Chapter 25: The Tribe Is Hungry

Seraya tossed the cleaned mushrooms into the pot, nudged the wood beneath its base, and crouched beside the hearth, staring at the water with such intensity you'd think she was trying to force it to boil by sheer force of will.

Not long ago she had dreamed of anything that wasn't fruit or a slab of meat on a stick, and now she was sitting outside her own cave actually cooking soup.

Plain, humble soup with no salt and none of the usual fixings, something she probably wouldn't have looked at twice back in her old world, yet here the mere thought of a hot broth made her swallow more often than she cared to admit.

Come on... I busted my ass so hard over this damn pot, you could at least smell a little stronger.

For a moment she considered tossing in some meat, but after their last shared dinner nothing remained that she could use, so she sighed and reached only for a pinch of ginger.

She broke off a small piece, crushed it against a stone, and dropped it inside, figuring that for a first go she didn't need an elaborate feast, just something warm she could eat from a bowl.

The vessel's base was thicker than she had planned, and she didn't dare stoke the fire too aggressively for fear the pot would remember its hairline cracks at the worst possible moment, so the waiting dragged on mercilessly.

Eventually she got up and brought over a piece of wood she had set aside while gathering firewood earlier.

Now that she had a pot and bowls, she still needed something to ladle the soup with, unless she planned to dip her fingers directly into near-boiling water every time or try chugging straight from a pot heavier than her own head.

So she sat on a rock, rested the wood against her thigh, and began paring away layer after layer, trying to carve out something resembling a ladle.

In her mind she pictured a sleek handle and a generous bowl, but the stone flake clearly didn't share her vision, because after a good while the wood still looked mostly like a hunk of wood.

Bamboo... If only I had a stalk of bamboo, this would be so much easier.

She remembered simple ladles she'd seen before that made use of natural bamboo nodes, but she hadn't spotted anything of the sort in the valley, and she wasn't about to postpone dinner just because the world failed to provide proper materials yet again.

So she gritted her teeth and went back to scraping.

When a distinct bubbling finally rose from the pot, she snapped her head up so fast she nearly dropped the tool from her hand.

"Finally..."

She looked at the unfinished ladle, its scoop still far too shallow, and set it down with the expression of someone who had decided not to hold a grudge against yet another inanimate object.

A metal pot, a real knife, and a spoon... Am I really asking for that much?

Before she could spin that thought into an extended grievance, the breeze carried the aroma of mushrooms and warm ginger from the hearth, instantly replacing her annoyance with keen interest.

Seraya leaned closer, keeping her face carefully clear of the steam, and grinned so wide you'd think the pot had just delivered the fulfillment of all her lifelong dreams.

Not long ago she had owned nothing here.

Now she had a bed of her own, her first garden patch, a few clay dishes, and a meal simmering on the fire, and even if every single one of those things looked like the product of a botched experiment, they were real.

Someday they'll excavate this...

She pictured a solemn archaeologist hovering over the shards of her crooked pot, lecturing in scholarly tones about a watershed discovery in the history of Emberfrost.

Please note the vessel's uneven rim, testifying to exceptional... I don't know, creative fucking expression.

She snorted with laughter, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Right, expression... Definitely not the fact that I molded it on the dirt and couldn't make two walls the same thickness.

Unable to wait for the first bite, Seraya picked up two smooth twigs she used for cooking and fished out a piece of mushroom.

She blew on it, waited a beat, and took a bite, raising her eyebrows at once as it proved far hotter than expected.

For a second she sat with her mouth open, panting in thoroughly undignified fashion, but when she could finally chew, her face relaxed in genuine bliss.

"Holy fuck... it's good."

It lacked salt, it lacked meat, fat, and several other things that would have made the soup vastly superior, but after days of eating whatever was handed out or scavenged, the warm mushroom flavor felt downright luxurious.

She laughed out loud, sending several birds scattering from nearby branches, clearly fed up with their new neighbor who spent her time clacking rocks, spewing smoke, or shouting at the top of her lungs for no apparent reason.

