[written down by Johana Passerin]
“Love goes through the stomach.” Mirk
In the previous part of the story, entitled The Journey to Iacana, the heroes escaped from the underground, where they discovered Timot’s study and diary, a bird painted on the wall that came to life when Jarn painted its eye; where they dreamed peculiar dreams and traveled a portion of the Path of the Temple. When they emerged onto the surface of the earth, they could still smell the scent of the old age, but the mists of chaos were not far off. So they hurried to Iacana, trying along the way to warn everyone they met. They arrived in Iacana after noon and were reunited with the Host at the Inn.
Once they quenched their thirst, Klaes briefly recounted to The Host everything about the events in Maghon, about the barbarian hordes, how Master Talantius sent them north with the Elixir of True Sight, and that they were to head either to Sairis or to Xalgon.
“So an age is ending,” The Host said thoughtfully. “I didn’t like the Web anyway. As is so often the case, the result of trying to control things is frequently the exact opposite. An age of barbarism and chaos approaches. To be honest, the Inn is not in danger. But I would feel sorry for the people of Iacana. They are good souls. I will summon them inside; they can take shelter here. And then you will still have to tell me in detail what happened along the way.”
In the Inn, beer was served by shapely barmaids who beneath their aprons surely concealed not only beautiful bodies, but steel as well. The Host called one of them over and sent her outside. After a moment, a ringing resounded—a charming chiming that was apparently meant as an alarm signal for the inhabitants of Iacana.
“You are tired, and some of you are wounded. But—come outside with me first! I have some arrangements to make out there, and it will be good for you to know what is happening.”
When they stepped out of the Inn, they saw that the square had filled in the meantime with humans and elves. In fact, most of Iacana’s inhabitants were elves. They hurried slowly, and nothing shook their grace and nobility. The human inhabitants, on the other hand, rushed hastily toward the gazebo on the south side of the square. A little to the side of the crowd stood four frightened Paladin knights in gleaming armor and light cloaks. They were youths, hardly more than smooth-faced boys. The crowd parted before The Host, letting him pass all the way to the speaker’s lectern inscribed with forest runes. The Host did not even need to raise a hand for everyone to fall silent. It was enough that he stood there.
“Dear friends, the age is ending. The Order of Paladins has fallen. A tide is approaching that we cannot stop. Say goodbye to your possessions; save your loved ones, your animals. Perhaps you suspected that a black heart was hidden in the center of our land. But the hoop around it has burst, and the Paladins failed to guard what they were meant to keep,” he said in a calm yet serious voice. At these words, terror appeared on the faces of the Paladin knights, and they slowly and subtly slipped away.
“Listen to what you must do to save your lives. You noble elves whom the Great Forest will receive, set out there. To all others who cannot find salvation in the Forest, the doors of The Inn at the Three Foxes are open. Take only what is most necessary, however. Do not push; you will all find refuge beneath my roof.”
The Host issued instructions in a calm voice for a little while longer. Then he nodded to the quartet of weary travelers, and they returned to the inn.
When they stepped inside and their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they could finally examine the Inn from the inside in peace. The central hall had an oval shape. At the heights of the first, second, and third floors were galleries with railings. Above their heads, lanterns hovered at various heights. Some shone with yellow light, others with silver. Some were small, others large. Klaes had the impression that they were even moving slowly, and wondered how that might be arranged.
Al-Raqím asked in wonder: “It is far larger in here than it looks from the outside. Who built this inn? Why is it called—The Three Foxes?”
“That is simple. Three foxes founded it! The Free Land has a tradition that foxes say good night here. So why shouldn’t they pour beer as well? And I am merely the steward here; it doesn’t actually belong to me,” The Host replied.
The Host nodded, and the barmaids placed more tankards of beer on the table before the weary travelers. The Host had one too.
“So, tell me, with what do you come to my Inn?”
