Ter drifted in restful early morning sleep until the bovine intrusion. Sticky warmth laved his face startled him awake to the sight of two huge horns a few hand spans from his face. He half rolled half scrambled away. The cow gave him a baleful stare before taking a bite out of his straw bedding with a chuff.

Waking brain just catching up with woken body, Ter noticed their campsite had been invaded by a herd of cattle. He looked back at the bull that had interrupted his sleep, thoughts of beef roasting slowly over a camp fire floating across his mind.

As if sensing his thoughts, the bull snorted in indignation and turned away, dropping a hot pile of dung on what used to be his bedding before lumbering away, tail swishing lazily. Laughter erupted behind him and Ter turned to see Uche and a stranger holding their sides as gales of laughter shook them both, he was not amused.

The herdsman was one of the nomadic Fulaah that moved with their cattle and followed the seasons across the land. They were a constant irritant to farmers and some of their tribes were known to carry out the odd raid on small villages. On the other hand, they were a boon to travellers and merchants; their frequent travels having made them fluent in most of the popular regional languages plus they were usually a good source of information (if they condescended to notice you).

Biyal was happy to provide them with news he had gathered in his southern march. The most disturbing bit concerned a scion from the Zazzau Empire that was currently raiding the countryside for slave-stock. He left them a charcoal drawn map showing villages that were close by and the best paths through the wilderness. Bidding them farewell, left a large gourd of Nono in compensation for Ter’s interrupted sleep.

An all-around good man if you asked Ter. Unfortunately, he was unsuitable for Uche’s Nti N’Ire charm. One simply did not raise a hand to the Fulaah people if one hoped to live out the rest of their lives in peace. The city-loving Fulaah clans might view their nomadic cousins with a certain level of disdain, however harming one of their blood unprovoked would bring the wrath of the clans down on your head in retribution.

Naturally, Ter and Uche sought out the raiding army, intending to trail them back to the capital city of Zazzau. A careless moment from Ter a week into following the trail of the army saw the two friends fleeing an irate scout troop.

After three frustrating days trying to evade the scout troops, they finally decided to take their chances with an ambush. Uche ranged ahead to find a portion of the merchant road that would serve as a choke point to set their ambush. Ter had dropped behind to string the troop along and into Uche’s waiting claws.

On the second day after their split, Ter stumbled upon Uche in his leopard skin, lying down in the center of the path, tail flicking at a cloud of flies.

Now Ter stood in the middle of the road, whirling his cursed blade to loosen his wrist, bone dagger palmed in his off hand. Five riders rode around the bend. They spurred their rides into a charge at the sight of Ter standing on the road by himself. Ter felt the ground tremble underneath his feet as the riders bore down on him, accompanied by blood curdling ululations at the top of their lungs.

Two pulled ahead of the others, riding to either side of him with spears lowered and aimed at his head. Ter exploded into motion. He danced between the two lowered spears and leaped into the air, spinning at the apex of the leap. His foot lashed out, it took one of the spearmen in the head, dismounting him. Ter’s blade swept out in a wide arc simultaneously, splitting the other spearman’s face in half.

He landed in a sprint, closing with the three remaining horsemen who had been thrown off their charge by the speed and ferocity of his attack. He rolled between the hoofs of the first horse, his blade flicking out and disemboweling it. One of the riders made a half-hearted slash with his Calvary sword which Ter easily deflected off a bracer; his response was to plunge his blade into the soldier’s thigh forcing the soldier to wheel his horse away from the melee.

The remaining mounted soldier reared his horse, battlefield training kicking in. Only heightened reflexes save Ter from having his skull caved in as he side stepped the attack, stabbing the horse under the jaw with his bone dagger as it landed. One of the previously unhorsed spear-man charged Ter’s back with his spear, Ter responded with inhuman speed; pirouetting along the shaft of the spear and cracking an elbow into the soldier’s temple, taking him out of the fight completely. He turned to see the two riders whose horses he had disabled stalking him, hesitant to commit to an attack.

A manic grin blossomed across his face, blood singing the song of violence. He felt like a lion being stalked by overly ambitious hyenas. The soldier whom he stabbed through the thigh picked that moment to come in for a second charge, a salvaged spear aimed at Ter’s chest.

Ter sheathed his blades, planted his feet, grabbed the spear just below the head and in a show of strength whipped the rider off his horse and into a tree with a loud crunch of bones shattering. He spun the spear around in time to deflect a sword thrust from one of the formerly hesitating soldiers. He brought its point around and the second soldier broke off a lunging attack, narrowly avoiding an open neck. Ter brought the spear to rest beside him, gripped at its balance point and held flush against the back of his arm.

He took the measure of his remaining opponents, they were both average sized, straight swords held properly, no hint of the apprehension they must now feel showing in their manner. They seemed experienced soldiers, knowing enough to not show weakness to the enemy.

