Sting of the Scorpion: The Outlawed Myth, #3

By Evelyn Puerto

***Second Place, 2022 Book Fest Awards, Epic & Magic, Myths & Legends Fantasy***

***Third Place, 2022 Book Fest Awards, YA Fantasy***

 

An orphaned girl, powerless and destitute. An Endless War, that threatens to consume everyone in its path. Magic amulets, that hold the promise of victory.

 

After Damira witnesses the brutal slaughter of nearly her entire clan by a roving warband, she resolves never to feel helpless again. With nowhere to go, she, her brother and a friend surrender to a warlord, resigned to becoming little more than pawns in the Endless War.

 

But when Wei Fang, a warlord wielding magic amulets threatens to destroy anyone who stands against her, Damira must choose. Will she seek to master the power of the amulets and make a stand against the brutal Wei Fang? Or will the power behind the amulets destroy her first?

 

If you like determined heroines, compelling characters, magic amulets and a splash of romance, you'll love Evelyn Puerto's exciting tale.

 

Grab your copy to plunge into the adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn Puerto
• Release date: Jan 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201022907

Book preview

1

Damira wasn’t sure about many things, but this she knew. If they didn’t come home with a gazelle, her family would starve. Maybe not today, but soon.

She shivered in the cold wind, grateful for her fleece-lined boots and quilted robe. The weak winter sun was nearly overhead. Mostly obscured by wispy clouds, it provided little warmth. Damira pointed to the east, toward a stand of trees that flanked a narrow river. It went that way. Her heart pounded as she thought of tracking the gazelle and bringing it down. Finally, fresh meat after weeks without.

Her brother Syzyan leaned from his horse and studied the tracks in the dusting of snow between the scrub bushes. But it’s a small one. We’re better off heading a bit farther north. That’s where the herd will be.

We don’t know that. She glared at him. Better to go after this one. At least we know it’s here.

Her brother’s gray eyes were hard like stones in his tanned face. But it’s alone. That means it’s not able to keep up. It won’t be worth our trouble.

Better to take the one we know than guessing about the herd. This late in the winter, we need to take what we can find. Damira turned to the third member of their party. Right, Shagonar?

He answered with an easy grin, dimples appearing in his coppery-tan skin. Yes. Well. Maybe. He shifted in his saddle. Syz could be right. One scrawny gazelle won’t go far among thirty people. He tipped his head to the side. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of eating things that crawl on the ground.

But we could be all day chasing gazelles that aren’t there. Damira let out a huff. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t see. Her grandmother had become frail and weak from giving her portion of dried rock lizard and fried ants to her younger brother and sister. And it had not been enough to keep them from growing gaunt.

A passing cloud cast a shadow over Syzyan’s face. Besides, you know the sand wolves wait by the water. Let them have this gazelle. I’m not about to fight them for it. He jerked his chin toward the north. If there’s one gazelle, there’re bound to be others. He clicked his tongue and touched his heels to his horse’s side, urging the steed into motion.

No. She moved her mare closer to Shagonar’s. She laid a hand on his muscled forearm and tipped her face to look into his eyes. Shag, please. We can’t let our families die. We just can’t risk it.

Shagonar glanced from her pleading eyes to Syzyan’s frown. Dami, I think maybe Syz is right…

She pulled her hand back with a jerk as if touching him burned her and shook her head. So you want to tell your grandmother she’ll have to go hungry another night?

Fine. Shagonar rolled his broad shoulders and he spurred his horse forward. Syz! His shout cut the cold air. Let’s go this way.

Syzyan said something Damira couldn’t hear, but she was sure it was a curse. She didn’t care. He’d calm down once he saw she was right. She nudged her horse’s sides with her heels and set off behind Shagonar, who was leaning over the side of his horse pointing a little to the east. This way.

The three rode in silence. Syzyan moved to lead the group. Damira couldn’t help noticing the stiffness of his back and neck. Let him be angry with her.

The steppe sloped down to a stream edged by clumps of barren trees. The tracks of a single gazelle led straight into the water and up the opposite bank.

We can’t go on much farther. Syzyan studied the thickening trees. This looks like a good place to meet sand wolves. He tipped his head to Damira, indicating she should follow him.

Damira complied. Best to let him think he’s getting his way. Bossy big brother. Even though Shagonar was a year older than Syz, he never tried to lord it over her.

