Rune Doll

[Kyrieath]

Yes, started on another story. This one will probably never be published and isn't even intended for that so enjoy. I'll post updates as they happen.

Fair warning; some mild gore. If you're playing Istaria, I promise you've seen worse among the Aegis. Commentary is welcome and encouraged; this is essentially just me practicing writing in third person and past tense.

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Foolish were creatures who thought there was but one world on which to live; more foolish yet those who did not understand a ‘world’ need not be some ball of rock, dirt and water whirling in an endless void. A world could exist within the shadows of another, in its dreams and nightmares or in its sky, between the clouds they thought they understood.

They being humans of course; those children of the World of Day and Night who thought their machines, their science, explained all that was and ever would be. They unearthed massive bones and called them ‘dinosaurs’, claiming they now knew where the ‘myths’ of dragons had come from.

They dug up their own ruins and claimed to then understand what inspired ancient legends when different societies found different ruins.

I will not say they are wrong to think that true; it has undeniably happened in some cases. But to think the other worlds do not exist simply because they explain them away…what folly. Sometimes they learn this for themselves.

And it is always to their grief.

The old Dwarf set the quill down as he watched the words soak into the parchment, pondering over them for a time. Perhaps he should seek some way to cast that page into the human world, to see it printed by their machines and carry the warning to their young.

“..Pointless…they would simply call it fantasy.” Disgust laid thick in the Dwarf’s tone as he turned to the source of his most recent pondering. A young Man- ah, they call them ‘human males’ now, don’t they? – laid out on his work table, blissfully unconscious; blissfully unaware of the state of his form.

“I could send you back as you are.” The Dwarf stomped over and observed him for a moment. Three limbs hopelessly mangled beyond recognition if one did not know how a human should look; the one ‘whole’ limb still scarred in ways sure to impede its movement. “But for all their ‘science’; could they give you what you need?”

‘Prosthetics’, he’d heard them called in his wanderings near that border of shadow and light. False limbs, but to the old Dwarf’s eyes, little better than the days they would simply tie a wooden stick to one’s worthless stump. So they bore a stronger resemblance to true limbs; they hardly functioned as such. His craftsman’s heart wept to think they considered these such amazing things when he knew he could craft better in his long vanished youth.

“No; you would just be given a hook and a chair with wheels.” He’d grant the ingeniousness of the latter invention for a race that could not create limbs that behaved as limbs. Those once condemned to wither away in their own homes, unable to travel without the aid of another met that fate no longer unless they chose it. “Not such a bad fate if you learn it. Many of your kind manage it.”

He had his own skepticism about this one’s ability to do so in the form of what the other unfortunate victim, tucked mercifully under a shroud, carried in its arms. That one’s burial would come in time; alas for fools who wandered into a wight’s den.

“But I suppose you could not have known any more than any other of your kind.” He patted the shrouded corpse gently, pityingly; he had not seen humans for many centuries but he knew these two to be young even by their standards. The survivor was perhaps just standing at his beginning years of manhood; the one beneath the shroud was only a child. And still cradled in that child’s hold was what had brought them to this fate: a black and white ball of some odd, bouncy material. They had dove into a wight’s den to fetch it back- a toy of some sort.

How fitting a Dwarf in his fading years, once known for his mighty weapons and armor and now little more than a toymaker, should be the one that found them. He would have that odd ball to study; but pity kept his hand at bay from taking it from the child for now.

The Dwarf returned his attention to the survivor now, looking again to the ruined limbs. The form that bore them had been strong; the body of an athlete, perhaps, or simply one given to an active, fast moving life. In earlier years of the human world, perhaps he would have been a warrior or knight; the sort the Dwarf had seen sent to a living death when even one limb was taken from them.

How would one who had lost all but a single limb see life?

“No concern of mine; you are no child to be pitied and coddled.” He tucked his braided beard into his belt as he approached his work table. He’d simply keep the survivor until he healed enough to be sent away back to his own kind and he had laid the little one to its rest.

A Dwarf’s hands always knew their heart better than the mind, however. As the human began to drift in and out of his slumber, calling out for what he assumed the younger…the toy he had begun work on had taken a shape he had not intended. A doll he had thought to make; but the limb was far too large unless he wished to craft a much larger one than ever before.

“Alex….” That sad moan came again as the human failed his climb into consciousness once more. Perhaps the body would not even survive; he seemed ripe to join the younger in death. Each awakening came further and further apart.

“…Pity is certain to be the end of me.” The Dwarf set the limb down and began another, though now he moved between the two tables. First to study the human, then to step back and begin his work anew. He could, perhaps, simply seek to replace the limbs; but to what end if Death already had its claws in this one? “The wight will have you yet; I have no doubt it prowls beyond my door, just waiting for your soul to depart the flesh. Death is an enemy not even the strongest of my armors has truly stopped, only delayed. And you need far more than armor.”

Foolish, perhaps, to talk to an unconscious human. They had never been noted for having any senses beyond those that sit upon their faces and bodies. But still the Dwarf spoke on, in a potentially vain hope the voice would at least provide a rope to the fading life in the ruined form.

“That is the fate of your companion; children are ever quick to fall to a wight’s touch.” That had been the true tragedy of what he had found on following the screams to the wight’s den. What a fight the survivor must have put up to try to defend the younger, unaware the child- Alex?- had been doomed the moment the wight’s shadow had been upon them. “Too young to understand the fear Death brings; too wild and alive to realize they should hold their lives dear.”

And so the doll continued to take shape beneath his hands. A torso grew out of wood and metal, intricate in its detail. No simple block of wood and metal pins; so many small pieces had given it shape and movement. A puppet more than a doll, perhaps…or perhaps like one of those dolls he had risked his own ventures into the human world to behold. Dolls that could stand as those who played with them, that could be posed and moved in nearly any way their owners desired. Dolls meant to be played with, to be used, rather than simply sitting up on a shelf to be admired in their pretty clothes.

They were blind creatures to the other worlds but one could not deny their ingenuity. Only doubt their wisdom in so readily forgetting they were not alone.

“Best to cling to yourself now, boy.” Those words are spoken as another cry of ‘Alex’ rose from the prone human. “But do not speak your own name yet. The wight is no doubt near; your name will be your death knell if you speak it too soon.”

Yes, no doubt at all that the wight was near and no little displeased with the Dwarf that had stolen away its meal. Yet it was plenty wise to not seek entry into the Dwarf’s home. There was not a Dwarf in any of the worlds that did not keep a fire in his hearth and forge; he’d fast cast the foul thing in it and be done if it dared venture in.

Time moved on slowly, painfully so as the Dwarf continued his work. Limbs to properly fit the doll he carved, articulated as his finest armor. His crafter’s heart swelled with pride as he folded the fingers to a fist and then loose again; his finest work since he had left behind the ways of weapons and armor, no denying.

“Be sure to appreciate what I do for you, human. Heh…though I suppose I cannot call you ‘human’ much longer.” He had little doubt there would be no appreciation; but this old and war weary Dwarf had come to these bordering lands long ago to escape needless deaths. He would not stand idly by and return this one to his rightful world just to die…no more than he had stood aside to allow the wight what should have been its rightful prey.

The hardest part by far was to craft for the mere body was the head of the doll. He could have simply carved one and called it done…but a look to the human brought a heavy sigh from the Dwarf. To save the life and soul he was sacrificing the body; humans placed so much of themselves on their features. Was he to rob this one of his identity then?

“Easy now; this will not take long.” Words proven wrong as the unconscious human fought the mold settled over his face; panicked in his struggle to live to think himself being smothered, perhaps. Many were the molds discarded as worthless…but at last the Dwarf stepped away, satisfied with the casting he took with him.

Time was running out; of that he had no doubt. But the knife did not hurry in its carving, the hammer in its striking. At last, the two final pieces had been crafted for the doll; the head and the case to hold the house of the human’s life and soul: his heart.

The head was quickly affixed; but the finer details of the doll’s crafting would have to wait. The figure on the table had been silent for some time now, his breaths only the slightest of movements. The Dwarf raised the chest of the doll, as yet left loose for this final step. He would have to move quickly or the life would flee before the runes upon the case and within the doll could anchor it.

“I wish there were a kinder way to do this, human; but perhaps you are so far gone you will feel none of it.” The torn and bloodied cloth of the shirt is tossed aside; only a few strips kept for the still damp blood upon them. With those he painted the runes to bind the life for a moment or two longer, then fetched his old axe from where it had rested for so long. No tool for the chopping of wood; this had existed only to destroy life in his fellow beings.

Fitting then he should use it now to save one.

A strangled scream rose from the human’s throat as the blade found its way into the flesh of his failing body; laying bare the heart between the torn and rune painted skin. The Dwarf was quick not to ponder what he did long; the sharp edges of the carved case snapped about the heart, cutting it free of its form. Within the case, however, the beat continued even as the body shuddered and eyes glazed.

Each beat came slower than the last however; he did not have much time.

With hands he commanded not to tremble in haste, he set the case within the doll’s chest. He spoke the runes, tracing them over with a finger cut along the blade of his axe; the human’s blood to anchor the heart to the doll. His own blood to imbue it with the magic the human lacked, to give life to what was only dead wood and metal severed from its earthly mother.

There laid only one last spell to cast; to truly bind the soul and life to this form.

“I am Ingvar, son of Ingemar, of the Mountainborn. I bid forth your name, human, that our pact may be made.” On the case of the heart, he wrote the runes of his own name, then waited, staring at the doll’s immobile mouth. If the human had faded too far during the casting…this would all be for nothing and the wight would be eating well.

“I am Ingvar, son of Ingemar, of the Mountainborn! I bid forth your name, human! Make our pact!” Again silence answered his demand. Frustration began to build as he stared hard at the doll, waiting for some semblance of life to take hold in it. He began to step away, defeated, when at last a faint whisper rose from the doll’s wooden lips.

“…Ryan…Chand...ler…” The Dwarf swiftly ran his finger through the drying blood on the axe, then leaned in once again to paint new runes along the heart; an approximation at best but what was he to do when the human had the ill grace to have a foreign name?

“Then our pact is made, Ryan of the Chandlers. Your life and this form to hold it in return for a year and a day of service to me.” A small enough price to ask for saving his life, eh? And it would give him time to learn this world…he could surely never return to his own in a body such as this.

Beyond the walls of Ingvar’s smithy and hovel, the wight wailed in defeat then crawled away to its den once more, defeated.

(to be continued)

[Kyrieath]

Events whirled in a confused mass in Ryan’s mind. He could recall some things easily enough; he had taken Alex out for some soccer practice…hopeless though it was. His little brother was definitely one of those kids better suited to playing with video games or reading books. Unless nature had some kind of surprise in mind, Alex was always going to be frail bodied and just too tiny for the sports he seemed so obsessed with.

A point he had tried to get across to him by showing just how far he could kick the ball compared to his brother. Alex was fourteen; if he couldn’t kick it even half as far after trying this long, Ryan fully intended to drag him kicking and screaming to a book store and find something there for him.

Not nice, maybe; but better than seeing his kid brother coming home with bruises like he just crossed one of the local gangs simply because he couldn’t take the beating of a good ol’ fashioned soccer game, eh?

The ball had flown further than he’d intended though; going off into the woods and down into some hollow under a tree. Ryan had been ready to write the ball off as lost then; he could just buy Alex a new one. His brother hadn’t been so willing, however; the ball was autographed by some local player he idolized. So off he’d gone into woods that plainly had ‘no trespassing’ posted all over the nearest trees; confident he could get the ball and back out before anyone noticed. It wasn’t as if it was deep in; they could see it, if just barely, under the tree.

What happened after…he wasn’t sure. Alex had started screaming; that had been all it took to send him running after. A wolf or bear maybe; they still turned up in spots like this, despite the city sprawling not so far away. He had tried to grab Alex and pull him back; but something had been wrong.

Alex was so cold to the touch, so rigid…then something awful had reared up just beyond his brother. He couldn’t remember what it looked like; just the scent…like meat left overlong in the sun, then thrown in dirt. It made him gag and choke, taking in air suddenly painfully cold…and Alex still wasn’t moving.

Then that…thing…had lunged forward for Alex; he had thrown his arms around him and kicked out at it to try to force it back.

