Chapter 22: What is this Warrior Actually Scheming

"Grand Shaman..." Seraya began, adopting a tone so polite that Vaelira instantly stopped inspecting the sliced ginger and fixed her with a suspicious look.

For a moment she appraised her, clearly trying to deduce where this sudden change had come from, and when she caught the grin spreading across her lips, her brow furrowed deeper.

"What do you want?"

Seraya rubbed her nose, wondering if she was truly that easy to read, then shifted a fraction closer, putting on as serious a face as she could muster.

"I was thinking about what we just discussed," she began, pointing to the ginger. "To brew a drink from this, I need a proper vessel, one that can take the heat of a fire."

Vaelira glanced at the items lining the wall, but Seraya shook her head right away.

"I want to make something else, specifically for boiling, but I'll need earth and plenty of wood."

The shaman looked at her in silence for a beat, as if waiting for the rest of the explanation, and when none came, she slowly lowered the piece of ginger.

"Earth is under your feet, and trees grow across the valley," she said. "Did you really have to come to me for this?"

No, I came to admire your interior decorating... Of course I had to, because I'll be slogging at it alone until the end of time.

Seraya choked back a sigh and tried again.

"I don't mean ordinary dirt. I mean clay that can be shaped, dried, and fired into something sturdy."

Vaelira still looked unconvinced, so Seraya scanned the cave for anything that might help explain the concept without launching into a lecture she wasn't entirely sure of herself.

Near the wall she spotted a tiny ant crawling between the stones and pointed right at it.

"You know bugs like this, only paler, that sometimes build big, hard mounds?"

The shaman tilted her head, inspecting the creature with the look of someone understanding less and less by the second why she was discussing such things in her own cave.

"What do you want their nests for?"

"The soil they use might work," Seraya explained. "We'll need to test it, but it's a good start, and if anyone knows another spot with sticky clay, I'd like to see that too."

Vaelira lifted her eyes from the ant.

"You want me to order them to gather dirt for you?"

"And bring wood," Seraya added before she could talk herself out of it. "That way I can prepare what we need much faster."

She stressed the last word a little harder, stealing a glance at the ginger in the shaman's hand.

She had no intention of admitting that in her mind she saw a steaming pot of soup first, and everything else second.

Vaelira turned the root between her fingers for a lingering moment, eyeing Seraya with a distrust that slowly yielded to thought.

"And this will let you brew that drink?"

"Exactly," Seraya replied, nodding firmly. "Without a proper vessel, I can't do much."

For once she didn't have to lie, since even if she found half a forest of useful herbs, she still had nothing to boil water in.

Vaelira lowered her gaze, deliberating a moment longer before finally giving a nod.

"Very well. I will summon Morra and Selka to set about gathering what you need starting tomorrow."

Seraya felt such a surge of joy that she had to clear her throat to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"Clay and dry wood," she reminded her politely. "And bring a sample of the soil first, so I can check if it's any good."

"I will tell them," Vaelira dismissed her with a wave.

Deciding further chatter could only spoil such a promising outcome, Seraya pushed quickly up from the floor.

"In that case, I'll leave you to your rest, Grand Shaman."

"Go."

Seraya nodded, but instead of heading for the exit, her eyes darted to the meat resting on the leaves beside the bedding.

Then she looked at Vaelira.

And then back at the meat once more.

The shaman watched the telling exchange of glances for a beat, then blew air out through her nose and pointed to the cut with a brief flick of her hand.

"Take it."

"Oh, thank you," Seraya replied, scooping it up with sudden speed. "Rest well, I won't bother you another second."

She wrapped the meat in leaves and slipped out before Vaelira could decide whether another request lurked behind the First Warrior's politeness.

Near the entrance she heard the shaman order both elders summoned, and the grin on her face widened a fraction.

Splendid... Supplies incoming, dinner secured, and my skull still in one piece.

Everything had gone smooth and clean.

On the walk back, Seraya began mapping out the next stages in her mind, realizing with growing clarity that quite a few steps separated "I'll shape a pot" from an actual pot - steps she had conveniently overlooked earlier.

First she had to find the right clay, shape it, dry it properly, and only then attempt firing - preferably in something that could hold heat better than an open campfire on the ground.

