1. Blood and Moonlight

ENTIN

CHAPTER 1

Entin grimaced, then ripped the last of the elder marsh fronds from the ground with a sigh. He hucked the fibrous strands into his basket and rubbed his aching hands. He longed for nothing more than to go and sit silently by the fire, eat a bowl of stew, then crawl into bed and get the day over with. But he knew that wouldn't be an option. Not tonight.

"The hunters are back!" a woman cried out from farther down the riverbank.

The words struck him like a blow. Entin grew rigid for a moment, then retrieved his basket from the ground. The goosefoot squashes he'd filled it with earlier made it cumbersome to carry, and he struggled with the burden. A horn blared, and women and children from all corners of the tribe abandoned their tasks and games to gather and welcome the returning hunters.

Today was the Festival of the Moon, a bittersweet occasion marking the end of his people's stay in Summerhome and the beginning of their migration south for the winter. It had once been his favorite time of year, filled with joy and anticipation. Now, it only reminded him of what an outcast he was, even amongst those he'd known and depended on all his life.

For generations, his tribe meticulously planned pregnancies and births in adherence to the lunar calendar. A child conceived in the coming days would be born in the comfort and safety of the following year's spring, a season of renewal and hope. It was an ideal time to bring a new life into the world. And so, after the feast tonight, the tribe would engage in the sacred act of coupling.

But not him, not Entin.

He wasn't sure when they'd figured him out. Or how. For Entin, it had always seemed that others could see him far more clearly than he saw himself. Somehow, they had known he was different right from the start. So he'd never been on a hunt, nor asked to participate in the coupling. He'd been whisked away from the other boys from a young age. While they had been taught to brawl and hunt, their days spent whooping and playing, he'd been forced to work and learn amongst the women.

Over many years, they taught him to garden. They showed him how to distinguish which plants were medicine and which were poison. They even showed him how to preserve food and cure and mend skins. And they'd hated him openly the whole time they'd been forced to do so. He had never belonged.

Entin approached the assemblage of hide-wrapped structures his tribe inhabited. The nearer he got, the more his pace seemed to slow. The moccasins on his feet were old and frayed, and he could feel the cool mud he plodded on despite the protection they promised. His thoughts drifted to the toil of making another pair. It would likely take him the whole winter.

As Entin reached the village center, the tribe had already begun to process the pile of meat the men had returned with. Some was carried away to be made into pemmican, and women were carting it off to the outdoor cooking fire, where it would roast over the coming hours for tonight's feast. None would taste it until the moon rose high into the sky… none but Balru. Entin's eye twitched when he saw him.

"Your hunters have returned!" Balru boomed.

A group of young women had gathered around him, jockeying to be amongst the dozens he'd likely impregnate over the coming nights. He grinned at them with the same cocky smile Entin had hated since they were boys. Balru was strikingly handsome. And he had outgrown all the other men in the tribe by a young age. He was enormous now. The year prior, when they'd both been only twenty-three, he had bullied his way into becoming the tribe's youngest chief ever. He was the father of nearly a third of the village children already.

Entin watched uncomfortably as Balru grabbed a hunk of raw meat from the ground and ripped a chunk of it off with his teeth. Blood dribbled down his chin in messy rivulets as he chewed the mastodon flesh, shamelessly flaunting his privilege. Entin looked at his basket and then back to the asshole everyone seemed to admire so much and lost whatever appetite he'd built over the hours of labor he'd just finished.

"It looks like our women have been up to much in our stead!" Balru said between chews.

Entin knew Balru's attention would inevitably turn to him, as it often did. And he wasn't wrong. Balru, still working on the meat, roved his eyes across the crowd until they fell squarely on him.

"Why don't you come up here, Entin, and show the men what you've done for us today," Balru said when he'd finally finished the steak.

People began to stare at Entin, and his cheeks flared with heat at the unwanted attention. His hands started to shake so violently that the vegetables in his basket rattled together.

"Come now, don't be shy. If you've been a good boy and done something worthwhile for the tribe, I might let you watch while I make a child tonight," Balru said.

