The axe fell and split the log in two. Oak threw the firewood in the pile and hoisted up another log. He caught himself wishing his axe could split something other than wood and shook the disturbing thoughts away.

Just focus on your work. Hard work keeps a man on the right path.

The morning sun had just started climbing over the mountain range in the east, shining between the white peaks of the Teeth, and Oak enjoyed the warmth. His dreams had been turbulent of late. A bit of sunshine was just what he needed.

It was finally spring, and the snow was melting fast enough to make every river in the North overflow. Spring has a way of sneaking up on a man, Oak thought. You go to sleep in winter, and when you wake up, another season has passed you by, never to return. He could not quite decide if the thought of that was comforting or the exact opposite.

The winter had felt long. Too long. Too many restless evenings and too much time with his own thoughts. Some of those thoughts were dangerous. Deviant. Violent impulses that stabbed at the walls of his self-restraint.

Oak threw himself into the task at hand in order to silence his own musings, chopping until he had transformed the pile of logs into a pile of firewood of appropriate size for his oven. When he finished his work, Oak stuck the axe on the tree stump he was using to keep the logs steady, and went to take a break.

Geezer was lying in the sun on a bed of pine needles next to the potato patch and opened one eye as Oak sat next to him.

“Lazy bastard,” Oak said affectionately, and rubbed the dog behind the ear, digging his fingers into the coarse gray fur.

Geezer let out a pleased huff and went back to sleep.

Oak took a drink from his waterskin and wiped sweat from his forehead. The pines around his homestead were roaring in the wind, bending with the gusts. Pinecones bounced from the roof of his small chicken coop. The chickens had apparently decided that it wasn’t quite warm enough for them yet and stayed inside for the most part. Dark clouds were gathering in the East, but they were still far away.

Better to finish stacking the wood quickly even so, or I will have to walk in the rain, Oak thought. He stood up, fixed his ponytail and started carrying the firewood to his shed, where it would dry and wait for winter.

The large shed was his own make, unlike the house built by his late old man. It was made of thick logs, with plenty of space for the wind to blow through the walls and dry the rows of stacked firewood. A sloped thatched roof kept the firewood safe from rain.

Oak looked at the roof and frowned. It might need replacing in a season or two. Always more work to be done. It would be wise to just get on with it, like the old man used to say. He brought the fruits of his labor into the shed, stacked them properly, and headed back to the house to finish preparations for his trip to town. He was running low on salt and some other essentials, and Oak refused to eat unsalted fish or meat if he could avoid it.

Geezer stood up, shook himself and followed Oak inside the cozy house his father had built thirty years ago. The logs for the house had come from the large spruce trees in the nearby forest. Time and wind had dried them out, and the resin inside the logs had petrified, until the walls of the house had more in common with stone than wood.

Oak knew this because a year ago he had to make some repairs to the north-facing wall and working on the section of log he had to remove and replace had been an absolute pain. If I had remembered peaceful living involved so many blisters, I might have stuck to the warrior’s life, he thought, but if someone else had been there to see him, they would have seen a content smile on his face as he looked at the section of wall that had given him so much trouble.

The house was no Jarl's longhouse, but it was cozy and functional. When Oak had returned five years ago, much had been in disrepair. Today, the house was his pride and joy. New rugs, which Oak had bought from a trader in Spoke three months ago, covered the floorboards, and animal skins from his many hunts adorned the walls; he even had a wood frame bed with a real mattress.

A cabinet for his tools and a chest for clothes took most of the space on the eastern wall while the oven dominated the middle. It was a huge monstrosity made of stone and red brick, and it could keep the house warm even during the coldest months of winter.

Oak packed his backpack, put on his jacket and filled his waterskin. As he secured the waterskin to his belt, his eyes fell on the one thing in the house he had never moved or replaced since his father died eight years ago; His family’s small shrine to Ashmedai. As he looked at the tiny three-headed statue and the bowl of stone on the small table in front of it, a strange feeling overcame him, and he decided to leave an offering of salted meat for the demon.

It had been some time since his last offering, and it was always best to stay in the demon’s good graces. He set a small slice of meat in the stone bowl and knelt as he did so. The first head of the statue was like the head of a bull, the second like a man and the third like a ram. The tail of a serpent circled down the left leg.

For a moment, it felt like the face of the man was looking intently right at him, but then Oak blinked and the feeling vanished. The bowl was empty. Seems he found it acceptable, Oak thought and rose to his feet. It was time to go. As he turned to leave, a sound alerted him, and he turned back towards the shrine.

The statue of Ashmedai had fallen over. Oak stared at the statue in fear and disbelief. That had never happened before. The statue was now pointing east, straight towards the coming storm. With reverence and care, he lifted the fallen statue and put it back on its rightful place of honor.

