Since it was still well before dawn, Brin and Hogg stepped away from the camp so that they could talk in private. Marksi had come too, and Hogg had picked him up and hugged him tight while stroking the spines along his back.

“Tentacles,” said Hogg. “Got it. I think that’s enough. It’s got to be. I’ll make it be enough.”

“What? Really? How could that possibly be enough?” said Brin.

“It just is. Don’t worry about it.” Hogg hesitated for a moment, looking pained.

“What is it?” Brin asked.

“I think I need to go. I need to do something,” said Hogg.

“You’re going to find her. Somehow me saying the word ‘tentacles’ means that you can find her. You’re going to k-kill her.”

For some reason he found it hard to say that last part. He’d always known that this was how it would end. That was the point of all this, of ingratiating himself with her, of letting her close the distance between them with the Wyrd. They were going to kill her.

He didn’t want that. He wondered if there was a way to capture her. Surely she would be more useful alive. They still hadn’t learned all they could about Arcaena from her, for one. They needed to capture her and interrogate her for the good of the kingdom.

The worst part was, he knew where this feeling was coming from. It was because he’d called her mother and sat at her feet and learned her lessons, submitting to her punishments and enjoying her rewards. It had bound him to her. Even knowing that’s where it was coming from, he couldn’t want her to die.

“Yes,” said Hogg. “Yes, I am.”

“The mission isn’t clear about whether I’ll still get the reward if someone else kills her,” Brin said.

“I don’t care.”

Marksi, maybe sensing his distress, opened one tired eye and stretched over to lick Brin’s hand, then snuggled into Hogg again.

“How are you going to find her?” Maybe if he knew how Hogg was tracking her, he’d be able to warn her in time.

“I can’t tell you that,” said Hogg.

“It’s just… I thought it would be me that finishes things. It doesn’t feel right to let someone else carry this burden,” said Brin.

“It doesn’t feel right that I’ve been letting you suffer night after night for months now. I’m ending this. Don’t bother trying to talk me out of it. She’s got her hooks in you. Not sure you could agree with me even if you wanted to.”

“And I can’t even come?”

“Blackcliff and the coast are two days away, at the caravan’s speed. I can be there in a matter of hours. With luck, I’ll be there and back before your next sleep. This has gone on long enough. One way or another, I’m ending it.”

“And if you’re not back before then? What should I do?”

Hogg opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He looked down at Marksi, and the dragonling looked up at him with complete trust in his eyes. “Burn Aberfa and burn her secrets. Keep the enchantments on and get a good night’s rest. That’s my opinion.”

Brin nodded. “Thanks.”

Hogg sniffed, shook his head in irritation, and then turned his back. That was as much of a goodbye as Brin was going to get. Marksi, of course, got the red carpet treatment.

“Just keep an eye on Brin for me, ok? Be a good boy, now. That’s it. I’ll be back before you know it.” He gave Marksi a long, tight squeeze which the dragonling endured with patience and grace.

“Oh, wait!” Brin said in alarm.

Hogg turned around, “What?”

“Can you teach me how to make text that’s only visible to me? Also, can you make my Invisible Eye project what it sees onto a map, preferably one that only I can see?”

“Well, sure. You just…”

Brin waited. Hogg snapped his fingers, looking into space.

“It’s what?”

“Well, shoot, I don’t remember.”

“Seriously?”

Hogg scowled. “I can’t remember how to make something only the caster can see. There’s a neat trick to it, but for the life of me I can’t remember what the words are. In my defense, my Lightmind has been taking care of that for years.”

“Can’t you just read your Lightmind?”

“Do you even know what you’re asking? Yes, but it’s not that easy. It’ll take a minute and I need to leave now. I can do the map thing, though. You want me to write it down?”

“Just say it, I’ll remember it,” said Brin.

Hogg spoke a few sentences of the Language. It all sounded contradictory and random, but the more esoteric Spells often did.

Hogg returned to saying his goodbyes. Finally, he set Marksi down and stalked away into the darkness.

Brin yawned, and returned to camp. He put the enchantments into place, and got a couple more hours of sleep.

