Chapter 379: The Signet

 

  The storm clouds covered the sky until the end of the horizon. The rain fell heaving over Vulture Woods. It sounded like thousands of arrows pelting down on the wooden rooftops. 

  Plum glanced out the window of their log cabin and frowned in dismay. “Are you sure we should leave like this?”

  “Plum,” Tauri glared at her.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we’re finally leaving, but there’s a storm outside…”

  “A little rain won’t stop a Hollow Shade-trained mage, will it now?”

  “I'm more of an indoor mage, ya know? Surely we can wait one more day right?”

  “Maybe… but if we don’t leave now, I’m not sure how much longer Stryg will want to stay,” Tauri admitted.

  “You’re right, unfortunately,” Plum sighed. “Well, I guess we should head out already. Stryg’s waiting for us at the village gate. We don’t keep him waiting too long.”

  She nodded in agreement. “The faster we’re out of this place the sooner we’ll be home.”

  Home?

  The word sounded odd to Plum. She wasn’t sure what that meant anymore. Hollow Shade wasn’t her home, it hadn’t been for two years. Even though her last living relatives, her grandparents, lived in Undergrowth, that city hadn’t quite felt like home. And now she was here, aiding Undergrowth’s enemies.

  “Right, home…”

 

~~~

 

  Stryg and the chieftain made their way down to the village gate with a slow, peaceful gait. The dirt path had turned muddy thanks to the rain but Stryg didn’t mind, he enjoyed the feeling of cold water falling on his skin. 

  House Thorn’s heirloom, Blossom, was wrapped around his shoulders. The white cloak of flowers seemed to be blooming in the rain, each petal expanding outwards, drinking in the water droplets.

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Jahn asked.

  Stryg shook his head. “I want to, really. I’d love to go to the Moon Fang Mountain and see the Silver Hall Keep for myself, but I have people waiting for me.”

  “Your tribe…?”

  Stryg nodded. “It’s small, but it's mine. They’re my people, my family. If war is coming to the Realm I should make sure they are okay.”

  “As you should. A chieftain protects his people. His tribe. …Ebon Hollow you called it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jahn raised his eyebrow, “You named your tribe after the city that destroyed Lunis? Our people’s ancestral home?”

  Stryg winced, “At the time I didn’t know that.”

  “Hmm. Well, I suppose the ‘Ebon’ part is alright. The term has been used in the past to represent the power of our realm. The Ebon Sea, the Ebon Lords, the Ebon Aspirant,” Jahn looked at him pointedly.

  “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” he smiled reminiscently.

  “How about the Ebon Tribe?”

  “Huh?”

  “The Ebon Tribe. Sounds a bit pretentious, I know, but I think it suits you more.”

  Stryg furrowed his brow. “How?”

  “Simple. Your tribe is led by an Ebon Aspirant and someday an Ebon Lord.”

  “But don’t all Sylvan tribes have two-part names? Blood Fang, Frost Whisper, Iron Spine?”

  “Sure, it’s a bit unusual. But Stryg, you’ve never been the usual. You literally have an orc and a drow in your tribe.”

  “...Fair point.”

  “Instead of trying to be more like us, I think you should be more like yourself.”

  Stryg stopped in his steps. He had never thought about it that way. The people in Hollow Shade had always thought him different, they had always found his ways strange, but the Blood Fang Tribe hadn’t been much different. Perhaps Jahn was right. Perhaps it was time he stopped trying to be like either group and simply be himself.

  Myself, huh?

  He imagined what it would be like to have a Great House of Stryg someday. If that wasn’t pretentious he didn’t know what was.

  “We’re here.” Jahn inclined his head towards the village gate a few meters ahead of them.

  A small retinue of goblins waited nearby, standing under the shelter of the gatehouse. Stryg recognized most of them in an instant. They were hunters, gatherers, carpenters, and cooks, but most importantly, they were the goblins of his generation. He had grown up with each and every one of them.

  But something was different. They weren’t staring at him with their usual disdain, nor were they snickering and whispering behind his back. No, they were all looking at. There was a heavy wariness in their eyes but there were also traces of respect.

