The upper deck was a sea of rain, and Minerva staggered forward when the oversized ship hurtled up and down in the midst of the titanic storm. A wave smashed into the vessel and Minerva yelped as the swell of water surged over the deck and almost washed her off her feet, but she managed to grab on to the railing and save herself from plunging overboard. “Where are they?” she screamed at a nearby sailor, her voice barely audible above the roaring waves and pounding thunder. “The animals! Where did you put them?”

“What?” The sailor, who worked to lash something to the rail, gave her a mystified look. “What are you doing here? Get back to your cabin!”

“I need to protect my animals!” Minerva snapped. Her auburn curls were matted to her head and a few long strands brushed against her eyes, but she just wiped them away and stepped closer to the man. “Tell me where they are!”

The sailor scowled and then jabbed a thumb in the direction of several crates, each one secured to the deck by ropes and chains, before resuming his work.

Minerva made her way over to the animals as quickly as she could while keeping her balance on the pitching and rolling vessel. She distantly regretted having insisted that her animal charges be left on deck instead of secured in the hold, but she’d known how much the creatures would have disliked being stuck down in that musty compartment for days, and she’d naively believed the weather-witch who had predicted sunny skies for the duration of the trip. The captain had wanted them all down below, of course, but Minerva had insisted. She was the one with experience taking care of and calming various wild beasts, not Jacinda.

Of course, Jacinda was the one with experience on the open seas, and right now that was looking a good deal more relevant.

When Minerva reached the animals, she didn’t need her magic to sense how agitated they were. “I’m here,” she insisted as she moved between the cages and worked to calm each beast in turn. “There’s nothing to worry about. Captain Jacinda is a good sailor; she’ll get us to safety. You don’t need to fret.”

One of the creatures, a young lion cub, yipped in agitation. Minerva focused so that a little of her magic flared up around her before flowing into the cub, the rain passing harmlessly through the spell as it moved, and the creature relaxed by the slightest amount. “There we go,” she soothed. “Just relax. We’ll be fine.”

A titanic cracking sound echoed from behind her, and she swiveled in time to see the mast shudder. Her mouth dropped as it began to sway, and she had time for one moment of regret. She shouldn’t have taken this job, she thought, not even after the Cirque de Malorum had collapsed, and she’d needed other employment. Transporting exotic pets from one noble to another had seemed like decent work, especially given how her own talents could make even the fiercest monsters as docile as a pack of friendly puppies, but nobody had mentioned how dangerous the seas could be. Maybe it would have been better to look for jobs which didn’t require ocean travel.

Then Minerva caught herself. She wasn’t just some little girl anymore, she insisted to herself. She was a skilled animal tamer whose years of experience had taught her how to handle herself in any situation. Whining could wait. What she needed to do now was take charge and use her unique skills to help keep the ship afloat.

The mast creaked again, and Minerva could see sailors rushing to stop it from crashing down and leaving the ship adrift. Minerva made up her mind and fumbled in her soaked pocket for the key to the cage containing the biggest of her animals, a massive bear. “I need your help,” she murmured to the bear as she unlocked its cage. “You’re going to help me, okay? And then I’ll give you lots of honey.”

The bear opened its mouth to roar, but Minerva summoned her magic again and it relaxed. She smiled and opened the cage, braced herself against another huge wave, and then led the newly docile beast to the mast. “Hold it steady!” she urged it as she manipulated her magic, imprinting that desire in the creature’s mind. “Don’t let it fall!”

“What are you doing?” demanded a sailor as the bear gripped the mast and held it tight.

“I’m helping!” Minerva snapped. “Get out of my way!”

“Get below deck, you idiot!”

Another wave smashed into them before she could respond. The impact was hard enough to knock several of the sailors down, but the bear stood tall, and it kept the mast straight. Minerva shot a brief smirk at the sailor before grabbing a rope of her own and lending her strength to the effort.

“Everyone!” someone shouted from the prow. “We’re heading for that island! Just hold on until we get there!”

Minerva squinted to better see through the pouring rain and was just barely able to make out a distant blob which might have been land. She frowned, knowing their route didn’t take them past any islands larger than a sandbar and wondering just how badly off course they’d been pushed by the storm. But then yet another wave hit them, thunder boomed directly overhead, and all of Minerva’s thoughts turned toward hanging onto the rope and doing what she could to keep the mast upright.

It took what felt like ages before the ship neared what Minerva could now see was a jungle island. The rain started to die down and Minerva managed a smile as a few sunbeams peeked through the clouds and brought the faintest traces of warmth to her soaked and shivering body. “Land ho!” she joked.

Most of the sailors near her cheered at that, though the one who had called her an idiot still looked annoyed.

The ship dropped anchor once it was snugly in the middle of a deep cove which was well protected from the waves. As the last drops of rain fell, Minerva led the bear back to its cage. “You did great,” she murmured to it as she got it inside. “You held up the mast like a champion. You deserve a nice long nap.”

The bear growled in a gentle fashion, let out what Minerva thought was an adorable yawn, and then curled up to sleep.

Minerva smiled at the creature, but her thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps. She turned to see the other members of her party who were helping her transport the animals: Ranzik, the burly gnoll whose halberd had ensured no bandits had bothered them during the overland portion of their journey; Cyndal, the dwarf cleric whom Minerva could personally confirm was an excellent healer, and Taycha, the goblin mage whose reputation was that she always knew the perfect spell for any situation. Rumor had it that Taycha had once assembled an army of fellow goblins to perform some great service for the Westwick Thieves Guild in exchange for the thieves fetching her a bevy of magical books, scrolls, and tomes stolen from the universities and archmage towers of Raleigh. Minerva could easily believe those tales; nothing but exhaustive study from a superlative library could explain Taycha’s immense knowledge of magic. “Yes?” Minerva asked. “What is it?”

“Captain wants to talk,” Cyndal said. “She insists it’s urgent.”

Minerva looked around. The crew had already started to inspect the deck and sides of the ship, with four different sailors examining the cracked mast in particular. “She doesn’t want to look at her ship first? This boat needs repairs.”

“It does, but she said she needs to talk to you first,” Ranzik growled. If the gnoll had any mood besides ‘surly,’ Minerva had never seen it. “Hurry.”

Minerva was led by her party to the enclosed pilothouse where Jacinda, the lanky kaja who captained the ship, gave Minerva a tired look. “I’m given to understand you left the cabin area, where we instructed all the passengers to remain, and came above deck?”

“I needed to make sure my animals were safe,” Minerva insisted.

“These being the animals that were supposed to have been put in the hold in the first place?”

Minerva frowned. “The weather was supposed to be good. And besides, we helped. If my bear hadn’t kept the mast upright, it could have come off entirely!”

“That isn’t the point.” Jacinda sighed. “When you purchased passage for your party and these animals, I explained to you that you need to follow my orders while on my ship.”

“I couldn’t ask you for permission to have my bear help! There wasn’t time, and you were busy trying to keep this ship afloat!”

“And if you’d talked to me in advance and mentioned that your bear could help out in the event of some emergency, that would be one thing. But you didn’t. You went against my orders and could have caused a catastrophe.” Jacinda gestured out the porthole. “What if you’d been swept overboard? I’d have had to put my other crew in even greater risk to rescue you!”

Minerva scowled. “I saved the mast.”

“I know this ship better than you. My sailors could have kept it upright without your bear.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Jacinda shook her head and then held up a hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, Minerva. I’ll make this easy. Will you swear here and now to obey all my orders for the rest of your journey with us, or do I need to have my men lock you in your cabin for the rest of the trip?”

Minerva flushed and turned to her companions, but each of them looked the other way, and she realized she had no support. “That won’t be necessary,” she finally muttered through gritted teeth. “I’ll follow orders.”

Jacinda nodded, then turned as a sailor rushed in and began rattling off which repairs were most urgently needed.

“The captain’s just trying to keep everyone safe,” Cyndal said as they left the cabin. “Don’t take it personally.”

“How can I not?” Minerva growled. “I’m not stupid. I know I don’t look like a grizzled veteran, but I’m good with my magic and I can do a lot of things!”

“Just because you have power doesn’t mean you should use it,” Taycha opined. “Like that guy who ran the circus you worked for.”

Minerva swiveled to glare at Taycha. “I’m nothing like Faroon,” she hissed. “He just abused others to line his own pockets. I didn’t try to help save the ship out of some desire to, I don’t know, extort the captain. I just wanted to keep us alive!”

Sailors brushed by her carrying repair supplies from a hold and Minerva slouched over to the railing before looking down at the battered ship. “I guess we’ll be here for a while.”

“A few hours, at least,” Cyndal confirmed. “I heard the sailors talking about it.”

“Well, at least we’ve got plenty of food for the animals…” Minerva’s voice trailed off as she looked over the beach. A jagged, jumbled shape was behind a rocky outcropping, and as she looked at it, she thought she could start to see parts which looked familiar: a toppled mast, a cracked hull, even a figurehead. “Wait. Look there, behind those rocks. Isn’t that another ship?”

Taycha stood on her tiptoes, then scrambled up to the railing and took some kind of magic spyglass from a little pouch at her waist. “The remains of one,” she said. “Probably hasn’t been here long.”

“Why do you say that?” Ranzik asked.

“It’s soaked, but there’s no mold.” Taycha tweaked a dial on her spyglass. “There hasn’t been time for anything to grow on it. And in this climate, with that kind of vegetation?” She gestured at the trees. “Most bits of driftwood get moldy within a day or two.”

Ranzik frowned. “If there are survivors, they might try to hijack our craft so they can get off this island.”

“They’d probably just ask for passage,” Cyndal replied. “We have room, and they have no reason to hurt us.”

Minerva said nothing. Her gaze remained on the jungle where Taycha had pointed. Some of the underbrush rustled, but not in the way she would have expected given the direction of the wind from the dissipating storm. “Taycha, can I borrow that?”

Taycha passed over the spyglass, and when Minerva looked through it, she saw creatures of some sort darting back into the trees and knocking plants out of the way as they went. They had short fur which ran the gamut from brown to gray, and as she watched, a few of them pointed at the newly wrecked ship and made frantic gestures to their companions. The creatures bounced around a little as if agitated before vanishing into the underbrush.

“There’s something in the jungle,” Minerva said at last. “I don’t recognize their species, but they seemed to recognize the ship. They might be from that other wreck.”

“Are you sure?” Taycha asked. “I mean, I’m not opposed to helping them. But they might be dangerous too. And the captain might object.”

Minerva snorted. “The captain’s in charge of the ship, but those creatures in the jungle aren’t on the ship, so she’s not a factor. Besides, I’m pretty sure Jacinda doesn’t want me around here anyways.” She managed a smile. “I know what I’m doing. Let’s go see if those critters need help.”

She walked to the makeshift gangplank which some sailors had extended so they could get down to the beach and do hull repairs, and once she reached it, she waved to her party. The other three exchanged glances, but they all followed.

*          *          *

“There’s a lot of magic here,” Taycha noted as the quartet moved through the jungle. “I wish we could stay longer so I could do some more research.”

“Haven’t you researched enough?” Minerva joked. “When I hired you for this job, you said you were one of the most knowledgeable mages in Raleigh.”

“A true wizard can never know too much.” Taycha grinned. “Besides, this interests me. I’d love to learn where this island’s magic came from, and if it could be harnessed.”

Ranzik glowered, and when he spoke, his voice was surly like usual. “We don’t have time. Jacinda told me that if we’re not back when repairs are done she’ll dump the animals on the beach and leave without us.”

Cyndal waved a hand. “I’m sure she was kidding. She seems like a decent sort. She wouldn’t abandon us.”

“Well, maybe Minerva,” Taycha teased.

Minerva flushed. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get those animals to their new home as soon as possible; it’s not humane to leave them cooped up in those cages for longer than necessary. That means we need to be back on the ship the moment it’s ready to leave.”

“Wait,” Cyndal objected. “What about the other ship? If there are survivors on this island, we have a duty to rescue them.”

“That kind of wreck? Doubtful.” Ranzik snorted. “Bet all you saw were wild animals, Minerva. Bet nobody survived that wreck. And we don’t have time to go through this whole island looking for people who aren’t there.”

“Which,” Minerva countered, “is why we’re not going to do that. We’ll just check as much of the jungle as we can before we have to leave. And we’ll tell people back at port what happened so more rescue teams can be sent too, if needed.”

It had been some time since the Cirque de Malorum had collapsed, and while she occasionally missed Barbas (who had pretended to be her father during circus acts as per Faroon’s orders, and who had been surprisingly kind to her even though he had ultimately just been some actor whom she’d never even seen before joining up with the show), she was nonetheless overjoyed that it was gone. Faroon had been a wicked man, and while Minerva had been spared the worst of his abuses—those had been reserved for others, like the poor kobold who had finally gotten away—she’d still experienced enough to know that nobody should be subjected to that sort of treatment. When people like the kobold were weak and needed help, others who knew how should step in and provide that aid instead of making those people suffer for their own gain.

That was why Minerva had insisted on helping when the ship had been caught in the storm, whatever Captain Jacinda thought. And it was why Minerva needed to help now. If some crew really had been shipwrecked here, she couldn’t just leave them behind.

Ranzik swiveled, his ears twitching, and he jabbed his halberd to Minerva’s right. “There,” he growled. “In the trees.”

Minerva turned and saw the briefest glimpse of a grey, furry face peeking out from the bushes at her before the creature dashed away.

“Wait!” Minerva called as she ran after the critter. “We want to help you!” Vines and bushes grabbed at her legs, but she forced her way through them and continued her chase. “Come back!”

Minerva’s party followed her and the group pursued the scampering critter, which led them through a circuitous path before they arrived at a small clearing that butted up against a rocky outcropping. A stream flowed off the rock and dropped down into another river below, creating a little waterfall. And in the foam of the waterfall, frolicking in the water, were several more of the creatures.

“I think they’re local to this area,” Cyndal said as the creature they’d been chasing dashed over to its companions and leapt into the water. “Not from the shipwreck.”

“Still,” Taycha said. “I’ve never heard of any creatures like this. We should see what we can learn!”

Minerva said nothing as she approached the critters, though mentally she figured she shouldn’t completely dismiss the idea that they were from the other wreck. “Hey there,” she said as she reached out with her magic. “Can you understand me? My name is Minerva.”

The creatures looked at each other, and then a few of them swam back to shore. Minerva smiled at them.

And then their bodies twisted and warped.

“Back!” Ranzik shouted as he hauled Minerva backward and jabbed his halberd forward. Minerva, however, grabbed his arm and forced him to lower his blade. Then she took another look at the creatures.

They weren’t all grey anymore, she realized. Two of them now had brown fur with striped patterns very similar to that of Ranzik’s, their faces had changed shape, and the little brown antlers on their heads had swung down and taken on darker colors that also mirrored the fighter’s. It was like, Minerva thought, they had tried to turn into gnolls but had only accomplished a few outward changes.

Nor were those creatures the only ones that looked different. Some of the others had shifted so that their bodies, faces, and other features became more like those of Taycha and Cyndal. One had even turned paler and grown thicker auburn fur on its head in what could only be a mimicry of Minerva’s own fair skin and red curls. “They’re trying to imitate us!” Minerva managed.

Taycha’s eyes grew wide, and she beamed. “Fascinating!” she said. “They’re using some kind of innate magic sense to reshape their own bodies. I’ve never heard of anything like this!” Her hands fumbled to open her rucksack, which Minerva knew contained many pieces of magical gear. “Imagine what we could learn from them!”

Minerva watched as Taycha approached the creatures. The ones who imitated the goblin hurried to stand between Taycha and their companions, as if trying to protect them, but Taycha just smiled and said, “Hello, little guys! You don’t have to worry. We’re friends, not predators. Here, look!”

She reached into a small pouch of her pack and pulled out a bag of sweets, then popped two of them in her mouth before licking her lips and offering the bag to the creatures. “These are delicious! Try some!”

One of the creatures cautiously tiptoed forward and snatched the bag from Taycha’s hand, then experimentally dropped a candy into its mouth. It chewed, grinned, and then ripped the bag apart to offer the candies to its friends. Soon, Taycha was surrounded by a bunch of furry critters who seemed very happy with her. A look of pure glee suffused her face as she spread several magical instruments from her pack out before her, some of which the creatures began to fiddle with, and she picked one such instrument up before tapping it upon her own forehead and then that of one of the creatures. The creature squeaked happily as it floated up about a foot in the air and was suffused with a faint purple glow; Taycha’s eyes glowed yellow as she examined it. “Such incredible magic,” she murmured. “Remarkable.”

Ranzik still pointed his halberd in the general direction of the creatures, presumably in case some of them became hostile, and Cyndal took a closer look at the ones which had become more dwarflike. Minerva, for her part, looked at a few of the critters which were still in the water and seemed more nervous. “Don’t be shy,” she called to them as she let her magic wash over them and soothe away their fears. “You can relax. We’re all friends here.”

The critters seemed to calm at that, and soon enough they were trotting over to their brethren even as their bodies shifted and warped to become a little more humanlike.

“This is amazing,” Taycha said after a few minutes of examination. “I’ve never seen creatures with such intricate and instinctive magical control. It’s like the Strain is…is…” She gestured feebly. “I can’t explain how, but it’s like they’ve somehow bonded with the Strain on an incredibly deep level.”

“Do you think they’re native to this island?” Cyndal asked. “Or are they from the ship like Minerva first thought?”

“If they existed anywhere else in the wider world, I would have heard of them.” Taycha spoke with absolute certainty. “Creatures like this couldn’t possibly remain secret unless they were all by themselves on this little island, with no visitors until we showed up.”

Minerva frowned. “And that one ship before us. If these creatures really aren’t from that vessel, then any survivors must still be out there. We should look for them.”

Taycha sighed. “I know, but it would be a shame to leave these guys here.” Then she paused. “Do you have any extra space in your animal cages, Minerva? Maybe we could take a few with us.”

“We shouldn’t disrupt nature,” Cyndal said at once.

“But we also shouldn’t throw away a perfect opportunity to learn more about the magic of our world,” Taycha responded.

Ranzik snorted. “Jacinda won’t like it. And besides, we don’t even know if they can sail. Maybe they get seasick.”

Taycha looked at Minerva, who smiled a little. “They looked perfectly comfortable in the water, Ranzik,” Minerva said. “And even setting aside Taycha’s studies, I think it’d be good for us to help them experience the wider world on the mainland. Why should they be stuck on the same boring island all their lives?”

