Footsteps all around her signaled the approach of more of Ferene’s enemy. A few pokes to her back, and something shoved a pole under her side and flipped her onto her back. She noticed a shadow looming over her in the darkness – a face staring down, features hidden by shadow. Long ears stuck out to the sides of the head.
The person looking down at her was a Hatharen.
This felt oddly familiar.
Pushing herself upwards, the Hatharen she could only assume was her attacker stepped back, brandishing a wood-tipped spear in her face. She held up her hands in surrender, looking around. Three more surrounded her, all of them dressed in clothes seemingly made from tree bark. They held their weapons uneasily, looking at her with worry on their faces.
“What are you doing here?” Ferene asked. Hatharen, in human lands, attacking humans. Were these the monsters of the forest? Why were they here?
The one in front of her lowered their weapon, face breaking into a smile. “Grandparents will want to hear this!” They spoke the human language, causing Ferene to look at the speaker in surprise. The other four nodded, and Ferene immediately found herself being hauled to her feet, in the familiar position of being surrounded by much taller Hatharen, though this group was thinner and less bulky than those in Yonthal. They were not muscle-bound warriors but instead looked frail and undernourished.
One of them carried her sword, and while she did not ask for it back, Ferene did keep an eye on the one holding it. He, like the rest of the group, was male. That stood out to her as another oddity, as they led her deeper into the forest. It wasn’t long before they arrived at some wooden structures built around the trees. There was no clearing, just logs suspended by ropes, with more logs placed on top of them, creating floating cover. Beds of dirt covered by an odd fabric showed sleeping locations. Rather than the simple living conditions of the Hatharen Stronghold, these looked outright crude and primitive, if inventive.
“Grandmother!” The leading man called out, and instantly several shapes dropped down from the trees above. Six more men, wearing similar bark outfits, some holding wooden spears while others held bows. They all stared at her, then one approached the leader of the group that captured her. A whispered conversation took place that Ferene wasn’t able to pick up on, but she held her head high, keeping an eye on her sword. She still had her second sword and her knife on her waist, and a second knife in her boot, if she really needed to fight.
“You brought an outsider here.” The newcomer said, frowning.
“Grandmother needs to see her. A female, from our people, from outside! She had weapons. She looked like she could fight.” Her capturer said, gesturing to the one that held her sword.
“No.” One of the others said, speaking up as they stepped towards Ferene’s group. “Women would never fight. That’s for us to do. He just has long hair and a pretty face.”
The five that captured her all turned to look at Ferene, apparently considering this new option. Something was wrong with these Hatharen. “Why not just ask me?” She spoke up, causing the newer Hatharen that had stepped forward to get a look at her to suddenly step back. They reacted like shy animals.
“Strip him!” Someone yelled.
Instantly, her short sword was in her hand, and she jolted backwards and to the side, a quick step that put her beside the one holding her sword. She didn’t want to hurt these Hatharen, no matter what was wrong with them, and she was certain something was off here, but she wasn’t going to let them do whatever they wanted.
A female voice suddenly called out. “Stop!” The word instantly caused all of the men to freeze, then fall into a sitting position, even the one Ferene was threatening. She awkwardly let go of him, retrieving her large sword from him as he sat down.
A Hatharen woman stepped into view, wearing an elaborate flowing dress. “Sister!” One of the men called out. She nodded, then stepped towards Ferene.
“You would mistake this girl for one of you?” The woman asked, turning to look at the first of the Hatharen that made the accusation. Apparently she had been watching, waiting to step in. The one under her scrutiny shook his head, and she laughed. “What is your name, female warrior?”
“Ferene.” Seeing that the threat had passed, Ferene sheathed her weapons, sizing up the woman. Just like the men, she was thin and willowy.
She smiled at Ferene. “I am Nehnal, of the sixth circle. Come with me, the first circle will want to meet with you.” Nehnal held out a hand.
Confused, but curious, Ferene nodded and took the offered hand. Nehnal’s fingers were soft, and it reminded Ferene of Velan. The men stayed on the ground, watching as Ferene was lead away.
Nehnal showed her to a staircase leading upwards, and the two ascended, finding more wooden platforms suspended between the trees. The structures were more refined here, though still mostly bare. Thin walls of planks connected floors to roofs, forming makeshift houses, lifted between the branches of the trees. Inside one of these Ferene found a group of women, looking up from their chairs as Nehnal and Ferene entered. The younger woman bowed slightly, letting go of Ferene. “Grandmothers, the men found this woman warrior entering the forest.”
