EóGAN V

  The woods east of Lady Galdr’s abode were not familiar to Eógan, nonetheless he felt at home in them. His people lived many days journey to the west and the terrain on that side of the island was quite different. The Pechts lived among the low lying coastal plains and valleys along the western coast. Eógan learned to hunt in both the woods and the mountains, since his people rarely stayed in one place for long periods of time and made a point to enjoy all of the wonders that the land gifted them. He threw his head back as droplets of rain splashed down from above and relished their icy kisses.

  Eógan had decided to scout ahead for several reasons: the first was that it hurt his ears to hear the horrid sounds of what the Jotman considered a language and it especially grated on him to hear Liadan speaking the vile tongue of their land’s invaders. Another reason was for the group’s safety: the creature known as Esker and the Jotman child were managing to step on every twig in their path and were broadcasting the group’s presence. Eógan suspected that the Jotman who had slain his raiding party and those congregated at their partially constructed holy site would be searching for their trail, so he remained on high alert. He had failed Cinoch and the others, now he sought to make amends for his cowardice. The Jotman had committed unspeakable evils against the Gaídel villagers and those transgressions would not be forgiven.

  Eógan moved silently through the woods in a low crouch and was grateful that the rain helped obscure some of the noise his three companions made; if only they were not so talkative. A coal tit perched on an overhead branch chattered away, chastising Eógan for passing too close to its nest. He smiled at the sight and was eager for the spring migration that the nest heralded. He wished the bird many healthy chicks. His people formed close relationships not only with the animal spirits that adorned their bodies, but with animals in general. Eógan hoped he would find a falcon whose temperament matched his, he had always been envious of the hunters he had seen during Pechtish gatherings. The bond between a bird of prey and a hunter was truly special, Eógan hoped to have more of that in his life.

  For now, he focused once more on the task at hand, carefully scanning the forest for motion and listening for any sounds of movement. The owl spirit adorned on his chest was not as effective during the day, she preferred nocturnal hunting. However, her soft wings did imbue Eógan with quieter movement, especially when coupled with the pair of deer. Eógan ranged further and further away from Liadan, Guillaume, and Esker: due to how loudly they were announcing their presence, they would be easy to locate.

  ———

  After three more hours of traveling, Eógan could hear the rush of water. As he drew closer to the source, he also could smell a campfire. Eógan carefully stepped toe first into the underbrush and lowered his heels to further dampen the sounds of his movement. He worked his way forward stealthily, standing sideways with his knees bent and extending his left foot behind his right in a scissoring motion. A grassy patch along the bank of the river became visible through the trees and Eógan could make out a hushed conversation. At least three individuals were speaking in Gaídel and as he neared, he could see them clustered around a fire that crackled happily in a stone lined pit. He paused roughly forty feet away from their campsite and considered how he should approach. He nearly screamed when a finger tapped him on the shoulder. A Gaídel man with a cowled cloak covered in fungal growth smiled down at Eógan, who was still crouching. “There might still be some fish that you are welcome to friend,” the man said in Gaídel. Eógan quickly considered his options, but knew the man was not alone and needed to buy time for his companions to arrive.

  “Top o’ the morning to you!” Eógan replied cheerfully.

  The man arched an eyebrow and gestured back towards the campfire. He had a red, bushy beard with several mushrooms fruiting in it, matching the fungus on his cloak. “My name is Crimthann, but my friends call me Sprig,” the man had switched into fluent Pechtish. He then cupped his hands and bellowed to his companions in Gaídel, “I was out for a piss and I found me a Pecht!” One of the other men stood and eyed Eógan, the other two remained seated around the fire. Crimthann chuckled and clapped Eógan on the shoulder with a weathered hand, shepherding him towards the others. Eógan did not put up any resistance and made his way over with Crimthann close behind.

  All eyes were on Eógan when he stepped out into the grassy clearing. In the Gaídel tongue he said, “Can I take you up on your offer for fish? I am feeling a bit peckish.”

  “Pechtish, you mean,” Crimthann said with a wink. “Why were you creeping about our camp?” All four of the men had hard eyes and judging by the assortment of weaponry by each of their sleeping rolls, were warriors.

  “My name is Eógan,” he said with a half bow, “I apologize for interrupting your meal. I was searching for this river.” Eógan held a hand out to it. “I was hoping to follow it northwest and back to the land of my people.” The confused looks on the men’s faces indicated that Eógan may have overestimated his ability to speak Gaídel.

  “Stick to your tongue Pecht, Sprig and I speak it.” The man who had stood up and watched Crimthann lead him over then said, “And what brought you out here in Gaídel woods?”

