The God in the Mountains

By Carlyle Laurent

This short story is set in the world we created in our playthrough of WatcherDM’s world-building game “Questioncrawl”. You do not need to have listened to that episode to enjoy this story, but if you haven’t, you can listen to it here:

The Tree-Folk

Serro didn’t understand what attracted people to other people. People are messy and loud and they expect you to understand their social cues and their idioms and their metaphors and get awfully irate when you don’t. He could absolutely understand the desire for solitude. The need to get away from the world. This made him very good at finding people when they went missing. When he’d retired from the Dwarven army of Dispear, he moved South to get away from the Dwarves and all their warfare, and found himself one of very very few Dwarves south of the Whalom mountain range, and without a job. After a few years he was able to earn a steady income by leveraging his empathy for the grumpy sods of the world to find them when their overbearing parents or partners couldn’t. This empathy did, of course, make it a little bit difficult to rat them out when he found them, but he was a private investigator, and he had to eat.

He never stayed in one place for long. Eventually, the work would become boring, and the humans and elves who had never seen a Dwarf before could be pretty tiresome, asking all kinds of profoundly boring questions about the culture he’d travelled so far to get away from. “Do your women have such big beards as well?” “You all live underground! Does that mean you can see in the dark?” “Are you all so short?” “How do you farm if you don’t get sunlight?” He can handle most of it, most of the time, but eventually someone always asks him “Are your cocks smaller too?”, and at that point, Serro usually moves on to the next place.

He had been travelling through a rocky mountain pass for days, and was starting to lose faith that anyone could live in the area. The advert he found on a notice board called for a manhunter and offered work in “The Whimcelium Woods”. Asking around he’d only managed to find one person who’d heard of it. A hunter. She had asked Serro if he knew how much his beard would fetch her in the south. Serro didn’t like her very much, but she did at least direct him east. Just when Serro was thinking of giving up, he stumbled upon the community of Tree-Gnomes that live in The Whimcelium Woods.

Serro, while being quite tall for a dwarf, had become accustomed to being the smallest person around, so meeting the Tree-Gnomes was quite a shock for him. The average Tree-Gnome stood barely taller than Serro’s knees. They were perfectly round except for their arms and legs, and their spherical torsos were covered in a mane of dark brown hair. Hanging from their branches in the trees, they could be mistaken for coconuts. They peered at him with unease. A pink-furred monkey, slightly smaller than the gnomes, jumped out from the trees and landed in front of Serro. It looked up at him, its twin tails wrapping and unwrapping around each other. The gnomes watched it intently. Serro felt the creature assessing him with eyes almost the size of its head. Its purple irises grew wider. It slowly stepped forward with its forelimbs, until one of its slender fingers was touching Serro’s hiking boot. Serro was strangely aware that the treefolk were collectively holding their breath.

In a burst of movement, the monkey ran up Serro’s leg. Serro chose not to react bodily, but did let out a slightly embarrassing yelp of surprise. The creature came to rest on his shoulder for only a second, and then jumped off, disappearing up a tree. Serro was slightly alarmed by the whole thing, but the people in the trees visibly relaxed. One jumped down from the treetops and landed in front of Serro with a heavy thud. It didn’t seem to suffer from the impact.

‘Why have you come, Dwarf?’ It asked. Its voice was high-pitched like a child, but louder than Serro had been expecting.

Serro reached into his grey coat and pulled out the yellow notice. An annoyed murmuring filled the trees around him. Many of the gnomes saw it as an invitation to leave, swinging away to other trees. The one who addressed Serro spat at the ground, a gesture which seemed ill-fitting for such an otherwise whimsical looking being.

‘It is Pholl you seek. Their tree lies outside the village.’ The little gnome pointed East. Serro nodded his thanks and started walking. A couple of the pink monkeys ran along the ground beside him, playing with each other. As he walked he could see these people lived up in the trees. The canopies hid small tree houses, with entrances only big enough for them and the monkeys. He only walked for about five minutes before he found the border of the village. It had been very clearly delineated. A red gash had been dug into the ground, about twice as wide as any of the locals. It must have taken some considerable effort for them to have made it. In its centre a flag was planted. On it was a simple rendering of one of the monkeys in pink dye. As Serro approached it, the monkeys walking alongside him decided to turn back. 

Only one tree house that Serro could spot lay beyond this border. He approached it and circled it until he saw the small circular entrance. 

‘Pholl?’ Serro called up into the hole. ‘I bear your notice. I may be of use to you.’

The dim eyes of a tree-gnome manifested in the hole. Nobody said anything for a moment.

‘Um…’ Pholl eventually started. ‘The Psykeys. Have they accepted you?’ 

‘The pink monkeys you mean? They don’t seem to mind me, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Pholl let out a sigh and jumped down from the tree.

‘They’re called Psykeys. They’re very emotionally sensitive. They won’t accept anyone with poor intentions.’

This particular gnome wasn’t as well kept as those in the village. His mane was knotted and dotted with patches of dirt. His eyes carried a stuck look of defeat.

‘My name is Serro. I’m pretty practised at finding missing people. I used to do it as part of the Dwarven army up north in Dispear, now I do it for myself. I understand you need to find someone?’ Serro found it normally helped people to hear he had military training, but this gnome seemed slightly uncomfortable when he brought it up.

‘I… I don’t want you to hurt them. It’s my sister.’ Pholl said, slowly.

‘I don’t want to hurt them either. That isn’t my business. I just find people.’ Serro assured it.

‘Oh… Good.’ Pholl said. 

‘What can you tell me about her?’ Serro asked.

‘Well… She’s a wonderful person. Her name is Phylla. She’s my best friend, and she is one of the village’s best knowledge-keepers. To a fault. She went West into Mt. Lorneo, against our rules. She said there was knowledge to be found there. She hasn’t come back.’ Pholl didn’t look at Serro as he explained.

‘Why don’t your people venture onto the mountain?’ Serro asked. Pholl didn’t say anything for a while. It kicked a twig on the floor awkwardly. Serro simply stood and waited for an answer.

Eventually, Pholl sighed and said ‘Because nobody ever comes back from Mt. Lorneo.’ 

Serro could understand why he hadn’t wanted to tell him. Serro was good with a blade, a valuable gift from military service, but was he willing to try and venture into what was widely accepted to be a death trap? He considered simply turning on his heel there and heading back to the cities with their taverns and beds and interminable humans, but he thought about it a little more. He’d done long tours trekking mountains back in the army. He could protect himself against wolves and bears. Maybe there was something out there hunting Tree Gnomes, but he was a far sight larger than a Tree Gnome, and whatever it was might struggle with him. He cursed himself under his breath.

‘When did she go?’ Serro asked.

Pholl became even more sheepish than he had already been. ‘Perhaps… a week ago.’ 

‘I should warn you that these operations are most successful within the first couple of days of disappearance. After that, the odds of finding someone can be pretty low.’

‘I understand.’ Pholl said, barely audibly, staring at the ground. 

‘We also need to discuss my payment.’ Serro said, realising as he said it he could have tried to be a little less blunt. ‘Sorry, it’s just that… It doesn’t seem like your people use the same kind of currency I do.’

