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

The merchant Imsiikila walked around the ritual room to examine the tapestries and read the stories they told. He was a thickset man, and he wore a dusky-orange vest over a blue blouse and dark blue, almost-black, pants. His hat was more like a skullcap, and a gold tassel wound around it. He was also the first person I’d met in this world with mutton chops.

Mumu prepared tea for our meeting. The rest of the hunters had long gone home, it being eleven at night. However, this meeting wasn’t a secret—we’d told everyone we were interested in a trading arrangement with Imsiikila’s family. The excuse was even true. The only thing we hid was what we were trading.

Imsiikila turned around and caught me watching him. “People don’t trust a skinny merchant,” he said, gesturing to his body. “We need to appear prosperous in addition to being prosperous.”

“And the—” I didn’t know the Diaksh words, so I pointed to the sides of his face.

He smiled, clearly proud of his facial hair. “These help me to be remarkable. And what’s remarkable makes me memorable and easier to recall when a someone is in need.”

“So it’s all a performance?” I asked.

“Performance with a dash of truth,” Imsiikila said. “I could’ve chosen another way to be memorable, but the mutton chops were mine.”

“I met Uncle Kila two years ago,” Mumu said, pouring each of us a cup of tea. “Inleio introduced us. I had found a goba plant, fully ripened, and needed someone trustworthy to sell it.” She grinned at the memory, so the sale must’ve been lucrative—very lucrative, if the size of her grin was any indicator.

“And so it begins. The players are ready,” Imsiikila said, settling down by the fire. “What do you have for me this time, my dear Mumu? Another goba plant? The precious heart of some terrible creature? I am most curious to know.”

Mumu glanced at me, and I placed a pouch in front of the merchant, though it was only half full. The eilesheile was just too good a seasoning—delicious on a level where I had to hide it from myself or else I’d put it on everything I cooked.

I could always go back to the Red Room for more—the eilesheile was easy enough for Yuki to process—but I didn’t want to literally eat my fortune away. Not all of it, anyway.

Imsiikila raised an eyebrow when he hefted the pouch. “Light.” Then, he poured a bit of the dried eilesheile into the palm of his hand.

“Ah, it’s real,” Mumu said in awe. “I mean, I believed you, Eight, but it’s really real.”

Imsiikila was silent. His only reaction was a slight trembling of his hand. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Eilesheile, yes. It’s already been processed, so you’re welcome to taste it if you’d like to make sure.”

“Taste? Taste? Are you mad?” A drop of sweat ran down Imsiikila’s forehead. He carefully poured the eilesheile back into the pouch. “With the amount in this pouch, an alchemist can make five qi potions, priced at ten eltaak each. Why would I waste any by eating it?”

I must’ve had a guilty expression, because Mumu gulped. “Eight… you didn’t.”

Imsiikila’s eyes closed, the pain of lost profits evident on his face.

It was my turn to sweat. “Just a little. I’d heard it was delicious. But don’t worry… there’s more.”

Imsiikila’s eyes snapped open. “There’s more? Truly? It’s not just this pouch?”

“Before I answer, I need to know if we’re going to deal.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. My apologies for rushing. I was just surprised.” Imsiikila leaned back and took a breath to compose himself. “As I said, the Alchemist’s Lodge should be able to produce five qi potions from this amount of eilesheile, each worth ten eltaak. That is a grand total of two and a half antaak. Do you follow?”

I gestured for him to continue.

“The eilesheile is not the only ingredient in the potion, but it is the most rare. Understand that this is secret information not shared by the alchemists, but as a merchant it behooves me to study the lists of materials they buy and what is produced soon afterward. I share this information with you as a token of trust.”

“So how much do the alchemists pay for the eilesheile?” Mumu asked, her voice eager.

“The last I heard, it was an eltaak per potion.”

“So we’d ask for half a gold coin for the pouch?” I asked.

“Yes, unless we are able to offer a larger supply…” Imsiikila trailed off, fishing for an answer.