“Maybe they like it here,” Cyndal pointed out. Then he glanced up toward the sun. “And besides, if we do want to search the island further for survivors, we won’t have time to wrangle all these creatures back to the ship.”

“True, but I think we can gather up a few.” Minerva nodded. “Alright. Taycha, can you handle getting some of them back to the beach while the rest of us look—”

“Down!”

Minerva froze as Ranzik’s word cut through the air, and the critters jumped back while squeaking in fear. Then Ranzik tackled Minerva to the grass, and she grunted as he fell on top of her.

Before she could complain, a burst of magical lights went off from above her, and her vision filled with bizarre colors flashing right in front of her eyes. “Stop it!” she cried as her mind reeled under the sensory assault. “Stop!”

Taycha muttered something from Minerva’s left and the colors abruptly vanished, but before she could relax, she saw several armed figures stepping out of the trees and entering the clearing. Most wore uniforms which made them look like members of some professional organization, though their outfits were damp and torn in various places. They carried cages and they wielded a mixture of melee weapons and bows, except for a single mage who was wrapped in an elaborate robe and carried a staff with a glowing crystal attached to one end. Four of the newcomers, Minerva noticed, had more militaristic uniforms which also featured a golden sigil above their breast pockets; these included the mage, two swordsmen, and a woman with a large captain’s hat.

“Stay down,” Ranzik hissed in Minerva’s ear from atop her back. Minerva twisted her head as much as she could to see that Cyndal and Taycha had also dropped to the ground; the critters, by contrast, staggered around and still seemed to be afflicted by the color spell. “They mean trouble. I can smell it.”

“Yes,” said a new voice. “Do stay down.”

Minerva twisted her head back around to see the woman with the captain’s hat smiling. She then drew a jeweled scimitar from her belt, swept it through the air, and pointed it straight at Minerva.

“You four just stay out of our way,” she continued. “My crew and I will gather up what we came for while you remain perfectly still. And then, if you play along, we’ll take you with us when we get off this accursed island at last.”

*          *          *

As the newcomers approached, Ranzik leapt up and shifted his halberd forward while the rest of Minerva’s party regrouped. Minerva glanced back and saw that most of the critters still stumbled around with colored lights flashing in their eyes, but after a few more seconds, Taycha muttered another quick spell and the creatures steadied as those colors vanished. Then the apparent captain of the newcomers scowled. “I told you, stay out of this!”

“I don’t take orders from you!” Minerva crossed her arms. “You’re hurting them!”

“Hardly.” The man with the magic staff chuckled. “They’ll be fine. These little things are very durable on account of their shapeshifting magic.”

“How do you know about them?” Taycha demanded.

Minerva’s eyes narrowed as she took a closer look at the cages the figures were carrying, and before the newcomers could answer, she already knew what they would say. “Someone hired you to kidnap those creatures, aren’t you?” she asked.

“It’s not kidnapping. They’re not sapient.” The leader of the gang smiled. “But yes, we were hired to collect a dozen ligomorphs and bring them back to our employer. Now get out of our way or suffer the consequences. I trust you’re familiar with the Blades of Varagnon?”

“A mercenary gang,” Ranzik growled. “Mostly works for nobles and the richest merchants. It’s said they’ll do anything if the price is right.”

Minerva gulped. “And these guys are all part of the Blades?”

“No. There’s no reason to send an elite army to go poaching. Most of them are probably just trappers for the creatures.” Ranzik tensed. “But the ones with sigils are in the Blades. Celeste Varagnon and a few of her sellswords, to make sure nobody else grabs their creatures on the way home.”

“How do you know that’s Varagnon herself?” Taycha asked. “They might have sent an underling.”

Ranzik scowled. “We’ve met.”

“What?” Minerva swiveled to face Ranzik. “When?”

“She tried to hire me once. I said no.” Ranzik took a breath. “I have scruples. I wouldn’t have fit in.”

Celeste beamed. “I see my reputation precedes me. Well, I can assure you that everything you’ve heard about me is true. My crew and I always win our fights, and like your gnoll friend said, there’s nothing we won’t do to complete contracts. But we also don’t care for pointless bloodshed, so I’ll give you one last chance. Surrender and back down, and not only will we leave you be while we gather up the ligomorphs, but we’ll even take you with us when we leave.”

“You can’t leave,” Minerva said. She risked a glance behind her and saw the ‘ligomorphs’ were huddled by the banks of the river and rapidly cycling through different appearances. Her heart clenched as she was reminded of some of the animals that Faroon had mistreated, and she had to take a moment to steady herself before continuing. “Not if you arrived on that ship we saw on the beach. It’s wrecked.”

“Although,” Cyndal added, “we still have a ship, and ours should be ready to leave this island in just a few hours. If you give up on your plans to abduct these creatures, we could talk to our ship’s captain and convince her to take you with us. Otherwise, no matter how many creatures you fetch, you’ll be waiting here a very long time for someone to rescue you.”

Celeste burst into laughter.

Minerva and her party exchanged astonished glances while Celeste regained control of herself. “Fools. Do you think a little rain can stop warriors of our capabilities? We wouldn’t even have wrecked at all had our client not insisted on using his own ship, crew, and trappers; my men could have weathered that storm. But no matter.” She grinned. “My mage already used his magic to contact our home base and arrange another ship, this one crewed by my people, including elite water-wizards. They’ll not only ensure the ship arrives safely but will also bring it to the island in a far shorter time than you can imagine. Very soon we’ll be out of this horrible jungle and relaxing on deck. Along with the cargo for which we’re going to be paid quite handsomely by our client, of course.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Minerva growled. “You’re not gathering these ‘ligomorphs,’ or whatever you called them, so some noble can keep them in tiny cages and abuse them for his own amusement or the delight of his sick friends.”

“Why do you think he’ll be abusive?” one of the trappers demanded. “Plenty of nobles have menageries.”

“Yes, they do, and my current job involves bringing animals to those nobles,” Minerva snapped. “So I know how to tell the difference between a noble who intends to actually care for his animals, like the one I’m working for now, and a noble who doesn’t care at all, like your boss.” She jabbed a finger at the trappers. “First of all, those cages are too small for these animals. They’ll barely fit! You’d need cages at least double that size in order to properly move those creatures without hurting them. Second, if your gang cared about what you were doing, you’d have proper nets and other tools for catching animals without hurting them, but instead you’re all armed with swords and arrows. And third…”

She took a breath before continuing. “That color spell could have blinded them. No real trapper, or at least no trapper who actually cared about the safety of the animals she caught, would attack the animals like that. I’m guessing you’re just a gang of hunters who were hired to stuff a bunch of these critters in a cage and haul them back to be chained up in a tiny room somewhere and get gawked at by idiots.” She spread her arms. “We’re not letting you have them.”

Celeste sighed, then advanced with her sword pointed at Minerva. Ranzik moved to block her and Celeste shook her head. “You’re going to regret rejecting my offer,” she told the gnoll.

“Doubt it.” Ranzik hefted his halberd, then charged, and the battle was joined.

Celeste and Ranzik clashed their blades together and then battled furiously as Minerva rushed at the mage, who just smirked and waved his staff almost languidly. The crystal at the staff’s end glowed and Minerva was blasted backward hard enough that her teeth clacked against each other when her back slammed into the grass of the clearing. She pushed herself up in time to see Taycha making a series of gestures and casting a spell of her own, some kind of energy blast which the mage swatted away. Meanwhile, the two mercenary swordsmen rushed at Cyndal, who drew a heavy hammer from his pack to meet them.

Then the ligomorphs began to run past Minerva and charge the trappers and mercenaries. “No!” Minerva shouted, causing the ligomorphs to pause and stare at her. “Get away from them! They’ll hurt you! We’ll protect you, so just go!”

The ligomorphs gave her a confused look. One gestured at the enemies, then picked up a long stick and waved it about aggressively, jabbing it in the others’ direction like he wanted to fight them.

“I said, we’ll do this. You can’t handle them. Trust me, I’m an animal expert!” Minerva growled at the uncomprehending faces of the ligomorphs. “I said go!” she yelled as she shooed them away.

Then the trappers, who were less well armed but were far more numerous than their companions, began to attack. Minerva ducked under a trapper’s arrow and reached out with her magic, soon sensing what felt like a big cat in the nearby woods. She streamed her magic in the cat’s direction, urging it to advance and attack the hunters; at the same time, she charged forward herself. Barbas had shown her some basic fighting skills during his time as her ‘father’ in the Cirque de Malorum, and she knew that she’d need everything she’d been taught if she was going to survive.

The cat, a huge thing that looked like a cross between a lion and an especially nasty cheetah, burst out of the woods and tackled two of the hunters just as Minerva moved into range of one more. Her enemy struck at her with a sword, but she ducked under it as Barbas had taught her and kicked the enemy squarely in the kneecap. He howled as his knee buckled, and then he went down with a thump.

“Minerva!” She turned in time to see Cyndal gesturing at her, and moments later she felt a rush of energy as the cleric’s blessing took effect. Minerva grinned at the surge of energy and threw herself at two more hunters, felling them both in moments. Then she heard someone moving behind her and glanced back.

She was slammed in the head by something which sent her sprawling into a tree.

The world swam around Minerva, and it took her a few seconds to see that the mage, who had smashed her head with his staff, had already turned back around and was throwing more magical energy at Taycha. The goblin sat cross-legged and floated a few inches off the ground as magical energies ran over her body, but when the mage’s spell hit, Taycha’s magic stuttered, and she almost fell. At the same time, Ranzik—glowing blue from what Minerva guessed was another of Cyndal’s buff spells—was forced down to one knee as Celeste’s superior swordsmanship let her move inside his range and begin slicing apart his enchanted armor in a flurry of attacks. And Cyndal, for his part, was steadily pushed back by his two enemies.

A hunter screamed and Minerva turned in time to see the big cat slash his arm. Then Celeste shouted, “Trappers, retreat. Let us deal with these rabble.” She smirked as they fled; meanwhile, a spell from the mage sent the cat sprawling to the ground in a stunned daze. “Given their performance so far, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

Taycha threw several magical attacks at the mage, and a couple pierced through, but they did little more than singe his robes. Then the mage paused and raised his hands over his head as energy flooded into his fingers. His hands began to glow with power until they were almost pure white. Taycha gulped and stood up so she could scurry away, but the mage gestured, and a circle of energy appeared and surrounded her. “Help!” she squeaked.

Minerva surged forward and tackled the mage just before he had a chance to get his spell off. The magic went wild, blasting through the trees, and Minerva howled in pain as a thick branch dropped and smacked her squarely on her head. Then the mage scrambled away and hit her with his staff again before rushing back to where the trappers had been standing to check himself for wounds.

“Minerva!” The animal trainer’s eyes flicked up to see Ranzik struggling to disengage from his opponent. With a mighty blow from his halberd, he finally succeeded in knocking Celeste back the slightest amount, and he took advantage of the chance to dart toward Minerva. “We need to run. We can’t beat them like this.”

“But the creatures!”

“They’re gone!” Ranzik gestured at the spot where the ligomorphs had been waiting. They had, indeed, vanished. “Let’s move!”

“The hunters won’t give up!”

Ranzik reached her and hauled her to her feet. Cyndal and Taycha also ran toward them, though Cyndal hobbled as he went and Taycha had a greenish scorch mark across her left cheek and down her neck. “Can you distract them?” Ranzik called to Taycha.

The goblin nodded and flicked her fingers toward the trees. Vines jumped forward and surged around the pursuing mercenaries, who had to stop to free themselves. By the time they escaped, Ranzik had dragged Minerva away and the other members of her party had followed.

“No!” Minerva insisted. “We have to stop them before they put those creatures in some horrible menagerie! Like the Cirque de Malorum!”

“Minerva!” Ranzik’s voice sounded more frustrated than Minerva had ever heard it. “This is not your specialty. It is mine. I know battle. And I know we cannot win. Stop arguing and run.”

He continued into the woods, dragging Minerva after him. And Minerva did run, but all the while her heart pounded, and her head felt flooded with shame. She wanted nothing more than to return and save the poor ligomorphs from Celeste and her monstrous client.

But all she could do was flee.

*          *          *

“We’ll figure out a way to help them.”

Minerva gave Cyndal a tired look. The party had fled from Celeste’s mercenaries and looped back around in the woods in an effort to track down the ligomorphs before Celeste could find them again. Taycha had cast a spell which she had said would help her to sense their unusual magic and was accordingly leading the group, though the scorch mark on her cheek flared up occasionally and broke her concentration. “Their mage knows spells which should have been forgotten long ago,” had been Taycha’s only response when Minerva had dared to ask about it; her unhappy tone had forestalled any further questions.

“We will,” Cyndal insisted. “Cheer up, Minerva. I’m confident we’ll be able to find them and protect them from the hunters.”

“Oh, you are?” Minerva could not keep the bitterness out of her tone. “Because we didn’t do a great job of that before, and now half the team’s wounded.” She gestured at Cyndal’s right leg, which was still dragging, and Taycha’s magical burn mark. “Next time we’ll be lucky if they don’t just kill us or cripple us and leave us here to die when Jacinda sails away.”

“Minerva,” Taycha began.

“Stop trying to make things sound better!” Minerva snapped. “I know what’s going to happen to those creatures. Celeste and her gang are going to stuff them into their tiny cages and haul them back to the mainland, probably lose a few to exposure and disease on the journey, and then cram the survivors into more cages in some noble’s basement so they can languish in chains. Then they’ll slowly die because their new ‘owners’ don’t have the faintest idea of how to care for them and figure they can always hunt down more anyways.”

Cyndal opened his mouth again, but Minerva clenched a fist and kept going. “I saw too much of this kind of thing when I was with the Cirque de Malorum. I’ve met bad people who feel entitled to obedience from exotic creatures, and I know how they abuse their ‘pets.’ I was hoping that we could at least save these creatures from that horrible fate, but the stupid things don’t even know how to run away right! They charged forward instead of fleeing, so we had to fight the mercenaries instead of just defending while the ligomorphs retreated, and they’ll probably do the same thing when Celeste finds them again!”

“Minerva.” Ranzik’s voice was flat. “Stop talking.”

“I—”

“You’ll scare the creatures away.” Ranzik turned and gave her a flat glare. “And you’re annoying me.”

Something in Ranzik’s voice made Minerva think that continuing to argue would be unwise. She didn’t know many details about the gnoll warrior’s history, but she’d gotten the impression he didn’t have much tolerance for obnoxious or unintelligent employers. And so, despite her immense frustration, she made herself fall silent.

After half an hour of pushing through the thick jungle, which included two stops where Cyndal applied healing magic to Taycha’s burn mark, Taycha held up a hand. “I think we’re close,” she whispered as she weaved an esoteric sigil in the air with her fingers. “I can feel them.”

“And the mercenaries?” Cyndal asked.

“Not them.” Taycha shook her head.

Ranzik nodded. “Celeste’s crew probably doesn’t know how to track down wild animals themselves; that’s not their skill set,” he murmured. “They’ll need to go back and collect the trappers before they can find the ligomorphs again.”

Minerva said nothing as Taycha led the group forward. The little goblin eventually scampered up onto a tree stump and tore off a few low branches from another tree, which gave the party a small window into another clearing that was surrounded by the jungle. “There!” Taycha said as she peered through the hole in the foliage. “I see them!”

Minerva was immediately at the goblin’s side. Taycha obligingly moved over and Minerva leaned down so she could see.

And, for a moment, she was stunned into silence.

Scores of ligomorphs scampered around the clearing. Some that Minerva saw shared meals of leaves and berries. Others frolicked between rocks which had been arranged to provide shelter, makeshift lean-tos, and even a couple of wooden structures which looked like extremely rudimentary attempts at setting up huts. Several of the creatures had stayed in their shapeshifted forms, Minerva further noted, and they’d also arranged leaves on themselves which resembled the outfits worn by Minerva’s party and Celeste’s mercenaries. Even as she watched, one of the critters which still had striped fur that matched Ranzik’s body hefted a long stick and jabbed it about as if it was a halberd.

“Fascinating,” Taycha murmured from Minerva’s side. “Their mimicry skills are incredible, especially because I doubt they’ve ever seen creatures like us before. This island seems mostly deserted aside from them. Maybe their magic can interact with our own and give them an instinctive knowledge of our shapes, the kinds of weapons we use, our…”

“Shh,” Ranzik hissed.

Minerva thought furiously. “Do you think we can get them over to Jacinda’s ship? They’d be safe from Celeste there.”

“We don’t have enough people to grab them all,” Cyndal noted. “We don’t have the right equipment to lure them. And I don’t think Jacinda has room to keep all these creatures anyways.”

“Still.” Minerva shook her head. “I can’t let them wind up like those poor creatures in the Cirque. I just can’t. And since they can’t defend themselves, it’s up to us.”

“Who says they can’t defend themselves?” Ranzik again sounded annoyed.

Minerva gestured in their direction, “Just look at them! They’re little, they have no weapons besides sticks, and their shapeshifting doesn’t let them become bigger or stronger or anything. How could they fight off anything that wanted to hurt them?”

A faint noise sounded from the woods, no more than a few snapping twigs, and Minerva froze as her heart raced. But then she realized that if the mercenaries and trappers had found them again, there would be more than just a single footstep. Something else was approaching. So she took a breath to steady herself and reached out with her magic.

At which point she sensed the big cat.

It wasn’t the same one that she’d used before in the fight, Minerva thought distantly. This one felt stronger, and more than that, it was definitely angrier. Minerva had sensed those kinds of emotions only a few times before, when the lions or other exotic beasts in the Cirque had gotten sick and begun lashing out at anyone who approached. “Everyone,” she whispered. “There’s an angry jungle cat approaching.”

Ranzik swiveled and raised his halberd, and Cyndal and Taycha both turned and dropped into stances where they would be able to cast quickly. “Can you calm it down?” Ranzik hissed.

“I can try.” Minerva reached out with her magic and tried to soothe the approaching beast, but it seemed almost to swat away her attempts as it neared them. It was like the creature’s rage was drowning out every attempt she made to calm it. “It’s not working for some reason!” she whispered.

Then the creature sped up and Minerva gasped, but after a moment she realized it wasn’t approaching them. It was instead coming up from their side and heading right for the ligomorphs before them. Minerva turned to her party and snapped, “It’s going for the creatures!”

