Eight 2: The Way of the Hunter, A LitRPG Adventure
Eight 2: Chapter 11

The kids were up early to help me get ready, which was good because I could barely move; the training from the previous day really wore me out. From the other end of the longhouse, Aluali brought a jug of frothy goat’s milk, still warm. Billisha ladled corn porridge into a bowl for me. It was delicious—chunky with blue potatoes and dotted with flecks of meat.

Billisha seemed restless as I ate. “Tomorrow is the end of the week. Will we stay here or return to Ikfael?”

The question caught me by surprise. The plan had always been to go back to the Glen. I looked at her, but somehow she kept her thoughts from her face. Both kids watched me as I considered the question. “Would you like to stay?” I asked, feeling them out. “With Bihei?”

The widow was behind me getting ready for the day, but I felt her stop to listen for the children’s response. Aluali reached to hold Billisha’s hand, and the two glanced at each other. Encouraged, Billisha answered:

“We think that Zasha will miss Ikfael if we stay in Voorhei. And we will miss Zasha if he goes back to the Glen without us. We will miss Bihei if we go back to the Glen, but she cannot leave the village—her home is here. Our home is with Zasha. Wherever he goes is where we go. There is no good answer to the question.”

“I could go with you,” Bihei said, stepping forward. “Leave my things behind. I don’t need them. My loom, maybe, but the rest are just—”

“Don’t make a decision now,” I said, interrupting. “Our Glen is protected by a spirit, but it’s still dangerous.”

“But—” Bihei started to say, struggling to put words to her feelings.

“I understand that you… I understand things have been hard since you lost your family,” I said, “but you should consider what you want to do carefully.”

Bihei wrung her hands. I could tell she wanted to protest, but she reluctantly nodded instead. “I will think about the decision.”

We’d only been in Voorhei for five days—today was the start of the sixth—but apparently the time had been just as intense for these three as it had been for me. They’d quickly grown attached to each other, which shouldn’t have been a surprise given their individual histories.

“For the time being,” I said, “I will fulfill the obligations to the Hunter’s Lodge and come to Voorhei once a week. During that time, I can bring the children with me, and we will stay with Bihei if she is willing. These obligations will take two or three days, but we can stay longer if we want. Also, Billisha and Aluali can stay longer without me, and I can pick them up on my next visit. We have options, and we can be flexible. No life-changing decisions need to happen right now. Maybe it feels like they do, but they don’t. It’s better for everyone to take a breath and think things through.”

The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence, but that was okay. Family awkwardness was its own kind of treasure. One wouldn’t think so, but loss had a way of revealing the value of things, even things that may be uncomfortable at the time.

I rushed to arrive on time for my meeting with the lodge master. The run was painful at first, but served its purpose; it warmed up my muscles and eased their soreness. Unfortunately, the relief only lasted a short while. I got to the lodge just as the horizon was starting to brighten, and Inneioleia was already waiting for me.

We started off easy enough with simple stretches and exercises to loosen the joints, but Inneioleia was intent on demonstrating every spear form known to the Hunter’s Lodge. And I had to follow along. For four hours, I thrusted, shuffled, ducked, jumped, and parried. I fought imaginary creatures on four legs, on two legs, and on many legs. They came at me from every direction, including from the air and under the ground. There were even forms for when a hunter was trampled, caught under a creature, or otherwise being savaged.

It was ridiculous. Unless one had an eidetic memory, there was no way to remember them all: their steps, the way the torso moved, the shifts in body weight, and the hand positions. Too much. It was just too much.

Of course, I complained. I wanted to practice a single form—not even a form, a single attack—so that I could be assured I’d remember it and it’d be useful. Moving from form to form and having them all get jumbled in my memory wouldn’t be of any help.

That was when Inneioleia explained that I wasn’t expected to remember them all, not immediately anyway. Instead, we were broadening my exposure to the Spear Arts skill. He said that skills were like underground lakes, and the width of the tunnel connecting a person to the lake depended on knowledge, practice, and expertise. The wider and smoother the tunnel, the more water could be passed through.

The exercise to review all the spears forms, therefore, was a way to prepare the tunnel—to soften the ground and signal to the World Spirit, i.e. the System, that I was prepared to pursue this Path to Perfection.

I’d also be on my own for much of the time, and this exposure to the spear forms should help inform my practices with Spear Arts-Sensei later. If nothing else, it’d reduce the amount of trial and error.

