The Wastes

by Alexey Osadchuk

“Don’t you worry about Erg. He’s still young and hot-blooded, but he knows his place. And he’s not your biggest problem.”

  I just nodded in silence. What could I possibly say? Even a fool could tell who gave orders around here.

  “I’m glad we were able to reach an understanding,” said the elder. Then he asked with strain:

  “So, I trust we’ll be able to have a conversation?”

  “That all depends on what we’ll be talking about,” I answered evasively. “And what is on the table.”

  The mouth of the gray-haired troll stretched out into a satisfied smirk, revealing all his powerful fangs.

  “So, you’ll negotiate? Good. I love making deals. But don’t you think you’re perhaps not in the most advantageous position?”

  “Simply put, I don’t have a choice?” I asked. Then I nodded toward the trolls, who were waiting patiently for their leader:

  “Agreed. The advantage is on your side. If we don’t come to an agreement, my companions and I will most likely die. However, there is one ‘but.’“

  “And what might that be?”

  “Many of your tribesmen would also die.”

  After that, I prepared for an attack. Who’s to say how this strange old troll might react? But he pleasantly surprised me again.

  “Fair,” he said after a brief pause. “And I also know that you brought divine judgement on my daughter’s murderers. Yes, yes. Don’t be surprised. I can smell the belongings of the young shaman and his warriors on you. I’m sure they didn’t give them to you of their own free will.”

  “Two of our group died in that battle,” I said morosely. “I’d prefer not to lose anyone else, and I imagine you feel the same. All we want is to reach the western border of the steppe. Did we really not prove the purity of our intentions when we healed your grandson?”

  The old troll looked thoughtfully at me. The skin on his face reminded me of the bark of an ancient maple tree. Just as dry, cracked and grooved with a plethora of deep wrinkles. His dark almost black eyes studied me closely from under his heavy brow.

  “You’re right!” he finally squeezed out. At that, the old troll started speaking fairly loudly, obviously so all the trolls would hear him. “The lives of my tribesmen are important to me, just as important as that of my grandson! But it isn’t all so simple... After all, my warriors are right — you desecrated the Tree of Spirits and the Altar with your presence!”

  Hm, curious. Either it’s the fruit of a vivid imagination, or the elder is purposely giving me the chance to make my case. And our fate is going to depend on what I say and how I say it. This situation reminds me of walking through a swamp. One false move and you’re waist deep in muck.

  Alright. I’ll try to cross this treacherous terrain.

  “I repeat!” I had to also raise my voice, which the elder reacted to with a barely perceptible smile. “We are peaceful travelers! We make for the west! A group of orcs fell upon us at the Stone Bridge! We defeated them, but lost two of our companions! We rested and healed our wounds for a few days, then went deeper into the forest! Then we came across the wounded child! He was dying! We couldn’t simply walk past and stopped to heal him! I swear that we bore no ill intent in our thoughts or actions! We sincerely regret if we did anything wrong! And may the gods be my witnesses!”

  Based on the way the giants started stirring, my words were having a positive effect.

  I intentionally didn’t say a word about the portal or the altar. The elder’s approving gaze was a clear indication I was doing and saying all the right things. And that we would talk in greater detail later, without the others around to hear.

  “Hoager! Dago!” the old man barked authoritatively, turning to his warriors. After his shout, two sizable figures stepped forward. “Stay here with me!”

  The trolls nodded in silence.

  “Erg!” Farhas continued giving orders. “Take the others to the Black Fang! We’ll be there soon to join you.”

  To my surprise, the giant turned around with no further questions and walked toward the forest. The other trolls followed.

  Hmm, either this old man was underestimating us, or more likely was absolutely confident he would win, given he decided to weaken his positions. I was having a hard time believing he suddenly started trusting us. A moment later I realized that I was right. Gorgie told me most of the troll soldiers were hiding among the trees. We were still encircled.

  Now we’d have to try not to let the old man know I was aware of his trick.

  The gray-haired troll looked around and sat on a large mound that was overgrown with moss and nodded opposite indicating where I should sit. After I sat down, he asked:

  “So what’s this about an otherworldly portal?”

  Despite his calm tone, I could feel tension in his voice.

  “To the northeast. Over there,” I nodded to the place we’d come from. “The old tree with the split trunk. That’s it.”

  “The Tree of Spirits?” the gray-haired troll furrowed his brow. “You mean to say that it is actually a door into other worlds?”

  “Exactly,” I answered. “And based off the creatures that come through the door, these other worlds are not exactly looking to make friends, to put it lightly.”

