Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

Selvan returned after the first bell with several folded strips tucked beneath his belt.

Mari came with him, carrying nothing.

Nia noticed that before either of them spoke.

“You did not bring materials.”

Selvan stepped around the shelterbark and the measuring cord they had left with the spring work near the entrance. “I brought the reason you do not have them yet.”

“Which we needed before anyone started carrying things up here,” Mari said.

Shen looked up from the roots he was cutting for broth.

Nia covered the cutting board with a clean cloth, and they moved toward the entrance. Selvan remained on the work side of the cord and unfolded the first strip on the dry stone beside the shelterbark.

Several marks ran down one side. Some were dark. Others had been crossed and replaced.

“The lower kilns are full through the next firing,” he said. “Two households lost water jars during the thaw, the medicine workers requested replacements for cracked storage pots, and three market sellers are waiting on sealed jars.”

“So anything clay waits,” Nia said.

“Anything new that needs firing waits.”

He opened the second strip beside the first.

“The woodworkers have dry material, but most of the long pieces are already marked for drainage repairs, market platforms, carrying frames, and two damaged household supports. Fresh-cut wood is easy to get. Dry wood is not.”

“Fresh wood would shift as it dries,” Nia said.

Selvan nodded. “It can twist, split, or pull away from whatever we fasten it to. I will not build your preparation surface from it.”

Shen stepped closer to the work area. “And a surface that stays damp longer would be a poor choice beside food.”

Mari pointed toward the third strip. “Stone?”

“Better, but not free. The repair crews are still taking the broad flat pieces first.”

Nia looked toward the entrance.

“What can we actually do?”

Selvan spread the strips apart.

“Tell me what you refuse to lose.”

Nia glanced toward the old winter marks along the kitchen wall.

“The wet basket cannot cross into the clean kitchen,” she said. “I need one preparation surface that can actually be cleaned. I need somewhere safe to set a hot pot without turning around with it in my hands. And we cannot build any of those so tightly against the wall or floor that Mari has to fight dirt out of the corners.”

Mari nodded.

Shen looked down at the kiln strip.

“The medicine side at the entrance also needs to remain separate. If the permanent material for it is delayed, we can keep using the marked stone there. I would rather wait for something washable than put rough wood beneath medicine packets.”

Selvan tapped one finger beside the kiln marks.

“That can wait for clay.”

“The stone works for now,” Nia said. “Keep the clay piece on the list.”

Mari leaned over the strips. “And no new basket unless we actually need one. Basket makers have spring gathering work stacked behind winter repairs.”

Nia looked toward the baskets they already owned.

“Fine. We use what we have.”

Selvan gathered the kiln, wood, and stone strips, folded them together, and tucked them beneath his belt.

“We should go down.”

Shen glanced toward the covered roots.

“I can finish those when we come back.”

Nia looked at him. “Kael?”

“West channel again. A cart cut too close to the soft edge yesterday. Nobody was hurt, but he went back out after dawn.”

“He came home before then.”

“You were awake?”

“Long enough to know he was there.”

Shen’s mouth curved slightly before he turned toward the basin.

He washed his hands, and Nia did the same before touching her outer wrap.

Mari was already waiting near the entrance.

Nia reached for the wrap, but Shen lifted it first and drew it into place from behind. His fingers smoothed the edge away from her hair, then rested briefly against the back of her neck.

Nia leaned into the touch for a moment before following the others outside.

The path below their cave had dried more than it had the day before, but the mountain still smelled washed clean. Sunlight reached into openings that winter coverings had kept dim for months. Workers moved across the lower turns with wood, stone, cord, and empty carrying frames. A pair of males farther down shifted a broad board onto trestles while another scraped mud from the bottom of a handcart before letting it enter the covered work lane.

Selvan took them past the first turn.

They stopped when a loaded cart crossed in front of them.

The cart carried fresh-cut timber.

Water-dark bark remained along several edges, and the cut ends were pale enough that Nia could see dampness in them.

A worker walking beside the cart called to Selvan.

“Upper drying rack?”

