Eight 2: The Way of the Hunter, A LitRPG Adventure

The meditation rooms at the Hunter’s Lodge were small, no more than closets, really. They were sparsely decorated, likely to reduce the number of distractions, but the doors were thin. I heard plenty of chatter coming from the other side as hunters arrived over the course of the morning to pick up their portions of the smoked musk oxen meat, drink tea with their comrades, and take care of any gear in need of attention.

I was supposed to be studying Spiral Pierce and Iron Heart—and in fact, their books were open in front of me. For their respective spells, they described the intent of the qi and its flow through the body, as well as the opportunities for the spells’ growth and common challenges. The books even included artifacts offering a taste of the qi. For Spiral Pierce, it was a splinter of wood the length and width of a dart. For Iron Heart, there was a bone disk.

My attention was only half on the books. The other was listening—listening and waiting. I had arrived early in the morning to make sure I had time to learn the spells, but also to make sure I didn’t miss—

“Is Eight around?”

That was Borba’s voice. He’d finally arrived.

A hunter answered: “I haven’t seen him. Maybe he went back into the wilderness?”

“Might still be asleep,” another replied. “I heard he was late leaving the lodge last night—”

I tuned out the rest and took a breath to settle my nerves. I covered the Spiral Pierce and Iron Heart spell books with a blanket—I didn’t want to get bogged down explaining how I had access to them—and brought out the one for Dog’s Agility.

Across from me, a portion of Yuki clung to the opposite wall, Camouflaged and invisible to the eye. We are ready.

All right, then. Let’s go. I opened the door and made a show of looking around. “Oh, hey, good morning, everyone. I thought I heard my name.”

The hunters laughed when they saw me. I must’ve looked like a gopher popping out of his hole.

“Eight, you were here all along!”

“Didn’t you know? He moved out of Biheila’s house and lives at the lodge now.”

“He’s always training, our Eight.”

“What are you studying now? Still working on the mystery of the blynx’s Blink?”

I waved off the hunters’ jokes. “No, no. I’m working on Dog’s Agility, and…” I pretended to scan the room, recognizing the hunters present, but the one I knew best among them was… “Borba, I wonder if I could ask for your help.”

He pointed to himself. “Me? But I can’t use magic.”

“I know. I just need another person to compare the flow of my qi against theirs.”

“Is that something people do?” Borba asked.

“It’s something our Little Pot does,” a hunter answered. “He wants to ask your qi a question!”

That caused another round of jokes, and I laughed along with the rest. When things calmed down, I said, “I’ll just be taking a peek at your qi. It shouldn’t hurt at all.”

“Sure,” Borba said. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you anyway. We didn’t get a chance to talk much after the hunt.”

Borba found a stray cushion and brought it with him. Fortunately, the meditation room could fit two people sitting across from each other, although we were close enough for me to notice the bags under his eyes.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “You seem tired.”

Borba chuckled. “I was about to ask you the same question. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“There’s always something new to learn,” I said.

“True, true. And hard work pays off in the end. I wouldn’t be as successful a hunter as I am if that weren’t so.” Borba gave me a nod and a smile. “You can ask me any questions you have, Eight. About anything. My family’s talent is for hard work, and we have people in many different trades and crafts.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s good to know. For now, though, do you mind if I put my hand on your chest? I want to compare your qi to mine.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Borba said.

I ran qi from my palm into his chest. There was no pattern or intent other than to create a distraction. “Do you feel that?”

He shook his head. “Tingles a bit, maybe?”

We’ll start now, Yuki said, and the wall’s texture behind Borba shifted as their Camouflage spell adjusted for the movement down the wall.

Borba started to turn to see what had caught my interest.

“So,” I said, trying to get his attention again, “what do you think of the lodge’s plans to hunt the kalihchi bear?”

Thankfully, Borba turned back to face me. “I approve. The King of the Forest is a danger to the village and one that’s growing stronger every year. I don’t hold much love for Ghitha, but in this, he’s right.”

We’re on the floor now, and going in, Yuki said. We’ll enter through his waist.

“Will we be able to do it?” I asked. “The lodge already tried to hunt the bear and failed.”

