Chapter 130: The Hunt's Favor

The greenlings were gathered, the lights dimmed, when Squirt stood on top of a barrel. Pakos stood up from where he’d been rolling on his back, enjoying a deluge of pets and affection. Shaking off their hands, he trotted forward, curling himself around her back, thinking himself a large, fluffy symbol.

Squirt narrowed her eyes at him. Symbol of what, though? The Hunt’s blessing?

Naturally.

Squirt almost rolled her eyes.

Instead, she waited until the others gathered close enough that she wouldn’t have to shout. When they had, she cleared her throat, gesturing out at the caves around them. “As you have all taken your vow of citizenship to the lord, as he is required, he has provided us with housing.”

Technically he only was required to provide them with housing, not an entire underground ecosystem. This place was even better than the buried grand halls under the Capital where they all grew up. There it was larger, but not purpose made for comfort.

Many of the greenlings hugged each other, their expressions of warmth and gratitude.

Squirt allowed it. “The lord will know of anyone who is not a greenling who uses these tunnels, so be aware. These tunnels will be our secret to keep. They are deliberately designed to confuse any fey above certain magic levels.”

Any except those he gave conscious consent to, anyway.

They remained serious, holding each other in silence. Many had celebrated already, and many others would probably celebrate tonight.

Steeling herself, she clenched her fists. “Now that our home is secured and available to us, now that everyone has placements, I’m going to start taking small groups of everyone into the Wylds with me.”

Several faces paled, and Squirt heard several near-silent gasps.

She set her jaw.

Puds stepped forward. “I’ll go.”

Squirt considered her, before giving her a nod. “Then I’ll take you. But later. There are things that we can gather in the forest, and I’d like to show those I trust to handle an emergency first.”

“What things?”

Squirt was surprised that Puds was asking questions here, but she answered, a touch of tension easing from her shoulders. “Wakeberries are native to this region and about to come into season. There are healing herbs and common irritants to show as well, as well as food to gather for ourselves.”

One of the more outspoken elders asked, sharply, “What of the lord’s take?”

“Depends on the item, but no more than eight-two his favor.” Meaning he would be owed eighty percent of what their citizenship did not guarantee. The magic at work prevented him from taking more than what they needed to survive, after all. To be given twenty percent of what remained was generous, as they could either choose to keep it, or trade it.

Greenlings had never been given a generous enough bargain to have anything to trade.

A few quiet murmurs were spoken amongst the crowd.

“There’s also the lower level. The elders have already gotten acquainted. We are to manage those farms ourselves.”

The greenlings sat in stunned silence.

Squirt didn’t blame them.

The first ever underground biosphere. Designed by Telos and Anvanil—something they had been thinking about for the rest of Everwinter the following year—and made possible by the pest.

If it worked even once the pest returned to Skye, then it might be possible to implement similar underground stations all around the Wylds of Fer’ich. It could save hundreds of lives. Thousands, possibly.

If.

Several of the elders shared dubious looks.

Puds crossed her arms and asked the most obvious question in the world. “How are we supposed to know how to farm?”

Ah. Right.

Gesturing behind her, Squirt said, “That tunnel leads up to the library. Know that the lord will know anyone who uses that tunnel, and there will be a guard in the library, but we will be allowed to do research as needed.” Something the lord had insisted.

She gestured at the pest. “He’s going to help, as a spring fey, but he leaves in the spring. We’ll have a few months to figure it out. If it fails, it fails.” She shrugged. “It’s no skin off their back.”

That made enough sense to the greenlings for them to nod. Generosity was foreign, but risk was normal.

“Good. Spark, Puff, and Tater—you three will be coming out with me tomorrow morning to the Wylds. We will skip mid-morning training and spend the night out in the Wylds, then be back here the following day. I’ll take the next group out the day after that.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

One of them opened their mouth to speak before closing it, seeming unsure.

Squirt gestured, her expression blank, unable to conjure something sweeter or more encouraging like Puds could. Not when she was tense in the wake of her nerves.

After some hemming and hawing, they eventually said, “You won’t be joining us for training anymore?”

Squirt considered him, then gestured at the leathers on her chest. “I’m supposed to be a hunter. Normally, this time of year, I would be out in the woods for most of the season.” She shook her head, dispelling the fact that she was also worried about leaving them. “You have a safe place to escape to, a routine to follow, and fey you can trust. You don’t need me.”

To her surprise, the disappointment on his face was palpable. Somewhat flattered and unsure how to show it, she grunted and stated blandly, “I’ll still be here. Every other day I’ll be back for training.”

That seemed to appease the fey.

She didn’t know why, but she decided to move on.

Or, rather, someone else asked nervously, “What of the redcaps?”

Squirt gave them a shrug. “I trust Qzi. I don’t know the others, but I’d trust them over some other fey in this town. Just… keep it to a last resort, but they’re there, if needed.”

She waited, but no one else spoke up. Still, she waited on that crate for long enough to be awkward. A nervous blush had begun to creep up her neck, her mouth suddenly dry, her weight shifting from foot to foot.

