Mura

The silver cloak of moonlight across the snow on a clear night was a heady distraction from most things Mura did not want to think about. On this night, however, as they stared out into the inky black, it was not working.

Seeing no movement, Mura turned to the right and continued their slow walk around the outskirts of T’aarak’s camp, boots crunching down atop already packed snow. The camp’s firelight, a dull, flickering amber glow, was the only visible movement. Its inhabitants had already settled down to sleep for the evening, leaving Mura on watch. Again.

Well, most of its inhabitants, at least. T’aarak had stalked off into the darkness an hour or so ago, serious-faced and body oddly hunched, like a sneak-thief with bad knees and back. This was a regular occurrence that T’aarak was yet to explain, at least to Mura. Of course, he was also yet to really speak to Mura at all, other than to assign them first watch, and the others had mostly followed T’aarak’s lead in that respect.

For the most part, Mura didn’t especially mind that. Other than by Shi and S’aahiri, they had always been left on the outside of things, looking in. As a child, this had cut Mura deeply. No matter how they tried back then, none of the Su’roi had ever quite treated them as though they belonged. Of course, that was likely because Mura didn’t belong. Not really, and certainly not in the way that seemed to count for the older members of the tribe.

Shi had never seemed to have a problem with that, though, even as a small boy with the surrounding adults disapproving. He had simply walked up to Mura whilst they had been watching him play spears with the others, and informed them politely that they were going to be friends. S’aahiri had not been far behind, and from that point on, they had been practically inseparable. The memory eased the tight grip of Mura’s fists, bringing a soft smile to their face.

Mura blinked, smile slipping away. Out in the black, to the east, they could see a shape that hadn’t been there before. The flat, snow-blanketed plain they had made camp upon was devoid of any real features. The rest of T’aarak’s group had been muttering hushed complaints outside of their leader’s hearing for the past few days. It was a poor place to camp, and T’aarak had not explained his choices.

The shape was moving towards them, and Mura found their hands reaching for the bow strapped to their back. Mura had crafted it themself, from walrus tusk pieces bound with sinewy chords. Most of the Su’roi made their bows from spruce timber from the south, traded for in Kuchisoto, but Mura was proud of theirs. It was the traditional way of making them, a remnant of the tribe their birth parents had been from—people Mura had never known.

Mura gripped the bow, nocking an arrow and peering toward the shadow through squinted eyes. T’aarak strode out of the dark, a fine sheen of sweat coating his forehead, his face all hard lines and angles, as though carved from stone. He glanced at Mura, eyes narrowed dangerously. Mura started, realising late how their position must appear to T’aarak and hurriedly lowered the bow, returning the arrow to its quiver.

“Apologies, T’aarak. I couldn’t see—”

A flippant wave of T’aarak’s hand cut him off. “Do not apologise for doing the job I’ve asked of you. I’m grateful to see your caution, given what we’re up against.”

“Thank you,” Mura said, as T’aarak clapped them on the shoulder and strode past them. Frowning, Mura took a chance.

“So, what’s our next move?” he asked.

T’aarak stopped and turned, and Mura had a sudden urge to take a step back.

“We hold until I say otherwise, as you’ve already been told.”

Mura remembered well. The problem was, their current course of action made little sense. Logically, they should head North, toward where the beast had been seen the most. They had done just that at first, but then they veered off course about three days ago. T’aarak had explained nothing, given no sign, even, that he had even realised they had changed direction. They stopped, too, with just as little warning, and here they had remained for the past three days. Frozen and miserable.

At least, T’aarak had given Mura no explanation. But there had been a few too many conversations cut short when they came close—a few too many times they had given Mura jobs requiring them to leave camp—for it to have been a coincidence. Some of T’aarak’s hunting party knew what was going on.

“But why? Nearly anything would be a better way of getting the job done than sitting here with our thumbs up our arses.”

T’aarak’s eyes narrowed once more, and he stalked forward over the snow toward Mura, drawing himself up to his full height above them. Mura stood their ground, even if they wished it would offer an escape by opening up beneath them.

“If you believe you know better, speak, fledgling. I’m all ears.”

Mist from T’aarak’s breath billowed around Mura’s face, and he was so close now that they could feel the warmth of it. This was not the T’aarak that had come after Shi at the shrine, all raw and broken, edges unpredictably sharp like sheet ice. This was the T’aarak from before the beast. Proud and intimidating, like a great bear from the stories.

Mura was no S’aahiri—they hadn’t grown up fighting people more than twice their size, like she had. With T’aarak standing over them, all Mura wanted to do was back down, to stand back from the conflict. It’s what they’d had to do to survive—S’aahiri, strong as she was—had the advantage of being born Su’roi. She was not nearly so disposable as a child from outside the tribe should she go too far defending herself.

But, instead of backing down, Mura squared their shoulders to face the much larger man, and made sure their eyes never broke the eye-contact between them. Meekness might have seen them through childhood, but Mura was no longer a helpless child.

“Is this what it will be like to have you as our Chief, T’aarak? Dare to question and be intimidated into silence? Or is it just me you have a problem with?”