The trees rustled and a huge leopard with sunken eyes and fur that looked almost moldy sprang into the clearing. It wavered on its paws like it was about to drop from exhaustion, but it stayed upright, and its steps grew steadier as it sighted on the creatures before it. The ligomorphs squeaked and scattered back to their rocks and huts in response, with several of the bigger ones peeking out from concealment and watching the leopard with wide eyes. Then the leopard made a grotesque roar as it pushed itself further forward.

Minerva tensed. “We’ve got to do something!”

“No!” Ranzik snapped. “Whatever’s wrong with that cat could be contagious!”

“It’s magical in nature,” murmured Taycha, who had again seated herself and was casting something with finger gestures as she spoke. “In fact, the magic on that cat is like the spells the mage was using.”

Minerva blanched. “Do you think maybe he’s bewitching the local predators to go crazy, stop caring for themselves, and spend all their time hunting down the ligomorphs until they collapse from exhaustion?”

“Yes.” Taycha frowned. “He’s using evil, forbidden techniques which could destroy his body and soul. Somebody needs to stop him.”

Minerva’s eyes bulged as the cat approached the ligomorphs. “Steady,” Cyndal said as Minerva tensed further. “It’s a safe bet that Celeste and her wizard friend are tracking that cat. If we intervene, they’ll know.”

“I don’t care! We have to save them!” She scowled at her team. “I know what I’m doing. Those creatures need help!”

Taycha glanced out into the clearing again and froze. Minerva turned and then gaped too, because at least two dozen of the ligomorphs had just shifted to become more catlike.

They still weren’t great impersonations. The creatures retained too much of their initial appearances to pass as cats. But their fur had shifted to match the cheetah’s very closely, even taking on the same mottled green color as the mold-like magic which coated the big cat. Their eyes had narrowed, whiskers had sprouted from their lips, and they had leaned forward like they were about to drop to all fours. And then, in unison, a half dozen of them roared.

The roars weren’t especially intimidating, of course. The ligomorphs weren’t big enough to be loud. But six of them together were certainly notable. And then Minerva sensed a new emotion from the cat, one cutting through its unhinged rage.

The cheetah, she realized, was afraid.

The ligomorphs that had taken cat-like forms advanced, splitting up into teams and approaching as might a lion pack, and the cheetah clearly couldn’t tell that it wasn’t actually facing six other furious jungle cats. It let out another roar, that one more panicked, but it backed up a step. And before Minerva could do anything, it had sprinted away into the woods.

“I see!” Taycha murmured. Minerva glanced down to see the little goblin had drawn a parchment from one of her pockets and slid her finger over it like she was writing something; as her finger moved, the words it traced out glowed briefly before darkening to look like they’d been scribed with quill and ink. “That must be how these creatures deter predators!”

“What a marvelous application of magic,” Cyndal added.

Ranzik shot a look at Minerva, and though he was clearly trying to look professional, she thought she saw a hint of smugness in his features. “We didn’t need to get involved and reveal our position to the mercenaries after all. Maybe you don’t know everything.”

“But I,” Minerva began, “I just wanted to help, to save them from that cat and from men like Faroon who abused them because they thought…”

And then Minerva cut herself off at the realization that, just like Faroon, she’d also thought she’d known best about how these creatures should be made to act. Yes, Faroon had wanted to exploit his exotic beasts while she had truly wanted to save the ligomorphs, but it was the same basic error. She’d decided that their desires and knowledge didn’t matter, that she was going to step in, override them, and force them to bend to her will. And that had already been disastrous; if she’d just let the creatures charge and shapeshift like they were used to, perhaps the initial fight would have gone better. The trappers at least might have been surprised and disabled, and maybe even Celeste’s people would have been shocked for a few crucial moments. But Minerva had insisted on chasing them off and leading the fight herself, which had led to things falling apart.

For that matter, Minerva’s plan to get some of the creatures off the island probably hadn’t been a great idea either. She’d wanted to help them, to show them the world and let them enjoy it. But if the creatures didn’t exist anywhere outside the island, and if they reproduced as quickly as their large numbers within the clearing seemed to indicate, she could cause an ecological disaster by removing them.

And finally, she forced herself to admit, she’d also been treating the captain and members of her own party badly too. She didn’t really have any authority on the ship, and she had less experience than Ranzik and Taycha in the fields of tracking and magic, respectively. But she’d still ordered them around and insisted they obey her because, well, because she’d wanted to help and had been certain she’d known best.

“Don’t worry too much about it.” The voice was Cyndal’s, and when she looked down she saw the dwarf cleric smiling at her. “We know your heart was in the right place.”

Ranzik growled something, but Cyndal shushed him and turned back to Minerva. “Nobody’s perfect, Minerva.”

“I know, but I…” Minerva hung her head. “I’m just sorry,” she said at last. “I should have respected your knowledge, just like I should have respected Jacinda’s. And those critters, for that matter.”

“Speaking of which,” Taycha chimed in, “what are we going to do with them? Those things might be able to drive off their local predators; in fact, I’d say we’ve just seen proof that they can. But Celeste is another matter.”

“We can’t defeat the mercenaries on our own,” Ranzik said. “Especially not with our wounds.”

“We aren’t on our own.” Minerva managed a faint smile. “Those critters seem a lot better at defending themselves than I’d figured. So instead of overriding them, I think I—we—can work with them to drive off Celeste’s gang.”

She outlined her plan, and Cyndal immediately inclined his head. “I like it, Minerva. A righteous act, and quite possible if we can get the ligomorphs on our side.”

“I agree!” Taycha grinned. “And personally, I’d be upset if I didn’t get another chance to take on that mage. He needs to learn not to meddle with the kind of powers he’s working with before he does something worse than give me an annoying burn.”

Minerva turned to Ranzik. “Well?” she asked. “You’re the warrior. Will that work?”

“…maybe,” Ranzik conceded at last. But he flashed a little smile at her, and Minerva grinned. “If we can get the creatures on our side.”

“On it.” Minerva took a breath and gathered up her magic, then stepped into the clearing. “Here goes,” she muttered.

The ligomorphs turned to stare at her, and then several shapeshifted to take on more human-like forms. Minerva smiled. “Hi!” she said as she reached into her own pack and took out a few pieces of dried fruit. She tossed the snacks to the critters and also used her magic to keep them calm as she approached. “Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m not a predator. I’m on your side. And I think I can help you drive off those scary people from before.”

The ligomorphs looked up at Minerva with curious eyes and little smiles, and she beamed. “All I need,” she told them, “is some help from you.”

*          *          *

A half hour of preparation later, when Minerva heard the march of approaching armored feet on twigs and fallen leaves, she tensed. Another minute later and the footsteps were right at the edge of the clearing. There was a pause, then a shout, and a tall tree shuddered before abruptly tilting over.

“Here we go,” Minerva muttered.

The tree collapsed with a crash to reveal Celeste, who swiped her jeweled scimitar through the air as if to emphasize that she’d just destroyed a tree with a single strike. The mage and two swordsmen that she’d brought with her stood at her side as well. Behind them in turn were the trappers, all of whom had their weapons. And finally, Minerva grimly noted, there were a few more of the corrupted jungle cats. They prowled amidst the trappers, shuddering and softly yowling as the mottled green patches on their coats rippled in time with the breathing of Celeste’s mage. “One last chance,” Celeste said. “You lot back off and we’ll consider letting you escape this island with your lives.”

“We’ll give you one last chance too,” Minerva replied. Ranzik and Taycha moved in front of her while Cyndal and the ligomorphs stayed back. “Destroy your trapping equipment, go back to the beach, wait there for your new ship, and then sail away without harming a hair on the ligomorphs’ heads.”

Celeste chuckled, then turned to her people. “Let’s make this fast. Our boat should be here soon, and I for one would like to get off this island as soon as possible.” She swept her scimitar at Minerva’s group. “Attack!”

The jungle cats trotted forward, passing both the trappers and Celeste’s gang. Minerva gathered her own magic to calm them, but as she sent it out, it hit what felt like a wall. Celeste’s mage smirked and waggled his staff at her. “Nice try, lass.”

Minerva just let herself smile. And then the ligomorphs sprang into action.

A dozen of the brown and gray critters darted forward, their features rippling and taking on a more cat-like appearance, and as they neared the cats, they let out loud yowls. The cats hesitated at the sight of other predators and the mage glowered before taking a breath and raising his staff up. “Not a problem,” he said to Celeste. “I’ll just cast again and—”

Another dozen ligomorphs ran out from the huts and lean-tos. They had already shifted into vaguely human forms and dressed up in leaves and tattered scraps of cloth which, from a distance, could be said to look like mage robes. And they all carryied staffs topped with glittering ‘crystals.’

There hadn’t been any magical equipment in the ligomorph colony, of course, but that wasn’t important. All they’d really needed were some sticks and a few shiny rocks which the ligomorphs had fished out from the island’s rivers or collected on its sandy beaches. Cyndal had done the work of affixing the stones to the sticks, and now each of the ligomorphs had weapons that, at first glance, could easily be mistaken for actual wizard staffs.

And it worked. The mage swiveled around to aim his staff at them, acting on instinct as the new ‘wizards’ raised their ‘weapons,’ and by the time his mind had caught up to his reflexes and he’d realized there was no real threat, it was too late. His cantrip which had blocked Minerva’s magic had faltered, and Minerva was able to punch her own spell through his and hit the cats. “Shoo!” she ordered them. “Back off!”

Part of her wanted to simply calm the cats and then turn them against the mercenaries, but she knew that if she tried that, the mage would likely be able to reestablish control. So instead, she gave up on calming them and instead heightened their anxiety. The cats acted at once; they swiveled on their paws and charged back into the woods, bowling over a couple unfortunate trappers who couldn’t evade in time. Minerva smiled and turned to their other foes. “Anyone else?”

“Go!” Celeste roared, and the remaining enemies charged forward.

Ranzik again met Celeste in single combat, his halberd flashing out and even driving her back a couple of steps before she recovered, and Taycha blasted a massive spell which the enemy mage only barely swatted aside. Both briefly glowed blue as Cyndal cast divine spells on them. As for Minerva, she positioned herself in front of the two swordsmen, both of whom laughed.

“What now?” one taunted her as he drew his huge broadsword. “Can you even fight?”

Minerva smiled. “Sure.”

“Oh?” The mercenary pointed his sword at Minerva’s throat. “Then let’s see what you can do!”

And Minerva smiled. “Gladly,” she said, then snapped her fingers.

Several ligomorphs, who had spent the first part of the fight creeping through the clearing’s grass into position, sprang up around them.

The elite mercenaries would normally have seen such an attack coming, even from relatively small critters. But the ligomorphs had taken the shapes of chipmunks, kittens, and other little forest animals that Taycha had shown them with illusion spells, and they had blended in perfectly. Now they attacked, shucking off their animal forms and taking on bodies which were more like those of Ranzik or the burly mercenaries themselves, and Minerva couldn’t help but laugh as the enemies were each hit by a dozen critters at once and went down.

“I’ll take those,” she said as she grabbed the swords that the mercenaries dropped when they fell, then rolled the enemies over and—even as they swatted frantically at the critters—began tying them up with thick vines taken from the area. “Just stay still. This fight will be over before you know it.”

Shouts from the woods alerted her to the rest of the battle, and when Minerva looked up, she saw the trappers dropping their equipment and running as another mob of ligomorphs swarmed them. Those critters had taken on other shapes that Taycha had shown them via illusions, the shapes of big wolves, fierce rhinotaurs, and other such creatures, and though they still didn’t look very much like what they were imitating, the comparison was just enough to make the trappers flinch and panic at all the wrong moments. And once they’d panicked and dropped their weapons or moved into bad positions, the sheer numbers of the ligomorphs sufficed to push them back.

Celeste let out a cry of triumph, and Minerva turned to see the mercenary leader grin as her sword slashed into Ranzik’s shoulder, but Cyndal cast a healing spell and Ranzik’s wound knitted up again. Then Celeste cursed and Minerva realized that probably wasn’t the first time she’d injured Ranzik only for him to be healed right away. “Tarkyon, deal with their healer!” she snapped. “I can’t make any progress if he keeps fixing up the gnoll every time I wound him!”

“Working on it,” growled the mage. He threw spells at Taycha and swatted aside the ones she cast in return, and Minerva noted how Taycha was steadily being driven back toward the huts. The mage, presumably Tarkyon, was breathing hard but also had a triumphant smile. “Shouldn’t be much longer before this overgrown rat gets what’s coming to her.”

Taycha glanced at the ligomorphs around her and waved to them, at which point the critters began scampering toward the mage. Minerva’s heart clenched, since she knew the mage could very easily resist their attacks and even kill them in response, but the creatures didn’t attack him. They just ran close to him and then darted away, laughing all the while, with one or two even throwing little gobs of mud as they scampered around. They were mocking him, Minerva realized.

The mage scowled and yelled at the critters, but they just laughed harder, and finally his face flashed an ugly red. “We only need a dozen of them,” he said at last as he raised his staff high. Taycha lobbed a spell at him, but he swatted it into a tree, bursting it apart as if it were made of brittle clay, and then grinned. “We can kill a few and still make our quota. You foolish beasts will suffer!”

Minerva’s eyes widened as the crystal on the mage’s staff glowed. He then began to chant in some language she didn’t know, the syllables harsh and grating on her ears, and she winced. The ligomorphs fell back too, squeaking in fear, and Minerva tensed. “Come on,” she muttered. “Taycha, come on!”

Taycha grabbed a rock from the ground and chucked it at Tarkyon.

It barely hit the mage and didn’t even bruise his skin, but his eyes flicked toward the rock and the words leaving his mouth stopped for half a second. It was enough. The crystal began to pulse with an ugly red color as he lost control of the spell, and his voice rose into a frantic cry. “No!” he screamed.

The crystal detonated with the force of a small fireball.

Tarkyon was blown forward and hit the ground hard enough that his arm snapped like a twig. He screamed in pain, then howled again as his robes, now on fire from the blast, smoldered. Only after a few moments of him thrashing around on the ground did Taycha approach.

“You fool,” the goblin snarled as she put one foot on his chest to stop his flailing, then began to beat out the flames. “Forbidden spells like that are forbidden for a reason. They destroy all they touch, including the caster. But you thought you were too clever for that, didn’t you?” She kicked the mage in his singed head, of which not a single hair had been left unburned, to stop him from interrupting as she continued her rant. “You stupid, conceited, arrogant…”

Minerva finally finished tying up the swordsmen and approached Ranzik and Celeste with a swarm of ligomorphs at her back. Celeste looked around and then said, “I don’t care. I’ll fight you all myself if I have to, and I’ll win too. I am Celeste Varagnon, and“—”

“The cats should be free now, yes?” Cyndal called to Taycha.

“Oh, certainly.” Taycha nodded as she kicked the injured mage again. “With the staff destroyed, all of its magic should have dissipated.”

Cyndal grinned. “Minerva, how long will it take you to get all the big cats from this part of the island over here to attack Celeste?”

Minerva smiled. In truth she couldn’t attract animals from huge distances, but Celeste—though the events of the day had surely taught her that Minerva could control animals to some extent—wouldn’t know exactly what her range was. “Just a few minutes,” she lied. “Ever fight a cheetah, Celeste? Better yet, ever fight ten to twelve at once? They’re incredible predators. Faster than you can imagine, incredibly strong, jaws like a guillotine, and once they get your scent, they’ll never stop chasing you.”

Celeste paled. “I have a ship coming,” she managed.

“Yeah, but you won’t make it halfway to the beach.” Minerva spread her arms. “So, what’ll it be?”

Celeste gave them all a long, glowering look, and then she sighed and dropped her scimitar. “Fine,” she muttered. “I give.”

The ligomorphs burst into cheerful squeaks and rushed around hugging Minerva and her party. And Minerva, for her part, happily hugged them back. It was over, she thought.

They had won.

*          *          *

“What, exactly, is going to stop us from coming back and finishing the job?” Celeste hissed as Minerva’s party led her defeated group through the jungle. The beach, Minerva thought, had to be getting close. “I have a contract. I can’t just abandon it.”

“You told us that your ship was crewed by your client’s sailors, right?” Cyndal asked pleasantly. “Well, that makes it easy. Blame the sailors. Point out that you crashed because of their incompetence, and then just say you spent all your time here tending to your wounded and making sure you didn’t get eaten by predators. So really, it’s your client’s fault you didn’t look for the creatures.” He smiled. “When your client tries to hire you again, just say you’re mad about the shipwreck and refuse, and also spread the word that this client doesn’t fulfill his or her contractual obligations. After all, you were promised to be safely taken to this island, and that didn’t happen. Your name has weight in the mercenary community, so you blacklisting this client should make it impossible for him or her to find anyone else willing to take this job.”

“And why would I do any of that?” Celeste snapped.

Minerva said, “Because, if you don’t, we’ll tell everyone the truth. How the great Celeste Varagnon was beaten by a handful of people, only one of them a trained warrior, and a bunch of little critters that didn’t even have weapons.”

“Nobody will believe you!” Celeste’s voice was an angry roar. “You have no proof!”

Ranzik smiled, then drew Celeste’s jeweled scimitar from his belt and waggled it in front of her face. “It’s well known that Celeste Varagnon prizes her family sword and would never give it up,” he said. “Meaning the only way someone could have it is if they really did defeat her.”

Taycha, who had been prodding the mage while continuing to steadily berate him, looked up from her task and nodded. “We’re willing to keep it locked up in a vault somewhere as long as you play ball. But if you don’t? If we hear that you, or anyone else, has been here and so much as harmed a hair on a lagomorph’s head?”

Minerva chimed in. “We’ll take that sword straight to the nearest Adventurer’s Guild, find someone who recognizes it and realizes what it means, and then regale the tavern with the story of how we utterly crushed your pathetic little gang here.”

Celeste glared at the others for a moment longer before she lowered her head and fell silent.

They arrived at the beach a few moments later and were just in time to see a cutter from Celeste’s second ship, which was now anchored out in the cove, arrive. The crew from the cutter ran forward but Celeste just snapped, “Not a word. You got the sailors on the other beach?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then we’re leaving right away.”

“But—”

“I said, we’re leaving.” She stormed toward the cutter, her two swordsmen and her battered mage running after her. The crew gave Minerva and her group mystified looks before turning and rushing back to the cutter as well.

Minerva led her group back over to Jacinda, who was supervising as her crew finished the repairs. “Glad that you’re back; I was getting worried we’d need to leave you behind!” the kaja said in a voice that was half-joking.

