I broke from the forest in a run that was barely more than a stagger. My shirt hung from me in strips again – its repair function was getting a serious workout in this world – and blood streamed from wounds along my chest, arms, back, and shoulders. My pants were ripped but not indecent, and my legs were in better shape, but the muscles there quivered with exhaustion, and I panted uncontrollably as I drove my body forward, into the village.

The hungering screamed for my blood – literally – as they erupted through the trees behind me. I’d killed dozens of them cutting my way out of the corner I painted myself into, but dozens more chased me through the moonlight. I ran until my lungs burned, then turned to cripple a few, slowing the rest. That gave me time to sprint off again and keep just enough distance between me and them that they couldn’t quite catch up to me and drag me down.

I pounded past darkened houses, my feet surer on the open ground but still stumbling slightly with each labored step. A glow in front of me beckoned, and I tore into the common area with palpable relief. There, in front of me, a wall of logs stood, and behind that, the Altar of the Sun poured forth a welcome orange glow. As the light hit me, I felt a sudden burst of energy, and I powered across the clearing, scrambling up onto the crisscrossed logs. Hands reached out over the wall and grabbed me, pulling me behind it, and I tumbled to the soft ground, laying on my back and sucking deep lungfuls of air.

“Ionat!” Vasily bellowed, pushing through the people to get to me. “You’re hurt!”

“Be – fine,” I waved a hand. “Hungering – coming.”

“Vasily!” Serghei’s cry rose from the wall, and the old man gave me a final, worried glance before turning away. Someone else grabbed me beneath the arms and dragged me backward, but I shook off the grip.

“I’m okay,” I said, rising to a sitting position.

A young man knelt beside me, examining me worriedly. “Your injuries…”

“Are mostly superficial,” I cut him off. “I just need to catch my breath a bit – and maybe grab a drink. Anyone got some water?”

The man handed me a leather waterskin, and I drank deeply. The cool liquid felt good against my parched throat, and I lowered the skin with a contented sigh. “That’s better.” I handed the skin back to the man, and he took it gravely. “I’m good,” I assured him. “Give me a bit to rest, and I’ll be ready to go again.”

“If you say so,” he said dubiously, but he rose and turned away, heading back to the wall. I sighed, rested my head on my knees, and pulled up my waiting notifications.

Skill: Endurance has gained a level

Endurance: Adept 1

Benefit: Effects of exhaustion reduced by 1% per skill rank

Skill: Weapon Focus (Crossbows) has gained a level

Weapon Focus (Crossbows): Adept 1

Benefit: +1% Armor penetration with crossbows per skill rank

240 Unassigned XP

Unassigned XP can be divided among the following professions:

Undead Hunter, Warrior

You have 24 hours to assign this XP or it will be randomly assigned

I quickly added the XP to Undead Hunter, bringing my XP there to 345 out of 600 for the next level, then examined the skill notifications. My run through the woods – and my forced marksmanship with the crossbow – yielded some benefits, at least. Sadly, my axes skill hadn’t quite leveled up and sat squarely at Initiate 5. That was okay, though. I figured once I recuperated enough to join the defenders on the wall, I’d get the skill up in no time.

“These wounds, Ionat,” a familiar voice spoke, and I looked up to see Viora standing before me, her eyes tired but alert, and her face grave. “Are any of them from the creatures’ bite?”

“Viora!” I said, feeling even more relief and rising to my feet. I staggered slightly, but the weariness seemed to be fleeing my muscles rapidly. I assumed that was my Endurance skill, although the skill didn’t say anything about boosting recuperation. Still, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“It’s good to see you awake,” I said.

“Yes, and I’m glad I awoke in time for the battle – it was a good idea to rest me on the Altar, and we’ll have to talk about how you resisted the spell that attacked us – but first, answer my question. Were you bitten?”

I shook my head. “Scratched a lot, but never bitten,” I assured her. “Vasily warned me about their teeth.”

Her face showed her relief. “Good, because I don’t know if I have it in me to cure numerous bites and maintain the Altar’s aura right now.”

I glanced through the open door into the building and saw the stone table pulsing with a warm, orange glow. I could practically see the curls of power reaching out from it and filling the air around the building. The energy swirled past the villagers and pushed back the darkness within the makeshift wall. “You’re doing that?”

She nodded. “A simple spell, but one that takes a fair bit of effort – and will probably drain the altar of power by sunrise. Still, the aura should make the mooncursed hesitant to attack and weaken them when they do, so it’ll be worth it.”

That explained why the hungering hadn’t climbed over the walls right behind me, I supposed. “How long will it hold them back?”

“Not long. Their hunger will overcome the pain of solar magic and drive them to attack, especially with all that blood on you.” As she spoke, the defenders on the wall shifted, and I took a better look at it. The wall was only about six feet high and four wide, made of crisscrossed logs lashed together. At best, it would only slow the monsters down, not stop them, but between the aura and the barrier, the villagers at least had a chance.