They crossed the stream, then rode through the trees, following tracks that never strayed far from the water. Damira ignored the dark looks Syzyan threw her way. The gazelle tracks were leading them closer to a rugged part of the steppe where they rarely hunted.

We should turn back, Syzyan said. We’re not going to find this one, and the herd isn’t anywhere near here.

Just a little longer, please, Damira said. I’m sure we’re close. Don’t you hear it?

All three turned their heads toward crackling noises in the underbrush. Then the high-pitched sound of a gazelle. She gave Syzyan a triumphant smile. See, it’s here.

At that moment, a gazelle burst from between the trees and ran toward them. Damira raised her bow and took aim.

No, Dami! Run! Syzyan’s shout made her stop.

On the heels of the gazelle sped a sand wolf, a black predator that ran faster than a horse. It swerved and leaped at Shagonar, driving its teeth into his leg.

Damira’s heart plunged into her stomach at the sound of his scream. Without thinking, she squeezed her knees, prodding her horse forward. She readied her bow. Holding her breath, she took aim and released her arrow.

It struck the sand wolf in the shoulder. The animal released Shagonar’s leg and snarled. That gave her time to nock a second arrow and release it. This one hit the cat in the throat. Her arrow was joined by one of Syzyan’s, which pierced its chest. The cat fell to the ground, lifeless.

Jumping from her mare, Damira ran to Shagonar, who was leaning over his horse’s withers and clutching its mane. Blood ran down his leg and dripped on his leather boot. Shag, let me see.

Shagonar grunted. Damira tore a piece from the hem of her gray tunic and tied it around his leg, between his knee and the wound. We need to wash it, she said, before she grabbed the reins of his horse and led it back to the stream they’d forded. Syzyan followed, leading Damira’s horse and keeping his bow ready.

Once at the stream, she cut the leg of Shagonar’s trousers so she could see the damage to his calf. She winced at the sight. His leg was torn in five or six places, deep spiraling wounds of shredded flesh that extended nearly to the bone. Her stomach lurched and she tasted sour bile.

With an effort, she swallowed it. Oh, Shag, I’m so sorry. This was her fault. She pulled the red sash from her waist, folded it in two, and laid it over the wound. Then she scooped icy water from the stream and poured it over, letting the fabric serve as a rough filter.

Snake’s teeth, that’s cold, Shagonar said with a shiver. I don’t suppose you have any warm water around.

She glanced into his tawny eyes and he gave her a wink. The muscles in her face relaxed. If he could still make feeble jokes, he wasn’t about to die on her. Nope. Left my cooking things at home. After washing the wound thoroughly, she cut a piece from her skirt and used it to bandage his leg. She tied Shagonar’s sash tightly around the bandage.

Shagonar pointed at the dead sand wolf. Well, looks like someone has a new fur rug.

Not any of us, Syzyan said. We’ll have to trade it for food.

Or we can eat it. Shagonar ran a finger over the bandage on his leg and winced. Better than nothing.

Dami, come with me. Syzyan didn’t wait for her reply, but led his horse to the sand wolf’s carcass. He handed her the reins, then stooped and wrapped his arms around the dead animal. Good thing this one’s not full grown. He grunted as he hoisted the cat onto the rump of his horse and tied it securely. Then he mounted. Now, can we try to find the herd? He didn’t look at Damira, but she knew from his tone he was repressing his anger.

With a sigh, she returned to Shagonar. She gently touched the bandage on his leg. Can you ride?

He nodded and waved a hand for her to follow Syzyan.

She studied his face. He was pale and his jaw was clenched shut. A few drops of sweat glistened on his forehead. Damira slumped her shoulders. This is my fault. The three of them had hunted together for years, since they were children. And nothing like this had ever happened before. I’m sorry, Shagonar.

I’ll be fine. He gave her a weak smile. I’ve been bit by worse before. Now let’s go, before Syz’s head explodes. Or another sand wolf wants my other leg.

2

Damira followed her brother, her chin drooping lower with each of her horse’s steps. Syzyan’s back was straight and he held his head high as if the round, closely fitted cap he wore was a crown. It could be, Damira thought. The yellow pointed top that marked Syzyan as head of a household was aimed at the sky.

