When I was a kid--it must’ve been the fourth grade, because the assignment was for Mrs. Magilicutty--I had to write a report on the courthouse in downtown Portland. Mi abuela offered to take me, which surprised everyone in the family until she showed them a year-old letter informing her that she needed to review some paperwork for her green card.

That wasn’t a fun day. The two of us went from office to office, and I had to translate the frustrated requests of the civil servants into Spanish and the iron-willed demands of mi abuela into English. I remembered a lot of looming adults, and I got an A+ on the paper. Mrs. Magilicutty wrote that it was a “unique perspective” and that next time “your grandmother shouldn’t wait a year to respond to a government letter.”

No kidding, Sherlock. If the family had dared to yell at her for waiting so long, they would’ve.

Anyway, after the adventure at the courthouse, mi abuela and I sat on the steps surrounding Pioneer Square, and together we watched the people walk past. She must’ve felt bad about what happened, because she bought me an ice cream cone.

“Too many people,” mi abuela said.

“It’s not as many as Mexico City,” I said.

She frowned. “Listen first, then talk. The people are fewer, but there are more that are haunted. Possessed.”

“There are ghosts?” I asked.

“There are always spirits,” mi abuela said, her dark eyes flashing. She was a small, thin woman, but steel ran through her spine and limbs. When she gestured, I thought the world would tear like a cheap t-shirt. “There, that man with the silly haircut. The one in black. He is possessed. And that young woman. The yellow is a terrible color for her, but it is her mother’s favorite. The mother’s ghost drives her to wear it.” Mi abuela pursed her lips in distaste. “There are too many disrespectful dead here. Not enough people of power to put them to rest.”

The cone dribbled cream onto my hand, unnoticed. “Are ghosts bad?”

“Of course not. There are the respectful dead, as well as the spirits of the animals, the earth, and the sky. Some are helpful, many are dangerous. That is why you must always be careful, Oliver. There are monsters hidden in the corners of the world.” She sniffed. “Your father refuses to let me teach you these things. He was always a foolish boy.”

I noticed my ice cream melting, but the flavor wasn’t as sweet after mi abuela telling me about the ghosts.

“Maybe we should go home,” I said.

“No,” she said with a tight shake of her head. “We will stay here, and I will point out the possessed. Look at them and see if you can guess how I know. Then we will play a game. You are fond of games, yes? Each person that passes, you will tell me if they are possessed or not.”

“Will I get points for the ones I get right?”

“Points? Like in the football? Yes, of course.”

“And what will I get for the points? What will I win?”

“Wisdom,” mi abuela said. “Truth. Protection. All the things that matter. Your abuelo teaches you how to be in the woods. I… I will teach you how to be in the world, the real world hiding under this fake one we see around us.” She nodded to herself. “Yes, I like this. We will come here when I am not working and you are not at school, and we will play this game. It will be a Secret between us.”

“I don’t know if I like this game, abuelita. Your Secrets are always so scary.”

“It’s a scary world, Oliver, and if we don’t play, then we become like these poor people who don’t know any better than to be possessed by the hungry spirits of the dead.”

###

Eventually, mi abuela’s clients learned to visit her at Pioneer Square. They’d patiently sit lined up along the steps, waiting for their turn to consult her, and during the lulls in her business, we’d play the game.

I learned to pay attention to the chills, the unease, the hair rising at the back of my neck, the watery feeling in my belly, and the sense of static in my eyes. When I had my first dream of a dead relative, mi abuela celebrated by making pineapple tamales and loading me down with protective charms.

I stopped listening to her wisdom, though, when I hit middle school. I… well, I was an idiot hungry for my father’s attention and decided I’d dismiss mi abuela like he did. I wrote off the feelings and perceptions as products of my imagination. The dreams were just dreams, and mi abuela’s teachings were superstition and nothing more.

If she was disappointed, mi abuela never showed it. She went right on practicing her craft. Nothing I nor anyone else did ever swayed her from her path.