“Sorry.” Minerva glanced at the other ship. The cutter was already heading toward it, and its sails were unfurling in preparation to leave. “We had to take care of something.”

“Who were they?” Jacinda gestured at Celeste’s ship.

Minerva shook her head. “Monsters. But they’re gone now.”

Jacinda frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, get aboard. We’re sailing in a few minutes.”

“Wait.” Minerva took a breath. “I need to apologize. For assuming I always knew best and for trying to force you to go along with that. I was arrogant, and I shouldn’t have been.” She inclined her head. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

Jacinda smiled a little. “Well, alright then. I’ll accept your apology, provided you do something for me in turn. We had a couple injuries in the storm, nothing serious, but we do need someone to handle a few menial duties tonight while my sailors recover. And I figured, since you were so eager to contribute to running my ship, it’d be fitting to let you handle a couple of chores.”

Minerva smiled, and even though she knew the task was at least partly a punishment, she found she didn’t care. “I’d be happy to help.” And then she saw the rest of her party smiling at her, and she realized she felt happy. “Thank you all,” she said. “For helping me to see my mistake.”

Jacinda blinked. “Did I miss something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Taycha said with a merry grin. She smiled at Minerva, as did Cyndal, and even Ranzik looked a little more pleasant as he nodded at her. “I’ll tell you later.”

The party clambered aboard, with Cyndal going to provide healing for the injured sailors, Ranzik heading off to maintain his equipment, and Taycha going below deck to study some magic book. Minerva lingered on the deck for a moment, her gaze drifting back to the jungle.

And she saw what looked like hundreds of ligomorphs in the tree line.

All the critters began to wave, and Minerva felt a burst of glee as she responded in kind. No, she thought, she couldn’t take them from the island. They’d be hurt by people like Celeste, and there were overpopulation concerns too. But that was fine; they’d be alright here. And besides, now that she knew where this place was, there was no reason she couldn’t come back sometime. She knew she’d like that, and she was sure the critters would too.

The anchor clanked as it was hauled up, and then the deck jerked under her feet as the ship began heading back toward the ocean. Minerva gave one last wave to the little creatures of the island. Then, with a smile on her face, she turned and headed toward the captain’s chambers so Jacinda could tell her how she could help.

The post Tellest Short Story – Minerva’s Quest appeared first on Tellest.

A Tale by Valena D’Angelis

If only the rain could stop. His clothes were soaked, his body tired, and his eyes needed to close for just one second. Milnor had walked for days in search of shelter. His horse was limping, wounded at the hoof by a thorn Milnor couldn’t remove. He needed help, and he needed it fast. Sarra’s leg would soon fail her if she didn’t get care.

After leaving the last village to go to the next, Milnor had relied on a rough map of the region to guide him. Nobody at the capital knew exactly what this region looked like from up close, so most of it was inaccurate. But that piece of paper, which he’d reworked himself during this journey, had been torn by the force of raindrops and the harsh wind. Now he was completely blind. He knew he needed to go east, so he’d gone east for the past three days. Kalancha should be in sight by now, but with this rain and thick fog, he couldn’t see even thirty feet ahead.

It wasn’t easy being one of the nation’s regional cartographers. Milnor didn’t board royal ships to travel the oceans and record the world’s coasts. He didn’t embark on a months-long journey with a whole caravan to discover new nations. He’d opted for something simple, something that’d keep him on the move. He didn’t like to stay still for too long because staying still would mean getting attached, and Milnor had no time nor interest in that. Regional cartography wasn’t a position most young apprentices strived to achieve, so the competition had been near null.

Milnor had been tasked with mapping the villages at the foot of Kalanch’s Ridge, a mountainous region with terrible weather. It rained almost two-thirds of the year and snowed for the other third. At first, he’d thought he wouldn’t be too bothered by that. Rain wasn’t something elves really cared about. It was part of life, of the balance of nature’s forces. But maybe staying away from his tribe this long had made him cynical, perhaps almost human. Milnor could not wait until he reached Kalancha so he could finally sit down by a fireplace and work on his maps.

Sarra suddenly snorted loudly, and Milnor realized the fog wasn’t so thick anymore. Below the hills and the mist were the contours of tiny houses made of stone and straws. A village at the foot of the Cardinal, one of Kalanch’s Ridge’s lowest mountains. He recognized the mountain because of its distinct triangular shape and silver cliff. He could see the village clearly—it was within an hour’s reach. Sarra’s snort was probably a sign of relief. She was a smart girl, and she’d walked for so long. She needed that shelter and fireplace as much as he did. She even let him ride her one last time so they could reach the village faster. By dusk, they reached Kalancha, but to Milnor’s surprise, the village was as quiet as a stone.

Milnor dismounted Sarra and walked on the village’s main road. There couldn’t be more than twenty houses here. The night was falling, and the road was empty. No one in sight, not even a merchant or passerby. There was light in the houses, so he knew the village wasn’t dead. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this much…emptiness. The weather was already cold, but this felt so much colder.

Milnor spotted a large barn at the end of the road. His elven hearing allowed him to hear the sound of horses up ahead. He could also hear the voice of a man. Finally! A sign of life. Milnor walked faster. Perhaps he could ask this man for help for Sarra, and hopefully for shelter.

The main doors of the barn were ajar. The man’s voice was clear. He was talking to his horses, and he was obviously alone. Milnor first knocked, and the man fell silent.

“Come in,” he finally said with hesitation.

Milnor pulled on the heavy door and entered the stables. The man seemed slightly startled by his appearance. Milnor didn’t look like the usual traveler, even if his soaked cowl covered his long brown hair and ears. His high cheekbones were unmistakably revealing. His bright blue eyes were unnatural, at least for humans, like blue sky reflected in snow. He did the regional greeting before speaking.

“I’m sorry to be a bother, but could I ask for your help?” Milnor asked.

The man needed a second before coming back to his senses.

He was…opulent, for lack of a better word. A large bald man in a long leather coat. He held a grooming brush in his hand. He was definitely the village’s stabler.

“Whatchu need?” the man asked reluctantly.

“My horse is wounded,” Milnor replied, straight to the point. “We’ve been walking for days, and I’m afraid she will give in if we continue further.”

“I…” At first, it seemed like he wanted to deny his request, but the man’s features softened, and he sighed. “Show me your horse.”

Milnor let Sarra enter. She was limping badly.

The man examined her hoof for a few minutes.

“It’s pretty bad. There’s a piece of metal in her foot. The wound’s infected. I can treat her, but she’ll need to rest for a while.”

“How long?” Milnor asked. He needed shelter if he had to stay in Kalancha for a while.

“Can’t really tell.”

“Do you know a place I can stay in the meantime?”

The man frowned and inhaled deeply. There was something unsettling in his gaze as he was looking to the outside. It was already dark, which seemed to trouble the man even more.

“Can I stay here?” Milnor pushed a little.

The man looked at him like he’d just said something outrageous. Milnor had no idea what was going on in that man’s head. Did this village have a problem with elves? It wouldn’t be the first. No, it was something else. The way the man looked at the night was worrisome. Even Milnor could feel the man’s fear. What could it possibly be?

Milnor didn’t really have time for this. He was cold, soaking wet, and he needed to rework his maps. Spending the last decade with humans has its perks: Milnor knew human traits, quirks, and even desires, like the limbs of his bow.

“I can pay,” he said, steady.

He’d dealt with humans so often that he knew this was a convincing argument. He didn’t even expect any resistance, but the man frowned as if he was offended. Milnor had to save this before it was too late. He could try appealing to the man’s feelings.

“Look, I’ll pay you for treating my horse, and I’ll pay you for shelter,” Milnor continued. “It’s almost night, and it’s still raining arrows. Please, talking about money does seem rather vulgar, but how much do you want?”

The man changed his mood. “3 gold for your horse, and you can stay with us for 30 silver a night. We have a guest room. Just don’t scare the children.”

Children? Humph..

Milnor rejoiced nonetheless. “I wouldn’t dare. They might scare me, though.”

The joke came out rather spontaneously. The man didn’t seem to appreciate it, and he gave Milnor the look.

They stared at each other for a second before the man burst into laughter. He motioned with his hand for Milnor to follow him to the back of the barn. He still laughed as he walked.

“Ha ha! I didn’t know…your kind had that kind of humor!” He uttered between laughs.

Milnor chuckled awkwardly. “Well, you know, I picked a few things along the way.”

“Good, good.” The man paused and held out a hand as an invitation for Milnor to shake it. “The name’s Eric, by the way.”

“Milnor.” They shook hands and continued walking towards a large wooden door.

“What brings you to Kalancha, Milnor?” Eric asked kindly.

“I’m a regional cartographer for Her Majesty. I’m currently working on a few pieces of Kalanch’s Ridge. Anything special I should know about your village?”

Eric opened the door and paused again. He looked at Milnor with that familiar worrisome glow in his eyes, then he shrugged awkwardly and tapped the elf on his shoulder.

“A cartographer, that’s a first!” He smiled, but it was obviously forced.

The door was open and beyond was a corridor with stairs going up at the end. Milnor caught a whiff of something that instantly made his stomach gurgle.

“My wife’s upstairs preparing dinner. Feel free to join us. First, I’ll give you some towels so you can dry yourself.”

Eric started walking up the steps.

“Thank you, Eric,” Milnor said with candor. He was so grateful that he could finally get out of these soaked clothes and get some rest.

“Just get yourself dry. Don’t want mud all over my house.”

Milnor acknowledged and began walking up the stairs.

“Ah! And please lock the door behind you.”

Milnor did so, and they both headed upstairs.

The Colemans’ living quarters were above the barn that Milnor learned was the village’s only stables. For the past twenty-six years, Eric Coleman had been the village’s stabler, horse doctor, and blacksmith. He and Maria, his wife, had two little children, twins named Jenny and James.

The large dining table stood in the middle of the living room, right by the warm fireplace. After he’d dried himself and hung his cloak and tunic by the fireplace, Maria had offered Milnor a set of simple clothing of almost his size. Milnor sat by the table, two wide-eyed children staring at him from the other side. He wanted to make a face to tease them but wasn’t sure it’d be appropriate. Maria brought him a plate of roasted chicken and rosemary potatoes. It smelled lovely. The children no longer had his attention.

“Thank you,” Milnor said.

The woman smiled and blushed.

“My wife is a great cook!” Eric exclaimed proudly and began digging at his food. “So, tell me,” he spoke as he chewed, “What’s your plan for after Kalancha?”

Milnor took a bite of his food and instantly melted. He hadn’t tasted something like this in weeks. He needed a moment to formulate an answer.

“Hm, the villages further east. I’ll travel until the end of the ridge and head back to the capital.”

“Do you travel often?” the little girl with golden blond hair asked.

Milnor was caught by surprise. He hadn’t expected the children would talk to him.

“I do,” he eventually replied. “How about you?”

“We don’t get out of Kalancha!” the boy responded, cutting his sister off.

She pouted instantly. “I’m talking to him!”

“He’s talking to me now!”

“James, Jenny,” their mother intervened. “Let our guest have dinner in peace.”

The children were too excited to listen to their mother.

“Are you an elf?” Jenny asked.

“Jenny!” Maria seemed so embarrassed.

Milnor chuckled. He didn’t mind the questions, the weird looks. An elf away from his tribe was undoubtedly strange, but not to him anymore.

“Yes, I am,” he said softly.

The girl inhaled deeply and wiggled like she was about to fly. “Do you have powers?”

That question, he could have expected. The answer was…disappointing at best. He didn’t want to give it.

“You seem to know a lot about elves,” he said instead.

“She doesn’t!” James shouted from across the table, then at his sister. “She knows it from me!”

Maria suddenly seemed to remember something. “Oh, Eric, did you hang the catcher?”

Eric made an “Ah!” face. “Shoot! I forgot. I’ll do it now.”

The rest was a dissonant harmony of “Daddy forgot! Daddy forgot!” and two children going at each other regarding their knowledge of elves. Milnor said no more and ate while observing Eric instead. The man headed to a cupboard in the corner of the hallway, pulled out a large hoop of woven threads and dangling feathers, then headed downstairs.

Milnor was too curious. He had to ask.

“What is Eric doing?”

Maria looked at him hesitantly. “It’s just village tradition, that’s all.”

But that wasn’t all. Milnor’s instinct told him Maria was hiding something.

“Why?” he simply asked.

Maria sighed deeply. She looked at her unfinished plate, and her face changed. She seemed…afraid?

“It’s to keep spirits…evil spirits away from the house. Every night, before the first stars, we hang dreamcatchers on our door fronts.”

Milnor was more confused than anything else.

“Evil spirits? What kind?”

Eric was back. “Well, we might as well tell him.” He sighed like a man giving in. “He’ll hear it sooner or later anyway.” Milnor was all ears, and Eric went on. “Most travelers who come to Kalancha don’t stay for the night. We make sure they don’t. And that is because of her.”

Eric cast a brief glance at the window. He stayed silent, like he was afraid of saying more about her. Maria stood from her chair and came beside her two children. They’d finished eating, and Milnor could see from her body language that it was time to put them to bed. She and Eric wouldn’t continue the story until the children left the room. Reluctantly, they conceded, because Jenny was already yawning, and James, despite going at his sister, followed her to their bedroom. Maria and the two were gone for a few minutes.

The silence in the room was heavy. Eric cleared the table, and Milnor could hear Maria speaking softly while she changed the kids and put them to bed. Her voice was sweet and calm, but there was a slight tremor that did seem habitual. Milnor wondered what caused the distress she tried to hide.

When Maria returned, she was pale.

“She comes at night,” she finally said after one last minute of silence. “She walks the main road until the well, stands there, and sobs. You’ll hear her tonight.”

“She calls for our children,” Eric added, his back towards Milnor as he washed the dirty plates in a large bucket of water. “That’s why the kids are never allowed to play outside. She’s taken some before.”

Milnor remained silent. He wasn’t sure what to make of this. He knew humans believed in all sorts of things, often untrue, but these two were really convinced of the story they were telling.

“If we don’t hang those dreamcatchers, she also comes in our dreams,” Maria said.

Milnor had many questions. He really wasn’t the type to believe in ghost stories, and his skepticism had often alienated him from even the elves of his tribe.

“So…” he began, carefully but not so gently choosing his next words. “She’s a ghost?” He tried to hide his skepticism as best as possible so he wouldn’t offend anyone.

Maria picked up a kitchen towel and began drying plates.

“A ghost, yes,” she said. “The ghost of a woman named Hildra.”

Hildra…that name was elven. That detail got Milnor’s attention, and he was finally interested in hearing more.

“Hildra was welcomed in our village decades ago,” Eric said. “The people of Kalancha gave her shelter, but she hated them. You see, something was wrong with her. She was married to one of ours—they had two children, two half-elven twins. One day, in her madness, she cursed her husband and children, and they died, then she killed herself, jumping in the lake.”

“She was one evil woman,” Maria said. “She had powers, dreamwalking. Even when she was alive, she visited people’s dreams and poisoned their minds.”

“How long has this been going on?” Milnor asked, confused as to why the people of Kalancha still put up with this.

If there was such a ghost haunting this place, something could be done about it. Lifting a curse—wasn’t that a cleric’s job? The village must have a church somewhere!

“It’s been about sixty years,” Eric replied. “When I was a boy, I saw her. I was playing at night, disobeying my parents’ orders. She almost took me…”

“I saw her too, once,” Maria said. “Everybody saw her at least once.”

Milnor had more questions. “If this is happening, why don’t people leave?”

Maria and Eric were done with the dishes. She returned to the table while Eric poured himself a glass of something Milnor could smell from his chair. He put the glass on the table and showed Milnor the bottle.

“Brandy?” Eric offered.

Milnor politely refused. He didn’t drink, and he wouldn’t start now.

“We don’t leave because…well, because this is our home!” Eric finally said. “Some have left, yes. We haven’t heard from them in years. Kalancha is like a family, you know. You don’t leave your family.”

Milnor had many things to say about that last statement, but he’d let it slide. Maybe family was everything to the Colemans, but it didn’t mean much to him.

It didn’t sadden him. Milnor liked to think that it was what made him strong.

Eric finished his brandy quickly. Storytime was over, and it was time for bed. Maria fetched a few blankets for Milnor and showed him to his room. He’d been looking forward to this moment all evening. The ghost story surely wouldn’t bother his sleep at all…or so he thought.

Milnor stood by a lake. He was alone, and it was dark. The moonlight was bright enough for him to see the contours of trees surrounding the lake.

Milnor looked at his hand, his feet—everything seemed normal. The voice of a woman in the distance made him raise his head to see the lake again.

There she was, standing on top of the water as if she rose above it. But that wasn’t possible. Was she standing on a stone? Was there an island on the lake Milnor couldn’t see?

She was crying softly at first. He could hear her whispers. Her sobs in the night echoed like the wind. The air was as cold as ice.

Suddenly, after a single blink, she stood right in front of him. Milnor was startled, and he gasped, but no sound came out of his lips. He could see her clearly now. Her skin was cracked, and pus oozed out of her wounds. Fear rose in his bones. It infected his blood, and his heart was now pumping. She smelled of darkness and decay.

Milnor wanted to scream, but he was silenced by his own inability to breathe.

The woman before him smiled, and a tear of blood ran down her cheek. Her eyes were blacker than black, almost hollow. She spoke, but it didn’t make sense. It was erratic, chaotic, drowned in the sounds of other voices woven through her song.

Milnor swore her words were spoken in elven. It wasn’t his dialect, but he could understand pieces of it, despite the cacophony of demonic whispers coming out of her throat.

“Oh, my children, we are going forever,” is the last thing Milnor heard before he awoke, screaming.

***

A scream pulls him out of his tormented sleep. It wasn’t his this time. Doors were opened in a hurry downstairs. Milnor could hear Eric’s voice outside. Something was going on. There was a lot of distress, and someone was calling for help.

The first thing he felt getting out of bed was shame. He hoped the Colemans hadn’t been witnesses to his hysteria of the night. What in the gods had happened to him? Milnor wasn’t one for having nightmares, and this one was particularly troubling. It was probably because of the Colemans’ ghost story of the previous night and maybe the smell of brandy that had lingered in the air.

Milnor fetched his washed and dried clothing from the wooden chair by the door. Maria must have put them there while he still slept. They smelled of lavender. He washed his face in the large bucket by the mirror and got dressed. There was still commotion outside.