Jarn emptied his tankard and recounted everything anew—truthfully, in detail, and in verse. The Host listened and nodded. When they reached the part about the bird painted on the wall in their story, Jarn unwrapped from his hand the strip of silk in which he was hiding it. A shadow of concern briefly appeared on The Host’s face.
“May I look at it up close?”
Jarn nodded, and The Host examined his hand closely for a moment.
“That is an ancient technique,” he said then. “Two souls in one body.”
“Saguin!” Jarn blurted out. “I dreamed about him dreaming that he is me. We descended into the depths of the Temple. Timot lies there on a bier, as if merely asleep.”
“We found Timot’s diary. We brought it with us,” Klaes patted the breast pocket of his coat. “And the Temple truly is down there in the underground.”
“Yes, yes, beneath the Silver Mountains is an ancient Temple. Not even The Inn at the Three Foxes has stood as long as the Vezan temples.”
“Does that mean a Vezan spirit walks with me?” said Jarn, who was only now recovering from what he had realized. “Is he bound to my side? Does he shadow my stride? Can a cure be applied? Or will I perish inside?”
“Vezans—that doesn’t necessarily mean evil outright. They just have a somewhat depressing aesthetic. And as for healing, surely something could be done. But to tell you the truth, I do not much care for this kind of magic.”
The Host stood up. “And now excuse me. I must still give my barmaids instructions regarding the lodging of Iacana’s inhabitants.”
“How will they fit in here?” Al-Raqím wondered.
“Let us say the foxes endowed us with as many rooms as there are guests,” The Host smiled faintly. “And I am The Host because I have a sense of measure. If the boundaries were breached, the foxes would grow angry. Will you have another beer?”
With another blink of an eye, full tankards were placed before the travelers, and The Host departed. The Huntress slipped away somewhere as well. Klaes, Jarn, and Al-Raqím sipped their drinks and, heads close together, quietly discussed where they should head. Sairis was closer. The journey to Xalgon was longer, but they knew how to heal wounds like the one Jarn suffered there. Perhaps.
Meanwhile, a crowd began to gather on the doorstep. While humans hurried home and then back to the inn’s gates, laden with what they considered most valuable among their possessions, the elves calmly performed their chanting rituals of farewell to their home, especially to the trees and stones. The Host offered his advice here and there and then returned to the weary travelers.
“Now it is time to arrange your affairs. Where do you wish to set out?”
“Where can we go?” Jarn countered briefly.
“Master Talantius told us you would advise us. We hope for your help and counsel!” Klaes said.
“Master Talantius is a very well-informed and wise lord. He knows full well that I have certain forces at my disposal that will aid you wherever you go. I do not know if you will ever again encounter such unconditional support as you have here. I can provide you with equipment and a guide for the journey, whether you set off there or yonder.” The Host smiled faintly and looked toward the roof timbering of the inn. On one of the galleries, a scratching sound was heard, followed by the patter of small paws. Down the stairs ran a fox.
“Fox, pinecone, dandelion stalks,” Jarn said with amusement.
“That is noble of you, thank you,” said Klaes, who paid hardly any attention to the fox. “But will you advise us, then, where we should go? To Xalgon, as far as I know, it is twice as far as to Sairis. Do you have a map here?”
“Of course.” The Host reached into a shelf, and instantly a detailed map of the Free Land and surrounding regions lay on the table.
“So here is Iacana, and from here the danger spreads. Viasse is no more. Gindon is likely affected by the new age as well. Nothing can stop the surge now. The path to Sairis is more dangerous; the path to Xalgon is longer. If you go to Xalgon, however, provided you move quickly and carefully enough, the danger will remain at your back. To escape the surge of the new age on the way to Sairis, you would have to go through the elven woods. But I fear the elves would not let you pass through there alone.”
Klaes, looking at the map, said: “The sooner the elixir gets into the right hands, the better. From my point of view, we have only one option—to set out for Xalgon.”
