Eight 2: The Way of the Hunter, A LitRPG Adventure
Eight 2: Chapter 14

Mumu escorted me to Bihei’s place. The rest of the village was still training their Militia Arts, so the paths between longhouses were just as empty as they’d been before. We didn’t talk much. I could tell she had questions, but she was sensitive enough to know I wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

She stuck around after we arrived, then watched while I checked over my backpack to make sure everything was in order for the trip back to the Glen. Mostly that meant looking over the supplies needed to make Ikfael’s donuts. While I was busy with the Hunter’s Lodge, I’d had the kids make the purchases and track down a villager willing to part with some maple sugar. The price was painful—one eltaak for a half pound.

The source—a person named Sima Simasson—was a wealthy villager with a well-stocked kitchen. The kids had even been able to buy barley flour from him. They’d heard me talking to the village’s miller about it, and knew I was interested.

They’d also found and purchased acorn flour, grits, and potatoes, but the barley flour was our best hope for a good donut. I should be able to improvise a recipe using it.

There wasn’t anything else to do after that but wait to say goodbye to the kids and Bihei. I felt bad about leaving them behind, though I knew it’d be for their own good. There was just too much that was confusing and distressing to be able to properly focus on protecting them.

Ollie/Eight…

I caught a whiff of the uekisheile’s qi, but the scent vanished before I could read the thought. The lichen had bundled themselves up in a ball ever since the surprise joining of our identities.

I felt my blood pressure rise, so I checked over the backpack again. No harm in making sure everything was stowed safely. When that was done, I straightened up around the longhouse, but the kids had done a good job earlier and there wasn’t much to do. So, I unpacked and re-packed my gear, as well as all the donut ingredients—the flours, salt, yeast, eggs, milk, sugar, deer fat, peanuts… everything was in order.

Mumu watched me work with worry in her eyes. “Little Pot—”

“I’m fine—just have a lot on my mind is all, and keeping busy settles me. I’ve always been that way.”

My answer didn’t seem to put her at ease. She’d held off from asking questions earlier, but now it looked like she was working up to it

I interrupted before she could. “Thank you for agreeing to ask around about the ghost-boy with a birthmark under his eye. That’ll be a great help.”

“Of course,” Mumu said. “I am your hunt sister. And besides, the boy was a person of this village. I will do what I can for him. I’m thinking that Inleio—ah, that’s the nickname of our lodge master—may know of the boy.”

“Because Inleio is old?” I asked.

“Yes, that. But I am also thinking that the boy’s ghost was found inside the pyramid. For him to have died there sounds like a special circumstance. There may be a story in the lodge’s past about it.”

“We don’t know for sure the boy died there,” I said. “Ghosts can wander. Although, it’s also possible for them to get stuck in a place, especially if there was trauma involved. The answer depends on how much they remember of themselves and how much willpower they have.”

“Your family taught you about ghosts and spirits, then?” Mumu asked.

I grimaced. “Yes and no. It’s complicated.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I’m not sure what I can say.”

Not only did I not want to sound crazy, but the details of mi abuela’s craft weren’t to be shared. Sure, people had come to her for guidance and spells, but the process had always been kept hidden. There were words, gestures, and objects she’d used in front of clients, but they’d been a show. The real magic had happened behind closed doors and was considered a ‘secret of the house.’ And my grandmother had made sure the secrets stayed secret.

A frightening woman, mi abuela. I had no doubt she loved her family and that she would have moved heaven and earth to protect them. But a love that strong, I often wondered what it made her capable of. To what lengths it would inspire her.

“There were secrets in my born-family,” I said finally. “I can’t explain them.”

Mumu shook her head, sad. “You were taken from them too young.”

Billisha and Aluali thought something similar—apparently, they believed I was the son of a family that had met a tragic end. Alas, the truth was much more outlandish than they realized.

Outside, the paths began to fill with the chatter of villagers returning home after training. There was laughter and yelling, promises to meet up later, and the sound of people organizing to go back into the fields to work.

“Zasha! Zasha! We’re back!” Aluali ran into the longhouse with Billisha close on his heels.

They were dirty and sweaty, but hale and in good spirits. Village life suited them, which made what came next easier.

“I saw you working hard. Good job.” I patted each on the head, and that made them giggle. Even though I was tall for my age, I still had to reach up to do it.

“Zasha, you don’t need to try so hard to be an adult,” Billisha said, smiling.

“Zasha, I’ll prepare lunch so that we can eat with Bihei,” Aluali said, as he checked on the ever-present pot of corn porridge. “Would Mulallamu like to join us?”

“Actually,” I said, “I wanted to talk about our plans about going back to the Glen. I’m thinking that it would be helpful if the two of you stayed here.”

Aluali stopped and turned toward me. Billisha too. Both their faces were suddenly somber.

“Did we do something wrong?”

“Did something happen?”

“No, no,” I said. “Nothing like that. It’s just that I promised Ghitha Woldecsbrother I would bring his family’s bodies out of the cave, and that means I’ll be away from the Glen a lot. It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

“But there is Ikfael. Wouldn’t she protect us?” Billisha asked.