“Unless the rack keeper sends you farther down.”

“It is nearly full.”

“Then ask before you stack it.”

The male raised one hand and continued upward.

Nia watched the cart disappear around the bend.

“That is the wood we cannot use.”

“Not yet,” Selvan said.

They continued toward the lower craft lanes.

The difference between wood that existed and wood that was ready became obvious before Selvan explained anything else.

Fresh lengths lay beneath one cover with space between them for air. Under the next shelter, older boards were stacked on raised supports with marks tied to their ends. Some marks belonged to repair crews. Others carried household signs.

A worker was counting them while another checked each board for cracks.

Mari slowed.

“How many unmarked?”

“Four narrow. One wide with a split near the end.”

Selvan stepped closer.

“For food work?”

The worker shook his head. “Not until the wide one is cut. The split runs farther than it looks.”

Nia stayed clear of the stack.

“How narrow are the others?”

The worker showed the width with his hands.

Nia pictured her cutting board, a bowl, the knife, and the space her arms needed while she worked.

“I could use that width.”

Mari looked at her. “Could you clean behind it?”

“If the supports do not close the space.”

Selvan pointed toward the stacked boards. “The width is not the problem. Length is.”

The longest narrow piece already carried a repair mark.

Nia saw him looking at it.

“That one already belongs somewhere.”

“It does.”

“Then leave it there.”

The worker returned to checking the next board.

Selvan ran his gaze over the other pieces.

“The remaining three are shorter.”

Nia measured the distance against her forearm. “Can two be joined without leaving a crack that traps food?”

“Not for the top,” Selvan said.

Mari ran her hand above the space where a joined seam would sit without touching the boards. “Supports can be joined. The working face should stay simple.”

“Then I want one piece for the top.”

“You will have to wait for one.”

Nia exhaled. “Then I wait.”

Selvan led them farther down.

Luma sat behind the same broad worktable Nia remembered from the spring market. Her dark braid was coiled at the back of her head, threaded through with gray. The measuring cord around her wrist had been replaced by a shorter one, but three longer cords lay across the table beside a row of wooden frame pieces.

One of her husbands was tightening a crosspiece into a carrying frame. The other stood near the rear shelf with a stack of order strips, counting finished covers into two piles as he checked their marks.

A female Nia did not recognize waited beside the table with a broken carrying frame propped against her leg.

Luma examined the split corner.

“That piece can be replaced. The rest stays.”

“My husband thinks the other side is starting to bend.”

“Then I will check it before you leave. If it still has life in it, I am not putting a new frame ahead of spring repairs.”

The female shifted the frame so Luma could reach the other side.

Luma pressed along the wood, then pointed to the husband working on the crosspiece.

“Replace the split corner and tighten this side.”

He set his current piece down and drew the damaged frame closer.

The female stepped aside to wait.

Luma looked up and saw Nia.

“You came back before the straining cloth failed.”

“It has not failed.”

“Good.”

Nia looked over the crowded worktable. “We need dry wood.”

“So does most of Hearthfang. What kind?”

Selvan took out one of his strips.

“Supports for a preparation surface. The working board itself can wait.”

The husband repairing the frame looked toward a rear stack.

“We have two side lengths from old carrying frames.”

Mari spoke before he moved.

“How deep are the cord cuts?”

He brought one over.

The wood was dry and straight, but years of tightened cord had left shallow grooves near each end.

Mari ran a finger across one.

“Not for anything food touches.”

“No,” Nia said. “But if this sits underneath and I can reach around it to clean?”

Selvan turned the piece over.

“This face is smoother.”

Luma took his strip.

“What else do you need from my household?”

“For this first stage? Two supports if you can spare them. Maybe a narrow drying frame later.”

“Later is better.”

Nia smiled.

Luma glanced toward the household order strips.

“Six carrying frames leave before any new frame work for you.”

The husband near the rear shelf checked the marks. “Five. The eastern seller collected hers this morning.”

“Five, then.”

Selvan pointed to the old wood in his hands. “These supports are already outside the new-frame count.”

