5 : 264 : 07 : 48 : 22

You can breathe easy again. Dalek's still alive. The bear showed up in the aftermath of the battle to tell me I should return to my quarters, and not leave there without permission, and if I did it again, it would sit on me.

Back in the solitude of my lovely underground pocket, I lay down on the bedding of green and take a moment to picture how to best spend my new life in the wild, set free of all worldly worries. I'm still at it as night falls and darkness returns to the wood. So many brilliant possibilities to look forward to. Frolicking with pixies all day, every day. Playing tag with pixies. Playing hide and seek with pixies. Playing Twister with pixies. Playing doctor with pixies. Doing anatomical studies with pixies. Comparing belly-buttons with pixies. Stealing underwear with pixies, and—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Seriously, what am I going to do?

This isn’t fun and games anymore! Even if I, by a wild miracle, find my way out of here and back to civilization, they’ll just ship me right back. Because it's my job. My mission. I went and signed on it. Until the war with the Fey ends, I’ll always have this jam in front of me, unless I swim back home across the ocean. But how could it end? How could a shitstorm of this size be realistically wrapped up in my lifetime? The belligerents are long past speaking terms. Peace is in nobody's dictionary. They want to blood. Always more of it.

I don’t see any way.

This is a stalemate like no other. A bind. A fucking pickle.

I look at ants and worms crawl along the earthen ceiling.

This is what my fabulous legend comes down to? I was supposed to be the Warrior of Light. Instead, I'll be stuck here chatting with otters until I’ve become a granny to replace the granny. A life without deodorant? Using smoke as perfume? Wiping with shrubs after toilet? Packing fat for winter, stuffing nuts in my cheeks? That's sick! What kind of wish-fulfilment power fantasy is this!? It's nothing but one bad thing after another!

Somebody please help meeeeeee!

—“Is everything all right?”

A slender emiri man steps into the chamber, a wide bowl sculpted of wood in his hands.

I stop tossing and wailing and look at the guy. It's so strange to see someone without whiskers. He moves so quietly and has so little presence, I didn't notice his approach at all.

Age may not be so obvious on these people's faces, but you can sort of get a feel of how old they are from the general vibes. This chap's aura smells a little immature to me. Only a young adult by local measurements. Under a thousand years. He must've cut his own hair, seeing as it's short but uneven and messed. He’s got a pretty vegetarian build, neither fat nor brawny. The Nintendo body type. He’s also half naked. He must've been a paratrooper too, once upon a time, but all that’s left of his uniform at this point are the trousers, ripped to frayed capri shorts. His upper body is bare, but he’s doodled some random tribal patterns with home-made paint over his skin, maybe to seem less indecent. Or maybe it’s camouflage to distract predators?

Put that in other words, he looks closer to the standard high fantasy elves you're used to seeing, compared to his urban kindred. I don’t want to say sus, but that word may have crossed my mind.

“Are you here to torture me?” I ask, too lazy to get up from the floor.

“Not by intent,” the man says and raises the bowl. “My name is Ofir. I brought you supper. I thought you might be hungry by now.”

Messiah! There’s still good in the world! I cross my fingers, close my eyes, and thank all the Divines I know by name for this rare and unexpected show of clemency. I've been made a believer! Praised be the Heavens!

The guy sets the bowl down on the floor and adds,

“Shrews must feed every three hours to survive.”

“I’m a human being! Hu-u-man!”

Will you stop comparing me to rodents already! It pisses me off!

“Human?” Ofir parrots and looks at me, a little surprised.

“What? Have you met humans before?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No. Not I. But my mother did, long ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Before the districts were divided, a small tribe of humans lived in Khalua, in the eastern mountains, close to the town where my parents dwelt at the time. It was an isolated community, who could say where they came from? There were perhaps five hundred of them at most. They would trade with us, but were reluctant to leave their village and approach our settlements. If more than one emiri went to see them, they would abandon their small houses and run away. So my mother was chosen as an intermediary between them and us. Over time, she managed to win their trust.”

“Wow. Whaddya know.”

People have been all over the place, it seems. A certain other lifeform comes to mind that won't leave without pesticide.

“The humans left an impression on my mother,” Ofir continues. “She would tell me about them many times. She would take them what they'd asked, and bring back what little things they gave in exchange. No fee was put on the wares; the humans had nothing we could need. But they would be insulted, if we refused payment, so it was less trouble to humor them. Mother said it was a surreal experience, meeting them. Every time she would hike up the mountain to their village, the faces to greet her would have changed. Constantly dying, constantly born…And yet, despite the ceaseless reshaping of their tribe, they retained something familiar to them. A communal identity, a tribal spirit, which persisted through the times. Despite being separate as individuals, the humans would become as a different entity together. One that could transcend their mortality.”

He talks about humans, but it sounds like he's describing some exotic alien.

“Are those people still there?” I ask in wonder.

Ofir shakes his head.

“No. The climate began to warm after a few centuries. Rains became more frequent and there was often flooding in the mountains. One spring, my mother made the trip once more, only to find a massive landslide had swept the village away. Every house, every paddock, was buried deep in mud. None of the humans survived.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I was an idiot to ask. Please don’t tell me any more.”

