Ben stirred awake and instantly wished he had not. A head-splitting migraine flooded him as soon as he opened his eyes. He moved a hand to his forehead and felt the neatly bandaged wound, evidence of the encounter with the barghest.

The barghest. Ben began to shift in a panic, but winced in pain the moment he tried to do so. He strained to survey his surroundings instead, for a haze still clung to his thoughts, and after a while, the world came into focus.

Ben leaned against the trunk of a tree, surrounded by a makeshift encampment. He glanced over the Lupari’s gear and equipment arranged next to him, noticing the tents that had been set up while he was unconscious. Nearby, a brook babbled, a soothing sound that was accompanied by a pleasant, smoky aroma.

He recognized Murley’s silhouette nearby. He gave Ben his back and hadn’t noticed him wake up, engrossed as he was over the crackling flame. A cast-iron pot bubbled over the fire as Murley tossed an assortment of leaves and mushrooms into it, the source of the smell. He whistled a soft melody as he went about his labor.

Ben’s stomach rumbled with hunger. It was a welcome sensation, a reassurance that he was indeed still alive. The memories of their confrontation returned to him one by one, up until his perilous fall. He was lucky to be here, considering the perilous fall he had just experienced. An unexpected sense of giddiness permeated him, and he laughed out loud.

Murley turned then, startled by Ben’s sudden outburst. He laughed too and greeted him with a warm smile. “Welcome to the land of the living, m’boy! You gave us quite the scare, but you’re as resilient as a mountain. How’s the head?”

“I feel like I fell from atop a barghest. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Ben replied sarcastically, followed by a weak grin.

Murley beamed as he regarded the sorcerer affectionately. He then turned his attention to the contents of the pot. “Must be starving, eh? Lunden and Corin should be back at any moment with the game in tow.”

“What happened to Amycus?” Ben asked. After the grim fate the other Lupari met, he was quick to expect the worst.

Murley waved one hand, casting aside Ben’s fears. “That old horse will outlive us all, don’t you fret. He couldn’t stay still, so he galloped ahead to Machen to deliver the good news, saying they’d prepare a proper welcome for our arrival. Ha! Spirits throwin’ a party for sorcerers. Just when you think nothing can surprise you anymore.”

“There’s always room for surprises,” Lunden interjected. Ben and Murley glanced sidelong as father and son arrived, carrying three dead hares each. “You’re awake, Ben! Good man. We found a few morels and wild spinach for a stew a couple hours ago, as you can no doubt get a whiff of; some hare should complete the meal, I’d say.”

“That it will do, my friend, that it will do. Bring ‘em over so I can get the meat ready,” Murley told his companions. They obeyed without hesitation, their stomachs growling in hunger, and settled around the fire with contented sighs.

Ben still felt light-headed, but he carefully stood up from his resting place and slowly made his way to the others. Between the hearty aroma and the crackling wood, the ambiance helped ease the migraine, albeit slightly.

He settled beside Corin, who offered him a reassuring smile full of support. Lunden did as well, and Ben wondered how it was possible that father and son could look so different—the former broad and gruff, the latter delicate and fair.

Lunden’s expression turned solemn, cutting the jovial atmosphere with a mere glance. “I wanted to talk about Humbert and Ruffa, you two,” he started. Murley became more absorbed in his task of dressing the animal. It was not a simple conversation to have, after all. Ben’s gaze fixed on Lunden as he continued.

“They were brave souls, as all Lupari are. But to be part of our guild, of our bloody trade, is more often than not to meet an end like theirs. And yet, we continue our toil willingly. Some call us madmen for it, but if it is truly madness, it is one that saves more lives than it takes.”

Murley paused his task, glanced up from the pot, and picked up after Lunden. He twirled his mustache as he chose his words. “It is a sacred duty, older than the Rive itself. The strong shall use sorcery to succor the weak.”

Corin’s eyes lit up. “That’s the motto of the Sages-Errant.” Confusion replaced his initial wonder. “Wait, what do they have to do with us, though? I thought they weren’t real, just old folktales.”

Lunden nodded, satisfied with his son’s answer. “That’s partially correct, Corin. Yes, nowadays people consider them mere old wives’ tales, but their organization did exist thousands of years ago. Our guild, and all the other guilds, for that matter, focus on a different aspect of their order. The Archaeologers study the spirit civilizations of yore; the Alchemists ever seek to expand our sorcerous lore; us, Lupari, we rid the world of its bogeymen.”

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“Hear, hear.” Murley said, protruding a flask and pouring a swig of liquor into the fire in honor of those long gone. Its flames intensified for a moment but were quick to return to their usual size.

“We rid the world of its bogeymen.” Corin echoed absent-mindedly. Ben stared at him, worried. He sounded more melancholic than usual. He was a natural-born Luparius, of that there was no doubt, but Ben wondered what toll it exacted on such a gentle person.

Lunden nodded grimly. “Aye, son. That’s what we did here today—our fellow hunters did not die in vain. I can assure you of that.”

A contemplative hush enveloped the encampment as his words lingered in the air. The stew pot beckoned like a guiding light, drawing their attention. Murley finished readying the meat and added it, sliced chunks falling with a satisfactory plop into the broth. A tantalizing aroma immediately suffused Ben’s nostrils. His mouth watered, and the idea of a hot meal made wonders to dispel his dark thoughts.

