The sharp tip of a Jaunti spear pierces through Cohe’s robes as it nudges him forwards. He steps heavily through the Fallow Vine, over the large Bascus leaves, his hands tightly bound behind his back. Cohe glances to his left, frowning slightly as he looks upon Sohng, before glancing over his shoulder at the many Jaunti Warriors who march behind them. 

Sohng wriggles his fists, briefly relieving the tension in the ropes that bind him. 

“Some would believe you wish to die,” says Cohe, his eyes fixed upon the enormous leaves that disguise the uneven ground.

“The thought of death never crosses my mind,” says Sohng, shaking a Scorrin bug from his long, tangled beard. 

Cohe sighs, in silent acknowledgment of his friend’s unspoken words, forgiving himself for forgetting the arduous battle that rages beneath Sohng’s calm and contrasting exterior. 

As a curtain of light begins to appear in the distance, Cohe glances to his left once more, urgently  anticipating something of an interruption to the Jaunti’s proceedings.

“I’m not sure my promise can be kept,” says Cohe.

“You must,” says Sohng, “This is their way, we must see things through their eyes, and respect their situation.”

“What of our situation?” asks Cohe. “Is this completely necessary?” Impatiently frustrated, Cohe simply cannot accept Sohng’s extremely dangerous, yet empathetic course of action.

A spear nudges Sohng’s shoulder forward as the Jaunti warrior behind him urges him on through the forest. They climb the steepening slope until they reach a level clearing. As they step out of the trees, the bright sunlight forces the Jaunti to squint their eyes, while Sohng and Cohe lift their faces to the sky, basking in the warmth. Cohe lowers his gaze to the sudden lack of ground up ahead. 

“Give them time,” says Sohng, as Cohe turns his head anxiously towards him.

The Jaunti force them a length from the edge of a steep cliff, overlooking the Western Pass, a long snaking gorge that stretches north as far as Midlow. The Jaunti stop, tapping their spears against the ground before a short, plump, painted man, wearing a feathered headdress, steps forward. 

“Turn yourselves around, men of haddah-tricks,” says the Jaunti chief.

The Jaunti warriors surround them, leaving the cliff as their only exit.

“Either way,” says Cohe, “We are never doing this again.”

“Your trickery will not fool my people,” says the chief, pointing his tall, carved, wooden staff at Sohng and Cohe. “We spare no mercy for those who disrespect the gods.”

“We understand,” says Sohng, “But we were not trying to impersonate the gods, we are only trying to protect you.”

The chief’s chin shudders in anger before he bangs his staff against the ground. “We have survived the fall of kingdoms, the rise of mountains, why would we need protection from the outside world.”

“I don’t mean to disrespect you,” says Sohng, “But it is only a matter of time…”

“Silence!” snaps the chief. “Your words do not matter, you are out of time.”

Cohe glances at Sohng once more, twisting his brow as Sohng shrugs his shoulders at him.

“Show them the way down,” says the chief, averting his eyes from his unwelcome guests.

The warriors lift their spears once more and point them at Sohng and Cohe forcing them to walk towards the edge of the cliff.  Sohng and Cohe step backwards, keeping a hands length clear of the sharp, fired tips.

Sweat rolls down the side of the chief’s painted face. He smiles in grotesque satisfaction, as his warriors near the edge of the cliff. 

“This was not the way to help them,” says Cohe. “And this is going to hurt.”

Sohng glances over his shoulder as they near the edge. The wind blows sand from the yellow rocks, whisking it off the cliff, into the warm air that swirls high above the deep gorge below.

“Sorry, if I may,” says Sohng.  “There is one thing I have forgotten to tell you.”

The chief chuckles, closing his eyes and turning his back on Sohng. The warriors lift their staffs out of the way as the chief steps towards the forest. But before he can take a second step, a large figure emerges before him.

“Hold,” booms a loud voice, as a tall, muscular woman steps forward. 

The warriors stop, leaving Sohng and Cohe balanced on the very edge of the cliff, with nothing but the morning sun between them and their imminent death.

The chief lowers his head before the woman strides past. She is followed by twelve female warriors, their eyes painted a perfect black, each of them wearing identical armour made of fresh vine and woven grass. The male warriors step back, clearing a path for the enormous woman. She stands before Sohng and Cohe, who step forward, away from the edge of the cliff. But, as Sohng steps forward, a small piece of the cliff breaks away. Song  disappears over the edge before Cohe can turn to reach for him. The woman gasps, reaching out towards Sohng as she watches him fall.

“Sohng,” says Cohe, leaning over the edge, only to see his young, impulsive friend disappear beyond a cloud of dust.

The chief chuckles to himself while the woman steps towards Cohe, taking him by the arm and leading him away from the edge.

