Taming Destiny - a Tamer Class isekai/portal survival fantasy.

The fifteen villagers head through the dark forest. Their path is lit only by the light of the Spirit’s Eyes which move across the sky, watching everything below with an unwavering gaze. Underneath the canopy, their rays are impeded by the leaves, but still enough slips through to allow the sharp-eyed People to avoid most dangers. With so many of them travelling together, including three Evolved, the rest of the potential threats apparently choose not to bother them. Or perhaps it's the recent visit of the life-devourer which causes the forest to be so quiet tonight.

It’s just as well since River doesn’t feel like he would be inclined to offer any sort of mercy to creatures who attempt to interfere with their mission tonight, not when the hours before Egg-rise are too short as they are.

Reaching the so-familiar path that leads directly to the gateway to the village proper, River takes a moment to swallow, pushing away his fears and worries. Once more, he attempts to send his master a message to hurry, to join them as soon as possible.

He didn’t expect to be doing this by himself, for all that the whole reason for him bringing almost all of his kin who were tied to Markus was that he could if necessary. Though, the ‘if necessary’ had been more to do with if Markus had an issue with his fire, or the threat from the forest was more immediate than they had thought. They hadn’t considered that Shaman might have done something so…detestable. Be planning to do more.

That was the only way he could describe it, sacrificing the lives of hatchlings, planning to sacrifice the lives of adults. All so that the rest of the village could survive.

At least he wasn’t alone in his disgust – everyone had agreed that Shaman’s actions could not be tolerated, even if Joy and Lee had taken some time to come around. Hopefully they would be able to convince others.

Well, he would know sooner rather than later: the first targets stand just a few paces away, motionless in the moonlight. Motionless, until they spot the approach of the large party.

Clearly not recognising the group as kin, the Warriors move into a threatening position, one shifting his spear into a ready position, crouching lower to the ground to give himself stability. The other has a throwing weapon, the woven pockets for the stones and the bands of which were probably created by the Pathwalker stepping silently beside River.

“Halt, come no closer. State your business,” the Warrior holding the spear commands firmly. His voice is flat, toneless without light to illuminate the colours on his crest, but the meaning is clear.

“Peace, Fights-a-broodmate,” Lee says, at the front of their little cavalcade. “It is I, Leaps-in-fright. We have returned from our hunt.”

The reaction of the Warriors is quick. They immediately relax, spear butt placed back on the earth, sling slowed and stopped from whirling above the other Warrior’s head. The group of returning villagers start moving forward again.

“Leaps-in-fright! You are welcome back. Presuming you have brought our Honoured Weaver with you too, that is.”

“I am here,” answers Joy.

Fights-a-broodmate clicks his teeth together in what River has to guess is an expression of gladness.

“It is good to have you back, Honoured Pathwalker,” the Warrior says. “I am glad that our Warriors have kept you safe.” River senses an odd discomfort from both Peace and Lee. He supposes it makes sense – technically, they utterly failed in all their objectives.

Due to the trees having been cleared away from the village and its environs, the returning hunting party steps into the light as they approach the two Warriors, allowing the guards to better identify all the members of the group. River notices their expressions twist.

“I see that you were successful in recapturing the traitor Runs-with-the-river,” says Fights-a-broodmate. This close, River can catch a hint of the deep colour which spills through his spikes. He can’t quite tell what the colour is, but he can guess well enough.

“We found him, for sure,” Lee answers, his own spikes kept carefully blank. “Brother, there is much to speak about. Let the others enter the village and Sleeps-peacefully and I will share news with you.”

“The Pathwalker will be safe without you to protect her?” the other Warrior asks dubiously, speaking for the first time. River is able to identify him as Chews-a-bone, one of only three Warriors in the village who rely on ranged weapons. “He does not seem bound in any way and I do not see Murmurs-quietly or Eats-dirt with you.”

“By my claw, I promise that Honoured Weaver will be safe,” reassures Lee. “As for the other two of our brethren, they are well, but on another mission at the moment.” Though not looking entirely convinced, the two Warriors nonetheless shift to the side to give the hunting party entrance.

As River’s party moves into the village, the quiet sounds of the Warriors’ conversation become indecipherable.

It’s an odd experience for River, entering somewhere which is both so achingly familiar, and so terribly strange. He has become habituated to calling the cave home, to considering his people to be Bastet and Markus, and Fenrir, and Sirocco. Even Hades and Persephone feel more familiar to him than the two Warriors he has just walked past.

There is also a surprisingly vulnerable feeling, brought home to him in the guarded question of Chews-a-bone. A reminder that here he is considered a traitor, one deserving the heavy and sharp claw of justice for his crimes against the village. He doesn’t doubt in his companions – he trusts in their equal fervour to see the shaman’s plans foiled, even if he didn’t trust in the Bonds which hold them tied to the same master as him. Yet still, he can’t help a niggling sense of doubt.

Is this like it was when Markus walked into a camp of enemies, forced to trust in me, so newly Bonded, to keep him safe? River can’t help but wonder. No, it must have been worse: River, at least, knows and trusts the rest of the hunting party, having worked with them for years. Led them for days. Seen their change of heart and lack of desire to return to the old ways of thought. Or, at least, their motivation to see Shaman’s plan a failure.

River brushes the thoughts aside – they will do him no good. He has a task to do.

The Unevolved break away from their party as previously agreed, moving over to try to rouse the other Unevolved, to find out if all the hatchlings have been sacrificed or only a small number. Silently, Joy and River head to their destination.

Once more River approaches the hut of his previous master in the middle of the night. This time, however, it is not to sneak Lathani out like a thief. Instead, he heads to the hut next door, the one where his master…his previous master sleeps.

