Tarvakian took in and let out a well-deserved breath when they had finally gotten the last wagon across the river. They had moved onto sparsely treed land that bordered the western side of the jungle. He was soaked from the waist down, having helped guide the horses through the deep water. It had taken more time to build up the banks than the eastern side. The finished tasked forced a smile to his lips. It had been a long time since he had labored so hard.

"You could have remained dry, sir," Borlin said.

"It is something I must get used too, Borlin," Tarvakian replied. "It is not a bad feeling, a job done well."

"Aye, sir," Borlin said, then surprised Tarvakian by bending his old copper band open and placing it around his neck.

"What is this?" Tarvakian said as he saw his other ex-property doing the same. "My word is my word. It is not retracted out of the jungle."

"Aye," Borlin said with a chuckle. He bent the band closed and looked like property again. "A ruse, sir. We have interest in you acquiring the most coin for the bolts. We thought it is best done by an owner in good standing."

"Say nothing, sir," another ex-property said as she passed. "No one will question it."

Filgot began laughing at the sight. "It is a good tactic, sir."

"Aye, it is," Tarvakian said, confusion still filling his mind. "And you thought of this?" He asked Borlin.

"Aye, though, we all agreed." Borlin smiled. "We too, must get used to things. One of them is acquiring profits."

Tarvakian scratched his head in wonder. When he first envisioned freeing his house, he thought all would run far away. Yet here, they stay and shackle themselves in a ruse to increase his coin. Their coin, he reminded himself. Maybe, profits can bind a man as well as iron.

"I would never ask any of you to do such a thing," Tarvakian said. "But I will not throw away a good plan." He patted Borlin on the shoulder. He turned to the rest of his ex-property. "If any of you have other good ideas, do not let them rot in your mind. Profits are born of such things."

"I wish to learn the Nagada's sword ways," Kelton said to Opul. For three days, he had been weaving and hauling water with the young ones. His knowledge of the language was growing, as was his understanding of the Nagada tribal structure. The peak of which was the warrior.

"They will not teach you or me such things," Opul said. "You must be Nagada to carry the bu'kui. No one else is allowed."

Bu'kui translated to twin-tails, the Nagada's word for the precious blades the warriors strapped to their backs. Kelton had found out that they were handed down for centuries, each holding a story that the new possessor was expected to add to. There was only one tribe, far to the north, that worked a forge to repair the blades. Beyond their smithy work, no other metal was allowed. No new blades were forged, for it was deemed by the All-Father that such a thing would incite the return to conquest.

"Will you query Lin'cy on my behalf?"

"Aye," Opul said with a sigh. "The answer will be the same, but I will try."

Lin'cy sat down crossed-legged on the ground opposite Kelton, a movement that conveyed respect, and also foreshadowed his intent to decline the request. Opul shook her head in verification of Kelton's guess. Lin'cy began to speak, and Opul translated.

"Know that we honor all those who labor for the tribe, be they young, old, or not born right." It was a reference to Kelton's foreign origins. "We see much of what we cherish in you, yet our ways do not allow such things. Mayhap, if you saw the next rains with us, we would teach the ways of the Waitland and grant you a spear. It is my regret to tell you that only the Nagada will know the twin-tails."

"I am here for three more days, at best," Kelton said. "It is my regret that I won't see the spear, much less the twin-tails. I would have liked to see other tribes, and see more of what you cherish. Alas, I have my own tribe that I must return too." Opul translated, and Lin'cy responded. The name Qui'sina was used, which brought a smile to Opul.

"If you choose to return, the tribe will remember fire-head. The spear will always wait for one who labors for the tribe."

"Qui'sina?" Kelton laughed at the fire-head translation.

"The young ones have named you as a Nagada," Opul said. "Lin'cy and others find it enjoyable, so it has stuck. Their memories are long, so your hair will forever mark you as a friend."

"Qui'sina," Lin'cy said with a smile. He pointed to the small girl who had carried her first jar of water three days ago and spoke a few words.

"She's the one who named me," Kelton said to stall Opul's translation. With context, some things were becoming easier to understand.

"Aye, My'taa named you," Opul said. "She will always remember her first contribution day. The day fire-head followed her."

