Dawn peeked over the bank of clouds to the east and bathed the land in a warm orange glow. Light flooded over the canyon walls and spilled down into the sleeping Sacram village.

Alden awoke in the unmarried males’ sleeping room of his family’s lodge. His brothers lay around him in their own sleeping furs. One of them snorted as Alden rolled from his warm furs and stretched his muscles. The packed earth under his feet betrayed no sound as Alden picked up his wool shirt and hide pants and boots. The hunter padded over to the doorway, lifted the heavy blanket, and slipped into the hut’s main hall.

He inspected his home in the dark. A large rectangular hall took up most of the ground floor. Carved oak pillars lined the hall. Enormous rib bones formed the hut’s outside and met at the arched ceiling thirty feet above Alden’s head. Stitched hides covered the gaps between the bones.

A massive oak table lined with benches took up the center of the room beside an open fire pit. Even with a family of seven children and two adults, and with guests constantly stopping by, there was always plenty of seating along the lengthy slab of a table.

The family’s sleeping noises comforted Alden. Loud snores reached his ears from the open second-story landing above and to his left overlooking the main room. His mother was a notoriously loud sleeper, though she blamed the noise on her husband. Alden suppressed a chuckle as he remembered how, after one particularly loud night, she had blamed a passing wyvern she claimed must have been flying over the village.

Alden slipped on his wool shirt and hide pants. He abandoned his soft slippers in favor of sturdier hunting boots. Next, he strapped his leather belt with his heavy hunting knife to his hip and pulled his bone charm necklace over his head. Then he paused to consider getting his armor and sword. It bothered him that he had to think about walking armed through his own village. Sacram tribe always posted sentries and were never unprepared, but the Scourge’s unexpected reappearance had Alden’s nerves walking a razor’s edge.

Boiled vegetables and salted fish sat in a clay bowl in Alden’s place at the family table. Alden silently thanked his mother for being too tired to clear away the leftovers. He snatched up the bowl and wolfed down half of the lukewarm food. The savory fish came from the sava, a golden marine fish with butterfly fins that served as both the primary food source of Sacram Village and its sacred symbol. Stringy plant fibers blended with the buttery fish to create a pleasing balance of textures and flavors. The young hunter chewed thoughtfully as he glanced around his family home.

Stout oak beams lined the outside walls and inside of the hall and were lashed horizontally between the towering rib bones and oak pillars with braided wool rope to act as braces for the structure. On the ground floor, wool blankets were nailed into the wooden beams to separate the sleeping areas from the main room. Another oak beam stretched across the hall above the table and was carved with the symbol of Sacram Village: the long marine fish with butterfly fins and a graceful, sloping face.

“How different this home will feel without Felka’s presence,” Alden murmured. Then he remembered the corrupted snake. “What if the Scourge overruns Sacram and everyone is killed? I can’t let that happen. But what can I do?”

The family’s sleeping noises quieted. Alden’s every breath echoed in the silence. The hut felt entirely empty of life. He felt entirely alone

Alden whispered into the stillness of the hut. “Arca, come.”

Dangling from a thick wool rope tied to the center beam over the dining table hung a miniature model of a Sacram hut. At Alden’s call, the small hut wobbled on its rope. The tiny cloth over the front door burst aside with a flash of light, and a dancing spark exited the toy house.

The sparkling creature danced around Alden’s head before it settled on the table. Arca looked like a primitive cave painting of a small human with limbs made of glowing sticks, a pudgy belly, and an oversized head. The spirit’s indistinct face flickered with shifting light. The only steady feature was two blue eyes of guttering flame which lapped at the air on the outside edges of Arca’s face, so the blue flames looked like eyelashes.

Arca had been Alden’s family’s house spirit for untold generations. Though not bound by ceremony to any of them individually, Arca was allowed to take up residence and watch over the home in exchange for… Alden wasn’t certain. No one knew exactly why the spirits did what they did, or why they picked certain hunters to receive their blessings. It was enough that Arca chose to stay with them.

The restless spirit danced along the wooden table, lighting up each item on the oak surface. Pottery dishes littered the table and still held some traces of food and juice, and Alden guessed his mother had been forced to hurry the younger children to bed before she collapsed into sleep. The young hunter wondered how his harried mother was going to cope with the rowdy bunch of kids without Felka’s helping hands.