I closed my eyes, just feeling the energy of the aura as it poured forth. It was soothing, and it relaxed my tired muscles. The warmth of the power wrapped around me, and I felt the heat of it driving the exhaustion from my muscles. “Maybe it’s not my Endurance skill after all,” I noted.

“It’s not,” Sara confirmed. “You seem to be using the ambient energy to recover faster.”

“Isn’t that what I was doing in Kuan?” I pointed out. “It seriously feels the same.”

“No. You’re not empowering yourself. You’re just – it’s like you’re healing your body of exhaustion without even meaning to.”

“Oh. Well, that’s still good, right?”

“Yes, but according to what I’ve learned so far, it shouldn’t work.” She laughed happily. “Which just tells me I have a lot more to learn, I think.”

“You and me both, sister.”

I refocused on Viora. “What can I do to help?”

“You’ve done plenty,” she assured me, patting my arm. “You gave the village time to build at least some sort of fortification.” Her eyes softened. “And you saved not only my life, but Vasily’s and Renica’s, as well. Just rest, Ionat.”

The woman moved away, speaking to various villagers, and I stepped back, leaning against the outside of the altar building. I wasn’t really tired anymore, but at the same time, I wasn’t exactly eager to jump back into combat. So long as the villagers looked fine, I was okay with sitting back and watching, at least for a bit. Sadly, someone else disagreed.

“What are you doing, hanging back here?” Renica asked with a grin as she slipped past some villagers into view.

“Just catching my breath,” I smiled. “It’s been a long couple of hours, and I’m a bit tired.”

“Too tired to pull a trigger?” she asked, patting her crossbow. “You can still aim and fire, right?”

“No more bolts,” I shrugged, lifting the lid to my empty quiver and showing it to her.

“What? There were forty bolts in that quiver, Ionat!”

“Well, now there are forty bolts in undead bodies somewhere out in the forest,” I chuckled.

“Fine, I’ll get you some more,” she sighed, then stopped and looked at me. “I’m glad you made it back in one piece,” she said seriously.

“Me, too,” I agreed fervently.

She vanished, then reappeared a minute later carrying a wooden crate. “Here, crossbow bolts. Try not to waste these, okay?”

“What should I do?” I laughed, pulling bolts from the crate and slipping them into my quiver.

“When the hungering attack, shoot any of them that you can – at least, without hitting someone. I’ll be doing the same thing over there.” She pointed to the other side of the small enclosure. “Pace yourself, and don’t waste bolts. We’re going to be at this for hours.”

“Here they come!” Serghei’s voice rose above the chatter of the villagers, and Renica vanished again into the small crowd. “Polearms up! Hold them back!”

I loaded my crossbow and watched as the pale white forms of the hungering suddenly appeared above the line of villagers. I lifted the bow but kept my finger off the trigger; I didn’t have a clear shot on any of them, at least not one that didn’t risk hitting a villager. The Boravans stood their ground as the undead smashed into them, and I saw spears and halberds sink into the monsters, holding them at bay. The undead thrashed and fought, but two or three villagers held each monster, easily keeping them from crossing the barrier.

A moment later, men and women with axes swarmed forward, and it only took me a moment to recognize the logging team. Their axes flashed as they attacked, chopping at the creatures, severing long arms and crippling spindly legs. I recognized the burly form of Tedor as he hacked apart one creature. To his side, Emilina ducked a wild blow from an undead arm and chopped at the monster’s leg, severing its knee with a blow. The loggers worked swiftly and efficiently, the hungering proving to be far less resilient than the darkwood trees. The Boravans pushed the wounded beasts back into the embrace of their kindred, who quickly stopped to rip them to pieces, giving the defenders a brief pause.

I felt a surge of relief. The villagers had obviously fought this foe before, and they knew what they were doing.

An undead form popped up atop the wall, its claws flailing wildly. Without thinking, I raised the crossbow and fired. The bolt leapt from the bow and streaked forth, plunging into the monster’s stomach. It screamed and clutched the wound, allowing a pair of spear carriers to stab it and hold it while one of the loggers crippled it. I reloaded and watched the carnage, picking my targets carefully when they appeared.

Not every undead who made it atop the wall needed my attention, I quickly realized. The villagers were just as watchful, and they had a second ranks of polearm wielders in reserve behind the first. If a monster made it past the first row of weapons, it usually fell to the second. When those didn’t react immediately, though, I was there to slow the creatures down with a gut shot, giving that rank a chance to respond.

As the minutes dragged into an hour, Vasily’s voice rose above the din. “Ranks, switch!” I watched as the first rank of fighters dropped back while the second rank slipped forward. It wasn’t exactly seamless, and I had to fire and reload three times quickly to stop some of the creatures from getting into the barrier during the maneuver, but it was pretty impressive how quickly and effectively they shifted. The flagging front line got a chance to rest, while the wall was suddenly held by defenders who were relatively unscathed and undamaged.

