Chapter 27: Soup Saved My Life

Two warriors lunged at Seraya before she could even set down her bowl. One jerked her arm while the other swept her legs out from beneath her, slamming her into the dirt with such force that the breath flew from her lungs and her cheek ground into the cold sand outside the cave.

"Whoa, whoa, what the hell are you doing?!" she choked out, trying to lift her head, but a heavy weight pressed between her shoulder blades, instantly pinning her back to the ground. "Can we talk first? And let go of my pants, damn it, you're going to yank them right off!"

The fabric strained across her shoulders as the woman pinning her twisted her arm behind her back. Seraya jerked on reflex, more rattled by the sudden ambush than aware of what was actually happening around her.

Moments ago she had been sharing soup with Niva, yet now she lay face-down in the dirt beneath the weight of two stronger women, the roar of the crowd swelling above her head.

Niva rushed in almost immediately, seizing one of the warriors by the forearm to haul her off Seraya, though the sheer difference in strength meant she might as well have been pulling at an ancient root buried deep in the earth.

"Leave her alone! She didn't do anything to you!"

Raska pressed her lips tight, watching the girl's desperate defense. Even the triumph flushing her cheeks couldn't entirely silence that familiar stab of jealousy.

"Niva, step back," she snapped, throwing an arm out to bar her path. "Stay out of this."

The girl slapped her hand away. When she turned her head, her rabbit ears were flattened back and her eyes burned with such raw fury that Raska swallowed her ready retort.

"You fed the elders more lies about the warrior, didn't you?!"

Raska sneered, stung by the accusation and the fact that Niva still refused to look upon her with any favor, but remembering the orders they carried, smug satisfaction returned to her face.

"She brought it on herself this time," she answered, pointing down at Seraya. "Because of her bright ideas, the whole tribe is starving, so the Grand Shaman ordered her skull smashed."

Niva froze, still gripping the warrior's forearm. Seraya stopped thrashing and craned her neck just enough to fix Raska with a one-eyed glare.

"What did you say?" she asked, spitting grit from the corner of her mouth. "Vaelira ordered my skull smashed?"

Raska crossed her arms and nodded with such open delight that a surge of pure fury ripped through Seraya, cutting clean through her fear.

"Get off me, damn it! There's got to be some kind of misunderstanding here!"

"What misunderstanding?"

The chilly voice drifted from deep within the mob. As the women parted, Seraya saw Vaelira emerge ahead of the rest alongside Morra and Selka. The shaman halted a few paces away and looked down on her, her face bearing something uncomfortably close to personal betrayal alongside cold rage.

The assembled women bowed their heads in reverence to the Grand Shaman, but Seraya had no intention of waiting around for them to finish paying respects to the person who had apparently just ordered her execution.

"Vaelira, what the fuck is going on?!"

The shaman narrowed her eyes, and when she answered, her voice was so taut she might as well have been forcing every syllable through gritted teeth.

"You dare ask? After what you've done?"

"And what the hell did I do?!"

Vaelira pointed into the cave, where prepared clay rested across a spread hide, surrounded by small lumps for shaping, with the unfinished pot sitting right in the center - the very rim Niva had been holding moments before.

"You claimed you needed it for the good of the tribe," she said, her voice rising. "The women came back starving because they hauled dirt for you instead of foraging for food, and you turned it into a game?"

For a beat, Seraya stared at her in stunned silence, struggling to fathom how anyone could twist crafting pottery into grounds for an execution. But before she could collect her thoughts, the shaman pressed on with even greater fury:

"I believed you! I ordered them to bring more supplies even while listening to complaints of shrinking rations day after day, and you sat here with Niva playing in the mud!"

"She is unworthy of the title of First Warrior!" one woman shouted, followed by a chorus of others seizing on the accusation as readily as if they had only been waiting for permission.

"Kill the fraud!"

"We're all starving because of her!"

