“Git on!” The old woman shouts at the figures, banging her staff on the ground in impatience. “Go! Tȟaópi Khilí is safe!”

She grumbles, looking back at the much younger warriors surrounding her.

“Ice bite yer tongues?” She barks at the bemused group. “Come. We have a city t’search.”

Toddling as only an old woman can, the most powerful member of the group assumes command of it, even despite being outranked by at least three separate members of the group.

Respect, being more important than mere titles, leads the path as her five companions fall in step behind her.

The stubborn old woman leads them first to the encampment at the end of the main road leading to the fortress. There, between two broad dawnwoods that stretch into the sky, a gatehouse stands. Archers line the roof of it, firing down onto the other side of it as screams can be heard. The screams are primal, sending shivers down the spines of even the most war-hardened veterans.

She leads them to the načaši present, a grizzled war veteran holding a lance with feathers down the length of it. He glances up at the group approaching him, giving a short nod with his head.

“Aye,” he says. “I see the okȟólakičiye has finally deemed fit to join us on the battlefield.”

Grandmother Snow nods brusquely at him before talking. “Two Sisters reside in Tȟaópi Khilí, and will be sending instructions and assistance down as they can.”

“Which two?” He asks, side-eyeing the Sister already in their group. “The Frozen Sister is down and the Sister of Stone is with you.”

“Aye,” she confirms. “The Starving Sister and the Coinmaster are who we got.”

“I’d follow the Starving Sister to the ends and back,” he declares. “But the Coinmaster? Why should he be found before the Iron Sister?”

At this, Itomaza steps forward. “I gathered this group,” he gestures to those around him, “to go search for her. She was seen last near the docks, with one of the Mothers.”

The grizzled veteran waves a hand at that. “Nay, the Mother Immigrant sent word – the Fire Snake boarded herself up in the port. She lives or dies by the hands of Owl-Maker.”

At this, the eldest of the remaining companions steps forward, offering her view. “The Grandmother chose to give up her life for the good of the people – but she had reason to.” Gesturing to the group around her, she continues. “We are ready and prepared to mount a rescue for the Mother Immigrant, and we should be able to find and locate the Iron Sister on the way.”

The veteran looks at them, an eyebrow raised. “What do you want from me? To OK the mission? All six of you out-rank me, go live or die by your own hand. I’ve got a gatehouse to keep standing as long as possible.” He shakes his head. “Send whoever you can through the yellow-marked doors. I’ve sent scouts out to mark safe paths to this side of the gate through the surrounding houses. Tell anyone you find to walk the sixth path.”

All seven people flinch noticeably as a particularly loud thump rattles the gate, splintering one of the posts holding it closed.

At this, he marches off, roaring orders at the warriors around him. “Get me a new log of ironwood, and for the love of Grandmother, make it the densest piece you can find!”

Grandmother Snow turns to Itomaza, a question in her eyes. “So where to first, Mitȟaƞ Itomaza?”

The young warriors smiles. Though Justinia may call his husband Mitȟaƞ as a means of disrespect, the old heyókȟa has called him that since he was first given the position.

Her raised eyebrow asks him the same question she’s been asking him since he won his first duel – To fame, or to duty?

With a smile, he raises his beloved spear and chooses the same way he has since the first day. Grandmother Snow sighs, shaking the bad feeling in her gut.

His answer has never changed.

Itomaza takes the lead, following the yellow-marked doors down into the shadows of the unlit city. Cloaked by the mighty dawnwood trees that support the city, everything is in shadow until high noon. Itomaza notes this, and sticks to the darkest paths as he leads, quietly and quickly walking through.

All is silent.

The first spirit-eater is seen in a clearing – no cover, no shadows, and out in the open.

“It’s most likely a trap,” Ayotli murmers to Itomaza, at his right side. “But between us all, you’re the quickest. You could be in and out before it makes a sound.”

He grins at the challenge. “You’re damn right,” he says. “I won’t even have to move.”

Moving into position, he takes a stance and hoists his beloved spear, whispering a prayer as he does. Two quick steps, a lung forward, and a wet thunk follow.

Ayotli motions for two others to take up guard positions to Itomaza’s right and left. Evening Wolf and Lily-of-the-Canyon follow him into the light as he retrieves his spear from the head of the creature.

“I recognized her,” Evening Wolf mentions quickly as they move on from the spirit-eater. “I was at her graduation from the academy just last month.” His voice is sad as he recalls the memory.

Lily-of-the-Canyon’s mouth is tight as she grimly nods. “Aye,” she agrees. “She was a great archer, and showed potential for the Flowers, even at this young age.”

“A tragedy,” Evening Wolf whispers softly, but says no more.

The group moves on.

Three more spirit-eaters are encountered, but the group is not quiet enough to hide themselves in time; Red Dawn’s Fury finds herself caught in the open for only a brief moment, but it is long enough to attract the attention of the three.

“Mother’s braid!” Red Dawn’s Fury exclaims in frustration as she realizes she’s gotten the group caught.

Ayotli, ever the strategist, immediately begins issueing orders.

“Grandmother, halt them,” she calls out.

Before she’s even finished giving the command, the old witch raps her staff on the ground twice, and a sheet of ice races out towards the spirit-eaters. All three are quickly encased in thin layers of ice, with especially large chunks around their mouths. Grandmother knows to keep them from raising an alarm and attracting more.

The smallest of the three, a boy with the head of a fox, is unable to resist the power of Grandmother Snow, and with a quick jerk of her wrist, the boy’s head twists in a circle. It falls to the ground and all four paws twitch as what passes for lifeforce drains from it.

Unci-Wa shudders as the ice between her and the smallest shimmers brightly, then she smiles with a toothy grin.

“Battle,” she rasps. “I have not seen it in decades. More.”

Ayotli gives her a look, then motions for Itomaza and Lily-of-the-Canyon to finish off the other two. This they do with relish. Itomaza drives his spear through the face of an old man with the antlers of a great stag, his hooves still frozen to the ground, while Lily-of-the-Canyon takes two swift motions to remove the head of a goose from the shoulders of a young man, choosing to use her knife instead of her clubs.

