Sunbreak

Fifteen miles past Chutwater grows a tree so massive that a tunnel could have been drilled through it for two carts to comfortably pass each other, side by side. It died long ago, thousands of years ago, yet still towered over the forest, petrified and turned to stone. Today there were no branches left. There is little evidence that it had ever been a tree. However, on rare occasions, the blackened, moss covered bark sometimes still oozes golden resin, and moongrass grows in small clumps where scavengers had hacked off chips of bark near the base- there, petrified wood is visible. [13]

Legend had it, thousands of years ago Bantine raged for a week straight, leveling the land around her. When she was done, every tree in the beautiful forests that surrounded her was gone. When Bantine saw what she had done, she wept in grief. Then she saw that one tree had survived. Bantine, filled with hope, decided to immortalize the tree. She flew down from her mountain, curling her wings around what was left, and breathed fire that turned the tree to stone. [14]

Beacon Rock, it would forever be called.

Locals tell me caution should be advised to anyone traveling along its route. Wolf shifters have, in recent years, built a cult near the landmark and prey upon those foolish enough to travel nearby. [15] I have collected alternate routes in my book 'Maps and Ferry Routes of Caedia.'

Bavo der Hoek, A Guide to the Caedian Continent, 5th Edition, Chapter 13, Page 106

…

Ghosts lumbered around Darius. Hundreds, thousands of people covered from head to toe in pale, gray ash, marching down a path that ran along the sea into the eastern mountains. They all wore hats made of pillows, lumbering through rain composed of course, frothy pumice, and ash that left his skin raw. It felt like he had bathed using sandpaper as a rag. Worse, though it was now nearing the middle of the day, the only light came from the glowing moongrass that grew along the path in old trenches made from mud and straw cobbled together. But as ash covered the grass, the light grew dimmer, until it threatened to go out altogether.

Pillows had also been tied to the horse that Sentia found, but as Darius, Fabien, and Emmory made their way out of Chutwater and into the mountainous countryside, the animal grew slower and more tired. Darius wasn’t surprised. The horse was shockingly skinny, with sores on its haunches that Lothar had hovered over as they walked, stopping as often as they dared to spread a balm that smelled strongly of bitter medicine. Why he happened to have on his person, Darius couldn’t imagine. Lothar was quick to explain.

“I have lots of horses at home. My favorite, Aster- she won Best Horse in Show three years in a row,” said Lothar, flashing Darius a bright smile as walked backwards up the path, shoving ash off the moongrass bushes as they walked. Darius and Emmory joined him in his effort, as did an enthusiastic Fabien.

At least he’s having some fun, thought Darius, listening to Fabien shouting out orders to a couple other young children following behind them.

They had traveled for nearly two hours when Lothar and Marcus had their first fight. Marcus was panting and lagging at the punishing pace Lothar was setting. He tried to set a bag filled with barley on Caturix, the new horse that Fabien excitedly named from a favorite character in Sentia’s bedtime stories.

“No, that’s too heavy,” Lothar said with more authority than Darius thought was wise, shoving the bag back at Marcus. “That horse should be in a stable on a refeeding schedule, not packing gear on a mountain trail!”

Marcus wiped sweat from his brow, settling the bag on the horses already packed back. Darius’ heart sank, heat flaring in his face from embarrassment- he knew how Marcus would answer before the man could even begin talking. Dad, why do you have to do this now? He clearly knows more about horses than you.

“Dad-,”

“Silence,” snapped Marcus, before Darius could say anything else. To Lothar, he said, puffing his chest out, “It’s my horse-,”

“Which you just bought. Are you trying to kill it already? It’s a walking skeleton- look at its ribs! You can practically count them! Not to mention its haunches!”

“Please- you’re being over drama-,”

Lothar grabbed Marcus by his shirt. The right bronze plate around his arm unfolded, forming into a long blade that began traveling toward Marcus. “I’m not going to let you kill that horse. Morals aside, right now it’s a lot more valuable to me than you. Take the bag back, or I’ll stab your eye out and leave you bleeding on this trail.”

Ripples of shock lanced out from Marcus. Several other people hurryied away from them, noticing the fight. Lothar stared down Marcus with icy blue daggers in his eyes; Darius had no doubt in his mind that the man meant every word he said. Dad, please, this is such a stupid thing to fight about.

“You don’t know where you're going- you’ll get lost within an hour.”

“Oh? So that slave of yours won’t know where to go? Or anyone else around us?”

Marcus pulled away from Lothar and tossed the bag of barley to Darius. “I need you to carry that for now.” Then, he hissed into Darius’ ear, sounding like a deadly cobra coiled into a corner. “Keep him happy,”

Lothar’s blade sank back into a folded plate. Revulsion unhidden, he turned his attention back to the horse, urging Caturix forward, who was slowly lumbering on top of the deepening, sand-like ash and pumice. Then, while trying to balance the heavy bag of barley on top of his backpack, he also noticed that Caturix was wearing shiny bronze sandals on his hooves, and that Lothar was missing the four bronze rings that he wore on his left hand.

