After Myrven disposed of the basilisk, the rest of the journey was more or less uneventful. No other beast came knocking at their door, and they navigated smoothly through the jungle. Nyell's hangover was gone, and surprisingly, he rested well during the nights. It was thus easy to tag along, although he had a hunch Allen had slowed down the pace so that he wouldn't get tired. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he decided to pretend not to have noticed.
At long last, they entered the White Moon tribe's territory. The scenery hadn't yet changed much, but Nyell instinctively knew he had left the Black Moon tribe's domain. It was instinct.
Nyell couldn't help but discreetly clench his fists. He hadn't ventured into this area since he inadvertently did as a child. It brought back memories he'd rather not remember. His bones seemed to throb in pain, reminding him of his close encounter with death. He still hadn't forgotten nor forgiven the hunters who had beaten him to a pulp and left him, an injured and disoriented young teen, to fend for himself in the jungle. It was truly a miracle he had made it home alive.
'I wonder how these bastards are doing,' Nyell thought to himself, a vicious light flashing through his eyes. It was genuine curiosity. He hadn't crossed their paths a second time after they left him for dead. If he was being honest, he found it unfortunate. Nyell held grudges for a long time, and he had always entertained the hope of taking revenge upon these scumbags. Unfortunately for him, it was like they had vanished into thin air. But maybe if he were lucky, he might meet them again in the White Moon tribe. Although he doubted these jerks could recognize him as he had grown up quite a bit since then, he'd take great pleasure in reminding them who their chief's destined mate was. He could already imagine their shocked faces.
But to be fair, Nyell knew his reputation preceded him, and pretty much everyone in the White Moon tribe was bound to be stunned by his identity, some more than others. He was always at the front whenever a conflict between their tribes erupted and did kick a few asses, after all. A bit of malice bubbled up in his heart, and he couldn't wait to see their dumbfounded looks. That would make the trip to the White Moon tribe worthwhile, if anything else.
"What are you thinking about?" Allen asked with a cocked eyebrow. "You're making a wicked face."
"I wasn't thinking about anything important," Nyell shrugged, jumping over a giant root before glancing down at the shaman. "Although I was wondering about something. If I have a bone to pick with some of your people, will you allow me to?"
"Sure. As long as you don't kill them, I don't care."
"You really don't give a shit about your people, do you?"
"I actually do," Allen smiled, albeit a bit sinisterly, "but if you have some grievances to take care of, I won't intervene. I'm fairly certain they are in the wrong, and you reap what you sow."
"Even if they're in the wrong," Nyell's mouth twitched, "shouldn't you be defending your people?"
"What good will that do? They will only repeat their mistakes. They will escalate things until they bring trouble the tribe cannot handle anymore."
The answer took Nyell aback. It wasn't what he was expecting. He bit his bottom lip and refrained from replying something he might regret. If it was truly what Allen believed, why hadn't he intervened in the feud between their two tribes? It wasn't rare for the White Moon tribe's hunters to cross the lines. Or… was Allen not aware? It wasn't like he was on the ground himself, and he had to rely on his people's testimony. What version of the facts did he have? The question lingered on the tip of Nyell's tongue, but he couldn't muster the courage to ask. He was afraid of the answer. Because depending on it, it might make his long-lasting hatred for the White Moon tribe's chief worthless.
Silence fell on the group as they continued their journey until a few hours later, once they reached the bottom of the mountain range that separated the jungle from the White Moon tribe's settlement.
Nyell threw his head backward and put a hand above his eyes, hiding them from the glaring sun as he tried to catch a glimpse of the mountain peak. However, it stood high above, climbing into the clouds, and it made it impossible to tell just how tall the mountain was. At the very least, it must have been thousands of meters tall. The steep walls and sharp edges weren't welcoming, dissuading people from climbing. It made him wonder how the heck they were supposed to pass through. Nyell might be a good climber, but even he knew this mountain range, no matter the starting point, would be a challenge to tackle. He had a hunch there were pretty much no decent grips. Even from where he stood, he could tell they were either razor-sharp or brittle. If he dared to trust them and venture up, he'd plunge to his death sooner rather than later.
'There must be another way to get through,' Nyell thought. But this other way evaded him. No matter how many times he scanned the area, he could not find any other paths. It was annoying but not surprising. The mountain range was the fortress that cut the White Moon tribe from the rest of the world. Only they knew how to pass safely, which was one of the main reasons their tribe was shrouded in so many mysteries and had survived for so many centuries without being drowned in tribal wars. Barely anyone had managed to lay eyes upon their settlement, although that didn't prevent rumors from circulating.
"Over here," Allen called, and Nyell snapped his head toward him. Myrven and Layla were standing beside their chief, and the trio seemed to be waiting for him to walk closer, so Nyell did. "Take my hand."
"Why…?"
"Because you're not a White Moon tribe member, and without my permission, you will be rejected. And that barrier's rejection can be quite, let's say, violent."
"Violent?" Nyell's mouth twitched as he took the offered hand. He now realized that a spell must be concealing an entry into the rock wall and that a barrier had been cast over it to protect it from uninvited guests. It was a far-stretched idea, but not impossible. "Violent, how?"
"Well," Allen paused, seemingly trying to find the right words, before shrugging and saying without sugarcoating anything, "I've seen a warrior from the Red Hawk tribe chasing one of our hunters once. When he tried to follow through, his body bounced back with so much strength that all his bones shattered. I think he died of internal bleeding soon afterward."
"I'm glad my people never pursued yours into your territory," Nyell smiled stiffly, a cold shiver running down his spine. This place was far more treacherous than he had thought. "Are you sure it's all right for you to tell me so much?"
"Why wouldn't it be? You're to be the White Moon tribe chief's spouse, and that's the basic stuff you need to know in such a position."
"Spouse?" Nyell coughed before reminding Allen through gritted teeth, "What spouse?! I never agreed to be your spouse. The bet only included me following you back to your tribe, not going through the mating ceremony. I have no intention of officially becoming your mate."
"Is that so?"
Allen's doting but telling smile annoyed the hell out of Nyell. He responded by tightening his grip on the shaman's hand, seemingly trying to break every little bone. It didn't appear very effective, however.
"Let's just go in."
Just as Nyell had thought, an entry was indeed concealed in plain sight. His heart nevertheless skipped a beat when they walked straight toward the mountain, unconsciously afraid to crash into the rock wall. But they passed through without encountering any resistance whatsoever. When he peered over his shoulder, he could clearly see the jungle behind him. On each side of the entrance, unfamiliar symbols were engraved, and stone totems stood on the ground. They were undoubtedly the origin of the illusion and the barrier. At the thought, an odd, uncomfortable feeling stirred up in the pit of his stomach.
Only now was Nyell truly starting to understand what it meant for a tribe to be mainly composed of shamans… Their shamanic knowledge was on a whole other level, so much that it looked like sorcery in Nyell's eyes. The unimaginable now seemed imaginable.
Not letting him have enough time to dwell on it, Allen tugged on Nyell's hand before dragging him forward. They stepped into a tunnel that stretched so far its end was not visible, disappearing into the darkness despite the illuminating moss and insects gathered on the ground and smoothly carved walls. This path was obviously man-made, leaving Nyell even more speechless. It was a feat of engineering he could not fathom, making goosebumps rise on his skin. Deep down, he knew this wouldn't be the last time the White Moon tribe's settlement would leave him flabbergasted. Little did he know, however, how right he was about that.