The rest of the night passed in a blur of repetitive motion. The dim, flickering light of the two fires cast long, dancing shadows across the clearing as I struggled to scrape the wolf skins. Every few minutes, I’d have to pause to clean my blade or wipe the grease from my palms. Beside me, Yarth had finally succumbed to exhaustion, curled into a tight ball with his chin tucked toward his chest, his breathing heavy and rhythmic.
As I worked the blade against the stubborn membrane of the alpha's hide, my mind drifted toward the possibilities of the force. Could I bypass the labor? A "soften" rune might save me hours of working the grain, and a "dry" rune could potentially finish the boar meat in seconds.
I decided to test the theory. I reached out and grabbed a strip of boar meat skewered on a nearby stick. It was still glistening with fat, the heat of the fire just beginning to turn the edges brown.
I visualized the “dry” rune and pushed a focused surge of essence into the meat.
The result was instantaneous. The surface of the pork puckered and turned a pale, chalky brown, the moisture sucked out of the exterior fibers so quickly I could hear a faint hiss. I pulled it off the stick and tore into it. It was like biting into a piece of bark; the outside was brittle and parched, but the center was still cool and raw.
I chewed the leathery exterior thoughtfully. To dry it through to the center, I’d either need to slice the meat into paper-thin strips—which would take more time than I had—or dump a massive amount of energy into the rune to penetrate the core of the muscle. Even then, the rune had missed the ends of the strip.
After a few more experiments, watching the reservoir of essence in my core dip lower with each attempt, I came to a cold conclusion: it wasn’t worth it. Essence was a budgetable resource, no different than my wood supply or my water.
“Thermodynamics is a harsh mistress, Eaton,” Richard noted, his voice sounding satisfied by my logical deduction. “The amount of energy required to phase-shift that much water out of organic tissue is precious. Too precious to use on something as simple as drying meat.”
“Waste of good power,” Jason grunted. “Keep that essence for the things that we need to kill. Let the fire do the slow work for free.”
I was satisfied with the experiment, nonetheless. I knew my limits better now. Essence would return as I rested, but the recharge rate was far too slow to justify using it as a dehydrator. I tossed the half-dried meat back toward the fire and returned to the wolf skin, the rhythmic scraping of the blade once again the only sound in the dark forest. I’d stick to the old ways for the meat; I had plenty of wood, but only one core.
Partway into the second wolf skin, as the sun climbed toward its zenith and burned away the morning mist, Jason’s voice cut through my concentration. He warned me of things approaching. He was leaning toward them being human, but he wasn’t entirely certain. I stayed seated, the grease and grit of the wolf hide under my fingernails, but I shifted my weight so my hand was inches from the cool, iron-tipped haft of my spear.
Soon, the crunch of dry brush and the low, gravelly murmur of voices drifted into the clearing. I stood up, the movement fluid and silent, and stepped between the sleeping Yarth and the tree line.
The two brothers emerged first, looking weary but relieved. They were followed by four men who clearly weren't here for a social call.
The first was a man with flaxen hair and deeply tanned skin, his broad shoulders and steady stride marking him as a direct relative of the boys—an older version of the same stock. Flaxen hair and deeply tanned skin, with the build of someone who was used to hard labor. The other three were different. One was a tall, muscular brute of a man, carrying a spear that was balanced more like a javelin, light enough to throw but heavy enough to kill. Second looked like he had also been in his fair share of fights. These two made me think that the village of exiles was not just for people who offended the church but all manner of criminals. Maybe a work camp.
The last was a contrast in every way: a short, wiry man who held a bow with a casual, practiced grace. An arrow was already nocked, resting lightly against the riser, ready to be drawn at the slightest provocation.
Jason immediately sized them up. I could feel his hackles rising in the back of my mind. Without him uttering a single word, I knew he had taken a sudden, instinctive dislike to the pair.
"The big ones are brawlers, looking for a reason to use their spears," Jason muttered, his voice sharp with a combatant’s edge. "And the little one? He’s the type to shoot you in the back while smiling at your face."
I didn't move. I just stood there, bare-chested and blood-stained. Not my blood. My shirt had been ruined by the wolves. I hope they bright the clothes.
I kept my expression neutral, my eyes tracking the archer’s hands. I didn’t know the disposition of the father, but I felt the other three were here to take rather than bargain.
“You’re late,” I said, my voice rasping slightly from the morning’s smoky fire. “I hope you brought the clothes. I’m tired of the draft.”
The broad-shouldered man stopped ten feet away, his eyes traveling from me to the dead wolves, then to the piles of drying meat, and finally to the boy at my feet who was just beginning to stir.
“We brought what was asked for,” the father said. He stood with his feet planted firmly, his voice deep and guarded. He made no move to signal the archer to lower his bow, and the wiry man kept his gaze fixed on my chest, the arrow a silent threat between us.
I gave a short nod, glancing at the carcasses. “We had some nighttime visitors. I wasn’t thinking we would need to spend the night out here.”
“Sorry,” the man replied, though his tone was flat, devoid of any real remorse. “But I was not willing to let my sons come all the way back here until daylight. These three to come along in case there was any trouble.”
