A soft breeze came in from the window, which made him wake up. Again, he forgot to close the damn thing last evening. By now, there must’ve been at least a hundred mosquitoes that had defiled his body in his sleep.

With prompt action and a quick code, he cast a spell, and the mosquitoes around the room dropped dead while the rays of the morning sun cast a beam of light on the floor of his room.

It wasn’t all bad living in a little village near the mountains; the world around was supposedly quite beautiful, and people were sometimes honest to others and seldom honest to themselves.

Less people lived here than in the academy, so that was nice; it didn’t feel crowded, yet somehow people bothered him here more than anywhere else. They would come to his door and knock until he opened the door for them.

Sometimes they came to visit for actual reasons; sometimes it was a group of kids curious about magic, but most of the time there was someone wasting his time for no good reason.

He understood that people saw him as someone useful and someone they should take advantage of; it was a lot easier if Kanrel used magic to remove a large boulder from the ground than it was to use manpower to do the same thing.

He also understood that people were thankful for his help and might offer him food and other things. But he didn’t understand why there had to be something for him to do every day of the week.

And every time, he would get up and do as they wished him to do because that was his job in this little community. Life goes more smoothly this way. There really wasn’t anyone who would discriminate against him or hate him for who he was, though that, again, was just his perception of things in this little village.

Maybe they all hated him, which is why they thought of things that they could use to bother him with.

Of course, all this time wasn’t completely wasted, for when he had to come up with a code for a task, he would try different things just to test how it might work in different scenarios. And if the given test failed for one reason or another and the large rock remained in the ground, he would then use a code he knew would work. No harm done.

This gave him many opportunities to test his new "coding language”.

Because of this, everywhere he went, he had his notebook with him, and he would write down the codes he had tested and then used. And because it was part of his job, he also wrote down what was requested of him, who requested it from him, and why. And so forth.

At first, he had been at a loss, but now, after a few months, it all came to him quite naturally. However, it did take a considerable amount of effort to deal with normal people. As in those who weren’t priests.

Their emotional experiences were much more varied, and it was often difficult for him to read the situation or read between the words. It had been almost two years by now since he last felt emotions normally. So there wasn’t as much as he would’ve liked to draw from.

Despite all this and everything that he had done for those who lived here, he was still a stranger, just someone passing by, an outsider. To become part of a seemingly friendly village took considerably more effort than one might think.

But it didn’t matter; it wasn’t allowed to matter. He would continue doing things the way he had done since the beginning, of course, made wiser by the wider variety of information he had, be it of the things he had done or the people he had to work with.

All this paid off, for the people would have looser tongues with him about different matters. Most would, of course, be just useless rumors. But information about the ground, which apparently spoke, was now there for him to access.

Before this village had become just another part of the kingdom, it had humans living here, perhaps a tribe of hunter-gatherers who had a close connection to the nature around them; they found the forests to be sacred, the rivers as well, and so were the mountains.

But for them, the most sacred ground was somewhere within the forest, near the mountains that rose high in the northwest. The actions of Betty before her disappearance in the woods and then the words of a dying man, Rant, all lead into the forest.

So he chose a day at random from the week that he would dedicate to exploring the forest and finding clues about anything that might relate to either of those things.

Never is a forest silent; never is it without its inhabitants. Never is it truly safe. Not for most.

The forest is thick with vegetation; its floor is covered with moss, and there are different types of berries. Ant nests can be found the further you traverse inward, and once you do, you can follow a great road created by those ants to another location, perhaps another colony.

On their backs, they carry many things, mostly needles to construct more of their great cities and dead bugs to perhaps feast upon in great gatherings. There are many ants—surely more than there are humans in the world.

They build, they expand, and they partake in warfare. Thus, they kill and conquer. Kanrel had always found ants to be interesting; such simple creatures had such great complexity to themselves.

This complex yet simple existence made him wonder if they too had gods, if they too had such concepts, if they had thoughts, minds of sorts, to produce ideas, to partake in dialogue, in debates in their own quest to find truth. Whatever that truth might be.

But alas, the forest is more than the kingdom of ants. A forest is a living, breathing organism. The great spruce and pine trees that pierced upward, overcasting the ground beneath, yet letting light enter this land of ants and berries.

The wind would gently brush through the forest, through the many needles of the many branches, making a pleasant sound that brought more life to the forest. He could hear birds singing in their varied styles; he could not even begin to guess which species of bird there might be.

As he walked, he could easily tell that he was ever so slightly going uphill. At times, he would scale a small hill just to descend it soon after, reaching further into the forest. He had heard many descriptions of things ahead from many different people.

Many would enter, mainly to gather things during the different seasons, be it berries or mushrooms during late summer and early autumn, wood whenever, or to hunt when it was most convenient to do so. There is supposed to be plenty of game, mainly moose and deer, but also some rabbits as well. Wolves were only sometimes an issue, and bears seldom.

But most would traverse only a few kilometers. Most would know not to enter too deep. For the ground spoke, they said. The ground was sacred to those who lived here long before them. The ground would eat them and swallow them.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

After a few hours, Kanrel chose not to go any further in; along the way, he had made notes of the things that he had seen and how long it took for him to reach those locations. He should be able to easily return to the village.

He went ahead and marked a tall pine tree with a cross, slightly burning its bark. He would turn around and return to the village, for he did not wish to spend his night so deep in a forest, nor would he like to try to navigate it in the dark.

