The following morning, Sina visited the prisoner, who was awake and scowling at Sina.

‘You should have just killed me. I’m not going to be a slave to anyone and there’s nothing you can do to force me.’

‘The Fins don’t keep slaves.’ Sina studied the woman. There was something about her that brought back memories of home: a Scandinavian quality to her light hair, pale complexion and long limbs. She was what? Forty? Forty-five?

‘What do you want me for then? To trade to a tribe who do use slaves? That’s just hypocrisy, of course.’ The woman put her head back with a wince; so she was looking at the roof.

‘I’m Sina, what’s your name?’

‘Sod off.’

If only they had made some chairs. Settling cross-legged on the floor, Sina waited. She could be patient. And there was plenty to study by calling up the building options and working through them all.

After the battle, Sina had asked the two sisters to room together and this meant the base could obtain a prison by the simple measure of Arderlee hammering brackets on the outside, so that the door could be barred. The window didn’t need to be blocked yet. This woman would not be able to haul herself through it for a long time. Fortunately for her, the Guhma army medic kit in the stockade had contained a powerful sedative, a liquid that had a scent like mint. While she was under, Sina had helped carry the prisoner to her room using a recently made strecher.

There, Moon Jackal had carefully sterilised his hands from the same kit, felt gently around the broken bones, and pulled them into place as best he could before splinting and bandaging them.

While watching his careful movements, Sina had experienced an insight which had persuaded her they needed a research workshop. The Guhma had discovered a way to make sedatives. If the Fins could make their own supply, then not only would this help in their own medical emergencies but perhaps it would make life easier for Moon Jackal. She didn’t need to see his scar to be reminded he suffered terrible headaches: now and again an expression of immense pain distorted his face.

After a long interval, the prisoner broke into Sina’s thoughts, ‘I need to urinate.’

‘We normally go to the stream.’

‘I can’t make it that far. I don’t even know if I can stand up.’

‘I’ll help you.’ Even as Sina took the strain of the prisoner, she used her eyes to call up the menu and queue up the manufacture of a bed, priority one. Getting up from the floor was tough with a broken shoulder: you couldn’t raise your upper body with a jerk, nor roll to the side and use your hands as was the natural way to do it.

‘It’s no good,’ the prisoner said, ‘it’s too painful.’

‘Wait here then.’ Leaving the hut, Sina felt it was impolite to close the bar across, yet she did so all the same, just in case the Ark Andulan warrior was engaged in an unlikely but brilliantly acted deception. Then Sina hurried to the stockpile, where there was nothing better for the purpose than a large leather bag recently looted from the attackers. Again, she quickly queued up a new construction with priority one: this time a wooden bucket.

After the prisoner had relieved herself and settled back down, Sina cleaned the bag in the stream and left it hanging from the prison door to dry. Then she re-entered in the hope of at least finding out the woman’s name this time. But on walking in to the hut-turned-prison, Sina found that the captive was asleep. Quietly, Sina stepped back out and slid the bar over.

Crossing over to Marcus’s hut, she found her companion from Earth was sitting on the ground, white wood shavings all around him. Again, she found herself on tiptoe and holding in check her desire to speak, this time because he was fully concentrated on the carving in his hands. Her private tutor on Earth had been passionate about Romantic poetry of the era of the French Revolution. And he had told Sina about the terrible philistine who had interrupted Samuel Taylor Coleridge in the writing of Kubla Khan, talking business with the poet for an hour, after which the inspiration behind the poem was lost, never to return. She did not want to be that ‘person from Porlock’.

‘I know you are there,’ said Marcus without lifting his eyes from his work.

‘Oh, shall I go?’

‘You’re fine. It’s finished.’ Marcus held up the sculpture, seemed to notice a flaw and quickly made a tiny adjustment, then raised it again.

The tan coloured wood was sculpted with highly stylised planes: hundreds of tiny squares and diamonds and rhomboids that created an effect that did bring to mind the variations of colour in the coat of Otso. More than this, it made the sculpture almost seem alive, as if the Otaxel – although posed lying down – was about to spring to its feet. Unlike the little bird that Marcus had made, this was not a realistic representation of her pet. Yet it had captured something very true and beautiful about the way that Otso looked and moved.

‘Oh Marcus, you have such a skill. If we were on Earth and I posted a picture on my Insta, you’d become world famous.’

‘I’ll take that as a kindness.’ Marcus stood up with a grimace as he changed his posture. ‘But I never courted fame. I do, however, court Beauty. And she graced me with a touch of her hand today.’ He was smiling as he turned the sculpture back and forth. ‘Here, you have it. It’s your pet. And this is the benign version of him. Now that I’ve seen the fierceness in him, I want to make a monumental statue in stone. Life sized. Something we can remember our victory by. We need to find a quarry.

