“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Leonart,” a woman said as she attempted to calm her animated drinking mate. “It’s just difficult to believe that a witch would show up so late in the cycle and just stroll into the forests.”
The tale was spoken loudly enough that the patrons within the tavern of the town of Wes Adres were listening in. The townsfolk drank from their tankards of beer and narrowed their eyes over the story. As one of the innumerable villages that bordered the river ways that wound through Strettia, they were well accustomed to outsiders mooring their foreign vessels to the docks. They, unlike most settlements, were more accustomed to more bizarre visitors than most.
One of the few populated settlements that bordered the Great Soul Forest, Wes Adres was often the final destination of witches, hunters, and insane pilgrims that wished to travel deep into the mystical forest and never be seen again. Many stories about spiritual creatures etched into Strettian myth began on the streets of the ancient settlement. The decorations within the tavern illustrated the town’s mythical origin. Everything from the walls to the tables to the names of the beer were marked by the motifs of spiritual behemoths such as Urzil Endless Maw and Kitach Blinder of Ortus.
“I’m telling you, Doreen, a foreign witch moored her boat at the dock,” Leonart repeated his assertion with an angrier tone.
“And she said that she was going into the forest?” A different patron within earshot asked the man with an incredulous tone. “Alone?”
“Yes!” The man loudly asserted his details before pausing. “Well, no. She was traveling with a mute from the East. Nasty fellow, had the eyes of a killer. But she was going into the forest. She said there was no other point in visiting this place.”
“It wasn’t some desperate merchant attempting to offload her wares before the end of the cycle?” A different patron inquired.
“No, her boat was empty!” He shoved his drinking arm towards the questioner, causing the drink to slosh and splash partially from its vessel. “She gave me a full silver eagle as payment for docking fees. Even offered to read my future in the blood, not that I'd accept such a thing. You can go ask Old Lethe and they will tell you the same.”
“Old Lethe barely remembers their last meal,” Doreen groaned, downing her drink in frustration. “The wharf boys convinced her that she was an Heir and once participated in the Choosing.”
Another round of drinks were brought out by barmaids and reached the parched lips of the tradesmen and warriors of Wes Adres. They chuckled at Doreen’s comments with rosy cheeks. Copper coins showered the tables and were gratefully received by the owner.
“Then check the ledgers!” Leonart exclaimed in desperation. The man’s inebriation prevented him from making his case as effectively as he hoped. “I specifically wrote it down. If that’s not good enough then ask Ian or Piegi or Martin. They were all there too. Better yet, ask Dogren! He’s the one that escorted her to the Esserat Trailhead!”
“Dogren?” A tattooed man barked, bringing the tavern to a temporary silence. “You’re telling me that that hard-ass let some foreign woman into the woods without issue?”
As a consequence of its peculiar existence, the town hosted the most druidic warrior orders in all of Strettia. These warriors sat within the walls of the tavern, their bodies covered in ink tapestries, took an extra interest in the tale at the mention of Dogren. All temples knew the importance of preserving a perimeter around the forest to prevent any emboldened spirit from breaking loose into the vulnerable farmlands and settlements that were only a short trip east. If any managed to slay a creature, delivering the carcass back to their home temple was an added bonus.
“Aye, this hard-ass did,” a gravelly voice reverberated from the doorway. A night wind howled behind him and frigid air swept into the tavern. “I just got back from dealing with our unusual visitor.”
The druidic warrior hung his axe on the wall and stepped into the light of the tavern. Despite the late season, the man opted to be bare chested, revealing the ursine tapestry that honored his order’s patron spirit. The patches of torso and arm skin that were not covered in depictions were reddened by the biting cold from outside.
“So Leonart was telling the truth?”
“Can’t a man have a drink first?” Dogren said gruffly, flipping a coin in the direction of the proprietor and greedily drinking his ale in a few gulps.