After that, there was only pain to recall in full though other things, sounds, had invaded through that veil sometimes. Something screaming; a gruff voice shouting…then talking here and there. Just that gruff voice…never Alex’s, no matter how much he tried to call out to his brother.

The pain had dulled for a time; then it had returned in a sudden blade. He had simply wanted to die then, to get away from it…but that voice returned, speaking strange words. Something had clutched at him then, compelling him to speak his name. It had hurt, crushing him in some way he didn’t understand. He had held his voice in hopes it would simply fade…but the pressure returned again, more demanding. He tried to speak then, forcing his name out between lips that felt oddly rigid.

Then the pain had gone away; he felt nothing at all. No pain, no sense of touch at all…just a blissful nothingness that had allowed him to fall into a blackness that swept everything away.

Now, however, in the mass of those confused and painful memories, other things were emerging. Light, for one, though it didn’t sting at his eyes as logic indicated it should. The lack of sensation also brought its own worries as he looked around; he should be feeling something beneath him…of that he was sure. Yet all he had was a sense of awareness…he was lying on something, that much was plain. But he couldn’t feel it.

“What…hap..pen..ed?� The words come out oddly; past lips that seem to refuse to move and with a complete lack of that familiar vibration in the throat. He tried to sit up, only to find his form unwilling to accommodate him that far. Something held his wrists and ankles down.

That gruff voice from earlier called out again at that, saying something Ryan couldn’t quite make sense of. After a moment, a face appeared over his, buried in coarse, gray hair; he couldn’t begin to tell where the hair ended and eyebrows and beard began. The face beneath it- what he could see of it- was broad; massively so with a squat and equally broad nose protruding over the beard. The eyes were deep set, hard to see beneath the brows but undeniably fixed on him as the figure barked out what sounded like a question…again in that odd language.

“I…don’t…un...under…�

“English. Hmph.� The gruff figure dropped back some at that, heavy arms coming into view as he crossed them. “Well you are plainly aware; but you will not be moving about as yet. You are not finished and no work of mine is walking where others can see not even half done.�

Ryan lapsed back into silence at that, baffled. This had to be some sort of strange dream; that bear or whatever it was must have knocked him out. He was probably in a hospital bed right now, restrained so the doctors could work on him maybe; the dream was just working with that.

It had to be.

“Stop making such faces; it makes it hard to do the detailing.� The figure moved out of sight once more, but something else came into view that was far more attention grabbing. A blade of some kind, held in broad seeming fingers. Ryan tried to pull himself away, but he soon found his head was resting in some kind of brace. He closed his eyes, waiting for the pain of the blade…but felt instead only a dull sort of scraping.

“There now; that was not nearly so bad as you thought, eh?� The voice is somewhat scolding and amused all at once; though other tones laid to it Ryan wasn’t quite sure of. “Just relax for now, Ryan. You are not going to be going anywhere or doing anything for some time yet.�

Ryan let his eyes stay closed at that; it really had to be a dream. Though why he would dream about hairy, old sounding men was beyond him. It had to be something he was hearing in reality; his doctor trying to calm him after some medicine perhaps? Another thought broke through the beginning rest, however, forcing his eyes open though the scenery above hadn’t changed. Still some strange, rough looking rafters and the occasional flash of the blade.

“..Alex…where…�

“…Quiet now; I am detailing your mouth.� That blade had been no where near his mouth, he was sure…but now it scraped there, one of the...man’s? heavy hands over his lips to keep them still.

“…There will be a time for your questions; but you will need to do other things for now. Your world has changed in the most literal of ways possible, Ryan.� The voice had by no means softened from it’s gruff, gravely sound…but the tone is what caught his attention as that knife did its work. It was decidedly unhappy; perhaps even guilty?

“For now; rest.� The hand holding the blade swept up over his face again briefly, tapping him lightly between the eyes. The world promptly began to slip away again, pulling that comforting blanket of darkness around him.

Ingvar looked down at the ‘doll’, honestly at a loss. He had acted to save the human and had succeeded in denying him to the wight at least; but he had given little thought to how to proceed from there. A year and a day of service is what he had bound Ryan to; but would the human cooperate? Or would he simply resent what had been done to him?

The Dwarf shook his head and returned to his work, determined to see the body at least presentable before the human woke again. He had both bodies wrapped and ready to bury though he hesitated there as well.

Should he return them to their world? Surely they had family that would wonder at their fates. And it was not as if Ryan could return to that world in a body born of Dwarven craft. It was the curse of that world’s sun and disbelief in things they could not explain that would undo the runes and kill him as surely as the wight would have, if not so completely.

“His choice to make…when he is settled enough to make it.� With that dilemma as settled as it would be for now, Ingvar returned to his work. There were runes to be set, details to yet be carved into place. There would be no disguising what the form was, but it would be a work of art to be proud of.

He could only hope the human would share that point of view.

The Dwarf stepped away from the work table after a time, kneeling by the wrapped corpses of the two humans. The shrouds had kept the decay from their forms but he pondered again the wisdom of his course. He had little doubt letting Ryan see his own body in such a state would get no kindly result; but he would inevitably ask after it.

And then there was the little one, Alex. Though the flesh was unmarred, the terror of his final moments was not to be so easily wiped from his features by death. A death he had little doubt Ryan had sought to defend him from, unaware it was far too late the moment the younger boy had beheld the wight.

Gently, the Dwarf took the odd patchwork ball from the child’s hands and set it up on a shelf. He rebound the shroud then and looked to Ryan, ‘asleep’ on the table. There was much work to be done still; perhaps all in vain if Ryan chose death after all. A choice the Dwarf meant to discourage in all possible ways.

And that decided his course now. Setting his tools back up for now and recasting the spell to hold the ‘doll’ in its inactivity, Ingvar gathered up the shrouds of both bodies in his hands and began dragging them away. He would return them to their world; it would pain their family, of that he had little doubt…but better some closure for them. And perhaps it would close the door to that world for the soul within the doll to know he no longer had any place to even try to reclaim.

He would give the wight no further victims, however. Let the humans puzzle over it with their strange guardsmen and devices as they liked; as he neared the shadows that touched into the human world, he bore the bodies away from the wight’s realm. He walked until he found a place well away from any taint of the darker denizens of these lands and settled the bodies in plain sight. It may be a day or two before they were found, but found they would be and without the danger of such creatures as the wight.

The Dwarf pulled the shrouds away, then waved his hands about a moment, seeking a ray of sunlight. On his side of this place, all was dim and in eternal twilight, but here and there, the light crossed. He grimaced as the shaft he sought brushed his skin; painful and unwelcome the sun of the human world. It was as unforgiving to his kind as their disbelief toward all things they could not explain was. But that shaft he bent in his hands, grimacing at the burns beginning about his fingers, shining it down on the bodies.

What that world’s light touched it claimed with no will in them to resist; the bodies disappeared from Ingvar’s world, now within their own again. The Dwarf released the light, the skin of even his fire-hardened fingers protesting the agony that simple act had invited. He turned his back to the now empty grove and began his way back, pausing here and there to collect things he thought might do well by the work that awaited him back home.

A year and a day he had to convince the human of his new existence; he could only hope his patience was as up to the trial as his skills had been for the crafting of the doll. Perhaps they should even leave this area for the time being; go far from the borders of the worlds and let him find a place in this world.

Lost in his thoughts as he walked, the Dwarf paid little mind to the crunching of leaves and twigs around him. He took only a few steps more before he was struck sprawling, the air suddenly filled with the scent of rot and filth. He rolled aside quickly as the wight’s deadly, skeletal hands dove where he lay, shattering the ground as the Dwarf regained his footing.

Cursing himself for an inattentive fool, the Dwarf cast around for his hammer; the axe had been left behind as something he never wished to use again…but no Dwarf of any persuasion ever left himself unarmed or unarmored out of their home. As the wight lunged again, he spotted the haft of it jutting out just behind where the monster now stood. The wight snarled as its small target darted beneath its attack, rolling to grab the hammer up and bounce to his feet again, old bones groaning with the motion.

He had come to this place for a peaceful end to his days after a lifetime of warfare; every move against a creature he once would have cut in twain with hardly a breath of effort in his youth advised him how wise that choice had been. Wights were hardly the most intelligent of opponents, but they were fast and difficult to drop if you could not simply shatter their form.

He doubted his arms held the strength to do such any longer.

The two opponents circled, Ingvar brutally aware time favored the wight. His hands were still burning from the sun’s light and failed to hold his hammer tightly; there would be no solid connecting blow with the wight on its guard. A pity his blow back in its den had only stunned the sickening thing…he could have saved himself this if he’d only had the strength and time to slay it then.

“Come then; let us see if an old warrior is any more appetizing to you than human whelps!� Ingvar charged forward, hammer leading the way…and as expected, the wight merely ducked aside, hands reaching to tear against the Dwarf’s mail. Its fingers hooked and tore into the rings as Ingvar sought to bring his hammer about; the close range favored them both. It simply depended on who accomplished which first: if Ingvar could bring his hammer about to ram the thing, he may stun it again. If the wight tore the mail…his insides would soon follow.

The biting cold of its touch had begun to indicate which of them had won the contest when a shout rang out, distracting the wight briefly. It shoved the Dwarf away suddenly, turning to charge for the voice; it recognized the cry of the one that had escaped it before. Its rightful prey returned to the field, it seemed, the wight paid little heed to the Dwarf struggling back to his feet, then heaving his hammer up with both hands. With a swing that turned him about from the force of it, Ingvar launched the hammer after the wight, nearly knocking its head from its shoulders.

The Dwarf charged after the hammer, knowing full well the monster was hardly finished. As the shadowed figure of the doll he had been crafting cowered back in the shadows in shock, he seized the weapon up and began to pound down on the wight’s skull and form; shattering the bones and ragged flesh into the ground with every blow. At last the limbs stopped twitching and it lay silent; a ruined mass of rotting flesh no longer possessing the will to kill.

Ingvar rose up from his kill and turned to face Ryan fully, scowling as he noted the damage to the wrists and ankles. That would take quite some time to properly repair. For the moment, however, a more important matter loomed up as he looked to the ‘human’ he had placed within the doll. Wooden and rough as the face was, the horror was plain enough in those eyes at what he had beheld.

There was little enough help for it now. Ingvar rose and wiped his hammer clean of the wight’s filth, then looked at the boy squarely, resting the head of his weapon on the ground between his feet.

“Call it revenge for your Alex if you wish; for surely your appearance gave me the ability to strike a killing blow. I am no young one, old by even my own kind’s thinking. This kill is more yours than mine; I grant you that.� The Dwarf trundled forward then, reaching out to take the doll’s wrist and begin guiding him away. “But this by no means cancels your debt to me; and now more you have incurred to fix what you did.�

“…This isn’t….real. It can’t…it’s…a dream…� The words were barely coherent to the Dwarf, who promptly hid his grimace under a scowl.

“It is no dream, boy. This is your world now and you will learn its rules- the first of which being never let your mind wander after you have angered a wight. They are stupid monsters but tenacious as well.� The doll offered little resistance as he guided him on, too stunned, perhaps. As brutal as the human world seemed to the Dwarf, its residents seemed ever shocked or horrified at seeing the results of a life or death battle.

“It’s no dream, boy.� The Dwarf reiterated as they reached his door. “None of it.� Ingvar turned to study the doll again a moment at his continued silence, growing uneasy at it as he studied the face.

Realization dawned shortly thereafter why the silence; he quietly guided the boy in and shut the door behind him to consider his own course for what was certainly not going to be the last time.

For there had never been a Dwarven craftsmen so skilled they could create a doll that could cry. All they could do was sit silently.

[Kyrieath]

Ingvar spent the next several days with a silent companion as he worked to finish the form he had set the human’s heart into. Though plainly aware, Ryan had made little attempt to communicate after that initial attempt to find his brother.

Little by little, the form took on a less rough look; color was painted along the lips and the last of the rough patches of wood smoothed. On a sudden inspiration, the Dwarf had begun carving and engraving other runes into the wood and metal that would be hidden by the garb he meant for it. A creature born mostly of painted wood could not wear armor, after all; it would do him as much harm as good.

And the working of those runes kept him busy as well; so he did not have to contemplate the doll’s continued silence. As he drew nearer to its completion, however, he found himself waiting for some reaction from Ryan. At the very least an opinion; this was his body that was being shaped; how many people could claim to have had a say in it?