The strained silence between them gnawed at Damira’s stomach. Syz is mad at me, Shagonar’s hurt. She had only wanted to help. She couldn’t figure out what else they could have done. At least now they had some meat, as stringy and gamy as it was.

She rubbed her stinging nose on the quilted sleeve of her long robe. To chase a lone gazelle in winter was foolish. Her face burned and she squirmed in her saddle. She’d let her desperation lead her astray. And Shagonar was paying for her folly.

The shadows were lengthening when Shagonar moaned and dropped his head on his chest, the pointed top of his hat grazing his horse’s dark, shaggy mane.

Shag! Damira spurred her horse to come alongside him. The bandage around his leg was damp, a large dark spot over his wound. You’re still bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?

Because I want something for dinner other than a mangy sand wolf. He gave her half a smile.

Syz, he can’t go on much farther.

Syzyan rode over to them and frowned. You’re right. Maybe we should go back.

I’m good for a little longer. Shagonar pulled himself upright. Let’s try over the next rise.

Damira bit her lip. She wanted to add her voice to Shagonar’s, but the way her brother had been scowling at her, she knew he didn’t want her opinion. Not after the disaster earlier.

Are you sure? Syzyan asked. We can always try again tomorrow.

And the herd could be miles away by then. Shagonar clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward. I’m going to look.

As you like. Syzyan followed.

Now if they could just find the herd. Then Syz might forgive her mistake.

At the top of the rise, Syzyan stopped and pointed. Look. In the distance, in front of a rocky cleft that pierced the late afternoon sky, a herd of gazelle grazed. Their red-yellow coats blended with the yellowed grasses where the snow had blown away. Had it not been for their white rumps, they would have been easy to miss.

Syzyan untied the sand wolf and let its carcass fall to the ground. We’re downwind of them. Dami, you go a little east, I’ll go west. His tone softened. Shag, can you ride in straight? Maybe that will scatter them to either me or Dami. One of us should get close enough for a kill.

Shag grunted. I can.

Damira nodded and moved off, keeping her horse to a slow walk. She knew their best chance to get close to the gazelles was to move slowly. She forced herself to be patient, to not give in to her impulse to race for the herd. Her heart thumped in her chest. They just had to kill two to make this a successful hunt.

Slow breaths, she told herself. She needed a steady hand on her bow. She watched Syzyan in the distance and mirrored his progress. They’d done this countless times over the past seven years, and each one knew their part as if they’d memorized the steps for a dance. If only we can get closer before something spooks the herd.

One, two gazelle heads popped up, their graceful twisting horns pointing to the sky. If she were closer, she’d be able to see the startled looks on the gazelles’ faces. Slowly, now. Go on, little gazelles. Go back to grazing.

A few more heads rose from the grass. In a heartbeat, the herd scattered, some racing toward her, others away.

She spurred her horse to cut them off. Yells from Syzyan told her he was doing the same. She glanced at Shagonar. He was riding forward slowly, his bow lowered, not looking like he was preparing to shoot.

Damira didn’t have time to wonder why. Moving her body as one with the rocking motion of her cantering horse, she nocked an arrow. She aimed and released it. Her shot went wide but had the effect of sending the herd toward Syzyan. It wasn’t enough. Her next shot just missed. She cursed. Stay calm. Syz and Shag released arrows. And missed. She loosed another arrow. And missed. The herd was scattering as it fled to the hills. In moments, the gazelles would be over the ridge and out of sight.

When she spotted a straggling gazelle, Damira nocked an arrow. Slowly, now. She pulled in a breath, then let fly. Her arrow struck the gazelle in the flank and it fell with a cry of pain. Her heart racing, she urged her horse forward. The gazelle was struggling to stand. She couldn’t let it get away. She overtook it and leaped from her mare, nearly tumbling on top of the wounded animal. It let out a frantic cry before she silenced it by slitting its throat.

With one hand gripping the hilt of her knife and the other her bow, she threw her head back, grinning at the overcast sky. The animal she’d killed was skinny, like most gazelles late in the winter, but it was a full-grown male. At least I’ve done one thing right today. We’ll eat well tonight. Relief coursed through her like the melting snow that made streams overflow in the spring.

Grin still in place, she spun to share her joy with Shagonar, turning just in time to see him slide off his horse and crumple to the ground. Dropping her weapons, she gasped and ran to him.

