Gil crouched low, trying not to move as he eyed his prey. The brush was scarce, but so far, the arctic lynx hadn’t seemed to notice him.

Now, he just had to shoot it.

Unfortunately, that was the part that had been giving him the most trouble this entire Enthicaptul. His first night hunting, he had seen a caribou. Catching such a creature would have been perfect to show the hunters in his village that he was ready to join them as an adult.

But the deer had bounded away during Gil’s incantation, before he could even throw his spear.

The second night, he found a den of baby foxes. How easy it would have been to bring them back to his village. But that wasn’t really an impressive demonstration of his hunting abilities. The hunters would never accept him with such a poor catch.

Not long after sunrise light, however, he had spotted the lynx. It was so busy chasing a hare for sunrise meal, it never saw Gil. He considered that a sign.

No one in his village had ever killed one. They were all too superstitious, believing the animal brought bad luck. But Gil knew there was no such thing as bad luck. Only poor hunting.

He would show them. He would bring back the lynx. The hunters would be so impressed, they would accept him as an adult. And just in time, too. Next moon would mark his thirteenth winter.

The lynx was crouched low to the ground, finishing its meal. Gil lined up his spear and closed his eyes, drawing on the magic within him. Opening his eyes, he focused on the lynx and muttered the first incantation he could remember.

“Sh’layhe thy’olley truid cree.” With a deep breath, he threw his weapon.

The lynx jumped to its feet, turning to Gil with a hiss. The spear struck the grass, exactly where the cat’s heart would have been had it not moved. Growling in frustration, Gil pulled his knife from his boot and jumped to his feet.

The lynx crouched, obviously preparing to pounce. Gil stepped to the side. The cat moved its head, keeping the young hunter in its sight. Gil took another step. The lynx had to change its footing to keep its eye on him. Using that to his advantage, Gil advanced.

But the lynx was fast. Quicker than lightning, it got its paws under itself and leaped at the young hunter. Gil threw his hands in front of his face as he crouched low.

He was hoping to get under the cat. But either he was too tall or the lynx did not jump very high. Whatever the reason, Gil found the cat’s chest right in front of his face. He thrust his knife upward.

With a screech, the lynx fell on Gil, throwing off his balance. Together, they tumbled to the ground. Gil rolled, hoping to avoid the cat’s sharp claws. As he clamored to his feet, he remembered his knife. It was no longer in his hand.

It was still in the lynx’s chest. But his spear was on the ground to his left. Keeping an eye on his prey, Gil rushed to retrieve it. The lynx didn’t move. It lay motionless, its white fur stained red around the protruding knife.

But Gil wasn’t taking any chances. Gripping the spear, he approached the lynx slowly. Though it remained still, he struck the animal in the chest a few more times, hoping to hit the major organs.

Satisfied with his kill, Gil removed his knife, wiping it and the spear tip in the frost-covered ground. Holding his hand above the creature, he muttered the incantation to keep the meat from spoiling. He was eager to return to his village, to prove everyone’s superstitions false.

He hefted the lynx over his shoulders, surprised to find it so light. It weighed no more than his sister, who had lived nearly six winters. He had carried deer that were much heavier. Pleased the lynx wouldn’t slow him down, Gil headed toward his village.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

He wasn’t far from home. Although he had been hunting for three nights, he had remained close to the village. He would return well before the evening meal. Once everyone heard his tale, they would surely agree their superstitions were nonsense.

When Gil emerged from the forest, it took him a moment to get his bearings. Even though he knew the sun should be directly overhead, the village was as dark as a starless night. He made his way to the butcher’s shed by memory, passing no one. As he deposited the lynx, he decided everyone must be in the meeting hall. Maybe the lack of light confused them and they were preparing the evening meal.

But the hall was empty. So was the neighboring kitchen. Gil rushed to his family home, but saw no sign of his parents or little sister. Everywhere he looked, he found no one. It was as if the villagers had just disappeared.

Gil wasn’t sure what to do. Obviously, this Darkness enveloping the village had driven everyone away. If he had to guess, they had fled to Potijen. That was the nearest village. It was where he would go.

Gil stopped by the kitchen, grabbing some smoked meat. He wished for something fresh and warm. For a moment, he considered bringing his lynx, cooking it on his journey. But with any hope, he would find the rest of his village in Potijen. He would save the lynx for when everyone returned. Once the Darkness was gone.

The strange phenomenon seemed to be only covering Gil’s village. As soon as he left the boundaries, he could see the sun again. It was making its way to the horizon. Gil tried to meet it there, reaching Potijen as the sun was disappearing.

Again, the village appeared deserted, but at least it wasn’t bathed in an unnatural darkness. Gil was a little concerned by the lack of activity, though. He assumed the large building in the center was the meeting hall. But no cookfires were smoking from behind it. Were the kitchens elsewhere? Or was no one preparing the evening meal? And shouldn’t there be a fire in the meeting hall to ward off the chill in the air?

Despite his hesitations, Gil entered the meeting hall. At first, he thought it was empty. It was so dark. Lanterns hung on the wall. In his village, families brought their lights to the meeting hall at mealtimes. Assuming Potijen was the same, why were the lanterns here if the villagers weren’t? And why were they all unlit at this hour?

Gil grabbed the closest one, holding his hand before it as he reached into himself for the magic. Releasing it, he muttered the familiar incantation. Fire burned within the lantern. Holding it aloft, Gil shone it in all directions.

Movement in the far corner caught his attention. A man not much older than him was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth. At first, Gil thought the man was trying to tell him something. But as he drew closer, he realized the man was muttering to himself.

“Go away! Get out!”

Gil took a step closer. “Where is everyone?”

The man looked up, but his gaze was unfocused. “Everyone’s gone. Went mad. Dead. They’re all dead. But not gone.”

Gil raised his eyebrows. He had seen madness in the aged, but this man was many winters too young for such an affliction.

Hoping to get a few answers, Gil crouched beside the man. “I’m from Eovarek, but my village is deserted. Like here. Do you know what happened?”

The man shook his head back and forth. “Darkness came. So quick. So dark. Everyone went mad. So mad. Young, old. Mad. Then everyone died. But we can’t move on.” The man grabbed Gil’s arm. “Help us! Help us move on!”

Disgusted, Gil wrenched away his arm and stood. “Are you saying everyone in the village is dead?”

The man nodded. “Dead, but not gone. Can’t move on. Want to move on. Eovarek. Maybe Eovarek we can move on.”

Gil frowned. “What does that even mean? Are you saying everyone in my village is dead?”

“Dead, but not gone. Can’t move on.”

Gil growled. “Will you stop saying that?”

Obviously, this man would be no help. Wanting to get as far away as possible, Gil took the lantern outside.

His village, his family, obviously wasn’t here. Maybe they had seen the Darkness in Potijen and went to Oaefijdn. It was further away, but it was in the opposite direction. Maybe he would find his family there.

But even if he did, Gil had a bigger problem. This Darkness had driven everyone from his village. He didn’t even know if they were dead or alive. Hopefully, the latter. Surely the crazy man wasn’t implying that everyone in Eovarek had perished.

Was this all Gil’s fault? Had the villagers been right? Did the lynx bring bad luck?

He had to fix this. But how? It wasn’t like he could unkill the lynx. How could he make things go back to the way they were?

Tightening his grip on the lantern, Gil turned westward. As a child, he had heard stories of a man with powerful magic. A druid. If anyone could make things normal again, he could. He just had to find the old man. Not that he had any idea where to start looking.

With Potijen to his back, Gil set out. He would do whatever was necessary to restore his village. Even if it took the rest of his life, Gil would not stop until he found the druid.