The next morning, the weather turned blustery, and pellet-sized hail fell for a couple of hours after dawn. My team filled up on the pozole I’d made, and bundled up before heading to the booth. From the direction of the pyramid, we heard singing and music as the world speakers held a ceremony to greet the day. In about another hour, they’d lead a parade to the Butchery to officially kick off the festival.

I was sorry to miss what was surely an incredible experience, but there were only two days left until the tournament, and the latest difficulty was that someone—ahem, the Healer’s Lodge—had quietly arranged for agents to buy up the ingredients normally used for the alchemists’ healing poultices and elixirs.

We’d only just learned of the problem earlier in the morning when a sad-faced representative of the alchemists stopped by the inn to inform us their inventory would be smaller than expected. They’d, of course, honor the agreement they’d made with us, but it might require them to repurchase already-sold stock at a higher rate, the expense of which they’d pass along.

The argument went on and on, but there was no budging on that last point. And we couldn’t even use Healing Water to fill the gap, since casting the spell on anyone who wasn’t a member of our lodge was illegal.

Ikfael could get away with it, and she was our fallback for anyone more gravely wounded than the alchemists could handle. That was meant to be a highlight of the tournament, though. Not to be morbid, but Ikfael swooping in to save the day would be badass and increase her prestige. Her being constantly available—well, that would be a different kind of good, up until someone died because she ran out of mana.

Anyway, we were a grumpy bunch trekking to our booth, and grumpier still after hearing from the guards Uncle Kila had hired to watch the pavilion: Overnight, someone had tried to set it on fire, and the guards suspected the arsonist was Fire-Touched since the blaze had resisted being put out.

There was a hole in one of the sidewalls about the size of my head, and scorch marks all around it. If Bihei was here, she’d patch it right up, but she and the rest of my family were back in Voorhei.

Maybe if we put something in front? I thought. We could decorate the platform with weapons and armor.

It would be in keeping with the martial theme, Yuki replied.

Okay, let’s do it before the crowds come. I hopped down and ran to Mumu so that she could arrange access to the Albei hunters’ storeroom, and came to a skidding halt when I spotted a group of soldiers approaching the booth.

How sad was it that my first reaction was to expect trouble? To put my hands on the hilts of my knives and glance at my spear where I’d left it propped up against the lodge. We’d gone days without seeing a single entry for the tournament, and a part of me must’ve assumed that was going to be the way of things.

But no, the five soldiers, all apparently from Sugrusu Hakei, paid five eltaak each to register. They were cocky as hell about it too, laughing and joking that one of them was sure to win since they were the only entrants so far. I didn’t think they were all that special—the members of my team outclassed every one of them, but then we weren’t participating.

Maybe they were right; maybe they’d be the only contestants, but I hoped not. Ikfael’s Boon should go to someone who showed more respect for what was being offered.

At least we’d earned our first antaak. Only one hundred forty-nine to go.

###

The festival was in full swing by the afternoon, with the marketplace taking up a full third of the plaza and special stages for the city’s more prestigious lodges to show off their skills. Nearby, Albei’s hunters set up an exhibit of trophies from the year’s hunts, while nearby—just within shouting distance—a pair of philosophers yelled at each other from their competing stages. Supposedly, there was an area for diviners on the other side of them, but they were a quieter bunch.

It killed me that I couldn’t go look, and I promised myself that I’d come back for the spring festival and bring my family with me. I’d stuff them full of delicious food and watch as their eyes sparkled at the music and dancing. The thought was a nice distraction from my belly cramping with worry.

At about two in the afternoon, a trio of nathlein teenagers showed up. They were visiting from north of Albei and had heard the gossip. They chatted for a while with Mumu, interested in her skill with the spear, and then signed up for the tournament on a lark.

I thought it was funny—in a sad way—that we had more hidden watchers than actual entrants. Over the course of the day, the number of observers had increased to twelve.

Just after four o’clock, Haol spotted a man in healer robes scurrying in our direction. A soft whistle later, and the rest of us were tracking him. He wasn’t anything special, though, as far as I could tell—a journeyman with two common talents. The only thing he had going for him were a pair of extremely fierce eyebrows; they were so dramatic, they looked fake.

The healer slowed to straighten his robes, but instead of approaching the booth, he posted near Ikfael’s pavilion, just outside the area controlled by the Hunter’s Lodge. He then folded his arms and scowled, turning his attention toward the gawkers nearby.