“Pretty, aren’t they? They’re enchanted, too. The hipposandals will let him walk on top of the rock and ash, instead of sinking into it. Technically, they’re meant for traveling on a beach instead of volcanic rock, but they work just as well here,” said Lothar, when he saw Darius staring. He held the bag in place as Sentia came over and began helping Darius tie it down.

“Thank you. We’re very grateful for your help,” said Darius, trying not to show how much he was struggling with the weight of the barley. Lothar’s carrying way more than this. Sentia, too. I’m not going to let them think I’m some useless weakling.

“It’s the least I can do. You’re helping me, too. Quite a bit. I don’t know how to get to Rensworth from here. And all my maps are on my ship.” Lothar looked away, towards Marcus who was walking with Fabien and Emmory a good distance away from them. “I apologize for my outburst. It was… unbecoming of me.”

“I’m sorry for my father- he doesn’t know anything about horses…”

“Don’t apologize for another person,” said Lothar, grimacing. Then he glanced at Sentia, who left them alone to walk behind Marcus. “Your slave- he name is Sentia? Do you know where she got her flute? Did your father buy it for her?”

Sentia? Her flute? Darius didn’t know anything about Sentia’s flute. Only that it was cheap and made of nickel, according to Sentia.

“I’m not sure,” said Darius, telling this to Lothar. “The slavers at the market almost took it, but Dad didn’t want to go out and find one for her, and he liked that she knew how to play music. So he traded them a painting for the flute. But that was years ago. Before I was even born. Why?”

Lothar grunted irritably, fiddling with a knot in Caturix’s mane. “It’s better you don’t know- trust me.”

Better I don’t know? Attempting to not show his irritation at being prodded for information and swiftly left out in the dark, Darius adjusting the strap of his satchel so that it dug less into his shoulder. Wonderful. Dad wants me to “Keep the ‘Asshole of the Year’ happy, whatever that means. Meanwhile, I don’t think Lothar actually wants to be happy.

…

They finally stopped to set up a pitiful excuse for a camp to rest several hours later; about thirty minutes after passing Beacon Rock, once the pumice had finished raining from the sky. Marcus attempted to set up a tent with one of the tarps, which slouched precariously to the side as ash began piling on it. Lothar promptly fixed it, citing qualifications of having earned all the badges as a Mage Fire Senior, the last one just before his acceptance into the Order of the Crescent Moon.

“Never underestimate how important proper knot tying technique is when building a well-structured tent,” said Lothar, using several strands of the string Darius had spun yesterday to tie a lean-to with their tarps, half buried under an oak tree, in a dug out pit in the ash. Once inside, Darius practically collapsed. If the quarters weren’t so cramped, he would have. But with him, Marcus, Sentia, Fabien, Emmory, and Lothar, Darius barely had room to sit, let alone lie down,

“Get some rest,” said Lothar, squishing himself between Darius and Emmory. He pulled his satchel into his lap, letting Emmory lean his head onto Lothar’s shoulder. Then, he began wrapping oak leaves that he had gathered in a cloth, along with a small jar of saffron oil, and stowing them away in a bag on his belt. “I’ll keep watch.”

Darius didn’t think he could sleep. The idea of closing his eyes and pretending the world wasn’t ending felt like an impossible task. So he took out his spindle, doing his best to distract himself by spinning the glowing spell-thread.

Sentia, who looked on edge, nodded in agreement, “It would not be wise to stay here long. It will be safer further down the path. Selene’s temple isn’t far from here.”

“Wolf shifters, yeah? I’ve heard of them,” said Lothar, pulling a jar filling with ash, salt, and what appeared to be crushed eggshells out of the bag, and coating his hands in the substance. “They train coastal wolves, right? I saw one earlier- Holy shit; Darius, is that spell thread? Can I have some?”

Darius felt himself become wide awake as a cold jolt of fear stabbed its way through him. He nodded, taking a few strands that he had spun earlier and handing them to Lothar. Lothar saw a coastal wolf? That’s- well, no. We’re near the ocean. Of course there are coastal wolves around here.

“Coastal wolves?” said Fabien, hugging his knees up to his chin.

“Yeah…” said Darius, realization dawning. So, good news is we’re just outside of Death By Boiling Hot Lahar range. Bad news is we’re smack in the middle of coastal wolf territory, and right in the middle of their hunting grounds.

“Don’t be worried. They eat fish and crabs, not people,” said Emmory, lifting his head, though his pale and his eyes blown wide and worried.

“Yeah, and they’re also the main thing around here that hunts Roc Eaters,” said Darius, thinking of the giant bear-sized jumping spiders that lurked in the ancient lava caves of Chutwaters coast.

“They eat Roc Eaters?” sqeaked Emmory, prompting Lothar to push him away.

