The sun was rising above the riverbank, the first beams of sunlight touching the waters of the great river. As most mornings, Kiala was sitting at the edge of the floating construction, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sun, her feet submerged in the water. This was her daily moment of peace, a little while she had only for herself before she had to go back to decide about the issues of the whole tribe. It will not be long until I won’t have a moment for myself anymore, she thought and smiled, softly touching her belly. She felt the baby move slightly, as in response to her thoughts. “Good morning,” she whispered to the small being inhabiting her body. “It’s just a few more weeks, my love, be patient.”

She laid back, happy and calm, her feet splashing in the water. She giggled as she felt some tiny fishes nibbling on her fingers. As Nizshi wished, all things that were no longer needed were returned to her. As a result, the floating villages were often followed by swarms of fish and flocks of various birds, all enjoying the blessings of the great river. Even the great crocodiles were hunting around, although never attacking any of the Ai’dallani, such act was unthinkable as long as the tribe was under Nizshi’s protection.

Ruuvi approached her quietly, but soft screeching of the reed on the floor gave him away. He sat down next to her, but stayed quiet, didn’t want to disturb her meditation. Kiala smiled, she didn’t even need to open her eyes to recognize him. She thought back to the last year’s ceremony, to the surprise the whole tribe felt when the voice of the river assigned him as the new Lan’Nizshi, the male spiritual leader of the tribe. While no one would ever argue with Nizshi’s decision, some were unsettled and even jealous about it. Ruuvi wasn’t special in any way, he wasn’t a strong warrior or a shaman, but the moment Kiala saw him, she knew that the spirit river had made an excellent choice, not just for the tribe, but for herself as well. She was elected for the third time and the well-being of the tribe now rested on her and her new partner.

The tradition didn’t require Lan’Nizshi and Aila’Nizshi to be together as a man and a woman, most of the elected couples spent the year living together as a brother and sister, which was accepted. After all, the great crocodile and ibis spirits were also siblings, the first children of Nizshi. Kiala was good friends with her previous partners but knew this time would be different. Luckily, Ruuvi felt the same way about her, and now she was just weeks from bring a new blessed child into the world.

“The stream is slowing,” she spoke quietly, “has the council decided where to move once the spring floods are over?”

Ruuvi laid a hand on her raised belly. “They are still arguing about it. Most the chieftains want to move upstream all the way to the forests, and Ozei is trying to convince them to stay at the lakes to the east.”

Kiala sighed and shook her head. The young chieftain seemed to always be in the opposition, no matter the subject. “What do you think?”

“They are both right. The forests would provide us with building material to make more permanent repairs. There have even been voices asking for the construction of a new village, as our numbers are growing. On the other hand, Ozei is right as well, more people need more food and clothes if we are to survive the fall and winter, when Nizshi is weaker. And the east lakes do offer much better fishing and hunting grounds. So I think that it might be wise to split the villages, at least for a few months over the summer. We can send Ozei’s and Shuvi’s poap’kis to the lakes and rest to the forests, that way we will…”

Kiala wasn’t listening to him anymore. Although the morning sun was already strong and it was warm, her body suddenly shivered and she instinctively pulled her feet out of the water, eyes widened by fear. Ruvvi leaned over her, concerned, but she pushed him away and stood up, carefully watching the surface of the water. For a moment she thought she saw something, but it must have been just the shadows playing tricks on her eyes. “It was nothing,” she whispered, more in attempt to convince herself than Ruuvi. “Just an eel in a colder undercurrent brushed up against my leg and startled me.” Her voice sounded stronger now. “Splitting the villages up is a serious decision, all chieftains must agree on it.” It wasn’t unusual and it was done once in every few cycles, when the tribe required, but this time Kiala had a very bad feeling about it.

“They probably will,” Ruuvi answered, coming closer and hugging her. “So they will be able to spend the summer away from Ozei,” he added with a smile.

Kiala managed to put a smile on her face, but still was unable to shake off the strange and ominous feeling. “That matter is up to the council to decide anyway, not us. We need to start preparing for the end of spring ceremony.” She glanced on the river one last time, one of her arms wrapped protectively around her unborn baby, but didn’t see anything unusual.