Now that it was day, Milnor finally saw what the main road looked like. It wasn’t raining—thank the gods. The sun was shining, and the road that had been muddy the night before was now dry. The air still felt cold, but the smell of wet wood gently awoke his senses.

A crowd of people surrounded the small plaza where the well was. A woman was crying. Milnor could hear her sobs grow louder as he approached the crowd.

Eric stood surrounded by other villages. Mary was by the crying woman, who crouched on the floor, her back against the stones of the well. She was utterly hysterical.

Eric spotted Milnor, and obviously, the rest did as well. He motioned for the others to wait and walked to the elf.

“What happened?” Milnor asked.

All he heard were whispers saying: “The Wailing Fay, she took him.”

Eric took Milnor by the arm away from the crowd.

“It was her,” he said gravely. “The one I told you about yesterday. It was her—she took him alright.”

“Who? She took who?”

Eric pointed at the sobbing woman. “Her son. He was ten. He was playing by the field, didn’t listen to his mother, and he was taken.”

Milnor gazed upon the woman and couldn’t help feeling sad for her.

“He was her only son,” Eric added. “Her husband died—a bad case of flu. She is all alone now.”

Another thing he couldn’t help feeling was skepticism again. He just had so many questions. Sure, Eric and probably most of these people were convinced the village was haunted by a child-hunting ghost. But Milnor didn’t believe in ghosts. Well, at least not this kind. Elves believed in spirits and beings from the other side, but child-hunting ghosts? That went a little too far.

He needed to investigate this.

“Is there evidence it was her?” Milnor asked.

Eric looked at him like he’d said something stupid. “It is her. It’s always her. She takes our children—”

“I know,” Milnor interrupted, attempting not to offend anyone. “I know. But what if something else is happening?”

Another villager, who Milnor only now realized had been listening in, took a step to the two and began speaking.

“We found this in the well.” He handed Milnor a tiny yellow scarf. “It was the boy’s. It’s what she does. She takes them down the well.” Milnor examined the piece of cloth. “Who are you?” the man asked.

Eric replied instead of the elf: “This is Milnor. He’s a traveler from the capital.”

“Y-yes,” Milnor said hesitantly. “I’m here to—”

The man didn’t let him say more. “An elf…in our village.”

Milnor frowned. “Yes? I don’t see how—”

Someone else joined the conversation. A large woman with a corset too tight. “You have nothing to seek here, elf. Kalancha is already in enough misery!”

Were these people just turning on him?

Fortunately, Eric stepped in and defused the situation. In the meantime, Milnor paid his respects to the woman and returned her son’s scarf. She didn’t say much and only gave a muttered “thank you.” She sobbed and buried her face in the yellow wool.

It wasn’t enough for Milnor. A scarf was all they had to prove the little boy was gone. And the rest was the belief in the ghost of a dead woman hungry for children. He needed more, more evidence. Milnor wasn’t a particularly smart elf, but he had a thing for scavenger hunts.

“Excuse me,” Milnor said as he turned back to Maria, who was still by the crying mother. “Where is the field her son was playing in?”

Maria pointed north.

Once the crowd had finally dispersed, and the woman was brought home by Eric and Maria, Milnor spent some time inspecting the well. First, he checked for any marks that would stand out. If the Wailing Fay had taken the boy down the well, perhaps he could find hints of a struggle or simply traces in the moss of someone crawling down. He found no such thing.

Now, he could look for prints. That was something he did retain from the teachings of his tribe. Tracking. And he was darn good at it. That’s what made him a good cartographer, always knowing where to go.

Milnor checked for prints in the mud at the foot of the well, preferably ones that came from the north, from the field. If the boy had been brought here, there would be evidence of it on the ground. And since this was an unpaved road, there was plenty of mud to leave tracks in!

Unfortunately, the crowd earlier had really made a mess in the mud. There was no clear, distinguishable set of footprints Milnor could isolate. But then, as he looked outside the apparent circle the crowd had shuffled in, he noticed a set of older footprints, possibly from the night before. He knew that because the mud had dried entirely around it. Those footprints seemed to indeed come from the fields and were heading straight to the well. Even better, now that he’d isolated that particular pattern, he identified the same one a few feet ahead, heading east, towards the woods. That was definitely a trail he’d follow.

The tracks led to the woods surrounding the village. The forest here was made of thick pine trees that formed a dark shadowy mass. Despite his excellent eyesight, Milnor couldn’t see further than a few feet away through the foliage.

It was strange that someone would have gone from the well to here in the middle of the night. Also, Milnor didn’t expect ghosts to leave tracks. Something else must be going on—he was sure of it.

He stepped into the dark woods, following the track as best as possible. It only took a few steps for him to realize how silent the forest was. Not even the sound of birds or wind through the pines. That was unnaturally odd.

Milnor walked further and deeper into the darkness. At some point, he even realized he was walking without looking at the ground, without following the tracks. He searched the ground with his eyes and couldn’t find anything but dead grass. It was so strange.

It was as if Milnor had awoken from a brief daydream guilty of making him lose the trail. He turned around, hoping to see tracks right behind him. Instead, what he saw was something he couldn’t explain.

The pines around him seemed to have drawn closer, their needles almost touching his skin. Milnor was startled by their proximity like the trees were ready to swallow him. He turned back, and the forest was gone. Before his eyes was now only darkness.

It was time to run away.

Milnor didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate twice. He had to get out of there as fast as he could. He spun on his heels and began to run. Fear overtook him and it would soon paralize him if he didn’t act.

It was like the entire forest was closing on him. The trees and branches moved to form two walls coming closer and closer, nearly trapping him. Milnor was fast, but would he be fast enough?

He finally made it out, but not before a thorn scratched his arm open. Blood dripped out of the wound, and Milnor gasped. This made him lose balance, and he fell down, tumbling down the hill he’d found himself on. Once he lost momentum, he landed on his back, eyes closed, his arm hurting.

“Kiisa!” Milnor exclaimed out loud. That wasn’t a very nice Elvish word…

He needed a few seconds of shallow pants to regain his senses. He opened his eyes, and to his surprise, it was night.

Milnor walked back to the village alone in the dark of the night. He really couldn’t explain what had happened. How could it already be night while he had woken up just a mere hour ago? How long had he spent in that forest without his knowing? There could only be one explanation: there was magic at play.

Milnor didn’t know much about magic, only that he wanted to stay far away from it. If this village was suffering from a magical curse, the ghost story people tell could still, in a way, be true. Just not the truth they’d expected.

The air was cold. Milnor accelerated the pace. Everyone was probably already inside their homes. All the lights in the houses were out. What time was it?

Milnor made it to the square where the well was. That was as close as he got to the stabler’s house.

He stopped when he saw what was standing by the well, or rather who. A woman in white. He could hear her sobbing from where he stood.

Was it the desperate mother from this morning?

No, Milnor knew it wasn’t because he recognized the woman in white. She was the same woman from his dream last night.

This was a trick, a magic trick. That was the only explanation. And yet, despite how much rationality he wanted to give the situation, Milnor couldn’t stop himself from feeling fear. And the fear rose quickly.

The woman was now looking at him. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he could feel them aiming at him. She’d stopped wailing.

“What do you want?” he eventually asked despite the lump in his throat.

The woman didn’t respond, but that didn’t dissuade Milnor from asking more, even if his senses told him to run.

“Who are you?”

She said nothing, but he could hear whispers in the air. The quieter he was, the more he could hear. Milnor didn’t dare close his eyes to focus on the sounds. The woman still stared.

But he had to blink, and as he did, he heard one final whisper.

“Oh, my children, where am I to take you?”

Opening his eyes, he no longer saw the woman. The main door of the Colemans’ home flung open at that moment.

“Milnor!” Eric called to him. “Get in! Quick!”

Milnor made a run for it. He reached Eric, who closed the door behind them. As the door closed, Milnor could swear the woman was standing by the well again.

“Where were you all day?” Eric asked, annoyed.

Milnor collapsed on a chair at the dining table. He needed a moment to calm down and to tend to his wounds. He didn’t want to show Eric his distress, but his hands still shook from fright.

“I was in the woods,” the elf eventually replied. “Searching for that boy.”

“That boy is gone, Milnor! You’re not from here. You don’t know this village like the rest of us. The Wailing Fay is the evil here. It’s what she does. Your questions bother the rest of us, and, to be honest, if it weren’t for your horse, I would have kicked you out of Kalancha a long time ago.”

Milnor said nothing else. It was best to let your interlocutor vent and walk away in these situations. Eric wouldn’t be on his side for this, and he knew it.

“Thank you, Eric,” Milnor said with candor. “Thank you for letting me stay.”

The conversation wouldn’t go further than this. Milnor headed to the guest room while Eric stayed in the living room and poured himself a glass of brandy.

***

Janeen was one of the least appreciated village elders. She lived secluded from the rest of the houses, near the forest to the west. Her backyard consisted of a large field of pumpkins.

Milnor had asked around the following day for where he could find more information on the Wailing Fay. He’d been directed to the elders, but they’d provided him with nothing new. Eric had mentioned an old woman who lived away from the Kalanchans, the village outcast, or so to speak. He said she was a little crazy, and some people even thought she was a bit of a witch. Milnor would find out for himself.

Janeen welcomed him with a cup of mint tea that didn’t really taste like anything but hot water. Her smile was full until her eyes and, even if she lacked teeth, she brought certain joy to the room.

“Haven’t seen an elf in a long time,” she said, full of excitement. “What brings you here to Kalancha?”

Milnor gave her the introduction he’d done at least seven times today.

“Well, if you’re here, it’s because you have nowhere else to go,” Janeen said, sitting down on her creaking chair. “So, tell me, what have you asked the others that they couldn’t give you a satisfying answer to?”

Milnor had figured this old woman was cunning. There was something in her attitude that inspired trust as well. Maybe she was a witch, but Milnor was sure she had nothing to do with whatever was going on in this village.

“I’d like to ask you about the Wailing Fay,” Milnor said.

Unlike the other inhabitants, the woman didn’t seem frightened by his words. Instead, she relaxed in her chair and started her story.

“The Wailing Fay is the spirit of a vengeful ghost who haunts our village,” She began. Milnor wanted to tell her that he knew the story already, but she’d anticipated that. “That’s what the whole village tells itself. But what they don’t say is exactly who the Wailing Fay was.

“Her name was Hildra. I haven’t seen an elf in a long time because she was the last elf I saw in my entire life. I remember her being so beautiful, with long blond hair, always wearing her gracious silk gowns from her village.

“They say she hated the village, but that’s just not true. She loved Kalancha. She grew white roses all along the main road just because of how much she loved this place. And she loved her husband, Peter. A handsome fellow. He was human, and they had two beautiful half-elven children who loved to play in the fields.

“It wasn’t Hildra who hated the village. It was the village that hated her. The men were envious, and the women were jealous. An elf, in Kalancha? I’m even surprised chubby Eric has welcomed you into his home. The real story is that everyone bullied her. They even went at it with her husband too. He ended up leaving her, taking their children with him. She was heartbroken. I saw her grow thinner and thinner with the weeks. I was but a little girl, but I liked Hildra. She gave me some of her roses from time to time.

“A few months later, there was an accident, and Peter and the children died. Bandits on the road to Thayra. Tragic. In sorrow, Hildra walked into the lake and drowned herself.

“The story people tell of Hildra is a way for them to sleep at night. The truth is, it is the village that tormented poor Hildra, and I’m not even surprised she still haunts this place, taking from us what we took from her.”

Milnor sat on a crude wooden chair, staring at the floor, listening to old Janeen. He needed some time to process the story, but that was one long tale. He really just had one question that mattered to him at this point.

“Do you really believe it’s a ghost?” Milnor asked.

Janeen inhaled deeply. “I believe people see a ghost, yes. I believe children go missing, and we don’t exactly know how. This village is cursed and will remain so even after I’m gone.”

“Why don’t you leave? You don’t seem to like this place very much.”

Janeen looked straight into his eyes. “Well, why did you leave your tribe?”

Milnor was taken by surprise. “I… It wasn’t a home for me. I didn’t belong.”

“Well, that’s it. Kalancha is my home. And the ghost isn’t interested in me anyway.”

Something crept in the back of Milnor’s mind. An idea was forming. Old Janeen had just said it—the ghost wasn’t interested in her. So, would it be safe to assume the Wailing Fay wouldn’t be interested in him either? She was after children, not adults. Perhaps he could wait until night and find a way to…to talk to it, do something, start a conversation. Ask her what she was really after. Before he’d set on doing that, Milnor needed to confirm one last detail.

“Did she ever harm anyone? Other than children?”

Janeen shook her head. “Not a single adult villager was ever harmed. I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Live your life as you wish and keep your children inside at night—it’s not complicated. We don’t have to live in fear. Evil spirits win if we do.”

Milnor remembered his dream, how scared he’d been. Janeen was right. He didn’t have much to be afraid of. And with that information, Milnor would head into the woods. He was sure there was something there, an answer. And it was waiting for him.

Milnor thanked Janeen and left her house and pumpkin garden. He had to walk through the village all the way back to the other part of the forest. At this rate, he would reach his destination at dusk. Good. He could have a tete-a-tete with a ‘ghost’ and solve this mystery once and for all.

He didn’t see Eric on his way to the other side of the forest, but that was alright. He didn’t have much to say to the guy anymore anyway. Sad, but he’d get over it. Friends weren’t his thing. Eric, at this point, was just a service. The man whom he’d paid to treat his horse. Milnor did get a chance to check up on Sarra in the late afternoon. She was healing fine. She’d be ready to go again soon, hopefully by the next sunrise.

Milnor made it to the edge of the village. He marched into the forest, resolute. He walked further and further into the darkness of pines and cedars. Once more, as expected, the trees closed in on him like moving walls. He didn’t mind. He had to ignore it so he could break through whatever mind game was going on.

He kept on going, despite the illusion that he would suffocate if he continued. He kept walking ahead—the forest now formed a single alley toward total blackness.

But then, as he walked some more, something changed. The darkness was no longer a solid dead end. It transformed into an opening. The trees stopped moving. Milnor was freed from the thousand needles piercing into his skin.

He walked to where the trees stopped, out of the forest. He now stood in a large clearing, one he’d definitely seen before. He could see everything thanks to the moonlight. It was the middle of the night again, but he’d expected as much. A large lake stretched before his eyes, and everything was as still as a stone.

He was back where his dream had taken him two nights ago. The exact same decor, as if he’d actually been there. This was beyond strange. He’d never seen this place, never been here, yet somehow he knew for sure that he’d been here before. Even in this dimly lit darkness, he recognized it all.

It became clear that he’d already been here when Milnor heard a whisper behind him.

We are going forever.

A familiar voice. Her voice.

The Wailing Fay.

Flashbacks to his dream made him wonder, for a second, whether he’d ever awoken.

Milnor checked over his shoulder, and when he turned back, she was standing there, right by the lake. And surrounding her were reclined figures of all sizes scattered on the ground. Milnor couldn’t exactly see what they were, until the smell reached his nostrils.

The scent of rotting flesh.

This place smelled of death now that he could see what it actually was. It wasn’t a lake. The water was thick, black, and oozed like blood. He drew one conclusion: one that mortified him to his bones. The shapes on the ground were too small to be the bodies of men.

They were the corpses of children.

All still wrapped in their clothes, all at different stages of decay. Some were simply bones, and not much of who’d they’d been was left.

Milnor’s stomach churned on itself, and he couldn’t stop himself from vomiting on the cold hard ground.

Once he raised his head again, the woman stood right before him.

The rasp in her voice made her breath sound like wind against a broken glass window. She breathed out but never in. She stared into his eyes, hers white like a cooked fish’s.

That’s when Milnor realized this creature, whatever it was, was not a ghost. It was no spirit or apparition. It was something much, much worse.

The Wailing Fay was made of flesh and bones. She was alive, or perhaps more…not dead.

And then it hit him.

Undead.

An undead creature who fed off children.

Milnor was paralyzed. The stench settled down his throat and pricked at his lunges. He looked around at the carcasses that lay sprawled on the grass. One of those was fresher than the others. A little boy in a brown coat.

A little boy missing a scarf.

Milnor’s heart broke. He wanted to cry but couldn’t. The creature, whatever she was, stared him down, and he could feel nothing but hatred for it.

“Why are you doing this?” Milnor asked, his voice breaking.

This time, she inhaled deeply. “Fate,” she simply said. She’d answered in an Elvish dialect.

Fate? What did that mean?

Milnor wanted to fight, and he cursed fate itself for not having taken the sword he’d need for it.

“You lack fate,” she said, and Milnor realized the word meant power. It was confusing when both words resembled each other so much.

“You are not alone,” she said again.

Milnor was torn between his fright and his will to run.

“What are you?” he asked.

“I am everything this place holds. Remorse, regrets…guilt. What you see is what was made.”

“What the kiisa does that mean?”

The woman lay her cold hand on his shoulder, and her touch was like a blade of ice piercing through his skin.

“I am the horror that people built. But now, now that you’re here, I can spread.” She opened her mouth wide and jagged teeth surged from her jaw. “This exchange is over,” she said. Her voice had suddenly taken the darkest of tones. She didn’t sound like herself anymore.

The creature squeezed Milnor’s shoulder until it was so painful that he had to kneel. Her other hand gripped his neck and pressed so hard that Milnor felt his throat crack. He was on his knees, staring into the creature’s eyes because he couldn’t look away.

Her skin began to rip open in various places. Maggots and crawlers slid out of her wounds onto the floor. A black beetle escaped her mouth. Out of her skin grew something else, a shadowy figure that peeled itself off the Wailing Fay’s body, leaving an empty shell behind that collapsed to the floor. The shadow now stood in front of Milnor, holding him, penetrating him with its dark glare.

Whatever it was, Milnor was about to give up. He saw his life flash before his eyes. He felt it, he felt it all. The end.

Oh, how he’d wished he’d written more to his mother. Oh, how he’d wished things had been different. He wasn’t an exemplary son, and he wasn’t a good elf, for that matter.

He was a failure. The village’s laughing stock. A powerless elf who’d run away because that’s what he always did: run.

But he wouldn’t run now. He couldn’t. And that was how his miserable life would end.

Oh, how he’d wished he’d found love.

Those were his last thoughts before he…

The shadow creature entered his eyes and mouth and spread through his body like air. Within seconds, Milnor lost his grip on all reality and sank into a deep pit of darkness, down a never ending well. He was caught in the freefall of his unconscious, never to reach the ground, never to land on his feet, lost forever, drifting endlessly.

