Shadows of the Great Forest (Realm of Arkon, Book 4)

by G. Akella

  "Alyona, I... I'll be back as soon as I can," taking his woman's hand, the warrior made a solemn promise. "You know this is something I have to do."

  "Take care of yourself," the young woman whispered in his ear, then drew away with a smile full of encouragement.

  No needless drama, no senseless tears... This was indeed the woman of his dreams.

  "See you all real soon!" Giving his friends a wave farewell, Max's eyes lingered for a moment on his beloved. His resolve shaken but nowhere near broken, he set his jaw and stepped through the rippling screen of the portal.

  Chapter 11

  The elf people didn't have peasants, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. There were masters of nature, as well as masters and apprentices of innumerable other disciplines and professions Max had never heard of. Therefore, comparing an elf cultivating fruits and vegetables in the Great Forest to your typical Erantian farmer was like comparing a rancher in the American Midwest to some weekend warrior camping out in nature to booze it up and munch on barbecue purchased at their local supermarket. The latter may even have a cute mini garden in their apartment growing kale and cilantro, but you wouldn't call them a proper farmer by any stretch of the imagination. The gap between the two was too huge—not only in terms of volume, but also in terms of self-assessment.

  For the elves, plant cultivation was deemed an honorable labor that nobles engaged in without reservations. It was one such noble that had given Max a lift in his wagon overflowing with fruits and veggies to the castle of Lord Phylatrim. The other thing about elves was that they were as modest as overachieving schoolchildren raised by tiger moms, which meant that the entire two-hour ride to the castle passed by in total silence. And since Max wasn't the chatty type and the elk drawing the wagon weren't capable of speech to begin with, the silence seemed both destined and perfectly suitable to everybody involved.

  But, really, could anyone expect him to feel any different? Just last night he was caressing his beloved—the woman he'd been dreaming about for the past seven years—and today he was separated from her on account of unfinished duty. It was all Max could do not to fall into despair, reminding himself time and again that this was only temporary. After all, what was another few weeks in the face of seven years? This time she wasn't going anywhere! Of course, they were still missing Roman... He suddenly felt a great longing to go out on the lake with some fishing rods and a six-pack of beer with his oldest friend whom he missed terribly. Oh, but he could dream...

  The local terrain looked almost identical to those parts of the Great Forest Max had already visited. The trees were different, sure, or at least their shapes were, but virtually all the other elements were the same. Having instilled into the Nightcrawlers a hatred toward light and dark elves alike, the devs didn't think to make any material changes to their living environment.

  While on the road Max had counted close to twenty sentient creatures traveling in cat form, but when their wagon was passing a settlement, he saw that almost all of the locals were going about their business as humanoids. He therefore reasoned that cat form must have been primarily used for travel and combat, but was rarely resorted to in peaceful life.

  The remaining several hundred yards to the castle gates Max traversed on foot. To be sure, he could have easily walked the whole way here, seeing as walking didn't consume vigor, but just as in the old world riding was a far more preferable mode of transportation, both in terms of speed and comfort, so it was in this virtual realm. Bidding goodbye to the gardening elf, the warrior fished in his bag for a pipe, and lit up. He stood there for a moment to collect his thoughts, then started unhurriedly toward the castle gates.

  He was of a mind to prepare for the upcoming conversation as best he could. Even in his past life Max always sought to prepare himself for any kind of negotiation. Phylatrim may have been his blood brother, but even so, asking the right questions was imperative to steering the conversation his way. Wait, didn't Tasha also call him brother? Then shouldn't he be the lord's nephew? These relations were a bit confusing. Maybe Phylatrim is my blood brother whereas Tasha is my brother by blood? Err, sister by blood! Shoot! The warrior couldn't help cracking a smile. Oh, who the hell cares?!

  The local shapeshifters seemed rather odd to him. First of all, from what lore he knew shapeshifters were supposed to be wolves... right? And yet, he was yet to see even a single wolf. Their diet was likewise strange, with no bloody chunks of human flesh or anything of the gory sort. Tasha did consume meat, naturally, but she also ate vegetables. And that elf with his wagon—surely he wasn't transporting all that goodness to be used as pig feed?

