The Divine Hunter

Angouleme watched as the knights rode their horses into the woods. The light in her eyes dimmed as they disappeared. She leaned on the walls of the dorm, feeling the icy breeze cutting her skin as she sighed. She looked weaker than ever.

The other kids stood around the statue of Lebioda, spacing out, as if the witchers never came.

The bald guy beside the fence looked away. With uncertainty, he asked, “So we got through this without a hitch?”

“Oh, don’t look so serious. Smile. Those amateurs took the bones and doll away. Even if more nightwraiths show up, it’s their problem.” Dino picked his sharp teeth with his pinky.

“Don’t let your guard down. You’ve never witnessed how much of a problem witchers can be. I have seen it firsthand in Vizima.” There was wariness and hatred in Daisy’s eyes. She turned to Rumachi. “Follow them. Make sure they’re truly gone, but do not alert them.”

Rumachi leaned ahead and pounced forth, disappearing into the woods like a gust of wind. A solemn Daisy turned to Dino. “Dino, tell the kids to start the preparations. Someone from the city is coming in a couple of days.”

***

Time went by. The sun was slowly moving toward the west, painting the skies with a shade of yellow. In the wilderness miles away from the north of Lebioda’s temple, a sliver of smoke floated from a boulder shaped like a bowl. Around the warm campfire, two horses were grazing away.

Acamuthorm stiffly turned the gutted, golden-brown rabbit on the grill, frowning at the grass. Carl circled the skeletons on the ground, spreading white powder, chanting under his breath. When he was done making a circle, white light came forth, conjuring a hexagram. The witcher covered the circle with a piece of black cloth and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Acamuthorm, you bloody idiot! Why’d you push forward before you found any concrete evidence? That’s like asking a wolf if it’d eaten any meat before. Of course they’d get mad! Now we’re kicked out of that place. Happy?”

“Hey, I have evidence. And I gave you a look,” Acamuthorm argued, his face red.

“You think I’m a mind reader? How was I supposed to know that you had shit for brains?” Carl heaved a sigh of disappointment. He dusted his hands off and plopped down on the grass around the campfire. He tore off a steaming piece of meat and munched into it. “I’m not going to argue with an idiot. If you had evidence, why didn’t you show it?”

“Baldy kept a close eye on me, and the kids looked like they were possessed. I had no chance to bring it up to you.” Acamuthorm simpered. He knew he was in the wrong, so he handed over a canteen for his companion to drink from. He told himself, “But now that we’re out of the temple area, no one can do anything to us. I call this a tactical retreat.”

“Stop talking nonsense and get to the point.”

“Alright, Carl. I saw a mark on the wrists of Angouleme and that boy I picked at random.” He quickly drew the web-shaped mark and the words written on it on the ground. “I couldn’t remember where I saw this rune before, but I know it’s got something to do with religion.”

Carl stopped munching on his food. Quickly, he stood up and rummaged through Wilt’s saddlebag. A moment later, he took out a grey leather journal. It was the notes he would go through. This book recorded the essence of everything his mentors taught him. Carl flipped through the book. The campfire crackled, its light shining on the young witcher’s face.

“Found it.”

“Let me see.”

The witchers stared at the pattern recorded in the pages of the notebook, and they were seized by shock. Within the cramped lines was an ancient, eerie drawing. Upon an evil altar was a gigantic, white, octagonal spiderweb. A creature with eight sharp legs covered in black fur was silently lying on the web. Shockingly, even though the creature had the body of a spider, it had the head of a lion. The mane on its neck was bushy and flaring like a ball of flames. Its maw was open, revealing the incisors within. The creature looked ahead, gazing at uncertain fate. Underneath the web was a mountain of skeletons. Skeletons of its prey. This picture was filled with evil and corruption. One look was enough to induce nightmares.

“Lionhead Spider. God of omens,” said Carl solemnly. “Grayba the Black, also known as Coram Agh Tera. It’s an ancient evil belief of the North. The great weaver that weaves the fate of humanity into a big web. This cult worships death and darkness. Like Svalblod, the evil god of Skellige, the one that merged humans and bears together, loves living sacrifice. Priests of the Lionhead Spider possess a powerful ability to curse.”

The campfire crackled, and the witchers fell into their thoughts. Wilt smacked their faces with its tail a while later. Carl snapped out of his stupor and muttered, “Daisy had this tattoo on her back, that means…”

“She doesn’t believe in Lebioda at all.” Acamuthorm’s eyes shone, and he gnashed his teeth. “She’s a believer of the god of omens. She believes in the Lionhead Spider. And the muscle guys who go around with her…”

“Probably believes in this spider too,” Carl said. “Their emblem is probably hidden somewhere in the temple.”