It wasn’t until later, much later, that I tried to assemble what I’d learned from her into something useful. She was gone by then, and I missed her, even as strict and uncompromising as she was. I wanted a legacy, a reminder of who she was. And that was most certainly a bruha.

###

Once again, dawn found me at the Hunter’s Lodge. I hadn’t slept well after dreaming of Bindesei, but I was impatient to start the day.

A hunter (Borba, Human, Hard-Working, Lean) trained with Inneioleia while I waited. He had a long face and long limbs, but was otherwise a rather plain man in his thirties. His technique was as plain as he was. His strikes didn’t have the snap and bite of the others I’d seen.

A scar ran vertically across his left eye, and Inneioleia focused his attacks so that they came from that direction. When the Lodge Master saw me, he brought me into Borba’s training. I was handed a blunted spear and asked to attack Borba’s left side whenever I saw an opening. Now that I was closer, I could see the remnants of scars along his neck, running under his jacket.

Borba didn’t like me on his left, and he flinched when he saw my spear flicker towards him. Inneioleia took advantage of the lapse and slammed the butt of his spear into Borba’s chest.

“Focus.”

Borba nodded, his lips pressed tight. “Yes, Master.”

Inneioleia attacked again, drawing his attention, but Borba found me distracting, even when I was just waiting for an opportunity.

Inneioloia growled. “I said focus.”

Borba responded with a tight, “Yes.”

I thrust my spear and hit Borba in the torso. His return swing was late, and I had plenty of time to scramble out of the way.

“Better,” Inneioliea said. “The turn was stiff, but you didn’t flinch. Eight, keep your weight on your toes.”

What? I wasn’t the focus of Inneioleia’s attacks, so I had time to think back. Oh, yeah, okay, I was on my heels in my hurry to avoid Borba’s counter.

“Steady strikes now, Eight. For every three breaths, thrust.”

“Yes, Master.”

###

Borba’s training session lasted until about eight in the morning. By the time we were done, we were both panting and our jackets chilly from the soaked-through sweat. I sat on the ground resting, while Borba received some last minute pointers. Then he bowed to the Lodge Master and (surprisingly) me before he left. He still had a full day’s worth of work to do.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“A wolf pack,” Inneioleia said. “Their territory is to the south, but they sometimes range into our hunting areas. They’d separated Borba from his team, but he fought off the alpha long enough to be rescued.”

My eyebrows rose in surprise. I couldn’t imagine fighting an alpha in a standup fight. Not yet anyway.

“His spear is ordinary, but he has a strong will. It is necessary for being a hunter. One cannot enter the woods lightly.”

“But his skill--” It was good. Clearly, he was well-practiced, a professional spearman, but there was a difference between him and Mulallamu, Haoleise, and even Integnei.

Inneioleia laughed. “Not everyone is Talented, Apprentice. Some must strive harder than others to reach their path. Those from whom you are learning are the best hunters of our lodge. Only they can help you polish your potential. Speaking of which… come, we are not done. Your spear is pathetic.”

It took a minute for him to explain a couple of the diaksh words I didn’t know. Then, with his grin and my scowl, we picked up our spears again.

###

Flip me over, mama, I’m done. Spent, wiped, and completely tapped. Mana: zero. Qi: zero. I didn’t have a measure for Stamina in my Status, but if I did, it’d read zero too.

Inneioleia was a demon, a Terror of Training. He put me through the wringer for two more hours before leaving me a puddle of sweat and jellied muscles.

The hunters visiting the lodge looked on with sympathy… and relief that it wasn’t them laying on the ground feeling the world spin. Each one murmured encouragement as they walked past to talk with the Lodge Master.

“Be strong.”

“Keep fighting.”

“Don’t die.”

That last one felt particularly apt.

Eventually, I recovered enough to drag myself inside to sit near Inneioleia’s desk. He’d just finished dealing with a villager’s request for deer hides.

