Two months had passed since he began forester training. The last of the early winter blooms were long gone, making way for pansies, winter jasmine, and snowdrop scilla to bud. Once again, it was time to haul meat to town from the freeze box they’d buried in the frozen earth.

“Today we’ll get you graduated to a proper bow. A bit farther out is where we can find the big boars that make up the bulk of our meat supply for feeding the companies. Not worth going with a weapon that can hardly pierce the-” Markens cut off, peering at the ground.

“Boar?” Ren guessed. The tracks were bigger than he’d been expecting.

Markens didn’t even acknowledge the question. He nocked an arrow and gestured one of the many hand signs they used when tracking.

Ren knelt down and examined the track more closely. Deep, but not just from the weight. He checked the angle of the depression. Headed east at a run, if he wasn’t mistaken.

The two foresters dropped their packs and followed wordlessly. Broken branches. A tree with crushed bark. Dark red residue. They shared a glance and continued on as the tracks grew uneven, chaotic, wove in jagged turns, crossing a felled tree, the trunk clinging to the base by twisted fibers, fresh and fragrant.

An ear-splitting, squealing roar. Hoarse, full of pain, desperation, blind rage. Ren’s blood slowed in his veins.

Nocking an arrow of his own, he pushed past the primal fear that rose up in him, and followed the sound to a clearing. It lay heaving on its side, a massive beast, fur tattered, earthen brown stained dark. Spikes of bone protruded from its skull like horns. Scratches, punctures, a hole in its side where flesh and bone alike were torn away.

Wind whipped past Ren’s shoulder, followed by a wet thud that put an end to the squealing. An arrow now stuck from the eye socket of the creature.

“What kind of bleeding beast can take down a Horned Boar?” Markens didn’t even seem to be aware he was talking aloud as he approached the corpse, another arrow at the ready.

“An Aether Beast?” asked Ren, his own voice long since trained to stay low like his mentor’s.

Markens nodded. He picked up a stick and prodded the thing, leaping back. But it didn’t budge. “Can’t be too careful. You hit the brain wrong and sometimes they seize up, or don’t die. Once saw a bear take out a knight and his horse with a dagger lodged in its skull. The thing couldn’t feel pain. Just kept coming. Took my fingers before I was able to knock the dagger deeper and end it.” He wiggled his nubs. “Too big for us to take back ourselves. But this kind of meat goes for a high price to cultivators. Supposedly retains some of the power or whatever.” He sighed. “Lets clean it and pack it with snow.”

They drew their knives and went to work. The hide was so tough they had to sharpen their knives three times before they were done.

Markens looked up to the sinking sun, wiping perspiration from his brow. “Grab the gear and set up camp. We aren’t making it to town today at this point, and I don’t want to sleep wet.” He plucked his sweat soaked tunic.

***

The guards’ eyes were hollow and twitchy as Ren followed his teacher past them and through the gates, into Rattan. Hardly a bustling metropolis on the best day, the gray stone streets and corridors were silent, a somber weight on the air.

After dropping off their load, they made their way to the command building—a fortress in its own right, surrounded by tall walls and a full complement of soldiers standing guard at the gate.

Markens and Ren offered their badges for inspection.

“Here to make a report,” said the older forester.

The head guard consulted a ledger. “Looks like command wanted to see you anyway, Forester Markens. I’ll have a man take you and your trainee back.”

The guard that led them was all business, his steps precise and his shoulders square. They checked their weapons in the lobby and continued on. The inside of the building was laden with fine carpets, hanging maps and depictions of war, as well as the odd historic suit of armor standing vigil in an alcove.

Stepping between two more guards who flanked a door, they entered a bigger room with a large oval table at its center. On the table was a map—of the valley. Figurines dotted the map, as well as bright red coins.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but we could really use Azam and his team right now.” Bent over the table, Captain Lurron, who was pointing at one of the red coins, paused and looked up.

The man beside him chuckled dryly, then smiled as he took in the visitors. He was taller than Lurron, but his frame, while muscular, was leaner. Where age had carved lines in Lurron’s face and cast gray streaks in his hair, this man’s skin was near perfectly smooth, his closely cropped hair rich and black. But his eyes—they carried an authority and weight that made Lurron seem a child beside him. It was almost like being around Mupali’katana.