Their experience would avail them nothing, Ter went on the offensive. He looped the spear around at an inhuman speed, knocking both swords away and bringing the butt at a head; a hastily thrown up hand deflected the blow with a crack of broken bone. The second soldier moved in, fending him off before he could finish the staggered man. He brought the spear back around in another lateral sweep that the attacking soldier deflected with the flat of his blade; he pulled back sharply on the spear and stepped into a strike, bringing the butt of the spear crashing into the back of the soldier’s head like a club. He felt a flash of hot ice as the now recovered soldier scored him across the back; he staggered forward with the blow, swinging the spear wide behind him to prevent a follow up strike. Tossing the spear to the side, Ter unsheathed his cutlass.

“You have drawn my blood. Though you were a coward about it, there is still great honour in drawing forth the blood of the warrior clans. Come, I will let you die like an antelope instead of like a rabbit.”

The soldier reply was to spit at Ter’s feet. Ter laughed and settled into a crouch, blade held above his head,

“Maybe not so much of a coward, it is good that you spit at the feet of your death, now come that I might send you on your way. Your brothers in arms are probably impatient to receive you”

Though the language was foreign to him, the soldier understood that he was being taunted, he charged, to his death.

Uche watched the first five riders gallop past him and around the bend on Ter’s trail; he waited for the remaining part of the troop. The noise of Ter closing with the first riders reached his sensitive ears, the scent of spilled blood tickled his nose and aroused his hunting instincts but his will was strong and he held himself still. The rest of the troop finally came into sight, three bowmen and three spearmen; dead men. Uche bunched his muscles; prepared for the spring, waiting for the optimum moment.

The three bowmen who brought up the rear were the first to go, claws raked through the first man’s neck, leopard used the keening man’s chest as a springboard and sprang towards the two remaining bow men. The full weight of Uche’s form knocked the second bowman off his horse and into the third mounted bowman. They went down in a tangle of leopard, Horse and men. The second man already had his skull crushed between powerful jaws and the third man had his neck broken by a careless swipe of a huge paw before they hit the ground. The horses in the party went into a panic, kicking wildly and throwing riders. The situation devolved into a mass of flashing claws, flailing blades that failed to bite flesh, and screaming men.

Uche resolved back into his human form, the sight of the bloodshed around him making his heart heavy. He took out his knife and slit the throats of the horses still thrashing, sparing them a needlessly painful death. All the men were dead with some of the corpses in pieces. He walked up the road to the site of Ter’s battle. His friend had two of the warriors hanging by their tied hands from sturdy branches.

“What took you so long?”

Ter’s post battle cheer was in full sway, completely oblivious to the bleeding gashes that marred is torso.

“I had more to deal with than you did, couldn’t you have taken care of them without harming the horses?”

Uche snapped, irritated at his friend’s good humor at the bloodshed.

Ter raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He turned instead and pointed to the two prisoners.

“Do what needs doing.”

Uche just then noticed the deep, long gash running the length of his friend’s back.

“Look at your back! Let me see to it before I deal with business.”

Ter shrugged his friend off, “it will be closed by nightfall, and I swear I feel it closing up as we speak.”

Uche shook his head in disgust, “protection of your gods or not, women like a man with scars not a mass of scars that calls itself a man.”

“Perhaps I will get something to protect my skin from pinpricks when we get to this Zazzau you have been singing about.” Ter replied dismissively.

With a put upon sigh, Uche moved to examine the men and shook his head. “I need them closer to death.”

Ter flexed and cracked his knuckles, always up for a little show of deviant skill. He stepped up to one of the men and drove his fist into the man’s chest. The sound of cracking ribs was audible and a spray of spittle and blood burst forth from the prisoner’s mouth. Ter inclined his head by way of an inquiry and Uche nodded that the blow had been sufficient after looking into the prisoner’s eyes.

Ceremonial knife out, Uche began mumbling incantations under his breath. Nicking himself on the forearm, he smeared his blood on the man’s ears and tongue. Mumbling faster now as the life drained out of the prisoner, he conjured a charm stone in his palm. Holding up the dying man’s head with one hand, he trapped the man’s gaze with his, watching as the light died in them. At the moment of the last breath he slapped the stone to the man’s chest. There was a small flash and the smooth, translucent stone came away with a cloud dancing in its depths. Moving on to the second man, he motioned to Ter, who gladly obliged with a complementary punch to the surviving prisoner’s chest. The man screamed and buckled, struggling ineffectually against his bonds. Uche shook his head, unsatisfied

“This one is stronger; you will need a little more to break him.”

Ter stepped up and buried another fist in the man’s gut. Even hung up, the blow bent the prisoner double but he was swiftly snapped back by the following hook that took him under the jaw. This time there were teeth mixed in with the blood and spittle. Uche caught the man’s broken jaw in strong fingers and examined his eyes briefly.

“That will do nicely.”