The next day was surprisingly normal. Everyone just started up with their regular daily routine. Packing up camp, making breakfast, feeding the animals, and talking about the weather. A few people asked him where Hogg had gone, and Brin told them the truth, that he’d gone ahead of them towards Blackcliff. A few people asked him where they’d gone yesterday, but he told them he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. A few people noticed their new prisoner, but Zerif made it clear no one was to speak with her.

Brin did anyway. About an hour after they started walking, he went to the luggage cart that had been once again transformed into the jail cart. Margald, the [Perfumist] they’d captured at the Arcaenean safehouse, was awake and looking equal parts terrified and miserable.

“What will you do with me?” She spoke in Arcaenean. He’d only learned a bit of it from Aberfa, but with the bonuses he got from [Traveler] he spoke it a lot more fluently than he should.

“You speak Frenaria?” he asked in the same language.

She shook her head.

“Surprise. You… ah, what is word? You look at us. You here to look at us,” said Brin. He was trying to think of the word for ‘spy’, but he’d never learned it.

“Not me. I was a mere servant in the household. It was better that I couldn’t speak to the people here, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to flee,” she answered.

“Who serve?”

“I won’t tell you that. What will you do with me?”

Brin shrugged. “Take to Blackcliff. They… ask you questions there. The king people.”

“Torture?” she asked.

He didn’t know that word, but he could infer the meaning. “No. No torture. Ask. Ask… very strongly.”

She shivered.

He didn’t exactly know what to say here. She was a lot like him, in a way. Caught up in a [Witch’s] scheme, alone and isolated. No, she was worse off than him. He could have opted out of Aberfa’s dreams as soon as he realized what they were. She’d probably been forced to come along.

He smelled something light and floral on the wind, the way that sunshine on the petals of wildflowers smelled in your mind. Her perfume, and it wasn’t just a smell. She was doing something to his head, making herself more sympathetic.

He made a face like he smelled a fart and waved under his nose. “Don’t. I’m not weak to that, but others won’t be so kind.”

The scent immediately disappeared.

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please, help me.”

“I not let them torture you. I promise,” said Brin. He didn’t promise to release her, though. There was always a chance that she really was the [Witch] they were looking for. The [Interrogators] would find out the truth.

She didn’t look comforted in the slightest, but she shakily bowed her head and said, “Thank you.”

Brin looked away, shamefaced, and walked along the wagon in silence for a while.

“Can I ask? Why are Arcaena people low level?”

She snorted. “I’m high level for my age, and look where that got me.”

“Why?”

She looked at him, seeming a bit confused. “I’m sure it’s the same here. You can have a good life if you stay normal. The nobles won’t care about you; they won’t even think about you. But if you stand out, if you excel? Someone will come ‘invite’ you to serve their household. And you won’t like what happens if you turn down such an invitation.”

“Not here. Here is free,” said Brin.

She snorted in derision. “That’s what the sons of nobles always say.”

It was Brin’s turn to laugh. “Something close. I ask other thing. You know, yes? Nobles in Arcaena are [Witches]?”

She gasped in shock, and instinctively looked around in panic to see who else had heard. Then she remembered where she was and with visible reluctance said, “Yes. We know. We don’t speak of it, but we know.”

Brin nodded.

“You promise? No torture?” she asked again.

“I promise.”

She didn’t look too convinced, but Brin meant what he’d said. They’d listen to him, or he’d have Hogg break her out.

With nothing else to say, Brin drifted away, and joined a much less traumatizing conversation with his friends.

Davi and Myra were trying to get Zilly to admit that she’d snuck away from the group before getting ensnared by the Wisp. Zilly was adamant that she’d had every intention of sticking to the plan and that the Wisp had gotten to her first. Sion was playing referee.

Brin immediately joined in on Davi and Myra’s side, though he had to pull a few of his punches because he wasn’t sure if they’d let Sion in on the secret that it was a [Witch’s] hideout that they’d attacked.

You will obscure things for no reason. He growled and knocked on his head. Stupid [Witch] mother, putting stupid ideas in his head. She’d probably made it up to screw with him. He wasn’t secretive.

