Daniel

Every day, he pretended things were fine. Then he’d be watching the others eat and think of Red Tail and… and then he needed to walk away as his gorge rose in a fit of dry heaving. The flag incident became the least of his worries. He thought of ways he could’ve been better, smarter, or more strategic. Yet the more he thought things over, the less he understood.

He felt useless, unable to fix their problems or change their situation. He wished he could speak with Mary for just five minutes. He needed to talk things over with somebody, but Paul seemed preoccupied nowadays.

One other person came to mind. Rana.

She’d known. She’d told them this would happen. Yet, despite knowing the depths of the Wilderness, she’d stayed with them. With her magic, she must have a better chance of surviving by herself. His respect for her deepened as he realized Rana would rather die with them than live alone.

His chance came while camping on a verdant swamp island. The beautiful country had colorful wildflowers and abundant life, although Daniel didn’t have much eye for nature today.

Ferocious mosquitoes attacked in numbers that had the group’s warm-blooded, thin-skinned members hiding in their tent. With Kenta, Lea, and Cassie mercifully disqualified from outdoor jobs, the majority of tasks were left to those who could cope.

Insects knew better than to bother Daniel; his ruinous blood must smell foul. Shallow waters hid Daniel’s tracks, allowing him to walk where he pleased. Leeches likewise ignored him. Wendi’s devil-tough skin protected her. The same for Paul’s wax body. Rana, at home here as one would expect, coated her skin in a defensive layer of translucent slime.

Chore rotation happened to land Daniel and Rana as foraging buddies. Rana did all the work by necessity with Daniel accompanying her as a safety precaution. Incidentally, the frog girl’s gathering skills were exceptional. She’d dip her cream-speckled arms in the water and, without fail, have a fish squirming in her grasp within a minute.

A half hour’s walk from camp, Rana raised her head and scented the air. Then she opened dark lids to flick her green and gold mosaic eyes at him, “The luck of the wilderness strikes again.”

“You found something?” he said. She nodded confirmation and led him through the birch trees and patches of grass. “Rana, do you believe in luck?”

He stared at the red stripe on her spine as the frog girl paused.

> “Danger and Beauty

>

> The Luck of the Wilderness

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> Death or Treasure Find

“Luck is real, Daniel. It’s just not a magic you or I control. This way,” she said and resumed her course.

They found a dry island in the swamp and passed a perimeter of trees. Beyond the leaves, the air hazed with dust. Or so Daniel thought until he saw the mushrooms.

Stalks of white flesh towered above them, gilled caps spread like umbrellas, rootlike threaded mycelium covering the ground. Hundreds of sun yellow fist-sized mushrooms surrounded the base of these mycoid giants.

While he gawked, the frog girl stepped forward. The great mushrooms shook at her approach, releasing thick clouds of spores from their gills. Dozens of mushrooms burst forth from whatever the pallid fog touched, trailing a line of fungi straight to the interloper.

“Rana!” he shouted. Too late.

Milky vapors engulfed her while sprouting a clump of yellow caps at her feet. Yet, before Daniel could raise a fist at the fungal guardians, the miasma cleared to reveal Rana unharmed. The frog girl laid a palm on the white stipe of a giant, and the mushroom calmed.

“How?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Didn’t I tell you I’m a fungoid frog?” she said.

Daniel blinked. “Hydrophylax bahuvistara; I remember. But, no, that doesn’t mean anything! That’s a name people made, scientists and explorers. Why would that affect your magic?”

The frog girl soothed the other guardians and beckoned him closer, “You’ve got it backward. Or, I guess this is a ‘Tadpole and Frog’—I mean a ‘Which came first?’ problem. Does magic ensure humans give species the right names or vice versa?”

“Is that possible?”

“There’s Time magic, Daniel. Nothing is impossible. The thing to remember is that the shapeshifter’s species influences their magic. Now, look at this,” she plucked a buttery cap from the ground, “Yellow swamp brittlegill.”

“Is it safe?” he asked. The mushroom looked like an egg yolk on a stick.