“Forgive us,” says the woman, “His was an unnecessary death.”

“Who are you?” asks Cohe. 

The woman tilts her head, visibly confused by Cohe’s question. 

“He did not tell you?” she asks. “I am Sache, master of the Jaunti. Your friend appeared before me, though I thought it a dream. He told me of  the ones you call Mardern, killers of children, men, women, and gods. He warned me they were coming. We were surveying our perimeters when you must have arrived at our village.”

Cohe hangs his head. “He knew you were coming, he knew you would only believe us if you saw it for yourselves.”

“These men have saved us from a fate that we could not have escaped,” says Sache, turning to glare at the chief and his warriors. 

“Look, there,” says one of the warriors, pointing his hand towards the cliff on the other side of the gorge.

Cohe turns around, his mouth peels open as he gazes across the western pass. In the distance, a small figure waves his hand in the air.

Sache steps past Cohe, widening her eyes as they fill with disbelief. “He is… How did…Your friend… what is his name?” she asks.

“His name is Sohng,” says Cohe, slowly raising his hand into the air.

“How? How did he get there?” asks Sache.

“I do not know,” says Cohe, waving his hand above his head.

They make their way back through the forest, back down the steep hill, towards the Jaunti river. His hands now free from his restraints, Cohe strides along side Sache, the master of the Jaunti, who towers above him.

“We cannot leave our village,” says Sache. “It is, and always has been, our home. Our ancestors are buried beneath our streets. We cannot abandon the land they died fighting for.”

“Believe me, I understand,” says Cohe, “But the Mardern will not stop. They will find and kill any huido you have among you, and any who get in their way.”

“Then we will fight them,” says Sache.

“I mean no disrespect,” says Cohe. “But you stand no chance against them.”

“Then what?” asks Sache. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Surrender,” says Cohe. “Hide any huido among you, and do whatever is necessary to survive.”

Sache is halted briefly by Cohe’s words. As she resumes her long, confident strides, she quickly catches up with him. “Did you not hear what I said?” 

“I heard you,” says Cohe, “And I know how it sounds, but, it will only be a temporary measure. We are working towards a solution.”

“Who is we?” asks Sache, “You, and your friend?”

Cohe reluctantly nods his head.

“What are you saying?” asks Sache, stepping in front of Cohe. “How can you possibly expect to stop them if they are so strong, and they are so many?”

Cohe peers into Sache’s eyes before turning to look at a huge rock that stands at least ten lengths tall and four lengths wide, just a few lengths from their path. The Jaunti stop to watch Cohe approach the massive rock. He stops before it, taking a long deep breath as holds his hand out before it. Cohe turns his shoulders so fast, he appears not to move. His palm strikes the rock with a thunderous crack, causing a large area of stone to shatter before him, while the rock cracks in half, from bottom to top. The Jaunti are silenced by Cohe’s demonstration of strength. He rejoins Sache, who looks down upon him curiously before they resume their journey. 

“We are not enough,” says Cohe, “But like I said, we are working towards a solution.”

“Then you must work faster,” says Sache. “I cannot tell my people to surrender to the Mardern. Most would turn on their own master before simply handing over their heritage.” 

“You must convince them,” says Cohe, “It is the only way. We have fought along side villages, towns and tribes many times your size, only to survive them all.”

Sache remains silent as Cohe’s words rest heavily on her broad shoulders. 

A cool shadow leans over them as they reach the edge of the river. They wade through the shallow water, just north of the small waterfall that hisses and echoes around the tall rock face up ahead. As they reach the other side, Sache turns to Cohe as her warriors make their way across.

“Please apologise to your friend on my behalf,” says Sache. “I truly thought we had killed him.”

“I objected many times to the risks he was taking,” says Cohe. “But, he insists on earning the trust of his people.”

“His people?” asks Sache.

“His… fellow Arcan’s,” says Cohe, immediately regretting his words. For if Arca was to learn of Sohng’s lineage, not only would he be revered, but Cohe might be held responsible for the near death of their  would be king.

“Should we wait for him?” asks Sache.

“No,” says Cohe, “He will find me.”

“You’re leaving?” asks Sache.

“There is nothing more we can do here,” says Cohe.

“Well then…” says Sache, resting her hands on her hips. “Remain safe on your travels.”

“May the gods be with you,” says Cohe.

A reluctant acceptance in her eyes, Sache simply nods at Cohe, before he turns and begins his long walk up river. 

The sun drifts above the edge of the forest canopy. Glistening as it races by, the river carries a light breeze that cools Cohe’s face as he strides over the black pebbles on the riverbank. Above the rumble of the water, another sound pierces through the air. Cohe stops, turning his head slightly, pointing his ear towards his path. As he closes his eyes, the sound becomes clearer. A voice cries out, awakening the instinctive child in Cohe’s heart.

