Warrior of the Wild(32)

THREE DAYS LATER, I stand in front of the map I’ve carved into my tree. I use the rock to shape a hole at the end of the trail the god travels regularly, the one that wends below the tree I usually use as a hiding place when observing him. I was surprised by what I found at the trail’s end.

A latrine.

It was unremarkable and disgusting, but now I know the god must eat and drink as a man does.

Once done with the drawing, I turn to the side and add to my list.

FACE OF A MAN

BLOND HAIR

CARRIES AN AX

CAN USE HIS POWER TO LIFT ME OFF THE GROUND

USES A LATRINE



On the other side, I have other details written down.

PERUXOLO’S DOMAIN:

I CANNOT ENTER

MY AX CANNOT ENTER

ROCKS CAN ENTER

STICKS CAN ENTER



I let the rock drop from my hand and clatter to the ground. I’ve learned a little, but I don’t know what to try next. How are rocks and sticks going to help me?

“How’s the god hunting coming along?”

I spin, my hand going for my ax, but of course, it is only Soren. “Could you wear a bell or something?”

“I think what you meant to say was ‘It’s nice to see you again, Soren.’”

“I cannot tell a lie.”

“Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

This time, I actually do reach for my ax.

“Now, before you get angry,” he says, “you should know that I brought you dinner.”

That’s when the smell hits me. Juicy valder meat. Soren holds a skinned, roasted beast on a spit. He offers it to me.

I eye the meat, my mouth watering. I haven’t had hot food since I was still in the village. Despite my irritation, I take the meat and bite into it. It’s tender, and I chew slowly, savoring the taste.

“Thank you,” I say once I swallow.

“I’ve seen you with your pack of supplies. You must be running out of food.”

He’s not wrong.

“So I brought you this,” he continues, shrugging a large metal contraption off one of his shoulders. It’s circular with metal spikes around the edges. A dried brown substance crusts the tips. Blood.

“What is it?” I ask.

“A trap for catching valder. Iric designed it. He’s the most talented metalsmith I’ve ever met. Let me show you how it works.”

The hunters from Seravin use traps, but they’re all made out of rope. Nets that raise into the air when stepped in. I’ve never seen one made out of iron.

“I thought Iric was a warrior, like you,” I say.

“He took the warrior trial, but he trained most of his life with the smithies.”

“Why would he do that?”

“It’s … complicated.”

“Make it uncomplicated.”

“It’s not really my story to tell.”

“Then what’s your story?” I ask.

I don’t know why I bother. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been alone for the last few days with no one to talk to.

“If I tell you my story, will you tell me yours?” he asks.

“No.” I don’t hesitate before answering.

Soren looks down at his boots and smiles softly. “When Iric failed his trial, I failed on purpose so I could watch over him in the wild.”

“That’s very noble of you,” I say.

“Not really. Not when it was my fault he was banished at all.”

And that’s the part he won’t explain. But something tells me he didn’t grab a decapitated ziken head and clamp it onto Iric’s arm. How else could you cause someone to fail? If Soren willingly lost to protect his friend, then he couldn’t have purposely made Iric fail, could he?

Soren lays the trap down by his feet. Spikes that can only be described as teeth make a circle around a metal lever in the middle. Soren explains how the device works, how pressure on the lever sends the sharp teeth clamping shut like a mouth, trapping whatever steps on it. He and Iric usually place a morsel of food on the trap to attract the valder. He recommends I set it up away from camp so that if something is caught, it won’t alert ziken to the whereabouts of my camp.

“It’s very clever, but why would Iric give me this?”

“It’s his way of saying thanks for helping him out of the lake.”

“I’m surprised,” I say. “I thought he didn’t like me.”

“Well,” Soren says, his lips pressing together in thought. “You’re not his favorite person, but after some convincing, he agreed you should have it.”

I let out a short laugh. “Then please do pass along my thanks to Iric.”

He stills. Just for the briefest of moments. Then, “Of course.”

“And thank you, Soren, for bringing it. It is much appreciated.”

He beams. After a moment, he asks, “Would you take a walk with me?”

I’m taken aback. “Why?” Then I realize it doesn’t matter. “No.”

“It could be fun.”

“I doubt it.”

“Now that’s hurtful.”

“You’ll recover.”

Soren looks down at the toe of his boot, thinking for a moment. Then he says, “Could I show you where the yellow berries grow the thickest so you can pick them on your own?”