Plain wood might do, but Seraya also remembered charcoal, associating it with steady, intense heat, so she figured it was worth prepping a small batch for testing.

So before I make a pot, I need a firing pit, and before that, fuel... Soon enough it'll turn out that boiling soup requires inventing half of civilization first.

Fortunately, she remembered the basic principle of making charcoal: heat the wood with limited air rather than letting it burn down to ash.

It sounded straightforward, though after two days of wrestling with a bed frame, she had grown suspicious of anything that seemed easy in theory.

When she reached the cave, Niva was still sitting by the fire, snapping her head around and scrambling to her feet at the sound of footsteps.

"You're back!"

Seraya held up the bundle with the swagger of someone returning from a successful hunt.

"And I brought dinner."

Niva looked at the uncovered meat, then at her face, her brow furrowing with the exact same bewilderment as the night before.

"Warrior... where do you keep getting this?"

"I have my ways," Seraya replied with a coy grin.

The girl looked ready to press further, but Seraya had already set the prize down and reached for the scrap of ginger she had kept for herself.

She wiped a flat rock clean, crushed a piece of the root against it, and rubbed the moist pulp over the meat, careful not to overdo it in her excitement.

Niva crept closer, twitching her nose as the sharp scent drifted from the leaves.

"What are you doing?"

"Remember when I said meat could taste better?" Seraya glanced up from the prep. "We're about to find out."

She threaded the cuts onto sticks and sat by the fire, turning them patiently over the coals, while Niva watched every move as if witnessing a sacred rite.

As it cooked, the aroma sharpened, mingling the familiar scent of roasting fat with something pungent, fresh, and entirely new, and Seraya quickly found that waiting on an empty stomach was just as taxing as woodworking.

Only when it finished did she hand one of the skewers to Niva, leaning in slightly.

"Go on, try it."

The girl took a tentative bite, began to chew, and suddenly froze, her rabbit ears perking so sharply that Seraya needed no verbal review.

"Good," Niva gasped, staring at the meat in disbelief. "Really, really good."

Seraya straightened with satisfaction, tilting her chin up.

"And if we had salt, you'd see what real food tastes like."

Niva nodded, though she still had no idea what salt actually was, and took another bite at once, clearly deciding explanations could wait.

At the same time, Morra and Selka stood before Vaelira, and judging by their expressions, neither shared Seraya's high spirits.

Morra turned her thoughts over for a beat before finally speaking up.

"Grand Shaman, we barely have enough food as it is, and you want to pull more women from hunting and foraging to haul this... dirt?"

"Clay," Vaelira corrected.

"Clay," the elder repeated, pinching the bridge of her nose. "And timber. If they spend their time on this instead of food, the rations will shrink again."

Vaelira pressed her lips thin. She understood what Morra meant, but the prospect of brewing something that might bring lasting relief was still too fresh for her to surrender at the first objection.

"We can also dispatch some of those who remain behind in the valley," she offered after a moment.

Selka snapped her head up, her fox ears swiveling forward.

"And who will guard the pass?" she asked sharply. "If another tribe notices our valley is empty, timber won't defend us."

Vaelira looked away, deliberating, before meeting the elders' eyes again.

"The First Warrior remains here, and neither of us is leaving the valley," she replied. "It will only take a few days."

Morra and Selka traded glances where helplessness mingled with mounting frustration.

"What do you actually need all of this for?" Morra asked, trying for a calmer approach.

"The warrior said it would be useful."

Vaelira realized she had answered too quickly the exact second Selka's face hardened.

"Her again."

Her reptilian tail lashed across the dirt, her knuckles whitening as her fists clenched.

Vaelira straightened her posture at once.

"Enough. I have decided," she cut in. "Tomorrow you will assign women to gather the supplies."

Morra opened her mouth, but the shaman dismissed them with a sharp wave, making it plain she would entertain no further debate.

Only outside did the elder exhale and look up at the darkening sky.

"What is this warrior actually scheming..."

Selka turned toward Seraya's cave, her mouth setting into a thin line.

"I don't care what she schemes," she said. "But if harm befalls the tribe because of her, I won't let it slide this time."

