There were only a few minutes left before the night would shift over to the lighter half of the day. Barely peeking up from behind the horizon, its hesitant light giving the world a warning of its arrival, the sun began to make itself known. The blackness of the sky was starting to gradually change into a purple hue, which would then flow into a more orange color. It was beautiful to most people, but not me.
We had just finished our trek through the grassy plains that made up most of the outer lands beyond Varunia. The grass was tame, gentle, and always found itself flowing with the breeze. There were occasional patches of larger shrubbery, like a bush, scattered throughout teh land. There were a few smaller furred animals that would make their homes in those piles of dense greenery, while distant herds of other, larger creatures would graze upon the grass. Our journey through there was peaceful—although extremely tense—and most of all, silent. Just like the wilderness we traversed through, most of the time walking was spent just existing.
Just as the night began to fade away, we found ourselves at the edge of the Dubitor Forest, which surrounded the entirety of the Carernin Mountains’ base. It would take another day or so of careful navigation to make it through in order to reach the mountains.
“Can we take a pause for a moment?” Hunter asked. “Preferably in a shaded area.”
Looking straight into the forest, not at him, I replied, “Rest? There's no need for that—we’re almost there.” I then looked back at him. “That is, if your den is where you claim it is.”
Hunter looked up at the sky, in the direction of the sun, and continued to complain. “We haven’t even eaten anything all night! I’m starving, cold, tired, and—”
“And I don’t care,” I said, cutting him off. “I haven’t heard you say a damn thing all night and now you’re suddenly on edge. Why?”
I saw him start to fidget in place. His left foot tapped in uneven intervals, his eyes darted around, always ending up back at the sky, and his fingers wiggled about.
“Are you always like this?” he asked. His face had a look of slight disgust to it. “How do you live like this?”
“Like I always have,” I simply stated. “And I usually don’t talk too much, either. So let’s keep it that way.”
Hunter rolled his eyes and sighed. We then took a few cautious steps as we entered the treeline of the forest. The forest itself was dark and uninviting. Granted, at that time, morning was just in its early stages, and so every tree’s shadow was elongated and full of darkness. Even with that in mind, there was something silently ominous about the entire woods—that much was clear the moment I stepped foot beyond its boundaries. There were very few birds singing, and those that were, sang in discordant harmony. Their notes were sharper than knives and rhythmically out of sync. In terms of other life, there were hundreds of insects and other critters out in the open. Spiders weaved intricate webs high in the foliage, large worms constantly popped out of the earth and then burrowed back into it, and buzzing mosquitoes flew in swarms.
Everything seemed lively and normal on the surface, but there was an unsettling presence that always kept me on edge: the wind. Constantly, without fail, there was an ever-present breeze that blew through the entirety of the forest, dancing around the trees and occasionally dipping down to the ground before bouncing back up. When this wind passed by some hollow trees, a haunting sound would fill it, and in turn, the vicinity. That in and of itself made my steps more hesitant and careful.
After about an hour of walking, a few stray rays of sunlight began to pierce the veil of leaves that crowned the roof of the forest. I noticed that Hunter would never walk into them and would actively avoid them. He looked to be more alert than he was during the night, and every time I looked back at him, he would immediately meet my gaze. Seeing him suddenly have an immense amount of energy to him caught my attention, especially because of how focused he was on the sunlight.
“It’s a strange tune, ain’t it?” he asked me with a slight bit of pep in his voice. “The wind, that is.”
“It’s something,” I responded. “But I’m not much of a fan of music, so I don’t really care.”
“That’s a shame,” he replied, catching up to me. Standing next to me, he continued his thought. “You really should care.”
“Well I don't, so let's stop talking about it.”
I saw a slight smile crack on his face. “I guess you don’t want to go to the den then.”
I stopped walking.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, turning my entire body towards him.
“The song,” he simply answered, pointing at the open air. “It’s the guide.”
“Don’t talk in riddles,” I somewhat commanded.
He then laughed and had a dubious grin crawl across his face. Cupping his ear with one hand, he said, “If you want to get to the den, you have to listen—something I’m starting to figure out you’re not too good at.”
With the blankest stare I could muster, I replied, “Get to the point.”
