Longhunter

George nodded approvingly as he took a bite of the doughy bread, her enthusiasm infectious.

"There is something I wanted to ask you," she continued, a little of her confidence slipping as she turned her eyes back to the rifle. "Your people seek only to leave the forest. Once they receive their payment, they intend to return to the East, is that not so?"

"That's what Dawes says," George replied.

"Will you...be going with them? You have often spoken of your desire to bring back the knowledge that you have learned here to your homeland. I am sure that your people would hold you in high regard..."

"It's true," he replied with a nod, watching her ears droop. "If I were to take what I've learned back to Albion, I'd be turning the academic community on its head. I'd write books, books would be written about me, I'd receive both accolades and scorn for upsetting the status quo. There's enough information in my journal to warrant a lifetime of study. It's all I've ever wanted, really -- to make new discoveries for myself, to be recognized as an explorer. Not to mention that the gold I'd be able to bring back would make me wealthy beyond the most unrealistic fantasies of the average man."

"Then...you must follow your dream," Tia muttered as she slung her rifle back over her shoulder. Her disappointment was palpable, but she hadn't given him time to finish yet.

"I have learned that there are other ways to be rich," George added, her ears pricking up. "All of the wealth and prestige that I might find back home can't come close to buying me what I've found here."

"Does that mean you'll stay?" she asked, her eyes bright. "With me?"

"If I left, I'd spend the rest of my life wondering about you. No amount of money or fame could fill the hole that your absence would leave in my heart."

"B-but what of your work?" she asked, her freckled cheeks starting to warm.

"I'll give my journal to Sam, and he can make sure that it reaches the right people," he replied with a shrug. "It has all of my notes, all of my observations, enough to occupy a team of university fellows for years. In fact, I feel as though it's missing an important entry..."

He reached into one of the pockets of the pack that was sitting on the ground beside him, producing the leather-bound book, then he retrieved a fountain pen from its protective pouch. He balanced the journal in one hand, beginning to draw with the other, glancing up occasionally at his curious companion.

"What are you doing?" she asked, still flustered from his prior declaration. She lifted her head to try to get a look at what he was writing, but she couldn't see anything with George facing her.

"You'll see," he replied, relishing a chance to be the one making cryptic statements for a change. After maybe five or ten minutes, he was done, adding the finishing touches as Tia shifted her weight impatiently. She blushed redder as he passed the journal to her, her eyes fixed on the page.

"It's...me," she whispered, reaching out to brush her fingertips against the paper. He hadn't seen any mirrors in Tia's home, so save for glimpsing her distorted reflection in the water, this portrait might be one of the first times that she had seen a representation of herself in such clarity. As he watched, she reached up to prod at her hair. "You drew me with flowers around my horns," she said, glancing up at him. "I don't have flowers in my horns."

"I remember how they looked," he replied, Tia turning her gaze back to the journal.

"What is this beneath it?" she asked.

"That's your name, written in my language."

"I think you have made me more beautiful than I really am," she said, shuffling a little closer to him.

"That would be impossible," he replied, Tia chuckling as he draped an arm around her shoulders.

***

"What the hell is this?" Sam wondered, pausing by one of the decaying trees. Dark sludge leaked from the cracks in its bark like corrupted sap. Dead moss clung to its pocked surface, covering it in a blackened carpet of rotting vegetation, the mushrooms that sprouted between its roots the color of carrion. Sam reached out with the barrel of his rifle, prodding the trunk with the point of his bayonet.

As George walked up beside him to take a closer look, he saw something out of place. There was what looked like the upper half of a human skeleton growing from it, or perhaps merged with the wood. The outline was quite faint, but unmistakable when seen up close, like a dead body that had been almost completely submerged in a bog. The ribs were clearly visible, as were the shoulders and the beginnings of a skull. The sockets were empty, the jaw agape, a few teeth visible. The arms seemed to sink beneath the surface, reaching up to reemerge above its head, the hands joined together in a way that bore an eerie resemblance to the bodies that were strung up on the Blighter effigies.