The splash of sapphire water in the sun. The tink of stone against stone, and the general hubbub and chatter of a Magpie camp. Bream and carp were speared, their stomachs slashed and then hung up, large half-doused bonfires sending up billows of smoke to preserve the fish. Teyeka watched as this went on, hands busily working on the blackened stones some of the wanderers collected up in the mountains, where the rocks sometimes felt hot and the ground would tremble. Down here though, the rock was as still and dead as any other rock... Albeit sharp and shiny. Perfect for a new knife.

Teyeka was a fairly average man in the Magpie. Both of his ears were pierced, and threaded through the holes were hard cords, sparkling blue and black beads clicking faintly with every turn of his head. The blue matched the same rich blue of his eyes, which in turn matched the water below the man. Finally, having already spent three hours, watching the sun rise as his hands clacked the stone, he held it up. The blade was slightly curved, and when he held it up to the light, shone gently, darker veins running through the rock. Taking the antler he had carved specifically just for this, he fixed the blade against the bone and started to twist the cord around and around and around. Finally he had finished the piece. Placing the knife down on the rock next to him, he calmly took a large feather and extracted a needle from a pouch at his waist, using the bone to drill a hole through the end of the feather. When it was large enough, he slid the end of the cord through the hole in the feather and tied it off, turning the knife over a few times in his hand and brushing off the spare flakes of obsidian.

It was done. Hours and hours of delicate knapping, carving and gathering, all so that he could have this most beautiful of tools. He had no sheath for it yet, so instead he wrapped it in the piece of hide that the blank had come in and gripped the blade tight, making sure it wouldn't slip and slice through the hide. Carefully, one hand pressing the bundle to his stomach, the other pressed against the rockface, the man would work his way down the side of the small cliff he had perched himself on, bare feet splashing in the water once he had made his way down. Wading through the almost knee-high water, past where the fishermen stood, heron-like with their spears, he would return back to his hut.

Magpie homes were almost as extravagant as the individual- in fact, if anything they were even more extravagant. Paints and powders, sparkling metals and stones... They resembled the nests of their spirit creatures. The top of Teyeka's house was made from lashed together saplings, covered in hides and with browned and yellowed leaves scattered over the top. A fatty mash had been bashed into it in order to make it waterproof. Then, over those leaves had been tossed paints made from crushed cinnabar and barite. Brushing aside the entrance hides, he placed the knife in a position of pride up by the ceiling.

The winter would be coming upon them, as it always did. The wanderers would be returning to these halls, and the harder times would begin, and yet he knew that the Magpie would see them through. He always did. Stepping back outside, the man watched life around him. He was still a youth, but that didn't mean he couldn't assist with the fishing he supposed.

The gentle glow of campfires ebbed from within the doorways of the huts sprawled in a rough circle around the central point of the plateau. Within each clans settled down for their evening meals and put younger offspring to an early night, in a futile attempt to offset complaints of tiredness the following day. Despite the faces of rock that were still visible around the camp, the exposure of the site meant blustering gales hit the tents regularly and from time to time men emerged to strap down the pelts and hides that acted as shield to the people sheltering inside. They only planned to stay the night, having already scavenged the barest of resources from nearby, and tomorrow would begin trudging down the well remembered mountain paths to the next site - one much closer to the forests - where the collection of what they needed could begin in earnest. They had had to avoid one of the paths of the previous year, it had been submerged in a deluge of spring water coming down the mountains, and so were at least a day behind the schedule they tried to keep. No one spoke of this, of course, but they all knew and were silently chastising themselves and those around them for this delay.

In one of the huts a man lay sprawled out on a mat, his body covered in the thick tresses of a fur that acted as his blanket, attempting to absorb as much of the diminishing warmth his fire could provide. His efforts were in vain, however, as the slowly squirming form of his two sleeping sons, who were put to bed closer to the bright embers, caught a majority of the coveted heat. He watched them affectionately, ensuring they did not roll so far over as to risk being burned. Meanwhile, his partner fussed over the sealing of a small beaker which carried some seeds the family intended to eat the following night. She was prone to bouts of anxiety and the man had long since become immune to her night time awakenings, panic stricken, over the state of some mundane utensil and its location in their tent. At least, that is what he told her.

"Hari." He murmured, gently, so as to not wake their children. "Come rest, you will need your energy in the morning. We have many steps to go, and time when we wake to check everything is secure." A quiet sigh met his instruction, followed by a continued effort of checking.