“We can.”

“And even more if it was a steady, permanent supply…”

“We can.”

Imsiikila breathed in deeply and blinked, his eyes bright. “I heard you were an orphan, my dear, precious Eight. Do you long for a family? A life larger than this village can afford? I—”

“Stop.” I lifted a hand to cut him off. “I have no interest in radically changing the circumstances of my life. I have a family already, though it is an irregular one.”

“A shame,” Imsiikila said. “I, however, will respect your wishes. But if you should change your mind—”

“Eight, you wouldn’t,” Mumu said, downcast.

“No, I wouldn’t,” I replied reassuring her. “Now, if you please, Imsiikila. How much?”

“You must call me Uncle Kila. We are going to be partners, after all. As for how much: a steady, permanent supply of eilesheile…” He cleared his throat and wiped his brow. “It will need negotiation, but perhaps two eltaak per potion.”

“You think you can get double the going price?” I asked, dubious.

After a pause to further consider the matter, Imsiikila nodded. “We would have to make certain guarantees about quantities and delivery dates, but yes, I believe so.”

“And how much would your portion be?”

“Ten percent, non-negotiable. That is already my best rate, and only because you bring such a fine product. I will be able to leverage it for more business with the Alchemist’s Lodge.” Uncle Kila looked me in the eyes. “See, that is another tidbit of information. Another token of trust.”

I looked at Mumu, and she nodded in agreement. “Ten percent is fair.”

“All right, then,” I said. “We have a deal.”

Uncle Kila laughed, slapping his knee. “Excellent! Most excellent! Now tell me, how much can you deliver and how often? No, wait, first you must assure me that you’re not participating in the kalihchi bear’s hunt. The thought of you in danger terrifies me.”

“Uh, I’m participating.” I stopped Uncle Kila from interrupting by continuing immediately, “You can’t change my mind.”

“Then is there someone else who knows the location of the eilesheile? I assume it’s a living colony, given your ability to reliably supply it?”

“Yes, it’s a living colony. And yes, there’ll be someone who’ll know the location.” My plan was to tell Ikfael about the Red Room before the King’s hunt, so she could share the location with Billisha and Aluali if anything happened to me.

“You wouldn’t consider telling me?” Uncle Kila asked.

“That’s correct, I wouldn’t.”

Uncle Kila’s grin turned wry. “Fair enough. We are still new to our relationship. But if there’s anything I can do, you must only ask. I want to demonstrate my trustworthiness to you.”

“There is something,” I said. “Actually, two things. First, can you purchase lightning-protection potions? And second, I’d like to buy the kalihchi bear’s core after the hunt.”

“Ah, you are both cautious and ambitious, two qualities not often seen together.” Uncle Kila smiled in appreciation. “To answer your questions, the bear’s core is easy to arrange, assuming a successful hunt. All that’s required is a fair price for the Hunter’s Lodge. As for the potions, I reserved two from the Alchemist’s Lodge already, thinking to sell them to the wealthier hunters in the village. That left only one potion in their stores. They might be able to make more, but it would depend on their supplies.”

“I’ll buy the two from you, and four more if they’re available.”

“Little Pot?” Mumu asked.

“For the team,” I answered. “I care about you all, and if it’s within my means to protect you, I will.”

Mumu pulled me into a hug. “You’re such a good child, but I can’t let you pay for the potions alone. We will split the cost.”

Uncle Kila coughed to get our attention. “It will be one antaak and four eltaak for the six lightning protection potions. Are you sure?”

I escaped from Mumu’s hug to ask a question in return. “What’s money if one’s not alive to spend it?”

“Cautious, ambitious, and wise. Won’t you please join my family? No, stop. You needn’t protest. I see your loyalty too. I withdraw my question and will do as you ask.” Uncle Kila sighed and looked forlorn, but it was surprisingly hard to tell if it was an act or not. I mean, it had to be—we barely knew each other.

“Who is the sixth potion for?” Mumu asked.

