It was clear that if you took war and hunting out of their lives, there probably wouldnât be much left.
As Vikir followed Iyen to the entrance of the clan, he reviewed what he knew about the Balak.
âTheir language has only about three hundred words, and most of them are nouns. Verbs are gestural, and there is no distinction between them and us when it comes to possession. Men are ambo, women are akouati, love is aauki, death is utikaâŚâŚâ
The people of Balak viewed the empires as rude, devious, and pretentious.
Conversely, the Imperials viewed the Balak as savages who shouted and punched at the slightest hint of anger.
The people of Baskerville seemed to be somewhere in the middle, Vikir thought, between the civilized people of the Empire and the savages of the jungle.
âI wonder if theyâre vaguely resembling both sides of the border, never fully belonging to either.
As Vikir pondered this to himself, the hunters of Balak gathered in a circle.
Hunters, young and old, gathered in groups of three and four.
Several mounted on the backs of wolves, bows and spears dangling.
Only Aiyen had no companions, just a wolf to ride and his slave, Vikir.
âGather round, hunters, itâs time for the ceremony.â
A gnarled old man came forward with a bowl of black charcoal, which he smeared on the faces of the hunter-warriors.
A series of tattoos peeked out from beneath his black robes, suggesting he might be a shaman.
âGo, all of you, with my blessing, or I will strike you down.â
The old shaman dipped a bowl of tan into the bowl and smeared it over the faces of all the hunters.
The hunters of Balak feel guilty about killing their prey.
So they smeared their faces with tar before killing, so as not to show their faces to the God of Death.
But the younger hunters, including Aiyen, donât seem to appreciate the ritual.
âThere you go again, that pesky nag.â
âLeave him alone. The shaman needs to make his mark.â
âBy the way, arenât your fortune-telling skills a little off?â
âThatâs why all they do nowadays are earrings for ears and nose rings for noses.â
All young people, regardless of time and place, dislike and despise old customs and superstitions.
With a look of annoyance, Ai Yen stuck out her face and accepted the old shamanâs charcoal-black makeup.
The old shaman rubbed the black paint on Aiyenâs face a few times before moving on, which was quite sloppy compared to what he did for the other warriors, and it was clear that he didnât like her.
Next, Aiyen slipped the spiked collar around his neck and handed it to Vikir.
âI wear it to keep them from biting my neck.â
Vikir nodded.
One by one, the hunters began to leave the village.
âWhile Iâm here, Iâll have to blend in with them.
He needed to renew his mindset.
Vikir finally felt the urge and pulled down his pants to urinate.
He was going to start with something as basic as this and blend into the culture.
âŚâŚSo?
When the people of Balak saw Vikir urinating, they began to freak out.
The women covered their eyes and watched through their spread fingers, while the men gave him openly competitive glances.
Vikir was puzzled and asked.
âWhatâs with all the stares? Isnât everyone doing this?â
Answers came from all over the place.
ââŚâŚWhat are you talking about, who urinates in the middle of nowhere like that?â
âIs that how they do it in the Empire? Thatâs barbaric.â
âWe use separate restrooms.â
âMen over there, women over here.â
âYouâre so ignorant, you should cover up.â
âHow barbaric!â
âWhat about me?â
âŚâŚ.
Vikir turned his head to look at Aiyen.
Aiyen smirked, then quickly averted her gaze.
* * *
Aiyen climbed onto the wolfâs back.
âHold on tight.â
On her back, of course, was Vikir.
Vikir hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to hold on, then squeezed the wolfâs fur.
Then Aiyen reached back and yanked Vikirâs arm out of his grasp, bringing it around her waist.
âYou have to hold on here. Tight. If you donât, youâll fall and break your neck.â
Vikir grasped Aiyenâs pelvis with his hands. It was certainly wide enough to be comfortable to hold.
But.
âŚBoom!
The wolf took a single leap, and Vikir was sent tumbling to the ground.
In agony, Vikir almost screamed.
His bones, barely held together by Murcielagoâs regenerative powers, twisted again.
Riding a wolf was quite different from riding a horse.
For one thing, there was no saddle and no stirrups.
Furthermore, wolves had a much narrower waist than horses, and they moved more dynamically.
Aiyen stopped the wolf and lowered himself to the ground.
âTsk, tsk, you should have wrapped your arms around his waist like that and held him with both hands. Heâll fall off if you hold him that gently.â
She smirked and patted her own waist, as if to say, âHow am I supposed to vent without you holding it?
Vikir was just about to rise from his seat.
âŚthud!
A figure stepped in between Vikir and Aiyen.
Ahun. He was riding a wolf, looking down at Vikir.
The atmosphere immediately turns chilly.
Aiyen crossed her arms in a look of disapproval.
Balakâs hunters compete for every moment.