"If it's not all properly stored we might lose some on the journey." She retorted, icily. "And the last time that happened you had to go hungry for two days. We cannot afford that again if you are to bring back enough for the cold seasons."

"And, does it look like it has been closed properly?"

"Yes..."

"Then come sleep!" The man chuckled as he spoke, adjusting the covering he used to allow her space to slide in front of him and share his warmth. Protest seemed to melt then and, with a final adjustment of the beaker, Hari lay down with her partner. They both wore the same clothes they had when they left the winter camp and, despite a quite pungent odour, they had been kept in relative warmth and comfort so far.

When are your brothers to return, Storvi?" Hari asked her partner. "They've been gone since we finished setting up." The man paused, chewing his lip slowly as heavy lidded eyes started to make their final descent.

"Mmm, they took the girls and went to see Halga and the rest of her clan. I imagine they are still eating. They have many more mouths to feed."

"And many more hands to work." Hari said, slowly, as she seemed to drift into the same semi-sleep state of her partner.

"It's true, but Luka and Lars will be old enough to come on the hunt soon. Then there will be enough when I am too old to hunt, and you are too old to work. We might even take to hosting others like Halga does." Hari scoffed with a gentle shudder, settling into a soft snore that indicated she had very quickly fallen asleep. Storvi stroked his partner's hair affectionately, before cursing his brothers for staying out later. They would likely wake up the whole tent and he did not look forward to three belligerent members of his family rudely awoken.

His brothers were still young, as were their partners, and still enjoyed a life with relatively less responsibility than he and Hari. In time, however, they would have children and be required to settle down for the good of the clan, as well as their offspring. As the head of his clan, Storvi had a right to attend the meeting of the elders the following night but, as he lay awake and wondering, he knew he would decline the offer again. He had barely passed twenty winters now, whereas some of the elders had surpassed the archaic point of forty, and he felt inferior to the wisdom they had. In time, when his children had children, he might feel more confident sitting in council. But for now, his place was in the wild with the other men of the tribe, to provide for that very family and ensure their survival through the next winter.

Simple need to survive was not all that plagued Storvi's mind, however, as a stranger had arrived at the tribe a few days ago. He had been babbling and close to death when found, only managing a few incoherent sounds. But, the intention was clear, that something quite violent and terrible had befallen his people. How far he had come they could not tell, and it was remote that the same thing might fall upon the Narthskr. Even so, he was concerned for what lay lurking in the night.

"Hunters of the night, together we call for your blessing." The chant occurred, a terrible sound of rising and lowering pitches, melodic and dischordant all at once. The choir of voices, men, women, and even a hound that had been swept up in the fervour, letting out an unrestrained howl, would float up into the night, to where the masters of the hunt would hopefully hear their call. "We need your strength. Your ferocity. Your tenacity. Your courage. Strengthen us, and use us as conduits for your might." On it went, the fire that the group of warriors had gathered around sparking and dancing higher and higher with each line spoken.

The chant would go on, and then at the very end, the fire would grow black. The last lick of flame darted up, and was then snuffed, the entire great fire quenched in an instant by a howl of wind. The smoke rising up, the warriors would take deep breaths, turning to one another. The beat of wood against the ground would then occur. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN STONE. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN SINEW. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN STONE, AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN SINEW..." The new chant grew in speed until it was almost incomprehensible, and then a feral HOU-AAAAAH! marked its end as well, a deep sense of fervour built up by the hyperventilation... and the intervention of those that they had pleaded to.

Let the hunt begin.

Now that they were not attempting to make a sound, the Aishrek warriors were whisper-silent. Each footfall was naught but a cat's tread, the only trace of the single-file line being a slight disturbance in the grass. The firelight they were drawn to was emitted from a clustered series of huts, just inside the treeline. Slinking through the fields, the warriors would fan out through the woods and encircle the settlement. Conversation wafted up- and there, a sentry was idly standing in a small mud 'box,' looking exhausted.

The thwip of an arrow, the deathly trail it left behind silent, spelled the end for the sentry. The head had pierced the man's throat, and the shaft was buried in his windpipes. Grasping up at where this strange stick now sat, only a quiet gurgle or two could make their way past the man's lips, his killers now unimpeded in preparing the ambush.

