[Skell]
If there was a place so dreary it made you wanna curl up and die, the swamp was it. With mind, soul, and the space where my heart should've been, I begged for brighter days, friendlier flora, and cleaner socks.
Tangentially related, I had something of a personal rule: always settle for two out of three.
We traveled across a familiar land. Not because I'd ever set foot there in this life or the last, but because even on the humongous map of Lumerit back in the Escort Guild, I could never forget the huge gold splotch in Lumerit's center. This wasn't like the little marks representing places like that lousy swamp or the much-too-small flower fields - it was expansive enough to even contain the capital.
This was the Sun-touched Prairie. Miles of golden grass stretched from one horizon to the next - chased by deer, coyotes, and of course - us. Roads and rivers alike slashed across the tame landscape, occasionally intersecting. It was on one of these crossroads - shaded by a lanky white tree - that I thought it time to sate my curiosity.
And possibly get punched in the mouth.
"Dryads. What exactly are they?" I questioned.
"Monsters."
"…Anything else?" I asked. "After all that, I think we deserve to know what wanted to drink us to death a couple hours ago."
He grunted. "If you want to know so bad, they're the worst kind o' monster: the tricky kind. Screamin', cryin'," he glanced back at Oliver, "other… noises, whatever gets you under their tree, they send through the fog."
Her wooden body came to mind. Doubt that'd be comfortable. Not that I could- you know what? I should drop this line of thought. Forever.
"Yellow-bellied too, they are," Carlyle neared the intersecting road. "Fear dealing with groups. Rather split you up with that fog, kill one at a time. And every drop of blood goes to growing those accursed roots."
"But if they're so deadly," asked Oliver, "why did you choose a route through the swamp? Did we accidently get too close to its territory?"
"They don't have 'territories'." the escort explained. "Not past the ends of their roots. Smart folk can cut across the swamp safely. It's only if you take their bait - follow their calls - that they warp the fog to snare you."
"Hold on," I lost my calm, "you're saying we could've avoided that entire battle? We almost died!" I stopped in the shadow of the lanky tree. "Oliver wouldn't have chased after that scream if he knew it came from a mimicking monster."
"Skell's right," said the hunter. "It would've been nice to know before we entered the swamp. Though, I probably would have still ran after it…" he scratched at his hair.
The escort stopped in the center of the crossroads. He turned around to look us both in the eyes. "He is right. That's on me."
My outrage took a double take. I thought he'd say something like "It's your fault for running off. You should've followed me and not tried to act like wannabe heroes."
But no. He did the opposite.
"I'll be better about giving you two a heads-up," he added. "Your money buys you that much, at least."
"Oh…" I said. "Well, good. We'd, er, appreciate that."
He nodded, then turned to the western road. I looked to Oliver. Even he seemed surprised.
Weird or not however, there wasn't much else to be said. What did remain was the long-reaching savannah. And across it we walked, and walked, and walked. Though somewhere between that first and second "walk", it was clear we were due for a break. At some point, even a career traveler, a teenager who grew up in the woods, and someone who literally couldn't get tired - got tired of the road eventually.
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"This is some spot, kid," the escort looked around, lips pursed inside his beard. "Wide stream running through the east. Decent number o' trees to the west. Solid sightlines."
Inside the pocket of land within the bending stream, Oliver dropped and got to work on the campfire. "Reckon we have a bite to eat around the corner, too."
"What do you mean?" I laid out the sleeping bags in a circle around the kindling.
Oliver pointed over his shoulder. "See those tracks by the water?"
I looked past Oliver, aided by the setting sun. It took some time, but an animal's footprints eventually caught my eye. Judging by the flash of surprise on his face, the escort was as oblivious as me.
"Deer, is it?" he said. "Seems they stop and sip from the stream."
"Elk, to be exact," Oliver corrected, not even giving the tracks a second look.