Pholl was now crying. Silently, but very noticeably. ‘Wait here a moment.’ Pholl hopped onto the trunk of his tree-home, and scaled it alarmingly quickly, disappearing in a flash into the circular opening at the top. A minute or two later, a coin-purse fell out of the same hole and landed in front of Serro with a thud. It was bulging. Serro picked it up and loosened the drawstrings just a little. Elven silver durams. He was currently holding more money in his hand than he had ever seen in one place. Pholl jumped back down as Serro stared in bewilderment.

‘I have more.’ He said quietly. ‘You can take that one now.’

Serro placed the purse in his coat without saying anything. He opened his mouth to say something, and then decided against it. And then decided it would probably be safer that he knew.

‘Why are you exiled, Pholl?’

Pholl’s little head snapped up at him dramatically. Serro was alarmed at his own lack of decorum. 

‘I noticed that your home is outside the village. The villagers made a pretty clear point of drawing a line in the sand for you not to cross.’ Serro poured the salt in. 

‘I… I had to get the word out to place the notices.’ Pholl croaked. ‘And to do that, I needed to pay the couriers and whoever would answer.’ His voice started cracking. ‘And to do that I needed money. And we don’t have money. So to get money I…’ He started openly crying now. Serro felt awful, but it was pretty important to know what this little thing’s baggage was if he was gonna fall in with him. ‘I killed Psykeys. Their tails are worth a lot to poachers. They sell them to humans. I got a lot of money for it. When the village found out they told me I must leave.’ Serro understood. This gnome was willing to do anything to see his sister returned.

‘I… see.’ Serro said. ‘I’ll leave while the sun is high.’

The Hunt

The mountain passage was steep, but Serro had climbed steeper. It wasn’t so bad at first, but then he hit the snow cap. A blessing and a curse. Serro hadn’t packed the right clothes for this job. His trousers and top were reinforced leather (sometimes clients didn’t like the information he found for them), and didn’t get very wet, but his socks were now damp and freezing. Serro didn’t like the snow. He’d grown up underground with other dwarves. Most surface dwellers would probably find the caverns of Dispear quite chilly in comparison to their springs and summers, but they stayed warmer than their autumns and winters. The underground environment stayed pretty constant in temperature. One of the biggest shocks for Serro had been learning how hot a surface summer could be, and how fickle snow could be. The human children adored it, their parents despised it. Being a newborn to the surface world on his first army expedition, he’d first encountered snow with wonder, and then understood how much it hampered productivity in just about any trade. He’d gone from newborn to child to adult in the space of a day when it came to snow.

Yes, fresh snow (especially falling snow disrupting your vision) was a curse to just about any trade. But this wasn’t fresh snow. Serro could tell from the yellow stains of animal life that dotted the snowscape, and the harder surface patches where the snow had started to become regular old ice. Old snow was a blessing to a tracker. It was a canvas painted with helpful directions. Animal tracks were common and clear, and so was one set of what looked to be human footprints. Serro didn’t know what a human would be doing up here, but they might have seen Phylla. They may even be what happened to Phylla. As a Tree-Gnome, Phylla might have been light enough to leave no tracks in this snow, so it was all Serro had to go on. Serro pushed through his discomfort and followed the tracks, being careful not to walk over them with his own.

After what felt like hours, but might only have been minutes, the tracks started to tell him a story. It was rather a harrowing story. The individual footprints began to space out a little more, with the heel of the foot penetrating less deeply than the front. This person had begun to run. Walking on a little further, it became obvious why. Paw prints. Behemoth paw prints. The creature started in the trees first, and then changed course to chase after the human.

The slope had started to descend now, and Serro could see in the distance where the snow cap, and therefore the trail, would end. At the edge he found a tree with a broken branch. A red scarf had been skewered on the sharp point left behind. Serro noted the sun getting ever closer to the horizon, and now that he was out of the snow, he decided to camp. He hadn’t packed any tent, but he’d learned how to rough it in the army. He made a fire, using a spare set of shoelaces (he always carried some) to rotate two sticks around each other at high speed, the friction creating a spark that caught the leafs he had gathered and engulfed them. The light came just in time to provide a wonderfully ominous ambience to accompany the howl Serro heard in the distance. He couldn’t fall asleep just yet, it seemed.

He wrapped the scarf he found around the end of a long stick and set it nearby the fire, taking care to keep it dry. Serro didn’t want to wait up all night, so he took out one of his rations, rabbit jerky, and threw it into the flame. The gamey smell began to waft into the air. Another howl. He drew his steel, and he waited.

He heard them first. Five or six of them. He picked up the stick with the scarf, and dipped it in the fire. He stood, torch in one hand, dwarven short-sword in the other. The first wolf made its move. Serro span around, whipping the torch out of the flame and into the wolf that had just tried to jump him from behind. The flame caught on its fur and it ran away whimpering, before rolling on the ground to douse the flame. Serro was looking for one wolf in particular. It wasn’t that one. It was never the first one. 

A bark sounded from behind him, and then two more emerged from the trees around him, starting to slowly circle. It wasn’t these two either. It was the one that barked. Serro held up the torch, and he could see it on the edge of the trees. The alpha.

The wolves circling jumped him at the same time. Serro rolled forward at the last moment, and they jumped into each other. One yelped as it was bitten. By the time they had recalibrated, Serro had turned on them. He sank his steel into one and set fire to the other. One whimpered and perished, the other ran. Serro couldn’t waste any time. He turned and ran at the alpha. He threw the torch in front of him. It barely missed the alpha, but now he could see it fully illuminated. It was young for an alpha, but big. Two smaller wolves stood behind it, waiting for instruction. The alpha jumped up at him, but Serro knew it would. He dropped low and thrust his sword up, skewering the beast in the air. He had misjudged the weight of the creature, and he lost his balance, falling over backwards. Had he not aimed his sword perfectly, he would have just signed his death warrant. He was entirely exposed to the remaining wolves now, but instead of jumping on to him, he could hear them running the opposite way. 

This was not Serro’s first encounter with these creatures. He hated to have to hurt them, but it was him or them. He’d learned in the army that if you dealt with the alpha quickly enough, you’d break their morale, but it would only work once. He had to make sure he was nowhere near here by the next nightfall.

The Village

The next day, Serro walked out of the snow and onto the alpine path. It was pleasant here. Rabbits hopped and butterflies flew. The air had that autumn purity. Serro could certainly understand why someone might choose not to leave, were they to find themselves here. In the distance he could see a wooden wall. Serro had learned to be wary of walls, but this one didn’t seem like it was built with malicious intent. It was made of wood and painted with colourful dyes. There were no spikes carved into the top of it. While it was certainly a wall, it wasn’t one of those walls that said “if you aren’t human, you aren’t welcome”.

Serro could see smoke rising from behind the wall, and it carried with it the smell of mutton and roasting starchy mountain vegetables. Serro found himself salivating. As he got closer he could see an opening. A door in the wall had been left open, and it didn’t appear to be guarded. Serro knocked on it, just in case, but nobody came to him. He could hear distant laughing. Serro decided to risk it and ventured in.

Beyond the door were several houses. They had the hallmarks of houses that were not made by professionals. The wood had not been sanded, and the thatch was inconsistent, but they stood sturdy. Serro chose one on his right, and rapped carefully on the door. He waited for an answer but got none. As he waited, he heard movement from the other side of the house. He walked around to find a human woman churning butter. She must have been in her eighties, and Serro found himself admiring her ability to work. He cleared his throat, but she still didn’t hear him.