By the time she reached his side, he was already trying to sit up. She fell to her knees and steadied him.

I’m all right. The weakness in his voice didn’t give her much confidence that he was telling the truth.

What happened?

Dunno. All of a sudden, everything went black. Then I was on the ground.

Damira didn’t like the sound of that. She ran her fingers over the bandage and cursed under her breath. The wound was still oozing. Shag, I’ve got to tie this tighter.

He nodded, his tanned face pasty gray. His breath came in short gasps, puffing up clouds in the frosty air.

Syzyan rode up and vaulted from his horse. He watched Damira tie Shagonar’s sash firmly around his leg, then let out a sigh. What a waste of a day. Just a sand wolf to show for it. Wouldn’t be so bad if Shagonar…

What do you mean? Damira pointed with her chin. I shot a gazelle.

His eyes widened. Nice. He grabbed the reins of his horse and led it to Damira’s mare while she turned her attention back to Shagonar. She dug in his saddlebags for an extra string of leather that she tied tightly around his leg just above where she’d tied his sash. This should do you until we get home. She smiled, hoping to convince him with her brave words. And if he dies, it will be my fault.

She helped him to his feet, then steadied him as he swung himself into the saddle. Then she arranged the lengths of his robe over his thighs. He smiled down at her.

I’ll be expecting the choice bits of that gazelle, you know.

Anything you want.

The tightness in her chest eased. At least he wasn’t mad at her, but she couldn’t say the same for Syzyan, who was riding back to them leading Damira’s horse, where he’d slung the dead gazelle.

Let’s find that cat and go home. Syzyan cast a worried look at Shagonar. You can ride?

Shagonar snorted. I’m Otrechian. Of course, I can ride. He pointed his chin to the south. I’m right behind you.

Damira caught the pointed look Syzyan cast her way. Yes, brother, I’ll make sure Shag doesn’t fall. She moved her horse next to her injured friend’s. It was going to be a long ride home.

3

"L ook, we’re almost there." Damira patted Shagonar’s shoulder and pointed. From a distance, the huddle of dirty white yurts looked like mounds of melting snow.

He grunted, causing her to jerk her head to look at him. His normally coppery skin was pale. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead.

She gulped, wishing his pain was hers. Soon, Shag, we’ll be there. She didn’t dare try to ride faster. That might make things worse for him.

The eleven yurts of their clan stood in a circle, the doorways all facing south. Thankfully, they were approaching from the north. Shagonar’s yurt was near the northern side of the circle.

When they arrived, she helped him from his horse. She pulled the wooden door open and led him into his yurt. They stumbled over the threshold and were greeted by a scream from Shagonar’s mother.

Damira glanced up to where his mother and grandmother stood, their hands pressed to their mouths. She knew they’d be horrified when they got a look at his wound. She dropped her eyes to the ground.

I’ll be fine, really. Shagonar shook off Damira’s hands and staggered toward his bed on the western side of the yurt. Just a scratch.

His mother, Tylgana, eased him down. We’ll see about that. She unwrapped the bandages and let out a howl. You’ve been bitten by a sand wolf! She ran to the brazier and grabbed a pot of hot water.

Shagonar’s grandmother, Asel, was digging in her supplies, her head nearly invisible in the depths of a wooden chest. She sat up holding a handful of tiny sacks. Herbs, Damira thought. Hopefully, powerful healing herbs. She stood watching, helplessly wringing her hands. Can I help?

Tylgana glanced up at Damira. How did this happen?

Damira gulped. I have to tell her. She’ll know the truth eventually. We were tracking a gazelle. It headed into the brush.

Tylgana dipped a rag in the hot water and dabbed Shagonar’s leg. A lone gazelle?

Yes.

Were there no others nearby?

The dreaded question, Damira thought, pressing her lips together. Like her son, Tylgana didn’t miss a thing. We thought it had separated from the herd.

And you tracked it and not the others?

Damira’s heart beat a little faster, anticipating Tylgana’s reaction. Well, Shagonar and Syzyan thought we should go for the herd. I thought it better to chase the one we were close to.

Tylgana dampened the rag and dabbed the dried blood on Shagonar’s leg. And? Her tone was as hard as the packed sand of the desert after it had baked under the sun for weeks.

