I’m finally being let out of my tent.

  It only took them, what, a month or two? But I’ll take it.

  Now, one might be wondering how exactly I handled using the restroom while stuck inside a tent for weeks.

  I shudder and shove the thought right out of my mind.

  After a grunt from my guard, I push aside the flap and step out, squinting a little as I look around with probably way too much excitement. For the first time, I can actually see the place properly instead of peeking out from inside whenever I was trying to pry words out of my poor guard.

  Outside my tent, I’m greeted by two more guards. They wear outfits similar to the one who follows Liang around, and around their necks hang the same necklace with that odd symbol she wears.

  So they probably belong to her personal retinue. Or maybe they’re some kind of elite guards. Important, at least.

  “Yuren is expecting you in the field,” my guard says before quickly wandering off, like he’s afraid he’ll be forced to babysit me one minute longer if he lingers.

  I fight the urge to skip around. Afraid being labeled a lunatic along with my omen tag.

  The tribe looks pretty much like what you’d imagine a tribe would look like. Tents are arranged in an orderly way, with the larger ones closer to the center. Various ornaments hang on the tents and around their entrances, though my tent seems to have the most by far. There’s no wall around the encampment, which honestly feels a little strange, and people move through it constantly, mostly women and children, all of them looking like they have something to do and no time to waste.

  As we walk closer to the edge of the camp, we pass a child who gets yanked behind a woman, probably his mother, the second she notices me. The child peeks around her side, curious. She quickly turns and takes another route, muttering something under her breath.

  Not quite a complaint and more like a prayer.

  That is concerning.

  As we approach the edge, I spot the field. Several men are spread across it, sparring with long poles, poking and swinging them as if they were spears. Off to the side, archers are shooting toward the treeline.

  My eyes settle on one pair in particular, locked in a more intense fight than the others.

  One of them is Yuren. The other wears plainer clothing than some of the others, but it’s noticeably better cared for than what the archers are wearing. A small crowd has formed around them, watching. There’s cheering too, though controlled, not loud or wild. Both names get called out, Yuren’s and Saren’s, which I assume is the name of the other man facing him.

  Saren holds his own well enough, but he’s losing. Slowly, steadily. Yuren keeps slipping hits through his guard and tagging him, while his own breathing stays calm and even, with only a few beads of sweat forming on his brow.

  Eventually, Yuren sweeps Saren’s feet out from under him and he hits the ground.

  The fight ends instantly.

  Yuren offers him a hand, Saren takes it, and then dusts himself off. The crowd closes in around them, congratulating them both. A few of the older men start pointing out mistakes from the fight, judging by the way they gesture and reenact bits of it.

  Meanwhile, I stand there awkwardly with my retinue and realize not a single person has come within arm’s reach of me. Most of them divert their eyes the moment they meet mine.

  I take note of that for later.

  Yuren notices me and quickly separates from the crowd. They pat him on the shoulder and congratulate him as he goes, but no one follows him once he leaves. The group disperses almost immediately after.

  “I am glad you have arrived,” he says, reaching out a hand.

  Thinking it’s meant for me, I reach out mine.

  It gets swatted away at once by the guard on my right.

  The guard on my left hands Yuren something, which I immediately recognize as the same type of necklace Liang and the guards wear.

  I squint but otherwise don’t react. It’s rude as hell to slap my hand away without explanation. They could at least tell me their customs instead of treating me like an idiot every time I guess wrong.

  Yuren either doesn’t notice my reaction or doesn’t care. Once he has the necklace on, he turns to me.

  “First we will see if you can hold a spear,” he says. “Then we will see if you can fight.”

  He turns and starts walking away from the last of the dispersing crowd, toward the far edge of the field. One of my guards splits off, then rejoins us carrying two poles.

  “Jie mins,” Yuren says, getting my name wrong in the same way everyone else does, which still makes my eye twitch even if I’m used to it now, “I want you to hold this stick as if you were holding a spear.”

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  I take the pole and ask a question while trying to find a grip that feels remotely natural.

  “Who is Saren?”

  Yuren looks at me, then goes quiet for a moment, probably deciding whether I need that information. Eventually he nods.

  “He is the son of the Elder of the Hunts.”

  Then he takes his own pole and starts nudging at my hands and fingers, shifting them around with small gestures until I get the message and move them where he wants.

  Eventually my left hand settles around the lower third of the pole while my right sits closer to the end, acting more like an anchor and a thrusting hand while my left works more for leverage.

