by Jada Fisher
Dorrick, Marcella, and the squires traveled for a week. Since they could use the main roads for the most part, it was a relatively pleasant journey. They rode and talked during the day, shared drinks and stories at night. As the roads were surrounded by protective wards, they were unmolested by spirits, so there was no danger. Thus, he and Marcella were able to learn about their new squires.
Payne was a blacksmith, of course, as he’d said upon meeting them. He was an open book, told them all about his childhood. Loved to sing and play a small lute that he brought with him. Marcella thought he was endearing, while Dorrick found him a bit annoying. Of course, that had nothing to do with being a good knight, so Dorrick did his best to ignore it and see him for the talented squire that he was.
Nessa was a cold one. She didn’t like to talk, but after a few drinks, her lips loosened. She grew up in the slums, getting arrested multiple times for petty thefts. When her father went to prison for good—for an offense she wouldn’t divulge no matter how many drinks—her mother had to look after her little siblings, so Nessa enlisted in the order. And surprisingly, she had a knack for field strategy, archery, and alchemy. Who’d have thought?
Tomys was a lifer like Dorrick, which finally jogged his memory. Dorrick had met Tomys before. There were just so many squires and knights coming and going throughout the years, recruits trying and failing and succeeding, that it was hard to keep track. How they missed each other so often though, he didn’t know, but Tomys explained that he’d always admired how Dorrick worked so hard trying to get out of his father’s shadow. Of course, the young knight hadn’t expected this candor from his squire, but he appreciated it, nonetheless.
Finally, there was Borner, who was akin to Marcella in that their fathers were both powerful lords of the city. He was very quiet, but in a shy way, and didn’t drink, so they didn’t get much out of him. He seemed nice, though, and was a right mean cook, which Dorrick found odd for a noble’s son who probably had meals cooked for him growing up.
Derrick knew better than to judge someone based on upbringing, though. Knights of the order came from all backgrounds, all walks of life, to fight against a common enemy.
By the time they made it through the Helwind Pass and to the other side of the Lazendires, they’d become…well, perhaps friends wasn’t the best word, but Dorrick could see them going on many adventures together before they earned their capes.
As they came to the end of the pass, Dorrick got his first glimpse of the Mushroom Wilds.
They stretched out as far as the eye could see, their massive caps dotting the horizon by the thousands. This was different than seeing a forest. It was so surreal, so alien, but it was breathtaking. There was no telling what laid within, how many human settlements were scattered about, and what kind of monsters lurked beneath the giant stalks. These were the true wilds, ones that he doubted Al-Sevara would ever be able to conquer.
But those were thoughts for another time.
Marcella rode up alongside him. “You look like you might cry, Sir Dorrick.”
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “This is just my first time seeing the Mushroom Wilds. The stories don’t do them justice.”
She smiled and looked forward. “No, they don’t.”
The squires were equally in awe as he was. Clearly, they’d never seen them before either. Not surprising, since all of them grew up in and around the city.
They weren’t there to sightsee, though. They had a job to do, and a rock spirit to put down.
Dorrick ushered his horse forward. “Come on, the town isn’t too far from the pass. Hopefully, the townsfolk are holed up okay. The report said the spirit came from the mines. Fighting it there would be easier, to avoid collateral damage.”
“But, sir, wouldn’t fighting it in the open give us a better range of movement?” Nessa asked. No doubt she was worried that she’d be an ineffective archer from inside. Most squires were of course required to use swords on missions, but she was too good with a bow to handicap her like that.
“You may be right, Nessa. Let’s get to the town first and scope things out before we come up with a solid plan.”
They all nodded and followed him. Marcella rode beside him and punched his arm. “You’re taking to your mentor role rather nicely,” she whispered.
“I hope so. This will be our life for the foreseeable future.”