  The thought made Max stop and listen to himself and his physiological needs, which made him realize that neither did he crave any human flesh. Or elf flesh, rather, since there weren't even any humans around to hunt in the Great Forest. Sure, they may arrive eventually, but then... Max chased away the silly thoughts. Back to Phylatrim. What do I need from him? He thought yet again. I want to do the ritual and get my cat form. And I want a portal to Vesperylle. Anything else? Is there some information that could prove useful? No, everything seems pretty clear from where I'm standing... Oh, what about those demons set to march through the Great Forest?! Maybe the locals will know of a way to avoid them? A long-term solution might be to find the temple of their patron goddess; and a short-term one—to go and complete the quest issued by Phylatrim. What else... Can't think of nothing else...

  The guards at the gates stood at attention at the sight of Max, their heads bowed, their hands clenching the hilts of their swords. Somewhat stunned by such a reception, Max managed a courteous nod as he passed inside the castle, forgetting to ask where to go from where. But maybe he shouldn't be surprised? Elf lords were roughly equivalent to human barons. And how many soldiers were there in a baronial militia? One hundred fifty? Two hundred? And Max was a Shadow, after all. A Night Shadow, to be precise, which was around the rank of captain. And surely there weren't that many captains in the castle?

  The architectural style of the tallest structures on the territory of Syruan Castle—a keep built of enormous tree logs and the lord's actual home—reminded Max of terem palaces from documentaries about Ancient Russia. The interior of the castle was built up with various structures, of which the warrior only recognized the barracks, the treasury and the tavern. All of these structures were arranged in a circle, affording quite a bit of space around the central tower that was currently occupied by several wagons similar to the one Max had used to get here. A local market, perhaps? Forming a second circle inside the first were the Marlorien, with neat mini gardens laid out around each individual tree. In a true European fashion, the elves were masters at putting every inch of space available to them to good use. It dawned on Max that referring to the Nightcrawlers as elves out loud would probably be taken as a grave offense, even though you couldn't tell them apart in a police lineup if you tried. No matter, Tasha had made him understand the severe ramifications such a blunder would cause.

  The lord's chambers were situated near a fortress wall, which, though smaller, was likewise identical to the one in Ellorian. Three narrow side streets extended from the gates of the local ruler. Two of them meandered between the Marlorien and the castle structures before reaching and running along the eastern and western castle walls. The third cut across the central square straight to the castle gates.

  Nodding a greeting to the soldier coming out of the guardhouse, the warrior cut through the central square right toward the lord's quarters. Having lived in a megapolis all his life, he was fascinated by virtually everything in this world, and would definitely make time to check out all these structures, but business came first. The guards outside the lord's quarters stood at attention, but otherwise paid Max no mind. Apparently, the warrior was regarded as such an integral part of the inner circle that he was allowed to enter into the castle's holy of holies without any snags whatsoever. Max recalled Phylatrim's words that he and Luffy would always have
a home with their new family, and felt an overwhelming sense of joy and serenity. No matter what world one might find himself in, home and family were always of utmost importance for any intelligent being. Money? Power? All those things were achievable as long as you had that powerful force backing you up, a place you could always return to for love and support, whether from your beloved, your family or your friends. A home where you were always welcomed. Having been deprived of this wondrous boon these past several years, Max was ready to take on the gods themselves in defense of his new home. Neither the Ancients nor the Netherworld's demons would be allowed to pass through here, even if he had to die a thousand deaths to make sure of it.

  He was escorted to Phylatrim by a young man who had been decorating the main building's hallways with fanciful patterns. The lord's chambers were located on the third level, with the windows coming out to the main square.