We went after the lone gazelle. A sand wolf was chasing it as well.

And I got in the way. Shagonar put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. Dami killed the cat and bound me up. Then we went after the herd, and she took down a gazelle. And here we are.

Tylgana wrung out the rag, twisting it fiercely as if she wanted to be wringing Damira’s neck instead. Humpf. Had you not convinced these two idiots to go your way, my son wouldn’t be near death. And you might have three gazelles to show for a day’s hunt. Not just one.

And a sand wolf, Damira added faintly.

Bah. Make sure that brother of yours gives us our share. She flicked the rag at Damira. Go.

Shag, I’ll take care of your horse. Without waiting for a response, Damira scurried outside. Shagonar’s mother was a force to be reckoned with, as fierce as lightning in her anger.

After grooming, feeding, and staking their mares in the center of the circle of yurts, she gathered Shagonar’s saddle and tack. She returned to his yurt, reluctance dragging every step. I’m the last person his mother wants to see. She hesitated on the threshold.

High-pitched laughter made her turn. Two girls carrying pots of water were drawing near. Damira let out a long breath. Shagonar’s younger sisters. Now I don’t have to go in.

When the girls were a few feet away, she placed Shagonar’s saddle and tack on the ground. These are your brother’s things. Can you give them to him? With a smile, she ran back to her horse.

She collected her saddle and tack. In a few heartbeats, she’d covered the short distance to the yurt she shared with her brother, grandmother, and two younger siblings. Raised voices made her pause outside.

Syzyan was telling their grandmother, Rashana, about the hunt. Damira could hear every word. He’d obviously been holding back his anger for hours.

Rashana spoke in a soothing murmur, but Damira couldn’t make out the words. At least they seemed to calm Syzyan, given he didn’t respond. Steeling herself, Damira slowly stepped over the raised threshold and deposited her saddle near Syzyan’s. She took a few deep breaths, savoring the warmth and relief of being out of the cold. Then she shook off her robe and laid it on her bed.

Her brother was seated on the floor by his bed, their grandmother by the brazier in the center of the yurt, under the opening in the roof. Syzyan had already skinned the sand wolf. The black pelt was stretched out, its fur glistening in the firelight. He looked at her, his glance cool like a winter breeze. How is Shag?

He’s fine, his grandmother’s working on his leg.

Good. Scrape the pelt, will you?

To obey her older brother was the smart thing, Damira knew. Once he’d eaten, he’d be calmer. For the next hour, they worked in silence, she cleaning the sand wolf’s pelt, him carefully skinning the gazelle and cutting the animals’ flesh, dividing the meat into eleven portions, one for each family in their camp.

As she worked, Damira cast glances at her brother, hoping to see his clenched jaw relax and his frown ease.

Life hadn’t been easy for Syz. Nine years earlier a band of Izolliyans had raided their camp. Many of the adult men lost their lives that day, including their father, and Shagonar’s.

That left nine-year-old Shagonar and eight-year-old Syzyan the heads of what was left of their families. Happy-go-lucky Shagonar seemed to be able to bear the burden more easily, but Syzyan, who’d always been serious, became even more so as the years dragged on.

Like the others of their clan, they’d eked out a living by putting everyone—even the children—to work hunting, gathering, and tending the animals. She knew it weighed on Syzyan, his feeling that he would fail at providing, that they would all starve because of some lack within him. If Shagonar had the same fears, he never let on.

Damira frowned at the pelt, wondering what else she could do to help her brother. Anything to ease her guilt over Shag’s injury and to keep Syz from casting accusing glances her way.

Her musings were interrupted when Syzyan finished dividing up the spoils of their hunt. He sent their younger brother and sister to inform the other families the meat was ready to share.

After they’d scampered off, he turned his eyes on Damira. You realize you’ve made everything worse.

Syz, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.

You don’t understand. Baba here has been telling me that half the clan wants to seek protection from Iktul.

Her grandmother nodded, her expression resigned. Damira shuddered. Iktul was the warlord who ruled the territory where they lived. Many pledged themselves to warlords as vassals, camping where he camped, herding where he herded, always offering portions of what they killed or raised to the warlord.

Other clans still lived the way Damira’s did, roaming the steppe in small bands, hunting and herding their sheep and goats. These clans would meet up once or twice a year, usually in the spring or fall, to arrange marriages and trade news of roaming gazelle, Izolliyan raids, and the progress of the Endless War.