  “You’re saying the spirits only come in order to kill?” the elder asked with mistrust in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “They don’t have any other choice,” I shrugged.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “The otherworldly beast or as you put it, spirit, is only alive while the portal is open. As soon as the passage closes, the monster will disappear. But there is an exception. A beast may remain in this world if it can kill and subsume a living creature from our world.”

  The old troll frowned, perplexed, and rubbed his hard chin. It was hard to guess what was going on in his head.

  “What about the good spirits that serve the shamans?” he finally asked.

  It took some effort not to laugh. The last thing I needed now was to accidentally disrespect this elder. But it gave me an approximate idea of the nonsense the orc shamans were filling the gullible trolls’ heads with.

  “There’s no such thing as good spirits,” I answered calmly. “There are bloodthirsty monsters driven by a singular desire — to survive at all costs. But you’re right in one sense. Sometimes whoever kills the otherworldly beast is rewarded with a blessing by the god Random. That lucky individual can then absorb the spirit of the monster they killed.”

  “Yes,” Farhas nodded. “The blood-letting at the Altar.”

  I winced in disgust.

  “There’s no need for a sacrifice. That’s not how the hunters’ altar works.”

  The elder frowned.

  “You’re saying surprising things which contradict our ancient knowledge! Hunters, portal, otherworldly beasts... Why should I trust some boy newcomer?”

  Based on the way the trolls sitting in the distance tensed up, they could hear our conversation perfectly.

  Looks like this old man’s cold blood is starting to heat up. And I can’t blame him. These orcish tales must have been around for generations.

  Not saying another word or making any sudden movements, I started to remove my outer garments.

  “What are you doing?” the elder asked, perplexed.

  I threw my jacket on the ground and said:

  “My father always said it’s better to see something once than to hear about it a hundred times.”

  Undoing the buttons on my shirt, I continued:

  “You have your doubts. And I get that. What am I even saying?! As a matter of fact, I’m impressed by your patience! And that’s why I’m offering to let you see with your own eyes. Look!”

  I threw my shirt onto my jacket and spread my arms.

  The gray-haired troll’s heavy jaw slowly sunk down. His sloped forehead seemed to grow even more wrinkles. I could read disbelief in his wide-open black eyes.


  “Based on the way you’re looking, may I be so bold as to suggest that you have seen marks like this before?” I asked, picking up my shirt while straining not to shiver in the cold.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Farhas’ underlings looking stunned.

  “Have you overpowered two spirits?” the elder finally spoke. His voice was quavering slightly, giving away his true feelings. “You are a shaman!”

  “No. I am a Hunter of otherworldly monsters!”

  I mentally chuckled as I said that. I was laying it on pretty thick, giving the kind of sappy speech you’d expect to hear from a sentimental town mayor. I imagined the foxman’s mischievous face if he could have heard me then.

  Farhas regained his composure with striking speed, unlike the other trolls.

  “Does that mean you came here on purpose then?” the old man asked with a clever squint.

  “Oh!” I shook my head. “Believe you me, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. More than anything else, we want to keep as far from any portal as possible. Especially that one.”

  “Why?” the troll’s ears perked up.

  I breathed a heavy sigh.

  “Something is off about it... As if it truly has been desecrated, but very long ago. I’ve seen another portal before. It opened precisely every twenty-four hours. In a sense, it was more dangerous than your Tree. But then why does every passing hour I spend next to this one fill my heart with dread? It’s as if something is about to happen. Something horrible and irreversible. Why did the orc shamans make sacrifices next to the portal?”

  “Spilling blood next to the Tree is thought to attract more powerful spirits,” Farhas answered gloomily. “You think that could have something to do with its apparent instability?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “It seems very likely. I can’t see any other explanation. Otherworldly visitors have a heightened sense for living creatures of our world.”

  “And death and blood make the best bait,” the old troll said pensively.

  I had many more questions for the troll. For example, why were the orcs allowed to traipse freely through their woods? Or what was the elder’s daughter doing next to the altar with her son? And how did it happen that the trolls were unable to protect her given their high level of coordination?

  But I didn’t ask them. After all, it wasn’t really any of my business. But still I had one question I just had to know the answer to.

  Leaning forward, I started tracing a familiar symbol on the ground with my pointer finger. Once finished, I wiped my finger on my pants and looked at the old man.

  “This is the symbol of the monster hunters. Have you ever seen it before?”

  Farhas looked perplexedly over my design, which looked vaguely like two interlaced fishhooks.

  Hm, no need to answer, old troll. I can tell by your eyes that you’ve seen it.