‘Oh… for me?’ Sina took the sculpture in her hands. It was surprisingly light. And as she felt the subtle texture of the wood something happened. It felt as though her guardian angel had woken up and begun singing. Celestial light from the birth of the universe poured through her eyes and fingers. This sculpture was worth becoming mortal for because it was immortal. Cracked and shadowed was human existence; but here, this, now, it was not. It was glorious.

‘Oh God,’ Sina staggered. Her face was covered in tears. ‘What was that?’

‘What happened?’ Marcus asked softly.

‘As I held your statue and looked at it, it felt like angels were singing.’

Now he smiled. ‘Art is about observation as well as technique. And after eighty years as an artist I’ve understood something about what happens as I observe. My mind ceases to be that of Marcus but some much larger being made up of a loop: Marcus; the object; Marcus observing the creature; the light; the sound; the texture; Marcus again; the object again; all the colours that have ever shone from the object; all the objects it is not.

‘And this mind of the artist, which encompasses much more than the mind of everyday-Marcus, might even be the entire universe. Because everything is connected.

‘I’m an atheist and I don’t hear angels. But I think I know what you mean. When I am sculpting, it’s like I’m somewhere else, somewhere that’s always been close and willing me to find it, but normally I can’t get there. And perhaps in that place, angels do sing.’

Having never heard Marcus talk like this, Sina was touched and wanted to reply but for a moment found she could not, for she was looking at the statue again and again experienced a pull on her soul. Only with a shadow falling over the wooden Otso was she brought her back to the present and by that time something had changed. The world was normal again. ‘I’ll put the statue on my windowsill, so everyone can see it. It will delight them.’

For a while she studied the artwork, trying to understand how an assembly of hundreds of straight lines could result in a creation that seemed to flow. It was like Pointillism in art. Or Cubism. Hesitantly she made that observation and was relieved when Marcus looked at her with approval.

‘Not quite Cubism but close. I went through a Marcel Duchamp phase, that lasted a decade or so, and I learned the technique by copying his early work.’

They walked together to Sina’s hut. Stretching on tiptoe, she was able to reach her window and push the statue into position there. What a joy that she could look at it every day. This was perhaps the first time that the experience of being on Grimwald surpassed that of her life on Earth. True, on Earth she had been surrounded by luxurious and beautiful objects: her clothes, furniture, jewellery, even her stationary, had all been superbly crafted. Yet nothing in her life had come close to expieriencing the intense beauty of Marcus’s sculpture. Not even artworks in the many galleries she’d visited. For all of its brutality and hardship, Grimworld had given her this at least.

The two sisters passed the end of the row of huts, each carrying one end of a plank.

‘Jasmine, Rosemary, come see,’ Sina called out. And once the girls had put their burden down, they hurried along to stand alongside the sculpture of Otso.

‘It’s very well done,’ murmured Jasmine.

Rosemary was frowning. She looked at Marcus, ‘did you make that?’

‘I did.’

‘Well, I’m very impressed.’ There was some subtle tension in the body language of Rosemary. It would not have surprised Sina if the next word that Rosemary spoke was, “but”. Instead, Rosemary said, ‘We need to set some priorities.’

‘Priorities?’ Marcus sounded puzzled. He had probably expected a stronger reaction to his sculpture.

‘Yes. There’s a lot missing from this place if we want to live comfortably.’

‘I was thinking that we should create a research workshop,’ said Sina, ‘so we can start researching new technology, like sedatives.’

Marcus shrugged. ‘I suppose so. But I think we should search for a quarry. And I was wondering about those three bows. I’d like to get the archery skill. Next time there’s a battle I won’t feel so helpless.’

‘No, no!’ Rosemary took a breath. ‘We don’t have beds. We don’t even have anywhere to sit when we eat. Furniture has to come first.’

Rubbing his lower lip, Marcus had a distant expression that Sina knew meant he was looking at menus. ‘One bed and two chairs a day is possible. After nine days of building those, I suggest three of us should practice archery, three get to work on the research workshop, and three people gather berries and nuts while keeping an eye out for stone?’

‘That seems like a good plan but let me check it suits everyone. Starting with you two. We might be missing something,’ Sina caught Rosemary’s eye.

The younger of the sisters shifted back and forward for a moment, then said, ‘It’s fine by me.’

‘And me,’ added Jasmine.

‘I’ll go check with everyone else.’ Sina clasped Marcus briefly by his upper arm and had a thought. ‘We need to invent mobile phones.’

With a mock shiver, Marcus said, ‘never had one.’

