Chapter 5

NOW

The river was silent, an inky black pool of nothing that ebbed and flowed all around us.

The boatman was as silent as the water; his back facing us and his hand steady on the worn timber rudder of the boat.

Standing as far from Cavallas the Boatman as I could, I held the railing with both hands, watching for any change in scenery.

From the moment we had left Lith My'athar — maybe a bit over half an hour earlier — we had all taken our places and waited silently, retreating into our thoughts.

Jittery, I tapped the underside of my ring against the edge of the boat to the beat of Deekin's doom song.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Valen was beside me, his pale skin and fiery red hair a stark contrast to the doom and gloom around us. His pale blue eyes were narrowed as he pondered the horizon, hands gently resting on the railing.

Nathyrra sat cross-legged in the middle of the boat, her body facing straight ahead to the pow. Her hands rested gently on her knees and her back was ramrod straight. Last I'd checked her eyes had been shut, her face set in a slack expression of restfulness.

I had insisted on this course of action, despite Nathyrra's opinion that we should instead focus our energy on weakening the Valsharesses' known allies, first.

Valen had been the one to mention the islands.

Journeying first to the 'mysterious island' was something I'd decided on a while ago, but now that we were on our way, I wasn't so sure…

Doom, doom, doom, doom.

Better than the alternatives, I guess.

Deekin's repetitive song ran through my head on a loop and I tapped my ring louder to override the memory of the kobold bard's raspy voice.

My memory was a little fuzzy on the exact details of what I had to do — but I remembered the mirror's shards where our priority and Sabal's group of drow where dangerous. But then, what wasn't dangerous in the Underdark? Her Time Stop spell wasn't something I had faced before and was currently my biggest concern. Maybe I should have started with killing our way through the Beholder hive…

That was if I could figure out how to get into it in real life.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

I shook my head at the sudden circling of my thoughts. I'd gone over this enough times already. We needed the mirror.

I needed the mirror, I corrected myself. No point lying to myself.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Valen looked down at me, his frown deepening. He cleared his throat and then motioned to my tapping hand.

"Your ring," he started slowly. "The symbol looks…"

I stopped tapping — happy for the distraction — and held my hand up enthusiastically for display. "Symbolic?" I finished for him.

He raised an eyebrow. "I was going to say hierogrammatic."

I snorted, before waving a hand dismissively at his raised brow, before focusing again on my hand.

The silver band seemed shiny and new, despite the hardships it and I had faced. The carving of the silver hand, upright and facing away, was ever unchanging — palm out and fingers together. The area immediately surrounding the hand was a darker shade. Angry whorls — representative of wind, if Drogan was to be believed — were carved into the rest of the band.

"Apparently, it's the symbol for Shaundakul," I explained with a shrug.

The open confusion on his face bought a smile to my lips. My obvious lack of enthusiasm probably wasn't something he'd expected when talking about an openly showcased holy symbol.

"I must admit," he finally conceded. "I am curious about your beliefs. Many on your world," he motioned vaguely above our heads, "worship a God or Goddess. You are one of them?"

I pondered the weight of the ring for a moment.

"I acknowledge the existence of them," I finally settled on. Hard not to after the year I'd had. "Whether or not they deserve our worship?" I shrugged.

I tucked a strand of hair — blown loose by the gentle breeze carrying on the water — back behind my ear.

"I see." He turned back towards the water, resting comfortably against the railing. For a while it seemed like that was all he had to say.

Then; "I have seen my share of greater beings during my time in the Planes." Valen paused, watching for any sign of surprise from the corner of his eye. I waited for him to continue. "I know that there are many who have faded away or died… or even been killed at the hands of mortals."

I listened to his musing, as rocks started emerging in the darkness ahead — great looming cliff faces in the distance.

Valen took in their approach, straightening his posture. He rolled his shoulders and then shrugged, trying for nonchalant. "To me, this makes them too… familiar to honor in such a personal way, despite the power that I know they have to grant to others." He turned towards me, and his voice betrayed a hint of wistfulness. "I too am unconvinced. I suspect that this shall not change."

I nodded in agreement.

He motioned towards the ring once more, even as his eyes scanned the distant rocks with trained eyes. "So why adorn yourself with this God's symbol?"

