Blood seeped from a cut along the blynx’s flank. Her breaths came short and fast. A moment ago she’d been fury incarnate, but now she was spent—her legs collapsed under her when she tried to stand.
We approached cautiously, our mana flowing liberally into the wooden bowl gifted by the stonewater serpent. The Grace spell unfurled.
Previously, we’d learned that the spell’s effects were dulled against animals with strong predatory instincts; the weakened blynx, however, wasn’t able to resist. The thrill of alarm within her spirit eased, muffled by the understanding we meant no harm.
The kittens must’ve been caught within the boundary of the spell’s effects, because they tumbled out of the hollowed log. They looked about two months old, and they cried at the scent of blood in the air and in want of their mother’s milk.
“Easy, now,” we said gently. “Let us take care of her wound first.”
They didn’t listen, so we shielded their mother’s body while gathering the mana to cast Healing Water. That’s when we felt sharp pinpricks climbing our back as the kittens ascended to our shoulders. Their goal achieved, they watched us work from the new perch.
The eagle’s talons had cut their mother such that a flap of flesh hung loose along her side. We washed the wound clean, then arranged the flap so that it fell as it would’ve if she were healthy. After that, we poured Healing Water to stop the bleeding and close the gap.
Sparkles of delight arose within us. The magic of magic never gets old.
The blynx’s breathing steadied—enough for us to feel comfortable moving her into the hollowed tree, away from the dead eagle. We did so cautiously. Although she didn’t struggle, she kept her eyes on us and the kittens riding our shoulders.
Once settled in the hollow, the kittens jumped back to the ground and latched onto her teats. We stepped away from the nursing mother. The Grace spell was about to end.
When it did, the blynx stood, dislodging her kittens and immediately putting herself between them and us. We were ready with another Grace spell… but she didn’t attack.
Carefully, we moved back toward the giant eagle. The mother blynx was probably hungry, so we pulled feathers from the eagle’s breast until there was enough space to access the meat underneath.
We carved slices from the breast, then tossed them toward the blynxes. After the fifth one, she overcame her hesitation and started to devour them. We smiled then and separated our consciousnesses. While I remained cautious, I felt like we’d overcome a major hurdle. Also, there was enough easy food available that I didn’t worry about the blynx attacking. The only reason she’d do that now was to protect her kittens, and I wasn’t planning on approaching any of them without Grace’s influence—not yet, anyway.
It was a shame about the eagle’s eyes. They were supposed to be valuable. At least the talons were still intact; those were the other bits I’d been told would sell well. There was also still a fair amount of qi remaining in the body, which turned into a nice meal for Yuki.
Oh, and silverlight too:
235 silverlight gathered. 212 absorbed. |
The silverlight shivered through me and sped through my bones like the wind through a canyon. I felt hollow and full at the same time—burdened by a terrible hunger but secure in my dominion over the lesser creatures of the air.
Afterwards, I was left gasping. Holy hells, that was intense. What level was this bad boy? All I knew was that he was dusk.
The mother blynx watched as I absorbed the eagle’s silverlight. Interestingly, she didn’t seem tempted by it at all. That disregard was something Tegen had mentioned during one of his lessons, but it was my first time seeing it in action.
Apparently, most animals didn’t absorb silverlight or darklight. Or if they did, only a certain amount before stopping. The reason being, the more light they had, the more tempting a target they became. Absorbing light, therefore, was a dangerous game of risk and reward.
While becoming powerful was one way to survive, it was just as valid a strategy to travel in the company of a dusk or dawn packmate and let them handle the dangerous situations.
Thinking about it, that’s what the people of Voorhei did. The majority of silverlight went to the heads of families—except for the taxed portion, which went to the village’s leadership. They chose to centralize the light into fewer, more powerful figures instead of spreading it around.
I took a quick look at my Status.
Silverlight 1048 |
Almost halfway to Level 4 now. Only five or six more giant eagles and I’ll be there. I couldn’t help chuckling at the thought.
“Excuse me,” I said to the mother blynx. “Don’t be alarmed, but I’m going to move this body so that it doesn’t attract scavengers to your den.”
The task was easier said than done, of course. The giant eagle was light for his size but still two or three hundred pounds. The best I could do was to cut the wings free and use a pair of stout tree branches as levers to roll the body away.
