Siege State
Chapter Forty-One: Undercurrents

Tom, Val and their familiars left Corin’s Grove that afternoon, and were back at the oak by sundown the next day.

Tom felt fantastic. He had manifested all his skills. He was adapting well to his new life. He had friends, and no bullies. The only things he had to do were fill out the last pesky requirements for his Quiet under Moonlight and Wings of Grief skills. They were about to head out to the Hunter’s Gathering, and there they would hopefully come up with some kind of plan for combating the orcish infestation. All was good.

They took the rest of the evening to unload their haul from Corin’s Grove, and pack for their trip to the True Hall. They would be gone for over a month and a half, perhaps two, this time, the trip being three weeks one way.

They packed light, and made good use of Tom’s spatial storage to carry along some perishables they usually wouldn’t bother with. They’d discovered that anything placed in it was also temporally suspended, allowing for foodstuffs, delicate herbs, and the like, to remain fresh.

He’d also noticed that the random gathering function of the skill had been hard at work too. In one corner of the storage, a tidy wee pile of assorted mana-infused natural items was growing. He removed any that weren’t of any particular value, and left a handful that wouldn’t be ruined outside of storage, and put them in his corner under the oak.

They set out the next morning, and winter turned out to journey with them.

They set a course directly northwest, planning on following until they hit the northern trade road, crossing it, and then heading straight north to the hall.

The first week of their journey was miserable. It rained, slow and steady, without pause. Tom’s clothes were sodden, his armour chafed, and they slept every night in the least soaking space they could find. His only consolation was that his Idealist constitution kept him from hypothermia, and that the rain seemed to keep most of the monsters in whatever den they called home.

They were bedraggled facsimiles of their summer selves, when, a week later, the rain finally stopped. Tom was overjoyed. He had begun to forget what it was like to be dry. His relief, however, was short lived, for the temperature began to drop. Every morning, they woke to frost covered bedrolls.

Just when Tom thought it couldn’t get any worse, the third week turned out to be a combination of wet and cold, raining periodically, and frosty throughout.

Despite the inclement weather, Val kept up with a series of unending tasks for him. Finding caches of food set aside by enterprising animals. Learning how to safely navigate a small, frozen lake. Learning how to maintain his gear through unrelenting misery, though Val did accede to having Tom keep her bowstave and strings out of the wet in his storage.

Once, they came across a low cave set in a mossy hillside. Val had him spend half a day exploring it, saying that Smitten had said he would find it ‘enlightening’.

As it happens, it was a den. When Tom approached, he immediately noticed a pungent, musky scent. Sesame’s nose wiggled, and his ears pricked up.

Upon investigation, they found a huge male brown bear hibernating in the cave. Even knowing it was there from the scent, it still gave Tom a fright as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he made out its form. Sesame seemed merely curious.

It was smaller than his familiar, brown in colouration instead of black. He was glad Sesame didn’t need to hibernate. Not having his familiar for support for several months a year would be highly inconvenient.

He and Sesame settled down at the cave mouth, and Tom spent several hours watching the bear, pondering his familiar, and his bond with him. Looking at a true, flesh and blood bear, he was astounded by the differences, and similarities. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ NovᴇlFɪre .ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

For all intents and purposes, Sesame looked much the same. But there were differences. His size, for one. His coat was thicker, denser, too. His claws were slightly longer than the natural bear’s, as well, and he’d be willing to bet his teeth were, too.

Hunter-Gatherer exposed more contradictions. The natural bear felt more ‘alive’ to his life sense, and yet looking at Sesame, with his intelligent eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that was wrong. Sesame also had a much higher concentration of mana throughout his body too.

When they finally stood, and made their way back to Val, Tom decided Smitten had been right. It had been an enlightening few hours, mulling over the nature of a bear. He felt closer to his familiar for the experience.

Sesame sent happiness thrumming down their bond. The bear had been getting smarter and smarter, as the World-provided intelligence adapted to his new form.

Happy, happy, happy, he sent to Tom, and through a subtext of complex emotions managed to convey that he was glad he had Tom, and was not alone like the bear they had watched. Tom gave him the exact same feeling straight back.

As they neared a fortnight into their journey, they passed the great northern trade road leading to the Nails, and beyond them, the Rust Sea.

