Most of the people who had arrived for the evening séance on the ferry cruising to the islands of Venc, were seeing a medium for the first time. Therefore the participants would probably spend their life fully convinced that all of spiritualists have eyes like drills and faces like grumpy eggplant. However, in fact it was an occurrence as common as in any other group of specialists.
The medium was introduced as Berwald for two reasons: the first was the reputation because somebody like that should not be named for example 'Bob', the second was secret, dramatic and not yet to be revealed. There was a story behind it but as with every story: it had to be told when the time was right.
People were sitting around a table. They represented various stages of curiosity, maybe some were a little bit anxious, some bored and some probably tried not to think too much about the way the ship was rocking slightly on the sea waves. The whole séance was just another way to kill the boredom and a desperate feeling of stomach flip-flopping.
The room was warm, the air smelled of cigarettes and heavy perfume. It was almost completely dark except for the lazy candle flames which, quite ironically, made the shadows even thicker and the darkness in the corners almost greasy. The whole atmosphere was a little bit spoiled by the constant flickering of the light as one of the participants was playing with a candle by shifting his finger through the fire fast enough not to get burned. He had a very self-contended smile on his face and the sand-haired boy who had the man brought with him, was observing these actions with pure a fascination.
"What you will witness may shake you to the bone,'' the medium's assistant spoke. Up to this point he was nervously plucking the cuff of his white shirt but now he was gesticulating rather vigorously which prevented him from his previous activity. ''You may feel scared, you may be confused, you may as well deny that all of it is true. And you are free to do this but I will wholeheartedly assure you that the voices you will hear soon speaking through Berwald's mouth belong to the dead.''
At this point, suddenly, one of the rose-pattern-painted saucers on which the candle was placed, moved on its own right across the table.
Said Berwald himself looked no different than a second before the whole event, maybe his narrow lips twitched a little. The man who had just been playing with the candle flame finally stopped, the kid watching him immediately straightened his back as if there was some kind of invisible signal between these two.
"So, well,'' the assistant spoke again, giving his partner a quick look. His face was almost as pale as the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. ''Is there somebody with us already, Berwald?"
"Yes.''
The audience visibly tensed, some eyebrows were risen, some hands froze just half-way for the nose-scratching.
"He says he's here for his grandson.''
The assistant looked around the table at the people gathered there. His face was solemn but there might have been a hint of amusement in his eyes. Or maybe it was just the candle light.
"Is that grandpa Publius?'' asked some dark-haired, very excited lad, he was well-tanned and must had been a traveler from one off the southern republics. His accent was definitely a clue. "I've never met him but I think he watches me sometimes from above! He was a big family-man!"
"Calm down, you boy, you'll make us all deaf,'' protested a corpulent lady in a pink dress.
"It is him,'' claimed Berwald with the driest voice possible.
"What does he want? I bet being dead must be pretty boring so maybe I could tell him about something nice like…'' The young man was almost flying in the air out of excitement. The only thing preventing him from finishing the sentence was the absolutely terrible expression on the medium's face. He looked as if he was suffocating, his eyes goggled, his mouth twisted.
"Don't worry it is normal he just…'' The assistant tried to be reassuring but the audience had hard time believing his words.
Then it all stopped. And Berwald spoke, his voice as calm as before:
"Hello, my dear boy, I couldn't wait to speak to you. How's your mother?''
"She's fine, grandpa! We are all fine. We've started with the olive thing and it is going great, it was your idea, wasn't it?'' The young man began a careless chatter with his deceased grandparent whom he never actually knew and who was preassembly speaking through the medium with the flattest delivery possible. It didn't seem to bother him.
"And how about your sibling?''
" My big brother? Fine and grumpy so mostly fine, you know how he is.'' He smiled widely.
"Excuse me,'' the lady in pink suddenly rose her voice towards the medium's assistant because even as nervous he was, he seemed to be more sane at the moment. "When would I speak with somebody? There must be somebody waiting for me, I know a lot people who are dead."