"It's not bone," Sam confirmed, driving the tip of the blade into one of the ribs. "It's made of wood. Did the Blighters carve this as some kinda warnin'?"

"It doesn't look like it was carved," George muttered, reaching out a tentative hand to brush it against the skull. "It's beneath the bark, look. It seems to be...growing outwards, splitting it."

Tia came bounding out of the trees to their right, surprising a couple of the other men who hadn't heard her coming.

"Are you seeing this stuff further ahead?" George asked, stepping away from the tree.

"These were not here when last we passed through this area," she replied, grimacing at the grisly sight. "The blight was more concentrated around the camp, yes, but there was nothing like this. There are more ahead, dead faces in the trees, bodies..."

"It's holding its arms aloft in prayer," George said, gesturing to its bony hands. "We've seen this before, on the effigies. The Blighters stake their victims in this position."

"We knew that the blight was changing the forest," Tia continued, shaking her head. "But not to this extent. It corrupts the land, kills the plants, reanimates the animals. Now, it seems to be changing the very trees themselves, making them grow...wrong."

"Think it's a marker?" Sam suggested. "Maybe a way of tellin' people like us to turn back?"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Dawes said as he approached from the rear with a few more riflemen in tow. "We have more important things to worry about. Let's keep movin'."

***

As they drew ever closer to the Blighter camp, what little sunlight that made it through the ceiling of thick fog beginning to dim, the land continued to change. Every tree seemed to have some kind of contorted face screaming in silent agony rising from its bark, or a partial skeleton emerging from its trunk. Some of them had several, as though the souls of the dead were trapped inside them, struggling to escape as their bony fingers tented the wood like a sheet. There were runic symbols hanging from branches and staked into the ground at every turn, a clear indication that they were entering an area where Blighters were active.

They came upon only a single Blighter patrol, but the scouts were roaming far from the main group and quickly delivered word back to Dawes to let him know to divert out of their path. It was better to avoid confrontation until they reached their destination, because a single gunshot or Blighter whistle could bring every enemy in earshot running. They knew that they would not fare as well in the dense forest as they had during the battle at the basecamp.

There was only one engagement during their trek, a blighted hottah that was brought down silently by the war party's arrows. George got a look at the poor creature as the company passed it by, seeing it lying in the blackened ferns, several arrow shafts protruding from its head and flank. Parts of its hide were missing, exposing the glistening meat beneath, its fur matted with black tar. This was no unnatural amalgam of other creatures like the abomination. It had been a normal animal at some point, killed by either violence or sickness, then raised once more by the poison.

The scouts led them to the dry riverbed that Tia had described, its bottom dusty and cracked, its shores devoid of trees. It was relatively wide, enough that ten men could have stood shoulder to shoulder inside it. They followed it, the dead river eventually starting to slope upwards into an incline that soon became strewn with rocks. Whitewater would have rushed through here once, coursing between the boulders on its way down from the foothills beyond. As they climbed to its peak, George turned back to see the river snaking away out of view. If they could goad the Blighters into attacking from that direction, then it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Even if they fled to the trees when they realized what was happening, they would have to contend with the steep banks.

"We'll set up in these rocks," Dawes said, appraising their surroundings. Some of the boulders were near chest-height, ideal for providing them with cover. "We'll stay hidden out of sight until the scouts have baited the Blighters into the riverbed, then we'll open fire on them from atop the hill."

"The rest of the war party can hide in the trees to either side of the riverbed," Tia said, hopping up onto one of the boulders beside him to get a better view. "We can fire down on the Blighters from there. They will not spot us until it is too late. It should help stop them from escaping into the forest."

"Do you think we should wait until dawn?" Dawes asked, stroking his beard as he considered. "Visibility is poor at night, doubly so with this damned fog everywhere. I can barely see a couple of hundred feet in any direction."

"Maybe we won't need to," George said, Dawes and Tia turning to glance at him as he sat down on a nearby rock. "Back at the camp, when Kuruk called upon the wind and fire to ward off the abomination, I noticed something. That black tar that coats their fur, that leaks out of all the trees -- it seems rather flammable."

