CHAPTER 2
In the western region of the continent lay a village at the foot of steep walls of granite. A river tumbles down the mountain before flowing through the valley near the village and spilling out into the western sea, a league away. The grey and white peaks lent the region its own identity in the minds of all who saw it.
Shadows covered the village. Not even the fishermen were awake yet. Rows of thatched roof houses were enshrouded by grey mist. At the largest house, there was a rapping at the window, startling the mayor to awaken. He listened for a moment, hearing only crickets. He turned to glance out the window and saw the outline of a head leaning back out of view.
"What is it at this hour?" the mayor's wife muttered through her pillow.
"That monstrous man, I would wager," he sighed. He stepped from bed and into his clothes as his wife contemplated this.
"He's here—in the village?" All traces of sleep had vanished from her voice.
"So it seems."
"Berg, you must take him into the forest. And mention Emil, you swore to Jorek you would," she urged.
"I haven't forgotten, and I-"
The mayor was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening then closing indiscreetly. A dog barked at the door. Then silence. The mayor peered downstairs into darkness. He took two tentative steps and then saw shadows receding around the form of a huge figure standing in his kitchen.
"Is… is that you?" the mayor whispered, his clothes still just half on. The protector stepped into the flickering glow of the candlelight.
"Had to step in," said the protector, his voice a resonant bass through the wooden home. "The dog brought attention."
"Of course. Of course..! Well, if you'll just give me a moment, I'll be down," the mayor said, now in the process of completing his attire.
Being in the presence of the protector wasn't just upsetting to the animals. His gaze made the mayor's bowels roil. With every movement he had to mask what his instincts demanded—to be anywhere but within reach of those predatory eyes.
"You're in the village, so I suppose it's urgent?"
"Four interlopers on the road last night. I moved their bodies. Order your watchmen to explore the woods nearest the way stone," the protector said. "Didn't want you or your men to panic."
"Four more. I see. What did they-"
"Interlopers. They crossed into the territory. There was a fifth... but he was beyond my reach."
The mayor considered this curiosity for a moment, then recalled how the protector had mentioned the way stone in his description.
"Ah, your territorial rules," the mayor gestured vaguely with his hand, unsure of how to treat this delicate subject.
Here was a man—if one could call him that—with the strength to answer to no one, but adhered to territory and way stones like he were the only player in a child's game. He had just confessed to four murders, setting aside his delusional rules. But with the local lord rotting, this monster was all this village had. The man gave the mayor the impression of a caged animal, locked behind bars, but still wild within. Whoever fashioned this prison for such a formidable man was a chilling riddle he wasn't eager to solve.
"These are not my rules. They are the rules of the territory," the protector replied.
"Please, might we continue this outside the reach of prying ears?" the mayor requested.
He led them out his back door into the night, still silent now that the dog had lost interest. The mayor used a key to unlock a tall gate, which opened into the forest surrounding the village. They walked through the trees in the half-light. The mayor stumbled over roots and fallen branches, while the protector glided effortlessly.
Finally they stepped into a clearing in the forest at the center of which was a dying tree, cleaved into two by lightning earlier that spring. The resulting blaze left a black disc in the ground.
"Those of us who are aware of your contributions, we appreciate your support—truly," began the mayor. "But lately, some of us have been wondering if you are perhaps too effective."
"You would prefer I do a worse job protecting your people?"
"Please understand, we are merely a small fishing village. When you came to us with your offer of patrol, we were..," the mayor paused to swallow, unable to meet the protector's eyes. "Grateful. But, it's my men, you see... These killings, the bodies, they weigh on their minds. They are weak-hearted, simple-minded folk. They aren't used to the terrors of the world outside, as you are."
"Then fire them. They drink themselves to sleep. That's when an attack would happen."
"Yes, an attack. Certainly! We count on your keen insights to keep our village prosperous," the mayor's shift in tone indicated he was glad to have brushed by the topic, eager to close the book on it. "There is something else I was hoping you could help us with, though. Beyond your dutiful border patrol."
Morning light flitted through the trees, casting bars of shadow over the protector's body. He leaned against the dying, split tree, his arms crossed, watching the mayor pace in the clearing as he spoke. The mayor's eyes scrutinized the foliage—any excuse he could invent to avert being held within that bestial gaze.
"You've been here a bit less than a year. That's probably not long enough to know about this. None affected like to talk about it. But we have long had a problem with runaways," the mayor said, grimly. "I can scarcely blame them. This place provides few paths. And by the time they come of age, they know the ways of each by heart. The world beyond must feel like some grand adventure to them, and boredom a curse. But it's a curse that we've all labored generations to achieve here. My own son... My boy. He left without a word one day, four years ago. We spent weeks looking for him. No word from neighboring villages. Just vanished into the world… And now Emil is the next. A young boy—14 years old. Too young to be out in the world by himself, particularly in the state it's in right now. Which is why I'm asking you for help, however you're able, discreetly of course."
"Emil. I know him by sight. His father is the merchant who travels beyond the borders and back."
"That's right, Jorek. He's a good man. Been behind on his deliveries, though. A bit of a mess, as you can imagine, us being in the fish business. Dean, Emil's uncle, has been going in Jorek's stead. He must be… Well, doing his own searching. Just as I did."
The mayor was squatting, a stick in his hand traced a formless line in the dirt and ash. But the line halted as the focus of his eyes traveled far from this clearing, out to the wide world, to places beyond his ability to conjure, to where his son was now, somewhere far from home.
"I will look for the boy."