16

The sun was already up when Hunter logged back in Elderpyre. He popped up in the same spot he’d been when he exited the game the previous day, but Fawkes was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he considered running off without her, but quickly decided not to. He’d seen some of the dangers of the Weald and he’d seen how she fought. The woman was a force of nature. Even if she decided to cuff him again, he’d be far safer with her than alone.

“Uh… Fawkes?”

“Up here. You’re late.”

She dropped from a tree branch a couple dozen feet away, landing with the agility of a hunting cat.

“The time of day works a bit differently on my world”, Hunter made a harmless little excuse. It’s not like she could ever find out, right?

“No matter. You returned and did not try to run. I was not certain whether you would.”

“After what the slaughter we saw yesterday? Thanks, I’d rather stick with you.”

Fawkes chortled behind the raised collar of her tight-fitting jacket.

“Good thinking. Come now, we have much ground to cover, and the day is already wasting.”

Just like she did the day before, Fawkes led him from one forest path to the next with the efficiency and precision of GPS navigation. She moved like a she-wolf, making no noise, barely leaving tracks. Compared to her, Hunter looked like a stumbling idiot. He had a ton of things to ask her, too, but had the wisdom to keep his mouth shut. She clearly wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat.

When someone finally spoke, it was her.

“I was thinking about yesterday,” Fawkes said, startling Hunter out of his thoughts. “You’re a weird one, lad.”

“I am?”

“You are. You kept a cool head back there. So much gore and violence, and I didn’t even see you flinch. Others, seasoned warriors even, would be heaving and retching, but you didn’t.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess…?”

“Which begs the question,” Fawkes continued, not letting him interrupt. “How the hell does one get so coolheaded under mortal danger, and still handle weapons like a child?”

She was right, Hunter thought, though she didn’t have to make it sting so much. Like a child? His Close Combat and Polearm Mastery Skills were at eleven. Was that so low?

I haven’t handled such a weapon before,” he admitted. “In my world, not many people use them.”

“And what kind of weapons do you use?”

“Guns, mostly. Firearms, more or like the one you have. Most people never have to use them, though–not unless they are policemen or soldiers or something.”

“Police-men?”

“Guards,” Hunter tried to explain. “Lawmen. Constables.”

“I… see. And you are none of those?”

“I’m just a guy,” he shrugged.

Fawkes frowned.

“Just-a-guys, as you say, gag when they see blood and smell viscera. They freeze when low-dwellers circle around them ready to pounce. They wet their breeches. Yet you did not. Why is that, lad? Have you seen such things before?”

Hunter gave it some thought.

“Yes and no. Blood, monsters… I’ve seen plenty, but only in movies and games. You know, stories. Fairytales. Make-believe.”

“So you rarely even need to handle weapons, but your stories and games are of blood and monsters–enough to give you a cast-iron stomach?” Fawkes shook her head with a mixture of disdain and disbelief. “Such a weird land, this world of yours.”

“Well, when you put it like this…”

“No matter. Just make sure you say nothing of this to any of the Brennai. Act the fool, if you have to. This is important. Nobody can know you’re a transient.”

“Why?”

“Your kind… they’re not welcome here. Or anywhere, really.”

“…but why?”

Fawkes started to explain, but then simply frowned and shrugged.

“They aren’t, and that’s that. You’ll figure out why yourself soon enough, I reckon. For now, just keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut. Do you understand, lad?”

He didn’t, but he’d do so anyway.

***

When they finally made it out of the woods, it was already past noon. One moment they were walking along the forest, trail, the next the trees were gone, revealing green- and golden-hued flatland prairies as far as the eye could see. From there, the village was just a short walk further down the path. Village was not exactly the word he’d use, though. It was more like a semi-permanent encampment, a few dozen tents pitched around a smattering of barn-like wooden structures. People were hustling and bustling around them, going about their everyday business.

Investigate points of interest in the Brennai Weald. (3/3)

Task completed. Your Aether quality is now 100.

