The Wraith of the Woods: A Gods Isle Story (The Seeker Book 1) Read online

  THE WRAITH OF THE WOODS

  A GODS ISLE STORY

  by

  STEVE SPALDING

  Copyright © 2017

  http://insidefictions.com

  ABOUT THIS EDITION

  Seeker is a Monk of Valhullen, an Order obsessed with Understanding the nature of the world and all things in it. Valhullen is his home, it's the only family he has left, and now he faces exile.

  His teachers have set him in the Winding Woods, a place filled with dangers, magic and gods older than the Isle itself, warning him that not a scrap of food should pass his lips until he finds the Wraith of the Woods, and earns that creature's blessing.

  Unfortunately, they failed to tell him where this monster sleeps, or even what it looks like.

  Seeker will have to use every skill he has learned as a Monk, and many more beside if he is to avoid starvation, survive the dangers of the Woods, find the monster he has been set to hunt, and somehow earn that strange creature's blessing.

  “ALMSDAY, 3RD MOONRISE, MORNING”

  1

  I guess this is the third day now, though as hunger and thirst do their work on me, it's getting harder to tell.

  "Try to stay in good humor," is what my Brothers and Sisters would say, and then would add something clever like, "The only sure thing about the Trial is that it ends," which is great advice except it leaves out the fact that "end" often means being found cold and bloated in a Moon's time by a pack of search dogs, and having your Recording Stone pried from your frozen fingers.

  OK, enough of that talk.

  At Valhullen we say you can walk the Winding Woods for a quarter lifetime and never see the same tree. In the Courts of Sky and Raven they say, "There are more Woods than all the warriors of the Five Seas."

  For my coin, I always thought both were fish tales invented by barmy old men too deep in their Ale jars, like the stories of Little Red and the Fairy Fires, bits of brash meant to keep young Monks and stupid children on the trodden path. Now though, having walked these woods for three Sunsets, I'm starting to believe there might be something to them.

  2

  I guess I shouldn't be so quick to call tales tall, since that is what I'm hunting in these trees -- The Wraith of the Woods, the Ghost of Valhullen -- the demon whose name these same old men and women having been whispering in my ear since the day they dragged me off the streets of Sky.

  The one creature whose blessing stands between me and exile from the Order.

  In the thousands of heartbeats since they set me here to starve, I've spent my morning's Reflection trying to Understand why the Order choose this particular brand of insanity for its final Trial -- walk into the woods, find a ghost, have him sing to you the secrets of your soul, and by the way, try not to die.

  It all seems too neat for the Monks of Valhullen, too straightforward, and I daresay, a little too easy.

  Aspirant once had me sit for six days by the shores of Iona, Reflecting on the ebbing of the tide, all so I could better Understand a fraction of the Aspect of Waves. After I was done, and feeling pretty good about myself, after she saw I could move as the water does, think as the water flows, she told me that one of my Brothers had spent a hundred Moons doing the same as I, and yet still believed he would need a thousand more to have even a thimble of true Understanding.

  You see, that's just how we think, Understanding is never a straight line, and the price for it is always higher than most are willing to pay, so to be told that for the cost of an empty belly and a few blisters, one can Understand even the first stitch of ones own soul, sounds downright silly.

  Oh well, if chatting with a Ghost is what I need to do in order to keep my home, then so be it.

  3

  If I do die, and someone happens upon this, I want you to know that I'm not anywhere near as bad a Monk as I sound. Valhullen has been my home for as long as I can remember, and by all the Gods of the Isle, it's the only home I can imagine having.

  Without the Monks, I would have probably had my tiny throat slit in some back alley of Sky over a crust of bread, or been sold off to an Akkarbani trader for a handful of Talons.

  My Brothers and Sisters gave me a bed to sleep in, taught me how to learn from the world, and even gifted me a name befitting my purpose -- Seeker. I owe them everything, and I love them for it.

  By Lorelei's silver eyes, that doesn't mean I'm not going to complain when they have me walking through the woods hunting down boogie men.

  4

  As greens and browns and blues melt into more greens and browns and blues, it's becoming clear that when I get back, I should thank Aspirant for not giving up on trying to teach me the Aspect of Stone.

  At the time I thought it was her way of getting rid of a bad pupil by boring him into a coma. I couldn't think of any other reason that she would set an already squirmy boy down in the Courtyard, and have him spend nearly a Moon tracing and retracing the curves of a boulder twice as wide as he is tall, with nothing more than his mind's eye.

  Now I know she wanted him to Reflect on permanence, and maybe to get a useless child to sit still long enough to learn something. For her efforts, a few days later I stole the key to her chambers, and hid it inside of the Brother's privy.

