Eight 4

The next day, our expedition left before dawn. We were one of seven teams slipping out the city’s northeast gate, the Sootyel rushing darkly below us as we crossed the bridge spanning the river. The air smelled of rain, yet the forecast claimed it wouldn’t shower until later in the day. Still, it was good to get out from under the blood-scented blanket covering Albei.

Scanning the other expeditions, it became obvious ours was the one with the fewest members. The others had fifteen to eighteen on average, each with an affiliation to either the hunters, soldiers, or world speakers. A smattering of other professions was also represented among them—philosophers, masons, and the like.

I spotted Kimson standing proudly in one of the world speaker expeditions. He was one of the few race participants who wasn’t dawn or dusk. As I double-checked, I realized that this was likely the highest concentration of people Level 5 and over that I’d ever seen in one place. No silvered or dark, though.

Also interesting was that not everyone was from Albei. Some of the people present had come in from as far away as Bashtotwei to the west and Voorhakten to the south.

Before setting out in earnest, I made a show of heading to the banks of the Sootyel to “reveal” Ikfael’s presence. That is, Knight Otter streamed out of the figurine around my neck, she gave me a pat and instructed me to represent her well, and then she slipped into the water to disappear, ostensibly heading back to her shrine.

Of course, no such thing happened. Ikfael had remained in her figurine, and it was only the water used to make Knight Otter that had dissipated. Ikfael would be traveling with us, although her presence truly kept secret this time.

All the while, Mumu had made arrangements for us to travel with the hunter teams. The soldiers and the world speakers must’ve had the same idea, because they also clustered together with those of their factions. It made sense, though. These groupings were big enough and powerful enough that they should scare off most predators. We’d know for sure once we moved away from the settled areas surrounding Albei.

Anya was a bundle of excited nerves; her sister just as excited but hiding it better. As for my team, we all had our game faces on. We checked our gear, confirmed our backup plans, and set out along with the other hunters’ expeditions. We were the first to go actually. The others deferred, even the ones with soldier-scouts among them. Hunters will find the way, indeed.

The road took us past the town of Dezenata to the southeast, along with its great stretches of agricultural fields and orchards. Then there was the town of Huwata to the northeast, which was known for its small industries like leatherworking and woodcarving.

The militias for both towns were already hard at work—armed with shovels and their ox-drawn carts to deepen and extend the drainage systems around their fields. The excess soil looked like it was getting added to their levees.

Once clear of the towns, the hunter expeditions settled into a steady pace, somewhat slower than we’d normally go to account for the non-hunters among us. Nothing came out of the woods to bother us, though, so we made good time anyway.

Still, habits were hard to break, and Mumu and Snow frequently left the main body to range ahead or off to the sides. They didn’t encounter much—a deer here, a mink there, with the deer running instantly and the mink hiding in her den. The whole forest seemed skittish.

After about three hours, a steady rain began to fall. The road was in good condition, though, and we kept to our pace, only slowing when visibility became an issue, which it did once or twice.

All the while, a series of green hills had been in the distance. They ran north-south and split in two the valley in which Albei was located. In the valley’s other half, and farther to the southeast, was Old Baxteiyel. But we wouldn’t be cutting through to get there. Instead, we continued following the road to the north and east to a gap in the hills.

As we traveled, the road gently climbed, and the valley’s true eastern boundary came into view—a series of north-south running mountain peaks, their tops white with snow. The town of Bashruuta was located at the base of a pass between two of them, the gateway to Sugrusu Hakei on the coast. We still had another half day of travel to get there, though.

We forewent meals and pressed ahead. The rain thickened and fell even harder, the drops sounding like pebbles against my cloak—no hail, just big fat drops.

The weather wasn’t conducive to conversation, spoken or signed, so my team used Yuki’s help to share status reports, and we all kept tabs on Anya and Weni. They were holding up admirably, keeping pace with the rest of us.

From being one with the sky, I knew we’d get a break from the temperamental weather soon, which was exactly what happened. After a time, the clouds broke to bless the land with golden-white bands of light. Ahead, the surface of Lake Nurus shimmered.

