Free The Stolen Prince (Blood for Blood Book 1) by Tom Wright, K.L. Gee

come this far in our training if we did not trust him. If his nature was like his father’s… he would not have continued to live among us.”
    Skeet was glad Hakon was not there to hear this. Did Hakon know that the family that took him in could have killed him? That as much as he was sheltered by the Terra, his brother was always at their mercy.
    This was a revelation for some, and the whisperings among the different tribes grew louder as they debated amongst themselves.
    “When will we avenge our fallen?” Windfather stepped forward to speak again, breaking through the noise. “We are stronger than our enemy! We have more zippers and porters born to us each year while their powers dwindle. Our hunters are trained by guardians and the Master of the earth…” he paused to bow to the guardians, “… while the Alem grow weaker. We have burned their villages and freed thousands of slaves!”
    A mixture of shouts sounded, of both approval and disdain. Skeet felt a surge of pride for his own recent, successful raid. Windfather was a powerful persuader. If only he were on our side , Skeet thought.
    Windfather continued. “Only their men fight, when even our girls know how to gut a leopard with daggers. We are stronger than them. It is winter in Atmen. Now is the time to strike with our spears! Avenge our fallen.” He gestured to the walls, and all eyes followed his gaze.
    Silence spread across the dome. Windfather was pointing at the names of the dead carved along the walls. Some were fresh. Some were deeper than others, where the carvers had carved their names in deeper for each year they were gone. The names of their dead loomed around them, seeking revenge. Regardless of his upbringing, Skeet believed Windfather. What he said was true. They were a strong people—no longer ignorant of their enemy or complacent as people of the plains. They were people of the Desolate Mountains and Forest. Hardened and fierce.
    Skeet’s father coughed in the silence. All looked at him attentively.
    “Yes, Windfather. The Terra are a powerful force when we are united.” Tip waited, casting his eyes upon the other chiefs. “Yet how long have we wasted time, slaughtering each other instead of facing our blades against the real enemy?” His eyes were fiery, even angry. Skeet was sure there were men in the hall that Tip had faced in battle before. “We have the same purpose. We will not fight against the Terra but for the Terra. Let us agree on that at least.” There were many nods. “Then we must ask, what are we seeking?”
    “Peace for the blood of our mothers!” someone shouted. Many called out cheers in response. This was a quote all fighters knew. Revenge. Blood for blood. Skeet knew it was true, and he wasn’t sure how his tribe would avenge all the blood spilt if they wanted peace. Was it possible to avenge his mother’s blood in some other way? To be patient?
    “Yes,” Tip said. “But why do we avenge them? What has been taken from us?”
    “Our land!” another answered the chief.
    “Our children!”
    “Our food!”
    “Our very lives!” Windfather added, making no effort to hide the bitterness from his words.
    “Yes,” Tip nodded. The other chiefs grew excited… Was the Chief of Kaldin actually suggesting war? “We must not let the blood stain our eyes so much that we may not see.” This was a common warrior theme—without eyes you were nothing as a zipper or vanisher. It was both literal and figurative. You did not want to become blind in battle by your opponents’ blood, but you also did not want to become so consumed in fighting that you lost sight of where you should go next. Both could be distractions.
    An audible groan went around the ring. Peace again , they were thinking.
    “We want our land. We want our chance at a life of peace. We don’t want our captured to be slaves or anymore dead to stain this land or these walls. Not until they’ve lived a long life. We must try for this, my brothers.