I’ve only taken three steps towards the area where the surviving samurans from the invasion are being kept when I suddenly run into something. Focussing on what’s before me, I realise that River’s blocking my way with a determined look on her face and in her spikes.

  Markus, what are you doing? she questions firmly, now that she has my attention. I feel cool, scaled hands wrap around my arms, their touch gentle but strong. I look down and realise that she’s actually reached out to hold me.

  “I’m going to make sure no one else is hurt,” I tell her, my eyes moving away from hers and onto the route I need to take. I can’t see them from here, but I know that once I move past a few buildings, I will be able to. I pull at the grip she has on my arms but she doesn’t let go.

  How are you going to do that? River asks stubbornly. I glare at her, even in my anger not wanting to hurt her but not liking how she’s interfering. I step back and pull again at the grip she has on me, but she holds fast and just steps with me.

  “They pleaded for mercy, and yet repaid it by killing Storm? I’m going to show them mercy alright – the mercy of death.”

  No, don’t! River responds, looking alarmed.

  “Why not?” I snap at her. She flinches back and reflexively lets go as I allow my rage to briefly escape my grasp – I see a flash of a flame reflected in her eyes. The sight sobers me slightly and I pull back on my rage a little more. I never want River to be afraid of me. “One of them already escaped and killed Storm,” I remind her a little more calmly but no less forcefully. “I’m not letting any of the others have the opportunity to do similarly.”

  River looks pale, but I struggle to determine any more than that, both because the Bond between us is almost entirely shut down and because I can only give her a portion of my concentration. The rest is split between my self-recrimination at letting this happen, and my determination to prevent it from occurring again.

  The actions of one don’t necessarily reflect upon the many. You taught us that, she pleads. You taught us that all life has value. That mercy can be the best path!

  “And what has that got me?” I demand as her words make me see red. “A spear through my cub’s head! The cub who I helped raise. The cub who trusted me to keep her safe even as she protected me. That cub was killed because I put the value of mercy above my family’s lives!” I’m panting and flames are starting to flicker around my clenched fists.

  You have already killed the one responsible, River argues. The others may not even know about what this Warrior was attempting to do – remember? When the red village of the seventh mountain set a trap for us, you held only those responsible for the attack to account; you welcomed the Unevolved into our village with words of reconciliation and acceptance. When Flying-blade attempted to kill you, you only executed her, not all the rest of us standing by, not even her supporters who might have attempted to kill you too – they had not, and that was what was most important for you. When the Great Predator wished to kill me for my actions against her cub, you stood on my and my village’s behalf, arguing for our lack of choice and swearing to show us a better way. Yet now you wish to kill those who have surrendered because one of their number has attacked us?

  “Because one of their number has killed Storm!” I shout at her.

  And what of all those others who have died today? Or who died on other days? she asks. Her words are quiet, but they seem to echo in my ears, and the silence that they leave is deafening. Are they less important than Storm?

  Her words make me pause. My first reaction is that yes, they are less important than Storm who was one of the first in this world who I promised to protect. But though they might have been the first, they are not the only ones. And arguing that they are more important than any of the others who died is hypocritical to the extreme. All those who died were important to someone.

  I look around me and see many pairs of eyes staring at me, waiting for my decision. My pack has extended to include far more than just the raptorcats. And my responsibilities have extended even further. Others who have died today and on other days weren’t as precious to me, but they were important.

  If you kill them all in your current anger, you won’t be able to forgive yourself when you calm down, River continues in that same quiet tone, somehow knowing that I’m finally listening to her.

  And the problem is…she’s right. The fires of my rage roar within me, urging me to push my way forward and kill those even peripherally connected to Storm’s death. But what does it say about me if I do this for Storm when I didn’t for anyone else?

  I was frantic when I realised that my village was in trouble, and that the small red village had set themselves against us, but I was still able to realise that only a small portion of them were to blame.

  I was furious when I returned to my village and found so many of my friends dead, yet my anger burnt itself out quickly once we had won. I was able to remember myself enough to offer Bonds so that the attackers could earn their forgiveness with their labour. I didn’t execute them in cold blood even though they had had the blood of many of my people on their hands: Flicks, Trinity, Artemis’s pack, so many others.

  I was saddened by the long lines of dead lying outside the village, victims of an attack that hadn’t needed to happen if not for Tree-whisperer’s greed – after all, why else would she have gone for the den when the bulk of her forces hit the village? She must have wanted whatever she thought was in it for herself. At that time, I had no intentions of executing all the survivors for their crimes against me and mine.

  It’s only now when I’ve lost Storm that I become so incandescently furious to burn a samuran alive and to seek to kill all others connected to him, regardless of whether they conspired with him or were unaware of what they intended on doing. What does that say about how I value her? About how I value everyone else?

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  There are many who I would protect, but only a few who, apparently, I would be driven to literally incandescent fury for.

  Bastet for sure, and Ninja. Lathani, of course. River, certainly. Fenrir. Sirocco. Catch. Those who I have given my loyalty to, and who have repaid it in spades. Those I would go to the ends of the earth for, kill anyone for, perhaps even die for. Storm has just proven that she, at least, would die for me. The death of one of those is clearly enough to send me into a rage which goes beyond the reason I can draw on in all other situations.

  It’s uncomfortable to realise that I have such a delineation between my companions, but I suppose it’s natural, especially the more I turn my thoughts to leaving this place. Little by little, I’m detaching myself from this village.

  And perhaps it’s there I find a solution to this.

  “Are you the only one who feels that they should live?” I ask her softly. River eyes me cautiously, then relaxes a little as she realises that I’ve calmed down a bit.