  “Good enough,” Yuren says.

  Almost like he’s disappointed in me.

  I frown.

  What does he mean, good enough? I’ve never held a spear in my life. Guns, sure. Knives, yes. A spear? No. I know he doesn’t know that, but it’s still annoying. I can’t help wondering if he thinks I’m some pampered fool from some soft tribe.

  He steps back and takes position opposite me, pointing the end of his pole at me.

  “I want you to show me how you fight with a spear. This is a simple spar, so there is no need to go all out.”

  I tighten my grip and shift my feet, thinking about how to approach this.

  He obviously has more experience with pole weapons than I do, so I stand no chance in any real sense. But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe I just need to show him what I have.

  Then again, do I even want to do that?

  What if they don’t like what they see? What if I do too well? What if I do too badly?

  Apparently tired of waiting for me to figure life out, Yuren steps in first and jabs at my chest. I swing my pole left, trying to swat his away, but he twists under my pole, my swing misses completely, and he steps right into my range and cracks me in the chest hard enough to make me stumble backward.

  “Even though we are sparring,” he says, “take this seriously. You go first.”

  I grit my teeth.

  This time I stop thinking and just move. I set my grip again and lunge at him, mimicking the same kind of thrust he used on me.

  He simply moves out of range without even bothering to knock it aside.

  I keep pressing, trying to punch a hole through his guard with repeated thrusts, failing miserably every time. I step in again, then change things up and swing from left to right, aiming for his right arm or maybe the right side of his chest if he’s slow.

  He isn’t.

  He lifts his spear, strikes my pole from below, sends it up and over him, then steps inside my guard and smacks me in the chest again.

  This time I fall back onto my ass.

  I scramble up right away and get back to my feet.

  Now he’s frowning as he looks me over, like he’s trying to figure out exactly what kind of mess he’s dealing with.

  Eventually he just says, “Again.”

  So we do.

  And again.

  And again.

  As the sparring continues, Yuren only grows more frustrated and agitated. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m bad, because I’m learning too slowly, or because I keep trying things that make no sense in the context of spear fighting.

  Either way, after what feels like hours, with my body collecting bruises like souvenirs, I can confidently say I got my ass handed to me.

  Finally he stops.

  “Let’s take a break,” he says, then walks off toward the right side of the clearing, at least if you’re looking from the village. A few skins lie there, and several men I still don’t know how to categorize, soldiers maybe, hunters maybe, are drinking from them. I assume it’s water.

  I start to follow, but the guards who have been shadowing me the whole time extend their spears and shake their heads.

  “You cannot go with the rest,” one says. “Yuren will bring you a skin of water when he is done.”

  Frustrated and thirsty, but too tired and bruised to argue, I just plop down and lie on my back, staring up into the blue sky.

  Why are they even following me? Don’t they have something better to do?

  It’s midday by now. The sun and its unbearable heat beat down on me even up here in these chilly mountains.

  Why is he training me?

  What are they planning to do with me?

  None of this makes any sense.

  One moment I’m being run off from the village in the valley, and the next I’m kidnapped, kept in isolation for weeks, finally let out, only to be beaten with a stick and kept apart from everyone else.

  Is it because I’m some kind of omen?

  Why?

  Is it because of the solar eclipse?

  And if it is, why are they training me?

  All of those questions keep circling in my head as I lie there.

  Eventually something lands on the ground next to my head, snapping me out of it.

  I turn and see a skin.

  That gets me sitting up fast.

  I fumble with the opening for a moment like an idiot, then the second I get it open I start chugging. When I finally lower it and wipe my mouth, I notice Yuren sitting with the two decorated guards, talking to them. I take another long swig.

  I’m actually a little surprised it’s water.

  My father used to be a bit of a history buff, before the whole star thing, which I now believe existed unlike before and I remember him passionately talking about the past and how people used to drink water mixed with alcohol because it helped kill bacteria in bad water. At least that’s how I remember him explaining it.

  So now I wonder if they gave me plain water specifically, or if these people just don’t drink alcohol much. Or at all.

  I glance back toward the gathering place and spot a kid grabbing two skins and running off toward the trees, away from the village. Another kid appears shortly after, moving slower this time while carrying two more skins that look heavy enough to drag him down.

  Then Yuren is suddenly standing over me.

  I blink up at him.

  “Again,” he says.

  I sigh and haul myself up for another beating.