SWNOVELS Eight 2: Chapter 49
Inneioleia gazed down at his one good hand, which wasn’t so good anymore. Even though the skin was slack and wrinkled, the muscles underneath were taut—too much so to grip the clay mug easily.
He’d unstrapped his wooden hand and set it aside for now. The collar for the damn thing squelched on hot, humid days. It, and the cane to which it was now attached, stood propped up in the corner of Ghitha’s stable.
The smell of hay and horses filled Inneioleia’s nose. The heat made the stink of piss and defecation especially strong. Not that there were any animals left. They’d all been sold to pay Ghitha’s debts. The only things left in the stable were the mice and Borba. The hunter sat opposite Inneioleia, with a set of iron bars forged by the village’s smiths in between them.
Inneioleia drank water from the mug and placed it just outside the bars so that Borba could drink too. The former lodge master kept his distance, though, making sure to stay out of Borba’s reach.
Borba’s nails had grown as thick and dark as claws, and reddish scales grew along the backs of his hands and arms. His eyes were crazed, except there were flashes—moments when Inneioleia recognized the hunter who had once lived in that body before the rage had consumed him.
“Free me,” Borba said, his voice croaking. “I did what you asked, now free me.”
“I can’t do that,” Inneioleia said. “You attacked two of your lodge brothers.”
“I remember no such thing,” Borba said, frowning. His expression darkened, and his visage grew twisted as the darklight’s rage filled him once again. His voice rasped when he yelled, “Free me!”
Borba launched himself at the bars, his gaunt arms reaching through. Inneioleia sat back, but the bars held. There was no way they wouldn’t; the man looked like he’d been starved. The energies he’d consumed from the King of the Forest were long gone.
Intelligence returned to Borba’s eyes, and he retreated. “Sorry, sorry. My control slipped.” He licked his lips. “At least feed me. I’m—I’m so hungry.”
“The lodge brings food every day.”
“Not that,” Borba said. “Real food, like the bear. He was so good. I want more. Let me—just let me hunt. I’ll kill the threats the forest sends at the village—I’ll rend and tear them apart, suck them dry. The village will be safer. Just let me eat my fill.”
With a groan and creaking joints, Inneioleia levered himself to standing. He retrieved his cane and re-strapped the wooden hand in place. His fingers moved with practice, though not ease. Nothing was easy anymore.
He left the stable; he left Borba’s pleading behind him. It wouldn’t do any good to answer. There wasn’t much good possible now that Borba had reached this state. He’d be kept alive, though, having proven how useful he could be during the kalihchi bear’s hunt. It was the lodge’s assessment that the hunt would’ve failed without him.
Borba’s punishment had triggered a powerful talent, an incredible blessing and curse: the ability to temporarily absorb a creature’s qi and a portion of their abilities, but to also always be hungry. Used correctly, Borba would be a powerful weapon for the village’s protection. He’d replace the loss left by Grunthen.
Gods curse them, but Woldec’s family had sown a bitter harvest for the village to reap. The loss of Woldec and Grunthen. The transformation of Borba into a monster. The push to hunt the King of the Forest, and all that it entailed.
Before the King’s hunt, Inneioleia had expected to live another twenty years—enough time to properly season Little Mumu. He had looked forward to seeing her travel the path of the hunter, to watching as she developed the skills necessary before taking on the lodge’s responsibilities. Now, Inneioleia needed to quickly push the wisdom and lore required onto her, for any day could be his last.
Kesa would help. She was a blessing with her wit, her ease with people, and her tempered caution. And there was Eight too, or was it more accurate to say Yuki?
Inneioleia traveled back to the moment when the uekisheile had revealed themselves—the surprise, the alarm, and the epiphany. Suddenly there was an explanation for how an eight-year-old boy’s eyes could look so old. It was the ancient creature within him peering out. Eight’s uncommon wisdom and his quick rise had finally been explained.
It was a mystery, though, how much of Eight was the boy and how much was Yuki. Inneioleia felt a pang. Something of the original boy must’ve been lost to make room for the uekisheile. Everything in the world had a price. A hunter only had to be willing to pay it.
Inneioleia nodded to himself. The lodge would find out eventually. As Eight and Yuki learned to trust them more, and as they bonded with their brothers and sisters, they would continue to open up about themselves. Mumu would be there to hear the stories they told, and Kesa too.
It helped that Ikfael approved of Eight and Yuki. She would not do the village wrong.
A hunter knew to be cautious, though, and even now Mumu went to visit Ikfael to see with the lodge’s own eyes the relationship between the boy and the spirit. It was her way to put Kesa at ease.
It was good the two of them were fulfilling their responsibilities.
There’d been death and tragedy, but also seeds planted for the future. There was so much potential in Mumu, Eight, and Yuki. Perhaps Inneioleia might allow himself a small measure of hope: that the lodge would prosper, that the village would thrive, and that he might die without regret’s bitter taste still in his mouth.