Aluali offered Billisha his hand, and she took it. The two stood side by side.

“Yes, I think so, if she is able to, but you’ve seen how that’s not always possible. The bishkawi took over the Glen, and there were other invaders before that.”

“Then we would stay with Zasha and help move the bodies,” Billisha said.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” I said. “We don’t know what else is down in the caves.”

“We are a weight on Zasha’s back,” Aluali said, his voice dropping to a murmur. “We are not strong enough to support him.”

“That’s not true!” My words came out more forcefully than I’d intended, and I took a breath to reset myself. “You’ve been nothing but a delight ever since we met, and I’ve never considered you—either of you—a weight on my back. If anything, the two of you have lifted me up. That’s why I need you to be safe.”

“Where is safe?” Billisha asked, her voice pleading. “Nowhere except with Zasha.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“It is,” Billisha said.

“It may feel that way, but it’s not. Right now, I may be the least safe thing around.”

“Is the cave so dangerous?” Billisha asked. “If so, then tell Ghitha you won’t go. You have already served his family by putting them to rest. He can ask no more of you.”

“I know it’s hard to understand, but I have obligations to the dead, and I keep my obligations.” Feeling frustrated, I turned around to pace and found Bihei at the door.

The widow stood stock still, listening to the argument. Mumu was also nearby. She’d partially disappeared using her scout techniques, likely to keep from intruding in another family’s drama.

“It would help me if you stayed with Bihei,” I said to the kids. “Just for a while. Until I can straighten out a complicated situation one way or another.” I put my hands on my hips, willing the kids to listen.

“Do you promise to come back for us?” Billisha asked.

“Life is uncertain,” I said. “Who knows what might happen—”

“Do you promise?” Billisha and Aluali asked together.

“If you’re safe, then I know I can face whatever needs facing. It’s a matter of—”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes,” I said finally.

I hadn’t been planning to promise anything—I really hadn’t—but while my mind was preparing the rationale for why, my heart jumped in with its own response.

The kids watched the war between heart and mind, and they must’ve found satisfaction in it. Billisha nodded. “Good. No matter what happens, you will come back for us.”

Wordlessly, Aluali came over and hugged me. Holding him in my arms, I knew he was still too thin, even after several weeks of eating well. He was warm, though, and smelled of dirt and sweat. Billisha, not to be left out, joined the group hug.

Then a pair of adult arms wrapped around us. Bihei whispered from behind me, “I’m sorry. Please, just for a moment.”

Surrounded by need and love, all I could do was close my eyes and hug them back.

The hike to the Glen felt both long and short. I knew the way, so there was none of the direction-replaceing the trip to Voorhei had required. Yet, being at one with the land continued to discombobulate me, so I went without it and trusted in my ordinary Stealth skill alone.

I’d stayed in Voorhei for only a handful of days, but I’d learned a lot from Inleio, Mumu, and the other hunters. I focused on putting those lessons into practice, and that helped keep my mind off my worries—which was good, because the last thing I needed was to be distracted while hiking the wilds between Voorhei and the Glen.

As I made my way into the hills, I spotted signs of wolves traveling through the area. Some of the paw prints were as big as dinner plates. Then there were the tracks left by a giant javelina. They looked similar to the ones we’d run across while escorting Dwilla back from Fort Sugar Shack. My pace slowed, and not having the uekisheile watching my backtrail slowed me down even more. They were still balled up tight within my heart dantian, seemingly aware of my discomfort-unease-trepidation but not sure what to do about it.

Fortunately, the trip was uneventful.

My heart lifted when I felt myself pass through the boundary to Ikfael’s territory. It was like walking through the front door and recognizing a place as home. The day’s heat eased, and the bugs that’d been pestering me suddenly left me alone. Even the muscle aches from training began to ease. Ikfael’s Blessing at work, no doubt.

I rushed along the banks of the stream, scrambling across the rocky bits. I was anxious to see Ikfael, and found her drifting atop the pool, lazily paddling to keep to the center. She looked well and healthy, her fur glossy.

“I’m back.”

The otter cracked an eye open, glanced me up and down, and pointed toward the fire pit. There were logs and tinder already in place, as well as our homemade cookware. She lifted her paws out of the water and made the shape of a donut.

That made me grin, the feeling warming me through. Some things a person could just count on, and Ikfael’s persistence was as steady as a rock.

I nodded to show I’d understood. “The kids stayed behind,” I said in Diaksh. “It’s temporary, but that might turn into longer. I have a thing to talk to you about, but first, I know you’ve been waiting.”

Ikfael continued to drift in the water, her eyes closed. I saw her ears swiveling though, so I knew she was listening.

Other than the firepit and cookware, everything else was just as we’d left it. It shouldn’t have been a surprise—we had only been gone for about seven days—but the time in Voorhei felt so much longer than that. Every day had been full to the brim with people and happenings.

I’d enjoyed the training and the camaraderie, but the experience also reminded me that people were complicated. And those complications built on themselves, spiraling in weird directions, like Bindeise’s ghost and Ghitha’s request—and like the uekisheile and the Deer God.

