Dem slipped on the leather shirt made for him and then the leggings. It felt good wearing nice things. He pushed the privacy curtain to one side and stepped forward. "All done."
Ai pursed her lips. "Very nice, dasai."
Gram stepped closer, smoothing the wrinkles around his shoulders before fixing the collar. "We should talk about the snake skin, Dem."
"What about it?" Dem asked.
"The tribal seamstresses have said they can make eight shirts and one pair of boots from the snake skin," Gram replied.
"Only the skin on the top of the head is suitable for boots," Ai added.
"Okay... Why tell me?"
Yada shared a smile with her mom. "The Huntmaster has stated that the kill is yours. You are under no obligation, but the Clan chiefs wish to purchase five of the shirts from you."
Dem nodded in agreement. "Whatever you think is best. We can upgrade our lodge if they give us a reasonable price."
Ai smiled but didn't say anything.
Dem turned toward the doorway. "Huntmaster Dern is here."
A moment later, Dern pushed the flap to one side. "You couldn't have heard me."
Dem shrugged slightly but didn't answer.
Dern stared at the young tribal for a moment before gesturing with his head. "Time to go."
The camp was set up so that the more prominent clans inhabited the center of the temporary settlement while the smaller ones hugged the outer edges. From listening to Ai speak, Dem knew that the two largest clans were called the Bearclaw and the Frostridge. The Frostridge was the only clan that didn't participate in the migration. Instead, they built a permanent settlement in northern Galieo and made the trek south to meet up with the rest of the tribals.
The chieftain table had been set up at the center of the Frostridge camp. Dem walked wide-eyed as he followed Dern's winding path to their destination.
"Frostridge is wealthy?" Dem asked.
Dern nodded without turning back. "They mine rare stones and metals in the north. I hear they even have people with yellow hair."
Dem smiled at Dern's back. But, of course, the street rat's exposure to other races and cultures was much broader than the Huntmasters. He paused his step; the scent of something sweet lingered in the air. Then, distracted, he stopped abruptly to avoid running into Dern's back. "Hmm?"
Dern bowed politely at a young woman with pale blond hair. He motioned for her to precede since their paths had converged. After she walked by without acknowledging either of them, the Huntmaster glanced over his shoulder. "She smells nice."
Dem shrugged; wearing scented oils was commonplace among city dwellers. "If you like that sort of thing."
Dern stopped near a long rack displaying the sand snake's stretched-out skin. The flesh and underlying fat were scraped away, and a curative paste had been applied. According to Ai, the curing process would take several days. During that time, measurements would be taken from those lucky enough to receive garments.
The chieftain tables were set in a large square with a one-meter gap on one side so the servers could attend to the leaders. The bench seating bordered the outside of the table only. With Dern talking to the clan chief, Dem took a moment to take in his surroundings.
Long tables were being assembled while both men and women were putting the finishing touches on the First Day feast.
"You are Demitri Swiftwind?" An unfamiliar voice asked from behind him.
Demetri turned to face a square-jawed man with gray hair and blue eyes. He wore the same white pelt draped over his shoulders that the other members of the Frostridge clan displayed; it was accompanied by a gold braided cord that identified him as a clan chief. "Yes."
"I'm Taigon Frostridge. I hear that you are just fourteen?" The man smiled suddenly. "Is that the knife you used to kill the sand snake?"
Dem nodded and withdrew it from his belt to present it hilt-first. "Yes," he answered.
"Doubtful he was even involved," a well-muscled teen with braided brown hair and a sleeveless white shirt glared at Dem with a smirk that begged to be slapped off.
The street rat wasn't bothered by the words. He knew the type from countless altercations on the streets. The young man approached with the perfumed female that Dem had noticed earlier.
"You will apologize immediately," Taigon frowned at the younger man.
"Father... Is that really necessary? He looks like he can barely hold that knife." The woman with the pale hair smiled as if she had said something funny.
Dem spotted Dern and the Swiftwind clan chief watching them. The Huntmaster had explicitly said to let no one look down on them. "Neither of you would last more than a handful of seconds with me in a knife fight." The street rat smiled pleasantly. It was like being back in Thaigmaal; they always pick on the small ones. "Pick up one of those serving knives and come at me. At the same time, to make it fair."
