Belonging to the family of the arachnoids, the Tokra is assumed to originate from the cave complexes in the south of the Spine, just above the Hills of the Kila’tor. Its adaptability to different environments has given rise to at least a dozen subspecies that can be found in most parts of Ceraviehl.

What unifies every subspecies of the Tokra, however, is that they don’t build webs. Instead, they tend to trap their territory with almost invisible strands that break upon contact to alert the Tokra. Some varieties spit webs to trap their prey, other spew fumes with hallucinogenic properties, and yet others have a venomous bite able to paralyze their prey in a matter of heartbeats.

Excerpt from Bestiary of Ceraveihl: the Tokra, written by Acadia Boucher

Head down, Silas shifted through the crowded street, his long, green cowl covering most of his face. Their fleeting, judging glances accompanied his every step. Silas clutched his cloak tighter around himself. Hushed whispers barely reached his ears, concealed behind conspiring hands.

“Traitor.”

Silas carefully looked over his shoulder. Their eyes were averted, their backs turned to him. He didn’t belong here. Maybe he did, once, but not anymore. Not after what he’d done. Every step, the whispers followed him. Silas turned into a narrow alley, leaving the crowded street behind him. Heavy leather boots thudded against the rough stones of the dark alley.

Long shadows reached out to him, drawing their shifting forms over the splintered wooden walls of the houses on both sides. High buildings blocked what remained of the sparse daylight, their overarching bridges pressing down on Silas’ shoulders.

The steps grew louder. Ahead of him, the alley split into two directions. Silas walked faster, right towards the end of the alley. Two figures emerged from each one, heading straight towards him. He glanced back. Behind him, someone was reaching into their cloak. Black steel sucked up the light. Something tingled on his cheek.

He couldn’t escape.

Cold sweat ran down his spine. Silas reached behind his back. His spear wasn’t there. The figures closed in on him.

“Got you now, kinslayer.”

Silas absently scratched his itching cheek. A small crossbow pointed at his chest. He searched for something, anything to defend himself with. There was nothing. Only cold, unrelenting stone. The string hummed as the figure pulled the trigger.

Letting out a high-pitched scream, Silas woke up.

Curious, narrow green eyes met his. Fine auburn black hair fell over his face and tickled his skin. The girl looking down on him cocked one thin eyebrow. Two interlocking ovals were branded into her forehead, reminding Silas of a snake eating its tail. A moment of silence. He closed his still-gaping mouth.

Who was that odd-looking girl? His eyes widened in realization. She was a barbarian. Reaching out with his Artsight, he latched onto the first piece of wood he found and let it shoot towards the barbarian. He needed to defend himself.

“Creak! Creak, creak!” Gnarly tried to stop him, but Silas couldn’t leave himself vulnerable.

A fist-sized stone collided with the branch in mid-air as the girl punched him in the stomach. Silas wheezed as he tried to get the breath back in his lungs. The girl packed quite a punch. Taking a few cautious steps back, she made a series of hand gestures, strange sounds coming out her mouth. He couldn’t give them the advantage of momentum.

Counting the mother, father and the girl, he was outnumbered. He needed to act fast. The spear shot into his waiting hand as he lunged at the barbarian girl. If he could take one of them out before the others reacted, he would have a chance at them. The girl’s eyes widened as she gathered a few rocks around her, but she was too late. Suddenly, the woman was in front of him, her own spear colliding with his.

„Peace, Ravuhn. Not enemy.“

„Creak!“ Gnarly stood by his side, anger flooding through the bond. What was going on with him, and why hadn’t he helped him in the fight yet?“

„Now’s not the time, Gnarly,“ Silas hissed. His eyes flickered between the three barbarians. The man was still unarmed, and Silas didn’t think he would be of much use in a fight. His stance was all wrong, his balance off. The woman was different, however. Silas had barely seen her move.

He might be able to retreat into the woods and ambush them with his bow, but he doubted the woman would just let him go. A few fist-sized spikes floated in front of the girl. If he could get in close without the woman interferring, he’d be able to take her out. Sending his intentions through the bond, Silas prepared himself for his next attack. Refusal hit him like a hammer as Gnarly stared up at him.