Luma looked at the grooves again.

“They still need scraping.”

Her husband nodded. “I can clean both faces and cut away the worst ends.”

“What are you delaying to do that?”

“The leg brace for our rear shelf.”

Luma shook her head.

“Finish our shelf first.”

The male returned the old support to the side of the table.

Nia looked toward the damaged rear shelf.

“When can ours happen without moving something your household needs?”

“After midday,” Luma said.

“That works.”

“It works because you are taking old dry wood. If you wanted new lengths, you would be waiting with everyone else.”

“I understand.”

Luma handed Selvan’s request strip to the husband managing the household orders.

He checked it against Luma’s own work list, added the two old supports after the rear-shelf repair, and marked the possible drying frame separately for later. Then he handed Selvan’s strip back.

The other husband returned to the damaged customer frame.

The work continued around them as Selvan tucked his strip beneath his belt.

They left Luma’s household with the supports still waiting beside the worktable.

The pottery lane was hotter.

Two kilns stood behind a low stone wall, one already sealed for firing and the other surrounded by rows of drying pieces. Jars, bowls, lids, shallow dishes, and several thick-walled medicine pots rested on boards beneath the covered side.

A potter with clay to her wrists listened while Selvan described the entrance medicine area.

Nia showed the size with her hands.

“Not deep. It only needs to keep a sealed packet off the general entrance stone and give us a surface we can wash.”

The potter nodded toward the drying boards.

“I can shape that quickly.”

Shen looked past her toward the sealed kiln.

“When can it be fired?”

“Not quickly. Those medicine pots go first, then household water jars, then the market orders already marked.”

Nia looked at the pale clay beneath the woman’s hands.

“Put ours after those.”

Shen traced the proposed tray width in the air. “Keep the edge low. If liquid gets beneath a packet, we need to see it rather than letting the packet sit in a deep dish.”

The potter nodded.

“That uses less clay too.”

She reached for a blank order strip.

Nia looked at Selvan. “Is the flat stone we have safe until this reaches the front of the line?”

“Yes.”

Nia turned back to the potter. “Record it, but do not spend clay on ours until you have room to fire it.”

The potter wrote the request, added it behind the existing kiln orders, and set the strip with the other waiting work.

Shen glanced at Nia.

“The stone is less convenient, but it is safe enough until the tray is ready.”

“Then it can stay,” Nia said.

They crossed the stone-working area next.

Hammering carried through the open passage in uneven bursts.

Broad slabs were stacked close to the wall, but almost every one bore a repair mark. Smaller pieces lay in a separate pile beneath a rough cover.

Selvan crouched beside them.

“These are rejects from public work.”

A stone worker looked over from the slab he was shaping.

“Too small for steps. Too uneven for the drainage cap. Do not take the dark one unless you want it breaking under heat.”

Nia stepped around that piece.

“What about a pot landing?”

The worker wiped stone dust from his forearm and came over.

“How large is the pot?”

Nia showed him.

Shen added, “The heaviest one we use regularly, not the largest vessel in the cave.”

Nia nodded. “I do not carry the largest one hot.”

The worker selected a flat gray piece from the reject pile and pressed his palm against its surface.

“This can take it.”

Mari crouched.

“One edge is sharp.”

“I would cut that before it leaves.”

“And the bottom?”

“Rough enough not to slide.”

Selvan turned to Nia. “This can arrive today.”

Nia studied the piece again. One side was slightly darker than the other, and the corner would remain uneven even after the sharp edge was removed, but it was broad enough for the pot and stable beneath the worker’s hand.

“Take it.”

The worker dragged it aside and made a chalk mark on the stone.

Two smaller flat pieces beneath it caught Selvan’s attention.

He lifted them and placed them side by side. Both were low and flat, with no deep cracks.

“For the shelterbark supports.”

The worker looked at them. “Those came from the same cut. They were too short for the lower step.”

Mari bent enough to look beneath them.

“If they are set apart, someone can still wash between them.”

