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Alam opened the tent door. The days of mourning were over. It was fine for families to quietly grieve, but the rest of the clan must hide their tears and move on.

"Bring back some fresh water, Alam," Khalesar called out.

"Of course," he replied. Bending over to pick up the bucket hurt. But then so did walking. And breathing.

His wounds were healing quickly thanks to Khalesar's skills, but the cut on his thigh was still heavily bandaged. She told him it would scar.

Tajar says women like scars.

Not that he would know.

Alam headed for the river. Shortly after passing out of the camp he heard feet hurrying after him. He tried to twist his torso to see who it was, but changed his mind when the wounds on his torso reminded him that they had come along for the walk. More cautiously he turned his whole body around. It was Shaleh.

"Hello Alam," she said. It seemed for a moment that a smile flickered on her face before she composed herself into a more seemly, solemn expression. Mourning may be over, but it was still not the time for showing joy outside one's tent.

"Good morning Shaleh. How is your neck?"

"Healing well, thanks to Khalesar's ointment. And you? How are your wounds?"

"Healing well, also thanks to Mother," he said. "I hardly feel them now."

"You are a really bad liar," she only barely stopped herself from smiling. "The way you walk tells a different story."

"You are fetching water as well?" asked Alam, pointing to the bucket in her hand and changing the subject.

"Yes, shall I join you?"

He started hobbling towards the river. "Only if you can keep up with me."

Shaleh's face broke into a smile. So did Alam's.

"How is your family?" Alam asked.

"Mother is grieving for Arj of course." Arj had been Pim's younger cousin. "And father is worried. He hides it well, but I can tell that his mind is troubled. I think he worries about the clan being weakened with so many warriors lost."

"Yes, Mother mentioned that your father may order some mercy unions. Do you think it's likely?"

Shaleh's face fell. "He has been talking about marriages."

"What did he say?"

"I don't think I should say. He will already be mad at me for saying this much." Shaleh and Alam both withdrew into their own thoughts. They filled their buckets and began the short walk back to camp.

"Shaleh?"

"Yes?"

"What do you think about scars?" Alam asked.

Shaleh was bewildered by the change of topics. "This may surprise you but I don't think about scars. Most normal people don't. Do you?"

"I hear that women find them attractive on men."

"Ah," she said, understanding dawning on her. "You're hoping to suddenly become more handsome."

"No..."

"Well I don't think scars on your leg are going to improve you much. The ones on your chest, if they scar up, might help. But what you really need is a small one on your face."

"On my face?" he smiled.

"Yes. Not too big, and not on your nose. Or lips. Or eyes." She stopped and examined his face. "There," she pointed at his cheek. "Or maybe on your jawline. Then I think the women will fall at your feet."

"That sounds good," he said. "Too bad I don't have one there."

"I own a knife. I could help you," she offered.

"Ha! I bet you could!"

"Shaleh! Alam!" Chief Urlock's angry voice broke their playful banter. They had not seen him approaching. "Wipe those ridiculous grins off your faces! Shame on you! Have you no respect!"

They dropped their heads and murmured their apologies. Urlock led Shaleh away as if she were a child, and spoke stiffly to Alam over his shoulder.

"Tonight we have a fire meeting to divide the raiding prizes. Bring the box."

***

Alam handed the water to Khalesar, picked up the wood axe, and went limping off towards the hills. Chopping branches would be a good way to get rid of tension.

On the way to the small patch of trees Serik appeared and beckoned Alam to follow him. Alam picked up his pace to catch up with the scoutmaster.

"What is it Serik?"

"Training."

"Training today?"

"Yes."

Can't he see I am injured?

They rounded the edge of the trees and Tajar came into view. He was practicing archery.

"Alam! What are you doing here?" Tajar called out.

"I have no idea."

"Tajar, put down your bow and pick up your swords. Today we work on something that both of you need to learn," said Serik.

"What is that?" asked Tajar.

"Not getting killed."

The two friends looked quizzically at each other.

"It is going to be a long day, with little rest," Serik continued.

"What about Alam's injuries?" Tajar asked.

Serik looked blankly at Tajar as if it were a waste of his time to reply to such a stupid question. Instead he drew his sword and lashed out at Alam. Alam threw up his wood axe to protect his face. He only just raised it time.

"What was that for?!" he shouted.

"Your enemies will not wait for you to heal." Another lightning fast swing was only barely stopped by Alam's axe haft. It would probably only take one more blow before it snapped in two.

"Alam. In both battles you relied on strength and fury. This is as Urlock has instructed you, and it works well. What you now need to learn is how to use the reach that your height gives you, and how to avoid blows." He turned to Tajar, including him in the conversation. "You are both young. That means you are quick, which is good. But it also means you are stupid, which is bad. Young men think they are unbeatable. This is not true. Think of your friends that fell in the valley, and against the dargu."

"Bakar," Alam muttered. In his mind's eye saw his young friend falling from the cliff wall for the hundredth time.

"First you will defend against spears," Serik said as he picked up a long stick. Over and over Alam and Tajar had to defend against Serik's attacks. He gave them no instructions on how to block or avoid. He was much quicker than his age hinted at. Within a few seconds he would land a blow and would calmly say "You're dead."

"You're dead twice."

"You're dead thrice."

"You're dead four times."