„Creak!“

The man stepped forward, holding both hands into the air. A deep blue tunic went all the way down over his knees, with a wide, brown sash sitting around his waist. Wavy patterns the color of honey were stitched into it, with similar designs adorning his sleeves. Who knew what the barbarian concealed behind that wide tunic?

„Please Ravuhn, no fight,” he said. “Zaya, shuo,“ he laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder who frowned up at the tall barbarian. „Zaya, shuo,“ he repeated, calmer this time.

The girl let the spikes reluctantly fall to the ground without taking her eyes off Silas. Even the woman relaxed her stance. What kind of trap was this?

„We not want fight you, Ravuhn,“ the woman stated, not fooling Silas with her relaxed pose. She could strike forward at any moment, and Silas knew it. He tried to convey a sense of urgency as he communicated with Gnarly through the bond. If he stalled a bit, he could get through whatever issue Gnarly was having right now.

Silas took a few steps back. „Then what do you want?“

„Nothing. Watch while Ravuhn sleep. Be sorry for Zaya. Daughter have much emotion.“

Abruptly, the events from the day before surged into his mind. He had lost consciousness after the fight. But if he had passed out in their presence, why was he still alive? And what did they want from him?

For but a heartbeat, an image hung before his inner eye; A silver falcon stitched into a leather uniform, its wings streaked with dark blood. He had killed one of the Legion’s Invokers, the same contingent he had been wanting to join and saved the barbarians in the process.

Silas felt sick. He was a traitor, a slayer of his own people. Just like Elusco in his father’s stories. There was no way he would be able to join the Legion, not after what he’d done.

A sharp tug on his arm made him look down. Gnarly had wrapped his arms around his wrist to force his spear down. „Creak!“ For some reason, Gnarly didn’t perceive the barbarians as a threat. But Silas knew better. Not wanting to give his enemies an opening, he let his stance relax and lowered his spear so Gnarly released his hold on the weapon.

The woman bowed her head. „Thank you, Ravuhn.“

Silas frowned. „Why do you keep calling me that?“

The man looked at him with obvious confusion. “Is what you be.”

He gestured to a small hole in the road where part of the stones was gone, small pebbles still strewn about from the day before when Silas had vented his frustration. Looking down at his knuckles, Silas was surprised to see they were fine, apart from the skin still being bruised. Seems like Tom’s teaching methods hadn’t been for naught.

“Not know Ceraviehl have also Ravuhn warriors,” the tall barbarian said. “Be much honor invite for food.” He gestured behind him where an assortment of dried strips of meet and some kind of yellowish cubes lay abandoned. The woman shot a glance at the man before returning her attention to Silas.

Did they seriously think he would be so stupid as to fall into their trap? Perhaps they believed he would take his guard down if he ate with them. It bothered him that he still couldn’t explain why they hadn’t killed him while he slept. They obviously had to have some kind of plan, and Silas didn’t intend to play into their hands.

“I have food of my own,” Silas responded and put a few more steps between them. He’d underestimated their fighting power. As it was, Silas hated to admit that it seemed to be more or less even.

Between the three of them, only the woman was a real danger. Silas had seen it in her eyes. That calculating look, the calm, yet poised way she held herself, like a Derot waiting to strike at the right moment.

“Ravuhn, please. Us much honor food you,” the man pleaded, his lisping accent making him hard to understand.

“Creak!” For some reason, Gnarly seemed to want Silas to join the barbarians, although he couldn’t fathom why. On the other hand, his rations would only last him a few more days. Considering they all ate from one big plate, it also seemed unlikely they were trying to poison him. So why invite him? It didn’t make any sense.

The barbarians were up to something, and Silas couldn’t just let them roam free. Who knew what kind of havoc they would wreak on their way. He at least had to know what their goal. Maybe there were more of them involved.

If that was the case, him being with them or not wouldn’t matter, he would be outnumbered either way. Silas might be able to retrieve valuable information for the Legion, even if he couldn’t join their ranks anymore.

“Alright, but stop calling me Ravuhn. My name is Silas.”

