In his dream, Marcus was swimming in the cold sea but could not get to the shore because Jaskar was somewhere in the dark depths holding a leash that was fastened to his throat. It was such a relief, therefore, when Marcus woke up and remembered that he was free. After breakfast – nuts and berries yet again – he accepted the task of making a hut and once more experienced that strange sensation of being a traveller in his own body.

While walking back from the forest towards the base Arderlee, the strong Kanagaran, met him coming in the opposite direction.

‘Wait a moment, Marcus, would you?’

‘I would. What’s up?’ Marcus placed the plank he was carrying on the ground and leaned against it.

‘This path to the stockpile by the forest, it’s fine now because it is dry. But in the wet it will become a problem.’

Marcus could see at once that Arderlee was correct. Simply by having marched back and forth between forest and base, the Fins had flattened a path in the tall grass, one that had revealed the earth beneath their stems. When heavy rain came, the mud would really slow down the transfer of wood to the stockpile at the base. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘Ideally, you start mining and create a gravel path. But you don’t know of any nearby quarries, right?’

‘That’s right.’

As the Kanagaran rubbed at the ground with the toe of his left foot, Marcus felt there was something incongruous about the smart boots that Arderlee wore and his crude, brown leggings. If this image were a painting or sculpture, the message of it would almost be something surreal, something about power and slavery. Wasn’t there an idiom, ‘the boot is on the other foot now’? That would be the title of the piece.

Marcus was awoken from his consideration of how to paint the scene by a motion. Arderlee was shading his hand and looking eastwards, towards the sand dunes.

‘It’s not so far to the beach. I’d recommend building a wheelbarrow and assigning someone to bring stones back. Making a shale stone path will prove its worth over time.’

Marcus sighed. ‘That’s the most important planning consideration though, isn’t it? Time. I can see it’s a good idea to have a stone path. But we also need beds and food. And what about the raid that Salawa planned for next month? If we are going to join the Red Moon tribe then we need weapons.’

‘Still, this specific investment in time would soon pay for itself.’

Marcus thought about this. Not only was there a short term versus long term way of looking at the question, there was also the consideration that a stone path might mitigate against the risk that bad weather could stall their progress. ‘All right. Are you willing to work on the path?’

The Kanagaran nodded solemnly.

It took a minute or two of flicking his eyes around the menus to find wheelbarrow among the large volume of items now available under Production.

Basic Wooden Wheelbarrow

With wooden axle.

Requirements: 3 units of timber; a saw; a hammer; 20 nails; a borer; a file; Construction skill 3.

This simple wheelbarrow allows an individual to transport light loads efficiently.

‘What’s your Construction skill?’ Marcus asked without closing the menu.

‘Four.’

‘There. I’ve confirmed the task of making a wheelbarrow. How do I assign you to it?’

‘If I was on the Fins menu, you would glance left with the task open in front of your eyes. For me to make it, just set the priority to four, so no one else gets the task, and I will do it without the assistance of Igalla.’

‘Igalla?’

‘The goddess. She who directs our bodies and shows us hidden knowledge. I already know how to make a wheelbarrow, I can do it without her help this time.’

It was astonishing and difficult to get used to, that your body could build items without you knowing the techniques in advance. What a fantastic way of learning. And what a reminder not to neglect the power of the menus.

‘Hand me your plank,’ said Arderlee and Marcus obliged. The big man swung it easily over this shoulder. ‘I will take this back to the stockpile and make the wheelbarrow, then begin to pile up stones for gravel. I suggest you go back for more timber. We can never have too much.’

‘Right so. Goodbye for now.’

***

Later that afternoon, an impromptu meeting took place at the site of the ninth and final hut. It seemed to Marcus that the people present – Moon Jackal, Carmella and Sina – shared his sense of achievement. The newly cut planks of the huts were bright in the afternoon sun and the small buildings radiated a sense of peace and of marking a fresh start.

Marcus had explained his decision to create a task for a stone path to Sina, who had been happy to go along with that plan and use of Arderlee’s time. ‘What next?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Beds perhaps?’

‘How is your headache?’ Sina turned to Moon Jackal, ‘would you like to lie down for the afternoon?’

‘No.’ He shook his wounded head and while his expression always seemed to be a scowl because of the scar across the top of his head, it seemed Moon Jackal was genuinely offended. ‘I’m a hard worker. I don’t need special treatment.’

‘The other day…’

Moon Jackal interrupted Sina. ‘That was as much a test of you as a real desire to smoke the blueweed. I needed to be sure that the Fins wouldn’t become another Jaranisian tribe, with the admins constantly on the backs of the rest of us.’

Although the exchange was interesting, Marcus wanted to use the daylight hours to their utmost. ‘Beds then?’