He set about with the same ritual, only this time using Ter’s blood as the anchor instead of his. Watching Uche work his magic always amused Ter; his friend gained a childlike enthusiasm whenever there was a charm to be worked. Even now, Uche’s dismay at the blood had completely vanished, replaced by a barely repressed cheer at trapping the life force of dying men. Ter wondered if he was aware of the irony involved.

Second stone clouded, he stowed both stones in his Dibia pouch and wiped his hands with a scrap of cloth from the pouch.

“I will see you later brother, do not wait up, i might be gone awhile.”

Ter snorted “be gone as long as you want, just come back with the new tongue and stop calling me brother!”

Uche’s only reply was to shrug and stalk into the forest.

All his senses open and alert, he burnt daylight hours looking for an appropriate spot. He finally found one as the sun began its journey to the other world. The moon was already out in the evening sky; a happy coincidence for Uche.

A wave of his hand and the air in front of him rippled and warped, the colors bled out of a circular area the diameter of the average height of a man. Although unnecessary, Uche cast a seeking to ensure there was no sentient presence spectating. Satisfied he was truly alone and unwatched, Uche scooped up a handful of forest dirt and whispered an invocation into it. He flung out his arm, throwing the dirt in front of him. The particles hung in a rippling screen; dead leaves, pebbles and soil formed a curtain suspended on nothing.

Uche picked a pebble the size of a quail egg out of the curtain of dirt and popped it into his mouth to serve as an anchor and compass for his return trip from the other side; something of the human world that had been touched by the realm he was entering. He shivered slightly as he stepped through the spirit door into a realm of darkness and chaos.

There was no horizon, just solid roiling darkness in every direction. It recoiled momentarily in surprise at his presence; the order he represented at odds with the chaos of uncreation. A thought from Uche banished his shirt from around his shoulders, baring his markings which now glowed and held the seething darkness at bay, also creating a cloud of breathable air around him. There was a tug at the edges of his awareness, and he began to walk in that direction. Every step was harder than the last, the chaos trying to crush him. Only his tattoos protected him, waxing and waning as the darkness sought his destruction.

Finally, and without warning he took a step that brought him to solid ground. A barren island stretched as far as the eye could see. The air was completely still where Uche stepped out. He stood on a small island of calm in an ocean of formless chaos, there was no sky and the horizon in all directions was slick with the thick darkness of inexistence. Uche set out to examine the island’s edges. It was ragged and constantly had sections crumbling into the abyss below only to be rebuilt by the power that kept the pocket dimension anchored. Satisfied that the presence of the island was still strong, Uche trudged towards the center of the island. Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead from the effort of all the trudging through the sludge that passed for air on the island. A little voice in the corner of his preoccupied mind reminded him of where he was. A little concentration and the air shimmered in front of him, all resistance gone and replaced by a gentle breeze that dried his sweat. The pocket dimension was his to control.

A world tree appeared out of nowhere, rising like a mirage from the featureless sand. Its trunk was so wide that it would take at least a score of men hand in hand to completely encircle it. The type of the tree could not be determined as it constantly changed in form so that its crown was a shifting kaleidoscope of green, red and orange leaves. Birdsong occasionally drifted down on inexistent winds, sometimes sounding like a father’s harsh scolding and other times like a mother’s warm embrace.

Uche stood for a bit, letting the voice of the tree’s welcome wash over him. It occurred to Uche as it always did whenever he visited his obi how much Ter would be impressed by the tree. He cocked his head and looked speculatively at the Tree, trying to gauge its mood; he could probably bring Ter along across the dimensions with the adequate preparations. However, the question was if the Tree would accept him under its protection after they made the transition and not leave him to the darkness.

His obi was a simple hut, most of it hollowed out of the side of the tree with a string of dread bones and world seeds serving as its doorway. The tree’s hardened flesh inside the hut was marked; echoes of Uche’s tattoos were painfully sculpted into its bark and they glowed with the same luminescence that illuminated his skin. Uche examined them closely; checking to make sure the power still ran strong in them. He would need to return as soon as he led Ter to Zazzau, they were uncomfortably weak already and needed renewal. That done, he gathered the ingredients for his charm on his work surface, adding the two charm stones and got down to the task that had brought him there.

It was past midnight the next day when Uche returned to his friend. Ter had set up camp using supplies looted from the dead scout troop. A kettle of Nono warmed over the fire, Ter danced with his cursed blade just beyond the light of the fire.

Uche took out two small leaf wrapped parcels out of his satchel and emptied the contents into two clay cups. A third leaf wrapped bundle was emptied unto the fire. Without a word Ter padded over on his bare feet and poured warm milk into the cups, not bothering to protect his hands from the licking flames while he handled the kettle. They both drained their cups, rinsing them out and drinking again. Still without a word spoken between them, they both slipped into their rolls and were lost to a deep slumber; Uche’s medicines opening their minds to the knowledge of a new people leached from the souls of two dead warriors.