Chapter 97: The Law of the Shaman
The interior of the rock crevice provided formidable shelter against the icy gusts of wind sweeping across the Ash Valley. As the night’s gloom thickened outside, the hunters began settling onto the stone floor, preparing their furs to spend the night.
"We will set up two-hour watch shifts," said Kellar, unbuckling the strap of his cloak. "I will take the first watch."
Upon hearing his words, the four hunters froze in place and glanced at each other in obvious dismay.
"No, Shaman!" said Grok, taking a step forward and shaking his head. "That is impossible. You are our leader and the mind of the tribe. You do not need to stand guard while we are here."
"Grok is right," said Brak. "You assigned us to this mission to protect and assist you. We will handle the watch throughout the entire night; you must rest."
Kellar observed them in silence for a couple of seconds and then let out a short laugh, though his gaze turned serious after.
"Listen closely," said Kellar, his tone firm and leaving no room for argument. "We are a team. We came to explore this valley together, which means everyone will work equally, including me. I am not going to lie around sleeping while you freeze outside watching my back."
"But, Great Shaman..." said another hunter, attempting to intervene.
"It is not up for discussion," said Kellar, cutting him off abruptly. "I will take the first shift with Grok. After two hours we will wake Brak and the next man. That way everyone gets enough sleep to be sharp at dawn."
The hunters lowered their heads, overwhelmed by their leader’s resolve. For men accustomed to the arrogance of former chiefs and shamans who never lifted a single finger for hard labor, Kellar’s attitude was unprecedented—a gesture that only deepened their respect and loyalty toward him.
Once the shifts were established, the hunters settled against the stone walls and quickly succumbed to exhaustion from the journey. Outside, the night in the Ash Valley turned dense and hostile. The echoes of distant roars, the scraping of claws against bare rock, and fierce clashes between the nocturnal beasts inhabiting the borders reverberated through the dark, cutting through the whistling of the icy wind.
Kellar walked toward the mouth of the cave alongside Grok. To be entirely certain of their perimeter, Kellar activated [Hunter’s Scent], feeling his nostrils flare as his senses heightened. Instantly, a rush of scents flooded his perception: the acrid stench of sulfur, the pungent smell of bloody fur from some predator hundreds of yards away, and the freezing night breeze.
The small white figure of the cat appeared in a flash, landing silently on a stone ledge above the entrance.
"Freyja, watch our surroundings," said Kellar in a whisper, staring into the gloom. "If anything approaches, alert us immediately."
"Don’t worry about it," said Freyja, lazily twitching her tail as she licked a paw. "No one can sneak up with me around. The beasts in this place are far too weak to even attempt it."
"Good, I’m leaving it to you," said Kellar, nodding in satisfaction.
With their security assured, Kellar leaned against the cave wall, gazing at the dark horizon beside Grok. Silence reigned between the two for a moment, broken only by the muffled growls of a wild hunt occurring deep within the valley.
"It is a bloodthirsty place," said Grok, breaking the ice as he adjusted the grip on his spear. "Even in the dark, the beasts here fight to the death over a piece of rotten meat."
"That is nature when resources are scarce," said Kellar, offering him a sip from his waterskin. "But soon this valley will answer to our rules, Grok."
Grok accepted the waterskin, taking a gulp before handing it back with a look of genuine respect.
"I have never known a shaman like you," said Grok, lowering his voice slightly. "The old leaders only sought to sacrifice our people to maintain their own power. You... you walk at the front, eat with us, and watch our backs while we sleep."
"A leader who isn’t willing to bleed with his men doesn’t deserve to be followed," said Kellar, offering a calm smirk. "You and the others have risked your lives for this tribe. The least I can do is make sure we all return home alive."
"When all of this is over," said Grok, breaking the silence as he fixed his gaze on the valley’s darkness, "what will become of us, Shaman? The Black Skull Tribe won’t stop with just this patrol."
"We won’t stop either," said Kellar, a cold glint in his eyes. "I won’t settle for merely defending this small corner of land. We will build an impenetrable settlement, arm every man with steel and fire, and if those bastards want a war, we will march directly into their territory until there isn’t a single one left to threaten our people."
Grok tightened his grip on his spear’s shaft, letting out a huff of pure satisfaction at his leader’s words.
"It would be an honor to see that day, Shaman," said Grok.
Kellar looked at the position of the stars in the night sky and then checked the time on his translucent interface. The two hours of the first watch had passed without incident.
"Our time is up," said Kellar, patting Grok on the shoulder. "Let’s go wake the others."
Both returned to the interior of the cave, where the three hunters slept soundly upon the furs. Kellar approached Brak and gave his shoulder a gentle tap. In a fraction of a second, the veteran scout snapped his eyes open and reached for his dagger by instinct before recognizing Kellar’s silhouette in the dim light.
"Easy, Brak," said Kellar in a whisper. "It’s our turn to sleep. You have the second watch alongside Jarek."
"Understood, Shaman," said Brak, sitting up and stretching. "Get some rest. We will keep our eyes wide open."
Kellar arranged his furs on the stone floor and lay down, feeling the accumulated fatigue of the journey. Above them, Freyja settled back into the shadow of the cave’s ceiling and watching over them as the group completed the shift change beneath the icy blanket of night.