As he laid himself to the blankets, shoving a puppy aside, he was 
already thinking about how he would escape. They'd caught him 
when he was weak and lost. But Rone had made a fool of the 
Tyrant. There was no way they could stop someone as clever as 
him. Not for long. 


The next day, Rone was woken up by Straytaker shaking his 
shoulder. She thrust a bucket into his hands and told him she 
needed him to get water. She spoke slowly, as though he were slow 
or simple. 


He hurried outside, and others stared at him. "Hey, city boy!" called 
out a girl about his age. "Where are you going?" 


"Getting water," he said, a trifle defensively, not liking to be called 
city boy. 


"I'll help," she said. "It's this way." 
"| know," he said, though he didn't. 


"Of course," she said, and her smile told him she wasn't fooled. 
Rone decided immediately that he didn't like her. 


"What's your name?" he asked. 


She stared at him for a moment, and burst out laughing. He 
definitely didn't like her. "I don't have a name! How old do you think | 
am?" 


"Everyone has a name," Rone said, then paused. "Don't they?" 


"No one gets a name until they're ready to be a man or a woman, 


silly. My mother's name is Third Arrow, because she shot a bandit 
with three arrows, and the third one killed him." She spoke as lightly 
as she might have talked about wearing a pretty dress, or making a 
nice pie. 


"|... see," and Last Man's earlier words made more sense to him. 


From her, he learned that most of the children in Last Man and 
Straytaker's tent weren't their own. Straytaker had only had a single 
son, who died soon after, and wasn't able to have anymore. So, they 
took in any children who had no tent to go to anymore. Ones whose 
parents had died, or, more frequently, had been taken from other 
tribes. 


He asked about that, and it seemed that the nomad tribes often 
raided each other, taking children for their own to swell their 
numbers. Sometimes, a tribe could be eradicated that way. Though, 
when that happened, it generally transpired that another tribe would 
split up to take over the new territory. 


"My father was from another tribe," she said. "He won't tell me which 
one, though. We're Ghost Hunters now." 


Rone spent a lot of time with the girl over the next few days as he 
learned more about the Ghost Hunters. Not that he liked her, 
certainly, but she was willing to talk, and he needed all the 
information he could get. For her part, she seemed amused by his 
ignorance, which annoyed him to no end. 


When they broke camp after the first week, she showed him how to 
pack up the tent leather carefully, folding it so it could be carried to 
the new location. Poles that were still in good shape were carried, 
while bad ones were discarded, to be replaced when they reached a 
new campsite. 


Not many other people were willing to spare more than a glance at 
Rone, and when someone did speak to him, it was usually the way 
Straytaker did. Kindly, but as though he were an idiot. Last Man 

would occasionally look him over to see if he was still in one piece. 


He waited until they were in the new place before he made his 


escape. He waited until the bustle of setting up was begun, picked 
up a bucket (in which he'd hidden his bag, taken from the back of 

Last Man's tent) as though to fetch some water, and began to walk 
away. He ducked behind some bushes, and was soon out of sight. 


He ran after that, knowing that once they discovered he was 
missing, they'd follow his tracks. But not too far, he was sure. One 
boy captive wasn't worth too much effort. Once he got far enough 
away, they'd give up. 


For a full day he ran, and it was night when he finally stopped, 
coming to rest in a copse of trees. He was lost, of course, but at 
least he was free. Then he heard someone shifting nearby. 


It was Last Man. He was standing not ten feet away, leaning ona 
walking stick, a dog beside him. He didn't look angry, or upset, or 
even disappointed. Simply attentive. 


Then he raised his stick, and the beating began. 


When he was done, he threw Rone over his broad shoulders and 
carried him back to the camp. 


Rone tried to escape several more times, but the result was always 
the same. Last Man would catch him, knock him around some, and 
then bring him back. He was never punished further, nor did anyone 
say anything about it, except the girl. 


He became more adept at life in the camp, carrying things for the 
women and older men. He learned to help clean the tents, what the 
cooks needed, and how to take care of the bows the women were 
armed with in case of raids by other tribes, bandits, or monsters. 


His old clothes wore away, and were replaced by leather breeches 
and simple cloth shirts. After that, he was more easily accepted 
among the Ghost Hunters. He was no longer called "city boy" by 
anyone except the annoying girl. She still nattered away at him, 
though he needed her to explain things less and less as months 
went on. Still, he spent time with her, as much out of habit as 
anything else. 


He started playing with blunted spears with the other boys, learning 
to mock-fight with them, and to throw the shorter spears at targets 
painted on the ground or in trees. He grew taller, and broader in his 
chest. Soon, he was catching rabbits and lizards around the camp 
with the older boys. 


