The next day a light rain fell, causing the long grass to bow in supplication. Hidden among the trees along the ridge where we’d fought the musk oxen, I listened as the drops blipped and blopped on the forest canopy. The ground below had softened and returned to the shape it had held before the battle. The dried blood had washed away, and the scavengers hadn’t left much behind either.
I wasn’t there to hunt—not yet anyway. No, my goal was to observe. It’d be a lot harder to capture a blynx than to kill one, and I needed to figure out how to do that and bring it back alive. My hope was to track it to where it holed up to eat and sleep, so that I could lay an ambush for the ambusher.
So far, I’d spotted a squadron of javelinas moving between the trees. There’d also been a skunk nosing among some musk oxen’s’ bones, but he’d run off after not finding anything on them. No sign of a blynx though. There were two more days before I was due in Voorhei for my next visit, so luckily I had time to be patient.
The showers let up by mid-afternoon, and the sun came out to steam the land dry. A flock of geese honked as they flew overhead. The skunk came back and left. Then a beautiful doe stepped out from between the trees, her steps graceful and delicate. A moment later two fawns followed.
The only warning I had was a flicker out of the corner of my right eye. Dog’s Agility spun up, pumping energy into my meridians, while adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. I twisted, bringing my spear up, but realized nothing was there. Down below, though, there was a cry.
I twisted back around in time to see a blynx latch onto one of the fawns. The two disappeared, leaving only a line of blood in the air. Startled, the doe and remaining fawn bounded into the trees.
It took only a second—two at the most—for the area to empty and turn quiet. The only evidence that the missing fawn had ever been alive was the blood that fell out of the air, bowing the grassy heads once more.
The blynx had come from the west, so I started the search there and got lucky. I found paw prints, along with a bloody trail where the fawn’s body had been dragged through the mud before the blynx teleported again.
I dipped into the land to open my spirit eyes. My thought was to taste the scent of the blynx’s spirit to help with tracking, but I spotted a disturbance farther west, to where the trail pointed. The spirits of the trees darkened, while birds scattered from their resting places in their branches.
I ran.
An oak shook in anger, the wind blustering through its branches. I found blood pooling in a bowl formed from its roots, as well as a set of bloody prints.
The blynx my team had killed was cannier than this. It’d intermixed its travel with jumps in random directions to throw us off its trail. This one, though, appeared to be doggedly moving west. I kept after it, dipping into and out of the land to look for disturbances.
In fact, there was another disturbance, but this time it was a false one taking the shape of a young boy. I stumbled across him—it—crouched under a cedar. The creature turned when I exclaimed in surprise. A quick look confirmed it wasn’t a real child, and I felt my temper get the better of me. Dog’s Agility flowed through my meridians, and Spiral Pierce wrapped around my spear.
The false one ran at me, and when it was a lunge’s distance away I thrusted and blew a hole through its abdomen. It didn’t even have time to open its beak. The feeling was like pushing a knife through leather: tough at first, but easy once it was through.
The false one flailed at the end of my spear, though it didn’t take long for the limbs to go still. Bile rose in my throat, yet I forced myself to watch and get used to its eerie Camouflage. I couldn’t let these things affect me. Even a split-second’s hesitation could mean the difference between life and death.
Once the creature was dead, I remembered myself and looked around to ensure it was alone. The forest was quiet, and I didn’t see anything. I Camouflaged, however, just in case.
When the birdsong resumed and nothing else happened, I let the spell go and reached for the false one’s silverlight.
14 silverlight gathered. 13 absorbed. |
Looking with my spirit eyes, I didn’t see any other disturbances nearby. Had I lost the blynx’s trail? Maybe I should get some elevation?
There was a horotonei tree nearby with a branch close enough for me to reach. When I put my hand on its trunk, the bark smelled like cardamom. I apologized for the disturbance and jumped up. Its spirit didn’t react, so I started to climb.
The bark was rough and easy to grip, and the scent grew stronger the higher I climbed, especially with the wind blowing through the branches and sweeping through my hair and clothes. I was only able to get three-quarters of the way toward the canopy, but the view was good enough. The land dipped to the west before rising again toward the hills leading to the escarpment.