The tall man nodded and bowed his head. “Name be Batu.”

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“Creak!” Gnarly introduced himself.

Bowing his head again in Gnarly’s direction, a slight smile tugged at the corner of the barbarian’s mouth. Silas followed the family, wary to keep his distance even as he sat down, carefully putting his spear so it pointed into the woman’s direction. If any of them tried to attack him, he could shoot it forward in a heartbeat.

“Nergui,” the woman introduced herself, offering him a few strips of meat and some of the odd-looking cubes.

“Silas.” His hand slowly reached for the strips of meat she held out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the girl observing him and Gnarly. He mechanically chewed his food, pretending not to keep his focus between the three barbarians.

The man coughed into his fist. “This be daughter, Zaya.”

Silas briefly met her eyes. She wouldn’t be much younger than him. For someone that small, she had quite the punching power. His stomach still hurt from earlier. One hand reaching for one of the yellow cubes, she didn’t say a word as she held his gaze. Even though Silas was taller than her, she somehow managed to look down on him. Silas scowled.

“What it eat?” The man’s deep voice broke the silence, one hand gesturing towards Gnarly. Silas tensed as the barbarians’s hand came within a feet of him and immediately infused energy into his spear. The woman’s eyes flickered towards him, her hand stopping for the fraction of a heartbeat before plopping another cube into her mouth.

Silas forced his muscles to relax. “Fruits, for the most part. Some vegetables as well, if they’re sweet.”

Zaya reached into one of the many pockets of her brown coat and offered a handful of dried berries to Gnarly. How dared she offer him food? There was no way Gnarly would accept food from a complete stranger like that.

“I don’t know what those…” However, Gnarly was already busy stuffing his face with the squishy-looking berries, much to the pleasure of Zaya. Why did Gnarly even trust her so much? Silas let his displeasure flow through the bond.

“Creak, creak,” Gnarly voiced absently while patting Silas’ knee, already looking up at Zaya for more.

Silas threw a dark glare at the barbarian girl. If those berries were poisoned, she would regret it a thousand times. Zaya rolled her eyes, deftly popping one of the berries into her mouth as she noticed his stare.

Batu shot a questioning look at Nergui, who nodded shortly after. “Where you go next, Ravuhn?” Batu asked him.

Silas tore his gaze away from Gnarly. Something about Zaya seemed off to him, even without that weird brand on her forehead. He shrugged his shoulders as he grabbed one of the yellow cubes. To his surprise, it tasted quite good. Some kind of dried cheese, apparently. “Don’t know. Maybe south.”

“We want go to Mountains of the Kila’tor. Us no war. Us no tribe,” Batu explained. “Much honor if Ravuhn come with.”

Zaya’s head whipped towards her father. A heated discussion between Zaya and her parents followed. Meanwhile, Gnarly used the opportunity to indulge himself on the remaining berries as he climbed into Zaya’s pocket. Silas kept a wary glance at Zaya, but the girl was too busy arguing with her parents. He urged Gnarly to come back to him, but his friend didn’t listen.

The offer from Batu caught him completely off-guard. What did they want from him? They had to have some ulterior motive. Barbarians and Ceraviehlians didn’t just travel together. Barbarians were a savage, cruel people. Silas had learned that at first hand.

The argument was eventually shut down when Nergui said something, her sharp voice cutting through the discussion. Zaya crossed her arms and averted her eyes.

Batu still waited for his response. Silas studied the tall man for a moment before opening his mouth. “Why?”

“Ravu—apologize,” he began as he corrected himself, “Silas save us from attack. Much debt. Also more safe travel—,” the barbarian paused, searching for the right word—, “ghajin,” he finished, cupping his hands together.

Silas snorted. He highly doubted he would be safer when traveling with them. They’d turn on him at any given time, that much was sure. He couldn’t help but wonder what their plan was, however. He hardly had anything on him, so killing him wouldn’t benefit them much.

Were they after his weapons? His bow was of obvious high quality, but they had seen him fight. They had to know they couldn’t beat him without risking serious losses.

