Page 69 of Fateless

“No, but like most outsiders, you see only what is on the surface,” the rider said, not unkindly. He gestured again with his weapon. “During the windy season, our village is here, sheltered through the worst of it. When the stonebeak flocks begin their migration across the steppes, we follow. When the oases dry up and the barren months sweep through this region, they will not find the village here. We will have already moved on.”

“So you leave your homes behind and go to a new village?”

“No.” The rider smiled. “The homes come with us.”

The drone of wings interrupted him, and another insect rider swooped down before I could ask what in the Void he meant by that. “You’ve brought the outsiders,” the new rider said, glancing at me and Raithe, then at Kysa coming in behind us. “The hive mother is waiting for them in the warriors’ hall, along with the lore keeper and War Chief Vorkyth. You are to speak with her straightaway, Kysa Tal’Rahhe.”

She nodded once. “Understood.”

He turned and buzzed away. I looked down and saw a large, circular building in the center of the village, surrounded by a fence that looked like it was made of beetle horns. A group of children—boys and girls between ten and twelve years of age—faced each other inside the perimeter, holding long sticks in front of them. An older teen shouted something, and one line of children lunged, driving their weapons toward the others, who quickly stepped back, blocked, and returned with their own strikes. One boy took a vicious blow to the stomach and was knocked down. He lay there, gasping, until his opponent stepped forward and offered her hand, pulling him back to his feet.

As our beetle flew overhead, the group paused, shielding their faces to gaze up at us. Mouths dropped open, eyes widened, and they began whispering to each other, until the older boy strode forward and barked an order. The group quickly whirled back, bowed to him, and raised their sticks to each other again.

Our beetle rider touched down outside the gates, and I slid from the saddle, relieved when my boots hit solid earth again.I tensed as I gazed around, and my heart began an erratic beat in my chest. We were deep in the Scarab Clan village now, surrounded by warriors and enormous insects. There was no place to hide, no place to blend in. What if the clan decided they weren’t going to help? Or worse, what if theydiddecide to help, but I failed whatever test they required to prove that I was worthy?

Raithe dropped gracefully beside me a moment before I felt his steady hand on my arm. “Breathe, Sparrow,” he whispered in my ear. “We’re with you. You’re going to be fine.”

I nodded shakily, stifling the urge to slink away and find a dark corner to melt into.Stop running, Sparrow, I told myself. Raithe was with me, and Halek and Kysa were here, too. I wasn’t doing this alone.

Through the gates, we came to the opening of the warrior hall. It didn’t have doors, but a pair of shimmering, translucent green curtains hung in the doorway, opaque enough to block the view of whatever lay beyond. A pair of guards stood at the entrance, but they did not wear the full-body chitin armor worn by Kysa and the other warriors, just a helmet and a chest plate. They watched as we approached, eyes hard beneath their chitinous helms, but didn’t move as Kysa swept through the fluttering curtains and led us inside.

My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light. The interior of the room was simple, a circular space with a large stone table in the center. Three figures stood around that table waiting for us. A slight older woman, a figure with their head and face wrapped in a shawl, and a large man with chitinous black armor covering his whole body. The spikes on his gauntlets and shoulders juttedwickedly into the air, and the eyes beneath the helm were hard with suspicion.

“Kysa Tal’Rahhe.” The older woman stepped away from the table and came forward. Her hair was steel gray, her face gaunt, with creases lining her eyes and mouth. Her arms, I saw, were marked with the same inky patterns I’d seen on Kysa. Pausing a few feet away, she swept fathomless black eyes over the insect rider and nodded once, as if whatever she saw pleased her. “You have returned to the hive. Welcome home.”

Kysa knelt, briefly touching one knee and her fingertips to the floor. “Thank you, Hive Mother. My pilgrimage taught me much, but I am pleased to have returned to my clan.”

“Is your mount well, warrior?”

This came from the armored warrior at the table, his deep voice echoing through the room. I couldn’t see much of his face through the helmet, but his tone was a warning, as if Kysa’s worth as a warrior was tied to Rhyne. And if the beetle had fallen, she was no longer worthy.