From that day onward, Kanrel would enter the forest twice a week, but this time more gradually so that he could investigate the area more thoroughly. He was trying to find anything at all that might give him an understanding of the little rumors that he had heard and of Betty’s disappearance.

But as the first summer had gone by, and then soon after that, the autumn, it was made clear that he would have to travel even deeper next year to find anything. But would an old woman travel so far into the woods just to pick mushrooms? Such a thing seemed unlikely, but he had no other clues to follow.

It was late autumn when Kanrel gave up for now; he returned from his last exploration of the year and visited Vien’s tavern. The place was as rowdy as ever, with many familiar faces gathered around tables and Vien’s bar counter to drink, converse, and just kill time.

The harvest had been good this year, and most were ready for the coming winter.

Kanrel took a stool for himself and sat next to Dar, who sat silently peering into his drink. An eye unaccustomed to the man’s facial expressions might think that he was contemplating something great or that he was somewhat sad, which would be wrong.

Kanrel, who found himself spending more time than was perhaps necessary in his company, could easily tell whether the man was happy about something or just shy about another thing.

As per usual, Kanrel ordered nothing to drink and nothing to eat; he would indulge himself in food when he got home later. Cooking was a new skill he had been practicing as of late, but it was difficult to tell if he had made any progress since all food tasted the same.

“Did something good happen? Or are you going to proclaim your undying love to Vien and ale?” Kanrel asked when he realized that Dar paid no attention to him but just kept looking into his drink.

The man flinched noticeably, managing not to spill any of his precious ale on the wooden counter. Dar finally looked at Kanrel. “Yes to the first question, and a big no to the second one,” he said. “The second, I, like many others here, have tried so many times and gotten the same answer as those many before me and after, so there is really no point in asking when the answer is as clear as day…”

“Right, but I do distinctly remember you asking a week or so ago…”

"Well, perhaps, but that is beside the point. For that time, and many other times before, I was most definitely drunk and absolutely out of my mind. So they really don’t count, now do they?”

Kanrel just shrugged. “Then tell me, oh man of many drunken mistakes, what has made you so happy on this late autumn day?”

A shy smile found its way onto the man's face. “You see, I had some friends left in Aucklyn, and I sometimes get letters from them, and I sometimes send some back.”

“You see when old Rant died, Isbit wanted to hire some more people to the farm, but in the village, there aren’t really enough people for how much farming he wants to do next year.”

“So I suggested that he’d hire people from Aucklyn, as I used to live there; Isbit agreed and asked me to ask, and well, those friends are already on their way here, with their families and all,” Dar explained.

“Oh, so some friends and the love of your life?”

“Yes… Wait… No!” Various emotions that were seldom seen on Dar’s face flashed in quick succession, starting with a shy smile, turning into a sweet soon, becoming horrified, and then awfully red with embarrassment.

Kanrel patted Dar on the shoulder and said, “I wish the best of luck on your attempts at seducing this person for yourself; I have no tips for you; frankly, there isn’t any religious text that I could refer to when it comes to matters of love, lust, or whatever. So you’re on your own.”

“But do tell me, what is this person like?” Kanrel couldn’t help but ask; he had never really had such a talk in his life with anyone, and he did truly want to know what kind of people might soon be entering this village, which he too now calls home.

Dar was silent at first, but soon opened his mind; to his memories of a loved one: “She, Amer, is a childhood friend, a nameless like me; we both lived in Aucklyn since our early age, as people who were placed there in efforts to divide a ghetto in Lo’ Gran.”

“They didn’t want us there anymore, in the capital, so they placed us all around the kingdom, children and adults. There we were placed into either families or under priests so that we could become law-abiding citizens of the kingdom.”

“I honestly don’t know much about that, but I guess it kinda worked. I lived with a priest, and Amer with a family that couldn’t have children of their own; we both knew since we were children what we are: nameless.”

“And I think that made us bond, so we always had each other's backs. If she was bullied, I’d fight back with her, and vice versa. I helped her learn to read and write, and she helped me learn more practical things, as having a priest as a father is quite 'academic' for lack of a better description.”

“I think I’ve been in love with her since my teens; I just never shared those feelings; I never spoke of ‘em. There was no need, as we were friends, and I really didn’t want to ruin something we already had…” Dar let out a long sigh. “I don’t know if I regret it or not; the times we had together, as friends, are so precious, but the what-ifs sometimes make me feel all too dizzy.”

Kanrel brought out his well-practiced smile and said, “You never told me you had a priest as a father.”

Dar shrugged. "I never thought to bring it up, nor did you ever ask, but it might explain why I find your presence kind of comforting.”

“Indeed, and I’ve never told you that I have a priest as a mother.” Kanrel added, “So I assume our upbringing isn’t that different; I was just brought up in Lo’ Gran instead.”

Dar shook his head. "Iduldian... You have a name, and I am nameless; let’s not forget that.”

Kanrel just smiled and said nothing else about the matter; perhaps they’d discuss such things at another time. Instead, he got up and patted Dar on the shoulder, saying, “I’ll be glad to meet this Amer of yours when she gets here.”

He then bid him goodnight and left the tavern. Kanrel had a new hobby to attend to. The wonders of cooking and the many flavors of ash were his to unlock; someday he might find a flavor of ash with a better taste to it.