And yet he remained little better than the doll he outwardly appeared; still and silent.

Within that silent stillness, Ryan’s mind and heart were anything but quiet. He raced through his memories over and over again, trying to find something to deny the strange ‘man’s’ claim that this was not a dream. Alex could not be dead; that was just a nightmare.

What he had seen the…man destroy; it was just a dream. A nightmare from one too many horror movies made worse by being under some sort of drug in a hospital somewhere. This sort of thing only happened in books and cheesy movies; people didn’t just die by being touched. And they certainly didn’t die because something dead had touched them.

And he certainly could not have…heard? Felt? his own body being drug away like so much meat. The denial had driven him to drag out of that strange not-sleep, to follow the trail that had been left. It hadn’t been hard to find; blood aplenty had been left all over the floor and the ground which the body had been drug over. In the end, however, he hadn’t found his body or Alex’s. He had found that strange man instead fighting…a corpse.

A strange, glowing and warped seeming corpse, with limbs too long and coated in ragged, dry bits of flesh like rent cloth. The grasping hands had been like sharpened bone, barely a bit of that ruined canvas of skin left to them as it had slashed at the…man. And the face…a grinning skull with only faint wisps of hair about it and empty sockets for eyes that still somehow just seemed to bore into its victim.

On seeing it, he had recalled fully what had reared…no, flown up before himself and Alex. The reek, the cold in the air, it had all been there….But acknowledging that was real meant acknowledging the rest was real in turn.

Alex was dead and he…was too? He was dead, wasn’t he? This wasn’t a real body; he wasn’t breathing but he could feel his heart beating. He could sense the man- Ingvar? –still moving around him, hear the scrape of the knife over wood or the occasional soft chime of a hammer or chisel against metal.

At last, the scraping and chiming came no more. A new sound whispered across Ryan’s confused consciousness; the rustling of fabric. It brought to mind something else, however, until now forgotten. Scent and sight had heralded that horrific thing’s presence; but so too had sound. He remembered it now, the hanging flesh snapping and fluttering with a sound not unlike a tarp or a sheet hung in a hard wind.

He groaned and shuddered, pulling back from that sound as his mind desperately clawed out of that morass of confusion. But the cold did not come; just a sudden, satisfied grunt.

“Good; you still have a will to live in you if want to run from something unexpected.” Ingvar looked up from the white, shimmering cloth he had snapped across the floor at the doll’s sudden cringe; it was the first reaction from Ryan to anything in the last several days. He certainly wasn’t going to let it pass unnoticed. “But there is nothing for you to fear in here; safe you are by my forge and hearth. Are you ready then to learn of this world?”

Ryan’s silence held a time longer, but the doll now moved. Ingvar settled back by the cloth he had spread, letting the boy study himself. Trembling hands turned about on their joints, fingers flexing and clicking against one another as the wooden face began to show a strange mixture of wonder and horror. As yet unpainted, the hands, as the rest of the form, were carved of ebony, the strongest wood the Dwarf had in any great amount in his stores. At the joints, silver gleamed through, the metal granting not only strength but the magic by which the doll even moved.

Runes were carved into the wood, filled with a glittering of diamond dust against the dark wood to give them their proper form. They arrayed themselves across the dark form in lines and circles, tracing the lines of the doll’s form or encircling limbs like jeweled bands set to the ‘flesh’ itself. Ryan lowered his hands and stared at the markings, transfixed by their gleam for a time until Ingvar pointedly cleared his throat to bring the human back to the here and now.

“Those are your protection and your weapons all in one, boy. When you are ready, you will study them.” With that statement, the Dwarf returned to his work on the cloth at the doll’s feet; eyes flicking back between it and the doll repeatedly as he began to cut. Doll or not, the human could hardly walk about naked, could he?

“Study…What happened..? Where am I? Alex- is he; where is he!” The aborted question caught in the throat, a refusal to admit it was even possible. His brother could not have died.

“Gone to the Underworld if luck is with him; down the gullet of a wight if not. I would think the former to the latter; the wight had not begun its feast yet when I came. His heart was whole if still.” The doll fell silent again at that harsh reply; Ingvar did not expect the boy to understand it. It had been centuries since his last dealing with humans, but he had little doubt some things about them had not changed. The boy would not grasp that there were indeed fates worse than death. Ryan would never believe, at least not for some time, that he had indeed saved his brother by battling the wight until Ingvar had come. Better by far to be in the embrace of true death than a wight’s meal.

“How is this…” The Dwarf rose up to his feet at that soft lament, recognizing it before it even began. He had heard the tone once already, in that brief insistence against this being real.

“It has happened; it cannot be undone. Your Alex is dead, your world is lost to you. These are the facts, cold as they are, and they are what you must now deal with.” Ingvar’s gruff tone belied his own inward grimacing; the words sounded cruel to his own ears, he could only imagine how they sounded to the boy. Heartless, perhaps…but he could not allow Ryan to slip back into that silent state. “This is all very real; there will be no awakening to find this just some fever dream. You tangled with a wight in its very den, boy, and luck blessed you where it cursed Alex. Wallow in your survivor’s guilt for a time if you must; but do not turn your nose up the chances you have been given. There is a reason for all that comes to pass, cruel as it can be.”

Ingvar paused then, simply watching the doll slump back as he pondered his own words. Chance was indeed an odd thing, but rarely came in threes. And he saw nearly four strokes of ‘chance’ in this now. His own presence here at the border at all that most of his kind scorned, so close to the sunlit world of humans; the tree that had fallen to drive him off of his usual path and into the wight’s own territory. The happenstance that sent a pair of human younglings into the same place in that short span of time in which the worlds touched as day waned and night began; the scream that had drawn him to the fight when a wight’s human victims rarely even understood their own death was upon them.

For the first time in centuries, trepidation crept up the Dwarf’s spine. Fate’s hand had been absent from his life from the moment he walked away from the battlefield, or so he had thought.

Perhaps it had never truly set him free.

“I will give you this one last night to mourn; then we had best see you learned and fast in the ways of this world. This is no place for an unskilled human and beneath that doll’s wood and metal, that is what you still are.” The Dwarf returned to his work on the cloth, unsettled now as he looked back at the events of the few days. Superstition his own kin would have called it; there was no such thing of Fate, only purest chance throwing elements together.

Ingvar had found plenty of reasons to believe otherwise all those centuries ago. What could it have been other than fate that he survived when his clan laid in shallow graves upon the field? He, the Lorekeeper, who knew all of the secrets of the clan’s works and legends, was the only one to walk from that place, overlooked somehow by forces that killed what they could not enslave.

“…One night to more to mourn, Ryan.” The words rose up as little more than a murmur as the Dwarf blinked suddenly bleary eyes down at the pale cloth beneath his rough hands. “And then you have to learn to live again.”

The silence stretched on again, but a different quality hung in it now. After a time, the doll shakily rose to his feet, finding the form still odd and alien to his senses. Wooden hands trembled as he knelt down by the cloth, but clumsy though they were, he sought to hold the cloth flat as the quiet Dwarf did his work.

Learn to live again? In a body made of wood, knowing his brother was dead? What about their parents, his friends? These thoughts rolled about in his mind as he watched Ingvar carefully shape the cloth, his face turned downward. None of it made any sense; part of him still wanted to scream that this was just a nightmare and he’d soon wake up.

Or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe Alex really was dead and so was he. Maybe this ‘nightmare’ was just his personal hell for screwing up? He shook his head a moment to try to clear his thoughts, fingers pressing hard into the fabric for a time.

A few times, he began to speak, but the words fell silent any time he looked to Ingvar. His words had been harsh; but looking at the stout figure now it was hard to think he meant to be cruel. He looked so…old; old and tired now after those last words he spoke.

‘One night more to mourn’, was it? As if I could let it go so easily! And he didn’t want to…mourning meant admitting it was real.

Alex…I’m so sorry…

*********

In the distant wood, far from the hovel the Dwarven craftsman called his home and beyond the grove in which the wight’s remains laid; something else began to stir. A small, slight figure stood in a grove that held traces of blood long since dried. It shivered, arms clutching close about it…the ragged t-shirt and jeans doing little to keep away the chill death had brought to the ghost.

“R...Ryan…where are you? Ryan!” The ghost’s shrieks did not bring his brother charging to the rescue as they always had in life, however. Darker figures moved near under the leaves, drawn first by the blood and then by the pale little figure of Alex looking around helplessly.

They did not leap forward to feast, however; a deeper shadow flowed over the grove, sending the beasts scrambling back for fear of their own lives. As Alex looked on, too afraid to run and not knowing how to even command legs that did not exist to move, the shadow condensed before him. It became a tall figure clad in black leaves, smelling of soil and water. Antlers rose up from the cowl of the leafy cloak, more twisted and reaching higher than any proper deer’s.

“W…who are you…?” The ghost shied away as a hand emerged from beneath the leaves, covered in a dark brown skin tipped with blackened nails, beckoning him forward.

“…I am the Keeper; come. I shall take you to your brother. He is waiting for you; worried for you.” The voice sounded like nothing so much as dry leaves rattling along withered branches, but the words caught the frightened boy’s attention.

“Ryan..? You know where Ryan is?” Desperation and fear are things often irrational when paired; and so the ghost flung his hand out to this odd spectre, a sob caught in his throat. “Please, I want out of here! Take me to my brother so we can go home, please!”

Brown, damp hands closed about the boy’s wrist and drew the ghost into their master’s hold, then the world spun away from Alex. He could not see how they traveled or where they were going to.

And he could not see the cruel smile hidden beneath the cowl of blackened oak leaves.

[Kyrieath]

The pain didn’t feel as though it would ever lessen for Ryan over the next handful of days. An idle moment offered a chance to think about the loss of his brother, his whole way of living and so he threw himself to one task after another, awkward as they honestly were for him.

Using this body was like trying to learn to walk and move all over again. Mobile though it was, it moved so differently. Wooden arms did not have flesh that gave when pressed against something, wood and metal fingers could easily crush something such as an egg with the same pressure fleshy digits would have simply held firm with.

Ingvar watched the doll’s progress over the days carefully; he made no intervention in the learning process beyond denying the forest beyond the door to Ryan, much as he winced at the damage that inevitably occurred both to his workshop and to the doll. Yet Ryan was no puppet to be controlled even for his own good; he would need to learn that body, from its drawbacks to its advantages.

And the work of learning was distancing other things, even if the boy himself didn’t seem to realize it yet. Periods of silence had started to become far less frequent as the edge dulled and that most dangerous and endearing of human traits, curiosity, began to rear its head.

Though the first question Ryan finally asked directly had Ingvar wondering just what they even recalled of other races in the human world now.

“What…are you exactly?� That question came with little warning from Ryan as the Dwarf worked on a pair of boots for the doll. Wooden his feet may be but they’d be of little use if mud and dirt found their way to the joints.

Ingvar paused mid-stitch on the boot, just leveling a disbelieving glare at the figure attempting- with varying lack of success- to puzzle out some runes on some parchment.

“Would you care to repeat that? I am not entirely sure I believe what I heard.� At the question’s hesitant repetition, Ingvar just groaned and dropped the finished boot to the floor, arms crossing over the thick braid of his beard. “I am a Dwarf, boy! Do they remember nothing in your world of the other races?�

“…Well I was never much for watching fantasy movies…� Ryan regretted the words before they had even fully left his mouth. Every coarse hair on the Dwarf’s face seemed to bristle like some offended cat, his eyes narrowing at the doll as he stomped over.

�Fantasy, is it? Does this seem like a ‘fantasy’ to you, boy?� So saying as he grabbed hold of one of Ryan’s arms, shaking the hand before his own eyes. “I am a Dwarf and you had best be grateful for the fact! No other could have made such a form to save you.� And fewer would have been inclined to, though he saw no reason to say that as yet. Humans and the races they now dismissed as legends had not parted ways under the most friendly of circumstances.

Ryan winced at the reminder, letting his hand drop back to his side after Ingvar released it. He still didn’t understand this ma- Dwarf or his abrupt changes of mood. He turned his eyes back to the scroll, willing the scribbles and weird shapes to make some kind of sense; but the Dwarf wasn’t done with him yet it seemed.