“Do a quick search,” Itomaza orders as he finishes off the stag. “We need to find survivors, and find a way to attract them without attracting the spirit-eaters.”

“Ideas?” Ayotli questions the group before sending Evening Wolf and Red Dawn’s Fury to check the nearby buildings.

“Aye,” Grandmother Snow rasps. “Get me t’the biggest tree in th’area. I can find anyone near t’it with a quick enough search. All trees have water, and what is water, but warm ice?”

Itomaza nods. “What is the biggest tree? This is not a part of the city I am in often.”

Ayotli answers. “We’re near the port. A Black Tree is near here – that should be the biggest around here, and there is an entrance to the undercity from there.”

“Take the lead,” he responds. “Evening Wolf, Red Dawn’s Fury, take up the tail. Let’s make for the Black Tree.”

Ayotli takes point, leading the six companions down a shadowed path. Overgrowth covers them from above, and the shadows dapple them as they walk, single-file.

“We’ll need to cross through the Clanging Courtyard,” Ayotli whispers to Itomaza, behind her. “There’s likely to either be a lot of spirit-eaters, a lot of survivors, or a lot of both. The Gives Plenty and Open Palms are not fighters, so how many are left is going to be uncertain.”

“Fighters they are not,” Grandmother Snow softly calls back, “but clever as a jade cat, those thinkers are. They may not fight, but they will find a way. Expect survivors.”

“Many are witches,” Red Dawn’s Fury remarkes. “You forget yourself, Ayotli. Two Gives Plenty are here with you.”

“Aye,” Grandmother Snow agrees. “Their Nača, Cliff Where Doves Nest, she’ll have been at her desk. She can lead her people through any crises.”

Ayotli smiles softly to herself.

The group continues walking.

When danger approaches again, it’s the Grandmother Snow that recognizes it first – Her eyes fly open and she stops suddenly, spinning on the spot with her staff held like a warclub as she smacks into the overgrowth next to them.

A howl of pain comes from the creature as it collapses, a ball of ice on its head where her staff connected. After a moment of writhing, it grows still – a moment later, an icicle erupts from the opposite side of its skull, and Grandmother Snow smiles once again.

Evening Wolf and Red Dawn’s Fury leap into action as another spirit-eater erupts from the bushes behind the group. Evening Wolf raises his shield and Red Dawn’s Fury takes shelter behind it, two arrows already in the shoulders. A moment later, a third erupts from its forehead and it topples forward.

In the same instant, two smaller, hare-sized spirit-eaters fly out of the bushes, both grabbing onto Ayotli. She is pulled to the ground as the two children impact her from different directions. They attempt to pull her into the undergrowth, but she instead chooses to remind the world of why she is called the Shell; With a quick breath, she grabs one of them and punches it with a fist of heavy iron. As she rolls, she uses a foot of pure lead to kick the other into the ground, pulverizing its head.

Itomaza and Lily-of-the-Canyon both impale the spirit-eater near Ayotli’s head, who spits out a thank you.

“Move,” Grandmother Snow snarls. “To the Clanging Courtyard, I can hear the screams of a true battle, more than what little we’ve seen here.”

Grandmother makes no attempt to wait for her companions, instead charging into the undergrowth. The rest of the group quickly follows.

It becomes clear that Grandmother Snow is right – As the group emerges from the dark path, they emerge into a full-blown battle. Spirit-eaters the size of bison are raging around while warriors from all directions attempt to engage.

Ayotli quickly takes control.

“Grandmother, freeze the biggest ones. Red Dawn’s Fury, follow her and aim for the eyes. Lily-of-the-Canyon and Evening Wolf, focus on getting these warriors into a coherent line and take out whatever you can. Itomaza, you’re with me. We focus on the smallest ones.”

The group splits off.

Grandmother Snow raps her staff three times in quick succession, and within seconds, the largest bison-headed spirit-eater in the clearing becomes encased in ice, creaking to a halt. Grandmother Snow frowns, then walks up to the spirit-eater itself and presses a hand against it – ice blossoms out in every direction as she begins muttering a small prayer.

Cries of relief begin to echo out as the spirit-eater is frozen. Grandmother Snow and her magic are well-known, and cheers erupt as she raps her staff twice more – Despite Ayotli’s instructions to have Red Dawn’s Fury use her bow to help Grandmother Snow, the old woman instead chooses to freeze the spirit-eater solid and with a well-placed thunk from her staff, she shatters the massive beast.

“Go,” she rasps to Red Dawn’s Fury. “Help Lily-of-the-Canyon, I am not the one who needs help.”

Red Dawn’s Fury nods, then follows Lily-of-the-Canyon and Evening Wolf. She finds the two rallying a group of poorly-armed warriors around the remains of a broken bell – though ill-equipped to fight, the spirit in the warriors is clear as they raise what shields they have and form a basic shield wall, protecting the only remaining entrance into the buildings that make up the Clanging Courtyard.

Ayotli notices Red Dawn’s Fury and frowns, but takes no time to scold her for disobeying orders. “There are archers in the windows,” Ayotli calls out. “Get them in coherent order and useful, aiming solely for the far side of the courtyard.”

Red Dawn’s Fury nods, leaping over the shield wall as she goes.

“Brace your spears!” Ayotli calls out. “Step twice forward, then once back. On my horn –”

AWOO. AWOO.

The shield-wall begins to slowly take shape under the direction of Ayotli, her small frame ducking and weaving between the much larger warriors surrounding her, barking orders as she goes.

Itomaza rounds the edge of the shield wall, leading the charge of a smaller sect of warriors. These are more well-trained and better armed. His new warparty jumps from spirit-eater to spirit-eater, following Grandmother Snow as she continues to freeze the largest of the spirit-eaters on the field.

As he watches, she freezes one as it approaches the shield wall, and Ayotli responds by ordering that section of the shield wall to march forward at a much increased rate. Moments later, the light dies from the eyes of the spirit-eater as a dozen spears impale it from head to toe.

“Get behind the wall!” Red Dawn’s Fury calls from above, and Itomaza and Grandmother Snow respond by immediately turning and rushing to safety.