The night after Milnor’s disappearance, the people of Kalancha slept quietly. For the first time in forever, they didn’t hear the sobs, wails, or gut wrenching screams of a desperate woman who had been wronged. Some wondered what had changed. Others were hopeful. Could this be the end of their horror?

A few weeks later, it was finally confirmed. The Wailing Fay was gone. Not a single soul had seen her, not even in their dreams.

The villagers searched the dark woods that had been her lair for so long. Much to their sorrow, many families were reunited with what they’d lost. Or, at the very least, with answers.

Milnor, as strange as it may seem, had disappeared. His body was never found.

The post Tellest Short Story – The Wailing Fae appeared first on Tellest.

A Tale by Michael DeAngelo

Spira hopped down from the window, landing on the warped wooden floor, kicking up dust and dirt as she caught her footing.  The other windows, still retaining their tempered glass after many years, seemed to catch the light from far above, leaving the wooden temple alight.  It was the perfect way to see how badly time had treated the rest of the building, with nature reclaiming some of it in places, while decay and rot had taken others.

Spira thought of that balance, of life and death, and hummed when she thought that she and her companions were perhaps bringing more of it into the place.

There were, after all, the remains of some very old people said to be there.

“What do you see, Spira?” she heard from outside.

“I don’t see much,” she replied, whispering as though she knew that the place was owed some reverence.  “Isn’t that why we brought Olarind?”

“You were the easiest one to lift through the window,” she heard then.  The man’s voice was coarse and strong, and he cared not for limiting the power of it, even knowing where they planned to venture.

“Only by a bit,” she muttered.  “He weighs as much dry as I do after a pouring rain.”

“Is that so?” Olarind said as he appeared in the window, balancing upon the ledge.

“You always sound so prim and proper when you speak,” Spira said.

“Well, I am an elf,” he stated matter-of-factly, as though that was reason enough for his measured words and even tone.

Spira placed her fists on her hips and tilted her head to the side.

“Fine then, half-elf,” he said, not bothering to hide his dual lineage.

“And while you only weigh a tad more than me,” Spira said, “you’re the same age as me, so your whole ‘sagely’ act doesn’t weigh as much as either of us.  Besides, didn’t you just figure out you were part elf within the last couple of years?”

Olarind squared his jaw as he stepped onto the temple floor, the boards beneath his feet creaking under his weight—in a way that it hadn’t when Spira had walked upon that same spot, she noted.

“Don’t remind him,” the next member of their troupe said as he hoisted himself up into the window.  A crack resounded as he balanced there, and while he looked as though he could care less about the old building’s weaknesses, Spira winced at the sound of it.  The burly, red-haired fellow in the window thought she was reacting to something else, though.  “Ah, don’t worry about it so much.  Getting out of the military was a godsend to this one.”  He punctuated his statement by dropping down into the temple.

Spira guffawed when the building held fast, and the man’s heavy boots didn’t crash right through the floorboards.

“A godsend?” Olarind wondered, his voice losing the stately sound he had forced earlier.  “I wouldn’t say losing all my friends and a means of living was a godsend.”

The older, red-haired fellow puffed out his chest.  “Don’t forget, a peaceful nature was what had people questioning your heritage in the first place.  And I found you a place to live far from Peritas, where you wouldn’t be harassed.  That doesn’t sound an awful lot like ‘thank you for all your help, Paulson’ to me.”

Olarind rolled his eyes.  “Yes, you found me a place to live—an abandoned cottage off in the woods.  I have to grow my own potatoes and turnips.”

“Right, and you love nature!”  Paulson grumbled and waved his hand, absconding from the conversation.  He turned around and reached one of his wide arms through the window, locking hands with the final member of their group.  “Come on then, Takarno.  And mind the horns when you’re on your way up.”

Spira caught herself staring as their final companion filled the frame of the window.  She knew better than to gaze, slack-jawed, but she couldn’t wrench herself from the sight of Takarno.  He was a fellow who had earned his sagely demeanor.  And he had seen much worse than Olarind could have dreamed of.

“Take solace in knowing you so easily found your new home, child,” Takarno said.  “My people were all driven out,” he reminded.

The old minotaur dropped from the window with almost regal poise.  It was as though the robe that covered his back had somehow found its way beneath his hooves, for he made no sound upon the wooden floor.

Olarind offered up a subtle nod.  “Blessings can be found in unforeseen places.”

Spira noticed that the measured cadence had returned to the half-elf’s voice then and failed to hold back a grin.

“Alright, enough of all that,” Paulson said.  “We’re here for some treasure we can line our pockets with, not to sit around and play at whose had a worse time these past few years.”

“The duration of my life is not merely ‘a few years’,” Takarno quietly countered.

Paulson grumbled as he moved forward, but Spira was there an instant later.

“What are you doing?” she asked.  “You brought me here to make sure that you didn’t walk right into danger, and that’s what you were just about to do.”

“That’s right,” Olarind stated.  “You don’t hire a thief and expect them to wait about.”

“I’m not a thief, I’m a locksmith,” Spira said, in a tone that indicated that she was quite tired of having to make that distinction.  “And I could certainly benefit from a half-elf who has been learning magic in his free time.  There isn’t exactly a lot of light in here.”

“Understood,” he replied.  “That is something I can help with.”  He grasped toward his hip, pulling on the woven rope that hung from there.  In a moment, a tome sat within one of his hands, while a finger on the opposite one traced the words on the pages or flipped to later ones.  “Ah, here we go,” he said.  Under his breath, he muttered an ancient chant, and none of his companions could tell whether the words were spoken in the common tongue, or in elvish.  Either way though, only a few moments later, light emanated from the pages of the tome, filling the room with a glow that a dozen torches would still have had difficulty competing with.  The area around the tome wasn’t so awash with light that it blinded those near Olarind, and the other three adventurers nodded, intrigued by the magic in use.

Spira set to work, looking about at the pews that lined the temple.  Most had fallen into disrepair, collapsed into the floor, or broken at their foundations.  But a pair of them, the closest to the pulpit, stood standing, and as she drew closer to it, she sensed just how odd that was.  She knocked on them, understanding that they were sturdier than the rest by far, as though they were made of stone, and just covered with a wooden façade.

She waved down Olarind, beckoning the half-elf toward her.  “Tilt your book this way,” she said.  “Something isn’t right about these things.”  She pointed her finger at the benches as though she were touching them, but she knew better than to attempt a tactile test.  Spira tilted her head then, and grabbed Olarind’s arm, tilting his hand until the light fell upon the pew in a way that confirmed her suspicion.

“…and this slot…” she muttered, stuck in her own thoughts, and offering up no explanations to the rest of her group.  She knelt down, and pointed at another spot on the pew that was worthy of her attention, and then followed through with a folding motion with her other hand.  Spira hummed when she rose once more, and she peered over toward the pulpit.  Reaching back again, she moved Olarind’s hand back and forth, and she smiled at the sight of the glimmer near the floor.

Olarind looked at the other two adventurers, and shrugged in confusion.

“Alright.  Thankfully, I get to prove my worth right from the get-go,” the eager locksmith and trap-spotter assured.  “Paulson, can you get me a piece of wood that’s about, oh, this wide?” she asked, bringing her hands about a foot away from one another.  “And then after that, I need everyone to take two big steps back.”

Paulson aided her as requested, providing a hunk of debris that looked like it might crumble in his hands before he could ever transfer it to her.  Spira took hold of it though and slung it across the chamber.  Even from afar, her three companions could see as a wire was displaced by the wood falling upon it.  The benches reclined, and a sound like the cutting of air became apparent in the room.

The burly, former soldier folded his arms across his chest.  “How’d you know those hidden blades would be there?” Paulson asked as the benches reverted back to their original position.

“Part of being a locksmith is looking for the things that don’t make sense.  A lot of times, people don’t want their items found, and they go to terrible lengths to ensure that the things they care about are always protected.”  Spira spun her fingers about as she indicated toward the pews again.  “I think about this whole temple as one big treasure chest that someone really doesn’t want us to find.

“Although…” she went on.  “Even as tucked away as this place is, someone would have found their way here.  And not just anyone would have been ready for a trap like that.”

“So, you’re saying that someone must have found this place before us?” Paulson asked.

Spira nodded.  “Finding the temple would be the easy part, if anyone had ventured down from the crater.”  She walked across the room then, paying attention to her steps to ensure there weren’t any other traps along the way.  As she reached one of the windows, she looked through the glazed glass, finding one that was colorless.  There, in the distance, she could see the opening far above, where the sun shone through, although the stained glass obscured her vision enough that she couldn’t see the long stretch of rope that would help the group return to the world above.  “Depending on the light, you could even see this place from up above,” she went on.  “I’d find it hard to believe, after all this time, that none had found the place.”

Paulson folded his arms across his burly chest.  “Well, I did hear word of it through a missionary at the temple in Peritas,” he admitted.  “But they said they didn’t come inside.  Perhaps they didn’t even venture down into the crater.”

“A wise decision,” Takarno said then.  “There are far more dangerous things that reside on Ippius than weathered traps.”

“Weathered they may be,” Spira admitted, “but they have retained their edge, I’m sure.  Whoever built them knew that there would be people looking to pilfer the place.  What I’m surprised about is that the wires are still intact after all this time.  And that’s to say nothing about the bodies.”

“What bodies?” Olarind wondered.

“Exactly,” Spira replied.  “With a trap this refined and deadly, I would assume it’s claimed at least one victim.”

Paulson hummed to himself and ventured nearer to the wire.  “Let’s not be too hasty in our speculation.  There are plenty of things that could have happened.  The longer we spend chatting, the darker it will be before we go down into the lower levels of the place and find our bounty.”

“And the greater the chance that someone discovers our presence here,” the old minotaur warned.

“Don’t worry, Takarno,” Paulson said.  “Nobody knows we’re here.”

That did seem to placate the minotaur somewhat, and he drew his focus toward the pulpit.

Paulson glanced at Olarind and Spira then as well and waved them over as well.  As they made their way toward him, he drew his sword and balanced it against the floor, just a few inches from the wire that would set off the trap.

Spira shuddered at the sight.  If the sword toppled, or Paulson lost his balance, that could have been it for the lot of them.  She shook her hands and forced out a delicate breath, but hurried along, stepping over the wire with an exaggerated motion to ensure that Olarind knew to do just such a thing as well.

A moment later, Paulson joined the companions on the other side of the wire, and the lot stepped beyond the pulpit.

“Alright, so the rumors are that some of the first men were buried here ages ago,” he said.  “Well, there’s no burial chambers here that I can see.  That must mean that there’s something hidden.  And no one is going to go through all the trouble to plant a trap like the one we just saw unless it’s protecting something.  So, let’s all keep our eyes peeled for—”

“Got it,” Spira said.  She pointed to a bookshelf against the back wall, and began moving toward it, her digit seeming like an arrow flying through the air.  As she reached the shelf, her finger brushed up against the spine of an old tome.  The other three in her group noticed what had caught her attention then: the book had been put in its place upside down.  “It looks like this was always the secret book, too,” she went on.  “Look at the title: The World Below.”

Takarno passed a glance to Paulson then.  “You’re certain she hasn’t been here before?”

The burly human smiled with pride.  Bringing Spira along was a choice well made, and he was content just to watch her unravel one clue after the next.

“As best I can tell, there aren’t any triggers associated with any traps on this side of the room,” she said.  “The lot of you might want to take a step back and another to the side, just in case.”

Her three companions did as they were requested, offering up some room, without venturing too close to the wire drawn across the floor beyond the pulpit.

Spira slid the peculiar book from the shelf then, and when nothing happened, she let her shoulders drop a little.  She turned to Olarind, and pointed at his clerical manuscript then, and the half-elf hurried to her side.  Without being pressed, Olarind allowed the light of his gods to shine through the pages, illuminating the rest of the bookshelf, including the recess where The World Below once sat.  There, in the back of the shelf, a small switch had been fashioned.  Spira reached inside, squeezing her narrow hand between the other books, and depressed the switch.

A moment later, the bookshelf lurched forward, sliding away from the place it looked like it had been set within.

“I’ll be,” Paulson said.  “Finding the temple might have been a touch easier than it should have been, and folks may have laid eyes on it over the centuries.  But I’ll doubt it if anyone besides the person who flipped that book and the four of us have ever ventured below the surface.”

Spira grabbed hold of the bookshelf, and slid it out, the piece of furniture rotating into an open position that displayed the descent the quartet was bound to take.  For there, before them, was the entrance to an old stone stairwell, darkness spilling up from the catacombs below.

“Well,” the youngest adventurer in the group said then, “what are we waiting for?”

*          *          *

“…and they were never able to figure out why, but they would leave behind these tracks that looked like a wagon had pulled them.  It never seemed to be to anywhere specific though.  Just these big ol’ rocks in the middle of nowhere in the desert, looking like someone had gone and moved them in their sleep and moved on before they woke up, none the wiser for why it happened.  Folks have come to call them “dragstones”, although to me that sounds a bit more akin to a dragon than I’d want to call them, especially since they’re so close to the Dragon’s Bane Mountains.”

When Olarind reached the bottom of the spiraling stone staircase, he practically ran ahead, and only slowed when he remembered the rest of the group would likely benefit from the light of his tome.

Besides, the sight before him had his heart in his throat, and he doubled back toward the stairwell.

“Alright then,” Paulson whispered as he reached the catacombs then.  “Let’s cut the chatter.”  He turned about just in time to stop Olarind from running into him, and he grabbed the lad with a steady hand.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Spira said from up above.  “It’s not a library.”  Even as she spoke though, she could feel the reverence that emanated from her companions.  When she followed Takarno into the open corridor below, she understood the apprehension the others were saddled with.

There, embedded in the walls of the place, were dozens of skulls—perhaps hundreds, as the corridor gave way to shadow where Olarind’s book could not quite shine.

“Well, this is horrifying,” Spira said, matter-of-factly.

“I do not have a warm place in my heart for humankind,” the minotaur said, “but there is something about this place that chills it colder than I’ve ever felt before.”

“Do you think they were placed in there like that?” Olarind asked Paulson, the only one brave enough to draw close to the nearest wall.  “Or do you think they were just…disembodied heads that rotted away.”

Paulson squared his jaw as he glanced at the heads that were closest to eye level with him.  “No, this far down, you can feel it in the air, it’s not ripe for rot.  Whatever would have been put down here would have been mummified.  And if there was flesh, there would have been rodents, and they would have plucked them right from the walls.”

As Spira marched up beside him, he pulled a wineskin from his belt, and pulled out the stopper with his teeth.  After taking a swig of his own, he held it out to the young locksmith.

She was already waving her hand though.  “I don’t partake.  I have to keep steady for locks and traps.”

“Fair enough,” he said, finally matching her volume.  He looked at Olarind then and tossed the wineskin to him.

The half-elf caught it with a clumsy hand, tottering the drink and his tome for a moment before properly balancing the pair.  In that time, Paulson’s gaze fixed behind him, and he turned to see what had caught his attention.

“Takarno,” the burly redhead said.  “Do you think you can help me with that?”

The minotaur turned about then as well, and spotted the torch that sat within a sconce, just outside of the stairwell.  It was wrapped in old linens and looked just as likely to crumble away as catch fire.  Still, Takarno was not known to be conservative with his magic.  He reached into his satchel, and pulled out a stack of flattened scrolls, peering through them until he spotted one of the ones that would help Paulson achieve his goal.

“Olarind, I shall need your light until I can create my own,” the wise old minotaur said.  “Come this way and illuminate these words.”

Eager for any additional light to fill the corridor, the half-elf hurried to his companion’s side.  His tome’s brilliant radiance shone upon the parchment, showing the words that the minotaur had previous inscribed there—a language that Olarind was unfamiliar with—as well as a picture that depicted the intended effect of the spellcraft.  Before Olarind could inquire about the contents of the scroll, Takarno held it out, and read the words, a glance at the parchment unnecessary, as he had reminded himself of the chant he had once written.

“Ootevin y’atwa, kuvnyen tao okatadi.  Avayaheytai atto tiaskai.”  As Takarno spoke, his already wise and powerful voice seemed enriched by the magic he called upon.  An otherworldly force empowered him, giving his lyrical intonations an echoing quality, which had even Spira looking this way and that as though it was too loud for comfort.

At once, a speck of orange light cast up and off from the parchment, landing upon the torch at the wall.  In an instant, flames engulfed the linens, giving Paulson a tool which he could use to help brighten the catacombs.

Just as quick as the fire set upon the torch, so, too, did it seem to eat away at the scroll in Takarno’s possession.  He remained unflinching, even as the parchment faded away to ash around his fingers.  He needed not worry, for the flames did not linger long enough to hurt him.

“What was that?” Olarind asked.  “Why did your codex just go up like that?”

Takarno hummed for a second.  “Your book is a connection to your gods, and you use it to retain a stable relationship with them.”  He let his words hang there for a moment, as though he wanted to ensure the first of his lessons had been well imparted.  He tilted his head to the side then and looked down at the remainder of his stacks of parchments.  “My work is chaos.  The aether is unstable by nature, and we are not meant to keep it in perpetuity.  Once my scrolls play their part, the magic returns to whence I called it forth.”

Olarind nodded, unwilling to press the conversation forward.  The lad sent the old minotaur an impressed gaze as he stepped aside.

Spira was quick to fill in that gap.  She was behind Takarno as he turned about, and he flexed his legs hard enough that he almost hopped in the air as a reflex.

“That was the minotaur language, was it not?” Spira asked before Takarno could right himself.  “I’ve never heard it before, but it truly has some beauty in it, doesn’t it.”

As Takarno relaxed once more, he closed his eyes and bowed his head to the girl.  “To be honest, it is a language that I do not hear very often myself.  It almost seems strange to speak it. There are not many of us left in the archipelago.  The prospect of being found did not sit well with my people.  Being discovered would not mean a polite request to find some new home hundreds of miles away.  But my grandfather was too old and too proud to venture far from where he’d placed new roots.”  Takarno let silence fill most of the gaps of history, but he looked back to Spira, always trying to figure out the last pieces of whatever puzzle she tried to solve.  He sent her a sympathetic gaze, then.  “I have no one left to practice the old language with.  When I pass, I may have been the last one in Ippius who spoke it.”