Late one evening, a few days later, they were interrupted as they were setting up wardpoles around a shallow overhang in an escarpment. Tom noticed a mana-dense form slinking through the trees towards them.

It had far more mana concentrated in it than most creatures of the Deep, but simultaneously didn’t quite feel ‘alive’ to his senses.

A familiar, he concluded, one at a much higher tier than Sesame, from the feel of it, more akin to Smitten, or Scorn.

“Val,” he whispered, gesturing towards it, and conveying a warning with a look. She readied herself, glancing at where Smitten sat nearby. The grey dog stiffened, sniffing the wind, her nose twitching as she sought the scent of the intruder.

Tom slowly turned on the spot, sweeping the cone-shaped projection of Hunter-Gatherer through the surrounding forest. He had almost made a full turn when he caught another being approaching, this one clearly a person, full of both life and mana. He also picked up several concentrations of mana on them, and marked them as enchantments.

He was just about to relay this to Val, when Smitten gave an excited yip and began trotting off towards the other familiar. Val noticeably relaxed as well. The approaching familiar slipped out of the surrounding woods, and Tom got a good look at it.

It was a brown wolf. Tall and rangy, with a shaggy coat, it flowed out of the trees and towards Smitten, where they immediately commenced some good natured sniffing, turning circles about each other.

Sesame sent a mildly confused query down the bond, having picked up Tom’s alarm and readied himself to fight. Tom sent reassurance back, Val had obviously decided there was no threat, he could only follow her lead.

Tom pointed to the approaching human for her, and she turned, waiting for him to meet them. Within a minute, a man strode out, briefly ruffling Smitten’s fur as he passed.

He was clearly another Hunter. No one else would be out here in the Deep, alone. The man was tall and rangy, just like his wolf familiar, with long brown hair tied back in a tail with a thin strip of leather. He carried a bow, unstrung, and had a long dagger - almost a sword - buckled at one hip. His studded leather jerkin was worn, but well-cared for, like his boots and bracers. Tom could feel the mana from the enchantments inscribed on them all.

He looked to be roughly the same age as Val, but guessing the age of Idealists was always tricky. They could live much longer, depending on the tiers their Ideals reached, and certain skills could extend that even further. He did look perhaps a touch more weatherworn than her, though.

“Ho, Jace!” Val called in greeting. “How goes it? Good to see you, man!”

“Ho, Val!” Jace called in reply, his voice surprisingly melodious. “Good to see you too! It’s been too long.”

“Come in, come in,” Val gestured to the shallow overhang. “We’ve enough dry ground for three arses, I reckon.”

Jace laughed, and he and Val shared a brief embrace.

“Goddess, but it’s good to see you, Val. Things have been …unsettled.” His expression drifted off momentarily, then snapped back into focus. “And who’s this, then? Have you taken to kidnapping handsome young men then, have you?”

Val punched him in the arm. The sound of the impact snapped through the woods, and several birds in a nearby tree took off in fright. Jace simply laughed. Tom couldn’t help but be a little awed at the casual display of strength from both of them. He couldn’t wait to tier up his Ideals.

“Get a grip, Jace,” Val said. “This is Tom. Been showing him the ropes.”

Jace extended a hand, giving Tom a look of commiseration.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, then, “My condolences, Tom. If you ever want for less of a harsh taskmaster, you come find me at Mare’s Field.” He finished, in a theatrical stage whisper.

Val gave him a glare that Scorn could study for pointers. Jace affected ignorance, instead approaching Sesame and letting the big bear sniff his hand. Within moments, Sesa had another new friend, and bliss rolled along the bond as Jace tickled his chin.

“Who’s this fine specimen, then?” Jace asked.

“Sesame,” Tom replied. “He won’t leave you alone, now, I hope you know.”

“Oh, I’m well versed, don’t you worry.” His tall brown wolf wandered over with Smitten. “This is Leta,” he explained. “She never gets tired of scratches either.”

Both Leta and Smitten smiled then, tongues lolling. The expression looked curious on the fearsome wolf. It almost reached Tom’s ribcage with its shoulders.

“Hey there, Leta,” Tom said, holding out a hand. The wolf leapt upon the opportunity to avail itself of some nimble human digits.