The notifications and the Aether were a nice surprise, but Hunter didn’t have time to savor it. A couple of men dressed in hide clothing and armed with bows spotted Fawkes and himself from afar, and left their post to meet them–lookouts, he realized.

“Hile, Fawkes,” one of them said, opening his arms in some kind of friendly gesture. “We welcome you in peace.”

“Hile,” she answered, mirroring him. “And may nothing but peace come with me. Though I’m afraid I bear ill news.”

The men scowled.

“The hunters? Did you find them, then?”

“Dead in the forest,” she nodded. “Butchered.”

For a moment, the silence was stony. Deafening.

“Get the alderman,” rasped one of the watchmen–the older-looking one–to the other, his face a grim mask. “Meet us in the longhouse. You two, you come with me.”

Hunter and Fawkes followed the man through the buildings and tents, drawing the curious eyes of the people that were going about their day. The longhouse, as it turned out, was one of the barn-like wooden structures at the center of the village. It was something like a communal hall, Hunter realized, a place for the village people to gather in special occasions, though at the moment it was empty. He and Fawkes sat on one of the long, rough-made wooden benches that filled most of the space and waited for their eyes to adjust to the half-light, while the man sent one of the village girls to get them bread and water.

“Remember,” Fawkes whispered. “Say nothing, hear everything.”

Hunter had no problem with that. That’s exactly what he planned to do.

They didn’t have to wait long; it didn’t take the second watchman more than a few minutes to show up, bringing along an older man. Judging from his shrewd eyes, tight mouth, worried look, and the relative richness of his hide and wool garb, he probably was the village alderman.

“Hile, Vanchik,” Fawkes greeted him. “I’m afraid I bear bad news.”

“Talk, woman” said the alderman. His tone was impatient bordering on haughty, the kind of tone every movie big honcho and their mother used when addressing their underlings. The kind of tone, Hunter was sure, the alderman himself would find disrespectful. Fawkes, on the other hand, simply shrugged it off. The woman was as slick as Teflon. Hunter couldn’t help but admire that about her.

“I came upon your missing folk deep in the forest. Dead and butchered, like the other missing ones.”

Vanchik spat a word Hunter hadn’t heard before, but its meaning was clear as day. If there was a thing inner city kids like him knew well, it was cursing. That, and cheap microwave meals.

“Are you sure about that, sirrah?”

“I am. I found their bodies torn apart, and low-dwellers feasting on them like they were common carrion.”

“Mayhaps it was the low-dwellers that did them in,” butted in one of the watchmen. “Nasty buggers, they are.”

“And mayhaps pigs will sprout wings and fly south for the winter, friend,” Fawkes replied matter-of-factly, putting him in his place. “I can tell you how to find the bodies, see for yourself. I know little about your laws and customs, so I left them undisturbed. Well, save the low-dwellers; those I did disturb a smidgen.”

The alderman nodded, his heavy brow furrowed.

“And who might this be?” he asked, pointing at Hunter with a callous, crooked finger. “Your compatriot, is he? The one you were looking for?”

“Who, this?” Fawkes scoffed. “Hardly. Hunter, he calls himself. He’s but a stray that follows me around. Good lad, but a bit slow in the head. I was considering making him my manservant.”

Hunter, of course, had a few choice words to say about that, but he didn’t. He just gave Vanchik a strained smile and tried to look as unassuming as possible.

“We shall welcome him as we did you, sirrah, but you shall be held responsible for any misdeeds of his. More importantly, we shall hold a gathering in the evening, right here in the longhouse. I expect you to be here, to tell your story to the folken.”

“Of course. I only ask you to excuse me and the lad, for now. We have been on the road all day, marching hard to deliver you the grim news, and our bellies are a-rumbling.”

“Be off, whatever,” Vanchik dismissed her and started to walk away, his attention already drifting to other matters, “as soon as you tell Daeran where to find the dead, and promise to attend the gathering at sundown.”

While Fawkes gave Daeran–the older watchman–directions, the younger one approached Hunter. He was dressed in clothing hewn from rough hides, and couldn’t be more than twenty-something.

