SO YOU WANT TO BE A HERO

Chapter 9

Brandon found himself sinking into a black nothingness; a darkness so deep he could see nothing around him. He could see himself, though. His body was glowing, as if it had been imbued with magic. He experimented moving his limbs; moving took a bit of effort, but wasn't impossible. He tried to change his course but nothing he did would allow him to move anywhere but down. So down he went.

After a time, a voice floated to him in the darkness; soft and lilting like sparrows in springtime. He was being carried towards it. As he approached the voice took the shape of another glowing figure, dancing sadly within the darkness. Her voice pierced Brandon's heart; it was a song of sadness, despair, and loneliness. It brought back memories of his father, and for the first time in a long time he felt tears in his eyes. He swallowed them back and called out to the singer. "Hello?"

She stopped singing and glided towards him, face lit up with joy. "Piotyr? Is it you?"

"No."

"Oh." She stopped before him, disappointment crossing her fine features.

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you."

"No," she shook her head apologetically. "The fault is mine. I shouldn't have presumed. My name is Erana."

Erana. Brandon had heard legends about her from Wolfgang, mostly about how she wove protective magic about the town. The legends had told of how she was half-faery and Brandon could see why. Her hair was the color of orchids, her skin the color of marigolds, and she carried herself with an inhuman grace. But her eyes were deep blue, and she was much taller and bigger than the delicate race of the faeries. Brandon thought she was very beautiful.

He hadn't realized that he was staring until she cocked her head, smiling amusedly. "You haven't told me your name."

"Brandon. Brandon MacTaggart." He stretched his hand out to touch her but the air before her was like a wall, preventing him to get closer.

"I'm afraid you can't enter," Erana told him. "The barrier is impenetrable, both from without and within." She moved her hands along the invisible barrier to demonstrate, then looked more closely at him. "I apologize for mistaking you for Piotyr. You have the same aura."

Brandon looked at his glowing body. "Yellow?"

Erana laughed, her eyes twinkling merrily. "Something like that."

"Who is Piotyr?"

"A friend." Her smile wavered a bit when she answered.

Perhaps more than that, Brandon thought. "I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"For what? Coming to visit me? You are the first person I've seen in a long time. How were you able to come here?"

"I don't know," Brandon tried to remember. "I ate some sparkling fruits, then fell asleep."


"I created those fruits to replenish magical energy," Erana frowned in thought. "They were meant to revitalize, not make someone sleepy."

"Even someone who isn't a magic-user?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I never offered one to a non-magic user."

Brandon suddenly had a sinking feeling. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"I don't think so. You have the glow of one living. Which makes it odd that you were able to come here."

"Where is here?"

He suddenly felt cold, his body frozen. Behind Erana he saw a roiling cloud, sparking with blue and red lights, bubbling and boiling with anger and frustration. Two blood red eyes glared at him from within the darkness, darkness that was even deeper than that surrounding him. Brandon shuddered. If Evil could be encompassed in a body, this was the form it would take.

Erana pressed herself closer to the barrier, eyes wide with fear. "You must go! Quickly!"

"But... I can't leave you here!" Brandon pushed at the invisible surface that separated them. There had to be some way to get her out of there!

"You can't stay," she said, smiling sadly at him. "I'll be all right." She began to chant softly and suddenly a breeze began pushing Brandon away from her.

The roiling mass of Evil shrieked as it watched Brandon go, hurling itself with all its might against the barrier. Brandon watched helplessly as Erana waved good bye to him, then turned and was swallowed within the black clouds of the creature.

"No!" Brandon fought the wind, which had grown stronger and was carrying him inexorably towards a bright white light. The light surrounded him, piercing his eyes, yanking him away from her...

"Erana!"

Brandon bolted upright. Panting for breath, he noticed he was in the garden he had fallen asleep in the night before. The sun was shining brightly in the sky. Birds chirped around him as they hopped in the grass, hoping for a morning meal. Everything just as it should be in a morning in the woods. He blinked disbelievingly, feeling the dirt beneath him for comfort. What just happened? Was it all a dream?