That was a sign, as clear as the break of dawn. But of what? Is it a call to action? Or a warning of things to come? No matter what it was, Oak did not want to get involved. He pushed down his own rising excitement. I do not want to get involved!

Oak stood there agonizing in front of the shrine for what felt like ages and tried to decide what he should do. The last five years had been hard, but he was managing all right. He couldn’t just rush off to investigate some vague sign on a whim. Right?

I will inform Soot of the matter when I go to town. Surely that is enough? Oak thought. He had a sinking feeling that Ashmedai expected more, but this was as good as the demon was going to get from him. Now he just had to figure out how to warn Soot without mentioning where the information came from. His course of action decided, Oak headed outside and locked the door behind himself before Ashmedai could give another omen and force him to investigate things better left unbothered.

Oak gave one last look to his homestead and started walking down the road, Geezer in tow. His land was some way up the hills, which, if you traveled a day or two north, became the first steps up the largest mountain in the region called the Loner. The name was self-explanatory.

The walk down to town was usually pleasant enough, unlike the return trip uphill, but today it seemed like every part of nature was in a contest to shake off the last dregs of winter. Bushes and shrubs were sprouting small leaves, squirrels and birds were racing each other across the spruce trees, and Oak even saw a beautiful doe drinking from a stream close to the road.

Geezer was a bit too excited and was about to dash after the doe, but Oak held him back and said, “None of that now, boy.” They were late enough already without the dog spending Chariot knows how long chasing after every animal they happened across. Geezer sneezed in protest, but left the doe alone, and Oak rewarded the young dog with a pat on the head.

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For the rest of their trip, Geezer reserved his undivided attention to tracking the squirrels jumping in the trees in the vain hope that one of them would slip and fall right into the dog's waiting mouth. In Oaks' humble opinion, any squirrel that Geezer managed to catch had to be both lame and blind.

The hills descended into a valley dotted with fields and homesteads. Oak saw the Cutter patriarch repairing his fence with his youngest son and waved at them. The younger Cutter waved right back while Jon Cutter hesitated a bit and then seemed to decide that not waving was a bit too rude even for him.

Jon was a barrel-chested man with an enormous nose, an impressive mustache and a collection of bald-spots that he hid under an aggressively ugly green hat. Cutter Junior was exactly like him, except much smaller and without the mustache. Or the bald spots. Now that Oak thought of it, those two had little in common after all; the boy even had the good luck of getting his mother's nose.

Not that Oak himself could really fault anyone else’s looks. His nose had been broken a few times too many, and he had a couple of nasty scars on his face. In addition, he only braided his beard for special occasions. The ladies were usually not impressed.

Oak and Geezer walked up to the Cutters. “Jon,” Oak said and nodded.

“Oak,” Jon said and nodded right back. Cutter Junior stared at Oak like he was wondering what he should add to his diet so he too, could resemble a giant when he grew up.

Jon was not a small man; in fact, he was over six feet tall, but Oak was still over a head taller than him, and every time they met, it seemed to make the other man uncomfortable. Or at least Oak hoped it was mainly his height that made Jon uncomfortable.

It's been five years. Will I ever be free of the stares? Will the whispers behind my back never stop? Oak thought. He didn’t go to town often for a reason, but he soldiered on and forced himself to make small talk.

“Seems we have seen the last of winter. In a couple of days there won't be a speck of snow outside the mountain tops,” Oak said.

“Ay,” Jon said. “Lots of work ahead for everyone to get these fields ready in time so we can sow the grain. I had to buy some seeds this year, and the traders tried to take me for a fool.” Jon spat and gave the fence post his son was holding steady a couple of good whacks with his hammer. “I had half a mind to give some of those townsfolk an ass-whooping after that round of haggling.”

Oak smiled in a way he hoped seemed good-natured. He had a bad habit of accidentally scaring the shit out of people. He had no trouble scaring them on purpose, either.

I am a bloody generational talent in that department.

“I know what you mean. Ain’t looking forward to finding out the price of salt these days,” Oak said. He crouched to give Geezer a pet behind the ear and looked east at the approaching storm clouds. “I better get going if I want to make it to town before the sky pisses on us.”

Jon nodded. He seemed to hesitate again and said: “Did…did you happen to see anything strange on the way down from the hills?”

Oak did not know Jon that well, but this was not a normal question for him. Usually the man had two emotions he was bouncing between: ornery and even more ornery.

“What do you mean?” Oak asked.

Jon seemed a bit embarrassed he had asked the question. “I don't really know myself. I’ve just had a weird feeling all day long.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “By the Hashmallim, it feels like someone somewhere is digging my grave.” He looked at Oak again. “You’ve really seen nothing?”

Oak thought about it for a bit. “I can’t say I have. Everything seemed as it should be, not that I’m any authority on how things should be. But I will keep an eye out, and if I see something out of the ordinary, I can drop by when I return.”