“Why was it so hard to believe me?” Leonart screamed in exasperation while Doreen patted him on the shoulder in consolation. He sighed and his body wilted as he sank in his posture. “Another drink for me as well.”
“Tell us why you let the witch in our woods, Dogren. Tell us why you think that the Order of Urzil has the authority to allow a pilgrim in without consulting the rest of us?”
“Leonart is a fool,” Dogren snapped back at the warrior that confronted him. “I took the witch to the Elder before escorting them to the trailhead. This foreign witch wasn’t like most. She had on her the seal of the Mother’s Cradle.”
An explosion of disparate conversations erupted all over the tavern. The effects of the drink made them all the more forthcoming with their opinions.
“A veritable seer then,” someone else commented.
“What was a true witch like?”
“Well,” Dogren said, downing another beer. “She was…a colorful character.”
A pair of travelers had reached the end of the miles-long dirt path that extended from the outskirts of Wes Adres into the Great Spirit Forest. The path terminated at a small, well-kept shrine. Carvings of various spiritual animals climbed the unpainted wooden pillars that flanked a wooden offering box in the center.
The warrior grunted and hefted a sheep carcass from his shoulder and into the collection box. A loud thud of the creature’s lifeless body along with the clanging of a bell that was hung from its neck echoed and clanged into the forest. A jar of the sheep’s blood was then poured over the body before the pair took several steps away from the box.
Nothing could be seen beyond the offering box. The short days of the late cycle were not suitable for the long travel the pair was embarking on and night had crept in early and covered the forest in an impenetrable darkness. The only light they had was the blood-soaked rag that had been ignited by the warrior of the pair. However, even such supernatural light could pierce the blackness that smothered them.
The witch procured a small pouch and dangled it in the flame of the torch. Once alight, the pouch released pungent aromatics that reeked of lavender, mint, and white fish. The warrior found the scent unpleasant, but did not voice his complaints.
Silence was all that greeted the waiting pair as the witch held the flaming pouch out into the night. Not even the chirp of a bird or a rustle in the underbrush indicated that there was anything that existed in the dense trees. Yet, there was a suffocating feeling that emanated from all directions. It was undoubted that the pair was being observed by several beings, none of which were humans.
“How certain are you that the person you seek is in this forest?” The warrior that was claimed to be mute spoke in the language of his homeland.
“The path to who I seek will be shown to us by a cat,” the witch reiterated in the same language as the warrior. “We’ve already tried Terispon, whose ruling clan symbol is a cat, and Cattun. Our only remaining lead is this Faeghin that we were told about.”
“And if this mythical ‘Quiet Stalker’ is not our cat?”
“Then we have failed to follow the vision properly and will have to give up on this lead,” the witch answered with a smile. “It’s too late in the cycle to try anything else.”
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Two yellow orbs shone brightly in the tree line. A silhouette made of the darkness itself housed the orbs. The creature darted back and forth in a soundless dance. Only its eyes betrayed the fact it was moving at all.
“Don’t look at it,” the witch advised as the pair averted their eyes.
The warrior was tense. The muscles on his neck had visibly tightened. It was against the harsh practices and lessons he went through as a boy to look away from a potential enemy. However, it was a greater sin to disobey. He stared at his feet and tried to focus on the sensations that pricked him on the neck. He would not allow himself to be caught unawares.
Yet, he felt nothing. There was no feeling in his body that was warning him of the lithe beast that prowled only a few strides away from them. He could not hear the snapping or the underbrush nor the sounds of hoarfrost crushed underneath paws. His spirit did not alert him of the invisible proximity of the beast. There was no telling just how far or near the creature was. It could be atop him and he would not realize until it was far too late.
“You smell lovely,” a guttural noise escaped the beast’s mouth and sent a gust of damp air at the pair.
“Are you the one that they call Faeghin?” The witch asked the beast. She still refused to make eye contact with the creature.
