Jala walked up the wooded slope of the fog-shrouded mountain, eyes moving quickly side to side. She knew that as the forest thickened, so did the risks. Both the risk of being attacked and the risk of being stopped. She'd worked hard to achieve her position in the Order of the Wardens. "Briar-Knight" didn't sound too impressive, she admitted, and she knew that she did not look like much like the latter half of her title: short, wiry, worn green cloak covering well-used deerskin trousers and shirt, hood covering her unevenly cut dirty blonde hair, pack slung casually over one shoulder, small heavy-bladed sword at her hip (as useful for clearing brush as killing men), and of course, her bow, unstrung, on her back. She looked more like a poacher than a tested defender of the peace.
But Jala was a defender, and if her oath did not allow her to take this act in defense of another, then she would gladly break it. From the moment that she heard word of the Rurik's disappearance, she had tracked the beast's movements. His movements. He was still a man, even if he could no longer think like one. One of his last conscious acts had been to come out here, straight into the middle of nowhere. She knew why he had done so. He was dangerous now, and wanted to be far away from the most vulnerable prey, the villagers in the valley below.
Jala had been well drilled in keeping her sinew bowstring dry and keeping the bow itself unstrung when it wasn't needed, to maintain its elasticity and the strength of its pull. But now she was in danger, at least as she understood it. She could feel the presence of the great predator here, even if it was still miles away. There wasn't any birdsong, and the squirrels and ground game were sparse. The only sound was the soft patter of the cool drizzle. The lack of the animals made her tread on the soft pine needles seem loud to her, and the conifers themselves felt like lonely towers guarding nothing in particular. She had decided, however, that she would ignore this evidence, and her gut feeling. She didn't want to be tempted to shoot if the great beast himself showed up. That wasn't why she was here.
Besides, walking into the forest prepared for battle would piss off the Druid, who was the other problem.
Technically, the Order of the Wardens answered to the druids. In practice the strange men and women of the woods merely provided "guidance" most of the time, save in times of war with the unnatural or in situations where their occult knowledge would prove more useful than tactics or stealth. But, the Druid of Stone Peak had formally told the local village headman that the mountain itself and all creatures that dwelled on it, natural or otherwise, were under his protection. On the bright side, that meant that no 'lucky' huntsman would kill the beast before Jala got there. On the down side, it meant that, technically, she'd need the Old One's permission to act. Normally, Jala would just do what she came here to do and beg forgiveness if she lived, but the Druid might interfere, and that could prove fatal in and of itself. She shuddered, thinking of how that could work out, of the things that a mage might do if they thought they were helping.
So, Jala had to approach the Druid, and either tell him the truth or tell him a lie. Neither was particularly appealing to her. Both had their risks. Putting off her decision, she kept her eyes moving and focused her perceptions, opening her mind to nature. The magic of the Order of the Wardens was subtle, but it had its own power. She was a forest ghost, and had any witnesses been there to see her, they may not even have noticed her despite the fact that she took the path. Such were her skills that she had drifted right in front of wide-awake sentries before without being seen. This time, however, she was simply trying to prevent herself from being ambushed. She knew that the Druid would sense her long before she found him, wherever he was.
As it turned out, she required neither caution nor alertness. The Druid's hide tent, well kept and semi-permanent, was right at the end of the path. There was no way that anyone could miss it. Beyond it lay the forest proper, and then the steep mountainside and the snow-capped peaks. Smoke issued out of the hole in the top of the tent, and something spicy was being cooked within. Druids did not have to worry about rain putting out their fires.
"Hail, Old One," Jala said, not quite shouting the traditional greeting, but putting enough force in her voice to show her confidence.
"Hail, Young Wanderer," a hearty voice answered. "Come in, eat, and rest by my fire."
It wasn't entirely the traditional response, but it was close enough. Jala slipped inside the tent. She set her pack down, and gently placed her bow beside it, then unstrapped her sword (still in its sheath) and put it down, too. The formalities of greeting and disarming aside, she approached the figure who sat near, but not at the fire. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make him out better.
The druid was not as old as she had expected, just beyond five decades, more than twice Jala's age. His brown hair was a bit wild, but had no grey in it. He wore a simple brown tunic and pants, and his face was partially hidden by a great beard. What skin she could see was weather-beaten but not as dark as Jala's. His eyes were deep and sorrowful. She felt herself exposed to him, all her secrets laid bare in his gaze. She grudgingly decided that she would have to tell the truth.
"Welcome. I have clean water for you in the pail there, and some dried fish and berries to break your fast if you wish."
"Thank you," she said, sincerely, seeing the wooden bucket with a cup beside her. She drew forth some water with the cup and drank it. It was fresh and crisp and cool, probably pulled from a nearby stream. As she did so the man busied himself going to other parts of the tent and finding a rough wooden plate, which he covered with a variety of foods. Not just the fish and berries that he promised, but also some recently gathered herbs and roots.
For a few minutes, Jala ate. She did so quickly, but not rudely. The flavors were good, and although the roots and herbs were bitter she knew that the druid had included them for her health, so she consumed them. To do otherwise would show distrust and disrespect. Finally done, she set the plate down in front of her.
"To business then," he said. She simply nodded. "I am Tored," he continued, "and I hold dominion of this mountain in service to the Old Gods."
"I am Jala, and I am here...I am here as a Warden, but not in their service."
Tored raised an eyebrow before replying.
"I know you must hold your duties sacred, but I will not allow you to hunt the beast that lives on this mountain. I have given him permission to reside here so long as he harms none, and therefore he is in my care."
"You know as well as I do that it is only a matter of time before he kills. He'll go down through that valley and into the village. There will be more corpses than living souls there after a few nights."
Tored sighed, then nodded.
"I cannot disagree with your assessment, Warden Jala, but I still will not allow any hunt."
"I...I'm not here to hunt him. I'm here for the rite," Jala said, feeling the heat rush to her face.
"For the rite?" Tored asked, as if he did not know. The infuriating old man was going to make her say it out loud.
"Yes. The Rite of the Wolf-Priestesses. What...what they did to solve problems like this."
"You are no Wolf-Priestess," Tored pointed out.
Jala scoffed.
"Maybe not, but we both know that there wasn't much nuance to what they did. They called it sacred ritual, but it was a lot simpler than that."
"Hmm. Perhaps it is simple, as you say, but it is not easy. They had years of training and secret arts to guide them, and even then they still did not always survive the...experience. What makes you think that you have even the slimmest chance of success?"
Jala reached inside her shirt and took her medallion, tossing it to Tored, careful not to break eye contact with this damned irritating old man. It was the only symbol of her rank within the Wardens
"That's how I'll survive it. I'm not some damn little Stripling Seed that you can shoo from your peak, old one. I'm a Briar-Knight and I've faced beasts the likes of which you've only read about in your tattered scrolls. I'm not going away and I'm not giving up on him. So make up your mind. Will you help me or will you hinder me?"