About to protest that life without a smartphone was like living in medieval times, Sina checked herself. Perhaps another virtue of Grimworld was that she wasn’t online all the time, creating posts compatible with her carefully maintained public profile. In the first few days on Grimworld, she had found herself taking imaginary pictures and adding captions. Just a parachute and some branches, yet this has to be home for now 🏠 👨‍👩‍👧; With beautiful mountains and beaches, this place has to be called Grimworld for some other reason: should I be afraid 👹👻😱?

At some point this habit had stopped and if she ever got back to Earth, Sina decided, she would just forget about social media altogether. It was much better to live in the moment than like a balloon bobbing around outside of her experiences looking for the best angle to capture them.

No one had any objections to the priorities for the week. In fact both Moon Jackal and Gettan were pleased with the idea of having a research workshop, the older man because it might lead to agriculture and planting grain and therefore baked food. Carmella couldn’t wait for a bed, it was painful on her back sleeping on the floor. To her surprise, Farkin actually offered an opinion, which was that he would like to be one of the archers. Certainly.

Accompanied by Otso, she found the islander, Arderlee, hauling rocks from the beach in his small wheelbarrow. Glad of a break, he went to the stream for a drink as he listened to Sina explain the plan for the week ahead.

‘That sounds fine. We will need the archers for the raid to free my tribespeople.’ Kneeling and efficiently scooping water into his mouth, Arderlee glanced at her. ‘Where do you plan to build the research workshop?’

‘Oh, I didn’t really think about it.’

‘I don’t recommend placing it inside the stockade. Space is very constrained there. In the long term, you’ll replace the wood with stone and it will be more like a castle to which you retreat at times of war than your actual settlement.’

‘I see.’

‘Nor should you place the workshop within rifle range of the walls. At the moment, you have unobstructed views in all directions. You don’t want to provide cover for your enemies.’

‘Oh, that’s a very good consideration.’

‘Near the stockpile by the forest would be an excellent choice, but not directly adjacent. You will have busier workshops so leave room for those. Once we have completed the all-weather path, there is little loss to placing it over there.’

‘Thank you Arderlee. That’s very helpful.’ She gave the Kanagaran a hand back up the river bank and once up, he held on to her with his strong grasp, staring at her to get her attention. ‘You are very beautiful and a great warrior. It would be a honour if you would lay with me.’

‘Oh,’ said Sina, feeling flustered. Nearby, Otso turned his head towards them and she could hear the rumble of a faint growl from her pet. ‘You mean…?’

‘In the Kanagaran tribe, when a man or a woman wants to lay with another, they leave a token outside the resting place of the desired person. If the token is taken in, then they will become lovers. I will leave my token at your hut. A circlet of vine.’

‘Oh. Well, thank you for the compliment Arderlee. But in my tribe. I mean my old one before the Fins. We don’t have such… such casual arrangements. Two people who want to lay together have to want to live together for all their lives. We marry. Which means have a special ceremony where we swear to be together whatever our future.’

‘I understand. I know other tribes like that.’

‘Thank you for understanding. Please don’t leave your token outside my hut, I would feel hurtful leaving it there. But I would not bring it in.’ Trying breathe slowly, the heat leaving her cheeks, Sina walked away from the scene, conscious that Arderlee was watching her. As a young princess, the rules around relationships were very clear and she knew that a promiscuous life was denied her. Here though? Was this an opportunity to adopt a completely different lifestyle and fear none of the consequences? Return to Earth as pure as she left it? But no, it wasn’t just the rules, it was her own values. Before taking someone to bed, it might not be necessary to marry them, but there should at least be love. And while Arderlee was a good man, she certainly didn’t love him.

Distracting herself from that unsettling encounter, Sina opened the menus, and there was something puzzling about the top level one: the Fins’ happiness score had dropped from 54 to 49.

It took some scrolling through sub-menus to find out why.

Rosemary

Female, age 19

Backstory: Born into slavery with the Ark Andulan

Traits: Flirtatious. Selfish.

Health:

Relations: Has a sister, Jasmine. +2 tribal happiness if a member of the same tribe as Rosemary.

Is jealous of Sina’s sculpture. -5 happiness until she possess it or the equivalent.

Skills

Agriculture 2

Construction 1

Crafting 1

Hide 5

Knife 1

Listen 5

Move Silently 2

Negotiation 4

Research 3

Well, for goodness sake! Rosemary was jealous. A quick fix would be to give the young woman the sculpture, but that did not feel right. It was a gift from Marcus and a precious one; Sina would not risk hurting and offending Marcus by giving up the artwork for such a shallow reason. And what would be the consequence of giving the statue to Rosemary? For the sake of the long-term relationships in the tribe, it might be better to challenge the young woman’s feelings of jealousy rather than reward them.

With a sigh, Sina adjusted her course to go around the stockade and make for the edge of the forest where Rosemary was probably helping get the materials for beds and chairs.