“Food will be ready in a jiffy,” Murley declared, his voice a not-so-subtle attempt to shift the conversation into merrier grounds. They understood the words left unspoken and engaged in small talk while the food was served, with a dry laugh interspersed here and there.

The mood finally changed once Murley served them generous portions of stew. The steam that wafted from it caressed Ben’s face, and holding the bowl brought warmth back to his hands. They dug in ravenously, providing nourishment for both body and spirit. And way better than gruel, Ben thought in momentary glee.

⦶⦶⦶

This was Ben’s third time in the rickety elevator that wound its way up to Machen. He admitted to himself that he would never get used to the way it swayed in the wind. The creaking of the machinery echoed across the clearing and far off into the Blackwoods, now a vast sea of greenery below them. The air grew crisper, carrying the scent of pine and the promise of altitude, as they ascended in the elevator.

It wasn’t long before the familiar sights of Machen gradually came into view. The lift groaned to a stop, and they leaped onto a wooden walkway. It was connected to other arboreal platforms and bridges.

Unlike last time, however, their arrival had a different reception. An enormous retinue of spirits awaited them, spearheaded by Briacco, Meda, Montbretia and Robin. The streets were alive with parades and other public displays of merriment. Dwarves, piskies, and centaurs; fairies, trolls, and gnomes—these and more, besides celebrating together, were a far cry from the divided populace they’d left.

Ben quickened his pace and joined them, beaming. “I take it you received the good news.”

Briacco bowed in gratitude with teary eyes. “We sure did, Master Umber—we’re eternally grateful to you all.” Meda and the two piskies joined Briacco, and then the other spirits in the crowd did as well.

By the time the Lupari had arrived next to Ben, rows upon rows of spirits had inclined their heads in acknowledgement. The townsfolk then broke into hoots, whistles, and clapping as they encroached on the sorcerers in a wave of cheers.

Meda trotted to Ben with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m glad we didn’t riddle you with arrows when we met, Benjamin Umber.”

“Likewise.” Ben replied as he laughed. Montbretia and Robin thanked him profusely, over and over, caught in the general exuberance. Even cranky old Genos showed up, offering a sincere apology to the sorcerers for doubting their intentions.

As appreciative as they were, Elder Garland awaited them. Lunden gracefully thanked the gathered spirits and respectfully bade them goodbye. The Lupari’s excitement surged as they advanced toward the village leader.

Ben felt a tug in his heart when he saw the huts that had served as their lodgings, neatly stacked beside the bridge that led to the grand hall. It was the closest thing to a homecoming he’d ever experienced. St. Dunsany’s wasn’t exactly known for its hospitality.

The festive noise gradually faded as they crossed the bridge and entered the grand hall. Its interior was already lit by the ring of torches, their flames currently a deep azure that cast their surroundings in an otherworldly light.

“Took you long enough.” Amycus’s voice came from the other end of the room. The centaur stood next to the great oak that dominated the grand hall, an old man’s face carved into it. His tone was playful, although he remained with his arms crossed and his usual air of obstinacy.

A familiar rumbling sound emanated from beneath their feet. “Our heroes finally arrive... Amycus has already recounted to me the events that transpired. I understand that sacrifices had to be made. You have our utmost gratitude, for the Blackwoods may finally heal.”

Lunden heaved the knapsack to his side and threw it in front of him. The bag slid upon the floor, its knot loosening and revealing its contents partially: the barghest’s severed paw. “As is customary, here’s proof of our prey. It was a formidable foe.”

“Yes, proof… As your old ways dictate. Amycus, procure the Lupari with their payment.” Elder Garland said: the centaur stepped to the side and revealed a chest behind him, which he grabbed and brought over to Lunden.

The Luparius chief opened it; a hefty pile of golden coins lay inside, which brimmed to the point of almost spilling over. He nodded, satisfied.

Murley twisted his mustache with theatrical flair. “Ah, beauteous groats. Brings a tear to me eye, it truly does.” He exclaimed.

Amycus stood before Lunden hand extended. “I am sorry for the circumstances that brought us together, sorcerer, but you’re not half-bad. Not half-bad at all. I was quick to judge. You know how it is, with the bad blood between our kiths.”

Lunden grunted in agreement. “Don’t think twice about it. I’d say you’re not half-bad yourself.” He added with a smile, which the centaur returned.

“There is one last thing that remains to be discussed.” Elder Garland interrupted. Their attention turned back to the treant. As he spoke, Ben heard another sound—a throng of hushed, indiscernible voices. He turned around, and just like last time, a multitude of spirits had gathered outside the grand hall, prying in to see what was going on.

Elder Garland continued amidst the joyful chaos, completely aware that the spirits were there. “From this day forth, and to all the citizens of Machen... You will be named spirit friends. When the day comes that you need our help, we shall answer the call.

The crowd exploded into cheers as they poured into the grand hall. “Spirit-friends! Spirit-friends! Spirit-friends!” They chanted in unison as they carried Ben and the Lupari out and hoisted them to the air again and again in celebration. The ensuing merrymaking continued late into the night, and when Ben finally entered his hut, he fell into a restful, dreamless sleep.