At dawn the next day the early wakers of Harwall were met with the oddest of sights. Two men, one of slightly below average height and of lean build, the other a head taller than most and with slightly bulkier limbs, were walking down the street with a small cart pulled behind them. It wasn’t the two empty barrels crammed into the cart that drew the eye, nor was it the matching dark cloaks, one of which the smaller man was desperately attempting to disappear into. No, it was the fact that anything sticking out past the cloak was covered almost completely in colorful stains of paint. This included hands, hair, and face. There walked two people that looked like they been standing inside a the paint section of a supply store when it exploded. People turned, some pointed or stifled a laugh, others frowned in confusion. The few people that knew of the artist shrugged it off as another odd job or the results of a accident.
Cain felt like his head was about to explode from all the attention they were drawing as they made their way through the settlement towards the Pine gate. They had intended to go through the Lake gate at first, but after finding out that the church lay right next to it Cain had insisted they go through the Pine one instead. It was a detour, and it made their walk through the city longer and all the more jarring. Every single voice in Cain’s head, both from the Underground and from his own mind, all screamed in unison that standing out like this was not. A. Good. Thing.
Rowan’s carefree expression and relaxed prancing about didn’t make it any better. The artist seemed practically immune to the woes of standing out. He just smiled and waved at what few people stopped to comment or ask what was going on. He used the same excuse every time.
“The stack of paint buckets fell over. We’re out of water.”
A few chuckles and embarrassed head shakes that didn’t seem any way close to the seriousness Cain felt the situation demanded only bothered him further. He wanted to grab the taller man by the shoulders and shake him while screaming ‘DO YOU ENJOY DANGER?! IS THIS WHAT’S GOING ON?! WHY DIDN’T WE JUST CLIMB OVER A WALL?!’
Of course he didn’t, but each step of the way felt heavier the more he pushed the urge back. He was very sure they could have scaled the wall. It was just wood! Wood with sharpened edges lining the top. But wood! Wood was easy. They got wood. Wood was not a danger worth worrying over. Two changelings drawing the attention of half the city with a dubious excuse was worth worrying over. He wanted to scream and yell and run as fast as he could until they were far, far, away from all the staring eyes. Instead he quietly spoke to the artist, not even turning his head to look at him out of fear that he’d miss someone charging at them with a sword or something. It felt like a silly fear, but all the eyes on him had him feeling exposed and in danger.
“I can’t figure out if you’re masochistic or just a sadist.”
“What?” Rowan turned to look at him, confusion written on his face. And not a shred of concern. The bastard.
“You’re either doing this to torture me, or you just enjoy risking your own neck like this. We could have gone about this differently,” Cain murmured, eyes scanning every direction as discreetly as he could. Rowan just blinked.
“We couldn’t really. This was the best solution.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s the best I could think of.”
Cain felt the need to scream again, for entirely new reasons. Was the werewolf just dumb? Was that it? What idiot would come up with a plan like-
“Rowan? What in the world happened now.”
Cain did scream then, internally. Externally only a squeak was heard. The priest was back, this time clad in civilian clothes that made him deceptively hard to pick out as a priest without the siren like noise of the coin belt giving him away. To Cain’s great dismay Rowan didn’t seem bothered by the priest at all. He almost seemed happy to see him. Traitor!
“Bucket stack fell over,” Rowan said with a sheepish smile. Cain did his best to hide behind the artist. The priest spotted the movement and took a step to the side to get a look at him. The air around him felt thick and prickly to the demon, and he had no doubt that it would feel much worse if he got closer.
“And who’s the victim here?” Marian asked while trying not to laugh. While the priest was obviously amused by the paint, and what he assumed to be Cain trying to hide his colorful face out of embarrassment, Cain himself was convinced that the priest was homing in on him like a predator toying with a mouse.
“A friend- Cain where are you going?” Rowan half spun, only now noticing the demon trying to use him as a barrier between himself and the priest. Marian snickered and let Cain slip behind Rowan’s back and out of sight.
“Did you both roll around in the mess too?”
“It was a tall stack,” Rowan explained.
“You really should clean up your place, Rowan.”
“Too much stuff in the way.”
“Cleaning involves throwing out stuff you don’t need too you know.”
