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The Block was unwashed, practically uncared for. The children inside were clean and seemed well fed. Most were either busy or pretending to be, and each had a serviceable set of clothing.

It was the third building I was directed to where I actually found my siblings. They had nearly doubled in size, Violet standing nearly half a handspan above my waist.

“You are not welcome here.” she told me. “Take one of the other buildings.”

I raised a hand in peace. “I am taking no buildings. I am returning home.”

Blue sauntered around a corner, trying to make it look casual. “We are home. We no longer follow you.”

He popped his knuckles, taking up a position behind and to the left of Violet. I was reminded, briefly, of Nythia. Sorry, it wasn’t as personal for you. Nythia had been a drover in training, and a bully, and the first person to try skinning me alive. I shall remember her long after she is gone from this world.

But the semblance was only temporary. Not just because my siblings were armored better, covered in plates of bone with bristles of hair jutting from where they met. Nythia had radiated her intentions; my siblings were impassive, their eyes deep inside their helmets.

I would have been concerned for their health, if I hadn’t learned for myself how easily one could live without sight.

.....

“I don’t see Pink.” I said.

“Fungus Eater is in the group.” Violet told me. “Say what you must, and then go.”

“Pray we decide to let you go in peace.” Blue said.

I sighed. “If you’re going to try to kill me,” I said, “then be about it. I wanted to let you know that you were welcome to come with the minotaurs when we leave.”

Violet twitched. “You think they’ll let you leave? The matrons?”

“I do.” I said. “Most of those who have responded are the disenfranchised, the poor and outcast of Othello.”

“You are an idiot.” Violet said.

“We’re keeping what money you leave behind.” Blue said.

“Ah, yes.” I said. “Since you are staying...” I pulled out a plaque of metal, covered in runes, and lightly glowing. “This will access all of my remaining funds.”

“We don’t need your coins.” Blue said.

Violet accepted the plaque into her own inventory. “This rights none of your wrongs.” she said.

“May I know what those wrongs are?” I asked.

“You know.” said Blue.

“You know.” Violet said.

I threw up my hands. “If you can’t express it in words...”

[Hunger.] Violet sent at me, hard enough that my stomach grumbled.

“You may not have been as well fed as you wished, but you ate much better than I did at your age.”

“And we will continue eating well.” Violet said. “Do not return to Othello, or we will eat you.”

I sighed. “That path ends well for none of us.”

“Less well for you.” said Blue.

I turned. Pink didn’t even bother looking guilty or ashamed, sneaking up behind me.

“And you, Pink? Are you also staying?”

“I am Devourer of Fungus, now.” he proclaimed.

“Are you?” I asked. There was something off about his scent, and it was not fungus. “Are are you just inhaling the smoke?”

“My body.” he said. “My decision.”

“Fine. Is your body also staying here?”

He blinked at me. “It is safe here. There is food here. We will grow, and eventually rule.”

It started low, barely a chuckle. And THEN I realized they were serious. It blossomed into full blown laughter. When I could speak again, I said, “You are welcome to this place. Be certain you end up better than others who have tried to rule here.”

“Our plans do not require your goodwill. We shall rule here, eventually.” Violet said.

“Beware our minions, for they will come to take your life.” Blue said.

“I thought we weren’t telling him that.” Devourer said.

“It does not matter.” Violet said. “One way or another, we will grow to end your life.”

“Whatever ill will you bear me, know that I do not reflect it back upon you.”

“Weakness.” Blue mocked. “One of many reasons why we shall defeat you.”

“Live well, and long.” I said. “May your reign be everything that you wish for.”

“It shall.” Violet said. “Thank you, for teaching us how to think on our own.”

I bowed. “You are always welcome.”

“Go. Away.” Devourer said.

I nodded, and left.

“I thought you said he was smarter than us.” Blue hissed to Violet.

“As long as he leaves.” Devourer said. “And stays gone.”

I did leave. I stayed gone. I hear very little of Othello, but no assassins have come from there to strike at me. The last I heard, all three of my siblings there were still there.

That said, they are still young, even if they haven’t tapped into their Inherent Longevity. Perhaps someday; in the meantime, I deal with the more mundane variety of local assassins. Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

There were no assassins to stop us in Othello. No, the matrons assembled the militia and barred the gates closed.

Maximus boomed out, “We are not slaves! Open the gates, let us pass.”

“We are not to let such a disorganized crowd leave.” the guard said.

“We are free!” screamed a woman. “Let us out!”

I’m not certain it would have been bloodless even if a young man hadn’t hurled a stone at the guards.

“Put that boy in irons!” the guard he struck boomed. And that... that was enough.

The guards flowed into the crowd, a crowd that ... initially... parted for them. And then, the crowd condensed, striking with weapons of wood and metal. The guards at the gate barely had time to sound their horns before they were swarmed under.

“Damn it.” I said, unable to get to the front.

“Child, why hold your knife in the defensive manner?” an old man asked me. His weapon of choice was a skinning knife, which I am glad to say I never saw him turn upon his own.

The gates were thrown open, and the crowd emerged into a courtyard, troops to the left and right, the gates of the outer wall open wide. Any fears I had of them advancing to crush us between them remained no more real than that. They called for order, reminded people not to shove, not to trample.

Two minotaur could walk out through the wall gate at a time; three if they were friendly. That alone took us until mid-morning.

Maximus scented the air. “This is going far too smoothly.” he said.

“Oh, I don’t think they’re... EYES SKYWARD!” I shouted. “INCOMING!”

Catapults are horrible weapons. No, I don’t mean that they hurl large rocks. I mean they are inaccurate, sometimes unreliable. They are best when they are at static positions and have been properly ranged.

And when fired into the midst of dense crowds, such as the one gathering outside the wall.

The first boulder crushed six. Or perhaps more accurately, struck the ground and rebounded in a way that left six dead, and a number more than that wishing they were.

Even if the archers hadn’t taken that as their signal, I think the crowd would have panicked. I am told that fewer than two in ten fled back into the tunnels. Of the remainder, a full third were left behind with various wounds. Some of them fatal, but there was an impressive list of injuries, even among the sixty-odd of us who stuck together around Maximus.

By dusk, that number had risen to eighty three, plus another three who arrived that night. But no more, and many of the supplies were lost.

A light furred boy stabbed one of dark fur over some bread, that night. In the morning, there were four less of us.

“I need you to have excellent foraging skills.” Maximus told me.

“I have passable foraging skills.” I said, “But I can teach those skills to others.”

He sighed. “That would be a good thing, I think.”

It wasn’t a good thing; the herd was dispersed when the first of the wendigo found us. They harassed us for two days, even though they lost three of their number. I have no official count on how many we lost, but it was at least double that.

The count is difficult because that third day, a pale green rain fell, that festered in any open wound. It stung the eyes, and tasted terrible, and upset even my digestion. All together, one in five were too injured to move at full pace that next day.

Near seventy people eat a lot of nutrition, and more when they are ill. I began to notice sidelong looks, especially whenever I ate something.

Whatever. My greatest fear had been that we’d encounter...

“A cyclops!” cried one of our forward scouts. “He’s seen us! Watch for...”

And then, he was struck by a boulder of roughly his own size, was swept into a tree trunk, and said nothing else.

Yes, this is a proper term for a migration of minotaurs.

.....