“We don’t know where they are, Heric. We can’t just charge across the land and hope we find them. We need information.”

  “We have all the information we need, Pik. You saw Caleb.”

  I rub a hand across my face; this is the same conversation we’ve been having for hours, tucked into a small copse of trees in the middle of a depression. The trees are dense enough with foliage and bushes surrounding us that we’re covered from casual observation. A dedicated tracker might well find us so we aren’t perfectly safe.

  “I did see him. They’ll know we’re here now. Or at least someone is here since we took him down; the Heightened on the other side will tell them that something strange passed them by too. So, Oran’s people will be on alert. The worst thing we could do if we want to free your people is to storm in and get ourselves killed.”

  “What then? We’ve lost so much time that I am eager to put my hammer to use before it is too late.”

  “We need more information. We need to find someone who has seen your people and get them to tell us where Oran is hiding them.”

  “And they’ll simply give up this knowledge?”

  “Do you think the Heightened here are willingly serving the Marked?

  Heric scoffs. “I think there is a great power in fear. You’ve kept mostly away from populations in your travels, haven’t you? You haven’t seen the worst of what these Marked can do.”

  “I’ve seen enough.” I had. I’d seen the aftermath of battles between Marked; they died as well as anyone else, but there was always a devastation left behind that took the lives of Heightened too.

  “We don’t know how many Marked are here, working for him. If they sent four hunting for our tribe, then there must be dozens of them.”

  I lean back against a tree and feel the rough bark against my back. My new prize, the shirt, of shimmering silver doesn’t stop the sensation any more than the remnants of my soft shirt over it does. I’d hoped that it would be some kind of armour, but it hasn’t seemed to be so far.

  “That is all the more reason to take our time, to get this right. You’ve only just ascended. You might be doing well with your powers and you’ve got a nice new hammer, but that isn’t enough if you’re fighting two, four, ten other Marked. You’ll be shredded, burned, frozen, and turned inside out before you free a single person.”

  “I know.”

  I shake my head. “Then why are you so keen to die, Heric?”

  He taps his hammer. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “Then what? I will be taken for a Marked in an instant.” He points to his black eyes. “No Heightened has these.”

  “It has to be me. You said there were more dungeons here, right? That’s why he chose this sector to house his static. He would want to keep a watch over each one with people nearby that he can use to send into them as he wishes.”

  “So we find the dungeons and infiltrate the settlements?”

  “I do. As long as I don’t run into Oran then I should be able to slip inside and find out the information we need. Getting out might be harder, but that’s where you come in. You can use your darkness to make an escape once we’ve got what we need.”

  “You won’t be able to take your spear. You’d be going in bare. Is there no one else who might remember you?”

  I shrug. “A few members of River. If Oran has taken any Heightened from Leaf tribe then perhaps some of those. I’ve brushed against a fair number of tribes in my travels, but I think the risk is worth taking. I can’t see another way.”

  “And I wait? Rely on you getting what we need and making it out, all as a Heightened, surrounded by Marked?”

  “You trusted me before you advanced, Heric. You need to trust me now too.”

  He thinks for a while, his hammer tapping and tapping, until finally he looks at me with those dark voids he has for eyes and he nods. That’s enough for me. I shrug off my pack, take my shirt off and put it inside, and then tie my spear to the bundle along with my knife.

  “I saw fire towards the mountains, perhaps a few miles off. I’ll head in that direction and blend in. You wait a cycle then at night, not tonight but the next, you cast your darkness over the settlement and I’ll get out.

  He grabs my arm as I turn to leave. “If you find any of my people, you pull them out with you.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “I’ll do it if it’s safe.”

  “I wasn’t asking, Pik.”

  “Blazing sun, Heric. I’m risking my life for you and your people, please trust me to do this.”

  I worry now that he is wavering; his grip slackens and I slip free. Before a word can form on his quivering lips, I push my way though the foliage and out into the light of a rising cycle.

  The air is crisp and sweet; I follow the curves of the land towards the spiral of smoke I see in the distance. My feet sink into the springy turf as I walk beside a brook as babbling and clear as any I’ve ever seen. When I’m thirsty I dip my hand into the waters and sip; it’s freezing, runoff from the mountains the architects built for us.

  It’s hard to believe that such an idyllic segment exists, let alone houses a sadist and his three pet dungeons. I frown and look over the brow of the small hill I’m skirting. There are no herds. No beasts. No monsters roaming the land, waiting for unwary or unsuspecting people to wander into their grasps.

  I’ve seen segments without monsters before but each of those had been filled with dangers of the land itself; swamps that swallowed you whole, pits of fiery rock that would burn the unwary, or ice and snow that would sap your body until it turned blue then black. This is unheard of.