That shift, though, showed me that the fight hadn’t been entirely one-sided. Several of the retiring villagers had ragged wounds, claw marks that slashed their clothes and cut into their flesh. Most of the wounds looked worse than mine, as well, and I realized that my Leathern Hide ability had protected me somewhat from the creature’s claws.

“Not to mention Enemy of Undeath,” Sara reminded me. “That gives you a bonus to your resistance against the undead, too.”

“That, too,” I agreed.

The young man who’d tried to help me earlier and an older woman moved to those who were the worst off, and I realized that they were healers of some sort. The young man pulled out a dark clay bottle and dribbled a pungent liquid over a woman’s wound, making her hiss in pain as he spoke soothingly to her. A moment later, he produced a needle and thread and proceeded to stitch the wound shut, wrapping a bandage over it when it was done. The woman groaned in pain during the treatment but otherwise didn’t cry out, despite the pain I knew she had to be feeling. I’d had meatball surgery like that a few times, myself, and it hurt like a bitch.

The undead crashed against the barrier relentlessly as the night passed. Time and again they rose up, threatening to overrun the villagers, and time and again, they creatures were hurled down. The villagers shifted ranks every hour or so, the logging team passing their axes to others for breaks as needed. Men and women moved around, bringing water and food to those resting between waves, and the young man and older woman used their healing arts on everyone they could.

Still, I could see that the attacks were taking their toll. Each time the hungering crested the wall, it took the villagers a bit more to push them back. Spears slid off rib cages instead of sinking in, and axe blows careened off hardened bone rather than severing limbs cleanly. The undead didn’t flag or tire, but the villagers did, and as the night rolled on, that weariness began to take its toll. I found myself firing and reloading almost constantly to keep the flood of undead at bay, and once a creature made it through the barrier, getting only a pair of steps before a spear jammed into its stomach and an axe removed its skull.

When the breach happened, it happened quickly. The undead crested the wall, and the first rank, the original front line, moved against them a bit too slowly. The creatures pushed forward, flinging themselves onto spears, and the villagers were hurled back, just a step but enough to let the monsters clear the wall.

The hungering surged into the clearing, their claws flashing and their jaws snapping. The second rank pushed forward, and the axe wielding loggers rushed up, chopping desperately at the creatures, trying to push them back over the barrier. I fired my crossbow as fast as I could load it, flinging bolts into undead stomachs to give the defenders a reprieve, but as one creature fell, another took its place. The defenders took another step back, giving up more ground, and the hungering surged ahead.

“Push them back!” Tedor roared, and he and his team stepped forward, swinging their axes like they were clearing trees. Limbs and skulls flew as their blows landed, and for a moment, the tide shifted. The battle poised on a razor’s edge, the villagers barely holding as the undead struggled to overwhelm them.

The ground was slippery with black blood, and Emilina’s heel skidded in the muck as she swung as a creature. She recovered her balance, but her tired arms and poor footing caused her axe to sail wide of its target. The hungering lashed out at her, grabbing the woman in both hands and jerking her forward. Emilina screamed as the creature pulled her close with terrifying strength, its chill aura sapping her muscles and rendering her unable to fight back.

Her scream cut off as the thing’s teeth sunk into her throat, tearing out a huge chunk of flesh and unleashing a gout of thick, red blood. Her struggles ceased as it pulled her back, into the crowd of undead. I heard the dreadful sounds as the things tore into her, saw their faces rise and fall, mouths smeared with dark blood.

“Emilina!” Tedor howled, trying to push forward, but Serghei grabbed him and hauled him back.

“No!” the militia commander shouted. “She’s gone, Tedor! You can’t save her!”

I should have been angry, or maybe sorrowful. I know that most people would be in a situation like that. I wasn’t, though. This wasn’t the first time I’d watched a comrade die in battle; it wasn’t even the first time someone I liked was killed right in front of me. My mind went utterly still, and I lowered my crossbow and took off my quiver. A dreadful calm filled me as I picked up my axe.

Emilina was dead, and there was nothing I could do about that. I could make sure she was the only one, though – and I could make the hungering pay for taking her.

The war axe felt right in my hands as I stepped forward. I shoved past the front line, slashing at the nearest creature, and the axe sheared through its leg almost effortlessly. I whipped the axe back at the next, ripping its arm free from its body, then stabbed a third in the stomach. My axe whipped around and sliced through that one’s neck, sending its head flying free.

The undead pushed forward, and I went to meet them. I fought coolly and calmly, controlling my blows. I wouldn’t help the others by dying to my own stupidity, after all. Instead, I focused on my swings, recalling the day I’d spent beside Emilina, chopping at the unyielding darkwood trees. I shifted my grip unthinkingly and widened my stance. I wasn’t a warrior; I was a lumberjack, and the hungering were saplings I needed to fell. It was as simple as that.