I crawl over to look at what he brought me.

A very pretty assortment lies assembled in the shallow bowl. There are various clean berries and nuts, and fresh herbs and—something that smells deliciously savory. My god, is that real? I stare at a juicy, still steaming, thin-sliced medium-rare fillet. I've never seen a sirloin cut as perfectly cooked in my life.

But, given the circumstances, it seems a little—How should I say this?—illegal?

I look up at Ofir. “Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or is that grilled deer I see?”

Ofir tilts his head. “Oh, are humans herbivores? Forgive me, I wasn’t sure. But it’s an effective source of fat and protein, and you look kind of...malnourished.”

Have people done nothing but made fun of how I look in this episode?

“Oh, I’m not a picky eater,” I assure the guy. “I survived our granny's scones, I can eat anything. But is that fine? You haven’t forgotten where we are, have you? What will our friends from the Farthing Wood think, if you start barbecuing their cousins out in the open?”

Ofir sits down cross-legged on the floor, maybe out of courtesy, so I wouldn’t have to stretch my neck so much.

“It may seem strange to us,” he says, “but the Fey don’t view life the same as we do. The dead becoming the strength of the living is the way of nature. When you die, your body becomes food. And many died in the battle this morning. That means, tonight is a feast. Burying or burning the corpses and wasting the meat, skin, and bones would be an abhorrent act in the beasts’ eyes. They may not have laws, no knowledge of good or evil, but that is the closest thing to a crime they know. Madness.”

“Well.” I shrug. “As long as they don’t mind.”

When in Rome, you play ball like the Romans. And I’m starving. This deer died so I could live a day longer. Let's be thankful for that.

“Sounds like you’ve been here for a while,” I say to Ofir while chomping the offerings.

“Not long,” he modestly replies. “Only a little over forty years.”

“...”

When will I learn not to talk about time with these people?

He makes Robinson Crusoe look like a high school kid and talks about it like it was only a busy weekend.

“I served as a medic in a reconnaissance squad sent from District 01. We were to investigate traces of unusual activity detected deep in the territory of Wanr Aysoth. But the Great Red One found us first.”

Ofir leans on his knees, a distant, glassy look in his light green eyes.

“My courage failed me that day. I abandoned my duty and companions and ran, thinking only of my own survival. I know a few spells useful for the purpose. For the next two summers and winters, I ran and hid from the beasts and learned the ways of the wood. And after those two years, the beasts grew familiar with my smell and presence, and ceased to see me as an intruder. Thankfully, like their lives, the memory of animals is quite short. The local Fey today has known me since birth and they've learned to trust me. It would be a waste of my healing arts not to use them, so I sometimes treat injured animals here at the sanctuary.”

“Well, that’s some escape strategy,” I commend his long-term commitment. “But if the zoo couldn’t catch you, why didn’t you just go back home?”

Ofir’s face turns clouded and he looks down.

“I couldn't bear to,” he says. “The shame of having deserted my allies burns me inside to this day. And will likely do so till the end of my time. Having abandoned my duty and spoiled my honor, I may never show my face to my people again. Wanr Aysoth is my home now, until I one day become food for its inhabitants.”

“Dang. You make whipping yourself into an art form, Ofir. But I guess we all must choose our own adventure.”

I'd tell him to forgive himself, but he may have considered the matter more than once already over the past four decades. I don't think I have anything fresh to add on the subject, so I let it go. I've got my own problems too.

Finished with the meal, I lay down on the floor again and sigh.

“Me? I’d give anything to get out of here,” I confess. “But it’s useless. I have to somehow resolve this Piggy Bay situation to get on with the show, but how could I? Who could stop this wheel from spinning? The animals attack the colonies, the colonists strike back. Because they got hit, the furries go attack them again, and then the army comes and glasses them, and they go hit them again. And it just goes on and on and on, neither side willing to talk, or take one step back, like they actually enjoy it. And if you ignore the part about talking animals, it sounds less like fantasy and more like news at 11.”

“The arrangement is grim indeed,” Ofir comments and hands me a water jug he's crafted of clay. “But the truth is not quite as simple as you seem to believe. Emiri do not want to destroy Wanr Aysoth. Colonies are built mainly in the southern outskirts, to secure a sea access in Ledarnia, but there have not been plans to settle the wood itself. There is nothing here we particularly need. If only the leaders could be told of how much the wood means for the Fey, arrangements could be made to avoid it.”

“You think?” I ask and drink. Wish I had something more substantial than water. “Could’ve fooled me, after the fireworks this morning.”

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“Our people are no less frustrated with the situation than the beasts, and wish for a swift solution. They believe that if they can find and bring down the Great Red One, the fighting is certain to end. They also know she acts to protect the beasts. Thus, any place where many animals gather is targeted, to draw her out.”

“The Great Red One?” I repeat. “You mean, Miss Germany?”

There's only one person around with that lively color, although she's not really that big.

Ofir nods. “The one the Fey call 'Ayascuhero'.”

“Who is she? Why does she look so much like a human?”

