Chương 31: Chapter 26: The Second Test

The cave was quiet when Gideon opened his eyes. A heavy, dreamless sleep had dragged him under the moment he and the others collapsed into the cage. When he surfaced at last, the light filtering into the cavern was already high and pale, brushing the stone walls with a muted glow. His whole body throbbed with a deep, bone-heavy ache that pulsed with every breath. His calf stung beneath the binding. His shoulders felt like packed sand. His arms trembled faintly when he pushed himself upright.

Around him, the other four had slept the same way, curled close in a loose knot, wrapped in the exhaustion of surviving something deadly. For a long moment, Gideon simply sat there, listening. No shouts. No orders. No tapping spearbutts demanding work. The cavern was full of sound, but none of it was aimed at him. Warriors spoke in low tones near the fire pits. A child laughed once, then hushed quickly. Someone dragged a carcass toward the butchering stones. The injured coughed and groaned softly from their alcove.

Life went on. It was the first time since his capture that no one came to drag him out of the cage to scrub, haul, or clean. The Ironfang tribe was letting them rest. He didn't know if it was mercy or practicality, but it felt like a strange sort of peace. Beside him, the tallest of the four stirred, blinking groggily at the cave light.

"You awake?" he mumbled.

"Barely," Gideon replied. The goblin eased himself up with a wince.

"Feels like a wolf chewed on my ribs."

"One did," Grub replied.

"You got off lightly." That earned a tired snort.

"Fair." Another woke, rubbing his eyes and muttering at every ache. Eventually they were all awake. The smallest sat up last, staring at his bandaged forearm as though surprised it was still attached. No one complained about the pain. No one complained about the lack of work either. They simply breathed together in the soft quiet after surviving something that could have killed them. Gideon let his chin dip against his chest for one more slow breath. Then he exhaled and forced himself to move.

He pushed himself fully upright, biting back a hiss as his leg protested. The smallest frowned at him.

"Why are you getting up?"

"We need to move," Gideon said.

"Slowly. If we stay still, it'll just be worse later." One of the others scowled.

"Move? We just fought wolves. We should rest."

"We will rest better afterward," Gideon replied.

"Come on. Up. All of you." They exchanged uncertain looks, but trust carried them forward more than understanding. One by one, they dragged themselves upright. Gideon stepped into the open space inside the cage and lifted his arms overhead, stretching until the muscles in his back loosened. The motion pulled a pained breath from between his teeth, but it helped. They watched him for a moment, then began to copy his movements. Arms up. Lean to one side, then the other. Roll shoulders. Twist torsos.

Fold forward as far as bruises allowed. Legs extended. Ankles rolled. Necks tilted slowly until tendons loosened.

"Breathe into it," Gideon said.

"Slow. Deep. Hold for a moment. Then switch." Around the cavern, a few goblins paused to watch. A couple of the younger Warriors snickered. One muttered something about strange slaves. Most didn't react. They had seen this before. Gideon had done these stretches every morning and most evenings since the day he was captured. The tribe had long since decided it was some odd personal ritual and mostly stopped caring. By the time they finished, the four stood a little straighter and breathed a little easier.

The crooked-nosed one flexed his shoulders and blinked.

"That… actually helped." Gideon nodded.

"Good. Now we go check on the alcove." He approached the cage door and motioned to the nearest goblin, a Hunter, to let them out. The Hunter raised an eyebrow, but opened the door without a word. Their steps were still stiff as they left the cage, but not nearly as painful as they could have been. Gideon led the way to the alcove where the sick and wounded rested. Four goblins remained laying on hide mats, their skin pale but no longer feverish.

The tribe's new arrangements were still in place, still strange to look at, but still working. Gideon knelt beside the nearest mat. The goblin there lifted his head slightly, eyes unfocused.

"You're back," he murmured.

"Hold still," Grub said. The four fell into place beside him without being asked. One fetched the bark and needles to begin boiling. Another brought fresh cloth with resin smeared on it to the fires. The others checked for swelling or heat around bindings. Gideon peeled back the old bandage. The wound beneath had begun to scab cleanly. No greenish tint. No sour smell. A good sign. He pressed lightly.

"Does this hurt?"

"A little," the Warrior said through clenched teeth.

"Good. That means it's healing." He stepped back and watched as the four others worked efficiently to clean the wound and bound it again, then moved down the line. After the wounds had been checked, the four slaves went and brewed more of the Frostvein and Mistbloom tea and gave it to the sick. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. A pair of Warriors watched from across the cavern. Their faces were unreadable, but they didn't sneer as usual.