  “Well, I think it is no secret that neither of our people are fond of the Jotman.”

  “Aye,” the man replied.

  Eógan chose his words carefully, “I was traveling with a raiding party and was separated from them when we… welcomed the Jotman to our fair island.”

  One corner of the man’s lip curled upward slightly, “We are not keen of them either. Have a seat. My name is Niall.” He reached behind his back and drew a large knife, while he continued to stare at Eógan. He held out his left hand towards one of the Gaídel warming his hands by the fire and a fish was placed into it. Niall never broke eye contact with Eógan as he severed the fish’s head and gutted it. “Have a seat. I insist.” Niall waited until Eógan sat down near the others before skewering the fish on a branch and placing it over the fire, where it sizzled.

  Crimthann sat down across from Eógan with his back to the river. “This here is Oengus,” he said as he nudged the man to his right. Crimthann tilted his head and bushy beardto his left at the last man, “And this is our fisherman, Ronan.” Oengus repositioned the scabbard of his bastard sword away from Eógan and Ronan spat onto the grass, he had a spear by his side.

  “Thank you for sharing your fire,” Eógan replied, “What brings you into these woods? A hunting trip?” Niall exchanged an extremely subtle look with Crimthann and flashed a hand signal. Eógan pretended not to notice. Crimthann stepped away from the fire and melded into the woods, his cloak covered in earthy toned fungus made him nearly invisible.

  “Life has been hard for us Pecht, we are trying to survive. A town called Gallowye was razed. Word has it that your people burned it to the ground and tortured the villagers.” Niall wiped the blood off of the knife he had used to gut the fish on the leg of his trousers. Eógan clenched his jaw and considered avenues of escape. “But we figure that may not have been the case. Perhaps the Jotman massacred the town and wanted to pin it on someone convenient, like you.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Eógan nodded his head enthusiastically, “I saw what happened and we had nothing to do with it. We fought and defeated a smaller force of Jotman and… and then were ambushed by a larger one. I was the only survivor.”

  “Your fish is burning Pecht,” Niall said coldly. Oengus and Ronan were now also staring at him. Eógan hesitantly reached out and rotated the skewered fish, it was charred on the side that had faced the fire. “We are looking for my niece, her family would very much like to be reunited with her,” Naill continued, “She’s a young lass, with long hair and fair features. She was last seen at the abbey. I am concerned about her safety.”

  Eógan calmly pulled the fish from the fire and answered, “I hope you find her, I have not come across anyone matching that description.” Eógan maneuvered the crispy fish to the end of stick and uncrossed his legs, so that his heels could gain traction on the ground. He heard a voice yelling his name and he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

  “Eógan?! Eógan are you out there?” Liadan called from the distance. Crimthann appeared once more from the brush and made another hand signal towards the other Gaídel.

  As the three Gaídel sitting by the fire stood, Niall said, “Why Pecht, how gracious of you to bringing our quarry to us.” They drew their weapons.

  ESKER VI

  Esker preferred traveling beneath the towering surface plants to being exposed out in the open, but that was solely due to the relief it providing from the blazing ball of fire in the sky. The moisture that dripped from above was not totally unfamiliar to her, caves had similar features. However, the grasping limbs of plant-life were fraying her nerves and what remained of her clothing. The isolation of once again being unable to communicate with these surface-dwellers stoked the embers of her temper and kept her on edge. All Esker could do was watch Guillaume and Liadan carry on a conversation, unable to decipher a word.

  Eógan was off on his own, yet seemed comfortable in this environment, even minimally dressed. The strange markings on his skin intrigued Esker, some of them reminded her of the protective seal that she and Guillaume had discovered as they escaped the dungeons. She would have to remind the Jot-man to show her the notes that he had taken.

  When the way through the surface plants became impassable, Esker swung the harvestman’s arm limb to make forward progress. The forearm of the creature was segmented, the upper half of it was relatively smooth and allowed for a strong grip, despite the occasional spines protruding from the carapace. The lower half and the end of the arm was far less inviting: hooked barbs ran from a pointed end in several rows. When swung, the limb was effective at clearing away the rope-like snarls that slowed her progress and to beat back the leafy green growths. Liadan appeared to be becoming distressed and left Guillaume’s side, making her way past Esker and leading the group. Liadan began to call out Eógan’s name, but there was no answer. Esker suddenly froze, her nose had caught several scents: there was fire nearby and there was also water. Guillaume noticed her change in demeanor and also became alert, he called softly out to Liadan. When Liadan turned back towards them, Esker saw movement behind her.