“Rhyne remains uncracked and unbowed, War Chief.” A slight smile touched Kysa’s lips as she rose, a note of pride shining through her voice. “He fought the fire jaws as they were swarming, and they were unable to pierce him.”

“The fire jaws.” The older woman blew out a short breath. “Fate was with you both indeed,” she murmured. “To encounter the swarm on one of their rampages...”

The war chief gave a snort. “Foolish to be out in the storm in the first place,” he growled. “One does not hope to fight a landslide and win.” His dark gaze flickered to me and narrowed. “Ican only assume that you were protecting these outsiders,” he muttered with distaste. “Who are these strangers that you have brought to us, warrior? Two city dwellers and one of the long-lived race that hide in the Maze like dust mice.”

“War Chief Vorkyth.” The hive mother glared at the larger man, her voice calm but suddenly steely. “I would ask you to remember to be polite. We of the Scarab Clan no longer fear the outside world. We wish to welcome other cultures and people into our village, not shun them. The age of hiding ourselves and alienating any not from the clan is over. If you cannot remember that, perhaps you do not need to be here.”

Surprisingly, the large, armored man bowed his head, conceding, and the hive mother turned back to us. “My apologies, strangers,” she said. “You are the first set of outsiders to visit the Scarab Clan—well, in my lifetime, anyway—and we are still learning how to be diplomatic. Allow me to properly introduce us. I am Hive Mother Myrrka Nas’Senna. This is War Chief Vorkyth Rol’k, and Lore Keeper Adynna Na’Devyss. The three of us make up the council of the Scarab Clan. Many important decisions are debated at this table, but we must all be in agreement before any can come to pass.”

“Like an outsider being granted the ritual tattoos of a warrior,” said a soft, new voice that made me glance up. The third figure had come forward, walking slowly around the table to stand before us. Reaching up, she stripped away her shawl to reveal a smooth face covered in elegant swirls of ink. They decorated her cheeks and brow and trailed a path down her neck until they vanished into the folds of her tunic. Her arms werealso covered in ink runes all the way to her fingertips. Like the rest of her clan, she wore sturdy boots, but I suspected the markings continued to the tops of her feet and beyond.

“I am Lore Keeper Adynna,” the woman said. Her dark gaze eyed each of us in turn, sharp and assessing. “Human, Fatechaser, kahjai,” she murmured. “An interesting combination. Tell me, which of these is the Fateless?”

“The girl,” Kysa replied, glancing in my direction. “They call her Sparrow.”

“I thought so.” The figure beckoned to me with long fingers, and I stepped forward warily. “Young,” she muttered, looking me up and down. “Very young for an outsider. Our warriors begin training from the time they can hold a stick, but that is not the case for those who live the soft life of the cities.” She gave me a scrutinizing look, then glanced at Kysa, standing beside me. “And this is the outsider whom you wish to receive the markings of the warrior?”

“No,” War Chief Vorkyth said immediately. “Absolutely not. The ancient markings are granted only to the strongest, to those worthy of riding the rock beetles. It is a sacred rite of passage for Scarab Clan warriors. An outsider has never been allowed such a privilege.”

My stomach twisted, but neither the lore keeper nor the hive mother seemed to react, so maybe this wasn’t going as terribly as I thought. “What is your calling, girl?” the lore keeper asked me. “What is your place in Maederyss’s tale?”

I bit my lip. For a brief moment, I wondered if I should lie, but decided that might sabotage any chance we had to convince them.Besides, Raithe, Halek, and Kysa were right there; they would all know I was lying, and I couldn’t face that. The thought of their disappointment was even harder to bear than Vorkyth’s disdain.

I took a deep breath and answered with the truth. “I was a member of the Thieves Guild in Kovass.”

“A thief.” Vorkyth made a noise of contempt. “An honorless parasite,” he went on, waving a dismissive hand. “This is a waste of time. I don’t even know why we are having this conversation when the answer should be clear.”

---