Borba’s brows furrowed. “Not alone we can’t—we’re like babies before the King’s might. I’ve fought him before, you know, along with the lodge, and… and…” He paused to swallow. His hands had been on his knees before, but now he gestured, the movements jerky. “The King’s not someone any of us can face. The hunters from Albei, though, all of them are over Level 5 and talented. They can do it. You saw the giant javelina they caught, and then there was the musk ox alpha.”

Inside the lower dantian now, Yuki reported. Working our way up to the middle and upper dantians. Give us a minute to get there and settle in, and then you can start.

“How about you?” Borba asked. “What do you think about the King of the Forest?”

“I’ve seen him,” I said.

Borba looked surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“It was during a storm. The lightning crashed all around him—through him—and he reveled in it. He rampaged through the forest and drove all the other animals from their territories.”

“He is a tyrant. But how did you avoid his attention?” Borba asked.

“I have places I can hide,” I said.

His heartrate spiked at the mention of hiding places.

“Oh,” Borba said. “Maybe you can share these hiding places with me? Just in case. One can never have too many fallbacks.”

“Sorry, my most helpful hidey holes are only big enough for me to fit into. You’re too big.”

He’s disappointed and searching for a way to bring up the topic of hidden places again. He doesn’t like talking about the kalihchi bear. The animal is a source of great fear.

I asked a question: “You mentioned that you didn’t like Ghitha, can I ask why?”

He feels distaste, fear, and anger. Guilt too. There’s a storm rising, disturbing his qi.

Borba’s feelings flickered across his face, but he got them under control and shrugged. “Ghitha is Ghitha. He is like his brother Woldec, their lives centered on their family above all else. Nothing has been good enough for them. Not the lodge and not Voorhei.”

“So you didn’t like Woldec?”

There is envy, hatred, and guilt once more. The storm swells.

“Yes. Not many did, but Woldec was part of Voorhei’s foundation. The rock upon which the village’s defense was built. Along with Sheedi and…” Borba trailed off.

His heartrate is rising. Hatred rising. Anger, hot, pulsing. Qi roiling.

“Grunthen,” I said, finishing the sentence.

“That’s right,” Borba said, clearing his throat. “Him.”

“You didn’t like him either?” I asked.

Borba shook his head. “Grunthen was another who only cared about himself and his family. He was even worse than Woldec and Ghitha. Much worse.”

“Thank you for answering my questions,” I said. “I’m always so curious. You don’t mind if we continue? It helps to pass the time while I compare our qi.”

He’s trying to control his emotions and hopes this experience will bring you closer together. He also feels distaste for what he has to do.

Borba took a deep breath. “I don’t mind. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m glad to help if I can.”

This is a truth.

“We’ve talked about Ghitha, Woldec, and Grunthen, but I’m also wondering about Kiertie.”

Surprise at the mention of her name, followed quickly by sinking despair. He feels guilty, empty, and… gutted.

Borba’s face went still. “That was a terrible loss, an avoidable loss. She shouldn’t have gone on that expedition to begin with, but she’d always been stubborn.”

“That’s right—you knew her from before she came to Voorhei. Mumu had told me that the two of you grew up in another village, Voorhoos.”

His heart is pained. Anguished.

“That’s right,” he said. “Her family is famous for their talent for divination. It isn’t strong enough for them to join the Diviner’s Lodge in Albei, but they were rich by village standards. Too good for the likes of people like me.”

“So you liked Kiertie?”

“No! What are you saying? We were similar ages, that was all. Her family was above mine. There could be nothing between us.”

He’s lying. Badly. An unrequited love turned to ashes.

“Ah, I thought maybe it was like a love story,” I said. “Did you know that I enjoy stories?”

“No,” Borba said, “but I’m not surprised.”

He’s wondering where you’re going with this. Focusing on controlling his emotions.

“I find stories fascinating,” I said, continuing. “They reveal so much. Anyway, quite a few stories focus on love—on love and revenge. I’d like to know… let’s pretend that you were in love with Kiertie and someone wanted to harm her. Would you protect her? Take revenge on her behalf if she was injured or killed?”

“No!”

Yes!

“I mean, she was someone I knew, so I’d want to see justice for her, but that’s all.”

Another lie. There’s a terrible guilt consuming him.