‘Hello?’ Serro rasped.

‘Ack!’ The woman shouted, dropping her churn in shock.

‘I-I’m sorry!’ Serro stammered, but she had already recovered and wore a big smile on her face.

‘Don’t you worry, darling. Sorry, I must have not heard you. My ears aren’t what they once were, you know. Where have you come in from?’ She asked.

Serro was not used to people, especially humans, especially older humans, being so comfortable with him. His face was nicked with scars, and even without the scars he wasn’t what anyone would call conventionally attractive or approachable.

‘I came from the Whimcelium woods. I’m looking for someone.’

She frowned as she racked her brain. ‘I don’t know those woods.’ Then she smiled again. ‘Well if I don’t know them then they must be a ways out! You must be famished. Come have some lard and bread.’ She went in the back door faster than Serro would have assumed she could have. He didn’t have time to refuse. He wandered in after her where she had already set a plate with bread, and was rummaging through her cupboards for the lard. Serro meant to tell her that he needed to get on with his work, but now that he thought about it, he was pretty hungry, and he felt like it would somehow be wrong to refuse this woman. He sat down and accepted the lard once she had found it. It was the richest he had ever had.

‘It’s been a few weeks since we had a new visitor.’ She said, happily watching him eat.  

Damn. Serro thought. That means that Phylla hasn’t been through here. 

‘Oh!’ She said suddenly, an epiphany painted on her face. ‘The Whimcelium Woods! You must be looking for our Phylla!’ She said.

Serro didn’t understand. ‘Yes… Yes I am. Is she here?’ 

‘Oh of course, darling. Whatever would we do without her. Those Tree-Gnomes must be so wonderful to live with if they were all brought up with her. There’s no one better with our little’uns when the parents go hunting.’ 

Serro sat silently, a confused expression on his face, but this didn’t seem to phase the woman. 

‘I should have known as soon as I saw you. You aren’t the first after all. I’m sure you won’t be the last! Go on, get that last slice down you and I’ll take you on to her. I’m Samantha, by the way.’ She said as she started to get up.

‘Serro.’ Serro said gracelessly through a full mouth of food. He scarfed down the last slice of bread and stood up as well.

Samantha marched out into the village proper, with Serro tailing behind her. As they got closer to the centre of the village, Serro could see this was a very full community. Children of elves and humans ran about playing together, which was something Serro had never seen before. People were smoking salmon on boards, and blowing dandelions, and living. Serro spotted an elf showing some humans how to finger-paint. Together they were drawing what looked like an upside-down spider on some bowls. Any who noticed Serro coming in with Samantha gave him an enthusiastic wave. None seemed wary of this stranger in their midst.  

Samantha approached a group of three men. These three seemed a little harder than the other villagers, sporting hatchets and blades and muscle, but all wore soft expressions and smiled at Serro as they approached. 

‘Hiya chaps.’ Samantha greeted them. ‘Have you seen Phylla?’ She asked.

One of the men turned to Samantha with a big grin on his face. The others started to chuckle.
‘Phylla? Gosh, no. I haven’t seen Phylla. Where could she be?’ He said in a playful voice.

Then, the fuzzy orb of a tree-gnome jumped up from behind his back and onto his head.

‘Boo!’ It shouted.

Samantha was clearly a little startled, but contained it well, not like when she’d seen Serro. ‘You won’t get me with that again!’ She responded. ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, still shame on you but I will accept my part of the fault.’ She joked. The men and the tree-gnome all roared with laughter. ‘This is Serro.’ She said once the laughing had subsided. ‘I think you boys can guess what he’s doing here.’ 

‘Oh, you poor thing.’ The tree-gnome said from her perch. ‘You’ll have come all the way from the woods, haven’t you? Sent on another goose chase by my brother. I am thankful he still thinks of me, but it’s been years now. I hope he can move on soon.’ The other men nodded knowingly.

‘Sorry.’ Serro started. ‘Years? Pholl told me it had been a week.’ 

‘Told me as much.’ Said the man standing to the left. He was a shorter human, but very muscled. He sported a large beard. 

‘Makes sense.’ Said the one in the middle that Phylla was perched upon. ‘No bounty hunter worth his shoes would take on a bounty from over a year ago. That’s fruitless.’ He said with a surprisingly posh accent.

‘Serro. Please meet some of my best friends in the world. Terry, Paris, and Lo.’ They each nodded at Serro. ‘I’m led to believe that they were some of the finest bounty hunters in all the land. Not sure how much of that I believe. Paris once lost his sword for two weeks. Couldn’t find it anywhere. Eventually, I found it behind his chair.’

Paris rolled his eyes. ‘You’ll never let that go will you.’ 

‘Finest bounty hunter in all the Clemontinent!’ Phylla responded with cheer.

Serro said nothing for a moment. If it had been years, as these people claimed, then what he had tracked on the mountain had been completely unrelated to this. He had happened upon this settlement by chance. These men probably had as well, which meant there must have been others who didn’t even get this far. Pholl had probably killed hordes of psykeys in order to fund this many hunts. He must have worn his expression on his face.

‘It’s a lot to take in.’ Phylla said. ‘I’m so sorry you had your time wasted. Also, I’m sorry but I can’t go back with you. I have a life here that means too much to me. Just ask these boys.’ She said, patting Paris on the head.

‘It’s true.’ He said. ‘We all do. I do feel a little bad about not reporting back to Pholl, but he did swindle us all in a way, so not that bad.’ He said with a shrug.

‘Careful.’ Phylla piped in. ‘That’s still my darling brother you’re talking about.’ 

‘None of us could bring ourselves to leave.’ Lo said. ‘It’s so nice here. Maybe you’ll be able to go and let Pholl know to stop trying.’ Lo spoke with the accent of an lion-islander. He really had come a long way.

‘Besides,’ chimed in Terry. ‘Phylla definitely can’t leave before the end of the week.’

‘Yes!’ She shrieked gleefully. The others laughed. ‘I’ve been chosen! I was actually chosen. I didn’t think it would ever happen.’ She beamed and the men all smiled proudly.

‘Chosen?’ Serro asked.

‘Don’t worry.’ Paris said. ‘It’s hard to explain, but I’m sure you’ll still be here to see it.’

‘Serro, will you pray with us?’ Terry asked. They all turned to look at him expectantly. Serro felt a little uncomfortable.

‘I’m not very holy.’ He replied.

‘Don’t worry.’ Lo said. ‘Everyone is a bit holy. Come on down with us.’

They set off together down the mountain, until they came to a lake. It was one of the most idyllic things Serro had ever seen. The water was so clear that, were it not for the light reflecting off of it, he wouldn’t have known it was there at all. Fish swam and reefs grew. It was gorgeous. The others knelt at the bay, and gestured for Serro to join them. Serro felt too awkward to refuse.

‘Lorne,’ Paris began. ‘Thank you for letting Serro find us safely. His trek must have been arduous, and we are grateful he completed it in one piece.’

‘While we don’t necessarily approve of his methods.’ Terry continued. ‘We are grateful that our dear Phylla has a brother who cares so much for her. We hope he is able to find peace, and let Phylla go.’

‘Is there anything you’d like to add?’ Phylla whispered to Serro.

‘Uh…’ Serro said uncomfortably.

‘It can be anything you like.’ Lo said encouragingly.