“And with Felka leaving, I’ll be responsible for interpreting and heeding your warnings, eh Arca?” Alden whispered.

The spirit stopped dancing and returned to stand on the oak table in front of Alden.

“Did my mother and father take all five children to the ceremony?”

The spirit gave an exaggerated wobbling nod which involved bowing much of its upper body. Only spirit-blessed hunters with the sacred tattoo could see the spirits, and no one had ever heard a sound from the ethereal beings. The spirit language was a silent mystery, so the luminous beings who spent time around the flesh races learned to speak through elaborate movements and gestures. Arca used these gestures to warn the family about any weakness or rot in the hut so the building could be repaired.

As he tipped the bowl to pour more of the cold food into his mouth, Alden walked over to one of the pillars to the right of the dining table. Each pillar bore the carved names of the family’s hunter ancestors and their servant spirits. Name carvings covered much of each pillar and traced back hundreds of winters of family history.

The polished oak was smooth and warm under Alden’s calloused fingertips as he traced his sister Felka’s name. Alden had not been selected by the elders to learn the written language, but the young hunter remembered the location of Felka’s name from watching the village elders carve the symbols after her spirit-bonding ceremony six winters earlier.

“I’m going to miss her, Arca,” Alden said.

Arca didn’t speak. Arca never spoke. But when Alden turned around, the spirit’s shoulders were slumped in an imitation of sadness.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will, too. You two spent a lot of time together. But I’m sure she’ll come visit.”

The spirit jumped into the air and swirled around the room. Arca alighted on one piece of furniture after another.

As the spirit danced, Alden slipped into old memories.

A younger version of Alden’s father Jobath sat beside the family fire pit. His short black hair, spiky like his son’s, was not yet frosted with gray, nor was his thick black beard. Jobath’s hissed in a stage whisper as he made grand gestures with meaty hands.

“Marlev crept through the soft grasses. Each blade of grass rose to twice the hunter’s height, but the beast was taller still! Wheezing breaths plumed from the monster’s nose as it snuffled in the crisp morning air.” Jobath sniffed the air loudly. “Suddenly, the beast turned and spotted Marlev!”

Seven black-haired children, including a young Alden, shrieked and clutched at each other. All had creamy skin, hazel eyes, and wore the traditional puklo wool sweaters and hide pants or wool blouses and skirts. The mess of children sat huddled together on a pile of hide cushions stuffed with puklo wool.

“Do the screech, Father!” Felka yelled. She shivered from fright, but she was smiling.

Jobath grinned wickedly at his eldest child. His fingers curled into gnarled claws.

Alden smiled at the memory. Felka would always demand more stories, and their smiling father would always oblige, until Alden’s mother Norla would step in and declare the rousing excitement was enough for the night.

Arca danced along the oak staircase which rose along the left side of the hall and led up to the second level. The spirit swirled through the air at the top of the stairs and gestured with both arms at Alden.

“Yeah, Arca. Thanks for reminding me. I should take my sword just to make sure.”

Arca flew up to dart back and forth among the curved points of the massive rib bones overhead. The rib bones rose upward along the house’s perimeter. Where the ribs met in the roof’s center thirty feet above, they were lashed together with more thick ropes. The original builders had left a hole to allow smoke to escape, but a wooden box covered with water-proof hide capped the opening to prevent rain from falling into the home.

“Come on, Alden!” a young Felka hissed down through the hole.

Alden clung to the rib bone and whimpered. “It’s so high!”

“Not so loud, you’ll wake everyone. You can do it.” She reached down, grasped Alden’s small hand, and drew him up through the roof opening. Hide and bone creaked as the two children collapsed on the roof. Their tiny chests heaved with deep breaths from the exertion of climbing. Above them, a sea of stars filled the sky.

“Now I can teach you about the star pictures.” Felka’s her hot breath tickled Alden’s ear as she whispered. “Where did we leave off last time?”

Alden finished his breakfast and set the dirty bowl down on the table with the rest of the dishes. He slunk up the stairs to the wide upper landing, passed his parents’ doorway, and brushed aside the woolen blanket leading to the family’s small armory holding their ancestral hunting gear.

