4. Yva

4

YVA

T he counselor stares at me. He has a piece of technology in front of him that he keeps writing on. Every time he asks me a question, he notes my answer. I hope his whisperer translates my words correctly.

While the door to the room is closed, the guard who walked me over here is on the other side. I’d like to believe he is there for my protection, but it is much more likely that he is there for the counselor. The humans do not trust me, even though it is the humans who attacked us.

So far, the man on the other side of the desk has asked about my tribe and what it means to be banished. I am sure brothers told him the same things that I am, or will tell him the same thing when they speak with him.

All fourth born sons are banished.

However, different tribes prepare their fourth born sons differently. Something I hadn’t realized until talking to my brothers.

“So you learned how to hunt and fight to increase your odds of survival?” The man is frowning as if confused.

“That is correct.”

“But the only way you can return home is if you have a mate.”

“No. The only way I can return home is if I bring a woman. She is then free to choose her own mate from the warriors in my tribe.”

The lines in his forehead deepen. “And then what would happen?”

“I do not understand the question.” Perhaps my whisperer is not translating correctly.

He stares at me for several heartbeats. Perhaps he did not understand his own question. “Let’s pretend you have taken a woman and brought her to your tribe. What do you do?”

“That depends. Did she choose me as a mate or not?” While the incentive of being able to return home with a woman has always existed, no banished warrior has ever returned to my tribe. There are rumors that a banished warrior returned several generations ago to a different tribe.

And while we all dreamed of returning, I think we all knew it was a lie. Something for us to talk about around the campfire and for our parents to cling to. Does any tribe really expect a banished warrior to return when no one expects them to live for more than a year or two at most?

“Yes, she chose you.”

If she chose me, it is because my mother is chief, but the outcome is the same. “Then I work to ensure her happiness.”

“And what work is that?” he presses.

“I would be part of the hunting parties. The hunting parties prepare the meat and preserve it. We also prepare the hide for the leather workers, prepare the bones for use and carve them into handles for blades, or beads, or spoons. One cannot hunt in the depths of winter, yet people always need things made from bone.” Whittling and carving of bone and wood is an important skill.

“So you dealt with anything that involved a carcass?”

I nod, agreeing with him.

“And that would be your contribution to your tribe?”

“And also protecting my tribe from invaders.” I hold his gaze. “I am the most skilled fighter amongst my brothers.”

He makes a noise. “We did not offer you a place in our colony to hold a weapon.”

“No, you want to learn how we survive. How our tribes thrive.”

“Out of everyone I’ve spoken to, you have the least skills.”

I give him a small smile, wishing I could send a charge through his body to make his eyeballs pop. “You would not say that if your stomach is grumbling from starvation.”

“We have enough men to hunt, and we do not need more guards.”

I understand what he isn’t saying: they do not need me.

“Do your guards know how to prepare the carcass without wasting any part?”

“It will not take them long to learn, and your leather worker will teach others how to prepare it and make shoes.”

I shake my head. It is not the leather worker’s responsibility to prepare the leather. “And when you are done learning, what do you intend to do with us? Will we remain valuable members of your colony?”

He licks his lip, and his heart rate increases as he panics.

I lean back in the seat to appear less of a threat. “You’re not a leader of the colony, so it’s not your place to decide. I understand that as my mother was chief. But I also understand how these things work. I need to be useful and to earn my place. You do not want me to hold one of your weapons because you do not trust me.” I pause for effect. “The feeling is mutual. However, I will never act in a way that will bring harm to my brothers or their human mates.”

He flinches as if being reminded that my brothers have human mates is offensive. What a greedy little man he is. There are three women for every man. He should have made a choice already. I wonder if he is one of the men Sabine and Ruby talked about. The kind who doesn’t want to make a choice because he wants to sample as many as possible so he can feel important.

Pathetic.

“I need to assign you a job.”

I can think of several, but he has already discounted them. “And you are not willing to teach me how to do something that will be useful.”

“That was not my instruction…maybe that can be done in the future.”