I looked out over a green world full of life, the horotonei under me swaying in tandem with the other trees nearby. Squirrels ran along the branches above, chirping in alarm at my presence. A beetle crawled past to get to the tree’s trunk. A butterfly briefly landed on my hand, and then fluttered away.
There was no sign of the blynx yet, but I kept my spirit eyes open. There were shifts in the forest’s mood, but not in the direction of the blynx’s trail: a small disturbance to the north, a much larger one to the south. The susurration of the wind through the horotonei’s branches was broken by the sound of a loud crack in that direction. A pine tree shook and started to fall, only to catch against its neighbors. There was a smash, and the tree fell.
The forest darkened. Spirits fled, but there were also ones who were drawn to the disturbance. Me? I hid in the land and cast both Camouflage and Scentless Hunter.
Within minutes, a kettle of vultures glided into the area south of me to circle overhead. They fled, however, when a giant eagle also came to investigate. The telltale shaft of a broken spear jutted out from his back.
This bad boy again, I thought and kept still.
Let us see, Yuki said.
So I merged our consciousnesses, and we watched the giant eagle soar, riding the air currents above where the tree had fallen. Then he swept away with a tilt of his wings. Whatever he had seen down there must not have interested him.
The vultures came back once the giant eagle was gone. Except, one must’ve flown too low—an arc of lightning shot thirty yards into the air. The world stopped and turned black and white, the image imprinted upon our vision. The vultures scattered and fled, while one luckless bird dropped from the sky.
We blinked to clear our eyes and stayed where we were, making ourselves as small as possible, which seemed to be the plan for every animal nearby. Nothing moved or chirped or growled. We all hid from the King of the Forest.
Half an hour passed before the forest breathed again. Yuki separated from our union so that they could resume their experiments with my qi. Meanwhile, I sat back and considered just how easily the kalihchi bear had shot a vulture out of the sky with a bolt of lightning. I thought about how much he really did seem to be the King of the Forest.
One might’ve expected these events to have scared me off from participating in the bear’s hunt, but the opposite happened: witnessing the bear’s lightning had broken an impasse with which I’d been struggling. It had illuminated my situation with its stark light.
On one side was my desire to protect my friends and loved ones, and on the other were the recent events at the Hunter’s Lodge and my unresolved feelings about Borba’s punishment.
My stomach sank as I imagined what the King’s lightning could do to Billisha and Aluali, or to Inleio, Mumu, and my team, especially if he was given another six months to grow.
At the same time, I was deeply uneasy about Borba being forced to absorb darklight. Did I really want to be associated with people who’d do something like that? Yes, he’d committed a serious crime, but the cruelty—from what Yuki and I had glimpsed from within him—was terrible, such that it seemed like he’d be better off dead.
After all, death wasn’t final. I’d learned that as a child from mi abuela. I also knew it from this world, having met ghosts of all shapes and sizes. Through death and reincarnation, a person could start over and do better. But only if they don’t get stuck as a ghost, unable to let go because of the suffering they’d experienced while alive.
That was one of the dangers of Borba’s punishment: he might turn into a ghost after death. Or if he managed to avoid that fate, the cruelty he’d experience might twist his spirit so badly it’d affect his future lives—making them angrier, more fearful, and bitter. And those feelings rarely produced good in the world. The seeds of suffering sown now would only produce more suffering later.
It wasn’t like I didn’t understand the desire for vengeance. So many people had died during the last Long Dark because Grunthen hadn’t been there to help defend the village. If I were in Inleio’s shoes, I might’ve also decided that death wasn’t enough of a price—that Borba needed to do even more to make amends for the grief he’d caused—but it seemed to me that forcing him to absorb darklight was a step too far.
Maybe it was the way I’d been raised. My grandparents had taken matters of the spirit seriously, and there were certain obligations: to the dead but also the world in general, to make it a safer place for those without spiritual power. To grow what was best in humanity and slash the worst.
The events at the Hunter’s Lodge came up against the boundaries of those obligations. I doubted mi abuela would approve of making monsters.
