudged him in the ribs. "Get moving. And you might want to close your mouth," he whispered.

Alam walked up, bowed low, and took the reins of the horse from his chief.

"Thank you Chief Urlock. I do not deserve such a beast."

"You are the only one in the clan tall enough to ride her without looking ridiculous," he replied with a smile.

Alam bowed low a second time while everyone hooted in celebration for him. Alam led the beautiful beast back out of the circle, beyond the tents, and to the corral. He stroked her neck, checked her teeth, felt her legs, and examined her hooves.

"You are perfect," he told the horse while patting her neck. "I wonder if you are a sign?"

Alam left these thoughts behind, and returned to the fire. Urlock had brought out the chest of coins claimed in the raid, and the sorcerer's large book.

"I now ask for the wisdom of the clan to decide what to do with the next items. There are more than four hundred silver coins, two hundred copper coins and 18 coins of gold in this box!" To illustrate he poured the coins onto the ground. Silence. No one had ever seen such a treasure. It was wealth beyond their reckoning.

"We also claimed this book from a sorcerer. The writing in it is strange. No one that I have asked can read it. If it is just a book it is worth something - though I do not know what - but if these words have something to do with magic it could be extremely valuable. So my question is what do we do with them?"

In the end it was decided to divide the silver and copper evenly among every man, woman, and child, but to entrust Chief Urlock with the gold for trading. It was also decided to trade the book at Clan Meet, or failing that in Lasthome, whenever the long journey there was next taken.

"The night is getting old and our fire is almost gone, but we have one more item to discuss. Alam, bring forward the box."

Alam took it out of the sling that he now habitually carried over his shoulder and walked forward. He handed it to Urlock. The Chief passed it around. While people looked at it he told how the sorcerer and bloodknights had been sent to claim it; how the holy man gave it to Alam and asked him to keep it safe; how it was unable to be opened; how he suspected that the attack of the dargu was connected to the box; and how he felt that it was dangerous, but might be valuable.

"Clan Empa, I had given it to Alam for safekeeping, but now I ask you - what shall we do with it?"

"Burn it! It sounds cursed, and we already have plenty of silver and gold," replied one of the elders.

"Give it to the dargu as a peace offering," suggested someone else.

"Break it open so that we can see what is inside," added another elder.

Discussion opened up. Many supported selling it. Some urged destroying it. None suggested keeping it. Alam stayed quiet during the debate. As he listened a desire to speak grew inside him. He struggled to resist it because the ideas in his head were contrary to the way the clan worked. As the debate continued the compulsion to speak grew stronger and stronger. Finally he stood up.

"Clan Empa. I have a different view. Please forgive me, for it is a view that sounds like it goes against our ways... I know that many will disagree with me when I say that I do not think that the fate of this small box is to be decided by our clan. It is mine to decide. Mine alone."

Silence spread over the people. Frowns creased the brows of many, especially the elders. Even Khalesar knitted her brows in concern. To put one's own thought above the entire clan, unless one was Chief, was extreme arrogance.

"The holy man singled me out. He told me to take it to Clarisai. Ever since he beckoned to me I have felt drawn to protect it. I do not want to either sell or bargain it away. It also gives me strange visions that I wish to unravel. It is a calling to my heart and mind."

"But none of us know where, or who, Clarisai is," pointed out Urlock.

"That is true."

"I begin to think that the foreigner has bewitched you," said Urlock.

"Then I am doomed, for I feel I must fulfill my pledge however unwise it was to make."

After a stretch of silence Shaleh spoke up. There was worry in her voice. "What will you do Alam?"

"In one month's time I will take it to someone who understands magic. Hopefully I can find someone that can better guide me to return it to its owner."

"Such as the hermit that attends the Clan Meet?" asked Shaleh.

"He is a healer and a soothsayer. Do you think he practices this kind of magic? The kind that seals boxes and attracts monsters?" he replied.

There was no answer.

"No," Alam continued. "I will visit Lasthome and hope to find someone there."

"And then?" asked Urlock standing up. Thunder was on his brow. "If you find someone who knows about it will you hand it to them? Will you then return to the Clan?"