Their lives were hard and uncertain, but they were free to go where they chose. They didn’t need to rely on someone else to tell them where to hunt or when to slaughter livestock.

But no one kept them from starving, either.

She ignored her sinking feeling. But why now?

Syzyan stopped working, dangling a bloody knife from one hand, holding a gazelle’s horn in the other. Because it’s getting harder and harder. Each year, raiders take more of our animals or kill more of the men.

He shaved the edge of the gazelle’s horn where he’d removed it from the animal’s skull. If they go now, with their herds, they’ll have a better position with Iktul.

Damira understood what he meant. People who sought protection from a warlord, but who came empty-handed, ended up as serfs, fully enslaved rather than partially.

Her clan had chosen a different path, a path of freedom. In exchange for pledging loyalty, the warlord allowed them to roam freely on his lands. He made no promises of protection from other warlords or raids, but neither did he expect any of them to fight in his wars. To ask for protection they would have to surrender their cherished freedom.

You promised we’d never do that. Damira folded her arms across her stomach and pressed her lips together, wincing at the memory of her dying father clinging to Syzyan’s hand, begging his son with his last breath. Don’t get caught up in the affairs of warlords and their Endless War. Flee, or die before you do that. Syz, you promised our ake.

Her brother raised his eyes to hers. A muscle twitched in his jaw. Just the way it did when their ake died. I don’t want to, but what choice do we have?

We keep on as we have been. The way our fathers have for generations. We won’t forsake the old ways. And the spirits of our land.

Syzyan raised his eyebrows at her. She met his gaze, easily reading his thoughts. Had it not been for Izolliyans killing off so many men, Damira would not be hunting. She’d be sitting in the camp cooking or sewing, as the old ways mandated.

If only the spirits could guarantee us good hunting. They seem to have forgotten about us. He pointed at the small piles of meat with his knife. We got lucky today. But it’s not going to last. And if we follow the herd much farther north, we could run into Izolliyans.

The barbarians in the north would be merciless if they came upon their camp. Damira shuddered, but would bondage be any better? Syz, you don’t really want to be a warlord’s serf, do you?

No. His tone was defiant. I don’t. But I’m not sure what else to do.

Their baba chuckled. There’s always the Abandoned Lands, you know.

Damira shot a look at Syzyan, who returned it with the faintest hint of a grin. He snorted. Baba, you’re not going to tell us those myths again.

They aren’t myths, young scamp. Have you forgotten our history?

No, Baba. Syzyan sighed. You’ve told us before. How centuries before the Endless War began, Otrechia was wealthy, so wealthy it had ventured beyond the desert to the west, scaled the mountains, and found a rich and fertile land that stretched to the sea. He shook his head. Really, Baba, how can we believe there is so much water that it surrounds all the known lands like they are no more than an island?

Baba just frowned at him.

You told us how Otrechia turned that vacant land into a satrapy and ruled it from afar, building cities and villages. Then the Endless War began.

Damira picked up the story. The inhabitants of the western satrapy rushed to defend Otrechia. So many came that the land became empty and abandoned.

So. You do remember. Baba held out her hands. Do you not see? If the land was so fertile, someone could make a good life for themselves there. Without this Endless War. When neither Damira nor Syzyan responded, she clapped her hands together. It was precisely this knowledge that led members of our clan to flee the Endless War and become the second wave of people to seek their fortunes in the west. They were joined by other Otrechians.

And if the story can be believed, by Izolliyans, Uzhasovians, and even Vernians. Syzyan dug the second horn from the gazelle’s skull. If that’s true, they most likely killed each other long ago.

Then that fertile land is there for the taking.

Fine, Baba, that would be true. But what if they’re alive? Syzyan said, raising his eyebrows.

Perhaps they’d welcome other refugees from the Endless War. Baba climbed to her feet, groaning slightly. Why wouldn’t they?

Could it be true? A land untouched by the Endless War? A place of peace and safety? Damira’s heart fluttered, but one glance at Syzyan’s scowl told her he wasn’t entranced by Baba’s story.

His words confirmed her guess. Baba, maybe. But it’s too big of a risk. Marzhia and Taraz are too young for such a trip. And you—

Yes, yes, I’m too old. She shuffled toward the brazier. But after I’m gone and the little ones are older, you might want to think about it.

