Hungry Heart - Book #4 - Ch. 28 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two / Chapter Twenty-Three / Chapter Twenty-Four / Chapter Twenty-Five / Chapter Twenty-Six / Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight – A Hero’s Choice

There was an invisible line of separation between them and that other man, and that was the first thing Duril noticed when he approached his friends. Was that the weaver Toru had told him about? The description fit, but there was no sight of the giant needle, something Duril had been curious about ever since Toru had mentioned it for the first time.

After they hugged and expressed their happiness at seeing each other well and sound, they turned toward the Guthran inhabitant, as that man had to be.

“Tell us everything about the hermit,” Varg spoke first.

“How does he know about Te’cla?” Claw demanded to know.

“We are going to talk at length about what happened here,” Varg explained, “but only later. For now, let us just tell you that, indeed, the curse that fell upon this town was a trick played by the hermit in his efforts to get to Toru. For what purpose, that is also something we will have to discuss.”

“He’s the weaver with the giant needle,” Toru said and pointed at the stout man in front of them, who stood there, his eyes cast down, his hands linked in front, making him quite the pitiable sight.

Duril waited for a better introduction.

“And he stabbed us both,” Toru continued.

At that, Duril and Claw turned toward the young tiger, surprised.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Duril used his kindest voice. Something told him that the weaver had to be a victim of the hermit’s tricks, like everyone else present. But he knew that caution was necessary if they wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening there.

“The hermit put him up to it,” Varg said. “Now, Thamolit, we are very happy to be reunited with our friends, and we don’t want to judge you unfairly. For that to happen, however, we ask in return that you leave nothing out from the moment the hermit came here and ensnared you in his plot.”

The weaver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and he was about to begin when Toru interrupted him. “Is Te’cla really that ugly? He said something strange to me, that people shun him everywhere he goes because of his face.”

“I did not truly see him,” Thamolit explained. “He came with the mist,” he added and let his eyes wander over the vast fields. “He was but a voice in the wind and asked me to do as I was told or I would never see Guthran as it used to be.”

“What did he mean by that?” Duril asked, curious about the ways in which someone as powerful and sly as Te’cla worked. He couldn’t ignore how all signs indicated that the hermit was someone they should be wary of.

“At first, I didn’t understand. But because the townsfolk had already started acting strangely, behaving like animals, soon I realized that it was all his doing. I became fearful of him, so he changed tack and told me that, as long as I did what he asked of me, Guthran would be the same once more. He used such a kind voice, I almost believed him.” The weaver hung his head low. “And look about you. Do you see the people emerging from their homes, as they usually do when the time of the harvest is upon us? I do not dare to go from house to house, only to see them condemned to the unnatural life the curse gave them.”

Toru intervened again. “He didn’t lift the curse. He told me that I’d have to figure it out because I’m the hero, and I told him--” The young shifter stopped abruptly. Duril watched his handsome lover closely. There appeared to be a sort of hesitation in how his features scrunched up in thought, but then, it was gone. “You gave me that dream, didn’t you? When you stabbed me with your needle.”

“I wished you the best,” Thamolit said kindly.

“After Te’cla told me that I would have to bring back all of the shards to him so that he could destroy them forever, I searched for a way out of the mist, and I found it.”

Duril began turning that novelty over and over in his mind. Te’cla wanted the shards. Toru was saying as much, and that thought was quite worrisome. After all, even it were true that only the hermit was capable of destroying Hekastfet for good, that didn’t mean that it made his behavior any less suspicious. He had put and was still putting an entire town through the pain and trouble of a curse. The weaver was saying that he believed that the curse had yet to be lifted even without verifying it, and Toru confirmed that thought, as well.

Less and less the hermit seemed to be someone to be trusted. Cha’da, the oracle from the woods that Claw and Varg had met, was of the same mind. She had warned them about the cunning nature of the hermit, and she had known Te’cla for a long time.

“Please continue, Thamolit,” Varg urged the weaver. “What else did the hermit tell you?”

“He said that out of the mist, two would soon emerge. He must have seen you and Toru, but not your friends.”

Varg had been right to leave them behind, but they hadn’t been completely spared the curse, as Claw could tell anyone. The hermit must have infected the place since the curse had escaped the town borders, and Duril and the bearshifter had been forced to face it well outside of them.

“How did it come about that you used your Gurelin to make the hermit’s plan work?” Varg continued his string of questions.

The weaver touched his forehead as if in an effort to remember. “My Gurelin is not just any needle. It can weave dreams. And I believe that the hermit was not here as you and I are at this very moment. He lives on the other side and needed Gurelin to make your passing happen,” he explained.

