Someone grumbled under their breath, but it was Biggan that spoke. “A ram's head? That doesn't sound like one of the old religions. Not from Comelbough, at least.”

Nevin, however, did recognize the symbol. According to Ishen, in the years before Elbin was founded, a great religious cleansing was at work in another part of the world. In those days, people had worshiped of a diverse array of different entities large and small, and a number of the older, more established religious sects had begun to see this growing diversity as a threat to their power. Some, like the Empyrians, saw themselves as too large to fall and kept out of it, but many empowered their followers to take up arms and eliminate their competition.

The ram's head god Ivvilger was one that actively sought war against his neighbors. As the god of the harvest and the struggle of existence, those who followed Ivvilger believed that it was the responsibility of the strong to curb the weakness among them in order to protect society from becoming unable to overcome the terrible and unforgiving nature of reality.

"A group is only as strong as it's weakest member," Ishen would say. "Still...is it not human to care for and protect your neighbor?"

As it turned out, Ivvilger was one of the many religions to fall apart during the wars, but that didn't stop the refugees settling on the peninsula from bringing the remnants of their faith with them.

“That's exactly my point," Watts continued. "It takes a certain kind of weird to willingly plant yourself out in the middle-of-nowhere and survive. A certain strange kind of thought process, a way of thinking that calls out to the wilds, the shadows, the emptiness.

“And sometimes, when you call out to the emptiness long enough, loud enough...

“Things...answer.”

The brush crackled as someone shuffled their feet uncomfortably.

Nevin could feel that telling the story was getting Watts worked up, and the fervor of his words only increased as he continued. “A number of trinkets were scattered atop that crude altar in the clearing, mixed in with the rotting plants and carcasses. Handcrafted bits and bobbles that likely had little more than sentimental value to their owners. Polished rocks, crystals, animal carvings, that sort of thing. Offerings to whatever being that ram's head supposedly venerated.

“Now, I wanted precisely nothing to do with that forsaken block of stone, and had I been leading that particular excursion, I would have immediately ordered my men to eyes forward and haul boots on the path out of the Traagen. Some things are better left ignored.”

A soft rustling of leaves tickled the edge of Nevin's attention. For a moment, his mind turned away from the two men and magnified that fleeting interruption in a way that only a mind tuned to the unique nature of the woods could.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Something else was out there.

Watts' tone darkened. “But I wasn't the leader that day. I was just another soldier, and in truth, that altar made me feel things I didn't understand, not until after...”

“After what?”

Again, the soft crackle of leaves. Closer now. He supposed it could simply be a curious squirrel, or a small bird rummaging through the moist detritus for a hidden earthworm, but instinct told him otherwise.

That's when he realized the birds had gone completely silent.

Watts stumbled over his words, muttering unintelligibly and kicking his feet. “Well, that's...uh...Look, let's just go. We shouldn't have even stopped, and-”

“Oh, screw that, man! Finish your story.”

The pair went quiet momentarily, the first man weighing the idea of continuing. Nevin's eyes shifted slowly from the unseen figures standing just beyond his hiding place, to the mysterious and intermittent rustling that appeared to be carefully approaching their position. He strained his hearing, blotting out his other senses – the silvered backs of the maple leaves, the throbbing muscles of his strained shoulder, the coppery scent of drying blood – but nothing moved. A kind of tinny ringing emerged from the silence, and with each passing moment of quiet, he became increasingly aware of the finer hairs covering his spine as they roused in reaction to instinct.

The branches before him rattled violently, jerking his attention back to the men. “Watts, so help me, I'm about to jump neck-deep in this tree if you don't-”

“Okay, okay.” He pictured the first man holding up his hands, reaching out to pull his companion away from the tangled foliage. In the commotion, the soft rustling stalked ever closer.

“His name was Charles, but everyone just called him Bags. Had a huge collection of these little pouches strapped to his belt, his vest, tucked down in his boots. Each one holding something different. He called them his 'memories'.

“You see, Bags wasn't exactly...whole. Took a blow to the side of the head when he was a kid. Spooked a horse. Was never the same after that. He could still function, mind you, still talk, walk, shit by himself. Aside from the jagged scar he tried to hide beneath an unruly mass of curls, he was about as physically normal as they come. He'd wanted to be in the military since he was a little kid, and despite the accident, that never changed as he grew up.

He paused. “Maybe even because of the accident.”

“See, unless you got to know him, really sat down and talked to him, you'd never be able to suss out exactly what broke inside him when that horse kicked. People are naturally forgetful, especially about the little things. Where you left your shoes the night before, whether you cleaned your pipe last time you used it, those sorts of things.

“But Bags didn't just have trouble with the little things. Bags couldn't remember the specifics of a conversation he'd had five minutes ago. Best person to bitch to, or share a secret with. Didn't matter what you told him. In one ear and out the other.”

Biggan scoffed. “Come on. This was a soldier? If this happened when he was a kid, how could he to learn to fight? How did he learn procedure? Names of fellow soldiers? Locations across the city? How could he do his job?”

(Continued in part 2)