“I saw you travel through my territory. When you were far to the west, I saw two streaks from the north follow your trail. My guess was, whoever they were, they were up to no good. I have no patience for their kind and don’t tolerate their existence.”
“I owe my life to you,” she said.
“You owe me nothing. But let this be a lesson to you. Always stay alert.”
“I know,” she replied. “I just wanted a few moments of . . . I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”
The man knowingly nodded his head. “If you ever need me for something, you now know the area where I dwell.”
He turned away and sprinted down the hill. After streaming into the light at the bottom of the slope, he vanished into the Barrens.
Over the next few morrows, she found several large branches that had recently been torn from trees. Using a saw blade made out of hard, narrow rock that had once belonged to her Mür, she cut the branches into six separate foot-long logs. With another sharp rock, she hollowed them out to make wooden urns.
Using pumice stones that her Ovì had long ago gathered from the banks of the river, she meticulously sanded the insides until they were as smooth as marble. After cutting round tops for the urns, she used a steel knife that had been stolen during a raid on Travelers to cut grooves in the urns and tops.
Once she was confident that the lids would screw on tight, she chipped away at the latticed shale in the ceiling of her cavern and filled her hands with the thick sludge left behind by grubs. Rubbing it on the insides of the urns, she glazed the wood so that it would no longer absorb liquid.
As soon as the next Darkness fell, she used her spear to open several holes in the trunk of a tree and filled the urns with sap. She could have used the older urns that she and her Ovì had made long ago, but the new ones would bring a better price.
Carrying the six sap-filled urns in a crudely woven backpack, she traveled several hundred miles to the north. On top of a hill, she spotted a two-foot-high mound of rocks with a dead tree branch sticking out of it. She’d never been to one of the trading posts scattered across the Barrens before. Her Ovì had once told her where this one was located and how to recognize it. After circling once around the hill, she came to a stop in front of a large, oblong rock with a flat top.
Her Ovì had explained the rules for bartering at trading posts, as well as what items could be had. Fabric woven from wooden looms, tables and stools made of wood and smoothed with grub slime as she’d done with the urns, tools crafted out of rock or Murkovin bone, or as much sap as a person could want were all available for the right price. But items made in the Delta and stolen from raids on Travelers always had the greatest value.
Hoping they would have what she sought, she placed the six urns on top of the stone. She knew that she’d be safe during the transaction and her items wouldn’t be stolen. The men and women who ran the trading posts earned enough for the things they bartered to keep plenty of everything for themselves. Without a good reputation, no one would ever return to that post again.
As she glanced at the hilltops around her, she assumed there were eight or ten of her kind hiding nearby. She also knew they’d all be armed and as skilled as any in the Barrens at wielding spears. When no one appeared, she loudly called out the name of the item she hoped to acquire.
From behind the rocky crest, a male voice shouted, “They’re difficult to come by. The cost will be ten.”
“I just made these urns,” she hollered. “They’re full of sap.”
“The cost is still ten,” the voice replied.
She looked down at the wooden canisters, angry with herself for not better estimating the cost. After considering her options, she laid down her steel spear beside the urns. Because it had belonged to her Ovì, it was difficult to part with. None the less, she was determined to leave with what she wanted.
“I’ll add the spear,” she yelled. “Give me a sturdy wooden one in return.”
While waiting for a response, her eyes roamed across the hills again.
“We have a bargain,” the voice yelled.
As her Ovì had told her to do after a bargain had been struck, she stepped five paces backwards. Two men climbed over the top of the hill and walked down the slope. Several other men and women appeared from behind large boulders far off to her sides.
When the two men reached the rock, one of them picked up her spear and the urns. He checked to make sure all the wooden containers were full of sap. The other man stood by the stone, keenly watching the hills behind the woman in case this was a trick of some kind. The first man finally whistled loudly, the signal to complete the barter. Another Murkovin ran down the hill with the item she’d requested in hand, as well as a wooden spear. After tossing them to the stone, all three of the men took several steps backwards.
She removed her items from the rock, nodded to the men, and then sprinted away. Only when she was out of their sight did she fuse with the light around her. But instead of returning to her cavern, she went straight to the area where the tall Murkovin dwelled.
For a quarter of the morrow, she stood in plain sight on top of a high hill. The tall Murkovin eventually appeared in a nearby valley and
