A fierce wind howled overhead, rocking the towering forest giants from side to side in a rhythmic sway. Rasp shuddered as he wrapped his cloak tighter over his shivering shoulders and focused on not falling from the mule. Resigned to the saddle, unable to move, his leaden legs had gone numb hours ago. If it weren’t for the occasional sharp, stabbing tingle in his toes, he would have sworn his lower limbs had fallen from his body and were slowly rotting away amongst the ferns some miles back.
Whisper was the only one of the three equipped with night vision. With Bonecrusher’s lead in hand, the small fae led the mule through the dark forest, forgoing the use of lanterns entirely. The dark was intentional, as light would have advertised their location to every unsavory group patrolling the area–including the one Rasp’s company was attempting to outrun. Thus, they moved amongst the shadows, creeping along at a pace that would have made the world’s slowest snail shed tears of sympathy.
Whisper walked on undeterred. In fact, for someone who was currently on the run, slowly dying from iron poisoning, the fae seemed to have an unusual abundance of energy. Whisper rarely traveled in their true form anymore, opting to spend the time curled in Rasp’s hood to preserve their dwindling strength instead. Had Rasp possessed the willpower to turn his sluggish thoughts into comprehensible words, he might have asked about this marked change in behavior.
As he could do little more than cling to the mule swaying beneath him with the remaining strength in his numb hands, he kept the questions to himself. Rasp satiated his growing curiosity in the knowledge that, in due time, the answer would reveal itself. What he wasn’t expecting was for the answer to come so soon.
“I do have more energy than normal, little bird,” Whisper called from ahead of the mule. “The reason for which I am eager to show you.”
Rasp narrowed his eyes in the direction of Whisper’s voice. He had no idea whether or not he was glaring at the back of the fae’s head, but surely it was the thought that counted. Stop reading my thoughts. One of these days you’re going to come across something real nasty, and I won’t be held accountable for it.
Hop’s heavy footsteps slogged alongside Rasp’s mule. “I thought the whole point of traveling in the dead of night was to outrun the people following us.”
“Our midnight travels can serve multiple purposes,” Whisper replied. “We’re still moving in the direction of the realm settlement in search of my item, ahead of our new pursuers, as planned. It just happens that I discovered something of great interest earlier, and I wish to share it with you.”
Croak. Father’s groggy call rang out from above, lacking its usual ear-splitting potency.
“Dad says he found it,” Rasp corrected.
Whisper grumbled something contemptuous in response, but Rasp wasn’t listening. He uncurled his stiff left hand from its white-knuckled grip on the saddle and raised it to his shoulder, adjusting his cloak to make room for a feathery passenger. “Come on, old man.” Rasp patted his shoulder invitingly. “You’ve been going all day. Can’t have you falling out of any trees from exhaustion.”
The mere suggestion of taking a break would ordinarily have caused a fight. Proud Stoneclaw leaders did not take slights to their machoism very lightly, after all. Which meant Father was either growing as a bird-person or, the more likely option, was too worn down to draw blood. His feathers rustled softly as he swooped down from the treetops and landed on Rasp’s shoulder.
Rasp grimaced as the raven shifted its weight, talons gripping cloth and flesh alike, until Father achieved a more secure roosting position. “Comfortable?” Rasp managed between clenched teeth, making a mental note to trim the bird’s damned claws once he regained the full functioning use of his frozen hands.
Croak.
Rasp ignored Father’s demand for silence. “Good, good. Now that you’re all nice and cozy, showered in my overwhelming filial love, mind telling me where Whisper’s taking us?”
“Don’t tell him anything,” Whisper called from ahead of them. “I want it to be a surprise.”
Not that it would have mattered anyway. From the bird’s still movements, Rasp was almost certain Father had already fallen asleep. He dared not test his theory by poking the winged beast perched so precariously close to his unprotected face.
Hop issued a full-body sigh. “Could we save the surprise field trip for when we’re not trying to outrun an enemy?”
“What he said,” Rasp agreed.