“But I need my stuff.”
Marian folded his arms and gave Rowan a bemused look. The artist scratched his neck and held the stare until Marian gave up.
“Mess invites unpleasant things. You still haven’t told me about the changeling.”
Behind him Rowan felt Cain freeze up. He chose his words carefully when he replied, feeling the demon get ready to bolt.
“I didn’t really get a look at it. I just noticed… something, then things went blurry and I sorta blacked out.”
“You said something about a chicken,” Marian said.
“Coulda been Herman getting in again. You know how Margret says that rooster will fight anything. Wouldn’t surprise me if it went after a changeling.”
The priest didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“What are you hiding from me, Rowan?”
Taking a step back as Marian took one closer, Rowan almost tripped as he forgot Cain was hiding behind him. The demon let out a startled squeak, which made Marian blink and take a step back. Not long after did the herbal sweet scent Rowan had learnt to associate with Cain’s magic seep into the air around them. Still feeling the effect of Margret’s tea linger, the scent didn’t have the usual effect on Rowan. Marian was not so lucky.
It worked slower on him from the looks of it, but the priest did blink in confusion as his eyes lost some of their edge and grew hazy. His pupils dilated slowly as the magic set in, and contrary to what Cain had intended, the priest advanced again rather than stay dazed in place so they could flee.
Rowan barely registered Cain snatching the handle of the cart from his hand, his attention too set on Marian to pay attention to the demon. The distraction before him was enough for recognition to reach his brain in a timely manner, and only as Marian took another step forwards and grabbed his arm did it connect for him that the priest got caught up in Cain’s magic. He only vaguely saw Cain sneak past him, cart in tow.
“I want you to tell me, Rowan.” Marian’s voice was a low, demanding purr.
The priest looked at him intently, despite the haze of the demon’s magic, and something about the intense stare had Rowan stumbling for words. He felt the air around the priest tingle, and as Marian took a last step closer and tugged his arm downwards he felt the sudden urge to kneel down before the priest. Catching himself just as his legs were about to buckle, Rowan grabbed Marian by the shoulders and firmly pushed him back.
“I- uh.. I gotta go.” Stumbling back as Marian reached for him again, Rowan quickly made his escape while Marian stood frowning in the same spot. The priest’s mind chugged along slowly, only catching up as Rowan ran around a corner to follow Cain. Blinking the haze from his mind, the priest stood alone in the street and wondered what had just come over him.
Cain ran surprisingly fast, despite the heavy cart with its two empty barrels. Rowan had to put in some effort to catch up. When he did, both of them were winded, Cain so more than Rowan, and the gate was visible down the street.
“What the hell was that?” Rowan wheezed, but the anger in his voice was clear. Cain avoided his gaze and kept pulling the cart, at a calmer pace this time.
“I got scared.”
“Of what?!”
“The priest,” he hissed, careful not to be too loud in case someone was listening. Only a few heads turned, but most were too busy making their way towards the gate with horses and wagons in tow to care about two odd looking guys bickering on the side of the street.
Rowan balled his fists as he followed Cain towards the Pine gate.
“Don’t do that again,” was all he managed to come up with. Cain grunted and bit back, “I know. He’ll notice next time.”
Rowan kept quiet. That wasn’t really what he meant, but he didn’t have a better reason he realized. He just didn’t like the idea of Cain snaring Marian with that scent.
They reached the gate without another word and lined up with the rest of the people heading out. Mostly hunters and traders trying to gain a few minutes by avoiding the crowded road leading through the Lake or Maple gate. A number of guards roamed about checking carts and identifying people. A few tended to people entering Harwall, which was unusual at this hour. As Rowan and Cain drew closer to the gate they spotted one such person as they strode up to the pair of guards checking people returning to the settlement.
Margret Rotwall, in all her eccentric glory, strode up to the guards clad in a heavy cloak barely hiding the large bag she carried by her side. A few filled pouches hung from her belt judging by the bulges beneath the dark cloth. She had her hair pulled back tightly against her skull, and her pale eyes held a spark that seemed both patient and eager to get the check over with. As the guards greeted her the bag to her side let out a muffled shriek. A headache hit Rowan nearly instantly, making him wince as he stood waiting with Cain for the guards on their side to wave them forward.
