“There you are. Are you ready to go?”
“And a good morning to you, Fawkes.”
“Morning’s only good if we’re already halfway to where we’re going, lad. Let’s move. I’d rather be there by afternoon, if we can manage it.”
“Where’s there anyway?” Hunter asked, scratching the direwolf behind the ears.
“I’ll fill you in on the way,” Fawkes said, already turning toward the path leading away from the Training Grounds.
“Did you tell Wroth we’ll be heading out?” Hunter asked, falling into step beside her, Fyodor padding along.
“Yes,” Fawkes replied with a dry smirk. “He was absolutely thrilled to have us out of his mangy hair. Frankly, I don’t think he’d shed a tear if they found us nailed to the trees with our guts hanging out, like those poor folken.”
Hunter had to roll his eyes.
“Color me unsurprised.”
They followed a path leading west, deeper into the Weald. A thin mist clung to the ground, curling around the gnarled roots of the ancient woods around them. The air was damp and cool, carrying the earthy scent of moss and wet leaves, and the faint silhouettes of distant pines faded into the morning gloom. It was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth.
Hunter had missed it, being on the road with Fawkes. Fyodor padded along beside them, occasionally stopping to sniff at something that caught his interest. Overhead, Biggs and Wedge were circling lazily, scouting the surrounding area. Their constant chatter buzzed faintly in the back of Hunter’s mind, like static background noise, ever-present but not entirely distracting.
“Did you spend a lot of time on the road like this?” Hunter asked Fawkes at some point, looking to make conversation. “I mean, you know… before.”
“All my life, more or less,” Fawkes said, not taking her eyes from the path. “Never was one to settle in one place for long.”
“Alone?”
“Sometimes,” she said with a shrug. “Sometimes not. I grew up traveling with my master. Then I went off on my own for a while.”
“You’ve never told me much about him. Your master.”
Fawkes’s expression tightened, her gaze fixed straight ahead. For a moment, it looked like she wasn’t going to answer at all. Her jaw worked silently, and she let the question hang in the cool morning air as they walked.
“Not much to say about him, I guess,” she finally said after a long pause. he cast a brief, guarded glance at Hunter before looking away again. “Or rather, the less said about him, the better.”
Hunter didn’t press the subject. It wasn’t one she wanted to linger on, he could tell. But after a few moments, Fawkes spoke again, her voice softer.
“He wasn’t a bad man. He kept me dressed, kept me fed. Never laid a hand on me – in violence or otherwise. He taught me all I know – made me what I am, who I am. But he was strict. Cold, even.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Hunter, just to say something. Fawkes barely heard him.
“I was a child of six years when he took me in. My sister and I – yes, I had a sister – were orphans. An illness swept through our village and decimated it, but somehow, we survived. Master Hight used to say it was thanks to the áeld blood running in our veins, thin as it was. We were separated. He took me in, and one of his associates took my sister. It wasn’t charity, though. Don’t think that for a second. They only saw potential – figured our áeld blood would make us good wards to train in their Paths.”
They reached a fork in the path, and Fawkes came to a halt. Fyodor, as if sensing the shift in her emotions, nudged her hand with his nose and pressed his big head gently against her leg. She didn’t say anything, but her fingers instinctively curled into his fur.
“What he wanted was a worthy heir to his legacy. What I needed was a parent. I guess both of us were left disappointed in the end. I swore I wouldn’t be like him if I ever got a disciple of my own. I’ve been thinking about that oath a lot lately.”
“Because of Reiner?”
“Because of Reiner, yes.”
They took the path to their right, the one that looked like it would curve northwest. Fawkes’s gaze lingered somewhere in the woods ahead, as if lost in thought. Hunter shifted uncomfortably, not sure what he should say.
“Tell me about him, then,” he said after a moment, his voice careful. “Reiner, I mean. If you want to.”
“It was around my fortieth saintsday,” Fawkes said. Now that she’d begun opening up, the words seemed to come a little easier. “I was lost, both figuratively and literally. A good friend of mine had just died. I found myself in a township south of Quortain, drowning my grief in strong liquor. Some guttersnipe picked my pocket and took a watch I was rather fond of. I was furious, but I couldn’t help being a little impressed. That guttersnipe turned out to be Reiner. The bailiff wanted to break his hands as a punishment.”
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“Harsh.”
“That’s what I thought, too. He was a street kid, dirty and scrawny and malnourished. Just doing what he could to survive in a place that had thrown him away like offal. It didn’t feel right to leave him there.”
“So you took him in.”
“So I took him in.”
“He was a lucky kid, then, I guess.”
“An ungrateful, thieving little shit is what he was,” Fawkes shook her head. “Three times he ran away. Three times, I tracked him down and dragged him back by the scruff of his neck. I swore that if he ran away a fourth time, I’d just leave him alone and be on my way. But he never did. We got along much better after that.”
Hunter chuckled.
“Guess he finally realized he couldn’t shake you, huh?”
