Chapter 368: A Scarlet Dawn

  The sunlight peeked through the crack in Stryg’s room. He grimaced and grumbled under his breath. His eyelids snapped open and he glanced around the unfamiliar room with an uneasy gaze. After two quick breaths, he relaxed his tense muscles and laid back down on his cot.

  Right, I’m back home.

  He had finally returned to the village after 3 years and somehow, despite the turbulent homecoming, things had worked out. The tribe had accepted him back. He was no longer an exile, the chieftain had declared it himself. Even better, his friends and him were given an actual cabin! Not some small old tent, but a freshly built cabin, the sign of a well-respected tribe member. Things were actually going well for once. Srixa had even danced with him last night.

  Stryg found himself grinning at that last part.

  Still…

  He sat up and touched his forehead carefully.

  The headache is gone…

  While things seemed as if they were going well, not everything was as perfect as it seemed. Although the others in the tribe hadn’t outright rejected him, many of them still hated him or at best were standoffish.

  Worse, someone had possibly messed with his memories, or the memories of Second Mother. Either way, he’d make whoever did it pay.

  Stryg clenched his fists in frustration. Not much I can do about it for now.

  He jumped to his feet with a nimble summersault, the wood creaking beneath his weight. He wouldn’t be figuring anything out this early in the morning, especially on an empty stomach. Which really meant there was only one thing to do.

  “Train,” Lysaila and Gale’s voices echoed in his mind.

  He checked to make sure Nameless was still sheathed on the belt around his waist and then with a quick flick of his toes, he threw the sword lying next to him up and snatched it from the air. He looked over the sword’s chipped blade and ran his finger over the edge. The blade was still as dull as ever, its edge didn’t even leave a nick. And yet it had somehow easily cut through a lamia’s tough flesh and hardened bones.

  Something else I still don’t understand.

  It was beginning to annoy him how little he truly understood. He thought becoming a mage would have changed that, he thought he would have become as wise as the shamans that resided in the Silver Hall Keep of Moon Fang Mountain. Instead, he felt like a child fumbling in the darkness.

  “Train,” Lysaila and Gale’s voices echoed once more.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled under his breath.

  Stryg quietly walked out of his room and placed his ear on Tauri and Plum’s bedroom door. Judging from their soft breathing he could tell they were sleeping.

  Stryg smiled. It was a good thing, they needed the rest.

  He headed out of the cabin without another thought and went to his old training spot, an empty patch of grass near the village wall, far from the cabins and tents.

  The early dawn light filtered through the ashen trees’ canopy and bathed the world in scarlet light. Stryg closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could smell the various scents of the forest around him, the leaves, the grass, and the earth beneath his feet. The warm sunlight touched his skin softly, not like the harsh blinding light of Hollow Shade’s unobstructed sun. Here, the world was quiet, still asleep.

  It was nice to be home.

  Stryg gripped the dull sword’s white-steel grip and fell into a training stance. His hands and legs moved slowly, almost as if dancing underwater. Then suddenly he would transition into quick bursts of footwork and slashes. All the while he was focused on the instructions Gian and Gale had drilled into him over and over.

  “Mind if I join you?” Jahn called out.

  Stryg stopped in mid-swing and almost toppled over. He quickly straightened his posture and bowed his head, “G-Good morning, chieftain.”

  “No need for such formalities,” Jahn said. “You are a shaman now and a powerful one at that. There is no need to bow. In the eyes of the Sylvan we are equals.”

  “Right…” Stryg nodded reluctantly, though it still felt strange seeing the chieftain who he had admired his whole life tell him they were equals.

  Jahn raised his spear, “So, do you mind if I join you?”

  “Oh, um, not at all.” Stryg glanced around the empty area, “Sorry, but don’t you usually practice in the training grounds with the hunters?”

  “Yes, but they’re still asleep. You and I are not.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s still pretty early…”

  Jahn looked him over and smiled half-heartedly, “You always did wake up earlier than the rest. Always eager to prove to yourself.”

  “I wasn’t trying to prove myself. I was just trying to catch up with everyone. I was never fast enough, strong enough, or skilled enough… I just wanted to be like everyone else.”

  “And so you trained longer and harder than anyone in your age group,” Jahn nodded in understanding. “Admirable, but it doesn’t look like you still have to practice so hard.” Jahn pointed at his obvious height, “You’re not a scrawny little runt anymore.”

  “I’m not a full-blooded goblin either, am I?” Stryg asked quietly.

  Jahn shrugged and looked away, “Yes, it would seem that way.”

  “Then, do you know who my parents w—?”

  “—Tell me something. If you used to train so early just to keep up with your tribemates, then why are you still here now? You’re obviously stronger than the others now.”