Those inside the camp would have almost no warning. A dog's bark, and then a blur of teeth and muscle shot its way into the camp, lunging at the first person it found and clamping onto their leg. A piercing scream would awaken all but the deepest sleepers, but it was much too late to stop the attackers. Axes, spears, torches and daggers were the weapons of choice, the camp being overrun by the chants of "KOURA KOURA KOURA" bellowed out. Then, one by one, the screams and the shouts stopped.

By the time that the dawn light had risen, all that remained of the camp were the inflammable buildings that the tribe had left and the bodies.

---

Filla felt as the adrenaline and the spirits left her body. They had driven her into the battle-lust that she had asked them to provide her, and in return she had given into the slaughter. The end of her axe was stained crimson, although no drips came from it any more. The battle was but a whirl in her mind- splitting a skull here, knocking over a torch stand there. Her throat was sore from the shouts and the screams, but in her heart she knew that she had done her people proud.

The walk to the Aishrek camp was done in confident silence. Those that had remained looked to the warriors, fists pressed against chests as a sign of respect for their achievements. Before the young woman could continue any further, Ulkren, the huntsmaster, had placed a heavy hand onto her shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "Your father would be proud, and your soul is blooded. We must make you an adult." The man may have been approaching his thirty-third winter, but he was by no means showing it. Every inch of Ulkren was the warrior he had been ten years ago, right down to the blood running down his spear and staining his hand.

"COME NOW. ONE OF US HAS FINISHED HER FIRST HUNT. THE SPIRITS HAVE TAKEN HER AWAY TO THEIR DOMAIN, AND RETURNED HER, HAVING SEEN HER WORTHY OF THEIR STRENGTH." The man's voice boomed around the camp, and one of the woman had already moved towards the spirit's tent, coming out with a bundle. Ulkren looked down at Filla, a stern smile on his face, and placed her down on her knees in front of the fire. Tell me. When the spirits overcame you... How did you feel?"

Filla's blood drained from her face. She had known she would need to answer this, and yet... She wasn't sure how she had felt. Stammering a little, she answered. "It was... It was if this wave crashed over me, and took me away with it. I don't remember much." She looked up at the man, who scrutinised her for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well then. I know which spirit overtook you." The woman who had retrieved the bundle now keeled in front of the girl, Ulkren muttering something into her ear. The woman would nod and examine Fillia, before retrieving a lethally sharp shard and mutely indicating towards the jerkin and armour she was wearing.

Reluctantly, the huntress would remove it, shivering slightly as the dawn air chilled bare skin. There was hush from the tribe, and then the first cut would be made. Fillia stiffened, feeling as blood ran down her chest and soaked into the ground, but otherwise remained quiet, looking straight ahead at a point on the horizon. More cuts would follow, until the sun had truly risen above the sky and she was sure that there could be no more blood left around her chest. At long last the woman would stop, wiping at Fillia's chest with a cloth in order to clean much of the blood away. "Almost done," came the first muttered words the woman had spoken, before taking a gourd and splashing the liquid across Fillia's chest.

A strong hand would painfully rub the liquid into the cuts, and then shakily the woman would help Fillia to her feat. When she stood, exhausted, and yet with the pain giving her a rush like nothing else, Ulkren would place a hand to his chest. "NO MORE A CHILD. FILLIA, CAST DOWN THE NAME GIVEN TO CHILDREN. TAKE UP THE NAME OF AN ADULT. THE SPIRIT OF THE BOAR HAS TAKEN YOU, GEREKEN."

She had never felt more proud.

Pain was her companion, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, her limbs felt like they were on fire, her chest felt as though she were being crushed, her breath came in ragged gasps and sweat stung her eyes, leaving trails in the dust that caked her skin. She was oblivious to the strong breeze that was blowing in from the mainland and strong scent of spice and sand that came with it.

One foot in front of the other. She kept repeating it over and over again to herself as she ran, eyes focused on the narrow goat track in front of her. Her long black hair seemed to float behind her like a dark cloud despite an emerald green clasp at the back of her skull. One hand held a short spear, the other a light shield, and she wore only a loin cloth for protection from the thorny branches that tore at her as she passed.

