by Pirateaba
Urksh stirred. He looked at the faeries. They stirred too. And now there was anger in their expressions. The temperature in the air lowered again, and Ryoka began to shiver uncontrollably as one floated closer to her, eyes narrowed.
“Do you think we are Sluagh, mortal? Do ye think we delight in the suffering and death of innocents? Nae. We are no Redcaps nor Finfolk to delight in death of children. We are not monsters. Speak carefully lest ye offend us.”
It was hard, so hard to meet the small gaze in front of her. But Ryoka did it. She spoke to the faerie defiantly.
“But you’d let a child die.”
“Because there are rules.”
The faerie hissed at Ryoka, and the girl felt parts of her face go numb from the intense cold around her. The faerie was like an avatar of frost, a thing of primordial, endless cold.
“But you could help.”
“You have nothing to offer.”
“But you want to help, don’t you?”
And the faerie hesitated. Just for a second. Ryoka went on, speaking quickly.
“We have nothing to offer, but if there is a price, I’ll pay it.”
Urksh interrupted.
“We will. The Stone Spears will bear any price for our young.”
He couldn’t have known the other side of the conversation, but he put a paw on Ryoka’s shoulder and gripped her hard. She nodded at him.
The faerie was silent for a long time. She stared back at her fellows, and then looked at Ryoka. And there was something else in her expression. A bit of sadness?
“You do not know what you offer. The price is too great, mortals. Do not ask.”
“Please.”
Ryoka bowed her head, bowed in front of the faeries. Urksh did the same. Across the camp, she sensed Gnolls doing likewise. The faeries floated above her head, silent judges.
“The price is always the same. Life for life. Death for death. And even if there is not death, you ask much of the fates.”
Fate. The word sent a chill down Ryoka’s spine. Was this all fated? She was too afraid to ask.
“Please. Give her a chance. I’m asking you—as one who called the fae her friend. As someone who needs help. Please. For a child. For life.”
The wind began to pick up. Overhead, the snow began to fall harder. The faerie glowed in the darkness, but not with any light to chase away the horrors of the night. The glow she gave off was terrible and beautiful, but it was not kind.
“Very well. So it is agreed. We promise nothing, but we will offer you a chance.”
Ryoka looked up. Urksh stared at her as she stood.
“What do we need to do?”
“Only follow. And only you.”
She pointed at Ryoka. The girl hesitated, and turned to Urksh.
“I need to go alone. They’ll take me to her.”
He grabbed her. The old Gnoll’s eyes were full of fear, but also hope.
“Go. Please. And take this—”
He hurried inside a tent, barking orders. Gnolls scattered, and then one came towards Ryoka holding a torch. It was wood coated with resin, and the Gnoll muttered words to get it to light. He must have been the [Shaman].
Urksh came out of the tent holding bottles. Potions. He handed them to Ryoka.
“For healing. Take. And this.”
He gave her something else. Ryoka stared at it.
“What is this? A rope?”
He nodded as he helped store it in Ryoka’s pack. The rope was unlike the gear she had seen Gnolls use. It was long and thin and light, and it seemed to coil itself naturally as Ryoka put it into her equipment.
“It is magical. It will stretch a long ways. If you go where I fear, you will need it.”
Another Gnoll came over with a fur coat, and another, small enough for a child. It was hard to wrestle then into her pack, but Ryoka discarded her clothes and everything she didn’t need to make room.
“I’ll go. I don’t know what the faeries will ask or if I might fail. This is like—”
She hesitated. It reminded Ryoka a bit of an old Greek myth, like the tale of Orpheus. Quests involving life and death always ended badly. But she had to try.
“—It could be bad. If I don’t return, don’t send anyone after me.”
Urksh nodded. He grasped Ryoka by the shoulders.
“Go. With all our hopes. Save her, we beg of you.”
He lowered his head. Ryoka grabbed his arm and squeezed it once. Then she turned. The faeries were still floating overhead, watching.
“I’m ready.”
“Follow, then. And quickly. May ye not regret your choice.”
With that, the faerie flew off. North, towards the mountain. Ryoka didn’t hesitate. She ran after them, as fast as she could. She ran across the open plain, picking up speed, and then uphill as the land began to rise.
The air grew colder around her, and the snow began to fall harder. Soon it would be too cold for all but the most determined to survive. Yet even that could not match the cold in Ryoka’s heart. A pit of fear held itself in her stomach, but her body was burning. Exhaustion fled. She ran. She ran with more force in her step than she had put in anything before.
She saw a young Gnoll in her mind, and knew that she could not fail. Ryoka ran on, and overhead the faeries watched her slow progress with eyes that beheld immortality.
In the distance, Zel Shivertail’s army marched onwards, ignoring sense which told the [General] to make camp. His scouts had seen the bonfires in the distance, and even if they had gone out, he was sure he could find the Gnoll tribe. He marched on, listening to the wind and the sound of the foreboding in his heart.
And high above the rest, watching from a distant place, something twisted the Gnoll [Hunter]’s head around and lowered the dead Gnoll to the ground. The other Gnolls lay where they had fallen, arrows sprouting from their bodies, magic-torn wounds gaping open and steaming for only seconds in the cold air.