“I am,” Faeghin purred. Repeated sounds of movement came from the offering box. “For what reason have you brought such a delectable offering? Do you wish to keep your storehouses safe from vermin? Perhaps you have a need for someone to be hunted?”
“I am seeking someone who may be in this forest,” the witch answered. “I heard that you would be the one most capable of knowing their location.”
“You have shown impressive wisdom. I know many things about many of the occupants of this forest,” Faeghin answered, quite pleased with the flattery. “I am the one of the forest that is the most deserving of such an offering.”
The witch bowed towards the creature. “I am looking for someone that can see visions of things that are not yet to be. Do you know any that possess such abilities?”
“So you are the seer that seeks their fellow?” Faeghin answered with a bemused tone. Its large frame made every sound it made vibrate the entire body.
The witch made a face of surprise. “How do you know such things?”
“Several cycles ago, I made a fairly beneficial deal with a seer that earned me some small amounts of premonition. It was that ability that told me I should pay close attention to the collection box.”
“Do you know where that seer is now?”
Faeghin was silent for a moment. It was appraising the gift provided by the two humans. It sniffed around the sheep and licked it a couple times. The pair stood apprehensively during this inspection. If the offering was insufficient, they would have to leave the forest empty handed. They had not brought enough money for a more extravagant gift.
“Your offering is accepted. It’s much better than the grains and produce that the peasant farmers leave me.” The beast lifted the gift in its mouth and trotted away. “Follow me and I will show you where your seer friend is.”
The pair followed the near invisible beast into the night. The jangling bell around the sheep’s neck helped them stay close to Faeghin. The creature seemed disinterested if the humans that made the offering managed to keep up with its graceful movements.
The warrior had little difficulty keeping up. He used his burning blood to be the bridge that allowed the lagging witch to keep up. They had not been moving for much longer than half an hour, but the woman was already out of breath. Not wishing to irk the creature unnecessarily, the warrior had to speak up respectfully to assist his traveling partner.
“Faeghin, I ask that you slow yourself,” the warrior gruffly requested. “My patron is having difficulties keeping pace with your…elegant movements.”
The warrior could feel the beast had stopped and was staring directly at him. He continued to listen to his order and avert eye contact with the creature. His instincts and training started to enter the forefront of his mind. If Faeghin turned on them, would he be able to ward the beast off? He was deep within an unfamiliar forest against a creature that specialized in stealth. He started coming up with whatever meager countermeasures he could.
Instead, the beast yawned. “I forget how slow you all can be,” Faeghin responded without hostility. “It isn’t much further so try not to delay me any longer than my patience will allow.”
“Thank you for waiting for me, Faeghin,” the witch shared her appreciation now that she finally caught up.
“You’ve been properly subservient,” Faeghin answered. “You have earned a short break. But this will be the only one that you receive.”
The witch bowed and rummaged a waterskin out of her travel bags. While the witch regained her energy, the sounds of the carcass being ripped open came from the area where the beast was lounging. The bell clanged with every bite and adjustment of the corpse.
“I am ready, Faeghin,” the witch informed the beast.
The beast didn’t respond. Instead it took one more bite of its offering before bounding forward with the same indifference that it seemed to always possess.
Fortunately, Faeghin hadn’t lied to their new followers. The final destination was only an additional ten minutes away from their resting point. The beast stopped before a large rocky outcropping. A faint light emanated from deep inside the rocks. The sound of an unseen brook babbled nearby.
“You will find your friend inside that cave. With that, our agreement is complete,” Faeghin announced.
“Wait, Faeghin, how do we leave the forest?”
The cat seemed to sigh in exasperation. “Your eyes and instincts are weak as well. Go to the brook and pluck out one of my tails. If you invoke my name, it will point in the direction of where you came. In exchange, speak well of me to the farmers so they may ask for my help next harvest.”
“Will we need to worry about any other spirits during our exit?” The warrior spoke up, the safety of his patron paramount to all other things.
