Scarred Man by Bevan McGuiness

read of the metal and its use in the making of the most expensive weaponry. Normal iron mixed with mangase became harder, held its edge better and was less susceptible to rust. Even this modest amount of the metal would be worth a small fortune to the right swordmaker. He held out his hand to the dull grey lump. Kirri hesitated so long before offering him the metal, he realised he had committed some social error.
    â€˜I do not know your traditions,’ he said slowly. ‘Did I just give offence?’
    â€˜No,’ she replied. ‘You just offered to marry me. To carry my first mangase find is to hold my virginity.’ She blushed and looked down. ‘I guess that was not your meaning.’
    â€˜No,’ Slave said quickly. ‘Of course not.’
    Kirri’s blush deepened and she tucked the metal back inside her yok. As she busied herself with refastening the garment, she rose to her feet.
    â€˜Rub more of that onto your chest,’ she said, indicating the remaining paste in its leather bowl. She did not look at him as she turned and walked quickly away.
    Slave watched her go, aware of the stares of other women and their small children. Only the nursing mothers, the infirm and the very young stayed inside during the daylight. Everyone else was outside harvesting, as Slave now realised, the priceless mangase.
    A small child — a girl , Slave thought — tottered across the rug-covered ground towards him. A woman, presumably her mother, watched her progress intently. The child came close and reached out a tiny hand to touch Slave’s face. He held still as the small, yet perfectly formed hand touched his skin and traced the scars that ran across his face.
    â€˜What did this?’ the child asked.
    â€˜A monster,’ Slave said softly.
    â€˜Why?’
    Slave frowned. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered.
    â€˜What’s a monster?’ the child said.
    â€˜Something that does things like this,’ Slave replied.
    â€˜Are you going to fight it again?’
    Slave did not hesitate this time. ‘Yes,’ he said.
    â€˜Will it do this to you again?’
    Slave traced the scars across his face before answering. ‘Probably.’
    â€˜You are very brave.’
    â€˜Brave? No, not really,’ Slave said with a smile. He was about to add that he was terrified almost all of the time when the child’s mother came and gathered her up.
    â€˜Leave him to rest now, Skeve,’ the woman said with her eyes on Slave. There was fear in her look, and distrust, but mostly there was anger.
    Why anger? Slave wondered. What did I do?

9
    â€˜Make camp here,’ Itxtli called. He held his hand up, fist clenched, and the Agents reined in around him. Myrrhini sighed and lowered her head to rest on Chicahua’s mane. Her whole body ached from the day’s ride, but every day it ached less. She was surprised at how quickly she became accustomed to riding. The ache in her lower back and thighs faded after a few days and the warm clothes, plentiful food and comfortable sleep at night gave her body the opportunity to recover from its recent battering. She even found Itxtli to be good company after the first day. During that day she had been too wrapped up in her pain and misery to pay much attention to the Agents around her, but after a good night’s sleep in the tent she felt ready to face her new situation. They rode fast, heading south, but not towards Leserlang.
    The campsites were also becoming better since leaving the barren tundra behind. This one had trees for shelter and what looked like a spring of clear water bubbling up from the ground. Myrrhini eased her leg over the saddle and slid down onto the earth. It was no longer frozen underfoot and thesky was mostly clear blue. The trees now broke the wind up so that it was not a constant biting companion carrying the taste of ancient ice.
    Myrrhini started to pull her tent off the back of a pack