Life in the Glen was simpler. Sure, it was a struggle to survive, but the experience was purer. Like when I was a kid: if life became too much, I headed into the woods to escape. The forest had been my sanctuary. I went either with mi abuelo to hunt or on my own with a book, replaceing a cozy spot under a tree and spending hours reading.

The earth and trees had kept me company, along with whatever author I brought with me—Tolkien, Vance, Heinlein, Zelazny, and many more. They were quiet company, though, and hadn’t required anything of me other than my imagination.

My childhood had been difficult, but there’d been moments of respite too. That was something I’d slowly recognized over time.

While my thoughts drifted, my hands were busy starting the fire, stowing my gear, and getting the ingredients ready. I didn’t mind making the donuts right away. It felt good to be working.

Once all the ingredients and tools were ready, I sat back and waited. The fire needed time to get good and hot. So, I rested from the hike and settled in, happy to be home.

I melted some of the deer fat and mixed it together with an egg, maple sugar, milk, and yeast that I’d proofed beforehand. Making donuts wasn’t new to me—they’d been a nice way for Helen and me to start our Sunday mornings, and Alex and Daniel had loved them. Of course they had. Who didn’t love donuts?

The barley flour had been a lucky replace. It didn’t have as much gluten as wheat flour, but I figured there would be enough to get the donut’s texture right and, along with the egg, hold the dough together in the hot fat. The barley would add a nice nutty flavor too, which I planned to complement with crushed peanuts.

The proportions were uncertain, but I trusted my baking instincts. The only real risk was the amount of barley flour to use, so when the time came to mix the wet and dry ingredients together, I played it safe and added the flour a bit at a time until the dough reached the right consistency.

I poured the dough onto the flattest stone I could replace, then pressed it out with my fingers until it was about a quarter-inch thick. Using my hunting knife—that had been washed clean—I cut half the dough into bars and the other half into donuts. It wasn’t as good as using a cookie cutter, but they were circular enough. Mostly. If you squinted.

The first test was a donut hole dropped into the hot fat. It started to brown right away, and I wondered if the fire was too hot, so I carefully shifted one of the logs farther away. Then, using a pair of sticks like chopsticks, I turned the donut hole over to cook the other side. Once it looked like it was done, I dipped the hole in maple sugar and crushed peanuts.

I looked up to replace Ikfael sitting beside me, her fur dripping water; her eyes were starry as she gazed at the donut hole.

“I’m not sure it’s done,” I said, and cut the donut hole in two.

The middle was doughy on the inside, a sure sign that the fire had been too hot. The exterior had finished cooking well before the interior. I ate half, then handed the other to Ikfael. The flavor was decent, nutty and sweet, but it needed something to give it zing. Buttermilk, maybe?

Originally buttermilk was what was left over after churning butter, but in modern times, it was made by curdling milk with bacteria. I could replicate the effect, though, by using an acid.

Back in my previous life, I had added lemon juice to milk whenever I needed buttermilk and didn’t feel like driving to the grocery store. I hadn’t seen any citrus fruit in this world, though, nor vinegar, which would’ve been another option.

Oh well, I’d think about it. In the meantime, I let the hot fat cool a bit, and when I judged it ready, I dropped one of the bars in. The exterior turned a lovely golden brown. Ikfael looked at it with doubt—I could see the question in her eyes: where was the gracefully rounded shape? The glorious hole in the center?

“Just try it,” I said, fishing out the bar. I dusted it with maple sugar, cut it in half, and gave her one piece while I ate the other.

I sighed in pleasure. A little dense because of the barley, but the classic donut cakiness was there. Ikfael must’ve liked it too, because she’d already eaten her share and was gesturing for more.

In total, I made over thirty donuts. I ate four, Ikfael had eight, and she put the rest into her pocket.

“Will they keep?” I asked, surprised.

Ikfael nodded in reply, and once the donuts had been safely stored, she laid down by the fire and happily sang to herself.

Every cook’s joy was the satisfaction of the people eating their food, and I started to think about options for making buttermilk. I could also add mashed potatoes to the dough, and there was the acorn flour to try as well. I wondered how that would affect the flavor and consistency.

We lay by the fire long enough for it to need another log. Eventually, though, Ikfael chirped, the sound questioning.

“Hmm? Well, it was interesting,” I said. “I met a lot of good people, and some real characters too. There’s Inleio—he’s the master of the Hunter’s Lodge—and Mumu, who’s a hunter. I’m on her team. Oh, I should mention that I joined the lodge and was marked with the Way of the Hunter.”

I clammed up after that, not sure how to continue. Talking about the Way of the Hunter meant talking about the Deer God, and talking about the Deer God meant talking about the uekisheile.

Ikfael glanced my way. She must’ve seen me biting my lips, because she prodded me to keep going. She pulled water from the pool and shaped it into an image of me and the kids—Billisha and Aluali—walking through the forest. She’d gotten better in the time we were gone. I haven’t been the only one training, I thought.

Ikfael prodded me again.

Right, okay. I trusted Ikfael with my life. I could trust her with my stories too.

“We first met the village head, a man named Koda…”