“No,” Faeghin responded plainly. “All that are above me have died or ascended to the higher plane, those that are my equal know better than to attack each other’s worshippers, and all below me fear me too much to try something. Speak well of me, so that I may ascend as well. I grow tired of life within this forest.”
“We will be sure to do so,” the witch reassured.
The beast bounded off, the bell clanging further and further away before fading entirely. The pair turned towards the rock outcropping and followed the light to find the entrance to a cave. A campfire smoldered at the very edge of the cave opening.
As they approached, they noticed a figure leaning against the cave’s wall. Their hair was gray and disheveled, cycles may have passed since it was last brushed. They wore weathered clothes and boots. A band of cloth wrapped around their eyes. Their lips were dry and cracked from the Faur air.
The witch tentatively approached the resting person. She made a troubled face and leaned closer to the individual.
“So you are the visitors I’ve been waiting for,” the woman spoke, causing the witch to jump backwards and the warrior to instinctively grab his hilt.
“Greetings, my name is Jaela Volo. This is my sworn protector, Zunjing.”
“A woman of the river and a man of the East. Have Killik’s Eyes finally decided that they need to execute the deserter?”
The blind seer did not seem concerned if their life was in mortal danger. They had not even moved from their spot along the wall save a few adjustments to their body’s position. In the flickering flames, it seemed that they even welcomed the proposition of death.
Jaela looked taken aback and attempted to assuage the person they sought. “No, no, we are no longer affiliated with the Cradle. We don’t even know who you are.”
“Then, pray tell me, why have you traveled to meet with this long forgotten traitor?”
“I had a vision in the blood,” Jaela explained. “In it, I saw that a cat would guide me to the answer of my conspired sacrifice. I did not know who I would meet when I arrived here. Though the fact that I met a fellow of the Cradle is fortunate.”
“You viewed your own future?” A hoarse chuckle exited the seer’s lips. “A foolish action that only can be performed by a brash youth. You say you saw your death in the blood?”
“I am familiar with the dangers. However, if I did not practice this, I would be long dead,” Jaela argued to her senior.
“And you wish to ask me why you were to be slain by Killik’s Eyes?”
“Yes,” Jaela confirmed. “Even more so if you were a member of the Eyeless.
The older seer cackled. “You misunderstand, girl. I possessed both of my eyes when I was a seer of the Cradle. I carved my eyes out and fed them to Faeghin in exchange for their protection. If Faeghin had detected hostility towards me from either of you, they would have slain you.”
“You were the one that gifted the ability of Premonition to that cat?” Jaela asked, aghast by the words spoken. “You would hand such a coveted ability to a spiritual creature in exchange for your life?”
“At the time, I was hunted by an angry noble that blamed me for their campaign’s failure. I was meant to be made a martyr to satisfy her angry subjects. A trade for my continued life was worthwhile.”
“I too, made a deal for my continued survival,” Jaela responded in a sympathetic voice. Zunjing made a face of displeasure.
The seer continued. “However, as you know, without sight, visions pour into your mind without need for a pool of blood. A flow of visions of actions and vague symbols without motive or nuance or morality. I knew you were coming, but did not know why. I have glimpsed the ever changing future of this realm over and over again. The conflict is always the same, but the winner is different. The result of that too, is beginning to become more certain as the events grow ever closer to happening. I now know that you come here not because we are of the same origin, kindred spirits. You come to me because, in my cycles of idling in these woods, I have glimpsed what it is that the Eyes fear. The event that they would have no qualms sacrificing a young and promising seer over. A sacrifice that they may soon enforce on a different soul.”
Jaela shuddered at the seer’s words. This forgotten woman of the woods who had achieved portents of a volume and severity that the witch will never see herself carried secrets that no mortal should possibly be able to learn.
“What is it that the Eyes seek?”
“It will be the marker by which we judge the end of the world as we know it. It is the event that none of the Eyeless can see beyond. The Eyes seek the Dawn, yet, they call it the Dusk.”