“That’s it, I gotta rest. I need to; I’m losing it.”

The skies have been clear, so I’ve been mostly able to keep my bearings during the dozen hours of walking. I avoided the roads to forage, save time, and evade patrols. I climbed a large, neat-looking tree and set aside my stuff for a long rest. And though I don’t roll in my sleep, I’ve decided to fasten myself to the trunk just in case.

It’s roughly mid-day, and I’ll wake up by sundown. As a half-elf, I haven’t needed to sleep for as long as others, but damn am I exhausted. It’s been about a day and a half since my last wink.

Even then, this really isn’t the worst I’ve experienced. In the war, I had to occasionally go days on end without water, food, and sleep. I think the longest I’d stayed up for was about 48 hours under constant shelling, and I knew people who’d been up for over twice that long under fire. I’m just glad I don’t have to worry about explosive drones here, those damn birds.

I wonder if they’re alright. If Kantax’s wounds seemed stable. She was alive enough to tell Seylas to piss off. Maybe Arsalan’s negotiations to buy me time all worked out. Perhaps the others at Taido’s will be fine. Hopefully my folks in the old world are doing well. I wonder if my sister’s kids have grown strong and healthy back on Earth. Maybe I’ll be fine here, maybe I’ll survive.

…

“CAAAWWWW” a cacophony of birds screeched.

And MAYBE I can sleep undisturbed?!

A hefty bird of various red hues dropped from the branches above. Redwings! I waved my hand and smacked it away from completely landing on my face – the bastard was going for my eyes because it JUST clawed a line through from my nose to cheek open.

Blood dripped, stinging – but I had to get ready; I’m surrounded. Hell, do I have to wake up to airborne pieces of shit trying to kill me HERE too!?

Damn birds! I’ll fucking kill all of you!

I quickly unsheathed my survival knife just as the other shin-sized Redwings dove. Three of them dug their claws into my gambeson’s sleeves, and I flourished my knife to fend them off.

In the corner of my view, a fourth one tried to swoop in – and I caught its legs with my bandaged left hand. With one quick and forceful swipe, I severed the bird in half. More of the black-and-red bastards began diving in.

“You little winged shits! C’mere!”

I screamed and groaned, shifting my grip from that of a hammer’s to that of an ice pick’s – with the blade pointed downwards.

Just what I needed, an outlet for my rage.

Upon jamming the dagger into every avian asswipe I could, dozens of corpses began littering the grass by the tree. Blood and entrails spewed all over; violence aplenty.

And then, a snap.

Shit! My sudden movements and shifting alongside the added weight of dead birds stuck on my vest caused the branch to snap. Slammed down to the side of the tree, I dangled by the waist with a rope fastened to the trunk.

“Dickheads!” I screamed.

I found my footing onto the walls of the tree, hanging as I cleaved through each of the birds. Some of the other ones remained screeching on the other branches, to which I ran around the trunk to cut them too. I reached for my bag on the remaining base of the branch, and lowered myself as the frequency of attacks lessened.

One of the Redwings suddenly struck the back of my head where my hood covered. This threw me off-balance, but the bird’s claws got caught on the pink fabric. I grabbed the pest with one hand and beheaded it with the other, almost like how someone would lop off their own ponytail.

I’m covered in so much blood, of which I couldn’t even tell was mine. Blood now impaired my vision – I began swinging frantically; accidentally striking the rope.

I cursed in my native language from the old world, as I slammed onto the bed of leaves and corpses below. The remaining flight-worthy birds fluttered away, forsaking the limping ones behind.

“Fuck you, and you, and you! Pricks.”

A large shadow approached. I was too busy cleaving the survivors in half – their weak breaths and glassy eyes meant nothing.

I got up and wiped whatever I could, off. After clearing my face, I turned around to see a fucking bear glaring right back. My fingers flinched as I reached for Arsalan’s hornbow. The bear wasn’t too skinny or weighty, it’s the middle of the season after all.

“Oh? WHAT? Do YOU want a piece too!?” I yelled, as I pointed my knife at the bear.

We shared a pause, allowing me to regain some steady breaths and realize my injuries. I took a sack from one of my gambeson pockets to pick out the cleanest kills I made, storing them for later.

I hastily picked through the bodies and the bird’s nest that was crushed by the fallen branch. Several speckled eggs were buried in leaves – perfect for a quick breakfast. I placed them into a pouch.