Nia pictured the shelterbark across the top with a shallow gap beneath it for water to run outward.

“Those too.”

The stone worker added them to the marked pile.

On the way back toward the upper paths, they passed the basket row.

Fresh gathering baskets hung from overhead rails while several damaged winter baskets sat upside down for repair. A male was replacing a split bottom while a female beside him counted finished baskets into household groups.

Nia slowed.

Mari kept walking.

“I only wanted to look,” Nia said as she caught up.

“You can look while we walk. You already have baskets, and those repairs are waiting behind spring gathering work.”

Nia glanced back once, then continued uphill.

Shen’s hand touched the center of her back.

“She is right.”

“I know.”

She bumped her shoulder lightly against his arm and kept walking.

The upper path was busier by the time they returned.

A pair of workers carrying roof supports stopped to let a medicine runner pass downhill. Someone farther along the path argued that three bundles of cord had been marked for the outer arch, while another voice insisted only two had arrived. Selvan turned his head toward the dispute.

Mari caught his sleeve.

“Someone else already has the count.”

Selvan listened long enough to hear another worker answer, then continued uphill with them.

Back at their cave, the shelterbark remained where they had left it near the entrance.

Selvan stopped on the work side of the cord and drew Nia’s household work strip from beneath his belt along with the kiln, wood, and stone resource lists. He laid them beside the shelterbark instead of carrying them farther inside.

Nia and Shen washed at the basin before crossing into the clean part of the home. Mari washed as well, then remained near the entrance with Selvan.

Shen returned to the covered root board.

Selvan added the results of the morning to Nia’s household strip beside yesterday’s measurements.

“The stone can come today, and Luma’s household can send the old dry supports after midday,” he said as he wrote. “The working board has to wait for suitable seasoned wood, and the clay medicine tray is recorded behind the current kiln orders.”

Mari pointed toward the lower part of the strip.

“Drying frame waits.”

Selvan added it.

Nia stood on the clean side of the entrance and looked toward the older kitchen marks.

“My extra shelves wait too.”

He added those without comment.

Shen uncovered the roots.

“The main preparation surface stays before the shelves.”

“Yes.”

“And the medicine tray does not move ahead of the water pots.”

“No.”

He nodded and reached for his knife.

Before Mari left, Nia brought a blank household strip from the shelf and placed it at the clean edge of the entrance work area. Selvan took it from there and copied the material priorities Mari needed for her counts.

Mari accepted the finished strip from him.

“I will update the household side.”

She left with the strip tucked against her palm.

Selvan folded the kiln, wood, and stone resource lists and returned them beneath his belt. He left Nia’s household work strip beside the spring materials, checked the entrance width once more, then returned downhill to make sure the stone pieces were not diverted into another repair pile.

The first delivery reached them after midday.

One of Luma’s husbands came up the path with two scraped lengths of old dry wood tied together beneath one arm. The deep cord-cut ends had been removed. The remaining pieces were straight, solid, and pale where the old surface had been scraped clean.

He set them beside the spring-work materials at the entrance and handed Nia the delivery strip across the boundary.

Nia took the strip without touching the wood.

“Luma’s rear shelf was fixed first?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He glanced at the marks beside the entrance.

“Selvan said not to place anything.”

“Not today.”

He left for the lower row again.

Nia put the delivery strip with the other work records and washed before returning inward.

The stone followed later.

Two workers carried the larger piece up the path and placed it beside the spring-work materials without taking it across the clean boundary. The two smaller supports went beside it.

After they left, Nia checked the newly cut edge with one hand, then washed at the basin.

By late afternoon, two scraped lengths of seasoned wood rested beside three pieces of stone, the shelterbark, and the measuring cord at the entrance. None of it had been fastened into place. The preparation surface still needed a suitable full-length dry board, and the medicine tray existed only as a low-priority kiln order waiting behind the pots and jars already ahead of it.

Shen came to stand behind Nia, his chest warm against her back. His hands settled loosely at her hips while she looked over the loose wood and stone beside the new spring mark.

Nia rested her hands over his.

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