Chapter 3: A Wanderer’s Path—Part I

(664 A.C.)

Winters in Iten were as unforgiving as they were beautiful. Andurak found that often, the deadlier something in nature was, the more glorious it was. Storms, the ocean, magical creatures, and even regular animals–they all followed this pattern. He found it almost comforting in a way, that should he meet an untimely death during his travels, it would be at the hands of a wonderful, merciless world.

It wasn’t like any other time in Iten was entirely pleasant either. Winters were dark and stormy, fraught with raging blizzards and plunging temperatures. It was a rare day during the winter that the sun shone, and even then it was usually only for a handful of hours. Summers brought more frequent days of sunshine, but not by much. The only major difference was the snowstorms mellowed into rain or sleet, and the frost lion cubs, born during the end of what was technically autumn in Iten, began to build their manes of frost and flurries. Spring and autumn were a strange marriage of the summer or winter.

Sometimes, Andurak came during the autumn just for the variety in the weather. During the spring and summer, he liked to spend more time in the south, whether he happened to be on the western or eastern continent. But if he happened to be across The Strait when winter was creeping across the land, he liked to spend it in Iten.

Maybe it was born of arrogance, this assurance he felt that he could live through such harsh conditions. Maybe it was born of awe, that he lived in such a world that would so carelessly and brutally steal his soul from his body. Likely, it was a bit of both.

Andurak watched the snow rage through the night air outside of his tent, each flake shining like stars under the light of his small campfire. The wind battered at the thick furs that composed his tent, shaking it from either side as it howled around him. Andurak found it peaceful, in a way, trapped in a storm with no choice but to ride it out. He had his fire and his shelter and his drum. He beat out a steady rhythm, changing it every now and then to match the sound of the wind, forming a strange, unnatural song. Or, maybe, perfectly natural, born of the weather of the world and the humans that live upon it.

Eventually, he set his small drum aside to get up and add a few more branches to the fire near his tent. He watched the snow for a few moments more before rolling down the front flap of his tent and securing it to the other two. Once he assured as little frigid night air as possibly would work its way inside the tent, he tucked himself under the fur of his bedroll. He’d wake in a few hours to add more wood to the fire, but until then, he would sleep, the storm outside his lullaby.

In the morning, he doused his fire with some of the snow that fell during the night then set about claiming his belongings. He brought down his tent and folded it up to hang on his pack, nestled between his back and the rest of his items. His bedroll went on the top of his pack, and the pan he used to cook himself dinner last night was scrubbed out and hung on the side. Once his humble campsite was deconstructed, he picked his way back to the road, discernible from the rest of the landscape only by the slight impression it left snaking through the land. At least most of the snow last night had just been flurries picked up and flung about repeatedly rather than a great outpouring that left the ground buried in the morning. There was only about a foot of snow blanketing the land, and while it would be unpleasant to trudge through, Andurak had no problem doing so. He’d dealt with worse.

In place of his tent, he left some of the jerky he had from his pack. It was a poor offering for any frost lions or other magical creatures that might be roaming about, but it was all he had at the moment. He bowed his head, clasping his hands in front of him and touching them to his forehead. It was not a prayer like those in the Church of Amera offered to their god. It was an acknowledgement, and a wish, perhaps, that they receive his offering and reciprocate the respect he held for the beings.

He set out, then, just after the sunlight had overtaken Bores, the X-formation of the seventh daystellation blotted out by the blue of the sky. The wind had died down some, but not all the way, bringing a piercing cold sweeping across the snowy landscape. Andurak flicked the hood of his fur coat up and tugged up the cloth mask hanging around his neck to protect his nose. There were special glasses with tinted lenses in a pocket on the front of his pack, and he dug them out and perched them on his nose, right on top of the mask, to avoid being blinded by the rising sun reflecting off the white snow.

The walk through the land was peaceful. Andurak's breath rattled in his mask, almost blocking out anything else, but he still heard the sounds of the earth.The gentle hum of the wind made for a soothing undercurrent to the crunch of snow underfoot.

Iten was a relatively flat land. Dryan and Oavale to the south had numerous hilly stretches or more rugged, rocky terrain pocketed with dense vegetation. Vixx to the west was marked mostly by its large taiga with some mountains farther to the north. Some of those same mountains bled past the border into Iten, but for the most part, the country was as flat and expansive as the eye could see. Everywhere Andurak looked, snow washed across the land like liquid over a tabletop, its very own white ocean.

There was a large, detailed map buried somewhere in the depths of his pack, but Andurak had no need of it. Despite the monotony of the landscape, despite the noticeable lack of anyone else, any other mark of civilization except the path he followed, he knew exactly where he was. He'd explored these lands enough times to say such.

In about four hours, he would reach a small town. It would take another hour for him to spot the sparse smoke from their chimneys, seeing as they preserved fuel for their fires more for the unforgiving nights rather than the relatively tame days.

During that time, he would simply walk and enjoy time alone to reflect. One did not wander alone if they were not comfortable with just themselves for company. Andurak often found that he was his favorite company.

Ah. That arrogance again.

He let his thoughts roam away from him, to lands near and far, those he had seen and those he still had yet to witness with his own eyes. Though it was dangerous for a member of the Wandering People to venture to Nanshee, he still wished to behold the desert land with his own eyes one day. He'd only been to one of the islands of the Rizen Archipelago and wanted to make it a point this year to travel to more of them to enjoy more of the beautiful tropics. And though the eastern-most regions of the world were difficult to get to, he still desired to broach them one day. He thought it would be exhilarating to witness one of Bre’ey's infamous dancing festivals with his own eyes.

There were many places he had yet to go, but they were outnumbered by the places he had been. He’d been to every country currently within dominion of the Tirandan empire, along with most of the regions of the western hemisphere. He’d traveled from the humid delta of Telldor all the way up to the rugged tundra of Kra’xen.

He’d been in Menish one year when they had The Duel with Ninall, and the fight between their two champions had made Andurak’s own skills seem like a candle compared to the sun. He’d stayed with some trainers there for a few nights and traded some of the knowledge passed down among the Wandering People for a couple lessons on sword fighting. Andurak was at least humble enough to not let the fact that the lessons were intended for seven-year-olds grate against his pride.