Berwald didn't even wait for the question to be directed to him. He just blinked, cleared his throat and said:
"Yes.''
"That must be her sister,'' said the gentlemen sitting next to the woman. ''One of them at least. She has tons of them, don't you?"
"It's a man.''
There was a very visible confusion.
"Is it my father? He said he didn't believe in ghosts so it would be really rude to come here as such.'' The lady was bending over the table, trying to remain the eye-contact with the medium. With doing so she was probably the bravest person in the room.
"It is your husband.''
"Aha!'' exclaimed the man sitting next to the lady. "She has only had one husband and it is me! Wonderful scam, I almost got tricked!''
If somebody from the audience knew Berwald well enough, they would had noticed that he had just almost smiled.
"He says: 'Maria, don't you remember the wine on the steps of the City of Roses?"
"I… remember. Is it you, my dear? It has been so long…'' The woman looked as if she was going to faint, her eyes were wet, her hands trembling, the colorful stones of the rings she was wearing were flickering like small, distant stars. Her husband, on the other hand, was utterly shocked, he was closing and opening his mouth like a fish out of water.
"Maria, what are you…'' the man finally spoke.
"Shhh, I'll explain it later, just, please, for now, I need to.. Can I speak to him, mister?'' Her voice became softer, almost silk-like.
"Yes,'' Berwald said and let the dead man speak through himself.

"Nice show, nice tricks.'' The room was being cleared by the medium's assistant. He was surprisingly quick and methodical with it. All the candles had already been packed, the oil lamps lightening the cabin with in a far less mystical way. But it wasn't the assistant who spoke. It was a fair-haired man, the same who had been playing nonchalantly with the candle flame at the beginning of the meeting. During the whole presentation he kept a cocky smile on his lips. The boy who had came with him was currently sitting on one of the chairs, waiting with the not-childlike calm.
"Excuse me?" the assistant looked over his shoulder as he was carefully folding the tablecloth with the occult symbols on it.
"He thinks we are faking it, Timo,'' spoke a person called Berwald. He was sitting nearby, tired expression on his face, keeping a wet towel to his forehead. He got a killing headache.
"Well, we are not.'' Timo brushed it off continuing his work. "Spiritualism is a real, scientific…''
"I don't say that it is all bullshit. But I saw some real medium last year in Ferr and it was nothing like this. But your show was nice, almost true. Almost.'' The man was playing with the pocket watch he had just got out. It seemed that he liked to keep his hands occupied. "You were pulling the tablecloth to make the plate move.''
"Or it could be magic.'' The assistant packed the tablecloth carefully to a fatigued suitcase. "I used to study it, you know, sir? But it wasn't me this time. It was this young man's grandpa Publius. Was it Publius, Ber?''
The medium murmured something which could be interpreted in any way.
"I think we are done here. There is going to be some sort of concert or something?'' Timo scratched his head. "In this room, I mean, they'll come to rearrange all of it in a moment.'' He made a vogue gesture. "Did you like the séance?'' The assistant turned to the boy. He frowned a little bit.
"I guess. It was… entertaining.'' He concentrated really hard to say it and sounded as if was repeating after somebody. His older companion burst into laughter hearing this.
"Look what a clever man we have!'' His words seemed surprisingly genuinely. He messed the boys hair. "And he also speaks for me! Nice show, I worth seeing it again. Just get less obvious with your tricks. Good luck and goodbye!'' He waved his hand and Timo smiled as both of the last viewers were walking out of the cabin.
"Goodbye to you as well, Gilbert.''
The man looked over his shoulder with a slightly surprised look just a second before the door closed.
"What an asshole,'' Timo commented lightheartedly, picking up the packed up suitcase. Meanwhile a man previously called Berwald whose name was, in fact Bernhard, got up from the chair, the towel still pressed to his forehead.
"You're too patient.''
"I just wanted to keep this place in a decent state. I have a feeling that the captain is only waiting to charge us with the full-payment for the cruise so we need to behave. No, well, furniture breaking. And besides, you were accused of faking too!''