We’d gotten enough curious bystanders throughout the day that I was feeling like a monkey at the zoo, but the current batch dispersed under pressure from the healer. He exerted a threatening disdain that pushed people away. He also ignored Mumu when she asked him to leave—not even acknowledging her presence.

The healer was legally allowed to be there. So, in retaliation, I borrowed a couple of travois from the lodge, and, with Teila’s help, we held them up like sails to block him from view. He aimed his scowl at us, but to my eyes he was a growling puppy, and even Teila scoffed. The healer was no giant eagle, chliapp lion, or kalihchi bear.

At least it was something to do and Teila and I made a game of moving with the healer to block him at every turn.

###

The sun had gone down, and the braziers were lit. Bihei was on the Yuki phone telling me about her day and the autumn festival’s counterpart in Voorhei. It was a muted affair this year, with the village mourning the recent deaths, but my children managed to have a good time anyway. They were out at the time, leading that little gang of village kids of theirs, while Bihei was taking a break from selling the cloth she’d made.

On the other side of the travois, I heard the healer sigh. By then, he’d given up on trying to get around Teila and me, and just bided his time. Over by the booth, Haol and Tegen stared out at the crowds with flat expressions—the same look they wore when surveying dangerous prey. Nearby, Mumu and Sheedi whispered with their heads together, while Uncle Kila sat on the platform scribbling in a book, his brows furrowed.

The bodyguards were spread out to keep an eye on the surroundings, and Agath whistled to get our attention. She gestured to the north where a couple of slim, masked figures walked toward us.

The healer peeked around the travois, and tried to step into view, but Teila and I automatically moved with him. Then, he stubbornly tried again and clumsily tripped over one of the poles that just happened to be sticking out. With a touch of Bear’s Strength, I helped him to stand, facing him away from the approaching couple.

They looked like more teenagers—a boy and girl—but the pair wore the most amazing masks: snarling cats both, but one was silver and the other black. Their clothes were themed, as well, with silver and black ribbons stitched to their clothing. The two looked like a matched set of light and shadow, with the puma on one side and the panther on the other.

They walked with the confidence of luchadores, their cloaks billowing behind them. They had too much presence to be youngsters, so I checked with my spirit eyes and saw that they both hid tails under their cloaks. Click. Click.

Goost the Smith (Human, Nisaak, Dusk)

Talents: Fast Hands, Resilient Soul, Metal Affinity, Subsumed Rage

Pleik the Smith (Human, Nisaak)

Talents: Quick When It Counts, Blunt-Souled, Beauty in Steel

They were the smiths whose shop I’d visited in the Geista district. Apparently, they’d moved on from market surveys to lucha libre.

“Get your hands off me!” That was the healer, but I ignored him.

Pleik was the sister and the puma; she wanted to sign up for the artisan’s contest. Goost was the brother and panther, and he wanted to fight. Yet, there was confusion among the registrars about how to handle anonymous entries.

“Just use stage names,” I yelled behind me. “We’ll make it work.”

I was never a big fan of lucha libre—my brother Miguel was the one who dragged me to the bouts I’d attended in my previous life—but that didn’t stop a huge grin from plastering my face. The moment was like a touch of home come to visit.

So, after conferring with each other, Black Iron Panther and The Lustrous Puma entered the tournament. Then, they turned, flourishing their cloaks, and walked away with the same elan as they’d arrived with—followed by a handful of hidden watchers.

The healer was still going on about being manhandled, but it was Agath who had my attention. She looked worried for Goost and Pleik’s wellbeing.

Moon came over to stand by his sister. “They’ll be all right. The clever ones know how to take care of themselves.”

“That’s a truth if there ever was one,” Agath said.

“They were followed,” I said.

Moon nodded, unsurprised. “If those two are who I think they are, they’ll know that and will have made arrangements.”

As the evening progressed, the number of hidden watchers increased to sixteen, with all of them now paying strict attention, no matter how late it got. We closed the booth at eleven in the evening, and the feeling of the observers’ interest was as pointed as ever, even as they followed us back to the inn.

We had nine entrants for the martial contest, one for the artisan, and none for the hunt. The next day would be the last before the tournament started. Time was running out, and none of us slept well that night.

###

The next afternoon, my gut was twisted into knots. We’d be fine if the tournament flopped—there was the eilesheile to fall back on to pay the lodge’s debts—but it rankled to have been stymied by the Healer’s Lodge.

Then, things got worse when Vorkut himself showed up to scare people away. That was a piss poor use of a master healer in my opinion, but he made it blatantly clear that he was not interested in my or any other hunters’ views on the matter. When he saw Teila and me with our travois, he said, “Put those in my face, and there’ll be consequences.”