I twisted the ring on my finger as I considered the question. Finally, I settled on: "It was a gift. Kind of." More likely a curse.

I made a show of trying to remove it, but — like always — it didn't budge. "And this is where it seems to want to stay." I dropped my hands and shrugged. "God's' work in mysterious ways."

"That we agree on," Valen said with a nod.

I toyed with my next question for only a moment. "So, does that mean you don't believe in the Seer's visions?"

He looked at me side on, the hint of a smile on his lips, as if he'd expected me to ask.

"I believe that the Seer has her visions." He shrugged. "I believe it may even be her goddess that sends them."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. I knew where this was going.

He was egging me on. Waiting to see what I would do — what I would say — when confronted face on.

He was scared.

"the Seer believes that you will lead us to victory," he continued, unfazed, "but nothing is said of what such a victory might cost." He looked at me pointedly. "Some costs, I think, are too high."

Despite knowing I was going to be met with open distrust, it still didn't soften the sting. It also didn't help that I suspected the Seer's visions had been of Emma, and not me. It was striking a little closer to home than I'd expected.

I worried at the inside of my lip. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning that the Seer assumes you are here to help us. I make no such assumptions. I have led her people through every danger and kept her safe, throughout." He held my gaze. "I won't see them betrayed."

I turned away, taking in the shifting shadows across the water and holding onto the railing with a white-knuckled grip.

He would come around.

"I admire your dedication," I told the water, not ready to face him yet.

"Thank you. But that is why I must have an answer on this," he insisted.

I frowned immediately, wracking my brain for the next part of this conversation.

'He wants you to say you won't betray them, you dolt,' Enserric snapped at me.

I worried at my lip.

'Which you won't.' The sword almost sounded like he was asking a question.

I shook my head. "You think I would betray them?"

"And why not?" he pressed. I turned back to him, noting his downturned lips and the deep crease between his brows. "You've no loyalty to beholden yourself to the drow, or the Seer. For all I know, you may see the death of the drow as a good thing." His voice remained even, but the challenge never left it.

I wouldn't betray them.

The words died on my lips.

"If you don't trust me so much, why are you here?" I hissed at him, suddenly angry.

"Because the Seer asked me to assist you, and you said you needed that assistance." He gave a dry smile. "Why? Have you changed your mind?"

I sighed and turned back around, unable to take his heavy blue gaze a moment longer. I planted my elbow on the railing of the boat, leaning on it heavily.

"No." I eventually answered. Quieter: "Have you?"

"I said I would help you, and I intend to do so faithfully," he said to my back, with renewed steel. "But I intend to watch you, as well. I don't trust you. It is as simple as that."

I stared at the darkness for a long moment.

Once confident my breathing had steadied, I turned back to face him.

He simply motioned towards the cliffs ahead, and the conversation was over.

Nathyrra appeared suddenly on my left, her approach as sudden as it was silent. She observed the cliffs with a schooled face of disinterest.

The pit in my stomach grew, and I hoped that I hadn't gotten off on the wrong foot with the hard-to-read woman, also.

I would need them both.

They would have grown to trust Emma. But could they trust me?

Should they?

Rolling my shoulders back, I watched the rocks as they grew in size, shaking out my hands and giving a few small jumps on the spot — careful not to literally rock the boat.

You can do this.

The breeze picked up as we pulled into a small cove, ushering me on to the death and craziness beyond.

THEN

I tried to ignore the circling bird above as I focused on tying the last of the leather strapping on her — my — boots in place.

I wiggled my toes, feeling sick at how delightfully warm my feet felt in the barely cold woman's shoes.

I'd closed her unseeing eyes before stripping her of her valuables — a much harder feet than they make it look in the movies, mind you — but it hadn't helped. No matter how I spun it, I couldn't hide from the truth. She'd died trying to save us. And now — to repay that final heroic act — I was taking everything she owned and leaving her to rot half-dressed in the middle of nowhere.

No, not nowhere; in the middle of Silverymoon and Hilltop.

Because, apparently, Emma wasn't a goddamn LARPer.

Dorothy and Toto had nothing on me.

Boots now snuggly in place I started loosely strapping her leather vest over my T-shirt. I gave up halfway up my chest — running out of leather string — and shrugged.

