“The difficulties in bonding a beast are as numerous as they are dangerous. Apart from the risk of the beast gaining control of the Artist, the beast may easily damage the Artists Landscape, if not properly subjugated.”

Excerpt from On the Process of Bonding, written by Ikbal nur Yephran

Silas’ legs stung with each step he took, yesterday’s mad stumble through the high undergrowth having taken its toll. Silas winced as he looked down. Countless scratches drew themselves across his legs, the white of his skin hiding behind a brownish mixture of dirt and congealed blood.

‘Left, right. Left, right.’ Silas repeated the mantra in his head as he walked, almost bumping into a tree in front of him. His mind fought a never-ending battle to keep the memories at bay. If only he had been stronger, less afraid. Then things might have turned out differently.

‘Left, right. Left, right.’

Fear.

It had been his fear that had made him freeze up. Watching it all happen as he stood there, doing nothing. Silas cursed himself for his weakness. Muscles tensing up, his steps quickened as the blood pumped through his body, burning him from within. No more. ‘Left, right.’ His feet stomped on the earth. Never again would he let the fear take control. It had taken everything from him, leaving him with nothing but guilt for his inaction.

A sharp tug at his earlobe brought him back. “Creak!”

“Thank you, Gnarly.” His wooden friend softly patted his head with one of his arms. “Creak.”

The forest around him looked the same as it had the day before. Large oaks stood domineering, their thick trunks a stark contrast to the thin birches with their mat, grey bark. Thick fog hung in the air and shrouded the path ahead of him.

So dense one could hardly see the sky, the canopy above Silas seemed determined to not let a single shred of light through its roof. Where it did, the various branches and leaves of brown and green split up the trespassing sunlight, creating salient rays that pierced the fog and gave it a tangerine sheen.

Silas glanced over his shoulder. “Are we still going in the right direction?”

Gnarly paused for a few heartbeats before pointing slightly to their right. Silas stepped around a large bush, a scrap of his pants getting caught on its thorny branches.

“Where are we even heading towards? Are you sure this is the way?”

A low, drawn out sound came from Gnarly that could only be interpreted as a sigh. “Creak.”

“I really hope you know where we’re going. Because I don’t think I would find the way back to the tree, either.”

Gnarly suddenly pulled on his earlobe, pointing to a large bush a few feet away from them. Mouth half open, his eyes focused on the plump berries hanging from it. Commonly referred to as Bluesting, the bush grew in almost any forest. It held blue, almost purple berries that were known for their sweetness. Barbed thorns easily capable of ripping open one’s skin protected the fruits.

Gingerly picking a few of the thumb-sized berries, Silas held one of them to Gnarly who gripped the berry with both of his arms. His effort to shove the whole fruit into its mouth failed though, so Gnarly opted to take as large a bite out of it as possible. Eyes half closed, he let out a content creak as he chewed the berry. Silas chuckled. He picked a few berries for himself, their juice a welcome relief for his parched throat.

“Good, right?” A muffled creak came from Gnarly, who had just finished the berry. “You want more?” Instead of responding, Silas’ new friend reached out to grab another one. Yet his arms could not reach the berry. The creature’s brows furrowed in concentration. Seeing his friend’s struggle, Silas moved to pluck the berry.

His hand abruptly stopped as he looked at Gnarly. The vines that made up his arms started to twist and shift, elongating until Gnarly’s fingers latched onto the purple fruit. His arms reverted to their usual length soon afterwards, the berry already in its mouth.

“What was that?” he asked, the berry in his own hand momentarily forgotten. His companion gestured to the Bluesting and then to his arms.

“Creak. Creak creak.”

“But how?”

Gnarly cocked his head, the sticks on top of it waggling with the movement. “Creak.” After having successfully shoved it into his mouth, the arms grew once more to pick another berry. Each fruit was almost as large as his head.

“Where does it even go?” Silas muttered. Although the berries were hardly enough for himself, they at least helped alleviate the pain in his stomach. “Where to now, Gnarly?”

Right arm pointing to his left, Silas stood up again. Which was, apparently, too fast for Gnarly’s stomach. An unusual deep burp sounded from his shoulder, and bits of berry spew out of the creature’s mouth. However, Gnarly simply shoved the rebellious chunks of fruity flesh back to where they belonged, not appearing to be bothered by such a minor inconvenience.