“If you’re becoming settled enough to ask questions like that, then it’s time you began to learn more. Maybe it will be easier for you than learning basic reading.� Ingvar returned to the bench to begin work on the next boot, but his attention was all for the doll watching him now. “I will begin by telling you to think of every fairytale or bedtime story- though why humans tell such things when sleep is soon to be on them I do not understand- and realizing there is a grain of truth to them all.�

“What, so there really were seven dwarves and some princess an apple put to sleep?� Ryan couldn’t quite keep that one to himself; the image of seven Ingvars fussing over some ‘dead’ girl in a glass coffin was just downright odd. Ingvar did not look amused however, hands coming to rest on his squat hips in annoyance.

“That apple killed the girl, boy; but the rest is a story even to us. Even in this or any other world, the dead don’t truly come back to life.� Ingvar settled back to his work again then, silencing any further questions from the doll with a sharp look. “Gnomes, faeries, mermaids, bogeymen-“ and Ryan quickly had to stifle a snicker at that one, earning a return of the glare. “They are all very real and nothing to laugh at, boy. Bogeymen live on in your stories even now for a very bloody reason. Just what do you think some of them did with those children they would ‘come and get’ should the parents grow angry enough to withdraw their care?�

Ryan’s snickering died down obediently at that reprimand, though his mind still couldn’t bend itself around the idea of such a thing even existing, let alone being a threat. Ingvar studied him for a moment, then heaved a deep sigh. If crafting the doll had been a test of his skill, educating this boy was going to be a test of his patience.

“This is only one of many worlds; some lie near your own as this one does, others are much further away. And the further they lie, boy, the darker they and those within them. Your world is that of Day and Night to us; a land where even the nights are bright with a moon and stars. While the sun is death to us if we stand in it too long, the stars and moon share their light through the borders and brighten these lands.� To demonstrate his point, Ingvar set the boot down and began to arrange some baubles on the work table; a candle for the sunlit world then a scattering of items around it. “Each of these is a world; some the light touches, some it only barely brushes…others see none of it. And each world once had its own kind, just as the sunlit world has always had humans upon it.�

“So…Dwarves came from one, Gnomes from another and so on?� Well that wasn’t so hard to understand. Ryan shrugged at the Dwarf’s nod, then rolled the parchment up to set it aside. It was obvious he wasn’t going to be getting any further in that. “So what about things like the…�

“The wight? A monster, boy. There are no other words for that sort of thing. They were rare once, though they have always appeared on borders when they did make themselves known.� Ingvar frowned down at the array of baubles then, starting to push them around in apparent idleness. “Then things changed.�

“What ‘things’?� Ryan had never been much for fantasy, but he would take what he could get while Ingvar was in a talkative mood. If the Dwarf wasn’t setting him to this or that task in the shop, he was insisting Ryan study the runes.

“Humans did, mostly. Your kind had always been our greatest allies and enemies both. You are mercurial creatures; never the same from day to day. Quick to heal and to harm; quick to change and ruled by emotion more than thought.� The Dwarf continued arranging the baubles about; to more purpose now, it seemed. One by one, baubles were pulled away from the candle, some by a great distance while others still hovered in the glow, if only just. “You are the only shadow-born - creatures of both the Dark and the Light – to walk fully in the sun’s light. Dwarves are shadow-born as well; like humans we are capable of great good and great evil. But we did not do what your kind did to ‘earn the right' to the sunlit world.�

Intrigued in spite of himself, Ryan leaned forward, arms crossing on the table as he looked at the pattern of baubles. One had been placed well away; he hadn’t even thought it part of the design until Ingvar very deliberately edged it closer to the further cast ‘worlds’; an unlit candle with a holder of carved onyx.

“So what did we do then, according to you?� If this was some kind of dream, faint though that hope was, he had to grant himself credit for more imagination than he’d ever thought. And to think I was flunking English lit....

“You joined the War, boy. The shadow-born need both the dark and the light to survive; they need shadows to live. But humans…never are your kind content with what they have. When the War of Light and Dark came before; the shadow-born always stepped aside. Not our place to tip the balance, that was how we survived. Humans came to see something they desired in both, however.� And now the Dwarf placed his hands on the base of both candle holders; lit and unlit both. “I can not say what they saw for certain. Some humans joined with the Light, while others joined the Dark. They upset the balance and the worlds were cast into chaos. Realizing the danger, the Kings of the rest of the shadow-born –Dwarves, Elves, Faeries, all of those things you no longer believe in- exiled humans to the sunlit world and raised the barriers to keep them imprisoned.�

Ryan blinked a moment or two at that one; that had hardly been the turn he had been expecting in this particular story. He leaned back from the table, frowning at the Dwarf.

“Then humans aren’t supposed to be here at all? Then why did you-“

“Bah, let me continue, boy!� Ingvar scowled at the doll, his hand slammed down on the table roughly to interrupt the question. He had expected it on beginning this tale, but the answer was one he was not ready to give. He still wasn’t certain of it himself. “That is not the end of the tale! Exiled your kind were but like all such sentences, there laid a catch in it. The Kings declared that if humans could survive so many turns within a world divided between Day and Night, they would be permitted to return. Your kind proved to have a trick up your sleeve yet. You did not cower within your prison; you conquered it. You carved it, changed it; it was in small portions at first but you expanded rapidly and steadily took more and more control. Oh nature may still have her say in the end, but there is no denying that the World of Day and Night is now your world.�

The Dwarf turned back to his display of baubles then, holding the unlit candle up before him.

“And the world that had given rise to you fell fully into the Dark with its proper kin gone. In the end, the Kings had played right into the hands of the Dark by giving it a bastion to work from. Oh some humans were still there, once…I would not call them ‘human’ any longer. Those who live upon the World of Day and Night still remember the shadow; they remember it every time they tell a lie to spare feelings or justify their wars to themselves. Those scattered few who escaped exile and returned ‘home’ have forgotten the Shadow and never see the Light. They are entirely the Dark’s creatures; your own kind have given them a name for when they happen to find their way into the World of Day and Night.�

Ryan crossed his arms at that one, just watching the Dwarf’s expectant look. So he was supposed to know this one for certain, was he?

“And what’s that; bogeymen?� Ryan snorted at that, then jumped as the Dwarf slammed the unlit candle to the table again, sending the baubles scattering across the table and dousing the lit candle as it rolled.

“Do not be daft, boy! You call them ‘demons’ and rightly so! Foul things they are and always looking to increase their numbers; mark that name in your mind and know it nothing to make light of. You may hide what you are to the eye of all other races in that doll, Ryan; but a demon will know you for what you are. They are not like the wight, mindless and devouring; they will want what resides in that wooden chest of yours and all it entails. The War lives on in these worlds; only your world has never felt its full touch, protected now by the very things once meant to imprison it. And always the demons assault those barriers to find a way in, to invite their ‘kin’ into the War they are now locked away from.�

The whole of it still sounded ridiculous to Ryan; something he was certain must have showed on his face as the Dwarf studied him for a moment, then shook his head. Ingvar rose up from his own seat to reclaim the boot and begin work again on it.

“Make light of it now if you must, boy…but listen to the lessons I have yet to teach before we leave this place. And leave it we will; this is no place for a young one such as you, wooden flesh or no.�

As expected, the prospect of seeing something other than these walls had caught the boy’s attention; and didn’t inspire the other question the Dwarf had feared may arise. Ryan was ready to start finding his way then; it was plain he had no yet healed but he was healing. He had been right to keep him to task after task, things to keep the mind as occupied as the hands while Ryan mastered that form.

He set the boy back to studying his runes as he began sewing the boot’s leather together, one eye on the window he hadn’t opened in several days’ time. Something foul had touched these woods recently in the past days, something worse than a mere greedy wight. He didn’t like the look or the feel of them and the shadows grew darker in ways he found unfriendly and worrisome.

A demon had been here and recently; it was time to move the boy on and out of harm’s way for awhile longer yet. He still had far too much to learn.

[Kyrieath]

“Where is Ryan? You said he was here!” The boy’s voice rang out in the darkened caverns with a mix of fear and anger at the apparent betrayal; the complex was by no means abandoned but not a single one of these odd creatures looked like his brother to him.

“He was to be here…” The antlered figure that had brought him stepped away, raising a hand to wave someone over. Another ‘person’ stepped out of the shadows at that gesture and Alex stared.

Brilliant crimson hair curled about her shoulders and flowed down her back while a slender pair of golden horns swept back from her temples to form a natural crown among the curls. Her eyes were emerald hued and almond shaped while skin was brown as the antlered figure’s though lacking the odd dampness that clung to his skin in turn. If Alex looked closely, he could see faint patterns of gold and red both tracing through her skin, like wood grain; something he could easily do as lightly garbed as she was. Delicate looking claws of gold tipped fingers and toes while the garb in question was little more than an almost sheer, amber hued cloth dropped over one shoulder and kept into place only by a slender golden chain over the other shoulder and a second looped loosely about the waist.

Needless to say, Alex’s attention was momentarily not on the fact Ryan hadn’t made his promised appearance.

“Sa`lene; where is the boy’s brother?” The antlered figure sounded more than annoyed; anger seemed heavy in that tone as he stepped toward her. The ‘woman’ cringed back, ducking her head down as she dropped to her knees, forehead pressed to the floor.

“I…I am sorry, Lord Ver`saen; h…he is gone.” Fear seemed to grip the woman’s form, sending a tail tipped in a furred tassel to match her mane flicking about nervously behind her. “We had offered him sanctuary as you wished but then…”

“Enough of your excuses, Sa`lene! I left Ryan to your care!” The one who had brought Alex here, Ver`saen, advanced on the woman, then paused as Alex abruptly stepped between them, hands up toward the apparent lord.

“Wait! She’s trying to tell you- um…Sa`lene?” The boy stumbled over the odd name a moment, looking back down to her then away nervously; what his parents would have to say about a girl dressing like this; let alone about her rather…unique features. “What happened? Where’s my brother…?”

Sa`lene sat up warily, eyes flicking past Alex to Ver`saen as her tail stilled its uneasy dance. The man nodded to her and she looked to the boy, eyes downcast.

“Forgive me; I could not defend him. A wicked Dwarf learned we had found and sheltered one of his wight’s victims; before he was healed enough to safely bring here, the Dwarf was upon us.” Sa`lene bowed her head to Alex then as she had to Ver`saen before, hands placed palm flat to the ground as she bent downward. “I tried to follow them but the Dwarf made good his escape as I fought with the wight! By the time I found the trail…”

Alex stared down at her in horror as she simply seemed to wilt, eyes closing now in seeming grief.

“…The Dwarf had done his work; the boy’s heart and soul were taken and their thief long since fled. I will not ask your forgiveness for this; I failed you.” Ver`saen drew himself up to his full height at that, raising his hand to gesture to the shadows again. More figures stepped out this time, larger ones that looked more like animals then men with their heavy ox horns and almost grotesquely muscled forms covered in fur. Sa`lene made no move to resist as they reached down to drag her up, plainly meaning to take her away somewhere.

“Stop! Don’t hurt her; she tried, right? It’s the- the Dwarf’s fault!” It sounded strange to Alex to be saying that; Dwarves were just fairytales. But then so were people like this, right? He had the oddest feeling of having somehow stumbled onto a stage without having the script.

But she did try to help Ryan, right? And she looked so small and afraid around all of these others.

“Stop bullying her! Ryan’s my brother, right? If anyone should be mad it’s me and it sounds like she just didn’t have enough help! I bet if something like those two had been there, she’d have been just fine!” Sa`lene’s head raised up then to shake rapidly at Alex, eyes wide with alarm.

“Let it be, child! I-“

“I’m not a ‘child’! And it’s true, right?” Alex turned to Ver’saen then, pointing at Sa`lene. “If you’re so mad and want her punished, then make her come with me because I’m going to go find Ryan!”

Ver`saen seemed taken aback at that, looking then to the two guards he had summoned forth. He considered it a moment, then gestured for the guards to drop Sa`lene to the floor as he turned to start away past Alex.

“Then I entrust you to one another, though I wish you would reconsider your…attendant, young one. Sa`lene! See if you cannot manage to at least help your young master better than you did his brother!” Sa`lene bowed her head meekly at that, then abruptly threw grateful arms around the ghost, drawing a startled yelp at first then an awkward return of the embrace with an attempt at a comforting pat.