‘I suppose… I am grateful that I have been met with no hostility in this village.’ 

The others smiled.

‘For this, and all other things,’ Paris concluded. ‘We thank you, Lorne.’ They stood up, and smiled at Serro. ‘See? Wasn’t so hard after all.’

‘Everyone is a bit holy.’ Lo repeated, smiling.

Serro had to admit, he did feel at least a little bit holy.

3 Days Later

Serro woke up in his own house. The previous two nights he had slept on some rugs on the floor of Samantha’s home, and then yesterday she had come down the stairs beaming, telling him his surprise was ready. She had led him to the end of the village, where six of the burliest villagers (including the other bounty hunters) had finished constructing a brand new house, just for him. Serro had had no idea how to respond. He hadn’t intended on staying longer than a week at the very most. He had said as much to the villagers many times, and each time they sort of laughed it off. What a waste of effort and material. When he said this again, they laughed again, not at all bothered by his lukewarm response to what was an entire house, free of charge.

	At first Serro had intended to leave right away. He wasn’t always averse to taking bounties against their will, when they were criminals, or dangerous, or just rude, but Phylla wasn’t any of those things. Phylla was just a person who had found a better life. Her bounty had been issued by no law enforcement. Serro was never going to take her back to Pholl, so there was no point in staying.

	He had meant to leave, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t really sure why he hadn’t.  

	Serro was having some lard on toast in his own kitchen when he heard a knock on his door. He opened it to find a smiling Paris and Samantha standing there. Paris was basically vibrating. 

	‘The parade is just about starting!’ He said.

	‘You don’t want to miss it!’ Samantha chimed in. They turned around and walked off, beckoning with their hand for Serro to follow. Serro closed the door behind him. He couldn’t lock it, it had no lock. The people here simply trusted each other, and shared almost all they had.

	In the central area, the entire village seemed to have amassed. The children (and many of their parents) were brightly painted, riding the shoulders of the townsfolk and laughing. Everyone was jubilant, and seemed to be facing something in the middle of the crowd that Serro couldn’t make out. As he got closer, those in the middle raised something into the air. It was a chair, painted gold, on which sat the almost comically small Phylla. Five villagers, including Lo, held up the chair. In front of them, a tall woman Serro had seen smoking meats turned to the crowd. 

	‘Hip-Hip!’ She called.

	‘Hooray!’ The crowd deafeningly responded. As they did, the chair-bearers bounced Phylla enthusiastically. Serro didn’t know what was going on, but he felt included. He had never seen a group of people so unified in their joy. As he came closer he could see Phylla was crying. People began to hold hands, forming concentric rings around Phylla. They danced with no real co-ordination, just a prevailing feeling that it was time to dance. They sang, and they laughed, and they held their hands out to Serro. He joined them, and after almost no time at all, his befuddlement was entirely replaced by belonging.

	After ten or so minutes of this, the procession began. The group started to move as a unit towards the lake, laughing and singing and chanting all the way. As he joined them, a man Serro hadn’t yet met, but had seen around, approached him. He was old for a human, in his sixties perhaps. He had striking grey eyes and, like everyone else, a permanently friendly expression on his face.

	‘I must apologise that I haven’t made the time to get to know you yet! Any friend of Phylla’s is a friend of mine.’ He said.

	‘Oh… uh. That’s no problem.’ Serro replied nervously.

	‘My name is Argus, and I am our story-keeper.’ He said with some pride. ‘As such, I’m fascinated with stories, and I’d love to hear yours!’

	Serro didn’t really know what to do, and just sort of stammered.

	‘Oh no, not right now, don’t worry! Today is about Phylla’s story. And Lorne’s.’ 

	‘Yeah… What exactly is today about?’ Serro asked.

	‘Gosh!’ He exclaimed. ‘Has no-one told you?’ Then, pensively he said, ‘That makes sense. That’s my job.’ He turned back to Serro with a grin on his face, happy to do his duty.

	‘We are the residents of Mount Lorneo, a beautiful community of distant, different, diverse souls, who no matter what, can come together to celebrate the beauty of this region, and the beauty of our lord Lorne. Lorne gave us this valley and all of its plenty. Lorne gives us our love for each other and ourselves. Lorne never asks anything in return, she is simply happy to see what we do with her gift.

	‘There is one day every year, when we get to see her for ourselves, and be a part of her journey. You see, Lorne occasionally selects one of the villagers to join her in her own realm. Today, Phylla has been chosen. She is a beautiful soul, and for all her beauty, Lorne has decided to give her divinity.’ A tear began to trickle down Argus’s face. ‘There is no one more deserving.’

	‘You… see this happening?’ Serro asked carefully. ‘You can see your god?’

	‘Of course!’ Argus replied merrily. ‘What good is a god you can’t see! We are beyond lucky, you know. The lake of Mount Lorneo is so gorgeous, that Lorne erected the mountains around it, to protect it from those that would pollute it, destroy its nature. Only those with beautiful souls find their way here. That’s how I know you must have a beautiful soul, friend. I would love to hear your story, but like I said, after today.’

	The procession carried on down the slope until it reached the shore of the lake. They carefully set down Phylla where the water lapped at the sand, and spread themselves out along the shore. The merriment was slowly replaced with a controlled quiet. Everybody kept smiling, but nobody spoke. They all stared encouragingly at Phylla. Serro had no idea what to make of it.

	Tentatively, Phylla set one furry foot on the lake, and the lake held. She did not sink into the water, but strode on top of it. She walked further and further from the shore, and Serro didn’t know how to react. He certainly wasn’t reacting like the others. The townsfolk simply smiled on, watching their small friend complete the utterly impossible, meanwhile Serro was shaking with confusion. With every second, Phylla walked further and further from the coastline.

	Serro, nervous to ruin the tradition, tapped Argus on the shoulder. ‘How can she walk on the surface?’ He asked in a whisper.

	‘Because she is the chosen, as one day we all will be. Now hush, this is the best part.’ Argus replied softly. 

	Phylla reached the middle of the lake and stopped. She turned back to face the townsfolk. Despite her small size, and the appreciable distance between them, her smile was obvious. A radiance exuded from her, as it did from the lake itself. The water felt like it glimmered with consciousness. It felt alive.

	A shape appeared under the water. It began in the distance, on the opposite side of the lake from the town, and slowly moved into the middle. A huge creature, it would have made the tallest man seem small. It made the tiny Phylla seem insignificant. As it came closer, Serro could begin to see its form, but he didn’t understand it. It was bone white, and appeared like a spider, whose needle-point feet gripped the underside of the surface like they were held there by gravity. Its eight legs slowly strode, moving one at a time, slowly along the surface, crawling with a mighty weight towards Phylla.  

	Serro had never been very bothered by spiders. In Dwarven communities like Dispear, there were very few of them. They didn’t have flies and the like to prey on underground, so Serro didn’t see his first spider until his third or fourth army excursion into the overworld. They were small and curious things, almost cute. They posed no risk to the dwarves, and thus it was very rare for a dwarf to be scared of them in the way it was so common for humans to be. 

	This thing was different. Its eight, jet-black, sunken eyes, created an alien contrast against its white head that Serro found chilling. You usually couldn’t see a spider’s fangs, but you could see this one’s, each the size of a fully grown man. Serro was frozen in terror, but the townsfolk had broken their silence. They applauded the arrival of the creature. The children whooped and hollered, and their parents laughed, beaming. Some sang songs of praise, and others even danced to them. The controlled quiet had become a merry chaos very quickly. 

