A stream from Lasitus' land is carrying the distress to Melmorahn.

*****

The Hunt (this will be reduced to Creigal’s insights about the Jindleyak and the Untu as they move north toward Melmorahn. He will recall his hunt near Excergie, and speak of his time among the Glade Walkers).

Creigal would not have to wait to witness the richness of Jindleyak lands, for he was among their trails, and saw it in the forest all around him—though he did not initially notice it.

The trail branched and forked and merged frequently, with cairns of painted stones along their sides. “These stones we pass, they are marked with insects along the route we take,” Creigal noted.

Duboha nodded. “And what other trails have you seen?”

“Well, we have passed a trail of sunflowers, and for a time we merged with one of foxes, though it turned north and went up a ridge when we entered this valley,” Creigal said.

“It did indeed,” Duboha smiled. “Next we will merge with a path of ducks that will take us past a great lake, then we’ll cross a path of beetles, black in color—unlike the red we follow. And finally we will come to the trail of bears, which we will take us to a river often frequented by the beasts, for the river is full of salmon and the banks are littered with berries.”

“How far is this?” Criegal asked.

Duboha shrugged. “Maybe three more miles.”

“So we do not hunt deer or elk?” Creigal asked.

“We have already seen deer and elk,” Duboha noted. “If we were hunting lesser game, we’d already have it and be back to the house—and the point is to be away from town, away from prying eyes, while the trial proceeds.”

Creigal knew this, and he didn’t mind being reminded, so Duboha say his peace. They followed their trail of red insects until it merged with a trail of ducks, and cut around the edge of a fine lake, thick with cattails and other reeds, sounding of frogs, with birds all about, their conversation rich with natural concerns. Creigal sighed, content to be in the wild mountains, forgetting all other cares and responsibilities, not even caring if their hunt was successful. Then the path branched, and the trail of ducks continued around the lake, while the red insects cut back and forth as it climbed up a small ridge.

“What is that?” Creigal whispered, aware that the birds weren’t the only ones singing.

“That is the ladies of the glade,” Duboha smiled. “I had not thought we would encounter them, though it makes perfect sense…” he trailed off.

“Who are they?” Carringten asked.

“Keepers of these woods,” Duboha answered. “They see to these paths, to the animals and plants. They harvest herbs and propagate the favorite foods of the deer and rabbits. They will ne quite interested in seeing you,” he smiled.

Carringten stared at their guide, as he did not like to hear this.

Duboha laughed. “Fear not. They care little for politics, and less so on a day of trials. Those that are interested in the business of others will all be in town for the show. These ones will be the true devotees, the ones that prefer the woods to soft city life.”

Indeed, the ladies of the glade were more interested than Duboha expected, but that was because of the strange nature of Carringten. Men of such dark color were not common this far north, and few had seen his like, especially so close. Creigal smiled as the ladies—some old, some young, and some not ladies at all—stared, approached, and occasionally even touched the dark warrior.

Despite their forwardness, they were a kind and curious lot. None of them so much as touched the handles of their weapons, thought they had plenty about. Duboha answered their questions simply, and made them laugh several times. He even gave coin to a few, though they did not ask for it. Then, they were passed the group of some thirty or forty individuals, and as they passed, the song of the ladies continued once more.

Altogether, the meeting struck Creigal as strange. “You gave them money,” he noted. “Was that for passage through their woods?”

Duboha seemed confused by the question. “These woods belong to everyone,” he replied. “I gave them money because they do good work, and I have plenty of coin.”

“What work do they do?” Creigal asked. “Do the plants not grow on their own? Do the animals not care for themselves?”

Duboha shrugged. “They keep our trails and also our cairns. They help travelers and hunters that are injured or lost. They commune with the spirits and generally maintain the health of these woods,” he explained. “I give them coin because I am a man of the city, and coin is how I trade. They know we hunt, and so their song has changed to that of the hunt. They ask the forest to give up one of its own, that we might eat and be strong. Is that not worth a couple pieces of silver?”