“Leave us, child.”
Nehnal looked at the one that spoke, opened her mouth, and then shut it, quietly leaving without another word. Ferene found herself alone with the three Hatharen women. One of them spoke to her in the Hatharen language, the first time Ferene had heard it since coming into the forest. “I do not speak the language of your people.”
“Ha!” One of the others barked. “Our people, but not yours? None of us belongs to them, it seems.”
“You are not here to bring us back, then, child?” The third - the one who had sent Nehnal away - asked.
“I was on the road to the south, and a human told me there are monsters in this forest. I thought they might be the ones from beyond the mountains. I had to check.” Ferene still didn’t know what was going on, but she sensed danger. This was not a regular group of Hatharen. How did they come to be here? How long had they been here? If these were grandmothers, it could be over a thousand years.
“No monsters here, just us. We came here to get away from the monsters.”
Ferene locked her eyes on the one that spoke. Long, curly brown hair fell down to her shoulders, and despite the clothes she wore being nearly identical to Nehnal’s, her exposed arms were just like those of the Hatharen Ferene had met in the stronghold. “I was told that monsters would kill anyone who entered. I entered, and your men attacked me. What happened to the humans that tried to come through here?”
“We told the men to drive them off.”
“You killed them.”
The one talking stood up, coming to her full height in front of Ferene. “We defended our territory from invaders, just as any human would do! We had a deal with the local lord, to prevent anyone from entering. At some point he forgot about it, and humans started showing up. It is our right to defend ourselves.”
A chill ran up Ferene’s spine. This was the unclaimed land. There was no local lord. There were no castles, cities, or towns nearby. The hermit on the road was the only human for days of travel. “How long ago was that?”
A blank look crossed the woman’s face for a moment, and she turned to one of comrades. “That was when we first came here, wasn’t it? How long ago was that?”
“No, it was after our first children. Only two thousand years ago.”
Ferene’s head was spinning. “He died!” She yelled. “He died and everyone who ever knew him died! There is no local lord, there’s a road and hills and an old man who owns chickens! You’ve been killing people who were trying to pass through the forest instead of taking the long road around.” Her hand twitched. She wanted to draw her sword. It was the same as with her father. These people were just stupid, lost in their own world. Except instead of being immersed in studying plants, these women had isolated themselves from the outside world.
“Calm down, girl. You don’t need to fight anymore. Stay with us. The women here don’t fight. We make the men do that, but even they don’t need to do it often. A few humans now and then are a small price to pay. Far better than fighting the real monsters.”
Ferene spun, facing the one that spoke. She wanted to yell, but a thought stopped her. Instead, she let out her breath. “You are deserters, aren’t you? You ran away. Why?”
The one who stood up sank back into her chair. “The six of us were tired of fighting, endlessly, forever. It was only a matter of time until one of us died out there. Why do that? We want to live in peace.”
The words calmed her down. The situation was not unlike Tahrean, except that they would not have been allowed to stay out of the fight the same way. Running away made sense, to some extent. “You could be living in peace with the humans, instead of killing the ones that come here. There are other Hatharen who live among them. You wouldn’t need to treat your men so poorly, they don’t have to fight either.”
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“We are the heart of our society, the heart of our race. Men are interchangeable tools to have children. A woman can have a child every few hundred years. Men are far more reusable.”
Tahrean had talked about this. “Where are the three that came here with you? Are they down below with the others?”
“All are equal.” Another of the elders said. “Seniority changes nothing. Even you, an outsider, would have the same privileges as us.”
“Even if I can’t have children?” Ferene asked. One of them showed shock, while the others showed concern. “My mother was a human. I’m even less useful to you than the men down below. Neither your society or the Strongholds have a place for someone like me.”
The three of them exchanged looks, then nodded to each other. “You are an unfortunate child. We can only hope that you find peace on your journey. It would be better for everyone if you keep our lives here a secret, because we will fight to defend ourselves. Our daughters may not have known war, but the three of us remember.”
Like most Hatharen, they were stubborn and unreasonable. Even after potentially thousands of years of isolation, they stuck to tradition and refused to look at things any other way. Ferene did not have the words to convince them otherwise. Perhaps someone else might. Sathar, Taradira, or Relgren. If anything, Taradira should know they were here. Add them to her book. Ferene turned and left, navigating her way back to the forest floor.
On the way there, Nehnal intercepted her, along with another woman. “This is my sister, Cenli, of the fifth circle. I told her about you, and she was interested in hearing more. Can you tell us stories from the outside?”
