In the Lair of the Night Thing

How far do we trust the hag? Khelarr asked.

I don't know, Shotavi confessed. Hags are... unpredictable at best.

Khelarr harrumph'd his agreement, his eyes scanning the surrounding woodland for any clue as to where this path they followed might lead them. Iona was a dead weight—no, just a moderate amount of weight—in his arms, and Chitter followed at his heels like an anxious attendant. The goliath could only wonder what would happen if Iona... Rather, if the spider decided that she and the two non-Iona humanoids were no longer friends.

Iona groaned and mumbled something inarticulate, her sweaty face scrunched into a grimace of pain. The bite marks on her inflamed cheek oozed some kind of yellowish discharge that looked distinctly unhealthy.

Hey-la, what have we here? Shotavi asked, and turned towards a dried squirrel skull tied around the trunk of a young, forked beech with a length of red twine. The dreas knelt down in front of the skull to examine it.

Don't touch that! Khelarr said. It might be enchanted.

How would you know? Shotavi asked in return, but nonetheless pulled her hand back. She frowned at the skull. It's probably a marker of some kind; I'm sure we're on the right path to the hag, wherever she might be.

I wish she would whisper some directions to us, Khelarr grumbled.

Me too, Shotavi said, and used a fallen leaf to wipe the discharge off Iona's face. I don't want to say a final farewell to our mage just yet, for all that she can be quite the irritation at times. But let's continue onwards.

The two walking humanoids and their spider chaperone continued following the narrow footpath that wended its way through the woods.

After some time, the group found another young beech with a fork in the trunk, which also had a squirrel skull tied around it with red twine. Khelarr hurried past it; Iona looked as pale as a ghost and had begun shivering in his arms.

Wait! Shotavi called, and the goliath slowed from his jog and backtracked to where Shotavi had crouched down to frown at the skull.

The goliath bared his teeth in frustration. Shotavi, there isn't time for—

This is the same skull we passed before, the dreas said without looking up. Look, the left incisor has the exact same chip in it. I think—

Iona is going to die if we don't get a move on, the goliath gritted out. This isn't the time to be playing with skulls, magical or no.

Shotavi sat back on her heels and finally looked up at her companion. We're stuck in a loop, she said, speaking slowly as though addressing a slow-witted child. We've been walking in a circle, perhaps a magical one, for far too long. The hag is playing games with us... and I don't like being played with.

The dreas drew her obsidian knife and swung the point down onto the dome of the squirrel skull. There was a sharp crack that seemed to echo through the surrounding trees, and Khelarr's eyes stung with a sudden rush of tears as the skull shattered. He blinked them away, and when his vision cleared he saw something that hadn't been there before.

Another path branched off from the one that he, Shotavi, and Chitter had been walking, curving around the forked beech and heading down a slope choked with brambles. It was narrow and stony and thoroughly uninviting, and deer skulls had been mounted on crooked poles along it at irregular intervals.

Khelarr took a breath after his surprise wore off. The dreas got to her feet and sheathed her knife. Let's keep going—the right way, this time, she said, and took off down the newly-revealed track at a graceful, bounding sprint. Khelarr hurried along behind her, and Chitter brought up the rear.

As they descended down the slope, the forest became eerily silent. No birds called and no frogs peeped. The sky he could glimpse through the canopy of branches overhead was overcast and gray with the promise of rain. A sickly, curling mist began to swirl about their ankles as the temperature dropped, and Khelarr halted for a few moments to set Iona down and wrap his cloak of wolf pelts around her before picking her back up.

He nearly dropped the mage when her gray eyes snapped open and fixed on his face, her gaze momentarily clear and alert.

Am I dying? Iona rasped. There was a disturbing rattle underneath her labored breathing.

I hope not, Khelarr answered, and lengthened his stride to catch up to Shotavi. He rounded an oxbow bend in the path, the brambles scratching at the legs of his leather trousers as though trying to snare him. When he looked back down at Iona, the mage had lapsed back into semi-consciousness.

Shotavi! Khelarr called. She's getting worse!

Shotavi made a beckoning gesture over her shoulder to him, slowing from a sprint to a jog and then a walk. She pulled her bow from her back and strung it, and gestured for Khelarr to go ahead of her.

We found the hag's lair, the dreas said. She frowned. And you just announced our presence to her, I'm sure.

Ahead of them, the forest opened into a clearing of trampled and dying meadow grass, in the center of which loomed a huge, gnarled, dead oak tree. Against the base of the tree sagged a circular hovel made of mud-brick with a roof desperately in need of new thatching, surrounded by a ghost wall of more skulls mounted on crooked stakes that had been jammed into the muddy ground. Some of the skulls were undeniably humanoid, and Khelarr felt as though something looked out at him from their darkened eye sockets. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck rose in warning.

Khelarr set his jaw and tramped across the dead grass to the hovel's door. He shifted Iona in his arms to free one hand and knocked once, then twice. The door opened and swung inward before he could rap his knuckles against it a third time.