Once stabbed, Varg and Toru must have been pulled into a world of dreams.

“I dreamed a beautiful dream,” Toru said. “At first, it seemed frightening, more likely for the boy than for me--”

“What boy?” Duril asked.

“I didn’t know him until he appeared in this dream or vision,” Toru explained. “But I helped him through his fear of monsters, and then I found myself walking here.”

The weaver looked at Toru and nodded thoughtfully. “That boy must have been you when you were but a kit.”

Toru snorted contemptuously. “I was never afraid of monsters. I kept searching for them under my bed, as the caregivers said to, and they were never there.”

“But in your dreams, they were,” Thamolit insisted.

Toru shook his head, but, all of a sudden, pursed his lips and looked away. Duril knew that someone as proud as the young tiger would never admit to having felt fear ever in his life.

“I dreamed of the day when I first gained power over my wolf,” Varg said. “It was one of the happiest days of my life. I saw my mother and father again. But I, too, like Toru, had to conquer some of my childhood’s fear before I returned to our world.”

“Where is Gurelin now?” Duril asked, more and more intrigued by this powerful magical item.

Thamolit shook his head and looked down dejectedly. “Gurelin is not meant to do harm. As soon as I used it as the hermit asked me to, it must have gotten mad at me. Now, it is no longer here. And I don’t know where it could be.”

“Do you think the hermit took it?” Duril asked.

Again, a short headshake of denial was given by the weaver. “Gurelin cannot stand dark power, no matter how cunningly it might present itself. It served me as the loyal friend it has always been to me, but I guess now I might never see it again.”

Duril rubbed his chin in thought. “And you are saying that the curse is not yet lifted?”

“The people should have awakened from it by now,” Thamolit offered. “But I see no one coming from those houses as usual, and I hear no laughter or singing. I shouldn’t have listened to the hermit, but what powers do I have? All I had was Gurelin.”

The weaver’s pain at the loss of his needle was palpable. Duril found himself touching the man’s shoulder and squeezing it in sympathy. “Then how about we set out to see what can be done about this curse?”

“The hermit mocked me, thinking that I couldn’t do it,” Toru said. “But I know I can fight monsters, and what is a curse, anyway?”

Varg laughed and pulled Toru into a hug. “That’s the kitty I know. We’ve been through worse, my friends. All walk with me to the town. You, too, Thamolit. You sacrificed your trustworthy friend for the good of these people, so you must be with us.”

Duril was the one to pull Thamolit along, and the look of gratitude in the tired eyes assured him all the more that they were doing the right thing. No matter how many times the dark powers at work tried to fool them, they would always find a way to tell right from wrong, and good from evil.

***

Toru had been flabbergasted to learn that Varg had also fallen prey to the same spell that the weaver had cast on him on behalf on the hermit, but with a twist that only Thamolit had known about. As troubled as he was by the revelation the weaver had let him in on, now more than ever he needed Varg to put his mind at ease. So, as they walked toward the houses in the distance, he fell in line with the wolfshifter and waited for a while.

“Is there something on your mind, kitty?” Varg asked him right away after letting Claw and Duril walk in front of them with the weaver, while questioning him about all kinds of things Guthran was known for. Most probably, his friends wanted to assure Thamolit that they intended to do no harm to the townsfolk, and that they wanted to help, above all else.

“Your dream, what was it like, Varg? And what about that thing the weaver told me… that the boy was me? What do you think of that?”

Varg nodded and fell pensive for a few moments. In the end, he drew one deep breath and began. “For most people, their fondest memories are of their childhood. That is where the mind goes to seek a shelter when dark times are upon them. When you can’t prepare for battle, when destiny seems to be against you, there is solace in thinking of times past.”

“But we didn’t think anything. The weaver put those dreams in our path, and I don’t understand what he meant by it all.”

“Do you remember your childhood well? I do not mean the part that you spent in Nelsikkar, but after? When you were running for your life--”

“And I found shelter,” Toru finished Varg’s words. “Then it is because of that I returned there in my dream, but I still can’t believe that I was that boy. I don’t remember myself like that.”

“Scared of monsters, you mean?”

He nodded and looked ahead. The first houses now rose in front of them like silent witnesses to some bad omen that had fallen upon them. The windows and doors looked like gaping dark holes, frozen in time. “We cannot trust the hermit to do the right thing,” he said.

By his side, Varg appeared to agree since he angled his body toward Toru. “Then that means that we will have to force him. And, if we are meant to roam the world, then we might find other means to destroy the shards.”

