“What?” She frowned at the ground, confused.
And there it lay—a barely visible trail meandering into the line of trees. Maeve gave the ground a skeptical look before whispering. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I was wondering when we would meet.”
The Path remained perfectly still while its magic nudged her to move forward. Accepting the invitation, Maeve followed the trail.
She didn’t wander far. The noises of the village followed her when she reached the musical waters of the river. The Warlock dwarf rested by the shore, and Maeve realized the Path had led her to him.
“Come and sit with me, Maeve.” His raspy voice held a warm tone. Behind the puffs of smoke coming out of his pipe, a friendly face smiled at her. She took a seat next to the Warlock, tucking her coat under her legs. He rummaged his pocket and offered her a smaller pipe, which she refused with a smile. “Nasty habit, anyway.” The dwarf laughed between coughs and pointed to the ground. “So... you met an old friend of mine.”
“Do you mean the Path?”
“It has a perplexing sense of humor and terrible punchlines for such an old being.”
Maeve couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her, so she remained silent. The Warlock let out a sigh. “You might consider the Path to be a simple creature. A free-willed trail, a bit weird, nothing much. But if you take into account the extension of the Forest, thousands of miles in every direction, and realize the Path travels through it all, you can’t ignore the fact it has seen a great deal, learned a lot, and existed for as long as the first creatures roaming these lands.” Hard to grasp, though it made sense.
“Did the Ancients create it?” she asked.
“No. Ask Ancient Hua or Ancient Paki. None of them have the slightest idea of how the Path came to be.” He made a pause to knock his pipe on a rock, throwing the ashes to the ground and stomping on them. “Like many other things, it evolved from a sum of intentions and desires, taking shape from the needs of the land and its people. The Path grew and developed its own will, completely detached from the will of the gods.”
Maeve nodded, mesmerized. What a rare gift to listen to the words of such a knowledgeable man.
“The gods came from the stars, shaped the earth, and gave us life. They never held the desire to rule over any of us. We own this world now, Maeve, we shape and protect it. And the Path is the pinnacle of this need to command our own destinies.”
Maeve wrapped her arms around her knees, letting this new wisdom sink in. It still baffled her to think not too long ago; she lived in a castle. If Finn hadn’t entered the Forest, she might have lived a simple life with her family. Hakken, Regn, Mynte, and Flyg would have never been part of her world.
The dwarf smiled. “Thinking about the million possibilities, ah?”
“Don’t we all?”
“True, but unlike most people, I can behold them all. Every possible outcome, all the time. The blessing I was born with, and not so rarely, also a curse. What could have been?” The dwarf closed his eyes, reminiscing. “There are so many results, Maeve, but what set us on this course is every little decision we had made.”
He stared at her, benevolent and solemn. “Your brother entered the Forest. Your mother gave up. Your father made a painful choice. You helped Hakken. He spared your life.” Maeve gaped at him, but the dwarf didn’t stop. “The goddess Paki trusted you, Dinnah aided you, Regn loved you.”
“How do you—?”
“Does it matter? I hold no power over the things I envision. But you all do. You, little Maeve, chose to fight tomorrow despite your fear. Hakken chose to trust you and let go of you, despite his fear.”
Maeve let her head rest on her arms, deep in thought. Was this meant to be? Was she supposed to end up in the Forest and help to save these people? Did she have the strength?
The dwarf gave her a friendly pat on the back. “Trust the Path in the forest, child. It has brought you here, where you must be.”
Dröm
They traveled nonstop for weeks, attacking villages, killing, and forcefully recruiting. The dust had set a pace, but something changed.
It all started when the villages they reached were empty. The horde always attacked by surprise, to either defenseless people or poorly prepared warriors. But apparently, everyone learned about their coming beforehand. It was a relief. Dröm and his people didn’t kill anyone for days. But inside his head, the child grew restless, and the turmoil in her mind reached his. Her strategy changed.
They have been slowly but steadily marching towards the village of the river tribe. History repeats itself. He frowned at the bitter thought. The same place where his father passed would become his final resting spot.
Soon it became apparent the faceless child was eager to reach them. Connected as they were, Dröm sensed her need to find something. Someone. She forced them to march at full speed for an entire day. They caught unsuspecting sentinels along the way, mercilessly killing them. The child never allowed mercy.
Most half-breeds would collapse at the excessive effort, but the dust gave them unnatural resilience. Despite their borrowed strength, by nightfall he dropped to the ground, exhausted. The dust let them rest for a few hours once they reached an open field.
This place would serve as a battlefield, and the dawn would bring the end to this madness. For bad or worse, his fate marched into an inevitable conclusion, and Dröm yearned for his release. That night his body rested, but sleep eluded him. The sunrise found him staring at the horizon until his acute senses made him realize they were no longer alone.
They are here. Dröm rose to his