Birds burst into the air screaming in protest as she tore through a small clearing, her footsteps loud as they echoed back from a small rock face decorated with a shrine. She glanced up. The summit was nearing, one more bend and it was a straight sprint to the top. She tucked her chin down, summoned all her courage, and picked up her pace.

Her legs were screaming at her, every fibre of the muscles that rippled through her shapely body seemed ready to burst at any moment but she could not, would not stop. Her shoulders ached from carrying the shield and spear. Her feet hurt, bruises already well formed on the soles. Even her abs felt as though they simply wanted to give up. She gloried in it. The pain meant she was getting stronger.

The final bend dropped away and she found herself on a straight section of path. It was flanked on either side by short grass and small purple flowers that grew in abundance throughout the mountain meadows. Ahead of her was a small pool, no more than a table in size, with stones that stood about it like a wall. She had built that wall to give herself to have a bit of privacy when she exercised and now, as she saw it, she poured the last of her energy into a headlong sprint.

The remaining distance seemed to fall away in a flash as she powered through her last few strides. She passed the outer edge of the wall at a full sprint, almost tripping relief as she dropped the spear and shield with a clatter. It took her several yards to come to a complete halt, her breath coming in desperate gasps as she nearly toppled onto the ground. She steadied herself on the wall and took deep breathes in through her nose, aware for the first time of the spice. It was a faint but still pleasant scent that mingled strangely with that of her own sweat. She wiped at the moisture running down her face and managed only to rub dirt into her eye. She cursed and rubbed at it some more, still gasping for air.

Dirt somewhat under control, she straightened her back, pulled off her sweat soaked loin cloth and tossed it to one side. The breeze, ignored until now, felt wonderful on her naked skin as she stood, arms spread, face to the sun, taking deep breaths to calm her body. She stood that way for several minutes, eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal. When she felt sufficiently recovered she began a stretching routine.

At length she opened a pair of midnight black eyes and looked around her. She was on the top of Alsakhrat and could see the whole world spread out before her. She could see small figures moving about caves below and she fancied that at least one of them might have seen her but she didn't care. She didn't plan to stay for much longer. In the bay the fishing fleet was beginning its return.

Beyond the village the sand dunes turned into a vast plain that marched away to the east. Scattered forests could be seen here and there, and a handful of nomad camps were betrayed by the small curls of blue wood smoke that rose above them. No one here had much ambition. The world seemed to stand still at the best of times.

But not for Ishea. She was her parents only daughter and she wanted to fight. Even as a little girl she had sought out conflict with the boys her age and, though she took some beatings, she quickly began to win. Her parents, like most of the locals, had been impressed. They had encouraged her and her father often gloated about her fighting ability.

To Ishea it was only natural, the desire to be the fastest, the strongest. She had not even been aware of life beyond her little community until she was old enough to witness the arrival of a nomad trader. Ishea had been spellbound by the visitor, his hair and features so different than her own. Clad all in foreign furs and leading a short legged fat horselike creature, he had appeared to trade small pieces of shiny yellow rock for fish. Ishea did not remember what had been discussed that day but she had never forgotten the awe she felt when looking at that man. It made her want to know what else was out there.

Now, as she turned and walked toward the small pool, she could feel all the aches and pains, the bruises and broken bones, that she had suffered in the twelve years since she first learned of people beyond her tribe. She could feel the burning in her lungs from all of the running she had done. She could see the scars on her arms and legs suffered during any number of activities. But most of all she could feel the burning desire deep down inside of her, the desire to be the best.

She dipped a toe into the pool and smiled to herself. It was warm. The black rock that formed the upper level of the mountain had many small pools like this were heated by water coming from deep within the earth. She gingerly lowered herself into the pool, the heat instantly relieving some of her aches. The bottom was smooth, though covered in small rocks, but nothing else grew in the water. She had wondered if it was unsafe as she had tried drinking it and thrown up violently afterward.

She lay back until her whole body was submerged save for her face, her black hair floating around her like some strange cloud. The sky above her was a shocking blue colour, completely devoid of any smoke or clouds, a pure and stunning colour.

She closed her hands into fists and then stretched her fingers out, letting the warmth ease the tension she felt in every fibre of her being. She closed her eyes and began to relax. Something was coming, she could feel it.