Jace disengaged from Sesame, and made for their overhang. As he rounded Val, he reached up and gave Scorn a casual scratch behind one ear. The grey cat accepted it without complaint. Tom thought it was perhaps the most ballsy thing he had ever seen someone do. He wouldn’t put his fingers anywhere near the grumpy tom unless he needed a field amputation.

They got back to work then. Within short order, they had the rest of the wardpoles set, adding Jace’s set to their own to buffer them and enlarge the circle.

They sat down in a circle, their familiars arrayed around them. Tom began to pull dry wood from his storage for a small fire. Jace gave a low whistle.

“You must have something Scriber wants, if he’s taken his time to make you a storage item already.”

“It’s a skill, actually,” Tom said, taking a pot and some vegetables from his storage as well. “Manifested it about a month ago. I don’t know how I got by without it, now.”

“Goddess, man! Don’t tell him, then. He’ll tie you up and never let you out of his sight!”

“Told him the same thing,” Val said, with a grin. “He thinks I’m joking.”

Jace gave him a wide grin, and Tom knew he would have to haggle for his freedom next he met the enchanter.

Val and Jace caught up about more inconsequential things while Tom cooked the stew. Jace related how a skulk of mist-attuned foxes were becoming a growing nuisance over the last year.

Jace ranged across a section in the southwest of the Deep, out of Mare’s Field. The foxes had started off as a curiosity, rarely seen, and not a threat. They had been steadily increasing in number, though, and Jace was worried they would reach village-killer status. He and Leta had been trying to pin down their den, but the creatures were elusive.

Val relayed their tracking and killing of the forest drake, and Tom’s progress in general. To hear her tell it, he had been doing extremely well. Pride welled in his chest.

They ate their meal, and talk turned to more serious matters.

“This Gathering, I’m worried about it, Val. If we’ve got orcs in the Deep then something needs to be done, and sooner rather than later. But The Lord, well, you know how he is. But he’s been growing more erratic, if you could believe it.

“You know Honeyfield ranges near me. Ran into him a few months back. Never liked the creep, but the way he was… he was smug as a schoolyard noble. I’m not sure what those lunatics are planning, but I doubt it’s anything good.”

“Scriber said as much. We can only take it as it comes, Jace.”

“I’m saying, Val, I worry the time for talking has passed us by. I think things have gotten ahead of us, and if it’s true, they might have called us all together for …other reasons. We might need to have a plan.”

“Surely it’s not that far gone?” Val said, surprised. “The Lord and his cronies are bloodthirsty, sure, but the bond between Hunters has always held. Some squabbles, certainly, but never a schism.”

“Just saying, Val. Better prepared than dead. Just can’t see why they’d gather in us as they know we won’t follow whatever nonsense they’re brewing, unless they want to make sure we can’t muddle it.”

Val frowned, opening her mouth.

“Just a feeling, is all. Just be on your toes, alright?”

Val gave Jace a searching look, but eventually nodded.

“Glad to have you here, either way. You’re a sorely needed voice of reason,” he paused, scratching his chin. “And if things turn sideways, I’m damned sure I wouldn’t want to be the one to try stop Val Carver from leaving.”

Tom lay awake long into the night. He was missing a huge amount of subtext for the Hunters. He didn’t understand the currents that ran between them, the history they shared, and it made him nervous. Jace made it sound like they were walking into a trap.

From what he gathered, there were two main factions in the Hunters. There were those who were resentful at being cast out of Wayrest, and those were also the ones who generally happened to have been cast out for a good reason. The others were like Val and Tom, and Jace, he supposed. Either cast out for manifesting a taboo Ideal, even if they were sound of character, or those who made a single, tragic mistake, and were exiled for it, but weren’t necessarily bad people.

The second group also had their fair share of resentment, for Wayrest, and the Council, and the Church, but they tended to be more reasonable. Even so, it muddied the waters of the Hunters even further.

Tom was just glad he would have no real part to play in the Gathering. That the orcs were in the Deep was an established fact for the Hunters. It was not his word they would be relying on to make any decisions, as it was with the Council.

He should be able to just keep his head down and follow Val’s lead.

With any luck, no one would pay him any attention at all.

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