“Inleio,” I said.

And that was enough explanation. Mumu nodded in understanding.

Inleio was the lodge’s most potent fighter, as well as an important point of stability for the village. On top of that, he had a grudge against the King of the Forest, and from what I’d seen of the man, I knew that an encounter between the two was unavoidable.

“I applaud your care of the lodge’s elders,” Uncle Kila said. “Now, let us work out the logistics of our agreement. Timetable of deliveries, payments, and so on.”

“Mumu will be our point of contact,” I said. “She’s my partner in this.”

“There’s going to be a lot of money coming to us,” she said. “I was thinking we could use Bindeise’s treasure as cover.”

Ah, that’s a good idea! It would explain how we were able to afford the potions, as well as any other expensive purchases we make in the future. Clever, Mumu. Very clever!

“What’s this?” Uncle Kila asked. “A treasure?”

And so, I told Uncle Kila about the sugar maker’s ghost and the hunt for his killer. I spared him the details though, as they weren’t meant to be shared just yet.

I was partway through the story when an epiphany hit me—I knew how I could communicate with Bindeise about his killer.

The next day, the ballistae crews put on a demonstration outside the village. The atmosphere was boisterous, with adults and children delaying their work to attend. The crews handled the attention as if they were used to it, and smoothly sent several five-foot bolts downrange. Their targets were the archery butts the militia used for training.

Cassisia then invited the Hunter’s Lodge to demonstrate their own skills. That’d been arranged in advance, and both Mumu and Haol were ready with their weapons. First, they sent arrows at the butts, which was then followed by a friendly duel between them.

Well, it was supposed to be friendly. Mumu seemed to take a little too much pleasure in jabbing at Haol with her spear. It was all he could do to avoid the blunted spearhead. Did the two of them have a tiff?

Later, after they’d finished, I asked her if everything was all right.

Mumu nodded in response, but she had a glint in her eye. “My future husband has been too nosy of late about my business dealings. While a certain amount of interest is flattering, we are not yet married. But do not worry, I set him in his place.”

“I’m definitely not worried,” I said. “You know your people better than I do.”

That vote of confidence seemed to brighten her mood, and the two of us strolled through the village gate to attend a village-wide lunch hosted by the Hunter’s Lodge. The main course was an elk stew, served alongside greens sauteed in lard and a corn pudding.

The food was delicious, but I didn’t overeat. The rest of the day’s schedule would consist of intense training, and I didn’t want to throw it all back up later.

I stayed in the village for another full day—stocking up on milk, sugar, lard, barley flour, cornmeal, salt, and smoked turkey—before heading back to the Glen. I also made arrangements to meet with Mumu at the sugar shack later.

The route home was familiar, and the going was getting easier and easier. With my spirit eyes open, I was able to recognize which parts of the forest were disturbed and which were not. I also felt a new depth to the land.

When the trees swayed, it was like my own lungs breathing. When the birds flew, it was my hair ruffling. An itch that needed scratching turned out to be a bishkawi beating its hands on the trunk of a tree.

I watched him from hiding, but couldn’t figure out why he did it. Nor did he live long enough to see any result.

When I arrived at the Glen, Ikfael greeted me with open arms. Not for a hug though—she moved past me, ignoring the bishkawi carcass on a travois, to look in my backpack to see what was inside.

“Are you making donuts?” Ikfael signed.

I smiled. She was clever, our Ikfael. “That’s right. I have something for which I’d like to exchange.”

Ikfael sniffed a smoked turkey leg, her brows rising in surprise at the scent. “Include this and I’ll listen to your request.”

That didn’t bother me at all. I had been planning on it anyway, just for the sake of seeing an otter eating a smoked turkey leg. “Um, sure. I can do that.”

Ikfael nibbled at the turkey leg, tearing small chunks free and chewing, her little jaw working the meat. Ah, it was just as precious as I’d imagined.