“Then the hermit will be very mad,” Toru said. “Because he sounded as if he wanted, really wanted them more than anything.”

“You could tell that from his voice?”

“Not exactly. But, at first, he said I could not know much, and then, he still wanted something from me. And that made me think.”

“The shards shouldn’t fall in the hands of someone like that,” Varg confirmed what he was thinking.

“Yes, because Te’cla is someone who did all this,” Toru said and waved at the sight in front of them.

They hurried to catch up with the others.

“Should we see what the people are doing?” Duril asked and pointed at the first house on their right.

“I will go first,” Toru announced and walked in front of them, showing his determination through the heaviness of his step.

No one denied his right, and, dipping his head low, he walked inside the humble house.

***

Varg couldn’t say exactly what he was expecting to find once they were inside. Like in many other places he had encountered in his extensive travels, this house looked like a modest abode, housing four people, two grownups and two children.

There were two beds in the main room, made of hay and covered by wool blankets. The parents were sleeping in one, and the children, two boys who couldn’t have lived one summer over twelve, in the other. They were deep in sleep, and something about their slumber was unsettling.

Their chests didn’t rise and fall rhythmically as they should have and, at first, Varg worried that the hermit must have pushed the curse too far. He touched one of the boys’ cheeks and let out a small sigh of relief when he found it warm. However, they seemed not to breathe, and their eyes moved rapidly beneath their eyelids.

“How do we wake them up?” Toru asked.

“When they’re like that, they never wake up,” Thamolit explained. “I’ve tried before, and I have also seen them like this. But I might not know a thing, now that the hermit has gotten what he wanted, and he might not be so interested in keeping this curse alive.”

“We know very little of his true intentions,” Varg warned, although he doubted much of that was needed as a reminder. It was already their common belief that the hermit leaned more on the side of evil than that of good, and while he could be someone motivated by nothing else but his own gain, Varg saw no reason why they should believe anything good would come out of the way he had treated these people, nothing but pawns in his game of gaining knowledge.

“It won’t hurt to try and wake them up,” Claw decided, and before anyone had the time to tell him otherwise, he grabbed the sleeping man’s shoulder and began shaking him. “Good man, it’s time to wake up. The harvest awaits.”

They all waited with bated breath. At first, the man didn’t even stir but as Claw insisted, his shaking growing stronger and stronger, he blinked and opened his eyes. He touched his head and stared at the many strangers gathered in his house, something that must have looked astonishing to him. Varg had an idea of what they must have looked like, all such big men, making the small room seem even smaller, with grime on their faces and the testaments of many fights in their eyes.

“What?” the man stuttered. Then, slowly, his eyes fell on Thamolit, and suddenly, his eyes filled with rage. “You scoundrel!” he shouted.

Claw was fast enough to catch the man before he could reach the weaver. His sudden outburst of anger was unusual. After all, Thamolit had been the one to keep them fed and harvested the fields while they had been trapped inside that terrible curse. However, it appeared that the farmer was dead sure that the weaver was his enemy, and he was trying hard to reach him, most probably with no kind intentions in mind.

“You,” the man hissed, “you killed everyone!”

Varg decided to intervene by offering the voice of reason as an alternative to whatever was taking place in the farmer’s mind. “No one died,” he said, hoping that he was right. The hermit, presumably, wouldn’t go as far as to make them lose their faith in him completely. He had to know what was at stake, and seeing how he wanted those shards for himself, he wouldn’t do something like that. “Thamolit here has worked hard and long to keep you all alive.”

The farmer caught his head in his hands and groaned while rocking his body back and forth. “So much death,” he whispered. “My children… before my very eyes…”

Varg shook one of the boys and was relieved when the young one opened his eyes. His were soon filled with fear, and his shout filled the room, “Father!”

The farmer stopped his wallowing and hurried to the boy. “Petri,” he said and hugged him tightly. “Your brother…” He then noticed his other child and roused him from his sleep himself.

They all waited as the family came to their senses. The woman shrieked at first, the same visions that must have plagued her husband’s mind torturing her as well, but little by little, they succeeded in making them understand that everything they had imagined wasn’t true in the least.

However, that had to be too much for such simple minds to understand, so Varg wasn’t in the least surprised when the head of the house waved at them to get out. “Don’t keep that demon’s company,” he warned and pointed at the weaver, who, after showing signs of understandable horror at the accusations that flew freely out of the farmer’s mouth, appeared to have resigned himself to them.

They walked out of the house and saw that the town was coming back to life. People poured out of their houses, some of them still shaking off the heavy sleep they had lived through for days, while others had bloodlust on their minds.