I scoffed. “Like what? You already won’t treat us or our fellow hunters.”

“So far, your village of Voorhei has remained blameless, but if you continue to behave badly, then my lodge must consider the possibility that they’ve raised you poorly.”

“You’d retaliate against innocent villagers?” I angrily demanded.

“Only if you force us to,” he said.

A team of guards was with him, their spirits sharp and focused. They wore Healer’s Lodge badges too, so they weren’t hired mercenaries.

Based on their talents, his guards were technically part of the family of soldiers, but the badges meant they’d sworn oaths to the healers. It was how people navigated the intricate relationships between path, family, and lodges. Otherwise, it’d be too hard for lodges to get access to trained staff—not just soldiers, but merchants, ranchers, diviners, and all the rest too.

Vorkut's guards spread out toward the crowd that had gathered to spectate the booth, yet the looky-loos that day were a hardy bunch, and I spotted several rude gestures among them, including one lady who spat at the guards.

That triggered a confrontation where her family and Vorkut’s guards faced each other down. My own bodyguards tensed, and suddenly everyone else in the crowd had a hand on a weapon—a suspiciously large number of weapons, I realized.

Were we about to have a riot on our hands? A staged one that’d wreck our booth and maybe injure us in the process? I rapidly checked the talents of the people in the crowd, and the majority appeared to be soldiers and... hunters?

I was relieved to see my lodge’s own agents in the crowd, and they’d clearly allied with the bystander soldiers. Were they here to keep the peace then? Or would they surprise us with a flash mob? They’d perform a fantastic Thriller. Despite the tension, I almost laughed at the ridiculous idea.

That was, until I heard the drums.

Across the plaza a slow cadence emerged as what sounded like a dozen drums were beaten in time. The sound was faint at first, and then step-by-step grew louder and deeper. People turned to look; they shifted aside until two columns of dolbecs appeared marching toward us.

They were led by two giants, one carrying a halberd and the other a greatsword, the weapons as enormous as the men themselves. The others behind them were also armed, the variety of their weapons dazzling, and... and... my heart lifted to see every single one of them fully masked in blue and white so that only their eyes were visible. I checked with my Status camera, and holy hells, those were Wusta and Bruta at the fore.

Crunei’s Garden had come to enter the tournament.

Heavy, coiled, alert, fierce—the words running through my head were all inadequate to capture what I saw, what I felt to see so many people arriving to register. They were a blue, martial wave, and even Vorkut’s guards stepped aside under the pressure they exerted.

The columns split to form two contingents, each stacking its members until there were four rows of five on each side. Then, Wusta and Bruta strode toward the booth where Tegen registered them. His spirit raced, but none of it showed on the hunter's face as he wrote down their stage names: The Blue Sword and The Blue Halberd.

When they stepped aside, the rest of the dolbecs approached two by two, with every movement disciplined and synchronized. They were all named Blue and named after their weapons. And if people had the same weapon type, they added numbers to their names. For example, Blue Hammer One was a middle-aged woman with a slight limp, while Blue Hammer Two was a man a decade her junior.

I looked for Crost, their Fighting Genius, but there were only seasoned adults present. The children and teenagers appeared to have been left at home.

Registering forty-two people didn’t take long given how neatly organized they were, and when it was time to leave, Crunei’s Garden reversed their entry: as the drums beat, the two stacks moved into columns, and the dolbecs marched away, their heads held high and proud.

All in all, the sight had been remarkable, and the crowd had been just as mesmerized as I’d been.

Some of the hidden watchers began to follow, but they were quickly intercepted by others among their number. I counted three altercations where the followers peaceably backed off, and one full-on skirmish that left both parties in bloody retreat.

Mumu was still dazed by the show put on by Crunei’s Garden. When I brought the fighting to her attention, she shook her head to clear it, then gazed out at the crowd, "Much of what affects us is out of our control.”

I hated the idea of that but understood it all too well. “Right, we’ve prepared as best we could. The important thing now is focus on what we can control.”

Mumu nodded, then she strode over to where the altercation had been brewing earlier. Now that the distraction of Crunei’s Garden was gone, things were heating up again between Vorkut’s guards and the gathered hunters and soldiers.

“Brothers and sisters, friends and enemies—give me your names before you fight. The honored guests who’ve entered our tournament will want to know who to blame for disturbing their chance at Ikfael’s Boon.”