He’d seen the vast wet markets of Yve, their towers of spices and intricately woven cloths and rugs hung to blot out the harsh sun. The air had been saturated by the musty smell of exotic animals for sale in cages mingled with the sharp and savory scent of their cuisine from street vendors. He’d spoken with a second-born couple there, in a little accessory shop behind the stalls on the street, and traded them some of his rarer furs for the very glasses he wore now. The sun was quite the problem there in the desert land, too, after all.

Lirende had been beautiful in its own right, but they hadn't been too keen to host a member of the Wandering People–and a man at that. Kra'xen was similar, at least in regards to their view of his religion, but the land had its own frosty charm even if Andurak still preferred Iten.

He'd spent less time on the eastern continent, admittedly, but he'd been all up and down its western coast, and, of course, had journeyed along the north on his way back to the frigid seat of the Wandering People, Windor. He'd spent time admiring the vast coral reefs bordering Leshitone, gone to Axelen and witnessed the giant hydras roam their great plains, went to Lish and enjoyed some of the best alcohol the world had to offer.

This world was a marvelous place. Andurak didn't care to give credit to the old or new gods for it, but he had no problem cherishing it for what it was.

He could see the smoke of the town in the distance, a charming, little place called Mincelight. As much as he liked enduring the elements, he'd probably spend the night there with a family that had been hospitable to him in the past. The people of Iten didn't have much to go around, but most of them still managed to share it with those in need. In return, Andurak would give them whatever they were willing to take–whether that meant some of his preserved food, his knowledge and stories, or something freshly hunted from the land nearby. It wouldn't be easy to catch anything this time of year, but with his experience and skills, Andurak could manage.

The sun was overtaken by dark gray clouds by the time Mincelight was properly in view. Not a moment too soon, Andurak thought. Snow drifted down in fat, lazy flakes that would no doubt be whipping around in another storm within the hour. He could weather it, but even he had to admit that sitting inside next to a warm fire was sometimes nicer than sitting through the wind and snow.

Mincelight was a small town, maybe three hundred people, with a few dozen structures constructed from stone and clay bricks–readily available in the land–and wood brought in by the empire. Only some of the buildings had smoke trailing from their chimneys, and Andurak made his way toward one of the first ones. Tall and built from bricks, the local tavern always had at least a few people milling about inside, and with the weather the way it was, he imagined there weren’t many other places to go right now.

The sides of the roads had been cleared of snow for people to walk, and Andurak didn’t foresee the undisturbed snow being a problem for any carriages passing through–namely because he hardly expected to see any carriages traveling through the country right now. He passed exactly two people on his way into town, a mother in a thick coat and arms full of goods wrapped in white, wax paper and her child, toddling along beside her, absolutely swaddled in thick, fur garments. The mother looked Andurak up and down, tugging her child closer even though he passed on the other side of the street.

Andurak kept his grimace to himself. There wasn’t usually much hostility against the Wandering People in countries controlled by the empire, but it wasn’t completely unexpected. Just because most Tirandan citizens followed the Church of Amera didn’t mean they all did or even that the ones that did took the teachings to heart.

He should make a stop at the church in town, too, now that he was thinking about it. Andurak might not be part of the religion, but they gave out food and goods to those that came asking for it. He had a couple of small animal furs that could be turned into a nice pair of gloves for a child without any.

Andurak himself was no seamstress or artist or otherwise craftsmen, but he could provide raw goods. Furs, bones, medicinal plants or even magical ones–those he could find and give to those that actually knew what to do with them. And he would do so freely if he wasn’t hurting for anything himself.

He reached the tavern and went in, a little eager to be away from the chill of the outside for a while. Inside, he expected to find a half dozen people milling about, maybe telling stories, using drink and the fireplace to warm themselves. Waiting out the winter like they usually do, as one ought to do if you’re a settled person.

Instead, there had to be fifty people crowded into the building. There was only sitting room for a couple dozen, and it seemed that those spots were claimed by the elderly and children. Everyone else stood, trying to crowd in as close as they could to the raised, wooden stage in the corner meant for bards traveling through the region.

A young man was up there, probably somewhere in his early twenties, which made him a few years younger than Andurak. He threw down his hands emphatically when Andurak walked through the door, not because of anything he did, he decided, when the man called out to the crowd, "What are we going to do?"

There were murmurs among the gathered. Andurak tugged his mask down and slipped off his glasses before squeezing his way past the people in the back to get to the bar and setting his pack onto the ground with a sigh. The bartender, an aging man named Bushwin, was leaning against the counter closest to the stage. He was a large man, mostly graying hairs and bushy beard, looking not unlike Andurak himself if just older and with hair that used to be black and not brown. He didn’t braid his hair–only had some scattered through his beard–and had for as long as Andurak had known him. Bushwin must have been from somewhere else in the empire, Andurak thought, somewhere where men didn’t keep their hair long enough to braid.

He glanced over when he heard Andurak’s pack hit the stone floor. He shot him what was probably supposed to be a smile but came out as more of a grimace.

He stepped closer, his voice low as he greeted him, "Hey there, wanderer. Good to see you're still kicking out there."

Andurak nodded to him, leaning against the bar top. All the stools had been dragged closer to the stage, leaving Andurak standing. He glanced back at the crowd and the man still standing above them.

"We can't let this happen again," he said, to a wave of assent from his onlookers.

Andurak motioned to the scene. "What's going on there?"

Bushwin grunted. "Been having trouble with a magical creature getting into our food supplies. Young Trudin there is trying to raise a force to go out and find it and put it down." He gave Andurak a hard look. "You got a problem with that?"

Andurak smirked. "You ask but you know the answer." He considered the people in the tavern for a moment before turning back to Bushwin. He was a gruff fellow, but good for all that. "What kind of creature?"

"Some people have been throwing the word imp around," Bushwin replied. "They're too young to know better."

Andurak frowned. "And you, who does know better, are not going to tell them imps don't exist?"