“Of course,” he slyly responded, “and also, thank you for proving my point. Now,” he said, slightly skipping as he walked around me, “a common secret among my people is that the Song of Dubitor leads the way to our home.”
“The Song of Dubitor?” I repeated.
“That’s what we call the wind in this forest,” he answered. “And a well-known phrase that we all say is that ‘the melody will bring you back.’ Meaning that if you follow the sound of the wind, you’ll be led straight back to the den.”
I squinted my eyes in a half-curious, half-judgmental way. “And how do you do that?” I asked.
“Well,” he chuckled, “that’s something that takes some practice. You see, we venture out of the caves that we call home in order to scavenge for food in this forest. In order for us not to get lost, we developed this,” he hesitated for a second, “technique of wind listening. It takes a few years of practice, but eventually it becomes as natural as breathing.”
“How do you get lost in a forest?” I questioned, a bit skeptical. “It’s not hard to navigate through wooded areas, no matter how dense they are. So you and your people are either idiots or you’re lying to me.”
He furled his eyebrows in a way that exaggerated an expression of getting offended. “You really don’t know anything about this place, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“These woods don’t make sense,” he answered. “You could walk in a straight line for days and end up back where you started. You could follow the South Star the entire time—although I’d HIGHLY doubt you would ever see a single star through this canopy—and still end up going west.”
“Are you done with your rambling?”
“You’re not listening,” he said in a halfway mocking tone. “That’s literally the one thing you have to do in this forest.”
I stopped talking and just looked at him, expectantly.
“How do you think we’ve managed to remain hidden from the world?” he continued. “Even the most skilled trackers and hunters have never been able to find us. In fact, why do you think the people of the town still believe that we don’t exist anymore?”
I nodded my head in hesitant agreement.
“See?” he said. “Now you’re starting to get it.” Then, a bit under his breath, he whispered to himself, “I swear…”
I was tired. Not from the journey—I had had harder adventures—nor was it from the constant droning of the wind, which would lull some people to sleep. In fact, I was already tired of having another person traveling with me.
“So what are you trying to say?” I asked with a sigh.
The look he gave me at that moment was one that screamed Are you serious?
Rolling his eyes, Hunter replied, “That you’re going to get us lost.”
I shook my head and started to turn around to continue our stroll through the whispering woods. Just as my back began to face him, I heard Hunter speak up again.
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“Wait a second,” he said. I paused, irritated. “Now that I think about it, why are you the one that’s been leading this crusade? I’m the one who knows the way. In fact, if I recall, the whole reason why you didn’t kill me was to guide you.”
“You know what, you’re right,” I firmly stated, gritting my teeth and turning towards him. “Since you’re so familiar with these lands, why don’t you lead?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he teased. “I’m really tired and hungry. I don’t think I’ll be able to do a good enough job if I don't get some food and rest. It would be a shame if I screwed up and accidentally lead us in the wrong—”
I rushed him. I grabbed his collar, lifted him up, slammed him against a tree, and put my sword against his throat. I let a burst of fire escape my heart and shoot out of my mouth.
“I swear to god that if you say another fucking word I won’t hesistate to slit your throat!” I threatened.
Choking a bit on my hand and his words, he slyly responded, “First off, that’s a lie, because you have hesitated before.”
I pressed him even harder against the truck, cracking some of the bark.
“I’m tired of your shit,” I said, still seething in anger. “I’ve killed many things like you, so don’t think that I won’t.”
With one eyebrow raised and a somewhat cocky smile on his face, Hunter responded, “Oh, so now you’re going to kill your only guide while you’re in the middle of the forest? Good thinking.”
I dropped him and immediately walked away, still steaming. I wandered up to a small tree that was near us and unleashed my sword at it. With one clean, fury-fill strike, I split the tree horizontally. Its branches cracked and broke as it slowly started to tip. As gravity started to take over and accelerate its fall, I could hear its bark and inner wood cry out in pain. It then slammed against the ground, causing the leaves around it to be thrown in the air before gently floating back down.
“Cut it up,” I demanded, still not looking at him.
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“Cut it up,” I repeated, “and make a fire. I’ll be back with meat.”