As Alam spoke many of the vague thoughts that had played through his mind over the past number of days converged: shame that his actions killed the Clan's warriors, fear that the box could draw even more danger to it, despair that Shaleh would be betrothed to another. Through a confusion of emotions a path was appearing. He glanced over at Shaleh.

Only one moon.

"I will not return to the Clan until my oath is fulfilled. If I find a place, or person, named Clarisai when I reach Lasthome I will return. Otherwise, I will continue my search."

Urlock began to pace.

"You have no idea how long that would take."

"True," agreed Alam.

"Can you not hear your selfishness? You are needed here!"

Alam remained silent with head bowed. He was honest enough with himself to acknowledge that part of his decision was indeed selfish.

"Who raised you, boy?" demanded Urlock. This was a ritual question.

"I am raised by the Clan," he gave the answer that all Empa children memorise from the moment they are old enough to have their first hair-cut.

"Who feeds you, boy?"

"I am fed by the Clan."

"Who watches over you, boy?"

"I am watched over by the Clan."

"And who do you follow, boy?"

"I follow my Chief," replied Alam finishing the ritual questions.

"What is the first responsibility of an Empa warrior?" Urlock asked.

"To protect those that have raised me, fed me, and watched over me."

"How many warriors do we now have?" demanded Urlock.

"Less than twenty."

"Have you ever seen us so vulnerable?"

"No," replied Alam meekly.

"Yet you are happy to abandon those who raised you at a time of weakness? To have the dargu or one of our larger neighbors attack us while you gallivant around the plains on some self-appointed quest?"

"It is not self-appointed," Alam retorted. Some of Urlock's shouting was starting to resonate inside him and he found his own anger and pain surging to the surface.

"I did not give you this quest and I am your Chief!"

"But you did tell me to look after it! You were the one that told me to not let it out of my sight!"

"And what would you do if I told you to do something different?"

"That depends," Alam answered hotly. He knew the moment he said it was the wrong thing to say. It was the truth, but not the truth he was raised with.

After a moment of silence Urlock's voice came out menacing and low. "And if your chief tells you to hand over the box to the dargu?"

"I would refuse."

Urlock took a step forward. Alam raised his head briefly. Enough to register the horror on the faces around him.

"I mean no disrespect," he muttered as his gaze fell to the ground.

"Whether you mean it or not, you are disrespecting your chief, you insolent boy!" roared Urlock. He thrust his arm out. "Hand it to me!"

"No." Alam's voice was small and weak.

"Hand it to me!" Urlock repeated and took another step closer.

"No." Alam's voice came out stronger. Stubborn bitterness was swelling in his gut. "First you strip my happiness by deciding to marry Shaleh to another tribe! And now you try to take away something my conscience tells me I must do!"

Urlock's head spun to his daughter.

"You told him?"

Shaleh kept her gaze directed to the ground. Her silence was a clear answer.

"Alam. If you want to stay in my clan then hand it to me now!"

A part of Alam knew he should stop and beg forgiveness but, the warrior's rage was too strong in him by now.

"No. I will not."

Urlock opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the bonfire suddenly flared up. Everyone cried out in shock and threw themselves away from the unnatural blaze.

In the midst of the flames an emptiness appeared, a swirling blackness. Into that blackness the image of an enlarged torso took shape. A man, or perhaps a demon. All of him looked of cruelty. He wore scarred leather armour adorned with metal studs that gleamed in the unearthly fire. Although his frame was covered by the leather it was unmistakably powerful and lean. A huge greatsword dripping with liquid was held in a gloved hand. His broad face was adorned by a short cut beard and framed by dark, long waving hair. The top of his hair was pulled together in a ponytail that kept it out of his eyes and showed off a vivid scar that crossed his forehead from temple to hairline. His eyes gleamed with absolute confidence.

"I am Gretch! I am called The Hunter! Silent Death! The Sleepless One! Never have I failed to catch my prey! Never! Weep and wail for you are next! You have something that belongs to my Liege: a carved box of black wood. Yield it, and the pain will be short. Know of a truth, there are many things in this world worse than death, and I am one of them! I am Gretch! The Hunter! And you are my prey!"

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-Y. V. Qualls