  No good deed...

  Thanks to her and only her, I can now remember with crystal clarity every tree, every stream I've walked past -- every ant hill and pile of Griffin droppings is carved in marble onto a mind's map that I would trust, that I do trust, with my life.

  Without it, even if I am able to find this Wraith, I would never make it out of these woods -- at least not before I died of hunger, or was eaten by something with teeth sharper by mine.

  If I'm not mistaken, I'm heading South by South East, parallel to the Courts of Raven and Sky, and towards a river the fisherman call Glendan. While I doubt I'll find the Wraith there, at least it will give me a chance to refill my water skin.

  “ALMSDAY, 3RD MOONRISE, AFTERNOON”

  REFLECTION

  It moves slowly when it believes I'm not watching -- confident, steel certainty as it slinks through the undergrowth -- as if it knows somewhere inside of its small soul, that if the world Understood its truest nature, we would all bend the knee.

  It's no bigger than my hand, with teeth that could barely break the flesh of a blade of grass, and flycatcher's claws. Yet the way it moves when no eyes fall upon it, you would swear you were in the presence of an Isle God.

  Now I look at it full on, for an instant, for a moment, and my vision swims. If I had eaten anything in the last three days, I would wish I hadn't. When my gaze finally clear, all that's left of it are tiny, three-toed prints in the soft earth.

  If I did not Understand this creature, this Zultricks, if I had not watched it play this little game since I was in my twelveth season, I would say as the village men do that it had "vanished."

  But the truth is that it has done no such thing, it has simply managed a bit of wild magic, weaved a thread across perception and tugged it a few, precious degrees. Were I to press my finger into the empty patch of air where it still stands, I could crush its spine. It knows this as well as I, so over the next hundred heartbeats, it will move slowly, with all its steel certainty -- until it truly is gone.

  5

  I've spent half my morning hiking to Glendan, and my water skin failed me a thousand heartbeats ago. Fortunately, bird song has replaced the crawling, skittering sounds that fill the deeper wood, so with any luck, unless that trickster Faaerun has already taken possession of my senses, the lake should not be far on.

  I am not fo
olish enough to believe that I'll find the Wraith of the Woods there. Glendan is barely a stone's throw off of the King's Path, and no more than a half days hard ride to the Court of Sky. Anything that stinks of magic stronger than the Zultricks I spent the wee hours watching, was run off by the King and his birds well before I took my first breath.

  Still, there might be fishermen there, and fishermen sing tales and know rumors. If one of them hasn't seen my Ghost, at least he can point me in the direction of someone who has.

  6

  I think I might have a problem. There are two men sitting by the lake, but neither looks interested in the fish or the company. They're wearing padded leathers and each has a pair of belt knives.

  I could try to sneak past them, but heading into the deep wood without a map or a guide would be far more dangerous than a couple of brigands.

  In any case, Glendale is my last sure source of water for at least a day and a half, and while a man can live a Moon's length without food, without water he'll be dead in days.

  Pale faced Indriel, You Who Bring the Soft Death, I know that the Gods of the Isle and the Monks of Valhullen have never been close, but I would very much appreciate it if you looked the other way for a few hundred heartbeats.

  I guess that's not much a prayer, but it will have to do.

  7

  "Merry met, how are you two gentlemen enjoying the afternoon?"

  "Well look what the Snipe dragged in. Coming from the wrong direction, ain't you?"

  "I wouldn't say that, but what do I know, I'm not from these parts."

  "That right? What brings you into our Woods then?"

  "I'm on a pilgrimage, just stopping here to fill my skin."

  "A pilgrim are you? And where you be pilgriming too?"

  "Is your friend alright, he seems quiet..."

  "Oh 'im, he don't sing much no more, not since the magistrate had 'is tongue cut out."

  "Is that right? So you gentlemen are from the Raven Court then?"

  "Long live Queen Octavia, so on and so forth..."

  "Good to hear, in that case you know exactly where I'm heading, I'm making my way to the Wall of Sorrows."

  "If that doesn't beat all, it looks like you've found yourself a spot of luck then!"

  "And why is that?"

  "Because me fellow and I are the finest Sellswords this side of the Inner Sea. You might not know by looking, but these roads can be plenty dangerous, especially at night -- especially with you this far off of the Path."

  "I appreciate your concern but..."

  "Hold your song my friend. I don't mean no shame, but looking at you, to my eyes it's just bone and gristle under them robes. Do you really think you're ready for the sort of scrap you're likely to get into between here and Raven?"

  "I've made it this far."

  "So you have. Well, how about this? Me and my fellow will have a bit of a spar with you. If you pass, you're free to go on about your merry."

  "And if I fail?"

