By the time I get out, my skin is only not looking like a wrinkled prune because my Flesh-Shaping has been able to deal with that symptom of staying submerged for too long. I’ve also had to reduce the amount that the fire magic is affecting me several times to the point where the ‘bath’ is only tepid now – I was starting to get a bit over-heated.

  But I have succeeded! I let out a whoop as I manage to send my first fireball splashing harmlessly into the water a few metres away. The second goes further. The third even further. I seem to hit a wall at approximately thirty metres: the ball disintegrates in mid-air. But that’s fine.

  I’ve done it!

  It turned out to be relatively simple, but the trick took a while to figure out. The main issue was that all the other Fire-Shaping I’ve done has been connected to me. Even Aingeal is, though its connection is through a Bond rather than a line of fire magic. The problem with that and trying to make a fireball was that if I keep a fireball attached to me, it is more of a flail than a fireball – able to move to a certain distance away from me, but no further. I had to work out how to disconnect the fireball from me, but yet maintain it in existence despite its lack of fuel.

  Throwing a ball of something it could have fed off would probably have worked, but that wouldn’t have been a proper fireball; it would have just been a flaming ball of whatever. A version of a molotov cocktail.

  My breakthrough happened when I considered how Energy Hearts and Cores work.

  What seems to work is for me to create a tighter weave of fire magic around a core of fire. The interior fire burns away at the weave around it, but as long as it hits the target before that weave is all used up, it seems to work well enough as a fireball. I suspect that that’s why it won’t go further than thirty metres – I’d probably have to make a thicker or denser weave of magic to make it go further. Which, of course, will take more time and mana to form, so it’s not ideal.

  Still, I’ve created a fireball! Or at least a sort of fire grenade. Which is close enough.

  Stepping out with a grin on my face, I get dressed. Running magic through my silk undersuit and my hide armour, I give them a little clean before I put them back on. I love magic.

  By this point, almost all the samurans have returned to the camp, as have most of the others. Bastet is still here, Storm and Ninja cuddled up to her sides and to all appearances asleep. Fenrir’s off to the side, also apparently sleeping. Catch and River are both there, Pride, unusually, is nowhere to be seen. Lathani is next to them, but she’s not asleep; instead she’s looking at the pool thoughtfully. I’m amused to see that River is scratching gently at her head.

  “Waiting for me?” I ask cheerfully.

  Well, you seemed to be having so much fun playing with your fire that we didn’t want to interrupt, River tells me teasingly.

  We didn’t want to leave you alone, Catch answers more seriously. Until you’re fully accepted by all the villages, you shouldn’t move around the area unguarded.

  “I can take care of myself,” I point out. I would have thought that my demonstration in the tournament would have been enough proof of that.

  Of course, he answers, as if that was never in question. But as our leader, your actions and the way you are treated reflect on the village. It’s better that it’s never in question. Then he eyes me, a sense of wryness coming through the Bond. If you wish to fight, from what the others have been telling me, I think you’ll have your fill of challenges. Now, if you’re ready, Herbalist has been itching to start visiting the other villages.

  *****

  Four days later, I think back to Catch’s words with a hint of bitterness. The distraction costs me – an orb of water impacts me in the chest and knocks the breath out of me. It then reforms, shifting upwards towards my head.

  Marshalling my own magic, I drop the top layer of my armour, ridding myself of the invading water. I then quickly jog to the side so it can’t just climb right onto my boots again or stick my feet to the floor. It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with that kind of attack.

  I’m just grateful that the Water-Shaper failed to take control of my own body’s fluids: I felt her try at the beginning of the fight, but my Flesh-Shaping was stronger than her Water-Shaping and I was able to fight it off.

  Another ball of water comes for me; I react by sending the fireball I was preparing at it. They meet within my area of influence, so I’m easily able to force my fire to overcome the water, the orb turning into steam.

  Using the steam as cover, I run straight through it, my spear bared. I take some superficial burns but it’s worth it: the surprised samuran takes my weapon straight in her shoulder. I didn’t aim for her chest since I know that the consequences of accidentally killing the other Pathwalker would probably be worse than losing the fight.