When they finished, Gideon pushed himself to his feet. His calf ached under its bandage, but he ignored it.

"That's all we can do," he said.

"Now we rest" They nodded tiredly. Back in the cage, they sank down again, saving their strength. Hours slipped by as they slept. The cavern darkened as the sun dipped. Fires flickered low. Warriors returned from patrols, and Hunters came as well, dragging fresh meat for the tribe. Gideon woke before the others, and sat and watched the entrance from between the bars, watching the way goblins glanced at the cage and its occupants as they passed nearby.

As evening settled over the tribe, movement began near the cave mouth. Two Warriors dragged something heavy across the stone. The same hide packs from the previous evening, set down carefully in a neat line near the entrance. Next to them went five spears, arranged in order, and the same few pieces of armor stacked like offerings. Everything was placed out in the open where it would be easy to snatch and go. Gideon stared silently. The temptation was once again there, real and inviting.

Throk stood nearby, watching the arrangement like it irritated him. His jaw worked once, the only tell. But, he didn't speak up or object. He only glanced toward Dravak's seat, then looked away again as if swallowing his opinion. Kesh stood farther back in the shadows, bow still slung on her back from the day's hunting, eyes following the flow of the cavern, not the supplies. Eventually, Dravak's voice rolled through the cavern, strong and clear.

"Grub. The four with him. Step forward." They rose together and exited the cage. When they reached the central fire, Dravak stood on the stone platform. The tribe gathered around, a low ripple of anticipation moving through them. Dravak pointed at the fire pits scattered across the cavern.

"Tonight," he said, "you five will keep our fires alive. Every last one." His gaze slid to the guards at the entrance.

"Guards. Hear me." Their backs straightened at once.

"If these five choose to leave this cave tonight, you will not stop them. You will not lift a hand. And you will not follow." They nodded their understanding. A few of the other Warriors nodded too. Others simply folded their arms. Dravak turned back to Gideon.

"You know what must be done." He bowed his head once in acknowledgement. Then Dravak's eyes flicked toward the cave mouth, toward the neatly arranged packs and weapons.

"And you know what is waiting there, if you decide you don't want to be here," he added, voice even. Gideon didn't look away.

"I see it," he said.

"I won't need it. I know where I want to be." Dravak nodded, as if that was all he needed to hear. The fires crackled. The second test began. The cavern settled into a different kind of quiet after Dravak's command. Bedfurs rustled as Warriors lay down. Children curled against their mothers. The sick shifted weakly on their mats. Only the faint crackle of coals and the distant whisper of wind at the cave mouth filled the space. Gideon and the four remained by the central fire.

The entrance stood open in the distance, a dark frame against the night. Beside it, the packs, spears, and armor waited like a silent dare. None of them moved toward it. Gideon turned to the nearest fire pit and crouched beside the fading coals. He had only the half-remembered basics from the camps back on Earth to draw on, which was enough for him to start reaching for the kindling and draw the embers together. The squat goblin with thick forearms and a jagged scar across his cheek caught his wrist.

"Not yet. You'll smother it." Gideon looked from him to the fire.

"You've done this before."

"My tribe lived in the mountains," the goblin said.

"Fire kept us alive through winter." Gideon withdrew his hand and shifted aside.

"Then you lead." The goblin blinked at him, surprised, before giving a short nod and lowering himself beside the pit. From there, the five settled into a steady circuit through the cavern. The scarred goblin judged what each fire needed while the others carried wood, cleared ash, and coaxed the dimming coals back to life. Gideon knew enough to follow, but left the decisions to someone whose survival had once depended upon getting them right.

Each time he glanced toward the cave mouth, the packs remained where they had been left. Untouched. Waiting. At the pit nearest the entrance, the breeze found its way inside, colder than the rest of the cavern. The flames there shivered and dipped. Gideon fed it carefully, then straightened and caught the smallest of the four staring at the line of gear. Not just a quick glance. A stare that lasted a little too long. The small goblin swallowed, throat bobbing.

His fingers tightened around the bundle of sticks he carried. He looked like he could already feel the straps of a pack over his shoulders, the weight of a spear in his hands, the open forest beyond. Gideon didn't say anything. He only waited. The slaves' eyes slid from the packs to the sleeping tribe. To the curled children. To the sick in their alcove. To the scars on Grub's knuckles, the bandage on his leg, the way he kept moving anyway. Lastly, his eyes drifted to the bandage on his own arm.