“Thank you, oh thank you, young master…Lord Ver`saen is a great lord but when angered…” She buried her face against his shoulder, then raised her face ever so slightly as the boy attempted to regain his equilibrium, smiling over it at the lord of the cavern.

Ver`saen smiled back over his shoulder at the succubus, then continued on his way to the cavern’s innermost chambers. She had confirmed his suspicions then; the ghost’s brother had crossed as well and found refuge with a Dwarf.

There was only one this close to the border that he knew of. Perhaps it was time to pay his neighbor a visit.

A short while later, Alex found himself and Sa`lene in a room carved of solid stone; he would have called it a cave if it had not had every natural feature smoothed from it. Only the largest portion of this place, the cavern he had first seen, retained any such natural detail.

“So…what are you, Sa`lene?” The boy seemed to constantly find himself doing one of two things: staring at her or anywhere but her. “And…what happened? I was cold out there but now I’m fine in here…”

“That is because our people were once one in the same.” Sa`lene smiled at that, though she made no move to offer the boy any refreshment from the containers on the tables there. It would do a ghost little enough good. “…As to yourself…” She sighed at that, tail flicking across her toes.

“The Dwarf had set a wight to watch the borderlands; the places where our domain touches on that of our cousin kin, the humans. Like all of his kind, he works to keep us divided; a prison guard with the wight as his hound. Should we try to near the barrier to reach our kin, the Dwarf will have us. If one of our kin should find a way to cross the barrier and come to us…”

Sa`lene reached out then to place her hand on the boy’s; but this time she simply passed through him, drawing a startled cry from the boy.

“Should our kin find a way to us, the wight is sent to destroy them or herd them into his hold if he has need of them. Lord Ver`saen felt the wight stir and knew at least one human had crossed into the borderlands; he cast a great spell to try and save that one. He did not know there were two of you or he would have planned accordingly…as it is, though he saved the life of your brother…of you, all that could be spared from the wight was your soul.”

Alex’s eyes slowly grew wide as he looked to that hand she had failed to touch only moments before. She now grasped his wrist gently, but he could see her hand through his arm.

He’d seen more than enough movies to realize what that meant.

“I’m…I’m dead?!” Alex began to pull away from her, eyes widening in terror and denial; there was simply no way that could be true. But other things were making a certain instinctive, horrifying sense now. The cold that simply wouldn’t disappear until he came to these caverns, the lack of any sensation when touched. It all added up in ways he was now firmly shaking his head in denial to.

“N-no way! I can’t be; I’m not!” The hand on his wrist put a stop to his attempts to pull away; instead Sa`lene pulled him closer, gently embracing the boy and making soft, comforting sounds.

“Do not be afraid; death has taken your body as it now has your brother’s, but like him you are still here. Lord Ver`saen will help you however he can, I promise this. Do not let his anger deceive you; he was only distressed that he made such an error only to have my failure compound it.” She smoothed his hair gently until she felt the ghost still, then pulled back to smile gently at him. “You are dead, but it need not be that way if you let us help you. I can touch you; you can feel my touch where you can feel nothing else, as you also felt Lord Ver`saen’s, yes?”

Alex chased his chaotic thoughts about, trying to recall when he was brought here. Hope suddenly sprang up in him at realizing she was right; he had felt Ver`saen’s grip then despite feeling nothing but cold before then. He could feel her’s now; and this place felt warm, rather than that biting, unearthly cold that had clung to him before Ver`saen had found him.

“Once our people- yours and mine –were the same. We were both imprisoned and our people changed accordingly but the blood is still shared and thus we can help you. To do so, however, I must know the whole of your name that I might bring it to Lord Ver`saen. With it, young master, he shall grant you new life; as you are now, you cannot seek your brother. The Dwarf would simply imprison your soul and then you would both be lost.” Sa`lene waited as Alex mulled that one over, scenting victory on the horizon. It was honestly rather boring, dealing with such young boys. They had always folded like paper in a fire before her; and this one was to be no exception, she was sure.

Alex, meanwhile, was dealing with a variety of conflicting thoughts. He certainly didn’t want to be dead; he would try to dismiss this as just a nightmare if the pain of the cold he had felt before hadn’t been so sharp. He also very much wanted to find his brother; something Sa`lene insisted he couldn’t do as he was. And then there was Sa`lene herself, so earnest and apparently desperate to help him after having lost his brother to the Dwarf.

And yet there was just something off about this. Alex had often heard the phrase ‘too good to be true’; this was almost looking like one of those situations. But what did they have to gain by doing this?

“I…I need time to think…” Sa`lene smiled at those words and bowed her head slightly, releasing him fully from her grasp.

“Of course; decisions should never be made in haste and I am sure your heart and mind are weary from your ordeal. Ghosts may not be able to sleep, but you can still find rest on the bed there; my people do not sleep either.”

She led him to the bed and laid him back on it gently, then pointed up to patterns engraved on the ceiling above it. They seemed meaningless, looping about one another in a series of colors and lines, but entrancing all the same the longer he looked at them.

“Follow them for a time and they will grant you some release and let your mind rest and focus. Rest well, young master. I will never be far at all; Lord Ver`saen has given my life to you and I will never abandon you.” Sa`lene slipped away as the boy’s eyes began following the interwoven lines above, settling herself to one of those little tables to watch him.

It wouldn’t be long now; the boy was cautious for one of his age but still just a child; he would never accept death while knowing a new life was just waiting for his asking. All she had to do was be patient.

[Kyrieath]

Ryan may have only known Ingvar for a few weeks at most, but he didn’t need to know him all that well to realize the Dwarf was in a hurry. With the clothing now finished, it was as if someone had set a fire beneath the toy smith.

What could be backed into a pair of bags was; what couldn’t be? He was putting into heavy chests lined with silver and iron that a hidden lever had pushed out from the hovel’s rocky wall; part of the mountain behind the hovel, Ryan realized.

For his own part in the packing, he had a simple job: keep a hold of the bags Ingvar had already packed and stay out of the way.

“Planning on being away for awhile?� The Dwarf had seemed one to like his solitude; all this haste to leave it for somewhere else seemed just unnatural on the gruff creature.

“We have places to be going to; I will not be back here for some time.� If ever, though the boy didn’t need to hear that part. If a demon had indeed recently been to this area seeking the pair that came through the barrier, it would never be Ingvar’s home again. A mere wight had nearly been too much in a pitched battle for his old bones.

A demon would simply be death.

“Now repeat what I told you.� If Ryan could sigh, he would have at that. They had been over this every day while the clothes were being made if he hadn’t been busy studying runes or getting ‘history lessons’ from Ingvar.

“If I get separated from you, follow the mountains and keep the brightest stars during the dark to my left and the brightest during the light to my right for two full cycles. Once I reach the river, I follow it downstream away from the mountains and into the plains for five cycles. If you still haven’t found me by then, I’m to follow it until I reach another settlement of Dwarves there. If they try to ask me anything, the only thing you want me to say to them is ‘runa docka’, ‘runo nukke’, or ‘rune dokke’, depending on which sounds most like what they’re speaking. I’m not supposed to say anything else since all I speak is English and they won’t like that.� The repetition came off rather sing-songy, but Ingvar nodded in satisfaction. The boy plainly didn’t grasp how easily people could get separated on a long journey if he found having to recite such directions annoying.

“Good then; if you are there for any length of time without me, learn from them. They will assume you know nothing of the world- which you do not if not for the reasons they will think- and educate you accordingly. They will demand work of you in return but that will be of help to you as well. They will only want tasks done you are uniquely suited to in that body.� He turned then to walk up to Ryan, jabbing a stubby finger against the wooden chest. “But you are never to tell any one what you once were and still are under this wood, no matter how much you trust them. Nor are you to ever give your name again to any other. Names are things of power here; by your name I bound your life to this doll and sheltered your soul within its heart. Far fouler things can be done with the same power.�

“You sure threw your name around.� Ryan crossed his arms down at the Dwarf, scowling. “So what am I supposed to call myself?�

“I am also a Dwarf, boy! ‘Ingvar’ is but one part of my name. The rest belonged to my Clan and to the very bones of the earth; only it can speak my full name and it shall do so only once. Humans and most others are not so fortunate.� The Dwarf stomped over to the one item he had as yet not put away or taken up; the axe he had used to open the dying boy’s chest. The blood had been wiped away, but he almost wished he had left it. Blood shed to save left a far less vicious stain to the memory than that shed in warfare. “As to that…you will be answering to ‘Runa Docka’ once we are out on the path and I will begin teaching you our tongue along with those runes you are attempting to learn.�

Ryan grimaced slightly, turning those words over in his mind. They certainly sounded rather girly to his line of thought. As if fully able to comprehend the meaning of that look, Ingvar’s beard split to show teeth in a wide, rare grin.

“It means ‘Rune Doll’ in your language.� The much put upon groan was entirely worth the translation, for all he was fairly sure Ryan would have figured it out before long. He took up the axe again, leaving the worn battlehammer he had fought the wight with in its place.

It was time to put it to better use.

******

They were not even an hour from the hovel before Ingvar realized one slight flaw to his plan. He was by no means young; and while he was as fit as the next Dwarven smith, Ryan had been a very healthy and active human in his prime. He was fully used to using all of that considerable energy. And now all of said energy was in a body that needed no food or drink, or to even sit and rest for a time.

“Carry both of the bags then, boy; I need to weigh you down so you will remember my legs are not so long or so tireless!� Ryan had the grace to look sheepish at that, shortening his strides somewhat to try to accommodate the Dwarf. After a moment, he did take the bag from the Dwarf and threw it over his shoulder under Ingvar’s careful supervision. The body was by no means indestructible after all. When it did not so much as creak under the added load, he nodded for them to continue on.

The path was still one slow going, however. Every so often, Ingvar would turn to cast something back over their path; salt, it seemed like. He also kept a firm look out to the sides of the path as they went, pausing at even the slightest of noises with his axe at the ready.

That with all the rest confirmed it for Ryan; they were running from something. He just didn’t know what.

Ryan wasn’t sure what inspired him to look back after awhile; curiosity for how far they had come perhaps. When he did, however, he froze on the spot. In the distance, back where he was sure the hovel had resided, a tall flame of sickly green and blue rose into the sky. Ingvar turned at his sudden stop, then blanched beneath his beard and grabbed the boy’s wrist.

“Come, we must hurry! That is a demon’s fire or I am an Elf’s get!� Now it was Ryan who had difficulty keeping up, for the Dwarf aimed them toward paths under low lying tree limbs and other tight spots. His only concern seemed for keeping a thick canopy above their heads and casting the salt over their path when the branches overhead were too thinly placed for his liking.

Ryan could not see any sign they were being chased but he held his silence on it as they ran. Ingvar plainly didn’t mean to stop for some time yet if at all for the night; or the dark cycle, as he called it. Neither day nor night came to this place, it seemed. With no sun or moon, various patterns of the stars glowed overhead in a sky sometimes a deep violet bordering on dusk or the dark false dawn pink and orange of morning to come.

They had left early in the light cycle; but as it deepened into the dark cycle, Ingvar kept his frantic pace despite the growing shadows that obscured the path he meant to take. At last, Ryan threw himself forward to grab hold of the Dwarf’s shoulders, the burden of the bags dropped with a heavy thump.

“If you keep this up, I will be going alone because you ran yourself into a heart attack or off a cliff!� The Dwarf was breathing heavier than Ryan had ever heard him do yet, even after a full day spent at his forge. Ingvar rounded on him, wild eyed for a moment before he suddenly shook his head as if to clear something from it.

“Blasted monsters…� The Dwarf slapped his wide palm against his head, growling as he shook it again. “It has been too long since I faced demons; I forgot the spells they can weave. Be glad you are in that wooden form, boy, or you would still be in a panic as well. Demon fire it certainly was; and a demon’s curse to all who saw it to run! Let it be a lesson learned for you. They do not need to see you or even be near you to do you harm.�

The skepticism Ryan had earlier held for such ideas was now being challenged as he watched Ingvar stamp around the path. The Dwarf’s calloused, heavy hands were still shaking as he tried to rid himself of the curse; his dark grey eyes still darted wildly around if he stayed still a moment too long.