  Srixa stepped out from the crowd, she seemed surprisingly well after the beating First had given her. Srixa bowed deeply. “We have come to show our respects to the Sylvan shaman.”

  Stryg wrinkled his brow, “What are you—?”

  “We wanted to say thank you to the warrior who avenged our tribemates in the cave of serpents,” she said in a solemn voice.

  Stryg’s expression softened. Now he understood why they were all here. It had been the youth of the tribe, his generation, that had formed the bulk of that party 3 years ago. That night, how many of the goblins here had lost brothers, sisters, friends, lovers?

  One of the young hunters stepped forward and offered Stryg his spear. “You and the tribe may have our differences, but we all came here to tell you that if the day comes when you are in need of help, we will answer the call. We swear it on our lives, lest the Mother Moon strike us down where we stand.”

  A warm feeling bloomed in Stryg’s chest but he tried his best to keep a stoic face, “I’ll remember your words and I thank you for your oath.”

  “May the Mother Moon bless you on your journey, shaman.” The hunter bowed and stepped back.

  “Remember you owe me a proper fight, so come back soon,” Srixa whispered and winked.

  Stryg smiled wryly, “Right.”

  “Ahem,” 2nd Mother coughed loudly.

  Stryg looked up in surprise. He hadn’t noticed the Mothers standing behind the small gathered crowd. Their scarlet wreaths were wrapped around their heads as usual and they carried the solemn air about them that had scared many children throughout the years. Stryg half expected them to chastise him for some mistake he had accidentally committed, instead, they bowed their heads in silent acknowledgement. Even Fifth Mother, who had never liked him, bowed respectfully.

  Second Mother broke from the crowd, without a care for the rain. She ran up to Stryg and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “No one else will say it, so I will, we’re proud of you, Stryg. No matter where you go, no matter what people say, remember the Mothers are proud of the man you have become.”

  He stiffened in surprise. He hadn’t expected the usual tough Second Mother to hug him let alone say such a thing. 

  “Thank you, Mother,” he whispered sincerely. “...Where is First Mother, I don’t see her. Did she not come?”

  It was customary for the First Mother of the tribe to make sure a goblin was fit to travel before sending them off on their way with the Mother Moon’s blessing.

  Second bit her lip, “...I don’t think she’s coming.”

  Stryg’s smile fell, “Oh… I see.”

  “Are you sure about that, Second?” Jahn grinned.

  The sound of running footsteps sloshing in the mud echoed behind them. Stryg turned around and saw a cloaked figure running towards them. Her hood was up, but he could still make out the scarlet and black wreath leaves poking out from underneath.

  First Mother slowed to a walk as she drew close. She carefully made sure her hood was still covering her hair from the rain, then resumed her usual dignified gait.

  Her breathing was a little rough, but she seemed no worse for wear.

  Did you run all the way here? Stryg wondered, confused. “Hello, Mother,” he said with hesitation.

  “Shaman,” First said calmly. “It appears I am late.”

  “N-Not at all!” Stryg shook his head vehemently.

  “Nah, we’ve been here for a while now,” Jahn complained. “What sort of example are you setting for the rest of us?”

  First sent him a death glare and Jahn promptly clamped his mouth shut.

  “I was searching for something. It took me a while but I found it,” First explained with mild annoyance. “Now, child, let me get a good look at you.”

  Before Stryg could even respond, First reached up and grabbed him by his cheeks. She turned his head to the right, then to the left. She pried his mouth open and stared at his teeth for a long moment. 

  First nodded to herself, stepped back, and sighed deeply, “I raised you better than this.”

  Stryg blinked. “Huh?”

  “You haven’t been taking care of yourself. Just look at you. You’re so tall yet so skinny, I’m surprised you can even stand up straight. If you keep growing like this you’ll soon end up snapping like a twig.”

