The kids were up early to help me get ready, which was good because I could barely move from being sore all over. From the other end of the longhouse, Aluali brought a jug of frothy goat’s milk, still warm. Billisha ladled corn porridge into a bowl for me.

The porridge was chunky with blue potatoes and dotted with flecks of meat. The potatoes were a nice find, and I’d asked the kids to buy some so that we could fry them up later.

“Tomorrow is the end of the tenday,” Billisha said. “Will we stay here or return to the glen?”

The question caught me by surprise. The plan was always to go back to the glen. I looked at her, but she kept her thoughts off her face. Both kids watched me as I considered the question. “Would you like to stay?” I asked, feeling them out. “With Biheila?”

The widow was behind me getting ready for the day, but I felt her stop to listen to the children’s response. Aluali reached to hold Billisha’s hand, and the two glanced at each other. Encouraged, Billisha answered.

“We think that Zasha will miss Ikfael Glen if we stay in Voorhei. And we will miss Zasha if he goes back to the glen without us. We will miss Biheila if we go back to the glen, but she cannot leave the village--her home is here. Our home is with Zasha. Wherever he goes is where we go. There is no good answer to the question.”

“I could… I could leave my things behind,” Biheila said, coming forward. “I don’t need them. My loom maybe, but the rest are just--”

“Don’t make a decision now,” I said, interrupting. “Our glen is protected by a spirit, but it’s still dangerous.”

“But--” Biheila struggled to put words to her feelings.

“I understand that you...that things have been hard since you lost your Family,” I said, “but you should consider what you want to do carefully.”

Biheila wrung her hands. I could tell that she wanted to protest, but instead she reluctantly nodded. “I will think about the decision.”

We’d only been in Voorhei for five days--today was the start of the sixth--but the time had been just as intense for these three as for me. Things moved while my attention was elsewhere. I had three wounded people around me. I shouldn’t have been surprised that they latched onto each other.

“For the time being,” I said, “we will fulfill my obligations to the Hunter’s Lodge and come to Voorhei every week. During that time we will stay here, if you are willing, Biheila. The obligation is for three days, but we can stay longer sometimes, or the children can stay longer without me. We have options. We can be flexible. No life changing decisions need to happen right now. Maybe it feels like they do, but they don’t. It’s better for everyone to take a breath and think things through.”

The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence, but that was okay. Family awkwardness was its own kind of treasure. One wouldn’t think so, but loss had a way of revealing the value of things.

###

I rushed to make my appointment with the Hunter’s Lodge’s Master. The run was painful at first, but served its purpose. I arrived just as the horizon was starting to brighten, and my muscles were warmed up, the soreness eased. Unfortunately, the relief only lasted a short while.

We started off easy enough with simple stretches and exercises to loosen the joints, but Inneioleia was intent on demonstrating all the spear forms known by the Hunter’s Lodge. And I had to follow along. For four hours, I thrusted, shuffled, ducked, jumped, and parried. I fought imaginary creatures on four legs, on two legs, and on many legs. They came at me from every direction, including from the air and under the ground. There were even forms for when a hunter was trampled, caught under a creature, or otherwise being savaged.

It was ridiculous. Unless one had an eidetic memory, there was no way to remember them all--their steps, the way the torso moved, the shifts in body weight, the hand positions. Too much. It was just too much.

Of course, I complained. I wanted to practice a single form--not even a form, a single attack--so that it’d be useful. Not move from form to form and have them all get jumbled in my memory.

That’s when Inneioleia explained that I wasn’t expected to remember them all, not instantly anyway. Instead, we were broadening my exposure to the Spear Arts Skill. He said that Skills were like underground lakes, and the width of the tunnel connecting one to the lake depended on knowledge, practice, and expertise. The wider and smoother the tunnel, the more water could be drawn.

The exercise to review all the spears forms, therefore, was a way to prepare the tunnel; to soften the ground and signal to the World Spirit (the System) that I was prepared to pursue this path to perfection.

The review would also be helpful, since I’d be on my own for much of the time. This way, I’d at least have had a comprehensive look at the lodge’s Spear Arts, which should inform my practices with Spear Arts-Sensei later. If nothing else, it’d help reduce the amount of trial and error.