There was an unmistakable edge of amusement to Whisper’s melodic voice. “Neither of you even know where we’re going.”
It took effort not to scream his next words. “Because you won’t tell us!”
“Which, not going to lie, I do find slightly worrisome,” Hop added, mumbling under his breath about having read too many stories of wayward travelers being lured into the woods by an overly cheerful fae, never to be seen again.
Whisper cackled with delight, too enthralled with their new game to give up any pesky details–such as where they were going or, why in the seven realms of chaos, they chose now of all times for a surprise detour.
The only way to obtain the information Whisper was currently dangling over their heads would be to play the fae’s favorite game of ‘keep asking questions and maybe I’ll get around to an answer eventually’. Rasp was not a fan of this particular pastime, but supposed it would be best to jump right in and get it over with. “Alright, fine, I’ll bite. If you’re not going to tell us, then at least give me a hint so I can guess.”
“Somewhere off the beaten path.”
The fact that they were currently traveling through an overgrown forest, woefully lacking any paths to speak of, rendered this clue absolutely useless. Knowing Whisper and their love for equivocation, their vague answer was entirely intentional.
“Straight from the tomes of history, one could say,” Whisper continued in a manner that made Rasp want to spur the mule forward with his heels. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. You would be hard pressed to find very many books on the subject.”
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Rasp’s eyes rolled so far back in his skull that, had he possessed functioning vision, he was certain he would have made eye contact with the inner ghoul responsible for all of his poor life decisions. He imagined the ghoul was rolling their eyes as well. “Whisper,” Rasp gritted out, “so help me.”
“Exactly, little bird. This short detour is meant to help you.”
“You know what, just for this, when your little spiky baby is awakened, I’m naming it Egbert.”
Whisper prattled off another unhelpful explanation, not deterred, but seemingly fueled by Rasp’s growing irritation. “You may not be aware, little bird, but this territory did not always belong to the realm. The people who resided here had their own culture and way of life, some of which was heavily dependent on magic. Unfortunately, the United Territories of the Realm has a long history of cannibalizing other nations, and those who lived here originally fell to its power long ago. All that remains are the ruins of their former cities.”
Hop, unlike Rasp, anticipated where Whisper’s long winded explanation was going several steps ahead of schedule. “So you found a ruined city and you’re taking us to it, is that what you’re getting at?”
“It was more of a village, but yes,” Whisper agreed with a grumble, notably perturbed that their fun had run its course so quickly.
Gods help him. As if being dragged along in the middle of the night unable to feel his numb ass in a saddle wasn’t torture enough. Afraid he might upset his sleeping passenger, Rasp resisted the urge to throw his hands out from his sides in exasperation. “You’re taking us sightseeing?”
“Consider it a history lesson. Learning the past is as important to your training as the rest of it is.”
Oh good. Rasp’s worries that they were going sightseeing just for the fun of it were immediately put to rest. Learning whilst taking in sights he literally could not see was so much better. “Whisper, in case you’ve forgotten, we’re being followed, remember? This seems like a good way to get caught.”
“Not to mention all the ruins out here are supposedly haunted,” Hop murmured just loud enough for Rasp to overhear.
“Thank you, Hop,” Rasp said, struggling to keep his own volume at a level that wouldn’t garner unwanted attention. Traveling in pitch darkness, after all, would be for naught if he gave in to the urge to start screaming at the top of his lungs. “I was concerned this random detour couldn’t possibly get any worse.”
“On the contrary,” Whisper replied, still slowly plodding away, leading Bonecrusher along in their wake. “The haunting works in our favor. The ruins are not far from the realm settlement. Between the superstition surrounding the village and the outpost swarming with realm soldiers, our pursuers will be reluctant to follow us into such obvious danger.”
So not only was Whisper planning to move them closer to the military settlement crawling with realm soldiers, they intended to stop off at a haunted village along the way. What a perfectly reasonable plan. Not crazy at all. Rasp was so utterly delighted to be under the wing of a perfectly sane mentor.