Evening Wolf, on the other hand, chooses instead to dive at two warriors who aren’t so quick, bracing his shield towards the shield wall.

Moments later, arrows fly in a volley from the windows above the shield wall. Spirit-eaters scream as they are pierced by dozens of arrows.

“Ten seconds!” Red Dawn’s Fury shouts from the windows. Evening Wolf grabs the two warriors he shielded and hauls them towards the shield wall. The wall opens wide enough for him to shove them through.

“Wounded!” Grandmother Snow calls out, standing just inside the doorway to the buildings. “Bring your wounded!”

“Grandmother!” Ayotli calls out. “Do not be long! We must press on soon!”

“Aye,” Grandmother agrees. “Bring your wounded!”

Grandmother begins walking from warrior to warrior, murmuring prayers in the deep language as shes goes. As she goes, she heals the most grevious of wounds on the spot, but chooses to do little for wounds that do not threaten lives – she encases a few broken bones in casts of unbreakable ice, she puts layers of ice over scrapes and burns, but it’s only deep gashes that pour blood like a river that she takes the time to mend to a suitable state – just enough to keep them on their feet and moving.

“Načaši, where is your Nača?” Ayotli grabs a passing woman with a full warbonnet. “We must talk to her.”

The woman shakes her head. “Cliff Where Doves Nest has not been seen for several hours. She was out fighting, and she would come back to rest here briefly, but she left once and never returned. We’ve been here, hoping she’ll come back.”

“Grandmother Snow!” Ayotli calls out.

“I be right here,” the old woman grumbles, appearing at the small woman’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“The Nača is missing,” Ayotli states bluntly. “I cannot ask you to abandon your Akíčita, however much I need you, and these people need a leader they trust.”

“That wouldn’t be me,” Grandmother grumbles. “But I did find… someone. Qian! Haoyu!”

Out of the darkness, a tiny figure on the back of a ram comes trotting up. Behind her, an equally small man rides his own ram.

“Zenmele?” The woman asks. “How can I help?”

“You… you cannot be serious,” Ayotli says, staring at Grandmother.

“The Storyteller and the Historian are respected more than most,” Grandmother Snow says lightly. “They may not be soldiers, but the Gives Plenty and Open Palms trust them. They can lead the Akíčita to the yellow doors.”

Ayotli shakes her head, staring off into the distance, where Itomaza is dancing in and out of the battle between volleys of arrows, calling out insults to the spirit-eaters. “I will trust you on this,” she says. “Did you see the path we took to get here?”

“Shi de,” the woman says. “You took the shadow path here, leading to the fifth and sixth paths.”

“Excellent,” Ayotli says. “Take the sixth path and look for yellow-marked doors. They will lead you to the far side of the gatehouse – Tȟaópi Khilí is your destination. The Starving Sister and the Coinmaster are fortifying it and preparing to take in all.”

The elderly couple agree quickly, surprising Ayotli with their enthusiasm.

“We have acted in the place of our Nača before,” the old man informs Ayotli. “Though we are smaller to these northen giants than even you, dear granddaughter, we are of them as much as any giant.”

“What are the rams for?” Ayotli asks, a little dumbfounded.

“Oh!” The little woman chuckles at the question. “We are half the height of these giants, and we are old. We ride them to keep up! Our little legs could never.”

Ayotli smiles at this. “Go on,” she says. “Take the shield wall, tell them to march on your sides. Follow the yellow-marked doors down the sixth path.”

“We understand,” the little man says. “And trust us, Ayotli – we are not defenseless.”

“Many of our Akíčita are witches,” Qian says, a twinkle in her eye. “And though our gifts may not be for war, we Open Palms and Gives Plenty are known for being clever!”

It takes but a few minutes to order the shield wall into sections, marching in line. Ayotli admits to herself, she is impressed by the speed at which these people learn – though she’s never spent time around the people of the Clanging Courtyard, she begins to wonder if that particular crowd should be revisited.

“Grandmother Snow,” Ayotli gestures for the old witch to her side while they watch the Akíčita begin their slow march through the city. “Will they make it?”

Grandmother Snow sighs. “They are as capable as we can hope,” is her only response. “But for now, we must press on – we may find Cliff Where Doves Nest yet, and there’s still the Iron Sister to search for. And, if the Mothers bless us, we may yet rescue the Mother Immigrant.”

“So now we have three goals,” Itomaza observes as he walks up. Though covered in blood, none is his own. “Where is the Black Tree from here?”

Ayotli turns, then points upward. “We’re standing below it.”

The three crane their necks to look upward, but no tree in particular sticks out to them. “Which one is it?” Itomaza asks, confused.

Ayotli sighs. “The one we’re directly under. It may be called the ‘Black Tree,’ but it is not black. It is just a normal dawnwood, though significantly larger than the rest in this area.”

“Will we need to go up it?” Itomaza asks. “I’m not overly fond of heights.”

Ayotli snorts. “You’d make a poor Direheart if you’re afraid of heights.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Itomaza says, waving a hand. “You Direhearts are afraid of nothing.”

“And you Running Stags are the best fighters, I get it,” Ayotli responds dryly. “Point is, I’ve lived in the Black Trees since I was barely able to lift a spear.”

“At your height, every spear is a challenge,” Red Dawn’s Fury says from behind, a grin on her face. “You’re barely taller than my arrows!”

“Har har,” Ayotli rolls her eyes. “And yet, you all trust me to lead you into this field of death.”

“Nothing we haven’t done a dozen times before,” Evening Wolf joins in, standing at his wife’s side. Red Dawn’s Fury wraps her arm around his waist and pulls him close, giving his grizzled face a peck on the cheek.

“And we’ll do it again,” she says. “At your side, Ayotli? We’ll do it every day for the rest of our lives, if the need calls for it.”

The warrior’s woman echo around the heads of the six warriors present, though none wish to linger on the thoughts or what ifs.

Grandmother Snow pushes them out of their melencholy. “To the Tree,” she says, pointing her staff upward. She toddles off, as energized as when the party set off.

Ayotli shakes her head. “We’re all tired, but she’s stil an on-going storm.”

