Pax whispers the destiny of each body part to me. The scales are for ceremonial rites and griffin battle armor. The joint fluid and eyes for poultices and elixirs. The blubber for candles and lamps and to be mixed with berries to make a dish called atuka. The liver and brain to be eaten frozen or raw, “obviously cooking would destroy the vitamin C.”
“Obviously.”
I poke his hip. “You’re not wearing your harness.”
“We were hunting.”
I slap his head. “I told you to always wear your harness.” The harness he made himself in his garage. “After all, I got a ship now.”
“Which?” he asks.
“The jade one.”
He whistles. “Too good for you.”
A group of skyhunters with pierced noses and tattered ears stomp over to me to give a sign of respect. The women look at Pax and cover their eyes in shame. He pretends not to care as he examines my ship in the distance.
“Looks like you’re the fall man,” I say.
“Naturally.”
“What happened up there? Why could Sefi not draw her bow?”
He focuses on the harvesting, pretending to not notice the scornful looks passing braves give him. “The cord has an immensely strong molecular composition, but can contract if not protected from the cold. I forgot to keep it in its heat sheath during the stalk.”
“Is that true?”
He makes no expression. “Of course. I am a heatlander, and a man. It was expected I would draw the gods’ ire by joining the sacred hunt. I forgot my duties to my wingleader.”
“When was the last time you forgot anything?”
He looks over with a chiding expression. “Sometimes it’s better to let a wheel squeak than break the cart trying to fix it.”
The truth sits unspoken between us. Either the bowstring was tampered with, which seems an awkward way to assassinate Sefi. Or something is wrong with Sefi herself. But how wrong?
“Oh shit…what is that?” I cry as harvesters pull two brain-sized gelatinous sacks from the drake’s belly.
“The testicles, of course. They have intense hallucinogenic properties when dried and ground down. Berserkers used them to summon the winter rage. Now they are forbidden, per Sefi’s decree.”
I wince as the testicles are tossed onto a fire by a shaman. “No wonder the men never speak up around here.”
At a jingle behind us, Pax’s face lights up. “?’Lo, Ozgard!” he calls as the shaman arrives on a sleigh pulled by two blue-painted aurochs, each with tiny bells hanging from their great ivory horns. The shaman drinks from a hollow tusk and jumps down from a bed of furs to greet us.
“Stupid heatlander,” he snaps at Pax, striking at him with his riding crop. “Everyone talks—brave to pup. You forgot string-guard. You embarrass me. You embarrass all men. You nearly killed our Queen.” He gesticulates drunkenly. “They think I am stupid. Teach you nothing.” He tosses Pax a hooked blade as long as Pax’s leg. “Do not sit back in shame. Go harvest. Unless you forgot my instructions. I need two kilos liver, ten kilos lung, one kilo spleen, two-ounce flame ichor, and four gonad veins. Do not embarrass me again, stupid boy.”
Without objecting, Pax departs at a jog. Good little soldier.
“Bit late,” I say to Ozgard.
“Should have used boots or ship.” Ozgard sighs and punches his most muscled aurochs on the flank. “Preparing for my Godspeak in ruins of Spires. Nefelfjar sensed evil sprits within a crag. Became frightened. I gave him grog. And he found his courage.” The aurochs sways back and forth, drunker than his shaman. Ozgard squints at Pax joining the harvesters, who make a show of excluding him.
“It is sacrilege to kill a high beast with a firearm,” Ozgard says. “Valkyrie nailed two poachers to a rock and had a buzzard eat their liver for just that two weeks past.”
“I’ve been told,” I say as another group of skyhunters come to pay their respects to me. “What’s wrong with Sefi?” I ask as they depart.
He doesn’t hear me. “What was the alien doing during this?”
“What is it with you two?” I mutter. “Xenophon didn’t cast a spell. And you know as well as I do that Pax can draw Olympia by memory from a single glance. Kid didn’t forget to warm a stupid string. So what’s wrong with Sefi?”