Chapter 12: One Lie From Death

"If I die, your Grand Shaman won't survive either!"

Seeing the jagged boulder poised to crush her skull, Seraya screamed at the top of her lungs on raw survival instinct.

The words proved far more effective than any plea for mercy.

The rock meant to end her life froze mere inches from her nose. The warrior holding it looked up in dumbfounded terror.

The crowd parted in a panic.

Two leading elders shoved through the press - broad-shouldered Morra with goat horns and bear ears, and lean, wiry Selka with fox ears and a reptilian tail.

Both fixed Seraya with dark, piercing glares.

"What did you just say?!" Morra growled.

Sucking in air, heart hammering against her ribs like a trip-hammer, Seraya didn't stop to weigh the ethics of her bluff.

Right now, only one thing mattered: saving her own skin.

She forced her chin up.

"I said: when I die, your Grand Shaman stops breathing too!"

At those words, Selka snarled in fury, her reptilian tail lashing the air and fox ears pinning flat.

She lunged forward, grabbing Seraya by the stretched collar of her shirt. She yanked hard, pulling the fabric taut, Seraya's heavy chest jolting and nearly spilling from the neckline.

"So it was you, cursed demon, who harmed Vaelira!" Selka shrieked, baring fangs. "I'll split your skull in two!"

"Selka, stop! Do you want to kill Vaelira?!" Morra roared in a deep voice, grabbing her companion's arm like an iron vise.

Selka turned with venom in her eyes, but yielded under the pressure of Morra's bulk and checked her strike.

Morra stepped closer. Her towering futa frame loomed over Seraya on the ground, her heavy chest heaving with tension beneath a leather harness.

"What exactly did you do to our shaman?"

How the fuck should I know what happened to your shaman?! Seraya cursed inwardly.

Showing not a sliver of hesitation, she adopted a cold, aloof expression:

"Nothing much. Just a little trick of mine. Unless someone dispels my hex, she won't see many more sunrises..."

Panic erupted through the crowd at once. The women of Emberfrost began wailing and lamenting:

"It's over... If we lose Vaelira, the other tribes will tear us apart!"

"Who will heal us when fever takes hold or wounds come from the hunt?!"

"It's this foreign demon! She harmed our guide! Stone her to death!"

Seeing the mob losing its mind again, Seraya locked eyes with the noticeably more pragmatic Morra:

"Elder, calm your people! If you kill me, no one will save your shaman. Not a single soul!"

Morra's face darkened. She waved a hand, cutting off the noise.

"Can you truly save Vaelira?"

"Of course," Seraya answered without blinking.

Selka stamped her foot in anger, her tail slapping against the stone:

"Morra, this demonic outsider is lying through her teeth! Are you truly going to believe her?!"

Morra turned, giving her a grim look:

"Vaelira is the heart and spirit of our tribe. If there is even a sliver of hope, I choose to believe!"

That single sentence silenced Selka. The wiry futa bit back a curse and gave a grudging nod.

Morra looked back down at Seraya:

"If we release you, will you save the Grand Shaman?"

"If you don't cave my head in, you'll get your shaman back in one piece," Seraya replied steadily.

"Good. Back away from her!" Morra commanded.

Seraya smirked inwardly.

Ignorant fools... They'll believe any lie as long as it sounds dangerous.

Before she could savor the win, Morra leaned down close to her face, her goat horns casting a grim shadow:

"I will lead you to Vaelira's cave myself. But if you fail... I'll skin you with my bare hands, smash your skull, and offer your entrails to the ancestors!"

Seraya swallowed hard.

Before she could even protest, two muscular futa warriors hauled her up by the arms, dragging her to her feet.

As Seraya was marched from the cave, the crowd simmered with thwarted rage. Angry eyes fell upon Niva curled in the corner.

"It's her fault! She brought this demon into our valley!" someone shouted.

Even with her white rabbit ears trembling in fear and her snowy fox tail tucked between her thighs, Niva lifted her chin. Bruised and knocked to the stones, she yelled back with everything she had:

"The warrior is no demon! She saved me!"

Her voice was swallowed by hostile shouts and the shuffle of feet.