	The creature finished its crawl into the middle of the lake, and stopped moving. The townsfolk all began drumming on their thighs, some had brought empty pots and spoons so they could use them as drums. The drumroll became more and more frantic as water began to glow. Argus ran to the front of the ensemble to conduct. He turned to face the drummers and raised his hands higher and higher. The drummers responded by drumming louder and louder. Until Argus threw his hands down, and everybody stopped.

	Silenced reigned again. Argus span on his heel again in order to watch the lake. Everybody was waiting for something, and Serro didn’t know what, but the tension was thick in the air.

	Then, the creature broke the water. It’s gargantuan head, led by its fangs, shattered the surface tension and reached out towards Phylla. The fangs clinched together around her body, and created a crunch so loud that it could be heard on the shore. Phylla screamed, a piercing, confused scream. The town cheered. A second crunch sounded, and Serro could just make out the lower half of Phylla’s body falling away from the top half and into the creature’s open mouth. The pincers held the rapidly emptying top half of Phylla in its pincers while it swallowed. Then, it dropped the rest of her in, her eyes already glazed over.  The spider head receded back under the water, as the once clear water started to cloud red with what was left of Phylla. The spider, once again submerged, walked back whence it had come, and the townsfolk continued to celebrate, as if the most wonderful thing had just happened.

	Serro turned and ran back to the town. The townsfolk were so wrapped up in their revelry that only Paris seemed to notice. As soon as he saw a house, Serro ran behind it and tried to breathe. He found himself hyperventilating, not able to understand any of what he’d just seen. Paris found him moments later.

	‘Serro, it’s okay, just breathe, with me. In, and out. In, and out…’ Paris was saying to him. He was holding his hand and letting Serro feel his pulse, and his own breath, and eventually Serro began to calm down.

	‘I’m… I’m sorry.’ Serro said, but he didn’t really know what he was apologising for.

	‘It’s okay.’ Paris said. By now, Argus had found them. ‘We were all a bit rattled our first time. Ask anyone.’

	‘Yes. This is a part of each of our stories. The most beautiful part.’ Argus said.

	‘Yes… Yes it was.’ Serro said, and he meant it. Now that he’d been able to sit with it for a little bit, he realised it was beautiful. It was beautiful to become one with the creature like that. No, not “the creature”. Lorne. Lorne was her name. ‘It was beautiful,’ he continued. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it.’

	The men walked Serro back to his house, and Argus sat with him and told him some more of the village’s stories, and Serro told him his. Serro went to sleep feeling like it had been one of the most enjoyable days of his entire life.

1 Year Later

	Six children sat in a semi-circle around Serro. Five of them were hanging onto his every word, while Thomas was chasing a worm through the dirt, as usual. Serro didn’t yet have the confidence to tell him off for things like that, but with these kids he didn’t need to.

	‘Thomas! Pay attention!’ Chided little Samia next to him. Sheepishly, Thomas sat still and refocused on Serro.

	‘Thank you, Samia.’ Serro said softly. Spending a year around human children had been strange. When Dwarves are born, they are much more capable than humans. It takes a dwarf only a few weeks to walk on its two legs. A one-year-old Dwarf can hold a pickaxe, and six months after that they may even understand what they are doing with it. Serro had learned it takes a Human child years longer than that to generally function. Serro had been surprised and saddened by it when he’d learned, as he knew how much shorter the average human lived than the average dwarf. To waste such a large fraction of your life unable to contribute seemed like a shame.

	But Human children outpaced Dwarven ones in many other ways. Humans learned language, empathy, curiosity, love, hatred, and fear so rapidly that Serro had found it absolutely staggering to observe. A Dwarf at ten was still like a Human at three. No strong propensity for language, and too stupid to understand concepts like danger and sharing. Meanwhile, Samia was only five, and was becoming a person before Serro’s eyes. Months ago, she had been shy to the point that many thought her mute. Today, she was basically the leader of the school. All the other children looked up to her, despite the fact she was a massive teacher’s pet. 

	‘If you puncture the stomach of a kill, the acid will get into the rest of the animal and ruin it. That’s why, when you’re shooting, it’s best to go for the neck. There’s nothing we want to use there that you can ruin, and if you manage to hit it, the animal should bleed out relatively quickly. It won’t be in pain for as long. For the same reason, when you start to skin the animal, you want to go along the back. The skin there is usually tighter, and you definitely won’t accidentally slice the stomach that way.’

	‘Thank you, Serro.’ Pearla said. Pearla had taken over the duties of teaching the children after Phylla had joined Lorne in divinity. She did a very good job, but she didn’t really want the job. Despite her tiny size, Phylla had left behind some pretty big shoes to fill. The villagers, which now included Serro, pitched in as much as they could. ‘What do we say to Serro, children?’

	‘Thaaaank yooou Serrooo!’ The children enthusiastically said in chorus. Pearla patted Serro on the shoulder with a smile. She kept her hand there and leaned on him as she bent down to bring her face close to the childrens’. 

	‘Do you know what time it is now?’ She asked with a big grin.

	‘CHOOSING TIME!’ The children all shouted back, jumping to their feet. Serro and Pearla laughed together.

	‘Go on then! Get down to the lake!’ She said cheerfully. The children ran down the hill, occasionally tripping over their feet. After they’d left she turned back to Serro. ‘It’s so good of you to come teach them what you know.’ She said ‘You have so much experience at all these different things, it’s so impressive.’ She flicked back her long brown hair as she spoke.

	‘Well I’m the uh… You know the old human expression. Jack of all trades, master of none.’ Serro responded, shyly.

	‘You always humble yourself, but you needn’t.’ Pearla responded. ‘You’ve done so much for us. The hunting party feels so much more like a real team since you joined it, and the children love hearing your stories. I do too. Argus occasionally tells me about when you were in the Dwarven army up north. It sounds so exciting.’

	Serro didn’t know exactly what to say, so he changed the subject. ‘We should probably get to the choosing.’

	‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ She said, a little deflated.

	‘I’m going to go find Argus. I’ll catch you down there.’

	Argus was doing what Argus did, holding teenagers hostage with stories. He was telling the story of Lorne and the trickster wolf Arrion. Serro recognised it, as Argus had told it to him privately two days prior. Argus and Serro had become very close friends since they’d met about one year ago. As a Dwarf, Serro looked younger, but they were about the same age. Serro knew the story was close to its end, so he let Argus finish. Besides, he quite liked this one. When Lorne had defeated Arrion by using one of his tricks against him, Serro tapped him on the shoulder. 

	‘It’s time to get to the choosing.’ 

	‘Of course!’ Argus exclaimed. ‘Who’s story will be told this year? Let us go and find out.’ He said cheerfully. Peter, Samantha’s grandson, breathed a sigh of relief at being freed. The girl he was with flicked him for being rude, before holding his hand, and they set off together. Serro and Argus followed behind them.

	‘Have you been talking to Pearla about my time at Dispear?’ Serro asked as they walked.

	‘Hmm? Oh. Yes, when she asks. Which is rather often, by the way. That girl is smitten with you, you know.’

	‘Don’t be stupid.’ Serro said quickly. ‘I’m a Dwarf.’