Rana broke a chunk off the cap and popped it in her mouth. “Edible.”

She spent the next quarter-hour gathering a year’s supply of mushrooms for storage in Pwyll’s Pouch while Daniel stood watch. As they chatted, Daniel learned Rana had a minor resistance to and affinity for Mycota magic. She could both detect nearby mushrooms and identify them.

“Ingesting spores risks them being used as a vector for hostile magic. These,” she gestured at the fungal guardians, “Absorbed residual mana from passing Mycota. The Wildling is long gone. Benefits outweigh the danger.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“How do you know they left?” Daniel wondered. The frog girl pointed to a hole uncovered by her harvesting. Inside, Daniel saw a deep, earthy tunnel filled with glowing mushrooms. “Where…?”

“The Underworld,” Rana said over her shoulder. “A separate plane of reality connecting all living planets.” She noticed the look on his face and insisted, “We’re not going.”

“Because the Wilderness is so safe,” Daniel deadpanned. “Why didn’t this come up in planning?”

Rana stopped gathering to stand and face him. “I didn’t mention the fact 70% of Nodes are underwater, either. We’re not equipped.”

“Cassie is a bat! Bats live in caves! How does that not make sense?”

“Daniel,” she said with patience. “Most bats live in trees.”

He frowned. Daniel knew that. Bats roost in trees and hibernate in caves. The difference between that and a true underground predator was incomparable. He was being irrational. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Rana finished harvesting mushrooms. “If I knew burrowing toad form, it might have been an option, but…” she gestured at her skin coloration. “We retreat there as a last resort. Underground, revenants are the least of our concerns.”

She’d mentioned those before, “What are revenants?”

“…Zombies.”

“Zombies are real?!”

The frog girl sighed, “Don’t be so dramatic, Daniel. Let’s head back.”

As they walked, his vexation with Rana for withholding information ebbed while his anger at himself heated. He was ignorant, young, and weak. Yet, he imagined how Rana must feel. Being an aquatic or burrowing frog would open a whole swath of paths through the Wilderness. It must sting, having a way to help her friends narrowly out of reach.

Is that the pain she felt when Red Tail attacked?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” he said. She walked by his side, waiting for him to continue. “I don’t see how Red Tail can exist. Either everyone should have joined forces to stop him years ago, or there shouldn’t be anything left. He decimated a valley and mountainside in seconds,” Daniel recalled the magnitude of destruction as a waking dream, “Who could stand against him?”

Without hesitation, Rana answered in a quiet voice, “Persephone.”

“Mom?” His mother had almost matched Moloch, but she hadn’t done anything on Red Tail’s scale.

“Nine times out of ten, she’d kill Red Tail without taking a scratch.” Rana let him absorb that. “Think about it. She could fly, and Red Tail couldn’t defend against her Ruin magic. One direct hit would slow him enough to guarantee a win. The bird swarm wouldn’t slow her, and his claws couldn’t penetrate her dust shield.

“Hypothetically, in his large hawk shape, he’d be faster. In reality, Red Tail needs to maximize his agility to evade her attacks, forcing him to stay small. Since the strength of his abilities is linked to size, his fate would be sealed. Half his size, half his power. That’s the weakness of Therianthropy.

“Once in ten, Red Tail would surprise her with his speed and far-sight to execute a fully amplified Screech—but not even that’d secure his victory. Persephone was old and a warrior; she must’ve trained her mental defenses. He’d kill her once in a hundred, but, as an Angel of Death and Ruin, Persephone would certainly finish him as she died.”

“That’s how she got Moloch,” Daniel said, recalling the encounter. “But Red Tail is a coward; he’d never take those odds!”

“Exactly,” Rana sent, stunning him. “That’s why Red Tail exists. That’s why the T.O. wanted Persephone to join. They didn’t expect her to fight; her presence was a deterrent. The one thing arrogant enough to attack us—”

“—Was a demon,” he concluded. Their talk helped but didn’t fix his dilemma. “That’s one example. How many people could defeat Red Tail so thoroughly?”