Evening Wolf laughs. “I doubt she even feels like she’s had a challenge yet – I once saw her face down a legion of Mei Yong raiders and not blink an eye after dealing with them!”

“I once saw her heal an army in a day,” Red Dawn’s Fury muses. “She was no less tired after finishing that, either.”

“Grandmother Snow will out-live the nation,” Itomaza says dryly. “She is as endless and tireless as the snow itself – and look, here comes more snow.” He looks upward, holding a hand out.

“Snow.”

The group sets off after the old woman. She turns and looks at how far they are behind her and tuts impatiently, her hand on her hip.

“Speaking of snow,” Evening Wolf mentions. “How is your darling husband, Itomaza? I have not heard much from him since the Port fiasco.”

Itomaza sighs. “He is doing his best, but it’s not his strength. He can handle any amount of bureaucratic work that he needs, but dealing with people has never been something he excels at.”

Red Dawn’s Fury pats his back comfortingly. “Well, then thank all the Mothers he’s got you at his side.” She taps playfully at a chime braided into his hair, just above his ear. “You two will last, you know that? You’ll make it through, and you’ll probably end up Mothers together when you’re my age.”

“And then I’ll get to order you around, won’t I?” Itomaza smiles playfully back. “Wouldn’t that be a sight.”

Red Dawn’s Fury gazes into the distance, and her answer is less than clear. “Yeah, it… it would’ve been.”

The five press on, pushing their pace to keep up with the old woman, driving their pace ever faster.

They make it to the first major root of the tree with no trouble.

Grandmother Snow is, however, worried about the quiet state of things.

“There should be spirit-eaters swarming over this tree,” she rasps. “The headquarters of one of the largets Akíčita in the city? The Direhearts should be holding this tree like there’s no other.”

“Go on,” Ayotli says, a little impatient. “Do your thing, figure out if there’s any pockets of survivors around here we need to find.”

Grandmother Snow says nothing more, but presses both hands against the root of the tree and begins praying.

“Lily-of-the-Canyon,” Ayotli says. “Take Itomaza and scout the nearest buildings. It’s getting later than I would have liked, and we’ve done little. Sending survivors out into the darkness would be ill-advised at best. Try and find a defensible position nearby we can set up camp for ourselves and any we find.”

“Aye,” Lily-of-the-Canyon agrees. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Lily-of-the-Canyon grabs the Stone Sister’s arm and gestures out, silently conveying their orders. He nods once, then readies his spear and nods at her to take the lead.

The two of them communicate solely through sign language as they make extra effort to be quiet. Lily-of-the-Canyon leads the way, scouting in and out of the buildings that make up the cityscape.

To the people who live in the north, buildings must all be defensible. The city itself is comprised of circular courtyards of varying sizes, most empty. No roofs cover most of these, and they are meant for temporary habitation at best – Very few northerners choose to live in a building, instead preferring to move themselves and their tipis around the city, to whatever part seems most interesting to be in at any given point. The open courtyards provide semi-private locations for groups of varying sizes to inhabit for as long as they wish. Moving between these courtyards is easy, with many paths between courtyards being heavily overgrown and largely not looked after, helping to disguise the city from all directions.

Finding a defensible one isn’t the issue to Lily-of-the-Canyon and the Stone Sister accompanying her – finding a defensible one with permanent structures within it that is large enough to house any number of people who may show is the problem. Too many courtyards hold the burnt and trampled remains of empty tipis; Too many more hold bodies within those tipis.

Not enough hold signs of escape.

Itomaza stops Lily-of-the-Canyon, pointing towards one at the end of a path, hidden from view. She nods, and they silently creep towards it.

As with every other courtyard they’ve entered, Itomaza takes the left side of the entrance while Lily-of-the-Canyon peers into the courtyard to assess quickly what may be present.

She motions to follow her in, that it appears to be empty, but to remain on guard.

They enter.

To their left, the burnt remains of a campfire. Unusually, however, signs of a cleanly packed tipi and stag are present – large hoofprints, fresh scrapes on the courtyard palisade walls, typical of a stag scratching its antlers, and deep divets of tipi poles in a circle.

At the rear of the courtyard, a broad building is carved out of a fallen dawnwood. Three stories are present, with two within the log and the third on the roof. Defensive arrow slits are carved into the roof, and the bottom floor contains no windows, only a single door in and out.

Lily-of-the-Canyon signals to Itomaza to enter the building the same way they enter the courtyard. He takes up a defensive stance on the left and she peers into the darkness of the room as best she can.

She walks in, then gestures to the stairs. This time, Itomaza takes point. He hoists his spear and lifts his small shield, ready to face whatever might come his way.

He goes up…

…to nothing. The second floor is as empty as the first – although the second floor has windows on every wall, the two floors are otherwise identical.

“Clear,” Itomaza calls down to Lily-of-the-Canyon. “And the roof is clear, we saw that coming up. There’s nothing here.”

“And there’s a hidden door at the back,” Lily-of-the-Canyon muses. “It’s large, and it’s defensible. I think we’ve found our answer.”

“Check the backdoor,” Lily-of-the-Canyon motions towards the windows. Make sure there’s nothing blocking it, but let’s not open it until we have to – it may have camoflauge that’s better hidden now that we won’t be able to replicate quickly.”

Itomaza strides over to the windows on the rear of the log, peering into the shadows.

“There’s plants, but not much else,” he reports. “There seems to be some chopped wood, but if we’re trying to hide, probably best to avoid a fire.”

Lily-of-the-Canyon walks up to his side, having investigated the full breadth of the room.

“We could fit, what, two hundred people in here?”

“We’d have to find some way to keep them all quiet, but it could be done if we needed to,” Itomaza says grimly. “If it gets that full, we’ll have every warrior on high alert to defend it.”

The veteran sighs, and lowers her knives for the first time since entering. Itomaza realizes for the first time just how old this warrior actually is.

She breathes heavily, taking a moment to rest. Her hair is pure grey, and shot through with streaks of white. She stands proudly, though Itomaza can see the pain in her eyes of growing old, and he realizes in that moment that she knows she will not make it out of the city.

“Why are you here?” Itomaza asks the burning question that everyone has been asking. “Why did you not go seek out Grandmother after you heard she felled the Jiar Tree?”