Dark shadows stood on the cliff, watching as the faint fires of the Stone Spears tribe were rekindled. They looked out, and more shapes moved. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The night was filled with shadows, and as the blizzard began to engulf the land in earnest, the dark shape stood. It bit into the Gnoll and ripped flesh away, chewing.
And then the Gnoll slowly sat up. Lifeless eyes stared at the one who had brought it back, and the Gnoll stood with its fellows.
Waiting. And the blizzard consumed everything and the girl ran on, hoping, praying.
She would not fail. She could not. But the word whispered in her ears again. The word of despair and madness. The word to shatter all hopes and dreams. The word of playthings. The word that meant she could do nothing.
It whispered to her, spoke to her. Haunted her steps.
Fate.
2.29
My heart is beating out of my chest. My legs are burning.
I am fit. I think. No—I know that I’m in good shape. Better than good shape. If you compared me with any athlete from my world, you would find—
My suspicions don’t matter right now. But I know this: I am at the peak of my ability in this world, despite all that has passed. It’s not that I have any Skills or classes, but it is due to the nature of this world. I am more than I was, and that bothers me.
But even if I am quicker, stronger, and healthier by some unknown margin, I am still not superhuman. I can’t move as fast as Gazi, I don’t have the ability to shatter the earth like Calruz. Hell, I only know a few spells that I can cast once or twice thanks to Ceria.
What I have is earned. Even the spells I know are things I had to learn, not things that were given to me. [Flashlight], [Flashbang], [Fl—]
Well, the last one is conceptual. But all of these spells stem from the few things I understand. You can make the [Light] spell brighter, alter its shape, and even toss the orb if you want to surprise someone. But it’s still not a strong spell. I can’t use it to kill something.
That’s the problem. That’s what I fear a
s I run through the night, flecks of snow stinging my uncovered face, as I stare up into the dark sky at the lights.
Frost Faeries. They glow with a shade of blue and depth to the color indescribable in the words we Humans use. And they fly through the wind and darkness as if neither exists, pausing briefly only to wait for me. They know where Mrsha is, and they’re taking me to her.
But in my heart I fear I might be too late. Or worse, that I might fail. All I get is a chance. A chance to save her life.
I have no idea where Mrsha is. She disappeared while she was gathering food. She could have gotten lost, but—no. No, if she had she would have returned. If she went that far enough away from the Gnoll she was with, it was because she was taken, or she had to flee.
A monster, then. Or something…else. I don’t know. But if that is the case, I might have to fight whatever took Mrsha. And I fear I am too weak to do that.
The faeries fly a bit higher in the sky and I see the ground shifting upwards. I have a torch, given to me by one of the Gnolls. Its flickering lights illuminate the ground in front of me. I could discard it and use [Light], but I need to conserve every bit of magic I have. Casting a single spell tires me, and I cannot slow now.
I am stronger than I was, but I am still weak. My heart is racing, and I am afraid. Not just because of monsters.
From the camp of the Stone Spears, the landscape slopes gradually upwards. They are camped at the foot of a mountain, one of the ones surrounding Liscor. If I look up I can see it, a massive wall of stone and ice reaching up into the sky.
It is vast. I am reminded of the Himalayas, but I wonder if these peaks are even higher. And I am afraid.
If I have to climb that place, will I get to Mrsha in time? How far could a child go?
Right now I’m wearing heavy clothing. Winter gear; boots, padded pants and coats that cut the worst of the chill around me. But this is no ultra-thin fabric from my world. The things I am wearing are heavy, cumbersome, and as I sweat and run through the snow and ice, they grow heavier.
Added to that, I have been running all day, searching for Mrsha. My body isn’t even fully healed from using that potion Teriarch gave me. And I am mortal. If I step into a bad spot and wedge my ankle, I could easily break my foot.
All of these things would make finding Mrsha impossible. And I must find her. I must. But I only get a chance.
Fate. That’s what the faeries mentioned. I look up at them as I run, gasping for air. My legs are burning already. I shouldn’t run so fast.
“Why do ye slow?”
One of the faeries flies down as she notices I’ve reduced my speed. I shake my head, but I need to answer, so I gasp a reply.
“Conserving energy.”
I have to. If I go full-throttle I’ll run out of gas far too quickly. And I know I’ll need a lot more in all likelihood.
The faerie shakes her head in disapproval.
“Strange. You mortals have strange ways. Why run slower to run faster later?”
I don’t know if I should talk to her. Wasting energy? But anything I can get out of the silent faeries is important.
“If you know how close I am, just tell me and I’ll run as fast as I can.”
The faerie looks at me, unsmiling.
“Do not ask for more than you were given, mortal. We are breaking a rule now, to give you a chance.”
“But is it fate? Do you know what will happen?”
That’s the question that lurks in my heart. Fate. Is this all some grand scheme? If it is—
The faerie stares at me with cold eyes and flies upwards. I watch her go, frustrated. She won’t tell me. But why would immortals tell playthings anything? If we are that simple, why bother at all with us?
I think I understand why they are so disdainful of us. The real question is why they even bother to talk at all.