“I am not a terribly spiritual man,” Creigal shrugged. “I often wonder about the potency of prayer.”

“It is the same with me,” Duboha noted. “Still, what can it hurt to have strangers wishing us well along the road?”

They continued their hike up the ridge, and then took the path of bears into the next valley, where Creigal was surprised by the number of the beasts that he saw. For half an hour, they trudged about, looking for the right male. They found one, eating berries and oblivious, and shot several arrows into it. The beast dropped. Then they cleaned it, skinned it, wrapped its meat, and prepared to take it home—but first they made a lunch of its heart, its flesh a deep purple, colored and sweetened by the dark berries that fed it. On their way home, they passed through the ladies of the glade once more, and gave them the kidneys and a shoulder, then took the rest of the beast home, which they finally reached about an hour if it got dark. Back at the house, they told of their hunt, while the others spoke of the strange trial and laughed at the confusion it caused for the poor Ministrians.

They were no more than a mile or two along the trail before Creigal noted a variety of game. No wonder Duboha said it would only take a few hours. A few miles after that, Creigal heard singing. “Who are these voices?” he asked.

“Ladies of the Glade, and the Keepers of the Wood,” Duboha answered. “They see to these paths, to the animals and plants. They harvest herbs and propagate the favorite foods of the deer and rabbits. Indeed, they will be quite interested in seeing you,” he smiled at Carringten.

“I should hope not,” Creigal replied.

Duboha laughed. “Fear not. They care little for politics, and less so on a day of trials. Those that are interested in the business of others will all be in town. These ones will be the true devotees, the ones that prefer the deep of the woods to soft city life.”

Several voices sounded from among the nearby trees. Creigal turned, surprised he could not see the singers. “Do you see them?”

Aim shrugged. “They will be seen only if they wish to be seen,” he said. “Where do you think I learned to sneak?”

“How many of them are out here?” Carringten asked.

“I doubt they know the answer to that,” Duboha shook his head. “I feel like half the populace comes out here and dresses in feathers from time to time.”

“It is the way of it,” Aim agreed. “Look. There’s a couple.”

Indeed, to one side of the trail, an older woman and a young boy stood, with fur, feathers, and leaves in their hair. Their faces were painted. The woman smiled as she sang, while the young boy stared at the dark face of Carringten.

Duboha and Aim both smiled and nodded as they passed. After that, Creigal and Carringten saw many more, a couple dozen in all. They smiled and waved, and occasionally appeared within arms reach. One boy even touched the dark man. Carringten almost pulled the boy out of the tree in which he was hiding.

Duboha snapped at the child, and the boy melted back into the woods. “Apologies,” he said to Carringten. “Men of your continence are rare in these mountains.”

Most of these strangers were not so forward, though a few asked questions of Duboha and Aim. Despite their forwardness, they were a kind and curious lot. None of them so much as touched the handles of their weapons, thought they had plenty about them. Duboha and Aim both spoke openly to them, sometimes answering their questions with long explanations. They asked their own questions, and made the strangers laugh several times. At one point, Duboha opened his purse and gave coin to several, though they did not ask for it. The others nodded and smiled, though none asked for coin of their own.

After a couple miles, the hunting party was finally through the Ladies of the Glade and the Keepers of the Wood. Altogether, the meeting struck Creigal as strange. “You gave them money,” he noted. “Was that for passage through their woods? Are they little more than territorial toughs?”

Duboha shook his head. “These woods belong to everyone,” he replied. “I gave them money because they do good work, and I have plenty of coin.”

“What work do they do?” Creigal asked. “Do the plants not grow on their own? Do the animals not care for themselves?”

Duboha shrugged. “They keep our trails and also our cairns. They help travelers and hunters that are injured or lost. They commune with the spirits and generally maintain the health of these woods,” he explained. “I give them coin because I am a man of the city, and coin is how I trade. They know we hunt, and so their song has changed to that of the hunt. They ask the forest to give up one of its own, that we might eat and be strong. Is that not worth a couple pieces of silver?”

“I am not a terribly spiritual man,” Creigal shrugged. “I often wonder about the potency of prayer.”