The girl bowed her head then as well, more in solemnity than as a show of respect.  “It is a tragedy what happened to your people,” she said.  She corrected herself a second later, though.  “What was done to your people.”

“Greed will always drive those to seek more than they have, and more than they need.  If anything, there is a bright spot in what I’ve seen in these twilight years of my life.  When I was younger, the thought of sharing an adventure with the three of you would have been but a fever dream.”

Spira offered up a beaming smile.  “I know it’s no consolation for what was done to the minotaurs, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here with us.”

Takarno shared in her positivity then.  He stepped forward and placed his hand on her far shoulder, the pair taking time to find their way along the corridor.

Far ahead, the two who bore the light took care to watch their steps, and the walls around them.  The skulls continued to lead the way, and whenever the torchlight passed a column of them, Olarind could not help but hurry his steps, drawing closer to Paulson.

“Do you think this place might be the tomb of Arthur Ipparius?” the young half-elf wondered, trying to draw his thoughts away from the more macabre surroundings.

Paulson shook his head emphatically.  “First off, I don’t think Arthur was real.  I think that was just a fairytale we were told as children to make us feel pride for driving out the lagano.  I also think Argos still uses it to paint those of us in Peritas as descendants of Norkoth.”  He waved his hand of that notion though.  “That’s neither here nor there, though.  Even if Arthur, Iona, and Norkoth were real, all of this seems to predate them.  It may even be older than the culling.  If it is, it could prove that humans found their way to Arthica in greater numbers than we’d ever believed.  These could very well be some of the first men.”

“The Kalistrazi?” Olarind wondered aloud.

“You’ve heard of them?” Paulson asked.  “They talk about them on the mainland a bit more often than here in Ippius.”

“I’ve had more time on my hands these days,” the half-elf reminded his former compatriot.  “You really think this place could be nearly a thousand years old?”

Paulson flattened his lips and gave a shake of his head.  “I think calling them the first men gives off the idea that they only existed outside the caves and mountains for a few years before they passed.  But I’ve heard that some of them went on for decades, maybe even a century after the fact.  They say the same thing that gave them their powers gave them longevity.  Not all of them, mind you, but some.”

“And this could have been made in that time.”

“It could have indeed.”  He chuckled.  “Can you imagine?  If we’ve happened upon a Kalistrazi tomb, and can prove it… Well, whatever we find here could buy us a palace.”

“Right on the water,” Olarind dared to imagine as well.

“For each of us,” Paulson said, the torchlight and illumination from the half-elf’s tome setting his widened eyes aglow.

A different sparkle caught his gaze a few moments later, however.  After trekking down the length of the macabre corridor, they drew close to the end.  While sturdy wooden doors began to interrupt the long stretches of skull-fixed walls, it was the open area at the end of the hallway that called to Paulson most fiercely.  Even from afar, the torchlight and magical radiance landed upon piles of gold and gems and other treasures.

Before he realized it, Paulson’s pace increased threefold.

“Hold it!” he heard then.

Though Spira’s voice was a bit higher pitched, and she was far younger than he, Paulson still felt authority in her command.  He stopped in his tracks, and turned sharply to his side, waiting for her and Takarno to arrive before him.

She paused and peered down the hall, finally understanding why her companion was so eager.  Spira turned though and looked at the fellow who had brought the group together.  An arching eyebrow demonstrated a bit of disappointment there.  “You don’t think it’s rather suspect that the only way forth that doesn’t have a doorway is showing piles upon piles of riches?”

Paulson had to stop himself from countering with a protest.  He knew right away that she was right.  There was bound to be some sort of trap.  Unless…

“Well, what if the blades upstairs were the only protection that they thought they needed when they created these catacombs?”

“It’s possible, but you didn’t bring me here to watch out for one trap,” Spira said.  “You brought me here to spot all of them.  Let me at least look.”

Paulson knew that she was right, and he swept his hand out to invite her to take the lead.

Spira didn’t stop there though.  She reached up and plucked the torch from Paulson’s hand then.  She held it toward the floor, trying to see if any of the carefully crafted stones seemed especially different to the rest.

“What are you looking for?” Paulson asked.

Humming to herself, Spira crouched low.  “Well, typically a type of trap isn’t going to be used twice.  We already saw a wire trap up above, and the only way to see down here is with a light source, and that would typically show a reflection in the wire.  I’m thinking perhaps they went with a pressure plate of some sort, but nothing tells me that they went that route.”  She looked to the columns of skulls that still lined the corridor between the doors.  “Wait.  Alright, you lot, take a few steps back, and Paulson, you take the torch again.”

“What are you up to, Spira?” the burly redhead asked.

“We’ve been thinking that the skulls are just a ghastly decorative style here, but what if there’s a functional reason for them as well?”

“Such as?” Olarind pressed.

“Well, if it was me developing a trap, I would have it so that there was some sort of light that crossed from a skull on one side to the other, and if the beam was broken, it would trigger whatever danger you could fashion.  Go on.  Let me stand in the darkness a moment to see if my suspicion is correct.”

Though confused, her three companions obliged, taking the torch and the tome, and heading back the way they came.  Spira looked back at them, waving them back farther.  If she could still see them, the light they cast might have gone too far.

But then, a quiet noise sprang up from the darkness.

“Huh,” Spira said.  “There’s nothing that I can see.  Sorry to have you stretch your legs a bit.”  As the group returned to her, she nodded rhythmically.  “Let me take the lead.  If there was a trap that I missed, it should be on me to trigger it, not any of you.”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Paulson assured.  “They only thought they needed the one trap up there.  This place isn’t exactly on a map, and it’s remained hidden for all these years.  I think the worst is behind us.”

Spira handed the torch back to Paulson, but stayed close to him, her gaze darting back and forth as they neared the end of the corridor.  Eventually, even her focus drifted toward the treasure which was piled against the back wall of the last chamber.

The most plentiful riches were the heaps of gold coins.  There wouldn’t be enough room in anyone’s backpack to carry as much as they wanted, and Spira could tell that Paulson was excited about the prospect of a return trip to collect as much as they could get their hands on.  But interspersed with the coins were faceted gems, beautiful goblets, necklaces of pearl and malachite, candleholders, bowls, jars, and dozens of other attractive items that would certainly fetch a fine price at the market in Peritas.

As attractive as all the coins were, it was the mural painted onto the wall above that caught Spira’s attention soon after.  Old as it was, she was unfamiliar with the style, but it seemed to evoke a feeling of heroism, of mighty deeds and quests achieved.  She was so taken by the art, that she didn’t realize that there were a trio of sarcophagi in the chamber.

Paulson couldn’t take it any longer.  He broke out in a cheer, and leapt into the air, turning about to see the mirth that his other companions shared.  This was it—they knew.  After that day, nothing would ever be the same.

While Takarno shuffled past, Spira reached out and grabbed Olarind by the crook of his arm.

“Hey!” he grumbled.  “What are you doing?”

“I need some light up there,” Spira said, pointing toward the mural.  She brought the half-elf’s attention to the artwork, but also the letters that were etched into the wall there.  While the rest of the walls had been fashioned out of old, uneven material—likely whatever stone was already present underground—the mural was achieved atop finely hewn stone.  Just above where the rest of the wall transitioned, words that she could decipher were present.  “I can’t tell if that’s an unfamiliar language, or—”

“It’s just weatherworn from age,” Olarind suggested.  “Here.”  He unhooked the tome from his hip and handed it to his companion so that she could use it to discern the writing above.

As he drew near to Paulson, already digging through the piles of gold, he let out a guttural grunt of satisfaction.

“Can you imagine?” Paulson asked.  “A palace by the ocean?  Well fie on that.  We’re going to have enough money that we could buy Risolde out of the castle if we want.”  He leaned back then and glanced at his minotaur friend.  “Takarno, we’ll build walls around your entire island.  You’ll never have to worry about being found out there.”

Olarind turned around then and passed Spira a bit of a smirk.  “Your days of thievery are long behind you now.”

For a moment, Spira seemed deaf to the comment, for she was so taken by the sight of the art and the message associated with it.  Whether she was conscious of it or not, she said “I’m not a thief,” back to them, with very little conviction behind the statement.

While the others filled their bags with gold and trinkets, Spira continued to gaze at the mural.  It depicted what looked like three great heroes, each represented by a separate section of the wall.  On the left, a woman with a chalice seemed to float in the air, holding a sword in her free hand, which pointed toward the ground below.  In the center, a man held a tome atop his outstretched hand, with magical energy emanating from it.  On the right side, it looked almost as though the artist had failed to capture the proportions of the hero correctly, for their limbs looked longer than they ought to have been.

Shrugging off the strange art, Spira returned her focus again to the statement of the mural, holding Olarind’s tome aloft to better read it.

“A promise for her people.  A pledge to the world.  An oath for all time.”

Each sentence looked to represent the hero depicted in the art upon the same wall.  A chill ran up Spira’s spine when she read the ancient writing, and she stepped back reflexively upon pondering on it.  As the light shifted, she could see that there were smaller words etched beneath the previous words.

“Parasca Valerica.  Hara-Alecsandrai.  Thun-Sorin,” she said.  “Their names?”

She glanced at her companions then, seeing that they were not so content with just the treasures that lined the floor.  Instead, they turned to the sarcophagi, starting with the one on the left.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she asked.  “We already have more than enough.  We don’t need to disturb the dead any further.”

Paulson raised an eyebrow at the statement, but Olarind wore a mischievous grin.  “If they’ve got these treasures outside their coffins, imagine what was buried with them.”

“Takarno?” Spira pressed.

There was something about the way she asked that seemed to appeal to the old minotaur.  He gave a weary nod, and stepped away from the closest sarcophagus, returning to stand beside the girl.

With an otherworldly gasp, the stone slab atop the leftmost casket slid to the side, as though centuries of death and decay were finally able to escape after trying and failing.  Paulson’s eyes went wide, reflecting the light of the torch and the tome.  The burly fellow wasn’t frightened, but excited, and his companions realized why just a moment later.  He reached into the sarcophagus and pulled out a magnificent sword—the same one that was represented in the mural, it seemed.  Olarind spotted the other item that the woman was buried with, the gilded chalice, which was even more opulent than the image depicted.  Gemstones were fixed between colorful inlays, and the half-elf legs wobbled at the sight of it.

“This is it,” he said with a chuckle.  “This is how we start our own empire.”

“And this isn’t even everything,” Paulson said.  “We’ve got all those rooms out there, and two more coffins.”

As far from them as he was, Takarno was able to see the tremendous avarice in his companions.  He looked at Spira, who gave him a worried, knowing glance.

“Perhaps we are being too hasty,” the minotaur warned, softly.

If Paulson and Olarind heard him, they made no acknowledgement of the statement.  Instead, they moved to the next sarcophagus, sliding the stone slab aside.  Their eagerness betrayed them, and the lid fell off the top of the tomb, cracking into smaller pieces.

Spira shuddered and took a reflexive step back then.  Even Paulson and Olarind seemed to pause for a moment, distracted by the cloud of dust that burst into the air from the damaged sarcophagus.

But as soon as the cloud dissipated, they scavenged like vultures again, reaching in to pluck the treasures away from the desiccated corpse that had been interred there.  The tome that was represented in the mural was lifted from the sarcophagus—a leatherbound book with a beautiful golden circle upon it was held up, but it seemed to pale in comparison to all the other riches in the tomb.

As Paulson lay it back down, Spira thought for a moment that she saw an iridescent reflection cast out from its face.  It made no difference though and did nothing to stay her worries.  And as they reached toward the third sarcophagus, she could hold her tongue no longer.

“Stop.  We don’t need any more than we already have.”

Olarind shrugged and began to push on the slab.  “What are they going to do with it?  We can change our lives with all of these.”

As the stone slid aside, Spira couldn’t ignore the subtle differences between that coffin and the other two.  It seemed to move soundlessly to the side, there was no eagerness shown on the faces of her greedy companions.  Still, Olarind wouldn’t be dismayed, and he plunged his hand into the darkness, trying to fish out whatever treasures lay hidden there.

He grimaced, for he felt the corpse within, and did not seem to be finding anything of value.  His brow furrowed a moment later, and Spira and Takarno, looking on, froze in anticipation of what he’d found.

A cry rang out from past Olarind’s lips then, and he pulled his arm from the darkness, only to find that several of his fingers had been lost, a grievous wound marking their absence.  Blood poured from the site of the injury as he stumbled backward, and he looked ready to faint at the sight of mangled hand.

Paulson gave him a firm shove forward then.  “Get over there, lad,” he urged.

As the half-elf passed the coffin, a hand reached up out of it, slimy, fleshy fingers gripping the edge.  The person who had been buried there sat up, greasy, black hair cascading down a face that looked like all the skin had been torn off.  Instead, it looked as though only musculature remained, however the undead fellow’s vascular system, still under the fleshy outer bit, revealed that might have been a misinterpretation.  While Paulson stared at the fallen hero in fear, the haunting being stared back, through milky white eyes.

For a time, it looked as though the creature was content to only study the crypt robber.  But then, it opened its mouth, its jaw unhinging far wider than a normal person’s could, and it let out a blood-curdling wail as its tongue—easily a foot longer than was to be expected—slipped out of its mouth.

Reflexively, Paulson brought his hands to his ears.  Whether it was his sudden movements, or an evil streak that was always present in the risen dead, the monster sprang out, reaching forth with its hand.  Jagged fingers extended much farther than they should have, growing until they were the length of spears.  Without warning, the monster jabbed them through Paulson chest, drawing a scream from him.

“Go, child!” Takarno warned Spira as Olarind shuffled their way.

Hearing the sounds of their fleeing, the woken dead turned about, pulling back the horrid lances that impaled Paulson.  Spira could finally see him in all his grisly glory.  The fellow shifted unnaturally, spurs and spikes seeming to protrude from his body, along his joints, his spine, even atop his head in what looked like devilish horns.  As he stepped forth, Spira shifted the tome in her hands, and the light blinded the undead hero.  Another bloodcurdling screech erupted from him, provoking Spira to turn on her heel and run.

She knew that there was very little chance for her to outpace the monster, especially if it could elongate its limbs, and stretch them into deadly weapons.  Without being able to even see the spiral stairway at the far end of the corridor, she knew her chances of survival were bleak.

Spira couldn’t think about that much longer though, for she was grabbed around her side then.  She let out a frightened cry.

It occurred quick enough that Olarind’s tome spilled to the floor, and just striking the ground seemed to diminish its power.  That left the chamber that Spira was pulled into feeling much eerier and foreboding.  As she calmed herself, she realized that it was Tarkano who tugged her to safety, wrenching her into one of the side chambers that they’d passed by earlier.

As her adrenaline subsided, time, which felt as though it had raced forth like lightning, began to slow.  It was as though she was watching everything unfold from underwater.

“Bloody hell,” Olarind cried.  “Those were my favorite fingers.”  He hadn’t meant to say something so whimsical, but the shock had him unable to put words to sound with any manner of elegance.

Takarno leaned against the door, putting his heft against it.  Perhaps when he was younger, he would have seemed as though he’d had the strength to hold out whatever foul creature was out there.  But in his old age, it looked almost as though a strong wind could have blown the door open and bowled the minotaur over.

Fighting past her anxiety, Spira looked around the room, realizing that it, too, was meant to be an interment spot for the dead.  Holes in the wall were fashioned that were larger than the holes that held the skulls in the corridor outside.  Instead, old wooden coffins sat in those cavities.  Spira breathed quick and ragged, worrying about any other risen dead that might have been waiting for them in those coffins.  While her mind raced, it led her back to the monster outside.  From there, she replayed the final moments of her friend in her mind.

“Paulson,” she lamented.

“Don’t let grief take you,” Takarno warned.  “You must keep your heart strong if you mean to survive this day.”

Almost as soon as his words were spoken, a flesh-colored spike pierced through the area where the door met the frame.  It was just above Spira’s head, the girl’s slightly diminutive stature proving to be her saving grace.

Takarno was quick to act again, shoving her aside.

“Quick, give me something to bar the door,” the minotaur cried.  Spira was too shocked by the dead hero’s attempt to break through the room, and the half-elf was distracted by his pain.

But Takarno would not have any of it.  “Olarind, get me a damned coffin.”

The firmness in the minotaur’s voice twisted the hurt half-elf from his state, and he growled as he looked around to find the closest coffin.  He was not so worried about what might be inside as Spira was, but when he went to grasp one with his battered hand, he grunted in pain and confusion.  He quickly turned and used his other hand, tugging with all his might.  The coffin was old and crude, and whatever was once inside no longer held the same weight it once did.  It would still allow Takarno some respite though, and Olarind was quick to fumble it awkwardly into place.

The minotaur let go of a sigh of relief then, the noise growing richer as the creature’s spike withdrew from the door.

Like an axe splintering wood though, it came back through, piercing the center of the door, dangerously close to Takarno.  The minotaur gasped and hopped away, just in time to dodge a slash of the bodily weapon.

“Another,” he bade, waving Olarind on.

As Olarind grasped another of the lower coffins on his side of the chamber, Takarno hurried to the rows of coffins on his side of the room, pulling one out of a higher recess.

In time, the door was firmly blocked, and Takarno collapsed against the wall opposite the entryway.  He never took his gaze from where the coffins met the door.

By then, Spira had wrestled away her shock, and attempted to help to move more coffins into place.  A bit too short to reach the top row of caskets, she bowed her head, and fell to the floor as well.

Olarind took up a spot beside her, breathing in erratically through clenched teeth.

“Spira, I need your help.  I can’t stop the bleeding.”

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.  “I’m no healer.”

He nodded but grasped a handful of his robe then.  “I need you to tear away strips of my outfit.  Long strips.  I have to wrap my hand before I lose enough blood that I pass out.”

Spira fumbled for her equipment, first reaching toward the hip that a small hand crossbow hung from, before reaching for the opposite side, where an equally diminutive knife was situated.  She began by working at the bottom of Olarind’s robe, tearing an exceptionally long rotation of the linen that he was able to use.  Spira helped him to wrap it tight, but then sat staring at the blood that found its way to her hands.

She would have remained fixed on it as well, had the undead hero’s spikes not pierced through the door again.

“The knowledge that it remains out there is of some relief,” Takarno remarked wearily.

“It would be better if he were in here, and we were out there,” Olarind said, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling, so that he would not blanch at the sight of the blood soaking through his wrappings.

Takarno nodded.  “You heard what Paulson said,” he remarked, and the mere mention of their fallen companion’s name sucked the air out of the room.  Still, he went on.  “No one knows that we are here.  If we mean to find a way out, we’ll have to discover it on our own.”