Voices crashed over one another. Seraya felt the warrior pinning her clamp down harder on her shoulder, clearly primed to carry out the next order without hesitation. Several women surged forward, blocking the view of the path, and even those who had traded uncertain glances earlier held their tongues beneath the swelling roar, making no effort to demand explanations.

Fuck me, all it took was molding a pot to become public enemy number one in the whole damn valley...

Seraya drew in as much air as the weight on her back permitted, whipped her head up, and screamed so loud her own ears rang:

"ENOUGH! Can you all stop screaming your heads off for two seconds and let me speak?!"

Vaelira raised a hand, silencing the women closest to her. As the shouts gradually died down, she fixed Seraya with cold impatience.

"What do you have to say?"

Seraya shifted her pinned arm, casting a pointed glare at the warriors. After a beat, the shaman gave a brief wave; both loosened their grip and stepped back far enough to let her push up from the dirt.

"Thanks," Seraya muttered, rubbing her wrist before dusting off her clothes and hitching up her pants, trying to salvage a shred of dignity after such an unwelcome greeting. "I wasn't playing in the mud, and I didn't deceive anyone."

Selka sneered, gesturing toward the prepared clay.

"Do you take us all for blind fools?"

"When the adults are talking, the children can keep their mouths shut," Seraya shot back without sparing her a glance. Her focus was locked entirely on Vaelira, and she had zero intention of letting the elder derail her explanation again.

Selka gaped in utter disbelief, as if she had just been slapped across the face before the whole tribe, but Seraya was already stepping toward the shaman, ignoring both the elder's expression and the warning shift of the warriors flanking her.

"That clay is needed to craft vessels, exactly as I told you," she said. "What you see in the cave is still unfinished."

"She lies!" came a shout from the crowd. "Grand Shaman, don't listen to her!"

A look of weary disappointment washed over Vaelira's face, frightening Seraya far more than the earlier fury; it looked as though the shaman had abandoned all desire to investigate and was merely waiting for a confession. There was no time to explain drying times, firing methods, or the grueling effort of the past few days, so she spun around and stabbed a finger toward the pot resting over the hearth.

"Then at least look at that before you order my skull cracked open! That is what I needed the clay for!"

The women closest to her instinctively followed her hand. When they saw the vessel with steam rising from its brim, murmurs of astonishment rippled through the crowd. Until now, all eyes had been fixed on Seraya, the raw clay, and the shaman's accusations, rendering the pot over the fire just another strange object beneath their notice.

Vaelira frowned, scrutinizing the uneven walls and the bubbling contents before shifting her gaze back to Seraya.

"This is the vessel you spoke of?"

Seraya felt such a violent wave of relief that for a second she wanted to laugh right in her face, but checked herself at the last second, deciding it was best not to push her luck after the way this evening had started.

"That's the one," she replied, stepping toward the hearth. "A clay pot that I molded, dried, and fired so we can boil food in it."

Finally, looking at what actually matters... Another minute and I'd have had to carve the explanation onto my own forehead.

Hushed whispers broke out across the crowd, several women craning their necks to peer over the shoulders of those in front.

"She made that from the dirt?"

"Why isn't it falling apart?"

"What did she pour inside?"

Seraya straightened up a fraction, sensing curiosity beginning to edge out pure hostility for the first time. She turned back to the shaman and gestured to the vessel with an open palm.

"You can hold water in it, store food, and best of all, cook meals you don't have to roast on a stick. Right now, I'm cooking soup."

"Soup?" repeated one woman, as if she had just heard the name of a suspicious predator. When Vaelira looked on with the same uncomprehending expression, Seraya wiped her forehead, realizing words alone were failing her once again.

Rather than wading into another explanation, she hastily rinsed her dirt-smudged hands, picked up a clean bowl, and ladled in some hot broth, making sure to include a piece of mushroom. She waited a beat, blew across the surface, and walked toward Vaelira, but the shaman drew back on instinct, eyeing the proffered dish with deep suspicion.

"What are you doing?"