He raised his eyes, and saw Gideon staring. He nodded once, almost imperceptible. Then he exhaled, hard and shaky, and turned his back on the entrance. He knelt by the pit and fed the flame, hands steadying as the wood caught. No words. Just a choice, made in silence. They moved on. The night drew on, and they continued their work. The cavern's warmth had deepened noticeably.

"You learn quickly," the scarred goblin said as they approached a pit together.

"Basics only," Gideon replied.

"You're the one with the real knowledge."

"I learned to keep storms from freezing us," the goblin said.

"You keep the tribe from rotting. Both matter in their own way." Gideon had no answer for that, so he just let it sit. Once every pit burned strong, the work shifted to maintenance. Every so often they circled through again, adding wood, stirring gently, checking that the flames never fully faltered. During one slower pass, the smallest glanced at the food stores.

"We could cook something," he said.

"Meat is better hot in the morning. The Hunters brought in a fresh kill last night. A deer." Gideon nodded.

"I can handle cooking. It will help feed the tribe, and the fires will burn hotter." The scarred goblin eyed him skeptically.

"You know how to cook?" Gideon shrugged.

"I have a Skill for it, yeah." The scarred goblins eyes widened and before Grub knew what was happening, he had Grub by the arm and was leading him away from where everyone was sleeping.

"Don't speak so loudly. You're System-blessed?" He paused then rapped his knuckles against his forehead.

"I should have realized last night when you…," he trailed off, and looked around to see if anyone was listening, then continued in a quieter voice, "... used magic."

"System-blessed? What's that?" The scarred slave just stared at him, looking like he was trying to decide whether Gideon was being serious.

"Do you have access to the System? You can see your Stats and Skills and such things?"

"Yes…? Is that not… normal?" Gideon tried to keep the confusion from his voice, but he obviously failed.

"Only Chieftains, and some special Lieutenants, like Throk and Kesh in this tribe here, have that. The rest of us only see very basic information." The scarred slave grunted.

"Try to keep that to yourself if you can. Although, if they have Identify, they likely already know about it." Gideon just nodded slowly, his eyes going a bit wide. His gaze flicked over to where Dravak, Throk, and Kesh were sleeping near the main fire pit.

"Come," the slave said, "don't worry about it. Let's get that meat cooking." It didn't take them long to gather strips of the venison, a few skewers, and two flat stones blackened by earlier meals. Grub arranged them over the main fire, shifting the meat as fat began to melt and hiss against the heat. He wasn't an experienced cook, not really. He'd learned to make a few basic meals during college, grilled meat over cheap barbecues, and managed to cook for himself a few times since waking in the forest.

It wasn't much, but it gave him enough of a foundation for the Cooking Skill to build upon. The Skill supplied small, almost instinctive nudges, drawing his attention when a strip sat too close to the flames or needed turning. For a moment, the smell carried him back to evenings with Max at Codornices Park in the Berkeley hills, standing over one of the public grills while Max offered loud advice and did very little of the actual cooking. The memory came and went before he could hold onto it.

Grub adjusted one of the stones and settled into the task. A soft chime brushed his ears a short while later, and he opened the notification almost without thinking. [Congratulations! Cooking has reached Level 3.] He allowed himself the smallest of smiles and kept turning the meat. The other four rotated between hauling wood, checking pits, and helping watch the cooking. Soon the cavern filled with the scent of roasting meat, smoke, and resin. Shadows jumped and stretched along the walls as flames brightened.

A Warrior rolled over in his sleep and cracked an eye. He saw the fires burning strong and the five moving together in quiet coordination. His gaze drifted toward the entrance, toward the packs laid out and ignored, then back to the fires. He grunted to himself and went back to sleep. The entrance stayed open. The packs stayed where they were. Sometimes the breeze sighed through the cave mouth, and the nearest flame fluttered, drawing Gideon's gaze toward the waiting packs.

Each time, the same thought slipped in before he could stop it.

"I could take one. I could be gone before anyone even sat up." And every time, his mind flashed with the memories of the first few days in the forest, when he'd been on his own, and he turned back to the coals and fed them instead. Time slid past in long, warm stretches until pale blue light began to bleed through the cave mouth. Dawn.