“I have questions,” I said.

“Of course you do,” Inneioleia said, turning around on his cushion.

“It’s about contributions to the lodge.” I took a moment to catch my breath. “If I brought in a chest of coins, would that count?”

“Yes, since the money would be used to strengthen the lodge and the village.”

“How much would it cost for Spiral Pierce?” I asked

“Be clear, Apprentice. The spells are not for sale. They are a reward for a hunter’s contributions. Since that is the case, the amount of contribution would depend on the village’s need.”

“Then what’s the level of the village’s need?”

Inneioleia sighed. “Unfortunately, it is great. We lost two strong hunters, and will be forced to hire soldiers and mercenaries to make up the difference during the darkest days of the year. The village’s defense is not something we can leave to chance.”

“So, the amount--”

“The amount would be 5 eltaak.”

“Per spell?”

“Yes,” Inneioleia said, frowning.

He didn’t like being forced to attach a price to the spells, but I needed the information for my planning.

“What about solving Bindesei’s murder? Would that count as a contribution?”

“Only in as much as it affects the village’s wellbeing,” Inneioleia said.

“And Grunthen,” I said, “what if I found out what happened to him?”

“That would be a contribution to the lodge, and something I would reward.” Inneioleia patted me on the shoulder. “I admire your ambition, Apprentice--I can see what you plan to do--but I caution you to learn the spells slowly. Master one before you learn the next. It’s better to have one or two sharp arrows than a quiver full of blunted ones.”

Normally, that would be good advice, but I had an advantage in the uekisheile. I was sure that we could at least double the speed at which I learned the qi spells.

“Another question--”

Inneioleia snorted.

“Is there Spirit Magic available through the lodge?”

The question caught Inneioleia by surprise, but he quickly recovered; gazing at me thoughtfully. “An interesting idea. You wish to consult Bindesei’s spirit about his murder. Unfortunately, it will not work for two reasons. The first is practical--we do not have Spirit Magic in our lodge. It is the domain of the Priests and the Philosopher’s Lodge. The second reason is metaphysical. Do you know that word? It is hard to describe.”

The two of us fumbled through the translation, but we eventually got it.

“It is an interesting exercise talking to you, Soteiqu. It makes me question the words I take for granted. But let us continue--the second reason you cannot consult Bindesei’s spirit is that spirits cannot speak. It is Tenna’s Gift.”

“As in the god Tenna?” I asked.

“Yes, that is right. Tenna’s Gift is a spirit’s curse, as the saying goes. It is his protection to limit their influence. There was a time in the early days of the world when the Dark spirits goaded people and animals to commit acts of great evil. This infuriated Tenna, and he cast down a wall between the living and the dead, such that the one could no longer tempt the other into committing these acts.”

My heart sank. Yes, I was planning to consult Bindesei’s ghost, but more importantly, I also hoped to be able to talk to my dead wife and grandparents. I got to see and be with them when Ikfael Glen sent me on a spirit walk, but I was greedy for more. I wanted to share my stories--to tell them about the kids and Ikfael, about the uekisheile and this world--and to hear their stories in return.

Ah, I was disappointed. The hope I’d been nursing ever since I saw Spirit Magic on my Status screen shattered.

“Do not be disappointed, Apprentice. It was a clever idea, but there are other ways to make contributions to the lodge. The days ahead are many and bountiful.”

###

Bedraggled like a wet cat, I showed up at Biheila’s door. The kids cried out in alarm and pulled me inside. They helped me wash and change clothes. They even fed me, since I couldn’t lift my arms above my shoulders. The last four inches to my mouth were just impossible.

They propped me up against the garden wall afterward, and chattered as they worked. I listened with half an ear, as my mind roved over the morning’s events. When I realized my hands were clenched into fists, I forced the tension out with a big, deep breath.

