For the first time in god-knew-how-long, Alex finally had time to sit around the Happy Motel’s cafeteria and lounge. He needed the rest; the long-term effects of splitting his time bewtween real life and Elderpyre were starting to show, and they weren’t pretty.

  By day, he put on his casque and delved into the world of Aernor, chasing adventure while his body lay motionless in bed. By night, he haunted the motel courtyard like an insomniac ghost, his mind exhausted, his body twitching with pent-up energy. It wasn’t natural, that disparity between mind and body, and the toll it took on him was growing exponentially as time went by.

  Across the table, Humbug Hank—Buggy—was looking fresh and energetic as ever, a stark contrast to his own semi-perpetual state of exhaustion. How the hell he managed to do that, Alex would never understand. As far as he knew, he spent as much time in Elderpyre as he did himself.

  Well, he thought, allowing himself a brief moment of pettiness. At least I still got eyebrows, you bald fuck.

  As if summoned by that unkind thought, Buggy looked up from the gossip magazine he’d been reading and gave him a frowning once-over.

  “As our dear Officer Carpenter would put it, Rulin… You look like someone took a shit in your cornflakes.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said without looking up from the newspaper he was pretending to read. He wasn’t in a talking mood, especially when it came to the Happy Motel’s resident loon.

  “No, really. Are you getting enough sunlight? Drinking enough water? Getting enough sleep? Just because we’re criminals doesn’t mean we have to let ourselves go. Self-care is divine.”

  “Let him be, Hank,” Carpenter piped in. She’d been sitting at the other end of the table doing paperwork, her mood sour. “He’s down in the dumps. Last thing he needs is you rubbing it in.”

  That drew a protest from Alex. If she was trying to help, she was doing a lousy job of it. “I’m not down in the dumps.”

  “Sure you’re not.”

  “Oh, shut up, Penny,” he half-groaned, half-snapped. “Mind your own fucking business, won’t you?”

  “It’s Officer Carpenter, Rulin.” She gave him a look cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins. “And you are my business, in case you forgot. As if I don’t have anything more important to do than babysit you.”

  She’d been acting strange too, these past few days. One day, she was Penny; Penny his friend, always ready to shoot the shit and nerd out over old films. The next, she was back to being Officer Carpenter, her distant, hardbitten prison guard fa?ade, leaving Alex off-balance. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing she’d just stick to one or the other. He didn’t mind which, as long as she stuck to it. He’d had enough of that hot-and-cold drama with Fawkes to last him a good long while. Last thing he needed was more of the same.

  Fawkes…

  It had barely been a day since she’d hitched a ride on one of the Behemoth Nation’s rigs and left him for good. It was for the better; Alex had no second thoughts about it. Still, it wasn’t much in the way of consolation. Just thinking about her tied his stomach in a knot.

  “Is it trouble of the heart, then?” Buggy went on, unperturbed. “Is your girl on the outside giving you the blues? I want you to know, you can always come to me for advice.”

  “I don’t have a girl on the outside, Hank,” Alex said, rubbing his temples. Not that it was any of his business, but it was the fastest way to shut him up.

  Buggy nodded and gave him a sympathetic look.

  “That’s probably for the best. What with what we’re doing and all, it’s—”

  “Hank!” Carpenter cut in with a sharp glance.

  “What?”

  “Non-disclosure agreement, that’s what!”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Buggy rolled his eyes. “If anything, it’s you who—”

  Alex didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence.

  “I’m out of here,” he said, pushing back his chair and heading for the door. “See you later, I guess.”

  “See what you’ve done now,” Buggy glared at Carpenter. “He’s in dire need of a friendly ear, and you’ve gone and driven him off!”

  Carpenter shot something back, but Alex made a conscious effort not to pay attention. He had to be out of there before they broke out in one of their all-out bickering matches, which invariably ended with Buggy clutching his pearls and Carpenter threatening to tase him in the junk.

  Alex needed to sit through that as much as he needed a root canal performed with a spoon. Instead, he headed for his room. It was time to log into Elderpyre and see how the mutt was holding up.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  ***

  Hunter materialized out of thin air at the exact spot where he’d logged out the previous day, somewhere near the edge of the Brennai village. He did so in plain sight; Fawkes had insisted that he should always find a safe place out of sight to pop in and out of Elderpyre. With her gone, though, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The folken already knew what he was, already kept their distance because of it.

  He’d barely gotten his bearings when Biggs and Wedge, his two raven familiars, broke into loud chattering. Despite the distance between them, he could hear their thoughts through the telepathic link they shared. Hell, half the time it took effort not to.

  “Hello!” Biggs projected, gleeful. “All’s well!”

  Wedge was of a different mind. “Mutt’s sad,” he droned. “Won’t play, won’t eat.”

  He’d left the three of them with Inago and Onatah. Again, Fawkes had advised against doing so. Riled up as they were, the village folken might see keeping a direwolf and two ravens around their tent as proof of witchery. The crippled former Aspirant and his mother were already low enough on the social pole without adding that to the mix. Still, a single night wouldn’t make much of a difference, Hunter reckoned, and the direwolf could use all the friendly company he could get while he was away.