The guard nearest to Margret eyed the bag dubiously while the other cleared his throat.
“What’s in the bag miss Rotwall?”
“I caught a badger,” she proudly announced. Everyone within earshot paused and stared at the hissing bag. Something moved fervently within it.
“A… badger,” the guard repeated.
“A badger,” Margret confirmed, smiling innocently.
“And what uh, what do you intend to do with the badger ma’m?”
“I intend to raise it as my own, and maybe teach it the art of alchemy and infiltration,” she proclaimed. The guard just stared.
“Is this about miss Johnsson again?” The guard asked tiredly.
“When is it not about Josey?” Margret shot back. The guard sighed, apparently used to this topic.
“Miss Rotwall, if you set a wild animal loose in miss Johnsson’s house again we will have to arrest you this time,” he explained, to which Margret just huffed and waved dismissively.
“To the hunter what they catch. I’ll make it a fine pet. Am I free to go or do you want me to let it loose right here for you to check?”
The old lady made a dangerous move to open up the bag and spill the presumably furious badger out onto the street. A few merchants backed away warily, and hunter, who knew better, spun on their heels and ran. Cain was too new to the Above to realize the danger of what a released badger from the Pines entailed, and the proud and slightly daft part of Rowan’s brain dubbed the ‘feral side’ stubbornly announced that it could take it if it came to that, so the artist remained in place.
Luckily no badger was let loose as the two guards hurriedly waved Margret along before she could unleash the beast upon the morning crowd. She smiled smugly as she strode past the gaping line of people waiting to be let out of the settlement, and as Herman the rooster from hell came hurtling through the air towards Margret a few screamed and ducked for cover. The rooster gave one slow flap of its wings, slowing its fall far more than physics should allow, then landed surprisingly gently on Margret’s shoulder. It didn’t slow her for a second.
The alchemist disappeared around a corner with rooster and screeching bag, and soon after the line of people breathed out in relief. Cain just stared in confusion.
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“What just happened?” he asked.
“Have you ever seen a beast of the Pines?” Rowan asked.
Cain shook his head.
A guard that overheard answered, “Know that Margret Rotwall would win. There is nothing stopping that blind old lady.”
“I don’t believe that she’s blind. Might look it, but I swear she keeps staring right through me whenever we meet,” another guard said.
Then the pair noticed the paint covering both Cain and Rowan and the crowd got something new to gawk at. The story of a falling pile of paint buckets held, but only because one of the guards knew of the artist’s messy reputation. They were waved along to go fetch their water from the lake, along with a few jokes about not dying the lake with all that paint they were covered in. By the time they made it onto the road outside the settlement Cain’s cheeks were burning and he was pretty sure that Rowan was either daft or a masochist enjoying public humiliation. Possibly both. Deaf he was not, because he noticed Cain’s mumbling and promptly punched him in the arm when the insults started getting a bit too explicit.
The pair wandered along the wall of the settlement until they’d gone far enough to spot the road leading away from the Maple gate. Once in view of the lake far in the distance they got a nasty surprise. The Maples had crept way closer to the lake overnight, and now fiery red trees blotted out parts of the paths and half of the shore around the lake itself. The stone quarry had been engulfed by the forest and lay well out of sight somewhere behind the tree line.
Cain, who had never set foot outside Harwall until then didn’t react much, but Rowan slowed his pace when he saw that they would have to go through the forest to get to the lake. When the demon noticed his companion slowing he too hesitated and eyed the trees.
“Why are we slowing?” He asked.
“The Maples have moved. We’ll have to go through it.” Rowan didn’t take his eyes away from the forest, despite it being a good walk away from their current position.
“Moved?” Cain looked at the artist. Rowan blinked, then gave Cain a puzzled look as if he didn’t expect the question. When he saw Cain looking at him seriously, he realized that the question was genuine.
“They do that sometimes. Places with guardians like forest rås and such. Usually at night when it’s hard to see. The trees just up and walks wherever they please, always in a group,” he explained. Cain still looked confused.
“And what does this mean for us?”
Rowan scratched his neck as if unsure how to explain, then tried his best.