  If you listened into the Bond network, you would know that I’m not, she replies.

  I suddenly realise that I’ve muted the Bonds so much that I can’t even hear what’s going on in their inter-Bond communication. Carefully, I lower my block, concerned about getting overwhelmed again. But this time, though I feel the intense grief from Bastet, Ninja, and Lathani, I am not overwhelmed by it. It calls to my own grief, but I can differentiate it enough to stop them feeding off each other.

  Markus is listening, River offers, not speaking out loud.

  Don’t kill them! Now they’ve surrendered, they’re no longer our enemies, but our sisters! cries one of them, a number agreeing. I don’t care enough to try to work out who it is.

  Kill them – they are a threat as long as they live, call another, a much smaller number agreeing while many more disagree.

  They are useless as corpses, is another argument, this one with tentative agreement.

  Kill the Warriors but not the Pathwalkers! Put them to work, but they must live, says another, with not an inconsiderable amount of support.

  They were warned about the consequences yet they continued, points out one more. Here, I recognise Windy’s voice. There is some support, but little of it.

  We have accepted those who have done worse, argues Flower, with much the same amount of support.

  Quiet now, I say, my mind now back in control. As the fires of my rage burn out, all that’s left are the tired ashes of guilt and grief that had been their fuel. The voices fall silent, tension palpable now that I have returned my awareness of my Bonds to their normal state. I have killed the perpetrator of the attack. I have had my vengeance. Members of the council, I leave the matter in your hands. Do with them as you wish. You’re the ones who will have to deal with the fallout when I’m gone.

  With that, I refuse to hear any more of their discussion, pushing it away.

  “Satisfied?” I ask River, almost savagely, seeking an outlet for my emotions. But all she does is tip her chin to the sky.

  I knew I was not mistaken in you. She lowers her chin and turns away, her tail swaying behind her as she strides towards where the survivors are being kept. I don’t know how to feel about her final words: proud, or intensely ashamed that I almost betrayed her trust.

  Ultimately, I push both aside and move over to Stormcloud’s body, standing before it and feeling a numbness creeping over me. Bereft of anything to do by my own actions, I find myself once more paralysed by hesitation.

  I’m deeply sorry, Shrieks tells me, the feelings of guilt coming across our Bond indicating that he feels absolutely wretched. The guards have told me that the other survivors indicated the Warrior had some sort of Stealth skill. He activated it, cut through the light bindings holding him in place, and slipped away. I suspect his target was…you.

  The news doesn’t truly penetrate the numbness filling me. I take in his words without really reacting to them. I understand what he’s saying on a surface level – that will have to be enough.

  “You did what you can,” I tell him through numb lips. Robbed of my revenge, with nothing to do but think, at least I can offer some absolution.

  If I’d made sure that they were bound so that he couldn’t free himself, if I hadn’t trusted their words of surrender…. He trails off. I have failed you, Tamer, and failed my village. It is only due to the brave actions of your companion that we are not now leaderless. And as the one responsible for ensuring that all those who had surrendered were kept under guards until something more formal had been accomplished, your companion’s death is entirely on my shoulders. Banishing me would be a mercy I don’t deserve.

  That makes its way through. I turn slowly to look at Shrieks, meeting his eyes for the first time in this conversation.

  “We all played a part. Yours was important, but you are not infallible. You could not have accounted for every possibility. The Warrior gave his word of surrender – you are not responsible for his lack of honour.”

  Somehow, saying that to Shrieks helps me put things a little more into perspective too. I still feel responsible for Storm’s death, but I realise that not all of it is on me. What I’ve learned about the samurans is that for most of them, their word is their bond. They may not be honourable in the way that I might define the word, but so far, the vast majority of samurans have done what they said they would do, happy about it or not.

  This Warrior was an outlier. Whether it was because he felt that one such as me didn’t deserve his word, or because his emotions drove him to continue the fight even if it meant breaking his oath, I don’t know. Or perhaps, having been part of the main battle rather than giving his oath of surrender in person, he felt that I was not included in its provision. Either way, it was unpredictable.

  There were ways to prevent this from happening, that’s for sure. And we who live will learn from the experience – prisoners will be bound far more securely in the future if I have anything to say about it. Even if the expectation is that the words of surrender are stronger than any bindings, clearly, it isn’t possible to be too careful. And I will always regret that it took Storm’s death to learn to be cautious in that way, and Honey’s to teach me to perhaps be more measured in who I give mercy to.

  But River was right – if I let my enemies’ actions change who I am at my core, then ultimately, I’m letting them win in some way.

  I’m grateful that she stopped me from killing the other survivors. She was right – it would always be a question within me whether they had deserved it. A worm of uncertainty that would threaten to eat me up from within.

  I set my hand on Shrieks’ shoulder.

  “We all make mistakes,” I say levelly, the numbness within me thawing slightly with my compassion for another tormented soul. “If we survive them, all we can do is try to be better next time.” I pat his shoulder briefly and then withdraw my hand. “Go. See what the Pathwalkers need. Your village is not done with you yet.”

  And there are three other people who need me now, need me far more than the village does. I feel almost sick at the realisation that I’ve let my own selfish guilt, grief, and anger take me away from offering them the comfort they need and deserve.

  Without another glance at Shrieks, I walk over to Bastet, Ninja, and Lathani, still pressed against Storm’s body.They’re no longer licking at it or trying to make it move. They both know deep inside that she’s gone and she’s not coming back. Yet they offer her companionship even so, and seek it from each other.

  I kneel down next to them. This time, I don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke their heads, growing another arm just so I can caress them all at the same time.

  We sit in silent vigil even as the village moves around us.

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