The narrow closet smelled of the sweet oil rubbed into the piled gear to keep the material pliant. The worked leather of the remaining family breastplate, vambraces, and greaves was smooth under Alden’s fingers. Each piece bore tooled patterns of swirls, knots, and stylized animals. He considered donning the armor but set it aside with a sigh. “I must be cautious, but I can’t let fear dominate my mind. The sword will be enough.”

Alden stepped past the armor pile to the rack of family weapons leaning against the back wall. Reverently, he lifted an enormous greatsword off the rack. Made from one solid piece of bone laced with silvery metal veins, the weapon stood six feet tall. It measured twelve inches thick from front to back, and a full inch wide across the blunt back of the blade. The huge sword curved gracefully from the leather-wrapped hilt to the pointed tip.

The weapon would be too heavy for someone without the blessing of a spirit, but the comfortable weight of the sword felt satisfying and balanced in Alden’s hands. Plush leather squished under his fingers as Alden grasped the hilt. The oiled material felt smooth on his skin.

The greatsword had lain dormant since its previous owner, Alden’s great-grandfather, died wielding it in battle against the Scourge. Two entire generations of Sacram Village had been passed over entirely without even one blessing. Felka was the first of the current generation to be chosen by the spirits and had received their grandmother’s ancestral blade. Alden would not have called himself jealous, but he had certainly admired the weapon and his sister’s graceful strength when swinging the blade. Their grandfather’s weapon was less slender and boasted more raw weight on the downswing.

Arca landed on Alden’s shoulder and danced with frantic energy, stamping with little glowing feet.

With a start, Alden realized he’d been wrapped up too long in admiring the blade and lingering on memories of his sister. “I need to get going to the meeting, don’t I?”

Arca nodded with a wobbling bow.

“Thanks for the reminder. Watch over them while I’m gone, okay?”

Alden slipped through the heavy wool blanket hanging over the hut’s front doorway and out into the light of dawn. Warmth seeped into his skin. He stood basking in the sunlight for a moment, luxuriating in the sensation. A light breeze carrying the smell of the sea caressed his face.

The village was silent. The sentries on the cliffs above made no sound. But he could see them standing at attention. And he counted twice guards as many as normal. The snake’s attack had transformed the peaceful village in just a single day.

Alden decided to run to settle his nerves. He slung the greatsword over his shoulder and dashed through the village, then ran a few laps around the perimeter. Grass wet with dew muffled the slap of his hide boots. When he had worked off some of his restless energy, Alden slowed to a walk and made his way toward the meeting lodge at the back of the village.

As it was with all of Sacram’s buildings, the meeting lodge was crafted from giant upright rib bones gathered from long-vanquished megafauna. Wooden beams, mud mixed with thick grass, and treated hides stretched across the structure to seal out the wind and rain. The front door was made of woven wool, as were all Sacram doors. The entire building stood thirty feet high and was six times the diameter of Alden’s family lodge.

An elder greeted Alden silently at the front door. The old man looked wide awake and alert in his long wool robes.

“Greetings, Elder Savar, son of Atvar.”

Savar held up the wool flap and waved Alden through without a word. But the elder gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder as Alden passed.

The lodge bustled with activity. The elders, all men, milled about in their green wool robes and gathered in groups to discuss various topics. Their elderly wives busily laid out dishes of leftover wedding meat and boiled vegetables.

Alden was the only person under the age of fifty winters inside the lodge. He took a seat on a wooden bench against a side wall and waited. But he kept his greatsword near to hand.

After a few minutes, Felka and her new husband Mirak entered. The old men immediately dragged Mirak into their circles and took turns talking with him, laughing, elbowing him conspiratorially in the side, and casting meaningful glances at his new bride. The old women took time off from their tasks to alternate between sighing at their husbands and asking Felka about her health. Both Mirak and Felka’s cheeks burned red as they stammered to answer all the probing questions.

Alden’s cousin Jincra arrived next. Alden lifted a hand and waved him over. Jincra skirted around the edge of the gathering and settled onto the bench next to Alden. Villagers often remarked on how similar the two cousins looked. His hazel eyes matched Alden’s and were set in Jincra’s usual humorless expression. Jincra had gathered his long black hair into a low ponytail at the base of his neck and tied it with a strip of leather. His hide pants and gray wool sweater were, as usual, meticulously clean and unwrinkled. Like Alden, Jincra bore the hunter’s tattoo under his right eye.