"Showing you soup," Seraya answered, keeping her voice as steady as her frayed nerves allowed. "You can drink it."

Selka jumped on Vaelira's hesitation at once, stepping forward and pointing at the bowl with as much outrage as if she were staring down lethal poison.

"Get away from the Grand Shaman! Seize her!"

Several warriors surged forward at once. Seraya pulled the bowl closer, backing up a step and raising her free hand, having zero desire to eat dirt a second time - especially drenched in her own dinner.

"No, no, calm down! It's food, damn it, look!"

She brought the bowl to her lips and took several quick gulps, too rattled by the encroaching mob to exercise patience, which immediately forced her to pull the dish away and pant through parted lips. The broth was still piping hot, but at least the warriors halted, watching her with uncertainty. Seraya swallowed the rest and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"See? I'm drinking it, and I haven't dropped dead."

Vaelira glanced from the bowl to the pot, then took a cautious step forward, entertaining for the first time the thought that Seraya might have crafted something more than an odd plaything.

"This is food?"

"Yes, Grand Shaman," Seraya answered firmly. "Inside are mushrooms, a bit of meat, and ginger, all simmered in water instead of dangling over the fire on a stick."

This time she didn't mention how easy it was to tire of roasted meat; the hollow stares of hungry women were reminder enough that such a complaint would go down terribly. Instead, she gestured to the pot, raising her voice so it carried to the back:

"You can prepare food in a whole new way - eat what's inside and drink the broth. I know a pot won't bring you meat from the woods on its own, but it's not a pile of mud for games, either."

Vaelira stayed silent for a moment. Seraya seized the pause to grab a second bowl, ladle out a small portion, and let it cool slightly before offering it to the shaman once more. This time Vaelira took the vessel, though she held it gingerly, watching the rising steam and mushroom pieces as if they might leap at her face.

"Try it," Seraya encouraged. "You just saw me drink it."

The shaman raised the bowl closer, and as the scent hit her, her gaze softened unbidden; the blend of meat, mushrooms, and ginger was completely unlike the scent of plain roasted game. She hesitated another second, then brought the rim to her lips and took a cautious sip, her eyes widening instantly.

Seraya watched her face as if her entire life hinged on this single reaction - which, after this evening's events, wasn't much of an exaggeration.

Vaelira swallowed, peered down into the bowl, and took another sip, bolder this time. As the warm broth washed over her tongue, genuine wonder spread across her features. The flavor was delicate yet distinct, the mushroom tender, and the essence of the meat infused through the liquid. With every swallow, she understood more clearly why Seraya had pointed to the pot with such stubborn conviction.

A moment later she tilted the bowl higher, rolling it in her hands to catch every last drop along the rim. For the first time since hitting the dirt, Seraya felt she could breathe easy.

Look at that... A minute ago you were ready to crack my skull open, and now you'd dive right into the bowl if you could.

"This is... very good," Vaelira admitted, lowering the empty bowl and eyeing the pot with fascination she could no longer hide.

Seraya reached out at once, ready to capitalize on the shift in mood before Selka remembered she had a mouth.

"Pour you some more?"

The shaman nodded. Seraya took the bowl and returned to the hearth, feeling the stare of nearly the entire tribe burning into her back - people who had gathered to watch her die moments ago, now watching in dead silence as the Grand Shaman waited for seconds.

The second serving vanished almost as fast as the first, followed by a third, and by the time Vaelira polished off a fourth small bowl, she held the empty dish in both hands and let out a breath of deep satisfaction. Only then did she press a hand to her comfortably warmed stomach, as if testing whether the soothing sensation truly came from something cooked inside an object she had deemed a useless lump of dirt minutes earlier.

She knew the taste of roasted meat intimately, but here even the broth held its rich essence, the mushrooms melted tenderly between her teeth, and a deep warmth lingered within her after every swallow. Looking down once more at the empty bowl, she could no longer pretend she didn't understand why Seraya had needed the pot.