The whole region around Albei was dotted with rivers and lakes. Most were fed by the surrounding mountains, but this one drew water from an offshoot of the Sootyel farther upstream. A stone bridge crossed over that offshoot, the water continuing southward to feed more lakes downstream.

On the other side was a small fortified camp—not much more than a place to rest, but with sturdy wooden walls protecting it. There, we were finally able to break for a meal. We’d eaten while on the march, but there was only so far jerky could take you. My stomach had been growling for hours.

We wouldn’t be staying long enough for a fire, so we ate our food cold. The tamales would’ve been better hot, but they were fine at room temperature, especially after that long of a hike.

The camp seemed to be in good shape. Enough people must pass through to make sure the place was well cared for. I noted a spot near the back that looked like it might have held a statue once.

One of the city hunters—a grizzled older man, his right eye all milky—noticed me looking around. “You young ones won’t know this,” he said, “but there used to be a spirit of the land enshrined here. Her avatar was a giant blue-barked frog.”

“That was Nurus, wasn’t it?” another asked.

“Yes,” the first replied. “It was her who the lake was named after. When I was a lad, my hunt brothers and sisters often came this way; lots of good prey near these waters. Danger too, as you might imagine, so we’d stop by the shrine for a bit of extra luck.”

“Where did Nurus go?” I asked.

“Dead now,” the hunter said, shaking his head sadly. “A true death, too, her spirit consumed.”

“Hey there, don’t think you can prank me,” I scolded him. “Sure, it’s risky for a spirit of the land to form an avatar, but if it gets disrupted, then all that happens is they have to rejoin the wheel of life. What’s this nonsense about spirits being consumed?”

“Easy now,” the old hunter gestured. Then aloud he said, “I know you, Eight Storm Caller. You serve Honored Ikfael, and I wouldn’t prank you about something like this. What you’ve said is right and true—most times when a spirit of the land’s avatar is destroyed, they become like every other dead soul, but my team and I were there the night Nurus died.”

He paused to drink from his waterskin, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “We were tracking a bull moose we’d injured, following his blood trail south of the lake, when we heard a scream from the land itself. A shadow passed over the woods and the waters, and we held utterly still as a sense of horror crept up from the ground and into us. We knew then, and so did every twig and stone in the woods that day, that Nurus had died. We knew she’d died and her spirit been consumed.”

The hairs had risen all along my arms as I’d listened to the old hunter speak. The look his face was earnest, and his one good eye gazed seriously at the people around him.

“It’s not my field of study,” Anya said cautiously, “but the records of the area do mention a Nurus the Fey who once watched over these lakes. She disappeared… what… forty years ago?”

The older hunter nodded. “That’s about right, yes.”

“But what really happened to her?” I asked.

“It’s what always happens,” the hunter replied. “Something bigger and badder came along.”

“The question is interesting cosmologically,” Anya said. “There are accounts of the gods destroying the souls of those they considered irredeemable—who fell so far into imperfection there was nothing left to save—but this story doesn’t sound like that at all.”

It sounded like nonsense was what it was. Okay, thinking back, my grandmother had one time alluded to the idea that souls could die, but I’d been too young to follow-up on it. But even if the possibility existed, something that horrible must be incredibly rare. Like Anya had said—a last recourse for those beyond saving.

“Was Nurus good?” I asked the old hunter.

“She was fair,” he replied. “That was all we asked of her, and all she gave.”

“So, not someone deserving of the gods’ punishment?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not that any of us thought so.”

I was about to pose another question, when one of the expedition leaders cut in. “That’s enough ghost stories, I think. We’re asking for bad luck telling tales of those who once claimed this land. Besides, we’d best continue the journey if we wish to arrive by nightfall.”

So, we packed away the bits and bobs we’d gotten out for the meal and hit the road again. No few of us had hesitated at the gate, though, to bow to where the shrine had once stood.

Then it was back to walking, the expeditions resuming their trek to Bashruuta. I did my duty and kept my eyes roving, but my mind couldn’t help dwelling on what the old hunter had said.

Ikfael had been following the conversation earlier, so I cupped her figurine so that the others couldn’t see it. “Do you know the story?” I whispered.