“It is the same with me,” Duboha noted. “Still, what can it hurt to have strangers wishing us well along our road?”

“They tend these glades?” Carringten asked.

“Indeed they do,” Aim confirmed. “They see to the lilies, currents, and other shrubs that the game animals eat. They care for the food of our food, so our game is abundant and close to home.”

The trail branched, forked, and merged frequently. Great stone cairns stood at these intersections, painted with insects, flowers, animals, stars and such. At first, Creigal thought these markings were random, but then he began to notice the path they followed always had red beetles both the way they came and they went. “By these stones, we follow the path of the red beetle?” he asked.

Duboha nodded. “And what other trails have you seen?”

“Well, we have passed a trail of sunflowers, and for a time we merged with one of foxes, though it turned north and went up a ridge when we entered this valley,” Creigal replied.

“It did indeed,” Duboha smiled. “Next we will merge with a path of ducks that will take us past a lake. Tomorrow, we’ll cross another path of beetles, but this one is black in color, unlike the red we follow. Then, we will come to the trail of bears, which we will take to a river often frequented by the beasts, for they are full of salmon and the banks are littered with berries.”

“How far is this?” Criegal asked.

Duboha shrugged. “Maybe three more miles.”

“So we’re hunting bear?” Creigal asked.

“Unless you wish for something else,” Duboha noted.

They followed their trail of red insects until it merged with a trail of ducks and cut around the edge of a fine lake; thick with cattails and other reeds, sounding of frogs, with birds all about, their conversation rich with natural concerns. Creigal sighed, content to be in the wild mountains, forgetting all other cares and responsibilities, not even caring if their hunt was successful.

They came to a stream that fed into the lake and set up camp. It was still light out, but Creigal was tired, worn from more than a month of travel. He slept while the others fished for their dinner.

As the sun drops, they hear singing once more. Duboha and Aim ask Creigal and Carringten if they want to see the Ladies and the Keepers again. Creigal and Carringten nod, then follow the natives through the woods. They come to the mouth of a cave, where a great bonfire is lit. Many of the Ladies and Keepers are dancing around the great fire, while others toil and move about. They watch for some time before they are discovered. Then, once they are discovered, they are asked to come sit with the revelers. For an hour or so, they meet and talk with the others. Creigal is invited into the cave (Carringten declines), where he sees that the caves are kept with stores of food, water, and materials. After a while, they thank their hosts, then return to their own camp. In the morning, they find several strangers keeping their fire and preparing breakfast. As they eat, the strangers disappear back into the woods.

The next day, they follow the their trail until it crosses a path of bears, that goes up a ridge and down the other side. They follow it into the next valley, where Creigal is surprised by the number of the beasts that he see. For half an hour, they trudge about, looking for the right male. They found one, eating berries and oblivious, and shot several arrows into it. The beast dropped. Then they cleaned it, skinned it, wrapped its meat, and prepared to take it home—but first they made a lunch of its heart, its flesh a deep purple, colored and sweetened by the dark berries that fed it. On their way home, they passed through the ladies of the glade once more, and gave them the kidneys and a shoulder, then took the rest of the beast home, which they finally reached about an hour if it got dark.

Take longer to get them into the wilds. Stone cairns where the stones are often painted with bugs, flowers, animals, clouds, and such.

Indeed, among the blue and blackberries, they found a bear and shot it full of arrows. The bear fell. Duboha and Aim thanked the beast for its life, then the four each took a paw, and they carried the beast among them until they reached home.

On the way back, Creigal saw several elk, a number of turkeys, and more rabbits than he thought was possible. There were several wild pigs. There were large goats and bedraggled sheep—not to mention all sorts of fruits and vegetables for them to feed. “We have game in the south,” Creigal began. “Indeed, I thought we had game aplenty—but this—this forest is rich,” he praised.

“It is no accident,” Duboha nodded. “We take great pains to cultivate the forest, to make it a welcoming place for all manner of beasts. It makes our hunting easy,” he smiled.