A sudden creak interrupted his thoughts. Gnarly’s head peeked out from Zaya’s pocket, berry juice covering half his face. Oh no. Had the fruits been poisoned? Silas would show those barba—A deep burp caused half-chewed berries to spill on Zaya’s knee. Gnarly creaked in regret as he desperately tried to shove the berries back into his mouth.

Zaya didn’t seem to mind, however. Absently saying something to her parents, she stroked the bobbing sticks on Gnarly’s head with one hand as she watched Gnarly lick up the remaining berries from her knee. Nergui and Batu let out a collective sigh as they turned to Silas.

“Will Rav—Silas come with? Much honor,” Batu asked, giving him an easy smile.

Silas had no intention to help those barbarians reach the Kila’tor. Yet, he couldn’t just let them roam the countryside, either. Who knew what they were capable of. If he traveled with them, he could at least make sure they wouldn’t hurt anybody else.

He had wanted to go south anyway, so he might as well take it upon himself to watch them until they reached the mountains. And when they eventually showed their true face, he would deal with them himself.

“I think so, yes.”

***

A sense of calm swept over the woods as Silas sat beside the smoldering fire, watching the leaves gently rustle in the cool night breeze. Soft snoring came from behind him where the barbarians slept, wrapped in their blankets. He was surprised they let him take the first watch, alone. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, they seemed to trust him. He turned around, his eyes resting on their sleeping forms.

Face twisting into a grimace, his throat constricted as his mind brought him back to what he so desperately tried to forget. Hannah’s dress, soaked in blood. Her dull eyes judging him. “Son, you have to flee!” The barbarian’s boot stomped on Edgar’s head.

Loud cracks echoed in Silas’ ears. The earth felt too wet in his hands, too sticky. Tainted. His mother’s corpse lay before him, her dull eyes judging him as he sat there, paralyzed. Doing nothing.

The barbarian’s foot descended again. Edgar’s skull finally caved in, his limbs growing limp. But the barbarian didn’t stop there. With one cruel grin, he lifted his foot one more time and reduced Edgar’s head to unrecognizable pulp. Body spasming, his mouth continued to open and close as he pleaded for Silas to run. To flee.

And flee he did. Now Silas sat here, watching over three barbarians that were sound asleep. Vulnerable. He could do it, right here, right now. They wouldn’t even see it coming. His fingers trailed the smooth wood of his spear.

Yet, as soon as the thought emerged it dispersed again, fleeing from his grasp. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. After all his training, the opportunity to avenge his family had finally arrived. It would be so easy. Three arrows was all it would take. But even though they were barbarians, there was something about them that made the thought alone seem abhorrent. He just didn’t understand what.

Silas looked down at his sleeping friend. One of Gnarly’s legs moved while he dreamt, kicking the cloak away. Pulling the blanket over his little friend again, Silas let his gaze roam over the woods. He was free here, with the power to go anywhere he wanted.

Yet, he had never felt so caged. Thoughts tore at him left and right, each one pulling him into another direction. He let out a deep sigh as he tried to calm his troubled mind. He might not belong anywhere, but at least he still had Gnarly.

At first, Silas had wanted to join the Guild of Mages. Now, with Gnarly on his side, he couldn’t risk his friend’s safety. For the first time since many moons, Silas didn’t know what to do. Joining the Legion wasn’t an option anymore, not after he’d killed one of their members. He wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye.

The barbarians still had to be stopped. Silas had to do something, but he was still too weak. Even though the old man’s teachings had born fruit, Silas had just become a Wielder.

If he wanted to be able fight the barbarians on his own, he would need to reach the stage of a true Artist and become an Aspect. Silas knew that wouldn’t be easy. Most practitioners were stuck as Wielders. According to Tom, the disparity between the stages grew exponentially with each breakthrough as to the point that most Aspects would be able to defeat half a dozen Wielders .

To stop the barbarians and one day surpass his master, Silas needed to go above and beyond. While the Art of wood had been surprisingly versatile, his fighting style was still too limited. Back when he had connected with his first Art, another affinity had beckoned to him, sitting just at the edge of his perception.

Once he strengthened his connection to his Art of wood and finished infusing his body, Silas would try to awaken it and take his first step to become a true Artist. Then, with the power of an Aspect in his hands, he could fight the barbarians on his own.