My axe flashed, driven by the power of my whole body. The blade shivered as it chopped through limbs and punctured abdomens, but I ignored the numbing of my palms and tried to recapture the feeling of that day. I remembered the rhythm of our blows, how we worked in harmony, the sunlight streaming down on us, and Emilina’s mocking smile as I tried to keep up with her. My body fell easily into that rhythm, and I could almost feel the sun’s warmth wrapping around me, driving my axe deeper into the wood – and undead bodies.

Even as I struck out, though, something felt – wrong. No, that wasn’t quite it. Something felt incomplete. I didn’t try to analyze that intuition, I just accepted it. For the job I needed to do, it was good enough.

The feel of my strikes changed as I slashed and struck at the hungering. The blows didn’t thunk into bone or shiver my palms anymore; instead, it felt like I was mowing down blades of grass. Each swing of my axe sliced through undead bodies, and as fast as they surged toward me, I cut them down. I wasn’t an instrument of vengeance or a raging berserker. I was just a guy with a job, and that job was to turn these undead into kindling.

My arms never wavered as I held that line. Indeed, each blow seemed to energize me, making the next just a little bit easier. I felt the villagers around me holding the undead back, but I ignored them and stepped another step forward. I needed the things to come to me so I could hack them down. I made myself the target they couldn’t ignore, and they swarmed at me obligingly. Claws dragged across my skin, shredding my flesh and trying to pull me to my doom, but I simply kept my rhythm and hacked apart the ones who tried to pull me down.

I stepped onto the barrier, finding my footing instinctively. The monsters still surged forward, but their attacks seemed hesitant, now, almost half-hearted. They loped forward, but their movements lost the frenzy that drove them before. I held my ground, daring them to come to me, my presence on that wall a challenge to them. I felt it when they saw that challenge – and broke before it.

The hungering that once scrambled forward now surged backward, tearing at one another in their attempts to flee. They ripped and snapped at their kindred, but they didn’t linger to feed. They simply ran, vanishing behind the buildings and into the forest beyond. I didn’t chase them, merely stood there, axe in hand, waiting until the last of them fled.

When the hungering vanished, the power filling me shattered, scattering into the darkness. Fatigue washed over me, and I staggered, falling backward off the barrier. Strong arms caught me and steadied me, lowering me to the ground, where I sat. Every muscle in my body trembled with weakness, and I couldn’t have walked across the village if I’d wanted to. I dropped my axe and curled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them and resting my forehead on my thighs.

“Ionat, what did you do?” Vasily spoke softly. I raised my head and looked up at the man. My brain felt tired and foggy, and I couldn’t understand his question.

“I killed them,” I said in a puzzled voice. “They needed to be killed, so I killed them.” I laughed weakly. “That’s what I do, you know. I kill things that need killing.”

“He’s obviously hurt,” Viora spoke briskly. “Carry him into the Altar of the Sun and lay him on the table.” Nothing happened, and when she spoke next, her voice was angry. “What’s wrong with you all? He just saved your lives. Carry him into the altar, now!”

“I’ve got him,” I heard Renica say, and a moment later, I felt her worm her way under my arm. “Come on, Ionat, help me out, here,” she muttered.

“I’m trying,” I laughed as I struggled to stand. I was having trouble focusing, and everything was a blur, but she wanted me to stand up and walk? That wasn’t happening!

“Let me help,” Serghei’s deep voice spoke, and a stronger arm wrapped around me, lifting me up. “After what you just did, Ionat, you deserve a rest.”

“Sleep would be glorious,” I muttered. The world shifted around me, going from a dark blur to a bright blur.

“Lay him on the altar,” Viora instructed, and I felt them help me sit onto the hard stone table and lay me back down. “Thank you, both of you.”

“Will he be okay?” Renica asked, her voice sounding concerned.

“I think he just needs sleep, but just in case, you can help me arrange a healing spell around him.”

“Sorvaraji, I need to get back out there,” Serghei protested. “I don’t know how he drove the hungering off, but they’ll be back soon, and…”

“No, they won’t, Serghei,” she cut him off. “Don’t you realize what happened? He turned them.”

“Turned them?” Renica repeated. “You mean, like in the old tales?”

“Exactly. He broke their will and their hunger. They’ll flee for the rest of the night, and the village should be secure for the rest of this close moon. At least, according to everything I’ve read.”

“How, Sorvaraji?” Serghei asked.

“I have no idea, but if we can figure it out…” She sighed. “This could change the world, children. If we can rediscover the lost powers, we wouldn’t have to fear the moons…”

I missed the rest of her words, as sleep finally overcame me, and I dropped down into it in relief.