  Finally, Farhas raised his head and looked at me. There was nothing menacing in his gaze. In fact, it burned with a fire of curiosity and understanding.

  “Let’s go, hunter!” he said, quickly standing to his full height. “I know where we can find your symbol!”

  Chapter 16

  WALKING NEXT TO FARHAS in silence, I was feverishly thinking over what to do next. Even an idiot could tell we were being led to the ruins of structures that once belonged to the monster hunters. And we weren’t likely to encounter another ghost holding down the fort with its magic either.

  We are now being led to a fragment of wall which supposedly has the fishhooks etched into it. But what next? After all, the old man is agitated. He needs answers. I’d built this up into such a thing. I needed to make it seem justified.

  I don’t know what horizons my thoughts might have disappeared beyond if our path hadn’t been blocked by a big old pile of tree trunks, rocks and dirt. Here and there, dead animal skulls adorned the tips of especially prominent branches, staring at me from their empty eye sockets.

  The old troll turned and looked me in the eyes searchingly.

  “Here are your symbols,” he finally spat out and pointed toward a wide black pillar towering beyond the wall.

  The light of the moon, the skulls, the grisly heap looking like a giant hedgehog... I felt a shiver run down my spine.

  I turned my head where he pointed and said:

  “A grim place.”

  “Agreed,” the old man nodded. For a brief moment, I saw fear in his eyes.

  “So, where did all this come from?” I led a hand over the formless heap.

  “The Boundary was erected by our ancestors. Trolls are forbidden from crossing it. We just make sure it stays in good shape.”

  “A sacred place?”

  “No,” the elder answered darkly. “Cursed. It’s protected by mysterious and cruel charms. Many of my tribesmen have paid with their lives for the few crumbs of information we have.”

  Hm... I think I get the picture.

  “So, the wall is not to protect this place, correct?” I asked quietly.

  Farhas looked me in the eyes and answered darkly:

  “We don’t want to lose any more of our warriors.” He spent a bit of time in silence and continued: “For the first time in many years, I am hearing answers to questions that have long troubled troll-kind. I hope I will also receive an answer to this one.”

  As he said the last sentence, he was nodding toward a pillar that towered over the predacious enclosure.

  “Alright then... Let’s not waste time,” I answered and wanted to take a step forward, but the old man stopped me.

  Squinting and slightly tilting his head to the side, he said:

  “I trust you understand we don’t want any surprises.”

  I frowned.

  “Were my oaths really not enough for you?”

  “In any case, I’ll be going with you,” the old man announced, ignoring my question.

  I saw a cold determination in his eyes.

  “What about the curse?” I couldn’t hold back a smirk.

  The old man was not embarrassed by my tone. He smiled back.

  “Today you demolished all my preconceived notions of the lands where we dwell. And I have every reason to believe this isn’t over.”

  * * *

  Gorgie was first to the top of the pile. He stopped for a few moments, listening and sniffing, then gave a short growl and lunged forward.

  “All clear,” I commented on the harn’s conduct and stepped first into the enclosure.

  Farhas took a heavy sigh as if he was about to dunk his head underwater and followed. Only the Great System could say what this old man had in his heart at that moment. I looked over at his warriors. They were going to stay back and await their leader. Based on the anxious looks on their faces, watching their elder scramble up the heap was out of the ordinary, to put it lightly.

  An hour later, we were standing opposite the gigantic pillar, which was covered with a thick layer of black moss.

  “So, this is the Black Fang?” I asked.

  “The very same,” the elder responded and nodded toward some dark bushes. “I do not know what’s beyond it. No one has ever returned.”

  “And where is the symbol?”

  “Just a second,” said the old man, and he started looking around on the ground. A bit later, he lifted a flat stone off the ground and started clearing some of the growth off a small section of the pillar.

  The more the black pieces of moss came away, the more I could see familiar shapes on the cleared surface.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mee giving a scrutinizing gaze. He was watching the expression on my face with hope.

  When Farhas finished and tossed the stone aside, I chuckled:

  “To be honest, I was hoping I’d never see one of these symbols again.”

  “Unpleasant memories?” the troll inquired, looking over his handiwork.

  “That’s putting it lightly...” I muttered back.

  “What next?” the old man asked.
r />   “Wait,” I answered shortly and walked up to the pillar.

  The first thing that jumped out at me when I got a closer look at the hunters’ mark was its quality. This was a true work of art. Ornate imagery. Runic script. Milky white marble. The tips of the hooks still had some of their gilding. The symbols I’d found in the caverns of the Crooked Mountains were executed somewhat more simply.