Just as they had been divided in the freezing pines, the survivors were organized by the heavy spearmen.
Those whose breathing was the most ragged and shallow were the first to be carried into the mammoth-hide tents.
Afterward, the spearmen took the young children, followed by the families of the sick, and finally, the relatively healthy adults.
Nia was placed together with her little brother, Renn, at the very front of the miserable line.
Two burly spearmen grasped Renn under his arms and carried him into the heat of the sweat lodge.
Nia followed, her heart pounding. She didn’t have to wait for a long time before an elderly woman in a herb-stuffed mask forced a bowl into her hands.
The liquid inside was boiling hot and incredibly bitter, tasting strongly of pine needles.
The masked woman sternly ordered Nia to drink it all, assuring her that Renn had already swallowed a much stronger dose.
When Nia finally stumbled out of the tent and breathed the air of the cavern, she was surprised to see that Renn’s condition was improving at a visible speed.
Although he was still exhausted and sleeping against a stone, his forehead was no longer burning hot, his breathing had steadied, and the weeping black blisters on his neck were drying into harmless scabs.
When all the refugees had been freed from their absolute certainty of an impending death, they felt as though the mountain spirits had granted them a second life.
They became so overwhelmed with relief that they could no longer contain themselves.
Seeing the boy with sharp eyes standing near the central fire, the crowd dropped to their knees in the dirt, cheering and paying him the highest primitive respects.
From the whispers of the spearmen, they had learned that this boy was the Lord of this cavern, the Master of the Mountain, Frodo.
Following exactly what Jax had promised in the rumors, Frodo not only ordered bonfires lit around the perimeter to warm them, but he also instructed the Logistics team to distribute fatty bone-broth to everyone.
Standing before the crowd, Frodo declared in a clear voice that as long as they were willing to haul wood, scrape hides, and follow the laws of the mountain, they would be paid in meat and would never freeze in the snow again.
While everyone was devouring the rich, fragrant broth, they talked endlessly about how miraculously fortunate it was that they had fled to the west, praising the boy-leader for his immense mercy.
Only Nia felt a tight knot of anxiety in her stomach...
*How can I get in touch with the Circle of the Wise?* she thought.
The desperate rumors in the gorge didn’t just mention a warlord; they spoke of a hidden group of thinkers in the mountain who possessed ’unnatural’ knowledge.
The rumors didn’t mention how she could actually find them...
Most probably, this crucial detail had been lost in the chaotic translation between the scavenger packs.
Just as Nia finished the last drop of her broth and the spearmen began guiding the refugees toward a series of warm, newly dug sleeping alcoves, a voice suddenly sounded from behind her.
"Were you looking for us?"
Nia was so frightened that she instantly jumped forward, her survival instincts screaming at her to flee.
But when she turned her head and the speaker’s appearance came into view, she couldn’t help but be rooted to the spot.
It was a teenager, unarmored, holding a flat stone slab covered in charcoal markings.
Becoming acutely aware of the sharp intelligence radiating from the boy, Nia was unable to stop herself from lowering her head in a gesture of submission.
"I... my name is Nia of the River Clans. I want to join you."
"In that case, follow me," Orin said with a smile. "I will take you home."
At this time, the fires in the main cavern were dying down, leaving only a weak glow.
While carrying the sleeping Renn on her back, Nia slowly followed behind the lanky teenager.
"When did the spirits first touch your mind?" Orin suddenly asked, walking through a quiet tunnel.
"Touched my mind?" Nia got startled.
"That is the moment when you realized you saw the world differently than the rest of the clan," Orin explained. "Because of that, the ignorant shamans of the ice call it a ’curse’ or ’demon-touched.’"
"I think... maybe three winters ago," Nia recalled, her voice trembling slightly. "Is it true? Is this obsession a demonic curse?"
"That is just an excuse used by fearful old men, nothing more," Orin shook his head. "Intelligence is a gift from the earth itself. It has nothing to do with demons or evil spirits. The so-called ’madness’ you felt is just the pain of a brilliant mind trapped in a tribe that only understands how to hit things with rocks. This frustration can easily be managed with proper teaching."
"I do not need to hide my thoughts anymore?" Nia’s eyes grew wide.
"Yes. As long as there are no ignorant Shamans to oppress you, people like us do not have to hide," Orin explained. "Here, in our home, we can use our minds freely."
Orin then pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Is this lovable boy your younger brother? What about the rest of your family?"