As Inneioleia spoke about the World Spirit, a firecracker went off in my head, and I had a visceral recollection of the time I was high on poison mushrooms and Ikfael had performed the ritual to cleanse me of the toxins. I had been able to see my qi body then, along with other more esoteric energy structures that looked a lot like what the lodge master was describing.

According to his explanation, knowledge and expertise flowed in both directions. One drew on a skill and contributed to it at the same time. As people developed the skill over time, the improvements would become available to others who dedicated themselves to it. In some ways, it sounded like Carl Jung’s ‘collective unconscious mind,’ except it went way beyond instincts and archetypes.

Once I understood the rationale, I threw myself into the practice and strove to burn the forms into both my mind and my muscles. Afterward, we stretched, and I noticed how some of the exercises resembled yoga poses. Is there someone out there—in this world’s equivalent to India—contributing to the people’s understanding of the human body and the best ways to maintain it? If I understood the lodge master correctly, the answer was very possibly yes.

To deepen the stretches, Inneioleia used ropes and heavy flat stones. Again, the goal was to signal to the World Spirit an intention to improve a particular area. In this case, it was Agility. Yesterday, it had been Strength and Constitution.

All three were apparently important to develop, because I was also learning Dog’s Agility. The spell was hard on the body, so I needed to squeeze every bit of potential out of those three attributes to ensure I didn’t hurt myself using it.

Inneioleia described how the more we strove and the more we used up every bit of will and stamina, the more we’d be forced to reach out to something outside of ourselves to keep going, namely the World Spirit. That desperation would force the connections open.

That meant I couldn’t let my mind wander during any of the exercises. The more I brought my concentrated attention to the practices, the more effective the process was supposed to be.

So, we alternated between spear forms and stretches until noon, at which point I was a useless rag, dripping with sweat. It didn’t help that the day was hot and miserable, the humidity so thick one could almost drink the water out of the air. As soon as we were done, I immediately cast Cold Snap on the ground under us, and sank to the floor in relief.

Inneioleia seemed to appreciate the spell as well. While sitting on the ground, we ate a simple meal, drank what seemed like gallons of water, and chatted about things that’d been bugging me for a while now, including level progression.

There was apparently a small weasel-like animal called a kutha. The kutha were special in that they were all exact copies of each other, including the amount of dark and silverlight they held. And no matter how much dark and silverlight they absorbed, they always contained the same amount. The nature of the kutha was one of the mysteries of the world.

Anyway, by measuring the effect of kutha cores on people, philosophers had been able to make a chart of level progression. After our meal, we went inside so that Inneioleia could show it to me in one of his books.

I had reached Level 1 at 50 silverlight and Level 2 at 250. It was easy enough to figure out that each kutha was worth 5 dark and silverlight. So, revising their chart to reflect the actual numbers, it’d look like:

I wondered if System-Eight was laughing. His guess of 2,375 silverlight for Level 4 had turned out to be pretty close. Inneioleia said that there was a pattern under the numbers, but he didn’t know it. I’d have to ask a philosopher.

The chart at the Hunter’s Lodge only went up to Level 10, but even the wisest of the philosophers didn’t know the cap. According to legend, the highest-leveled person ever was an Emperor of Akhilaesh, which was an empire across the ocean and far to the east.

This emperor had apparently ordered his people to empty their forests on his behalf, and he’d then absorbed thousands of cores to reach the dizzying height of Level 32. The story didn’t end well for him though. The neighboring countries, afraid of the emperor’s superhuman powers, banded together to send an entire city’s worth of assassins after him.

Afterward, I spent the rest of the afternoon meditating in Bihei’s garden. The time passed peaceably, and I enjoyed the sounds of village life, especially Billisha and Aluali singing as they worked.

When I opened my eyes next, I saw a clay jar full of yogurt. It tasted sweet, salty, and tangy—like a blueberry lassi—and I eagerly drank it down in a continuous gulp, gulp, gulp. Not much later, Aluali came out to call me to the evening meal.

It was a quiet affair, with everyone lost in their own thoughts. That was understandable—Bihei had a lot to think about, and the kids were anxious about her decision. I could tell they wanted her to join us at the Glen, but it was a lot to ask of someone. The kids and I had no choice about being separated from our homes, but Bihei did. I wanted her to properly exercise that choice and not make the decision based only on pain.