“Are you alright, Brin?” Sion asked.

Brin didn’t know exactly how to answer that. He couldn’t exactly tell him about Aberfa… You will obscure things for no reason. He had a good reason! He shook his head. “Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind. Actually, could I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course, my friend,” said Sion, concern etched onto his features.

They moved away from the others, and Sion asked, “What is it?”

Brin was probably being dumb. Hogg was insanely powerful and he was smart. If he thought he had a chance to take out Aberfa before nightfall, he was probably right. If that was true, then any contingencies he made would be a waste of time. On the other hand, Hogg wasn't omnipotent, and Brin’s entire soul was screaming at him that this thing would end with a confrontation between him and her.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“I’m glad you sought me out,” said Sion. “I meant to ask you what brought on your sorry mood.”

“What? I’m in a great mood. I just got a breakthrough in my Class. Things are looking up,” said Brin.

“You could tell by your face.”

Brin scowled, then remembered he was in too good of a mood for scowls and smiled. “My face says I’m doing fine.”

Sion looked unconvinced. “Is that so? In that case what did you wish to speak about?”

“I have a favor I want to ask. But I feel like we’re maybe level 3 friends, and this is a level 5 friend request,” said Brin.

Sion waved that away in much the same manner as Brin had waved away the perfume. “No. There’s no levels for friends. It’s either friend or not friend. We’ve spilled blood together, and we’ve run from the Watch together. What else do we need?”

“That’s all stuff you’ve done for me. I’ve done nothing for you, and now I’d be asking more,” said Brin.

“That’s right. That’s how it works. Now tell me your favor, and I warn you: If you do not, then we will part ways here as strangers. I swear this on my honor as a [Merchant].” Sion rarely let his Prinnashian accent slip out, but this time he did, as thick and heavy as Pio’s.

Brin relented. He pulled out a slip of bark paper with a name written on it. “I need this potion.”

Sion’s eyes went wide. “These are very addictive. Is this what has been troubling you?”

“No. I’ve never drunk one before in my life, I’ve only ever heard of them. But I need it fast, before we get to Blackcliff.” Brin had never even seen one, but one of the good things about traveling in a [Merchant] caravan, was that they of all people knew what sort of things could be bought. As soon as he heard about this potion, he knew he had to have it.

Sion shrugged. “Is that all? I’ll do it. I’ll take a horse and ride out immediately.”

“I’ll pay,” said Brin.

Sion winced. “You don’t–”

“Your Class gives you levels from making sales, not from giving gifts to your friends. I would literally die from shame if I took Class experience from you. You’re going to let me pay you. I’m not going to compromise on this,” said Brin.

Sion held his eyes, looking stern. Then suddenly he laughed and shook his head in amusement. “You’ve really never studied with a [Merchant] of Prinnash?”

“Just like Hogg and stuff,” said Brin.

“I’ll get you your potion. I’ll even let you pay me, seeing as I am a kind and magnanimous man,” said Sion.

“You’re going to overcharge me, too,” said Brin.

Sion started walking away. Brin tried to follow, so Sion started running and… wow, he’d gotten good at running. He ran up the road of the caravan, spoke a few quick words with Pio, and got on top of a horse before Brin could catch all the way up.

“You hear me, Sion? You’re going to charge for your time, too!”

“I can’t hear you!” Sion yelled back.

“You need to fleece me!”

“You’re getting wholesale!” Sion yelled into the wind, and then he was gone.

Brin sighed in defeat, and dropped back to walk with his friends. Davi and Myra still hadn’t let the thing with the Wisp go, and Zilly’s face started to look red and splotchy from all the hazing. She looked to be near tears. Brin joined in, but guided it towards accusing her of increasingly ridiculous motivations. First he accused her of getting separated after accidentally falling asleep, then he pinched her to make sure she was the real Zilly and that she wasn’t the Wisp in disguise. Then he had Marksi nibble on her to make sure, and he made such a funny disgusted “Blegh” sound that even Zilly had to smile. After that, Davi accused her of being a spy from the Moon kingdom and it devolved from there. Everyone was laughing by the end.