Morra frowned, but offered no reply.

***

Seraya sneezed so hard she nearly dropped her skewer, then rubbed her nose and glanced over her shoulder.

"Strange... I caught a chill all of a sudden."

Niva looked up from dinner.

"Cold? I feel warm."

Seraya eyed the fire, then the dark cave mouth, but spotted nothing amiss, so she shrugged and went back to eating.

After the meal they chatted a bit longer, until Niva finally got ready to leave, saying goodnight with as much cheer as if a day spent hauling vines had been completely repaid by a few bites of seasoned meat.

Left alone, Seraya banked the larger flames and carefully stretched out on her new bed, which took her weight with a brief, unsettling creak.

She froze for a second, listening to the wood, but when nothing cracked, she tucked her hands behind her head and stretched out her legs with a deep sigh.

Bed is built, ginger is planted, tomorrow I start on the pottery... A little more and I'll actually live like a human being.

With that pleasant thought she closed her eyes, having no idea that across the valley Selka was attributing far less noble motives to her name.

The next morning, silence woke Seraya.

She lay still for a moment, disoriented by the absence of the usual shouting, footsteps, and chatter, and when she finally stepped outside, she found the valley so deserted it looked as if most of the tribe had up and moved away.

She saw no guards stationed by the pass, the paths were virtually bare, and the stray sounds drifting from distant grottos only emphasized the unusual quiet.

"Where did everyone vanish to..." she muttered, scowling as she looked around.

Deciding the parties must have set out early, she turned back to her own chores after a brief pause, not yet connecting the emptiness with the previous evening's conversation.

First, she prepared a spot for a test batch of charcoal, selecting a bare patch of ground well away from her bedding and the newly planted ginger.

In her head it still seemed simple enough, but digging even a shallow depression proved that dirt could resist just as stubbornly as timber.

She kept hitting roots or stones, and when she started reinforcing the sides with damp earth, part of the painstakingly packed rim caved in right where she had just finished leveling the pit.

Seraya stared blankly at the collapse for a moment.

"Of course, why would anything go smoothly..."

She set about repairing it, using rocks for shoring, until she finally produced a low, makeshift mound that at least didn't crumble on contact.

Rather than attempting a massive burn, she prepped a small batch of dry wood from her leftovers from the bed frame, then began the tedious process of heating the charge with limited air.

She quickly learned that lighting the fire wasn't the hard part; preventing the whole thing from simply burning down to ash was.

Smoke would leak from an unseen fissure one minute, only for the fire to choke out the next, keeping Seraya circling her mound, patching leaks and muttering increasingly short-tempered curses.

When hunger nagged, she sat briefly with a piece of fruit, but kept her eyes glued to the pit, as if suspecting the wood of waiting to flare up the second she looked away.

By day's end, she had dirt on her hands, soot smeared across her cheeks, and hair plastered to a sweaty brow, an instinctive wipe with her forearm only spreading the grime further.

She did not look like a brilliant inventor.

She looked like someone who had lost a fistfight with a fire pit.

Even so, when the mound cooled enough for her to inspect the result, her weary face brightened at once.

Some wood had barely charred and a bit had turned to ash, but nestled between them were light, black chunks that looked exactly as they should.

She picked one up, turned it over in her hands, and grinned wide.

"See... I can do it after all."

She hadn't produced a mountain of fuel or a flawless yield, but she had a working batch and a much firmer grasp of what to do differently next time.

After a full day of wrestling with dirt and timber, she took that as reason enough to be satisfied.

Stashing the cooled pieces in a dry spot, she checked the sky, noting that the return of the foraging and hunting parties was near.

She washed her hands and face at the pond, scrubbing soot from her jawline until she looked more like herself than the bottom of a hearth, then sat outside her cave, waiting to be summoned.

Morra arrived shortly after.

Seraya looked up, ready to boast about her progress, but the words died on her tongue when she saw the elder's expression.

Morra's bear ears were pinned back, her mouth pulled into a tight grimace, and when she spoke, her voice lacked its customary weight.

Seraya slowly straightened her back, feeling her earlier satisfaction give way to an uneasy tension.

All right... Who pissed in her stew?