She gestured for me to continue, and I cleared my throat. “I’d like your permission to invite a ghost to the Glen…”

The plan was simple, really, and I kicked myself for not thinking of it earlier. While my spirit eyes let me sense a ghost’s thoughts and feelings, there was no way for the ghost to understand me.

Every god provided the world with a gift, and Tenna’s Gift was to block communication with the dead—verbal, written, and signed. Bits of pantomime worked, as did simple crude drawings, but the line at which the gift took effect was blurry, involving a mix of intention, complexity of thought, and something else which I couldn’t quantify. No doubt there were spiritual rules at work I wasn’t aware of.

In any case, the dead could see the world around them. They bore witness to its everyday events. So why couldn’t I just act out the events of Bindeise’s murder?

Ikfael readily agreed in exchange for a dozen donuts, so I told her what was required. Then later that night, after we’d had time to prepare, I headed to the sugar shack to retrieve Bindeise.

Along the way, I once again regretted the lack of the Night Eyes spell, but consoled myself with the knowledge that the choice of Spark was improving my feel for lightning qi. That’d be my next spell though. I promised myself. In the meantime, I used a mix of enchantment and spirit eyes to travel by moonlight.

The sugar shack was the same as I’d last left it, except for a simple barrier at the gate to keep animals out. I caught a glimpse of Mumu’s spirit as she kept watch from hiding.

“Mumu,” I whispered, letting the land go.

“Here,” she whispered back. “Did all go well with Ikfael?”

“Yes, she agreed to intercede with Bindeise’s ghost. We just have to lead him there.”

Mumu moved the barrier aside and waved me through. In the distance, I heard an owl hoot, so I rushed to get inside. The bird didn’t sound big, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Well?” Mumu asked. “Is Bindeise here?”

The faint scent of an old fire clung to the ruined buildings. Nothing moved nearby; there was only stillness in the compound. I walked around to make sure, but there was no sight of the sugar maker’s ghost anywhere.

“Maybe he’s where we found his body?” I said.

Mumu nodded and led the way. Luckily, she had the Night Eyes spell, and we traveled faster as a result. While she broke the path for us, I kept watch for owls and other predators.

We found Bindeise’s ghost sitting across from his body’s remains. There were only bones left, broken and scattered by scavengers. He contemplated them with an expression that was sober and sad. The intense anger that had been there before had drained away, leaving him… tired.

Mumu stood guard so that I could work with the ghost. He only had eyes for his bones, though, and seemed stuck, unable to look away. Nothing I did got his attention, so I knelt beside them and put them back in order, like assembling a macabre jigsaw puzzle.

The heaviness in the air dissipated, and a hint of gratitude was left in its place. When I looked up, Bindeise’s attention was on me. I gestured that he should follow, and he nodded.

Mumu led the way to the Glen.

Ikfael was waiting for us, but in the giant water form she’d used on the solstice. It was how she presented herself to the people of Voorhei. I knelt and bowed alongside Mumu, though what surprised me was that Bindeise’s ghost also did the same.

Ikfael began the show. She gestured, and water rose from the pool to take the shape of the sugar maker. She’d never seen him before, so she based his appearance on his ghost. He looked like a character from a black-and-white film that’d been colorized—Ikfael doing her best to imagine his appearance as he’d been in life.

I watched Bindeise’s ghost. He leaned forward in surprise, and then rocked back as Ghitha also arose out of the water. Shock, disbelief, confusion—his face contorted from emotion to emotion as he watched the events of the night of his death play out.

Ikfael had spent the whole afternoon and evening preparing, and it showed in the details. Her stories were usually fun, with lots of adventure and excitement. The death of Bindeise though—this story carried an intensity missing from her others.

It was the story of a senseless death, a death for nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, that wasn’t right. The death came even though he was in the right place at the right time. Bindeise had been home, after all, where he was supposed to be, and death had come to call regardless.

