“LET ME UNDERSTAND,” Arjen thundered, his rumbling voice echoing throughout the forest. “IT WAS THEM WHO STRUCK FIRST?”
The huge bear was sitting on his haunches at the edge of the clearing. Hunter, Fawkes, Fyodor, the ravens and the owlbeast were spread out in a half-circle around the godling’s massive form, trying to explain to him how the row had started.
The owlbeast let out a series of clicks and screeches, pointing at the burrow’s entrance, then at Hunter, then at Biggs and Wedge. Whatever its clicking and screeching meant, Biggs and Wedge didn’t take too well to the accusation and responded with a cacophony of caws of their own.
“I SEE,” the godling regarded both the khas-kraz and the ravens with a stern expression, his patience visibly running out. “AND THEN?”
Still agitated, the khas-kraz lifted its injured forearm, the one that Fyodor had bitten, and pointed to the deep puncture marks left by the wolf's teeth. It then turned to face the direwolf, letting out a low, mournful hoot to convey the pain it had felt.
“IS THAT SO?” Arjen turned to Fyodor, who looked terrified. His fur was bristling and he kept its head low, avoiding eye contact with the great bear. “SPEAK UP, CUB.”
The direwolf let out a low whine, as if trying to convey its fear and confusion, then nuzzled against Hunter’s side and licked at the long, bloody slashes the owlbeast had left on his flank.
“WHAT ABOUT YOU, AE-MAI?” Arjen turned to Hunter, growling the last two words with a mix of exasperation and contempt.
“I, uh… I just wanted to commune with the Place of Power. I didn’t know there was anything down there, or I wouldn’t have intruded.”
“AND YOU, LODGEWOMAN? WHAT SAY YOU?”
“I heard a screech and saw Hunter come out of the burrow,” Fawkes shrugged. “The khas-kraz came after him. I thought it a predator, so I joined in to protect my companion.”
The owlbeast piped in with another series of clicks and hoots and screeches. Hunter didn’t need to understand everything to get the gist of it. He knew a complaint when he heard one, regardless of the language barrier.
“SNIVELING CUBS, ALL OF YOU!” Arjen roared, his patience finally running out. “COME CLOSER.”
The khas-kraz stepped closer, and so did Fyodor. Biggs and Wedge followed, too. Hunter threw a glance at Fawkes, who gave him an impassive shrug.
The godling closed his eyes, put his massive paws together, and breathed deeply. The Weald around them swelled with a sense of primordial vitality. Hunter watched with wonder as the forest itself seemed to come alive, responding to Arjen's call.
A green aura surrounded the massive bear, and a warm breeze blew through the clearing. Hunter felt a surge of energy flow through him, as if the very life force of the forest was flowing into his body. He could sense his wounds beginning to knit together, his weariness draining away.
It wasn’t just him, either. The owlbeast's wounds closed before his eyes, leaving behind only a few shallow cuts. The direwolf's torn flesh knitted together, and its fur grew back glossy and healthy. Even Fawkes' wounds from the previous days healed, leaving only a few faded scars and bruises as a reminder of what she’d been through.
If only the wounds on the inside could heal as well, Hunter caught himself thinking as he saw his friend get revitalized.
As the healing energy faded, Arjen opened his eyes and looked at him, and Hunter couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine.
“LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU, AE-MAI. BE MINDFUL OF OTHERS. NOT EVERY PLACE IS YOURS TO COME AND GO AT YOUR LEISURE. BE MINDFUL, LEST YOUR CARELESSNESS IS PAID WITH YOUR BLOOD AND THAT OF OTHERS.”
“It wasn’t my intention-”
“TELL THAT TO THE FEATHERED ONE, WHO YOU AND YOUR ALLIES ALMOST KILLED!” the bear godling roared, and the Weald itself fell silent. “TELL THAT TO THE CUB THAT LOOKS UP TO YOU, WHOSE FUR AND FLESH WERE TORN FOR YOUR PROTECTION. TELL THAT TO THE LODGEWOMAN, WHO’D STAIN HER BLADE WITH INNOCENT BLOOD!”
Nobody in the clearing dared move a muscle. The owlbeast cowered before the godling’s anger, as if it was it that had caused in. Fyodor whimpered and pressed his body closer to Hunter’s. Biggs and Wedge stood there solemnly, quiet for once. Even Fawkes, usually unfazed, watched the scene unfold with a stoic expression on her tired face.
“NOT ALL EVIL IS BORN OF ILL INTENT, AE-MAI,” Arjen went on, the anger slowly fading from his voice, leaving only a tired hint of resignation. “YOU SHOULD BE WISE TO KEEP THAT IN MIND.”
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“I will,” Hunter promised. “Thank you.”
“YOU WERE PROMISED MIR’S PROTECTION. YOU PERFORMED A GREAT SERVICE TO HIM. IT WOULD BE UNJUST FOR HARM TO FIND YOU IN HIS DOMAIN.”
“Which reminds me,” Hunter said, all too eager to change the subject. “We would share our story with you, if you wish to hear it, and benefit from your insights, if you wish to offer them.”
The bear bent down, its massive head looming over Hunter as it took a closer look at him. The weight of its gaze bore down on him. Intimidated, Hunter turned to Fawkes in search of support. She offered none. If anything, the glint he saw in her eyes was almost one of amusement.
“THE CUB’S TIME AT YOUR SIDE IS TIME WELL-SPENT, IT SEEMS,” Arjen finally turned away and told Fawkes, the edges of his ursine lips twisting in a grin. “VERY WELL, AE-MAI. SPEAK.”
