Today we’re going to find Yoyo.

Refreshed and ready, James stood in the doorway of Borten’s house as the sunlight peeked through the leaves. He had never met Borten but he assumed the gnome was sheltering from the storm, somewhere safe and cozy, just like Yoyo.

Borten and Yoyo weren’t the only ones missing. Barten was missing too, but it was only a half mystery where he was: a pair of muddy footprints trailed away from the house.

There wasn’t a note to read, but James figured the gnome would return soon, mostly in part because Berwick didn’t seem worried. Harley was still sleeping so he couldn’t do much except think and wait, although at this particular moment he had no intention to wake her. He wanted to eat first.

The pot on the hearth sat idle since the incident with the cromworm and the only leftovers James found were cold rocks. Clutching his stomach, he walked over to Berwick to ask for help.

The old gnome was working to put the Refractor back together and it didn’t seem to be going so well—there were more loose parts than screws to tighten. Berwick grunted grumpily as James joined him at the table.

“Don’t tell me Tinker can fix it,” said Berwick. “Who do you think taught him?”

James shrugged. “Is there anything I could eat? Please? I’d like pancakes if you have some.”

Berwick grumbled as he went to the cabinet. He muttered something about Barten while he untangled a pouch string, then he poured assorted nuts and seeds in a bowl next to James.

“It was me—I taught him,” said Berwick. “Tinker was my apprentice.”

James nodded as he cautiously placed a brown nut in his mouth. The taste was earthy with a hint of salt, and once his tongue got the taste of one, it wanted more. The seeds he tried were just as tasty, and soon he was grabbing handfuls at a pleasant pace and munching happily away.

“Those days have long since passed,” said Berwick as he scratched the bald spot under his cap. “How is Tinker anyway?”

“He’s pretty old,” said James.

Berwick rolled his eyes and went back to work. “One day you’ll be old too.”

“I never want to get old,” said James. “My Nona was old. Super old. My Dad said she died in her sleep. Did you know that could happen? One minute you’re dreaming and then you die? Dying from old age sounds terrible.”

Berwick grunted. “Humph! There’s nothing wrong with dying old. It’s certainly better than most ends.”

“When I die, it’s going to be an epic sword fight, in a battle atop the highest tower, and not against one bad guy—a hundred. No! A thousand!” said James. “I’ll be a hero.”

“When it’s your time to die, you won’t get to choose. Maybe disease gets you, or famine, or the prick of a ravenous stirge. The forest is infested by the devilish beasts, and you’ll regret the hero talk when you’re up against a swarm.”

James straightened up in his chair and looked closely at Berwick to see if he was joking.

“Is that true?

“All of it,” said Berwick. He pointed the tip of his screwdriver at James. “You know what a stirge is, don’t ya?”

James shook his head no.

“Picture a beast the size of my fist, with a needle snout, and a swollen black belly like a bloated tick.” Berwick interlocked his thumbs and spread his fingers like wings. “You hear the flapping first, a wild flutter, the erratic flight catches your eye, and then the snout goes in you—”

“And then what?” said James.

“Breakfast!”

The door swung open and Barten walked in with two armfuls of rocks. His boots were caked in mud and he kicked the heels against the door until the big clumps shook loose.

All the noise and commotion woke up Harley. She stretched out her arms and worked through a big yawn. James wondered if she knew about the stirge. He walked over to chat while carrying his half-empty bowl of nuts and seeds.

“Morning, Harley!”

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“I told you not to eat anything.”

“But why?”

“Why don’t you listen?”

Frowning, Harley stood up and went to Barten. “Can you show us the trail now? It’s not raining anymore.”

“I might as well show you before I take my boots off,” said Barten. He grumbled something about rocks, then signaled to follow him while walking out the door.

“Come on, James,” said Harley as she left the house.

James slumped his shoulders, no longer feeling refreshed nor ready. His sister could be so bossy sometimes. He had waited for her and now she was rushing off without him.

Sighing that breakfast was over, James begrudgingly returned the bowl to the table and muttered a soft goodbye to Berwick.

“Wait, James.”

Berwick held out a leather roll.