Bushwin grunted again. "Tried but they didn't listen. Doesn’t make much difference to me. Trudin likes holding his little rallies here. Brings in business. I'm not about to turn that away."

Andurak sighed. He watched as the man on stage–Trudin–punched a fist into the air above him, staring hard at all amassed. "Who will stand with me?"

There were some cries from assent from the gathered crowd. Trudin swept his gaze across the room, satisfaction overtaking his features.

Andurak shared a look with Bushwin. The man raised thick eyebrows at him and leaned back, crossing his arms, equal amounts expectant and exasperated for it. Andurak smirked and raised a hand to the young man.

Trudin furrowed his brow when he saw him, his hands falling to his sides. He looked like a respectable enough fellow, blonde hair curtaining his back and braided together with his long beard along the sides in the Iten style. His eyes were dark but not cruel, instead holding a certain keenness to them that sought to pick things apart. "And who are you?" he demanded.

Andurak slung an arm across his chest, holding his opposite shoulder in a formal salute. "Andurak of the Wanderers," he said, raising his voice to carry throughout the large room.

He had an actual last name, but those were shared only with other Wandering People, mostly for record keeping. Andurak was not an uncommon name among them. They had to tell each other apart somehow, especially when it came to The Gathering and notes were made of who was now wandering together and who would wander no more.

Andurak had left behind his family unit when he came of age at twenty. He'd wanted to prove he could survive on his own, and he had–for just under thirteen years now. But he hadn't started his own family unit or joined another, much to the chagrin of his last unit and most units that he encountered.

"Oh, one of the Wandering People?" The man crossed his arms and searched his face with those sharp eyes, like a hawk's or a telecat's. "And what interest do you have in our business?"

"Business with magical creatures is my business."

Trudin appraised him. "Do you wish to help us hunt down this imp, then?"

A challenge. Andurak could tell this Trudin already knew what the answer would be, but there was an edge to the man and his question that Bushwin’s had lacked. Andurak drew himself up. "I ask that you wait before hunting down this imp," he said, "and instead allow me time to track it down myself and appease it. Most magical creatures avoid people unless they are given ample reason to act otherwise. Give me a chance to find it and steer it away from your town.”

There were murmurings in the crowd, some outraged, some considering. Trudin watched the flow of the crowd, eyes pinched with thought. After several moments, he raised a hand, effectively silencing those gathered. “By postponing our hunt, we risk losing more food to this monster. But by allowing the wanderer here to attempt to either soothe or otherwise dispatch the beast, we potentially end this without bloodshed–the creature's or those of our own people."

Andurak noted blandly that he didn't mention sparing Andurak from any harm. No one gathered seemed concerned with it anyhow.

"I will not speak for everyone here,” Trudin continued, clasping his hands behind his back. “We don’t live in the old world anymore. Each of us has a voice, and each one should be heard. Let’s put it up to a vote, then. Those in favor of allowing the wanderer to try to contend with the imp?"

Silence. Andurak watched the members of the tavern sneak looks at each other and at him. A few of the older people raised withered hands, two men with great gray braids of hair and beard framing their sides and one elderly woman, the red ink of the tattoos on her shaven head faded by the years. This prompted a couple more to raise their hands, but the vast majority of the crowd did not.

Trudin allowed several moments more to pass, but nothing changed. "It is settled, then," he said. "Thank you, wanderer, but we will deal with this problem ourselves."

It was a dismissal if Andurak ever heard one. He didn't expect the townspeople to agree to his help when put to a vote like that–not many trusted the Wanderers. He blamed the lingering resentments from the Necroplauge and the Wandering People’s role in its spread as well as the bandits that claimed to be members when all they really wanted was to be accepted somewhere so they could steal or kill or rape. He knew some people outside of the group also held the belief–false though it was–that Wanderers favored the lives of magical creatures over those of humans. In that, though, they failed to recognize that humans were magical creatures. The misconception was a source of endless irritation for Andurak.

"We can't afford to waste any time," Trudin said, his attention on the crowd once more. "But we can't afford to get caught out in a storm either. The next moment there is a break from the snow, I will gather everyone and we'll set out. How does that sound?"

There were nods and more words of agreement. Trudin hopped off the stage, and the people began to either amble out of the tavern or converse between themselves. More than once, Andurak caught wary gazes snagging on him.

He let out a slow sigh, ignoring the knowing look that Bushwin fixed him with. He pushed himself off the bar, digging through his coat for his ratty coin purse. He flicked it open and briefly mourned the sight of a handful of Tirandan copper marks, a single Frisian note, and a couple of iron Lishten chips. He threw Bushwin a sidelong look. The man was shamelessly peering into his coin purse with him and merely offered an unapologetic shrug when he caught Andurak's gaze.

"I'll take Lishten currency," he said. "Get my most expensive shipments from them."

Andurak didn't bother with grumbling or a glare. He just gave a small sigh and dug the coins out, depositing them into Bushwin’s waiting hand. The corner of the barkeep’s mouth twitched up in a smile.

“The priestess in town was the one that spotted the imp,” Bushwin reported, depositing the coins into a pocket of the apron he wore. “If you want to get a headstart on any monster-killing parties, I’d start with asking her what she knows.”

Andurak nodded. Only a handful of people remained in the tavern, Trudin being one of them. Andurak caught him watching him and Bushwin, a sharp gleam to his eyes. Andurak nodded to him as well, and, after his expression turned baffled, he did the same.

Andurak couldn’t get a read on him–whether he was of the opinion that those of the Wandering People were thieves, murderers, and plague-rats or genuinely good people who respected the earth and all that called it home. Maybe it didn’t matter. Either way, he was keeping a close eye on Andurak.

Whatever the case, Andurak would do as he pleased, and Trudin could try to stop him if he wanted to. In the end, Andurak doubted it would make any difference. It certainly hadn’t in the past.

“You didn’t really do me any favors,” Andurak said, smiling wryly, “but thanks anyway.”

“Anytime, wanderer,” Bushwin said. He patted his pocket. “So long as we help each other.”