"Hm. Ever thought of being an escort yourself?" asked Carlyle. "Get a little older and you might be a decent fit. Would like it an Abyss' worth more than I do."
"I probably would," the hunter laughed. However, his hands slowed to a stop. "But… I never much gave it thought. What I'll do after we get to Selem, I mean."
"You're young," dismissed the escort. "Got plenty o' time to time to think on it. As for today, you both know what needs doing."
"Right," I said. "Oliver hunts, I cook, and you prepare for the night watch."
He nodded.
"But…" I shifted around like I was uncomfortable. "I sorta need to use the bathroom." I turned toward the trees. "I'll be back in a little while - those berries we foraged earlier ran right through me."
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They were like white needles pointing from the earth - the prairie's tall, skinny trees. At the base of one of these scattered needles, I sat.
I closed my eyes. Let myself relax.
"It's all right, Sir Tree," I assured the lanky giant behind me. "I'm not gonna decay you. As long as you don't stab me with your roots. Deal?"
Its golden leaves swayed in the breeze awhile. A bit of a long-winded answer, but I wouldn't look a gift tree in the hollow.
Talking to trees now, Skell? I knew you were a crackpot, but this is a new low.
I laughed. Though it quickly dried up.
Besides, acting a fool is just a temporary distraction. You can't escape your thoughts. But… I rested back, the peace and quiet does help.
"Found you!"
A girly scream flew from my lips. I scrambled off the ground and turned to-
"Oliver!" I met his eyes as he circled the tree, "you can't go around shouting all the time. Nearly gave me a heart… well, you scared me!"
"Sorry," he struggled to hide his laughter. "I just wanted to come check on you before I went hunting," he motioned to his quiver and backpack.
"You did? Why?"
"You told the escort you had to use the bathroom. That means you want time alone."
Not always! I still gotta keep up the facade of a living creature. Though, the quiet time is a nice bonus…
"Well, is something the matter?" he asked.
"Kinda."
"Is it about the dryad?"
…Guess there's no worming out of this.
I sat back down against the tree with a sigh. "Meeting something like me, even if in just the barest ways… it was weird, no better way to say it. But that's all it was - a slight similarity. She was a tree. I'm a skeleton. Not exactly brother and sister. So no. Truth be told, I've already started to forget about it."
He squatted down beside me. "Then if that ain't it, what is?"
"I…" I reached for a fallen twig, absent-mindedly swinging it around like a blade. "I need to be stronger."
"What?"
"That fight with the dryad, it got me thinking: Velora, Hyland, even a shading tree - all of them could've killed me if things played out a little different. Either I luck out, or you save my tail."
"But there's nothing wrong with teamwork! No way would I have gotten this far alone either."
"I know, I know."
"Just think, every time we've been up against a challenge, we pulled through together. You've covered up my weaknesses and I covered yours. We even invented a crazy art together!"
He moved to sit in front of me. "I've been thinking about what we should name it. Arrow of Decay, maybe? Rotseeker has a certain ring to it. But it sounds a little… evil."
"Get serious, will you?" I frowned. "Wind of Hand blows both of those out of the water."
The archer burst out laughing. "That name's terrible!"
Before I knew it, I chuckled too.
"I get it, Skell," Oliver winded down. "Miss Cynthine made it clear that living again won't come easy. All kinds of folks, man or monster, might try and stop you. But you always have my bow. Okay?"
"…Okay." I nodded. "Yeah, thanks Oliver. Don't know why I was so dedicated to bringing myself down."
"It's no problem," he jumped to his feet. "You'll pay me back when you serve us fire-roasted elk tonight! I still don't know how you make it taste so good!"
"When I can't taste or smell? I know." I smiled. "Go on and get hunting then. I'm expecting a big one."
"Gotcha!" he tapped his bow, turning to where he figured the tracks led. "And don't forget to 'eat' when the escort isn't looking!"
The archer took off into the distance past white trees and golden grass. I watched him off while silently wishing him luck. But not for the hunt - success there was a given.