T’aarak held their gaze, the silence between them thundering in Mura’s ears. There was no stepping down now that they had spoken. No taking back the challenge to T’aarak’s leadership credentials and authority. Suddenly, T’aarak sighed and stepped back, shaking his head.

“Do you really think me that sort of person, fledgeling? The sort to scrape like a pig in filth for power over my people? I do not wish to be Chief, child. At least, not for long.”

“I don’t know,” Mura answered honestly, taken aback by the direction the conversation had taken. “I used to think you were an admirable hunter. Honourable. Reliable. But then you attacked T’aakshi in the way you did. Now we’re weeks onto this hunt, and I still know nothing about what we’re doing and why.”

T’aarak winced at the mention of Shi, eyes falling to the floor. The amount of shame they held surprised Mura even further.

“I regret what happened at the shrine,” T’aarak said, voice low. “I have told T’aakshi as much. Truthfully, I hold no ill will towards him. It is simply that I do not believe him to be the right person to lead the tribe.”

“And you are?”

T’aarak shrugged. “No. I am not much for leadership or inspiration. But I know these wastes better than nearly anyone, and I am strong and well-regarded. It is my intention to hold the position and protect the tribe until somebody is ready.”

“And what if that person is T’aakshi?” Mura asked.

“Then, when I believe him ready, I will pass the position on to him. Freely and proudly. It would be a great honour to do so—but not now. Giving this to him now would be a disaster for all of us.”

Mura tried to ignore the prickle of outrage that the slight against Shi had brought on. If they were being honest, Mura had allowed what happened at the shrine to colour their judgement of T’aarak. It had been too easy to assume maliciousness, rather than search for a more benevolent reason for doing the things he was doing.

“What makes you better equipped to make that decision than the rest of us?”

T’aarak actually snorted. “I claim no special privileges, fledgling—you’re thinking of T’aakshi. His claim is built on birthright, not mine. I challenge him because it is the right thing to do. If I win, then I am right that he is not yet ready. If he does, then I was wrong, and my people will gain the great leader they deserve to replace the last.”

“I can respect that approach,” Mura said after a long pause. “Either way, tradition dictates that I must work under you—and you’re the one who chose me. It’s true that I would rather be with Shi, but I won’t disrespect the custom.”

“I thought that might be the way you saw things, given how you came to be with us,” T’aarak answered, a peculiar glint in his eye. Mura frowned, their jaw tightening.

“Is that why you aren’t trusting me with your plans? Because of where I’m from?”

“Peace, Mura,” T’aarak said, raising his hands. “I meant no offence. It’s just that I can see why somebody taken as battle-price might place a high value on custom.”

Mura felt their cheeks flush hot with anger at the term battle-price. Traditions and customs among the tribes were varied and many, and Mura placed a huge importance on them, it was true. It was the only way to rationalise what they had done to them. If tradition and customs weren’t crucially important, then it had all simply been an act of terrible cruelty, rather than an unkind necessity.

In Tagaya, there were few resources so precious as children, particularly for the Northmost tribes like the Su’roi. The extremity of the environment meant few children survived into adulthood. A few terrible years too close together, or a sickness, or some other of the innumerable disasters that could strike at a tribe happen at once, and its elders might choose to take desperate action to prevent a tribe from dying out.

Wars between tribes were short and brutal. None could afford to lose great numbers of their hunters. So, when things in battle were going against you, you sacrificed what you could to prevent critical losses. You paid the battle-price: children, in exchange for mercy. A custom that guaranteed no more of your people would die.

They had taken Mura as a baby, too young to even remember their parents’ faces, and raised them with the rest of the tribe’s children, but never as one of them. Mura had grown up as a stranger amid the Su’roi. Expected to be loyal, but never to be fully trusted. Shi and S’aahiri had changed that, and Mura loved them like siblings for it. But they would never have that love for the Su’roi as a whole—how could they?

“Regardless fledgling,” T’aarak continued, “I would not have brought you if I did not trust you. I trust your commitment to traditions fully. ”

“Then why the secrets?”

T’aarak hesitated, and Mura thought his expression seemed suddenly guilty.

“You will see when the time comes, fledgling. You must understand, though, that just because I will step aside if T’aakshi is victorious, doesn’t mean that I won’t do everything I can to prevent that. If he wins, he will have earned it beyond any doubt. I will make sure of that.”

And with that, T’aarak slapped them on the shoulder again, and marched off towards the dancing amber flames that marked out their camp, leaving Mura alone to stare out into the murky darkness.

Mura reached into a pouch at their waist, pulling out a piece of curved wood that fit snugly in their palm. Their other hand retrieved a thin-bladed dagger carved from pale yellow bone. It would be some time before his replacement arrived to take over the watch, and they needed some way of easing the tension that had suddenly gripped them. What was T’aarak’s plan? Ugly possibilities were already buzzing through their mind, aided by the ominous way T’aarak had left that conversation.

Mura breathed deep, and began dragging the ivory blade across the wood, guided by their thumb, and whisper thin shavings fluttered to the floor around their boots as he shaped the wood. Watch nights were always long and lonely affairs, but this night, Mura suspected, would be the worst yet.