Borba pulled away, breaking the connection to my hand. “I think we’re done. I can’t stay any longer. There’s… there’s family work to attend to.”

A lie.

“I understand,” I said. “Thank you for the time you’ve given. It’s helped a lot. You don’t mind if I come find you again if I need more assistance?”

He’s uncomfortable. Guilt permeates his qi. He wants to get away from these questions.

“I don’t mind, though I may be busy. We have to prepare for the King’s hunt, after all.” He paused to think, his brow troubled. Reluctantly, he continued, “About the stories of love and revenge, it’s not good to listen to them too much. There are consequences the stories never explain.” He sighed. “I suppose that’s all. I’ll see you later, Eight.”

Borba then fled from the meditation room and the lodge, taking a portion of Yuki with him. I shut the meditation room door and closed my eyes.

Borba hurried through the village, and his greetings to his neighbors were brusque. That earned him some looks, but he knew he could mend those fences later. Right now, his gut ached.

The questions Eight asked had pierced through him as surely as any spear or arrow. It was almost like the boy knew what had happened and had intentionally goaded him, but that was foolish. As talented as Eight was, he was still just a boy.

Borba sealed the thought away—and the turmoil in his belly along with it. Hunting required a clear mind and a steady purpose. He’d continue to rely on those skills to see him through.

For now, there was work to be done, and Borba would find refuge in mending the strap on his backpack, weeding the garden, feeding the chickens and goats, and training his fighting forms. He’d been younger during the last hunt for the King of the Forest, and the experience had scarred him. He vowed to do better this time for his family, lodge, and village. He had so very much to make up for.

We didn’t learn anything new through the rest of the morning and afternoon, so I had Yuki watch Borba while I went back to Bihei’s longhouse. The kids had left a pot of porridge for me before heading out to work in the fields. I ate it, but didn’t really taste the food.

I liked Borba, and it upset me to suspect him in Grunthen and Bindeise’s deaths. The signs sure pointed that way, though, and Ghitha clearly knew something and was using the information to blackmail him. Was Borba the killer, or an accomplice? Was Ghitha also involved in the murders? Or had he somehow stumbled across Borba’s involvement and decided to use the information against him?

Hopefully tonight, once Borba went to sleep, we’d pull the answers from his dreams.

Kiertie was beautiful. There was no denying it.

When Ollie/Eight had encountered her zombie, the Status camera had said she was Comely. The talent was struck through at the time, but now, in Borba’s dream, we saw her young and alive: a woman who could have any villager she wanted.

Borba was one, briefly… until Kiertie eventually found a talented husband. The event wasn’t unexpected— her family demanded she marry well—but all the same, in the anguish of being separated, Borba fled Voorhoos for Voorhei.

He joined the Hunter’s Lodge and found success there. While he wasn’t as powerful as some of the other hunters, hard work was a friend to him. It helped him cultivate a steadiness that carried him along his Path to Perfection. The lodge recognized his efforts and made him a team leader.

Borba learned to be content—until Kiertie appeared at his door one day, this time a widow with a daughter in tow. Her comeliness had only grown over the years, becoming more refined with age, and his heart surged. His words came out all tangled; he felt like he’d been struck by the kalihchi bear.

There was a moment of fleeting hope, quickly crushed. She’d tracked down Borba for his knowledge, not his company. In her pouch was a map, and she said she needed the expertise of strong hunters to find the treasure to which it pointed. Borba was too ordinary, but surely he knew others who could help?

Hating himself, Borba pointed her at Woldec, the strongest in the lodge.

Kiertie and Woldec… none could deny they were a match. She saw herself in him, and he in her. Their heads huddling together became a common sight within the lodge.

Borba’s longing had never died. Being near Kiertie was both bliss and bane. Yet, he kept his turmoil hidden. While he lived and died with every word she spoke, he continued to support the wellbeing of his family, lodge, and village. He was an imperfect man, and the Path to Perfection was long and arduous.

So, when Kiertie asked for help in finding the eilesheile, Borba felt honored. He even agreed to keep his participation a secret from his team.

Borba’s role would be to maintain a fallback position for the expedition near the sugar maker’s fortified house in the forest. He would watch over the supplies and be ready to assist in case of trouble. The expedition’s goal was to sneak past while the King of the Forest hibernated, but a hunter was prepared for all eventualities. The sugar maker was a cranky old man, yet if there was trouble, he’d be obligated to take them in behind his walls.