“…I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have looked back.� Though with that kind of knowledge; Ryan had to wonder just how much say he’d honestly had in it. He had certainly felt a surge of shock and some fear at seeing the demon’s fire but nothing like what had taken Ingvar.

“The fault is as much mine.� Ingvar finally sank heavily to the path, eyes searching the canopy above. “I did not tell you enough; I thought I could get us away from there in time.� The trembling was far less than it had been moments before; now the Dwarf could feel the exhaustion in his form, turning hardy muscles to pure lead. “But now I have a measure of what sort we are running from; and we would be very wise to continue away as soon as we can. It takes a powerful curse to make a Dwarf run from his own home in flames. We are like as not to charge back to defend our treasures at such a sight.�

Ryan turned to look around again; thick as the forest here was, he couldn’t tell if they had simply run too far to see that pillar of flame any longer or if it had burned out, having done its work. Either way, the silence around them was unnerving; it reminded him too much of a much overused line from some science fiction movie his parents adored and what usually happened after it was spoken.

“You can’t run any more tonight, though. You’re exhausted; at this rate you’d just drop in your tracks.� Ryan made no move to settle himself, however, as Ingvar set up a hasty camp to take his rest at. The Dwarf plainly knew what he was doing while Ryan had never camped a day in his life.

“So I would, boy. And that was likely what they intended. I will take my rest now; keep your mind alert and trust in the form you wear. If unease should take you or any other sense of warning, wake me at once. Dismiss nothing!� With that announcement, Ingvar settled himself in a cloak retrieved from a pack; a sorry replacement for a bedroll but quicker by far to free himself from if danger should come. He leaned his axe by a tree next to him and settled for as long a sleep as he would allow himself. “And wake me when the light cycle has begun if nothing disturbs us.�

Ryan watched as the Dwarf made himself as comfortable as he could, marveling as Ingvar dropped off into sleep almost right away. Either he was truly exhausted or he knew the ‘soldier’s trick’ as his dad had called it: able to fall asleep anywhere in moments of finding a place to rest. Ryan shrugged to himself and stood quietly as the night - no, dark cycle. There’s no ‘night’ here. – settled in over them. He didn’t like the quiet of the forest after that headlong run; maybe the Dwarf just startled everything quiet with his running but shouldn’t they have started back up by now?

If Ryan had simply looked up and had eyes that could penetrate the shadows, he would have seen the reason for the forest’s continued silence. Several smallish, slender figures moved across the branches, nimble as squirrels. They settled at last over the pair, simply watching from the cover of the leaves.

The Elves had seen the fires as well, though far enough away to be safe from the demon’s curse. Chance had handed them the intended victim of the curse fire, it seemed, though for the time being they were content to let him rest with his golem on guard. There would be time for questions once the curse’s effects had fully faded; and once they were certain the Dwarf had not led a demon straight into their domain by the borderlands.

*******

Ver`saen stood among the burned out wreckage of the Dwarf’s house; he had known the smith fled before he had cast the flame curse. The brief hold of his curse had taken on the Dwarf told him where to begin his search.

North; to the forests of the Elves that still held to the ways of the shadow-born, joining neither the Light or Dark as the Wars raged. Ver`saen cursed under his breath at that; there would be no easy pursuit there. He was no weakling, but one did not challenge any creature in their own den lightly.

“Perhaps they will do my work for me….� Surely the moment they realized the Dwarf carried a human soul with him, the Elves would toss the Dwarf out of their lands and seek to destroy the soul. He would simply have to ensure he had some means to fetch the soul back before they could succeed.

“Beasts of fire and earth, children of ash and flame; heed my call!� The ground around him buckled and broke as the summons went out; stirring spirits of the land long since corrupted by their proximity to his lair and the border. ‘Dragons’, the uneducated would call these creatures that crawled forth, not understanding these to merely be constructs to house the powers he called. Stone formed their bones as ash clung to them like a skin. Fire filled out their bat like wings and blazed as a crest down their backs as the three beasts that answered lowered their heads to heed his commands.

“Fly to the borders of the Elven forest to the north; you seek a human soul still bound to its heart. Keep beyond even the sight of their sentries until you find that scent, then do what you must to bring it to me. Never shall more than two of you attack, however; the third shall stay aloft to await the chance to secure the soul. That third is to never battle, only to fetch the soul.� The ‘dragons’ roared their understanding and rose into the sky, the heat of their wings and forms reducing what little rubble that remained to slag.

Ver`saen turned and stepped into the shadows, returning to the caverns. Sa`lene had been with the boy for nearly a full cycle; she would surely have attained his name by now.

[Kyrieath]

“Ingvar!”

The Dwarf awoke with a start at that call, coming up with his axe in hand as he glowered toward the gloom Ryan faced. His scowl hardly lessened any on seeing figures moving out among the trees, but these he had less fear of than those that deepened by his home.

“Elves. Runa!” Ingvar jerked his head to the side, an instruction for Ryan to move behind him; and he hoped the boy wasn’t so startled as to try to say anything more. The doll looked back at him, then abruptly stepped backward obediently, cursing himself for the hesitation.

‘Runa’; calling him that was a good indication it was time to keep his mouth shut as Ingvar began to speak; again in that language he’d first heard from the Dwarf while barely aware.

“I see you among your trees, forest folk and lower my axe; I come to your wood with no intention to do harm to you or your home.” The Dwarf followed his words with the according action; the head of his axe coming to rest in the soft turf of the forest. After a moment or two, one of the figures emerged into the dubious light of the early cycle; Ryan just hoped it wasn’t obvious he was staring.

When he heard ‘elves’, he isn’t entirely sure what he was expecting; people in little santa hats, maybe, with overly large ears. This one’s ears were indeed long, but swept up and back along its head rather than simply going straight up or to the side, tapering to delicate points. It was the face that caught Ryan’s attention first and foremost; he would never have been able to mistake this creature for human even if all he had seen was the face. The nose was far longer than on a human, though it swept outward rather than simply straight down. The head’s shape followed the guidance of the nose, placing the mouth more out than genuinely below the eyes; a false muzzle of sorts. The eyes themselves were quite large and almond shaped, a brilliant wolf’s yellow coloring them but with a cat’s pupil gazing out. The eyebrows followed the eyes’ guidance as the skull did the nose’s, sweeping up in a thin line to the hair.

The skin was a deep, nut brown and the hair of this one the red of autumn leaves with other colors hinted here and there as it moved forward, looking between the doll and Dwarf. No, this creature was not even close to what Ryan had thought on hearing ‘elves’. Even so, there was something very not bestial about it; its garb, though cut to resemble forest leaves, was complex and beautiful beneath the drab colors; and the obvious intelligence dispelled any further comparisons to an animal in Ryan’s mind.

“Your words we hear and our thanks we give though our welcome remains denied.” It took every ounce of will Ryan had not to react as it- no, he. That voice was certainly male, low as it was- spoke. That sounded like English to him; if very stilted English.

“My query to you then good Elf; what denies the welcome of the wood to a weary traveler?” Ingvar was inwardly groaning to himself; he had intended to skirt the elven wood, but the curse had set his trail in one direction only. He didn’t want to be held up by their little games, not with a demon on his and the boy’s trail.

“We see your intention is not one of harm, but harm follows on your path. One, two and three spires of fire we saw rise; the green of a demon’s ire.” The Elf moved closer then, looking the two over. A Dwarf with one of their strange golems in tow was not so unusual; they were frequently used for such things though this particular doll looked unusually delicate for a means of carrying one’s things.

The Dwarf himself was not unknown to the Elf, either. It was rare one of the stonefolk thought to live on the surface; rarer when they chose to do so in the Borderlands beyond their wood. Of course, that also meant he had passed through here before.

“It is true a – oh blast and be bothered, Anselm! Let us pass and the demon will not long be a concern for you!” The Dwarf glowered up at the Elf; taller than him by far though still not nearing the height Ryan had possessed in ‘life’. “Enough with your games and let me be on my way; you know I would not be staying in lands where demons have come to roost!”

The Elf, Anselm, merely smiled at the Dwarf’s outburst; he hadn’t thought he could play the game very long. Dwarves were patient only in their crafting; they had little use for anything they deemed ‘needlessly complex’.

“Then in our hospitality are you placed for you earned not the right to pass. Our sovereign will wish words with you for that which you bring upon us. Come; bid your golem carry your bags and we shall go.” Anselm watched the two curiously, eyes occasionally flickering toward the doll.

“It is a runa docka, not one of your mindless golems!” Grey beard bristling as he turned back to Ryan, he pointed to the bags, barking out a word meaningless in sound to Ryan; but plain enough after what the Elf had said what it was meant to indicate. Mindful of Ingvar’s warnings about how others might react if they learned the truth, Ryan gathered up the bags as obediently, though one eye remained firmly on the Elf; a favor Anselm was returning.

“Runa docka, golem; we care little for how you choose your wording. They are similar enough, are they not?” Ingvar scowled at the words from Anselm, cursing the demons under his breath to new levels of darkness. He was hardly in any mood for Anselm’s- or any other Elf’s- word games, but he had to choose his answers carefully.

“A golem knows only what its master tells it, as you well know Anselm. A runa docka can learn and begin to take initiative on its own, unlike your moving statues.” Ignvar stroked his beard in satisfaction as the Elf shrugged in return; that should hush the questions now.

Ryan, finding the Elf still watching him as they began to follow the fleeting shadows through the woods, wasn’t so sure the subject had been laid to rest.

*************

The passage through the deep forest was long and, for a doll who lacked the keen vision of a Dwarf or Elf for these shadows, no little slow and clumsy. Laughter filled the trees as Ryan found himself first caught in soft mud, then snared on a root he could not see to properly free his foot; only Ingvar’s muttered warnings on freeing him kept him from simply yelling at their supposed guide.

“He’s doing it deliberately.” Ryan hissed at one point as Ingvar was working on freeing him from the latest ‘trap’; a thorn laden bush all but invisible in the forest’s shadows with its black limbs.

“Of course he is; he is an Elf.” Ingvar muttered back as he untangled the last of the thorny branches from Ryan’s clothes, then set about making sure they were still serviceable as Anselm stood waiting a few yards away. “They are suspicious of outsiders at the best of times, malicious pranksters at the worst. Simply hold your silence; we will not be here for long.”

They began on their path again, though now Ingvar grumbled at Anselm about trying to ruin his creation with his pranks. The Dwarf took all care to stay just ahead of Ryan then, clearing the way for the doll as best he could though the Elf continued to find low limbs and other hanging vegetation to drag the doll through as they went.

All at once, the forest’s roof rose high above them, the underbrush seeming to simply vanish as they stepped into the green and yellow hued light of the high canopy. Before them, twining around and into the great trees rising up, buildings built similar to the trees themselves sprawled through the ‘clearing’; a forest of carved wood and silken ‘leaves’ within the greater forest they had passed through.

In the center most part, between four of the great trees, a particularly large structure stood. Ryan didn’t need any great leap of intelligence to figure that was most likely the castle or what have you this king of theirs resided in.

“Your refreshment and rest shall be permitted for a turning of the lesser glass within the palace, Ingvar.” Anselm began leading the way to the structure then, weaving his way easily down the narrow trail leading down into the depression the trees had taken root in. “Appropriate accommodations will be arranged for your golem in the armory.”

Ryan and Ingvar both drew up short at that one, the Dwarf scowling at the Elf’s off hand remark there. Ryan tried to keep himself calm; he wasn’t supposed to be able to understand the Elf’s words, he was sure. But he wasn’t exactly eager to find himself locked up in some vault or the like either.

“My runa docka stays with me, Anselm. You immortal sorts may not appreciate the trials of the aged, but know I am old for one of my kind and it makes my life easier.” Ingvar crossed his arms firmly as he refused to go any further on the trail, keeping himself firmly between the Elf and Ryan. He wasn’t sure of how these things usually proceeded with Elves in regards to things like Ryan, but he’d be an Elf himself before he’d trust the boy alone to them.

“Attendants for all that you need shall be provided, good Dwarf.” Anselm smiled at that; eyes flicking again to the doll. “We do not permit such things to walk our palace without due control. As ours it is not, then it must reside within the armory with your axe until the business of our king with you is complete.”