Her face darkens at that. “I had just gotten news from Iron Lighting when that happened,” she begins. “The invasion was only minutes old, but I could see the Jiar Tree from the River. It was clear to me that none could survive that fall. Going after her would have been folly – I chose instead to go to the Port, and I helped the Mother Youngling board up the academies as quickly as possible, and helped them open the undercity so they could escape through it.”

“Iron Lightning was… was…” the old warrior chokes up, wiping away a tear. “He was too young, but there’s naught I can do to help him now. He chose his own path when he took up arms as my inuƞpa. With him and Grandmother both falling, all that is left for me to do is find whatever way I can to help the city survive this.”

Itomaza asks no further questions.

The two of them make their way back to the encampment, as quiet in returning as they were on departing.

They arrive to a gruesome scene.

“Mothers’ braids!” Lily-of-the-Canyon gasps as they approach the monstrous spirit-eater corpse lying in the middle of the clearing. “How did you manage to take out a great wolf?”

Red Dawn’s Fury breathes heavily as she nurses her side. Her hand is sticky with blood as she leans against a tree, but she is unhurt. The blood is not hers. “Grandmother Snow did what she does best and froze the damnable thing, but something was protecting it. We’re not sure what. Even Grandmother’s ice could not hold it in place for more than a few moments.”

Evening Wolf pats his wife on the back, pride in his face. “A few moments is all mitȟáwiču needed to take it out.”

Red Dawn’s Fury blushes at that, leaning on her husband. “He oversells it. Grandmother Snow had to freeze it about four times before I got enough javelins through its face to take it down.”

Evening Wolf shakes his head proudly. “But still, she did all the work.” He points at her bloodied torso. “It landed on her when it went down, but only scraped her lightly. Grandmother fixed that pretty quick.”

Grandmother Snow rises from her spot, settled on the bare roots of the trees. She shakes her head in wonder. “Aye, he speaks true. I could not freeze it. Something lies ahead that, I fear, we may not be able to handle ourselves.”

“What of your mission for the Black Tree?” Lily-of-the-Canyon inquires to Grandmother.

Grandmother shrugs. “Simple enough. There’s two pockets of survivors near here. Ayotli went to collect one – there are no spirit-eaters in the immediate vicinity, and the nearest ones I could sense were near about a league away.” She pokes the body in the clearing with her staff. “I sensed this one coming when we were still coming here. It followed us.”

Grandmother frowns. “It followed our tracks perfectly, and somethin’ ain’t right about that, Stone Sister.”

“How long until Ayotli returns?” Itomaza asks the old woman, ignoring her.

She shakes her head, but shrugs again. “Nearabouts a turn of the glass at most, I’d say. They were a short jaunt down a few paths, between courtyards. No sign of any spirit-eaters in the area, and none that I could find. She’s simply a messenger at this point, to bring them back to here.”

“So we wait until Ayotli returns, take those people to the building we found, then collect the next pocket,” Itomaza deduces. “Make sure the path to the courtyard is clear, then I’ll go ahead and lead as many as I can from here to there.”

“Could one of us retrieve the second group while we wait?” Red Dawn’s Fury questions as she braces a foot against the face of the great wolf; With heaving effort, she begins to pull out each javelin, inspecting the tips of each. “I could easily get the second group while we wait for Ayotli to return.”

Grandmother Snow begins to protest, but Itomaza cuts her off. “I see no reason not to,” he says dismissively. “Go. Be back as quickly as possible.”

Red Dawn’s Fury nods, pulling out the last of her several javelins before securing them with her quiver of arrows. Her bow in hand, she confers briefly with Grandmother Snow before launching herself off into the undergrowth.

Evening Wolf looks towards her direction, a little forlorn. “Are you sure we should have sent her alone?”

“You’ll see her again soon enough,” Itomaza responds. “She’s one of our most capable warriors, Evening Wolf.”

“Aye,” he agrees, a warm smile playing about his lips. “That woman could fight an army on her own.”

“Any one of us could, nephew,” Grandmother Snow snorts as she stands from her root. “I did not choose you lot for nothin’ to accompany me out here.”

She motions for the remaining members to follow her to the base of the largest root in the area, where she leans heavily against it. She murmurs more deep prayers as she stands there, her eyes closed and her forehead resting against the ancient tree.

After a moment, she looks up and turns back to the rest, rap-rapping her staff on the ground as she does. An intricate and ornate chair erupts from the ground, made of pure ice and as clear as glass.

Grandmother Snow collapses into it, sighing as she does.

“There are potentially two more spirit-eaters in the area,” Grandmother Snow says flatly.

“But, you said –” Itomaza starts.

“Grandmother, I don’t –” says Evening Wolf.

“Surely that can’t be –” Lily-of-the-Canyon gasps.

With a wave her hand and an impatient sigh, the old witch freezes their jaws shut with a layer of ice. “I will unfreeze you in a moment, but listen, ye halfwits.”

Three nods, and two furious faces.

“There are potentially two more. Potentially.” Grandmother emphasizes potentially repeatedly. “The truth is, I don’t know for sure. There’s two things in the area that are much, much larger than even we are, and they aren’t human. They aren’t mammoths, they are way too big to stags or rams, and they’re very much alive. Which is why I say potentially two more – spirit-eaters are not alive.”

Grandmother Snow shakes her head. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re in the area, and they’re big.”

She waves her hand and the ice melts from the faces of the three warriors. “If ye want, go up the Black Tree and tell me what you can see. The tower is filled with the dead, but none of them walk.”

“Will you be fine down here?” Itomaza asks. “I could send someone up to investigate, though that may spread us too thin.”

Grandmother Snow waves her hand. “Go. All three of you. I need time to rest, and should anything show up…” She lets out a quick bark of laughter. “If I could not spot it through the tree, then it is powerful enough to avoid me. I assure you, if something that powerful is nearby, you will not want to be here anyway.”

The three of them nod to her. They elect to find their way up the Black Tree and see what they can, and maybe recover whatever they may.