***
Although the light within the forest had hardly changed, I could tell that it was about midday. The canopy above made it hard to grasp any semblance of time. Very few strands of light found their way to the forest floor, and those that did could easily be mistaken for the glow of the moon. If my instincts weren’t as sharp as they were or if my natural sense of internal time wasn’t as precise, days and minutes would feel the same—they would have no meaning until time ran out.
I was sitting on the ground, directly across from Hunter, with my back resting against a thick tree. Between us was a crackling fire, built by him, but ignited by me. Its rumbling and low orange flames gave selective vision to the dim interior woods that surrounded us. The elongated shadows cast by the fire quivered and shook along with it, dancing the way that the winds directed.
The food that was being cooked on the fire was scraps and lean meat, harvested from whatever rodent wildlife I managed to quickly find in my immediate vicinity. I really didn’t feel like putting any effort into finding anything bountiful or nutritious. But nonetheless, whatever I did manage to get, I put onto a flat, thin, black stone, and then set that stone over the flames by using four thick sticks of similar length.
“That’s it?” Hunter complained, staring at the bare meat that was sizzling on the rock.
“Be happy you get anything,” I annoyingly countered. I flipped over my half with one hand and rubbed my valrose with the other. “Why am I even doing this?” I said to myself, out loud.
A few more minutes passed until the food was ready to be eaten. It technically could have been fine to eat a while before I decided to stop cooking it, but I wasn’t sure if there was a slight, inherent toxicity within the life of the forest. So I cooked it more thoroughly, just in case.
“Go ahead,” I started to announced, “it should be read—”
But before I could even finish, I saw a blur of movement heading towards me. I quickly reached for my sword, but stopped partway when my eyes realized what it was…
“Ohhhhhhhhhh that hits the spot,” Hunter joyfully announced, his mouth full with the food that he just grabbed with his lightning-quick hands. “Finally!”
I took a deep breath, shook my head, and grabbed my half of the meal. I ate it slowly, all the while I never let my sight wander away from the fanged man. Even in his passive, almost childlike demeanor, I still did not trust him for a second.
Eventually, we had both finished our meal and sat down, staring at each other with very different looks in our eyes. His was one of satisfaction, mixed with a few layers of discomfort—it was a look that I typically saw on people that hadn’t adventured outside of their walls. However, that being said, there was something else buried beneath his look. It was hard for me to pinpoint, but it was almost like there was a hint of longing…or maybe anxiety.
After some more time spent digesting the food, resting on the midday floor of the forest, Hunter suddenly spoke up.
“Hey, uh, I got a question,” he somewhat sheepishly asked.
“What?” I neutrally replied.
His eyes then glanced slightly behind me at my sword. “That sword,” he started to ask, “I can’t tell if it’s the firelight, but does it have a slight red tint to it?”
“It does,” I answered, matter-of-factly. “Why?”
“Well, uh, you see, Bram has a whip and the end has the same color to it. I’ve never seen anyone else have something like it, so I was wondering what it was.”
I didn’t answer him right away. There was a part of me that refused to give him any piece of information—it was the part of me that continued to touch the valrose. But a separate, smaller, and newer part of me began to argue that there wasn’t a good reason not to tell him. After all, it wasn’t as though it was secret knowledge, just something that the average person doesn’t know. Both sides of myself fought for my undivided attention, playing with my head and pulling at my heart.
“It has this tint because it’s a drac-made sword,” I finally answered him, putting one hand on the ground. The other hand was used to unsheathe the sword that was already partially out of the scabbard.
As I pulled it fully free from its leather-bound containment, I noticed that the usual coloration it had was a little more muted. It was glowing a bit more from the flames, but that was an outside pigment, not one naturally embedded in it.
“What does that mean?” Hunter asked. “I figured it was red because it was stained with the blood of all the things you’ve killed.”
“No,” I said with a slight chuckle. I hesitated for a second, furling my eyebrows and thinking. Shaking my head, I continued, saying, “Although that would be pretty fitting.” I then adjusted how I sat to a more comfortable position. “It’s made out of a rare material called drac—it’s about the same weight and has the same durability as steel.”
Hunter then leaned in a bit closer, his eyes more engaged. “So what makes it special?” he asked. “Why is it so rare?”