The forest behind them came alive as the shadows that had been following them all the way emerged; more Elves as both travelers had long ago figured, ranging in hues from more autumn colors to the bright green of spring and mellower greens and yellows of summer.

And every last one of them armed, eyes locked on the two as they casually fingered bows and sword hilts. Ingvar scowled deeply, then gestured sharply for Ryan to continue on the path with him. An Elf rarely missed its mark once a bead was drawn; he had no faith in his ability to dodge several such shots.

“Not a scratch on it, Anselm, or I will have your hair for its head!” The Elf’s eyes widened at that one, looking mildly affronted before he turned to lead the way again.

“We would advise that crude threats be kept to one’s self.” So said with a flick of that autumn scarlet mane as he led them on. His subordinates gathered around them, though one drew closer than the others as Anselm dropped his own voice, murmuring quietly for the other Elf’s ears only. “Watch the golem close; most odd, something is. Never have I seen a Dwarf so fast to take attention from his own craftsmanship.”

The other Elf nodded once, then set off ahead of them for the palace to arrange matters for the golem. Anselm, meanwhile, continued to lead them on, glancing back occasionally to observe the two travelers. The Dwarf was trying his utmost to all but ignore the golem behind him, it seemed. The golem itself, when it thought itself unobserved, would occasionally look about rather than simply obediently plodding along at its master’s heels.

“…Most curious indeed…” Dwarves should never try to pretend at anything; they were terrible actors. No matter; Anselm would have plenty of time to investigate the golem while Ingvar explained to the king just what he had done to set a demon directly against him.

[Kyrieath]

Ingvar knew long before he set foot in the Elven King’s throne room there was going to be trouble, even after a brief repast. Anselm had not followed him in; handing the duty off to one of his subordinates instead. Not so naïve in the way of Elves to miss the insult that was, Ingvar was already well on his guard…more so when he was presented before the King, who was not alone.

Another Dwarf sat at a long table with the King. Not so old as Ingvar himself, this Dwarf’s beard and hair were a brilliant, near metallic blond, the face beneath having few lines beyond those brought by a Dwarf’s naturally heavy countenance. It was neither these features nor the keen gray-green eyes glaring at him that Ingvar took any true note of however; it was the signet ring displayed plain as day on the Dwarf’s finger.

“Come and sit, old Dwarf.� The King smiled cordially, though Ingvar found not a trace of welcome in his tone. “We have much to discuss.�

Ingvar settled himself heavily at the table, one eye on the other Dwarf, one on the King. This could not bode well at all; not the arrival of a Dwarf from a rival clan.

“I thank you for your invitation though I suspect you invite me to a table to bring back memories of an old war.� The Dwarf whose name Ingvar hadn’t yet heard paused a moment on hearing those words from the older Dwarf, taking a moment longer to observe him.

Ingvar had stated he was not young to Ryan; he had not lied. From the slate grey of his age-lined skin beneath an equally grey beard and mane to the dimmer grey of his eyes, it was plain the final sleep of Dwarven kind was not far from this one. Soon he would be part of the earth and stone again.

“A table of war this is not, good Dwarf.� This time the King’s tone got a slight look from the younger Dwarf, not entirely approving. “Come and greet your stonefolk kin, Gudmund of the Sons of the Mountains.�

“You need not force welcomes where they do not exist, King Dietmar.� This time Gudmund stood from his chair, though it dropped him somewhat below easy view of those at the table, and raised his hammer in salute to Ingvar. “Whatever our clans’ past histories, I respect your age; I wish only you had gone further yet, Son of the Hills.�

“Further I would have gone if there were further to go, Gudmund of the Mountains.� Wearily, Ingvar leaned back in his chair; if only he and Ryan hadn’t been separated. He would have taken flight with the doll and risked the charms of the Elven forest over what he knew was to come. “Yet even as close as my clan held their ties to humans, the sunlit world is no kinder to I.�

The words cast a silence over the room; a broaching of the forbidden subject so few readily spoke of. A younger Ingvar would have spat at the almost superstitious disdain the other Dwarf and this Elven King showed for it; this older one merely waited for their discomfort to pass. Let you hear that, Gudmund, and know that even though I regret the results of the past, I do not regret the reasons.

“Your list of offenses runs deep and further than leading a demon’s ire to our blessed shadows, good Dwarf.� King Dietmar, nut brown of skin like all his woodland folk and possessing a carefully tended long mane of pale, near white green regarded the two Dwarves with eyes a paler yellow than those of Anselm. “Have you come to tell us what inspired you to craft such enemies and bring them upon us? Ah…but then, you are Light-sworn; they were always your enemy, were they not?�

Ingvar scowled deeply across the table then at Gudmund; he could guess easily enough what had brought this Dwarf to the forest if he were sharing such stories with the Elven King. Then he turned to nod once to Dietmar, heavy arms crossing.

“Yes, the Sons of the Hills allied themselves to the Light; but before you go and claim I hid any such thing from you and yours, Good King, I would have you remember this: You never asked.� Ingvar had to wonder if he imagined the flicker of approval on his rival Dwarf’s features as the King blinked, momentarily taken aback. Ingvar had long ago learned the trick to talking to this particular Elf at least; do not give him a chance to start trying to get clever with words. He was not quite so quick as Anselm to start the games. “I asked only for passage when first I crossed your lands; I did not hide my clan from you.� The fact that he knew Elves did not bother to keep track of Dwarven affairs could simply be left out of this discussion.

Gudmund leaned back in his chair as he watched the traitor Dwarf handle the Elven King musingly. His own reason for being here would not change, no matter what respect he acquired for Ingvar, but he could enjoy the show at least.

“As to ‘leading the demon to your blessed shadows’, good King; I did none such. A curse the thing brought to bear against me and I had little enough say in the direction it took me.� The Dwarf tucked his thumbs into his belt, eyeing the King beneath a heavy brow. “If that answers all of your questions, perhaps you will tell me what brings Gudmund of the Mountains to the same table you have invited Ignvar of the Hills to. It is unlike Elves to step into matters of Dwarven clanwars.�

Indeed, it was much unlike an Elf to be involved in that, and Ingvar had his doubts Dietmar had ever truly intended to be involved; beyond passing off a troublesome ‘guest’, at any rate. Ingvar had now placed him firmly in the thick of it, however; if the King wished them both at his table, he would have to accept this as a show of allegiance, not of neutrality. Chew long and hard on that, old squirrel.

Gudmund showed his own approval of matters by holding his silence, looking expectantly to the King to state the reasons. Dietmar had misjudged the older Dwarf; the younger had little objection to watching the meddling King get cornered neatly by his own games.

“Gudmund came to our Hall seeking rumors of a traitor kin that had crossed here, unknown to us then for what he was.� Now the King was speaking his part more carefully, lest he find himself sworn to involve himself further. “When that traitor entered the Wood again, we saw little to be lost in giving him what he came for so that we may be rid of both.�

In and out of the pan with only a slight kiss of the fire, but the insult would be something Gudmund would be taking back to his own kind. Ingvar had little doubt the Elves would find their dealings with the Sons of the Mountains near as cordial as they once were.

“The King of the Elves speaks truly; I came here to find and bring back the traitor we have sought since the fall of the Sons of the Hills. Ingvar Light-sworn, the Sons of the Mountains will hear you out and carry judgment fairly if you will not flee us.� Ingvar settled back in his chair at those words from Gudmund, his frown heavy beneath his beard.

Once, he would have accepted this as his just due after having been fairly caught; he had even been waiting for it, perhaps, as his years entered their final reach. Unfortunately, he had more than himself to consider now. Ryan would find no more sympathy for his plight among the Dwarves still sworn to the shadow than he would among these Elves if his secret were exposed.

“I regret raising my axe against my cousin kin, Gudmund of the Mountains.� Ingvar spoke heavily as the other Dwarf tensed, a frown etching itself beneath his fair beard. “But I do not regret what I chose then with my clan; war with your own was never desired. I will not claim to know where or when the first blow was struck or by whom; but I will not return to the Mountain as your prisoner. There are things yet for me to do.�

“Then you would deny-“ Gudmund fell silent as Ingvar shook his head sharply that, rising to slam a heavy hand upon the table. King Dietmar winced at the abuse to his poor furniture but held his silence; he had no intention of being drawn into Dwarven wars.

“I do not deny my clan warred with yours; I do not deny I slew those I once called friend and cousin-kin on the field. Nor do I deny that your clan brought the same on my own!� Ingvar pushed himself away from the table then, jaw set. “I renounce not my clan’s name or their ways as your kin would have me do. Bring your hammer then, Gudmund and I shall bring my bloodstained axe; see what our kin wrought before you ever stepped forth from mountain shadow!�

Gudmund rocked back in his chair slightly at that outright challenge, a heavy scowl forming beneath his beard. He had little doubt he could take the aging Dwarf down in a battle; but this had not been how he had intended to settle this matter.

“They say that you were the Lorekeeper of the Sons of the Hills, Ingvar. I would rather you simply accepted your fate and imparted your knowledge to us before you left.� Gudmund slid down from his chair, hand reluctantly taking up his hammer. “But if it is a challenge of blood you wish, then a challenge of blood you will have.�

King Dietmar sat rigid on his throne, eyes narrowing at both Dwarves as they stepped from his table to face one another. He could hardly care less if they decided to kill one another, but not in his throne room.

“One would thank both if they would simply step from this hall and-“ Dietmar never got to finish his ‘request’, however. Before either Dwarf had saluted the other, the doors to the throne room were thrown open again; a panicked guardsman all but flying in with a hearty gust of forest wind to carry him along.

“Your highness! Lord Anselm; the golem has attacked him! We cannot get it to release him!� Ingvar didn’t know whether he wished to curse or bless Ryan at that moment; he decided to figure it out later as he charged for the door, cursing under his breath with every step. Gudmund was only a few steps behind, determined not to lose sight of the long absent traitor, though both found themselves quickly surpassed as the Elves flitted by like so many leaves on the wind.

Thus it was a very crowded room that greeted Ingvar and Gudmund’s sights as Elves readied arrows and spears with some noted misgivings; what good were those against something not even properly alive?

Within the room itself, the situation looked more comedic than outright dangerous to Ingvar; the scarlet maned Elf was sprawled out on the floor, looking no little disgusted with the fuss. On his back, Ryan sat with his not inconsiderable weight. Ebony was not a light wood.

“For the last time you cursed thing; get off!� Anselm wasn’t making much effort for clever wordings now, Ingvar noted. And even more amusing was the perfect act Ryan was giving of not understanding; the doll did not even turn its head to acknowledge the Elf’s ranting, merely stayed put as he looked toward Ingvar.

“I see you tried to meddle with my runa docka, Anselm. Did you truly think it would not have a means to defend itself?� Not that sitting on an opponent had ever occurred to Ingvar for a possible ‘defense’. Behind him, Gudmund drew up short, blinking a moment at the situation in the room behind.

“Magnificent! I have never seen such a finely crafted a one…� Gudmund began to move forward but Ingvar put out his hand to forestall the motion.

“Best not to get too close; it is not one very old. I made it merely to assist me in my return to the inner realms. It still has not learned to heed the words of others…as I believe our Lord Anselm is demonstrating.� Ingvar didn’t bother to try to hide the grin that came to his face at those words; Gudmund was at least making an honest effort not to snicker at the Elf and his predicament.

“If quite through you are taking your pleasure at my cousin’s pain, get that beastly golem of yours off of him!� Dietmar scowled at both Dwarves and their hardly unrepentant grins. Finally, Ingvar stepped forward, one hand held out as if to placate the doll before them, muttering something in a soothing tone.

“Up and away from him now; come to my side. There you are then…come here.� Ryan didn’t understand the words, but the beckoning gesture was plain enough. He pushed himself up from Anselm, ‘accidentally’ pushing a bit too hard on the Elf’s back and earning a yelp he had to stifle a grin against.

Teach you to try opening up a ‘doll’ that doesn’t belong to you. Heh!

Ingvar turned then to face Gudmund as the guards drew in a tight circle around them; King Dietmar sending only one to help his cousin back to his feet. He had no way of making it known to Ryan without giving away the ruse what was going to transpire soon; he had extended the challenge and could hardly withdraw it.

“Outside then; we will settle our differences there before this castle.� Dietmar fumed at those words from Ingvar, stepping between both Dwarves swiftly and gesturing angrily toward the forest.