Jon smiled. Then he realized that this meant he would have to talk to Oak again in the near future, and his face fell. After a brief bout of consideration, he seemed to conclude that this state of affairs was preferable to being left in the dark if something strange was in fact happening and said, “Mighty kind of you, Oak. Take care now.”

“You as well, Jon,” Oak said and started walking down the road, Geezer in tow.

As he walked down the road, Oak was deep in thought. I think I just spoke with Jon more than I have in the last year combined. He must truly be worried. Oak felt a fleeting spark of excitement and squashed it down, shame overtaking the treacherous emotion. Interesting times should go and be interesting somewhere else, as my old man used to say. Oak frowned. A much wiser man than me, even if that is not saying much.

After a brief walk, he stopped next to a lonely birch tree on the side of the road, checked that there was nobody close by, and sat down. Oak had a bit of talent as a theurgist, or a spook, as the soldiers called them. Not that he had spread word of his talents around much. His father had already been dead when he began experimenting with the art, and he saw no reason to tell his neighbors he could traverse the Waking Dream and wield memories.

Not every spook was proficient in diving the Dream, and Oak was firmly of the opinion that one should always hold a card or two in their sleeves. Sadly, he was no savant. Oak was mostly self-taught, and he was not good enough yet to dive the Dream carefree. Today, he was willing to risk it. It seemed prudent to at least have a look around, considering John Cutter’s sudden anxiety and the fact Ashmedai had given him a sign.

To tell the truth, Jon’s anxiousness worried Oak almost more than the sign. He could have never guessed there would one day be something Jon Cutter was willing to talk about that had nothing to do with the weather, the harvest, or the price of seeds. Or soil quality. The man was a farmer to the core. If the Hashmallim didn’t have something to do with Jon’s feeling of impending doom, Oak would eat his own boots.

“Keep watch, boy,” Oak told Geezer and closed his eyes. The world fell away as he dove into the Dream. To Oak, sinking into unreality always felt like jumping into a freezing river. The cold hit him everywhere at once, stealing the breath from his lungs, and suddenly he was standing under the foliage of an ethereal birch tree. In front of him was a road of daisies flanked by gigantic wheat crops.

A pale sun was shining from a nearly black sky, and in the empty space between moments, snow fell upon the Dream like the last caress of fading winter. A thin, translucent filament of true existence shined beneath all that his eyes beheld, anchoring aspects of the Dream to their loci in the real world. Geezer's comforting form stood beside him, and Oak briefly touched the dog's surface thoughts with a feather-light string of a memory they both shared, bypassing the simple wards he had constructed to peek inside.

The dog’s mind was a vortex of excitement; fresh scents and sounds bursting to the surface of his mind one moment and discarded just as quickly as they arrived. Geezer focused on his given task and did not notice Oak’s brief incursion into his mind. Infiltrating a human's mind without the person noticing was a much more complicated task, but the minds of animals were fairly easy to dive inside. Oak pulled his presence back from Geezer and took stock of his surroundings.

The shallows of the Waking Dream were usually not too dangerous for a novice of the art like him, but that did not make diving the Dream safe. Far from it. Many horrors called the shoals of the Unreal Sea their home. And in the deep waters, nameless things hunted in the dark. Oak could sense no strong emotional currents currently drifting through the dreamscape since there were so few people and animals close by. He called his Scout to the surface of his mind and sent the raven to scour the dark sky above.

The dissected and rebuilt ghost spread its black wings and took flight. It was one of his seven ghosts and maybe the most useful of the lot. Oak looked around for a good place to hide while the raven went patrolling, and his eyes landed on his own shadow—an oak tree twisting in an otherworldly wind. He shivered, gathered himself, and walked into the shade cast by the giant crops towering over him.

Oak slid between the stems of the surrounding wheat, walking deeper into the unnaturally massive field of grain. When he was far enough that he could no longer see the road, he stopped and sat down to wait for the Scout to complete its patrol. After some tense moments of silent waiting, the Scout dove from the black sky, vanished inside the wheat field two hundred feet to his left, and then made its way back to him under the cover of the wheat, enveloping them both in shadow.

The raven landed on his arm and tucked its black wings. Oak pulled the raven back inside his mind. In an instant, he saw everything the ghostly construct had seen and turned his eyes towards the east, right at the coming storm.

In the Waking Dream, the storm was already roaring at full strength, like an omen of things to come. Lightning painted streaks of color against the clouds as the storm made its way forward, ponderously marching west, like its arrival was a matter of fate rather than a possibility. At the boundary between calm weather and the tempest, a wall of rain approached the town of Spoke, ready to drench the dreamscape.

He thought the sight was downright primordial. But it was not the storm that had drawn his interest. A good distance in front of the storm, in the middle of a large vegetable patch arching over a house and turning into a tree on the other side, a lonely poltergeist shambled towards the town of Spoke.

Oak left the safety of the shadows and headed east to meet it.