Samples

"GO HOME".

A bone chilling ripple cascaded across my skin, my hairs standing up as I read the words from my notebook: hastily written chicken-scratch, in the dead-center of the page, clearly scribed by an unsteady hand, perhaps in motion, or simply... afraid.

I quickly glanced around myself, attempting to get my bearings.

Around me was a thick, orange haze. A lantern lay on the ground, its light dancing off thick atmosphere. It was impossible to see anything, and after trying for a while, my attention returned once more to the notebook.

I didn't remember writing the words, but I must have, because it was written in my own handwriting. I would recognize it anywhere. The idiosyncrasies gave it away, the way some letters melted together, something my sister frequently complained about, the nearly illegibly small font size... also something my sister frequently complained about.

But perhaps the most damning evidence was the smudge, at the bottom of the page.

Ink. A partial print. A black smudge matching the ink that was unmistakably glistening on my fingertips, not yet dry.

But how could that be?

And perhaps more importantly... where was I?

I placed my notebook away, standing up to get a better look around me, but the air was so thick that the lantern light scattered off of it, preventing me from seeing anything in the darkness beyond.

I couldn't possibly have been traveling like this, through a fog this dense. But as I reached my hand to turn the lantern off, something strange happened.

A horrible tightness in my chest gripped me. A primal fear. A survival instinct.

It shot through my nerves like a bolt of lightning, my muscles tensing suddenly, locking my joints into place, preventing me from moving.

Something in my brain, in my body, unbeknownst to my consciousness, knew something about the lantern, something I had yet to grasp.

I swallowed, my mouth dry, and lowered my hand.

I could feel my heart now, pounding against its cage, as my head twitched back and forth, squinting into the bright fog. I clenched my hands, wincing as cold sweat trickled into a cut on my palm.

What had I gotten myself into?

What was out there, that I was so afraid of?

I stared at the gravestone, glancing between it and Feelee.

"You really couldn't explain this over the letter?"

Feelee sighed.

"Would you have believed me?" she asked.

"I still don't," I said bluntly, yawning. "Just because there's a gravestone—"

"I know," Feelee replied, cutting me off, "but I asked the village elder to go through the records before you got here. There's only been one Mihn of Esh in their recorded history. I also spoke with their parents. Or, well, parent. The mother, Rheeda of Esh, died last year. Looked like a bandit attack. Saber wounds."

Feelee shook her head. "Anyway, I described the Mihn I had met to their father, and the father was in tears."

I raised an eyebrow.

"He believed you?" I asked.

"Heavens no," Feelee replied, "he cursed at me, called me a witch, and forcibly removed me from his home."

I laughed, rolling my eyes.

But as much as I wanted to dismiss the whole thing, I knew better than to brush off my sister's concerns. If she was this invested, it meant that her hunter sense was picking up something that I couldn't.

"Fine," I said, shaking my head. "Fine. What piqued your interest?"

Feelee's eyes lit up as she stepped closer to me, speaking in a hushed voice.

"When I first met Mihn, in Mora'Ares, I immediately recognized the name. See, the Hunter's Guild in Ido keeps close tabs on a lot of hunters, especially up-and-commers. They have like, files and files of recorded information about Rae, and Shrike, and—"

"Point," I interrupted her. "Get to the point."

"Right," Feelee said. "Anyway, so I'd actually spoken to the Guildmaster in a tavern, like a few weeks ago, and that's how I remembered the name. He was drunk, as Guildmasters tend to be, and he was telling me about how he was so sad, because there was a kid with so much promise, and you guessed it: their name was Mihn of Esh. He said the kid was so gifted, that they might be able to give Rae a run for her money."

I scoffed at the thought.

"Right?" Feelee laughed. "I had the same reaction. Brushed it off. But the name left an impression, because a young hunter who could've matched up to Rae? That's crazy. Who knows what they would've been capable of with their weaving? Anyway, so the Guildmaster says Mihn was in training to become a hunter, and had already started tagging along in hunts. They were like, 12 years old, mind you, and they were already taking on beasts solo. Obviously, it's hard to know how much of that is true, but still."

Feelee must've seen the impatience in my eyes, because she nodded quickly.

"Sorry," she said. "So Mihn, proficient weaver, could've been a huge deal in the Hunter's Guild. One day they go out, and vanish. Mihn's parents wait and wait and wait, and eventually, they send out a few hunters from the village to try to find them. The hunters spend days combing the area around Esh, until a hunter from Lakse finally arrives in Esh, having discovered Mihn's body deep in the Feral Woods."

"And—"

"The parents confirmed their identity," Feelee reassured me.

"The cause of death?" I asked.

Feelee's eyes lit up at the question.

"Unknown," she said.

I furrowed my brow.

"Did they do an autopsy?" I asked.

Feelee narrowed her eyes. "Come on, Ace" she said. "This is Esh, not Aleksanne."

I nodded. "Right, yeah."

"Anyway, no wounds on the body," she explained. "But Mihn was stone cold, without a pulse. They tried everything, medically, but they weren't able to resuscitate them. They buried Mihn after a few days, despite their parents begging them not to."