The crowd hushed instantly. The hunters and soldiers looked at each other, wondering at what they should do while Vorkut’s guards retreated to seek further instructions from their master. None of them wanted to provoke such a fierce and disciplined force, whether they recognized them as Crunei’s Garden or not.

Mumu had handled the situation perfectly. I was so proud of her.

As for the hidden watchers, what could we do? We were at the eye of a storm, the currents of Albei’s politics swirling around us, much of it out of sight. We’d triggered some—our village’s mistake with Borba, my arrival with Yuki in tow, Ikfael’s willingness to trade with the locals—but the rest was all them. And the way to deal with them was to stick to our plans, adapting as necessary to weather the conflicts between the factions.

We’d do what we could with the power we had, stretching for more as we went, but the rest we had to let go or else we’d drive ourselves mad chasing after whispers and shadows. Our foundation was solid—the family of the lodge and the relationships we’d built—and the rest could go to hell, as far as I was concerned. Then, I chided myself: Not really, not that far, but we would retaliate.

How much of what was right was in the eye of the beholder? Too much, but when people tried to beggar you, enslave you, and kill you, the spectrum of acceptable responses expanded, at least in comparison to my previous life. I would have to be careful to not turn into the monster I fought, but my life was my own and I’d do my damnedest to protect it and my loved ones.

###

The crowd settled into an uneasy peace. Vorkut and his guards were on one side, staring balefully at the hunters and soldiers across from them who stared just as angrily back. I thought some light entertainment might help ease the tension, but the dancers and musicians avoided our part of the plaza. Maybe we could lure some over with taak?

I took the idea over to Uncle Kila, but before we could put it into action, a group of five slipped out of the crowd. They wore improvised cloth masks, making them look like bandits. They weren’t, though. I could tell from their names, their talents, and even the way their spirits were clear of the blemishes that appeared on people who regularly abused others. My guess is that they were some family’s or lodge’s team of guards.

They glanced furtively at the healers and registered as quickly as possible before disappearing back into the crowd. The hidden watchers must’ve marked them as small fry, because none of them cared to follow.

Steadily, over the course of the next couple of hours, more people in improvised masks appeared, some of them looking like scarecrows with how thoroughly they covered their faces. One fellow—he must’ve taken a large pouch and cut a couple of holes in it for his eyes.

By the time the sun was setting, the long shadow of the Hunter’s Lodge stretching across the plaza, we’d had sixty-three people enter the martial contest and four in the artisan’s. That was an income of sixteen antaak. Not as much as I’d expected—not remotely so—but at least there were enough people for those competitions to take place.

As for the hunt, I didn’t know what to think. My heart hoped, while my mind went around in circles. Yuki did their best to ease my concerns, yet I felt their own worries bubbling under the surface of their thoughts.

A man pointed, and the crowd muttered in surprise. I turned to look behind me, but it was just the lodge until I looked up and saw Silasnei standing at the edge of the roof, the slanting light glowing saffron on her body. She was stillness itself, except for her hair, which she’d let loose from its braid to dance free in the wind.

All eyes were on her as she suddenly leapt from the top of the lodge, arcing in a somersault, to land just in front of the booth. She hit the ground with barely a sound, her knees flexing to absorb the energy of the fall.

A sigh of appreciation ran through the crowd. People elbowed each other to make sure their companions had seen what she’d done. And that was when I noticed the ghosts moving through crowd, converging on our position. No, not ghosts—hunters. And no one else seemed to notice them; what was a little jostling in comparison to Silasenei’s performance?

That was, until they revealed themselves in masks of gray, green, and blue. They flowed out of the crowd like water and rushed to take a knee before Silasenei. There were only ten, but their movements were intentional, precise, and just as threatening as those of Crunei’s Garden. It was just a different kind of fierceness.

I was so glad to see them, while also disappointed by their number. Their entries earned us only two and half antaak, and yet they were beautiful; I felt so conflicted.

Then, I heard voices singing. The song was familiar too. It was the hymm to Barakas I’d heard in Albei’s pyramid, except sung more full-throated and the melody was different too—fiery and intense. A cadence of stomping boots accompanied the song, and for the second time that day, the crowd split to admit a group of marching soldiers.

They wore masks of blue and white but had none of the unity of Crunei’s Garden. They more than made up for it with their zeal, though, and for a disorienting moment, I felt like I was watching footage of a Maori haka, the ceremonial dance of the aboriginal people of New Zealand. While the motions and the expressions were different, the spirit was similar.