I looked down at myself with a frown, hoping I didn't look too much like a comfortable wolf in a skinny sheep's clothing.

Her belt was next — and thank goodness it was too big for her — because it just fitted with a freshly pierced hole. I left the scabbard which had held the blood-soaked knife empty, and two others now hung uncomfortably at my side.

Having already rifled through her bag and haphazardly packed the canvas bed, I pulled it onto my back before donning the cloak over it all. Her bow and quiver I left untouched by the tree, unsure on how to carry it all.

I tucked my mobile — switched off to conserve the last of the battery, just in case — into my jean pocket.

Finally ready, I took in the surrounding camp. A long-dead fire, a mess of leaves and dirt thrown about in our panic, and the body of the dead woman who'd helped me without being asked.

She wouldn't have set up camp here if I hadn't slowed her down all day.

I'm the reason she's dead.

I pushed the thought aside with a sudden burst of anger and without a backwards glance started in a random direction — the one I suspected most likely to lead back to the road.

No. I pressed a palm into my eyes in frustration. That thing was the reason she's dead.

I didn't choose to be here. And I didn't make her attack it.

I focused on the path ahead of me. Or the lack thereof.

A couple of minutes into my fast stomp through the trees — yesterday's dull pain in my feet a fond memory — I found the road.

My adrenaline immediately left me as I realised that this was where my plan ended. I stood on the path, tracking the hawk's wide circles through the sky as I pondered my next move.

Left to Hilltop, or right to Silverymoon?

I tried desperately to remember if she'd mentioned which was closer, but with no success.

I knew the longer I lingered, the more time I'd be out here alone. And that monster from last night was just a big black portal away.

But which way?

It suddenly occurred to me that she'd mentioned Drogan had been expecting her, an offhand comment I'd pushed aside as assinine roleplaying.

Drogan was real — as real as any of this was — and he was alive.

Whether that meant the events of the game were yet to play out or had never happened — I didn't know.

Emma might have been planning on apprenticing with him.

Mind made up, I started towards Hilltop.

And I walked. I walked until the sun was high in the sky. And then I walked until it was beginning to set.

Later that evening, an eerie feeling of déjà vu settled over me as I sat on my newly inherited bedroll and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of flatbread and dried meat. A weird drink bottle — a waterskin — was propped against my leg, worrisomely close to empty.

The birds above me sung away the last of the daylight as they prepared for nightfall. Around me, the shifting light of the fire chased away the growing shadows. I found myself once more thankful that Emma had shown me how to work the flint and steel as I shivered by the growing flames. I'd collected enough logs and kindling to hopefully last me the night.

A branch suddenly shifted overhead and I froze; heart pounding thunderously in my ears. But the birds continued to sing and there was no deafening roar.

I let myself breathe again.

Instead, the hawk from earlier — Emma's companion — observed me with its strangely intelligent eyes from a swaying branch. It watched me side on, shifting its head as it considered me.

I shifted uncomfortably in my messy bedding, painfully aware that this creature had watched me loot a body earlier that very day.

Feeling a little guilty — and very conscious of its sharp black-tipped beak — I broke another bit of meat off with my teeth. As if sensing this was for it, the bird dropped to the ground silently and waited.

As we took each other in, I noticed that some of the darker brown feathers of its wings were askew. The lighter down-like feathers from underneath peaked through at odd angles.

It must have been injured last night.

I pushed aside another stab of guilt.

Embarrassingly thankful for the company, I threw a strip of dried meat towards the bird. It pondered me for a moment but didn't take long to hop towards the meat and gulp it down.

The leaves rustled quietly on the wind, and the hawk flapped its wings. Thankfully it didn't go far and landed on another low hanging branch. It puffed itself out to prepare for the cold night ahead.

It was only thanks to the damn bird's calm that when I heard another voice — carrying to me from amongst the trees — that I didn't die from the shock of it.

"Hail fellow traveller," his voice was gruff but seemed friendly enough.

I pulled the blankets aside and looked down at my waist, searching for where one of the knives sat. I placed a hand carefully around the hilt of one and tried for calm.

He doesn't need to know how unprepared I am. I just have to look like I know what I'm doing. Be like Emma.

Just, you know; alive.