Grish pulled the pelts closer to his body, but there was no escaping the cold. Yet, he refused to give up, his eyes tied to the trail on the ground, hoofprints half-covered by snow that was constantly pouring from grey skies. Down in the valley the spring was almost ending, the last remains of the snow washed away by rain, but it was always winter up this high up in the Ubaru mountains. He knew he had until sundown to get to the deer, because he couldn’t continue to track it in darkness and the trail will have disappeared under snow until morning. It was hard to tell the position of the sun through the thick clouds, but he estimated there was still a few hours left.

The snow around the deep prints was marked by bright red drops from time to time. Grish had a nearly perfect throw, but at the very last moment the beast flinched, and the spear missed the heart. He went after it, certain that the injury will slow it down and eventually kill it, but the deer proved tougher than Grish would ever expect. Still, he was getting closer, although he had to venture deeper in the mountains than anyone from his tribe ever had.

His people were hunters, prowling in the large forests around the base of the mountains, moving from a place to place in search of prey. And this was some prey. Grish had given up on the idea of dragging the deer to the encampment, but just hunting such magnificent creature down was a trophy he was not willing to give upon easily. He imagined having the huge antlers hung above his tent, how much respect it would give him amongst the tribe.

Muttering curses through his chattering teeth, he managed to climb on a ridge. The wind was worse up here, nearly knocking him to the ground, erasing the track completely. Grish looked in the valley bellow, it was same as any of the other five valleys he had already walked through, but there was some darker shape on the mountain on the opposite side – maybe a rock overhang or even a cave. The trail of hoofprints, visible on the leeward side of the valley seemed to be headed that way.

It too him long to cross the valley, the exhaustion and cold numbing his body almost to a point where he only wanted to lay down and sleep for a few minutes. He knew that would mean certain death, but the thought seemed more appealing with every step he took. Finally, he reached the cave, peeking inside carefully. The last few hundred yards there was more blood on the ground and the tracks indicated that the animal moved slower and with more and more struggle. Grish stepped inside the cave, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, listening for the sound of animal’s deep breaths, but the place was quiet.

It seemed like the small outside cave was an entrance to a bigger complex of tunnels and Grish cursed his bad luck. He had means to make a fire, but there was no vegetation around, let alone some dry wood. Eventually he used the bottom side of his spear and a few dirty rugs as an improvised torch, his numb fingers struggling to create a spark to light it.

As soon as the light lit the cave, he noticed there was a lot of blood around. This couldn’t have been from the wound he caused, blood here was splattered on the cave walls and ground. Yet, it was fresh, and the trail led him here. Grish realized that something else must have attacked the deer, dragging it deeper into the cave. He knew that the wisest thing would be to leave, but anger took over him. He spent days tracking that animal and now some lousy predator will come and take his prize? He couldn’t possibly return empty-handed.

He marched forward angrily, following the trail of blood. The determination wore off quickly after a tunnel turned and he could no longer see the daylight. What the hell was he doing? The deer was big, whatever took him must have been very strong, most likely a mountain lion or even one of those huge bears that sometimes wandered down from the hills and caused havoc in the forest. Whatever it was, he was going to walk inside its den alone, with two spears and a knife? He was too exhausted to make good decisions.

The hair on the back of his neck bristled. He turned around quickly, but the tunnel was empty. Only now he realized the strange stench that seemed to come from deeper caves. It wasn’t just still air, but more like a carcass left to rot in the sun. He headed back through the tunnel, suddenly more scared than he would ever admit to anyone.

The growling was so deep and quiet he couldn’t distinguish it at first over his heavy breathing. When it became audible and it was clear that it was coming from the tunnel behind him, he started running, convinced that he must be close to the cave exit.

Suddenly something jumped in front of him and Grish stopped, eyes widened in horror. The thing looked like a wolf that had been dead for a few days, parts of its body rotten away, but still somehow looking very much alive. Grish grabbed his spear to fight, but something heavy landed on his back, knocking him to the ground. He must have hit a stone or a piece of solid ice with his head, because his vision became blurry and he couldn’t move. He could still feel the sharp teeth piercing into his flesh and pain all over his body as he was dragged deeper into the caves.

