The darkness in Shon’s mind seemed to be pulling him in a thousand directions at once. In Shon’s confusion and panic, he could vaguely recall that he had blacked out shortly after he and Tarun had refused an invitation from someone. Who was it? The details of the encounter hardly seemed important to Shon at the moment. All that seemed to matter was his current terror.

In the back of Shon’s memory, he recalled something his old teacher Empress had once told him about the tundra wolves that roamed her homeland. She had said that in the winter when the wolves became desperate for food, they would become particularly ferocious, attacking almost anything they came across. She told how she had once come across the scene of a pack of tundra wolves that had taken down a deer and the way they had each jealously attacked the dead animal, trying to secure a piece for themselves.

At the time, Empress had shared her experience with her students as part of some lesson about the effects of bullying, or cruel words, or something. The lesson didn’t seem important to Shon at the moment. What was important was that Shon’s mind now felt like the deer, a dead animal on a cold and frozen plane, being torn to pieces by hundreds of hungry and vicious creatures, but unable to react in the slightest or even call out for help.

As the creatures tore at one particularly tender corner of Shon’s mind, there suddenly erupted a roar of fury that shocked Shon. He supposed that it must have surprised the dark creatures as well, because immediately afterwards the biting and rending ceased for a moment and Shon was left to the cold, the darkness, his own pain, and silence.

Except that with the momentary pause in panic, Shon realized that all was not as silent as he thought. Far off in the dark distance, Shon could hear the impossibly low and malicious laughter of a nightmare he thought he’d forgotten.

“I warned you to run home, little larva,” the cruel voice said through the darkness. The voice did not seem terribly loud, but Shon marveled at how clearly he could hear it when he sensed that it came from so far away. “My enemies are not to be trifled with, and I have been preparing this one for quite some time. Leave your friend and cease meddling in affairs you don’t understand. Give in or give up this night. If you don’t, I promise you that your fate will be far worse than the one you face now.”

“Who are you?” asked Shon. As soon as he asked the question, he felt foolish and small, like he was talking to a great mountain hundreds of miles in the distance. Shon doubted whether he’d been heard at all.

Then came an answer, booming like thunder. “I am the force that will reshape this world,” the voice boomed. “I am the one who will save this world from death by atrophy and the decay of magic. I am the mightiest of the mighty. I am the bringer of strife and strength and a thousand years of war! No war can last without worthy enemies, and I have planned long and worked hard for mine.”

Shon wished that he could find some hidden corner to crawl into and escape that terrible voice, but he was completely naked and exposed to the empty void surrounding his mind. More than just the words and the tone of the voice, Shon could feel the contempt and anger that it felt for him.

At that moment, a thought came clearly to the front of Shon’s consciousness, momentarily pushing past all the other distractions in crystal clear focus. Why would such a being have cause to feel angry at him? The malice and mockery were somehow easy for him to accept, but anger? Shon thought of Empress’ lessons on anger and the weakness it showed. If this being was truly angry with him, then perhaps Shon was not as insignificant as the voice was trying to convince him he was.

For an instant, this thought gave Shon courage, and he considered more forcefully demanding to know who this terrible force was. But the being’s presence was still enormous and intimidating, and Shon decided to keep his small, secret piece of bravery to himself.

The fearsome consciousness finally began to withdraw, like the rolling away of great storm clouds, and Shon would have felt relieved, if not for his fear of the cold, dark wolves returning to attack his mind. But to Shon’s surprise, what he experienced next was not violence, but music.

A collection of notes, that at first seemed separate and disconnected, began to weave themselves together like a great woolen blanket. The blanket of music fluttered in front of him for a moment, as if on a breeze, and then wrapped gently but tightly around him, covering his naked consciousness and warming his soul. Light began returning to Shon’s mind along with images of fields and flowers and grass.

The scent of grass was evoked with particular strength. He could smell the freshly-grazed grass so powerfully that for a moment he imagined that he was back among the fields of sheep surrounding Alderfold. Just as Shon began to relax in the peacefulness of the vision, one of the rams in the field walked right up to Shon with his hairy face and began breathing hard on his face.

At that moment, Shon opened his eyes and found a rather grumpy-looking satyr standing over his body and staring at him with their noses nearly touching. “Alright,” the satyr said with a grouchy stare, “which one of you yahoos was butchering my flute?”

“Gah!” yelped Shon as he pushed himself up and scurried away from the furry-faced stranger. The satyr was stocky and appeared to be a considerably shorter than Shon. His legs were covered in black goat fur and he had hooves instead of feet. His torso and chest were bare and shaggy, and on top of his head were two twisting goat horns emerging from a long pile of hair the same color as his legs.