	‘Pearla’s no fool.’ Argus said with a smile. ‘She’s perfectly aware that you’re a Dwarf.’

	For a while nobody said anything. ‘Have I upset you?’ He asked.

	‘Uh… No. No, I don’t think so.’ Serro said with a sigh. ‘I’m just not used to people… knowing anything about me.’

	‘You told your story to the village story-keeper. What did you think might happen?’ Argus asked with a chuckle.

	‘I thought he might keep it.’ Serro said.

	‘You sound like you’re upset.’

	‘I’m not upset, it was just a surprise.’ Serro said with a sigh. ‘Listen, next time she wants to know about me, tell her to come ask me herself. I’ll tell her.’

	‘I’m sure she’ll seize the excuse to talk to you.’
	
	Serro let himself smile at that. ‘So uh… remind me how this works. The choosing.’

	‘I could, but it’s rather a wonderful thing to observe. I’d like for you to be surprised.’

	‘How unlike you.’ Serro said. ‘I’m looking forward to it, but I’m not excited about sitting in the lake. I was shivering in my bed last night.’ Argus chuckled at that but said nothing.

	At the lakeside, people were kicking off their shoes and happily wading into the water. No-one seemed bothered by the cold. The children were splashing about and playing, and the parents happily splashed them back. Argus didn’t even take his sandals off, he just walked in, never breaking pace. Serro stood nervously at the side of the water, until everyone else had gone in. Before long people were encouraging him to jump in the water, like a nervous dog at the beach for the first time.

	Pearla floated over to him. Her hair stuck to her clothes, which clung to her form. Serro tried not to stare. Her wet skin reflected the sun in a way that made her shine. ‘Come on, Serro.’ She said grinning. ‘Trust me.’

	Serro took a step forward. The water was warm and pleasant. It should have been freezing. Serro was here yesterday checking the fish nets, and that had not been fun, but today, the water was like a recently prepared bath. He waded in until he could stand hip-deep next to Pearla.

	‘See? Nice, isn’t it.’ She said. Serro just smiled.
	
	‘Family! Friends!’ Argus shouted out. ‘Today is our second favourite day of the whole year!’ The whole village cheered in response. ‘Today, we learn who among us our beloved Lorne will welcome into divinity. Today, one of our stories will become richer, and paradise will become sweeter. At this very moment, the world beyond prepares to greet that lucky villager. It is at times like these that I remember all those that have left us to join Lorne in the other world. All beautiful souls. Today, I look out at everyone who lives here in our village, and I think how I wouldn’t want to be Lorne in this moment. How could I ever choose just one divine soul, only one person deserving enough to join our lord. Every single face I see before me belongs to a person so wonderful, so deserving, that I couldn’t possibly try and predict who will be chosen.’ Everybody smiled. The couples squeezed each others hands, and the children hugged their siblings. ‘I love you all so dearly, as we love Lorne.’ Argus concluded. ‘In Lorne’s name!’ He called out.

	‘IN LORNE’S NAME!’ The village called back. 

	The water began to glow. Softly at first, just a slight blue tinge, but then growing to a profound iridescence that painted everyone blue. It made Serro’s body tingle in a way that felt almost like being tickled. He found himself feeling elated, and everyone else around him did as well. He shouted in ecstasy, and everyone else did. The children shrieked with laughter. Pearla grabbed Serro and kissed him, and he kissed her back. Around them, all the other couples were taken in an embrace.

	Then, a hush befell everyone. No-one was instructed, it simply happened. The blue light began to concentrate in a ring around each person, glimmering and spinning. Then, one by one, each light went out. The children all went out relatively early. Serro noticed each of the other bounty hunters losing their rings. Pearla’s went out beside him, then Serro’s own ring dissipated. Everybody started swimming to find who out who still had a ring. Eventually only three remained. Lucius the local blacksmith, his daughter Penelope, and Argus.

	Everybody slowly shepherded them into the middle of the group, and stood in a circle around them. The crowd started to playfully drone. Quietly going “oooo”, and getting louder and higher in pitch as more and more people joined in. Some of the children were slapping the water, trying to create a drum roll.

	Penelope’s ring went out first. She leaned into her father’s ring and kissed his cheek, before joining the rest of the village in the circle. The crowd was now hollering and cheering. The “OOO” had become loud and high to the point it was no longer sustainable, and most people had switched to chanting Lorne’s name.

	The ring around Lucius went out.

	The light around Argus started to leave the water and creep up Argus himself. Before long Argus was glowing blue brightly enough that you could no longer make out his features. 

	And then suddenly, he wasn’t.

	The village cheered and rushed him. They hugged him and kissed him. Before long people were picking him up and carrying him to the shore, hollering the whole way, and that energy didn’t die down for the rest of the day. Long into the night the whole village danced, and sang, and ate, and drank, and was merry. Regularly people would approach Argus to tell him how jealous they were, but no one ever looked like they were anything but happy for him.

	When Serro finally told Argus he was going to go to bed, Argus pulled him to the side.

	‘Serro, at the end of the week, I won’t be a part of the village anymore. I will have moved on to the next world.’ He said. The words sounded sad, but he beamed as he said them. ‘When I go, I’ll take my stories with me, and Lorneo will need a new story-keeper.’

	‘I will miss you, Argus.’ Serro said. ‘No-one will be able to bring the life to those tales that you do.’

	‘Oh, I think you’ll manage.’ Argus replied.

	‘What?’

	‘I’d like you to be the next story-keeper.’

	Serro stammered for a while. ‘I- I can’t be the story-keeper!’

	‘Why ever not?’

	‘I… I’m no good at talking to people! You know that.’

	‘Maybe once, but not anymore.’ Argus said, turning serious. ‘In the short time I’ve known you, Serro, you’ve become a pillar of the community, and a good friend. It’s true, when you arrived, you weren’t one for conversation. But you’ve changed! You’ve allowed the people of this community to set you free, and now you should be their story-keeper.’

	‘I- I- I’m still no orator!’ 

	‘Nonsense. Just today you spoke before the children.’

	‘I only did that because Pearla asked me…’ Serro mumbled.

	‘And now I’m asking you.’ Argus said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know you think you aren’t cut out for it but I’m telling you that you are. Of everyone in the village, even those who were born here, only you know all of the stories. Only you understand each one’s importance, the messages, the lessons. Frankly, Serro, you will be a much greater story-keeper than I ever was. I only told people the hits, and I forgot the importance of all of the other stories until you reminded me of them. Every time I told you one, you would ask me a question that reminded me why the stories exist in the first place. You are the man for the job.’

	‘I… I… I might need some practice.’ Serro yielded. Argus laughed.

	‘Well, then we will spend my last week in this realm practising together.’

2 Years After That

	Serro was pretending to be asleep. He’d been awake for about ten minutes, but this was a game he liked to play with Pearla. When she thought he’d been in bed for too long, she liked to sneak up on him and blow a big raspberry on his forehead. One time, he’d been dreaming about a talking cherry pie, and it had been a relatively pleasant conversation. They discussed their shared love of watching the sunset, and how they enjoyed a campfire on a warm evening. They even discussed the discrimination they would occasionally face from humans (outside of Lorneo, of course), the way they’d assume you were knowledgeable in metallurgy, or edible. Then, the raspberry came, and the pie grew ten-fold and manifested fangs. It gobbled Serro up, and the rumbling against Serro’s forehead became the rumbling in its stomach. Serro had awoken with a start, and Pearla had found it absolutely hilarious. Serro eventually found it funny as well, once he had processed how his close friend Carlos the Cherry Pie had betrayed him.