They quickly saw the weaver standing by Varg’s side and began shouting and waving their hands. Without being told, Varg put himself in front of Thamolit. “This man, despite what your dreams must have told you, worked hard to keep you all alive and well,” he boomed over the clamor of raised voices and fists thrown into the air.

As his voice was loud enough to drown out most, some of the people stopped what they were doing and appeared to be unsure. But, soon, some angry voice rose and the townsfolk began marching toward them. “Strangers, step out of the way. We need to hang that demon,” one of them who seemed to be in charge of the others spoke.

“There will be no hanging,” Varg boomed again. “Do not take a step closer.”

That seemed to put the townsfolk into a greater frenzy. Duril was struggling to explain to them the truth, and Claw followed his lead. But one rock flew through the air and hit Varg in the chest. In their troubled minds, the men, women and even children gathered there might just as well see them as the ones on the enemy’s side.

“Do not endanger your lives for my sake,” Thamolit said. “I will let them do with me what they want. After all, I gave the hermit what he wanted, when I should have never fallen to his treachery.”

Varg turned to tell the weaver that the people of Guthran needed to see reason before reaching for their pitchforks. Just as he did that, a frightening roar filled the air, and everyone stopped.

Toru had shifted and was now lowering his muzzle to the ground, letting out a roar from time to time and tipping his head back, showing his fangs. Frightened, the townsfolk took one step back and then another.

“Listen to me, people of Guthran,” Toru spoke, “you are not to touch a hair on your weaver’s head. He could have left you all to die.”

“Be gone, demon! You are just like him!”

Toru moved deliberately in front of the people and forced them to take another step back. “If all you can think of now is that someone has to pay for what happened to you, you are not wrong. But it wasn’t the weaver who cast a spell on you. It was the hermit.”

“You’re friends with him. You want us to believe that a monster like you could ever tell the truth,” another man spoke. “Let’s hang them all!”

At first, the call to arms appeared to have some measure of success, but all it took was for Toru to roar again and show his fangs for their courage to wane. Someone threw another rock, this time at Toru, and Varg decided that they had enough. This wasn’t a battle they needed to fight. If they did, they would only make true what the hermit must have put into his mind. So, he shifted into his wolf and joined Toru, only to ensure the townsfolk would have little chance if they were fighting against two monsters instead of one.

The people stopped their attack again. “Just give us the weaver, and be on your way, strangers,” someone shouted, probably trying to make sense of what they were seeing. Shifters were not everywhere a common occurrence, but these farmers and merchants must have heard of their existence nonetheless. That was something Varg counted on.

“We will not give him to you,” Toru bellowed. “And if anyone comes close--”

His words were cut short by Claw. The roar that left the bearshifter’s chest had the desired effect. Everyone dropped their improvised weapons and began running away. Varg looked over his shoulder. It was only natural that they would do so. Claw on his hind legs was a frightening sight. It reminded him of the time they had met for the first time in that labyrinth. Not many would believe Claw not to be a creature of nightmare when he showed himself like that, a huge bear opening his maw and roaring.

“Better than fighting them, right?” Claw said once the dusty road in front of them was deserted, everyone having fled, most probably toward the center of the town to find shelter.

“Without a doubt,” Varg confirmed. “Thamolit, I’m afraid convincing your fellow townsmen of your good intentions will be an arduous task. Do you have anywhere else to go? When minds are darkened like this, it is not easy to convince people otherwise.”

“You shouldn’t have taken my side after what I have done to you.” Thamolit shook his head, but then, he said. “I am grateful nonetheless. You will always have a loyal servant in me.”

Bells were wailing in the distance. The townsfolk were probably getting ready for a fight.

“Do you reckon that the curse has been finally lifted?” Claw asked no one in particular.

Varg shifted back into his human. “I believe so. They will have time to come back to their senses. It is not our quest to make them see the truth, as we must be on our way.”

Thamolit took Varg’s hand and shook it. Then, he moved on to Toru and hugged him, holding him tightly. “Why did you people even decide that I was worth saving?” he asked.

Toru was the one to give an answer to that question. “The hermit mockingly called me a hero. But now I know that I must always try to save people. No matter who they are, and whether they consider me their hero or not. I chose to take your side in front of a mob who knew nothing of the truth and didn’t want to hear it, either.”

“A true hero’s choice,” Claw commented and he, too, changed back into his human shape. “I believe our adventures here have not been in vain. Do you wish to travel with us for a while, Thamolit?”

The weaver shook his head.

