When Kastor and Joturn entered the path, the sea raven swooped low and half flew, half jumped ahead of them. The boy’s path must be faster than flying overhead, thought Kastor. The truth of this was apparent after what felt like a short journey, when Kastor's feet pressed on familiar ground. The cushion of pine needles beneath him, their heavy scent in his nostrils and the darkness of this deepest reach of the forest made him forget, momentarily, about his newfound power. The gentle slope that lay before him told him where they would soon arrive. Suddenly, he was a frightened young man again. He looked around, expecting to be struck or rebuked. Then, he remembered why that would not happen. He felt the sting of guilt and stopped still. Joturn halted by his side and the old hunter's eyes darted about, looking for whatever had brought Kastor to a standstill. The bird landed on a bough and faced him and when he looked at the familiar – his master’s familiar – he felt his guilt reflected from those inscrutable eyes.

  “Why did you follow me since that day?" Kastor asked. "You were free to go when he died."

  “He called on me to protect you, even as he lay bleeding from your blows,” the raven replied. It spoke to him as a human would. Or, was that just the way Kastor heard it? He detected a rebuke in the spirit's tone.

  Kastor’s vision blurred as his eyes watered. His master had cared about him, at least in secret. The bird's voice cut into him.

  “It’s too late for tears. You did what you did and it led us here. This is where the sacrifice came.”

  “What did you know of our master’s plans? More than I did, for sure.”

  “Not more or less. Different parts. He was looking for the sacrifice for most of his life. That’s why he pulled me into his service; to see through my eyes and scour the forest. He trained you to find the sacrifice he was asked for, in case he died before he succeeded. You were his last hope.”

  “Asked for by whom?”

  “A woman. I saw her once. She looked wretched and lost, but he treated her like a queen. She was the only creature he did not scorn.”

  “He was mad. Perhaps the woman was mad, too. His madness would have killed me in one of his lessons, if I had not killed him first.” An old anger bubbled inside him.

  “Was it madness?" the raven challenged. "We two were tied to him and his sickness. Then the boy came here and now we are healed.”

  “You selfish wretch!” Kastor shouted and launched himself at the bird. He fell into the empty space where it had been as it fluttered away. His anger at the raven passed as quickly as it had arisen. He was not really angry with the spirit, which had only tried to follow its master’s command and protect his hapless apprentice. He was angry with the forest itself. Why must everything here have such a price? Perhaps that was not just the way of the forest, but the way of the world.

  When he stood and brushed the needles from his clothes, he turned to see Joturn watching him, his face fallen.

  What had Joturn heard? Surely, he could not hear the familiar. But had he heard Kastor's words? Had he spoken out loud?

  “You’re a murderer,” said Joturn, flatly. "You killed your own teacher."

  “At least I am not the murderer of Oli,” Kastor replied. "And you did not know my teacher."

  “If you were, I wouldn’t be stood here talking to you.” Joturn pushed roughly past him and started up the slope ahead of them, calling back:

  “He came here, didn’t he? The lake is up here.”

  Kastor followed numbly. Joturn still held onto a hope that he did not feel.

  Kastor surmounted the slope a few steps behind the elder. He heard Joturn’s wail and knew, before he looked, what the man had found.

  Oli’s body lay, pale and rigid, beside the lake. His face was free of its usual frown and his open, glassy eyes stared placidly at the sky. No creatures had disturbed the body. Joturn was already pulling it across the bank. As he dragged it closer, Kastor reached out and felt the space it inhabited. He knew the feel of death – the absence of one life and a million smaller ones gnawing into its place. But this body did not feel that way. There was something colder about it. It felt less like a corpse and more like the husk that a snake left behind when it grew too large for its own skin.

  Kastor looked around. The raven watched him. Two Levonin appeared on the far bank. Was one of them Feren? He felt someone else watching and turned to see a brown face poking from behind the moot of a tree. A bear. Were all the forest spirits returning? He remembered Oli telling him once about meeting a creature like this. Will I understand this one as I understand the raven?

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Has the human lost his cub?” The bear asked, answering Kastor's question.

  Kastor tried to reply. His mouth was too dry. Did he need to say words to speak with these creatures? He just nodded.

  “I saw him walk in," the bear continued. "After talking to a woman. She walked in before him."

  Kastor scanned the area again, searching for another body.

  “There’s no use looking," said the bear. "She was made of water, or whatever it is in there. We don’t drink from that lake. You do, don’t you? You’ve drunk from it.”

  “I’ve tasted it,” Kastor replied. "In the berries that grow on its border."

  The bear lowered its head in a kind of nod. Kastor saw movement behind it and looked closer. The noses of four young cubs poked out from the comfort of the darkness.

  “I thought they had died inside me," the bear recalled. "But after the boy went in, I was able to deliver them.”

