Author's note: this story is part of a series, but they can be read in any order.
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The honeymoon was over. The city of Standup had begun as a collaboration, but now the cracks were showing. On the half-mile-wide expanse that had been cleared in the jungle, the city was divided into districts, each with a grudge against all the others. At the biggest one in the middle, the supporters of Leader Bruin had set up their little wooden fortress, thinking their man would lead the city for the rest of his life. Instead, the poor brute had been usurped and discredited by that ambitious little street rat, Vot. He lived with his boyfriend in the uphill district on the edge of the city with his perilously few supporters. Downhill were the shabby old huts that had gone up before the city even had its ramshackle wall. It didn't look like much, but it was home to Fingir, the man who had started it all. All those months ago, it had been his idea to flee the crushing matriarchy of the great stone-walled city of Izaz and to forge out into the jungle. It hadn't been easy. Monster girls stalked the brush, as did tribes of man-hungry women. A few Izazi women had even gone native out here, picking up the rifle and machete and living permanently outside the walls.
Now that the men had their own city with their own wall and their own troops, they should have been safe.
Riman knelt at the garden behind the tent he shared with three other men. With delicate care, let well-water drip from his bucket onto the soft, dark soil. Mumbling a fertility charm, he turned to give the bucket back to the storehouse where had gotten it.
He looked over his shoulder at the garden. He was not a farmer, but his mother had been, and he had learned the basics by listening to her. His patch of loose soil was a far cry from the carefully irrigated barley rows of Izaz, but it was a good start. It's what this whole city was, really: a start. The start of a new life away from female possessiveness, in a place where a man could walk in the open air without a woman to 'protect' him.
Back at the storehouse, as Riman set the bucket back in its place, he felt a stern hand grip his shoulder. "Hey," said a cold voice. "What's a downhill boy doing with our bucket?"
Riman swallowed. "Were you using it?"
"Doesn't matter if we were using it." The owner of the heavy hand turned Riman around, letting him see a surprisingly thin frame and a narrow, mean face. "You're from downhill. This isn't your bucket."
"I thought it was everyone's bucket," said Riman, horribly certain where this was going.
"Which part of the city are we in right now?"
"Uphill." Riman kept his voice even, refusing to be intimidated.
"And where do you live?"
"Downhill."
The thin man leaned in, their noses almost touching. "You see the problem, small fry? So unless you want to throw in with us, you'll leave this bucket to its owners."
"He'll do no such thing!" said a firm old voice behind him.
Riman looked back and was shocked to see Fingir standing in the entrance, old and weak but still tall and proud. He took a few steps forward, and the thin man stepped back as if pushed by a forceful aura.
"I may not run this city anymore," said Fingir, "but you're acting the child, and I wouldn't let that stop me from spanking you until you behave."
The thin man clenched his fists, as if contemplating fighting Fingir and going down in history as the man who started Standup's civil war. He decided against it.
"Remember why you came with us!" Fingir thundered, his voice filling the room. "We didn't band together so we could bully and resent each other. We did it so we could live safely. So we could be safe, free and together." He pointed at Riman. "He remembers that. Do you?"
Riman stood still, staring defiantly back at the thin man even as he feared him. But the thin merely adjusted the bucket in its spot on the ground and weakly said, "Sure."
Fingir and Riman left the hut quietly.
"That was amazing," said Riman, as soon as he dared speak. "I thought I was in trouble. If you hadn't shown up, that man might have lain into me."
"Ah, it's just a boys' scuffle," said Fingir. "In Izaz, they raise us to be boys forever. They raise us to obey our mothers, then our wives, all without a thought in our heads. Men like that don't become good citizens overnight." He patted Riman on the back. "Take heart. This will pass."
Next, Riman's house needed fruit. He patted his pocket knife, which he had not dared use against the man who mugged him, and grabbed his friend Ogma's sack from the corner of the hut. He made for the edge of the city.