Seraya was marched deeper into Rimefall Valley. The night chill washed over her sweat-slicked skin, the thin shirt clinging to her chest and outlining the full curve of her breasts.

As they neared the isolated grottos, Seraya's stomach twisted into an ever tighter knot.

Damn it all...

What actually happened to this shaman?

What if she bled out or got mauled by a beast?

If they realize I don't know a thing about primitive medicine, I'll catch a rock to the back of the head!

Then again, without that bluff, her brains would already be decorating the walls of the last cave. She had no choice; she had to pray to every known law of physics and biology that the injury was something simple to patch up.

As she mumbled under her breath, Selka frowned beside her, hissing:

"What are you mumbling under your breath, demon?!"

Raska drew level with them from the side. Her bull horns and lynx ears twitched with open spite:

"Elder, the demon is surely laying more curses on Vaelira! We should knock her teeth out!"

Selka raised a sharpened spear: "Are you looking to die?!"

"Raska, shut your filthy mouth!" Morra roared, blocking the thrust with a forearm thick as a sapling trunk.

"Are you trying to finish the shaman off?! One more move and I'll punish you myself!"

Raska swallowed her rage and shrank back with a sour glare.

Seraya breathed easier, seeing the deep taboo and authority surrounding Vaelira. The shaman was everything to them.

But that meant one thing: if she failed, there would be no mercy.

At last, they arrived before a spacious, sheltered cave. Two tall guards with spears stood at the entrance.

At the sight of the elders, they bowed low:

"Elders, finally... The Grand Shaman is fading by the moment!"

Morra held her breath:

"How is she? Speak!"

"She lost consciousness from blood loss... We cannot wake her," the guard answered, tears in her eyes.

Selka stepped to Seraya, digging claws into her collarbone:

"Save her now! If a single hair falls from her head, I will gouge your eyes out myself!"

Pushed to the brink by the constant threats, Seraya slapped the hand away with surprising force:

"Then kill me, go on! My life for your shaman's - sounds like a fine trade to me! Let's see who comes out worse!"

Selka froze, startled by such defiance.

Raska opened her mouth to stoke the fire again:

"Elder, look at her cheek…"

"Shut up already, Raska!" Morra snapped, turning to Seraya with desperate gravity in her eyes:

"If you restore Vaelira to life, we will forgive all that happened tonight."

Seraya caught the underlying truth: save her, live; fail, die on the spot.

She drew a deep breath, her chest rising and straining the fabric of her torn shirt.

"Fine. Take me inside."

The shaman's grotto was entirely different from the stale hole Seraya had been offered. It was clean and dry, the air carrying the scent of dried herbs, resin, and woodsmoke rather than worn hides.

A small, steady fire burned in the center.

Deeper in, upon a clean bed of cured pelts, lay a motionless figure.

Beside her knelt an older woman with badger ears, helplessly wringing out bloodstained rags.

"Elders! Please, do something... Vaelira is dying!" the woman wept.

Morra nudged Seraya forward:

"Warrior... The life of our shaman and the future of Emberfrost are in your hands now."

Seraya raised an eyebrow. Morra had called her "warrior," not "demon." A deliberate choice, staking everything on a single gamble.

"All right, make room," Seraya muttered, approaching the bed and murmuring under her breath:

"If any gods are listening, give me a fighting chance..."

Standing over the bed and looking down, her head nearly spun. A broad swathe of pelt beneath the woman was soaked through with dark, sticky blood. For an ordinary person, that much blood loss meant shock and death.

Yet as Seraya's eyes drifted to the wounded woman's face, her breath caught in her throat.

"Huh...?!"

Seraya froze. She had expected a hunched, wrinkled crone draped in bones, but resting upon the furs was a woman of striking, ethereal beauty.

She had arched brows, thick lashes casting shadows on pale cheeks, a finely carved nose, and full, cherry-red lips.

Slender, curved gazelle horns rose from her head, and soft owl feathers were woven into dark hair that spilled down to her hips.

Though she lay limp, the cut fur garment revealed a toned frame: a narrow waist, smooth hips, and a firm, full chest that rose faintly with each shallow breath.

Chaos erupted in Seraya's mind.

What the fuck...

Not only is this Grand Shaman young, she looks like a damn goddess out of a painting?!