“It’s dangerous in forests. Lots of things live in them and there’s plenty of places to hide. It’s a risk to travel through it, but we must if we’re to get to the lake.”
“And the lake is the only place with water?” Cain asked dubiously. Rowan nodded.
“It’s either from the source or from someone that already hauled a load of water to the settlement. There’s merchants selling barrels of it most of the time.”
“And why couldn’t we have skipped the long walk and bought one then?”
“That costs money.”
Cain waited for something more, but the artist remained quiet, so he pushed on.
“And… don’t we have money?”
Rowan gave him a odd look.
“I have money. Last I checked you didn’t even have clothes.”
“I have clothes.”
Rowan blinked. “Then why didn’t you put those on before you tried to bash my head in?”
“You ripped them apart.” Cain shrugged. Rowan blinked, mouth half open in confusion.
“You were naked when you ambushed me,” he said hesitantly.
“Before that.”
“What do you mean before that?”
A nasty grin spread over the demon’s face.
“When you pulled me into your house and fucked me raw.”
Rowan’s face turned redder than the approaching treeline. He tried to stutter a reply, but Cain just laughed and sped up his pace. The artist hurried after him.
“I didn’t- did not do that!”
“I’m still sore after it,” Cain taunted.
“Liar!”
The demon cackled as they made their way towards the lake hidden by maple trees. Rowan tried his best to deny any sort of steamy business, but Cain poked holes in each argument. When the knot came up the artist shut his mouth and strode ahead with a huff. A few steps later the maple forest engulfed them.
Tall trees with pale trunks and leaves the color of fire grew in every direction, lower trunks free of branches, lichen, or anything to block out their pristine bark. A few other types of trees stood hidden among the maples, alone and surrounded in a way that made them seem unwelcome and bullied. There was something proud about the Maples, something fierce and unforgiving. The rå of the Maples was known to cause far more casualties than the Pines, and its presence around the frequently visited lake and quarry spelled trouble. Usually the red forest would stay away from the lake, same with the Pines. There was something about the large pool of water that made them keep their distance, but not today for some reason.
The pale trunks and thick roof of leaves made the forest feel vast, but the eye couldn’t travel very far without a tree blocking it. It was a large place, easy to move through thanks to the lack of undergrowth. Only tall grass and a few daring shrubs covered the ground past the trodden path leading through the forest. Small things moved in those hidden spots, adding a rustling hum to the whispering from the trees. It was the kind of silence one didn’t want to break, for fear of angering the silent ones watching.
And watch they did. Rowan could feel the hairs on his skin standing up as the continued along the path. Nothing grew on the path, not even the grass. Where man and tame animals traveled, the Maples kept clear. It left them such a thin strip of ground to walk on.
The wind changed direction as they walked, and rising hair turned to goosebumps as Rowan caught the scent of blood on the breeze. A few steps later Cain noticed it too. Unlike the werewolf, the demon shivered, then tried to pick up the pace. Rowan stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. Cain blinked, then turned around and opened his mouth to ask what was going on. Rowan pressed a hand over his mouth before he could make a sound. Startled, Cain stared at Rowan as the artist looked around, body tense and frightened. The wind changed again, and this time it came with the deep scent of wet plants and murky water.
Rowan stood frozen for a moment more, waiting for something to leap out at them. When nothing came, he hesitantly grabbed the cart handle and took another step down the road. Cain held his breath as they started to move again. The trees stared at them silently as they walked.
They passed the quarry on their way to the lake, and to both’s horror they saw blood and gore covering the ground. Not a limb remained, but things better left on the inside lied strewn about like discarded clothes, unwillingly shed no doubt. The pair of changelings heard something move within the pit the missing workers had been working on and promptly took their leave before whatever was panting heavily down there could get to them. Rowan’s sensitive ears picked up a last sound from the pit as they continued. A low, far too deep moan, ending in a rasping hiss. Claws on stone followed the sound like the limbs of a insect, too many and too steady. They hurried on.
The lake should have been just around the corner, but the trees had other ideas and led them on a long dwindling walk that made Rowan’s heart speed up. Were they buying time? For who? For what? He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to meet it, they, them. Terrible things happened in the Maples, but very rarely did signs remain. The rå seemed to hate messy things as much as she adored red of any kind. She kept her domain tidy, sorted, and disturbingly different from intruders. They did not fit in there, not at all.