I threw a bomb into the otherwise quiet evening when I let the kids know I was planning to spend the night at Fort Sugar Shack. I’d decided to check in with Bindeise’s ghost.

It wasn’t a decision I’d made lightly. Trying to make contact with a ghost was an uneasy affair, yet the move felt necessary. I still didn’t have a handle on the murderer’s motive, and getting confirmation of the second body’s identity would at least be a step forward.

Oh my gods, the noise afterward was so intense. The kids were opposed, especially Billisha, but even Bihei felt she had to get involved. I was adamant though. I told them that I’d dreamt of Bindeise’s ghost, and that it felt right to follow the dream’s ‘guidance’ to replace his murderer. Dreams were supposed to be an important conduit to the World Spirit, so it was an effective argument.

The kids weren’t happy about my plan, but ultimately they trusted my abilities and acquiesced. Bihei was more torn, but she wasn’t a part of the family and didn’t have any true say about what I did or where I went. That didn’t stop her from cautioning me about being out in the forest after dark though.

It took an hour to calm everyone down, and then once they were, to get my gear in order. Fortunately, the summer days were long, and there were still a couple of hours of light left—enough to hike out to Fort Sugar Shack and set up some basic defenses. I didn’t think I’d run into any problems, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t be prepared.

The moon was coy that night, covering and uncovering her face with gauzy wisps of cloud as the wind blew. The ruined buildings glowed and dimmed according to her fancy, and no matter how the crickets serenaded her, the moon’s presence remained ephemeral.

I sat inside the largest of the iron vats, spear across my knees and bow by my side. The gate was barricaded with cut branches. They would hopefully be thick enough to make it look impassable.

I waited, watched, and listened. My vigil was interrupted by noises from outside the walls: the howl of wolves in the distance, an owl hooting his greetings and then moving on, and the rustle of leaves on branches.

I sent qi and mana to my eyes when I noticed something nosing its way through the branches blocking the gate. I gently put my spear down and picked up my bow. There was a poisoned arrow already nocked. I eased the tension in my shoulders and took a slow breath.

The leaves continued their rustling, and the branches slowly parted. The moonlight dimmed just as the creature was about to become visible. I drew the bow, but then eased the string back to resting. With the light’s return, I’d seen Mumu poke her head through shrubbery. She slipped between the branches and crouched in front of the impromptu barricade. She had her spear in her hands and, of all things, a shovel on her back.

“Little Pot,” she said, whispering. “Are you here? Your children found me and explained about your dream. They asked me to look after you.”

“I almost shot you,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“No, that would’ve been unlikely. I’ve seen your arrows, Little Pot.”

“My arrows are poisoned.”

Mumu grinned, her teeth pearly white. “That does not make them any faster.”

This kid. No wonder Inneioleia was so focused on teaching her humility.

“What’s the shovel for?” I asked.

“To replace Bindeise’s treasure, of course.” She followed my voice to my hiding spot. “The taak aren’t doing us any good buried in the ground or stuffed into a tree, and I came to offer my help digging.”

“I’m here to replace clues about his murder,” I said. “Not to look for treasure.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take it all?”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. “An angry ghost,” I said, “won’t be interested in sharing his wealth.”

“Then we will appease Bindeise’s ghost first,” Mumu said. “Let me help. A small share is all I ask. I’ll take four parts to your six.”

“I don’t need help—”

“Two eases the burden of one,” Mumu said. “Everyone knows that.”

“I said I don’t need help—”

Mumu’s voice became serious as she said, “Little Pot, it’s dangerous to hunt alone, especially at night. You expect to meet Bindeise in your dreams? That means you must close your eyes. Let me watch over your sleep. All I ask is a small share of the bounty. How about three to your seven.”

Well, it would be more comfortable knowing that someone was keeping watch. And there were a lot of taak in Bindeise’s chest, assuming they weren’t an illusion. “All right, but the share is your two to my eight.”

Mumu’s eyes sparkled. “Agreed, but the share goes back to three and seven if we have to fight.”

“That’s fair,” I said, and the deal was struck.

In the distance, the wolves howled again, their eerie melody sounding closer than before.

I dreamt of a wide, grassy plain. The day was hazy, with a smear of tobacco-tan across an otherwise blue sky. In the distance, mountains rose on either side. Their bare stone, their solidity, was a counterpoint to the swirling wind playing in the grass and running through my hair and my clothes.