Gods, a strength buff would come in handy right now. I really should consider it for my next spell. Or would Spark be a better way to go? The opportunity to produce and study the effects of lightning before the King’s hunt might be invaluable.
When I was finally done moving the eagle’s body, I swept the remaining blood and gore away. The results weren’t perfect, but hopefully they’d be good enough.
Out of breath, sweaty, and bloody, I plopped down near the blynxes’ den. “You know, there’s this lovely cave you’re welcome to stay at. It’s never too hot or too cold, and there’s all the food you’d want to eat. My friend Ikfael lives there. You’d like her. She’s quite talented. A little standoffish, but she has a heart of gold.” I unfurled the Grace spell once more and felt it connecting me to all the living things nearby.
The spell eased the tension in the mother blynx, and she slipped out of the den to Blink out of the spell’s range. I jumped up in surprise, but she only brought an eagle feather over to cover the den’s entrance. The kittens found it fascinating, though, and kept knocking it over.
At that point, it hit me that I hadn’t bothered to check out the blynx’s talents.
Blinking Lynx (Animal) Talents: Protector |
There was only one, but it was a good one, and it certainly lined up with what I’d seen from her. Satisfied, I sat back down.
And that was how the rest of the afternoon went. Me resting until my mana recovered for another Grace spell; the kittens playing with the three-foot long feather; and the mother watching them, me, and the world from the mouth of the den.
An hour before dark, I said my goodbyes and left for the Glen. Taming the blynxes was a long-term project, and I planned to return tomorrow and the day after. The process should speed up, though, once I recovered the portion of Yuki currently hiding in Bihei’s longhouse—assuming the mother blynx was willing to take them into her body, of course. I wouldn’t force her. Now that we’d shared Grace, I couldn’t imagine doing anything that disrespected or hurt her.
The next morning, I hurried to make Ikfael’s breakfast and rushed back to the den. There’d been another rainstorm overnight, and the ground was muddier than the day before; the way was slick and slippery.
At the site where I’d dumped the giant eagle’s body, I found the carcass missing. The only signs that it’d been there were a few stray feathers and churned mud. Judging by the signs left behind, it appeared that a struggle had taken place for possession of the body.
I was anxious about the blynxes, but took the time to identify the prints: wolves, several of them, and big too. They’d surrounded and harassed… was that an owl print? If it was, then that bird was even bigger than the giant eagle.
How terrifying. Owls were incredible predators, silent and deadly. I’d have to be careful when traveling at night. As for the wolves, their territory was farther south. Were they losing their territorial battles?
In any case, the prints were hours old, and I didn’t find any evidence that either the owl or the wolves had lingered. I ran to the den, but there was no need to worry. The mother and kittens were safe inside.
I pulled out the Grace bowl and a slice of leftover eagle meat. “Breakfast time.”
The rest of that day and the next passed uneventfully. I didn’t encounter any more predators traveling to and from the den, and as the blynxes grew more comfortable with my presence, my own wariness eased. I started meditating outside their den, and the frequency of Grace spells increased.
The only interference was when we heard creatures moving through the forest nearby. The kittens were too young to Camouflage, so the mother picked them up and carried them deeper into the den whenever that happened. As for me, I was ready to ambush anything that came close—within reason, of course. No dragons, please.
A lot of time and energy was being invested into taming the blynxes, and I meant to protect that investment. Plus, the kittens were so damn cute.
Tomorrow, I was due in Voorhei for a scheduled training. That would last a couple of days, and then I’d come right back to pick up where I left off.
My mood grew heavy on the way to the village, and it stuck with me throughout my visit. It wasn’t just me either. The villagers were distracted by the upcoming hunt for the King of the Forest. The hunters, in particular, had that faraway look ball players got before a big game.
Well, it shouldn’t have been surprising. The kalihchi bear was the biggest game in the area.
My talks with Inleio, Mumu, and my team felt stiff. We all kept secrets, and that made for awkward gaps in our conversations. The ease with which I was used to talking with them was missing.
I didn’t tell them about the giant eagle and the blynxes. There was just something in me that thought it would be wise to keep some cards hidden. I’d consider revealing them later, once this mess with Borba and Ghitha was done and I had the chance to reevaluate my trust in the lodge.
Ugh. I hated the feeling when people slipped off of their pedestals—when their failings became evident and they proved themselves imperfect. One would think I’d have learned this lesson in my previous life.
I still liked Inleio, Mumu, and the rest. The only difference was that I now had to acknowledge they were human, with all the faults and imperfections that came along with it.