One of the older boys, whom he mentally thought of as Sharpnose, 
was generally regarded as the leader. Rone got along well with him, 
and they started making plans for mischief. They would play pranks 
on other boys or on the younger hunters, go places they weren't 
supposed to, and generally find ways to entertain themselves. 


Rone didn't think so much about escaping, or the city, or even how 

he had cheated the Tyrant. Mostly he thought about what they'd get 
up to the next day, or if the hunters would bring back new stories of 
monsters or other tribes. 


One day, when he had been with the tribe for several years, Rone 
and the annoying girl snuck out to a nearby water hole where a 
bunyip had made its home. They climbed a tree and watched as the 
hairy, scaly monster attacked anything that came too close to its 
pond. 


Suddenly, Rone glanced up, and spotted dust in the distance. He 
squinted, and made out men in the distance. 


"Hey, look over there," he said, pointing. 


The annoying girl shaded her eyes, and frowned. "They aren't our 
hunters." 


"Let's go," Rone said, slipping down from the tree. 


They ran back to the camp. Rone immediately walked up to 
Straytaker. "There are men coming. Not ours," he said. 


"You saw this?" she asked, frowning. 
"This isn't a joke, | swear," Rone answered. "Ask the girl." 


The annoying girl nodded. "They didn't have white faces, and they 
didn't have any dogs with them." 


Straytaker nodded, and then yelled for the other women. Bows were 
strung, arrows packed into quivers. 


Rone and the annoying girl were ordered to stay with the tents and 
protect the other children. Rone knew they were being told to stay 
behind so they wouldn't get in the way, but he couldn't figure out a 
way to get away from all the others without being seen, so he waited 
while the women did their work. 


Two hours later, the women returned, laughing and singing songs 
about war and rains of arrows and stones. 


One of the women took Rone by the hands and swung him around 
when he asked what happened, and then kissed him on the cheek. 
The annoying girl seemed strangely upset by this, though Rone 
wasn't sure why. She wasn't the one who was kissed on the cheek 
like a baby. "Clever boy! We'll have a feast tonight." 


It emerged that the women had hidden themselves well before the 
men got near, and then shot a flight of arrows into the ground in 
front of them. They were from the Black Swords tribe, who were 
usually friendly, so they hadn't been killed outright. But they'd had to 
give up their weapons and their finer clothes before they'd been 
allowed to leave. "And if any are still here when the hunters get 
back, they'll be mighty sorry!" the woman said, laughing. 


But when the hunters returned, there wasn't a sign of any of the 
raiders. A few of the younger warriors were sad that they wouldn't 
have a chance to try their spears against swords, but it was 
generally agreed that the women had done very well, and that Rone 
and the annoying girl had saved the tribe from some mischief. Even 
if, Last Man pointed out, they shouldn't have been at the water hole 
in the first place. 


That night, while Rone was dozing with a full belly, he was roughly 
pulled to his feet and hustled out of the tent before he could figure 
out what was happening. He stumbled forward in the dark, trying to 
figure out what was happening when water was thrown into his face. 


His bleary eyes made out the faces of the hunters. Some held 
sticks, some held lengths of rope, and one held a glittering knife. A 


gag was shoved in between his jaws, and he was forced to walk 
away from the campsite. 


When they had gone some distance, the gag was removed, and he 
was taken by the arms. The hunter with the knife (belatedly, he 
recognized him as Last Man) advanced. 


"Hey!" he said, and tried to back away. But the others held him, and 
pushed him down on the ground. The knife flashed down, and cut 
away at his shirt. Then at his pants, and he was left naked to the 
stars. The hunters permitted him to stand. 


Last Man whistled, and the other hunters formed two lines. "Ten 
times," Last Man said. "On your own two feet, to make a man. Start!" 


Rone was pushed into the line. As he passed each man, he was 
struck with a stick lashed with a length of rope. He stumbled, but 
made it to the end. 


"Nine times!" Last Man demanded. 


Rone stumbled back through. And again. Twice, he fell to his knees, 
and made to return to the start of the gauntlet. But he finally made it 
through the tenth and final time. 


Again, his arms were grabbed. But this time, it was merely to help 
him stand. 


Last Man approached, and pulled a jar from a pouch at his belt. 
"Ten times. To make a man. Well." He dipped two fingers into the jar 
and came out with something white on them, which he spread on 
Rone's face. When he was done, he showed Rone his face in a 
piece of metal. White face. Ghost Hunter. 


The others began to shout and clap. They gave him his grey-and- 
black clothes and a spear. He was slapped on the back, punched in 
the arms, and his bruised body complained again. But he wouldn't 
have traded any of those aches away. 