Silas was certainly grateful for the creature’s company, but he also wondered what kind of creature Gnarly actually was. While his wooden appearance alone was odd enough, the eyes were what made it appear truly otherwordly. The lack of pupils accentuated the swirling silvery threads within them, giving its eyes a depth that drew him in whenever he glanced at Gnarly.

Where did he come from? He seemed to have just walked into Silas’ little niche as he slept, yet he couldn’t imagine the creature having walked very far, as small as he was. Apart from being able to grow its arms, he wondered what else it may be capable of. The more he thought about it, the more questions arose.

With the hours passing, Silas began to doubt his little companion’s sense of orientation. Although the fog had started to dissipate, his surroundings hadn’t changed much at all. His steps became heavy, his feet dragging along and ruffling the leavy bushes that covered the ground everywhere.

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The trees swam before his eyes, and Silas swayed with the unsteady rhythm of his legs carrying the rest of his body. He didn’t know for how long he could continue. Silas circled back to his mantra, trusting Gnarly would correct him if he diverted too much from their path. A familiar scent eventually shook him out of his near-delirious state.

Silas smelled smoke.

He welcomed the odor, taking a deep breath to determine where it came from. With renewed vigor in his step, he followed the smell—he might come across a traveling caravan. Maybe they could even take him to Bryme so he could get to the Guild of Mages and find work to pay for the appraisal.

As he walked the smell only became stronger, and Silas soon found himself in front of a high, slightly curving wall of thorny bushes so thick he couldn’t see through them. The thorns were almost an inch long, their tips glinting a deep red. It all looked way too uniform in the otherwise untamed forest.

Silas caught another whiff coming from the other side and walked around the bush, hoping to find a gap. The bushes couldn’t possibly continue endlessly. Gnarly tugged on his ear to get his attention. He pointed to a small gap a couple of feet to their right where he might be able to crawl through. Silas hesitated. While the gap looked just large enough for him, maybe he would find a better one if he kept searching. On the other hand, he might lose the smell soon.

“Alright then Gnarly, looks like we don’t have a better option,” Silas told his new companion.

“Creak! Creak creak.” Gnarly continued to point at the gap he had spotted.

With a sigh Silas went down on all fours and carefully began to creep through the large wall of bushes, wincing as his shirt scratched across his back. He soon realized the wall was even larger than he had originally thought. It also seemed to thicken further ahead, the thorns closing in.

Silas briefly considered turning back. He wasn’t sure if he could make it to the other side, and neither did he know how far it was. Yet if the wind changed or whoever was responsible for the smoke moved on, he didn’t think he’d be able to find them.

He crawled on, the fabric of his clothes further ripping with each movement of his body. A branch with dozens of inch-long thorns hung in front of his face, blocking the way. One arm raised, Silas carefully bend the branch behind another one to keep it in place before continuing. His fists clenched as a sudden pain shot through his body.

The branch had snapped back, its whole length whipping into his back. His hand trembled as he slowly began to pull the branch out, the thorns stuck deep in his flesh. Pearls of sweat ran down his forehead, mixing with the dirt and falling into his eyes. Sticky blood flowed down his back. Ahead of him, the bush thickened even more. He should have searched for another way, he realized. How foolish he had been.

What if he just lay down and rested for a while? There was no way he was going to reach the other side anyway. Just for a moment. “Creak creak! Creak!” A comforting wave of warmth spread through him, momentarily banishing the pain. The path ahead of him widened, and the branches slowly seemed to retract as if they opened a passage for him. Silas shook his head, his mind obviously playing tricks on him.

His breathing shallow, he refocused on reaching the end. The smoke. He had to get to the smoke. A couple of feet farther, the thick bushes already seemed to thin out. Relief washed over him. He crawled on with renewed vigor, finally coming out on the other side of the thorny wall. Standing up again, Silas let out a ragged breath. One hand on his knee, he clumsily picked out the various thorns that stuck out of his skin. New blood immediately began to flow from the fresh wounds. His clothing was nothing but scraps, loose pieces hanging and clinging to the parts of his body where the blood had already started to dry.

