“Be kind to everyone, bend over backwards, do what they want, even if it’ll kill someone,” I grumbled to myself, adding, “But if they do kill someone, it’s your fault, and you get punished. Stupid, shitty quest line.”

  I carried Aran back to the village and marched straight to Urstana’s house to find the spot where she’d been sitting empty. Whipping around to look for her, I nearly whacked Aran’s head into the thick vine doorframe. Petal floated around and around, but she was the only one I saw.

  Petal was an NPC, or I was a monkey’s aunt—uncle. I looked down at Aran and saw a streak of pond scum on my chest. I let out a long sigh, then bellowed, “Urstana!”

  I heard nothing but the wind chime and Petal’s wings. Daring to set Aran down, I ducked into the little hut. She wasn’t hiding in there. A bower for a bed, a little shelf with knick-knacks and dishes, but no half-crazy elf girl hiding anywhere.

  When I left the hut, Aran was on his feet, shuffling like a zombie. I rushed over to his side and slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Where ya going, buddy?”

  “To find a hippogrif—or a gryphon, maybe,” he answered as if in a trance, voice thin and far away.

  “What for?” I thought I knew the answer, but I figured I’d confirm my suspicion.

  His empty eyes turned up to look at me, hollow with sadness. “So it might eat me.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, jostling him hard enough to make his teeth clack together. “You’re under a spell, dude. Snap out of it.”

  “Are you going to kill me?” He didn’t sound hopeful or afraid, just curious.

  This wasn’t getting me anywhere. Until I could find Urstana, I had to do something to keep this enspelled idiot alive. I drew my rope out of my inventory and bound his hands together, then kept a length of it to use to pull him along with me.

  “Aran, come with me for a while, just until we can get this straightened out.”

  He didn’t respond and didn’t try to escape me while I bound him, so that wasn’t a no. I think he did want to survive, and being passive was all he could do to save himself from the spell.

  And so it was that I ended up leading an elf around on a leash by his bound hands. With Aran in tow, I went to Petal Dew, wanting nothing more than to smack her from her flitting circuit. “Give me the last part of the Kindness Trial.”

  “Go to Echo Glade and raise Bell’s spirit,” Petal said. My mini-map flashed a new green marker in the park.

  Akilah had suggested taking all the tasks at once, but I hadn’t, right away. It wasn’t because of Jake’s immersion concept, but because I wanted to try to use the time to understand the faction we were grinding. Sadly, I got it. These lunatics were true faerie kind, mischievous and cruel under their enchanting camouflage.

  At least orcs were honest in their harshness—you knew what they were about, right from the start. No stupid games.

  “Okay, Petal, give me the tasks Lost Lamb, Feast for Friends, and Riddle of the Willow.”

  My map lit up with new markers.

  “Be kind to all!” Petal cooed as she flitted, her tiny hands coming together, her big smile looking for all the world like she meant it. I bared my teeth, barely resisting the urge to swat her like a bug.

  I stalked down the path to the nearest one, glancing at the notes: The Riddle of the Willow: Solve the Willow’s riddle and open the way to the Ancient Grove. Akilah had gone there first, saying she loved riddles. She was a sicko. I hated riddles, though I wasn’t terrible at solving them.

  “Aran,” I asked as we walked, the elf shuffling behind me, “What do you know about the Willow’s Riddle?”

  “Unsolvable,” he muttered. I glanced back at him while he lurched with his head down, watching his own feet stagger along the root-laced path.

  My eyes rolled in their sockets. Of course it was. Dick move, fairy folk.

  The sunken grove the path led into surrounded a single willow tree. The air sparkled around it, a shallow collection of puddles rippling around its base. Something pale lay tangled in the weeds around it. Bones. Corpses were threaded through by grass and flowers, becoming a decorative addition to the ominously beautiful place.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  By the edge of the swampy ground, Akilah rubbed her chin and paced, head down. She looked consternated, lost in thought. Pausing, she looked up, surprised.

  “Dathai? Why do you have an elf on a rope?”

  “It’s a fun story. I’m not telling it without alcohol,” I replied, striding up next to her. Aran stumbled along behind me, staring gloomily at the tree.

  I examined it for a moment, checking what information I could read on my HUD. The stats were spare. It was an named object, and had HP, but that was it. [Riddle Willow| HP: 50]

  “Willow, tell me your riddle,” my voice rang confidently across the little fen.

  The long, wispy branchlets swayed, trailing in the water around it. A voice like the wind whispered, “The first breath makes me stronger, and the second leaves me weak. The third sends me onward, and the fourth makes me sleep. What am I?”

  I leaned in close to whisper to Akilah, “If you have some way to help me, do it.”

  “But I haven’t figured out the answer ye—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I hissed, then dropped Aran’s rope.

  I equipped my axe. The willow tree shuddered, as if it sensed my intent. As I lifted the rusty blade to my shoulder, I hoped that cutting down the tree didn’t count as unkindness. It seemed alive, but—was it sentient? I’d find out.

  “Do you know the answer, half-orc?” The whispering wind asked.

  “Yes.” I smirked, and hefting my axe, I charged towards the tree, accusing it. “There is no answer! It’s not a real riddle, liar.”