  That was the thing with Fyodor; despite his impressive size—he’d grown almost as big as a pony—he was still just a pup at heart. Sometimes, Hunter caught himself wishing he wasn’t; it made the guilt worse. Fyodor had adored him since day one. Hunter, on the other hand, had mostly dumped the responsibility of looking after him to Fawkes, or to Inago, or, hell, even to Biggs and Wedge. Now that Fawkes was out of the picture, he’d have to step up. And, at least in theory, he fully intended to.

  Speak of the devil, the thought.

  The direwolf popped up out of nowhere, a russet streak dashing straight at him, tongue lolling to the side. Biggs and Wedge followed him, gliding lazily overhead.

  “Slow down there, buddy!” Hunter called, bracing for the impact he knew was coming. Fyodor could understand him just fine. he’d found out; it was reining in his enthusiasm he had trouble with. The direwolf crashed into Hunter, sweeping him cleanly off the ground, then climbed on top of him and proceeded to enthusiastically lick his face.

  “Jesus Christ!” Hunter managed to say as he tried to push the direwolf’s muzzle out of the way. “Let me at least take a breath or two!” He laughed despite himself and ruffled the thick fur behind Fyodor’s ears, scratching gently the way he knew the big oaf liked.

  Not wanting to be left out, Biggs and Wedge swooped down to their customary perch on Fyodor’s back, cackling and cawing with abandon. Hunter tried to shush them, but to no avail. As his familiar-related Abilities grew, so did the ravens’ intelligence, and with it, their knack for ignoring him and doing however they pleased.

  “Okay, okay, enough!” Hunter finally said as he crawled from under the direwolf and climbed back on his feet. His little reunion with his menagerie was starting to draw the attention of onlookers, and with tensions running high, that was decidedly not good. A couple of the Brennai watching from a distance made a sign to ward off evil; one went so far as to hawk and spit in Hunter’s direction. Hunter shook his head, doing his best to ignore the impulse to sic the ravens on them.

  Inago and Onatah’s tent was just a short walk away. Hunter meant to go check on them, see how Inago was doing. Hard as it was to see his friend and former fellow Aspirant in that condition, it was the least he could do. And it was hard; it hadn’t been just his foot that Yuma had crushed. Along with it, he’d crushed Inago’s hopes and aspirations for a better life, as well as his spirit. Gone was the ever-smiling young man Hunter had met just a few months ago. What was left in his place was just a melancholic creature that spent day and night suffering, hidden away in the gloom of his crestfallen mother’s tent.

  “Miss Onatah?” he called as he approached the tent. “Inago?”

  “In here,” came the woman’s reply, Onatah doing her best to keep her tone pleasant. “Come in, Hunter.”

  Hunter took a step through the tent’s flap. Fyodor followed; he curled beside the small mound of quilts under which Inago lay, and rested his big head gently on the young man’s chest. Onatah was sitting by his other side, wiping his brow with a wet rag. She looked ragged, pale, hollow-eyed. Hunter doubted she’d slept a wink.

  “Is he awake?” Hunter asked, keeping his voice low.

  Onatah shook her head. “Elder Hallara came to visit us earlier in the morning,” she said. “Gave him something for the pain, Ancestors bless her kind heart. He’s been sleeping like a log since. The pain kept him up all night.”

  Hunter felt a wave of guilty relief wash over him. He found it hard to look Inago in the eye, knowing what kind of miserable life lay ahead for him. Harder still was the knowledge that Hunter could do nearly nothing for him. In a few months at most, he’d be gone from this world, this reality, such as it was. And until then, his mere presence near Inago and Onatah only put them at risk of falling out of favor with the folken they now depended on to survive.

  “Sit with us for a spell, if you like,” Onatah told him, forcing a smile. “Have you eaten? Shall I prepare a plate for you? We have plenty. The folken have been very kind to us, in our hour of need. They truly have.”

  Hunter shook his head. “Thank you.” Very kind, my ass, he wanted to add, but didn’t. Those were the same folken that had allowed Yuma to get away from the consequences of his actions scot-free. And that was the least of it; as Inago suffered in both body and spirit, that fucker had been named alderman, head of the village. Hunter had half a mind to go over there and put his boot up Yuma’s ass. Not that it would change a damn thing. If anything, it would probably make things worse for everyone involved.

  “Elder Hallara left a message for you,” Onatah went on, idly stroking Fyodor’s head. The direwolf leaned into her touch, eyes shut. “I almost forgot. She wants you to meet her at her tent, soon as you can.”

  That came as no surprise. With Fawkes and the Behemoth Nation gone, the medicine woman was one of the few Brennai Hunter was still in good terms with. Whatever goodwill his brief stint as an Aspirant had earned him with the rest of the village Elders, it had evaporated the moment he beat Yuma bloody for crippling Inago.

  In fact, Hunter meant to go looking for Hallara on his own, and sooner rather than later. He wasn’t an Aspirant anymore—not in any official capacity, not where the Brennai were concerned—but that didn’t mean he was going to give up on ascending to the Iron Rung. He hadn’t run all those laps around the Sacred Training Grounds just to quit now. This Ascension thing, he was determined to see it through, even if it meant marching to the White Cloud Sage’s door all on his lonesome.

  All he needed was someone to point him to the right direction, and he knew exactly where to find her.

  ?? Thank you for reading Elderpyre!

  If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review—it helps a lot!

  You can also support the story and read 20 chapters ahead on Patreon.