It was like a firecracker went off in my head, and I had a vision of the time I was high on poison mushrooms and Ikfael performed the ritual to cleanse me of the toxins. I was able to see my qi body then, along with other more esoteric energy structures, including pools that looked a lot like what Inneioliea was describing.

According to his explanation, knowledge and expertise flowed in both directions. One drew on a Skill and contributed to it at the same time. As people developed the Skill over time, the improvements would become available to others who dedicated themselves to it. In some ways, it sounded like Carl Juyng’s Collective Unconscious Mind, except it went way beyond instincts and archetypes.

I threw myself into the practice then and strove to burn the forms into my mind and into my muscles. Afterward, we stretched, and, now that I was looking for patterns, I saw how some of the exercises resembled yoga poses.

To emphasize the stretches, the Lodge Master used ropes and heavy flat stones. Again, the goal was to signal to the World Spirit an intention to improve a particular area. In this case, it was Agility. Yesterday, it was Strength and Constitution.

All three were apparently important to develop, because I was also learning Dog’s Agility. The spell was hard on the body, and I needed to squeeze every bit of potential out of those three Attributes to ensure I didn’t hurt myself using it.

Inneioleia described how the more we strove and the more we used up every bit of will and stamina, the more we’d be forced to reach out to something outside of ourselves to keep going, namely the World Spirit. That desperation would force the connections to the World Spirit open.

Which meant I couldn’t let my mind wander during any of the exercises. The more I brought my concentrated attention to the practices, the more effective the process would be.

We alternated between spear forms and stretches until noon, at which point I was a useless rag sopping wet with sweat. It didn’t help that the day was hot and miserable, the humidity so thick one could almost drink the water out of the air. If not for the Cold Snap I cast on the stone wall, I was sure I’d melt.

Inneioleia seemed to appreciate it, as well. We ate a simple meal by the cool stone, drank gallons of water, and chatted about things that’d been bugging me for a while now, including level progression.

There was apparently a small weasel-like animal called a kutha. The kutha were special in that they were all exact copies of each other, including in the amount of dark and silverlight they held. And no matter how much dark and silverlight they absorbed, they always contained the same amount. The nature of the kutha was one of the mysteries of the world.

Anyway, by measuring the effect of kutha cores on people, the early philosophers of Diaksha were able to make a chart of Level progression. Inneioloeia showed it to me in one of his books.

Level Total Kutha 1 10 2 50 3 150 4 450 5 1,350 6 1,850 7 2,850 8 4,350 9 6,350 10 12,350

I reached Level 1 at 50 silverlight and level 2 at 250 silverlight. It was easy enough to figure out that each kutha was worth 5 dark and silverlight. So revising their chart to reflect the actual numbers, it’d look like:

Level Total Light 1 50 2 250 3 750 4 2,250 5 6,750 6 9,250 7 14,250 8 21,750 9 31,750 10 61,750

I wondered if System-Eight was laughing. His guess of 2,375 silverlight for Level 4 turned out to be pretty close. Inneioliea said that there was a pattern under the number, but he didn’t know it. I’d have to ask a philosopher.

The chart at the Hunter’s Lodge only went up to Level 10, but even the philosophers didn’t know the cap. According to legend, the highest leveled person ever was an Emperor of Akhilaesh, an empire across the ocean and far to the east.

The emperor had ordered his people to empty their forests on his behalf, and he absorbed thousands of cores to reach the dizzying height of Level 32. The story didn’t end well for him though. The neighboring countries, afraid of the emperor’s superhuman powers, banded together to send a city’s worth of assassins after him.

I ate and listened to the story of the Emperor of Akhilaesh and the City of Assassins; quickly joined by the village’s other children. They had an unfailing nose for stories.

###

Afterward, I spent the rest of the afternoon meditating in Biheila’s garden. The time passed peaceably, and I enjoyed the sounds of village life, especially Billisha and Aluali singing as they worked.

When I opened my eyes next, I saw a clay jar full of yogurt: sweet, salty, and tangy--like a blueberry lassi. I eagerly drank it down. Not much later, Aluali came out to call me to the evening meal.

It was a quiet affair, with everyone lost in their own thoughts. It was understandable--Biheila had a lot to think about, and the kids were anxious about her decision. I could tell they wanted her to join us at the glen, but it was a lot to ask someone to leave her home.