The mood of the caravan was light and people began talking excitedly as they neared their journey’s end. They passed a small hamlet that didn’t even have walls around it, signaling that all the dangerous country was behind them. They felt safe, and Brin hoped that they were right.

Only Pio seemed to be immune to the good mood. He went from animal to animal in the wagon train, checking them carefully and cursing at every imagined slight. When he came to check on the hooves of a nearby ox, Brin stepped up to talk to him.

“Are you excited to get to town?” Brin asked.

Pio shrugged. “Be here or be there. It’s much the same.”

“I’m excited to see the ocean at least.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t know.”

Brin paused. “You literally live in a caravan. Are you seriously telling me you’ve never seen the ocean?”

Pio bent over to run his fingers along the ox’s leg, maybe checking for burrs. He found one and flicked it away. “Not what I meant. I don’t see what’s so good about it. Just a big lot of water, and all the best animals are too hard to reach.”

“So pop a water breathing pill and dive down there. It sounds like it would be a [Beast Master’s] dream,” said Brin.

“Dream. Hmph. I’ll stick with dry beasts.” Pio turned and walked away, in his ‘don’t follow me’ sort of way.

The day was cool, far away from the Boglands' ever-present heat. It was the perfect temperature, maybe about sixty-five, and the kids from Hammon’s Bog were starting to shiver. For him, it felt like possibly the first time that he’d been comfortable since he’d gotten this body, though of course that was all in his head. [Traveler] meant that he barely felt the fluctuations in weather.

The sun gradually dipped towards the horizon, and there was no sign of Hogg. He helped the caravan set up camp, and then Araunya the [Camp Chef] prepared dinner. It was stew again, and he heard a few murmured complaints. Araunya heard it, too, and firmly reprimanded the complainers, reminding them that tomorrow they’d be in Blackcliff, Frenaria’s premier port city, and they’d all soon have their fill of exotic cuisines.

After dinner, the night grew a bit colder, but no one seemed to want to leave. They huddled closer to the bonfire, but conversation dwindled.

Zerif looked around at the assembled people and smiled. “Ah, don’t you all look like that, please! This isn’t the end of our caravan. We’ll continue on after Blackcliff as we always have.”

“But it won’t be the same caravan,” Jeffrey said dreamily, strumming his lute. “Many will stay in Blackcliff, and many new others will join. No, it’s no cause for tears. It’s not the end. But it is an ending.”

“Then let us celebrate it! Another successful run! Let’s have music and dancing, and yes, break out the wine!” Zerif said.

The group perked up at that news, and a group of men jumped to their feet to faithfully carry out Zerif’s directive.

Jeffrey stood and bowed, eliciting an even greater round of cheering from the caravan, and then began to play. Mumeli the [Dancer] rose, and everyone rose to follow her.

Wine flowed, music played, people danced, and the forest, so sparse with trees that it could barely even be called that, didn’t interfere. Brin danced with Myra, Zilly, and even ended up across from Mumeli and Araunya at one point. Perhaps the only woman he didn’t dance with was the poor [Perfumer], watching morosely from her cage.

Even Davi got to dance; Jeffrey plucked the oud from his hands and pushed him towards the dancers, and the big guy went to with surprisingly nimble feet. Though, he did stumble more than once the one time he found himself standing in front of Myra.

Brin tried to have fun, and succeeded for the most part, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the metaphorical clock. Hogg should’ve been back by now.

All too soon, the dancers tired and the chill of the night reasserted itself. Jeffrey played a lively jig where more than half of the group stayed in their seats, and so the next song wasn't a dancing tune at all, but a slow and sweet love song.

After that, Jeffrey's music went dark. The tune was immediately jarring and discordant, played in a depressing C minor. When the lyrics started, they were in a version of such ancient Frenarian that Brin almost couldn't understand it, and only figured out what it was about when he picked out the names 'Eli' and 'Grendle'.

The song went through the whole story and went on much too long. It was completely killing the mood, and Brin could see a relaxing night of fun quickly turning sour. People began to take furtive glances into the forest, remembering that they weren’t quite safe yet. What had they been thinking, imagining the danger was gone? They were still in the forest.

