By the time that last thought went through my mind, the mist had settled completely over the marsh. It had never been the most romantic of spots, but that made it even darker. To top it off, shadows started to flash across the whitish veil. Small lights appeared and disappeared, something that sounded like groans made its way to me, and there were even drawn-out songs and distant cries. It was unpleasant, and I had no desire to venture in.
I stepped away from the bank and toward the crooked, leafless trees, where I sat down on a stump and laid my sword on my knees. The mist looked awfully threatening as it laid across the reddish slime and stinking water. I kept getting the feeling that something was going to come leaping out at me. Something was wrong, too—the afternoon sun was still pretty high up over the continent, as the day was only starting to make its way toward nightfall, but the dreary light around me was much more reminiscent of evening.
Shivering from the chill wind, I sat. I had no idea what to do.
The trees creaked and rustled, bending under the gusts of wind. Some twigs, branches, and bugs came tumbling down on me, and I jumped up, cursing to myself. What the hell is this? The forests everywhere were so nice and tidy, all except the nasty one I found myself in. It had started off fine but turned sour quickly. I needed to do something. They needed to bring the Leshy in there to keep an eye on things.
Of course—to keep an eye on things. How could I have forgotten that?
I dug around in my bag, pulled out a ring I’d gotten a long time before and never used, slipped it onto my finger, and called out into the gloom.
“Aid of the dryads!”
The only thing that happened was that my level of mana dropped quite a bit—summoning those characters apparently wasn’t cheap. I’d thought I could just say the phrase aloud and have one of the dryads appear out of nowhere. What do you need, Hagen? Say the word, and I’ll take care of it.
But no; nobody appeared anywhere, and the only sound I heard was the trees swaying in the wind. I looked around; not a soul. Just the mist, the wind, and the gray haze over the trees.
“Human, are you crazy?”
A figure wrapped in leather and steel stepped out from behind the tree next to me—Hilda the North. Really, it was like a movie, and I probably should have asked where she possibly could have come from. She hadn’t been there a second before, after all. There wasn’t any point in that, though. It was the kind of thing you just accepted and, in my case, appreciated.
“Not really,” I replied uncertainly. “Why would you think so?”
“Walking around Gutraul Forest alone of your own free will, and even getting to the beginning of Girten Bog? The only people capable of that are heroes and madmen. You don’t look at all like the former, so, logically, who are you?” Hilda asked with a laugh.
“Oh, come on,” I replied, annoyed with her for making fun of me. “I’m in trouble—the vilas brought two of my friends in for a visit, and they didn’t go in of their own free will. It’s bad, too. They’re going to burn them at nightfall.”
Hilda stopped laughing. “Why do you say that? Are they girls or guys? Although that doesn’t matter—nothing will happen to them either way. I mean, they sometimes take guys to use and abuse, but girls are perfectly safe. The worst the vilas will do is have a little fun with them. If they have beautiful hair, for example, they might toss them into some burrs, or they might make them run around naked. But none of that is too bad, and they let them go afterward. That’s how it’s always been.”
“The way it’s always been and the way it is are two different things,” I replied, shaking a finger in front of the dryad’s nose. “They were all sweet and cuddly before, but today they’re going to burn my friends as part of some national fall holiday they have.”
“Your friends what?” The dryad instantly turned sober.
“Human sacrifice is on the to-do list for today. It’ll probably be the way they always do it out in the country—first, a lecture, then the execution, and finally dancing.”
“Vilas are peaceful creatures,” Hilda said with an incredulous shake of her head. “What do they need that for?”
“Their mommy told them to do it. For some reason, the Supreme Vila needs it, and I have a feeling I know why…”
Oddly enough, I really did have that feeling. It had clicked when I was explaining everything to Mesmerta’s busty assistant. Maybe.
“Well, why?”
“Oh, no, that’s not going to happen. If I tell you what I’m thinking, and it turns out that I’m wrong, those winged beauties in there could somehow find out and come after me. Let’s just head over to that island so we don’t have to guess. The source is there so we can ask her. I mean, as long as you know the way…”
“The way?” the dryad asked with a sarcastic smile. “Who needs that?”