“Don’t be such a baby, Emmory. You’ll be fine,”

“Yes. They hunt as a pack, dragging them out of the caves just below us, where the spiders live,” said Sentia, her voice low and devoid of any emotion. Fabien whimpered, then uncurled himself from his ball in order to throw himself into her lap. Her pursed lips pulling upwards into a small smile, Sentia hugged him comfortingly.

The piercing scream of a woman split the cold night air.

“Wolf! Help! It’s attacking- AAAAI!”

Lothar lept from the ground, running out of the tent. “Stay here!”

“Lothar!” said Emmory, starting to follow, only to get pulled back into the tent by Darius. “Wait!”

Fabien ran into his lap crying as the screams continued. they rippled throughout the crowd of other people sheltering nearby. A minute pased. Then two. Lothar ran back into the tent, the oak leaves in his hands covered in blood and an oily substance that smelled like saffron. In his hands he held what looked horribly like an eye, nearly crushed beyond all recognition.

“What-?” Emmory tried to ask, but Lothar violently shushed him, and began smudging the blood onto Fabien’s face, a violet haze glowing around him as he muttered in a strange, lilting language.

“What are you doing to my son?” said Marcus, dangerously.

“Invisibility spell,” said Lothar, grabbing Darius’ face, rubbing the oil-covered oak leaves and eye roughly across his cheeks. He nearly pulled away, but then remembered Marcus’ earlier orders. ‘Keep him happy.’ “There’s a massive pack of shifters out hunting, and a roc flying overhead.”

“A roc-? Wait, why do you have an eye?” asked Emmory, shuddering when Lothar began smearing his face with the contents of the spell.

“It’s an invisibility spell, stupid. Why wouldn’t it require an eye?” repeated Lothar, approaching Sentia, who grimaced before letting Lothar smear the oily, bloody leaves on her face.

“That… That is a wolf eye, correct?” said Marcus, aghast.

“No- If it helps, she was already dead when I got to her,” said Lothar, offering him the leaves. “Violent deaths- gruesome and horrifying, but incredibly useful.”

“You took that woman’s eyes,” said Darius, feeling sick.

“I paid her handsomely; she’ll live well in the afterlife. It’s not like she’ll miss them- the dead don’t need eyes. Now shut up. They can’t see you, but they can still hear you.”

In the distance, another scream tore through the night. Then another, wailing for help as Darius heard wolves ripping apart flesh. Marcus relented.

“How long will it last?” said Darius, hearing wolves growling and snarling as they fought over the screaming man.

“Long enough,” said Lothar, cleaning his hands off with the cloth he had wrapped them in earlier.

More screams. Fabien whimpered into Sentia’s chest, making muffled crying sounds.

“How many people do they need to eat?” said Emmory, to Lothar with a whisper Darius nearly couldn’t hear. “Surely-”

Lothar looked at Emmory with dark, thundering eyes, and realization dawned upon Darius. The wolves weren’t eating the bodies.

Wolves wouldn’t waste a kill. Which means they’re not really wolves, thought Darius, feeling Lothar’s mouth press up against his ear. “Don’t make a sound. Leave anything you can’t easily carry. They’re looking for people to add to their cult of horrors, and killing anyone who doesn’t fit the bill. We need to get out of here. Fast.”

Darius nodded. He abandoned the heavy pack that still lay upon the ground, taking only his satchel, which was still slung across his torso. Emmory, Sentia and Fabien followed as well, as Lothar motioned to them. Finally, Marcus took up the rear, with a resigned and exhausted air.

Lothar freed Catuix of the pillows and luggage piled upon him, save for a thick blanket thrown over his middle. After coating the horse’s head with the last of his bloody salve, he sat Fabien and Sentia upon the blanket, they beckoned at them to move.

“Take this- it will help us find each other again,” said Lothar, tying a strand of spell-thread to her wrist. A golden coin hung from it, the metal glinting in the dim light of the moongrass that surrounded them. “Now get him out of here,”

“Keep following the moongrass path. Take the rightmost road everytime it forks. You’ll eventually come to a temple dedicated to Selene- it’s about two miles from here. About an hour’s walk from the temple, you’ll find a village- Roulon Bay. I’ll meet you there,” said Sentia, sitting upon the blanket with little difficulty, like she had ridden horses her entire life. Then she raced away, holding tightly to Caturix’s neck with one arm and to Fabien with the other.

“When did she learn how to ride a horse?” said Marcus, looking confused.

“In her other life as the lost princess of Coppergift, obviously,” said Lothar, shushing Marcus.

Darius did his best to follow. But then he stopped, frozen at the sight of several bodies that had been piled in the middle of the moongrass-lit path. A walking stick, adorned with leather and blue linen, lay abandoned near them. The top was badly burnt. Lothar urged him forward, pressing a hand to the small of his back in a silent gesture.

A shuffling noise behind him made Darius freeze once again. A wolf, taller than any he had ever seen stalking the coasts of Chutwater, was pulling another body toward the pile. Based on their tunic, Darius thought they were a beta, but over the stench of blood he couldn’t be certain. One of their arms was missing. He heard a moan. Whoever it was, wasn’t dead.