Al-Raqím and Jarn nodded.
“And which are the right hands?” came a voice from behind them. They looked back in surprise. Sitting there was the fox that had run down the stairs earlier, staring at them.
“She talks?” Jarn marveled.
“Only sometimes,” The Host shrugged. “Allow me to introduce your guide, Lykilla.”
“We are very pleased,” Klaes said doubtfully.
“Whether we go here or there, The fox will sweep The path for us with tail and care,” Jarn chuckled.
“That is very charming. But could you please procure some horses and supplies for the journey for us?” the practical Al-Raqím spoke up.
“Oh, of course,” said The Host. “And not only that. You look quite battered—you need your wounds bandaged and properly tended.”
“Do you have a doctor here?”
“Norio!” The Host summoned one of his barmaids. “Go to the healers’ lounge and bring someone here. Thanks.”
“Healers? Well, better than nothing,” Klaes muttered.
Al-Raqím turned to the Huntress. “Sunva, where will your steps lead now? Will you accompany us to Xalgon? Without your help, we surely wouldn’t have reached Iacana.”
“I hesitate. I accompanied you to Uncle Host because I hoped he might be able to advise me on how to return to my people. But you have a very difficult task,” the Huntress said.
Jarn looked at her pleadingly: “We are no fighters brave, a helping hand we crave.”
Al-Raqím added: “Yes, we would be very glad if you came with us.”
“I need a moment to think. I’ll step outside for a bit, if you don’t mind,” the Huntress answered and walked out of the Inn. Hot on her heels, quiet as a shadow, went the fox. She had thick amber-colored fur, silver-gray at the tip of her tail and on her head, and large black eyes. She looked like an ordinary fox. The only unusual thing about her was perhaps that the color of her fur, eyes, claws—everything was rich, like the colors of pebbles after rain, and her eyes sharp and alert.
The Huntress sat down in the grass behind the inn and stared thoughtfully ahead. The fox lay down beside her, and the Huntress absentmindedly began scratching her behind the ears. Everyone she knew had flown off to the sky in a sorcerer’s tower. Her village in ruins, her forests full of terrifying barbarians. She had clung to The Inn at the Three Foxes, foolishly thinking that by doing so she would pass all those worries into wiser hands and be able to escape into the solitude of the woods. But running away made no sense. Sooner or later, the fiends would arrive. Hiding in the Inn might have been comfortable, but Sunva was anything but comfortable. She already understood that although her Maghon was destroyed, the Elixir could save many other villages and homelands across the world.
Meanwhile in the Inn, the trio continued discussing their plans with The Host.
“Although I trust your courage, it is good to have a backup plan. Especially in a situation like this,” The Host said. “You have a limited amount of the Elixir, and you also have a small portion for yourselves. What if, with your permission, I tried asking my friends among the noble elves for help, to carry a little of the Elixir to Sairis as well? I must send word there of the danger threatening them so they can prepare. And if messengers are going there anyway, they could also carry news of potential aid.”
“To warn them is a plight we face, before the evil grips the place,” Jarn nodded.
“Alas,” said The Host, “we can only dispatch messengers. I will try to find someone among my elven friends who would undertake the task. It is entirely up to you whether you sacrifice a small portion of the Elixir for these messengers to take with them. Think it over.”
The barmaid Noria returned, bringing with her a man and a woman, healers. They looked unpretentious, but their art was of high caliber. One by one, they took the travelers, examined their wounds, rubbed them with healing ointments, and stitched and bandaged what was necessary. Within an hour they were finished with everything and quietly departed once more. The Host sent them outside to Sunva as well, who also needed treatment.
Then Klaes carefully removed the container with the elixir from its wrapping. On the large vessel, they discovered a mark indicating the quantity necessary for manufacturing more Elixir. In a small vial, they had Elixir for their own use, several doses of which had already been consumed.
“How much can we sacrifice?” Al-Raqím asked.