  Its pendulous limbs seemed to stiffen. Wind blew, rustling delicate leaves, and I heard it murmur, “It could have an answer, somewhere.”

  I swiped low and hard at the bulging, knobby trunk. The rusty blade bit deep. [Hit: -4] Through gritted teeth I snarled, “Let me be kind and end your confusion—by ending you.”

  Akilah let out a surprised eep. The surprised mage bounced from foot to foot before leaping over the sodden ground, hands extended. She splashed through a puddle, stumbling up the lumpy mound just as the willow’s branches lashed the air. Her hands slapped against the tree’s bark. I saw its HP drop by 3 with that first contact.

  The drooping branches whipped at me, and the tiny leaves were like razors. My cheek and shoulder bore the worst of it, springing dozens of fine cuts. A flurry of warnings crossed my HUD, mathing out to -12. Fair, but also infuriating. I planted a foot against the trunk and yanked my axe out, lining up to chop at it again.

  Akilah’s touch spread something dark. It first appeared as little more than a shadow around her splayed fingers, but it grew. Bark peeled away. A Damage Over Time effect. Nice. My HUD didn’t react, giving me no alerts or warnings. All I could see was the tree’s HP dropping, slow and steady. Whatever she did, it wasn’t against me.

  “Nooooo,” The big tree rattled, limbs squeaking together as it trembled. The spindly, flexible branchlets thrashed at both of us. I ducked, tucking my chin to my neck, but it was all I could do to defend my own skin.

  I ruthlessly hacked at the tree. [Hit: -6] [Hit: -7]

  To my surprise, Aran stumbled up beside me, throwing himself into the wildly flailing willow branches. I squinted at him but kept yanking my axe out and swinging it back into the furrow I made in the wood. I didn’t think the willow could kill him.

  It was sort of a death by a thousand papercuts situation—slow, painful, and utterly ridiculous.

  I swung my axe harder and faster than I thought possible, just waiting for that first creak, the first crack, and inevitable fall. Its HP bar plummeted. I started muttering at it, “We’re being kind, see? No more people dying by falling for a lie. You won’t be trapped as a tree, anymore.”

  “You’ll be free. We’re freeing you. So kind of us!” I said, as if my sarcastic bullshit would insulate me if it actually was a LoTR Ent or something.

  The damage from Akilah's DOT began to make itself known. The wood I chopped into started darkening, flaking away, as if I was slamming into a dead tree that had lain through seasons of decay. I was streaked with my own blood. Aran and Akilah weren’t much better, sliced wherever clothes didn’t protect them.

  The first splintering crack rang out, and I whooped, “TIMBER! Get back!”

  Winding up for one last whack, I swung, the axe biting deep. The tree groaned and creaked, wavering on its weakened trunk. I took a step back and then grabbed Aran’s rope, yanking him with me, away from where the willow would crash. Akilah was already bolting away from the vicious branches, dashing to less squishy ground.

  It took its time falling, teetering for a breathless moment before crashing down in a final death throe. The split wood emanated a flare of light that faded as quickly as it was revealed by my axe. The tree’s center was hollow, and nestled within was something that looked like a branch, but not from this tree.

  “That’s a staff,” I muttered. Fae hoodoo stuff. No way in hell was I touching that.

  Akilah had no such qualms. She stepped around the wicked willow’s limbs, picking her way through the maze of puddles to the splintered trunk. With careful hands, she drew the staff free. Her gaze shifted as she read her aspect screen. I cursed not being able to see it, too.

  “Well?” I pushed, clenching Aran’s rope in my hands.

  “The Wane-Touched Branch.” She ran a hand along its length, voice almost reverent. “It’s… perfect.”

  The pale staff was marked by a black root coiled around it like a petrified vein.

  I grinned, despite myself. Lucky mage. Then I shot the trunk a wary scowl, suspicion creeping in. Fae hid a lot of awful in things that looked perfect.

  “Well, let’s go see if Jake conquered the Feast task,” I said, shaking it off. The village had been empty, the denizens nowhere to be seen. Maybe they’d gone there. A well of hope sprang up in my chest.

  If I could get Aran to tell Urstana the truth, get her to believe him, and forgive him, then she’d remove the curse. I could get rid of the poor guy.

  Aran slumped beside me, dripping blood from hundreds of tiny slices. I looked at Akilah’s gruesomely cut face and changed my mind. “Let’s go back to the village and clean up, first.”

  The little spring by the village entrance had what we needed. I borrowed a bucket from Urstana’s house, and we washed up.

  Akilah’s expression twisted in horror when she saw her reflection in the sunlit bucket, shimmering bloodily back at her. Urstana’s hut had enough cloth to use to stem the trickles running down her face. The cold water helped seal the thin nicks.

  Not wearing a shirt was a junk drawer of feelings for me. I felt vulnerable, but I could also absorb more sunlight that way. Enough that I was able to see the little gashes healing as I washed my green skin clean.

  Aran just sat there like a stone statue, so I had to clean him up, too. I tried not to be annoyed. After all, it wasn’t his fault he was in the depths of misery. He’d been cursed.

  By his crazy girlfriend.

  If I wasn’t careful, she might turn her spells on me, too, before the truth came out.

  As I wiped the blood from his face, I hoped he hadn’t lied to me.

  -ARCHIVE-