“Forgive me,” the elfman replies and closes his eyes. “You should not ask me about Ayascuhero. I cannot answer. Unlike the common animals, that one is quick to anger and never forgets an enemy. Should I carelessly reveal her secrets, she will erase this sanctuary...and all who live in it.”

I lift my eyebrows. “She'd kill them all? Even though she's their guardian?”

“She may sympathize with the animals, but she protects them mostly only because it lets her fight us. Should anything get in the way of that...”

He leaves the sentence unfinished.

Damn, how bad does that chick hate elves? What did they do to her?

Ofir continues,

“Since her appearance forty summers ago, Ayascuhero has claimed a great many soldiers' lives and risen as the symbol of the terror of Wanr Aysoth. However, being too occupied by the threat she poses, our people aren't aware there is also another, more elusive menace in the forest. The one we were sent here to investigate, all those summers ago. The necromancer.”

I turn to frown hard at him. “The what-the-hell?”

He explains,

“When the War of the Beasts was still waged in earnest, a clan of scarandi guerillas from the south took shelter in Wanr Aysoth. They were led by a powerful shaman, a practitioner of the scarandi's peculiar black magic. Rumor has it that the shaman still dwells here to this day, prolonging his life by esoteric means. The energy readings our sensors picked up suggested so. The Fey also know of the foe. They say he traps and kills those who venture too close to his hideout—and revives them as mindless puppets to do his bidding. Hence, he was named a necromancer.”

I snort at the tale.

“Necromancy isn’t real. There’s no way to bring back the dead.”

The soul can only be observed when it’s incarnate. When a person dies, the soul vanishes, nobody knows where. From there, the body is only so much dead meat. It's impossible to summon the soul back into it, or squeeze another spirit in the empty flesh.

Sure, you can use magic to make a corpse move without a soul too. Even program it to perform simple tasks. But an inflexible, decomposing carcass doesn’t make for a very practical slave, and it consumes stupid amounts of mana only to stand up. The cost-effect-ratio is awful. If you’ve got the skills to do that much, you’re better off building a golem from scratch using materials that can actually withstand manual labor and don’t fall apart the second you stop pumping magic juice into it.

But I’m not convincing Ofir.

“It’s the beasts enthralled by the necromancer that haunt the colonists,” he says. “The Fey aren't capable of such organized maneuvers, as mass-attacking guarded settlements. Nothing could make ordinary animals throw their lives away for a higher cause. They are not soldiers and their instincts of self-preservation run too deep. They fight only to defend their own nests and territories. But the evil arts of the scarandi sorcerer drive them berserk, coerce them to act against their nature. The mindless attacks of these cursed creatures are then blamed on the Fey as a whole. And so is the course of the conflict perpetuated.”

“Really…?”

“Yes. It was to find where this shaman hides that my team first ventured into the forest. But we never made it. We couldn't pinpoint the location the strange readings were coming from. And the presence of the Great Red One makes closer field measurements impossible. None who cross the area she controls return alive. I’ve noted flights have grown sparse in the past few years. The Dominion must have given up on a breakthrough by now, and has prioritized the protection of the civilians. Sometimes individual commanders make attempts, but…it never ends well.”

Like this morning.

I’m barely listening. I've finally spotted a faint glimmer of light at the end of the stinky tunnel.

“But that does it!” I stand up and declare to my new best friend. “That solves the whole thing!”

“What does?”

Ofir looks confused. He sure is dense, even for a paratrooper. Here I thought the answer was too obvious for words.

“We’re going to find this necromancer of yours,” I announce. “And we’re going to hang him by his balls on the nearest tree.”

In other words, I finally get to punch someone, the cause of the war is eliminated, the misunderstanding cleared, I can go home, and our movie might still wrap up under a runtime of three hours.

Ofir stares back at me and for some reason I see no hopeful excitement on his face. He looks only like a cashier when you think you've paid the full sum exactly, but counted wrong and were actually ten cents short. Of course, he’s not playing dumb only to make me feel smarter. Nobody could be that courteous.

“I believe I said this before, but we don't know where the necromancer is hiding.”

“Well, yeah. But you have a good hunch, right?”

He shakes his head. Not even a hunch.

“The enemy sends out his monsters to fight for him, while showing no sign of himself. I've come across beasts he's enslaved before, but never the hideout itself, though I've spent several years searching for it. There is a lot of ground to cover for one or two seekers. There are many ruins too from bygone ages, scattered far and wide. Most of them empty or collapsed, claimed by the earth. It is possible, if not likely, that the entrance is protected by arts that go beyond my knowledge. We are dealing with a very powerful magician, after all. Needless to say, even if we knew where he is, eliminating the threat is another matter entirely. I am not a combatant, and you are...quite small.”

“Okay, so it might take a bit of honest effort,” I unwillingly admit.

I wouldn't say he makes a good point, but there may be a kernel of wisdom hidden in there.

“Furthermore…” Ofir resumes with visible reluctance.

“There's still more?”

“Don't tell me you've already forgotten?” he asks and his normally mellow look turns strained.

There’s discomfort in his eyes—and fear.

“The Great Red One,” he pronounces. “Her eye is on you. She will kill you before she lets you go anywhere.”