The kids and I had no choice about being separated from our homes, but Biheila did. I wanted her to properly exercise that choice and not make the decision based on pain.

I threw a bomb into the otherwise quiet evening when I let the kids know I was planning to spend the night at Fort Sugar Shack. I’d decided to check in with Bindesei’s ghost.

It wasn’t a decision I made lightly. Trying to make contact with a ghost was an uneasy affair, but the move felt necessary. I didn’t have a handle on the murderer’s motive, and getting confirmation of the second body’s identity would at least be a step forward.

Oh my gods, what noise. The kids were opposed, especially Billisha, but even Biheila got into the act. I was adamant though. I told them that I dreamt of Bindesei’s ghost, and that it felt right to follow the dream’s “guidance” to find his murderer. Dreams were an important conduit to the World Spirit, so it was an effective argument.

The kids weren’t happy about my plan, but ultimately they trusted my abilities and acquiesced. Biheila was more torn. She wasn’t a part of the Family though. She didn’t have a say about what I did or where I went, but that didn’t stop her from cautioning me about being out in the forest after dark.

It took an hour to calm everyone down, and then once they were calm, to get my gear in order. Fortunately, the summer days were long, and there were still a couple of hours of light left; enough to hike out to Fort Sugar Shack and set up some basic defenses. I didn’t think I’d run into any problems, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t be prepared.

###

The moon was coy that night, covering and uncovering her face with gauzy wisps of cloud. The ruined buildings glowed and dimmed according to her fancy, and no matter how the crickets serenaded her, the moon’s presence remained ephemeral.

I sat inside the largest of the iron vats, spear across my knees and bow by my side. The gate was barricaded with cut and broken branches. They would hopefully be thick enough to make it look impassable.

I waited, watched, and listened. My vigil was interrupted by noises from outside the walls--the howl of wolves in the distance, an owl hooting his greetings and then moving on, and the rustle of leaves on branches.

I sent qi and mana to my eyes. Something was nosing its way through the branches blocking the gate. I gently put my spear down and picked up my bow. There was a poisoned arrow already nocked. I eased the tension in my shoulders and took a slow breath.

The leaves continued their rustling. The branches slowly parted. The moonlight dimmed just as the creature was about to become visible. I drew the bow. And then eased the string back to resting.

With the light’s return, I saw Little Mumu poke her head through shrubbery. She slipped between the branches and crouched in front of the impromptu barricade. She had her spear in her hands, and, of all things, a shovel on her back.

“Little Pot,” she said, whispering. “Are you here? Your friends asked me to look after you.”

“I almost shot you.”

“No, you didn’t. I’ve seen your arrows, Little Pot.”

“My arrows are poisoned.”

Mumu’s teeth glimmered pearly white when she grinned. “That does not make them any faster.”

This kid. No wonder Inneioleia was preoccupied with teaching her humility.

“What’s the shovel for?” I asked.

“To find Bindesei’s treasure, of course.” She followed my voice to my hiding spot. “The taak aren’t doing any good buried in the ground or stuffed into a tree, and I came to offer my help digging.”

“I’m here to find clues about his murder,” I said. “Not to look for treasure.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take it all?”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “An angry spirit,” I said, “won’t be interested in sharing his wealth.”

Understanding flashed in her eyes. “Ah! I wondered why you had so many questions about a man you never met. I get it now--you’re looking to appease his spirit, so that he’ll show you where he hid his treasure. Our Eight is so clever! Let me help. A small share is all I ask. I’ll take four to your six.”

“I don’t need help--”

“Two eases the burden of one, Little Pot. Everyone knows that. Well, three and five are better, but we won’t want to share out too much of our treasure.”

“I said I don’t need help--”

The playfulness in Mumu’s voice eased. Her tone became more sober. “Little Pot, it’s dangerous at night for a hunter alone. You expect to meet Bindesei in your dreams, right? That means you must close your eyes. Let me watch over your sleep. All I ask is a small share of the bounty. I’ll take three to your seven.”

Well, it would be more comfortable knowing that someone was keeping watch. And there were a lot of taak in Bindesei’s chest, assuming they weren’t an illusion. “All right, but the share is eight to two.”

Mumu’s eyes sparkled. “Agreed, but the share goes back to seven and three if we have to fight.”