Fragments of immortality. Eternal stories. Children. These are the things the fae love. So perhaps that’s why they’re helping.
But either way, the rest is up to me. So I increase my pace, just a bit.
There’s a rhythm to running. I’ve done marathons, and I know enough about running on uneven terrain to move quickly. But I am so slow compared to how I would be barefoot and without all these clothes.
The faeries fly on, overhead. They lead me around a forest, up a slope, and onwards. I recognize where we are, now. I’ve come this way earlier today.
We arrive at the place where Mrsha was last seen. A hill where edible plants hide underneath the snow. Countless feet have trampled the snow, but the faeries don’t even pause when they come to it. They fly north, up from the hill, towards the mountain.
Urksh was right. If there was a place Mrsha ran, it was up there. It’s a place where the Gnolls wouldn’t have searched that hard. Go too high up, and you’d be lost forever. No one can hear or smell you if you get buried underneath an avalanche.
I run upwards, up the slope. My legs—I run up the hill, and then higher still. I can’t stop.
Please, let me not be too late.
—-
She is cold. Mrsha sneezes and whimpers in the place she cannot escape from. She is very cold.
She has never been this cold before. The winter air is freezing her. Normally, she would be back in the camp her tribe makes, huddling with others for warmth in a tent or sitting near a fire, so near her fur would be in danger of catching on fire…
Just the thought makes Mrsha moan, but she’s too tired and frightened to make any larger sounds. At first, she had howled and cried out for aid, but no one came.
She knows she went too far up. She knows. All the elders told her again and again, never to come up this far. She knows they cannot find her here.
But she had no choice. Mrsha glances at the thing lying half-covered in the snow and shudders. She tries to move away from it, but there is no space. And she is hurt.
She sits and stares up towards the sky. It is cold. She is hungry, and desperate. She fears she will not be rescued, now. And she is growing tired. She raises her nose to the air and sniffs again.
There it is. The same scent. Not just from the thing beside her; it is in the air. Mrsha’s nose is keen, even for a Gnoll’s. She can smell the scent in the air, all over the mountain.
They are everywhere. And the thought of them makes Mrsha afraid. But she can do nothing. So she sits. And waits.
If she believed in gods, she would have prayed. But Mrsha knows the gods are dead. So she just hopes. She tries to believe.
But it is so cold.
—-
Higher. And higher still. I am following the faeries as they lead me to the base the mountain. I think they’re trying to guide me on the easiest route, but—
I climbed a mountain once. But that was nothing like this. There’s no road here, no easy path. The ground becomes vertical in places, and now I have to use both hands and legs, sometimes pulling myself up as my feet slip on the snow-covered rocks.
The faeries watch me, stopping to settle on a rock and I pull myself upwards, straining and grunting with effort. Their faces are expressionless, but their eyes are not. I think they’re pretending not to care, but they fly ahead, showing me the way with too much alacrity for me to believe otherwise.
They care. But they fear I’m not going to make it.
“How far?”
One turns back to stare at me as the others fly overhead. She says nothing. I gasp, and cough. I’m moving too fast, now. I can taste a bit of blood where I bit my tongue when I fell, and from my searing lungs.
I don’t care. Faster. I gulp air into my lungs.
“How…far? How much time?”
They don’t answer. But they fly higher. So I grit my teeth and move.
—-
Urksh waits, standing at the edge of the place where the Stone Spears have made camp. He waits, and listens.
But he hears nothing apart from the falling snow, the crackling fires beside him, and the words of his hunter, Hekra.
/> “More have gone missing. All to the north and west.”
He looks at her. Hekra’s face is still, but her ears and tail betray her agitation. She is worried, and so is she.
“That makes thirteen.”
Thirteen adults, hunters and warriors all who are missing. Three patrols sent out to look for Mrsha that never returned. There is something out there, and both Gnolls know it.
Yet what worries Urksh most is that there was no trace of those who disappeared. No howls to indicate enemies, nothing. Whatever happened to the Gnolls of his tribe happened swiftly and took them by surprise.
“Have every warrior ready, no? All of them. And pack what is needed.”
What is needed. In case they have to flee. He doesn’t have to say that part out loud. Hekra nods and trots off. Urksh looks back into the darkness.
Something is out there. Something. And he can catch faint whiffs of it on the air. It is a familiar smell, but odd. Twisted. He knows he smells his enemy, but there is something wrong with the scent. There is death in the air.
Urksh stares the way the Human named Ryoka Griffin had gone, following the strange, indistinct lights in the air that she claimed were living creatures. Winter Sprites. Frost Faeries.
He hopes she will be safe. But right now Urksh is more concerned about his tribe. To the east, Ryoka Griffin claimed an army was approaching. A force from the Drake cities. It has doubtless camped for the night, but Urksh’s instincts tell him to bring his tribe closer to the camp, regardless of the tension that might cause.
There is safety in numbers, and he is worried. But he dares not move his camp. If Ryoka returns with Mrsha, they will need to find them here.
So the Stone Spears wait, watching the darkness. And the darkness watches back. Silent shapes spread out across the highlands, slowly encircling the Stone Spears tribe’s camp in a vast net, waiting.