"But you were doing the talking.''
They went out of the cabin, on the corridor outside there were already some nervous people with brooms and buckets so getting past them was a real task but with a little bit of teamwork and 'excuse me' and 'oh sorry' they managed to accomplish it.
"Let's put the stuff back and go to eat something.''
"Agreed." Bernhard nodded. "He looked surprised.''
"That guy? I bet he was! He didn't know I knew his name,'' Timo said happily.
"How?
"I overheard the kid talking to him at the canteen.'' He shrugged.
"He will spend a sleepless night.'' There was a playful flicker in the Bernhard's eyes.
"It would definitely be fair. I hope we'll not see him at the canteen. Him or somebody of that sort.''
"Agreed.''

"No, actually, my patron is the god of family and wisdom but…'' The priestess scrubbed her chin. "I am able to appreciate the other gods and the gifts they give us.''
The canteen was crowded and noisy. Even if Timo and Bernhard wanted to eat alone, it was not an option as almost all the chairs were taken. In the end they were forced to seat at the same table as a round-faced priestess with a shaved head and a big, silver medallion of a hand with a heart on her neck. The woman was extremely polite and enthusiastic, the latter being the catastrophic in the results. It was hard to tell what was a direct cause of Bernhard's mood: the séance, the headache, the conversation with Gilbert, but the final touch was definitely the happy demeanor of the priestess.
Nevertheless, the fact was that they started speaking about religion and it couldn't end up well as Bernhard was in his mood and had his experience which he rarely talked about but it surely was affecting his whole life.
Bernhard looked at the priestess skeptically, taking a sip from a mug. She must have taken it as an encouragement but in fact it was rather a silent challenge.
"Well, for example I do understand the gift of the merciful death from the Blue Goddess. I can certainly value Ytta's Hand's Blessing…''
Bernhard's eyes were piercing at the moment. He could make his gaze so intimidating that it was almost burning through the wooden tables and he was taking a full advantage of this ability.
"What would you say about the God of Hunt?'' he said in a low voice. Timo looked at his friend, probably knowing that his cool and restrained behavior are only a mask covering the real mess his emotions were. Which, by the way, was not unusual or odd for him. He was just a person constantly hiding a destructive force inside of him, the plus was that he had gotten used to it by now. So maybe the world would not blow out that soon.
"Do you find it funny?" the priestess asked, slightly offended.
"Please, I was just, pardon me, I assumed you would be more fond of peace and well, the God of Hunt is often portrayed as cruel, merciless and-''
This time the priestess actually smiled.
"I probably know what do you mean. But you're both wrong and right. Well, I am a peace-lover, indeed, however, the God of Hunt is not only the patron of the oppressors! Quite on the contrary!"
It seemed that Bernhard almost choked on the cooked cabbage he was swallowing at the moment. It would be a truly pitiful end of his long journey, not exactly a heroic way to kick the bucket. Probably actually hitting the bucket would be less humiliating.
"Really?" asked Timo casually, hitting his friends back to make him cough out the cunning vegetable.
"Is your friend all right?" The priestess looked worried, her blue eyes got even more watery than they were in the first place.
"Fine,'' said Bernhard hoarsely, sounding terribly not fine. But clearly he could breath so it wasn't that bad.
"Oh, well, so, I guess…''
"You were talking about this hunt guy.'' Timo clearly wanted to put the conversation on the right track again.
"The God of Hunt. The Forest Lord, The Master of the Chase…'' It was a miracle that Bernhard managed to look more and more offended with each title the priestess willingly delivered. ''He is not only what you think he is. Actually, I can tell you my favorite story of him. It is easier to understand what do I mean…''
Timo gave a ''go-on'' gesture and Bernhard nodded, his eyes a little bit more weary and red than before.
"There was a lord, wealthy and powerful,'' the woman began her story sounding like if she was repeating something she had learnt long time ago. ''If he lifted one finger – one hundred of armed man would come to fight for him until death. If he lifted two fingers – one hundred of the most beautiful women would come to warm his bed. If he lifted three fingers – the bath of wine and rose petals would be prepared for him.''