Yes, Baba, I’ll think about it. From his tone, Damira was sure he’d do no such thing. In the meantime, how are we going to survive?

Damira knew the answer to that. We can try to hold on a little longer. We know about one herd of gazelle. That means there are more. A few days’ good hunting should help. And we have a good supply of roots and seeds. The winter’s nearly over. Things will be better in the spring.

Baba nodded. You’re right there.

Then you agree with me? Damira studied the old woman’s wrinkled, weathered face. If she did, then Syzyan might go along with them.

Yes. But my opinion doesn’t matter. I’m old and only have a few winters left in me. Your brother needs to think of the young ones.

They were interrupted by neighbors coming by for their share of the meat. Everyone, Damira noticed, welcomed the gazelle. Nearly everyone wrinkled their noses at the sand wolf, but no one refused it. She knew that meant no one had any more in reserve than her family did.

Shagonar was the last to arrive, supporting his weight on a makeshift crutch. Damira jumped to her feet to help him lower himself to a mat by the brazier. His shoulders sagged and his eyelids drooped, no trace of a smile on his face. He looked weary, she thought, worn out by more than the hunt and his wound. His mother could be difficult. Perhaps more so now than usual. She poured a mug of tea and offered it to him.

He accepted with a grateful nod and sipped the warm liquid. Quiet around here. I thought you’d be yelling.

Why do you say that?

All I’ve heard since I’ve been home is how foolish we were to be off hunting so close to the trees, he said. And that it was time we all faced facts and put ourselves under the warlord’s protection.

Not you, too. Damira’s heart sank at the idea that Shagonar would leave the camp.

Not if I can help it. But my ana and baba say I need to do more to protect my sisters. It’s too dangerous, too uncertain for them, living this way.

Shoving aside the thought that maybe she should be thinking more of her younger brother and sister than herself, Damira frowned. But what kind of life is it, being a serf?

A long one. Shagonar downed the rest of the tea. Which is more than what we can count on here.

Damira’s mouth drooped and her shoulders slumped. A chuckle made her look up.

At least, that’s what my ana says. She’s right, it would be a longer life. But a better one? I don’t think so. He shook his head. We’re better off here, dangerous as it is. At least we have our freedom and won’t be used as a warlord’s pawns in a war that will never end.

What are you going to do? Syzyan asked, moving closer to them and playing with the knife in his hands.

I’d like to stay here, at least another season or two. We were managing well before the raid last year. Shagonar rubbed a hand over his jaw. Maybe we can still recover from it.

When she thought of last year, a lump formed in Damira’s throat. Last year had been the worst since their parents were killed. They’d barely rebuilt after an Izolliyan raid when a band sent by Azizbek, a rival Otrechian warlord, descended on them. Azizbek’s men had demanded that the clan swear fealty to their leader. When they refused, five of the adult men were slaughtered, and many of the older boys. Which left only three males older than Shagonar. The raiders also kidnapped some of the girls and took half of the sheep.

Syzyan tapped the knife against his chin. The goats are doing well, and we’ll be able to trade for grain soon.

And we’ve become good hunters, the three of us. Damira sat up straight to look her brother in the eye. I’ll do whatever you want, to make sure we have enough to eat. As long as we can stay free.

I’m willing to give it another season if you are, Shag, Syzyan said.

Shagonar smiled. Then I’ll tell Ana and Baba. They won’t be happy, but they’ll see. Next year this time, they’ll be glad we stayed.

Thank you, Syz. Damira smiled at her brother.

He didn’t answer her, but looked at Shagonar. Will you be able to hunt tomorrow?

Shagonar rubbed his bandaged leg. I think so.

Good. I’ll ask Berlok to join us.

Damira frowned. Why would you need four?

Syzyan looked at her, his gray eyes hard. We will only be three.

But—

Stones and bones, Dami! You caused too many problems today. We nearly lost Shagonar and missed a chance to catch the herd. I want a day of hunting with someone who will listen and not argue.

Her face burned. She hadn’t meant to be difficult. But—

You want to keep to the traditional ways? Then stay home tomorrow. That’s my word.

When her brother used that phrase, she knew the argument was over. He was the head of the family, and she a lowly female. She’d challenged him and had been