  A surface dweller dressed in green approached Liadan. Esker had only recently learned that Eógan, Guillaume, and Liadan represented different kinds of surface dwellers. While they all looked alike to her, the one in the green hood more closely resembled Liadan than any of the others. He raised his arm and Liadan screamed in terror. The plants around her rustled violently as rope-like plant fibers wound their way up her legs, restraining her. Curiously, mushroom caps sprouted around Liadan’s feet.

  In the distance, Eógan was facing away from the rest of them and towards three other surface dwellers, each had weapons in their hands; Eógan had what appeared to be a fish on a stick. As Liadan screamed, Eógan flung the fish into the nearest surface dweller’s face and rolled backwards to avoid the spear thrust of another. As the spear wielder chased Eógan off into the woods, the one who had been hit with the fish charged at Esker with a sword as the last nocked an arrow onto his bowstring. Esker did not hesitate, she ran towards the archer.

  Esker’s appearance seemed to distress surface dwellers and in this case that worked to her advantage. She could see the surprise in the archer’s eyes and his shot went wild, whipping past her left ear and tearing through leafy plants. The one armed with the sword was considerably shorter than Esker and when she swung the harvestman’s limb at him with all of her strength, he barely managed to parry the blow. Unfortunately for him, he tried to block it near the upper segment of the limb, below the joint. The lower half of it flexed with the momentum of Esker’s swing and the barbed hooks raked at his face and shoulders. As Esker snapped her improvised weapon away from the surface dweller, blood sprayed and bits of flesh were torn from his body. The sword dropped from his hands and he fell into the undergrowth clutching his face, moaning in pain.

  To Esker’s left, Eógan had a dagger in his hand and was nimbly dancing away from the spearman, trying to keep his distance. Guillaume ran to Liadan’s side, trying to free her from her plant-based restraints, while the green cloaked surface dweller approached them unarmed. Esker was not a violent person, but something had changed within her during her captivity, especially after seeing how the Jotman paraded Loess’ remains. Enraged, she charged at the archer.

  Vines and roots tangled at Esker’s feet, snaking their way up her ankles and calves. She was a good ten paces away from the archer when her momentum came to a complete halt, as the plants holding her back snapped and creaked. Esker raised her arm as more vines began to envelope her, but before she could throw the harvestman’s limb, the taut bowstring twanged and an arrow pierced through her forearm. Her weapon tumbled out of her hand and more undergrowth worked its way to bind her arm, as dark blood ran down it. Eógan thrashed around in the underbrush to her left, continuing to fend off the spearman.

  When Esker turned back towards Liadan she had to squint, the Gaídel was glowing brightly. Guillaume was on his knees at her side, trying to pry away the brambles and vines that ensnared Liadan. Strangely, the light emanating from Liadan seemed to darken near Guillaume. A pulse of colorless energy burst from Guillaume’s hands and the vines wrapped around Liadan dropped limply to her sides. Footsteps rustled through the underbrush, as the man with the bow and the one in the green garb charged Esker from either side.

  The archer drew a third arrow from his quiver and nocked it, drawing the string taut. Behind Esker, Liadan rushed forward along with Guillaume. The archer took aim at Guillaume while the surface dweller in the green cloak began to weave his strange magic once more. The arrow was loosed and whistled through the air towards Guillaume’s head, a moment before impact a blindingly white symbolmatching the designs of Liadan’s robes flared and the arrowhead shattered against it. Liadan’s eyes were white with radiant fire and as more vines attempted to grapple her, they burned away instantly. The green cloaked man was dumbfounded and picked idly at a mushroom in his beard.

  Liadan started screaming at the archer as Guillaume ran overto Esker’s side. The Jotman placed his hands on the vines wrapped around the lower half of Esker’s body, she felt them contract momentarily and then release as a pulse of colorless energy was projected from his fingertips. Guillaume seemed confused by the process, yet happy with the results. He reached down into the underbrush and lifted the harvestman’s limb with both hands up to Esker. She grimaced as she gripped the upper arm segment, pain radiated from her shoulder.

  There was a cry of pain to Esker’s left and a violent thrashing. Liadan continued to menace the archer, so Esker turned towards the surface dweller in the green cloak. Beneath the cowl she could see that he had rusty colored hair covering most of his face and he sank to his knees with his hands held out in front as Esker raised the barbed limb in her hand. The cloaked man’s surrender was welcomed, since the arrow was still lodged in her arm and hurt tremendously. When Esker stepped closer to the green cloaked man to keep watch over him, Eógan slipped out between the trunks of two trees, panting with exhaustion. He was covered in blood and holding a spear. Despite a minor wound on his shoulder, he looked to be healthy.

  Eógan and Guillaume walked towards Liadan, she was in the midst of a spirited argument with the archer.