  Pulling back, I stab again, at the same time taking control of the poison in both wounds. Dancing backwards, I avoid the samuran’s attempts to hit me with a water orb – harder at such close range.

  She gapes her mouth in frustrated threat and starts throwing orbs of water everywhere. But I’ve already seen this tactic in a previous fight and just retreat backwards. As long as I can avoid being trapped by the water as she’s attempting, I will win this. The poison is inside her already and barely needs my influence to do its work.

  The other Pathwalker seems to know this as her attempts to control the water around her intensify. The water around me forms hands and reaches for me, rolling over the ground like a sapient flood. I dart this way and that, avoiding it sometimes by only a hair’s breadth, at all times keeping an eye on the samuran.

  To distract her, I send a fireball flying at her chest. She backpedals, tripping over her own feet to avoid it, the water going still for a moment as she loses focus.

  And then it’s all over. My poison has weakened her enough that she cannot climb back to her feet. Though I cannot control the second poison which lowers her mana regeneration, it’s also done its work – making the water chase me as it did probably takes quite a lot of mana when she’s on land.

  “Winner, Pathwalker Tamer from the green tribe of the seventh upper mountain,” announces the referee, a leader from a village of the yellow tribe. Apparently there are four tribes in total – the Pathwalker who challenged me was from the red tribe and we travelled to the festival with a group from the blue tribe.

  Stolen story; please report.

  I walk carefully over to the prone Pathwalker, wary in case she decides to attack me despite the fight being called. It would be ‘dishonourable’ of her, and reflect badly on the village, but she wouldn’t be the first to try to attack me while my back was turned.

  Placing my hand over the wound on her shoulder, I summon my venom back. I can’t do anything about the poison which Tarra made for me which works on her mana regeneration, but that’s not likely to kill her. My paralysing venom, however, if it reaches her heart and lungs, quite possibly could.

  Some of the Pathwalkers from my opponent’s village come rushing in to check on their sister, several sending me dirty looks, their jaws slightly gaped in threat.

  “What have you done to her?” one of them demands. I don’t bother sending out an Inspect – I did lots of that at the beginning, but by this point I’ve completely lost track of who I’ve Inspected and who I haven’t. Besides, since most Pathwalkers and Warriors seem to be within certain ranges of resource pools, and repeat Abilities among themselves, there’s not much point in it. Inspect has only gone up two levels since I’ve been here, and both of those were in the first two days – I think I’ll need to Inspect different creatures to make it go up any more.

  “Nothing she didn’t ask for by challenging me,” I tell the Pathwalker shortly. “She’ll be fine with some rest.”

  Sure enough, by the time I step back to my own party, the opponent Pathwalker – probably Water-something by the way the samurans give names – is back on her feet, though not looking particularly stable there.

  “The red tribe of the lower second mountain acknowledges the green tribe of the seventh mountain’s supremacy,” she says weakly. “We thank you for showing us your strength under the gaze of the ancestors and humbly beg you to give us the honour of sharing a carcass with us.”

  It’s all about wordy ritual and tradition here, I’ve come to realise. Fortunately, by this point I’m pretty used to giving the response, much as I might not want to. At least I’ve won the match this time unlike my last fight against a Water-Shaper.

  “We accept your thanks and your offer to share a carcass in the presence of the ancestors.”

  We follow the other group of Pathwalkers back to their camp. The unfamiliar samurans seem to have calmed their hostility towards me since their Pathwalker was obviously able to stand and walk – albeit with some support – but some of it still remains. Seeing as practically all the samurans treat me with wariness at best, and outright hostility from some of the elders at worst, I’m pretty sure due to the fact that I’m not a samuran. I’ve seen a few other challenges between Pathwalkers, even between leaders. They’ve all been far more amiable afterwards.

  Still, I suppose the fact that there hasn’t yet been an attempt to hunt and eat me is enough of a victory, though I was more concerned about that possibility in the first two days after we arrived, before the rumour had spread around all the villages about my presence. Now they just look at me warily instead of with hunger.