An old woman, humanoid in appearance, with skin as gray as granite and matted white hair grinned up at him from the doorway. There was an impish twinkle in her laughing black eyes, and her ragged clothing hung upon her hunched, bony frame in cobweb-like tatters.

Hello, dearie, she said, her lips peeling back to reveal the rotting brown stumps of her teeth as she spoke. Even from a polite distance away, Khelarr could smell the miasma of burnt flesh and sickness that swirled about her.

Hello, Grandmother, Khelarr said, breathing through his mouth to avoid gagging. Please help my friend, if you can.

I absolutely can, the hag replied, and reached over to twitch away a fold of the wolf-pelt cloak to get a better look at Iona. The mage's face lolled toward the smoky fire that burned sullenly in the central hearth within the hovel, her nigh-sightless eyes seeking the light. The hag grinned down at her with what Khelarr hoped wasn't glee.

Come in, come in, the hag crooned. She made a show of peering around Khelarr's bulk at Shotavi, who stood at the edge of the clearing with an arrow nocked to her bowstring. And call off your archer; I don't mean harm to any of you.

She looked down at Chitter. And you, spider—stay out! Chitter raised her foremost pair of legs in a threat display, but the hag only scoffed and kicked at her with a bony foot. Chitter retreated backwards and hid behind a segment of the ghost wall. Khelarr stared for a moment, then beckoned to Shotavi. He then turned and ducked under the lintel of the hovel as the hag moved towards the hearth.

The interior held no reassurance for the goliath: a leather cauldron full of a soupy-looking sludge steamed and bubbled over the fire, and the shelves lining the rounded walls were full of various bones, clay vessels whose contents he didn't want to know, bundles of feathers, as well as dried and drying herbs and fungi. The pile of furs lying in a corner—presumably a bed—looked greasy and unwelcoming; Khelarr didn't want to set Iona down there.

Where should I put her? he asked.

Anywhere, the hag answered, waving a dismissive hand as she rummaged through her collection of oddments. Khelarr obediently set down his comrade in front of the fire, arranging and folding the goliath-sized cloak so that it formed both a makeshift bed and a cushion for the human woman's head. Iona twitched and moaned restlessly upon it, her breathing even more labored and rasping than before; every inhale seemed a titanic effort.

The hag cleared her throat, and Khelarr turned. Her eyes were deep, predatory pools of tar in her wrinkled face, the kind that the great beasts of Planegea fell into and died within. The goliath felt himself start to sweat as he met the hag's gaze. She smiled, and her teeth looked somehow sharper than before. She cocked her head to the side. What do you plan to offer me in exchange for helping your friend?

Time is precious now. Khelarr pointed out. You cannot delay—

The hag chuckled. I am not delaying anything, Khelarr Stonefist. Tell me a secret of yours that nobody knows, and tell it in front of your dreas friend here— she gestured at Shotavi, who now stood uncertainly in the hovel's doorway, —and I will save the life of Iona of the Brilliant Eyes. But hurry—we don't have much time left!

Shotavi reached for her knife. No! she said. No games. No secrets. I won't haggle for the life of my friend. Help us, or—

Or what? the hag demanded. Her smile broadened. You think you can threaten me, Mother Hush, into saving someone? All we have to do is keep arguing like this, and your little magelet will expire sooner rather than later; she isn't much longer for this world. The hag let out a peal of cackling laughter at that, mocking and cruel, and the grinning skulls lining the shelves of her hovel seemed to laugh soundlessly with her. A secret, Khelarr, or she dies.

Khelarr squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them again, his shoulders sagged. He let out a sigh. I caused my sister's death, the goliath confessed. He avoided looking at Shotavi; he could easily imagine the horrified expression on her face.

Stop holding back! More! More! Mother Hush demanded.

I... I killed her. It was an accident, but I killed her. And I was made outcast for it; my kindred no longer know my name.

Mother Hush laughed triumphantly and tossed an assortment of colored powders, dried fungi, and bones into her leather cauldron, which then belched a cloud of steam that released a foul odor into the hovel. The hag seemed unaffected, but Khelarr covered his mouth with his arm and coughed hard. Shotavi swore.

The hag took a wooden ladle and dipped it into her concoction, then pinched Iona's nose shut. Open her mouth, she instructed. Khelarr did so, and silently hated himself as he prevented the woman from struggling while the hag forced her to swallow whatever she had brewed.

There, Mother Hush said, her voice rich with self-satisfaction. She will recover to the peak of health within half a day.

I sincerely hope so, Shotavi spat, but Iona's breathing already sounded easier, and the area around the snakebite looked less inflamed.

Now, please do get out of my house, the hag added. I assume you want to continue on with your quest? She smiled again, now sickly sweet instead of predatory, and gestured to the door.

Khelarr wrapped the recovering mage in the cloak and picked her up again without protest; he was eager to be gone, and Shotavi also made no complaints as they filed out of the smoky hovel and into the clearer air outdoors. A light rain had begun to fall.