On the day of the expedition, Borba waited at the fallback with his heart in his throat. Morning turned into afternoon, and afternoon into evening. Instead of easing, his nerves grew more and more taut with worry for Kiertie and her daughter Biaka’s safety. Wrapped in a cloak to protect against the winter cold, he waited into the deep hours of the night.

A sound at the sugar maker’s gate roused him. Had the expedition gone there directly? Had they returned without him seeing?

Borba rushed between the trees and through the gate. He found a panicked Grunthen alone. The skin on his face was blistered red. His clothes smelled of smoke and char.

Where were Kiertie and Biaka? Woldec and Akbash?

Grunthen didn’t know. He’d left them behind.

The King of the Forest had unexpectedly awoken as they’d been sneaking past. The air had shaken with rage at the hunters trespassing in his cave. Lightning had splashed against the walls, too much for Grunthen’s talent to handle. He had run, while the others were blocked by the King’s bulk and forced to retreat deeper into the cave.

The coward had left them behind, yet he made excuses and stuttered the explanation for his cowardice. If he’d stayed and fought, the village would have lost two element-touched instead of one. Woldec’s loss was unfortunate. And the others, including Kiertie, didn’t matter. They weren’t real hunters, after all. Grunthen’s survival was more important than theirs.

A wave of anger overcame Borba, turning his vision red.

He was an ordinary hunter, one who only knew how to work hard. Nothing he did could ever compare to Woldec or Grunthen’s feats. His lack of magic and mediocre talents would forever keep him outside the consideration of someone like Kiertie.

All Borba had were the skills he’d trained, which was how—as Grunthen turned to leave—he was able to step silently behind and draw his knife without the other hunter noticing. It was also how he knew to stab behind the kidney and immediately follow up by drawing the knife’s edge across Grunthen’s sputtering throat.

It was impossible for Borba to kill the King of the Forest—or save Kiertie—but he could avenge her death.

The courtyard was still. Borba only heard himself panting, his mind spiraling. Rage spun through him, but panic began to blend with it, as well as the realization of what he’d just done. Two of Voorhei’s element-touched were now dead, one by his hand.

And Kiertie was also dead. Horror choked him.

Borba ran, and panic took him through the forest, unthinking. Where was his steadiness? Gone. Gone and running mindlessly. Except, not completely—an impulse pointed him toward the kalihchi bear’s cave to throw himself at Kiertie’s killer and die alongside her.

His steps slowed; his breath came hard. The fear within him was still strong, and Borba realized there was also a desire to yet live. To save his family from the grief of his death and atone for his wrongdoing. To do so, though, he’d have to hide his crime. Borba would do no good to his family, lodge, or village if he were exiled in retribution for Grunthen’s death.

He turned back. There was cleansing fire in the expedition’s supplies. It could be used to dispose of Grunthen’s body. But where to put the remains? Voorhei’s hunters were skilled, and some had uncanny talents.

Borba grappled with the problem, but it was solved for him. Time had given him the space to think and wonder about the sugar maker, but when he went looking, the old man was gone. The compound was empty of life.

There was no reason for the sugar maker to be out in the middle of the night. Had he died among his maple trees? That wouldn’t have been a surprising fate. Being out in the forest alone was foolish for someone who wasn’t a hunter.

Borba wasn’t one to ignore good fortune, even when it came amidst tragedy. He placed Grunthen’s body in the sugar maker’s bed and set the cleansing fire on his chest. It should appear as if the sugar maker had died in a fire. There would be no sign of Grunthen anywhere.

A cold sweat soaked Borba’s back as he watched the flames rise. He wanted to scream in anguish, but a hunter’s discipline required silence in the forest. Many times he had to wipe his eyes clear.

The forest let him be, almost as if it knew what he’d done and had blessed his actions. Or perhaps it was mocking them. Like it knew the village was weaker now, and there’d be time later to take advantage of it.

The passage home was a blur. Safe in his bed, he tossed and turned all through the rest of that night, not sleeping at all. Then, the next morning, Ghitha was at his door. The man’s eyes were dead. Somehow, he knew everything.