19. Lunch With Cannibals

Kavio (Outtribelands)

Three days after leaving the tribehold, Kavio found his first fight.

Rovers—men who had left their birth clan but had not yet joined a new one—often traveled in groups, like wild dogs. And like dogs, they hunted. Sometimes because they needed to. Sometimes just for fun.

Three dropped onto the path ahead of Kavio.

One had no nose or ears. That meant he was probably a mariah—a captive meant for human sacrifice who had escaped during torture. The other two were almost surely exiles, like Kavio. He saw the whip scars on their backs. But they didn’t wear mud and ashes like true exiles should. He guessed they felt no guilt about the crimes that had gotten them thrown out.

To Kavio’s surprise, the Rovers didn’t attack.

Instead, they invited him to sit by their fire.

He shrugged and agreed. Was he any better than them?

They showed no anger toward him. No awe either. That was… refreshing.

“Do you know who I am?” Kavio asked, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

The noseless one grinned. “I don’t care, Exile. Don’t you get it? This is your chance to stop being who you were. You can become anyone you want.”

Maybe Rovers don’t deserve their evil reputation, he thought. He followed them back their camp.

At their camp, they had a captive: a toothless old man tied to a tree.

Each Rover took turns cutting flesh from the old man’s leg. They ignored his screams. They cooked the meat on a rock over the fire. Then they ate it.

Then again... Kavio mocked his own earlier hopes. 

“We eat first,” said the leader—the earless one. “Then we dance and invite the fae to eat the rest. Who says only a Tavaedi can dance? The fae don’t care who dances, or how good you are. They only care that you do it.”

None of the three had real magic in their auras. Just a few wild flashes, born from deep hate and jealousy. But—and this was a secret most didn’t speak of—strong feelings alone could still be dangerous if mixed with dancing. Especially with the fae watching. Even worse if blood and dark promises were part of it.

When my father looks at me, Kavio thought, is this what he sees?

“So you’re hexers,” Kavio said. “And cannibals too?”

The two exiles kept chewing. The leader stopped. “You’re not going to join us, are you?”

Kavio gave a small, sorry smile. “No. I’m going to free the old man. You’ll try to stop me. Then I’ll kill you.”

The leader picked up his spear. The point was bone—rough, but sharp. The other two followed. All three rose as one, ready. Their bodies moved with the easy strength of men who had killed before.

But Kavio was already moving.

He didn’t wait.

He stepped in close—fast—before the first exile could raise his guard. The man was thick, his back marked with whip scars turned to hard knots. Kavio swept his leg. The exile dropped. Kavio twisted and slammed his heel down on the man’s throat.

A wet, cracking sound.

Silence.

One, Kavio counted to himself.

The second charged with a shout, spear low, aiming for Kavio’s belly.

Kavio turned sideways. The spear slid past him. He caught the shaft under one arm, trapping it. With his free elbow, he slammed the man’s nose. It broke. Blood sprayed.

The exile fell back—but not fast enough.

Kavio tore the spear from his hands, swung it low, and struck his knee. The bone broke sideways. The man screamed and dropped.

Kavio flipped the spear and drove it into his heart.

Two, he added.

The leader was already behind him.

Too fast. Too quiet.

The punch hit Kavio behind the ear. Hard. His skull rang like a drum. His knees gave way. The spear slipped from his grip.

The leader snarled and grabbed Kavio by the hair, dragging him to the dirt.

“You should’ve eaten,” he hissed.

The bone knife came down. Kavio raised his arms just in time. The blade cut his forearm, but he caught the man’s wrist and twisted.

Something popped.

The leader headbutted him.

Pain exploded behind Kavio’s eyes like red lightning. He focused on Blue calm. He ignored the pain. Rolled to the side. Drove his knee up into the leader’s ribs. Once. Twice. The third time, something gave way.

They wrestled in the dirt, fists flying, both gasping for air.

The leader clawed for the knife.

Kavio drove his thumb into the man’s eye.

The leader screamed.

It gave Kavio just enough time to scramble on top.

He grabbed a jagged stone from the fire ring.

He didn’t want to do it.

But he did.

He brought the stone down on the man’s head.

Once.

Again.

The third time, the twitching stopped.

Three. 

The camp was silent after the quick, brutal fight. Only the old man’s whimpering and the sound of meat crackling on the fire broke the stillness.

Kavio sat back. Blood covered his chest and face. He spat red onto the ground, wiped his hands on the dirt, then stood. He walked to the tree and untied the old man. He caught him before he fell.

“It’s over,” Kavio said. But even as he spoke, it didn’t feel true.

The air still smelled like burning flesh.

His arms still shook with the rush of battle.

His ears still remembered the Rovers laughing as they cut flesh from the old man.

He looked at his bloody hands.

When my father looks at me… is this what he sees?

He asked the old man if his clanhold was far.

The man crawled away, too afraid to speak. If Kavio chased him, he would only scare him more.

Kavio would not dishonor the dead, even these unclean Rovers. But ordinary folk were not supposed to handle the dead, or the unclean magic of the dead. He knew what he needed to find. 

For now, he left their bodies where they fell. He returned to the main trail. Not far from it, he found a side path. It was marked by a tall black stone with a skull on top. 

A Deathstone.

It marked the beginning of forbidden Deathsworn trail.