The hands of the figurine moved, Ikfael using her talent to sign, “All I know is that Nurus disappeared. Neither I nor the other spirits of the land know what happened beyond that.”

“Or is willing to talk about it,” I whispered, thinking of Heleitia and her penchant for keeping secrets.

The figurine quirked her head, as if thinking. “It is as you say.”

“Would Nurus have been safe if she’d never formed an avatar?” I asked.

“Safer, yes, but we’ve talked about this before—a spirit of the land is able to connect more deeply with their territory if they create an avatar. Their authority is greater.”

“But then there’s the possibility of death. The risk—”

“—is worth it, at least to those of us willing.” Ikfael’s eyes gazed out at me from inside the figurine. “I’m not immune to fear, but there are more terrible things than dying.”

###

Hail pelted down on us by the time we reached the escarpment atop which the town of Bashruuta sat. Similar to the one near the Glen, I imagined it offered a mighty view of the valley below it—in better weather, anyway.

The road veered to the south first, so that travelers could take advantage of a slope leading gently upward. Beyond the escarpment, a mountain range rose even higher, and a frigid wind blew down from the pass.

Traveling in bad weather was notoriously dangerous, but we’d somehow managed to make it from Albei to Bashruuta without a single encounter. Still, we were grateful when the town walls came into view. A fire and hot food would be more than welcome.

The walls themselves were like the ones in Albei—made from big, regular blocks—except these were an earthy brown with streaks of gray running through them. They went up a good fifty feet, at least. A couple of miserable guards stood out front of a gate four-wagons wide.

The guards wore oiled cloaks, but I caught the glint of chain hauberks underneath. Instead of spears, though, they carried something like a halberd, but with a shorter haft. They instructed us to behave while in Bashruuta and told us that housing was being graciously provided by the hierophant of Albei.

The gate led into the town’s kill box, which was decorated in stylized images of bears and eagles, and on the other side was a decent-sized plaza. A number of hawkers with their push carts braved the weather and darkening light to call out their goods for sale.

It was the usual fare—mystery meat on a stick, hot drinks, alcoholic drinks, etc.—but there were also stones that had been heated in a fire and then wrapped in thick cloth. You could buy five for a taak, so I picked one up for each of my expedition’s members. It was so nice to feel the warmth penetrating through my leather gloves.

Looking around, the town itself seemed to be built from the same stone as the walls, feeling solid and heavy. The fires burning here and there made it seem more cozy than ominous though. A massive inn occupied the far end of the plaza, the rest of the town surrounding it like a skirt.

The inn was five stories tall and ten windows across, most of them lit. Merry sounds spilled out from the first floor into the plaza. To the left and right were two wings of stables that came forward to form a U-shape, a courtyard in the center. The stables were already partially full from the caravans sheltering overnight at the inn.

The place was called the Wholesome Ox, and it was a famous stop along the trade route between Albei and Sugrusu Hakei. And yes, the inn had come first, with the rest of the town growing up around it.

Supposedly, there was a pyramid in Bashruuta, but it was located on the other side of the Ox, out of view. There were other inns too, although none could compare to the behemoth before us. Which wasn’t where we would be staying. No, my expedition’s lodgings were a stone longhouse by the town walls.

The family who normally lived there had temporarily vacated their home on the hierophant’s orders. Oh, they were happy enough to do it—he’d paid well—but I was disappointed not to be staying at the Ox like the other expeditions. Our small size had apparently worked against us. We fit in a longhouse, so that was where they stuck us.

Well, whatever. The place featured a large hearth, which we loaded up with wood for a roaring fire. A quick shopping trip provided fresh venison to roast, along with a variety of herbs and spring greens.

All in all, we ate well in a sheltered place. We sang our own songs, told our own stories, and since we had all the privacy we could want, Ikfael could join us.

###

The next day, we awoke to the sound of thunder along the mountain range rising above us. Thick, ominous clouds gathered along the peaks, but no rain was forecast until the evening. The hurricane was still at sea, but it had started its journey toward the coast.

My team spent the morning caring for our gear. We’d done some maintenance the prior evening, but most of the work had been left for after all the cloth and leather had dried out overnight. Afterward, we all agreed to head over to the Ox to try their breakfast.

