you have more things here, I will keep them safe. Now go. Warriors, protect her with your lives.”
“Yes, Swordmaster!”
“Brank’ox,” I try again, “come with us. There is nothing of value here, nothing we can’t rebuild. I want you to come, too.”
“Go now, warriors!” he says. “Carry her if you must. She’s quite light.”
Vera’zan grabs my upper arm.
“Damn it, Brank’ox!” My lips are quivering, and there’s a thickness in my throat. “I don’t want to leave you!”
He fixes me with his eyes. “All you have done here is work towards leaving me. Of course, that was the right thing to do. I love you, but I must protect myself, too. That seems to be the only thing I’m able to do. You will be much safer with these two real slayers. Be happy. I will remember you with joy. Vera’zan, if you three are not gone from here in two heartbeats...”
“Come along, please, Dolly. There’s not much time. We don’t want to freeze, either.” The warriors quickly drag me with them, through the snow that’s already up to my hips, out the door, and down the hill.
They drape a long fur coat over my shoulders, fasten it with a leather belt, and begin the long and difficult walk.
Before the hill of Old Bune disappears in the furious blizzard, I glance behind me. There’s no sign of him.
But there is another figure, much closer. He’s leaning up against a tree, looking at me with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Isualic the Old!” I exclaim.
Vera’zan stops and turns. “What was that?”
I point. “Dragon!”
They both whirl around and draw their swords.
Isualic stares right into my soul from ten yards away, then gives me an evil smirk and vanishes in a white blur.
“Shall we follow?” Yruin’ox asks.
“Follow where?” Vera’zan responds. “They can move fast, even in this weather. Keep going.”
Old Bune slowly disappears behind us.
I can’t help myself. God, the sad look in his eyes...
I try to keep the sobs to a minimum, but I don’t actually care that much if they hear me. It feels like everything is over, anyway.
29
- Brank’ox -
I leave the door open. Partly because now it doesn’t matter, partly because I want her to suddenly stand there.
But what would I do if she did?
No, this is the right thing. If Dolly is to have a man, it must be a real slayer. Not a fake one.
I sit under the roof, considering just standing out in the snow to be buried in it.
But that would be a useless death, meaningless and childish. I still have a duty to my new tribe, and I must think of how to fulfill it. My first plan was sound enough. The treasure turned out to be different than I thought, but it’s still a treasure. Surely, it can still be used.
I sit and watch the snow grow as high as I am tall, then beyond that.
I’m not worried about her out in the jungle now. She has two good men with her, two real slayers who will keep her perfectly safe. Even in the snow. It’s not the snow that’s the problem, it’s the cold. And all three have thick furs.
I don’t mind the dark or the cold. It all matches the way I feel inside.
A new plan slowly takes shape as I stare out into the cold and the snow.
My old tribe is still there. And being its chief has certain advantages I might be able to make some use of.
I’ll wait until the snow stops falling. Then I’ll make my way there.
After all, I was never cast out.
30
- Dolly -
The snow stops falling, and there’s less of it the closer we get to the village. It’s still cold, though.
I’m numb everywhere. My feet, my hand, my ears. And my heart. So fucking numb, it might as well be dead.
Such a stubborn man! Why did he have to be so abrupt about this? Couldn’t we have stayed and talked about it? Fake slayer? What the hell even is that?
Is he right, though? I have been working to make gunpowder so we can chase the dragons away. And the purpose of chasing the dragons away is so the spidermonkeys, the ‘gray ghosts’, will let us enter Bune again so we can escape in the intact spaceship inside it.
I guess this had to happen at some point.
I keep trudging along, not really noting the passage of time. The fur coat is much too long and trails me like an old-fashioned cue.