Andurak snorted despite himself and didn’t deign to respond. Instead, he took his leave, heading back out into the frigid afternoon. He saw Trudin step out to intercept him, but Andurak merely shot him an unimpressed look and quickened his pace. When he found himself breathing in the biting air outside of the tavern, there was no Trudin on his heels.

That was that, then. On to the church and the priestess there. If it was the same one as the last time he’d been through, Andurak could understand why there were rumors of an imp circling around. The priestess, a young woman named Faury, was skittish and easily spooked. He wasn’t sure what exactly she’d seen–an unusually large pixie, maybe, or a kappa that followed a stream too far north–but he knew it couldn’t be an imp. He wasn’t sure which country had started the tale, but Andurak had found it to be a common myth spread to frighten children in the northern countries of the west of the world. Small yet gangly, wide eyes yet a piercing gaze, wild and untamed and eager to either cause mischief or spill blood, the imp was said to roam the night–or maybe it was the day, stories conflicted on this crucial bit of information–and cause all sorts of misfortune to the innocent denizens of towns and villages.

Imps weren’t the only magical creature rumored to exist. Fairies, krakens, dryads, and many others–all of them were the result of overactive imaginations, not truth. Andurak didn’t see how anyone could believe such tales. But then, there were some fantastical creatures out there. People just needed to be better educated on what magical creatures actually existed.

The church was a little farther into town, more centralized than Bushwin’s tavern. Andurak passed some of the people that had been attending Trudin’s little rally as they headed back to their homes at a more leisurely pace, and he pointedly ignored them. They could think what they wanted of him–he couldn’t control it nor did he care. He refused to be single-handedly responsible for what this town thought of the Wandering People. As long as no one was openly hostile to him, he wouldn’t look twice. Not that he expected the same courtesy from them.

At least those tending the church were usually more open-minded and consistently kind. They did tend to be the sort of people that actually took Amera’s teaching to heart. Andurak couldn’t say he cared for those that worshiped the old gods–and that wasn’t to say he cared for everyone that worshiped the new gods–but followers of Amera tended to be friendlier to the Wandering People than the average person.

The church was a newer building, or it had at least been newly renovated. As far as Andurak knew, the town of Mincelight itself was relatively new, built in the last few decades sometime after Iten joined the Tirandan Empire. Its wooden and stone structures had replaced a little settlement of igloos and sealskin tents, and the population quickly grew thanks to the shipments of food the alliance with Tiranda afforded them. Andurak was too young to know what Iten was like before, exactly, but it wasn’t what it was now, that was for sure.

The church was nice. That’s all Andurak could really say about it. It was stone at the base and wooden on the top, with stained glass doors depicting a colorful sunrise–something the land of Iten didn’t see very often. There were also two flags flying from its roof. The higher one was that of the empire, a deep red with an intricate sigil in black that was supposed to be proud or some other such nonsense but just reminded Andurak of blood. The lower one was a pale pink, nearly white, with a dove nesting inside of a red heart in its center. The flag of the Church of Amera. It was better than Tiranda’s flag, at least.

The wind had picked up by the time Andurak reached the church, white whipping snow past the outstretched, fluttering flags framed against the dark overhand of the clouds above them. It felt like an omen, a bad prophecy from an oracle. But Andurak never did care for what fate supposedly dictated.

The inside of the church was warmer than outside, but that wasn’t to say it was warm. Not like the tavern with its crackling fireplace, at the very least.

Andurak let the door with its stained glass window shut heavily behind him and took in the room before him. It was just as he remembered–just as most of the churches he had seen built across the world. He was in a large room with wooden pews laid out on either side of a short walkway. A stone pulpit sat against the far wall, a few steps on the side leading up to it, and a short wooden podium at its front. There was a lantern hanging from the podium’s edge, but it was currently empty of anything.

There were two open archways on either side of the room, and Andurak knew that the one on the left led to the kitchens and food storage while the one on the right led to the sleeping quarters. Just as Andurak started inside to look for her, he spotted Faury stepping outside of the kitchens, a small, metal lantern clutched in one hand. Andurak spotted both fire and light crystals inside, a few scraps of red and yellow nestled together.

She was young and slim, wearing a thick white coat with spotted fur lining the hood and a hem that hung down to the ankles of her brown boots. She was from elsewhere in the empire–probably Tiranda itself or maybe Dryan–but in line with Iten traditions, her head had been shaved and the beginning of an intricate tattoo was resting at the base of her skull. By the time she was thirty, the tattoo would be spread over the whole of her head and down her neck. Depending on how far she rose within the community, it could even extend down to her shoulders and along her spine.

Faury started when she looked over and saw him, but the fright quickly morphed into a gentle smile. She hurried to him, the lantern in her hand swinging back and forth, casting the unyielding light of the yellow crystals inside across the cold stones and empty benches.

“Hello, wanderer,” she greeted him, dipping in a curtsy, the smile never leaving her face. He could feel the warmth of the fire crystals now that she was closer, soft and enveloping as a hug or sunlight. “Can I offer you some food or water? We don’t have very much to go around right now, but you’ve always been good to our little town, it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Andurak offered her a small smile in return. “That won’t be necessary, priestess. I came with something for you, actually.”

“Me?” she asked, brows raising in an innocent display of surprise. Andurak nodded and dug through his pack for the animal skins he had to spare, handing them to her. She ran her fingers over the fur, stiff from the cold and being left untreated by any oils. “Oh, how wonderful! I’m sure we can put these to good use. Little Trissy doesn’t have any gloves yet, and–”

Andurak let her prattle on for a while, nodding at the right places without listening to a single word. He kept his ear out for the lilt of questions, but she didn’t ask him any.

Eventually, when she had tucked the furs into a pocket on the side of her coat, Andurak clasped his hands in front of him. “If it’s not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could answer some questions,” he said.

She faltered, searching his face. Andurak prided himself on being difficult to read, but whatever Faury saw in his expression made her deflate. “You’re wondering about the imp I saw,” she said dejectedly, hugging her lantern against her torso. “Everyone’s talking about it. Oh, wanderer, I tell you, it gave me such a fright.”