Jincra dropped his hand on Alden’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Peaceful dawn, Alden son of Jobath.”

Alden reached up and squeezed his cousin’s hand in the traditional greeting. “Peaceful dawn, Jincra son of Jincra. How is your mother doing?”

Jincra leaned back against the hide wall and watched the assembled villagers mill about. His sharp eyes missed nothing, as always. “She is better today. The sickness has passed, and she is regaining her strength. Thank you for healing her.”

“Of course I’d heal Aunt Hurtha. It’s what Druids do.” Alden tapped his hunter’s mark and smiled.

Jincra nodded but didn’t smile back.

The door flap opened again. Alden’s friend Braden staggered through, half asleep and looking bedraggled. The blond hunter nearly tripped over his own feet. His twin sister Lalaine came through next and snagged Braden’s wrinkled sweater, which Alden noticed was backwards and inside-out.

Lalaine looked much like her twin brother with blonde, curly hair. An emerald-hued ribbon was tied into a large bow at the nape of her neck, and a long blonde waterfall fell down her back to her waist. She shared Braden’s pointy features, but where his face perpetually beamed with mischievous glee, the young woman’s expression usually exuded calm poise. At the moment, as she seized hold of Braden and held him upright, she looked annoyed.

Like her twin brother, Lalaine bore the single horizontal line of the hunter’s tattoo under her right eye.

Lalaine spotted Alden and Jincra sitting against the wall and started dragging her half-awake brother toward her friends.

Alden took a surreptitious sidelong glance at Jincra and was rewarded with the rarest of sights. A small smile eased the serious lines of his cousin’s face. For Jincra, this was the equivalent of a big, dopy grin.

The smile disappeared as Lalaine approached.

Alden patted the bench next to him and held out his arms to Lalaine. The young huntress pursed her full lips in disapproval and dropped Braden into Alden’s arms. Then she gave Braden a swift swat on the back of the head.

With a snort, Braden lifted his head from Alden’s shoulder. Alden recoiled as a string of drool meandered down Braden’s chin. The black-haired Druid shoved his sleepy blond friend onto the bench beside him and propped him up against a rib pillar, whereupon Braden fell promptly back asleep.

Lalaine stood before her friends and gave them a small, formal bow. “Peaceful dawn, Alden son of Jobath. Peaceful dawn, Jincra son of Jincra.”

“Peaceful dawn, Lalaine daughter of Korl,” Jincra returned.

Alden waited a moment for Jincra to say something else. When he didn’t, Alden frowned at his cousin and turned back to Lalaine. She wore a long wool dress of the tribe’s more traditional style, dyed an emerald green to match her eyes and the maiden’s ribbon in her hair. “Peaceful dawn, Lalaine daughter of Korl. That’s a nice dress. Is it new?”

Lalaine gave Alden a gracious smile. “Yes, it is. My mother and I finished making it just last night. I prefer the older dresses to the new blouses and skirts that we picked up from trading partners. It feels more uniquely Sacram, you know?”

“It looks good on you.” Alden elbowed his cousin. “Don’t you think, Jincra?”

A confused expression crossed Jincra’s face as he blinked at Alden, then he turned back to Lalaine. “Yes, it appears remarkably well made. Your work is exquisite.”

Lalaine’s cheeks colored slightly, and she lowered her eyes. “Thank you. I would have preferred something more like my hunting gear, but my mother told me I need to look proper because this is an important meeting. I was worried it would look too cute. A huntress shouldn’t look too cute. You don’t think the color is too bright?”

Jincra shook his head. “I like the color. In fact, it is the same hue as my Guardian tattoo.”

Lalaine tucked a stray blonde curl behind her ear without raising her eyes. Her cheeks turned an even darker shade of pink. “Oh, is it?”

The chief elder, Sorl, chose that moment to speak up. His long white beard rattled with carved bone charms as he waved his spindly arms for attention. “Come gather around. Hunters, up front please.”

Alden shook Braden awake and dragged his sleepy friend to his feet. Braden gurgled as he rubbed both eyes with his fists. “I’m up, I’m up.”