I sighed, biting my lip.

"And do we know what they were doing in the Feral Woods?" I asked.

Feelee shrugged. "He'd been there recently, but other than that, no."

I thought for a moment.

"When did Mihn reappear in the Beastlands?"

"Two years ago," Feelee said.

I looked back at the gravestone.

"So, about five years ago, a young hunter wanders into the Feral Woods, and nobody knows why. They're found dead there, with no cause of death, and then buried. Then, three years later, they show up in the Beastlands as a famous hunter and guardian of Mora'Ares?"

Feelee nodded emphatically.

"Does anyone here know about it?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I asked the Guildmaster, and he hasn't heard talk of Mihn since their death. And their father clearly doesn't know."

I nodded to myself, the gears slowly turning in my head.

A sly smile crept across her face.

"So, what do you think, Ace?"

I shut my eyes tightly as the group argued, their clamoring voices all fighting to be heard.

"Okay!" I declared, using Twinspeak to boost my voice, causing it to boom through the small, enclosed chamber.

Everyone quieted down as their eyes shifted to me, and silence quickly filled the void. I could finally hear my own thoughts again, along with the gentle trickle of water, far below us. I motioned for my sister to lower her weapon and she did, her spear tip clinking against metallic ore on the ground.

"Until we figure out what's going on, everyone needs to stay calm," I reminded them. "And nobody's going into the hole."

A momentary stillness in the air, though I could see discontent on the faces of Gahla and Fendrahl.

"I agree," Idel chimed in, still nursing his wounds. "Acir's right. We need to remain calm if we want to survive this."

Natovah didn't look convinced, her eyes darting around nervously.

"Yes?" I asked her.

Nat bit her lip.

"What about the note I found?" she squeaked.

"Not the note again," Gahla groaned, while Anri and Fendrahl both started arguing over one another.

"Stop!" I shouted, my throat growing hoarse.

They all settled down again as I wiped some sweat from my brow.

"Do you have some water?" Feelee asked Nat, who nodded. She went over to rummage through her bag for a while before tossing over a metal canister of water.

"Thanks," I said, drinking from it.

The canister was full and quite heavy as I handed it to Feelee.

"Regarding the note," I continued, looking around the group, their faces lit by the warm, flickering glow of Feelee's lantern, "until we know who wrote it, or who it's addressed to, there's no reason to believe that—"

"Acir," Anri said, interrupting me, her voice firm. "I get it. You're trying to help us stay calm, but someone brought this note in. Isn't that cause for concern?"

I glanced down at the note, but shook my head.

“For now—”

“Hold on a sec,” Gahla said, stepping forward. “Why should we listen to you to begin with? What authority do you have?”

“He’s a famous researcher,” Nat offered, shrugging. “I think that makes him at least credible.”

“A Black Essence researcher,” Gahla retorted.

I frowned. I had never mentioned that to any of them.

“But if anyone could figure out who the killer is…” Nat said, her voice drifting off.

“There is no killer,” Gahla groaned.

Anri snatched the paper from my hands before I could react.

"Eliminate the target in the Zulen Mines," Anri read out loud, and I winced. "Anyone want to remind me what the name of this place that we're trapped in is called?"

She slapped the note with her hand, looking around the room, before turning back to me.

"How can you tell us to 'stay calm', when there's an assassin among us?" she continued, "Unless you know something that we don’t? Unless you're the assassin?"

I sighed, tired of this rhetoric.

"The only people who I know with confidence are not an assassin is me and Feelee," I said dismissively.

"And the only people I know aren’t assassins are me and Nat," Gahla retorted.

"We weren't even supposed to be here," Anri complained, gesturing to Fen. "If we hadn't run into you and Feelee at the market, we would've still been at the tavern."

The group of them turned toward Idel, still sitting on the ground.

"Do I look like a bloody assassin!?" he demanded, cradling his injured wrist.

"I'd bet on the hunter with the red scarf and spear," Gahla growled.

I rolled my eyes.

"If Feelee wanted to kill you, the lot of you would be dead already," I explained.

"Ace," Feelee warned.

"What about you?" Anri asked. "How do we know you're not the assassin?"

"I'm an alchemist," I replied flatly.

"So what?" Gahla pressed.

"So, if I were an assassin, I would've just poisoned my target instead of trapping myself in a mine with them," I explained.

"And isn't that reassuring?" Gahla spat.

Feelee shook her head disapprovingly.

"Look," she said, stepping forward toward the middle of the room. "Maybe there's an assassin, maybe there's not. But arguing will get us nowhere. My brother's a professional at these kinds of things, so just let him do his job, and we'll all be out of here, safe and sound, in no time at all."

These kinds of things.

If we were in nearly any other circumstance, I would've agreed with her. But here, in the mines, surrounded by ore too heavy to dig through, a cave-in blocking our way out, and a bottomless pit seemingly being our only means of escape, this was hardly an ideal situation to confront a killer.

Not to mention that we were inevitably going to run out of air.