She went over to the water, which you could barely see under the thick fog, whispered something, and whistled softly. A few seconds later, there was a splash, and an odd creature half my size crawled out onto the shore. It looked like a black, overgrown beaver with powerful front paws and a black, striped tail, the kind a tiger might have.
“Whatsh do you wantsh?” the creature hissed, its articulation hampered by the two chisel-like teeth jutting out of its mouth.
“A little more respect, Shursh,” Hilda replied loftily. “Times have changed, and now I can make your life even worse than it is now whenever I want.”
“I knowsh,” Shursh said, rubbing his face with his paws. “Whatsh can I do?”
“We need to get to the nearest vila island, and we need to get there fast, secretly, and safely.”
“Badsh place. It usedsh to be nice and quietsh, but now is stinksh of deathsh.”
“Interesting.” Hilda clearly ticked something off in her head. I couldn’t care less about the changes in the vilas’ worldview; I just wanted to get my sister and toilet worker out. After that, I hoped to never come back.
“Hagen, this is Shursh,” the dryad said, patting the overgrown beaver on the shoulder. “He was once human, but when our Goddess heard some unfortunate poetry he wrote about her…”
“Thatsh was a mistakesh,” Shursh said sadly. “Butsh the mistress took the opportunity to show off her greatsh sense of humor.”
“That’s for sure,” Hilda chuckled. “When the haughty, handsome guy you used to be turned into what you are now in her main hall… Oh, how we laughed!”
Shursh laughed along with the dryad, though I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes that ran very much counter to his submissive posture and servile laughter. No, the poor guy had neither forgotten nor forgiven anything.
“Okay, enough laughter,” the dryad said harshly. “How do we get there?”
“There’sh a way,” Shursh replied quickly. “A goodsh path, a bitsh dirty, but goodsh. Fastsh and quietsh.”
“Then, let’s go!” Hilda replied, steel clattering. “What are we waiting for?”
Shursh slipped noiselessly into the bog, almost disappearing into the white shroud, and Hilda splashed in behind him. I had to give myself a quick pep talk before I followed her—the decisive creature wasn’t going to wait for me, and she might have even forgotten me, already.
You entered the gloomy, gray confines of Girten Bog, a mysterious and dangerous place. The mostly lifeless expanses stretch for many miles, making it easy to get lost and hard to find the path. Remember, player—the fact that it’s lifeless doesn’t mean that it’s uninhabited.
That, needless to say, was a nice pick-me-up.
The ground slurped underfoot, and sometimes I felt like I was stepping on living creatures annoyed that I was there. Probably snakes. The fact that I had nothing to fear from them didn’t mean that I was okay with having them around, certainly. A few times, we were up to our waists in the stinking, nasty liquid, though I was apparently the only one uncomfortable with our surroundings. Shursh didn’t care as he slapped his paws across the water; Hilda was like an armored train. She plowed stra
ightforward, sparks flying and steel flashing.
***
About half an hour later, we waded out onto a small island with a dip in the ground. It was decorated with a half-ruined stone building and the rusted remains of a gate. At one point, it was definitely an entrance, but the entrance to where?
“Hilda, what’s that?” I asked, tugging on her sleeve and pointing at the ruins.
“Some tunnel or other,” she replied indifferently. “This is Girten Bog—there are lots of islands here, and they have everything on them. Dwarves might have mined swamp iron here, or maybe wizards used this spot for their rites. Who knows?”
You’re kidding me. Dwarves and wizards? It sounded like a full-fledged dungeon, and, given where it was, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that nobody had been there before. But I didn’t have a portal scroll, not to mention a pennant… There was nothing I could do to mark the spot.
I opened my map to mark it there, at least. But there was a problem: the map showed the bog as one big spot. There weren’t any islands.
Hilda peeked into the hole and suddenly yelled into it.
“Hello-o-o!”
The sound came back from the depths, hollow and dark.