Every time the minotaur spoke, it seemed that the creature outside tried that much harder to push his way into the room.

“Thun-Sorin,” Spira said then.  “I think that was his name when he was alive.  He swore an oath of some sort that must have upheld through his death, and now he’s become the monster he is.”

“He is indeed a frightening thing,” Takarno said, and as he spoke, Olarind’s eyes grew wide—in anger—and the lad held up his hand to show the wound he’d incurred.  “This world was lucky that he was locked down here, because if he ever…”  The minotaur’s words trailed off, and he looked toward the ceiling then as well.

Spira realized that he looked beyond the earthen roof above their heads, to the world above.  She gasped, realizing what they had done.

“He cannot be allowed to climb the rope to the rest of Ippius,” Takarno insisted.  “While I have no doubt that some of your sorcerers could find some means to stop him, he would slay many before that occurred.”

“How are we to prevent that then?” Olarind asked.  “I doubt he’d return to his coffin if we asked.”

Takarno hummed and looked past the injured half-elf.  A few moments later, he nodded.  “Spira, come sit beside me,” he said as he waved the young lady over.

She skittered over to him, her pace only quickened when Thun-Sorin’s blade came through the door yet again.

“We cannot trap him in these catacombs again,” the minotaur conceded.  “These doors all open inward, so we could not even hope to block him inside one of these rooms if we dared to try.  But we can keep him down here.  Once you make it to the top of the steps, you can close the bookshelf on him, ensuring he is never a danger to the world above.”

“But how do we get him in a room if we’re trapped here?”

Takarno bobbed his head, eager to tell the next part of the plan.  “If my suspicions are correct, the next room ought to be just like this one: rows of hollows, carved to hold the dead, just like they were here.  If they are positioned the same way—”

Spira’s eyes widened as she understood his plan.  “We could dig into the next room and try to escape from there.”

“The door from that room leads to the same corridor,” Olarind protested.  “We’re just trading one tomb for another.”

“Right,” Takarno said.  “One of us has to trap the fallen hero in here, with us.”

“And who would do such a thing?” Olarind asked.

The minotaur said nothing for a time, but Spira realized what he intended.  “Takarno, you can’t.”

“I would never be able to race to the end of the hall,” he assured.  “An escape attempt would be wasted on me.  But the pair of you?  You could make it out of this foul place.  You could warn the others above, and they would listen to you.”

“I can’t leave you here,” Spira said, tears beginning to wet the rims of her eyes.  “Especially after what happened to Paulson.”

“The alternative is us all joining these ancient people in this dismal crypt.  Please, Spira.  You were the one warning all of us.  You knew better than any of us what dangers could lie in the shadows of this place.”  He squared his jaw and looked at Olarind then as well.  “And you, child.  You’ve lost enough already.  It is time for you to go home.”

“All the treasure—everything we sought to come here for—trapped out there with him.”

“Your life is worth more than whatever you had hoped to gain here,” Takarno said.  He breathed out an anxious sigh then, and reached into his satchel, once more taking all the parchments out, and holding them in his hand.  “I’ll need some of these, in order to distract the monster.  But Spira, I want you to take the rest.  As I said earlier, I might be the last one to speak my people’s language on the archipelago.  Take my voice so that it may live on.”

She then sniffled and set her head on his shoulder.  The tears were freely falling then, for she knew she was speaking to a hero in his own rights, someone who should have been interred in a place like the one they were.

“If you should need to use these scrolls, they have been fortified by the aether.  Do you know what that means?”  He gave her a gentle push to ensure she could make eye contact with her.  “It means that you can say the words that activate the magic here.  They’ll work for you as well as they would me.”

“But I can’t speak your language,” she said.

“Maybe not now, but some day,” he said with a weary smile.  “You’re a smart girl.  I know you’ll go far in your life.  It is not meant to end here.”  Takarno leaned over, and gave her a warm embrace, before struggling to his feet, and helping her arrive at hers.  “I shall begin making some noise to keep his attention on this door.  You two, start digging.”

Spira swallowed away the tension in her throat and blew out the solemn air that infected her lungs.  Olarind was standing then as well, and he held up his battered hand.

“I think you’ll need to handle this task,” he said.  “But I can hold up the tome and offer you some light.”

She nodded, readying her knife once more.  He extended his leg, offering the girl a spot to step up from.  A moment later, she was in the earthen cavity where one of the coffins once sat.  The light from Olarind’s tome lit up the dirt around her then, and she could see the end of the hole.

Takarno began moving the coffins, slamming them against one another to produce a cacophony that would retain Thun-Sorin’s attention.  Spira started to chip away at the sturdy earth one piece at a time, throwing little piles of it behind her as best she could.

The risen Kalistrazi sent another terrifying screech into the air, and Spira froze, clenching her eyes shut.

“Keep digging,” Olarind bade.  “He’s frustrated.  That means Takarno’s plan is working.”

She squeezed out an unsteady breath, and did as the half-elf instructed, digging her knife deeper into the earth.  While she was worried that her tool would break, she was surprised to feel less resistance only a moment later.  The light of Olarind’s tome showed that her last endeavor had cut away the dirt between the two cavities.

A new hope ignited within her, Spira reached through with her hand, pulling away bits of dirt to enlarge the gap.

Behind her, a loud thump resounded against the door.  Takarno gasped, and Olarind looked away, moving the tome as he did.

“Olarind, I—”

“He’s breaking through the door,” Olarind said.  “Spira, you have to move faster.”

Panicking, she rolled to her back, freeing both of her hands for the task.  She began plucking palmfuls of dirt, knocking some down, and scattering it about.  Some made it into her hair, but she was lucky not to have anything obscure her vision.  Before long, she was certain she had made enough space to crawl through—if not for the coffin on the other side of the earthen wall.

“I can’t move this thing,” she said, struggling as she did.

Spira cried when she felt a hand wrap around her ankle and tug her back into the other room.  Olarind caught hold of her and helped to land her safely on her feet then.

She was surprised by the chunk of wood that had been splintered away from the door.  She could see Thun-Sorin’s frightening face, his milky white eyes peering into the chamber.

“K’puo vuxtas, k’puwoe tov aepa yth pouta yov.”

Spira turned just in time to see Takarno read off the last words of a scroll, and watched as it disintegrated into the air, a bluish tint to the fading parchment.  At once, a frigid air filled the room, coming to a point just before the minotaur’s outstretched hand.  A ray of blue energy shot forth then, blasting against the door, and forming a layer of ice atop the gap that Thun’Sorin had created.

“That won’t hold him forever,” Takarno said.  “Go!”

Spira turned to see Olarind already climbing into the gap that he had pulled her out of.  She offered her assistance, helping to push him into place.

A fierce growl rang out from within the hole then, and then a loud thud on the other side of the wall.

Takarno moved at once, throwing the coffins aside to create a louder cacophony in their chamber.  He pushed one closer to Spira then and offered her an assuring nod.

She dared not waste the time that the minotaur gave to her.  Spira hopped onto the coffin, and then jumped into the hole, watching as Olarind squirmed out through the other side.  Light filled the other chamber, the half-elf’s tome still casting enough radiance to make it look as though it was a place filled with hope.  Spira hurried along as well, taking Olarind’s hand when he offered it.

Once she landed on her feet there, she could see that the blood that soaked through his makeshift bandages dripped to the floor.  But they had no time to reapply them.

She ran toward the door, but Olarind reached out, keeping her from charging through it.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Not yet,” he bade.  “If we go too soon, this is all for naught.”

Though everything in her was telling her to run as fast as she could, she understood the rationale behind the half-elf’s words.

Together, they listened as the noises on the other side of the earthen wall continued to ring out.  And then, they stopped.  They heard Takarno grunt, and groan, and move about in the room, and knew that Thun-Sorin had made his way inside.

“Ootevin y’atwa, kuvnyen tao okatadi!” Takarno cried.  “Avayaheytai atto tiaskai!”

Spira recognized that chant as the same one that the minotaur had said earlier when he was lighting the torch for Paulson.  A roaring flame in the next room confirmed her suspicion, and she heard as the risen hero cried out in fear or pain.

“Now!” Olarind pressed.

Together, both of them pulled the door open…

…only to see a large figure waiting for them in the corridor.

Paulson’s eyes went wide as theirs did, but he reached forth at once, covering their mouths with his hands, grimacing as he did.  When he was certain they would contain their voices, he stumbled back, gnashing his teeth as he reached toward his injured shoulder.

“What?” Olarind said.

“How is this possible?” Spira asked.

“I hid in the sarcophagus as he pursued you lot,” Paulson said.  “I’ll smell like dead Kalistrazi for a fortnight.”  He looked past them then, realizing it was just the two of them.  “Takarno?”

He was given his answer when the minotaur howled out in pain then.

“We can’t let his sacrifice be in vain,” Spira insisted.  “We have to get out of here.”  She didn’t wait to hear if there would be any protest, heading back down the corridor to the far end where the spiraling stone staircase waited.

Paulson hesitated for a moment, knowing that it was at his request that Takarno had ventured there with the rest of them.  A quiet grumble was all he could muster before he took a few steps after Spira.  But when he didn’t hear Olarind behind him, he spun about.

The half-elf hesitated longer, staring the other way, to where their lost bounty no longer sparkled, the torchlight long before dying out.

“Leave it, lad,” Paulson said.  “There’s no way for us to get to it.”  That was all that Paulson dared to warn before running back the other way.

Olarind lingered there a moment longer, wondering if Thun-Sorin would be distracted enough by Takarno to sneak by and retrieve his fallen backpack.

Another cry rang out from Takarno, one long note that rang out in the horror that preceded death.

It ended more abruptly than it began.

Olarind knew that his companion had fallen.  Clicking his tongue, he ran back the other way, hurrying after Paulson and Spira.

As he ran, the half-elf could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he realized that other footsteps rang out in the hallway behind him.  He turned then, his tome illuminating the opposite end of the corridor.

There, he saw Thun-Sorin.

By reflex alone, he stopped in his tracks, and swung out with his hand.  A divine light radiated forth, striking against the undead Kalistrazi.  Thun-Sorin halted, stunned by the golden slash that drew from the aether.

Olarind’s eyes grew wide as he realized he’d inflicted what seemed like pain on his foe.  He moved forth again, calling upon the light of his gods, and sending another trio of slashes in rapid succession.  Thun-Sorin screeched, and withdrew, back into the shadows.

The half-elf grinned, counting his blessings, for he hadn’t considered such a victory possible.  He turned about and ran again, knowing that he would likely have to call on the gods again.  But knowing that the undead could be turned back toward the darkness instilled Olarind with hope that he had thought lost.

He heard the telltale thump of the monster’s approach again, and he turned around.  However, when he brought up his tome to light the corridor, he couldn’t see the Kalistrazi anywhere.

Thinking it was just his mind and his nerves playing tricks on him, he turned again.

Thun-Sorin dropped from the ceiling, his milky white eyes drawn close to Olarind.  Without pause, he reached out with his sharp, clawed fingers.

Olarind’s cry rang out through the tunnel.

*          *          *

Paulson waited there at the top of the steps for a moment, but he knew as soon as he had heard Olarind howl out that there was no saving the lad.  He stepped past the threshold then, into the temple that they’d found their way to earlier that day.

Spira had already carefully navigated her way past the wire she had warned them about earlier, and she had her hands upon the window that would lead to salvation.

Paulson slid the bookshelf back into position, hoping that it would keep the monster trapped below for another five centuries.  He hurried then, remembering to heed the good advice that Spira had offered when they were in the room earlier.

Spira hoisted herself up into the window and turned to ensure that Paulson was quick on her heels.

That was when they both heard the tremendous thud against the bookshelf.

Paulson skidded to a stop, and turned about, watching as Thun-Sorin’s tendril-like limb squeezed through the small gap he had made.  Paulson turned and looked up at Spira then, and his eyes already told the story that he planned to tell her.

“You can’t,” Spira said.  “If you stay behind, it’ll only be a matter of time before it gets to you.”

“I can barely lift my arm,” he said, lifting his hand toward the site of the injury.  “There is no way that I would be able to climb that damned rope fast enough to escape our friend back here.  But you can, Spira.  You can make sure that nobody up above ever has to worry about the evil we awoke here.”

“Paulson, I can’t be the only one,” she cried.

“You have to be,” he said, beginning the short trek back toward the pulpit.  “When you get topside again, pull the rope up and destroy it.  We don’t want this creature to be able to follow you up.”

“Paulson,” she croaked.

“It won’t be long now,” he said.  “Go before he breaks through.”

Spira couldn’t budge though.  As Paulson made his way back to the bookshelf, Spira wept, tears blinding her to the sight of the monster breaking its way through from the catacombs.

Thun-Sorin charged into the bookshelf, again and again, until finally it budged far enough from its track, and swung open with enough ferocity that it collapsed forward.  The risen Kalistrazi spotted Spira, ready to make a quick escape, and he stomped forth, extending his hand toward her.

He couldn’t stretch his limb far, for Paulson was there behind him, and he hopped toward him, wrapping him in a fierce bearhug.

“Remember me?” the burly redhead asked.

Though Thur-Sorin struggled against the hold, scratching, and chomping at Paulson, the would-be grave robber refused to relent.  With his fate already sealed, the man ignored any semblance of pain as he walked the undead creature forward.

Spira understood what he was doing at once.

Paulson lifted his boot and slammed it down upon the wire that stretched across the area just before the pulpit.

The rearmost pews bent over, sending forth a pair of blades that cut through both combatant’s lower limbs.

An otherworldly screech, and a harrowing cry rang out in unison.  Spira clapped her hand over her mouth at the sight of Paulson’s heroics.

Despite all the pain that he could no longer ignore, Paulson leaned up on his arms, making eye contact with the girl one last time.

“Go, Spira!”

She dared not waste her friend’s sacrifice.  Spira leapt from the window, tumbling as she reached the ground.  She looked up, knowing that the climb to the world above the crater would be a tremendous feat.  The descent took a long time.  The ascent would take longer and would require all the strength she could muster.

She sprang forward, grabbing hold of the rope, and wrapping her legs around it.  Before she had even stopped swinging, Spira began to hoist herself up, one hand after the other.

An excruciated cry rang out from within the temple, and the girl chose to let it inspire her to climb faster, no longer pausing to lament.

She thought of all that she had lost in venturing there.  Three friends, with whom she could see many more adventures, had all fallen to the darkness.  They had given everything to ensure that the one who hadn’t strayed would not fall.

And Spira was determined to see their last wishes through.  She climbed until her arms burned, and then she pushed past it, refusing to let weariness creep up on her.  Spira looked up, seeing how close she was to climbing over the lush ledge that led into the forest.

But then, the rope began to swing again, and she nearly lost her footing.

Though she knew before she ventured a glance, she looked down, and her heart skipped a beat.  There, at the end of the rope, Thun-Sorin began to climb as well.

His milky white eyes narrowed in the light of day, and when he was certain he had the woman’s attention, he cried out, exposing his long, thin tongue, and separating his jaws in a monstrous, unnatural way.

Spira reached for her hip, fumbling for her knife.

Before she could get a grip on it, it teetered from her fingers, sailing down to the ground, far below, past the climbing Kalistrazi.

“No,” Spira said.

Her heart pounding, with no idea what to do, the treasure hunter resumed her climb, invigorated by the sight of the monster below.  She began screaming with every foot she ascended, the noise helping to push her further than she thought possible.

Somehow, despite all her fatigue, all her pain, all her torment, she reached the top of the rope, and pulled herself atop the ledge.

Upon arriving there, she rolled to her back, just trying to get the feeling back in her appendages for a moment.  She didn’t know what to do anyway.  Running wasn’t an option, she considered.  Thun-Sorin was impossibly fast for a dead man.

She rolled to her side then and felt the hand crossbow along her hip.  But as she slid her fingers toward it, she felt the parchments that Tarkano had given her—the last words of a minotaur in Ippius.

It came as suddenly and clearly as a bell, ringing in her mind.  She remembered the words that the minotaur had chanted in the catacombs as though he was whispering it in her very ears.

Blowing out a steadying breath, Spira sat up, and sorted through the parchments, gazing at them all with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.  Takarno had drawn pictures onto the scrolls as well, helping to differentiate one spell from the next.

Spira’s heart fluttered at the sight of a flame upon one of the papers then, and she felt more empowered than she had ever been.

“Ootevin y’atwa, kuvnyen tao okatadi.  Avayaheytai atto tiaskai!”

She gasped at the sight of the small spark that took shape before her hand, but she cheered as it roared forth like a dragon had breathed fire from behind her palm.

The rope ignited at once, and she finally felt ready to reach for her crossbow.  At once, she had a bolt aimed at the burning, fraying rope.

She yelped at the sight of Thun-Sorin’s head poking up from the crater.  On reflex alone, she swung her crossbow toward him instead, and her finger brushed against the trigger.  With a resounding twang, the bolt fired, slamming against the creature’s skull.

Thun-Sorin’s fingers twisted, and he lost grip on the rope.  He disappeared from sight once more, and a few seconds later, a sickening thud could be heard far below.

Spira hesitated but ventured to crawl to the side of the crater.  She looked down, to the world below which she had escaped from, and saw the body of the fallen Kalistrazi.  Thun-Sorin looked stranger than ever before, his body twisted and misshapen.  The fall, it seemed, had finally put the hero to rest.

A crackling moan from below threw that notion into disarray.

Mangled limbs stretched and bent, and the monster labored to its feet then.  Spira’s eyes went wide, for it seemed nothing could send Thun-Sorin to the Nexus.

A quiet snap reported beside her, and Spira turned to see the rope separate.  Over fifty feet of woven cord plummeted to the ground below.

While the monster hadn’t been slain, he had, it seemed, been stopped.

Spira rolled to her back again, finally allowing all of the emotions she’d held beneath the surface to spill out.  She wept, knowing that no one should have experienced what she had, and that the world had lost some good people that day.

Far below, Thun-Sorin moaned and bayed, as though he was some helpless thing that was worthy of sympathy.  Spira grimaced though, knowing the monster for what he was.

With the sun beginning to set in the west, Spira struggled to her feet.  Home was far to the east, and she could think of nothing she would rather do than put some distance between her and the frightening creature who had stolen her friends from her.

The post Tellest Short Story – Don’t Wake the Dead appeared first on Tellest.