"You are invited to stay with his family for the night, sir," Filgot said. He had ridden ahead and had words with a wheat farmer. "I informed him of your desires, and he claims his cousin is a merchant of some note. Word has been sent, and his cousin will meet you here in the morning."

"It is a convenient thing," Tarvakian said. "Still, we must continue on to gather supplies for the return trip."

"As I told owner Hagon, sir," Filgot said. "I was informed his cousin will return with a well-stocked wagon so you may trade in coin and stuffs as desired."

"A very convenient thing," Tarvakian said as incredulity reared.

"Mayhap, owner Hagon gets a portion if he participates, Master," Borlin interjected. He and the other faux coppers had reverted to the old honorific so the ruse would hold even if overheard.

"Aye, that he must," Tarvakian said, somewhat relieved. "You have a good mind, Borlin."

"It allows us to return sooner than later," Filgot said.

"Aye," Tarvakian said, nodding. "Borlin?"

"Aye, Master," Borlin said. "Sooner is better than later."

Tarvakian question of Borlin was purposeful. Borlin seemed to sense other people's motives and desires, a born leader who was underutilized as a cook. It was no wonder he volunteered for the trek through the jungle. He needed the challenge. The future of house Tarvakian would require more Borlins. For what, Tarvakian wasn't sure, but drastic change always required good minds. He could only hope that what survived the mass-freedom would keep food on the table. It was better to gain Borlin's agreement as a partner, then to give speed to his flight.

"And what of everyone else? Where should they bed down?" Tarvakian asked.

"I, and my men, have been granted beds in the guard's house, sir," Filgot replied. "It is assumed that property would fend well in tents. They can be pitched in the courtyard, under a shared guard."

"My sorrows, Borlin," Tarvakian said. He turned to Filgot. "Always one of ours on duty. I'll not have this ruse turned on itself by an overzealous guard."

"Aye, sir," Filgot said.

"We will play our part, Master," Borlin said. "We are well-practiced at being property." They shared a chuckle before starting the wagons moving again.

Kelton's fingers were pleased that weaving wasn't the task of the day. The tiny cuts from the previous days' work had taken a toll. This day, the duty was the construction of hide blankets. They were used heavily on the interior of the huts. A waterproof layer upon poles, which were overlayed with the bundled straw. It was an ingenious use of the skins. The bundled straw would guide the force of the rain away, and the hides handled what trickled through.

It took a while for Kelton to master creating holes in the hides. At house Tarvakian, they had metal awls that were driven through. Here, he had to use the spikes harvested from the trees and twirl them between his fingers to drill through the hide. It was a learned talent, and his initial failures were the cause of much laughter.

Kelton was disappointed at the lack of sword training and thought on it as he worked. He understood their reasoning, though he believed it mostly based on keeping secrets from those who may someday be foes. At first, he was tempted to use Taggert's death and try to guilt them into it. Alas, he knew they deemed the death necessary at the time. And it was a bad use of a good man's memory.

The communal nature of the tribe did not allow for slavery, at least one based on coin. It was odd that they didn't see their labor and food trade-off as a form of slavery. Of course, one could always leave, so in theory, a person was never owned.

A smile formed on Kelton's face when the call was made to retrieve water. It was always the last task of the day, and meant the bulk of the afternoon and evening would be his to wander and learn. Some adults still labored if their duties dictated. Mostly cooking and care of the tiny ones.

"Qui'sina?" Kelton said with a grin when My'taa claimed her jar. She smiled back, then her face turned to one of worry as she spoke. Kelton understood enough to tell she was concerned that his hair hurt him. He knelt and pulled some of his hair forward for her to sample. It had gone wild since Yanda wasn't attending to the weaving.

My'taa called out to everyone as she felt Kelton's hair. Her words were exclaiming the normality of it. A surprise to all it would seem. Soon, all the young ones close by sampled his locks with gentle tugs and strokes as if it were fur. One of the spear holders, a young woman named Farni, took control and ended the sampling. On intuition, Kelton leaned his head toward her as he stood. Curiosity got the better of her, and she too ran her fingers through the ends of his hair. She laughed at the silliness and shooed him to the front of the line.