Looking up, Silas momentarily forgot the pain in his limbs.

Ahead of him was a large, circular clearing, a small wooden cottage standing right in the middle of it. What caught Silas’ eye, however, was the tall and wiry figure sitting in front of a small campfire, facing him. Clothed in a long, dark green robe, the figure’s face was hidden behind within the shadows of the large cowl.

An uneasy feeling welled up in his stomach as he stumbled towards the figure. The stranger looked up. Deep, light grey eyes glinted from within the cowl. Silas’ heart skipped a beat as the stranger beheld him. He felt completely naked before their gaze. The stranger’s cowl slowly slid back, revealing fine, silver hair that was tied back in a bun. A long, unkempt beard decorated the man’s wrinkled face. The stranger didn’t look surprised at seeing Silas standing there, almost as if he had expected him to come.

“W-Who are you?” Silas asked the stranger, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice. He glanced behind him. The passage through which he had crawled was nowhere to be seen.

The stranger’s gaze wandered to Silas’ shoulder where Gnarly sat, tilting his head.

The green-robed man ignored Silas’ question. “Who are you?”

Silence echoed through the clearing. The question demanded an answer.

“I-I’m Silas,” he said.

“Tom,” the green-robed man replied, giving the slightest of nods. His face remained expressionless.

“Do you perhaps have some water? I’m really-“ was all he managed before he suddenly collapsed. The stranger's calm gaze was the last thing Silas saw before he lost consciousness.

***

Dismal darkness. The damp tunnel pressed down on him, the rough stone cold against his touch. The familiar decrepit, wooden door taunted him, mocking him for his foolish attempts at keeping it closed. Silas’s eyes were transfixed on the lock. He knew what was about to happen, yet also knew he had no way to prevent it. A chill went through his body as his fingers grazed over the stone. There was only one way out. The lock clicked, the door slowly falling open.

“Do you want to hear a story, Silas?” came from the other side.

“Yes!” he heard his other self say. His father, mother, and himself all sat around a small campfire, the flames shifting with the whispering breeze. He knew what lurked in the shadows. A low whimper escaped his throat. Why hadn’t he done anything? “Mother…” his voice trailed off.

His father’s back was turned towards the encroaching shadows. “This story is about Elusco, a young talented Artist from a long, long time ago. Elusco had just married a beautiful woman from the village he lived in, and it didn’t take long until she started to show signs to be with child. Sadly, he was not destined to live a happy life. When the hunters in the village started to go missing, the village elder and Elusco decided to venture into the forest to investigate.”

His father glanced at his mother and him before lowering his voice. “But they never found the missing hunters. During their search, they were attacked by previously unknown creatures: The Sadmora. Even worse, multiple tracks of the gangly creatures all led back to their village.”

Silas tuned out, holding his hands over his ears and clenching his eyes shut. He could not go through it all again, watching himself do nothing. Why was he so weak? If only he’d been less afraid. More powerful. Maybe they’d still be with him. Falling to his knees in defeat, his jaw started quivering.

“Get me out of here! Please, I just can’t—”

Nobody heard his prayers. He looked at his family. They all looked so happy, so carefree.

“Elusco and the elder turned back immediately, yet they were too late. Nobody in the village had been left alive. It is said the boy once known as Elusco died on that same day. With revenge and hate as his only motivation, he hunted the Sadmora one by one. He eventually became known as the bane of the Sadmora and one of the most powerful Artists in all of Ceraviehl.”

“Is he still alive?” Silas heard himself ask.

“Nobody really knows. Many believe he hunts the woods to this day, looking for any Sadmora that have escaped his wrath.” Edgar whispered as he finished his story, peering into the dark forest around them.

Silas looked at his other self with disgust, the fear written across his face. What a fool he had been. There were way worse things in these forests than the so-called Sadmora.

“Must have been a lonely life, with nothing but his hate keeping him company,” Hannah commented.

He needed to get out. Time was running short, and he knew it. He would not, could not, live through it all again. The edge of the clearing suddenly moved and the shadows shifted.

A single arrow sped towards Edgar, aiming straight for his heart.

“No!”

The nightmare faded as his surroundings shifted. Silas bolted upright. Where was he?