“I know nothing of alchemy; let The Host do it, he knows the proper measure,” Klaes said.
And so The Host took upon himself the task of separating a portion of the Elixir. Then he set out to find someone willing to be a bearer of bad news and set off for Sairis.
From the hill on which the small town of Iacana stood, a torrent of wretched refugees could be seen. There was a huge crowd of them, approaching in disarray: the strong and uninjured ran hastily in front, while the weak and miserable dragged behind. The Host went out to meet them. They were people from Viasse. When they reached the square, they joined the citizens of Iacana standing in line before the single door to the Inn. Shoving began in the hitherto orderly crowd, and people whispered their fears to one another. The stream of people entering the Inn moved slower than everyone wished.
Then they also spotted a black cloud in the southern sky, which had until now been cloudless. As it drew closer, it turned out to be a flock of black birds. When they arrived, they perched on trees and roofs. They were ravens, crows, rooks, and other far larger black avian creatures with no name in the Common tongue. One of them perched on the gutter above the door and looked down at the people.
“Good day,” Al-Raqím greeted him.
“Greetings,” the black bird answered.
“Bring you news or bring you none, dark grim patron on the run?” Jarn addressed him.
“Oh, the gentleman is a poet?” the raven marveled.
“A Lorinian,” Jarn replied.
“And where are you from?” he turned to Klaes.
“I am from the north.”
“And what did you do in life?”
“Experiments.”
“That sounds unpleasant.”
“It’s nothing. Just with powder and such. And who are you?”
“We call ourselves Mirk,” the black bird said and winked. All the other birds winked at the exact same moment as well.
“And whom do you work for?” Al-Raqím asked.
“Until recently, we were at the Eternal Feast. And then the gates opened and everyone left, so we also set off to fly up and chat with those upon whom we shall feast.”
Jarn leaped back and pulled a knitting needle from his hair: “Fly away! Begone, you black raven, the foxes won’t give us up. No and no!”
Al-Raqím placed a hand on his shoulder. “Calmly, friend.”
“Isn’t it time to set off?” Jarn said shakily.
“I thought we might spend the night, but now I too would rather continue our journey.”
Al-Raqím countered: “And I would speak with them further. Perhaps they have news for us.” And then he turned to the black bird and said: “Mr. Mirk, do you have any news for us?”
“You are an interesting fellow, but I must disappoint you. We come from the place that humans call the Eternal Battle. We call it the Eternal Feast. At it we collected the wisdom of the sons of death.”
“And what is the wisdom of the sons of death?” Al-Raqím asked.
“Plentiful,” the bird deduced.
“And what did you see along the way?”
“The fall of Viasse. Most of the sons died by the wrath of the mountains, not in battle. It was a glowing twilight. Gray clouds flew in from the south. The lords of the city spoke a powerful word, and the gods took their lives. It was a game of fate.”
Klaes, catching the raven’s final words, stepped closer again and asked: “Was it the twilight of yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And did you notice whether the vanquishers of the sons of death moved onward?”
The raven chuckled and replied: “It delights us how two-leggeds and four-leggeds are bound to the earth. Across the wall of the wrath of mountains, the heroes from the eternal battle cannot pass.”
Jarn went to look for the Huntress. He found her behind the Inn. She was still sitting nearby, stroking the fox. He sat down beside her and addressed her:
“Will you come with us along?
People from Viasse surge strong,
With them flies a black bird cloud,
Ravens, magpies in a crowd.
We should ride into the night,
And gain a small head start in flight.”
Sunva looked up. “I have decided that I will go with you.”
They returned together to the front of the Inn. There were more birds than before: roofs turned black with them, trees bent under their weight. Jarn felt as though he could hear a rumbling in the belly of the raven they had conversed with earlier. The fox trotted behind them, grimacing at the birds. They watched her warily.
Klaes, seeing the Huntress approach, said: “Word is you’ve decided to put up with us a while longer.”