Andurak wasn’t surprised considering her constitution, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he asked, “What happened?”

Faury stepped back to the nearest pew and sat upon it, patting the space next to her in a clear invitation. Once Andurak had settled next to her, his pack on the ground in front of him, she spoke. “I was just about to go to bed for the night, so I was closing everything up. We didn’t have any travelers seeking shelter, so it was just me putting everything away in the kitchen and locking up the crystals and saying the evening prayers for the town. I had another lantern with me, made for an actual fire, and just as I was about to leave this main room and head to my bed in the next room, I heard a knock.”

Faury paused, looking at him expectantly, so Andurak grunted. “Strange,” he said, because what manner of creature would knock on the door to a church? Pixies were mischievous and liked to pull pranks, but they didn’t really understand human actions like that. There were plenty of new god creatures he could think of that might pick up on the action, but none that would find their way to the cold wastelands of Iten.

“A knock by itself wouldn’t have been so odd,” Faury mused. “Sometimes, when it starts getting later, some of the people in town don’t want to disturb me if I’ve already gone to bed, so they knock on the door instead. But this knock wasn’t at the door.” Faury pointed toward the kitchens. “It was at the window.”

She let her words hang in the air again, peering at him. Andurak nodded for her to continue.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said, twisting her hands together in her lap atop her lantern. "I went to investigate, certain that I had imagined it. But as I entered the kitchen, I heard it again, just over the sound of the wind outside. I though to myself, 'well, maybe it's one of the children trying to scare me', but when I got to the window–" she cut herself off, shuddering.

"What did you see?"

"There was a face in the window," she murmured, her hands now gripping each other. "Just above the sill, so I knew the thing couldn't be very tall. It was gaunt and very pale, with these huge golden eyes and golden hair blowing along with the gusts. I screeched so loud when I saw it I must have frightened it. It's face disappeared into the dark of the night, and I swear, I sat in the kitchen with one of the knives the whole night, just waiting for it to come back." She laughed, but her eyes belied a deep fear. "What was a knife going to do? If it really is an imp, it probably knew a spell that could turn me inside out with just a twist of the tongue.

"I told everyone what I saw, of course, the next day, and that's when food started to turn up missing. Breads, cheeses, dried meats–all missing from homes. It was the day after that I came into the kitchen to prepare breakfast and found all the cupboards open and completely raided. It looked like a wild animal had rampaged through it." Faury shook her head. "And when food is already so scarce. I wrote to some of the trade overseers in Dryan asking if they could bring us more, but I haven't gotten a reply back. I wouldn't be surprised if the message never even made it out of the country with all these accursed storms."

Andurak nodded along with everything she said, only half listening. This supposed imp had gold eyes and hair? That didn't match with any magical creature he could conceive being in Iten. Werewolves could be halfway intelligent–enough to learn how to knock, at least–but they were by no means small or gaunt even if they could have golden eyes and hair. Even more, they lived in the jungles of the east, not the frosts of the west. There was an entire channel of water they'd need to cross.

Some of Faury's details line up with an afrit–they came in various sizes and could have eyes that color. But Andurak had never heard of one with golden hair, and he figured Faury would have mentioned it if she noticed two giant horns curling from the creature's head. And again, they lived in deserts, not tundra. They wouldn't steal human food either–they were the kind of creature to steal humans as food.

Pixies didn't have hair and their eyes were very distinct, so those were ruled out, too. Andurak honestly didn't know what it could be.

Maybe it really was an imp. It was always possible that the new gods had created some new sort of creature. If they had, it would be Andurak's job as a member of the Wandering People to learn all he could about it and live to report his findings at the next Gathering. If this creature was running around stealing food while people slept, hopefully it would be more interested in eating that than him.

"Thank you, priestess," Andurak said, standing. He stooped down to pick up his pack, but a hand on his arm made him pause.

"You're going to try to do something about it, aren't you?" she asked, watching him with wide, green eyes.

"I am."

She gave him a weak smile. "And I couldn't convince you otherwise?"

"I'll be alright," he assured her. He pulled away from her touch and stepped back into the aisle, pack settled on his shoulders once more. "Excuse me, priestess. I have to set out now if I hope to beat Trudin and his angry mob."

Faury stood, then, a deep furrow in her brow. She hesitated, but Andurak waited patiently, and he was rewarded by her thrusting her lantern into his hands. He stared at it, then at her.

"The weather's turning for the worse," she said quietly. "You'll need the warmth and light more. I have oil lanterns, too, but those won't do you any good out there. Take it and return it when you come back."

Andurak smiled. "I will, priestess. Thank you."

She returned the gesture, something in her eyes unspeakably worried. Her concern was wasted on someone like Andurak. He did not fear magical creatures like so many settled people did, and he could take care of himself, even in such harsh elements. The crystals were very appreciated, though, and the combination of both fire and light would be much more effective at helping keep him alive than just a regular fire. Crystals couldn't be blown out, and what they emanated was steady in an area–whether that be heat or light.

Andurak left the church, lantern in one hand. The weather hadn't gotten any worse during the time he was talking to Faury, thankfully, but it was still nasty enough. Andurak sighed–at the world or at the gods that made it, he didn’t know–and set out into the burgeoning storm.

Being determined to protect the creature was fine, but now Andurak actually had to find it. With the storm alchemy, his window of time to do so was steadily shrinking, and Faury's description of the creature was ultimately not very helpful in determining anything about it.

He was a member of the Wandering People, though–he knew magical creatures. He could figure this out. The creature had hair, but Faury didn’t say anything about fur or anything else that could keep it warm in this cold. If it was an old god creature, that wouldn’t be an issue for it–they were never humanoid and were always built to survive the environments they inhabited. Like the frost lions that were more than likely eagerly awaiting the storm to go out and hunt.

Just another reason for Andurak to hurry.

This creature, being humanoid and a new god creature, probably needed shelter just as humans did. There were no nearby caves in the flat lands of Iten, though depending on how small the creature was, it could conceivably fit in some type of burrow.

If it was living in a burrow, it would only be further proof that the gods hated him. Andurak just had to hope that it wasn’t.