“Pests.”

The furry beast watched me finish up. I tossed a few dead birds towards the bear, leaving a lifeless trail between us. And so I walked off alive, but I can’t shake off the feeling that a part of me didn’t.

I hope this onslaught, my first, would also be my last.

…

“Ah, ah that stings SO much. Fucking birds.”

The cut on my face and the cuts across my hands radiated a raw kind of pain that stung with a throbbing, burning sensation. The lacerations weren’t deep but, god damn. I could barely grasp anything without wincing, as the combined suffering from the burns, slits, and splinters fucked me up real bad.

With the help of my now blood-stained folded map, I found a river just a little bit wider than the creek from the other day. So much blood to wash off. They’d also given me a small but expensive salve for my burns, and any additional injuries I may accrue – but I wasn’t expecting to make such good use of it so soon. Ouch.

The small river ran red. I wrung everything off, using a bit of lye soap to clean off some of the stubborn bits left. I started a small fire by the river to dry my stuff, with four birds roasting as I tended to my wounds. After plucking their black and red feathers, I skewered them with shaved sticks to set them aside.

It’s not often I get to start fires in the wild, but rain hadn’t passed here lately so everything seemed dry. I had asked for a handy piece of flint along with the copperware, and got one. This worked on the back edge of my knife – and though the sawblade occupied most of that edge, enough flat parts remained. Arsalan had some firestarting cantrips, but Kantax taught me to struggle by hand when he was out. I used a bit of sack cloth for tinder. It’s way harder than it looks, I really should have built mom a firestarter.

“Finally – just took seventeen tries. Stupid.”

My knife still retained its sharp edge after that fight, and after a quick rinse I could use the broad side as a mirror again and examine the gash on my face. By the time the four birds had cooked fully on one side, I’d finished half of the tiny jar of medicinal ointment. I flipped the skewers for a more even roast. I prepared large leaves and stripped Whispergrass for packaging.

The healing poultice was a thorough mixture of Okoma stalk extracts as a base, with mild tinges of Spicemoon and crushed Emberberries. Rarities, as we don’t grow any of them here. Rokmuro’s fertile grounds are largely untapped, unfortunately.

I’d only gotten about three hours of sleep up there, and the sun’s finally gone down for the day. I boiled some of the eggs in a hurry before leaving. Lumoriva’s a day away, and I’m not waiting for Seylas’ mounted scouts to come find me.

The clouds obscured the stars and the beam across the sky, which had now shifted south just enough for me to see the planet cast its shadow on the ring at night. I marched along the path running beside the river – it was the fastest route. I was on the last leg of the road connecting Trezoro and Lumoriva. Soon enough, a carriage caught up to me.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Hey, need a ride to town?” the coachman asked.

“How much?” I replied, with half a mouthful.

“No payment, sir. Just keep the others in tow some company for the rest of the trip.”

I hopped on back, and the carriage moved over twice my walking pace. A lantern lit the wagon. Seated across, an elderly couple and a little boy. Their attires were plebeian at best, and tattered at the worst.

“Mister, mister! What’cha eating?” he probed.

“Roasted redwing.” I replied, my voice still hoarse from all the screaming I did. Maybe that, and my large amount of baggage, made them confuse me for a guy.

I unfurled a leaf pack of poultry skewers, and offered the other three to them. The boy’s eyes lit like bright, lovely jewels under the lantern light as I handed him a whole skewer of smokey, unadulterated meat – still warm to the touch. The elderly couple gave me a soft smile, saying they don’t mind sharing just one. I gave the last stick to the coachman, who received it happily as he didn’t expect to be offered any at all.

The time this ride saves me is worth more than the pests I slaughtered hours ago. Ganging up on me out of nowhere was uncalled for.

“Where did you get these?” asked the old lady.

“Honestly? I got attacked by a whole bunch of them.”

The man with her, a blind and old in monastic clothes gave a puzzled look. “How odd, normally Redwings shy away from people. Are you hurt?”

“I- well, yes. I am. They’d cut my face and fingers up.”

I lowered my hood, and the blind man didn’t react. The boy froze as he ate, giving me a stricken glare. The old lady raised her eyebrows, astonished.

