Anji twisted in the Ox’s grip and made to rise again but the huge woman just grunted and rolled with her, pinning her to the ground with another thick-fingered hand around Anji’s throat. The grip was just enough to hold her down without cutting off her air. Anji kicked her legs and screeched and choked out another sob, tears falling down her temples, her nose flooded with snot.

“Peace, Goat,” said the Ox, then turned that wooden mask to Anji. It peered down at her in silence as she struggled and cursed until finally Anji’s struggles relented, her chest heaving.

“I wouldn’t expect any less for the loss of a friend,” said the Ox, her voice even, “especially two. But what’s done is done. You cannot best us in combat. I warn you now, girl, do not try that again.” The mask hovered over Anji’s face for another heartbeat before the pressure at Anji’s neck released and the woman moved away.

Anji lay panting on the ground, fingers digging into the earth, the weight of her friends’ horrid fates slamming into her with every pounding beat of blood through her skull. She looked over the camp and the indifferent stream, across the tundra’s lonely expanse. The desperate girl in her hoped to see a figure jutting up over one of those shallow rises, mask glinting in the late evening light, silver hair billowing on the relentless breeze. But no figure appeared on the empty plain.

Chapter 19

19

They rode like phantoms under the speckled night sky, Anji wedged between the Goat’s knobby knees, nose wrinkled from the sour stench of unwashed skin and clothes, his or hers, she couldn’t tell. She’d managed a fitful nap, her body shutting itself down regardless of the jostling flight over the tundra’s folded expanse.

At dawn, the Ox spotted a group on horseback cresting the easterly horizon. The party galloped over the vast stretch, kicking up dust and grit, flying no banners, the men and women atop the mounts clothed in rough-spun tunics and bits of leather plate.

The Goat reared up, one hand gripping the reins, the other wrapped around Anji’s upper arm as they halted.

“I’ll talk,” said the Ox, bringing her horse to a stop.

The Goat scoffed . “What’s the point?” he said, though he stayed in the saddle.

Now the bedraggled company sat a short distance away, the sun rising at their backs. They’d ventured close enough to reveal their bodies and sallow faces. Three men, two thickset and bearded and the other lanky and clean-shaven, all carrying rough-looking weapons. The two women on either side of the trio sported spears, splintered and worn with chipped blades tied with silver wire to the staffs.

They all sat heavy in their saddles, faces grave.

“Nice day for a ride,” said the Ox.