No caves, hopefully no burrows. No forests, no other nearby towns. What did that leave?

He reached the edge of the town and stared out into the little he could see of the white plains of Iten. The light of the crystals reflected off the snowflakes in a startling display, making him squint against it and the sting of the wind. He could dig his glasses out of his pack again, but visibility was already low enough. He’d make do.

“Wanderer.”

Andurak turned, unsurprised, to find Trudin standing behind him. The young man was covered head to toe in warm furs, a hood up to protect himself from the winds and a spear in one hand. A mask was pulled up to protect the lower half of his face, and a special type of goggles sat on his face, made of intricately carved bone with a thin slit cutting across the middle to see through. It was a wonder Andurak recognized him at all, but who else would it be?

Andurak acknowledged him with a nod and nothing else. The man might be respected within the community, but he was no leader to Andurak. He would not break the silence between them first.

By the slump of his shoulders and cant of his head, Andurak thought Trudin sighed, but the sound was lost to the wind. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, unmistakably irritated.

Anduark lifted up his own mask, arching one eyebrow.

When Trudin realized Andurak still had nothing to say, he crossed his arms, spear tucked into the crook of his elbow. “The storm is going to be raging within the hour,” he said. Andurak merely looked at him. “You’re going to die out there, and for what? Some magical creature that probably wants to eat you?”

“What’s the spear for?” Andurak drawled.

If he could see his face, Andurak imagined Trudin was sending him a withering glare. “You’re not a member of our community,” he said, but it wasn’t derisive. “I doubt you have our best interests at heart, but you are trying to help us, in a roundabout way. I can’t let you go out there alone.”

Andurak studied the man for a moment. “You’d die with me?”

Trudin huffed. He seemed amused, at least. “Well, the idea is that neither of us die.”

Andurak shrugged, but he was oddly touched. Usually, people didn’t care for the fate of the Wandering People that passed them by. “Keep close, then,” he said, lifting the lantern. “The crystals will help keep you warm.”

Trudin nodded, spinning his spear behind him and trudging closer. Andurak rolled his eyes at the display, but said nothing as he led the way out into the frozen wastes. He glanced at Trudin, but the young man’s glasses and mask gave away nothing.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of any places that might offer some shelter around here, would you?” Andurak asked. He grimaced. “Or seen any holes in the ground lately?”

“You think the imp is hiding out somewhere?” Trudin slung his spear over his shoulders, his arms hanging off of it. “Bunny burrows are about the only thing I’ve seen, and that’s not big enough for an imp. But,” he said slowly, tilting his head in thought, “there is the old village. It’s not far from here. They didn’t want to adjust the road too much when the empire came and built the new town. The tents will all be gone but the igloos might still be standing.” His tone turned dubious. “If they’re not completely buried in snow.”

Andurak grunted. He had no better ideas. He handed the lantern to Trudin. “Lead the way,” he said.

Trudin switched the spear to one hand and took the lantern with one. Nodding, he veered into a different direction. Andurak followed, keeping a wary eye out for any oddly moving snow flurries. The last thing they needed was to run into a frost lion out here.

The snow fell faster with every passing minute, but Trudin didn’t falter. It wasn’t long before he stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Andurak squinted, peering around, but all he saw was snow blanketing the ground.

Trudin gestured with the lantern, the crystals inside shifting though their glow didn’t change. “This is it.” He lifted the lantern higher. “I think I can see the tops of the igloos.”

Andurak hadn’t ever seen an igloo before and didn’t really know what he was supposed to be looking for. There were what appeared to be a few mounds in the snow–maybe that was them? Andurak’s gaze caught on one far to the left. It almost appeared as if it were glowing.

He pointed it out to Trudin, and the young man tensed, his grip on his spear tightening. “Do you think an imp could cause that?” he asked, turning slightly to look back at Andurak.

Andurak didn’t think imps existed, and this was still no proof that they did. He grunted and reached into his coat for his blow dart gun, slotting a little dart inside but keeping it his coat, ready to be pulled out and used at a moment’s notice. Each of his dart’s were laced with a compound known well amongst the Wandering People, meant to pacify or even knock out magical creatures.

“Keep your spear to yourself,” Andurak said, moving toward the glowing igloo.

He had taken a couple of steps before he heard the crunch of snow that meant Trudin was following him. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “What if it attacks us?”

“Then I’ll keep its attention and you can run off.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

Andurak glanced back at him. “I won’t die,” he said. “Just watch yourself.”

Trudin muttered something that was lost to the muffling of his mask and the howling of the wind. The storm was really picking up now. They needed to hurry.

Andurak picked his way over to the igloo, each step sinking up to his knees into the soft snow that rested on top of much more packed together, frozen stuff. As he got closer, he noticed indentations in the snow–footprints that hadn’t been completely filled in yet. The shape had been lost to the snow and the wind, making these at least a day old.

Andurak stopped at a hole dug out in the snow, leading down to a more defined tunnel that had to be the entrance of the igloo, a flickering light spilling out from it like that of a fire. Whatever magical creature was down there was intelligent enough to make a fire, at least, but most of them could do that.

Andurak shared a look with Trudin. The young man pointedly held his spear up, chin jutting out in a challenge. Andurak grimaced and started down the little hole.

Trudin was only doing what he thought was necessary to save Andurak’s life. Andurak would prove it wasn’t needed.

The tunnel of the igloo was bigger than Andurak expected, but he still had to crouch to move through it, his pack brushing the top of the blocks of ice. He could hear Trudin curse softly and begin shuffling behind him, his boots scraping over the frozen ground.

Ahead, he could make out a mound of stones, small and round like river rocks. There was a flame somewhere beyond them, just the tip of it dancing within view. And against the right side of the igloo, a shadow was cast on the wall in the shape of the upper half of a small humanoid. Andurak reached the end of the tunnel and gripped his blow dart gun, cautiously peering around the edge.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the sight in front of him.