With that thought, they descended from the pass and down the mountain. To the north, he could see winding roads along the peaks connecting the town to the mines there. That was likely where the spirit was. The town was maybe half a mile down slope of the mines. The road—if the gravel path they were on could be considered that—descended the eastern face of the mountain before curving behind a bend and a thicket of snow-covered spruces. The town sat on the other side.
As the knights approached, Dorrick felt like something was off. It was similar to when he’d gone on his first mission—a sense that they were being watched, a foreboding energy in the air, and absolute silence. Payne told Tomys a joke that he couldn’t help laughing at. Dorrick raised his fist and stopped his horse. They both stopped their laughter.
“Something’s off,” he declared.
“I feel it too,” Marcella agreed.
Dorrick dismounted and pulled his sword from the scabbard on his saddle. “Dismount, everyone. We’re walking from here.”
He got no argument. As the squires crawled out of their saddles, he and Marcella geared up, making sure they had all the potions and concoctions they may need for the fight to come. Every spirit was different. They all had different things they were weak against, different things they needed to be defeated, and Dorrick had just the trick for the rock spirit.
The town wasn’t too much further. They left their horses at the edge of the woods before the trees gave way to open space and there it was: the wooden walls of the town, tall and sturdy, made of the same wood as the trees around them.
There was a problem, though. The guard towers on either side of the open gates were smashed to bits, the debris littering the opening. Even from a distance, Dorrick could make out the bodies.
He cursed. “Be on your guard.”
It was amazing that not even a fortnight ago, he was on the receiving end of those orders, just a young squire on his first mission into the wilds, terrified and excited all at once. Now he gave the orders, and these squires’ lives were his responsibility. Boy, life can really turn on its head in a flash.
The squad preceded through the gates and found the town in worse shape than they feared.
The mining town of Merenstead was on a long street that led up the mountain, each side lined by tall, dark wooden buildings with steep gabled roofs to keep the brunt of the snow off. The town had a very warm look to it. Or it would normally, if not for the blood, the bodies, and the destruction.
The town was in ruin. Many of the buildings had holes punched in them, with whole walls smashed away. Windows shattered, roofs caved in, doors broken, porches and stairs broken under a terrible weight.
And there were the bodies. Townsfolk were strewn about, broken bodies, arms and legs bent at nauseating angles. Some were smashed to a bloody pulp. Dorrick knew he would see some horrible things in his years as a knight—it came with the territory that they wouldn’t always be able to save everyone or get there in time—but this… This was horrific.
He had to avert his gaze. The others didn’t fare any better. Borner keeled over and emptied his stomach. Tomys gagged. Marcella and the other two simply kept their eyes on the ground and covered their mouths. Dorrick would have reprimanded Borner for being so loud with his vomiting, but he understood. It wasn’t like the squire was doing it on purpose.
Once they gathered their wits about them, they continued on, though the sense of unease didn’t leave them.
They weren’t alone. Dorrick felt eyes watching them, and he knew it wasn’t paranoia. Perhaps there were some survivors, hiding in their homes, watching from the windows of
houses that hadn’t been demolished. But that wasn’t all. He distinctly heard the high-pitched, rapid chatter of tree folk, their words as fast as a hummingbird.
If they were here, then the wards that the town used to keep out minor spirits were down. Tree folk weren’t actually spirits, but the wards usually deterred them too.
When Dorrick turned down an alley and found two tree folk crouched over a body, he yelled and waved. “Hey, get out of here!” The tree folk jolted up and melted into the wood of the buildings beside them. That was a very unnerving ability they had.
Dorrick ran to the side of the body, hoping perhaps they were still alive. But it was abundantly clear that they were dead. Their chest was crushed in, blood and bone everywhere. Dorrick grimaced.
He cursed and stood. “Let’s keep moving. We have to find this monster and put it down.”
“Before it can do this to another town,” Marcella said, her voice soft and somber.
“Right.”
They came to the end of the town, where the road then sloped up the mountain to the mines above. There were huge craters in the road—no, footprints. As wide as a merchant’s cart. And they led up the mountain. As he looked behind him, Dorrick noticed the imprints in the town road, but they weren’t as deep or as noticeable.