He began to go out with the hunters. He was shown how to take 
care of his spear, and how to make a new one. His job now, though, 


was to run with the dogs and flush out prey for the older hunters, 
who would take the kill. He longed to test his spear out, but he was 
still much too new to be given that chance. He didn't even have a 
name yet. But that would come in time. 


Sharpnose became a hunter not long after. The two remained 
friends, but there was now an edge to their friendship, a competition 
to see who could be the better hunter, who would earn his name 
first. 


"You're just a city boy," Sharpnose said mockingly. "You'll be years 
before you get a name. If ever." 


"You're too thick in the head," Rone replied. "Unless you earn it 
headbutting boulders, you'll be years before you do anything clever 
enough for a name." 


They got into a shoving match, and ended up laughing in the mud 
until Last Man broke up their play fighting and told them to find 
something useful to do. 


The annoying girl had less time to spend with him. Straytaker had 
taken her aside and now she was learning to use a bow, among 
other womanly duties. Rone felt a certain sadness with that. He'd 
grown used to her. She wasn't nearly as annoying as she used to 
be. 


Still, they stole moments when they could. A few minutes at the 
campfire, an hour under the moon. He bragged about feats of daring 
during the hunt, one or two of which actually happened, while she 
told him who was fighting in the camp, who stole whose dinner, and 
other little inconsequentialities he couldn't have cared less about, 
except that he loved to hear about them from her. 


One day, he returned from the hunt, and she rushed up and put her 
arms around him, grinning like a maniac. "You'll never guess what's 
happened!" 


"| might," he said, pretending to be offended. "| can guess fairly 
well." 


"| have a name!" she said. 


"That's not how the game's played," he protested. Then it sank in. 
"What, already?" 


"Oh, and | almost died,” she added. 

"What?" he said, his head spinning. 

"Oh, you don't care about that," she said. "Anyway, my name—" 
"| care!" he said. 


"It's Breaking Stone," she said, ignoring him. "Straytaker herself 
gave it to me. Isn't that nice?" 


"But how? | mean—" he started, but she was off. 


"Oh, it was a nice little ceremony. She and the other older women 
painted my belly and my breasts in ochre. I'd show you, but, well, | 
don't think you're quite ready for that." 


"How did you almost die?” he demanded. 


She sobered slightly. "There's a monster. It came near the campsite, 
to a tree where the children were playing with the older dogs. No 
one could see it, though." 


"It was hiding?" he asked. 


"No. It was out in the open, but unseen. Not even a shadow. But it 
killed one of the dogs, and would have gone after the children if the 
dogs hadn't set upon it. They couldn't see it, but they snapped at it, 
and we could tell where it was. | threw a stone pestle at it, and it 
broke against it. | don't think | hurt it seriously, but it left anyway." 


"We'll have to find it, kill it," Rone said, shaking. She'd been there! 
The monster could have taken her. 


"Idiot," she said fondly. "What do you imagine Straytaker is talking to 
Last Man about right now? Her sewing?" 


"If she's anything like you..." he grumbled, but took her point. 


The next day, Last Man took all of the hunters aside. He repeated 
the story annoying gi-Breaking Stone had told. "We must find it, kill 
it.” 


"How did the dogs know where it was?" asked one of the hunters. 


"By their noses, | imagine," Last Man said. "But they weren't able to 
do more than annoy it." 


"What do we do, then? Fight blindly?" asked another. 


"If we must," the old man answered. "But we'll try a smarter 
approach first. When the dogs corner it, we'll throw mud at it. With 
luck, that will reveal it and we'll be able to kill it more easily. Any 
questions?" 


There were none. The hunters split into their usual groups and were 
off. 


Rone kept with his dogs while the other hunters in his group spread 
out. They beat their chests and stamped their feet, hoping to draw 
the monster towards them. Rone felt like a coward, but was secretly 
glad he wasn't one of the ones making the noise. 


Despite their efforts, though, the sun rose and fell without the 
slightest hint of danger. Rone began to wonder if perhaps the 
monster had left after all, perhaps going back where it came from to 
seek easier prey. 


They eventually packed it in, deciding that night was no time to be 
hunting something that was already too difficult to see. 


When they returned to the camp, though, they found they weren't 
the first group to return. There was a somber tone among the 
women, and the hunters looked frustrated and angry. There was a 
body by the main campfire. 


Rone gasped. It was Sharpnose, his friend. 


"We couldn't get it with our spears," a hunter was telling Last Man. 


"It moved around, and the mud was invisible as soon as it touched 
its body. The boy, he jumped at it, and | swear he held it for a 
moment before it struck him down. The dogs and our shouting drove 
it off before it could do more than worry the body, but it was too 
late."