Wet pebbles spray into the air as Cohe bursts into a sprint. He races towards the voice, his huge feet cutting a shallow fissure through the riverbank. As he draws near, a figure emerges before him. A young woman stands on a steep bank above the river, calling out across the water.

“Moko!” cries the woman, before Cohe skids to a stop beside her.

“I can help you!” says Cohe.

“It’s my brother,” says the woman, “He was behind me, beside the river. I turned around, and he was gone.”

“He was right here?” asks Cohe.

“No, he was up river, by the fallen rock,” says the woman, glancing at a huge bolder, nestled into the ground almost two hundred lengths up river. “Moko!” she cries out once more.

Cohe begins walking slowly up river, looking left and right in search of the boy. “He is young?” he asks.

“Yes,” says the woman.

“Can he swim?” asks Cohe.

“Yes,” she replies, “But the current is too strong for him, he would not make it upstream.”

Cohe crouches down, he carefully scours the other side of the riverbank before turning to look over his shoulder. A faint rumbling sound grows louder as it moves towards him. Cohe stands, as the woman turns towards the noise, bracing herself as the leaves begin to rustle. Suddenly, Sohng bursts out of the trees, he dives into the river, disappearing beneath the surface.

“Who… who was that?” asks the woman.

“Worry not,” says Cohe, “He is a friend of mine.”

Sohng emerges on the other side of the river. He crawls up onto the bank and suddenly stops, his entire body perfectly still.

“What is he doing?” asks the woman.

“There,” says Cohe, approaching her. He points towards a dark recess in the riverbank above Sohng. Concealed in shadow, almost invisible against the dark orange rocks, a Water Vager hangs half way out of its hide, holding young Moko in its mouth.

To Cohe’s surprise, the woman dives into the water and begins swimming against the current, over to the other side of the river. Cohe’s shoulders droop as he sighs, he sits down on the damp sand, crossing his legs and folding his arms.

While Sohng appears still, slowly and carefully he crawls towards the Vager. Behind him, the woman strides out of the water, catching the attention of the powerful, aquatic beast. Sohng looks over his shoulder.

“Stop!” he hisses quietly. “Come too close and it will panic. It will recede into its hide, breaking the boy’s body in the process.”

The woman stands still, catching her breath. “What do we do?” she whispers.

“I’m going to bait it out,” says Sohng.

“With what?” asks the woman.

“Exactly what it wants,” says Sohng.

Reaching his right hand forward, Sohng tosses a large tarpo up onto the bank. The Vager’s eyes turn to the gasping, long tailed, yellow, fish-like creature. It moves back slightly, impeded by the boy’s limp body catching against the opening of its hide. Unable to easily pull the boy inside, the Vager steps forward.

“It’s working,” says the woman as the Vager begins to make its way towards the tarpo. It places the boy on the ground before picking up the tarpo with its mouth. Sohng stands up and leaps towards the Vager, causing it to scurry into its hide. 

The woman rushes to Moko’s side. She picks up his legs and begins slapping the boy firmly on his chest.

“Wait,” says Sohng, reaching into his robes. “That will not work.”

“I know what I’m doing!” snarls the woman.

“I believe you,” says Sohng, looking assuringly into the girls eyes. “But he will not breathe yet, not without this!” Sohng holds up a small, long fish like creature with long, thin legs. He steps towards the boy, squeezing the creatures guts out of its mouth.

“A River Diurin?” says the woman. “What are you doing?”

“This creature is one of very few that neither the Kiren nor the Vager will eat,” says Sohng, fishing a small, silver sack from the Diurin’s sticky bowels. He tosses the Diurin to one side, kneels down, and covers the sack in grit. “Not because they can’t, but because they won’t,” he explains. Sohng holds Moko’s mouth open and squeezes the sack, pouring a silver fluid down his throat. 

“A Diurin is immune to their poison,” says Sohng, squeezing every last drop of fluid from the sandy, pink gland. He sits the boy up, holding his mouth closed while gently slapping him on the back. “They purposefully swim down the throat, to reach the stomach intact. From there, they eat their way out of their captor.” Sohng lies Moko down and steps back. “Now… he will breathe now.”

Her mouth hung open, the woman is briefly hung on Sohng’s words before quickly she takes hold of Moko by his legs. But before she can begin to hit his chest, Moko flinches, coughing before he is violently sick. Quickly the woman turns Moko over as he continues to convulse. She turns her desperate eyes to Sohng, who looks on with no visible regard.

“It won’t last,” says Sohng. “But he will need fresh water, and soon.”

The woman peers wide eyed into the ground before lifting her head suddenly. “Shell fruit!”

Sohng nods his head and kneels beside Moko who breathes heavily, catching his breath. The boy turns his head and looks into Sohng’s eyes.