“Take this. It’s a relic from my youth, but I have no more reason to keep it. I'm afraid I’m old like your Nona was. The centuries have caught me.”

James unrolled the leather, revealing a small knife with a silver, sharp-edged blade. He touched the smooth wooden handle, then held the knife firmly, flipping it over for an examination of both sides. It felt perfect in his hand.

“It’s mine?” said James.

“It’s all yours,” said Berwick. “You’ll be needing something sharp to protect yourself.”

James smiled from ear to ear, then stuffed the leather roll into his pocket beside the drawing of Cutter’s Gate.

“Bye, Berwick! Good luck with the Refractor!” James yelled excitedly as he ran out of the house.

Immediately he spotted Harley and Barten in the distance, but James couldn’t resist inspecting the knife in the newfound clarity of the sun. It was the first knife he’d ever held besides the kitchen variety, and the weapon was a perfect combination of lethalness and utility. He caressed the smoothly polished blade and touched the sharp point at the tip with his finger.

A pin prick sensation resulted in a tiny drop of blood forming his fingertip, but that was a good thing in his mind. It proved just how sharp it was, almost like a vampire’s fang. The side of the blade looked just as lethal, though he wasn’t about to risk a deep cut by touching that part.

Gripping the handle, he practiced a forward thrust. The point stabbed the air. He thrusted again, then slashed diagonally. The small size was perfect for him. He was a knife fighter. This was his blade.

Content with the brief practice session, James ran to catch up to his sister. The ground was muck and mire, but he didn’t mind. Getting dirty was required to be a hero. Plus it was fun.

Small puddles and big jumps made a good combination for splashing, and by the time James reached his destination, his socks were soaked through to his shoes.

“We go left at the first fork and right at the second,” said Harley.

Barten nodded. “Pinecrest is not far past the second fork. You’ll reach it well before nightfall.”

James bent down and pressed his knife blade against a sprawling tree root. The blade sliced the bark with a shallow cut. He tried to slice another root before his sister stopped him.

“Where’d you get that?” asked Harley.

“Berwick gave it to me.”

“That doesn’t mean you should take it. You’re going to hurt yourself. Now hand it to Barten so we can get going.”

“But Berwick said I could have it!”

“James!” Harley raised her fist.

“You keep it,” interrupted Barten. He picked up a thin stick with several branches and pruned it bare, then he reached out his hand. “But let me show you how to use the knife properly.”

James curiously handed the knife to Barten. The gnome held the handle firmly and pressed the edge of the blade down the length of the stick. A second stroke sliced the bark deeper. Teaching while working, Barten carved the stick until most of the bark was gone and when he finished, he handed both the stick and the knife back to James.

“Keep the sharp edge away from you. Always slow, never hurry.” Then Barten turned to Harley. “I have something for you as well.”

Barten unclipped a ball-tipped hammer from his belt loop and passed it to Harley. Although it had a steel top and sturdy handle, its small size made it look like a toy. Nevertheless, she held it smiling.

The gnome continued, “Always follow the stones. The forest is like a maze to those unfamiliar with its tricks. You don’t want to get lost, and remember what I said about Ezrazeit.”

Harley nodded. “Thanks Barten. It’s time to go, James. I’ll hold the knife while we walk.”

She held out an open palm. She was acting like Mom, but she wasn’t, and she thought she knew everything, but she didn’t.

Shaking his head, James backed a few steps away. “I’m holding it,” he said confidently.

He rolled up his knife inside the leather roll to wrap it, protecting the blade but also protecting himself, then he slipped the bundle into his pocket.

“Can I try out the hammer?” asked James. “I’ll trade you my stick for it.”

“No,” said Harley. “I’ll lead the way.”

Harley banged her hammer on a nearby stone. It rang like a bell. A smile lit up her face and she went for the next stone, and when that played a note as well, she dashed off to the next. Before long she was ten stones along the trail.

“It looks like she’s got the hang of it,” said Barten. “You’d better catch up before she leaves you behind. And if you see something bad, remember hiding is better than fighting.”

James nodded. Secretly, he hoped the singing stones would bring a monster to fight. He couldn’t wait to use his knife.

“So long, Barten,” said James.

He smiled, then ran off to catch Harley.