	Since then, Pearla had taken any opportunity to do it again, but this time Serro was ready to turn the tables. She leaned down against his head, lips pursed, a trained and waiting agent of chaos. But this time, before she could deliver the killing blow, Serro put his fingers against her naked hips, her one true weakness, and got to tickling. She squealed and fell over onto him.

	‘Stopstopstopstopstopstopstop!’ She giggled. Serro giggled too and yielded. He kissed her on the forehead and lifted them both out of the bed. ‘You should check on Ildrid today.’ She said.

	‘Don’t I always?’ Serro asked.

	‘I know you do, but I think he still feels like an outsider. Whenever I ask him if he’d like to tell the kids about Elven culture, or even just offer him dinner, he always says he isn’t feeling well. You’re the only person he seems to want to talk to.’ Pearla replied.

	‘I’m sure he wants to talk to everyone, he just isn’t used to so many humans. Elves have it worse than dwarves do on the outside, you know? They tolerate Dwarves like me, especially when they have a job needs doing, but the average human outside this village won’t be caught dead talking to an Elf.’ Serro said pensively. It had been perhaps a year since he had actively thought about life outside Lorneo.

	‘I don’t know what else we can do to make him feel welcome.’ Pearla said, quietly frustrated.

	‘Give it time.’ Serro said with a smile. ‘Remember, it took me more than a little while to get fully involved with the village. Truth be told, I never intended to stay.’

	Pearla smiled and put her head on his shoulder. ‘I ought to get to the school.’

	‘I’ll walk you.’

	After Serro had kissed Pearla farewell at the school, he went to find Paris. There was to be a hunt today, and Paris was leading the party. The hunting party wasn’t huge these days, not since Terry had been stricken with a terrible illness that confined him to his bed, and Lo was chosen to join Lorne last year. Since Serro became the story-keeper, he wasn’t necessarily expected to join in with the hunt. Everyone would have accepted it if he had devoted that time to collecting and telling the stories in Lorne’s name. While Serro had slotted into the role much better than anyone expected (except maybe Argus), he still considered it his secondary role. Anything the village needed came first, and so Serro volunteered for every hunt, and nobody was about to turn him down.

	He found Paris with Lucius, preparing some crossbows. Recently Lucius had been bringing his daughter Penelope and her partner Leice with him to the hunts. At first the others had been a little wary about letting children on the hunt. More than a few of the hunters had been seriously hurt by boar before, but Serro had made the case that they could be allowed to join and stay at the back. As a Dwarf, he’d been doing things like this at a younger age than either of those girls were now. Besides, he thought their reservations might have had less to do with the fact they weren’t “adults” by human standards, and more to do with the fact they weren’t men. Serro had noticed Humans had a tendency to see their womenfolk as somehow fragile. Regardless, they needed the numbers.

	‘Serro!’ Paris greeted him enthusiastically. ‘Have you seen Lucius’s latest work?’ He said, gesturing to the crossbows. Serro looked at the crossbows for a second, and then looked back up at the pair of them with a blank expression.

	‘Are these different?’ He asked, genuinely.

	‘Here, hold one.’ Lucius said, handing him one of the ones that he hadn’t loaded yet. Immediately, Serro understood. It was dramatically lighter than ones they’d been using previously. 

	‘Oh wow.’ Serro said. ‘How did you manage that, Lucius?’

	‘Entirely on accident.’ Lucius said. ‘I was experimenting with temperatures and quenching times the other day, and I think I’ve found a way to make metal that weighs far less, while being almost as strong. These might break a little sooner than the older ones, but they’ll be easy to fix and much easier to use in the meantime.’

	‘Well, this is exciting.’ Serro said, smiling. ‘Maybe we’ll be able to get more hunters with accessible tools like these.’

	‘Hiya chaps.’ Serro and the others turned round to see Samantha standing there, still as active as ever, with a stranger in tow. ‘I’ve got someone to introduce you to.’ She smiled and winked knowingly at Serro and Paris. 

	Serro turned to Paris with a wry smile. They knew exactly who this was. Lucius hadn’t quite figured it out yet, but was excited to greet the stranger.

	‘Ah! Splendid, we could do with some more hands, and yours look very capable.’ And they did. This raven-haired human woman wore paired scimitars on her back, and her jacket was padded with toughened leather, creating a bizarre clash with her very business-like trousers. Paris and Serro knew a bounty hunter when they saw one.

	‘Yes, my good man, I imagine they are very capable.’ Paris said with a chuckle. Lucius looked at him quizzically, aware he was missing some kind of joke.

	‘You’re looking for a tree-gnome by the name of Phylla, aren’t you?’ Serro asked. She turned and looked at him without any friendliness, here to do a job.

	‘Ah.’ Lucius said.

	‘Yes.’ She answered. ‘Her brother has placed a bounty on any information as to her whereabouts. She left the Whimcelium Woods about one week ago.’

	‘May I ask your name, newcomer?’ Serro asked.

	‘Angel.’ She said, offering nothing else.

	‘Angel. Come and sit with us. I have a story to tell you.’ Serro said. 

	He introduced himself as the village story-keeper, and he told Angel how Pholl had lied to her, that Phylla had left years ago. He regretfully informed her that Phylla wasn’t here anymore, but that she was perfectly well and happy where she was. Angel, of course, asked where that was, and Serro deflected. He told her she’d been chosen to go somewhere where her wisdom was deeply appreciated. He made clear that the bounty was not genuine, as Phylla had not committed any crime and had not returned to Pholl by choice. He told her that the village was having a festival today that would make things clearer. That there would be food and wine and dancing, and that she was welcome to stay and feast for her troubles. She agreed, after saying she shouldn’t stay too long, just as Serro knew she would.

	She joined in the hunt, and they slew a massive stag. As they carried it back, Serro told her the story of the mountains and the lake, and how Lorne protects the village from all evil. He put a bit of his own spin on it, as Argus had told him to do with all the stories the day he walked out to meet Lorne. She helped them prepare the beast for the chefs, and she even joined in the festivities. The children found her fascinating, and she clearly found them pestering, but did not complain. She even helped Serro and Paris carry Terry from his bed down to the lake for the choosing. Like Serro, she was nervous to get into the lake at first, but enjoyed the warmth once she did.

	Perhaps most surprisingly, her circle of blue stayed lit until the last five people. Everyone was so excited about how already divine the newest member of the village was. Of course, Angel didn’t know she was the newest member of the village yet. After her light went out, Samantha’s went out, then Ethel and Rhiannon who did all the fishing. Serro was the last one, and when the light exploded off of him, the town rushed to carry him out of the water. Pearla wept with joy, and they embraced for an hour. After which, Serro went to find Ildred, the shy Elf who had come to them in recent months. He told Ildred he wanted him to be the next story-keeper. Ildred protested at first, saying he was too quiet, not charming enough to be the story-keeper, but Serro insisted. He knew, as Argus had known two years before, that he was the man for the job, and the job would help him come into himself. Ildred eventually agreed, and they celebrated together with the town. Serro danced, and he sang, and he laughed, and he had the the most wonderful time of his life. He never let go of his wife, and she held fast to him. That night, they celebrated like only they knew how, for what would be one of the last times.
	