Alden, Braden, Lalaine, and Jincra approached the small wooden stage in one corner of the meeting lodge where the chief elder stood. The four hunters plopped down on seat cushions in front of the stage. The other elders around the room flopped down on their own cushions. Mirak and Felka were finally freed from their nosy elders and sat with the young hunters by the stage.

Wind gusted in as the wool door opened again. Grath stepped into the lodge. His amber eyes narrowed in his purple face as he spotted the hunters congregating up front, and he moved to join them.

The elders’ wives served pottery bowls full of roasted puklo and vegetables to everyone, along with clay mugs of hot, sweet tea. When they were done serving, the old women sat down and ate with their husbands.

Chief Elder Sorl sat down on the edge of the stage facing the hunters. His bony fingers picked through his clay dish and brushed scraps of food out of his long white beard. “This meeting begins now. May all the spirits stand vigilant over us and guide us to wisdom.”

“Vigilance and wisdom,” echoed the assembly.

Boiled greens crunched in his yellow teeth as Chief Elder Sorl turned to the hunters. “We have two things to discuss. One is the Gathering of Tribes taking place in two weeks to determine leadership of this nation. The other is the reappearance of the Scourge in Sacram lands.”

Anxious chatter erupted all over the hall. Sorl waved the assembly down.

“I know what everyone wants to discuss first, so let’s get it over with. None of us elders know why the Scourge has returned. After sixty winters, its filth stains our lands once more. This may be a one-time occurrence. But none of us want to blindly pretend that’s the case.”

Sorl took another bite of vegetables and chewed thoughtfully. “The last time we faced the Scourge, all of our hunters gave their lives to stem the flow of darkness. The land was stained so thoroughly, the spirits fled. Because spirits are so easily tainted by the Scourge, they face even greater danger than we mortals do.

“We elders remember a time when only our household spirits remained, and since we were not blessed hunters, none of us could see them. As a result, Sacram village suffered two generations with no hunters blessed by spirits. Many of your grandparents, and even some of your parents, were killed in routine hunts for even the most basic materials. You all remember the massacre twelve winters ago.”

Everyone in the lodge looked grim at the reminder, but Alden and Jincra’s faces bore the harshest anger.

Chief Elder Sorl nodded at the two cousins and went on. “The hunter spirits only returned six winters ago, first to Felka and Mirak, and more recently to our other young hunters. We are finally regaining power. But we are still delicate and vulnerable.”

Mirak set his clay bowl aside and leaned forward. “What can we do, Chief Elder? We can’t just sit and pretend all is well.”

The rest of the hall buzzed in agreement.

Sorl waited for the nervous chatter to die back down. “Excellent question. And perfect timing. To answer it, I want to discuss our second topic: the Gathering of Tribes. We’ll send a band of hunters to compete in the Bloodpit Trials. It will be a perfect opportunity to acquire information and allies. If the Scourge has truly returned, it threatens our entire nation, not just the Sacram tribe.”

Felka spoke up. “Chief Elder Sorl, who will be sent to the Gathering?”

Sorl sighed, looked regretfully into his half-empty bowl, and set it aside. He put his arms around his bony knees and leaned forward. “You may not like the answer, Felka.”

Felka’s brow knitted beneath her black hair. “What do you mean, Chief Elder?”

Sorl eyed the beautiful huntress for a moment, took a sip of his tea, and set it back down. “I need you and Mirak to stay here, Felka.”

Silence blanketed the hall.

Felka ground her teeth. “You can’t be serious, Chief Elder. We’re your best hunters. You need your best at the Gathering to give us a shot at winning.”

Chief Elder Sorl’s faded blue eyes sharpened to meet Felka’s hard gaze, but he spoke gently. “Should we give our all to win leadership of the nation, only for the returning band to find this village smothered in corruption and the whole tribe dead?”

Felka grimaced and lowered her eyes. “No, Chief Elder.”

Sorl’s eyes softened. “I know how you feel. I know how all of you feel. Sacram has never held leadership over this nation. No one helps us, and we ask for no help. And for the last five ruling cycles, for thirty winters now, Kilna tribe has held the reins of our nation. I would like to see Sacram rise as much as any of you do.” The old man sighed. “But we cannot risk our survival for power. This Scourge came at the worst time, but we can prepare for it before it gets worse.”