The fire wasn’t a regular fire at all, but a phoenix. The birds could change the size of their bodies, so it made sense that it could squeeze its way inside the igloo. Right now, its body took up most of the floor of the igloo, laid over a great heaping of round stones that made up its nest. Its body wavered with deep hues of red and the occasional lick of blue, as their flames tended to burn when they were in cold environments. It crackled like an inviting fireplace, an indicator of the creature’s contentment.

Its large head was laid in the lap of a small humanoid. It took Andurak a moment to register what he was seeing, but when he did, he put his blow dart gun away. He wasn’t looking at an imp–it was a child. She was skinny, with hollow cheeks and thin limbs and those golden eyes and hair that had so frightened Faury. But for all that, she was just a child.

She was petting the phoenix’s head, but her gaze was already trained on the mouth of the tunnel. She must have heard them shuffling through the tunnel. Trudin hadn’t exactly been quiet.

When she caught Andurak’s gaze, she lifted a finger to her lips in a sure sign to be quiet. She pointed at the phoenix that still hadn’t budged, her gaze imploring. Her other hand continued to stroke its head, the flames licking at her flesh harmlessly. The fire of a phoenix only burned if it wanted to.

“Wanderer,” Trudin hissed. Andurak glanced back. He was trying to peer past him without banging his head on the roof of the tunnel, but apparently wasn’t having much luck.

Andurak hesitated. He couldn’t say he knew, exactly, what to do in this situation. He’d encountered phoenixes a couple of times before–they were generally uncaring toward humans and didn’t usually help or hinder them. It was odd that one had let a human child into its nest, but the only reason it would come to a frozen land such as Iten would be to build a temporary nest and lay an egg. If Andurak squinted against the light pouring off the phoenix’s flames, he thought he could make out the golden shell of a large egg tucked next to its belly. If the phoenix’s maternal instincts had already kicked in, it might be inclined to save a child from the cold.

That did not explain why a clearly malnourished child was hiding in an abandoned igloo during the middle of Iten’s winter. If she was really desperate, she could have gone to the church for food and shelter.

Though, she had done that. She hadn’t gone about it in a normal manner, and Faury hadn’t reacted well. Maybe she felt she had no choice but to hide out and steal food.

Speaking of–Andurak carefully, picked his way up the slight slope of the phoenix’s nest, holding one hand out to stop Trudin though he didn’t know if the young man would heed it. He kept quiet so as not to disturb the phoenix and peered around its body. There, against the far side of the igloo, were various cloth bags. Andurak could see inside a couple of them, and there it was–some bread and meat, cheeses and whatever edible plants grew in the region. The stolen food.

He cast a glance back to the girl, and she gave him a sheepish smile. He dragged his gaze back to the phoenix and wondered exactly how protective the phoenix was feeling.

There was a scuff and a gasp. Andurak grimaced as he turned back to Trudin. The young man was staring at the phoenix with no small measure of awe, his spear lowering a fraction. At least he had the sense not to try attacking it. Andurak preferred remaining unroasted, and Trudin must have had the same thought.

Andurak could see the exact moment Trudin caught sight of the girl. His eyes bugged out of his head, and his spear was brought back up as he slid into a battle stance.

The phoenix lifted its head, glowing, yellow eyes nothing but slits as it glared at Trudin. Andurak sighed. He didn't know what to do in this situation, but he better figure it out fast.

He brought up his hand and let out a sharp whistle. The phoenix whipped its head toward him, and Trudin cast him a look that definitely meant he thought Andurak was insane. That was alright. He'd told Trudin he wouldn't die, and he wouldn't. Neither of them would.

"We're here for the stolen food," Andurak said, keeping his voice even. Phoenixes could learn to understand some words, but wild ones weren't likely to know any. They did respond, however, to tones. If Andurak exuded peace, it wouldn't aggravate the creature.

Hopefully.

"We're not here to hurt anyone," he continued, shooting a look at Trudin. The young man swallowed hard and slowly stood straight, his spear lowering. He glanced at the girl again, wary.

Time to put an end to that. "What's your name, girl?" Andurak called. The body of the phoenix separated them, the ends of its tail crackling mere inches from the toes of his boots.

"Why are you stealing our food, imp?" Trudin demanded.

The flames of the phoenix let out a decidedly agitated pop in warning. Andurak whistled again, softer this time, and when Trudin turned, Andurak gave him an imploring look.

The girl's face scrunched in offense. "Why do you all think I'm an imp?" She crossed her arms. "I'm not that weird looking."

"You're right," Andurak said. "You're not an imp. You're just a human child."

Despite being unable to see his face, Trudin was clearly bewildered. Andurak ignored him.

The girl nodded emphatically. "Yeah! I'm not going to, you know–" she waved a hand around, eyes narrowed. "Steal someone's children or whatever. Why would I want anyone's children? Do imps actually do that?"

Andurak huffed. "They might if they existed."

The girl gaped at him. Then, she whirled to Trudin, casting an accusing finger at him. "You thought I was something that didn't even exist?"

Despite the way she practically screeched the end of the question, the phoenix remained calm, glowing eyes lazily drifting shut. After another moment, it laid its head back in the girl's lap, apparently deciding there was no threat.

Not that a phoenix had much to fear from a couple of humans. Andurak's blow gun would do nothing to such an intangible body. The same was true for Trudin's spear. If they wanted any chance of subduing the creature, they'd need magic, something Andurak never bothered learning and Trudin didn't know if his blonde hair was anything to go by.

Trudin tugged his mask down his face and pushed his glasses up on his head, showing his bewilderment as it slid into a truly flabbergasted expression. "Imps... don't exist?" He gaped at Andurak, brow furrowed. "You didn't think to mention that?"

"You didn't listen to Bushwin," Andurak drawled.

Trudin spluttered. "He–I–Bushwin is hardly well-versed in magical creatures. I would have listened to a member of the Wandering People." In a display that made him seem much older, Trudin pinched the bridge of his nose. "For Amera's sake, wanderer. I can't believe–"

"I still need the food," the girl said, completely cutting off what was likely the beginning of a grand rant from Trudin. Andurak decided he liked this girl.

When Trudin just gawked at her, she looked between the two of them. "That's not a problem, right?"