The Ceremony

	The whole village had gathered at the lakeside. The children were painted and bouncing on their parents' knees. Every household had brought their pots and pans to use as drums, but this year, Erica, a craftswoman from the Ael Steps, had fashioned a real drum for the occasion. It had taken her a long time to dry, treat, and stretch the skin, but it had really paid off. The thing could be heard booming anywhere in the valley, and the villagers were practically lining up to use it. Everyone wanted to be the loudest voice in their support for Serro and their love for Lorne.

	Ildred had spent the last week studying the stories diligently with Serro’s help. He had taken to it slowly, but Serro was sure that he was leaving the old tales in good hands, and he had seen the decision’s benefits on Ildred already. He was becoming more outgoing now that he knew he could add value to the community in his own way. Ildred stood behind Serro now, and was preparing to lead the drummers. That wasn’t technically part of the story-keeper’s job, but they were always the one to do it, and Serro had encouraged Ildred to do it this year. Standing next to Serro, painted one hundred and one colours by the children, was his wife. A tear trickled down her cheek, pulling white and blue paint along with it, before being caught in her smile. She beamed at her husband, and he kissed her on the cheek.

	Serro nodded at Ildred and Ildred waded into the water. When he was about knee-deep, he turned around and smiled at the children, ready with their spoons and their pots. Erica had ceded control of the real drum to her friend Sean, who looked like he might just be having the best day of his life. Ildred nervously raised his hand at Sean and at the kids, and began conducting (after a fashion. He was mostly frantically lashing his arms with no real rhythm, but that worked for the job at hand.) Everyone started banging and hollering. Serro took a step forward onto the lake.

	He knew he wasn’t going to sink. He had seen this three times before, but it still thoroughly surprised him when his foot landed on the top of the water. He strode forward, leaving this mortal plane and its mortal worries further and further behind him. It wasn’t like walking on the ground, it felt more like walking on nothing at all. It was like he was flying, as befits a benevolent spirit.

	Serro kept walking with more purpose than he had ever had before. As he did his hands began to shake with the overwhelming joy he felt. He felt so grateful. He kept saying the words “thank you” under his breath. It was like a compulsion. He couldn’t stop. He was too happy. He thanked Lorne for the family he had found. He thanked Pearla for her love. He thanked Phylla for running into the mountains. More than anything else, he thanked Pholl for lying to him those years ago. It was a terrible thing, if you stopped to think about it. He sent stranger after stranger into the unknown, after never hearing back from the last one. They could have all fallen into some kind of death-trap. If Pholl hadn’t lied to Lo, and then Terry, and then Paris, and then Serro, he never would have found this place. So while it might have been an awful thing to do, Serro was so damn grateful. Perhaps Pholl was an agent for Lorne, finding worthy souls and bringing them to where they’d be most loved. Maybe he didn’t even know it.

	Serro reached the middle of the lake. He closed his eyes and just… breathed. Just for a moment. He took it in. Lorne was coming to bring him to the next world. He had been chosen by a living god, to see cosmic secrets and understand the universes. Serro had been chosen for a greatness that no mortal could ever know. He had never felt purpose like this. He had never felt excitement, and fulfilment, and closure like this. He had toiled away for his whole adult life in the Dwarven army of Dispear, doing nothing of consequence, benefiting nobody. Then, he had spent a decade wandering the human settlements, dragging unwilling bounties from holes to ungrateful parents and lawmen. Serro had formed a wall around himself that was fortified every time he had met someone new. Every general in the army had viewed him as a tool. Every human had viewed him as nothing more than a non-human. Serro didn’t think that wall around him could ever come down. Why ever should it? What could possibly be worth it? Who?

	Before he came to this village, Serro had never felt like he had a home. Before Argus, Serro had never had a best friend. Perhaps he had never had any friend. Before Pearla, Serro had never known love. Before he had come here, Serro had never had a reason to live, it was just a thing he did, because what else would he do? This village had given Serro everything, and if he stayed on this realm for a million years, and worked every day, caught every fish, cooked every meal, taught every child, he could never give back what he felt had been given to him. He almost wished he could stay longer, and put more of a dent in the debt he owed to these people. But of course, nobody here thought he owed them anything. Serro was to join divinity now, in the world beyond. He would get to see Argus, Phylla, and Lo again, but what he was most excited about was being able to welcome the rest of the village into the next world, one by one. He couldn’t wait for next year. He couldn’t wait to find out who would be next.

	He turned around, and waved to the crowd. They hollered and banged their drums even harder in response. Serro laughed, and he couldn’t stop, his body trying to find a way to express this elation. Then, all of a sudden, they stopped. No one sang. No one drummed. No one spoke. It was time.

	Serro turned around. There she was, inching towards him. Lorne. The giver of life. The protector of the valley. The vanquisher of evil spirits. 

	She was beautiful. 
	
	Lorne came closer to Serro, step by tentative step. The needle points at the end of each of her eight legs sent ripples through the water, but never broke through the surface. Somehow, the behemoth stayed delicately in place on the underside of the water. The majesty of it brought a tear to Serro’s eye, which he promptly wiped away. He didn’t want to look weak for Lorne, even though he knew she would never mind.

	Lorne was close enough now that Serro could see into the face of his god. Lorne looked up at him through the water, and he looked back, sharing this wonderful moment of connection with her. Serro felt like he could see the whole universe all at once in those eyes. He saw promise, and glory, and hope. He tore his gaze away to give the people at the shore one last wave.

	Lorne’s head slowly started to rise, creating a bulge in the water. Serro held a hand out to touch Lorne’s mighty mandibles.

	The water tension broke, and so did the spell. 

	Serro looked down at the beast below him, and then back up at the shore of smiling faces. He tried to run, but the water could no longer hold his weight, and he fell forward. Water entered his windpipe, and he surfaced, sputtering. When the stars left his vision, he could see the white spider getting closer. He span around and tried to break into a front crawl, but he wasn’t fast enough.

	The animal’s pincers wrapped around his right leg, and embedded themselves in his bone. He compulsively opened his mouth to scream, letting more lake water into his lungs. He tried to thrash against the creature to free himself, but he could not match its brute strength. Serro looked into its unfeeling eyes and saw nothing. He was snared by nothing more than an animal. A powerful animal, a magical animal, but an animal. An animal that must feed.

	“Lorne” bit down harder, chomping straight through the bone, cutting Serro’s leg off at the thigh. He saw the mandibles fling the severed leg into its gullet, before they quickly clamped down again on his waist, puncturing the skin like it wasn’t even there.

	It was getting hard for Serro to see anything, his blood was colouring the water a deep red. He felt his strength leaving him with every passing excruciating second. He punched repeatedly against the spider’s head, each time his fists sliding right off. The animal did not respond to it, it simply drew Serro closer to the void that was within its mouth, its mandibles contracting further into him all the while. He felt his ribs crack on both sides, forming jagged spikes that pierced his lungs. Blood started to stream from his mouth as well as his leg. 

	He kept punching. He had to. He had to get out. He had to get back and warn them. They had been brainwashed. He couldn’t let this happen to Pearla. He had to get out of this. He kept trying to fight back, but each punch became weaker until he wasn’t even sure that they were connecting at all.

	Serro went limp in the animal’s jaw, and his vision went back.