I turned the blade in my hand, letting the light of the fire curl around it at all angles. “Well, it’s rare because it’s a metal that’s completely man-made. You could never find it buried naturally in the earth. Plus,” I said, looking back up at him, “I don’t know if there’s a single person who knows how to make it anymore.”
“Anymore? Then how do you have it?”
I let out another chuckle, most of the sound coming out of my nose. “Nowadays it’s usually only given to extremely rich people or Slayers that are well-renowned for hunting monsters. Either those who can afford it or those who can use it get it.” I then went deeper into my memories. “Apparently this stuff was all over the place in the Old World, but after that whole thing, most of it was lost in ruins and stuff. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Creator banished what drac was left on the surface to the hells,” I said as I looked up to the sky.
“Damn,” Hunter replied with fascination obviously plastered across his face. “That’s some ancient shit right there.” He then looked up at the sky and put his hands behind his head. “I kinda wish some of that stuff was still around—I feel like all that stuff is so cool.”
I felt my face depress a bit and I gave a half-frown. “Not really,” I said. “You can only say that because you don’t know what all of that old stuff was like. You don't understand it and you weren’t there.” I then sighed. “If you don’t understand something, then you just let your mind fill in the blanks and run wild. Wars look fun in retrospect. Struggles look easy from the future. Truth is always uglier and more boring than imagination.”
His more upbeat expression started to sink a bit, but then it sprang right back up. When he looked into my eyes, I saw a bit of cockiness and genuine thought behind them.
“That applies to you too, ya know,” Hunter explained.
“I…”
I tried to counter that, but no words came out of my mouth. My brain attempted to articulate a single argument, but none of them were rooted in any logic. And when I tried to look to my heart to let some emotional voice fight against what he said, all I found was his same sentence replayed.
“Well, anyway,” I said, shaking my head and shifting the subject of the conversation. “You asked what makes drac special, right?”
“Yeah. I thought that’s why you started preaching.”
“I mean, yeah,” I replied, trying not to let a slight smile creep out. “Drac is special because of what it does.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense,” Hunter playfully teased. “What does it do?”
With a causally solemn expression, I replied, “Kill.”
Without words, I could see the confusion in his eyes.
“It’s toxic,” I began to explain. “Whatever they mixed into here is beyond anything we have today—I can only imagine the bloodlust back then.” I then sighed. “It’s extremely toxic to most monsters in the world, killing them even if they only suffered a single scratch. Unlike any other poison, this one doesn’t show up in blood. In fact, it’s impossible to tell if someone is being affected by it until they die. It’s almost like the toxin destroys the body rather than just kill the creature. However, it has no effect on humans.”
“Wow, that’s freakin’ brutal,” Hunter responded with wide eyes. “I wonder why it didn’t kill me.”
I couldn’t immediately respond to him. I just stared at him with my mouth slightly agape. I shook my head a few times and rubbed my valrose, but I couldn’t come up with a single word. What I did come up with, however, was a whirlpool of contradicting emotions. To try and find some sort of clarity or salvation through that flurry, I looked down at the purple flower. When I did, I certainly received clarity, but it was the kind that I refused to acknowledge.
The valrose was not blooming.
I grew a bit angry—that much was obvious. Outwardly, my slightly veiny face and flexed muscles communicated that. My grinding teeth and rolling eyes screamed my annoyance, and my fidgeting hands clearly showed my restlessness and uncomfortability.
Quickly, I stood up, grabbed one of the sacks of water that we carried, and poured it over the fire. It was swiftly extinguished. I then put away all of the supplies we had set out and set them next to me.
“Get some sleep,” I demanded.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hunter asked, his voice steadily increasing.
I stopped for a second and turned towards him. “I’m done talking. Get some rest. We walk again when the night comes.”
After that, I said no more words. Even when he would try and ask me or press any further, I would shoot him the most menacing look I could. Eventually, that got him to shut up and even look away from me.
It took about an hour or so, but I saw him drift asleep. His breathing became regulated, his eyes were completely closed, and his body was defenseless. I, on the other hand, chose to stay awake. I slumped myself against the same tree I ate at and stared daggers at him the entire time, all while I chewed the miizabloom that I found while scouring for food.
I’m tired, I told myself.