Sunva replied: “Yes. I won’t leave you in the lurch. And I also want to make sure Jarn here doesn’t end up in the thrall of dark forces.”
Then they noticed how the ravens were staring at Jarn’s hand. He quickly hid it back inside the silk glove.
With the arrival of refugees from Viasse, the situation in the square changed. Shoving, arguments, and line-cutting appeared in the hitherto orderly crowd. Some tried to force their way forward. The barmaids had their hands full. They tried to manage the crowd, but more and more refugees trickled in from the south, many injured and terrified.
The Host returned just in time to help calm the crowd. He led four horses equipped with full gear and supplies for a week’s journey. The travelers examined everything with gratitude. In the saddlebags they even found medicines from the local healers. Al-Raqím also requested throwing daggers from The Host. Then came the time for farewells.
“Remember that on our side the forest is still kindly, friendly, and full of light. On the other side, however, beware. The forest will no longer be so safe there. The Arkonians worship fire and mistrust the woods. And as you call into the forest, so it echoes back. Know that the greater the fire, the greater the shadows. May you find the right paths there,” The Host said.
“The fox surely knows her way through the woods?” Jarn floated.
“Yes, the fox will guide you.”
The Fox ran up to The Host and sat at his feet. She spoke quietly in a human voice:
“Give me good advice and a blessing for the journey, master. I have never left our triune unity before.”
“Advice? Why, I come to seek advice from you. And the greatest blessing is you yourself,” The Host replied.
“I know; I have the key, after all.”
“Then watch over them for me, my dear fox.” Then he bent down to her and whispered something in her ear.
Then Jarn, Al-Raqím, Klaes, and Sunva mounted their horses and set off. The black birds croaked after them: “Safe journey!”
“From the borders to the capital city!” Jarn answered.
Klaes shook his fist at them: “And empty stomachs to you!”
In front of The Inn at the Two Foxes stood The Host, waving to them. The fox looked back once more and sniffed.
“Why are you sniffing?” Al-Raqím asked.
“I smell—a beautiful evening—a glowing evening—after which will come—black clouds.”
And indeed they saw the western sky turning gold with the sunset, but in the south gray clouds piled up like thick smoke. The ravens on the roofs and trees of Iacana hopped about impatiently. Above the travelers’ heads circled one black bird, as if escorting them, or following them.
“Sunva, do you see that raven?” Klaes said.
“That’s not a raven, but it’s certainly one of that flock.”
“Could you…?” Klaes said, gesturing as if shooting a bow.
“Not now. But when the time is right, I’ll try to rid us of that unwelcome escort. I like that flock even less than the hordes,” Sunva deduced gloomily.
And so they quietly rode on, riding through the twilight. Sunva rode last, as was her custom. The fox trotted beside her. Suddenly she spoke in a human voice: “Niece, whom do we have extra with us here?”
“I think the Little Miss is dragging a dark shadow with him. And I think it is neither Timot nor Saguin. We should get rid of it as soon as possible.”
“And what about that strange hand of his?”
Sunva quietly recounted to the fox how Jarn came by his wound, and how in the underground he painted an eye on the picture of a bird that then appeared alive before them, and what shadows pursued them in the underground.
“Ah, I see,” the fox sighed.
The cold shadow of the Iacana forest embraced them. This was no ordinary old wood; it was an primeval forest. Great gnarled trees leaned over the trail and entwined their knotty arms above their heads. The forest gloom smelled of moss and mushrooms. The trail was narrow and indistinct. They passed clearings with ritually defined places, elven altars, and stone walls.
And while they traveled through the twilight in this manner, The Host found two elven brothers, travelers who agreed to abandon their planned journey north to the realm of mist and instead set off for Sairis. All the elves from Iacana had already left, and The Host found these travelers among the guests of his inn. He entrusted to them the precious vial containing a sample of the Elixir—too small, to be sure, for a significant quantity of this essence to be quickly manufactured from it, but large enough to be a drop in the ocean of despair nonetheless. These two elven brothers set off along the northern path across Alpa Tarvás, the Elven Woods. Through here they could travel without fear; no real danger threatened.