  "You hand over your Talons and that pretty jewel 'round your neck, and we don't sell your teeth."

  "And what if I refuse?"

  "My partner here could always use a new tongue."

  8

  So I have another thing I need to thank Aspirant for, teaching me how to run.

  Assuming I don't survive this, you may be wondering what my plan was, walking out there and trying to chat up a couple of cutthroats.

  You see, I'm an idiot, and I thought that I could scare them away by pretending to be a pilgrim of the Lord of Pain.

  As it turns out, while one of them might not have a tongue, they both have eyes, and I look about as much like a follower of Ashkent as that Zultricks.

  Speaking of the Zultricks, that funny little thing has given me my second, and probably final plan, which is either going to work spectacularly, or leave my soon-to-be tongueless corpse looking even dumber.

  9

  "Don't tell me you lost him? 'Es the only thing in these woods, it's not like he could just disappear...Don't look at me like that, and don't you dare try to lay this one on me head. I saw our little 'pilgrim' muttering to himself in the trees, you were the one who insisted on letting 'im come to us... OK, you know what Heinlin, ever since you got the tongue ripped out of that thick skull of yours, you've been..."

  "You really shouldn't talk to him like that."

  "And what's it to...Wait, is that you 'pilgrim'?"

  "In the flesh."

  "What kind of game is this? Where you hiding?"

  "I'm not hiding."

  "Wait...wait...by Ashkent's Bloody Blade, what did you just do to Heinlin?"

  "Oh you're friend will be fine, looks like he just ate something that didn't agree with him."

  "What are you...don't touch me!"

  "I'm not touching you, do you see anyone touching you?"

  "This is Hexcraft!"

  "If it were, you would be in a lot of trouble, now wouldn't you my friend?"

  "Indriel, Silent Queen, Bringer of the Soft Death, Pale Faced Mother..."

  "I don't think she's listening...no, running won't help. I told you where I was going, didn't I? I tried to warn you. It's too late now, I'm going to enjoy ripping you and your friend apart stitch by stitch for Ashkent's pleasure."

  "Soft now friend, mercy. We was only messing about. I'm sure there is something we could do for you... by Havner's grace, please take the Hex off Heinlin! He don't deserve this."

  "You should worry about yourself. Alright, I'll give you one chance to save your skins. Tell me what you know of the Wraith of the Woods, and I'll be on my way."

  "The Ghost? I don't know any ghosts...and what do you need with that fish tale anyway?"

  "Bad answer friend..."

  "OK, OK. We was body guarding a man not two Moons back, and he sang of this Cunning Woman he met in the deep woods. Says she knows all about the magic of the place, says she was clever enough to get out of the talons of Little Red. Might all be a pot of piss, but it's all I know."

  "Could you draw me a map? I'm sure you have a couple of sheets of vellum in that pack of yours."

  "Yea, yea, I could draw a map."

  "Good, then do so, and leave it on the ground. If I find this Cunning Woman, you'll never hear from me again."

  "And if...and if you don't?"

  "Like you said, your friend could use a new tongue."

  10

  I didn't think I had anything left in me to sick up, but what is life if not full of surprises?

  You should be proud, who would have thought your little Seeker could hold an Aspect for that long? I sure didn't.

  Maybe I'm not such a crap Monk after all.

  Even better, it looks like I might have just found myself a clue.

  “ISLESDAY, 5TH MOONRISE, MORNING”

  REFLECTION

  There is a creature in these woods called a Muirbeast, it's about the size of one those great scavenging cats that feed on failed Griffin eggs near forest edge. It walks on four legs, and has claws that could crush a skull, but fur as soft as King's silk. Aspirant once told me that they could survive, thrive, even though they feed only twice a Season.

  Years ago I happened upon one while I was out collecting water, and decided to follow it to see whether Aspirant was simply singing tales. I already knew how to make my foot falls silent, to take on the scents of forest air, still I never allowed myself to get closer than a stone's throw.

  I must have tracked the beast for half a Moon as a it prowled the forest line, stopping only for water and a handful of heartbeats of rest each night. Never once did I see it feed, but I knew each time it passed prey, as its tracks would grow rough, it's razor claws would dig trenches into the dirt as if to mark his place.

  After a time, I realized I had to return to Valhullen, and while I'd like to believe that made me brave, the truth is that I simply grew bored, so I decided one Afternoon to get a closer look at this creature who seemed to have no taste for flesh. As it stopped to drink from
a shallow stream, I went around to the other side to introduce myself.

  When our eyes met, all I saw burning within were two empty, blue pools. It was in that moment, that I finally Understood the Muirbeast. You see, the reason it can survive without food for so long, is that for much of the Season, it's not truly alive.