---

The light was strangely alien, not yellow and warm, but blue and green and cold. The pain from the bites was bad, but Grish bit his lip not to scream out loud. He could still hear the animals moving around. He had no idea why haven’t they killed him, and didn’t want to attract their attention. There was also a presence of something else, or maybe someone else? Grish could here some muffled noise that sounded like footsteps, but wasn’t sure as the origin of the sound wasn’t in his field of vision and he suddenly felt too tired to even tilt his head.

But something was here, he could feel its presence, not by his senses, but inside of his head, curiously observing his memories. Grish instinctively fought against it, trying to push it out, and for a moment it seemed to have worked. His head was just his for now, but the footsteps moved closer. A dark shape leaned over him and Grish yelped. The figure looked roughly like a man - one head, long neck, two arms and two legs, but that’s where the similarities ended. The skin was pale and grey. Its face was a horrific parody on a man, two large yellow eyes with vertical pupils, nostrils instead of a nose, a serpent-like tongue that occasionally slipped out of its mouth, tasting the air around. And a lot of very sharp teeth.

“Bar’ghul,” Grish whispered, terrified. The creature didn’t look exactly like the demon from the legend, but the similarities were undeniable. Grish remembered how his mother told him the story one night after he and few of his friends ran off and got lost in the woods. An old tale about a demon living deep in the Ubaru mountains, who feasts on the souls and flesh of the unwary travelers who wander too far. Grish was twelve back then, nearly a man, and laughed at the story, thinking it was only good to scare little children. How wrong he was.

There it was again, soft push inside of his mind, feeling of something alien in his head. This time Grish could feel demon’s hunger and a slight satisfaction he felt when he somehow absorbed the memory of Grish’s mother telling him the story. Grish fought back, but it was harder and harder to concentrate. The creature was amused by his efforts, but also impatient. And starving, the deep primal need to feed was almost overwhelming.

Sharp claws encircled Grish’s skull and seemingly effortlessly pierced through the bone right into his brain. The physical pain was incredible, but much worse was the feeling of his mind being ripped apart, every single memory and thought carefully observed and devoured, all this accompanied by the sound of squelching and slurping as the creature feasted on his brain.

---

The body on the ground was starting to get cold when he finally let his beasts have the remaining flesh. He crawled into a corner and enjoyed the delicious memories, licking the blood from his claws, the hunger sated for now. Old memories weren’t that good as the fear that creature felt, that was something much more delicious, but the fear sadly went away when he opened the creature’s skull to feed on its brain. One corner of his mouth went up in a scary grin when he revisited one of the memories. Bar’ghul. That sounded pleasing to him. Not that he would need a name, but he liked the fear it struck in the human’s mind. Fear was so delicious.

This creature, the human, wasn’t like the animals he usually fed upon. How much the world had changed outside? He could see from the memories that there were many more of these delicious things out there, a rich harvest only waiting for him to reach out and gather it. The beasts stopped feeding and looked at him, sensing his excitement and impatience. He had a loose connection with a mind of every one of his creations, it faded with greater distances, but his monsters could operate individually, carrying out his orders.

Over the centuries of solitude in his caves, he experimented with different kinds, each bearing resemblance to an outside creature, but some of them didn’t prove viable or useful. Alongside packs of the demonic dogs he had several big bear-like monsters he could use, a few amphibians, slimy tentacular things that seemed to love moving under water but also had no problem of traversing certain distances on dry land, and several other specimens, results of more or less successful experiments.

There were also three of his flying monsters, created in an image of gargantuan winged reptiles that once roamed the world above, but Bar’ghul wasn’t going to use them just yet. He grew quite fond of them and didn’t want to risk losing even one. Plus, they were more than big enough to carry him around in that improbable case that he would want to observe the world outside with his own eyes.

His mind stretched out, connecting to his children, giving out orders. The tunnels spread for miles, far in all directions, giving him direct access to several places in the northern part of the continent. He sent out many packs into each direction, some of them will have to be on the move for several days to reach lands on the far south and western and eastern coasts. He felt the amphibians’ joy as they delved into the waters of great river, lazily moving downstream. An entire army of monstrous creatures left the underground, and still many more remained to guard their home and their master.

Each monster carried simple instructions, burned deep into their brains. To scout and observe. To hunt and taste. And, most importantly, to bring back more samples of this delicious new food source.