I forced my breathing into a steady pattern and plastered a smile onto my trembling lips. I left my hand on the weapon.

Searching the trees around me, it wasn't hard to catch the sight of movement and the shadowed humanoid-shape of a man — no spikes — as he approached.

Seconds later, the man passed easily through the tree lining and into the open, stopping to warm himself by my fire. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them appreciatively, hunching his shoulders from the wind that caused his cloak to flap erratically around his ankles.

He was the first person I'd seen all day.

I didn't know if I preferred the idea of the company, or if the promise of this unknown person was even more terrifying than solitude.

He caught my eyes over the flames and smiled warmly at my obvious distrust. He was in his late forties, with a big greying beard and creasing at the corners of his eyes.

Where I not suspicious that this guy might be a serial killer — he could easily be considered handsome.

He didn't say anything, and he didn't approach — the fire remaining immediately between us. I caught his eyes as they dropped momentarily to my knives and then they focused once more on the light of the flames.

"What can I do for you," I finally pressed, cursing the uncertainty in my tone.

He lent down and carefully pulled a log further into the fire, throwing some of the smaller sticks I'd prepared earlier on top for good measure.

He chuckled, a warm open sound, which loosened the tight grip I had around the handle of my weapon. Slightly.

"I find myself quite unprepared for the harshness of these cool nights," he explained through a chuckle. "And have had a horrible time of it travelling to Silverymoon the past day. I saw the light of your fire and thought the opportunity of a warm meal and toasty location too good to pass up."

Dammit! I knew I hadn't set up far enough from the road. But noooo, you were worried you'd get lost. Idiot.

I watched him with a frown, sizing him up and deciding on what I wanted to say.

What would Emma do?

He rubbed his hands in front of the flame to emphasise his point, before catching me with a sharp look. "And I admit the idea of company was a welcome one," he shrugged. "These forests can be filled with all sorts of dangers for those that are unprepared." He smiled again, "Those such as I, it would seem."

I knew what Emma would do. Emma would offer him the cloak off her back, and would explain how flint and steel worked over dinner.

I tightened my hand on her knife.

But Emma was dead.

And I wasn't Emma.

I opened my mouth to tell him I had no food to spare. The words were right there, on the tip of my tongue.

But then I thought of that horrible spiked monster, and Emma's unseeing eyes and I thought he had a point — the company would be preferred. Even if I would have to sleep with my hand on my knife all night.

Why did he have to be a middle-aged man, travelling alone? Why couldn't it be a nice young family with a Golden Retriever — all trained monster hunters?

I took a deep breath, hoping that this man wouldn't prove to be one of the dangers he warned of. I pointed my free hand absently, opposite the fire.

"Make yourself comfy, I guess." I tried for casual.

His eyes lit up and he showed his teeth through his beard in a broad grin. The wind blew his wiry dark hair askew.

"But I'm afraid I don't have any warm food," I admitted.

He immediately waved a hand dismissively, and I found myself relaxing when he used the support of the tree to drop into a cross-legged sitting position.

"I'll take what I can get," he smiled across the flames.

The wind keened around us and I risked pulling the canvas higher up my legs.

He tilted his head back against the tree and smiled.

Over the course of the evening, the birds eventually slept and the forest was silent, but for the crackling of the fire and the distant hum of bugs. His dark eyes bore into the fire and I was thankful that he wasn't the prying type.

It wasn't much later that I found my eyes dropping, my head jolting in shock as I forced myself back awake. Immediately, I looked across the still-healthy fire, to the silent man I knew nothing about. He offered me a gentle smile that creased the corners of his dark eyes at my obvious alarm.

"Sleep," he admonished. "You have nothing to fear from me."

Words a serial killer would say.

I huffed out a breath, trying for casual as I waved his comment off. I rubbed my ring, hidden on a chain beneath my shirt and vest.

Desperate for something to do, I reached out for my nearby pack and fished out Emma's pouch of fruit. I held one up questioningly, and he offered me a single nod. I tossed him a couple in succession and we ate in grateful silence.

Once the silence had become too much, and the heaviness of my eyes too hard to ignore, I pressed; "So, where are you heading to?"

He smiled slyly, "I like to think the journey — not the arrival — is the part that matters most."

Something front and centre on his Instagram account, no doubt.