It was for what came after.
I looked to the sky. Sure, together we might be worth something. But what happens once you meet your sister? What'll happen if you aren't with me?
"Urgh, stupid head," I stood up. "Shouldn't sit here and think. Need to get ready to cook."
I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind and made my way back to camp. Though as I did, something about Oliver's art talk made me reconsider something: the memory about my supposed mom.
As it turned out, there might've been more to it than I first thought…
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Sheesh, I listened to the night's noise, do crickets ever stop chirping? I mean, I sure get tired of talking after awhile. Oliver… well, he does have a lot in common with nature.
Turned on my side, I shifted a little in my sleeping bag. The moon was high. And I had absolutely nothing to do - besides remain absorbed in my thoughts.
I couldn't be Oliver - he snored happily in his own bag. Maybe I could be the escort, help him watch the edge of our fire-lit camp with a vigilant eye. But even he found time to sleep. Were I to stay awake every hour of every day, I'd get questions. Bad questions.
So I "slept", making sure to stir and murmur every so often. It worked.
A little too well.
A subtle noise joined the night's orchestra. A gentle thud. Then another. And another.
Footsteps? Oliver's asleep, so it must be the escort. But what's he doing? Changing positions?
My first thought was to forget about it. After all, sitting in one spot and staring at nothing had to get boring, fast. Sometimes you gotta stand and loosen up some; I definitely needed to.
But something needled me.
I faked a yawn and sat up, rubbing the imaginary sleep from an eye. The other slowly opened to see the escort with our backpack on his shoulder.
Our eyes met as I dropped my hand. The burly man was frozen mid-step. My voice was similarly stuck.
Yet I forced it out. "Oliver, wake up!" I pushed myself out of the sleeping bag.
The archer jolted from his sleep, looking every which way. "I'm up! I'm up! What's the…" his eyes found the escort standing at the edge of camp, "matter…?"
"The backpack!" Oliver scrambled to his feet.
"Sun above!" The escort's teeth grinded. "I don't need this!"
"Like you've got room to complain!" I sniped. "What do you think you're doing?"
He let go of a breath. "Stealing."
My fists tightened. "You snake - think you're funny? Been planning on robbing us from the start?"
"No and no," he grimaced. "Had no intention of taking anything. Until I saw what you two carried around."
Sudden chills covered me. The rounds! He must've seen them when the backpack was overturned in the swamp!
"You two, you wear a goldmine on your backs," he patted the bag. "Pouches and pouches of riches. I checked. With this, I never have to work again. Never have to be an escort or a militiaman. Comfort and quiet for the rest of my days."
"Sounds nice, doesn't it?" I asked. "And it only comes at the cost of robbing the person who saved you. You'd be jerky if Oliver didn't stop that root from bleeding you dry!"
"Which is why I chose to steal while you slept instead of slitting your throats. You're welcome."
This guy… No wonder he decided to stay with us. Once he found Ansel's stash he was like a shark catching the scent of blood.
"I'm sorry, mister escort," Oliver grabbed his bow from out of the grass, "but I need that backpack. It means so much more than just a pile of gold."
He reached for air, before surprise struck his eyes. "My arrows! Where are they?"
The escort gestured to the backpack. "Think I'd take everything except what made you a threat? And you," his fingers found his axe. "That decay art has some power behind it. But you already used it twice, and arts like that don't come cheap."
"What?" I stepped into a grin. "Wanna bet I don't have a third in the tank?"
A bluff, and a bad one at that. He was completely right; burning two Hand of Decays in the swamp left my mana pool near-empty. That was just a few hours ago, too. Mana needs time to replenish. More time than I'd given it. Even so, I couldn't let him think he was the one in control.
"Skell. Don't."
I shot to Oliver. "What are you saying? He's holding your grandad's backpack, your old journal, the rounds - everything!"
"But…" his words came out breathy and strained, "he isn't holding our lives. If we try to take it back, he'll kill us and take the backpack."