Others took time to examine Kelton's hair as jars were being filled. He is the one who started it, so decided not to be annoyed that it continued. They shared everything, and that meant intimately knowing the texture of his hair as well. No one came back for a second sampling, so he was sure it would end soon enough.

An odd feeling gripped Kelton as they walked back to the village. It snapped into his head, a sense of powerful hunger. Then fear invaded and swamped out the desire for food. The overlapping thoughts were brief, and yet so strong. He took a few more steps, his mind now empty of anything but his own contemplations. It took a moment to digest the sensations. There was no context, as if the feelings contained no reflection, just on or off. Yes or no. Instinctual...

Kelton dropped his jar of water, which landed with a thud. He turned and began to stumble through the line of young carriers, forcing his way to the back. It was a predator he felt, one who considered him a meal, then discounted him for his threatening size. There was one who was small enough near the end of the line. One who stumbled awkwardly with her burden.

"Akmnia!" Kelton shouted. It was the Nagada word for animal. He knew nothing of the term for wolf or monster. The young ones looked confused as he pushed his way through them. He pointed at My'taa when she came into view. His eyes found Farni and shouted again. "Akimnia!"

What came out of the brush was not a wolf, though it was the size of one. It had sleek black fur and leaped like a cat. My'taa screamed, her burden freezing her in place. Farni moved with the speed of desperation, placing herself between the My'taa and the beast. There was no time to level her spear.

The beast roared as it hit Farni, knocking her backward into My'taa, taking all three to the ground. Farni groaned with the impact, her spear snapping against the weight. The young ones panicked and ran, their voices yelling of the terror. Kelton neared the scene as the beast leaped again, this time off Farni and catching My'taa as she tried to crawl away. It's fangs digging into her exposed leg. Her scream tore through Kelton's gut.

Kelton hit the beast with all his weight, and at the greatest speed his legs could carry him. The creature was all muscle, and claws, and fangs. Kelton wrapped his arms around its torso and rolled the beast off My'taa. The thing turned on him. There was a frenzy of claws and teeth as the monster twisted in his grip. Kelton could only squeeze tighter to lessen its leverage. My'taa, now free, ran.

The creature's claws dug deep into Kelton's chest. His thighs were being torn by the back legs. Kelton cocked his head in a panicked effort to thwart an attack on his neck. Fangs bit deep into his shoulder and upper chest. Something horrible came from his mouth, a mix of blood and screams. He tried to throw the beast off, but it wouldn't detach. Brutalizing its side with his fist only caused the creature to move erratically and sink its paws into new flesh.

Farni crawled toward Kelton. Her face bloody, one arm dangling. She pushed the working half of her broken spear toward him. Kelton took it as she collapsed. He stabbed at the creature but lacked the strength or the space necessary to make the stone tip penetrate the hide. Kelton was fading, his will escaping into intense pain. With all he had left, he drove the spear into the thing's eye, forcing the fangs deeper into his body. The creature spasmed, then ceased all movement. It's teeth and claws firmly embedded.

Kelton's muscles surrendered their tautness. Breathing became difficult, and the agony was expanding to areas beyond the damage. Through the growing coldness, he felt a hand grab his. His head rolled in the direction, his eyes struggling to focus on the bloody face that was once Farni.

"Givuna My'taa," Farni whispered. Her smile was marred by the blood highlighting gaps between her teeth.

"Aye," Kelton said with a gasp. He forced his own smile. "My'taa lives."

The pain began to dissipate with the heat of his body. Farni was right, Kelton thought. My'taa would grow to carry more water, to one day weave and add more to the tribe. My'taa would remember fire-head, Kelton chuckled in his mind. He wished he had time to tell her not to climb down the rope. To always hold on to the most precious of things.

The light dimmed, though Kelton knew the sun was still high in the sky. He tried to squeeze Farni's hand. His fingers didn't answer his mind. Light failed, and with it, the last of his warmth. Darkness, then Juno's smile, then nothing.

"There is no profit in that," Tarvakian said. Vinci Hagon had quoted a price far below what the bolts were worth. Tarvakian sipped his tea with a calmness that belied the panic in his mind. Vinci was a bald man with piercing green eyes. A skilled merchant by the knowledge they had traded.

