Hangman bent over a stream, washed the monk’s leaf juice off his hands, rinsed out his mouth, and washed his face, neck, and chest.

  He was still squatting there enjoying the rare sensation of cool on his skin when Viking came down the bank toward him.

  Viking squatted down next to Hangman and cupped some water into his mouth. “Vulture just woke up. The heat is down in his leg. Thank you for saving my brother.”

  “Of course,” Hangman exclaimed. “I wouldn’t let him die. He’s too good a man to lose.”

  Viking cocked his eyebrow and studied Hangman on the side. “You’ll be Kral one day. You’re too smart and skilled not to be.”

  Hangman looked away. “I will never be Kral. Boxer will become Kral after Butcher. Even Magnet has a better chance of becoming Kral than I do.”

  “Boxer will never become Kral,” Viking snarled. “The men wouldn’t take him.”

  “It doesn’t matter because too many people are in line before me. I’m the youngest man here apart from Cross. The men wouldn’t take me, either.”

  “You’re wrong, brother,” Viking returned. “The men would more likely take you than Boxer, Magnet, or maybe even Shadow. Everyone respects you.”

  “If they respect me, that’s the best I can hope for as a warrior of our Clan.” Hangman looked up. “What is Butcher’s plan, now that we know the weapons aren’t in the west country?”

  “Butcher doesn’t make plans. He waits to hear what you and Shadow say.”

  Hangman tried not to grin. “Then what is Shadow’s plan?”

  Viking pierced him with an unwavering stare. “What is your plan, little brother?”

  “I don’t have plans. I follow my Kral’s orders.”

  Viking snorted. “Please. Don’t insult me. All right. If that’s the way you want it, what would your plan be if you were Kral in place of Butcher and Shadow?”

  Hangman looked down at his hands. He shouldn’t let his cousin’s flattery tempt him into voicing his opinion, not even between themselves.

  He found it impossible not to dwell on the weapons. His mind wandered in quiet moments and came up with strategies to get the weapons the Godless needed to use against the Renegades.

  He lowered his voice before he spoke. He didn’t want anyone else to hear him contradict his father’s and uncle’s decisions.

  “We’ve searched the west and the east country. That leaves the south and the north.”

  “We already know these mountains don’t exist in the north,” Viking pointed out.

  “I know,” Hangman murmured. “That leaves the south and Uncle already decided against that.”

  “Would you go to the south if you were Kral?” Viking asked.

  Hangman shrugged. “I don’t know because I’m not Kral. I might decide it was worth the risk if I was responsible for all the lives the Renegades would cost if they invaded. They might yet invade and then it might be necessary to go south anyway.” He shook that off. “I don’t know what I would do because I’m not Kral and I’m not responsible for all those people. There is no point in talking about it.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Viking frowned down at the water. “You may have a point. At any rate, we’ll be going south soon anyway.”

  “Not far enough. We would have to go farther south than we’ve ever been. We would already know about these mountains if they were anywhere to the south we’ve already been.”

  Viking clasped Hangman’s shoulder and stood up. “Come back to the camp and see Vulture, little brother. He wants to thank you himself.”

  Viking climbed the bank on his way back to the camp. Hangman stayed where he was. He didn’t want Vulture thanking him—or Fang thanking him—or Chaos thanking him—or any of the others thanking him for saving Vulture—as if Hangman would have done anything else.

  He splashed some more water on his face. Butcher wouldn’t decide anything today apart from returning to Godless territory so the party could meet up with the rest of their band.

  The party accomplished their objectives for this trip. Cross had completed his initiation and the men had climbed the Jagged Points to scout the west country.

  The Godless didn’t need to stay here anymore. It was too close to Renegade territory. There were no more benefits that could possibly justify the risks.

  He didn’t feel like going back yet. Life felt so much less complicated when he went out into the jungle by himself.

  He didn’t have to worry about consulting anyone or letting them make decisions for him. He could trust his own judgment about what risks to take, what was important enough for him to do, and how to do it.

  He lingered by the stream and used the time to listen to the jungle noises. Everything sounded peaceful—as peaceful as it could be as long as he considered the sounds of hunting, capturing, and eating normal.

  None of the dangerous species came after him. He could take his time and catch up with his relatives later.

  They knew him well enough not to wait for him. He went off by himself often enough.

  No one expected him to act like the other men of his band. He seemed to be on a completely different path than every other man he’d ever known.

  Everyone he knew seemed to accept the same thing about him. The scars on his face only confirmed in everyone’s minds that he was different. The rules didn’t apply to him unless he applied them to himself.

  He eventually got to his feet, but he still didn’t feel like going back—not yet. He didn’t want Fang and his sons to make a fuss about Hangman saving Vulture.

  Hangman hung his bags across his chest and climbed into the canopy, but he didn’t go in the direction of his relatives’ camp. He went the opposite way—back toward the west.

  He shouldn’t have. He didn’t really think about where he was going. He just wanted to wander by himself until he absolutely had to go back.

  He would have liked to skip all the weeping and crying his mother, aunts, and female cousins would do when Cross went home.

  Then there would be the days of sitting around the camp with nothing to do until Butcher decided on the band’s next move.

  Hangman stopped in another fork between trees. He settled himself in the crotch and took some of the dried Gorlock meat out of his bag. He didn’t mind sitting around with nothing to do as long as he did it out in the jungle by himself.

  He sometimes wondered in these peaceful moments if it wouldn’t be better if he didn’t belong to a Clan at all. His life would be simpler if he did everything by himself without relying on others to make decisions for him.

  He didn’t agree with very many decisions his father and Butcher made. They had to consider a thousand other factors besides whether a certain decision was actually the best one.

  Hangman found it impossible not to second-guess almost every decision they made simply because he wasn’t the one making it.

  He always made sure to do his second-guessing silently. He never raised any outright objections. That would constitute betrayal of his Kral—not to mention a grave insult to his father.

  No one could survive in this jungle without a Clan. Hangman would have died the night of the Krakelow attack if Viking hadn’t chopped those coils off him. Things like that happened all the time.

  It just happened by coincidence that Hangman was the one to save Vulture last night. It could just as easily have gone the other way. Then Hangman would be the one thanking whoever saved him.

  He eventually sighed and stood up to leave the area. He would always belong to a Clan. There was no other way around it.

  Besides, his Clan needed him. He wouldn’t leave his mother, younger brothers, female relatives, and all the children unprotected.

  The Clan needed every able-bodied man to work together to defend the band. That was Hangman’s only real consideration at this point.

  He turned away and grabbed the nearest branch to travel back toward the east to meet up with the others.

  That was the moment when he heard voices in the distance. They were coming from farther west.

  No one should have been over there. The Godless definitely weren’t over there. Only one group of people could be coming from the west—the Renegade Clan.

  End of Chapter 13.

  ? 2024 by Theo Mann

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