Just as the artist was about to give up on reaching the lake, rather than spending a second more than he had to among the trees, the forest split and spat them out. It was that abrupt of a change. One second they were surrounded on all sides by the silent trees, the next they took a step and found themselves on the outside again. Or close to it rather.
It was a clearing, as large as the lake. The dark gathering of water lay in the middle, fenced in by the trees. Reeds and other plants had been squashed close to the water, not a single one of them allowed to spread past the tree line. It felt like a cage more than a open place. A place of white bars and a red layer of spikes scaring away any would be climbers.
Cain made a whoop that felt entirely inappropriate to the artist. The demon refused to be hushed, so with a defeated sigh Rowan picked up the pace again and they went for the lake.
It was only a few paces left until they reached the water, but clearly that was enough for whatever had followed them from the forest. Rowan felt a rush of air, then a sudden numbness in his left leg. Cain screeched as Rowan fell to his knees, a pale shafted arrow dug straight through his knee. It was large enough to skewer a deer, and thin enough to seem brittle. Brittle it was not, seeing how it refused to budge from its position with the head buried in the ground and a ring of flesh and bone keeping the artist from moving away from it. It should have been called a spear given its size, but the large black feathers sunk its the back of it at seemingly random angles made its intended use perfectly clear, if a bit misguided. The attacker soon made it apparent that the arrow’s size had been kept in mind when constructing the bow, even if the laws of physics had been completely ignored. A woman, at least in shape if not in spirit, came hurtling through the treeline at a speed that defied both her skinny legs and the limits gravity should have on her body. She ignored such attempts of keeping her stuck and the ground and leapt.
Each leap carried her forwards at breakneck speed and within seconds she had crossed the distance from where she emerged and to the position of her downed prey. Rowan’s eyes widened in terror as she raised a bow of white twigs and aimed a second oversized arrow towards his face. The tip lacked a head, but had been whittled down into a sharp point instead.
Rowan stood frozen, leg pinned in place by the first arrow and body frozen in shock. He searched for the feeling of rage that would trigger the change, but found only crushing fear and submission in the part of his mind that the beast resided in. He stared into the rå’s eyes as she pulled the arrow back and knew, that as mad as it was, the wolf would never dare show defiance to a guardian in her own domain. She had branded him prey, and so he was.
Cain who was not bound by any such rules of the wilds tackled Rowan with enough force to rip both arrow and the remains of the artist’s knee with him. Flashes of pain made the world go black as the shaft of wood tore free from his flesh, taking chunks of bone and muscle with it as it went. Water hit his face when he came too again, and as the world came crashing back into focus he saw the second arrow buried halfway into the ground where he’d been pinned before. Cain grunted as he lugged his body away from the rå and her projectiles, but a third arrow was already making its way to the bow. The quiver on her back could have held a man, if said man was split down into halves. He had a feeling she’d tried that before. It was an odd thing to think of in his situation, but Rowan’s mind was still reeling from the pain trying to fight its way past the shock.
He vaguely felt Cain’s arm around his chest, trying to hold him up as he dragged him back, water sloshing around them at knee height. Had they stumbled into the lake? The rå let out a enraged shriek as she fired the third arrow, and Rowan felt Cain jolt back in fear as it came hurtling towards them. The world slowed a bit, just enough for Rowan to catch what happened next. A hand shoot out towards the arrow, and for a second he thought that Cain had somehow caught the projectile mid air. That theory didn’t hold. Cain looked just as shocked, and when he lost hold of Rowan and stumbled back the artist saw who the hand belonged to. Or rather, to what.
Murky tendrils of green and black hung from a pale, thin arm. The pale arrow hung in the air horizontally, shaft at a stark contrast with the almost greenish hand. As Rowan stared the arrow shuddered, then slouched like a wilted stalk and fell from the hand as a blackened length of slush, decayed and soft, as if it’d stayed at the bottom of the lake for months.
A short, barking laugh bellowed from behind the two changelings, and as both turned to stare at the owner of the pale hand it let out a gurgling wheeze of mirth. The rå stood a few paces away from the water, now still and furious.