The old woman leans back in her chair, an ornate chair as clear as glass. As she moves, so does the chair. When she puts her feet up, a footrest appears for her. When she throws her head back to look at the sky, a rest appears for her head, perfectly adapted to form around a braid, tightly curled into a massive bun nearly as big as her head.
Seemingly standing of its own accord next to her is a staff, carved as intricately as her chair. Though made of wood, an aura of power seems to emanate from it, and it is topped with a spearpoint of the same crystal clear glass of her chair.
Without thinking about it, the old woman breaks off a chunk of her armrest and puts it in her mouth, sucking on it.
Ice.
Suddenly, at a speed not associated with women of her age, she stands up and grabs her staff, holding it out in front of her like a spear. She glares into the darkness surrounding her, cursing her old age for blindness, though most are unaware her eyes no longer see, as she can still sense water around her… and humans, and every other living thing, are filled with it.
She waves her hand, murmuring to herself. Ice begins to swirl around her, and within moments, she has created a flurry of weapons, ready to be used – a dozen javelins, each taller than herself and made of the same pure ice, stick out of the ground. She mimes grabbing one, and it floats from the ground, aimed forward as she scans the forest around her.
“Stand down, Unči-Wa,” a bemused voice calls from the forest.
Whether Grandmother Snow comprehends what the voice says or not is irrelevant, as the moment the voice says a word, the old woman sends her javelin hurling into the darkness, at speeds that even Red Dawn’s Fury would be unable to match.
The figure steps into the light, holding the javelin.
“Even at twice the age your people normally live, you still have the reflexes of a warrior at her peak.”
A woman, towering over Grandmother Snow, emerges from the brush. A small, blood-splattered shield is attached to her forearm that holds the javelin, held high above her head. Strapped to her back is an ornate war bow, its string taut against the muscles in her chest and arms. The woman is black as night, and the gold armor she wears is a stark contrast against her skin. In her other hand, she grasps a fan axe, as golden as her armor and as ornate as her bow.
“Kandake,” Grandmother Snow says, an eyebrow raised. “Have you come for me already?”
The woman smiles coldly, giving Grandmother Snow no warning. She throws the javelin back at Grandmother, who splits it in two as it travels, landing on either side of her, stuck so deep in the ground they are almost lost from the force with which they were thrown.
Kandake pulls her bow out, pulling it back; No arrows required, a gold beam of light appears as she draws the bow.
But Grandmother Snow does not let her draw it to full length. Erupting from the ground below Kandake, a spear of ice erupts from the ground, piercing both of Kandake’s arms before she’s pulled the bow to even half drawn. Immediately, another spear of ice pierces Kandake’s midsection, and two more erupt from the trees nearby to pin Kandake’s feet to the ground, fixing her in place.
Kandake’s cold smile does not move as she stares at Grandmother Snow.
“Not today, it would seem,” Kandake says politely. “I would have your soul someday, heyókȟa, but you will not be mine to take.” 
Grandmother’s eyebrow raises, but she does not unpin the woman. “Not yours? Are you not the spirit of death who promised me my soul would be hers while I massacred an army on the battefield?”
Kandake’s expression is grim, her smile dark. “I would give another army and my own first born to take your soul, heyókȟa, but times change. I will not be the one to take you.”
“Then why are you here?”
Kandake’s eyes look all around, then roll, as though the answer obvious. “It is my duty, you old contrarian. I am here for all the death that has and will happen today.”
“More?” Grandmother asks.
Kandake barks out a laugh as she stares down Grandmother. “More? Why, this city has not yet even seen the main force that will come through. None you rescue here will make it out alive.”
Grandmother sighs, collapsing back into her chair. As she does, the ice falls.
Streams of blue erupt from the holes in Kendake’s body. Around her, plants erupt into growth as the blood of the gods waters them, but Kendake simply waves her hand, her own wounds healed.
“I am here to warn you,” Kendake says simply.
Grandmother snorts. “Of all the spirits to warn me, why must it be the Mother of Orphans?”
Kendake smiles, warmth finally entering her expression. “Understand this, ye old hag – I am here to collect spirits, for Burning Woman has seen that many will die here. My siblings are not far behind me, and they will not be happy to hear I’ve spoken to you yet again, but they will get over it.”
“How kind,” Grandmother says.
“The Child of War will come for the one with stars for eyes, and the Musical Mischief will stall for time,” Kendake warns, ignoring Grandmother’s sarcasm. “But the city will come to ruin. Not even Burning Woman herself could make it here in time to stop him.”
“So what do we do?” Grandmother asks. “Do we leave now, abandon those we’ve looked for?”
Kendake shakes her head, creating a soft, but chaotic musical cacophony as her metal braids collide with each other. “Naught could save them, not even I, and I’ve killed more of his Generals than I care to count. I’ve slowed him down, but I cannot stop him.” The spirit sighs, sitting down on the ground to get closer to Grandmother’s face.
“Abandon the city now, and your companions may yet live,” Kendake warns. “But if you do not leave when the turtle returns, the fates of your companions may be carved into a stone that even I cannot chisel out.”
“Ayotli will return long before Red Dawn’s Fury will,” Grandmother states in a questioning tone, but no question is asked.
“Leave her,” Kendake agrees. “The Musical Mischief will be here for here soon enough.”
Grandmother Snow nods, understanding in her unseeing stare. “Aye,” she says heavily. “But whether my companions will listen to this news is an uphill battle.”
Kendake nods knowingly. “The howl of dusk will not want to abandon the red twilight. His fate is his choice, but we can all guess where it will go.”
“And Lily-of-the-Canyon?” Grandmother asks.
Kendake shakes her head. “She failed in her duty. Her oath will take her, but it need take only one – the metal light will arrive and she will give her all for it.”
Grandmother nods knowingly. “Are there any I must keep an eye out for?”
Kendake snorts. “Aside from me or mine own?” She laughs, a sound like metal on water, but has a thoughtful look as she answers nonetheless. “A rodent of… the trees. And…”
Kendake stares intently into nothing, her eyes seeing beyond anything even Grandmother Snow can sense.
The goddess of death bursts out laughing, a hysterical sort of the most infectious variety, making Grandmother smile in confusion.
“And the wood of a teen boy!” Kendake laughs as she delivers the news. “He’s chasing the rodent, so make of that what you will.”
Grandmother joins her in laughing.