"Oliver, we're together - like you told me earlier. We… we can't lose."
"I'm out of arrows, and you're out of mana. Without them-"
"I don't care to hear your arguing," interrupted the escort. "Farewell."
He turned toward the trees to leave. A part of me wanted to chase after him. But a bigger part knew the reality of the situation: he might not be Hyland, but he was a warrior with years under his belt. I was a one-trick pony and Oliver held nothing more than a piece of wood and string. If I was just stronger, more confident, I'd have a shot.
But not the way I was then.
Are… are we really going to let him just get away? I watched in equal parts fear and rage. This can't be happening-
Another noise cut through the night, pounding repeatedly.
More footsteps?
Difference was, these weren't trying to be quiet.
Oliver noticed next. "What the- what's coming?"
Then the escort. "Another cursed monster? Now?"
On our left, a shadow darted in the distant grass - swift and determined. It neared the edge of the nearby stream in moments.
I expected the distance across to be too wide - even Oliver probably couldn't make the jump. But the shadow - a man - didn't slow.
He leapt.
Over the lake and into the light of the moon, his loose crimson vest rippled in the wind. His smile shined as white as his gloves, one holding tight to his red headband and the other at his waist's swinging scabbard.
Dirt-smeared boots skid into the grass between the escort and us. "Now, where'd that juicy rabbit run off to- oh!" he turned to Oliver. "Hey, Freckles! Didn't see you there- oh!" he spun to the escort. "Ho there, big guy! How's it goin- oh!" he finally found me, "Howdy, Purple! Gee, what did I just walk into?"
We stared, dumbstruck by the dark-skinned man's sudden entrance.
And beneath thick coils of black hair curling over his headband, his eyes were similarly puzzled. 'Till he took a hard blink. "Right, right, yeah. Looks like I went and started a four-way staring contest! Well, how's about we get familiar - make this whole deal a whole deal less awkward?"
He pounded a hand to his chest. "I'm Niles Hawthorne: Templar newbie!"
"You're… a Templar?" Oliver looked him up and down.
"Roger that, mate! But fair's only fair. What's the gab on you three?"
Before I could speak, Oliver ran at the mouth, filling this sudden Templar in on our plight.
"For real?" asked Niles. "You two caught your mate robbing you?"
"Yes!" Oliver nodded tensely. "That's exactly what happened!"
I sniped Carlyle a glare. "But you're kidding if you think he's our 'mate.'"
"Huh. Talk about bizarre…" the young man muttered under his breath. He turned to the escort. "Well, I ought to ask: the guys behind me - they telling the truth?"
The burly escort stared him up and down, fingers tapping his axe's handle. "And if they are?"
Niles cracked a smile, hand gliding across his green trousers. Fingers neared his scabbard…
Then flew past it.
"How's about a trade, big guy?" he snatched something from his pocket and started counting. "Let's see… I've four silver rounds, annnnd twelve coppers. I'd give you a fifth, but then I'll be flat broke."
"…No."
"Darn," Niles snapped. "That's all my leverage."
I squinted. What the- who is this clown?
He shrugged. "Well Ma, I was right for once. Some people are as stubborn as me. Difference is, your boy always has something else up his sleeve! Vine Cling!"
Slinking past his fluttering sleeve arched a serpentine vine. Niles thrust a cocky fist at the wary escort and the thorny growth responded in kind like an extension of his arm.
Carlyle latched wary hands onto his axe. Then the thorny vine launched for him.
It crossed the distance quickly, but not so fast that Carlyle's eyes couldn't follow. He waited 'till it neared the range of his axe. The moment arrived. His axe came down to cut it short.
All he hit was the grass below.
In the final moment, Niles' art bent around to the escort's back. While Carlyle recovered, the vine slipped through the backpack's shoulder strap like a sneaky finger. His desperate reach came too late; the backpack was already on its way to Niles, riding on the hooked tail of the retracting vine.