  All the Pathwalkers from my own village have accompanied us to the other village along with a group of four Warriors. According to Tarra, the latter are more about flexing than anything else – if any Pathwalker attacks another around a carcass, there would be severe consequences. It would be better for that village to pack up and go straight home, and not even dare attend any future Festival for at least a decade than to stick around, from what I can tell. Of course, the protection might be waived in my case, but not for my Pathwalkers so they’re a good shield for me.

  We sit down around the carcass and make the usual small talk. Happy, and Hunter have each brought a couple of small gifts to offer to the losing party – another part of the tradition.

  The leader accepts the gifts with measured thanks, but I can tell from her spikes that she’s actually pretty impressed. The spear with a metal head and small dagger are probably enough to wow them, but when Hunter presents a bowl which slowly collects water from the air around and another which heats up the contents to the boiling point of water, I sense that impressed has turned into awe.

  The Pathwalker looks at me, her eyes round, her spikes flashing multi colours in her excitement.

  “We are not worthy of these gifts,” she says, though I notice how she grips onto the water bowl as if she fears I might take them away.

  “The gift is of the giver, not of the receiver,” I answer. I thought it was a pretty pompous way of responding, but apparently it’s just as much the right thing to say this time as it has been the last ten times this has happened.

  Not that we’ve been the winning party every time – I’ve lost three matches in total including my last with a Water-shaper. That’s how I knew to look out for the trap this time – I lost because I was caught and then swarmed and drowned by the water. I did learn that I can now survive a lot longer underwater before losing consciousness than before, though.

  There have also been stronger tribes we’ve visited to present our gifts to, but that was in the context of them being the stronger party. Then, the gifts were more numerous and more humbly given.

  We continue sharing the carcass, the kind of small-talk now far more familiar to me even if I still don’t enjoy it. I’ve never liked that self-aggrandising rubbish, preferring actions to speak louder than words, but apparently that’s how the game is played here.

  After it’s all done, we return to our camp. I have to say that I’ve noticed an attitude change in the samurans we pass even if they aren’t exactly friendly. I suspect only the fact that either Catch or another Warrior stuck like glue to me any time I was out of our camp area in the first couple of days prevented some samurans from trying to get in a sneaky blow. After all, if they could pretend that they didn’t realise I was a Pathwalker, they might have been able to get away with it.

  Now, though, I’ve beaten the Pathwalkers of ten different villages, fought with three others, and gained the recognition of a further five. I’ve proven that I’m not just an oddity, nor that my village is weaker for having me as a leader. In fact, it’s the reverse – apparently the shaman lost against three of the Pathwalkers I defeated and, because of how I’ve helped more samurans Evolve, they’re actually in a better place numbers-wise than last time, if only for Pathwalkers.

  Just three more to go and then we’ll have finished the obligatory social rounds. After that, I won’t be needed any more – the other Pathwalkers will be able to take it from there.

  Watch out, Tree warns. A hostile village approaches.

  We all turn to see a party of twelve Pathwalkers coming nearer, their spikes and body language expressing aggression and challenge. I groan internally – I’ve already done three challenges today. And this one doesn’t look like a push-over.

  Not good, Tarra tells me, her mental voice nervous. This is the red tribe of the twelfth lower mountain. Shaman had a big argument with their leader last time, and managed to beat her in the ensuing battle. They lost influence because of it. She’ll be looking to get revenge. And they are only just below the lead village of their tribe in ranking.

  Great. I stand up as the other party approaches, the other Pathwalkers of my village standing with me.

  “We are the red tribe of the twelfth mountain,” the leader announces before I can speak. “We challenge you, green tribe of the seventh upper mountain.”

  “Alright,” I say tiredly. “Let’s clear some space and get to it.”

  “Ah, you think I speak of a mere battle between leaders?” the other Pathwalker says, a nasty combination of colours flickering through her scales, dominated by the orange of scorn. “I think not. You aren’t even one of the People; you’re a jumped-up prey-beast. I won’t sully my claws on you. No. Under the gaze of the ancestors in this sacred place, I challenge you to a Hunt.”

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