So, the lodge was mistaken. I could say that with some surety. The question was: what should I do about it?
Just a few days ago, I’d told Yuki that I didn’t know enough about this world to intrude on the lodge’s decision making. Now, though, the King’s lightning had hardened a resolve that had been building within me to protect the people I cared about. I felt a determination to step forward and carry my share of the village’s burdens. The Hunter’s Lodge had taught me so much. In return, I could share a world’s worth of wisdom with them.
Unfortunately, I was in no position to do so, trapped as I was in an eight-year-old body. The hunters knew me to be clever and talented, but that didn’t mean much compared to the hard realities in which they lived.
If I wanted to change things, I’d have to grow in power and influence. That would happen naturally as I aged, but it wouldn’t be enough. No, the leadership role I envisioned required social connections, economic clout, and political power. The first two were already in progress, but the third… I didn’t want to be the village head, lead the Hunter’s Lodge, or anything like that, but maybe I could become an informal advisor to them?
Mumu was in line to become the next lodge master. We were teammates and business partners, so it’d be easy enough to talk to her about my ideas. And being the village’s liaison to Ikfael also helped, since it meant a working relationship with Sheedi too.
The only tough nut was Koda. I’d have to stop avoiding the village head and accept that I was occasionally going to be outmaneuvered. As long as my and my family’s needs were being met, it’d be okay. Mostly. Not really. But I’d grit my teeth and bear with it until I got better at handling him.
So, I’d keep doing what I’d been doing: turn into a clever pot full of answers as well as questions. I’d help people and build social capital, establish a business and create an economic base, and then use these resources to steer the village away from bad decisions, especially those involving darklight.
This would all take time, time that Borba didn’t have, but anything faster was reckless and less likely to work long term. I shook my head—there was no way for the current me to save him.
At least Billisha and Aluali would benefit from this plan. Not that they would have had a bad life otherwise—I would’ve made sure of that—but this way they’d have more resources at their disposal, as well as being safer.
I looked back over my thoughts and checked them against my heart.
Could I really say that I knew better than the people who lived in this world? No, definitely not. But there was an unavoidable feeling radiating out of my Taoism and Spirit Arts skills. The two had somehow overlapped, and I sensed from them that forcing someone to use darklight was deeply wrong. Maybe there were right ways to use the stuff—the dolbecs seemed to think so—but the things happening to Borba raised my hackles on multiple fronts.
So, yes, I had things to share. I just needed to find ways to sneak them into the collective wisdom of the villagers. We’d all be stronger together than if we were alone.
Underlying all these thoughts about influence and power was the very real truth that I cared about Inleio, Mumu, and the others. I wanted them to be safe, both from a dangerous world and from themselves. I would protect them if I could, in spite of the complications arising out of Borba’s punishment.
Enough hiding. It’s time to catch me a blynx.
I searched in a series of arcs radiating west, and an hour later I stumbled across the lingering scent of iron and musk. It led me to a goose hollow formed from the remains of a burned oak.
Inside were splatters of blood and tufts of the fawn’s hide. The blood smear led farther west, which was strange. Why didn’t the blynx hole up to eat the fawn here? Why continue onward? Unless it wasn’t safe or… it wasn’t the only one meant to eat the fawn.
There was a paw print not far from the goose hollow, and I spotted another closer still. After that, the trail became hard to follow again. Hollows, depressions, fallen logs, and rocky outcroppings were all favored targets for the blynx’s teleports. Almost always, the destination was a place screened from at least two directions.
My intuition tingled, and I picked up the pace, trusting the King of the Forest to stay to the south. The arcs I’d been using for a search pattern fell away as I moved directly from spot to spot—predicting where the blynx had teleported based on the terrain.
I wasn’t always right, but I found signs of the blynx’s trail in three out of five places I searched. It was good enough to speed things up, and I finally managed to catch sight of the blynx in the midst of teleporting.
It’s… her destination turned out to be a hollowed-out, fallen tree. The majority of the tree’s bulk was hidden by bushes all around it, and the blynx dragged the dead fawn’s body toward the entrance.