"You have something in mind, Mister Ardwin?" Dawes asked as he crossed his arms.

"That stuff is everywhere, it's literally oozing out of every tree that we've passed. If we collected some of it, lay down a trail of it to either side of the riverbank, maybe we could light it up like a line of gunpowder. That would help keep the Blighters from fleeing up the banks, and it would light them up like a solstice candle."

"Do you think that would work?" Dawes replied. He was skeptical, but interested. "How long do you wager that goop burns for? It won't be any good to us if it goes out in a flash."

"Only one way to find out," he said, shrugging off his pack before hopping back to his feet. He fished inside the bag, pulling out a box of matches, then started to make his way back down the incline. Tia followed after him, small pebbles bouncing their way down the slope as the pair disturbed them.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, easily matching pace with him on her slender legs.

"This is what we refer to as the scientific method," he explained, heading for the nearest tree once he reached the forest floor. It was just like the rest, its bark blackened and rotted by the blight, the vague suggestion of a human face rising from its trunk at head-level. George reached for his knife, sliding it from its holster on his belt. He spotted a crack in the bark that was bleeding the black resin, then dipped the tip of the blade into it. It was remarkably thick, its consistency reminding him of molasses, a strand of it clinging to his knife as he withdrew it. Next, he brought the knife over to a patch of clear ground, setting it down on the soil. Tia cocked her head curiously as he pulled a match from the little box, then struck it, a bright flame flaring for a moment before starting to burn more slowly. Tentatively, he brought it down to the tar that clung to the end of the knife, turning his head away slightly as he extended his hand.

There was a sudden flare, the substance igniting, George withdrawing reflexively as he felt its heat. It was burning brightly, blue-tinted flames licking at the air. George had seen pure methanol burn in much the same way during laboratory experiments. The blue hue was much the same, though this substance was brighter, hotter.

"Whatever this stuff is, it's made up of organic elements," George said as Tia peered over his shoulder. "It seems to burn like the alcohols that we use in the formulation of formaldehyde, which are derived from boxwood. Perhaps the blight somehow renders down organic matter into more basic states."

"That means it will burn well, yes?" Tia asked, not even bothering to ask what any of the terms meant.

"And for a long time," he replied. He had to pick up the knife by the handle and drive the blade into the ground to put it out, wiping it on his pants before stowing it on his belt. "We need to start collecting it, enough to make a wall of flame to either side of the river that will keep the Blighters trapped when lit."

"Then we have little time to waste," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Your wit is sharper than I have given you credit for, George."

"I have my moments."

***

"This stuff smells like stockfish," Sam grumbled, tipping a bucket of the black tar onto the ground. He waited a moment, quickly realizing that it wasn't coming out, reaching into it with a stick in an attempt to loosen it. "You ever had that? It tastes like it smells."

There was a line of men on each side of the riverbed doing the same, creating a line of the stuff a couple of hundred feet long on both banks. They trailed back up the hill to the rocky outcrop where the rest of the group was waiting. If all went as planned, they could be lit from there, and the flames would travel along the lines until they were completely engulfed. Even if it wouldn't provide much of a physical obstacle if the Blighters were hell-bent on escaping, it might alarm and potentially frighten them into staying put. They might be fearless in battle, but the reaction to being burned was primal, reflexive.

"I'm almost used to the smell by now," George replied. "Just wait until we make it back to the village, Sam. You won't believe your eyes. There's no scent of decay on the air, no wet earth, no rotting trees. It's like the most beautiful, vibrant garden you've ever seen."

"If you say so," Sam muttered, shaking his bucket to empty out the last of the oily substance. "That's the last of it, George. Better get back and let Dawes know that we're ready."

***

The men were in position, taking cover behind the rocks as they peered into the darkness below, the snaking riverbed winding away into the withered trees. They would be invisible until they started shooting, as the Blighters wouldn't be able to see them from such a low angle. The two lines of tar were ready, waiting to be lit by a match.