Well, good and bad were often bundled together. I’d have to remember that as I learned from them, and they hopefully learned from me. We’d just have to navigate our differences along the way. And there was no time like the present to get started—to lay the groundwork for an informal campaign against abusing darklight.
I retold the story of Ikiira to every hunter who’d listen. Wide-eyed and innocent, I regaled them with the heroism of her sacrifice. In doing so, I boosted Ikfael’s standing while also reminding them about the reason for the village’s taboo against using darklight.
If Inleio was angry as a result, he didn’t show it. He did work me to the bone during training, but that was normal for him. The only difference was that many more hunters joined the sessions. He even scheduled extra, which practically every hunter attended. They all wanted their skills sharp and polished for the upcoming hunt.
At the end of the final session, before I went back to the Glen the next day, Inleio made an announcement: Borba had volunteered to become a mule. He was doing it in service to the village and to make amends for his crime of murdering Grunthen.
The room gasped. Whatever exhaustion the hunters had felt seemed to instantly evaporate. They became rowdy, and called out questions.
“How do we know Borba murdered Grunthen?”
“He confessed,” Inleio said, “under the effects of the truth-telling tea.”
“But why did he do it?”
“He loved Kiertie, and learned that Grunthen had left her to die to the kalihchi bear.”
“What about Borba’s team? What do they say?”
“I asked Borba to speak to them about his crime, and they support him in his decision.”
“Using darklight is wrong. What if the spirits punish us? What if Borba loses control and attacks one of us?”
“We will use the darklight in this way just one time, and it will be Borba and Borba alone who will absorb it. He is doing so under careful supervision. We are also canceling all the hunts prior to the King of the Forest. We don’t want anyone to get hurt beforehand, and we’ll be using that time to prepare.”
“What about meat for the village?”
“The lodge will use its stores to make up for any shortages.”
The questions continued for another hour, but they were variations of what had already been asked. Mostly, it was the gossips who kept things going, intent on prying loose any details they could of Grunthen’s sensational death. I had no doubt the news would spread through the whole village by nightfall.
Afterward, several hunters approached me. They knew I’d been investigating Grunthen’s murder, and were curious if I was somehow involved in solving the mystery.
“Yes, I helped uncover some of the details,” I said, “but now we’re all involved in the aftermath. Grunthen’s death is a tragedy that affects the whole village. That’s why we all need to work together to defeat the kalihchi bear and, afterward, to make sure no one else is forced to become a mule to make amends for a crime. We should be helping each other perfect our paths, not leading each other astray.”
Had my story-telling rushed Inleio’s revelation of Borba’s fate? If so, it hadn’t been my intention to force his hand. I’d already conceded the short-term, and was looking more toward permanent change.
Yuki and I checked on Ghitha later that night. He was furious at the loss of a pawn and worried his involvement in the murders would come to light. Stupid, stupid Borba. Ghitha knew the man felt guilty, but enough to confess? That was unexpected.
Fortunately, there were no witnesses to Bindeise’s death, and Ghitha had never talked to anyone about it. No, he was safe—his only crime was not accusing Borba of murder. But then, he’d never said he had any evidence. The fool Borba had believed him from the beginning without ever asking how he knew.
Supposedly, that boy Eight could see ghosts, but the dead were silent, a blessing of the god Tenna to keep them from influencing the living. Still, it would be best to avoid the Hunter’s Lodge and stay close to home. Anything needing to be done could be done by Banan’s team. They were certainly paid well enough. The state of the family’s coffers attested to that.
That would change soon. Ghitha only needed to hold out until the King of the Forest was dead and the caves beyond the bear’s den were accessible. It would take time to find the eilesheile without Kiertie’s map, but he trusted that Banan’s team could do it. They were competent, unlike those in Voorhei’s Hunter’s Lodge. All Ghitha had to do was to last until the hunt for that damned bear.
The kids were in a good mood at dinner that night. They’d heard about Borba becoming a mule, and the consensus in the village was that it improved the chances for a successful hunt. Their attitude surprised me.
“But isn’t it bad to absorb darklight?” I asked.
“Yes,” Billisha said. “Don’t, or it’ll lead you astray from your path.”
“So why is it okay for Borba to do it?”
“Because that’s his decision,” Billisha said.
“He was forced to do it as part of his punishment.”
