A Gamer's Guide 354

Before arriving in Purgatory, Jolene had only ever seen snow once, apart from on the silver screens and the world-wide web. It had been too late in the evening to do anything movie-typical with it, but she and Tommy and little Johnny had all ran out anyways, rolling snowmen that were more dirt and grass than snow and throwing balls filled with rocks and gravel. She had been nine years old, and had spent the following six days and nights tucked under five blankets, with a pouch of warm water on her forehead. Not even her mama’s chicken noodle soup (which was only partially canned) had been enough to cure it. At that point, she had decided she hated snow, and anyone from a snowy place in the world must be some sort of a sasquatch, or maybe a tiger in disguise.

Prince, of course, was none of these things, though some might have said he looked the part of both. Jolene wouldn’t have been one of them. If given the task of describing Prince’s looks, she might have compared him favourably to a horse, which was a very high compliment since she happened to love horses. Some days when the weather was all gray and the kids were being much too loud, he could really have that same sort of absent-minded look that a horse could. She found it deeply endearing. 

She never did find reason to share these thoughts, though. Prince inexplicably thought very lowly of himself, which meant that he was not one to take compliments as facts, but rather as empty flattery. Jolene did not want Prince to think that she was one for empty flattery.

But if he ever came to her and asked her opinion, she knew her answer. Even now, as he used practical showing-and-telling methods to teach a number of spellbound kids how to cream someone in the face with a snowball, she found him very, very charming. 

She would have loved to join him and the snowball war soon to ensue had duty not called. 

“Nils, Wernekke?” she called out, having spotted the two older kids among Prince’s court. The two turned to her as one, both almost wincing as they spotted her in her full hunting gear, with Grandma all saddled up next to her. “Time to hunting. Game not catch itself, bellies not fill themselves.”

“But the game—” Wernekke said, his face as pathetic as a guinea pig. 

“Well, alright, I guess…” Nils said, his face not quite as pathetic, though still alike that of a guinea pig. She liked those, too. Delightful little creatures, despite their propensity to biting. Since Jolene was in the habit of almost always smiling, this thought did not produce any further rising of the lips. 

Ever the mother, Jolene told them, “Not worry, need only one for to assist. Nils come, yes?”

The two of them shared a very telling look, but not quite telling enough, as Jolene soon heard Nils whisper to Wernekke, “You owe me one,” before leaving the merry ring of play-kids and walking over to her, plowing his way through the snow and leaving an obvious trail behind him. “I’m ready. What are we hunting?”

With her apprentice secured, Jolene hopped onto Grandma, and once atop, she hoisted Nils up as well, seating the teenager behind her. “Whatever he gives us.”

And that they did. 

Grandma had trouble making her way through the three-foot-high snow, but Jolene knew she was a strong girl. This was not a matter of strength, but of tenacity. They moved in silence. The snow was good for playing, but not sneaking, as it creaked at every step, quite pleasantly but also loudly. The air was cold. Not so cold to hurt, but cold enough to make her breath milky and her breathing a little painful on her throat. Still, she took deep breaths, all through her nose. She knew that eventually, she would…

Sniff. 

<[Prey spotted]>

<Eye-spot Deer Lv.8>

Deep breaths moved through her nose, bringing to her the undeniable scent of deer musk and excretions, sweat and blood and the dry, dusty scent of hooves. Going by the smell, it was about a mile north, heaving west at a speed of… about three miles per hour. 

She loved this boon. How had she hunted things before this? Tracking, setting traps? Ridiculous. 

With her prey sighted, there was no need to be too covert anymore. “Excited for winter festival?”

“Not really. Last year I spent the whole thing stuck in a booth selling bread and cookies.”

“Fun! And now year?”

“Aunt Gyrdle put me in the play. Not sure if that’s better or worse, honestly. I’m not even one of the cool roles! What am I supposed to do playing the scheming serf? Die and get—”

“Shhh,” Jolene said. Sniff sniff. A hundred yards. There it was. A buck, large horns, at least three hundred pounds. She could smell the frustration on it. Normally, it would have very distinctive spots in the vague shape of eyes all across its body, meant to scare off predators. However, in this winter season, it had instead turned a pure white, including the horns. It really was a beautiful creature. And soon, it would last the orphanage… A few days or so, depending on how they handled it. Bone broth, Jolene thought to herself, restraining the drool from pooling out of her mouth. Stew. No… Soup.

As she began to approach closer, drawing her bow, Nils dismounted, and they began to slowly circle around it, him on the right, her on the left. Both with their bows drawn and ready. Once it happened, it would be fast. Hopefully, the buck wouldn’t even realize what had happened. Stressed meat wasn’t as tender. As she circled around, she soon lost sight of Nils beyond the trees and snow. But the buck was there. Slowly digging through the snow, trying to reach the food just below. 

A hundred yards turned to fifty, and then forty, and then…

There was a whistle, the loosing of a bow-string, and then a dull thwump! as it struck something, and the buck uttered a sudden cry, but not dying, not dead instantly as it should have been, no, it started running. Cursing under her breath, Jolene drew her bow tight and loosened an arrow, much too hastily, as it failed to hit the chest, the heart, and instead stuck the rear, burrowing itself deep into the buck’s rump. Giving another cry, the buck collapsed and began to writhe on the white ground, tossing great big chunks of loose, powdery snow around it and digging its horns into the frozen dirt. In the distance, she could see Nils approaching, his face pale and his bow still in his hands. 

They arrived to the downed, pathetic thing simultaneously, though while Jolene dismounted, Nils did nothing but stand there, staring wildly at the kicking and squealing animal. 