"Yoink!" Niles laughed at the floundering escort as he caught the arriving backpack. The vine rolled back up his sleeve and he tossed me the stolen property.
Arms wrapped around the backpack as it hit my chest. I buried my surprise and, after a few seconds of digging, fished out what we needed. "Oliver! Catch!"
Out of the air, the archer grabbed his lost quiver and slung it over his shoulder.
"What the blazes!?" The escort's beard covered much of his pockmarked face, but even it couldn't hide how pale he was. "In one move? How could this-?"
"Now, let's talk facts." Niles pulled a shortsword the length of his forearm from his scabbard, holding in it a reverse grip. "I'm an ace with the blade - believe that. Freckles over there seems to know his way around a bow. And Purple," he turned to find me struggling to look menacing with Ansel's old axes, "he doesn't look too happy with you."
The escort grinded his teeth so hard I swore they'd chip. "Cocky little whelp…"
"So how's this?" offered the swordsman. "You walk away missing nothing but your dignity. Or, you lose a whole lot more. Your call."
Despite the brimming anger, it was clear in his eyes how heavily the escort weighed his options. Were I to fling around insults - and I would - I'd call him many things.
But not stupid.
His eyes closed and he muttered quiet curses. Yet the escort turned around all the same. The man stowed away his axe and stormed off into the trees, veiny fists empty-handed.
"Well, there you have it," Niles lowered his blade. "Didn't even have to break a sweat."
Just as he turned back to us, Oliver bolted up to him. "Oh thank you thank you thank you!" the hunter furiously shook his hand. "My backpack, gosh, it means the world - and you got it back!"
Niles looked down at his new fan, eyes wide. "Woah! You're, uh, you're welcome!"
I watched the man with the headband. No fear. No hesitation. Even with all that goofing around, he still nabbed our stuff back like it was nothing. Shade. Don't even know what to say. Well, except…
"Niles, right? We appreciate what you did. But why help us?"
He cocked his head. "Do I need a reason to lend a hand?"
A surprisingly simple response. So simple I couldn't think up a reply.
"Because he's nice, Skell. Duh!" Oliver leaned at me.
I glanced away. "Fair enough."
"We're really lucky you happened by," said the hunter. "I thought that, even if there were other travelers in the area, they'd be fast asleep by now."
"Funny you say that, mate," Niles gave a merry grin. "I was counting sheep. Found me a welcoming tree to lay under. Then my stomach rumbled! Knew I had to eat and fast or I'd lose my mind!"
"So you went hunting?" Oliver asked.
"The hunting came to me," he clarified. "Nature planted a thick, plump rabbit smack-dab in front of my sleeping tree. But nature has her mood swings, see? Didn't want me catching that little rascal easy. I kept losing sight of it in the bushes."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "You ever… find it?"
"Nope!" Niles smiled. "But I found you! Which reminds me: seen a rabbit 'round here?"
…So it's more than just his responses.
"Sorry," Oliver shook his head.
"We'll do you one better though," I pointed to our extinguished campfire. "I roasted elk earlier. Should be more than enough left for-"
The man zoomed by before I could finish. I spun to find him crouched by the charred wood, carefully studying which part of the meat promised the juiciest first bite.
Niles sunk his teeth into the hind. "Holy moley!" he said, mouth full. "Thish ish delicious! You shaid you made thish?"
"Y-yeah, but its probably pretty cold by now, and, er, we don't have much in the way of seasoning, so…"
"And it's shtill thish gud!?" Niles asked. His attention snapped back to the elk.
I know Oliver said it was tasty, but he'd eat dirt if you warmed it up for him. But Niles, too?
Oliver sidled beside me. "Skell," he snickered between whispers, "you're blushing."
"Beat it," I elbowed him. "A-anyway, Niles, was I hearing things earlier, or did you say you were a Templar?"
"That's right!" Niles stabbed a thumb at himself. "More or less."