Rana let him vent, then replied, “I’m not one for the big picture. I don’t care about wars and power struggles. I know a little history because trivia can save your life, but even I can tell you’re going about this the wrong way. Who do you think Red Tail is?”

Suddenly, Daniel wasn’t sure, “A Progenitor, an ancient first-son or something?” He’d assumed Red Tail important, like a prince, but most of the others hadn’t heard of the monster.

She shook her head, “The Wilderness is large. To us, Red Tail is an inconceivable foe. To the Wilderness, he’s ‘one more monster.’ I’ve spoken to Cassie, and you don’t want to know what we’ve avoided. The universe is full of terrible things, Daniel, but we’re still here. Think, what stops the monsters?”

Taking her advice, he considered the root of the problem, “If the Progenitors supply our magic, couldn’t they take it away from the monsters?”

The corner of her mouth slipped into a slight frown. “Not through that connection alone. And Excommunication is reserved for treason. Monsters don’t harm their own race for that reason.”

“But why?” he couldn’t comprehend why monsters like Red Tail were allowed to do as they wished when there were people who could stop them.

“In the games of chess between Progenitors, monsters are the pawns—disposable, yet too valuable to discard. If Garuda called for war, Red Tail would come.” She looked up, through the transparent dome of a bubble hall to the stars above, “In those contests, we aren’t even on the board. Daniel, what stops the monsters?”

He drew a blank. What government, army, or organization could face a monster like Red Tail? “Mages, the Wildlings, somebody?”

She dismissed his suggestions. “The pantheon fights their own battles, the lords among the Progeniture lock themselves in their castles, and the mages see no profit in it. Why should they care? What stops the monsters?”

He felt small and indignant. “They don’t want to rule over a wasteland of bird droppings, do they? Couldn’t Red Tail wipe out life as we know it on hundreds of worlds if he went about it systematically?”

“You’re assuming a lot about a stranger,” Rana replied. “Unlike demons, monsters have goals and motivations, for which they’re obsessed beyond morality. Red Tail probably doesn’t kill everyone he comes across. Maybe he has a thing against mages, or Wildlings, or kills when presented with the opportunity, but he doesn’t gain anything from it. He can’t assimilate people in the way of a demon.”

An interesting thought, obliging him to reconsider the situation. The frog girl continued, “The Wilderness is an ecosystem. Monsters stop other monsters. Red Tail is right to be afraid. Not because the cavalry is coming, but because he’s not the only predator hunting. If Red Tail fought everyone to the death, he’d wear himself out and be killed by someone weaker. He sleeps often—”

“—Because he always wants to stay at full power,” Daniel followed her logic. “Wouldn’t he hate being vulnerable while unconscious?”

“Vulnerable?” she cocked her head, and he shivered. “Red Tail can sleep on the wing in the stratosphere. He can take the form of a common kestrel and eat grasshoppers to lay low. When he travels, he either destroys or sneaks past the Taotie guardians. Slow going. Bubble halls are typically too small for his largest shape, making him even more cautious. He might’ve ignored us or fled if we’d met in a small bubble. Instead, he caught us because we were in a bad position, and his abilities countered ours.”

Though Daniel had gained some closure, he felt dissatisfied. “Maybe not Red Tail, but some monster must be obsessed with ruining things. Aren’t there times when the races unify in retaliation?”

“Rarely, yes,” she admitted. “Maybe when a race discovers an exploit that gets out of control, like the Atlanteans. Same goes with a demon approaching the pantheon; the gods split it into smaller pieces. It’s in their interest to keep trouble on our scale, so everything stays our problem instead of theirs. Sucks for us, though.”

“That’s terrible,” he said.

“There are no good guys in the Wilderness. No cops. No more rightful kings or queens. All that’s left is us, the meek, and we hate each other.” She’d given him a grim answer indeed.

Daniel shut his eyes in denial, “I can’t accept that.” He reflected on Rana’s words and what he’d seen. “I’ll need to think about this, maybe for a long time.”

He wouldn’t stop until he had a better answer. No matter how long it took.