What couldn’t be helped, couldn’t be helped. If I wasn’t able to talk to my family again, then I’d at least try to visit them. At the next opportunity, I planned to ask Ikfael about learning how to spirit walk.

Decision made, I turned my thoughts to what I’d so far learned from the Hunter’s Lodge. I wasn’t good for anything else, so I sat in the sun for the rest of the morning; resting and thinking. I must’ve looked comfortable among the vegetables and herbs, because the kids and Biheila joined me outside for lunch.

The widow had traded with a neighbor for half a salmon, which she’d grilled and served with a parsley-like green sauce. The fish was accompanied by something like broccolini and the ever-present corn porridge.

Their stories steadily drew me in, and by the time I’d finished eating, my spirits were mostly restored. The kids must’ve noticed, because they looked pleased with themselves. Billisha patted me on the head and told me to work hard but not to despair. The Skills would come with practice.

The kids snickered when I stood up to stretch and walk around. My back was hunched and my feeble steps made me look like a doddering old man. The children danced in a circle and made up a song just for me.

Old man Eight

Has a funny gait.

Watch him step left.

Watch him step right.

When is he going to fall?

Marches around the garden tall,

When will we get to watch him crawl?

Old man Eight

Has a funny gait.

These little rascals, I’d get mad at them if only I’d stop smiling.

###

I waved off the ladybug crawling across my cheek and righted myself back into sitting position. Confused, I noticed that the sun had jumped a couple of hours ahead. I must’ve fallen asleep while meditating.

My muscles were terribly sore, but the pain was worth it. There was a lovely collection of Skill notifications waiting for me:

Stealth 4 -> 5

Spear Arts 4 -> 5

Qi Body Arts 0

Qi Body Arts 0 -> 2

Qi Body Arts 2 -> 3

With a grin and a groan, I levered myself up and into the longhouse, but it was empty of children and widows. I, however, found a bowl of ripe strawberries in cream waiting for me. So sweet and silky! I felt my body sucking in the sugar and fat.

Still groggy from my nap, it took me a moment to recollect myself and what I’d planned. Then I felt a chill across the back of my neck and remembered. I was going to find Bindesei’s killer. Was it a reminder from his ghost? I couldn’t tell.

Quest accepted, mother ducker. And when I get that reward, I’m going to buy--I’m going to contribute for spells. For all the spells. Mwuahaha!

Hands on my hips, cream mustache on my face, I laughed like a tenpenny villain.

I had about five hours left until sundown and considered hiking out to Fort Sugar Shack to look for clues. On the other hand, I didn’t trust myself to ward off any of the forest’s creatures in my current condition. Tomorrow then, assuming Inneioleia didn’t plan to turn me into jelly again.

I rooted around in my memories for ways to approach this self-assigned quest to find Bindesei and Grunthen’s murderer. Well, Dwilla the Reeve wasn’t convinced it was Grunthen, but nothing else made sense given what I knew.

My library back in the other world was stocked with science fiction and fantasy, but I’d seen my fair share of British crime dramas. They were a favorite of Helen’s, so much so that she had a cardboard cutout of Diana Rigg from Mystery! in her office.

Motive, means, and opportunity--those were the three things I needed to determine to find the murderer. For now, motive and opportunity were out of reach, but means was a different story.

Means meant a knife and the Skill to use it, as well as a high enough Stealth Skill to stab two people in the back, one of which may have been a trained hunter. It was either that or the victims knew the murderer and weren’t afraid to turn their backs to them. The murderer also needed access to Cleansing Fire.

Who else besides a hunter carried it? Who else besides a hunter trained their Stealth Skills? Or if not Stealth, who was known well enough for Bindesei and Grunthen to be unguarded around them?

I sighed, thinking about the answers to those questions. I’d enjoyed the camaraderie between the brothers and sisters of the Hunter’s Lodge. Billisha had been right--the lodge was like a second Family. It was sad to think that one of them may be a murderer.