The town’s main plaza was even livelier than the night before—three different caravans were in the process of departing, and the hawkers were there to sell them anything they might need last minute. There also appeared to be a representative of the inn present to facilitate the departure.

We stood a while to watch. Entertainment options in Voorhei were few, and none of us were in a hurry. The rush to get to Bashruuta was over—we’d beaten the storm by a good two days—and the next rush wouldn’t start until the race started.

Four wagons comprised the smallest of the caravans, while the largest was seven. All of them had outriders, both ahorse and as passengers on the wagons. No dog riders, though. My understanding was that dogs ate too much for it to be economical.

Still, it was interesting enough for us to stick around until the last wagon creaked its way out the gate. At the pace they were going, assuming nothing happened along the way, they should arrive in Albei by late evening. Even if they ran into trouble, it’d be tomorrow at the latest, still ahead of the really bad weather.

The show over, my team and I resumed our quest for breakfast.

A stone statue of an amused-looking ox stood in front a set of double doors, chewing cud and her tail frozen mid-swing. A young man in what appeared to be the inn’s uniform also stood nearby. He stopped us to verify that Sun-on-Snow was safe around others, then he handed me a bright yellow tag to put around her neck.

Once inside, I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. The doors had opened onto a dining room that was the love child of a Western saloon and a fantasy hunting lodge. Animal heads hung on all the walls—mostly moose, elk, mountain lions, and giant javelinas. Patrons sat at low tables, eating and listening to two young women on a stage playing flutes. To the left stood a long bar, with one section devoted to guest reception. Two massive fireplaces warmed the room.

I recognized many of the patrons as being race participants, including the soldiers and world speakers. They must’ve arrived in the night. The other guests at the inn had apparently already checked out to get ahead of the storm.

We grabbed seats near one of the other hunter expeditions, yet when I asked about their accommodations, they said that the Ox’s rooms weren’t anything special—clean with good, sturdy furniture, but on the small side. Apparently, the really nice rooms had been saved for the world speakers and for the expeditions due to arrive from Ganas Hakei and Sugrusu Hakei.

Almost a whole floor had remained empty overnight. When I heard that, I checked with the reception desk to see if I could pay for a few of their nice rooms for my team’s expedition, but the clerk told me they were all reserved and paid for by the hierophant.

He’s not winning any fans, I thought.

‘At least not in Albei,’ Yuki replied, ‘except among the world speakers.’

Iseld did warn us, I answered back, putting the matter out of my head. It’d be a shame to let the hierophant’s favoritism spoil the morning.

Breakfast was a corn porridge with shredded guatoon and a raw egg on top. The flavor was good, but what stood out was the portion size—my bowl could’ve easily fed two people. While I plowed through it, the musicians moved from one chipper tune to another, making for a lively atmosphere.

Even the ghosts seemed to enjoy it. I saw several nodding along with the melodies. Not that the Ox was any more or less haunted than elsewhere; I’d just gotten used to seeing ghosts wherever I went, and they really only stood out when they did something strange, like bopping along to a pair of flutists.

Or sat in a corner looking miserable.

Tucked away under a couple of windows was the ghost of a young man in hunter buckskins fiddling with the string of his bow. I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye, and then my attention kept getting drawn back to him over the course of the meal.

His face was hard to read, but his spirit was swathed in sadness, the kind that sets in the aftermath of having failed at something important.

There were so many ghosts in the world, it had become impossible for me to help them all, so I’d sort of just stopped. Except for the dogs, all the ghosts in Voorhei had been dealt with, so that mostly referred to Albei. And, these days, I only made the effort there in special cases. Mostly, it was when a ghost looked like it might turn malicious or if it was a request from a friend or acquaintance. Otherwise, dealing with ghosts would’ve become my full-time job. A more-than-full-time job. An every-moment-of-every-day job.

Still, something about the kid bugged me, and none of my skills or talents hinted at why. It was like an itch between my brows. I’d have to let it go, though. To investigate I’d have come back when the room was empty, and there was no way I’d break into the Ox in the middle of the night. That was just asking for trouble.

I eyed the kid, looking so forlorn, and sighed.