Page 45 of Corvak's Challenge

This morning, I walk along the edges of the bowl-like valley. Behind me, the mountains rise into the clouds. In front of me, the valley with churned snows, snow-people, and a now-barren landscape. Every edible root, every small creature in the area has been hunted down. The valley cannot sustain the always-hungry and always-growing population. We are having to venture out farther and farther to find meat, and roots are not even an option at this point. I am failing to feed my mate.

Using my spear as a walking stick, I head out to hunt. A few valleys over, I saw a herd of four-legged creatures. Just one of them would be enough to feed myself and Aidy for days, and we can dry the rest. It will take me most of the morning to get there, but I'm looking forward to getting away. I'm tired of people following me, even if they're "my" people. I'm tired of the endless hooting, the watchful eyes, the expectant stares.

I thought I'd enjoy having an army for protection. Now I would rather they all just went away.

I set a brisk pace, taking the most difficult route possible to deter any stragglers. I climb sheer cliffs and crawl up loose rocky slopes. I choose places that have no footholds and nearly tumble down one of the slopes. Still, I am followed. Every time I look back, I can see a trail of fuzzy white heads following me. I grit my teeth every time I hear a hoot.

Something has to be done. But what? This is a mess of my own making.

Gritting my teeth against my irritation, I make it to the bottom of the next valley and wait for my "followers". They straggle over the rocks, coming into view. Once they appear, I make the "stay here" gesture that I've learned. I point at the biggest one in the lead so they know I'm talking to them, and make the gesture again.

The big male repeats it. Stay here.

I turn to go and take a few steps, then check over my shoulder, because the smell of them lingers.

They're still following. With an irritated sigh, I shake my head and stare at the snow at my feet as I think. How do I lose them? They're going to chase off the herd if I get any closer. The snow-people are decent at catching smaller animals, but they've chased away all the bigger game.

As I stare at the snow, I notice footprints.

Not so unusual, given that I haunt these valleys and the snow-people do, too. There are tracks heading towards my cave all over the snows from the snow-people that arrive every day.

These tracks are headingaway, though. I lean in and touch one. The foot is large like mine, and the trail cuts through the mountains, heading in the direction of the herd I'd seen a few days ago. I lean in, because the tracks are fresh, not covered by the snowfall from yesterday morning. There's a lingering scent of leather…and other.

A gladiator.

Here.

Finally. I've been waiting to play this game for far too long.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

AIDY

The smellof the snow-people's soup this afternoon is making me nauseous.

I stir it at arm's length with a long rib-bone, covering my mouth as I do. Some days I don't ask if the food they're bringing me is fresh, because I've learned that they'll eat it either way—rotting or newly dead, it's all the same to them. I cook it regardless, figuring that heat will destroy most of the pathogens. Sometimes it smells unpleasant.

Today it smells stomach-turning.

I think I've come down with something. It's the only explanation for how sick I feel. I threw up this morning and have felt ill all day. Given our environment, it was bound to happen, but I'm concerned I've caught some sort of non-helpful parasite from the water or food. Who knows what's living inside these things? I touch my chest. To make matters worse, my chest worm has gone quiet. After weeks of incessant humming and singing and making me horny at the drop of a hat, it's gone on vacation. It purrs a little when Corvak comes home at night, but it's so much quieter that it concerns me.

I hope my sickness isn't killing it. All I know is that I need the dang thing to survive.

I continue to rub my chest as I scoop a bowl of food and head with it to the front of the cave. There are several waiting snow-people, and they all shoot me hopeful looks. Pinkie hovers nearby, her head jerking up the moment I emerge.

"Two more bowls after this one," I say to the waiting crowd. There's at least seven of them waiting, watching me with hungry expressions. "Only two."

The closest one takes the bowl and then races a few feet away with it, the others pressing against him in the hopes of stealing a bite.

Roots?Pinkie asks with a subtle gesture.

I pull the last sorry-looking, withered root from the folds of my clothing and offer it to her. She snatches it so quickly that her claws scrape my arm. I draw back and as I do, a new smell hits me. I turn and see that someone—several someones—have crapped on the path up to the cave.

It's too much for my stomach. My food comes up and I puke all down the steps. I wipe at my mouth, horrified, and then retreat back into the cave. I'll clean that up later. I sit down in the cave, sip some water until I feel better, and then hear a questioning hoot outside. I glance over and sure enough, there's a snow-person waiting at the cave entrance, clutching the empty, battered bowl. He wants to be fed. They all do.

With a tired sigh, I get to my feet and take it from him. Like it or not, I have a job to do.

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