I didn't fault him for that. Marus and Yarth were friends, but friendship was a poor shield against the things that moved in the dark. Especially if you were a squishy human. A father’s first duty was to his family. Still, as I spoke with him, my eyes drifted back to the other three. I doubted they came just to make sure there was no trouble. They looked as friendly as the goblins.
“What about the meat, the tusks, and my two new prizes?” I asked, gesturing with a bloody hand toward the wolves.
“Not interested,” the father said, shaking his head. “I am just a simple miner. I don’t have anything that you would be interested in. I am here to drop off the clothes and the bag. All I want from you is the boy.” He paused, nodding toward the trio behind him. “These men are the ones you can negotiate with. They come from one of the heads of the settlement. They will have access to additional goods.”
Yarth was fully awake now. He had scrambled up from his makeshift bed and was standing slightly behind me, using my frame as a shield. I could feel his gaze darting between the three thugs, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches. His eyes were wide with a terror that went deeper than just fear of the woods.
The father looked at Yarth, his expression hardening into something stern and uncompromising. “Come here, boy. Your mother is worried sick.”
Yarth moved on wooden legs, his head bowed. He stepped past me, his entire body tensing as he navigated the distance between us and the newcomers. He kept as much space as possible between himself and the three men, his posture radiating a desperate desire to be invisible.
“He’s terrified of them, Eaton,” Lisa whispered, her voice tinged with a sudden, protective edge. “Look at his hands. He’s shaking worse now than when the wolves were circling.”
“Maybe he knows something about these 'heads of the settlement' that we don't,” Jason added. “The big one is smirking. Kill him quickly.”
I watched Yarth reach the father’s side, but I didn't let my guard down. The wiry archer still hadn't un-nocked his arrow, and the muscular brute was stepping forward, his eyes locked on my iron-tipped spear.
“The clothes,” I reminded them, my voice dropping an octave. “And the bag. Let's conclude the trade quickly. I have places to be.”
Haris and Marus set down some items. Their faces looked guilty. But as soon as they set the items down, their father grabbed both their shoulders and ushered them from the clearing.
As soon as they were gone, I turned to the wessel like an archer. “Well, what would you like to trade for the rest of my goods?” I said my voice was flat.
A smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat split the man's face. “How about your life?”
Yarth
The woods grew eerily quiet as the group hurried through the underbrushl, the only sound the rhythmic crunch of boots and the shallow, terrified breathing of the children. Yarth walked a few steps behind Marus’ family, his shoulders hunched as if trying to shrink into his own skin. He nervously chewed on his lip, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the heavy scent of pine. Fear was wrapped so tightly around his heart that he barely noticed the jagged, pulsing pain of the essence roiling inside him.
If it weren’t for the family he still had among the exiles, he would have found a way to stay with the man called Eaton. The man was a lunatic who spoke to the air, but even fighting monsters at his side felt safer than the suffocating shadow of a town ruled by gangs and corrupt Church soldiers.
“Teric, I’m going to be so mad,” Yarth whispered, the words escaping like a leak in a dam.
He thought he had said it softly enough that no one would here, but the forest was too still. Jorin, Marus’ father, snorted without looking back.
“The gang leader isn't going to care if his men kill the stranger,” Jorin said, his voice rough. “He isn’t one of us.”
“He is going to be mad when his people don’t come back,” Yarth countered, a violent shudder wracking his frame as he pictured Teric’s cold, fury.
Jorin shook his head, his broad shoulders tensing under his tunic. “Boy, that man is no match for those three. They may not be Church soldiers, but they know their way around a fight. They aren’t dumb beasts.”
Yarth’s voice hardened, a sudden, sharp edge cutting through his fear. “They are all going to die. He killed two wolves and forced the rest of the pack to run away injured.”
Jorin froze. He spun around, his boots making one final thud in the loose soil as he looked down at the boy. “There was a whole pack?”
Yarth nodded slowly, his gaze level. “He didn’t even get scratched.”
Silence fell over the group. Jorin stood motionless, his eyes darting as he tried to process the information. The calculations he had made—the odds of the "settlement muscle" versus some wild man—were collapsing.
Marus’ eyes went wide, his face turning a shade paler. “The blood? On his chest? That wasn’t his.”
“It was the wolves',” Yarth confirmed.
Jorin looked at the three boys, his expression shifting from confusion to a boiling, white-hot rage. He stepped into their space, his presence looming. “Does that man have a core?”
All three boys dropped their gaze instantly. No answer was necessary; their silence was a deafening confession.
“How did I get saddled with such stupid children!” Jorin hissed, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists. “I am going to run back to the village. You will hurry as quickly as you can.”
“What are you going to do?” Haris asked, his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming dread.
“I am going to try to convince Teric that you knew nothing about the core,” Jorin said, already shifting his weight to run. “That Yarth only found out last night and told us when we arrived. We all ran back to get help, but his men... they didn't leave with us. They stayed of their own accord.”
“What if one of them survives?” Marus asked.
“They won’t,” Jorin said, his voice grim. “They will attack him, and I could tell by the look in that man’s eyes—he is not the type to leave an enemy alive. Now run!”
Before any of them could take a single step, a sharp, high-pitched cry of agony tore through the trees from the direction of the camp. It was abrupt, wet, and final.
The forest went deathly still again, the birds falling silent as the echo of the scream vanished into the timber. “Run. If that man feels we betrayed him, he will slaughter us all.”