  “Force of habit,” Stryg shrugged. He wrung his hands with uncertainty, “About my parents…”

  Jahn looked him in the eyes with a steady gaze, “Listen carefully and never forget what I’m about to say. It’s alright if you're not full-blooded. Trust me. It doesn’t make you any less of a Sylvan than anyone here. That’s all you need to know. You are a son of Blood Fang, you are one of us, always.”

  A warm feeling bloomed in Stryg’s chest. He sniffed and nodded stiffly. “Thanks…”

  “Now, shall we train?”

  Stryg smiled. “Gladly.”

  The early dawn passed quietly as the two goblins trained side by side, each swinging their weapon with quick efficiency or slow precise gestures that seemed more of a dance than a warrior’s strike.

  After an hour, Jahn called for a break. He leaned on his spear and breathed heavily, sweat dripping from his brow. Stryg wasn’t in a much better state and agreed readily.

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  “Hey, you weren’t using life force energy during training, were you?” Jahn asked between breaths.

  “Only a little. I can’t really use life force to enhance my abilities, I’m not a sword master yet,” Stryg admitted. It would probably take him several years before he earned that title, but he wasn’t eager to admit that part.

  Jahn laughed in disbelief, “I wasn’t certain with how quickly you were moving, but damn, you really aren’t a master after all?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re fast, too fast. I reckon you’re quite strong as well. I’m envious,” Jahn grinned.

  Stryg didn’t know what to say. He had known the chieftain for his entire life, and while the chieftain had never been unkind to him, he had never been particularly friendly either. It was odd seeing a leader of the Blood Fang so relaxed.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Stryg said quietly.

  “Probably.”

  Stryg wasn’t sure how to take that but he pushed on anyway. “What sort of martial style are you using?”

  Jahn furrowed his brow, “The Blood Fang Style, of course. It’s the one everyone in the tribe learns as younglings. Including you.”

  “Right, of course. It’s just, I never noticed until yesterday, maybe perhaps because I never learned the advanced techniques, but the Blood Fang Style seems awfully similar to the Gale Style, my sword style. I learned it in Hollow Shade, far to the northeast of here.”

  Jahn was silent for a moment, then he shook his head, “I don’t know anything regarding the Gale Style you speak of, but our tribe’s style is our own.”

  “How do you know? Because the techniques you use are very similar to—”

  “—Our style is our own. It belongs to the Blood Fang, no one else,” Jahn said adamantly. “Don’t ask me anymore about the matter.”

  Stryg wanted to say more but he held back and nodded. “Very well.”

  Jahn’s expression softened and he sighed. “…The Blood Fang style was developed by my mother long ago.”

  Stryg frowned, “Your mother? Do you mean one of the Mothers?”

  “No, I mean my birth mother. My sister and I weren’t raised by the tribe’s Mothers like everyone else.”

  “What?!” Stryg’s eyes widened. He had never heard of something like this before. “What do you even mean? How is that even possible?!”

  Jahn smiled dryly, “My sister and I were an exception I suppose.”

  “How? How could two goblins be raised by their birth mother? Wouldn’t the tribe have been against that? Why would the chieftain have ever allowed it?”

  “I suppose it helped that my mother was the chieftain at the time.”

  “Your mom was the chieftain of the Blood Fang?” Stryg mumbled in surprise.

  “And her father was the founder of our tribe,” Jahn said proudly. “So yes, I guess you could say my mother had a particular sway over what the tribe allowed and did not.”

   Stryg wrinkled his brow, “I didn’t know… Why has no one ever told me of any of this before?”

  Now that he thought about it, he had never known much about the tribe’s founder either. Who was he? What was he like? Was the founder ever like him? Did the founder ever find himself alone, uncertain of where to go? Uncertain of who he was? Why had he founded the tribe? Was it anything like when he founded the Ebon Hollow tribe?

  “I have so many questions,” Stryg muttered.

“Perhaps someday I’ll tell you, but not today.”

  “Oh…” he mumbled in disappointment.

  Jahn pointed his finger at Stryg’s sword, “So that’s the weapon that sliced my steel spear in half, huh?”

  “Hm? Oh, yeah.” Stryg held up the relic sword and shrugged, “It doesn’t look like much but it can be surprisingly sharp… I think?”

  “May I?”

  Stryg nodded and handed him the blade, “Sure, but be careful, it can sometimes cut your hand.”

  “Hand?” Jahn tilted his head to the side, but grabbed the steel-white hilt anyway. He swung the sword a few times and tested its balance in the palm of his hand. “Hmm. No cuts that I can see, it does look quite worn though. Where did you get it?”

  Stryg was about to say he had found the sword in the cave, but he thought better of it. If Jahn didn’t wish to tell him more of the former chieftain, then perhaps he could leverage the information.