Shon looked around the campsite and realized that it was still nighttime, but the campfire was roaring and the stars were once again shining above. Shon found it odd that despite the night air, his surroundings somehow seemed brighter and more inviting than usual, as if the sunny ambiance of his dream had carried over into the real world.

Next to the campfire, Shon saw Tarun beginning to sit up with the help of another satyr. This second satyr had light brown hair on his legs and head and seemed a bit taller than the first one. He also seemed less grumpy than the one that was still staring at him, but Shon decided to keep that observation to himself.

A couple of steps away from Tarun, Shon saw a third satyr that was by far the tallest of the three. He had yellowish white hair on his legs and head, and although he was bent over at the moment, Shon could tell that he was probably even taller than Tarun. Because the third satyr was relatively thin, Shon thought his height gave him something of a stretched out appearance, but he also seemed to be the calmest of all three satyrs. A moment after Shon looked over at him, he noticed the tall satyr was propping up Seth against a nearby tree and trying to gently wake him up.

“I think I found your missing flute, Roj,” the tall satyr called over to the black-haired one that was still glaring at Shon. “I think this fellow over here was the one playing it.”

“Bah!” said Roj. “You can’t call that uncontrolled bleating ‘playing,’ Soj. If some idiot was using your drumsticks to bang on a tree, would you call that playing music?”

“Of course,” Soj replied with a peaceful smile. “You know that trees and rocks are some of my favorite surfaces to play on.”

“All right, bad example!” snapped Roj. “Just toss me my flute, will ya?”

“Easier said that done, mate,” said Soj. “This guy may look like he’s conked out, but he’s still got a wicked grip on the flute.” Shon saw Soj give a tug on the wooden flute in Seth’s hand, as if to prove his point.

“You’re being to blasted gentle, you big softie!” shouted Roj. “You’d think your legs were covered with cotton instead of wool. Let me come over there and I’ll get my flute, even if his arm is still attached to it.”

“Settle down, Roj,” said the satyr between them. “The flute’s not going anywhere, and I doubt that poor fellow is going to try to run off with it once he comes to. Let him wake up when he’s ready, and until then let him be. Seems like these gentlemen have been through enough tonight.” As the brown-haired satyr spoke, it struck Shon that if Soj seemed to be stretched out and Roj seemed to be a bit squashed, this other satyr seemed to be the ideal balance between them. The satyr had a handsome face and seemed to carry a mantle of confidence.

Shon felt a swell of relief as he saw Tarun begin to sit up and shake his head. “Excuse me,” said Tarun as he struggled to stand on his feet, “but who are you? What happened to us?” Tarun managed to stand for a moment before his knees gave way and he fell back to the ground.

“Whoa, take it easy big fellow,” said the middle satyr. “My name is Toj. These are my brothers, Roj and Soj. We don’t mean you any harm. As for what happened to you, we were really hoping you could tell us. How did you manage to stumble into such a bad nest of phantoms? You’re lucky to even be alive.”

“We didn’t stumble into them,” said Tarun, holding his head as if trying to shake water from his brain. “We were attacked. They were with a man named Laronius. He said he just wanted to give us an invitation, but when we refused, the situation became… unfriendly.”

“Amazing,” said Toj, turning to look at Shon. “You know, your friend here may be the most gifted underestimator I’ve ever met. And if what he says is true, your survival is a lot more than lucky. It’s downright miraculous.”

“What do you mean?” asked Shon, surprised at the shakiness in his own voice.

“Well, let’s just say that we’ve encountered that devil Laronius before,” said Toj. “He’s not to be underestimated, and certainly not to be trusted. It’s not every night we meet someone who’s met Laronius and still been breathing afterward. Still, that was one nasty swarm of phantoms, even for Laronius. I don’t think we’ve ever driven off a swarm quite that large before tonight.”

“You mean you’re the ones who drove off all those phantoms?” asked Shon.

“Well, in all honesty, no,” replied Toj. “We helped provide some of the accompaniment for the spell that cleared away the darkness, but we can’t actually take credit for it.”

“Well then, who did?” Shon asked.

“That would be me,” said a clear and melodic voice. At that moment a beautiful red-haired young woman stepped into the firelight. Her black and green dress was simple, and she wore no shoes, but she walked with a stature and grace that seemed to befit royalty. As soon as she entered the clearing, the three satyrs all bowed their heads in respect and reverence.

“May I present,” announced Toj, raising his head again, “the Voice of the Land, and Heir of the Wood. The Lady Aluanna.”

In that instant, Seth jerked awake, shaking his head in confusion. In a daze, he raised the flute to his lips as if to blow into it again, but stopped when he saw the Lady Aluanna standing in front of him. Seth’s eyebrows raised and his jaw drooped a little bit as he dropped the flute in his hand. “Oh wow,” he muttered, and then collapsed face first back to the ground.

Illustration of Shon
by Ryan Salway