"It is a gift, Heralic. A price I offer in hopes of acquiring future trade with your house," Vinci said with a wave of his hand. "When my cousin fetched me, I had hoped you carried leathers." He shook his head. "I see now it's mere cloth, though the quality is high enough. It is leather that stirs the eyes around here this day. Cloth is in abundance and will tie up my coin for a year or more. If not for your name and your seat on the council, I would offer much less."

They were seated in the eating room of Vinci's cousin's house. A small place that was surprisingly comfortable. The walls held the hearth's heat well.

"Mayhap, I will continue to the village or the city farther down," Tarvakian said. "I may secure a price worthy of the trip I have made." He put his mug down. "I lost a man, and almost lost much more on my travels here."

"Aye, you might get more," Vinci said, nodding his head slowly. "Though, I suspect you will find less interest. Your timing is poor. Mayhap, if you would come during the cold season when the ships are less frequent."

Tarvakian re-acquired his mug and slowly took another sip as he examined his fellow merchant. The man's words were spoken smoothly and with some regret. There was nothing false about him. At least, nothing that stood out.

"If you wish to travel deeper and seek better profit," Vinci said. "I can list the houses that may have interest to speed you along. I, myself, must go north from here. There is a trapping house eight days away that wishes to trade." He shrugged. "If I dally longer, I will miss half a year's profit to someone with more speed. Mayhap, we can exchange messages by ship in the days that come. My house and yours can do much if the timing is right."

Tarvakian took another sip of his tea, a delay to allow him to think. If he were to go further and failed to secure better coin, it would exasperate his losses. Vinci Hagon would be long gone, and with him, his offer. No fallback. The trip was a disaster, plain and simple.

Tarvakian sighed, his regrets at failing to acquire extra coin for his ex-property piled itself on top of Taggert's death. If Kelton hadn't stayed with the Nagada, he would cut his losses and spend a month returning by ship, the long way around. The western passage, as far as he was concerned, could grow itself shut. Once back, he and his would never travel it again.

"Vinci, it seems like I must..." Tarvakian's acceptance of Vinci's offer was interrupted by a pounding on the door. It was Borlin looking frightened in a most submissive way.

"My sorrows, Master," Borlin stuttered out. "I must speak with you."

"It is not the time, Borlin," Tarvakian said. The ruse was useless now.

"I must, Master," Borlin said. Though sounding frightened, Taravkian could hear the desire in the words. It was strong.

"A moment, Vinci," Tarvakian said. Vinci nodded with curiosity as Tarvakian headed outside to speak with Borlin in private.

"It is sad in there," Tarvakian whispered once they were alone. "At a copper a day, you will show more profit than me."

"It is a ruse," Borlin whispered back. His eyes were cast down and he was ringing his hands in a show of fear for anyone who looked. "Owner Hagon's property talk as property do. Not caring if we hear, for they think we would not care as well."

"What do you mean?"

"That storm we suffered through, the one that had us hiding under the wagons," Borlin said. Tarvakian nodded. "It has done great damage to the ports. Shipping is in shambles. What cargo did arrive was ruined by salt from the high seas breeching holds. There is a draught of new goods."

"He cheats me," Tarvakian growled in anger. He started to turn but was held back by Borlin.

"He would know where the word came from," Borlin pleaded. "His property could be returned to the whip. I do not wish that upon anyone."

"Aye," Tarvakian sighed.

"Another ruse, Master," Borlin hid his smile, but it was evident in his whispered words. "Ruse, upon ruse, upon ruse."

"You have been thinking again."

"Aye, Master. If you feel it is not an insult to your memories. Mayhap, you made a vow to your first wife on her death, never to do deals on this day."

"It is not her...," Tarvakian smiled as the idea permeated his mind. "Tina would find it a compliment. She was shrewd in her dealings and would relish such a thing done in her name. I dare say; she would laugh." His smile disappeared. "I do miss her laugh."

"Then, it was my task to remind you of such a day," Borlin said, his eyes indicating the door. Tarvakian knew Vinci had come to investigate. Borlin spoke louder. "My sorrows, Master. Our travels made me lose track of the days."