That was the first part of the story. The second part began with Inleio interrogating me about the murders, and it ended with Borba’s punishment and Ghitha’s death. That latter hadn’t happened yet, but it was only a matter of time based on what Inleio had told me. The lodge master was just waiting for the kalihchi bear hunt’s completion before acting.

This section of the play didn’t have the same intensity as the first, but Bindeise remained engrossed throughout. His expression was… hungry.

Yeah, it’d be best if I wrap up this situation soon and help him move on. Hungry ghosts were never good.

Mumu interrupted my thoughts, though her words were spoken tentatively: “Could… could I…”

I’d ignored her during the performance, but when I looked now, tears ran down her cheeks.

“Could I see that again? If I brought gifts in exchange? The story was so, so beautiful. I’ve seen a mummer’s play once, in Albei, but it was nothing like this.” Mumu grabbed me by the arm. “Do you think so? Could you ask?”

I had been so focused on Bindeise it took a moment to switch gears and understand what she was saying—to understand that I’d just introduced Mumu to cinema.

Ikfael’s form disappeared into the pool with a splash, and Mumu’s face fell. The story was done, and there’d be no more tonight.

“Mumu, I need you to focus. Let’s deal with Bindeise and his treasure first, and then we can talk about asking for this boon.”

Mumu got herself together. “Yes. Right. The treasure. Of course. I was just… just never mind. Will Bindeise’s ghost show us the treasure’s location now?”

Said ghost looked more solid than he had before. He pointed to where Ghitha had stood last, and made a stabbing motion. I nodded in response to confirm the man would die, and the meaning seemed to carry. He then looked around the Glen, as if to remember this moment, and gestured for us to follow.

It turned out that on the night of his murder Bindeise had been heading to collect his treasure. We found it buried under an oak tree not a hundred yards from where he’d been stabbed. The chest was a little over a foot long and a foot wide, and it was buried about three feet deep.

The interior didn’t disappoint. We cracked the lid and saw a pile of silver coins and the glimmer of a few gold ones too. Mumu giggled like a little girl, and well, maybe I did too. We rushed back to the safety of the Glen in order to go through the chest’s contents.

We each counted the coins twice to make sure all the numbers added up, and there were nine and a half antaaks’ worth of coins in the chest, of which a little over seven and half were mine thanks to the agreement I’d made with Mumu, where we decided to split the treasure 80-20.

I owed her three antaak for the loan for my new mail, which still left me with four and half. Subtracting my share of the payment for the lightning protection potions meant there were about four antaak left over. Then there was the money I needed to set aside for taxes, including what I’d pay instead of contributing silverlight.

That number was fuzzy, and it wouldn’t be determined until my spirit could be examined near the end of the year when all the silverlight consumed by the villagers was tallied. Still, based on the information I’d gathered from the hunters in the lodge, I could expect to pay an eltaak for every hundred silverlight gathered.

I’d come to the village with 763 silverlight, but my fee to the Hunter’s Lodge had covered all my outstanding taxes at the time. Since then, I’d collected almost a thousand more silverlight, so that was half an antaak. We were only halfway through the year, though, so it’d be wise to set aside at least another half an antaak more, maybe even twice that.

And then there were the regular taxes, including what Bihei owed. The widow had effectively joined the family, and it’d be hard for her to pay with just her and the kids working the fields. There was no way I’d leave her hanging.

I’ll set aside three antaak for taxes, then. That sounds like a lot, but it covers everything the family will owe for the year, and anything I make after tonight will be pure profit. For now, I have one antaak for discretionary spending, and that should be more than enough, even with all the expenses for our upcoming hunt.

There were about twenty more days until then, and I expected them to fly by in a flurry of anxious activity.

Worrying about my taxes might’ve seemed silly in the face of that, but in a strange way it was a vote of confidence on my part. It meant I expected to survive the hunt, and the village would too. There’d be no great tragedy, and we’d all have to continue worrying about the little things, like taxes.

A dangerous hunt was approaching, and I’d do everything in my power to protect the people I cared about and the life that I’d built with them.