The monster had to be above, so they followed the road up.
He figured that it would have gone all the way back to the mines and into its home deep in the earth, but when they came over the first rise and the earth flattened out, there it was: the rock spirit, hunched over.
It was beyond massive. Bigger than he’d anticipated. Dorrick knew that rock spirits were large, but the stories didn’t do them justice. This thing was as tall as the buildings in town, and nearly as wide. It looked like it was just a piece of mountain that broke off and started walking. All craggy lines and gray stone and loose brown soil that fell from it with every bit of movement. He understood why the town looked like it had been through a rockslide.
This thing was gigantic.
His squires gasped behind him. They were as surprised as he was.
“We have to kill that thing?” Payne gasped, unsure and frightened.
Dorrick nodded. “Aye. The trick will be getting the drop on it.” He took a knee and started digging through his pack. “I just need to get—”
He didn’t get a chance to continue. The spirit suddenly whipped its head around to look at them. Uh oh. The spirit roared, grabbed a bolder nearby, lifted it like it was a pebble, and hurled it at them.
“Scatter!” he cried.
They all dove apart as the bolder, which was bigger than an ox, smashed into the spot where they’d stood. The force of the impact made him fall. It landed with a resounding boom that shook the earth.
In no time, the spirit was up and bounding for them. He reared back a fist and brought it down. Dorrick only had time to dive. It crashed. Boom. He was rolling down the hill. He stopped himself. Caught his breath. Scampered back up the hill to the others. He reached the top and his heart skipped.
The others were dazed. Borner was in a motionless, bloody heap with Tomys at his side. Payne had his sword out and was standing at the ready. Marcella was still dazed, but she was helping a shocked Nessa to her feet. They’d be too slow if the spirit attacked them.
Dorrick had no choice. He hefted his shield from his back and slammed the flat of his sword against it like a drum. The noise drew the spirit’s attention, just as he knew it would.
“Keep it busy!” he yelled. “Rock spirits are dense. You can confuse it with lots of rapid movement and noise.”
They did as they were told. Once Marcella had Nessa up and ready, they both took out their bows, started jogging around the spirit, and loosed their arrows. They didn’t do any damage from what they could tell, but it did the trick in keeping the monster’s attention.
Tomys dragged Borner away and out of trouble while Payne joined in with distracting the spirit. Dorrick knew Tomys had some specialized medical training. All knights had a basic knowledge of medicine, but Tomys took advanced classes with the resident doctors of the order. He hoped Borner would be okay. The force with which the spirit struck would kill many, but he had armor so Dorrick had to be hopeful.
While the others distracted the rock spirit, Dorrick ran to where he’d dropped his pack and took a knee. He riffled through it, looking for the key to beating the beast. Come on, where are you? he thought with a frustrated grimace. Ah-ha! There it was. He pulled out the small, leather-bound case wrapped in hide. He undid the bindings and opened the case within to reveal a fine lapis lazuli ocarina.
These ocarinas emitted a frequency that sent many spirits into a slumber, where they deteriorated. Not all, of course, because that would be too easy. But many nature spirits were affected by it, and rock spirits were no exception.
All knights were trained to use every instrument, potion, and alternate means to defeat all manner of spirits. Some were unorthodox. Some were as simple as throwing some liquid onto a spirit. And for now, it was simply being able to play an ocarina. Dorrick was trained to do just that.
He sheathed his sword. The rock spirit whirled around, trying to lock onto Nessa or Marcella but failing to pick a target. Perfect. Dorrick brought the ocarina to his lips and blew.
Music escaped him and filled the air, a beautiful sound that always made him smile when he practiced. Who knew something so stunning could be so helpful? As soon as the music hit the air, the rock spirit roared so loud that it shook the ground, but Dorrick didn’t break his concentration.