  Kastor heard movement behind him. He turned to see the two Levonin approaching. Joturn watched them with suspicion. Feren and his friend stopped a few yards away.

  “We didn’t expect to see you back here, Kastor.” Feren sounded accusatory.

  “Why shouldn't I have returned?" Kastor challenged.

  “After you struck down your own teacher? The last of his kind.”

  “I am the last of his kind," Kastor declared. "And since when have the Levonin questioned our ways?”

  The master’s old familiar took off and settled on the ground before Kastor. Whatever disagreements lay between them, whatever blood had been spilled, they shared a bond that no one else knew. The silver crested sea raven was not his master’s familiar, it was his. He stood with the great, white bird of prey in front of him and the bear behind. Feren stepped back and changed his tone.

  “Forgive me, Medicine Man. I did not realise you completed your training.”

  “Did your scouts not see the boy arrive?” Joturn demanded. “Did no one think to stop him?”

  “Our scouts, and all our kin, were busy helping yours,” Feren replied. “Your clan has gone west, determined to leave the forest. We showed them the quickest way, but I doubt it will be quick enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Joturn asked.

  “The Western escape is blocked by a wall. Tall and thick, as though it has stood there for a hundred years. They have frightful powers, those apostates. So frightful it makes me wonder if we shouldn’t all have left when we had the chance. Or, perhaps we were right to stay?” Feren looked to Kastor as he uttered the question. Kastor remained silent.

  Joturn’s shoulders sagged and he bent over. The old man is close to breaking, thought Kastor.

  “Where is the path?” he asked. "If they are in trouble, we will go to help them."

  “I can show you," said Feren. "But you won’t reach them in time. And the medicine men belong here. You can’t leave with them.”

  “I can go where I please,” Kastor snapped. Feren looked reassured. Relieved, even, to hear Kastor so authoritative. He understood that something had changed.

  “Even so, Kastor, I don’t think you’ll reach them before it's too late.”

  An idea occurred to Kastor. A memory of one of those stories that had brought him to the forest. An absurd story, so silly he was embarrassed to remember it. And yet, it did not seem so silly now. He turned to the bear.

  “The old man’s cub gave me a gift. He gave us all a gift. I’d like to give him something in return.”

  The bear blinked and looked at Joturn. The two Levonin gazed at this conversation between man and bear in awe.

  “The old man's cub has helped us all," the bear replied, fussing over her young. "What would you like to give him?”

  “I want to give him the lives of his kin. He has many other cubs who depend on him, but he cannot help them now. I want to help them escape from people who would imprison them.”

  “And you want my assistance?”

  “Bring me to where the fighting is. I've heard that you can run as fast as a bird can fly. I have heard that many years ago, men like me would ride upon your backs.”

  “It has been done. But I have young. I won’t leave them.”

  “These Levonin here will guard your young.” Kastor turned to Feren. “Won’t you? You will guard them with your lives until she returns.”

  Feren nodded enthusiastically. The bear shook its huge body.

  “I don’t trust them. I trust the kind old man who knows what it is to lose one he loves.”

  “The old man belongs with his kin. He can’t stay here.”

  “I’ll stay,” Joturn interrupted, having followed the discourse from Kastor’s words. "I’ll watch her cubs and burn Oli's body. Go, Kastor. Go and get them to safety!”

  Kastor nodded. He glanced once at Oli’s body, his hands now folded gently across his chest. He looked up at Joturn. They exchanged all they wanted to say in a glance and an embrace. Then he walked to the bear.

  When she stood and revealed her full height, a moment of fear almost overcame him. She lowered herself onto all fours and he gripped a handful of fur at her neck and pulled himself up. He looked down at his friend, Joturn, and the remains of his dear friend, Oli. He looked down at the two Levonin, who stood in a deep bow.

  "Let's go," he whispered to the bear.

  She bounded forwards in a cloud of dust. The two Levonin kneeled with their foreheads nearly touching the ground. Kastor and the bear rounded the lake and headed towards the far side, where the Western path would be. His familiar flew ahead of them and sang as the bear ran. As the melody of its call met their ears they moved faster still, yet felt less weary. Within a heartbeat, they had almost circumvented half the lake. Kastor reached out for a branch as they rode, and the branch of a tree reached out to meet him. He ripped it away as easily as removing an autumn leaf from a dry twig. His old spear grew again in his hand, twisted and wicked and thirsting for blood. He thought of that time by the river when he had shown it to Oli. Why had he tried to frighten the boy? He'd told himself it was because of the way he hunted. But perhaps, even then, he recognised that Oli was something special. Something he would never be. He felt shame, and the shame spurred him on.

  “Faster!” he called, and his mount responded with a thunderous roar. The three of them – man, beast and bird – crashed into the path and the darkness of the forest.

  They had a battle to fight and a wrong to put right.