"You're fucking kidding me." Trudin said, seemingly to no one in particular, or maybe to both of them. He tilted his head back, his spear dangling at his side, forgotten. "By the mad mists."

"We can't let you keep all this food," Andurak said, since Trudin seemed to be having a small crisis. "Not only did you steal it, you stole it from people that desperately need it right now."

"Yeah, well, I desperately need it, too," the girl said. And, by the way her clothes hung like empty sacks from her limbs, she was right.

“You still need to return it,” Andurak said. “You can stay at the church instead. I’m sure when everything is explained, Priestess Faury will be more than happy to share what food she has with you.”

“I can’t stay at the church. The priests always try to saddle a family with me, but I can’t stick around anywhere. I’m trying to learn magic,” the girl said, like it explained anything.

Andurak frowned, but Trudin answered before he could. “Staying in town probably wouldn’t be for the best anyway.” He glanced at Andurak. “I doubt many people are going to be welcoming her after what she did.”

Andurak sighed. “You never answered me before. What’s your name, girl?”

“Wanily.”

Andurak grunted. “I'm Andurak. This is Trudin." He motioned to him, and Trudin gave her a nod. "Where’s your family, Wanily? What are you doing out here?”

She gave an explosive sigh. “I got thrown out of Festra.”

Once again, Andurak didn’t know exactly what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. He furrowed his brow. “The mage prison? In Vixx?” That wasn’t very close to where they were now. Not at all.

The girl shrugged. “Yeah, I dunno. I got framed for something, they threw me in a cell for a while, and then some guy came and said I couldn’t have committed the crime–which I didn’t. So they threw me out with barely a coat and a sack of old bread.” She scowled. “I didn’t even want the coat back.”

She wasn’t wearing a coat, just some plain, wool clothes. Andurak spotted the article of clothing balled up next to the wall of the igloo in the little space between the bricks and the phoenix’s nest. She was probably using it as a makeshift pillow.

“And what of your family?”

She shrugged again. “Don’t remember them. I was on the streets for a while before I went to prison, and no one ever came up and claimed I was their daughter. If they were looking for me, they weren’t trying very hard.”

That was... troubling, to say the least. The girl didn’t seem to have many options before her. She had no home to return to, and the only nearby place for her to stay didn’t want her.

Trudin sidled over to him and latched a hand around his arm. Andurak glared but followed when Trudin tried to pull him along. “Give us a moment, Wanily,” he called over his shoulder before dragging him back into the tunnel.

They crouched down and shuffled their way back through until they were in the middle. Over Trudin’s shoulder, Andurak could see the snow coming down in fat, earnest flakes at the other end. Away from the warmth of the phoenix, the wind that blew in was piercing and frigid, like a dagger made of ice. Faury’s little crystals did nothing against it. They’d probably have to wait out the storm here and return to Mincelight in the morning.

Trudin shifted in the cramped space until he had turned around and was facing Andurak. He gave him an expectant look.

Andurak frowned. “What?”

Trudin sighed. “The girl has no home and nowhere to go.”

Andurak nodded. Trudin had a point he was trying to make, but Andurak wasn’t sure what it was.

“Faury would probably still feed and shelter her, but the rest of Mincelight might not be so forgiving.”

Andurak nodded again. He’d let Trudin talk.

He huffed, giving Andurak a measured look. “Don’t some Wandering People travel in little packs?”

Ah. There it was.

“Family units,” Andurak corrected. “And I’ve no interest in forming one.”

“Well, you don’t need to keep her around forever. Just until you reach the next town and can leave her somewhere.”

“She said she didn’t want to be stuck with some random family.”

Trudin cocked his head. Andurak could see him calculating something in those dark eyes. It immediately made him wary. “Bushwin does talk about you sometimes,” he mused. “I’ve never paid much attention to the Wandering People that pass through town, but he does. You’re the only one he talks about specifically. You travel alone. You want to prove that you can survive the world on your own. That you’re the greatest wanderer to ever wander.”

“If you’re trying to play off my ego,” Andurak deadpanned, “it isn’t working.”

Trudin sighed. “You want to prove you’re the greatest survivalist out there?” He motioned to the igloo behind them. “Teach someone else how to survive in the world.”

Andurak was intrigued despite himself. “How would that prove anything?”

“It means that your survival isn’t just some fluke. That the way you survive actually works.” Trudin shrugged. “And you’ll be helping someone. You Wandering People are all about that, right?”

They really were, even if Andurak didn’t want to agree. He sighed. “I’ll suggest it to her,” he relented.

Trudin clapped him on the back, grinning. “That’s the spirit.”

He nodded toward the igloo, and Andurak led the way back inside. Wanily was exactly where they’d left her, and she’d resumed petting the phoenix’s head. She glanced up when they straightened up again, obviously curious.

Andurak sighed. “I have a proposition for you, Wanily.”

———

They slept in the igloo that night on an uncomfortable bed of rocks and warmed by the body of the phoenix. In the morning, Trudin got up and dug out the snow that had blocked the way out during the night. Wanily said her goodbyes to the phoenix, playing with its tails and petting its head.

There was a story there of how she’d found it and how it came to accept her presence. Andurak figured he had time to get it out of her.

They climbed out of the igloo back into the open tundra. Andurak handed Faury’s lantern to Trudin. He took it with a nod.

Trudin would go back to Mincelight and tell everyone what had happened. Andurak would leave Iten–even though he practically just got there–and bring Wanily somewhere where the winter was milder to begin teaching her. Wanily’s coat swallowed her up and dragged behind her, but it still wasn’t thick enough for this weather.

Trudin had allowed her one small bag stuffed with flatbread, some cheese, and a few pieces of smoked jerky. The rest would go back to the town. It would hopefully last her long enough until she could start catching her own meals.

Andurak nodded back, slipping his glasses on and pulling up his mask. He had nothing to offer Wanily for such protection, but he told her to keep her head down and hold onto his pack to avoid hurting her eyes.

They set off then, walking together for a short while before veering off in different directions, Trudin in one, Andurak and Wanily in another. Such was the wanderer’s path.