Yet, raveling through the woods all the time would get stale eventually. And with the death of the Invoker still on his hands, he didn’t want to risk running into a contingent of the Legion. Better to wait a bit until the dust settled.

That left him with two options: the Kila’tor and the Endless Sands. The Kila’tor were a reclusive people, frowned upon for their reverence of the Matriarch, an ancient fabled beast. Silas didn’t think he’d be able to learn much from them.

The Drakh in the Endless Sands, on the other hand, dated their history back thousands of years, long before the foundation of Ceraviehl. Silas had always wanted to see the desert. They also didn’t have any relations to the Guild or the Legion, the last war between the Drakhonian empire and Ceraviehl still present in their minds. He could train there until he became an Aspect, and when he returned to Ceraviehl, he would be strong enough to face the barbarians.

Silas’ pondered on his newfound determination as the wind rustled the soft leaves of the trees, nothing else disturbing the quiet night of the forest. Proud oaks stood tall, their mighty branches blocking out the sparse moonlight.

Darkness lingered between the trees, its soothing presence calling out to him, promising him safety. Silas had the weird urge to quench the fire and let himself be enveloped by the darkness. To embrace it and make it his own.

Shaking his head, he reached inside his cloak and pulled the booklet Tom had given him on the day of his departure out of his pocket. Without a title, bound in used black leather, it didn’t look like much. Yet, Silas knew the old man had spent countless hours writing in it, oftentimes during the night. As if he’d known he would be leaving him eventually.

Silas opened the first page.

Apprentice,

Although your training under my tutelage may have finished earlier than I would have liked, that is no reason to neglect it. This book will serve as a guide as you walk along the path of the thousand Arts to solidify your progress as a Wielder and help you advance. If you ever find yourself before a bottleneck, feel free to come looking for me—You know where to find me.

It is of utmost importance that you continue both enhancing your body as well as training your Inner Landscape. A section of this booklet is dedicated to how you may proceed. The enhancement of one’s body is not something that is actively practiced (or accepted) in Ceraviehl, so do not, under any circumstances, show your capabilities to strangers.

You walk an untrodden path, my apprentice, and Artists, be they Mages from the Guild or not, may try to pry the knowledge out of you. Apart from advice on your training, some sections of this booklet intend to give you a rough overview of other topics such as culture, politics, language, and history. I expect you to study each of them with diligence.

I also want to use this opportunity to apologize in advance. You may eventually come to realize that I am not who you originally took me for. I hope there will one day come a time when you will understand. However, know that I have never lied to you, and never will. Everything I have done has been with the best intentions in mind, even if it may not seem like it at times.

As someone who has lived longer than he deemed possible, please take it to heart when I tell you there is nothing you can’t do if you free yourself from the chains that keep you down. I sincerely hope you won’t repeat the same mistakes I did when I was a young Artist trying to find justice in an unjust world. Don’t let your past determine your future, apprentice. Remember the story your father told you.

Remember what it means to be a Artist.

Silas stared at the old man’s neat handwriting. The tears came unwillingly, flowing down his cheeks and dripping onto the rough page in thick drops. Carefully drying the paper with the edge of his cloak, Silas wiped his eyes as a few low sobs escaped his throat. He wouldn’t forget, not ever.

Taking a deep breath, he began to read it again. With every time he read it, more questions arose. Why did Tom feel the need to apologize, and why did he want Silas to remember the story about Elusco, the one his father had told him? The old man had reacted a bit unusual when Silas had told him about the Bane’s story, but Silas couldn’t get a grip on why it was so important to Tom.

Had he perhaps known the Bane personally? It was a sombering thought, his master potentially being acquaintances with the most wanted Artist in all of Ceraviehl. Many believed Elusco had already died, anyway. Yet, even if Tom indeed had known the Bane, why wouldn’t he just tell him? It just didn’t make any sense.

Silas chuckled. Even now, the old man remained as cryptic as ever. Eventually, Tom would have to answer his questions, if he ever came back to his master’s cabin in the woods.

Some day.