“Don’t let Vanchik’s barking scare you, friend,” he said with an earnest smile. “He’s got a temper, the old man, but he’s fair and good as aldermen go. They call me Inago, may your days be many and your nights serene.”

“I’m Hunter. I… I wish you the same,” Hunter said, painfully unsure of the proper greetings and customs of the local folk. “Live long and prosper.”

“Is it true, what the lady said? Did you see them? The… the dead?”

Oh, I did. Hunter thought.

I did… and then some.

“I saw them,” he said, hoping he sounded grim and scared enough. “It was the work of a monster, unlike anything I ever saw before.”

Inago’s dark brown eyes went wild, and Hunter saw there was a childlike quality to the young man, a soft look about him. Was he simple? No, Hunter realized. Just the simpler product of a simpler life. A simpler, pre-industrial world.

“A monster, you say! There’s talk of a monster prowling in the forest around the village, yes. The elders dismiss such whispers, may their years be long and their wisdom deep, but people are disappearing. The folken start to fear.” Inago drew closer, as if to whisper a secret. “Tego says it might even be the curse of the Wendigo that plagues us.”

“Wendigo?” Hunter echoed. Now that was a word he was familiar with, thank the wonders of intertextuality in modern media–not that he was happy to hear it.

“Inago!” Daeran snapped at the word. “Stop your yapping, or, ancestors keep me, I will ring you bell. Back to you your post, fool.”

The young man gave Hunter a final, distressed half smile and rushed out of the longhouse.

“Don’t listen to Inago’s ramblings,” the older man told Fawkes and Hunter. “I swear, the fool spends more time daydreaming about the ghost stories old men tell around the campfire to scare the children than looking for a wife.”

“Birds of a feather, then, him and this one,” Fawkes poked at Hunter with a gloved finger. “Let them twit, I say. No matter. Will you be able to find the clearing on your own, or do you need me to come with?”

“We will find it just fine, outlander. We know the forest paths well. Go get your rest, you, and we’ll see each other at the gathering.”

When they were left alone in the cool and shady longhouse, Fawkes shook her silver-haired head in disbelief.

“Say nothing, hear everything” she scolded Hunter. “Wasn’t that what you were supposed to do?”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“It was the work of a monster!”, Fawkes made an impression of him–a mockery that bordered straight-up insult territory. “Unlike anything I ever saw before! Get your act together, fool, before this lot boots us both out of their village, or worse. I told you, act dumb if you have to, but keep your trap shut.”

“What happened to let them twit?” Hunter snarked, which only earned him a scowl and an angry glare. He still had a few choice responses locked and loaded, but decided to follow the Fawkes’s advice and keep his trap shut. Arguing with her was an exercise in futility, and he was starting to see it for himself.

“No quip?” she spat. “Good. You may yet prove to be smarter than you look. Do you need to go back to your… world?”

“Not yet, but sooner or later I will have to.”

“Let’s make it sooner, then. Follow me.”

Fawkes led him through the small forest of hide tepees and to a lone canvas tent at the edge of the village. No village folk drew close to it, Hunter noticed. Even the children that were running around seemed to actively avoid it.

“Welcome to my humble home,” said Fawkes as she held the flap open for him. “You’re welcome to share it with me–or at least to pretend to. We can’t have you popping in and out of thin air out in the open. The Brennai folken don’t exactly trust strangers–even less so in times like these.”

“Yeah,” Hunter said, taking a look around. “I figured as much.”

As far as humble homes went, Fawkes’ tent was bordering on full-on spartan. There wasn’t much in the tent except a bedroll, a couple of wool blankets, and a few saddlebags.

“I don’t need to tell you you’re not to touch those, do I?” she said, seeing how curiously he was eyeing the saddlebags.

“I’ll keep my hands to myself, don’t worry.”

“Good. Pop off to your world for a few hours now, take care of what needs to be taken care of.”

That wasn’t a bad idea, actually.

“Okay boss, whatever you say.” Hunter said, only half-joking. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Be back by sundown. And don’t be late this time–I might need you to be my eyes and ears at the gathering.”