Timo made a face as if he wanted to say something totally not necessarily so Bernhard gave him a piercing gaze just to prevent it from happening.
"And he had a daughter that he loved so much. When she ran away with her lover, the lord felt devastated. So he prayed to the God of Hunt, prayed for three nights, sacrificed countless birds for his glory. He promised that shall the god help him hunt down the ran-away daughter, he would sacrifice her lover to the deity. After that the lord called his people, took the horses, took the vicious dogs and played the horn: the hunt began. All this swordsman, all these riders, all these dogs were searching for days and weeks, day after day, week after week. A month passed, then another. Neither the daughter nor her lover were found. Thus the lord prayed to the God of Hunt again, eyes fiery, heart mad. And the Forest Lord arrived, his face horned, his eyes bright like stars. 'Why didn't you help me, my lord?' the mortal asked. 'My daughter is laughing at me, she took my honor away with her.' The God of Hunt smiled and said: 'So wrong of you, my lord, thinking that your daughter could deprived you of your honor. You took it away from yourself!' And he laughed at the mortal his voice rumbling as a thunder in the deep forest.''
The priestess looked at both men with the self-satisfaction so pure that they didn't know how to react to this.
"So he doesn't listen to the prayers…?'' asked Timo to clarify the meaning of the story.
"He just looks beyond them,'' woman continued with skipping a bit. "Because the hunt has more than just the hunter, there is also the prey and if you call a god to intervene – you have to bear in mind that He can judge you.''
"So he'll just do whatever he wants to,'' Bernhard summed it up, thinking how convenient it all is.
"Human mind cannot comprehend gods' deeds.''

"Bullshit,'' said Bernhard a few hours and a bottle of cheap, local wine and the conversation with the priestess after. Currently he had no shoes, no vest and no reluctance to speak what he thought. Which was a very dangerous state for him and his surroundings but only within the reach of his voice and arms as he probably couldn't get up successfully no matter what. When he was drunk he usually became more talkative and flushed but the real affect of the alcohol was not visible until he tried to walk. He had a tendency to fall down like a cut down tree, especially taking his height into consideration.
At the moment, however, Bernhard was sitting, the gloom was radiating from him in waves almost tangible in the stuffy cabin.
"In general?'' Timo asked, his voice sleepy as he already felt half-asleep, lying on the bed just above his friend's.
"This priestess. God's will-''
Timo wanted to nod but he remembered that Bernhard wasn't actually able to see him so he didn't bother himself with unnecessary movements.
"You think I'm overreacting?''
"Well… she said what she thought and didn't know that somebody actually tried to send the God of Hunt after you…''
Bernhard was silent for a few seconds, proceeding the whole statement in his not so sober mind. Timo was almost fully positive that his friend smashed himself at least partially because of the previous conversation with the priestess. Usually Bernhard was the one who didn't drink that much.
"He killed me.''
"He just thinks he did that…''
"Same.'' The thing about Bernhard's anger was that it was clear as a cut, cold on the surface and hot inside. Drunken anger was just less rational.
"Maybe for him but not for you. Being alive is far different from being dead, isn't it?'' Timo was fully awake at this point and he decided to take an advantage of that.
"You think I'm overreacting.''
The cabin felt even more stuffy after this declaration and the silence that followed. It didn't last long, fortunately.
"About the priestess? Yeah, probably. About your brother? No, I don't think so. Because of that I'm here, I want to help, remember?''
Bernhard was considering something silently, almost digesting some idea in himself. The result wasn't promising. He shifted on his bed.
"I'm going out'' he announced.
Timo, knowing better how it would end up now spoke with a worry:
"Maybe not…?'' But Bernhard was already getting up and this was a process and not an easy one. ''You'll fall out and drawn…''
What come instead of an answer was a low thud when Bernhard's body hit the floor. A falling down tree, indeed.