Markens gave a quick salute. “General Malik, it is good to see you well, sir.”

Ren shot to attention, offering a swift salute, and noticing for the first time in months how shabby and dirty his uniform was. General Malik, the commander of the Northern Brigade, hero of the battle of Okasha Pass. He had to be at least seventy years old.

The General nodded to Ren. “At ease, trainee.”

Ren dropped his salute, but hardly felt at ease, plucking a stray leaf from the hem of his cloak and—after realizing there was nowhere to put it—placed the leaf in his pocket.

“It’s good to see you made it back, Markens,” said the General.

“So you already know,” said Markens, face inscrutable.

“You have something to report?” asked Lurron.

“Something has come to the valley. Something that can take a chunk out of the side of a full grown Horned Boar. I started suspecting something foul as we’ve had to range farther and farther out to find game. Then yesterday, my trainee and I came upon the tracks and followed them. It was all kinds of torn up and I put it out of its misery. From the tracks, it was running away from something. We did our best to preserve the corpse for a team to harvest, but we all know the bigger concern is whatever can make a tier two Aether Beast run for its life.” It was at this point that Ren realized this was the first time he’d heard Markens speak properly rather than the customary mumble-whisper he was so fond of.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“So, you think it is another Aether Beast?” asked General Malik.

“Aye, couldn’t have been anything else.”

Lurron beckoned them closer and pointed at the red pieces on the map. “We’ve had several disappearances in the valley. Two couriers, Forester Raffy, and a squad heading back for resupply. These are the last locations we could find any sign of them. Any thoughts as to a potential den location?”

Markens shook his head. “It’s too spread out to say. My best guess is we’re dealing with a new power in the ecosystem and it is laying claim to the territory, taking out any beasts it sees as threats. But it is cautious and spreading out its hunts. I’m afraid we’re dealing with an Awakened Beast.”

“Bleeding Light,” Lurron cursed. “I hope you’re wrong.”

Wait—if it was going after other Aether Beasts, “Mupali’katana…” Ren said under his breath. Was she safe?

“Mapalika-whatta?” Asked Markens. All three men were staring at him now. Ren flushed and looked down.

“Speak up, trainee,” said Lurron. “We need all the intel we can get. You know something?”

“Not really.” Ren caught his hand rubbing the back of his neck and plastered it down to his side. “When I was training with Melfina- er, the Flame Blade, we met a sett of Awakened Badgers. Mupali’Katana is the mother. I was just wondering if they were okay.”

“You met them? As in you talked to them?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know where to find them?”

“I think so.” That was assuming they hadn’t moved.

“Well, I’m damn glad we didn’t get rid of you after the trials.” Lurron chuckled, then turned to Markens. “You two rest up in town today, then find this Mupali’katana tomorrow. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“Yes, Sir.”

General Malik’s eyes still bore into Ren uncomfortably. “Before you go,” he said, directing his words at Markens, “how is trainee Ren doing in his duties?”

“It’s all in my reports, sir,” said the forester.

“Humor me.”

Markens sighed. “Don’t see what the point of writing up the reports is if you’re just gonna have me say it all over again.” He shook his head. “Trainee Ren is—” Ren braced himself “—exemplary. He has a natural sense for the bow and a good eye for detail. Today we are finally moving him up to the big game recurve, so there will be some adjustment. He learns quickly, and he came in with a strong foundation in herbal identification. He’s even been ‘secretly’ studying most nights on watch duty when he thinks I’m asleep. He has a respect for the kill, which some view as a weakness, but I don’t. I think he’ll be an asset to any team you put him on.”

“Azam does have a good eye, doesn’t he?” The General raised an eyebrow at Lurron.

“I suppose he does, sir. The insufferable bastard.”

“Very well. Dismissed.”

***

“Mupali’katana?” Ren called as he approached the copse where the badgers had built–or rather, dug–their home. “Bargan’atar?”