“You will do so neither here nor in my forest; be gone with both of you! Do as you like outside of my realm but I will not have your barbarism within my lands!� Now presented with targets a bit more likely to take harm from arrow and spear, the Elves leveled them once more, this time at the no longer welcome guests. “Anselm; though my kin you are, you are the one that brought both to my gates. Thus you will escort them and that golem to the border once more!�

Anselm began to open his mouth in protest, then swiftly silenced himself at the King’s glare. Though far from clever by Elven standards, Dietmar’s temper was legendary once riled; he could only imagine what the Dwarves must have been up to in the throne room to have stirred it so.

“As you will, your highness.� The Elf bowed low and stepped back toward the Dwarves; though he checked his direction briefly on realizing he had gotten near that nightmarish creation of Ingvar’s again. “Come then, all of you. Your welcome has worn thin. You will keep whatever business binds you together to yourselves until you depart our lands.�

Both Dwarves leveled sour looks upon the Elf; as if they hadn’t heard the King say as much themselves, eh? But they nodded their acceptance all the same, starting off for the forest once more under the Elf’s guidance.

Inwardly, Anselm cursed the Dwarves and golem all; he had hoped this little offering would amuse Dietmar. Instead he had learned nothing of the golem and the Dwarves had only angered the King. So much for an easy means of earning favor.

[Kyrieath]

Anselm didn’t bother with any attempts at the same games he had played on first leading Ingvar and Ryan in. With two angry Dwarves at his back and a golem that had already attacked him once, he simply wanted to get this done with so he could think of some way to counter his mistake.

He should have known better than to think Dietmar could handle an elderly Dwarf. Any species in its fading years develops a certain canniness; the king may have been older than the Dwarf but he was by no means old for an Elf.

And then there was the matter of that peculiar golem. Anselm couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something very odd there. For something of supposedly limited scope, it certainly seemed to know when it was being directly watched and when it was not. He had caught it looking around as if to study the forest as it had the Elven settlement a few times now from the corner of his eye.

Behind the Elf and slightly to his left walked Gudmund, though the younger Dwarf’s attention was nearly all for his fellow Dwarf. The last of a traitor clan, Ingvar had not been anything like what he had expected. He had chalked it up to age, at first; but the longer he watched the Son of the Hills, the more certain he was that the other was hiding something.

That was nothing to be too amazed at, possibly; Dwarves were amazing keepers of secrets and as Lorekeeper, Ingvar certainly had plenty of those. He suspected this had little to do with ancient secrets, however. Though Ingvar stomped ahead without so much as looking over his shoulder, it wasn’t lost on Gudmund that he was also kept his eyes turned down to the earth, head slightly tilted as if listening.

And indeed; Ingvar was listening. He was making sure Ryan was matching them step for step, not trusting Anselm to try some trick to sate his curiosity. He would deal with Gudmund once they were out of the forest; until then, he didn’t count any of them as safe. If Anselm had earned his king’s ire in some way, it would not be unlike these mercurial creatures to decide to simply get rid of the two troublesome Dwarves and a noble who lost a bit of face.

If that came about, they would likely try to appropriate the boy and find a few things best left unknown. Death didn’t hold the fear for Ingvar it likely did for his unwilling companions, but he had no intention of meeting it yet. Not while he still had something to take care of.

Bringing up the tail of the party, Ryan was doing his level best to simply play the obedient doll; an act he was steadily finding more and more difficult to pull off. Who would have ever thought just pretending to not be able to speak or think could be so hard? He didn’t even have an actual tongue to nip to remind himself to stay silent when this or that question began to occur to him.

Such as questions about the strange…bird? he had glimpsed through the canopy on a chance look overhead. He didn’t know what was considered normal in this world but he’d think some sort of fire bird be bad for a forest. And he was pretty sure it was on fire.

With Anselm and this other Dwarf here, however, he couldn’t ask questions without exposing himself. He only knew what ‘commands’ Ingvar had given him because of gestures; he hardly had any knowledge of the language himself.

And even if he did, the other Dwarf was also here. Would it be strange for a rune doll to take that kind of initiative? Ingvar did say they were intelligent within a certain capacity even without a borrowed soul.

While Ryan pondered what he should do, he caught sight of that ‘bird’ again; then he flat out stopped at realizing there were now two, circling lower over the forest. Ingvar turned back, gesturing for Ryan to keep going, then looked up as the doll abruptly pointed upward.

The warning came almost too late. Ingvar roared to Anselm and Gudmund to get down as he dashed for Ryan, yanking the doll to the earth as the woods around them exploded into flame. Stone talons clacked shut where the two had been standing only seconds before as it rose back up into the sky, though the second was quick in following suit.

Ingvar and Ryan scrambled and rolled along the ground, trying to avoid the talons that snatched at them. The forest was rapidly darkening as fires set by the beasts’ wings continued to spread around them and Ryan could hear someone- probably Anselm- coughing and choking in the murky smoke. Gudmund appeared about of it quickly, however, head ducked down to keep himself below the current smoke line.

“The smoke is our advantage for now; come Ingvar!� The blond Dwarf hauled the elder up, then gestured with an imperious word to Ryan to follow. The doll was paying little mind to him, however.

Somewhere in that smoke, the coughing had stopped. Ryan was no fireman but he’d certainly seen enough movies to know that wasn’t a good sign for Anselm. Gudmund shouted after him in consternation as the doll simply took off for where he had heard the coughs, but Ingvar only smiled as he steadied himself against the other Dwarf.

“You could not stop that one.� Born in the wrong era, Ryan had been. He was far too willing to challenge first wights and now firebeasts. “Follow; we will need to stay beneath the smoke.�

The two Dwarves didn’t have to go far to find the doll and Elf; Ryan was dragging the scarlet maned lord along the ground, plainly trying to keep him beneath the smoke. On seeing the two, Ryan waved Ingvar over quickly.

“I can’t tell if he’s breathing…� Gudmund simply stopped cold at those words from the doll, then he narrowed his eyes and watched the doll closer as he knelt by Anselm. Ingvar crouched down and put his hand over the Elf’s mouth briefly, then nodded.

“He still breathes if only just. Do you mean to take him from the fire then, Runa?� Ingvar hid a smile under his beard at the doll’s shocked look; the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. “Always the odd lot, your kind are. Well, pick him up, boy! Those beasts are not gone; Gudmund and I need our hands and weapons free. I would bet my beard they are simply waiting to see us flushed out; then they will be on us again.�

Ryan began to lift the Elf up over his shoulders then paused to eye the smoke. It was easy enough for the Dwarves to stay below it, but he was a good bit taller. He scooped him up like a child instead to both Dwarves’ apparent amusement, then they set out under the smoke again.

This time, it was Gudmund who realized the massive beasts’ approach first, hearing the fire of their wings over the crackling of the forest as the other two ran.

“Down!� The trees exploded into flame anew as Ryan and Ingvar hastened to comply; the doll was a far slower target with his burden, however, and though he avoided being hefted up by the reaching talon, it sent him sprawling as the beast rose up again.

The second beast descended as the other rose, its talons closing into the earth around the doll and Elf. It began to lift them, dirt and all, when a Dwarven axe found its home in the beast’s flank, the enchantments on the blade lending its bite a sting that set the creature keening and tumbling to the earth. It released its hold on its captives to whirl around and face its attacker while Ryan scrambled to pull Anselm out of the way of the fiery tail.

A roar warned Ryan the other beast had returned as he tried to drag the unconscious Elf out of harm’s way. He looked up to be greeted by the sight of a reaching talon abruptly shattering beneath a warhammer’s strike as Gudmund roared his challenge, though unlike the one Ingvar faced, this one gave no cry of pain. The talon began to reform before their eyes as the beast landed and swiveled its fiery head level with the younger Dwarf, ash lips curling back to reveal fangs of stone.

“A demon’s craft these are; flee Son of the Mountains! Your hammer is no bane to these!� The beast Ingvar faced had proven to fare far worse than that which stalked Gudmund; where the axe had struck, shadows bled and dampened the flames. Its fiery wings were rent and torn and as Ryan watched, a leg was sent flying from beneath the beast by a blow of the axe. Slow with age Ingvar might be; but his axe was an obvious bane to the beast, and it was by far and away clumsier and slower than the Dwarf.

Gudmund’s wasn’t even harmed. The hammer connected again and again as the beast lunged and snapped or swiped its talons at him; these creatures were hardly fast once land bound. But though the stone shattered at every hit, it merely drew itself back together again after the blow had passed and Gudmund could feel his arms growing heavier with every swing.

The beast didn’t have to outpace him; it only had to outlast him.

A growl of helpless frustration rose out of Gudmund’s chest as he struck again at the swiping talons; when the leg shattered this time, he simply turned to flee the beast. He could see the truth in Ingvar’s warning, but it left the taste of bile in his throat all the same to flee a battle. Unfortunately, the irate beast was not interested in letting its irritant simply flee. It threw itself into the air for a brief flight, crashing into the trees over the Dwarf and sending fire laden splinters flying as it lunged for him again while the branches and trunks gave beneath its weight.

Ryan watched, sickened, as the beast seemed sure to kill the Dwarf, who could raise only his useless hammer in response. Someone was about to die right in front of him. Again.

“Hey! Hey! Over here; aren’t I what you’re after?! Sure looked like it a minute ago! You’re going after the wrong person you stupid thing!� Not the most creative insult he had ever thought of, but the beast’s lunge missed its mark as its head shifted slightly to follow the sound of his voice. Gudmund was slammed into one of the trees rather than snatched up by the jaws instead; though he didn’t rise to his feet, a low groan assured Ryan the Dwarf still lived at least.

Ingvar cursed as he heard the boy’s shouting. He left the wounded beast he had been attempting to finish off to flounder about at the edge of the smoke choked clearing and ran for the doll, even as the beast charged. Its wings were flared out as it built its momentum; the intention of the attack was obvious. Snare the doll as it went aloft; Ryan hadn’t been incorrect at which of them the beasts had consistently attacked first plainly.

With such speed on its side, there was very little the beast could do to alter its course when the Dwarf hurtled past the doll and Elf. The axe bit deep into the rock and flame of its chest, pouring smoke and shadow out onto the Dwarf as the thing pulled up and away from its assailant. Wings flapping wildly, it sought to take to the air again, but for every flap of its wings, more pieces of it fell to earth until only a heap of broken, seared stone remained.

Behind them, a similar pile smoldered amid smaller ones left by the battle against Ingvar; the wounds finished what the Dwarf himself had left undone.

“You are either courageous or a fool, boy!� but for all of Ingvar’s bluster and Ryan’s contrite look, the Dwarf could feel a certain pride. If anyone ever questioned his decision to save the boy, whether he was worth saving, he had his answer for certain now.

“Bah; go see to Gudmund; he was more knocked about than your baggage.� Ingvar knelt by Anselm to check the Elf’s breathing and other vitals. Ryan started off to comply and Gudmund over to be similarly tended when another roar cut through the air.

Above them, a third beast was descending once Ryan was half way between the two Dwarves. With no cover to flee for, Ryan simply threw himself down to the earth, expecting to feel the claws closing about him and raising him into the sky.

The talons snapped shut and Ryan cried out; then blinked to realize he had heard an echo of sorts to his own voice. Nor had the claws closed on him, but just above him. He raised his head cautiously to look up as the beast roared in triumph and rose into the sky; then blinked again to see…himself? dangling from its claws helplessly as it disappeared into the distance.

“What in the…� He crawled cautiously to his knees and looked at Ingvar, who only shook his head and pointed downward. Ryan followed the gesture to find Anselm’s eyes half opened and bleary, but plainly the Elf something like aware, at least.

“Illusions come as natural as breathing to an Elf, boy, and fool more than the eyes. Keep that in mind when his debt is paid in full.� Ingvar frowned down at the Elf, not denying a certain relief when the other slipped into unconsciousness again. Timely that might have been, but he was under no illusions to what had driven Anselm to act.

A life debt was a heavy thing and few cared to owe them. He would have to watch the Elf carefully from here on.

“That should be the last then; they think they have you. Gather up Gudmund and let us be off before the illusion fades and it returns.� It was time to get to something like safety and settle down for a bit; and figure out what to do with the unwanted burdens they had acquired.