Shaking her head, Ferene answered them. “I’m not staying here.” The two of them frowned at her, looking confused. “There’s too much to explain. If you want to know about the outside, ask one of the men - the oldest men - to teach you how to fight. The outside world is right there. It is dangerous, far more dangerous than your life in here, but there are people outside, good people and bad people. All sorts of things to see and learn. I used to hate it out there, but I don’t any more.” With that, she pushed past them. Linara had set her on the path that led her to understanding the world, seeing the good in people, seeing that there was more to it all than just killing. More than anything, Ferene wanted to find her and thank her, learn more about her, repay her for that. The younger Hatharen here might not feel the same as their parents, but it was their choice if they wanted to stay in isolation or leave. Ferene could not make that choice for them.
Linara rarely felt true fear. There was being nervous before a fight, uncertain of the outcome, but accepting of any result. There was worry about if her choices were the right ones, and being ready to regret having made the wrong one. Those were different than being rooted in place, unable to move, as a Hatharen rose from the dead in front of her, the rag-like remains of the clothing wrapped around the corpse falling off, partially disintegrating just from their wearer sitting up. Outline of ribs clearly visible under its skin, the once-dead Hatharen stared at Linara, dark blue eyes locked on to hers, and repeated the question.
“L-Linara. Aesuthal.” She said, her mouth feeling dry. Not as dry as the corpse she was talking to, that would be impossible. As impossible as a corpse coming back to life.
“Water.” It croaked, extending a hand towards her.
“S-Sal. Water.” Linara switched back to human language, extending a hand to the girl, who was pressing herself against the wall of the room, eyes wide in terror. Slowly, she handed a jug to Linara, who opened it before giving it to the thing in the coffin.
It drank. In front of her eyes, the corpse transformed. By the time it handed the empty jug back to her, it looked a lot less dead. Still mostly skin and bones, but no longer sickly white, transparent skin. It smiled at her, the skin on its face no longer dry. Then it raised its arms and stretched. “Linara.” It - he? - said, looking back at her. “I am Grathen. Why have you awoken me?”
Grathen. Linara had never heard the name before. “I was looking for answers.” She didn’t know what was going on, but he did not look dangerous. Rather than a moving corpse, he looked weak and fragile. On looks alone, Linara should be easily able to beat him in a fight. She was still on edge, but no longer terrified. The same could not be said for Sal, however, the girl whimpering softly.
“You stand in the Headquarters of Resh. The Knights of Resh are trained here, before being sent out into the world.”
“There are no Knights of Resh. Not any more.” The name had been mentioned a few times in the castle’s history books. “Are you Resh?”
He tried to laugh, but it turned into another cough. “Resh stands at the top of the hill outside. He was my best friend, my comrade, and the founder of the order, the first of the knights. I helped him, carrying out his wish long after his years ran out.”
“You…” Linara paused, unsure of herself. “You looked dead. You’re in a coffin.”
“This is a bed.” Grathen stated plainly, as if it was obvious. “I was hibernating.”
“Hatharen don’t hibernate. This place has been abandoned for hundreds of years. There was a lid on your bed.”
Grathen looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “So it seems.” His eye fell on Sal, who did her best to shrink into the wall under his gaze. “Young woman.” He said, in the human tongue. “You have nothing to fear from me. I owe you two a great debt, for waking me up. Please, stand up.”
Quietly, Sal nodded, pushing herself to her feet and moving behind Linara, like a child hiding behind her mother.
Slowly, Grathen rose from his tomb-bed, coming to his full height and stepping out onto the floor. Luckily, his trousers had endured his hibernation better than his shirt. “I need to go and see Resh.”
He had said before that Resh was on top of the hill outside. “The statue?”
“Yes. Once there, I will answer all the questions you wish to ask, Linara of Aesuthal and friend.” He said, before slipping through the gap in the wall.
“W-what was that?” Sal asked, still huddled close to Linara, her voice shaking.
“One of my people, it seems.” Linara answered. The fear had worn off, replaced entirely by curiosity. Grathen’s so-called hibernation was something she had never heard about. How old was he, and what knowledge did he have? The Knights of Resh were founded over four thousand years ago, and seemingly died around three hundred years ago. Not much was known about them among humans, but maybe the Hatharen knew. There were a small percentage of eccentrics among her people that kept records on human history, but that had never been an interest of hers when she still lived in the stronghold.
Without another word, Linara followed after Grathen, with Sal following after. The two of them quickly found him crouching on the stairs upwards, breathing heavily.