I doubt that very much. Besides, learning how to fix their technology is not something a person can pick up in a season. I make it easy for him. “What is the job nobody enjoys doing?”

He is silent for several heartbeats, staring at his device. His heartbeat is too fast. I wonder if he realizes I can tell how nervous he is. That he smells like fear and sweat? Does he expect me to lash out if given a job I do not want?

I am curious where my brothers will be assigned.

Aldit will be on leatherwork and shoe making, that is obvious. Vari and Orik have the sock making, which they started with Bridget. Perhaps Edilk and Sunif are helping with the food situation, the hunting and the crops. Tiril has been teaching the humans about us.

I’m hoping we can all sit together tonight and discuss our new assignments and situation.

“It is not about what people like, it is about what the colony needs,” he says without meeting my gaze.

“Your colony is not so different from my tribe. While everyone would like to be an artisan, that is not possible. We only need so many silver beads and so many pots.” But in the depth of winter, when there is not much else to do, creating things of beauty fills the soul. People decorated their clothes, made music, and told stories. They wrote the accounts of the summer months and contemplated ways to improve the village.

There were discussions about new ideas and test models made. Some were a failure, but we all learned, and everyone was invited to contribute to solving problems from how to harvest faster, make a new wheel that was stronger, hot water in the communal bathroom, better latrines…

When tribes met for trade and mating, there was always discussion of the new ideas and inventions. No one laughed at the absurdity. When I was ten, I went to one and someone came up with a solution to a problem that had been raised when I was a baby.

There is a little time for beauty and creation in the life of a banished warrior.

“Yes, exactly.” He nods as though pleased with me. “You are no longer wearing your clothes.”

“I am not. They need washing…and it has been many years since I have had a new set of clothes.” I pluck at the short-sleeved shirt. “I am grateful for their addition to my room.”

“And how do you wash your clothes?”

I blink. Is he serious? Did he never learn how to wash clothes? “In the river. On a warm sunny day since I only had the clothes that I was wearing.” Now I have a new set of human style clothes.

“Is it common to only have one set?”

“No, it’s because I’m banished. We live with only what we can carry. We need to move fast to avoid being hunted by other tribes and predators.”

“Which one of you repaired the clothes?”

I don’t know where this question is going. “We repaired our own clothes, though some are more skilled than others.”

“But you can wash and mend clothing?”

“I can also drink and breathe.” Looking after your possessions is not a skill. Though from the look on his face, I can guess that he has never held a needle and fixed anything.

“We have a laundry for washing and repairs.”

“What is a laundry?”

“It is the place where we send our clothes to be washed.”

They send their clothes away to be washed and mended, taking no responsibility for what happens to their things. “And you do not wash them in the river.”

“No, we have machines. And the people who operate them also fix any damage to the clothes. If the clothing is beyond repair, they issue replacements.”

“And who makes the replacements?”

“That is something that is being looked into.”

They cannot make their own clothes. They do not know how to fix or wash their own clothes. It is no wonder they also do not know how to feed themselves. “I can wash and fix clothes. The only thing worse than a hungry body is a cold one. Every tribe takes care of those too young to tend those needs.”

He takes a moment to process my words. I do not think the whisperer translates the edge I implied because he seems quite relieved from the sigh and easing of his shoulders. Or perhaps he does not care that I insinuated he is of no more use than a child…a child still in swaddling.

“Very true. I’ll put you down for the laundry. Someone will come to your quarters tomorrow morning to collect you and show you where it is. That person will also show you how to do the job.”

“They are to be my mentor?”

“Yes.” His initial relief is vanishing, and he is assessing me.

“Excellent.” At least they care enough to show me how to do my assigned job.

His gaze narrows.

I bite back on the sigh. Is there nothing that pleases this man? “Is there a problem?”

“Um…why are you willing to work in the laundry?”

“Because aside from food and housing, clothing is essential to survival. No one likes to smell like shit because their clothes haven’t been washed in a very long time.” That’s when I realize these people do not value those whose job it is to ensure they are clothed.

I wonder if they also treat their hunters and farmers poorly.

What dysfunctional tribe have we joined?