“That’s fair,” I said, and the deal was struck.

In the distance, the wolves howled again, their eerie melody sounding closer than before.

###

I stood on a wide grassy plain. The day was hazy, a smear of tobacco-tan across the otherwise blue sky. In the distance, mountains rose on either side. Their bare stone, their solidity, was a counterpoint to the swirling wind playing in the grass and running through my hair and my clothes.

I didn’t expect to be in this place. Not again. A feeling of dread arose inside me. I turned around to find him gazing at me--a stag made of flesh and smoke--the Deer God. His form wavered and drifted. His eyes glowed with otherworldly light.

I licked my dry lips. My throat felt parched, like all the water had been sucked out of me. I couldn’t run; couldn’t even move. I was a small, frightened animal in the enormity of the Deer God’s presence. He walked towards me, his hooves barely touching the golden tops of the swaying grass. His eyes grew bigger and bigger as he approached, vast enough to swallow me whole.

The last time I was here, I’d just started middle school. Over the summer, I’d practically lived in the woods with mi abuelo, and the luck was with us. With me. I was on a roll and bagged four deer during the break. Our freezer was overflowing with meat, and we had to ask our neighbors to keep some for us.

In that dream, the Deer God gored me with his antlers. It felt like I died, the world spinning around me, and I awoke shocked and screaming, blood dripping from my mouth from where I’d bitten my lips. Only mi abuela’s ministrations could calm me.

She shushed and babied me (for the first and only time) and told me I was given a blessing by the god; that I was marked as his own. Mi abuelo, when he heard, poured shots of tequila for everyone in the household, even me.

My face burning red from the liquor, he told me about his own visit from the Gray Wolf God. For the first time (and only time), I didn’t find comfort in his teachings.

Two weeks later, the summer ended, and middle school started. I decided that I was old enough to know that my father was right about mi abuela’s practices--they were superstition. I still went hunting with mi abuelo--nothing would take that away from me--but a wedge was driven through me, splitting me in two. The cool, rational side ignored the wild, spiritual one.

It was why it took me so long to find at one with the land, and in the process of finding it, I realized my mistake. By then it was too late. Mi abuelos were dead.

I never expected to be back here again, dreaming of the Deer God. I was afraid, but also knew it as an opportunity. Click.

Error The vessel is not connected to the World Spirit.

There was a feeling of overwhelming disregard from the Deer God, of utter confidence in his being, and a hint--the barest thread of amused interest.

He was heavier than the world, but moved as lightly as a feather. With an immense inevitably, the Deer God bent down and gored me--a point of his antlers spearing me through the heart. It felt like dying, the world collapsing around me. The pain was excruciating, like my initiation with the Hunter’s Lodge, only ten times worse.

I screamed and--

###

--woke up soaked in sweat, reaching for my knives. Mulallamu had to pin me down to keep me from thrashing.

“Easy, boy, easy. It was a dream, that’s all. A dream. Tenna’s gift protects us from ghosts. You can be easy.”

I couldn’t get enough air and fought to keep from hyperventilating. I shook myself free from Mulallamu’s grip and got away from the vat I’d been sleeping in. I needed to move, to pace, to feel the ground under my feet, and the wind--the real wind--blowing across my body.

“What happened?” Mumu asked. “Did you dream of Bindesei? Was he angry about us looking for his treasure?”

I shook my head, not able to collect the right Diaksh words together. It wasn’t until my heart started to finally slow that I was able to croak out, “No, wasn’t him. It was... it was just a dream.”

I couldn’t tell her about my first family and my broken history with them. And certainly not about the Deer God.

Mumu gazed at me with sadness. She approached, careful not to spook me, and knelt to put her arms around me in a hug. “The past can not break us,” she whispered into my ear. “No matter what we think or feel, what matters is now.”

I didn’t know what Mumu imagined my situation to be, but the reality was like nothing she could imagine. Being in this world was a painful gift and a difficult opportunity. A part of me wanted to resist her pity. Another found comfort in her warmth, in her strong arms, and the scent of her sweat. They were reminders of her humanity--of my own humanity reflected in hers--so very different from the impenetrable reality of the Deer God.

The encounter scared me down to my bones--gifts and opportunities were sometimes like that--but Mumu had been right after all. Two eases the burden of one.