Taigon shook his head slightly. "My daughter and her Whitehill friend misspoke, let's just for..."
"I don't see the harm in it," Huntmaster Dern approached with a wide smile. "These serving knives have rounded tips; a few scratches is a good lesson."
Instantly the area around them was cleared out; Taigon retreated with a reluctant frown, leaving his daughter and her friend from the Whitehill clan.
"Ai Swiftwind?" An out-of-breath Telomere raised his voice outside of the tent his friend slept in.
Tam peeked from behind the flap, frowning at Telomere and the young woman accompanying him. "Ai is getting ready for the First Day feast."
Telo took a moment to calm himself. "Dem is going to fight with Reyka Frostridge and Tier Whitehill."
Tam glanced from Telo to Yena, her face showing a complete lack of concern. "Why would they pick on my dasai?"
Yena frowned at the Swiftwind girl. Why does everyone call him dasai? "It's going to be a knife fight!"
Tam's pretty face lit up instantly. "Wait here!"
A moment later, Tam exited the tent with Ai in tow. "Lead the way."
Telo nodded and started walking toward the center. "We should hurry if you want to stop them."
"Stop them? Tam snorted before glancing at her friend. "Going to try and stop them?"
Ai shook her head, her smile flashing brightly. "With my dasai's size, we should get good odds."
"You're betting?" Telo skirted a group that was heading in the same direction. "Aren't you worried he'll get hurt?"
Ai laughed at his words. "Dem killed the sand snake even after it got the jump on us. Had they chosen spears, I'd try and stop the fight."
"Wait... Dem killed the sand snake? The giant one?" Yena asked.
"Reyka..." Tam sped up when Telo broke into a jog. "She tried to say I cheated during the archery competition last year."
The crowd's din rose substantially as news of the extempore competition spread like wildfire.
Ai shoved a leather pouch into Tam's hands. "Everything on Dem to win."
Tam flashed her a grin and nodded before turning to Telo. "I know you are concerned, but they have no chance of beating him in a knife fight. Absolutely no chance."
"I've got a few coins!" Yena clapped excitedly. "Would you let me add to your bet?"
Tam nodded and motioned for Telo's sister to follow. "Let's check out the odds."
Dem stared down at the serving knife with which his dagger had been switched. It was round at the tip, but the length and weight felt comfortable. He glanced up when someone approached him.
The Swiftwind shaman fixed him with an amused stare. "Fighting again?"
"They started it," Dem claimed.
The shaman's features were hard to read under the white paint that covered her face. "I heard you started this one."
Dem shook his head in denial. "That's not how this works."
"Enlighten me." The shaman removed a small tin from her waist and then dipped two fingers into it. "Remove your shirt; you don't want to ruin your family's hard work."
Dem slipped off his shirt and started folding it. "That Whitehill person is trying to impress the Frostridge girl. Instead of relying on his abilities, he sought to diminish the Swiftwind clan and me."
The shaman relieved him of his shirt before using her fingers to draw the clan symbol on his chest. "Shallow cuts only and nothing on the girl's face."
Dem nodded. "What about the other one?"
The shaman lowered her voice. "Feel free to mark him up a bit."
Dem laughed at her expression, unsure if she was being serious. However, his mirth was cut off when a familiar face stepped into the cleared area. "Dosu... This isn't my fault."
Ai ruffled his hair with both hands. "You aren't in trouble, dasai. In fact..." She glanced over her shoulder at Tier Whitehill. "Last year at the gathering, he said something awful to me."
Dem's dark eyes focused on Tier. "He did?"
Ai nodded. "He hurt my feelings. Kick that bastard in the face for me."
"Everyone out! All participants come to the center," Dern shouted from a few meters away.
Ai backed away until she joined the spectating crowd. She glanced up when a hand touched her shoulder. "Shaman..."
The woman flashed a smile. "What awful thing did Tier say to you last year?"
Ai tapped her chin as if trying to remember. "Hello, I think..."