A feeling of dread arose inside me. I turned around to replace a stag made of flesh and smoke gazing at me. His form wavered and drifted, and his eyes glowed with an otherworldly light.

I licked my dry lips. My throat felt parched, like all the water had been sucked out of me. I couldn’t run, couldn’t even move. I was a small, frightened animal in the enormity of the presence before me. He walked in my direction, his hooves barely touching the golden tops of the swaying grass. His eyes grew bigger and bigger as he approached, soon vast enough to swallow me whole.

I hadn’t expected to be in this place. Not again.

The last time I had been here, it was just before middle school. Over that summer, I’d practically lived in the woods with mi abuelo, and the luck had been with us. With me. I’d bagged four deer during the break, and our freezer had been overflowing with meat. We had to ask our neighbors to keep some for us.

Back then, I’d had a similar dream, except then I’d been gored by the apparition’s antlers. It had felt like I’d died, the world spinning around me, and I awoke shocked and screaming, blood dripping from my mouth from where I’d bitten my lips. Only mi abuela’s ministrations had been able to calm me, and even then, only barely.

She had shushed and babied me, for the first and only time, and told me I’d been given a blessing by the Deer God, that I was marked as his own. Mi abuelo, when he heard, had poured shots of tequila for everyone in the household—even me.

While my face burned red from the liquor, he had told me about his own visit from the Gray Wolf God. For the first time and only time, however, I didn’t replace comfort in his teachings.

Two weeks after being chosen by the Deer God, the summer ended, and middle school started. That was when I decided I was old enough to know that my father was right about my grandmother’s practices. I still went hunting with my grandfather—nothing would take that away from me—but a wedge was driven through me, splitting me in two. The cool, rational side ignored the wild, spiritual one.

That was why it had taken me so long to learn how to become one with the land, and in the process of replaceing that, I’d realized my mistake in neglecting mi abuela’s teachings. By then it was too late, though. Mi abuelos were dead.

I never expected to be back here again, dreaming of the Deer God. I was afraid, but also understood it as an opportunity to recover a bit of my heritage that I should never have let go.

I was without mi abuelos. There was no one left to teach me the proper observances, but I’d found some measure of wisdom in my previous life and had new tools I could bring to bear. Click.

There was a feeling of overwhelming disregard from the Deer God, of utter confidence in his being, and a hint—the barest thread—of amused interest.

He was heavier than the world, but moved as lightly as a feather. With an immense inevitably, the Deer God bent down and gored me—a point of his antlers spearing me through the heart. It felt like dying, the world collapsing around me. The pain was excruciating: like my initiation with the Hunter’s Lodge, only ten times worse.

I screamed and—

—woke up soaked in sweat, reaching for my knives. Mumu had to pin me down to keep me from thrashing.

“Easy, boy, easy. It was a dream, that’s all. A dream. Tenna’s Gift protects us from ghosts. You needn’t fear them.”

I couldn’t get enough air and fought to keep from hyperventilating. I shook myself free from Mumu’s grip and got away from the vat I’d been sleeping in. I needed to move, to pace, to feel the ground under my feet, and the wind—the real wind—blowing across my body.

“What happened?” Mumu asked. “Did you dream of Bindeise? Was he angry about us looking for his treasure?”

I shook my head, not able to collect the right Diaksh words together. It wasn’t until my heart started to finally slow that I was able to croak out, “No, wasn’t him. It was… it was just a dream.”

I couldn’t tell her about my first family and my broken history with them… and certainly not about the Deer God.

Mumu gazed at me with sadness. She approached, careful not to spook me, and knelt to put her arms around me in a hug. “The past cannot break us,” she whispered into my ear. “No matter what we think or feel, what matters is now.”

I didn’t know what Mumu thought my situation to be, but the reality was like nothing she could’ve imagined. Being in this world was both a painful gift and a difficult opportunity. I’d done what I could to make the best of it, but there were moments when it was just awful.

A part of me wanted to resist her pity. Another found comfort in her warmth, in her strong arms, and in the scent of her sweat. They were reminders of her humanity—of my own humanity reflected in hers—so very different from the impenetrable reality of the Deer God.

The encounter scared me down to my bones—gifts and opportunities were sometimes like that—but Mumu had been right, after all. Two eases the burden of one.