Just like the rå of the Pines, this one had deemed mortal clothing a silly thing. She stood naked and pale, skin like the trunks of her trees, white and smooth. A wild mane of red hair covered her backside all the way down to her knees, only parting to make room for the quiver of dark leather hanging down her back. She had a sharp but young face, strict and contorted with rage. Her eyes were a vibrant yellow, bordering on green, and the sclera was dark enough to turn her stare into something feral. She snarled with serrated teeth at them where they stood, bow still raised but lacking a arrow.
The arrow that the lake creature had dissolved. It too had something unreal about it, but in a much more alien way. Where sludge and wilted reeds didn’t hide its form as a bulbous mass, the pale limbs of a man poked out, but not in a way that made sense for a human body. The arm was held out at a reasonable angle and height, but a second arm jutted out its side like someone had just stuck it there and left. Legs of both man and horse showed whenever the heap of lake bottom sludge lurched upwards as if trying to pull itself out of the water.
“Trying to steal prey from me again Laaaan?” A voice that weighted down on Rowan’s ears rose out of the creature, and as he stared it turned its stretched out hand palm up in a questioning gesture. The rå’s mouth formed a thin, angry line.
“Right there. They’re at the very edge. Before you got them, I’ve drawn blood. Give.”
When she spoke it was with authority and a hint of childish impatience. The voice had no definite source, but came from several directions a once, but unlike Esbi, her’s sounded far off, as if they only heard a echo, or as if a wall was in between them. She held out a hand to match the lake creature, but in a demanding gesture rather than his questioning on. The lake man let out another barking laugh.
“I don’t care where they were. They are here now Lan. Wanna chat? If not, then leave.”
While the rå’s frown of rage deepened, the pain of losing majority of his knee finally pushed past the shock and adrenaline. Rowan let out a startled gasp and fell over, shaking hands trying to clutch at what remained of his knee. The lake water hit the injury and sent a wave of agony through him. Both rå and lake man paused to look at him squirm, as if they hadn’t expected him to interrupt their talk. To Rowan’s surprise, the change kicked in and started healing the shredded knee, flesh bubbling with activity beneath the murky water. It hurt even worse, but at least it would heal. If he’d been any less insane with pain he might have figured out that being outside of Lan’s domain had released the block she had on his wilder side. Her presence still held a pressure on his mind, but he was no longer bound to her will like any other beast roaming her forest.
While he struggled to stay conscious through the pain, Cain suddenly piped up somewhere out of his vision. The demon let out a disorienting chatter, too many sounds coming out of his mouth at once to make sense of. Both rå and lake man blinked in surprise, then turned their attention to the babbling demon. The rå’s expression changed from impatient bloodlust to just mildly annoyed and curious. Once Cain finished whatever he was saying in that confusing manner, the rå responded in kind, a dosen voices overlapping at once in a cacophony of noise.
It hurt Rowan’s head just trying to make sense of what was said, so he focused on not screaming out loud over his squirming wound instead. He almost succeeded. The others ignored him, interest lost and given to the demon instead. The lake man let out a short cackle, then spoke with a normal voice, either incapable or unwilling to speak like the other two, but clearly able to understand them.
“Sounds interesting enough. And Lan, you are trespassing. They’ve already carved their marks into this area.”
The rå scoffed and said something, still with far too many voices at once. Rowan’s pained grunting was fading now, bone back in place and whole again. The skin was already squirming to cover the torn area again as red muscle writhed and regenerated the lost mass. The lake man didn’t seem impressed by Lan’s reply.
“Have you no manners?”
“Speak for yourself,” she bit back.
“I’ve yet to do any manhandling or violence on them. I consider that plenty polite you old shrubbery.”
Lan perked a brow. “And you don’t intend to?”
“Oh I do, but right now I’m harassing you. One thing at a time. If I was anywhere as impatient as you or Esbi life would just fly by without me having enjoyed it. I still got all my marbles unlike you.”
The rå grimaced and folded her arms, bow hung from one elbow.
“Get on with it then.” Short sentences seemed to come easier to her, no unexpected change of tone or intruding words scrambling the sentence. She was a bit better at sounding mortal than the Pines rå. Which reminded Rowan of something the other one had said to him. He figured now was as good a time as any to get it off his shoulders. Having that task weigh on his shoulders for longer than needed would doubtlessly get him in trouble after all, so with a shaky voice he spoke up, drawing the attention of the two back to himself.
