Page 204 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

I almost do not recognise him. It has been many long seasons since I last saw a member of my old tribe, and those I remember as younglings are now males full grown.

But his face brings up a memory, almost violent in its intensity, of him as a youngling, cowering beside a hut as he watched me face off with Basran, fear at this aggression shown by his brothers towards each other marking every part of his face.

He does not look afraid now, a slow grin spreading across his face as he looks me up and down, eyeing the pack on my back with interest.

“Arztal,” I say, and my voice sounds laden with yearning to my ears.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice deep, not the piping youngling voice I remember. “Here is a sight I did not expect to see. The forest is full of surprises, these sunsets of late.”

His eyes flash with the same malice as Basran, and a piece of my heartspace breaks at this. He was always such a sweet youngling. But I suppose there are none of the elders left alive to counter Basran’s hate.

“You are grown tall, brother,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, warm towards him.

The warmth is not so hard to reach for. I might be outcast now, but he was my tribe brother, and that still matters.

At least, it matters to me. Arztal only looks at me with contempt.

“You are not my brother, outcast.”

He spits the word, venom on his tongue.

“You think me outcast justly now, then? I recall you crying as you watched what Basran did to me.”

Arztal scowls, not pleased to be reminded. “I was a youngling. I saw only my beloved brothers hurting each other. I did not know what you had done.”

I bark a laugh. “What I had done?”

Arztal’s smirk returns. “You were the first to spill blood that night. Or would you deny it?”

I do not. Every time I think of that night, the first memory is of my own hands sticky with blood.

“I did what needed to be done.”

Arztal only shakes his head, as if I am crazed, my memory of that night wrong. I know it is not.

You must do this for me, Dazzik. You must.

“You are camped somewhere nearby, then?” Arztal says, his voice chasing away the echo of Nelsah’s words. “This is where you have been nursing your pride for all these seasons past?”

I say nothing. He would take what I have from me, given the chance, I think, remembering my smashed up traps. In my joy in my Sam, I had forgotten that, forgotten that someone had been roaming my lands. I silently curse myself. I should have been more alert, more careful.

But I will give him no hint to the whereabouts of my home now.

“You are a sorry sight,” he says, looking me up and down, taking in my matted hair, the patchwork of my clothing.

“You are no better, brother.”

It is not even a stretching of the truth. Arztal wears clothes that are as mended and mended again as mine, only he has sewn his with trophies. Merka beast fangs, little bones, feathers of a firebird. His hair may be tamer than mine, but he looks wild, dangerous. Hard in his features and his body.

Not hard like a blooded warrior, I realise. He carries the same hardness as me - the kind you gain from your meals being too scant for too many sunsets.

“What is in your bag?” he says, eyes fixed on it again. “A night’s forage?”

His tongue wets his lip, his gaze growing fevered. He has not hungered before, I think, is not used to it. His body rules his responses, giving him away.

“A night’s forage, yes,” I say.

Arztal glances over his shoulder. “I am to lead Walset’s brothers on a merry dance through the trees,” he says absently, as if he has almost forgotten I am here, or considers me little enough threat that I no longer matter enough to notice.

“But I do not think it is my trail they chase.” He turns his fevered gaze back to me, my pack.

“We should have a fire together. Share in your good fortune.”

“I do not think you will desire what I have when you see it,” I say, thinking of the stones and shells I have gathered. It is not even a lie I speak.

Arztal snarls. “I had thought to extend you mercy, brother . But if you think yourself too good to share your spoils with me, then I shall take what you have and leave you with nothing.”

He draws a knife. I can see the sharpness of it in the way the light catches on the bone blade. My heartspace sinks. He holds it in the wrong way, his grip ineffective. I could have that knife from his hand in a moment, and it would be a fine addition to my collection.

“Arztal, I have no desire to harm you. Do not do this. Walk away as if we have not seen each other.”

Even as I say it, I unhook my bag from my shoulders, position my feet so I am braced and ready. I raise my weaponless hands, and I wish, I wish I had a knife. Perhaps the sight of a blade in my grip would dissuade him from this course.

Arztal only grins, then launches himself at me.

I catch his wrist easily, twisting until the blade drops to the floor. I use his momentum against him, flipping him so he crashes to the ground, bending to retrieve his blade while he still catches his breath.

“Leave,” I say to him. “Take yourself from my trees and I will not follow.”

He pushes himself halfway up, his weight on hands and feet, the moment before standing. I think he is going to turn and leave as I have bid. I do not expect him to use his crouching position to launch himself at my legs.

We crash to the floor, tumbling over each other.

The knife falls from my hand, lost in the foliage on the forest floor.

Arztal showers punches on my legs, my hips, my chest. But they are frantic, wild blows.

Not focused enough to be damaging, or even to slow me down.

When I get the right position and leverage, I flip him on to his back, pinning him with a knee to his chest.

“Get off me,” he wheezes, his voice breathy as he struggles to take air deep into his lungs.

I lean on him a little harder, ensure he has the message, then rise, releasing him.

I walk back towards my torch, searching for the blade on the ground, my back turned to him.

I spot the knife, stooping to pick it up, checking the blade for damage, running my thumb along the flat edges of it, and find nothing.

I turn, expecting to see him fleeing, tail between his legs as he goes. Instead, I am met by him launching once more at me. Surprised, I raise the knife, my arms moved by instinct more so than conscious thought. I realise what I have done a moment too late.

The blade slides deep, slipping up beneath his ribs, piercing his lungs, his heartspace.

I see the moment he realises what has happened, watch his features revert from the hard-faced thing he has become back to the frightened youngling I once knew.

Blood leaks from his mouth as he opens it, attempting to speak, but no words escape him.

“I did not want this,” I tell him, lowering him to the floor with what gentleness I can. “I did not want this.”

He splutters, choking down his last breaths. I sit with him until he is gone.

Anguish crashes through me, drowning out all the other joys and fears and pains I have felt this night.

I may not have been considered one of the tribe for many long seasons, but my brothers still hold a place in my heartspace.

For Arztal to die by my hand cuts at that place as surely as if I had slid the knife between my own ribs.

I turn my head to the sky and take a breath, ready to bellow my rage and grief to the stars. But something halts me. Words that Arztal said that did not fully sink in to my headspace until now.

I am to lead Walset’s brothers on a merry dance through the trees.

It is a trick that warriors and hunters learn early in their training - confusing a trail so that an enemy might not follow you.

I think of Arztal’s feverish eyes on my pack, and what my Sam said of Walset’s brothers packing their things and travelling to join together with another tribe.

My old tribe hunger as I do and they have struck at Walset’s tribe while they are vulnerable.

They have struck them while Walset’s tribe have care of my Sam.

My heartspace thunders in my chest, fear rising up my throat like bile. I do not doubt that Walset’s tribe could see off an attack, especially if most of my old tribe are as poorly trained as Arztal. But my Sam - she is small and delicate.

And a prize.

I do not hesitate. Pausing only to grab my pack, my torch, I run out into the forest, following the trail that Arztal has made so that I might find the true trail of the main group.

If they have taken her, if they have harmed a single hair on her head, I will make them pay.

Each and every one of them, I will make them pay.