As it went on, Brin started to worry that no one would be able to sleep tonight. In fact, the faint impressions he could pick up through the Wyrd told him that was what Jeffrey was going for. He looked at the [Bard] with a question in his eyes, and Jeffrey raised his eyebrows back. Did the [Bard] think that something was going to happen tonight?

He might’ve figured it out by watching Brin; Jeffrey had a supernatural sense when it came to people’s emotions. He might’ve seen that Brin was gearing up for battle. What he was wrong about though, was thinking the battle would involve everyone. This fight was only going to be in his dreams.

The whole song took nearly fifteen minutes. By the time it was done the camp's few children were pale with fright and the forest seemed a lot darker and more immediate than it had before, even to Brin.

"Perhaps we could have something cheerier next?" asked Zerif.

Jeffrey sat. "I'm sorry. I find myself in a bit of a mood, and my music can't help but reflect that. Davi?"

Davi shook his head and whispered, scarcely audible. "No, I don't think so. Brin?"

All eyes turned to Brin. He smiled and said, "Why not?"

He walked to fetch his half-lute, really not much different from a guitar, and as he walked back he started to prance, putting on airs like he was one of those unbearably dainty [Bards] they'd seen in Oud's Bog. He stood in the middle of the group and bowed, raised his hands with a flourish and acted as if he were preparing to gently pluck one of his strings.

Then he brutalized his half-lute to the tune of the Kukubaru song. Everyone roared with laughter and immediately started clapping along.

By the time the song was done, much of their earlier good mood had returned, though the darkness of the forest still loomed.

When the applause died down, Jeffrey frowned at him, looking annoyed. "Are silly songs really all you can do? I suppose I understand why you never got offered [Bard]. To be an artist is to be vulnerable, to expose your true soul. You can never do that with jests and japes."

Brin was stunned. What did the [Bard] want from him? He didn’t know any scary songs, and Jeffrey had done well enough on his own. No one would be sleeping well tonight, but Brin had at least hoped that the caravan’s last memories together would be pleasant ones.

No chance of that now. Just like that, the good mood had evaporated. Everyone stared at Brin, who grew increasingly red in the face. His first instinct was to shout back, to curse Jeffrey out, but the energy for it just wasn't there. He felt empty. He’d felt like this for a long, long time, and he was sick of pretending. He was a thin sheet of skin covering absolute emptiness underneath. Submitting to Aberfa had given him a lot of knowledge, but it had hollowed him out inside. He was so tired of it.

Jeffrey's prodding had revealed a truth; that he really didn't care about any of this.

Brin let the false smile drop from his face. "Telling jokes isn't vulnerable? Spoken like someone who hasn't made a joke to a crowded room and watched it fall flat. You think I smile because I don't know how to frown? But have it your way. I know a couple more mature songs."

He didn't play right away. He went through the song he wanted in his mind, making sure he'd be able to get the right chords; it wasn't complicated, almost everything came through the vocals, but he wanted to get it perfect.

It was a full minute before he was ready to start, a minute of complete silence. Then he strummed the first note of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails, as performed by Johnny Cash.

Puberty had been making his voice uneven and scratchy, and he hoped that it would help to reproduce Cash's wizened vocals, but no such luck. His voice came out as clean and light as a sixteenth century boys' choir. The effect was unrelenting in its purity, like getting hydrochloric acid poured directly into your eyes.

He was already starting to regret his song choice when the first line hit the crowd, who frowned and let their jaws drop in shock. Then he felt the magic kick in and it got even worse. Jeffrey had carefully tapped out a few supporting notes, and pushed his [Bard] magic in to amplify everything Brin was feeling to the crowd.

When he sang the lyric questioning what he’d become, his voice broke and everything hit him all at once. What had he become? He was Aberthol. You could only pretend to be something so long before you actually started to become that thing, and he was becoming Aberthol. Weak and scared little Aberthol.

He nearly stopped right there, pausing after the first verse for an extra long time. But now that he was on the precipice, he found he didn’t want to stop. Fine. Let them hear it.