At the entrance, he hesitates for a moment, then pushes the leaf-door aside, crawling in feet first.

Inside, he finds himself suddenly accosted, a blow pushing him against the wall.

“Stop!” he exclaims, the sounds of his grunt and snapping teeth cutting through the air like a spark through the darkness. His assailant freezes.

“Runs-with-the-river?” a voice breathes, the clicks almost inaudible. He would recognise the voice of his master…his previous master anywhere.

“Yes,” he answers flatly. Not that Herbalist would be able to see any emotions he showed on his spikes anyway. Not in this all-encompassing darkness.

“Are you…are you here to kill me?” Herbalist asks, her teeth chattering slightly. In anger? Fear? He cannot tell.

“No,” he breathes, just as quiet as Herbalist’s had been before. “At least, I hope not,” he can’t help but add. From what Yells-a-curse said, Herbalist has been a reluctant participant in Shaman’s scheme, but a participant she has been regardless. And River can’t forget that she seemed perfectly willing to go along with the plan to use Lathani as their weapon.

That’s also another reason he can’t promise that he won’t kill her – if his master requires him to kill Herbalist for her crimes against Lathani…but he wouldn’t ask that of River, surely? He would do the job himself, or give it to the Great Predator to take her revenge. He wouldn’t be cruel enough to ask Herbalist’s previous assistant to be her executioner. River feels a faint hint of doubt, but pushes it away – he wouldn’t.

But that’s a later consideration for when his master joins him. For now, they have to deal with the impending sacrifice of five adults for nothing.

“It’s dark,” he says, pointing out the obvious. “We need some light.”

“Do you wish to take this outside?” asks Herbalist, a little uncertainly. Clearly she doesn’t want to take it outside, out of her den and away from her weapons.

“No need,” River says, pulling two items from his belt. Working from feel, he strikes the firestarter until sparks fly. They are enough to illuminate the torch head, allowing him to aim the next set at the flammable end. Soon, one catches, and then flames ripple across the pitch-soaked plant fibre which is wrapped around the piece of stick, held in place by more fibre.

The flames illuminate the wide eyes of Herbalist. River watches as she recoils backwards in shock, her tail knocking into several pots of unknown substances as she backs into the drying plants hanging against the wall.

“What…?” she apparently can’t help but ask, her jaw sagging open in shock to allow the grunts through. Her spikes, now lit in the torchlight, show deep shock and confusion, shot through with not a little worry. “How?”

“My master taught me,” River says carefully. Her reaction has helped steady him a little, has reminded him that however great an impact on his life she has had in his memories, she is no longer the direct authority over him. And she seems oddly diminished compared to his memories even if her physical size has not changed.

“Your…you have taken another…one of my sisters as master?” she asks, confusion spilling through her spikes. And is that hurt that he sees? As if with unfortunate timing, Joy decides that now is the right moment for her to slide through into the room.

“I saw the fire,” she explains as soon as she gets in. “I thought perhaps you had managed to make some progress.”

A curious expression twists Herbalist’s jaws, and an odd pinkish shade goes through her crest – not one River has ever really seen before. Certainly not with him as part of the conversation.

“So it is you!” Herbalist clicks angrily, her breath hissing through her teeth.

“What?” Joy asks, looking completely baffled. River feels much the same.

“You stole my Runs-with-the-river’s loyalty!” accuses Herbalist, stepping forward towards Joy, away from the wall. “Did you tell him to kill Mover? And to let that prey-beast free? Why? Because you couldn’t stand being weaker, lower in the rankings than I am? You disgust me!” Her tail lashes angrily back and forth; she doesn’t seem to notice the pots being knocked over and spilled behind her.

“What are you talking about?” cries Joy, her grunts rising in volume. River begins to worry that Shaman will hear: the mud walls of the huts are good at insulating sound but not that good. “And it’s you who disgusts me! Hatchlings, how could you!”

“Don’t pretend you’re better than me sister. All you can do is steal.” The two Pathwalkers are practically jaw to jaw and River doesn’t know how long it will be until a fight breaks out.

“Stop it,” he says, at first a little weakly. Then, when the two females show no indication of having heard him, he says it more firmly. “Stop it!”

This time, they glance at him, Herbalist in surprise, Joy in wariness. Perhaps Herbalist has never heard him being so assertive – he certainly never has been with her. Not until now. He’d always known what his place was when he was with her, and had never even considered risking it by being rude or aggressive.

Now it was a different story.

“Joy, back off,” he orders firmly, holding the Bond instinctively just to make sure she would obey. He has never done this before, wasn’t even sure whether he would dare command a Pathwalker if it came to it. Apparently, though, he’s willing to do it.

The Weaver eyes him for a moment, rebellion both in her eyes and her Bond. She doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like him ordering her around; especially doesn’t like it that he’s doing it in front of her sister. He fears that she will try anyway, wonders what might happen if she does. However, he senses that the Bond will not let her defy him, not with him holding it as firmly as he is now.

He still remembers the times his master used the Bond against him – first when they had been escaping this very village, second when he had been enraptured by the Energy Hearts. He remembers well the feeling of his body obeying another over him. No doubt Joy feels that now, the inability to make her limbs obey her if she tries to move against his command. It sends an odd thrill up his spine.

Joy steps back, closing her jaws from where they’ve been gaping open in a threat, lowering her claws. Her tail sinks from where it had been lifting to offer her balance if she needed to move quickly.

River looks over at Herbalist. She, too, has partially dropped the threatening position. She doesn’t look any more relaxed though: instead of glaring at Joy, she’s now looking at River with suspicion flickering through her spikes.

“So, Weaver is not your new master?” she asks slowly a moment later.