"Bad dream?"

"I don't..." Brandon stopped as he saw who, or rather what, had asked the question. Beside him was the fox he had saved a couple days ago, regarding him with a cocked head as if waiting for an answer. /Forests of pain and talking foxes. What's next? The rocks getting up and dancing?/

The fox leapt onto his lap, eyes twinkling mischievously. "What's the matter?" it asked. "Cat got your tongue?"

"You can talk," Brandon managed.

"So can you."

"That's different. Animals don't usually talk to people."

The fox shrugged, unconcernedly.

"This must be an illusion," Brandon said, looking dubiously at the fruits hanging overhead. "Or another bad dream."

The fox narrowed his eyes, then he nipped Brandon's hand.

"Ow!" So much for illusions.

"Still think this is an illusion?"

"You didn't have to bite me," Brandon grumbled.

"I had to make sure you believe me. I came on an important mission."

This didn't sound good. "Which is?"

"The Land told me to tell you that it wants you to help it."

"With what?"

"You know Baba Yaga? Ten years she placed a curse on the Baron's daughter, Elsa. Now, Elsa doesn't remember who she is anymore. No wizard, not even Erasmus, can break the spell." The fox absently scratched an ear. "But the nature of things is they always want to be what they are, even if they don't know it. The Land understands this; it's the way things are. And, the Land can break the spell."

"How?"

"The Dryad will tell you."

Brandon shook his head. Oh no, not this again. "Why me? I'm no hero; I'm just a hunter. Hans is a hero. Or, at least, he wants to be. Tell the Dryad to talk to him."

"You don't get it, do you? The Land doesn't want to talk to Hans. It doesn't want to talk to the Sheriff of Spielburg, the Adventurer, the Centaur, or anyone else. It wants to talk to *you*."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the only one that will listen."

"But-"

"No buts!" The fox sighed, then continued patiently, as if dealing with a small stupid child. "You want to know why? You feel the Forest. You listen to the Forest, just like you're listening to me. Anyone else would have tried to skin me by now."

"You sound like Wolfgang," Brandon said. "He seems to think I'm cut out of hero-material. Well, you're both wrong! I'm only a hunter. I don't have any sword skills and I'm too old to learn them. You've got the wrong person."

The fox studied him a moment, then said softly, "Why don't you concentrate on what you can do, instead of what you can't?"

"I'm not a hero," Brandon repeated. Didn't anyone listen to him?

"What does that matter? I didn't say the Land wanted a hero, I said it wanted *you*." The fox snorted irritatedly. "Why don't you quit whining like a kit and do something productive?"

"Fine, fine." Brandon rubbed his hand across his eyes. "How do I find the Dryad?"

"Just listen. The Land will tell you." The fox nuzzled his cheek, then bounded out of Erana's Peace.

As soon as it had disappeared, Brandon flopped onto his back, staring at the clouds streaking the sky. How did the world get turned all upside down? He was only supposed to come to Spielburg to trade for a couple of weeks, get some new furs, and then set off to Vollenburg. Instead, he found Spielburg nearly barren with no way to get out, and everyone in the entire valley seemed to want his help defeating a curse. Why him? He was certainly no one's idea of a hero, not even his own. Surely Hans would save them all.

But the Land didn't want to talk to Hans, did it?

Brandon studied his hands, remembering the sharp pain he had felt yesterday. The feeling of despair and hopelessness, the same as the atmosphere that had fallen over the town of Spielburg.

/Maybe the fox is right,/ Brandon admitted wryly. /I am whining. Maybe it is time I stopped thinking about what I can't do, and what I'm not, and start doing something to help. /

/But first, there are a few things I need to understand. And I think Wolfgang can help me./

***

Wolfgang Abenteur sneezed as the seven years of dust that had settled upon his prize dragon head clouded in a last-ditch effort to be rid of him. Cleaning was so much work; it was no wonder he had neglected doing it for so long. Then again, there had never been much reason to clean until now. Now there were four newcomers in town. With that came hope that at least one of them could break the spell and get this old town back on its feet again. So, with newfound resolve, he tackled the cleaning with as much vigor as he had tackled the dragon he was now dusting. "You were a rough one," Wolfgang grinned, proudly polishing the nostrils. "Tracked you for three weeks straight, barely sleeping, and then..."