Ahun is a warrior who has always been fond of Aiyen, and he will challenge her in this hunt.
âThis time,â he says, âIâll bring home the bigger game. Iâm going to captain the next joint hunt in my grandfatherâs honor.â
âWhy would you risk your grandfatherâs honor on a hunt when all you know how to do is witchcraft? Itâs your prerogative to do whatever you want.â
Aiyen didnât confront Ahun.
He merely jerked his chin toward Vikir across the room, urging him to come quickly.
Vikir had just risen from his seat and was about to approach Aiyen.
âŚPuck!
Vikirâs head snapped back.
Ahun, riding on top of the wolf, had kicked him in the face with his foot.
Vikir was still wounded, so he had no choice but to take the kick even though he knew it was coming.
Thank goodness it wasnât an attack of great force.
The next moment, Aiyen was furious.
âYou bastard, what theâŚâŚ!?â
Ai Yan stepped forward, but she froze in place.
She glanced back and forth between Vikir, who had fallen to the ground with a strange look in his eyes, and Ahun, who had gained momentum.
Ahun flinched for a moment at Aiyenâs reaction, then breathed a sigh of relief.
Then he looked at the fallen Vikir and sneered.
âYouâre using this weakling as a hunting aid. Get a grip, Captain. Youâll only get yourself in trouble.â
âYou should look at your own backside before you say that âŚâŚ.â
At Aiyenâs sarcastic remark, Ahun looked down at his waist.
There was nothing there. Where there should have been a quiver full of arrows.
ââŚâŚ!?â
Ahun whipped his head around, furious.
Vikir had somehow gotten up with his quiver and arrows.
He had just swiped it from Ahun before he collapsed.
âYou owe the Age of Destruction again.
Before his regression, Vikir hadnât really had a job he hadnât done.
The art of pickpocketing comes in handy, too.
âWeapons are like lovers. You use them when theyâre taken away.â
Vikirâs grave comment made Aiyen burst out laughing and Ahun blush.
ââŚâŚyou, you insolent slave!â
Ahun drew his bowstring and struck Vikir in the shoulder.
Boom!
With a loud crack, Vikir fell to the ground.
As if that wasnât enough, Ahun climbed off the wolfâs back.
Boom!
The bowstring swings out once more.
âŚBoom!
Ahunâs bow had to stop in midair.
Ai Yan had drawn an arrow and blocked Ah Hunâs bowstring.
âThatâs enough. Whose slave do you think youâre punishing?â
Aiyenâs words were as cold and hard as frost.
Ah Hun stammered out a retort.
âHeâs a slave, how dare he insult a Balak warrior!â
âYou showed your pathetic self first.â
âNevertheless, heâs a slave, and a slave can never insult a warrior!â
Ahun protested, citing the rules of the tribe.
ââŚâŚ.â
Aiyen thought for a moment, then nodded.
âVery well, a slave is a slave, and if he does something wrong, he must be punished.â
âYes, Captain. Thatâs what Iâm saying.â
âBut you have no right to punish him, heâs my slave.â
ââŚâŚ?â
The concept of private property is rare on Balak, but when it comes to slaves, the lines of ownership are pretty strict.
When Ahun shook his head, Aiyen drove a wedge.
âIf there is to be a punishment, it will be mine.â
With that, Aiyen slid off the wolfâs back and stood in front of Vikir.
And then.
âŚsnap!
Aiyenâs hand slapped Vikir across the cheek.
As Vikir fell to the ground, Aiyen continued to beat him.
His fists curled like snakes, targeting his abdomen, waist, and legs.
Vikir crouched down and endured Aiyenâs fists in silence.
After a few minutes of this, Aiyen pulled back, breathing heavily.
Then he glared at Ahun with a cold stare.
âAre we done?â
ââŚâŚ.â
Ahun held his breath as if he was embarrassed by Aiyenâs spanking, then nodded in disbelief.
Aiyen looked Ahun straight in the eyes.
âI know you have a lot of personal grievances with my slave, falling off the wolfâs back, not being able to catch SaxiâŚâŚ.â
ââŚâŚYes.â
âAfter this time, if you do anything to my slave in private, you will be beaten like this. Do you understand?â
Blood drips from Aiyenâs knuckles.
His eyes were dark and flesh-colored.
Ahun nodded a few times, his expression uncertain, and then looked at Vikir on the floor with a fed-up gaze.
Vikir, who hadnât screamed up until that point, merely squirmed quietly in place.
With that, Ahun climbed onto the wolfâs back and quickly disappeared.
Only Aiyen and Vikir were left here again.
SighâŚ
Aiyen creeped over and squatted down in front of Vikir.
Vikir pushed himself to his feet.
He stroked Vikirâs reddened cheeks with an unreadable, complicated gaze.
ââŚâŚWere you hurt?â
His tone had changed slightly, but maybe it was just his mood.