Drums roared across the Bloody Mountain Peaks, thumping Jessica’s heart in a steady rhythm. She sat at a table on a raised platform that overlooked the plateau, where there was a sea of dancing and turning bodies. Most were barely clothed and decorated with war paint, but not as many red masks as usual. For this celebration, only the warriors involved in the battle against the three-headed god were wearing their masks, most of whom were down with the dancers, the men among them getting plenty of attention from the painted women.

  Jessica felt quite uncomfortable with the whole thing, enough so that she found no appetite for the haunch of meat in front of her. She bit at the greasy leg tentatively, barely tasting it.

  In truth, one good thing about this world is that the food was usually very good. There was a quality to it that did not exist in the grocery-bought meat of her own world. But she had no appetite for it tonight. Too much attention was on her. Well, the attention was mainly for her father and, by extension, on her. He had earlier made an announcement about how his daughter would be training one of the Hell Hounds and carrying on the Wyrmscar legacy.

  He sat behind another table, another platform up, a buffet of food laid out before him that he was not touching, just remaining stoically there with his mask upon his face that made it unclear where his eyes were focused. Occasionally, someone would come by, say some words to him, bow, and then offer a gift. Even the captain who had argued with him back on the battlefield came to show respect.

  He truly was a giant of a man, and Jessica had trouble with the fact that such a person was supposed to be her father in this life. Back in Wyoming, her dad was a big man, but in a much softer way, with a round belly, and he often came home from work covered in and smelling like oil. Before her brother left for basic training, the three of them would often watch TV as a family while they ate dinner. Often, dinner would be a bucket of chicken her dad picked up on the way home. Sides of mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese in styrofoam cups.

  She took for granted how simple that life was, how there was plenty of teenage drama at her school, but nothing like battle or flight training in this world where she’d learn to mount giant bats and fight with spears while constantly feeling like she wasn’t quite measuring up.

  She could never go back to her last life, though. She had been crushed by a meteor and didn’t even have a body to return to. But why would her mind have instead transferred to this other girl, in another world, with a father who had such a legendary air about him, clearly revered by these strange people for his strength?

  As the drumbeat changed, the dancing momentarily stopped with it. The wave of movement temporarily adjusted as another beat began. Some left the crowd while new dancers joined. Jessica’s eyes fell on a masked man who stepped away from the crowd with one painted woman on each of his arms.

  Then she noticed a familiar face coming up the short rope bridge towards her. It was her aunt, wearing the same loose cloth around her chest and waist, body painted with red and white lines, and her muscles glistening with sweat. She fell into the seat beside, reaching first for a jug of liquor across the table, breathing heavily.

  “Well, well, planning to just stare at it all night, or are you going to eat?” Her aunt's cheeks were flushed, the tone of her voice much looser than the stern, commanding one Jessica usually heard from her.

  Jessica forced herself to take another small bite. Although she was aware of the rich smoked flavor, she barely tasted it. Her aunt tipped the jug back and drank deeply, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave Jessica a sidelong glance.

  “You’re sitting up here like a carved idol,” she said, voice roughened by liquor. “Smile at least, or people will think you’ve swallowed a stone.”

  Jessica set the haunch down. “I’m not in the mood.”

  She felt her aunt staring at her, assessing her, until she eventually said, “You know, you’ve been different ever since you fell off that Direwing. Almost like you’re someone else.”

  Jessica flinched at that. She again wondered just what might happen to her if they figured out she was, in fact, not who they thought she was.

  Then her aunt smiled and clapped her on the back. “Different isn’t always bad. You’re quieter now. Less full of yourself. Some of the others don’t know what to make of it, but I think it suits you. That’s focus I see in your eyes; I can tell you’re taking things more seriously.” She chuckled. “Guess a little humility went a long way, eh?”

  Jessica smiled awkwardly. “I guess so.” Then, as her aunt slid the jug of booze over to her, offering it. Jessica’s eyes widened in surprise. “Um. I-I’m thirteen,” she blurted out, as if it were obvious she shouldn’t drink that.

  “Exactly. You’re a woman now.”

  Jessica blinked at the jug as she took it. In her last life, at fifteen years old, her father once let her take a sip of his beer and then laughed at the bitter face it put on her. Her aunt wasn’t telling her ‘just a quick taste,’ she was telling her to drink—and she was only thirteen! That would have been unheard of in Wyoming!

  But, that was Wyoming. In her last life, this age meant plastic school lunch trays and passing notes in class. In this life, thirteen meant integration into the System, combat training, and the expectation that you would prepare to fight and bleed for your tribe.

  She carefully lifted the jug to her lips. The smell was strong. When it hit her tongue, the taste was even stronger, and it made her gag as she forced down the sip. She set the jug down with a cough.

  Her aunt laughed, clapping her on the back again as she took the jug back. “First time burns like the scaly bastard below. But it grows on you.” She took a swig herself as if to demonstrate.