Itomaza, Lily-of-the-Canyon, and Evening Wolf arrive back from their foray into the tree. They are in a surprisingly good mood, and Evening Wolf grasps Grandmother’s shoulder as he arrives.

“Mitȟáwiču!” He crows. “She is almost returned, and Ayotli will be here soon!”

“Was she… unhurt?” Grandmother asks quietly.

“Fine as the day we wed,” his smile is broad, but falters slightly as he notices her hesitation. “What is it?”

Grandmother does not get a chance to answer.

A great roar shakes the very trees, and within the same second, all four companions have taken up a defensive position. Grandmother Snow raises the companions on a platform of ice, dotted on top to ensure traction, and raises a secondary platform at a lower height to act as a wall.

Lily-of-the-Canyon has both her warclubs out, the spikes on either end clean and ready to impale some heads. Itomaza wields his beloved spear, his shield raised over his chest. Evening Wolf crouches, his entire body fitting behind his shield, as he looks towards the forest with his spear held high.

“What was that?” Lily-of-the-Canyon looks towards Grandmother Snow.

“Death,” is her answer. “We have two options when Ayotli returns.”

“We are not abandoning my wife,” Evening Wolf hisses at her without looking at her. “We will not leave her.”

“So long as she lives, we will not leave her,” Grandmother Snow promises, though her voice is dry. “That, I can assure you.”

Moments later, Ayotli springs out of the undergrowth, her two knives held high, sparkling red with blood from her head to her toes as every inch of her is pure metal and most of her clothes are torn away.

“Five spirit-eaters!” Ayotli snarls as she arrives, her attitude black. “I killed five spirit-eaters on the return, Grandmother Snow. You assured me there were none!”

“There is a force much stronger than I present,” Grandmother Snow says calmly. “I did not know, as they were being hidden from my gaze.”

“Then how many more are coming?” Lily-of-the-Valley asks quickly, worry in her voice. “We cannot take on an army of spirit-eaters on our own, even with more warriors at our side.”

Grandmother Snow points to the bushes where Ayotli arrived. “What warriors?” She asks.

Ayotli blanches. “They were… they were just behind me. They should be arriving in the clearing. There was a rear guard of Jiars, acclaimed Akíčita all! Where are they?”

The five companion watch the undergrowth. A small rustle, and all five prepare their weapons.

A faint cry, and a small child, no older than six, comes stumbling out of the bushes. They scream, a piercing noise, and take only a few steps.

A creature more bones than skin follows it out of the darkness. No flesh touches the bones that walk, that rattle. Three pure white skulls erupt from the shoulders, from a bison, an elk, and a wolf. Horns capped by gold and iron are unnaturally mounted to all three heads. The front legs are too long, too unwieldy; they are made of the legs of all three animals. They grasp at the ground with the fingers of a human, feeling and touching everything with what bones remain from all three creatures.

Riding atop this creature most foul, the skeleton of a person, as equally devoid of flesh and blood, holds the reins and turns its head towards the companions. But this person lacks arms, and the reins are attached directly to its ribcage, and their legs are fused with the skeleton that it rides. It opens its mouth in a scream, but no sound escapes; there are no vocal cords left.

It sees the child in front of it. With but a single movement, one of the hands comes crashing down onto the screaming child, silencing it as quickly as it came.

Visible only to Grandmother, Kendake’s arrow finds the child before the creature’s arm does, ensuring a quick and painless end. Kendake steps from the darkness, and Grandmother’s heart breaks as she sees a long line of children following Kendake.

“They found the academies,” Grandmother rasps out, her voice hoarse from horror. “These things… they are from ancient bones, ancient burial grounds… I could not see them because there is nothing to see.”

Kendake whispers to Grandmother’s ears alone – Go now, while you still may. I will kill this General, but I must be on my way.

“Do we stay, or do we leave?”

Ayotli’s voice trembles, for the first time since she was feather-less teenager. She stares down at the creature, and her mind brings her back to the first time she fought in an actual battle.

And she falls to her knees, crushed in spirit before the fight has even begun.

Evening Wolf jumps in front of Ayotli, using his shield to block the creature from Ayotli’s view. Itomaza leaps to their side, his small shield providing more cover, and Lily-of-the-Canyon stands to their other side.

Only Grandmother does not move.

Kendake breaks her camoflauge, revealing herself to the four warriors. Three gasp in surprise – But Ayotli does not.

“Kendake, are you here for me?” She wimpers, staring up at the massive woman.

“My siblings will see to you,” Kendake says, sympathy in her voice. “But I am here for this.”

Kendake hands her bow to her newest ward, raising her fantail axe to her side. With two hands on the axe, she strides towards the General, her eyes flashing a dangerous hue of gold.

The fight is short.

The goddess whirls her axe around, bringing it crashing down on the General. The General raises an arm, reinforced with several femurs and ribs, and blocks the blow. It swings back with its other hand, swiping at Kendake’s legs.

She drops her axe, crushing its hand under the weighted end of the axe, redusing the bones to dust. She steps back, begins to whirl her axe, and begins to systemically crush every bone that comes at her.

The General catches on too late that the goddess was simply going to reduce him to dust. His other arm is gone and one of his skulls is pulverized before he begins to try and back off.

Grandmother raises stalagmites of ice, pinning the creature in place through its bones, preventing it from moving. It rattles like a baby’s toy as it struggles against the onslaught of the furious goddess.

It does not survive.

“Go,” the goddess’s voice booms at them, no longer speaking in whispers. “You will not survive if you stay.”

Evening Wolf looks over his shield, at the goddess, then at the woods from where Red Dawn’s Fury will arrive.

“Will I make it to my wife before the end?” He asks simply, staring at the goddess.

She chooses to say nothing, but instead glances at the same patch of wood. Three more sets of eyes look at the woods, expectedly.

Red Dawn’s Fury bursts from the undergrowth, her mouth open in a silent scream. She holds her arm, barely connected to her body from a few strands of muscle. Her bow is gone, but she retains her javelins.