“How do you feel?” asks Sohng.

“Who are… Who are you?” asks Moko.

“I am Sohng, and you need water. Come.” Sohng stands and holds out his hand. He helps Moko to his feet before hurling him over his shoulder. “I will take him across,” says Sohng. “You will need to hold your breath, Moko.”

“Thank you,” says the woman.

As they wade out of the water, Cohe lifts Moko from Sohng’s back. He turns a confused glance towards the woman as she hurries past them into the forest. Cohe and Sohng look upon each other, in amount prolonged by many unanswered questions. Sohng turns to Moko. 

“You should keep moving,” says Sohng. “The Diurin may have saved your life, but it is not good for you.”

They jog into the forest after the woman, quickly catching her up. Sohng stops and watches the woman effortlessly climb up into a Gova tree. Concealing his surprise, Cohe is startled by the enamoured glaze that colours his friends vision. A glow of infatuation radiates through Sohng’s face as the woman climbs down from the tree and approaches them, holding a large shell fruit. She takes a small dagger from the sheath tied behind her back, and kneels down. She places the fruit down and with two hands sinks the dagger deep into its shell. The woman picks up the fruit and hands it to Moko. Sohng smiles as Moko takes the fruit, then immediately hands it back. The woman places her hand on the shell, refusing Moko’s offering.

“This is no time for sentiment, brother. Drink,” says the woman.

“What’s your name?” asks Sohng, turning towards her.

“I am Maika, and I thank you for saving my brothers life,” says Maika as she begins to kneel.

Before her knee can touch the ground, Sohng takes Maika by the arm, “Please, do not kneel before me.”

“Then allow me to offer you, and your friend,” says Maika, glancing at Cohe, “Food, and…” Maika’s pause beckons Sohng’s eyes to her lips. “…and a place to rest.”

Sohng glances over at Cohe who nods his head slightly. 

“Of course,” says Sohng, “We welcome such a kind and generous offering.”

Cohe raises his brow and shakes his head, before Maika leads them through the trees.

“Did you just… fall in?” asks Sohng, striding through the forest, sipping the remains of Gova water from his shell fruit.

“No,” says Moko, “I was river hunting, and that Vager pulled me in.”

“Next time, you should let go of your spear,” says Cohe.

“But I was hunting with my hands,” says Moko.

“You know better, Moko,” says Maika, “The river is not the lake. You must have more respect for sacred waters.”

Sohng glances over his shoulder at Cohe, a curiosity weighing on his brow. 

“What do you mean by; sacred?” he asks, turning to Maika.

“The white rivers come from the mountains,” says Maika. “It is said that the mountains were once home to the gods, and they once drank from these very waters. If the gods live, they still drink. And if they died, their bodies became the mountains.” Maika turns and smiles proudly at Sohng, who smiles back at her.

“I’ve never heard that before,” says Sohng. “But, I can certainly believe it.”

Maika turns her gaze to the ground, watching the sparse foliage pass beneath her feet. “Do you worship the gods?” she asks.

“I wouldn’t know how,” says Sohng. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

Maika turns and holds an extended gaze at Sohng before nodding her head and turning her eyes back to her direction of travel.

“Don’t move!” bellows a rasping voice, as men in grass loins emerge from the trees, surrounding them. 

Cohe sighs, “Well, that took no time at all,” he mumbles.

Before them, stepping into the sun is a huge man with painted face, decorated loins, with a heavily embroidered, large collar, rested upon his shoulders.

“Jaduin, stop!” says Maika, taking hold of Jaduin’s spear. “These men are my guests!”

“You deliver danger to our village!” says Jaduin, pulling his spear from her grasp.

 “These men present no danger,” says Maika, “They have saved my brother’s life.”

“How am I to know they do not force you to speak these words?” asks Jaduin.

Maika inhales deeply, “Because Jaduin, as you know only too well, nobody can force me to do anything.”

Jaduin curls his lip in disgust before Maika pushes his spear to one side and strides past him. Moko, Sohng and Cohe follow. As they pass, Jaduin leans towards Sohng before bending his neck to look up at the apathetic lack of expression on Cohe’s face.

Jaduin and his men walk beside them, escorting them through the forest until they reach a clearing. They march across the arid grassland, towards the heavy gates of a small village.

“Follow me,” says Maika, as she strides past the guards behind the open gate. As the villagers go about their business, their heads are turned by Sohng and Cohe’s tattered, woven robes. Sohng watches as young children scurry onto the rooftops for a better view, as elders fix their suspicious eyes upon him.

“Just imagine what these people would think of a transportation network,” says Sohng, quietly.

“Just imagine the price they would have to pay,” says Cohe, glancing into the eyes of a small child as it scowls back at him.