Up the path leading to the hall, Yig and Mona walked toward their grand celebration. “You don’t look as pleased as I thought you would,” Yig

  Up the path leading to the hall, Yig and Mona walked toward their grand celebration.

  “You don’t look as pleased as I thought you would,” Yig remarked as he skipped down the hill.

  “Well, it’s been a long day at work. Long week, for that matter. And I’ve got a headache.”

  “You always have a headache.”

  “True. Maybe that’s why you irritate me so much,” she said playfully.

  “This better not be how you act while we’re traveling. It’ll drive me mad.”

  “Oh, and you think you won’t drive me mad? Spouting ‘justice’ this and ‘bravery’ that. Even after I escape this place—with all my etiquette and political lessons—you’ll still give me headaches with all of that.”

  They both chuckled. Behind them, Yig’s new lamb friend followed closely. She hadn’t left since that cold night she arrived at his doorstep, and Yig was rarely one to turn down company.

  The town hall door was as large as the hall itself. Mona had often said, “The birds won’t look for Chestnut Town when they try to land; all they’ll look for is our hall.” The exterior was held together by long, unshaven logs connecting the planks of wood, forming a symmetrical decagon, topped by a wooden dome.

  Mona hesitated for a moment but had little time to think before Yig pushed open the heavy door, leaning against it to make sure it swung wide. The door rocked in two directions; both parts slammed into the walls with a boom after completing their half-circle turn. The noise caught the attention of nearly every attendant inside. The crowd cheered as they surged toward Mona, the most esteemed guest—some still smelling of the hard labor they’d done that day.

  The crowd pressed in around her as she approached her parents, drawing her away from Yig. Her mother had several features that distinguished her from Mona: her brown hair, a longer neck, and a more feminine fashion sense. But their faces were nearly identical. Her stepfather, the Mayor, bore little resemblance to her but greeted her with the enthusiasm expected of any good father—embracing her and seating her at her designated place.

  As the crowd celebrated, many of Yig’s friends came to greet him, shouting words of celebration and guiding him to his table. Notably absent were the hunters Yig had worked with—they had all gone to celebrate Mona and grumble once again about how she’d make a great hunter. The exception was Fynn, who, despite his friendship with the hunters, chose to remain seated and waved to Yig from their table. At first glance, none of Yig’s friends seemed particularly remarkable—mostly farmers, bakers, and woodsmen—but their loyalty was unquestionable.

  At the center of the hall, men worked over a huge five-foot-wide pan heated by scorching coals. They strained their backs lifting giant eggs, cracking them open and letting the whites sizzle against the vast surface. With spatulas seven feet long, the cooks pushed and scraped the eggs in a swirling dance. Nearby, others laid down large cuts of meat, slicing and tending them as the fat bubbled, releasing intense aromas.

  On their table lay a wide selection of food, each with delicious aromas. A roasted pig glazed with honey; assorted sliced vegetables arranged into soups and squares; cheesy dishes stuffed with meat and vegetables; and countless other foods Yig couldn’t identify but eagerly wanted to try.

  Some at the table had already started eating—a fact the others were quick to point out. One of the fastest diners was Spartan, who had already made an impressive dent in his reasonably large platter.

  “Hey, slow down, child,” one friend exclaimed as they sat down. “You’ve almost eaten your weight in pork!”

  “Shut it!” Spartan snapped. “You two were stuffing your faces long before Yig arrived. Besides, I’ve been out in the apple fields all day working—I need to eat!”

  “I was out there today, and I’m not eating,” another added.

  “Yes, but like I said, you were eating.”

  They laughed at Spartan’s frustration, in the way friends often did. Yig could tell his friends had started before he arrived—it was obvious from their slightly dirty plates.

  The friends took their seats. Yig greeted everyone quickly as soon as he sat down, then grabbed as much food as his plate could hold. He ate ravenously, as if the food might soon disappear.

  “When do you leave?” Mark, an aspiring potato farmer, asked, biting into a squire.

  “In a few days, I assume,” Yig replied. “At best, Mona and I will be leaving tomorrow.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “What do you mean ‘rush’? We’ve been waiting for this moment for years.”

  “You’re right, but how do you know that’s long enough?”

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  Yig paused briefly before responding. “Darleth left years before he was of age and became a great hero.” He glanced over at Mona and her family laughing in celebration. “I see no reason why Darleth’s daughter—the child of such a hero—cannot do the same.”

  “Maybe so,” said Mary, one of the oldest young people at the table. She had black hair swept strongly to her left side, kept as neat as possible despite her heavy workload on the family fields. Dirt still stained her cheekbone; perhaps she’d come straight here after her last chore. “But what about you? How do you know you’re ready?”

  “I have to be.” Yig’s face turned serious. “We said we would form the strongest adventuring party there ever was—that means we need to rely on each other. If she can’t lean on me...”

  “What? What happens if she can’t?” Mary pressed, passion rising in her voice.

  “She can lean on me! I can’t think of any other option. I can’t even consider it.”

  “And what about your arm? What are you going to do about that?”

  Yig grabbed his right arm, still wrapped in layers of bandages. “I can fight with it. I just can’t let it get hit. And it won’t.”

  “Then this is it? The last time we’ll all be together?” There was an air of sentimentality that seemed to strike a chord with the rest of the table, causing almost every head to turn toward the birthday boy.