“Something like that,” Fawkes replied, her expression softening as she looked ahead down the path. “He stopped fighting me after that. Started listening more, opening up more. Training him had never been my intention, but he insisted. Took to the blade like he was born with it in his hands. Smart, too. Quick thinker.”
She paused, the faint trace of a smile fading.
“But he was still just a kid, really. Too eager to prove himself. Too stubborn for his own good. And in my way, I guess I failed him too – much like my own master failed me.”
Fawkes let out a slow breath and turned her face away, pretending to adjust her bracer, though her fingers fidgeted with it aimlessly.
“Why do you say that?” Hunter asked.
She shrugged.
“Oftentimes, I think Master Hight and Reiner would’ve been a better fit for each other,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of regret. “Reiner was ambidextrous, like most áeld. And sure, he didn’t have a drop of áeld blood in his veins, but there was something in him – some kind of bloodline power. I never managed to help him properly develop it. Master Hight would’ve known exactly what to do with him. He’d have raised him with a stricter hand, too. Made him more cautious, less of a daredevil.”
“I don’t think that’s the case,” Hunter said softly. “He’d never have become the man he was, hadn’t it been for you.”
“True.” She shook her head, her expression somewhere between wistful and regretful. “But he might still be drawing breath.”
Hunter tried to cheer her up, but Fawkes wasn’t much for conversation after that. She walked in silence, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
“You know what?” she said about half an hour later, as they reached another fork in the path. “You should be the one pathfinding. Lead the way. Might even get you that last rank in your Survival Ability.”
Hunter considered the idea.
“I don’t even know where we’re going.”
“Big thicket of red-leafed oaks, about half a day northwest of the Sacred Training Grounds. That should be all the information you need to find it.”
“What if we get lost?”
Fawkes just shrugged.
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
***
As they ventured deeper into the Weald, Hunter couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of intimidation. It wasn’t just the sheer size of it – though the towering trees with their gnarled roots and sprawling canopies certainly played a part. It was the age of the place, the weight of time that seemed to press down on him with every step. The forest felt alive in ways he couldn’t fully explain, its ancient presence almost sentient, watching, judging. The Weald wasn’t just a place, that much was obvious. It was an entity, and walking through it was like stepping into the domain of something far older and far greater than himself.
Still, he mustn’t have been doing too bad a job navigating, because a couple of hours later, he finally got that string of notifications he’d been looking forward to.
“Got it,” he said to Fawkes. They hadn’t spoken in a while, both focused on the path ahead, lost in their own thoughts.
“Got what, lad?”
“That last rank in Survival. I got a point of Inspiration, too.”
“That must mean we’re on the right track, then,” Fawkes nodded. “Good. Save it for later.”
They went on, each step carrying them deeper into the vast woods. Hunter couldn’t help but notice how at ease Fyodor seemed under the sprawling canopies. The direwolf padded along confidently, occasionally straying from the path to sniff at a tree trunk or patch of moss. His ears perked every time he spotted a squirrel, chipmunk, or the occasional deer darting through the thickets, but he still remained by his side. It had been some time since Hunter had seen Fyodor this animated, this content. It made him smile.
“You know, I’ve missed this,” Hunter said to Fawkes, breaking the silence. “The Sacred Training Grounds are… fine, I guess. Nice enough place. Though the company’s not exactly great. But I missed being on the road – just us, you know?”
Fawkes nodded.
“Sometimes I wonder whether we should just do Wroth a favor and just leave.”
“Just say the word.”
“It’s not that simple,” Fawkes said, her tone matter-of-fact. “The simplest way to ascend a rung is to prove yourself before a Witness – the Sage of the White Cloud, in this case. But Witnesses are rare, and most won’t waste their time on Aspirants they have no connection to or reason to see. I’m not sure I could find another one willing to accept you.”
“Screw that. I never even wanted to become an Aspirant in the first place.”
Fawkes’s brow furrowed, and she cast a sidelong glance, as if she were turning something over in her mind.
“As I said, it’s not that simple.”
Around noon, they came up a small glade that looked like the perfect place to have a quick bite and a breather. Hunter sent Biggs and Wedge out wide to scout the surrounding area, make sure nothing would sneak up on them.
“You should take a break too, get back to your side of things,” Fawkes told him. “I know you’re itching for it.”
“No need. I’ll go later.”
“Go now. We’ll be just fine, me and the mutt.” She gave Fyodor’s furry back a vigorous rub. The direwolf wagged his tail and leaned into her hand, clearly enjoying the attention. “Won’t we, boy?”
Hunter gave it some thought.
“Okay. Just for half an hour. Is that alright?”
“Yes, yes,” Fawkes dismissed him with a wave. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s rushing us.”
Hunter nodded and logged out. Back in the Happy Motel, he half-walked, half-ran to the cafeteria to wolf down a tuna melt sandwich and an apple. It took him twenty minutes, twenty five tops.
But when he logged back in and returned to the glade, he found it empty and quiet, save for the eerie whistle of the wind through the trees.
Fawkes and Fyodor were gone.
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