***
Trying to ignore the sense of unease in the pit of his stomach, Hunter recounted the events of the last few days. He told Arjen about the two Brethren, about their mercy-killing request, about Mother, and about the eldritch monstrosity, It That Whispers.
Fawkes spoke up a couple of times to add the occasional detail or insight, but otherwise she listened, her expression impassive. The godling, on the other hand, couldn’t contain his concern. Worry was etched across every inch of his ursine face as he listened to Hunter’s tale, his eyes glowing with an ever-increasing intensity. When Hunter finished speaking, Arjen sat in silence for a long moment, as if reflecting on the gravity of the situation.
“YOUR PATRON, HERNE, BIDS HIS UNDERLINGS TO TAKE TROPHIES FROM THEIR KILLS AND PRESENT THEM TO HIM,” Arjen finally said, his voice a deep rumbling growl. “I KNOW THIS. DID YOU HAPPEN TO TAKE ONE FROM THIS CREATURE YOU SPOKE OF?”
Hunter glanced over at Fawkes, hoping for some guidance. She gave him an imperceptible nod. Slowly, he reached into his backpack, pulled out the Essence of It That Whispers, and presented it to the looming bear godling.
"I did," he replied.
Arjen leaned in closer, taking the Essence in his massive claws to inspect it. The glowing, ethereal substance pulsed with the life force of the slain monster, and the godling closed his eyes as if communing with it. After a moment, he opened them again and looked at Hunter with a somber expression.
"THIS IS A DANGEROUS THING TO WIELD," he said. "THAT CREATURE YOU SPOKE OF, THE ONE IT CAME FROM… IT IS NOT OF THIS WORLD."
“Not of this world?” Fawkes mused, suddenly interested in the conversation. “An Outsider, then?”
“POSSIBLY. AND I FEAR IT WAS NOT THE ONLY ONE I FELT, THOUGH I COULD NOT BE CERTAIN. SOMEONE HAS BEEN TOYING WITH FORCES BETTER LEFT ALONE.”
“Like who?” Hunter asked. “Mother?”
Fawkes shrugged. The godling frowned and stared at the dusk sky. Neither had an answer.
“I SHALL STAY VIGILANT FOR OTHER THREATS LIKE THIS,” Arjen finally said. “YOU TELL THE BRENNAI. TELL THE WRETCHED HERNE, EVEN. THREATS FROM THE OUTWORLD ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN OUR LONGSTANDING FEUD.”
The bear returned the Essence to Hunter, renewed his offer for protection for as long as they were in the domain of Mir, and bid them farewell. Then he left them to their own devices, but not before challenging Hunter again.
“AFTER THIS IS OVER, AE-MAI, COME SEEK ME,” he told him, his gleeful ursine grin showing fangs as big as hunting knives. “LET US SEE WHO’S HUNTER AND WHO’S PREY. I SHALL BE WAITING.”
***
“Not really innovative as far as banter goes, is he?” Hunter asked Fawkes after the godling had disappeared into the forest. They were setting up camp for the night, discussing their encounter with the massive bear. “He said the exact same thing as last time, more or less.”
“The raequir are beings of unchanging nature,” Fawkes said. “That’s their strength, and that’s their bane, too. It makes them predictable.”
“The raequir?”
“A catch-all term for beings like this Arjen. Godlings, elementals, fey, spirits of the land, you name it. If it’s not a human, an áeld, or an animal, it’s probably a raequir of some sort.”
“Áeld? You mentioned them before, too, I think.”
“The ones commonly called elves,” Fawkes explained.
“Wait, there are elves too?”
“Of course, though you don’t want to call them that to their faces. What do you think the dancing mummies down in the Halls of the Ancestors were?”
This was as good a reminder as any of how little Hunter actually knew about Aernor and its inhabitants. As he looked out into the Weald, he couldn't help but wonder about what other fantastical creatures that inhabited it. Were there dragons, unicorns, or griffins lurking beyond the trees? He couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity and excitement at the thought. Fear, too.
And what about this Goddess that Fawkes had mentioned? What powers did she hold and what was her role in this world? What about the races and civilizations that inhabited this land, their customs and beliefs, and the history that shaped them? What about cities? What about the people? What about the food they ate, the drink they drank?
There was a whole world full of new things out there, new experiences. He wanted to see more of it. Be a part of it. Do things. Take risks. Succeed. Fail. Bask under its sun and revel in its joys and lament its sorrows.
“Isn’t it time you returned to your side of things for the day?” Fawkes cut his daydreaming short, as if she’d read his mind. “Me and the mutt, we can manage on our own. Go get some rest and come back in the morning.”
Hunter let out an audible sigh. She was right. In his world, his body had been lying in bed for more than twelve hours straight. He should go back there and eat, drink, relieve himself, stretch his limbs. Thing was, he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay there in the Weald, pitch a tent under the canopy, sit by the fire with Fyodor’s head resting on his lap, exchange stories with Fawkes, sleep under the stars.
That was not what he’d do, however. He was a Transient. He existed outside this virtual kind-of-world and was only provisionally permitted to visit it. Every second he spent on Aernor and in Elderpyre was a second stolen from his real life on the real world.
He stashed his backpack at the roots of a nearby tree, gave mental directions to Biggs and Wedge to set up a perimeter and keep watch during his absence, and gently stroked Fyodor's fur, relishing the softness of it beneath his fingertips.
“Take care,” he told Fawkes and prepared to log out. “I’ll be back by sunup.”