Twenty-four warriors lined up in loose rows behind the hunters. Then, another seven slipped in among them, moving like hunters. They must’ve been their lodge’s soldier-scouts. And, trailing behind them was a group of nine people wearing leather suits and bulbous, bronze helmets with glass for eyes. They had tanks on their backs, and alchemist talents.

Our allied lodges had arrived. In fewer numbers than I’d estimated—our balance sheet demanded more—but I teared up anyway. And I took such glee in seeing Vorkut glower at the assembled hunters, soldiers, and alchemists.

Elation welled up inside me; the source was Yuki though, and I turned in time to see a sudden blast of wind blow through the crowd, followed by Aslishtei and eight members of her family. None of them were masked, and the expression in her eyes dared Vorkut to say something about it.

A second look told me that only six of them would be able to enter. The remaining three were the surviving children of the North’s Winds family. Their spirits were... well, a mess, but that was to be expected given the loss of their family. They held to the purpose given to them, though, which was to demonstrate to all that the North Wind survived in them. The children seemed well cared for too; I didn’t see any signs of mistreatment or neglect.

Shortly, after a group of world speakers arrived, led by Iseld herself. She waved to the crowd as her people signed up for the tournament, and then chatted briefly with Sheedi before introducing herself to Mumu and the rest of my team.

She made pleasant small talk with us all, and I got to wondering why she was sticking around. Why all the recent entrants stuck around.

Then, a horn blew, and I heard exclamations from festival goers across the plaza. Dogs barked, so much louder than the ones from previous life, and I caught sight of the giant beasts dashing, their riders clinging to their saddles. The bystanders scurried to get out of the way, but the nimble dogs avoided them.

Spears clashed against shields in the distance, and from the east, the direction of Albei’s pyramid and Ithia’s fortress, the land soldiers marched. So many—I couldn’t count their number—they marched in slow procession.

The dogs bounded in their direction, pulling all eyes with them, as they turned to escort the soldiers the rest of the way. The light glistened on their spears, on their helmets and armor. Their eyes were hard and determined, telling everyone present that they’d come to fight.

None of the land soldiers were masked, and they were led by three captains—of the gates, of the city, and of the fortress. It was they who stepped forward to register themselves and the land soldiers under them. Altogether, a hundred and twelve land soldiers entered.

Vorkut looked visibly sick to see them all—like going to throw up sick.

As I was gloating, Sondo the Captain of the Gates came up to me. “We hoped Honored Ikfael would be here.”

“Not today, but she will be during the tournament.”

“Good. Her presence will inspire our people to fight harder.” Stiffly, he knelt on one knee to put himself at my eye level. Just as stiff, he said, “I hope you can excuse the treatment you received upon entering our Albei. The disappearance of a land soldier put us on special alert.”

Uh huh, and I’m sure it had nothing to do with the attempt on the land knight. But I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself. We were in a good spot with the land soldiers and their leadership now, and I wouldn’t risk the relationship over some leftover hard feelings.

“Everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves,” I said, “and Honored Ikfael will witness every fighter’s efforts.”

Sondo offered a clipped nod in response and stood to rejoin his people. He was, apparently, a man of few words. Well, no matter, I’d take his people over his words.

###

Eventually, another twenty-three people found ways to sneakily enter the tournament. Almost all wore impromptu masks emulating the pouch-with-holes scarecrow look seen earlier, but one enterprising fellow pretended to be delivering food. He hid behind the pavilion and “pstted” me over.

“I wish I’d thought to wear a mask,” he said. “I’ll have to find one for tomorrow.”

His approach was so different than everyone else’s. “What gave you the idea to deliver food?” I asked.

“It just came to me,” he said with a shrug.

I took his money and jotted down his stage name as... Domino. As in the English word. When I asked him about it, he once again shrugged. “It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Well, I could've had a lot of thoughts about that, but chose instead to focus on what I could control.

###

We shut down the booth at midnight and walked back to the inn. That was when I learned that the hunters who’d registered each represented a team of five. So their ten was actually fifty, which meant we’d ended the day with a total of 310 registrants, worth... I did some quick math, taking into acocunt the Hunter’s Lodge discount and the Kila family cut, and came up with sixty antaak.

That wasn’t bad—forty percent of the lodge’s debt paid would be thanks to the tournament—and I expected things would only get better and better over the years. We shouldn’t have any problems paying off the full loan from Kila’s family. And after that, we’d have a terrific income stream.

Assuming nothing went wrong, of course.