“I do not have such authority,” he continued. “That would have to be our chieftain’s decision.”
“You are not the chieftain?”
The man laughed, looking over his shoulder at his fellow clansmen who chuckled along with him. “No, I am not, Huntress. Though I am flattered you had thought so. You may call me Morag. I am but a simple ranger. First Ranger, but a ranger all the same.”
“So, your chieftain would have to decide whether we can enter?”
Morag nodded. “You will need to come with us. He will want to speak with you.”
“All right.” Aloisia stepped forwards but halted when Morag brought his blade back up to her weapons belt.
“You should leave those behind.”
Aloisia hesitated. But, as much as she didn’t like the idea of being without her daggers, she knew she would not progress any further with them on her. The blades sang as she drew them. Moving back to the treeline, Aloisia threw them down, point first, into the earth beyond the border. She glimpsed upwards, hoping Kaja had seen and would collect them.
Without her bow or blades, Aloisia felt bare. There was still the familiar weight of the concealed blade in her left boot, and she pondered whether it was wise for her to leave it there. However, she would not walk into such a situation completely unarmed.
She strode back to Morag with her palms open to either side. “Satisfied?”
“To the chieftain.”
Morag kept his blade ready, held loose in one hand as they entered the mountains. A few clansmen followed them, flanking either side of Aloisia, whilst the rest remained by the border. With each step, the distance between her and the others grew. Panic bubbled up within her. She told herself they had been reasonable thus far, that she had nothing to fear from these people.
She followed the ranger up a steep path, winding further and further up the mountainside. The trees were dense here and, through the branches, Aloisia looked back to the border, the treeline growing smaller, and wondered if Kaja could still see her.
Finally, the path took a sharp turn, and the treeline was out of sight. They entered a large clearing the size of a small town. A giant wooden structure stood at its centre, with many smaller buildings surrounding it, all connected by a winding dirt path. Cliff faces rose to either side of the clearing, and tracks wound along them, connecting the caverns within the rocks.
All eyes turned to Aloisia as they made their way towards the wooden hut at the centre, a deathly silence surrounding them. Their stares each screamed one thing: outsider. As reasonable as Morag and his rangers had been thus far, she was not sure that luxury would extend now she was at the heart of their land.
They reached the hut and at the entrance, the clansmen paused. Around her, each of them knelt. Morag grabbed the back of Aloisia’s neck, forcing her to kneel beside him. The men removed any blades or weapons they possessed, passing them to the women who came forth to collect them. One woman, her face heavily tattooed with harsh lines, approached them with a small bowl. She paused before each of them, marking their foreheads with a dark red substance Aloisia was certain to be blood. As she came to a stop before Aloisia, she glanced at Morag, who gave a curt nod. The woman marked Aloisia’s face and beckoned them within.
Morag gripped Aloisia’s shoulder, forcing her to face him. “Now would be a good time to discard of any hidden blades you may have forgotten about. To draw weapons within here is a death sentence.”
“Then it’s a good job I left mine back at the border,” Aloisia quipped.
“As you will.” Morag turned her, keeping a hand on her back as he guided her within.
The first thing Aloisia noticed was the thick smoke curling in tendrils within the hut, followed by the potent scent of incense – sandalwood and sage, with a hint of lavender. Amidst the smog, she glimpsed limbs moving in time to the beat of drums, which pounded through her like a second heartbeat. Seemingly unfazed, Morag forced Aloisia forth with confident steps.
A figure rose within the wisps of smoke. Morag pulled Aloisia to a halt.
“Teannach, Dalaibh,” Morag said, forcing her into a bow alongside him.
“Crís tuam?” the figure asked, his voice deep, a level of command in the words, though Aloisia did not understand them.
“Tóru. Lang mar pá súl.”
The figure advanced, his boots coming into Aloisia’s line of sight. With Morag still grasping her neck, she was unable to look upon him. The boots stopped before her and Morag retreated, releasing her.
Before she could lift her head, another hand clasped her chin and raised it for her.
“To what do I owe the honour of a huntress in my midst?” the man asked, holding her in place as if she were a butterfly pinned to a board.
Now Aloisia could see him, she noted the striking resemblance he had to Morag. The same dark hair, the same bright blue eyes. And, like Morag, he towered above her.
“My name is Aloisia Smith. I am a Huntress of Littlewatch. I seek passage to the Vale of Poppies.”
“Do you now?” He examined Aloisia, his piercing gaze raking over her. “You may call me Chieftain Cathan of Clan Tolmach.”