Hello-o-o…
“The echo of war,” Hilda said before kicking a rusty dagger lying near the masonry. “No, my friend, there weren’t any wizards here. They don’t leave things like that.”
Who cares who lived here? It was a dungeon, and that was good enough right there.
“Hello?” came a final sound, a bit different than the first one.
“Someone’s down there,” Hilda said. “Huh? Who would want to live in that kind of damp spot?”
“Mistressh is rightsh, we have everything in the bogsh,” Shursh said obsequiously.
“Ah, doesn’t matter,” Hilda replied with a wave. “Okay, toothy, let’s keep going.”
And with that, she jumped into the marshy muck ahead of us.
Shursh leaped friskily in behind the dryad, leaving me to glance back at the dungeon one more time. Something was knocking away down there, and sharp, unpleasant sounds like tearing guitar strings ventured out, too. I turned and headed into the swamp.
“Hey, Shursh,” I called to the beaver. He was barely keeping up with the dryad, who could apparently sense where the path was. “How do you know the bog so well?”
“Shursh knows all bogs,” he replied. “Shursh was cursedsh by the Goddess, and now he lives long, very long. While he lives, he travels through swamps—that’s his punishmentsh. Shursh is tiredsh, so tiredsh. Tiredsh of walking, tiredsh of living…”
“Wow, so you’ve been to all of them?”
“Every lastsh one,” Shursh replied proudly. “I knowsh them all! Whatsh do you needsh?”
“Nothing, really,” I shrugged.
“Nothing at all?” Shursh asked sadly.
“Well, no,” I said, my ears perking up. I really didn’t need anything from him, though the odd creature definitely needed something from me. That was good. “Why do you ask?”
“I couldsh help you, and you couldsh help me,” Shursh said guilelessly. “I needsh helpsh.”
“What do you need?” I asked, keeping an eye on Hilda to make sure she wasn’t eavesdropping. Sure, she was a warrior, and they’re not used to doing much with their ears, though it was Mesmerta who’d trained her.
“I wantsh to leave,” the beaver said, his voice gloomy. “Leave for goodsh. I’m tiredsh of these swamps, this fogsh… Andsh I’m tiredsh of eating barksh and sawdustsh!”
“So, why can’t you just leave?” Hilda wasn’t paying us the least bit of attention—she apparently thought all we could do was talk.
Shursh threw his paws out. “How? The curse is very specificsh. The Goddess saidsh I’dsh jump aroundsh in bogs, andsh here I am, jumping. They leftsh for thousands of years, butsh here I am. Damn her!”
“Why did she curse you like that? You must have really done something terrible. I mean, that iron lady up there mentioned something, but you never know with her.”
“Whatsh didsh I do?” Shursh let out a gurgling sound that was apparently a laugh. “I wrotesh poems with Mesmerta’s bestsh friendsh Klia as the mostsh beautiful, andsh notsh Mesmerta. That’sh all thatsh happenedsh to turn the poetsh Lisander into the forgottensh swamp beastsh Shursh. Uselessh, pointlessh, immortalsh, though I can only live in swampsh. Ten stepsh into any forestsh, andsh I feel a horrible pain. I can’tsh die, butsh I feel incredible pain.”
“You’re immortal?” I asked Shursh. “Are you sure? I haven’t seen any actually immortal creatures in Fayroll. You could probably even kill that one up there in the right situation.”
“If I couldsh, I wouldsh have hung myself a long time ago,” the beaver replied quickly. “Butsh I can’tsh. I triedsh.”
“How do you get between bogs? You can’t just walk…”
“One of the few talents the wonderful Mesmerta gave me is the ability to getsh to any bogsh in Rattermark, justsh by thinking aboutsh itsh.”
“Not a bad talent,” I replied thoughtfully. “And what exactly do you want from me?”
“You’re doing somethingsh for Mesmerta, yes? When you finish, asksh her to free me. She can give me my body backsh, letsh me outsh of the bogs, or kill me—I don’tsh care. That’s all I wantsh.”
“What if it isn’t the Goddess who gives you your freedom? Would it be okay if I figured something else out? I might think of something before I see her next, or she might not want to let you go.”
