I’m an oddity in the tribe, but no more than a passing interest. It was always the way in my tribe too. Anything that broke us from the monotony of moving, eating, moving again was something to be ogled. I help with every task that I can. They let me into their small circles to make and to mend and I am happy to be part of something that doesn’t think me abnormal.

  I am surprised most of all by the abundance that the leaf tribe experiences. Every time we stop there is a feeding obelisk. We still move quickly but there is less fear that the days will bring starvation. Perhaps that lack of hunger is what allows their kindness to grow.

  I’d hoped for different but each time I feed it is less pleasant than the time before; the tribe notice that I hold my stomach afterwards, how I curl into a ball when it is worst. Blazing sun what I wouldn’t give for another flame and more of that… meat. The architects visions come to me slowly as we march; there are more things than flame, more things than the flesh of monsters, and I think of boiling and roasting and all kinds of things beside that can be done to the flesh.

  I shake errant thoughts loose from my mind and march beside the tribe. I’m given a place of privilege in the tribe as a guest. I walk in the middle, near to the Unenlightened children but forward as they recognise my strength. This lifts my spirits and my ego more than I should let it, but after a lifetime of weakness I revel in the small adorations.

  We travel for five cycles across the forest segment then another smaller segment of fog and brush to finally emerge into a ruined place. It’s nothing like the segments formed for trials; there are plants growing in the cracks of buildings that might once have towered above us and now lie haphazardly collapsed against one another. I am fearful that they might fall further until Mishi dashes up and over, stamping her feet with abandon.

  “They’ve fallen as far as they’ll go.”

  It is not the falling concrete or steel that I should have been worried about, for the monsters in this place are more fierce than any I’ve seen. First come the green things, no more than my waist in height they come at us with arms twice the length they should have been and fingers twisted into claws. Their eyes are wide and milky yellow with no pupils, giving them the aspect of something from the deep darkness.

  I show my skills once more and dispatch one of the vile things by holding it from behind and stabbing my claw into its neck until it no longer moves. I stab a few more times just to make sure. The Marked kill dozens. Lakal’s glaive mows these creatures in great sweeps. Geremai seems more puppeteer than necromancer; he touches the corpses one by one and they jerk into liveliness and to his bidding, but their heads loll and they have no awareness of their own. It is still a macabre sight and I hope that when I gain my mark that I don’t awaken such a strange power.

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  The Marked lead us to a cave caused by the intersection of five fallen buildings that have formed a hollow inside. Waiting for us is an obelisk as if the architects knew that we would find this place and prepared for our arrival.

  “Gather, leaf.” Scara calls out as the tribe begin their normal camp setup. “Come. We must speak on tribe business.”

  I hover at the edge as the others come together. I’m not sent away so I presume that I am allowed to stay, at least to hear.

  “Tomorrow we will test ourselves in the dungeon here. Pola and Lakal explored a way inside when we passed through this segment and found it challenging, but not so much that we couldn’t overcome it. There was no great reason to pit ourselves against its dangers at that time but…” she looks over the crowd and I am pinned by her eyes for a moment. “Events are pushing us to be more cautious. Counter-intuitively that leads us to take greater risks in the short term.”

  Lakal steps up beside Scara. “We have been watching and we have seen that you’ve done much. You’ve been meditating, you’ve been honing your bodies and minds ready for the gifts of the architects. Three of you have shown your mettle and we believe that you are prepared for your mark. Garl. Simmia. Holdi. Tomorrow we will lead you down into the dungeon. Any heightened who wishes to test themselves and find gifts left by the architects is gratefully accepted, but it is you three who will be tried against the mark.”

  The three Lakal indicated have come forward. Garl scowls. The woman, Simmia, grins. She stands taller than the other candidates and nudges Garl to join her glee. Holdi is a boulder of a man, broad and simple. He is quick to laugh and to cry in equal measure. I have found that I like him in the short time that I’ve been with the leaf tribe.

  Scara nods. “Good. Are you three ready?” They let out a ragged chorus of assent which is enough for the Marked. “Good. Rest well for tomorrow will take all you have. Now, Heightened, which of you will step forward to join us in the dungeon tomorrow? There is no shame in refusal, no one will think less of you.”

  In all twenty Heightened volunteer. Scara is looking out across the crowd, clearly hoping for more when she passes her eyes over me. I point to myself and she frowns for a beat and then smiles. “Wanderer, would you care to join us in this dungeon?”

  I swallow. My mouth is dry suddenly. I do. I do want to join them in the dungeon. I’ve never wanted anything more…and yet. I push aside a lifetime of fear and force a smile that I know is a grimace. “I would be honoured, Marked. Thank you.”