"That's just what directionless people say," I scoffed openly.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling. "You're awfully quick to identify me as such. Worried about your own direction, are you?"

I frowned, immediately annoyed at myself for opening up this line of enquiry.

I paused a beat. "I've got people waiting for me in Hilltop." The ease of my lie surprised me.

He surprised me further by laughing — my answer apparently pleasing him.

"Then I stand corrected," he stated. After some thought, he finally offered; "I'll be eventually making my way South." The corner of his lip quirked minutely.

My response was automatic; "Business or pleasure?"

He held his hand in front of him, palm down, and lent it from side-to-side as if to say half-half.

The silver ring on his finger caught the light of the fire.

He must have seen it catch my eye, for he looked down at it and smiled warmly.

He reached up with his spare hand and pulled the ring easily free. Then, without missing a beat, he flicked the small item over the fire.

I scrambled to catch it, forgetting to keep my hand on my knife for the moment.

He didn't move to attack me.

He watched me silently as I looked down at the object. It was masculine, not something I'd look twice at in a storefront — but the delicate etchings of a hand and the swirling whorls behind it was peculiar enough to warrant a second look. Particularly since this would have been done by hand — the detail involved...

"An interesting ring," I finally offered, not sure what else to say and preparing to toss it back.

"Keep it," he said. I opened my mouth to object, but he continued; "Keep it or sell it — it's my way of thanking you for your helping hand this cold night."

He held my eye for a beat and then they dropped back to the fire, the discussion over.

For something to do, I placed the gift on my right ring finger and held it up for inspection. It fit perfectly.

Shocked, and not really believing it, I looked up and attempted to gauge the size of his hands. He rubbed them over the fire, watching me again with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Yep, definitely bigger than mine — this guy's got ham hands...

I pushed through the discomfort.

Definitely not the weirdest thing to happen to me in the past two days, I guess...

Hesitant to look a gift horse in the mouth, I nodded. Definitely not my style of jewellery, but I could do with some money.

There had been a small coin purse in Emma's pack, but even without any clue on what things cost — four coins was a small amount in anyone's world.

Finally, I offered; "Thanks."

He waved a hand dismissively and then began shifting more timber onto the hungry flames of the fire. Once he was confident that it had all caught, he moved back against the tree, tilted his head back against the rough bark, and lifted his lips in a lazy smile.

Similarly, I found a comfortable position as I could manage whilst sitting, and prepared for the long night.

There was no way I was going to sleep with that man only meters from me. Not to mention that thing from the night before always in my thoughts and hiding at the edge of my vision.

I don't know how long we stayed like that, but when I woke with a surprising start the next morning, he was gone.

I noted that the fire was still radiating warmth — well cared for over the course of the night by the travelling stranger— as I hastily packed my belongings. Once confident that I had everything, I stretched my back — limbs popping and neck tight from sleeping upright all night.

I pulled my pack onto my back, making my way back to the path with slightly more confidence than I had the morning before, the strange man's ring snug on my finger and the wind ushering me on.

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

Jane's messy handwriting takes up half a page in the back of her notebook, where she keeps her journal entries. The scrawl is followed by a sketch of a ring. There's a strong emphasis on the etching on the jewellery, rather than the band itself.

So I still can't remove the ring. I even stole some grease from the kitchens. Nothing!

I eventually spoke to Drogan about the accursed gift, and he came back to me after doing some of his own 'research'. (I know you're a Harper, old man!)

He said it's "the symbol of the lesser-deity Shaundakul, Rider of the Winds and the Helping Hand." When pressed about his looks, Drogan said; "His avatar is a wind-walking bearded man in a traveller's cape and boots, who bears a greatsword".

The description certainly fits. Well, minus the greatsword.

Drogan said Shaundakul must have recognised one of his own and protected me, being that I'm a ranger… I managed not to scoff. But yeah right!

I'll have to do some more of my own research and find out more. That man, his ring, and I are the only things that are happening differently to the game. It might have something to do with why I'm here.

It might hold the key to getting back home.

…Maybe Xanos can tell me where he's been purchasing all of his books.

If this tiny town has any books that aren't purely about how to cure meats and shear sheep... Urggh.

The next section details her riveting day mucking out stalls, followed by a pile of shit with stink lines.