“So dramatic,” Whisper tutted. “You well know a sane mentor would have never taken you on.”
“Stay out of my head!”
“For the record,” Hop cut in, steering the conversation back on track with an exasperated snort, “I think this is a terrible plan.”
“The worst,” Rasp agreed.
“We might as well light the lanterns and put bells on at this point.”
“Yeah, and take our clothes off while we’re at it.”
There was a contemplative pause before Hop revealed his thoughts regarding Rasp’s contribution to the plan. “That might actually keep unwanted company away.”
“So you’re in agreement then? Let’s do it.”
“It’s freezing out.”
“I thought the whole point was coming up with ways to make Whisper’s stupid plan stupider.”
“It’s not stupid,” Whisper insisted with a rattle of their quills. “We are using the enemy’s superstition to our advantage by going to a place they will be reluctant to follow.”
“Because it’s haunted.” Rasp didn’t exactly believe in ghosts, but it did seem like an important detail to keep bringing up, even if only to annoy his mentor.
“Supposedly haunted,” Whisper said. “I can assure you, whatever shadows may lurk within the abandoned village pale in comparison to the enemy hot on our trail. You were lucky the resistance members you encountered earlier were so easily caught off guard. That is not a mistake their leader will permit them to make a second time. If they catch up again, they will throw everything they have at us.”
Welp, so much for his fun. Along with the reminder of who they were running from came the memory of why they were running. Rasp shook his head to clear the sudden smell of burnt flesh and hair that clawed up the inside of his nose. In his haste to bury the carnage he’d caused that afternoon deep, deep down out of sight forever, Rasp realized he hadn’t bothered to ask about the people currently hunting them.
“You sound like you’re familiar with the idiots chasing us, Whisper.” Rasp paused, attempting to recall the group’s ridiculously overcomplicated name. “They called themselves something really obnoxious. Girls and Boys of Revenge or something.”
“The Sons and Daughters of Resistance,” Hop corrected.
They had said the same thing, as far as Rasp was concerned.
“I am familiar,” Whisper said in the sort of tone that implied it was not an ecstatic familiarity. “They are the magical group formed in opposition to the abuses committed by the Division of Divination on the behalf of the realm. Their leader has been operating within the flatlands for over half a century, waiting for exactly this moment to move in.”
Rasp was following so far. “So they’re here to dismantle the realm, right?”
“One would assume.”
“Wouldn’t that make them on our side then? You know, the whole ‘the enemy of my enemy makes good bedfellows’ or whatever?” Such prevailing wisdom had never applied to Stoneclaws in any meaningful way. Rasp’s people took great delight in creating as many enemies as possible and fighting them all at once. Rasp would have thought that Whisper, of all people, would have realized this was a losing strategy. “Because for someone who shares a common enemy, you don’t seem all that keen to make their acquaintance.”
Granted, cooking two of their members in their armor could very well have been Whisper’s sole reason for avoiding the group as a whole, but Rasp wasn’t about to bring that up again.
“While the resistance’s cause may seem noble on the surface, their end goal is no different, little bird. The Sons and Daughters of Resistance want the same thing the division does–absolute power.”
“Oh.” It was becoming clearer now. Or so he thought. Maybe it was just the sleep exhaustion finally catching up to him.
Whisper’s melodic voice carried on the bitter breeze, intermingling with the crisp smells of wet needles and pine sap. “No matter the cause, we would be but tools to those that capture us. Used until there was nothing left to take. Our best course of action is not to get involved at all.”
Ah, running from their problems, Rasp concluded, feeling the weight of sleep pull at his heavy eyelids. Finally, a solution he and Whisper agreed upon.
In the distance, muffled by the rattling, rhythmic sway of the forest giants, the faint screech of a raven sounded in the night. Had Rasp not been drifting off to sleep, he might have noticed the way Father’s head snapped to attention. Father’s feet shifted, tightening his grip on Rasp’s shoulder with his sharp talons as he tilted his head, listening for the familiar call.