  The lord himself sat behind an oaken table, massive and magnificent despite its age—made apparent by the myriad scuffs and cracks—writing something animatedly into a scroll unrolled before him. Externally he looked just as Max remembered—the same broad shoulders, green eyes and long dark haired streaked with gray. His level, however, was now more in line with his position at a whopping 350! Max took a look at this HP bar and grunted appreciatively. By the game's standards, his blood brother was now as strong as a raid boss, and not one of the feeble kind, either. Of course, none of this should have been a surprise given that any ruler in Arkon represented the last line of defense in the invaders' path. Would Tasha ever become this powerful, he wondered? If so, he didn't envy Luffy one bit—what do you say to a wife who can swat you down like a fly if ever the two of you get into an argument?

  Phylatrim looked up at the sound of the door knocking, his expression grim. Recognizing the visitor, his countenance softened at once.

  "Max?!" he exclaimed, but then the werepanther's brows began an upward crawl. "What in the..."

  "It's good to see you too, brother," the warrior smiled from the doorway. "I was just in the neighborhood and decided to drop by."

  But the lord didn't seem to hear him.

  "Impossible..." he whispered with a blank stare.

  "Is something the matter?" Max asked, suddenly worried that the situation was slipping out of his control for reasons he didn't understand.

  "Everything is the matter!" Phylatrim practically growled. "You're Gray?!"

  The lord took several deep breaths and finally regained control of his nerves.

  "I'm sorry, brother," he shook his head. "This... development is just too sudden, and I wasn't prepared for it. Come in, have a seat. Welcome to Syruan."

  "Um, don't worry about it," Max grunted. "I just wish I knew what the hell is going on."

  With a heavy sigh, Phylatrim produced a bellied bottle and two carved wooden glasses from behind the desk. After pouring a round, he handed one of the glasses to the warrior.

  "First, we drink!" he chuckled. "We didn't have that luxury the last time we met."

  His kinsman's cognac was truly exquisite. In his past life Max was rather partial to Hennessey, and he found the flavor of this adult beverage to be very similar. The warrior lit up, anxious thoughts racing through his mind. Was Phylatrim distressed or excited about his new pattern? He couldn't quite tell.

  "So, what is it about my color that concerns you?" Max decided to grab the bull by the horns, even if he didn't really expect a coherent answer.

  In this game world, nothing was simple or clear-cut. Every step of the way was shrouded in mystery and obscured by quests. Want information? Then you'd better be ready to work for it! According to the fox-tailed oracle, Roman had gotten entangled in some prophecy, but the woman hadn't divulged any details. But whereas previously all of this intrigue was deployed to entice people into playing the game, was that still its purpose? Max wasn't so sure. In a strange twist, the world kept hanging on to old habits even as it had ceased being a game long ago.

  "How many cats with a gray pattern have you come across?" Phylatrim inquired as he set his glass on the table.

  "Hell if I know," Max sniffed. "We've just made it to the Wild Wood today, and I wasn't exactly paying attention last time around."

  "Today, yesterday... You can roam the lands of our High House for decades and you won't see one! Gray is the stuff of legend! It was the pattern of Urkhunt, our progenitor!"

  "What legend would that be?" Max shifted in his chair as he exhaled cigarette smoke.

  "Much has been said at campfires over the years," Phylatrim said somberly. "One recurring theme is that a grave threat will loom over our House with the appearance of a gray cat."

  "And where is he supposed to appear, exactly?" Max chuckled, not quite sure where to take the conversation from here. "As for grave threats, yes, there is something... Only I have absolutely nothing to do with it, believe me. Just the opposite, I—"

  "What happened?" Phylatrim clenched his fists.

  "The Ancient Gods... They have awakened." The warrior drew a heavy sigh, then began his story.

  "The world has gone mad when the Martens are extending a hand of friendship to the Cats," the werepanther patriarch refilled both glasses, then downed his in a single gulp. "So, the legends don't lie?" he asked with a wince.

  "I really wouldn't know," Max shrugged. "It wasn't I who had stirred them awake, that much I can tell you. And of all the people who have been calling me Gray One, only you seemed to have an allergic reaction."

  "These fables belong to our High House—everybody else knows nothing of them. Don't get me wrong, brother, I lay no blame for this at your feet. A starry sky cannot begrudge the sun for rising. It's all just so... untimely," Phylatrim frowned, gazing up at the art lining the walls. "Kirana... She has always been a harbinger of change." He poured another round. "You've matured, brother. The Great Forest has chosen you for its protector, but nothing happens by accident under these stars."