"They all died. Only Renn and I could escape the slaughter," Nia kept silent for a moment. "A group of Blood-Walkers attacked the river, burning the fishing weirs and killing everyone in sight. In order to stop them from reaching us... my father... his chest was pierced by three heavy spears. My mother made us run into the freezing rapids, and in the end, she also... she also..."
The immense grief that had been enclosed within her shivering heart for so many moons made it impossible for her to finish the sentence.
All of the hunger, the fear, and the injustice she had endured along the frozen trail suddenly burst free...
For the sake of her little brother, she had clenched her teeth and endured hell.
But now, in the safety of this warm tunnel, it seemed that the walls she had built around her heart shattered completely.
Her sobbing turned into loud cries. She knew this wasn’t a good time to lose control, that she should maintain her stoic courtesy in front of a Master of the Mountain, but the tears were like a breaking dam; they couldn’t be stopped.
However, to Nia’s surprise, Orin stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug, patting the back of her dirty hair.
He took no offense at the mud and vomit staining her ragged furs. Instead, he softly said, "Cry. Cry now. It is fine to let it all out. The ice cannot hurt you here."
"I am so sorry..." she blushed in the light.
"It does not matter. Do you feel better now?" Orin took a clean piece of rabbit hide and helped her wipe her face clean.
Then, he took the sleeping Renn from her back and carried the boy himself. "Let’s go. There is someone waiting to meet you."
Nia had thought that the ’Circle of the Wise’ would be located somewhere in a small, abandoned crack in the rock, cast away from the warriors.
She never expected that Orin would bring her into the most guarded, well-lit alcove in the mountain.
Wasn’t this the Lord’s private command center?
Even more surprisingly, Tor’s terrifying spearmen standing guard did not stop Orin; instead, they thumped their chests in deep respect as the teenager walked past...
Could it be that the entire tribe was secretly under the control of these thinkers? This story is hosted at g.com.
Reaching the deepest part of the alcove, Nia walked into a brilliantly lit workshop filled with strange wooden levers and diagrams.
She shockingly discovered that the person sitting on the opposite side of the central desk was the boy-leader who had recently received the cheers of the masses.
"Nia, this is the First Thinker, the Lord of the Mountain, Frodo," Orin introduced the boy. "He took in the broken, the brilliant, and the outcasts, and he built this mountain into a home for minds that work differently. You do not need to doubt his leadership. After all, the one who deduced the exact nature of the black sickness in your blood and devised the cure was Frodo himself."
Nia’s mind went blank.
She had never anticipated that a warlord capable of crushing his enemies would be willing to provide a safe haven for ’cursed’ thinkers, instead of viewing them as useless burdens or dangerous omens.
When her soul finally snapped back to her body, she began to panic and bowed in a deeply awkward manner.
Her bizarre posture was so stiff that Orin couldn’t suppress a light laugh. "Do not mind it, Nia. Frodo does not care about primitive etiquette."
"You came from the Eastern Rivers?" Frodo’s voice was surprisingly relaxed.
Nia stole a nervous glance at him, seeing that he was sitting leisurely on his stool, looking at her.
"Yes, Lord..."
As the conversation deepened, and Orin supplemented a few explanations about her background, her mood gradually relaxed.
Even though Frodo was the ruler of the mountain, he did not show a shred of warlord arrogance.
"So, when the shamans declared you cursed three winters ago, you were just a child..." Frodo spoke, leaning forward. "Silas tells me you have a unique skill. What exactly is this ’curse’?"
"I... I can look at things that are bound together, and I know exactly how to unbind them back into their original forms," Nia said hesitatingly. "But I have to use fire and water to do it."
"Their original forms?" Frodo touched his chin in deep thought.
He then reached across his desk and pushed a hardened lump of primitive epoxy toward her.
It was a dense glue used for their spears, solid and black. "Can you demonstrate it for me?"
"I will destroy the lump," Nia warned.
"It won’t hurt the stockpile," Frodo smiled.
Nia nodded. She stepped up to the stone table, took the black lump, and grabbed a hot river-stone from the nearby fire pit, along with a clay bowl of boiling water and a sharp flint scraper.
After just a few short minutes of expertly applying localized heat, crushing pressure, and specific drops of water, the lump began to deform and separate.
Ultimately, Nia scraped the components into three distinct substances on the table:
The one on the far left was a pool of dark, viscous pine resin.
The one in the middle was a small cluster of incredibly fine, dry, charcoal powder.
Lastly, the one on the far right was a puddle of melted animal fat, which dripped off the edge of the stone.
She was a natural-born chemist.