Dern motioned for the three youths to come forward. The Whitehill teen looked confident, while his partner seemed to be trying to count the scars that riddled Dem's arms and torso.
"Where did you get all those scars?" Reyka gripped the serving blade in one hand.
Dem shrugged. "Trying to stay alive."
Dern held up his hand to silence any further speaking. "This is a good learning experience. Let's do our best and not try to inflict any permanent injuries. Questions?"
Tier nodded. "Can I have a spear match with you once I put him down?"
Dern snorted. "Yes. Question Dem?"
Dem nodded. "Would a few scars be okay?"
"Of course. Scars teach us important lessons."
Dern walked to the edge of the small square that had been cleared out. "Whenever you are ready."
"You should forfeit, Dem. I can see you are courageous despite your size." Reyka gripped her blade nervously. Both men and women trained with spears and bows, but the dagger felt odd in her hand.
Dem held up his blade like he was teaching a class. "Why are you holding your knife like that? Do you think you are cutting bread? After I take it from you, grip it like this."
Tier sensed Reyka's nervousness and stepped forward. "He won't come near you. I'll end this quickly."
Dem watched as the young man walked forward. When he was within three meters, the street rat attacked.
Dem flashed directly toward Tier; he stepped inside a clumsy slash and slid past his opponent like a shadow. Then, before anyone could follow the movement, he appeared in front of Reyka. Slamming the butt of his blade against the outside of her wrist, he kicked her knife away when it fell to the ground.
Dodging to one side, he avoided an attempted backstab by Tier.
Stepping closer, he grabbed the well-muscled arm while pressing his heel into the back of his opponent's knee. With a slight push, Tier collapsed to one knee, his eyes growing wide when he felt the flat of Dem's blade drawn across his neck.
"You're a corpse," Dem dodged away, his eyes darting toward the other fighter. He nodded approvingly when he noticed that she had changed her grip to match his. "Very good. Keeping your weight forward like that is a bad idea."
Reyka charged him, her blade held low while she lunged forward. Dem brushed it aside with his weapon and swept her lead leg with a low kick. He sliced a shallow wound across her knuckles when she fell to the ground. Then, sensing another attack, he dived over his fallen opponent, laughing when Tier landed on top of her.
"Maybe I misunderstood the teams. Shouldn't you be fighting me?"
Dem backed away, giving the two of them time to regroup. This time they spread out and advanced together. He darted between them, feinting an attack to draw them in; he spun behind the male and slammed the butt of his weapon into the base of Tier's skull. When he collapsed to his hands and knees, Dem moved past him and used his blade to block Reyka's slash.
Faking a counter-slash at her face, he easily tripped her when she retreated. Then, instead of pursuing, he spun and kicked the stunned Tier in the face.
Reyka eyed her unconscious teammate; the vicious kick to the face had been echoed by the crunch of bone. "I see now that we were mistaken, Demitri Swiftwind. Would you accept my forfeit along with an apology?"
Dem smiled. "The footwork between dagger and spear is vastly different. Keep your weight centered; leaning forward or backward causes you to over-commit."
Reyka returned his smile and released a long breath. "Thank you for your instruction." She glanced down at her bleeding knuckles. "I learned a valuable lesson."
Dem shook his head. "More than one. That cut on your hand isn't a lesson; it's because I took you seriously."
Reyka watched as some of Tier's clan members helped him away. "What do you mean?"
"Open your hand. What do you see?" Dem asked.
Reyka glanced down at her injured hand; the blood had seeped between her fingers and onto the hilt. "The handle of my weapon is slick with blood."
Dem nodded. "In an even fight, a slippery hilt could be the difference between walking away or being tossed into the Taig river. So take everyone who stands in front of you seriously."
Reyka bowed slightly before turning to face her father, who was approaching. "I'm sorry, father. Please forgive my foolishness."
Taigon hid the surprise he felt with a wide smile. "Have your hand bandaged." He dismissed her with a wave before focusing on Dem. "Let us sit together at the feast, Dem."
Dem glanced at Dern, who nodded in confirmation. "Of course."