  "What are you hinting at?"

  "The aforementioned legends say that the Gray One will cleanse the Great Forest of the Netherworld's demons... at the cost of his own agonizing death."

  "That's just peachy," Max grunted, suddenly feeling rather uneasy about all these prophecies. "But you know I cannot die for good, right?"

  "Aye, and I find that somewhat reassuring," the lord nodded. "Of course, no one said you're the one the legends speak of. Perhaps it's your alien origin that's responsible for your pattern. Whatever the case, it will be a worthy death."

  "Somehow that doesn't make me feel better," Max groused.

  "That's fair," Phylatrim conceded with a smile. "We'll give you accommodations on my floor. You'll take the ritual at midnight, and tomorrow we'll set out for Vesperylle together. Time is indeed of the essence."

  "Could you tell me more about the ritual?"

  "What exactly do you wish to know?" Phylatrim gave a slight chuckle.

  "Um, everything?"

  "Don't worry, nothing terrible is going to happen. Rutgen is going to send you to the Phantasmal Wood, where you will acquire your true form once and for all."

  "And Rutgen is..."

  "A shaman," Phylatrim explained. "Mages aren't native to our bloodline, but our shamans are no worse than the sorcerers of the other High Houses. The Phantasmal Wood is the locale you've been seeing in your dreams. The ritual will be conducted at the Shrine of the Departed—that's in the forest, roughly two hours' travel from the castle. Our ancestor wasn't keen on large congregations of sentients."

  "Why is he called 'the Departed?'"

  "Because he departed from us," the lord gave the logical explanation. "I will assign someone to fill you in on our customs, brother," he added. "But for now, you need to rest before the ceremony. Someone will come get you in four hours' time, and—"

  "Last question," Max interrupted the werepanther. "Who are the Tylwyth Teg?"

  "That's not a random question, is it?" Freezing in the doorway, Phylatrim shot the warrior a searching look.


  "No."

  Max quickly recounted his encounter with the soothsayer without mentioning anything about any prophecies. It had already been an arduous day for Lord Phylatrim, and he didn't need any more reasons to stress.

  "The Tylwyth Teg is the general name for shapeshifters. The Wild Wood is home to many who are not unlike our kind. They reject authority, having abjured the very notion of princes and their High Houses, but they and the forest spirits are true children of the Great Forest. Our House spans slightly more than half the territory of the Wild Wood, and the other half... Not even our scouts step foot there unnecessarily. Our Father, in his infinite wisdom, lent his protection to many a strange creature, and we must take care not to disturb their peace without good cause. Shapeshifters occasionally come to our borders to trade, and foxes used to come as well..."

  "They don't come anymore?"

  "The goddess Sata, whom you've met in Ellorian, is of the fox species. Legend goes that long ago, before even the Wars of Chaos, she had a falling out with one of the dark gods, I do not recall his name. The god was vanquished, but with his dying breath he cursed foxes everywhere. His death spawned a terrible monster that won't rest until all of the realm's foxes are destroyed. I know not whether there's any truth to this fable, and if there is, why the goddess herself hasn't been able to dispose of the Ancient Beast, but roughly half a century ago the last known settlement of foxes was razed to dust. The scouts deployed on location reported seeing enormous tracks and piles of brown-red gooey substance. I do not know why there were no survivors. The foxes are even more at home in the woods than us, and yet..."

  "Hold on, are you trying to say that it was the goddess of luck I spoke to in Ellorian?"

  "I'm not 'trying' to say it, I'm saying it outright," Phylatrim corrected the warrior. "But I wouldn't be jumping for joy just yet. The support of a goddess is a valuable thing, no doubt, but the gods don't appear to the likes of us without for no reason, and there's no telling what plans she has in store for you." The werepanther fell silent for a moment, then patted Max reassuringly on the shoulder. "Let me walk you to your room, brother. You really do need to rest before the ritual. I don't want anything to go awry."