  Stryg looked himself over, confused. Others had noted that his muscles were toned. He didn’t think he was particularly muscular but he wasn’t frail either.

  “You claim to have a big appetite, but you clearly haven’t gained much weight,” First noted.

  “You’d be surprised actually,” he said dryly.

  “How much blood do you usually drink?”

  “Huh? I’ve been drinking at least one cup since we arrived.”

  “And before that?”

  “Um, I haven’t really had a chance to drink any in the last month or so…”

  “Of course, you haven’t, no wonder you look so pale,” she clicked her tongue. “You need to incorporate blood into your diet to help keep your body healthy.”

  “I didn’t know that… but I’ll make sure to drink blood on a steady basis from now on,” he said earnestly.

  “And what’s with your hair? It’s so unruly and unkempt. Have you lost all care for appearances since you’ve been away?” First shook her head in disappointment.

  Stryg ran his hand through his long wet locks. It had been a while since he had gotten it cut. In the past, First Mother had always personally cut his hair and interrogated him all the while doing it. Probably fishing for a slip of the tongue, admitting some misdeed he had done, so that she could punish him no doubt.

  He worried that she might force him to sit down and cut his right here and now.

  “I’ll make sure to get it cut soon…” Stryg winced.

  “I should hope so, you look like a mangy wet dog. You need to learn to maintain yourself. And clearly, you have forgotten the importance every hunter places on maintaining their weapons. Just look at the pathetic state of your sword.” She pointed at the relic sword hanging from his hip. 

  “Actually, that sword really isn’t mine.”

  “Whose is it then?”

  “Um, no one’s?”

  First narrowed her eyes. “What?”

  “O-Oh, but! I do have a sword! Right here, it’s called Nameless,” he said proudly.

  First looked on with disgust at the broken sword.

  Stryg blushed, “I need to get it repaired.”

  “Reforged more like it. How have you survived these last 3 years?” she muttered.

  Stryg bowed his head and stared at the ground in shame. He had expected this. First Mother’s words were always harsh. It seemed as if all she cared about was for him to become a proper Sylvan warrior. He glumly wondered to himself if he could ever live up to her expectations.

  “That being said, if that battered sword of yours breaks in battle just leave it and run,” First said.

  Stryg looked up at her in surprise. Run away? That wasn’t the Sylvan way. It sounded almost as if she cared more about his well-being than his position as a Sylvan warrior? But that didn’t make sense. First Mother didn’t care about him…

  Stryg glanced at First and stiffened. The look in her yellow eyes wasn’t of anger, nor disappointment, it was one of worry.

  “Your abilities as a prime mage will bring you many enemies… You need to be careful, Stryg,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Yeah, I know,” he nodded slowly.

  “Promise me you won’t put yourself in unnecessary danger. Keep your allies close and keep yourself out of problems that don’t concern you. Promise me.”

  Stryg frowned. First Mother was acting strange, he had never heard her speak like this, nonetheless, he answered honestly, “I promise.”

  She stared at him for a moment then nodded, satisfied. “Let me see your left hand.”

  “Huh. Oh, okay?”

  First Mother suddenly grabbed his wrist and slipped a black ring over his index finger. The ring was in the shape of two thick bands that met at the center with a red gem embedded on the top.

  Jahn whistled at the sight of the ring, but at his sister’s glare, he closed his mouth and said nothing. 

  “What is this?” Stryg muttered curiously. There was something small etched into the gem that he couldn’t quite make out. The black metal seemed somewhat familiar, the glass-like edge reminding him of… 

  Stryg’s eyes widened in surprise, “Is this orichalcum?!”

  “It belonged to your birth mother. She would have wanted you to have it…” First said quietly.

  Birth mother?

  “I didn’t know…” Stryg swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice from breaking, “I didn’t know my mom left me anything. Thank you, Mother.”

  A flash of pain crossed her eyes but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “You’re welcome,” she said stiffly.