Felka raised her head. “Do you think it will get worse, Chief Elder?”

Sadness crossed Sorl’s face. “I do, young huntress. I truly do. The Scourge spreads like fire. Where there is one black spot, there will soon be many.”

Mirak spoke up again. “Will we send a competing band at all, Chief Elder? Surely do you not mean to abandon the Bloodpit Trials entirely.”

“Indeed not,” Sorl replied. “We need to send a band to the capital city in order to warn them about this corruption, gather information about others who may be facing it, and try to secure some alliances in case our fears come to pass. But we should try our hand to win, anyway. Who knows, perhaps the gods will favor us and grant us victory even as we scrounge for allies.”

Mirak nodded. “You want Felka and me to stay here. There are eight hunters in this village, and a competing band requires five. Whom will you send?”

Sorl gestured to encompass the young hunters before him. “Alden son of Jobath, Jincra son of Jincra, and Braden and Lalaine children of Korl. I have also asked Grath son of Sarlath to join them. That will leave you Mirak, and you Felka, and Grath’s daughter Kazra to defend the village. You three, along with the able-bodied villagers’ support, should be enough to see us through until the Gathering is complete.”

Excitement burned through Alden’s veins. He had hoped for a chance to attend the Gathering and prove his strength in the Bloodpit Trials, but he hadn’t dared mention the hope out loud to anyone.

Sorl’s next words took Alden’s breath away. “Sacram tribe must be led by a Sacram villager. Grath is most experienced and has settled here with us, but he is not born of us. After his performance against the petal snake and his courage in facing the Scourge, I want Alden to lead the band.”

Shock slammed Alden’s chest.

Jincra put his hand on Alden’s shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. The serious young man almost smiled.

Lalaine did smile. “Good choice.”

Braden’s face split in a huge grin. “I figured he’d choose you, Alden. And I’ll be right there to keep you on your toes.”

Alden looked over at his sister and new brother.

Felka looked surprised, but quickly nodded. “A good choice indeed.”

Mirak nodded as well, then tapped his temple in the acknowledgement gesture. “I agree with this decision. Alden is a fine hunter. He can grow into a fine leader.”

Alden sat speechless. He considered asking, “Me? You want me to lead, all on my own?” But everyone was staring at him, and he didn’t want to undermine their confidence in him.

I’ll just have to rise to the challenge. Alden tapped his temple in acknowledgement at Chief Elder Sorl. “I accept this position, though I ask that Grath use his wisdom to advise this untested leader.”

The assembled elders nodded in approval at this response.

Grath crossed his muscular purple arms and rumbled, “You bet I will. If you thought training was tough before, you can’t even imagine what it will be like from now on.”

Alden groaned, and his three friends laughed.

“I mean all of you,” Grath barked.

Three more groans chorused from Alden’s friends.

Chief Elder Sorl addressed the five-hunter band who would represent Sacram at the Gathering. “Frankly, I don’t expect you to win.”

Once more, silence crashed down over the hall.

Sorl went on: “The Bloodpit Trials only allow hunters to enter at Level Two or below. Grath is the only one of you to have reached Level Two. In addition to the raw numbers, you four are young and untested. You’ve been on some short hunts, but before the petal snake attacked none of you had ever faced down a raging predator the size of a family home. I have confidence in your ability, but I don’t expect success. Don’t put that pressure on yourselves to win, and if you don’t win, don’t feel you’ve let our village down.”

Sorl held Alden’s gaze directly. “Winning the Bloodpit Trials is not the purpose of you attending the Gathering. The purpose of you going is to gather information on the Scourge in other places, to warn other tribes who may be caught unawares, and to find allies in case another onslaught of darkness descends upon our lands. Your mission is to help our village survive, not to bring us glory. Is that clear?”

Alden nodded solemnly.

“But we are going to win,” Braden whispered in Alden’s ear. “Right?”

Alden smiled at his friend. “Of course we will. We’re Sacram.”

Sorl brushed the breakfast crumbs from his elder’s robes and stood. His knees wobbled as he approached Alden, who rose as the elder approached.

Chief Elder Sorl cupped the side of Alden’s head with his hand and looked into the young man’s hazel eyes. “Young hunter, protect our tribe. We face a terrible threat which could end our village. Rise to meet it.”