“Erh, the rå of the Pines told me to find her… lover? She said to…” Rowan’s voice grew more and more uncertain as Lan stared him down. When he quieted down she rolled a hand and told him to get on with it.
“-...said her lover could have the settlement-”
“Don’t want it,” she cut off before he could finish.
“No? Then you won’t mind if I take it will you?” The lake man’s sludge covered body squirmed with excitement, tendrils of mud and reeds undulating restlessly. Rowan hurriedly added, “But the lake cannot, she said,” and hoped that would be enough to stop whatever the lake taking Harwall meant.
“You heard. No. Esbi says you can’t.”
“But you don’t want it either, which is a lie by the way judging by the amount of people you’ve had your pets down this morning alone.”
“For fun. It’s not a gift I want. I won’t take it because she gave it to me. Curse you Telrind.”
And with that Lan spun around and started off towards the Maples again, interest gone in a second and bow hung over a shoulder. Rowan blinked at her back, then saw she was gone when his eyes opened again. He didn’t have time to breath out though, because just a second or two after the rå had left, the lake bottom sludge surged to life and crept towards him.
Rowan gave a startled yelp and tried to scramble away from it, but the sentient mud lashed out and wrapped around his legs before he could get anywhere. Somewhere behind the lake man he could hear Cain meet the same fate.
“Now now, what to do with the both of you. Does that freakish regeneration help against drowning I wonder?”
Telrind turned its body towards Rowan, and for a moment he could see a wide grin of yellow teeth beneath the cover of muck and debris. Panicking, Rowan waved his hands and protested.
“Wait wait- let’s do something else! A favor? Something!”
The sludge kept creeping around him, swallowing up his legs completely. The muck cover seemed to expand and grow larger around the lake man. Telrind lurched closer and down a little, so that the grinning face beneath the muck was at eye level with Rowan. The artist saw a pair of thin arms rise up and rest their elbows on a section of mud moving up to support them, then pale hands folding beneath Telrind’s chin.
“Speak little dog. What would you do to live. What use do you have?”
Just behind the sludge monster Rowan could see a large tentacle like gathering of muck and reeds rear up, a terrified demon held by the waist upside down by it. Cain wisely kept quiet but Rowan could tell he was about two seconds away from spreading his pheromones all over the place in a panic, so he spoke quickly.
“I’m an artist, a werewolf, I could uh, run fast. Message-? Do something uh… A favor or.. something.”
His mind was spinning too fast to come up with anything useful to offer the lake man. At least he thought so, but when he shut up Telrind actually smiled wider.
“An artist? Build me something. I want to sink boats like the sea does. Large, grand things. You know people don’t you? With your craft you should. Get me a boat to tear apart and I’ll call it even.”
Rowan nodded rapidly. He could do that. Somehow. He could probably ask Marian and the town chief for help. Keeping the lake happy might mean less deaths around it so it would be in the settlement’s best interest to appease the lake man.
“Grand! Oh, and I’ll keep the incubus while you go do that, so don’t take too long. I won’t kill him of course. Too precious a thing to waste like that.”
Rowan made to protest, but then spotted Cain waving his arms furiously behind Telrind’s back. The demon had been staring intently at the squirming tentacles of mud moving about. Now he gave Rowan a determined look and gave him a thumbs up. Rowan just stared at him blankly.
“Deal?” Telrind urged.
“Deal,” Rowan confirmed. The mud around his legs surged back at once, leaving him free to stand up and go. Which he did, after one last look to make sure Cain didn’t change his mind and was begging to be saved. The demon seemed perfectly happy to dangle from the mud limb, so Rowan hesitantly looked for the cart. He noticed that the barrel was filled up with water, and when he looked back at Telrind he saw the lakeman wink a inky black eye from beneath the sludge.
Silently Rowan grabbed the cart and went on his way towards the Maples. He hesitated at the edge of the trees, but no Lan appeared, so he continued on as fast as the cart would allow him. Somewhere behind him Telrind sunk back into the lake, pulling Cain with him.