“My, my! You’re quite a lovely lady, half-elf as you are. And, why so much armor? Your eyes also remind me of an elf my brother and I knew when we were much younger!” she said.

“Was his name Arsalan, by any chance?”

The old man lit up, “Arsalan! I haven’t heard that name in ages. He taught me healing arts when I was an apprentice at the Sonyan monastery. Carefree and kind, he was.”

Sonya, the goddess of healing. He’s probably referring to the famous cloister near Sonorakvo – the wealthiest settlement on Rokmuro, a rich coastal town. It got its name allegedly from the sirens of old that sung by its lovely coves; their melodies reverberating across the waters of its coast. I learned much more about it from Taido’s company dealings in that area than from Arsalan.

“Yeah, he mentioned the vast city there in his stories before. He’s my father.”

They gasped in joyous awe. The boy’s cheeks however, had grown a rosy red. The old man raised his hand to shake mine, “Zarelli. I find it is truly an auspicious day to have met you. Are you versed in the healing arts? My sister and I are on the way to provide care to some nobles that have called upon us from such a distance.”

“Forlasita, nice to meet you. Unfortunately, I have no aptitude for any magic, and even Arsalan gave up on trying to teach me. He was hoping I was a prodigy he could send off to Royaume’s prestigious magic academies. My mother was fervently against that idea as it meant I’d spend decades away from her. But I have studied a little bit on the effects of various medicinal plants and herbs. Still, I’m afraid my wounds may get infected if I’m not careful.”

Zarelli’s face soured, then shined.

“Well, it is good knowledge to have. I can smell the scent of southern herbs. An Okomic mix? I do not bear Arsalan’s immense talents, and if I did I might not be blind today! If you would allow me, may I please assist you with your injuries?”

We worked it out further, and I didn’t feel like making him work for free so I offered to pay – he refused. He was happy enough that I shared my meal with them. I looked to his sister who was more than happy to quietly receive the 10 silvers I offered. She gave me a heartfelt smile, and I clasped her hands knowing it would go a long way to help them.

Zarelli hovered his palms over my hands – with a steady prayer, the calm white glow gave way to sealed wounds and slight scarring on my fingers.

His breath hastened; he heaved as his palms ran up my cheeks. He groaned and continued his prayer as the itching on my face mellowed. I ran my fingertips across the gash, now a stinging scar.

He almost collapsed, but his sister had caught him. That’s all he could do, he said. He has to preserve the rest of his strength for the nobles, and especially for a noblewoman’s son who is awfully ill. I thanked him for what he’d done for me and I asked if there was a way I could repay him.

Zarelli asked for a shoulder massage, to which I obliged and found all sorts of knots and tense spots. Viktor always appreciated a good massage so I have a bit of experience there. Kantax appreciated my massages, too. I mirrored what I could for his sister – his traveling companion.

They allowed me to get some steady sleep on the trip. The remaining ride was bumpy and noisy, but I had a much needed rest.

I woke up to the boy sweeping my hair off to the side of my forehead. The elderly pair were sound asleep. The boy froze from my sudden awakening, and gazed into my eyes for more than a moment.

“You look strange. But pretty. And tall.” he said.

“Thanks, kid. Grow up strong and tall too, yeah?”

“Kid? But you don’t look much older than me.”

“I’m, a lot older than you might think.”

“..hm.”

We eventually arrived near Lumoriva. Coastal birds soared over us, as the sea’s salty scent felt full within walking distance of the port. It dwarfed Trezoro, at the cost of seeming sadder overall.

“This is my stop.” I said.

Zarelli smiled and bowed. “Have a safe journey, and be well. Sonya’s blessings be with you, Forlasita.”

The old lady pointed towards the wharf. “Go find the port authority and ask for which ship’ll get you to where you need to go. Sonya guide you, little one!”

Lastly, I waved farewell back at the boy.

I weaved through the busy streets, avoiding carriages and pedestrians alike until I got to the port. The complex smells of various trade goods and peddlers overcame the salty air. Wooden ships of every size moored across, some rickety and old, while some seemed like the pinnacle of the age of sail. Except one.

After squeezing into a dense crowd of gawkers, I got a good view of a huge sailing ship with paddle wheels. It was painted black with some brass metalwork emblazoned over wooden panels. It had no cannons, but it did have several large ballistas and one massive slingshot. The stocky crew were almost a foot shorter than the average man here – this is a dwarven ship from Ischyros. They were loading supplies onto the ship in a clear hurry to leave.