‘Yes,’ said Carmella. ‘But not for you Marcus. You are wasting your talent. You should be making statues and paintings.’

‘That’s very kind Carmella, but I want to do my fair share of the hard work.’

A flush of anger turned Carmella’s cheeks red. ‘It’s not kindness! It’s piety. You have been given a gift from the goddess. You must use it.’ She turned to Sina with an expression of mute appeal.

‘I think Carmella is right, Marcus. You should make sculptures. Some more birds perhaps. Something we can trade when the next merchants come this way.’

‘Well, I did find an off cut that I thought I could use to make a sculpture of your pet.’

‘Otso!’ Sina flashed him a bright smile and it felt as though the sun had come out from behind the clouds. ‘Oh you must.’

Carmella nodded.

‘If you don’t think anyone will resent me…’

‘If they do, they have to answer to me,’ Carmella put her hands on her hips and from her pose and expression Marcus felt that he would certainly not want to the person who was answering to her.

‘All right so. Where is the Otaxel?’

‘Over by the stream.’

As Marcus set off to study the feline creature, Sina called out. ‘So nine beds then? Next?’

‘Sounds good.’ A moment later he received the task notice to make beds but ignored it without any twinge of guilt. His thoughts were entirely focused on the task ahead. Over at the stockpile there had been a block of wood with an unusual thick knot that made it flawed for timber and it had been discarded. That flaw, however, was perfect for the real challenge of rendering the Otaxel, which was its tentacles. Those thin, sinuous worms around its mouth could be shaped out of the sides of the knot and hollowing it out would create the mouth.

For several frustrating minutes, Marcus could not find the Otaxel. Then he noticed a break in the pattern of swaying grass as it was played with by a light wind. It was indeed the feline creature, lying half asleep, stretched along its side, head back, chin in the air. Perfect. Slowly, very slowly, Marcus walked around the massive beast. It gave him an unconcerned glance from its dark eyes and then half-closed them once more.

Face: intelligent, cruel. Ears a little further back than those of a cat and more pointed. Limbs more like a those of a donkey than a cat and extremely muscular: even through a fur coat the curves and bulk of the beast’s powerful frame were very evident. Tabby colouring, camouflage variations of beige and brown. Not that he'd reproduce those stripes in the sculpture. And those strange tendrils, like thick whiskers, currently relaxed and lying flat on the Otaxel’s mouth. Marcus sat down and stared at his subject and could almost feel the wood in his hands and the careful motions of his knife. Only when the clouds gathered overhead and the wind bring a chill did his commune with the beast finish. He was ready.

Once in the privacy of his hut, Marcus began to carve the Otaxel. There was nothing he would rather be doing; this, above all, made him happy. Nor was there anything more important.

War with the Ark Andulan tribe

An Ark Andulan raiding party has entered your territory. Your current standing with the Ark Andulan is -100 (hostile). You are at war with the Ark Andulan.

Reward: retain your life and freedom.

Well, perhaps that last thought wasn’t correct. With a sigh, Marcus put down the wood and the knife and hurried outside.

Jasmine, the older of the two sisters, was nearby and when she saw him, cried out: ‘did you see it? They are coming. We have to get everyone inside. Run Marcus, run and warn them.’

‘Don’t worry.’ The voice was that of Moon Jackal, who had come into view once Marcus had rounded the corner of his hut. The bearded man was standing by an open stockade door. ‘Everyone will have seen the message. They will hurry back. Best you both stay here. Marcus, go up on this wall and keep lookout. Jasmine is it? You take the wall on the opposite side of the stockade.’

Hurrying up a ladder, Marcus looked southwards over the grass. There were people in the distance. Lots of them, perhaps thirty. ‘I see them,’ he strove to keep his voice as calm as that of Moon Jackal, ‘it’s a big group. Lots of metal blades catching the sun.’

Then he hurried along the narrow walkway to the west, to look along the path to the forest. Moon Jackal was right, all the Fins were hurrying back: Carmella, then Sina, Farkin and Rosemary. Last was Gettan and even though he was slower than the rest he would easily make it to the stockade before the Ark Andulan party.

‘Our people are coming,’ shouted Marcus down to an anxious looking Jasmine, ‘all of them.’

‘My sister?’

‘I see her. She’ll be along soon.’

It really was only a matter of a couple of minutes before the whole group were in the shelter of the stockade. While Moon Jackal slotted home a thick wooden bar behind the closed gate, Getta sank to his knees, flushed and gasping for air.

The approaching Ark Andulan war party were facing into the declining afternoon sun, which gave an orange tint to the gleam of their hauberks and greaves. Would these warriors be able to storm the stockade? Really, there wasn’t much that could be done to stop them simply hacking a hole in the wall. Could they drop stones? Stones? Where was Arderlee? Heart pounding, Marcus ran along the narrow walkway to the north side of the stockade. Perhaps, not being in the Fins tribe, he hadn’t seen the quest?