A hand on his shoulder stopped him up short. Markens gestured to a bush and a patch of ground near it. The shrub was crushed, revealing gashes in the exposed root that ran under from a nearby tree. On closer inspection, the ground was scuffed and torn up all around.

The two men drew their bows and readied arrows, emerging with cautious steps into the clearing.

The forest floor was utterly shredded, a fallen tree lay across the middle of the clearing, trunk shattered and torn, and a great pit lay exposed at the far end, loose earth piled around as if the burrow had exploded. Ren slowed his breathing, willing his heart to calm and his mind to slow down. It was time to gather information. Panic could wait.

Markens gestured, and they split up, crouched low, sticking to the edges, reading every track, every slashed branch and trunk and root. Whatever had come had vicious claws, and there was more than one. His heart hammered in his ears, every muscle taut, body screaming for him to run.

A rustle from overhead.

Ren jumped at the sound, caught himself, rolled behind the partial cover of the stump, and leveled his bow.

“Ren, friend?” asked a badger in the branches.

Ren lowered his bow and eased out the tension of his draw. “Bargan’atar, you’re alive. Are the others safe?”

“Yes, yes. Sett-Mother kept us safe, but there were too many to fight alone. Is the other human a friend?”

Ren remembered his mentor and waved the all clear hand signal. Markens emerged from a bush, bow at his side, and bowed. “Greetings, herald of the forest.”

Bargan’atar smiled, his sharp front teeth glinting in the grey light that pushed through a ceiling of heavy clouds. “Greetings, wanderer of the wood. We have seen you, and you honor the laws of the land. You may rise.”

“Should I bow?” Ren asked.

“No, you are our friend.” The badger shook his head. “You are here about the interlopers?”

“We are indeed,” answered Markens.

“I shall take you to Sett-mother.”

***

Up on the side of a ridge to the north, they found a narrow hole carved into the bare stone.

“Our new burrow. Much stronger. Much safer,” Bargan’atar puffed out his chest.

“Don’t gloat.” The melodious rasping voice came from the hole. “Gloating is for pigs and foxes.”

The male badger hung his head. He’d grown much bigger in the months since they’d last seen each other, coming up past Ren’s knee even on all fours as they walked side by side. Was this the power of Spirit Fruit?

Mupali’katana emerged and Ren was relieved to see that she was not a giant monstrosity now. Instead, she was slightly smaller than her mate. But her coat held onto the light like beads of crystal honey, and her presence pressed on him weightily.

“It is good to see you are safe,” Ren said. “I worried when I saw the old burrow.”

“It is good to see you safe as well, friend.” She dipped her head then turned to Markens, who was once again bowed. “You may rise, hunter.”

“It is my great honor to meet you,” he said, rising slowly.

“You have come to ask my help.” It wasn’t a question.

“I did not have a proper offering to bring,” said Markens. “But we found a fallen Horned Boar. Another victim of the interlopers, as you call them. We preserved it and were going to harvest what we could, but it is yours if you wish.”

Mupali’katana nodded. “I agree to help. And accept the gift. It shall help strengthen us for the battle to come. Tracking the Black Claws to their lair will take time, as will absorbing the gift of power left by the fallen. I shall send Bargan’atar when we find them and are ready to strike. In the meantime, gather your strength and prepare. Do not make the enemy stronger by becoming a meal. Should you need to hunt, the woods north of this ridge are under my protection and are open to you and our friend Ren.”

“Deepest thanks, Guardian of the Wild. If I may inquire, what kind of Black Claws are we dealing with?” Markens bowed low again.

“Wolves.” Hatred roiled in her voice. “I suspect they were displaced by the Shadow as we were.” She turned to Ren. “It is good to see your spirit is stable now. Have you befriended a fox?”

Ren’s jaw dropped for a moment before he answered, “I am learning an art named for silver foxes.”

“I’ll never understand why humans are always trying to copy animals when they are already the most fearsome beasts in these lands. Just remember, you are not becoming a fox. You are a part of the Forest, and everything in it is a part of you. The animal arts unlock what is already there. They do not create something from nothing.”

Ren nodded. “My deep thanks, Mupali’katana.”

“Train hard and show me your badger’s spirit when we next meet for battle.”

“I shall do my best.”