The wall was still a humble thing. A chin-high barrier made from two fences angled together, it threatened outsiders with a pikes set irregularly into its outer face, and guardsmen every few dozen paces waited with muskets, matchlock rifles and even antique crossbows, ready to fight back if anyone might think the city looked ripe for the taking. Even as it was, with no infrastructure and little in the way of tools, Standup was fragile and brimming with the jungle's most valuable resource, fertile men.
"Hey!" said one of the guardsmen, watching Riman vault over the wall, "What do you think you're doing?"
"Only foraging," said Riman. "Settle down."
Getting up from his high stool, the guard stood up on the crest of the wall. "You heard about the new rules. No one goes out without at least three partners!"
Riman's shoulders sagged. "I'll only be out for a few minutes."
"A few minutes? A monster girl can snap you up in a few seconds. What district are you from?"
"Oh no..." Riman glanced down at the guard's flintlock pistol. "Please, we can get along, can't we?"
The guard huffed. "It's not a threat, you numbskull. I want to pair you with people from your district, so you'll work together. So which will it be?"
"Downhill. I live by Fingir's place."
The guard's eyes widened. "You too?" He squinted. "You're Maglin?"
"You're close. My name is Riman. Maglin shares a tent with me."
Over his shoulder, the guard called out, "Hamul! Take over for me!" He slid down the wall. "I met Maglin," he said. "He's a good man. My name's Wari." He extended a hand.
Ramin shook. "Now, who will the other two partners be?"
Wari shrugged. "Maglin's roommates are both decent boys. The two of us should be enough. Now, are we going or not?"
Riman smiled. "Let's go."
No one else objected as they forged into the jungle, Riman's knife and Wari's gun ready against whatever the wild could throw at them.
Deep in the jungle, something felt off, then Riman realized that Wari wasn't walking anymore. Turning, Riman saw him staring up at a tree enwrapped by a vine studded with little round orange fruits.
"Perfect," said Wari. He stuffed his flintlock pistol into his handmade holster. "Watch my back." Gripping the trunk, he pulled himself up onto a foothold where a knot in the bark admitted his foot. Stretching up another leg, he hooked it onto a fork in the trunk and pushed himself up, getting a grip between the two trunks.
Something crashed against the back of Riman's head, and the next he knew, he was on his stomach, his head throbbing from some phantom impact, his chin tingling with pain from striking a stone. Hands hooked under his arms, and his body began to lift off the ground. With a grunt, Riman pulled against the hands, and when they kept pulling, he aimed his foot at the ground behind him and forced it down as hard as he could.
His boot hit something hard, and a female yelp rang out. One more kick, and one of the hands released him, giving him the time to twist free of the other. He faced his opponent.
He saw a woman dressed in coarse cloths draped over her shoulders and hips. She wore black hair cut into a mane that hung down past her shoulders but exposed her forehead, face, and the little carved wooden mask ornament hanging from her necklace. Her skin was tan, just a shade lighter than the Izazi norm.
That was all Riman saw before the butt of a spear cracked into the side of his face, sending him onto his hands and knees. A rope was tied perilously around his throat, and when he looked up, he saw a spear tip aimed at his heart.
"Move, hunk," growled a woman's voice. "Go fast."
She pointed, and the twin threats of the noose and the spear kept him hurrying. When his senses cleared out, he heard Wari's voice shouting for him, but already it was terribly far away.
After a moment of not paying attention to the ground, Riman paid for his mistake by falling off a riverbank, wailing as he tumbled into the cold, muddy water.
The current pushed. The noose pulled. His limbs flailed, trying to find something solid. When he finally broke the surface of the water, it was because of strong hands on his right arm dragging him up onto the shore. His eyes smarted from the cold water, and he coughed and spat. The hands laid him against what felt like a tree trunk.
Finally, everything slowed down. His heart calmed, the water drained from his head and the pain died down. He blinked his eyes clear and looked around.
He sat against an old tree whose trunk was wider than he was. The woman knelt in front of him, tying a rope around his wrist. Her thin black eyebrows skewed low over intent eyes as her fingers worked at a complex knot.