  “Perhaps someday I’ll tell you, but not today,” Stryg said.

  Jahn narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Very well, shaman. Very well.” He handed Stryg back the sword. “I take it you haven’t eaten since last night?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Good, then you’ll eat with me. Come on.” Jahn walked away, whistling a happy tune.

  Stryg hurried to follow. The chieftain’s steps were much shorter, but his stride was fast and he covered ground quickly.

  “…If I’m being honest, Stryg, I’m glad you’re back.”

  “What?” he blinked. He never thought the chieftain would have even remembered a runt like him, let alone miss him.

  “We could use the power of a shaman right about now,” Jahn said.

  “Ah. I see. Wait, why? Has something happened?”

  The chieftain nodded grimly, “You already know of Third Mother’s passing, yes?”

  “Yeah, something about a wolf mauling?” he said carefully.

  “It was a little more complicated than that,” Jahn sighed deeply. “You see, about a year ago something very strange happened. The Mother Moon’s glorious silver light was bathed in scarlet. A blood moon.”

  Stryg faltered in his step. He remembered that night. It haunted his dreams even now. Widow’s Crag. The night he failed the one person who had never failed him, even in the end.

  Jahn continued, unaware of Stryg’s thoughts. “We didn’t know what it meant, but First Mother said something was terribly wrong. After that night we received word from the Lunar Elect.”

  “The Sylvan council? Why?”

  Even he knew direct word from the council was never a good thing.

  “It seemed that the Mother Moon herself had spoken directly to Sabina of the Lunar Elect. Sabina then shared the message with the rest of the council, who in turn sent messengers to all the Sylvan tribes.”

  “What did the message say?” Stryg asked warily.

  “Danger is on the horizon. Prepare.” Jahn recited.

  “Danger? What danger?”

  “I do not know. But ever since our tribe received the message, we have been preparing for the inevitable.”

  “The inevitable?”

  “War,” Jahn said coldly. “Our people may have lost the last war, but we will not lose this one.”

  Stryg halted in his steps, confused. “Wait. You know about Lunis?”

  Jahn’s eyes widened briefly, then he sighed. “It is a sad past that our people do not wish to recount. And now is not the time to speak of such things.”

  Stryg clenched his teeth, “If not now then when?”

  “…A frost wolf came to our village.”

  “What? When? Why?”

  Frost wolves were the messengers of Lunae. If one had come to the village then there must have been a very important reason, Stryg thought worriedly.

  “It wasn’t only our village, it was every Sylvan village,” Jahn said. “A blessing from the Mother Moon. Each frost wolf brought a pack of wolves with them. Can you believe it? An entire pack of wolves, wild creatures that had somehow been tamed by divine magic.”

  “I didn’t even know that was possible…” Stryg muttered.

  “Neither did I and yet each wolf chose a partner among a tribe’s people. The Lunar Elect declared the chosen Sylvan would become riders, the first line of defense against the dangers to come. The greatest honor any Sylvan has had in three centuries.”

  Jahn bowed his head in shame, “Except when the wolves came to our village, none seemed interested in our people. Third Mother found the notion ridiculous and against First’s warning to simply wait and see, Third tried to ride one of the wolves by herself.”

  “And the wolves killed her for it,” Stryg guessed.

  Jahn spat on the ground. “Third was a fool and she died like one. The wolves left after that and haven’t come back. All because Third was an idiot who let her pride guide her. I wish I had killed her myself,” he muttered angrily. “Every single other tribe has riders now, all but us. I hate to admit it, but we are somewhat of a pariah among the tribes these days.”

  “We are the only tribe who hasn’t been blessed,” Stryg’s face paled with realization. “Because we are the only tribe cursed with a bad omen…”

  “No.” Jahn shook his head. He reached out and grabbed Stryg by the shoulder, “No matter what any of those other fools in the tribe have said, you are not a bad omen.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Stryg mumbled. The chieftain was simply playing nice because the tribe was without a shaman and no shaman would be fool enough to come and join a pariah tribe.

  “No, I do mean it. I should have told you that sooner, I regret that I didn’t,” Jahn admitted quietly.

  “Sure,” Stryg nodded dismissively. He’d play along, for now.

  Jahn noticed the look in Stryg’s eyes and frowned. “We’ll talk more about this later. We’re here.” He stopped in front of the Moon Hall and pushed the door open. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

  The Mothers were already inside, sitting at a round table, having breakfast. First Mother looked up and stiffened at the sight of the blue goblin standing in the doorway.

  Jahn stepped past Stryg and smiled, “Room for two more?”

  First bared her teeth and hissed in anger, “Jahn, you little—”