  “No, it doesn’t have to be.” Yig swallowed a large mouthful to free his voice. “Mona and I talked, and we would be honored if you all would join us!”

  They each responded with their own variation of hesitant murmurs. Mark and Mary, in particular, seemed reluctant.

  “We’ve all got good things going for us here,” Mark said. “Spartan and I work on the farms—though Spartan can’t leave for years. Del is a skilled blacksmith, and Mona is seen as the future Mayor.”

  “But... Mona wants to go.”

  “Really? Are you sure?” Mary asked earnestly. “I’ve never seen her express the same level of excitement for the idea that you have.”

  Yig paused, looking at his friend with confusion, words failing him. Del, the town blacksmith’s assistant, put a hand on Yig’s shoulder as he joined the conversation.

  “To be fair, none of us get as enthusiastic as Yig about anything. It’s not a fair comparison.”

  “Do you want to go?” Mark asked Del.

  The blacksmith’s apprentice didn’t show much concern on his black-stained face, specks mingling with his otherwise lush golden hair. “No, to be honest, I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think I should. Think of the skills I could learn from places beyond Chestnut. I could return and teach my own variation of foreign crafting practices—things none of us could have dreamed of.”

  Mary sat back in her chair and sighed deeply. “Fine. Maybe I could tag along.” She still didn’t sound convinced.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Mona said with a grin as she took her seat at the table.

  Mary looked a bit shocked by her sudden appearance. “I said maybe. Give me a few days to think it over.”

  “If you can’t decide in time, you’re free to catch up with us.” Mona turned her head to Yig. “Remind me, where are we heading first?”

  Yig took a bite of the omelet Mona had brought. “I believe we agreed on Moonset.”

  “There we go. You can catch up with us at Moonset.”

  “No promises.”

  The partying continued, with nothing but good spirits in the air—drinking, eating, and cheering at unreasonable volumes. Tables groaned as men danced on them under the warm glow of lamplight. Mugs and goblets clashed in acts of kinship. Drunk fools told jokes as they wobbled around, much to the amusement of the esteemed, using this time as a much-needed release of tension. Even with all the noise, many held their breath when a devastating crash rang out from outside—uncharacteristic of any mishap or structural failure they’d heard before. Yig and Mona’s table grew especially quiet—all except Spartan. It seemed nothing could stop him from eating.

  Yig climbed the wooden walls with a hop, scaling them easily to peek out the high windows beneath the lip of the ceiling. Outside, farm animals wandered past. He yelled down what he saw to the table below, but no one could hear him, so he jumped back to the floor.

  “The cows and pigs, and the rest of them—they’re all wandering past.”

  “Which direction?” Mona asked.

  “Away from us.”

  Fynn rolled his eyes. “Alright. Toward or away from the mountains?”

  “Umm… toward.”

  The table looked at each other, tense from the screaming silence that surrounded them, everyone waiting for someone to explain. But no one seemed able to. By then, with the entire hall quiet, the sound of moving livestock was clear.

  “Perhaps,” Mona said, breaking the silence, “the men we saw yesterday—they’ve come with backup?”

  “And the livestock are running for safety?” Mary posited. “Those half-brained creatures couldn’t tell danger if it was biting them in the arse. Trust me.”

  At that moment, Yig’s heart sank. He could not explain it—more like pinpoint what had brought it on. A dizzying sensation came over him, like disturbed eyes were fixed on his back. It was clear to everyone by the look on his face that he felt something.

  “No,” he said, in a dreary voice none had ever heard from him before. “It’s the intruders. The animals can sense something.” The same as I do.

  The residents poured out of the hall in a crowd, squeezing to fit outside. There, they saw the empty roads of their town. The animals had suddenly vanished into the distant fields, but none chased after them. All eyes were fixed on the horizon of the night.

  A couple of miles away, torches flickered in the night breeze, just barely coming into view as soldiers approached.

  The Mayor turned to his people, doing his best to maintain a cool, collected demeanor. “Run to your homes, grab your weapons!” he yelled. “We still have a few minutes!”

  Yig’s spine tingled. “Jordan! Behind you!”

  In an instant, the large man whipped out a machete and stabbed a bull in the neck. The hairy beast stood on two legs, its stare unrecognizable. It raised a weapon of its own—a mallet—and swung at the hunter’s head, until many of Jordan’s companions jumped on top of it. Together, they stomped and stabbed it, but it did not cry out, only roared. It had come from behind, getting ahead of the others.

  Many around the body screamed, hurrying away and ducking for safety. Panic erupted as the people fell into hysteria, scrambling about with heads spinning in anticipation. Some raised their hands in a bid to calm the crowd, but it was clear much more would be needed to quell their anxiety—the small army still marched closer.

  The Mayor stared, mouth agape. “What in the world, men? You brought your weapons to a party?”

  “They’re hunters, Father,” Mona said. “What did you expect?” She then drew her own two blades.

  “We did not mean to offend, sir,” Jordan replied. “We assure you, these are simply our pocket tools.”

  “No matter. Come on, people, why are you standing around? Run! Gather yourselves and ready for battle.”

  “Yig!” Del yelled, holding a scabbard. “This is your sword. I was waiting to pass it to you at the height of the festivities. But considering the situation…”

  After taking it, Yig pulled the blade out slightly, quickly examining the steel. He grinned from cheek to cheek, looking down with unrivaled excitement.