Mother Hush followed them outside and waved a hand at the wall of thorny brambles that surrounded the clearing. A section of them seemed to melt away before Khelarr's eyes, and he found himself looking at a gurgling little stream that rushed southward between steep banks, away from the clearing. A root-strewn and partially overgrown footpath clung to the nearer bank, narrow enough that they would have to walk single-file upon it.

Keep going until you find the black willow. You'll know it when you see it, Mother Hush said.

How do you know— Shotavi began, and Khelarr turned with her to look back towards the hovel and its occupant. But Mother Hush was gone, as though she had never been. Shotavi and Khelarr exchanged a look, and Shotavi gestured at the trackway beside the stream: a splatter of now-familiar black blood clung to it.

I suppose we should continue, the dreas said.

For a little ways, at least, but it might be better to make camp and see if we can wait out this rain, Khelarr said. He hefted Iona in his arms. I don't want her getting cold and wet while she recovers.

Shotavi grinned with a mixture of relief and apology, then ran a hand through the wild curls of her green hair. I keep forgetting you folk who aren't formed from trees don't like to feel the rain and the wind, she admitted, voice rueful. I will seek what shelter I can for you two—but I doubt we will be lucky enough to find a cave out here. With that said, she bounded away down the path to conduct her scouting. Khelarr followed at a walk with Chitter at his heels, confident that the dreas would call out for him if she found any trouble.

Shotavi didn't find any trouble. Instead, she doubled back after a time to lead Khelarr to a more wholesome-looking clearing than the one they had just departed. The meadow grass and ferns looked decidedly healthier here, and there were no dead trees to be seen. Shotavi cleared a spot of vegetation as Khelarr set up the oiled leather tent that would serve as his and Iona's shelter. Once it was ready, he moved Iona inside it and helped Shotavi gather a relatively dry armload of deadwood from underneath the surrounding trees. Chitter crouched inside the tent and refused to leave her human's side.

It took a long time to start a fire, and even after they did the blaze grew slowly and hesitantly in the midst of the drizzle. Shotavi brewed a minty tisane in their own skin cauldron, and Khelarr ate a cake of nuts and dried fruit that had been cemented together with a paste made of honey and ground grain. Every few minutes he glanced towards the open entrance of the tent.

She's not going to get better any faster if you do that, Shotavi said after a while.

What if the hag poisoned her? Khelarr asked.

Then Iona would be dead by now, Shotavi answered calmly. But she isn't, so that must not be the case. The dreas hesitated, shifting her weight and glancing about for a few moments before meeting the goliath's eyes again. What you said back in the hut...

Khelarr shook his head. I don't want to talk about it.

There was a commotion inside the tent. Chitter! Iona exclaimed, her voice frail but full of joy.

Shotavi and Khelarr exchanged triumphant smiles as Iona sat up to cuddle her spider companion against her chest and stroke the arachnid's fuzzy cephalothorax. A moment later, the human looked up at her two companions. Her expression sobered.

Where are we? she asked. And what happened?

You almost died from your snakebite, Khelarr said.

We took you to a hag, and she cured the effects of the venom while you dawdled at death's door, Shotavi said.

Iona's eyes went wide. A hag? she demanded. You... What...

Shotavi and Khelarr described their encounter with Mother Hush. Iona listened with Chitter resting on her lap, her expression drawn and solemn. Her face, pale to begin with, still looked unhealthily colorless, although she seemed somewhat more robust after wolfing down a meal of jerked meat, mint tisane, and three travelers' cakes akin to Khelarr's.

When the two humanoids finished, Iona nodded slowly. That doesn't sound like the Mother of Nightmares, at least, she said. None of us would have survived such a creature. But why would she offer to save a life in exchange for something as small as a secret?

Shotavi shrugged. Do you want to go back there and ask?

No, Khelarr and Iona said at the same time.

Did... did you really carry me all the way here? Iona asked, looking at Khelarr. She seemed genuinely surprised. You didn't have to do that.

The goliath shrugged his massive shoulders and poked at the fire, making a cloud of sparks swirl upwards into the wet air. They didn't get very far; the drizzle of rain extinguished them without a second thought. It's not as though you could walk on your own, Iona. We three are a team; we help one another.

Iona heaved a sigh and looked down at her hands. That is true, she admitted. But... I haven't treated you as true comrades should be treated. I'd like to apologize for that.

Shotavi's eyes widened in surprise.

Iona sat up straighter and pushed Chitter off her lap. I am Iona of the Brilliant Eyes, and you are my... friends, I hope. I will be true to you, and aid you in all the ways I can while my life yet endures.

Khelarr and Shotavi smiled at their human comrade. “We are indeed your friends,” Khelarr said. And I'm glad that you're now our friend as well. When you feel ready, we'll resume the search for the black willow that Mother Hush told us of, and bring an end to the Night Thing.