He was interrupted in his reminiscing by the door opening and young Hans stepping in. "Hey there, lad!" Wolfgang waved from his perch atop the dragon. "How's the heroing coming?"

"Um... good. Really well." The kid looked like he hadn't slept; his eyes were rimmed with red and he was quite pale. Wolfgang knew that look; most young adventurers bore that look at least once.

"That's good to hear," Wolfgang said, climbing down the ladder. "Have you encountered any of the night creatures, such as the Cheetaur?" he pointed to the fierce looking head mounted on the left wall. "Nasty creature, that. You can't outrun them either. You have to fight them, hold your ground."

Hans nodded, barely looking at the creature.

So much for subtlety. "Anything on your mind, lad?"

"Herr Abenteur... have you ever killed someone?"

Aha, Wolfgang thought. "Sometimes. When I had to."

"I... killed a brigand yesterday."

"Good for you lad."

"No, it wasn't! He just attacked me for asking directions, then I... I..."

"Did what you had to do," Wolfgang finished for him.

"It... it's not like killing a monster, is it?" The boy was suddenly white.

"No, lad, it's not. Monsters aren't supposed to think or talk back; they're just supposed to be evil. Humans aren't like that. But sometimes, you have to do what you have to do."

"Even killing someone?"

"If that's what it takes. I'll tell you something, lad. Real heroes do kill people. Sometimes it's their job. But they don't like it. And if there's any other way, they'll find it. But, when it comes down to it and they have no choice, they kill. And with no regrets."

"But..."

"It's hard, I know. But it's all part of being a hero."

Hans nodded. "I didn't know being a hero would be so difficult."

"No one really knows anything until he tries. Thinking of quitting?"

Hans thought for a minute, then vigorously shook his head. "No. I'm going to be a hero, no matter what it takes." He smiled tentatively. "Thanks, Herr Abentuer."

"Anytime, lad."

Hans departed, the swing in his step slowly coming back. Brave lad, Wolfgang thought, smiling. It had been a long time since he had given such pep talks to greenies, especially those dealing with their first kill or failure. At least he was able to do something for Hans. Brandon on the other hand; that kid was more difficult to handle. Arrogance and over self confidence he knew how to deal with; all would-be heroes had to have those in spades. But low-self confidence was something Wolfgang had no experience with. He knew Brandon wanted to help, but the lad was so hell-bent on convincing himself there was nothing he could do that Wolfgang wanted to scream.

That and Brandon hadn't come back last night, which left Wolfgang very worried. Not that the lad couldn't take care of himself, but creatures like the Cheetaur could be very nasty if they happened upon anyone.

Wolfgang was debating whether or not to send Schultz out to find him when Brandon walked in, looking refreshed and unharmed. "Where have you been, lad?" Wolfgang asked, relieved. "I was worried about you when you didn't come back last night."

"I'm sorry about that. I was chased by a cheetaur and accidentally found 'Erana's Peace.'" Brandon handed Wolfgang a piece of parchment scribbled with trees and arrows.

"Excellent work lad!" Wolfgang placed that piece with the others on the desk. "Soon we'll have a good enough map for all those young tykes who'll be invading once the snow melts. Speaking of tykes, have you met that young would-be hero, Hans?"

"He was here?" Brandon asked distractedly, attention focused on the notice board on the far wall as if trying to make a decision.

"A couple of times. Brave fellow, that. He'll go far." Wolfgang pressed his lips together, forcing himself to be silent. /Come on, lad,/ he urged, hoping, /I know you've got it in you./

The silence was beginning to grow unbearable when Brandon finally turned back to Wolfgang and asked, almost timidly, "Wolfgang, could you tell me about what happened to the Baron's daughter and son?"