He grabbed one of his admirers by the waist and pulled her against him. She giggled at Entin as Balru groped her openly. To Entin's disgust, everyone stared at Balru like he was a local deity. And maybe for them, he was. But to Entin, he had always been a demon—a huge, hulking demon that everyone fucking adored. But Entin approached him nonetheless. He felt he had no choice, and trembled as he set his basket on the ground before the colossal chief.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Balru mocked.

He picked up one of his gourds.

"Look what Entin hunted today!" he exclaimed, holding it up for everyone to see.

Everyone laughed.

Entin's eyes began to water in shame, and he clenched his fist to keep himself from crying.

"Would anyone here like one of these instead of some of this?" Balru howled, holding up a slab of the mastodon.

The laughter continued.

"I didn't think so," Balru quipped.

He shoved the gourd into Entin's chest so hard it knocked the wind out of him.

"Ooomph," Entin wheezed.

To Entin's dismay, he felt a tear trickle down his cheek. The sight of it brought a wicked sneer to Balru's face. He kicked Entin's basket, sending it reeling off into the mud. His vegetables were scattered everywhere, the gourds rolling this way and that.

"Pick up your mess, and then make me dinner, you shit-stain. No meat for you, either. It would be wasted on you anyway," Balru spat.

The crowd murmured agreement, and Entin hung his head as he crawled about in the mud and gathered his things. No one moved an inch to help him. The woven-reed basket he'd spent weeks on last fall had been destroyed. His tears fell hot and fast as he looked at it with sorrow. He did his best to hold back sobs as he gathered up as many vegetables as possible and then stumbled toward the cookfire. The laughter continued at his back all the while.

When he reached it, Entin realized someone hadn't kept the coals going as they'd been meant to. He struggled to get them lit again, his hands far too unsteady after his public humiliation to strike the firestarter properly against the sparkstone. His hand slid, and the sharp rock cut a deep gash into his palm. Blood splattered everywhere. Entin threw the precious tools to the ground and grabbed at himself, attempting to stymie the pain.

"Are you alright?" Aiel asked softly.

He hadn't heard her approach.

"Not really," Entin admitted.

"He's a disgusting boar." She scowled, squatting beside him. "Let me see it," she said gently, pulling his hand toward her.

He winced as she poked at him.

"Rinse it out with water and keep it clean. You should be fine," she assured him.

She picked up the firestarter and sparkstone, and easily lit the fire Entin had been struggling with.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"Do you miss her?" Aiel asked once the fire had set.

Entin's hand had gone somewhat numb, and he found the distraction Aiel's company allowed him to focus better on his work. She'd been his sister, Nailah's, best friend for as long as he could remember. Or, she had been before Nailah disappeared a few years prior.

"Every day," Entin said.

And it was true; she was never far from his thoughts. She'd been his only family. The twins lost their parents to famine as kids and had been passed around the tribe as burdens their entire childhood.

"Me too. But I'm glad that wherever she is, Balru can't have her anymore. Imagine if he'd gotten her pregnant," Aiel whispered. "You'd be kin. Imagine the disgrace your ancestors would feel!"

Entin couldn't help but suppress a smile at her dark humor. They began to split open the squashes with sharpened rocks hewed for the task. It was slow going with only one hand, but the dull work calmed his mind and settled his emotions. When he was done, he heaved the enormous stone his tribe had pounded into a bowl and shoved it onto the embers. Then, he filled it with the squash chunks and ladled water over it from the creek they'd built the settlement around. The mixture wasn't very appetizing, but Entin realized, looking at it, that he was once again starving.

"Come on. Let's make this bastard his feast and then find somewhere we can't hear him fucking all night," Aiel prompted.

And that was precisely what they did for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. Entin, ever resilient, had nearly moved beyond the day's hardships by the time they were finished preparing the Festival of the Moon. But as it turned out, the gods had worse things in store for him than a broken basket and hurt pride.

He just didn't know it yet.