  Jessica grimaced. She could feel just that small sip sitting in her stomach, spreading warmth through her body in an unpleasant way.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she muttered.

  “You will. Everything worth doing challenges you at first. Flying, fighting, drinking—it all leaves its own marks but strengthens you. As a scar is hardened skin.”

  As her aunt tried to pass the jug back, Jessica waved it away. Her aunt shrugged and didn’t force the issue as she stuffed some meat in her mouth, then took another swig herself.

  Jessica’s eyes fixed on the crowd below. Red-masked warriors slammed their feet in time with the drums, painted women spinning around them, and bursts of cheering came from the crowd. The air was thick with sweat and smoke. It was wild, primal, almost hypnotic, and…

  “It’s barbaric,” Jessica said before she could stop herself.

  Her aunt raised a brow, licking grease from her thumb. “They’re celebrating victory. The noise means we’re alive and stand to fight another day. It means we’re feared.” Her voice dropped low as she leaned in so only Jessica could hear. “Your father won a great battle. You should be proud.”

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  Jessica’s stomach twisted. She had seen the other side of that “victory.” The pups in cages. The mother hound shocked into silence. The three-headed corpse still lying on some distant mountain ridge. This didn’t feel like a celebration to her—more like gloating.

  “Where are the pups now?” Jessica asked.

  “They’re in the stables. Negotiators are traveling to secure sales with distant tribes. Once that’s done, the three males will be shipped off. Can’t keep them together; these beasts have a pack mentality, and any reminder of their pack will make it that much harder to tame them.”

  “So that’s why the other three are going to be sold? But is what Father did truly about safety, then?” She felt like they were more like poachers, acting solely for profit.

  “Gold is a resource, Elva. Resources mean survival and its own kind of safety. Why kill the pups when they have value? The lost gold could mean lives in the future, and as for you—” She pointed her half-eaten haunch of meat at Jessica. “You’ll be training the female. You’ve been blessed to receive the Wyrmscar Legacy trait. It goes to only one of our blood every generation. Last generation was your father, and next in line is you.”

  Jessica frowned, looking out over the celebration that filled the plateau. This was to celebrate their victory and honor her father for achieving it for them. She knew when those red masks looked towards her, they were comparing her to him, wondering how she would measure up. After all, one day she would be the one sitting up there where the giant man that was her father now sat.

  “Iris doesn’t belong in a cage,” Jessica muttered.

  Her aunt tilted her head. “Then make sure she belongs to you. Train her, master her, and prove your blood. That is the only freedom she’ll have.”

  Jessica frowned. “What about the mother?”

  “The fighting pits most likely, if it’s worth the trouble to transport her. Either way, she won’t live long, and shouldn’t. She’s too old to be tamed and could never truly be broken.”

  “That sounds so cruel.”

  Her aunt smirked before taking a bite, taking a moment, as if chewing on her next thought. After swallowing, she said, “See? That’s what I’m saying about you. You never used to think with such depth. But listen to me, Elva—it’s a cruel world. Wouldn’t you prefer to be the ones dancing than the ones dead or in cages?”

  ***

  That night Jessica struggled to get comfortable in her cot. The party had ended a while ago, but the mountain still had some stragglers awake far later than normal, letting out occasional laughter and hollers.

  Eventually she decided there was no way she’d be able to sleep without walking off some of her anxiety. As she sat up, she thought for a moment, then reached beneath the cot for her mask. She stared at the hollow eyes. Since she was meant to be among the warriors of the tribe, she was supposed to always wear this when she was out. The exception would be only during the celebration of a battle she wasn’t a part of, since those events were meant to honor the warriors who had directly done the fighting.

  She figured it would be okay to put it on now, so she pulled it over her head and adjusted the strap to keep it in place.

  She pushed open the door, which didn’t even have a lock, and tiptoed out. She wasn’t sure where her father slept, but she knew her aunt was in one of the adjacent cots.

  As ironic as it was, she felt a little more comfortable with the mask on, despite what it represented. Perhaps because not even the face under the mask was her own face. It belonged to Elva, and the anonymity that the mask provided made her feel slightly less strange about stealing this other girl’s life.

  She walked along the mostly quiet mountain ridge, spotting some torchlight and soft discussion from a higher landing. Walking through the main part of town that was always so busy by day, she was surprised by just how still this mountain actually was capable of being.

  Finally, she made her way across the rope bridge that led down to the stables on an adjacent mountain peak. The caves where the Direwings were kept were quite dark, but she imagined if she stared hard enough she’d be able to make out their oval silhouettes hanging upside down from their hooks, cocooned inside their wings.

  As she passed another of the caves, she heard a soft, throaty purr from one who perhaps had been stirred by the crunch of her footsteps. She froze for a second, heard the rustling of wings, and then the purr turned into a sleepy sigh, and she kept going.