There! The tall Kanagaran was coming over the dunes, trying to move quickly with a wheelbarrow full of rocks.

‘Moon Jackal, open the gate for Arderlee!’

Now scrambling down the nearest ladder, ignoring the splinters, Marcus looked for someone sensible and remembering something about Jasmine being brave, caught her eye. ‘We need to get rocks and heavy tools up on the ramps to drop on them. Rig the pulley.’

As soon as the young woman had nodded, Marcus was out the gate and sprinting to Arderlee.

‘It’s fine,’ Arderlee grunted as Marcus pounded up to him. ‘Can’t go any faster with two.’

‘You know the Ark Andulan are coming then?’

‘I got the quest,’ the powerful Kanagaran was loping fast, the wheelbarrow on the cusp of spilling its contents as it bounced through thick tufts of grass, ‘and reckoned we might need these.’

‘You could have just stayed away. Gone north.’

Arderlee spared Marcus a glance. ‘And shame my tribe?’

That answer and the look of determination in the man’s face caused something to settle in Marcus’s mind. When they were through this battle, he would join the Red Moon raid, rescue the other Kanagaran slaves and do his utmost to became allies with their tribe. They were an honourable people.

By the time Arderlee had manoeuvred his heavy load to the gate, the Ark Andulan force was close enough that Marcus could see them all. Of course Jaskar was there, a smirk on his face, shotgun cradled in his arms. No other elders were present: the others were townspeople in long chainmail hauberks carrying a variety of weapons, some, unfortunately, with bows. There was no sign of Kregar, but then Marcus had stolen his sword and armour.

‘Go on in,’ said Marcus.

Arderlee grunted, sweat visible on his cheeks.

Taking a few steps away from the stockade, Marcus cupped his hands and shouted, ‘Jaskar, stop there.’

And surprisingly, the little man did stop, his people coming up to form a line either side of him.

‘Is that you? The slave with the skill at painting? We’ll try not to damage your hands but you won’t be needing your balls.’

‘Turn back now. We have a rifle.’

‘You’re bluffing.’ Jaskar started forward again, bringing the shotgun up to his shoulder.

A sprint through the gate, eager hands slamming it shut and pushing home the heavy bolt. Arderlee and Gettan were lifting stones into a basket. A rope ran from the basket up to the pulley, which had been fastened to the top of the stockade. On the walkway there was Sina, holding the rifle, and beside her Carmella and Farkin, ready to pull on the rope. Near him, Jasmine was struggling into the suit of chainmail Marcus had stolen, with Rosemary trying to help her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m never going back.’ Jasmine’s flushed head appeared through the hole in the shirt and it suddenly fell into place, making her look like a match for any of the fighters outside. ‘I’d rather die.’

Hurrying up the wall, Marcus moved to stand beside Sina, who passed him the rifle.

‘I don’t know how…’

‘Just hold it a moment.’ Gathering a stray lock, Sina tied her black hair back in a ponytail, reached for the rifle and aimed it. For a moment Marcus was distracted by the intense beauty of the woman beside him and the fierce look on her pale face. Her lips, he noted, were so thin that instead of the vivid red that he usually saw, they were a pale pink.

‘One more step and I fire,’ Sina shouted down.

‘Blood and thunder. Aren’t you a stunner,’ Jaskar called back. ‘You’ll sell for a fortune.’ He turned to the woman beside him, the one who always seemed to accompany him, what was her name…? Sukild. ‘Try not to damage that one.’ There was a deliberate strength in his voice, no doubt to ensure they all heard.

‘Just shoot him,’ said Marcus. Hatred tasted of metal.

Jaskar called out to everyone in the stockade. ‘We always catch you. No slave has ever escaped Three Towers. You may think you are safe behind this wall, but it won’t hold long. Surrender and you live. Otherwise it’s the cage. Apart from that gorgeous one and the emasculated artist.’

The shadow of the wall just reached the waist of the Ark Andulan elder and curiously, Marcus could raise his hand and see his shadow arm raised above Jaskar. A sudden laugh rose up in his chest and Marcus mimed bashing Jaskar repeatedly on the head.

Sina sniggered. ‘Don’t make me laugh, I need to be steady.’

‘I doubt she has the skill to use that rifle,’ said Jaskar said, now turned to face his army. ‘Or the ammunition for more than a few shots.’

Beside him, the basket was up and Marcus helped Carmella and Farkin get the large stones out and place them on the walkway.

‘So we’ll test that gate first. See if it can withstand our axes.’

No one moved, a light breeze played with the grass between the slavers and the stockade.

‘Go on, advance!’ shouted Jaskar angrily. The warriors of Ark Andulan hurried forward and a shot rang out. Sina had fired.