Almost at the goal, the blynx didn’t see the giant eagle swooping in with claws outstretched. I might not have seen it myself if not for Yuki’s warning:
The eagle!
I dove into the land and brought Yuki along with me, the two of us merging in its shadows. The blynx somehow evaded the eagle’s attack, although a line of red bloomed along her fur.
The eagle landed, and with a snap of his beak he tore open the fawn’s belly. He pulled out the innards and gulped them down. The blynx should’ve run while he was occupied, but she growled instead and stared the eagle down.
We saw her distended teats then. There are cubs in that hollow tree.
The telltale haft of a spear stuck out from the eagle’s back, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He crunched on the fawn’s bones, and steadily worked the rest of the body into his mouth, all the while keeping an eye on the blynx in turn. Was it our imagination, or was there a malicious glint in his eyes?
He knew. He knew from her reactions that there was something precious hidden nearby. His talons raked the hollow tree’s entrance and splintered the wood. The blynx leapt at him, but teleported away when the eagle snapped at her. The two began to fight, though the pattern repeated. Whenever the blynx teleported, the eagle anticipated the attack, and the blynx would be forced to teleport quickly away.
Giant Eagle (Animal, Dusk) Talents: Big Boy, Talons Like Knives, Death From Above, Air Superiority Nascent: Slightly Smarter Than the Average Bird |
When he’d attacked our team of hunters, only Mumu’s spear had been able to penetrate his feathers. Our arrows had either been avoided or deflected away. That had been before we learned Spiral Pierce, though, and an arrow in the right place might do.
Slipping through the brush, we searched for a hidden vantage. It was slow going, and the blynx was constantly at risk, but if our plan was to work, we needed the benefit of surprise. We found a spot behind a bramble and paused to identify a place to fall back if things went wrong. Then, we reached for our bow.
Our strange hybrid of Olympic and hunting archery was not fast or flexible, but it excelled at one thing: precision.
We steadied our breath and relaxed our gaze. Today was just another day. There was no need for anxiety, and we eased the alarms ringing through our body. Qi funneled through our meridians—the pattern for Camouflage familiar to us now—and we sent a portion into our bow and arrow. Then, we brought to mind the runes for Scentless Hunter to refresh the spell, and also sent some nature mana into our weapons. Finally, we began the sequence for Spiral Pierce.
It was all a dance—the energies flowing in a multitude of directions—and we were at its center.
We drew. The bow trembled with the strain, but held. The eagle paused in between attacks to smirk at the blynx, and we released.
The air cracked, but we were already moving towards our fallback position. The eagle shrieked, and we turned to see his talons shredding the bramble where we’d been. An arrow protruded from his eye.
No time to smile. No time to take pride in our skill. The eagle should’ve taken to the air immediately, but he hadn’t, a grave mistake.
We were still shy of our fallback, but couldn’t let this chance go. We came to a stop, and our posture and our breath steadied once more. Silently, we prayed. The words and qi and mana flowed into our arrow. There was Spiral Pierce and an enchantment and something older—something more primal: the desire to live and a plea to the gods to make it so.
The eagle’s head bobbed and shook as he tore apart the bramble where we’d been. The bow trembled with the strain, but we waited for the right moment. For the eagle to pause. For our heart to still. For the gods to look down from their high places and give their blessings.
When that moment came, the arrow flew true.
His other eye burst, and the eagle reeled. He attempted to escape, but collided with a tree, the impact knocking him to the ground and grinding the spear in his back. He buffeted the air and raked with his talons, but there was no one nearby.
Not until the blynx appeared above his throat. She tore at his feathers, blood spraying.
The eagle snapped at her, but too slowly. The blynx teleported straight up and fell like death upon the hapless bird. He clawed and snapped, but she continued to teleport up and then fall, attacking his throat until she carved her bloody way through.
When the eagle died, the blynx slipped from his body and fell once more, this time clumsily to the ground. She lay there panting and stunned. From the fallen log, two pairs of eyes peeked out.
We sighed in relief then. And appreciation. This is what we were made for. The blynx, Ollie/Eight, and Yuki—we were all hunters.
Stepping closer, we reached for the Grace in our heart.