  I press on, waiting for something to break the subtle tranquility. I know that I’m approaching a horror wrought by man, but the architects are no slouches when it comes to travails.

  I hear the settlement before I see it. The smell of smoke and humanity mixes with the sweet scent of flowers and the cries of pain, and the grunts of misery that come from the camp. I search around just beyond its limits for a while until I find a patch of reeds next to a particularly winding, slow, segment of the stream. I pull them out by the roots as I have no knife with which to cut them.

  I walk towards the camp; grumbles growing and stink becoming overwhelming, with the reeds piled high enough that they obscure most of my face.

  “Stop. What you doing outside?” A gruff voice demands from up the slope to my left.

  I stumble, half faked, and look up at the small, pale man with what I hope is fright. He is Marked. His sleeve on his left is torn to reveal his mark; his body is covered with scales that change colour as he moves, they end at his throat, just below the apple. He has elongated canines to match.

  “I’m sorry, honoured Marked. I was fetching reeds for baskets, Sir.”

  “Baskets? Who in the Blazes cares about baskets?”

  “We…thought it would be better to carry your treasures, honoured Marked. Are we not to serve you as best we can?”

  He rolls his eyes; they are slit vertically like the reptile that he resembles. “Obviously. Fine. Get back inside. Don’t leave again without permission or I’ll have to cane your hide, you won’t like that.” He grins at his threat and I feel that it might not be such a bad thing to kill after all.

  “Yes, honoured Marked. Of course I obey, honoured Marked. Thank you, Sir.” I bow and scrape with an obscene obsequiousness that is so farcical that I worry that I’ve overplayed it. The Marked laps it up as if it is the right of his birth and not a mockery.

  I walk past, I think it nearly a stroll with the spring my deception has put into my step, but any buoyancy that I’ve gained in my mood is punctured as I walk into the camp proper and see what Oran’s rule has brought upon the Heightened.

  The dungeon entrance looms to my left; it is an arch of interlocking stones leading into the side of a grassy mound, around the floor at the entrance are scattered leaves that lift and move with the dungeon’s breath. Two Marked, their arms exposed, lounge beside the dungeon with their weapons, a staff and a short blade, idly twirling in the fingers.

  The Heightened are huddled in pockets about the large clearing before the entrance. The Marked haven’t put up walls or fences to keep the Heightened inside, there is no need. The segment is sealed with guards on the entrances; where would the Heightened go?

  They are busying at tasks; some are making clothes, some are chipping rocks against one another for some purpose I don’t know, but all are engaged in labour while the Marked recline.

  But it isn’t the labour that stills my heart. It is what is at the centre of the clearing. A tree trunk; sawn in a straight log with the bark still attached. Across the centre, bound by vines is a person. His back is laid open, thrashed until the skin has split and oozes blood; his eyes are unfocused and his breathing ragged.

  No one looks at him.

  That is what makes my bile rise into the back of my throat until I can taste my disgust. The Heightened are afraid to comfort their own and the Marked have made a spectacle of his pain.

  He won’t last much longer and I hate myself for believing this to be a boon.

  No one watches me either. I keep my head low and walk to the closest group of Heightened and drop my bundle of reeds beside them. There are ten people all hunched over two carcasses of monsters; they’re leathery batlike things as large as a child with lips peeled back from overlapping teeth. One of the Heightened has a knife and is cutting into its skin, slowly pulling it back ready for drying, beating, and making into shoes, most likely.

  “Lo.” I keep my voice subdued, barely above a whisper and still the Heightened look about, frightened that the Marked will hear and punish.

  The woman closest to me whispers back. “Lo.” He glances to the Marked and leans closer. “Who’re you?”

  “Nobody important.” I lean in and help pull back the monsters skin; it rips as the fascia comes apart. “Who’s that being punished?”

  “Will. He…tried to keep something from the dungeon and they found it.”

  “He’s going to die if he’s left there.”

  She nods, her voice heavy as she looks down at her hands in her lap. “I know.”

  “This isn’t right.”

  “I know that too. Shh, if you talk too much you’ll join him. I don’t know where you came from, Nobody, but if you get us punished because you don’t know the rules…”

  “I won’t. Promise. I’m just here to find some friends, that’s all.”

  “Friends? There aren’t any friends left.”

  The others in the group nod as if she’s shared sage wisdom and it hurts my stomach to see the dejection in their eyes. This is far beyond the exhaustion of Heric’s band when I’d found them in the wilderness; at least they had hope. This is misery.

  My face flushes and I pull the skin with too much force. The knife wielder hisses at me and I take my hands away, wiping them on the creature’s fur. How can someone do this to people? I need to ascend, that’s my dream, but I need to make sure that someone like Oran never reaches heaven.