“The great Theseus.” an old sailor muttered.

Yet, the most alarming part wasn't even the smoke billowing out of the short smokestacks as its boilers began to steam. Nor the rows of malnourished pale-yellow-skinned prisoners strewn about the deck. But the fact that the ship had cannon-ball sized holes, and scattered burn marks of some kind. Its sails were scorched and in the process of being replaced.

“Now THAT'S a ship!” another man shouted.

One of the prisoners managed to free himself of his shackles and make a run for the ramp, and he was immediately struck by two large crossbow bolts. The dwarven mariners felled the Jader, and his body rolled off the side of the ship leaving a skidmark of blood.

“Poor bastards, the lot of them.” a passerby said.

I had only ever heard of the Jade, a faction from the opposite end of the mainland’s continent – somehow at constant war with the island nation of Ischyros and the demon-kin that occupied most of the central continent. Marbordo took up the west.

Eitherway, I have to leave. I spoke to several dockshands and found the ride that's about to head to the mainland. It's an old ship, but rather large compared to the others here. The Sojourner leaves tomorrow, and could possibly take over a week to arrive. It’s my best chance out of here.

I went shopping and stocked up on all sorts of stuff. Dried meats, a pouch of salt, more butter, and cheap wines, with whatever longer-lasting fruits I could bring. The ship would have provisions, but I won’t compromise my diet just because of that.

More and more people crowded the portside for their various businesses. Bumping into people was unavoidable, but the most interesting one had to’ve been the blonde, skinny, well-dressed lady who lost her child in the crowd after we collided.

Soon, I found him standing by an ongoing board game between a guardsman and a sailor. They called it Might & Magic – something a bit like chess but with gryphons and wyverns in the mix, using pieces you can tailor based on the factions you chose from.

“Skip! Hey, Skip!” I called out to him, and he slowly turned to me with a lethargic gaze. Pale and frail, but clearly not poor enough to be starving. I couldn’t quite read his emotions.

He had unnaturally white cheeks. With a caress, I noticed it left a silvery powder on my fingertips. I see. I gave him a fruit and led him to his mother, whom I had a word with.

“You have to lay off the white powder.” I said.

“Hmm? But he must look as lovely as me!”

“Seriously? You two are the sickest looking people I’ve met all month, and you’re the only ones using that stuff. Ruin your own health, sure. But you have no idea what’s in there, so don’t jeopardize your son’s life with what you don’t understand.”

“Excuse me? You are simply too young to understand a lady’s needs. And too poor, obviously. A butcher’s stench. Covered in scars; like my damn husband parading with ‘his boys’ and playing hero.”

With a sigh, I waved the moronic woman goodbye. Good riddance, but I still feel bad for that kid. I also bought a couple of other things to keep myself busy, such as a bit of canvas and leather. The extra supplies and improved fare set me back about 25 silvers.

I boarded the ship with everything packed up.

Evening arrived, and an officer gave me a long appraising look, before telling me where to set up. I'd be sharing a tiny room “with the dwarf” apparently. Fine then.

I knocked and entered. A scholarly man with small, round spectacles sat busy by a desk under candlelight. A hooded black robe draped over the wall, with insignias similar to those on the dwarven ship – but with a compass instead of an anchor.

”Hey. What’re you gawkin’ about for, child. Settle down and don't be a nuisance, maybe go play outside.”

Great, an asshole with brown swept-back hair and a big braided beard. He looks like a tool, using drafting tools laid across his desk alongside several maps. I made a guess.

“Well, are you a cartographer or something?”

He raised his head and turned to me. “Yes, kind of.”

“What is Mondo’s circumference?” I asked.

“Our best guess is about 13000 leagues. Least y’know that we live on a ball. The name's Inkunzi, the youngest Grand Geodesist of the Ischyrosian Adventuring Council. How about you?”

“Mondo’s just a marble with a ring. Forlasita, at your service.”

We shook hands. “Heh, not bad for a little knife-ear.”

I settled my stuff onto a corner of the room, and he tossed me a small brown bar. It smelled like dark chocolate, and it tasted like it. Not a bad bribe – I’ve missed this. I think I’ll like this guy.