Rain pelted down onto the reed roof of the hut, leaking every few minutes in an errant dribble. Arn sat on old Stone Spear’s fur mat, his legs folded under him and his eyes nearly closed. When someone tapped on his door, he opened them wide. “Come,” he said, and watched the door flap pull aside.
Jorik straightened at the sound. The Embalmer and advisor had been here early, sitting next to Arn wordlessly.
The first of the ‘council’ to arrive was Logern. The man’s beard was bigger than it had ever been before Arn’s voyage to Scoa, but he kept it pressed against his neck and chest, not puffed out and proud. “Arn,” he said. “Have you summoned me alone to kill me?” Logern had always been surrounded by a net of ingeniously-placed loyalists.
“If I did that,” Arn replied. “Bravar and Taran would skin each other alive, and I’d be left with no fishing band.”
“You would,” Logern murmured, smiling to himself. “How the tides have changed…”
Arn allowed a small smile in reply and climbed to his feet. The metal sword hung against his back, cool against his skin, whispering of its shadowed origins to him.
Thalla entered alongside Arn’s older brother Joroth. The two let their chatting fade as they saw Arn and Logern waiting. Thalla had still not offered Arn anything more than her friendship, and Arn had still not offered her a relinquishing of her chieftain position. The hunting band needed her leadership for now.
Joroth, a decade older than Arn, was chief builder, a good position, but one subservient to chief crafter. The older brother nodded to the younger, and said what he had said every time they’d spoken since Arn’s mythical return from the Deep. “By the spirits, that scar makes you look dangerous. Eyes peering out around it…”
“Thank you,” Arn whispered, supressing a curse. He was certain his brother’s words were mild compared to those of the tribe.
“What’s he doing here?” Keeya asked from the hide flap, amidst a splatter of rain water. She glared at Joroth. “We’re all the heads of the bands, save him.”
“Brother, sister, quiet please,” Arn said, folding his arms in front of him.
The hull fell silent, save the crackling of a small clay fire-pit near Arn’s bed. Logern eyed Arn, thoughtfully, while others scowled. Thalla looked at a spot where the rain had fallen. And then Arn spoke up. “Within three moons, we will cross the Deep to Scoa.”
Everyone looked away from their distractions to stare at him.
“You’ve done it,” Jorik said, “But you expect all of us to?”
“No, not all,” Arn replied. He slid the leather loop around his shoulder and stuck the metal blade in the dirt near his foot. “An alliance of bands will. Fighters, builders, hunters. We will hunt there, we will harvest there, and we will kill those that stand in our way.”
Logern licked his lips but remained silent.
It was Keeya who said what Logern should have. “How? We have four rafts, counting yours.”
Arn smiled. “I am immediately appointing a fourth band in Razaad,” he declared. “Joroth, you will be the true chief of builders.”
“By the gods, he will not,” Keeya replied. “He serves the craftsmen.”
“He serves me,” Arn snapped. “You all serve me.”
The room was so quiet that a pop from the fire made Thalla jump. “And what will the builders do?” Joroth asked, at last.
“Build boats,” Arn replied. “You will work with Logern to establish the best way. We need several which will not be used for fishing, at any point.”
Logern spread his hands in frustration and finally spoke up. “You came back from Scoa like this. Your face is nearly unrecognizable and your scars numerous. Is this what awaits us all on Scoa?”
Arn took a step towards him and the fisherman started. He tried reaching for his weapon, a long knife at his belt, but Arn shoved his fist down on the pommel and shoved Logern back against the wall. He didn’t follow, grabbing and shaking Logern like he wished to, just gave him resounding thud against the wooden beams to make sure he was listening. Arn pointed to his cheek. “My face looks like this because you didn’t give me a proper oar. Don’t ever forget it.”
Pale-faced and wide-eyed, Logern managed a nod and stepped back into their ring of discussion hesitantly.
“This is foolishness,” Keeya said, glaring at Arn. She really had enjoyed giving orders to their eldest brother, it seemed. “What’s on Scoa that’s so damned important? A bunch of suicidal tribespeople, or did you make that up?”
Arn took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Because she was family.
“Thalla, will you honestly take your hunters to another isle?” Keeya went on. “Jorik, can your poultices heal salt-water of the lung?”
Arn grabbed his sister by the throat. Only one deep breath—that was all she got from him as mercy. He drove her to her knees with an expertly placed foot and a downward force, and then he placed the brown point of the metal sword on her collarbone. “Listen to me, sister,” he said. “If you question or doubt me, you will die. When I killed Stone Spear, I changed this island forever. You all haven’t realized it yet, but this is the way now. You will apply yourself, won’t you, sister?”
She nodded, or bobbed her head as much as was possible when a weapon was pressed so close. A drop of blood welled up around the point. Arn released her and turned to look at the others, with a scowl that hurt his scarred cheeks. He had planned to speak with them about things he had learned, about steering and balance and the dangerous of the tide. But they were not ready for it.
Everyone stared at him for a moment as he returned to where he had stood at first. He met their eyes, one-by-one. Thalla hadn’t even said a thing, but dealing with her would be another day’s challenge. Arn bit his lip and then said, “Be gone. Get to work. If any of you speak after leaving this hut of things doubtful or treacherous in nature, I will cut out your tongue and nail it to my door.”
Thalla quietly scoffed in partial disbelief and partial surprise. Keeya was the first one to slap the leather door out of the way and face the rainstorm. Jorik went as silently as he had entered. Joroth was the only one to say anything else to Arn, and that was only an awkward, “Thank you…”
Arn sat down again, and continued his thoughtful reverie. He was a danger, a force of reckoning. He could keep them in line this way for a time, but would need rewards for them after that. And with Scoa so far off once again, he wasn’t certain what rewards he would have. He couldn’t fight them all, he thought. Even if he felt like it when fire coursed through his veins.