He pushed his heart and soul into the song. His knowledge of the Wyrd and Jeffrey’s magic formed a feedback loop, feeding on each other and growing stronger and stronger until he was frankly awed at the level of despair he heard in his own voice.

The audience flinched at the words ‘hurt’ and ‘pain’ as if they’d been slapped, and he knew a slap would’ve been preferable. He was able to put an incredible amount of Wyrd into those words, imbuing them with layers of meaning and authority.

Gradually, Jeffrey’s magic stopped amplifying his emotions and actually reversed to help contain them, to protect the most vulnerable in the group, especially the children. Brin was too far gone to pull back. Being a child didn’t mean you couldn’t understand the truth of this world. No one had shielded Aberthol, after all. With Jeffrey’s protections in place, he felt his last inhibition fall away and pushed his song out into the world with renewed vigor.

It wasn’t until the last verse that he realized what was going on. He understood, all at once, that this was… helping. He was already feeling better. He’d been building up an incredible amount of misery and he’d needed to let it out. Jeffrey was helping him get it out, and already he could feel it helping. The last verse was still full of suffering, but he also let slip a fair amount of peace, and a tiny sliver of hope.

He sang a [Scarred One] song until it was done.

No one spoke.

Nervous, he scratched the back of his head. “I see no one is shouting for an encore…”

The [Dancer] shot to her feet. “You shut up!”

That motion made the dam break. Brin’s eyes were dry; all his sadness had released itself through his voice, but several members of the caravan sobbed openly while others started angrily muttering. Zerif motioned for them to stay seated, “Now, now…”

Myra burst into tears, palms pressed against her eyes, and Zilly glared stone-faced. The [Perfumer] had backed up to the far corner of her cell, watching him with terror in her eyes.

Brin looked back calmly, feeling more grounded and solid than he had since before the nightmares started. He found Jeffrey’s eyes and nodded in thanks. Jeffrey nodded back in acceptance.

Davi grabbed his shoulder, one manly tear sliding down his cheek. His voice was even when he asked, “Is that really what it was like?”

“No! No, it’s fine. It’s just…” Brin shook his head. “It’s just a song. It’s just a song I heard. I didn’t even write it.”

He tried to pull away, but Davi’s grip was firm. He met Brin’s eyes and said, “Thank you.”

“Y-yeah,” Brin said.

No one was much for entertainment after that. They separated off to their separate wagons, and those who stayed on bedrolls near the fire slept a little bit further apart than normal. Brin stayed up, ignoring the men who had watch when they told him to go to bed.

He sat on a log and watched the fire, waiting. Hogg never returned, but two hours past midnight, Sion did. The [Merchant] pressed the potion into his hands, and sensing the mood, retreated without a word. He’d make sure to pay him later.

Brin stared down at it. He pulled another potion from Lumina’s ring. Calisto’s sleep in a bottle. He could use this and wait for Hogg. He never needed to see Aberfa again.

It was time for a decision.

He was prepared for Aberfa this time. He had a plan. Despite that, he really didn’t want to see her. He wanted to wait for Hogg to kill her far away from him, and close this chapter of his life. Aberfa must have plans, too. He felt it, through the Wyrd, that tonight’s dreams would be the culmination of everything she’d been working towards since she’d first invaded him with nightmares.

He didn’t have to do this. It occurred to him that this wasn’t even about him. The reason that Tenerer had given him the missions hadn’t been for his benefit–it had been for Aberfa. She had used a Mother’s Knot to return her son from death, and the gods hadn’t given her that. They’d cheated her, and now they were intervening to make it right. Brin wouldn’t have had any reason to care about Aberfa at all, but a son would have.

He didn’t need to do this, and maybe before his song, he wouldn’t have. But he felt stronger, more himself, and when he looked inside himself he found the strength to do what needed to be done.

Wasn’t this that same old decision? Fight or flee. That settled it.

He muttered a prayer to Solia. I’ll do it. I’ll pay your debts and see it through. I’ll give her one last chance to get to me. But after tonight, it’s done. After tonight, Aberfa is nothing to me but a monster.

He drank the potion Sion gave him. In minutes, he was asleep.