“My body is not used to moving.” He said, smiling in the light from the lantern. Despite his words, he looked better than he did moments ago, less gaunt. He was regenerating from his hibernation right in front of their eyes. “I will need some food, but I want to see Resh first.”
Linara wanted to point out that it was just a statue, but held back. She tried to think about sleeping for potentially thousands of years, and just wanting to see something, anything, that reminded her of something familiar. Her mind immediately went to Senral.
Taking another deep breath - and coughing it back out - Grathen stood and ascended the stairs, Linara and Sal following. He made it out the door and partially up the hill before once more sitting down and catching his breath. As he sat, he stared first up at the sun, then at the landscape around him.
“It’s different.” He commented, before rising once more and walking to the top of the hill.
Grathen was silent as he looked upon The Watcher. Sal and Linara watched silently as he stepped towards it, reaching to the face and touching the eye holes, his hand running downwards, over the stump of the nose. “It is as worn as my memory is. I don’t remember his face.” He turned to Linara, tears in his eyes. “Do you have anything to eat?”
She took a moment to react to his question, before turning to Sal, who pulled some dried meat out of her pack. He quickly ate it, sitting down on the ground and staring up at the statue.
“I might need more than that. It’s been a long time since I ate anything.”
“I can go hunt something.” Linara said, but Sal immediately grabbed her arm, shaking her head.
“I’ll do it.” She spoke up, giving Linara a pleading look. “Please don’t leave me alone with him.” The whisper came out, and Linara nodded.
“After his death, I trained the Knights, spreading his teachings for two hundred more years. It is not a long time, for our people, but I already felt old. I had spent four hundred among my own people, then another four with the humans. It’s hard to live to one thousand, so I felt lucky, but I missed him. I missed him so much. So I went to sleep.”
Linara nodded, sitting across from him on the ground near the statue. “Even now it’s rare anyone lives that long. From the information that gets shared, only half live beyond seven hundred.”
“Things are getting worse in the north, then.”
Nodding again, Linara asked her next question. “The sleep - the hibernation - that isn’t something I’ve ever heard about. How does that work?”
“We heal backwards.” Grathen said, looking at his hand. “Unlike humans, who grow new flesh, gaining scars, we re-grow our old flesh, back to how it used to be. If we don’t die immediately, we can regrow limbs and organs. Hatharen are terrifying, unnatural creatures. Has a Hatharen ever died of starvation, or thirst? Of course not. We may become weak, defenseless before the elements, and die of the slightest cut, thinned blood draining from our weakened body faster than we can recover it. One in such a situation struggles to find food or water and puts themselves at greater risk. If you are in a completely safe place, could you not simply meditate, and fall into a deep sleep? A human would sleep until they die, obviously. But Hatharen don’t. This was my hypothesis. I first tried it for a hundred days, and easily recovered. So I made that room, and went to sleep. I told them to wake me up if they needed me. It seems they forgot.” He laughed. His voice sounded better now, and the laugh was strong, loud, carrying. He smiled a lot during his explanations, but every now and then he would look up at the statue and his face would fall into sadness, but only for a moment.
Linara found Grathen to be an oddity.
“Resh’s sword.” She said, pointing to the hilt that still remained on the statue. “I have two questions about that. They are why I was exploring the building. The design of the crossguard. I have seen one other sword like that, and only one. An identical pattern. I was wondering if you could tell me about that.”
Standing up once more, Grathen approached the statue, looking at the carved sword. Given a view of his bare back, Linara noticed that he already looked less thin than before, the meat under his skin starting to re-form. Apparently Hatharen bodies regained lost muscle even faster than they healed wounds. Linara had never thought about that before.
“It’s a simple style of sword used by the order. There are some situational applications in battle, but it’s mostly ornamental. If the Knights died out as long ago as you say, I doubt any of their swords still remain, so someone must have copied the design. Unless the teachings were passed down in secret by a few survivors.”
Ferene didn’t seem like the type to have any secret teachings, and her fighting style was brutal, unrefined. “Probably just a coincidence, then.” She said. There didn’t seem to be any connection between the strange girl and the ancient order.
“What was your other question?” He asked, sitting down again.
Linara shrugged. “The hilt is made of Hatharen black metal. I figured it shouldn’t be here, in the human lands. But you being here explains it.”
Grathen nodded. “I was a blacksmith, at one point. That crossguard is from the sword Resh himself used, that I made for him. I forged that piece myself, from a small amount of ore I had. If I could have made a full weapon, he might still be properly armed, instead of just holding a hilt.” He smiled as he looked up at the statue of his friend.