The rock spirit dropped to its knees and covered its “ears”—if that was what one would call it. As the music built, the spirit tried to move, but it simply couldn’t. It shook violently. Its rocky skin began to crumble, pebbles at a time. Slow but steady. No matter, his sword, which was imbued with anti-spirit warding magics, would be able to finish it.
He kept playing, the spirit silent now, on its knees. He approached it, one deliberate step in front of the other. Careful not to break the rhythm, Dorrick released one hand from the ocarina and unsheathed his sword. Playing an ocarina expertly required two hands, but this didn’t require expert precision or a specific sequence of notes to be effective. The sound was enough, and one hand was enough.
Sword in hand, the younger Vane stood over the rock spirit. So close, the thing was massive. Too big. It felt like his sword would do nothing next to the bulk of this thing, but he trusted in his training and what he’d been taught. His sword was enough. This method was proven to work. So, he stood next to the head of the rock spirit and put the tip of his blade next to the neck of the beast.
He reared his arm back, ready to plunge it in, ready to end this and avenge the lives lost in the town, but—
“No!” a shrill voice called, cutting through the cold mountain air. Dorrick and his companions looked in the direction of the town, where the voice had come from. He expected to find a villager, but that wasn’t who had arrived.
Dorrick couldn’t understand what he was seeing. Two young women about his age strode into view. Neither were dressed for the cold mountain air in the slightest. One had blazing red hair beneath a pointy green hat. She wore a skirt and bra made of what seemed like leaves, leaving a lot of skin showing. Her feet were bare, but if the snow bothered her, she didn’t show it. In her hand was a long walking stick with a glowing flower at the tip.
Her companion wore a similar getup, though her clothes were at least stitched. She wore shorts that went to right above the knee, elaborate sandals, a cropped shirt that exposed her stomach, and a torso that was covered by beads and trinkets hanging from her neck. Her eyes were a bright teal, almost otherworldly. And she had an arrow knocked and ready to fire.
Before Dorrick was able to score the killing blow on the spirit, the red-haired girl slammed her staff against the ground. A shock wave of white light shot forth and threw him and his squires off their feet.
For a brief moment, Tuni was in awe. She
and the sage came free of the magic and were no longer at the hut, but in a cold mountain town, snowy peaks looming over them with the sun making the white-covered ground almost blinding. So pretty. The air felt amazing on her skin. She was used to the heat and humidity of the Mushroom Wilds. This place was far different.
But then she saw the blood and the bodies and the destruction, and reality set in.
The town was a wreck. The tall, dark buildings—bigger than any she’d ever seen before—were in a state of ruin. She bet that it probably looked warm and welcoming and downright painting-worthy at its best, but now, it was a ruin. Of course, that was nothing next to the death. The townsmen were all over the place. Broken, bloodied, gone. It brought tears to her eyes. Tuni had never seen such things.
“Are we…too late?” Tuni wheezed.
Gayla surveyed the scene for a moment without speaking. Her gaze was blank and she muttered something that Tuni couldn’t make out, but there was a sorrow in her eyes, a deep sadness that always came out when she saw death, from what Tuni had noticed during her brief time with the Girl O’ Green.
Finally, the sage pursed her lips and nodded. “It appears so.” She gripped her staff tighter. “But we can still calm the rock golem so that it doesn’t do this to anyone else.”
She started forward. Tuni hopped after her. “I can’t believe a spirit did this. They never rampage around my home.”
“This is what happens when humans take and take without any regard for the world around them.” It was rare to see, but there was genuine disgust in her voice. Tuni was surprised to see her sneer.
They proceeded through the dead town slowly. Tuni would have been happy to sprint through and be done, but knowing the sage, she wanted to take it all in, take in all the death, remember their faces. Someone had to, didn’t they? She admired her for that. What a burden it must be, to care so much for a world that takes so much.
As the town came to an end and the road sloped up toward what Tuni assumed were mines, they heard the distinct clatter of steel against rock, the ping of hard metal. Then there was an earsplitting roar, deep and ominous and earth-shaking.