The next part was the most nerve-wracking part of this planned gathering. She’d never tried to convince anyone of her faith before. Never shared it with anyone but Stalf, though he had shared it with her, first.

Pulling out her waterskin, she drank deeply, using the action to settle herself before letting the waterskin hang from her belt once more. A single deep breath was her last attempt to steady her voice, but even then, it was tenser than she intended. “One last thing.”

Hopping off the barrel, she trotted to the other side of the room, a nook halfway between the kitchens and the hot spring built into the wall.

The altar there was simple. A single shelf with a bowl built into the stone of it, and a carving of Her symbol above the shelf. Pulling out a wine bottle filled with feybeast blood, Squirt poured it into the bowl in offer, murmuring a quiet, basic prayer for protection to the Hunt as she did.

The air stilled.

Then, the ground began to shake. Squirt paled and moved to step back, but Pakos curled around her back with a touch of encouragement. A plume of dust had her shielding her eyes and face when the small quake stopped.

Stunned, she lifted her eyes back to the little shrine. Now, instead of the simple wall carving, there was a statue leaning over the shelf with an open gesture of the Hunt Herself, smiling down at Squirt.

The blood in the bowl was gone.

Nervous from the slight divinity she could sense pulsing around the statue, Squirt hesitated, still holding onto the bottle, and barely registering the whispers of her fellow greenlings. Vaguely, she noted the rustles of cloth and turned to take in how everyone had lowered themselves to a kneeling prayer, their hands clasped together, their heads bowed in submission.

All except for Puds and the pest.

Puds’ eyes were wide on Squirt, stunned but waiting for her signal. A silent exchange happened where Squirt gave a panicked shrug of her shoulders and a slight shake of her head, which only exasperated Puds.

Squirt audibly swallowed, genuinely wondering if Puds and her should be bowing, too.

No need, mother dearest. You’ve done more in Her service than you know. She’ll forgive you for not bowing.

She scowled at the sheer amount of teasing in the hound’s tone. She didn’t want the goddess to forgive her so much as she wanted to go back to being invisible.

Come now, surely you know freedom is her highest tenant—and what greater freedom is there than not bowing at a holy relic?

Her grip tightened on the bottle as she scowled at the ground. Carefully, she shoved the cork back into the bottle and set it up on the shelf, turning to the others. “I… this is… the Goddess of the Hunt seems to care about us, so…”

Clearly.

Her planned speech was completely derailed, the words lost to awkward panic. She’d expected to say a couple of simple things about the Hunt since greenling culture did not include worship. Respect, yes, as they gave to everyone and everything. But worship?

It was as foreign to them as individual bedrooms.

Did she even bother trying to convince them now?

I think you’ll find they’re pretty well convinced.

Squirt flushed, her voice cracking as she spoke. “Well then.”

Unsure of how to end the exchange, she gave Puds a single nod before trotting off for the stairs to pick a private room. She’d sleep off this weird day, and wake refreshed in the morning.

Jul and Cirn landed amidst chaos.

“Push on three, one, two—”

“—can you hear me?”

“—gods, so much blood—”

All around them, a hundred filthy, harried residents worked in groups to dig through the wreckage of buildings while others rushed the critically injured to an area of open space with a hundred makeshift beds of whatever linens, leaves, or straw they could find. Though the air carried the lingering scent of burnt flesh and ash, the base of the smell was caustic, acidic, nothing like the lingering scent of fire or magic. No.

In fact, there was no lingering magic in the air at all. The walls were intact. The fields had been pristine.

Jul didn’t think about it anymore at that moment, instead following the flow of those carrying the injured, and older fey orc standing amidst the makeshift beds and pointing as the injured were brought to this central, open space, directing the chaos. Telos sat cross legged by one of the worst cases, a child with metallic bits gouged into their skin, their breathing evening out under Telos’ glowing hands.

Jul left Telos to do as they were doing, approaching the orc, instead. “We have supplies. Twenty healing potions, food, and such. Where do you want it?”

The orc’s wizened features sized up Jul in an instant with his good eye, quickly spotting the dimensional pouch Cirn held out in silent offer. Holding out his hands, he said, “Healing potions to me.” Then jerked his chin. “The rest over there.”

He had gestured to an unclaimed flat spot on the ground that suited nicely.

Cirn pulled out the small crate of potions, passing it to the orc, before heading to the spot indicated.

The potions secured, the orc gave Jul a wary glance he recognized.

Jul’s expression was determined and calm as he stated plainly, “We’re at your command.”

Finished dumping out the supplies for the thankful fey tending the wounded, Cirn returned to Jul’s side. She didn’t speak, being too awkwardly stalwart, but standing beside Jul as she was, the orc quickly understood that she had no qualms following the orders of a lesser fey.

With a grateful nod, the orc said, “Search the wreckage for survivors, help pull them out, bring them here.”

Jul nodded, turning to Cirn. “You take north, I take south?”

She didn’t even wait to give him an answering nod, quickstepping off to the northern half of the village. Jul quickstepped south a single beat behind, knowing that rescues like these were a race against the clock.