  She wasn’t sure where the pups were kept; her aunt had only said the stables, but this whole ridge counted as the stables. She followed the sloped path down. She figured it would make sense to house flying monsters up top and ones that didn’t fly down lower. Though, Direwings did make up the vast majority of the Bloody Peak Tribe’s fleet.

  Then, when she saw the flicker of torchlight around the next bend on the otherwise dark mountain, she suspected she had found them.

  She crouched by the thick post of a short wood bridge that covered the gap to the next plateau and peeked past.

  There were two red-masked warriors stationed by a cave with iron bars over it. One leaned against the wall; the other found a rock to perch on. Each had their spear loosely in the cradle of their arm and were passing a jug of liquor.

  “All the trouble for these four little mongrels. Hard to believe they’re worth so much.” He tipped his mask up slightly to reveal his chin and allow him to take a swig of the liquor.

  “They’re not just any monsters. I hear it took every trick Valrok had to get close enough to blast a hole in the big one. Suppose the pups could become as strong.”

  “Then better to slit their throats now and be done with it, I say.”

  “Valrok wants his prize…” The man lowered his voice as he leaned over to take the jug. Jessica had to strain to hear.

  “I heard there’s conflict between Valrok and the captain. Valrok was supposed to capture six pups, only got four. Threatened the captain’s life, I hear, demanding he still gets to take one.”

  “Hmph, Valrok.” The man lifted his mask enough to spit at the ground. “Twenty men die, and he takes all the honor. Why? Bastard has a dragon and still sacrificed half a warband. The bitch ought to be sold with the male pups. Then give the gold to the sons and daughters of those that died. Instead, he demands it for his own daughter!”

  The man chugged back a big mouthful. “Elva, yeah? My son’s in her training class. Says she can’t even fly a Direwing.”

  They both chuckled.

  “I’ve heard, I’ve heard. She falls, she flails, she cries. Some legacy.”

  Jessica shrank tighter against the post, fingers digging into the rough wood. She couldn’t even deny what they were saying. She wondered how her father would react once he realized she was the laughingstock of the entire town for her poor performance.

  “She’ll never be Valrok,” the standing guard muttered. “The captain knows it. Everyone does. But Valrok shoves his blood into our mouths and dares us to choke.”

  The seated guard gave a snort. “Proves the Wyrmscars are nothing special. He tamed a monster that became a dragon and has been boasting that achievement ever since! Behind that dragon of his, he bleeds like any other man. Why, I’ll bet his skill with a spear is nothing special either.” He reached for his own spear and stood, wobbling slightly on drunken legs and gave it a mock thrust. “Ha! One-on-one, I’d bet I could take him!”

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed behind her mask. Just based on size alone, that’s quite an optimistic claim for him to make. Her father could likely swat him away like a fly, and she got the impression these two were not involved in the battle and were left behind. There was probably a reason for that.

  Then Jessica heard the crunch of footsteps coming down the slope. She quickly looked around for somewhere better to hide, spotting a boulder near the mountainside and quickly scurried over to it to hide. She peeked out just enough to see two more red masks coming down the slope and approaching the bridge.

  Compared to the sloppy posture of the two drinking guards, these new arrivals looked far more disciplined, walking in even strides, side by side, their spears held neatly over their shoulders.

  “Huh?” One of the drunk guards looked up. “What’s this now?”

  “Shift change,” a new arrival responded evenly, still walking towards him.

  “I’m not complaining,” the standing guard laughed in response. “You should know we just started, though. Must be a mix-up.”

  “Please, take the night off. I insist.” The new arrival made a sudden move towards the guard as his free hand shot up from his side as his body overtook him. It almost looked like he was hugging him.

  Jessica wasn’t able to make sense of their movements beneath the flickering torchlight until the first new arrival stepped back, and the guard fell limp, his mask knocked askew as he hit the ground.

  “H-Hey—” The seated guard began to stand, but before he could get two words out, the other new arrival was on him.

  This time, Jessica had no confusion over what she was seeing as his hand drew back, revealing a bloodied knife glinting under the torch light.

  Jessica curled lower behind the boulder, placing a palm over the mouth of her mask as if that could silence the sound of her breathing. Her heart hammered in her chest with a new kind of fear.

  She watched as the two men removed their masks and dropped them to the ground unceremoniously. Seeing their faces, Jessica instantly knew they were not of the Bloody Peaks Tribe.

  They had very dark skin, almost disappearing in the night, each with white lines painted on their cheeks and purple eyes that stood out in the darkness. On either side of their foreheads there were symmetrical bulges, like tiny nubs of budding horns.

  One kneeled down, searching the guard's pockets and producing a key. The other looked through the bars and scoffed. “The mother is not here.”

  “Forget it, then. Too much trouble. Grab the pups, and let’s go.”