The Host looked now and then at the bottom of his beer glass, where in the remnants of foam he could behold their fate: The brothers mourned the destruction of the beautiful forests of the Free Land, but it was precisely their sorrow that drove them forward. Although they had originally merely been persuaded by The Host to serve as messengers and carry an important bottle to Sairis, they later caught fire for their mission. Along the way, they had to pass through the realm of the elven queen, who was a high priestess and sorceress. She demanded a tax from them, strangers, in exchange for letting them pass without asking where they were going or what they carried. They were to take part in the queen’s ritual of fertility and prosperity. They complied, but the ritual did not work as the elven queen envisioned. She was annoyed and released them only reluctantly. The elven brothers, weary, languid, and dazed, journeyed on…
The travelers slowly descended the hill. The terrain around them was waterlogged by many springs surfacing here. Darkness embraced them from all sides. Night fell, and to continue their journey, they had to light their lanterns. Their light fell only upon the nearest trees and the path ahead of them. They preferred to dismount and walk on foot, leading their horses by the reins. When they occasionally glimpsed the sky between the trees, they saw stars. Only in the south was the sky veiled by dark clouds.
Suddenly the trail ended at the foot of a majestic oak. Among its roots they saw altars, fresh flowers, figurines, and offerings. The trunk was painted with colored clays, and ribbons and other gifts hung from the branches. They stood at a crossroads. One path led to the top of the ridge and further in a north-northwesterly direction toward the village of Arkon. The second path turned north-northeast toward a saddle between the hills.
Klaes pulled out his spectacles and looked around with their aid to see in which directions the paths continued. But Jarn didn’t wait for anything; he nimbly climbed into the crown of the sacred tree, nearly to the top. In the night starlight, he caught sight of something glittering atop the hill toward which the left fork of the crossroads climbed. Figures, perhaps, a shine and revelry. He shaded his eyes with his left hand and looked. There he saw that it was a beautiful dance. Local elves, perhaps. Dancing a dance of peace.
“Some good folk are dancing over there,” he called down to his companions.
Klaes marveled: “You could see something in this dark?”
“What did you see?” Sunva asked.
“Veiled figures dance in gentle grace, With smiles and warmth upon their face. I see soft glimmers, misty light, My heart calls out to join their night!” Jarn answered melodiously.
“I’d rather avoid that. The Host told us the Arkonians perform their strange rituals here and that we should be careful. Come down!” Klaes said.
“Let the fox advise us; she knows the woods, after all!” Al-Raqím suggested.
The fox sniffed the paths and then spoke in a human voice.
“The path on the left is wild and untamed. The path on the right is difficult and against the stream.”
“And which path do you advise us to take?” Al-Raqím asked.
“The path on the left. But beware of what dances there. Beware!”
“And what about you, Huntress? What does your forest wisdom say?”
“I feel much the same as the fox,” Sunva replied.
Jarn climbed down and noted contentedly: “So you see, we’ll get to dance after all.”
“We want to travel, not dance!” Klaes cut him off.
“Exactly. I don’t want to spoil your fun, but we ought to rest. Here at the foot of the sacred tree, we can spend the night,” Sunva said.
“That is wise,” Al-Raqím joined in.
“We’ll post watches,” Sunva suggested.
“Definitely. If only because of that strange raven flying behind us.”
Jarn immediately volunteered for the first shift, but Al-Raqím stopped him: “You go to sleep. I’ll take the first watch and then wake Fox.”
So they tied the horses to the tree, unbridled and unsaddled them, spread out blankets, and laid down to rest. The fox sat among them, wishing them good night as was the fine custom in that region: “Heavenly power guards our sight, so go to sleep and have good night.”