Seraya didn't even look at them.

She banked the fire, waited for the boiling to subside, and carefully ladled a little soup into a bowl, minding not to dunk her fingers over the rim.

She held the warm dish through a folded scrap of hide, blew across the surface, and took a first sip.

Then a second.

And then sat still for a moment, staring down at the bowl in disbelief.

Fine... I take back every bad thing I ever said about vegetarian soup.

It wasn't a meal that would keep her full until tomorrow, but a comforting warmth radiated through her belly, and being able to swallow something other than dry fruit pulp lifted her spirits more effectively than she had anticipated.

She ate slowly only at first.

Before long she was dishing out helpings faster and faster, until barely anything remained in the pot, and she leaned back with a deep sigh, resting a hand over her stomach.

"Now... this is how you live."

She looked at the pot with satisfaction that not even its crooked walls could dampen.

After so many hours of hauling timber, kneading clay, and tending fires, she finally had something that actually worked.

Instead of getting right back to work, she lingered in the shade for a while, finishing off the last modest helping, and once the pot cooled, she washed it carefully and set it aside where no one would accidentally kick it by the entrance.

She checked the remaining mushrooms, estimating enough for two more light meals, then returned to the ladle.

This time she worked more methodically, gradually deepening the hollow end and smoothing the handle, since the last thing she needed was a splinter driven into her palm while dishing out her first proper meal.

Yet she didn't focus on the wooden implement alone.

Between bouts of whittling, she tended the charcoal mound, shored up the windbreak, and stacked dry wood for the next firing, gaining a clearer appreciation with every step of just how much labor lay behind the seemingly simple notion of making a few pots.

By the time she deemed the ladle smooth enough, the sun had dipped considerably lower.

Seraya held it up before her face, turned it, tested the rim with her thumb, and gave a pleased nod.

Won't win any contests, but at least I won't be serving soup with my own fingers.

She was just setting it beside the bowls when Morra appeared.

The elder found Seraya in far better spirits than her own.

Seraya had been smiling from the moment she walked out to meet her, and even the exhaustion showing in her stride couldn't wipe away that irritatingly cheerful expression.

Morra looked at the items laid out near the cave, but didn't ask about them, sticking to a curt summons for the food distribution.

Seraya set the ladle down and followed her, her mind still turning over the next batch of pottery.

Only when she reached the center of the valley did she see that today's rationing was even bleaker than the last.

So little food lay upon the spread pelts that for a moment it was hard to believe it was meant to be divided among all the women present, and when portions were handed out, some received barely one or two shriveled fruits.

No one smiled.

Gatherers stared at their hands, hunters stood tight-lipped, and the hushed murmurs carried a tension far heavier than yesterday's argument.

Seraya took her share, glanced down at it, and sighed, but the warm soup still pleasantly filled her belly, so the scarcity didn't hit her with the same force as the others.

Her thoughts were already drifting back to the hearth and her pot, missing the look with which Morra tracked her every step.

The elder clenched her jaw.

It was that very serenity that stung the most.

While other women wondered how to split two pieces of fruit and survive another day of labor, Seraya looked content, as though all the valley's hardships lay somewhere far beyond her own cave.

Yet Morra said nothing before the gathered crowd, and when the distribution ended, Seraya headed back to her dwelling.

Only after she had left did Selka step closer.

"You saw the portions," she said in a low voice. "How much longer are we going to pretend nothing is happening?"

Morra swept her gaze over the departing women.

"We go to Vaelira."

Selka nodded at once, then turned toward several representatives from the communal caves who had already spoken to her of the shortage.

She didn't have to convince them for long.

Vaelira had just ordered another batch of earth delivered to Seraya when the footsteps of a larger group echoed outside the entrance.

She hadn't intended to summon the warrior this evening, recalling her mention of working on the pottery, though with each passing hour it had grown harder to keep from sending someone for news.