"Change of heart, lad?" Wolfgang tried to keep his features steady, hoping that what he heard was what he had hoped for.

Brandon smiled sheepishly. "Let's just say I've decided to stop thinking about what I can't do, and start doing what I can."

Wolfgang grinned. Finally! "Sit down, lad," he brought up a chair next to his old rocking chair. "It's a long story."

****

Brutus knocked on Leader's office door. He hated coming here, with that stupid warlock giggling in the corner and the minataur towering over him as he tried to speak. Why'd Franz have to go and get himself killed, anyway? It was supposed to be an easy job; kill the budding hero before he got Leader's attention. Then the other brigands would see that Brutus was much better at getting things done than their current leader and it wouldn't be long until *he* was the one giving the orders. Unfortunately, the would-be hero turned out to be competent.

"Enter," came Leader's voice through the door.

Sure enough, the warlock was sitting in the corner and the minataur was by the door, waiting to hover over Brutus while he talked. Leader was sitting at the desk, her eyes peering intently over her folded gloved hands and beneath her broad-brimmed hat. Brutus assumed his normal place before her desk and tried to ignore the heavy breathing of the minataur behind him.

"Well?" Leader asked.

Better to get this over with quickly. "Franz is dead."

Leader only raised her head slightly.

"None of us did it," Bruno quickly added. "There's a would-be hero who came a couple of days ago. He's the one that did it."

"A couple of days ago?" the warlock asked in his annoying squeaky voice. "And why weren't we told about this?"

"I didn't think it would interest you," Brutus snapped at him. "They're greenies; they have no idea what they're doing. We thought we'd get 'em out of your hair for you."

"They?" Leader asked. Brutus also hated when she started asking questions. It gave him the feeling that she knew much more than he did, especially the things he wanted to keep secret.

"Rumor has it there's two of them. Both men. The big tall blonde one is the would-be hero; the other just ended up stranded here."

"What do you know of the other one?"

"He's a thief. Kinda tall, but doesn't look like much trouble. Not for us, anyway."

"I see." Leader silently pondered while the minataur continued to breathe down Brutus' neck. The warlock thankfully remained quiet as well, lips pursed together as if thinking along with their Leader. Finally, Leader snapped her eyes back to Brutus. "How is it you know so much detail?"

Brutus shrugged uncomfortably. "I know people."

"Indeed." Brutus hated when she looked like she knew exactly what he was thinking. It made it very difficult to keep a straight face and not break out into a sweat. The hot breath of the minataur was already dampening his skin. Finally, she leaned back into her chair. "Very well. I'll take care of our would-be hero. Dismissed."

"Aye sir." Slowly Brutus turned around and walked out of the office. He let out a breath of relief once the door had clicked closed behind him. "That went well," he muttered sarcastically. She knew more than she was telling him. And she was getting suspicious. They were going to have to put their plan into action soon.

Cursing Franz for the second time that day, Brutus went to write another note to his partner.

***

Yvonne was vexed. The knots the pixies had left in her hair had taken two hours to untangle, teaching Yvonne an important lesson about trusting pixies. She had planned on getting an early start up to Erasmus' mountain so she would have ample time to play several games of Mage's Master to beat him. Now it was nearing noon and she was just setting out on her way. At this rate, she would be lucky to make it back to the village by sunset. She entertained herself on the walk to Zauberberg by imagining horrible things happening to the pixies. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice the brigands around her until a snapping branch jerked her out of her thoughts.

She managed to narrowly avoid being caught in someone's hands by backing away. There were only two men, both lean and wearing leather armor. She mentally ran through her list of spells, wondering which one would be most useful when someone to her left announced in a squeaky voice, "It will do you no good to run."

Atop a large rock was a small man, dressed garrishly in clashing colors that didn't blend with either his surroundings or his complexion. Yvonne guessed he was the brigand leader's warlock; only a court jester would wear something that hideous. Beside him stood two more brigands, leering at her. "We'd like you to come with us," the warlock continued. "Now, if you please."