“I don’tsh care,” Shursh replied wearily. “Justsh, justsh…”
You unlocked Freedom for Shursh!
Task: Find a way to free Shursh, the former poet who Mesmerta turned into an odd and immortal creature.
Reward:
180 experience
600 gold
A detailed map of the three largest swamps in Rattermark
The ability to summon Shursh twice a week in game time (provided he remains alive)
Title: Saved Shursh/Protected the Continent’s Trees
“You got it,” I said as I accepted the quest. “I have a request for you right now, though.”
“What’s thatsh?” the beaver asked. He’d perked up immediately.
“Stay right next to me the whole time we’re on the vilas’ island. Just be with me.”
“Okay,” he replied and ran on ahead, goaded by a shout from Hilda.
“Hey, toothy, where do we go from here?”
***
Thirty minutes later, we’d arrived where the local vilas lived. The island appeared suddenly out of the misty shroud, a large chunk of land the gray, liquid mess didn’t dare encroach upon.
I didn’t hear the hubbub or see the womanly figures flying around like I was used to. The island was quiet and deserted.
“It’s quietsh,” Shursh said in surprise. “The lastsh time…ooh, you shouldsh have heardsh the girls!”
Hilda stepped up onto the bank and shook the sludge off her feet.
“Okay, you can go,” she said to our guide. “If I need anything, I’ll call you.”
Shursh looked from her to me and back at her, a pitiful spark in his eyes.
“He can stay,” I said to Hilda, who was brushing the junk off her pauldron. “What if something comes up?”
“You have nothing better to do?” she replied as her eyes swept the surroundings. “Anyway, I don’t care. I need the fat cow that decided to start burning people. She isn’t the first to try that.”
She’s no fool—she figured it out. And I thought she’d had her brains beaten out of her up in the North. Actually, I’d counted on Egina coming, since she was the West. Isn’t the Borderlands closer to her?
“Man!” a girlish voice cut through the silence. “By himself!”
Wings flapped, and a beautiful vila appeared to flutter in front of us.
“Have anything for a nice little girl, my good man?” she asked coquettishly.
“How about a Lo
ng Island?” I couldn’t help but say.
“A kick in the stomach,” Hilda broke in. “Hey, you with the wings, do you recognize me?”
The vila had a hard time tearing her gaze away from me (it was instinct—she even gave Shursh a quick once over), but when she did, she settled down immediately.
“Lady,” she said, doing what looked like an aerial curtsy. “Welcome to our island.”
“Where’s your mistress? Take us to her.”
“The Great Mother is preparing the sacrament for the new fall rite,” the vila replied, looking away. “She’s really busy…”
“Did you not understand me?” Hilda thundered. “And keep all your friends away from this one. If you want, you can have the thing with the teeth.”
“I can’tsh even die,” Shursh mumbled, covering his ears with his paws.
***
There may not have been a hubbub on the shore, but there was certainly something like it deeper in the island…
“Mine!”
“No, mine!”
“Your feathers have split ends. What would he want with you?”
“Well, your stomach is flabby, and your legs…your legs… You have hairy legs!”
“That one with the teeth isn’t so bad. Strong arms, too. He’d carry everything home for me!”
“But he’s a beaver! A strange one, at least. Old, too, I think.”
“That’s fine—I’m not trying to cook him.”
I had the feeling I was on some kind of reality show. The vilas whirled around our heads without coming down to land, apparently afraid of something. I wasn’t sure if it was our guide, who was waving her wings threateningly, or Hilda. The latter was walking along with a wildly fierce look on her face.
At one point, we walked past a large, round field, not unlike the one where Elmilora Krakh Traug and I had performed our betrothal rite. There weren’t any stones with the handprint of the Goddess on them, though there was an enormous, black boulder that had a pillar cut out of each side. The Supreme really is throwing her heart and soul into this. Although, I wasn’t sure what kind of a soul she could have had—hers was probably just a gray mass, not unlike the fog we were wandering through—if that was the kind of thing she was getting into.
The Crown and the Key Page 18