After both Tajar and Alam were dead twenty times Serik paused and asked. "Do you understand yet?"

He hasn't taught us anything other than getting jabbed with a stick hurts!

"Yes. We understand scoutmaster Serik," Tajar replied with a bow.

Do we?

Serik waited for Tajar to continue.

"You have shown us that we are young and stupid; that even an old man can kill us in battle; that our defenses are useless and predictable."

I'm not predictable.

"Alam. What have you learned?" Serik asked.

Alam was angry and sore. This approach to training was so different to what he was used to with Urlock that he felt frustrated and lost.

"It wasn't a fair lesson scoutmaster," Alam said. Tajar shot a worried glance at Alam.

"We weren't able to attack back," explained Alam.

"Indeed it was not fair but not in the way you think. This time you may attack me as well. But you are injured. Would you think it fairer if I only used my left hand?"

"You need not do that scoutmaster."

Tajar laughed and stepped away.

"Before we start please humour an old man," said Serik. "Tajar, pass me that scarf." Once it was in his hand Serik tied it around his head so that one of his eyes was covered.

"Please. No, scoutmaster. I do not wish for you to be hurt."

"Nor do I," replied the older man.

Tajar laughed again and moved even further away.

"Attack when you are ready," instructed Serik. He shifted the stick to his left hand and placed his right behind his back.

Time to teach the master.

Alam struck out quickly, but lightly. He wanted to get back at the scoutmaster, but not hurt him. Serik stepped out of the way. He moved in close and jabbed Alam hard in the gut.

"You're dead twenty-one times. Attack when you are ready."

Alam stepped back.

Hmm. Maybe I shouldn't go so easy on him.

He lashed out for Serik's head. The older man blocked the blow. He pushed the shaft away, stepped in close, and with one fluid motion smacked Alam on the head before jabbing him in the gut.

"You're dead twenty-two times."

Over and over the scene was repeated. Alam would attack in a different way. Serik would turn his defence into an attack and Alam would lose.

"You're dead thirty-three times. Attack when you are ready."

"No, scoutmaster," Alam panted. "I understand the lesson.

"Yes?"

"I am young and stupid. Even a one-eyed old man using his off hand can beat me. My techniques are useless and predictable."

"You may rest for a few moments before we move to the next lesson. But while you rest ponder this: humility brings knowledge."

Serik worked them hard the rest of the day. He started by focusing on their posture and footwork. Next, he taught them drills to improve speed, so their muscles could do a sequence of movements without their minds having to think. They learned both attacking and defending techniques with spears, swords, and axes.

The sun was setting when Serik finally said, "Good. Tomorrow we start again."

"Thank you scoutmaster," said Alam. "I have learned much today."

"And your injuries?"

"They still hurt," smiled Alam.

***

That night the whole of Empa Clan, apart from a handful of sentries, gathered in the centre of the camp. A bonfire was lit. In a land of grass, where wood was scarce, such an extravagant use of firewood was reserved for special occasions. Five goats on spits, and more than a dozen fish on sticks, were roasting for the feast. Flat hot stones were pulled out of the fire for flat bread to cook on.

"Tonight we leave mourning behind," Chief Urlock addressed his people. "We have faced dark times these past few days. Many honourable, courageous members of our Clan have left us to journey to the world beyond. We wish them well and remember them in our prayers. It is a journey we will all take someday... But not tonight! Tonight we celebrate the winning of a great prize! Tonight we reveal the bounty from our raid! Tonight we decide what we keep, and what we trade! Tonight we sing, and dance, and feast!"

The clan, as one voice, cheered and moved towards the spits and hot stones. Alam moved to Shaleh.

"A word?" he asked her.

Her smile changed to curiosity when she saw the serious look on his face.

"What is it?"

He led her away. Visible to the fire, but out of earshot.

"I asked you today what Chief Urlock has told you about marriage, but you refused to tell me. Please, does he have plans for you?"

"Oh Alam." She glanced furtively over to those gathered by the fire. "Last year at the Clan Meet he was presented with an offer of marriage for me and the eldest son of Astaevka Clan."

"Rustam? He agreed that you would marry Rustam? That man's a brute!"

"Shh! No. Father refused the offer."

Relief flooded through Alam.

"Good."

"It was good, until we lost so many warriors. Now he says that he will have to marry me to form an alliance to help protect the clan."

It felt as though a knife had plunged into Alam's stomach.

"When?" he whispered.

"This year. We go to Clan Meet in one moon's time."

Only one moon.

"What if you refuse?" he asked.

"You know I can't."

Indeed. "Duty first, joy second."

What about my life?

It is not as important.

What about her life?

Perhaps her husband will be good to her.

Perhaps he won't be.

Perhaps he will.

"Alam, stop brooding. Come, let's join the feast." When he lifted his head he saw that her eyes were wet. A sudden impulse struck him. He moved closer to her and bent his head towards her lips.

"No," she stopped him with her hand and gently pushed him away. "You are to be married as well."

"What?"

"To Inzhu. She will make you a good wife."

"But I don't want to marry Inzhu!"

"She is still young, and has already proven that she can bear children."

"She's not the one I want," he said.

"Stop it Alam! Don't say anything more! And if you value our friendship you will not give even the smallest hint that I have told you this."

She wiped her eyes, turned away from him, and went to rejoin the celebration.

One moon.

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- Y. V. Qualls