“What doing?” Jolene spat at him. “Hold down head, I will finish.” 

“Yes,” he said breathily, grabbing the buck by the horns and kneeling down across its neck, though only with great difficulty. Still it was kicking powerfully, its forelegs moving mechanically even though it couldn’t get up. Now that she was close enough to tell, she could see that the other arrow that Nils had fired had hit the buck a bit too high, not hitting the heart but instead the shoulder. No wonder it couldn’t get up.

Pulling a hunting knife from her belt, she knelt down beside the poor thing. Its dewy, large eyes couldn’t even focus on her. It was looking anywhere and everywhere, pure terror, unable to comprehend a bit of what was happening. Thank you o god for granting this prey upon me, now please receive it into your arms and relieve it of its suffering aye, and she slit its throat. Heavy blood gushed from the wound in great pulsating splurts, but after about half a minute, it was all over, and Nils could stop holding it. 

But then it started bleeding again. Thick, tar-like fluid spilt from the slash on its neck, pouring out like well-used motor oil from an opened oil valve. Nils didn’t notice it at first, smiling in relief at the thing finally being dead. Then he saw the eyes. The buck’s eyes abruptly turned white, and then filled up with black, giving the impression that the whole animal was rotting from the inside, with only the hide remaining pure and white. 

Whimpering, too scared to scream, Nils backed away from it. Jolene, who knew better, kneeled down as the buck rose, staggering, swaying like a half-dead drunk, oil pouring from its open, distended mouth, staining its teeth and running along the trail of its tongue. 

Still on her knees, Jolene shot a meaningful look at Nils, who was unable to do anything else but comply, falling to his knees as well. Or maybe he was too scared to stand, she couldn’t tell.

The buck fixed its black, heavy gaze on her. Then, from within its oil-blubbering, slacked-open jaws, a voice slithered out, saying, “Hey, there you are! Been a while, hasn’t it? But let’s not get stuck talking about sentimentalities, I actually happen to be here on very important business. That said, I must brag… I did catch that monster pike I told you about! My, it must have been at least half a meter long! Sorry, in your terms, that would be about one and a half feet. Which sounds much less impressive, now that I say it out loud.”

Jolene, who had only hours earlier felt very glad to be in the service of the god of hunting, had now changed her mind. “My god,” she said, “what is your command?”

“Are you still not capitalizing My name? Personally, I don’t make much of a deal about it, but I happen to know that many other gods are very prissy about these things.”

“...My god, I still don’t know how to capitalize your name. Now, this might just be my personal opinion, but I can’t even begin to fathom how you could know that I’m not capitalizing it.”

“It’s simply a matter of respect, My dear,” her patron god told her, explaining nothing. “Nevertheless, as I said, we have little time. A herald of the God of Kings is heading towards the Church of Children you are living at and will be arriving by sundown. It is, until this point, the single most powerful herald the God of Kings has ever produced. I recommend that you escape as far away as possible before it arrives, or else you may very well perish.”

“I see,” Jolene answered, thinking over her patron god’s proposal very carefully. “Yeah, no, I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

Disturbingly enough, this brought a grin to the deer carcass, an expression a deer is evidently not supposed to make. “Excellent. You continue to prove yourself worthy of your status, My dear.” Even more disgusting than the smile, the dead-alive buck now sidled up to her, affectionately pressing the side of its face against hers, leaving a trail of black goop as it stepped back off. “In that case, there are other options to consider.”

“Why is it heading for the church?”

“I do not know. It may be that it hates the church, or that there is someone there of particular interest to the God of Kings. You have been sending quite a few heralds to their graves, after all.”

“That’s possible. So, evacuating the kids…” A thought struck her. “—The winter festival. If we send the kids early, they won’t be at the church. And then, I can face off against it at some distance away from the church, perhaps ambushing it.”

“It won’t be enough. You are not capable of killing this herald alone.”

“What if Prince were to work with me?”

“Kitty? Hmm… No, not even then. However…” The buck turned away, towards the fields beyond the church, and breathed deeply through its nose. “Yes. What luck. I cannot fathom why, but there is an army nearby, only a few hours away. If you rush, you may be able to catch them. They will surely assist you if you use My name. Even then, I do doubt whether or not you will be able to defeat the herald. Frankly, it’s an uncertain bet no matter what. I fear I may lose you this evening, Jolene.”

“To a mere herald? You think too little of me, my god.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” 

Abruptly, a voice piped up, trembling and weak, “I—I’ll help!” Nils said, still kneeling. “I can help fight the herald, so—” His defiant speech died instantly as the buck’s neck snapped in half to allow it to look backwards at him without having to turn, like a freakish owl. Its glassy black eyes observed the youth with stark clarity. 

“You will not,” the god of hunting said. “I do not believe I will take you as My own soon, but if you live, you will surely become a great hunter one day. It would be a loss for you to die here. Go to the village with the rest of them.”

Nils, despite the strength of his earlier statement, could do nothing but lower his head, as meek as a worm.

The buck’s head turned back to Jolene. “Many will die tonight. But more will die if you fail. I would not resent you if you were to run.”

“I will not.”

“Good. Then, you must be off quickly. I shall let you smell the leader of the army as though he were your prey. Now, go! Go, before it is too late!”

Its piece said, the buck collapsed, its entire body turning into a blackened, rotten heap of molten bones and mummified skin. Jolene had seen it too many times to be bothered, but Nils was frozen with fear. Spending no time to wait for him to recover, she leapt atop Grandma and pulled him onto her back, urging Grandma to return to the church post-haste.

They had no time to waste.