“I hope that you don’t intend to stay here,” Toru warned him. “They don’t seem to be in their right minds, and I don’t think they would offer you clemency.”

“Of that, I’m sure,” the weaver said. “But I will be on my way, and you, on yours. Just one more thing I want to tell you before I bid you farewell. If you ever find my Gurelin, it’s yours to keep. It will serve you dutifully.”

Varg didn’t quite know what to make of that strange bequest. But he nodded and offered the weaver his hand one last time. With those words, Thamolit turned on his heel and walked away, soon disappearing from their eyes, as if he had never been there to begin with.

***

Guthran was far behind them now, nothing more than a dark dot on the horizon. Not even the keenest eye could make out the shape of the houses in the distance. Toru puffed out his chest, filling it with the pleasant air. Mountains rose like tall walls when they looked ahead, and it appeared to him that they could go there just as easily as they could go anywhere. The freedom of the road was theirs once more, hermit or not. Their quest for finding the shards was just beginning, and with that, there came the promise that they would finally find the means to defeat Hekastfet for good.

“That thing that Thamolit told us, about Gurelin,” he said, “what do you make of it?”

His friends were wise, and they probably thought that it was quite strange for the weaver to tell them that, because if they ever found Gurelin they would search for the weaver to return his loyal friend.

“Not quite a thing I was expecting,” Varg confirmed. “But it makes me think that, in his own way, Thamolit was offering us his gratitude.”

“But it is a bit silly to offer someone a thing that was lost,” Toru pointed out.

Varg pulled him into a hug as they walked side by side. “Silly or not, that Gurelin is a powerful magical item. With it, Thamolit protected us from what could have been really bad. Who knows what means the hermit has to frighten even the most courageous of us?”

“I am courageous,” Toru said. “Although I might have been scared of monsters one time when I was little. Or maybe it happened twice. I don’t remember.”

Varg kissed him fondly on the forehead. “We don’t doubt you are the most courageous of us all. Don’t you also believe so, Duril and Claw?”

“That mist was something. All kinds of winged creatures tried to eat my flesh, and it was all in my mind. I was truly scared,” Claw admitted. “And then, Duril saved me like the good friend he is.”

“How did he do it?” Toru asked, always eager to discover how wonderful his favorite lover was.

Claw laughed. “By jumping on my back and covering my eyes. As a token of my deepest gratitude, I almost broke his back.”

“He put me back together afterward, no worries,” Duril added and laughed. “I was scared, too. At first, I saw the same strange creatures as he did. Then, Claw gave me the only clue I needed to understand what must be done. It was all a ruse meant to keep us away from the rest of you, so I wasn’t keen on believing it.”

“Your favorite lover is very clever,” Claw said and took Duril by the shoulders. He gave the healer a quick kiss on the head. “Those little creatures almost snared me in their frightful embrace, but he swooped in like a hero.”

Toru felt his chest growing larger as he heard Claw praising Duril so much. And he would never deny that the healer was his favorite. However, if he thought about it, each of his companions brought pieces that made him whole. Varg and Claw were wise and brave, and Duril was kind and loving.

“Do you believe that the hermit got what he wanted from me?”

Varg was the one to put his worries to rest. He hugged him and caressed his face briefly. “Let him think that for now. Just like you, I don’t like this hermit very much. He is cunning and cruel. Something tells me that he must have known what his curse would mean for Thamolit even after the townsfolk were freed from his spell. He must have put those strange dreams in their heads.”

“And, in those dreams,” Toru added, “Te’cla must have made Thamolit appear as the one that was hurting them. I don’t agree with what they did, and I did enjoy frightening them a little so they would leave the weaver alone.”

“It was partially the hermit’s fault, but they might have a seed of darkness in them, too. Thamolit was different from them. Maybe that is why they found it so easy in their hearts and minds to condemn him. They needed someone to blame.”

Toru pondered this for a few moments. “Te’cla told me something. He said that there is little I know of the world, that I could not understand because of it why he would be shunned wherever he went. Is that true?”

“Who knows enough of the world?” Varg offered with a kind smile. “Look at us. I walked this world high and low, and there are still many places where I’ve never been. And compared to Duril, I know nothing of the herbs and roots that grow around us. He also knows a lot more of books than any of us. That is where knowledge exists, of places and people one has never seen or met.”

“And I,” Claw added, “have known many roads, always thirsty for adventure. Has the world offered me enough? Have I taken from it all that I could? Look at things this way, Toru. Our next adventure is just beginning.”

That was a beautiful thought. Toru smiled as he snuck his hand into Duril’s and got a large beaming smile in return.

TBC

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