The pain had eased somewhat, allowing her to sit more comfortably and think of something other than her belly, but that didn't mean she had stopped waiting for the promised results.

She looked at the ginger left behind, then at the spot where the clay had rested earlier.

May today's amount be enough...

Morra and Selka entered, flanked by five women representing the other caves.

They all bowed their heads.

"Grand Shaman."

Vaelira straightened, her face cooling at once, for the sheer size of the delegation was enough to divine the purpose of the visit.

"What has happened?"

Selka stepped forward and dropped to one knee, maintaining just enough formal deference that it would be hard to accuse her of open defiance.

"We ask that you call off the gathering of clay," she said. "Food grows scarcer by the day, and the women return hungry and weak."

Vaelira frowned.

She knew the problem; she had heard about it the previous evening and spent all day trying to convince herself that a little patience would soon let her show everyone the reason behind the decision.

Now, however, she wasn't facing Selka alone.

Behind the elder stood the very women who had taken today's rations into their hands.

"Perhaps a few more days are needed," she replied after a moment. "The warrior is already working on..."

Morra lowered her head, the quiet sigh escaping her chest sounding louder in the cavern than intended.

Selka snapped her head up at once.

"A few days of what?" she demanded. "Are we to bring back dirt instead of food again?"

Vaelira pressed her lips thin.

"This work is not without purpose."

"Then why must the entire tribe pay for it with starvation?" Selka straightened slightly, remaining on her knees. "Ever since we began catering to the warrior's wishes, we bring back less and less food. It is already harder to spend all day foraging the forest, and if portions shrink again, it will only worsen."

One of the women behind her pressed her hands together.

"Today we divided everything into pieces so small that right after eating, we were still starving."

The second nodded.

"We do not ask for meat for everyone. We only ask to return to gathering."

Vaelira looked at them closely, feeling the conversation slip outside the convenient confines of a spat with Selka.

She could dismiss the elder's spite.

It was far harder to dismiss women speaking calmly about having nothing to eat.

"This is Seraya's foolish idea," Selka pressed on. "And if we continue doing everything she demands, it will bring disaster upon us."

Vaelira lifted her chin at once, sensing the elder shifting the issue from the gathering itself onto the warrior.

"Mind your accusations."

Selka bowed her head, but did not retract the words.

A brief silence fell over the cave as Vaelira searched for an answer that would preserve her authority, defend her choice, and keep Seraya's plan intact.

Every option seemed worse than the last.

If she yielded, she would admit before all of them that she had failed to foresee the consequences of her command.

If she ordered them to wait, tomorrow evening she might hear the exact same grievances voiced by a far larger mob.

She glanced at the ginger left behind, fingers digging into the pelts of her bedding.

"The gathering of clay will not be stopped for now," she said firmly.

This time, silence did not mean obedience.

One woman shifted sharply, another looked to Morra, and a tension showed on Selka's face that she only partially bothered to conceal.

"Grand Shaman, we cannot..." a representative of one cave began.

"We need those women gathering food," another cut in.

"How much longer must we wait?"

The voices weren't loud, yet that was precisely what sent an uneasy chill through Vaelira.

She was not dealing with a petty quarrel that could be silenced with a sharp rebuke.

The women had come with a direct plea, and for the first time, her refusal had not ended the matter.

In everyday life they respected the Grand Shaman, obeyed her word, and sought her counsel, but none of that made two pieces of fruit into anything more than two pieces of fruit.

Selka rose slowly.

"We ask that you rescind the order."

The five women behind her stepped forward, and as they echoed her words, Vaelira's shoulders tensed on instinct.

"We ask that you rescind the order, Grand Shaman."

Only Morra remained where she was, her face grim and eyes cast down, yet this time her silence offered no support either.

Vaelira looked at each woman in turn, feeling with stark clarity for the very first time that her title alone might not be enough.

If she continued sending them into the forest for dirt instead of letting them forage for food, next time they might not come to ask.