“Borba’s choice was made when he murdered Grunthen.” Billisha looked at me like all this should be obvious.
Exasperated, I said, “If it’s wrong to absorb darklight, then it’s wrong no matter the circumstances. The lodge is forcing Borba to stray from himself. I can’t think of a worse thing to do to a person.”
Billisha shook her head. “It’s wrong for you to absorb darklight, Zasha, because you must be protected. For others? If they choose to do so and it helps our family to survive, then we let it happen.”
So practical, our Billisha. I remembered, then, that she’d been trained to one day take over the Skinner’s Lodge of her village. Were all lodge masters this utilitarian?
She saw my dissatisfaction with her answer. “The gods blessed us with the power to choose, Zasha. It’s not our place to limit their blessing. All we can do is to make the best choices ourselves, and make the most of others’ choices.” Billisha smiled sadly. “My father… he used to say that whenever he faced a difficult decision.”
“A wise man, your father.”
Billisha nodded. “Mmm. He was.”
The mood shifted as the others began to think of their lost loved ones. I wanted to continue discussing darklight, but their melancholy overwhelmed the meal. It occurred to me then that I was being an ass. The lesson on darklight could wait.
I knew too little about the kids’ lives before I’d met them—of their families and their village. The same was true about Bihei and her life before she’d met us.
“Tell me about him,” I said to Billisha. “About your father. And your mother and the rest of your family. Let’s remember them tonight and honor what they passed on to you.”
The request surprised Billisha, but she quickly took up the tale, eager to share but sad. That was true for Aluali and Bihei too. I couldn’t leave them out.
The kids sheepishly asked about my family too, and I told them what I could about a father who ran hot and cold, a manipulative mother, a kind grandfather, a demanding grandmother, and an annoying younger brother. As for my wife and children, well… maybe I’d tell them eventually, when both they and I were ready.
The evening was a long and sad one, but we awoke the next day brighter for it.
Alas, the mood didn’t last. The next morning brought Borba to Bihei’s doorstep. She yelped when she opened the door and quickly called me over.
He didn’t look much different at first glance. He—or someone—had taken pains to make sure he was dressed neatly and his hair was combed. If he hunched a little, that could be explained by the intensity of recent training. Every hunter in the village was sore. His eyes, though… they bulged just enough to give away that something was off, and he kept his arms folded and his hands hidden from view.
Borba the Murderer (Human, Dusk) Talents: Hard-Working, Lean, Enduring, Rage Nascent: Siphon |
He’d absorbed enough darklight to reach Level 5, and had acquired new talents in the process. The Rage was typical of the dusk, but Siphon had me stumped.
Two of Borba’s teammates accompanied him. They were clearly his escorts, but they hung back to give him the semblance of private conversation. Borba didn’t say anything though. He simply stared through me.
“Do you need anything?” I asked.
“I—I thought I’d see—” Borba slurped, like his mouth was too full of saliva. “You have so many talents, so I thought maybe I would understand mine by looking at you. But I don’t see anything. Just, just someone who—” He began to breathe heavily, and a red flush crept up his neck to his face. “I should go,” he said and practically ran away.
I turned to find the kids and Bihei watching. “He doesn’t look well, does he?”
“The false ones look neat and clean,” Aluali said, “but they’re still monsters on the inside.”
“And whether Borba turns into a monster or not, that’s his path,” Billisha said.
“And what do you think?” I asked Bihei. She hadn’t said anything last night when we’d talked about Borba’s fate.
“If not for him,” she said quietly, “the last Long Dark would not have been so terrible. I might still have my family if Grunthen had been at the walls. I’m not one to begrudge a person their path, but if Borba’s leads him astray, I’ll not cry over it. My tears have all been shed for those that mattered to me.”
There was no sympathy to be found among any of them, which given what they’d survived was to be expected. The villagers were traumatized, and constantly being retraumatized. By bandit raids, the Long Dark, and so much more. And nothing would change until they felt some measure of safety. Trauma was a closed-off space, with the body and mind obsessed with protection above all else. There’d be no opening for anything new until both could be soothed.
Another use for the Grace spell? Maybe, but I wanted to think long and hard about that. The consequences felt heavy.
For now, I stuck around to help with the fields. I was anxious to get back to the blynxes, but I wasn’t willing to leave the kids or Bihei as they were. There wasn’t anything I could say that I hadn’t already. All that was left was to keep them company.