Evening Wolf leaps to her side, sweeping her off her feet, and brings her to Grandmother. Grandmother does not look at her, using a blade of ice to slice her arm from her body with a spurt of blood. Grandmother blows on the wound, encasing it in ice.

“I cannot reattach her arm in the time I have,” she tells Evening Wolf and Red Dawn’s Fury, who has stopped screaming. “But she needs only one arm to throw her javelins.”

Evening Wolf nods, and Red Dawn’s Fury closes her eyes, breathing deeply. “It doesn’t hurt,” she ventures. “It’s painless.”

“You die today,” Grandmother says bluntly. “There’s no point in healing you, or attempting to make it last. But I can help you go out on your own terms, fighting to the end.”

Red Dawn’s Fury looks at Grandmother, her eyes red. But she lifts her chin, braces herself against her husband, and rolls out of his arms.

“I know,” she says. “I think I’ve known for awhile it’s the end.”

She brings her husband to her side. “But we’ll go out how we lived.”

Grandmother doesn’t need to look towards the trees to see that Kendake has left.

“Itomaza!” Grandmother barks out, looking towards the young leader. “Get Lily-of-the-Canyon and guard Ayotli. There are more spirit-eaters coming.”

“From where?” Itomaza questions.

“Everywhere,” she says grimly. “That General was blocking them from my sight; I can see clearly now. I could not count them if I tried, and they will find us.”

“We will make our stand here,” Evening Wolf declares, holding Red Dawn’s Fury close as they sit on the edge of the icy platform. “The Mother of Orphans has shown us our end, and I do not see a reason to deny that.”

“I will help as long as I can,” Grandmother Snow responds, her voice unusually quiet. “But the rest of us may try and make our way elsewhere… towards the port, perhaps.”

“We can cover you,” Red Dawn’s Fury says bravely, her voice quivering. “Though I’d rather live to see my hair as grey as yours, Grandmother… well, today’s song is one worth singing.”

Grandmother smiles, though she turns her head.

Red Dawn’s Fury stands, her javelins held high. Evening Wolf stands next to her, and together they face the woods, his shield held high and her javelins in her remaining hand.

Ayotli is held up by Lily-of-the-Canyon and Itomaza, stunned by the presence of the General into a mental stupor. Grandmother sighs. Though she can help with physical injuries just fine… wounds of the mind are not something she can help with.

Uncharacteristically, the old woman shuffles forward and embraces the small woman in her arms, wrapping her in a bear hug. She strokes the dark braids of the Qexoatlan warrior, avoiding the brightly colored fantail headdress she wears as a symbol of her position. Her unusual armor crunches like dry leaves as Grandmother Snow embraces her, and tears from both women smear the ceremonial paint on the small woman’s face.

Ayotli cries and laughs as Grandmother Snow hugs her, alternating as her terrified mind finds its peace in the embrace of the witch.

“You will die,” Grandmother says. “We all must die eventually,” she continues. “That does not mean we must live in fear of that day. If that day is today for you, then so be it.”

Ayotli presses her face into the old woman’s chest, leaning into the hug. Grandmother Snow reassures her as they stand together.

An experienced leader and warrior she may be, there are few who can withstand the direct gaze of the Generals.

Grandmother stands upright, grabbing her staff and turning towards the brush, closest to Red Dawn’s Fury and Evening Wolf.

“They are here,” she rasps out, her voice hoarse and tight with fear. “They are here.”

Three spirit-eaters erupt from the darkness, though their speed works against them. A wolf-headed one immediately impales itself on Evening Wolf’s outstretched spear, and a half-elk learns to garden as it sprouts a long piece of wood from its face.
“Over there!” Grandmother Snow points, releasing a spear of ice from her hand. An antlered woman is impaled onto a tree and ceases movement.
“Itomaza!” Grandmother cries. “Everywhere! They are going to come from everywhere!”
Moments later, more erupt into the clearing. Red Dawn’s Fury throws her javelins as fast as she can, with terrifying accuracy on each throw. When she runs out of wooden ones, Grandmother Snow waves her hand and a pile of perfectly-sized ice javelins appear in a pile.
Evening Wolf stands at his wife’s back, his shield held high and his spear thrusting rapidly. With every thrust, another spirit-eater falls. His movements are rapid, and his eyes are determined. He begins singing a song, and his wife joins him as they fight.
Itomaza and Lily-of-the-Canyon fight back-to-back, defending each other’s weak spots and working in-sync. Lily-of-the-Canyon swings her warclubs around with terrifying speed, breaking skulls with the blunt sides and pulling spirit-eaters around with the spikes, throwing them onto Itomaza’s spear or into Grandmother Snow’s stalagmites.
Grandmother Snow defends Ayotli, standing over the woman as she regains her composure. Finally, the small witch stands, her eyes determined and fierce.
She dives into the fray, her entire body made of pure metal. Even her headdress is metal, and she swings her head around, slicing into spirit-eaters with feather-blades. She brings herself to the weak side of Red Dawn’s Fury, defending the injured woman.
The six of them fight, and all six take up the eerie death song of the married pair.
It takes only a momentary slowness from Red Dawn’s Fury to seal her fate. Though fighting to the best of her ability, she is unable to keep up the pace after losing her arm. She falters as she throws a spear, and a spirit-eater leaps inward to bite her arm with the jaws of a wolf.
She screams as it rips her remaining arm from her body. The sound is horrifying, breaking the melodious sounds of the death song.
Evening Wolf turns, removing the head of the spirit-eater in a single movement, before looking at the bloodied face of his wife, where she kneels on the ground.
“Mercy,” she whispers, looking up towards her husband. He does not hesitate, telling her once that he loves and that he always will, before driving his own spear through her heart.
Ayotli dives away from the pair as Evening Wolf’s screams turn from sorrow to suicide, and he dives into the fray of spirit-eaters. Making his final stand, he shouts a challenge to the spirit-eaters in the area.
Grandmother Snow uses one massive shove to push a clear path into the undergrowth, out of their clearing, for the remaining companions to make a break for it.
Evening Wolf’s cries of sorrow fade as the companions run into the darkness.