George was relieved to find out that Tia would not be leading the group that was to bait the enemy into chasing them. As one of the few warriors who had even a little experience with rifles, she would be among those waiting in the trees to either side of the riverbed, ready to catch the Blighters in a deadly crossfire.

Dawes and Tia had debated how many of the warriors to send to the camp, as they were further dividing the already limited number of defenders. With ten of her people remaining, they elected to send six. That didn't leave many hiding in the trees, but there was concern that any fewer might not draw out enough of the Blighters. The attack would fail if only a handful pursued them. Those who remained would use the four leftover rifles, and hopefully be more effective as a result.

George shared a brief hug with her before she set off down the slope along with her warriors, leaping up into the trees, wreathing herself in her cloak. Even in spite of the lack of foliage, it was remarkably hard to make her out in the dark if one didn't know exactly what to look for. The six warriors who had been chosen to approach the camp set off along the riverbed at a brisk pace, George watching them until they disappeared into shadow. He didn't envy them in their task.

"Everyone knows their role," Dawes declared, climbing up onto the rocks as he addressed the men like a general trying to inspire his troops before a battle. "This is our last chance to get out of this godforsaken forest, and if we win tonight, we'll be goin' home as rich men. Remember, there is no great gain without great risk."

There was a murmur of approval, the men nodding to one another. They had all taken a risk by coming out here, abandoning their livelihoods for the promise of a company paycheck, every piece of equipment loaned or purchased a gamble. The stakes had been raised, but the situation hadn't changed all that much. It had been do or die for many of them from the moment that they had set foot outside of familiar territory. Poverty and debt could be just as sure of a death sentence as a bullet.

George took up his place behind a boulder, his rifle in hand, peeking over the top of the rock. Now, all they had to do was wait...

***

Two hours passed, the men becoming restless as they waited. The fog above them swirled through the air, as thick as soup, but a beam of moonlight would penetrate every now and then to cast the scene before them in its pale light. The forest was so still without leaves, the breeze doing little more than making the naked branches creak ominously. George could see his breath misting, the air seemingly drained of all its warmth.

The warriors huddled in the trees reacted before any of the men. George's attention was drawn to Tia, who suddenly sat up straight, her ears twitching as she peered into the inky forest. The other warriors did the same, as though they were hearing something that he could not.

A sound suddenly came echoing through the trees, shouts and jeers heard from far-off, carried on the air like a whisper. They grew louder and louder until they were joined by the thunder of footsteps, an army on the march. From the shadows at the far end of the dry riverbed appeared the six warriors, racing along the winding trail. George knew from experience that they lacked the stamina of humans, and they looked exhausted, stumbling their way along the river with the Blighter war host on their heels. They didn't look far from being run down.

Behind them came a seething mass of white, their bodies slowly becoming distinct as they came into focus, their painted faces contorted into expressions of fury and delight. They brandished spears and axes, clubs and knives, their feet pounding in the dust. It was as they had hoped -- the promise of an easy kill had drawn out a war host at least as large as the one that had attacked the camp. There must be a hundred or more of them pursuing the beleaguered warriors. They were following the riverbed too, heading straight into the jaws of the trap, the sloping banks boxing them in.

"Be ready," Dawes said, just loud enough that the men who were crouched among the rocks could hear him. "Fire at will on my order..."

George watched with bated breath as the six warriors neared the limits of the lines of tar, their pursuers a mere hundred feet to their backs. Just as planned, they led the Blighters deeper, glancing over their shoulders to ensure that they were still following. To the Blighters, it probably seemed as though they were running their quarry into a dead-end, the rocky slope ahead far too steep for them to climb with any degree of haste.

When they reached the end of the riverbed, the six warriors split into two groups, using what must have been the last of their strength to leap up the steep banks to either side of it. They cleared the jump easily on their springy, slender legs, leaving the clumsier humans to start struggling their way up the inclines as they gave chase. The loose, dry soil and the abundance of small rocks made it challenging enough that the warriors were able to get clear before the faster of the Blighters had made it up.