“Damn those bastards. They played us like fools and acted like they worshipped Lebioda.” Acamuthorm was irked.

“They played you like a fool, you fool. I told you something was off with them. Told you to be careful.” Carl shot his companion a look of disdain, and he sighed. “Daisy kept swearing to Lebioda and lied to us because Lebioda has no jurisdiction over her.”

“That prophet’s kind of a coward,” Acamuthorm mocked. “His temple got taken over, and his priestess was probably killed too. She didn’t go on any travels. And yet Lebioda did nothing.”

Carl tore off another piece of meat from the grill. “Legends have it that Lebioda was just a poor sod who would stand up for his believers even if he had no power to, and he was taken by a dragon as food. Eaten up in the end.” The witcher mused. “Now I think those legends might not just be legends. He’s probably just a figurehead for knowledge. Lebioda himself has no divine power. That’s why the Lionhead Spider cultists picked his temple to take over. All eighteen kids are now under the evil god’s control.”

The witchers looked at each other in silence, musing over the matter.

Acamuthorm was perplexed. “If they’re evil cultists, then why’d they allow us to get into the temple and clear the nightwraiths instead of kicking us out? They were doing something risky.”

“Lionhead Spider might have a powerful curse ability, but most curses can only hurt something with a tangible body. They’re ineffective against spirits. That means they have no power to take down nightwraiths that can shift into the void anytime they want. They would need a witcher’s help,” Carl answered without hesitation. “They made one mistake, however. They underestimated the curiosity and sense of justice witchers can have. Especially one amateur who has no idea how the world works but would keep spouting things like knightly valor.”

***

“Oh, you think you’re so smart? Fine, answer me then. Were they the ones who killed the kids in the cellar?” Acamuthorm was reminded of Rumachi’s talk about war orphans. He had a conflicted look on his face. “I think they do treat the kids well. They wouldn’t kill them. To be fair, they did stand up and face us. Lionhead Spider might not be as evil as we think.”

Carl sneered. “Do you really think a group of sheep would attack lions on their own? And didn’t you see the struggle and plea in the children’s eyes? I think their overreaction was influenced by something out of their control. The tattoo on their wrists, for example.”

Carl tossed a piece of firewood into the campfire. “Fine, even if you’re right, then how do you explain the big cat and spider? There were no signs or traces of them in the temple. The god of omens might be an expert in curses, but not even it can summon monsters out of nowhere.”

Carl took a swig of the chrysanthemum tea in the canteen, and he thought about that question. He thought about Rumachi and Dino and how they would sniff like beasts. He felt pressure from them, and they acted weirdly. He connected the dots.

“I got it. We had it all wrong from the start. It’s something we overlooked. Those monsters never invaded the temple. They might have always been in the temple, so no one found out.”

“What? But we searched the whole temple.”

“Use your head. Think about it. Roy told us about his adventures. There’s something about the god of omens in it.”

Acamuthorm smacked the back of his head. His eyes shone, he got up, and he circled the campfire in excitement. “Nivellen, the bearheaded man in the outskirts of Vizima. Adda, princess of Vizima, cursed to be a striga. Alan, the leader of a troupe and a man cursed to be a werewolf. His children were cursed to be birds. They’re humans, and yet they live as beasts, because they were cursed by the priests of the Lionhead Spider. So curses can turn humans into powerful monsters. In a sense, curses are a form of power as well.”

Carl stared at the fire and said aloud, “What we should’ve looked for weren’t lynxes or spiders, but werepanthers, weretigers, or werespiders. If I take this further, the guys who are most possibly cursed would be Rumachi and Dino, the guys hanging around Daisy. They run the temple, so it’d be easy for them to erase their traces.”

The moon rose into the air. Silvery moonlight and crackling flames shone on Acamuthorm. The young witcher was shocked. “So the killers we’ve been looking for have always been right in front of us? And they misled us?” Acamuthorm smiled bitterly. Sheepishly. It was a preposterous and laughable truth, but one that was reasonable.

“That’s what I think happened.”

“But why’d they kill the kids in such a horrifying way? They used painful deaths to sacrifice to the god of omens?”

“If they only wanted to sacrifice the kids, then those children would only be consumables. There wouldn’t be so many survivors.” Carl shook his head. “The real reason is none of our business. We should think about our next course of action. I don’t like to say this, but we’re just amateurs. First lesson they taught us was to pick enemies who are on par with us. The god of omens clearly isn’t on that list. I suggest we go to Lan Exeter and contact the brotherhood.”action

“Haven’t you had enough of drowners? This is the perfect chance to show your skills. Seize it. We have to figure this whole thing out.” Acamuthorm cocked his eyebrow. He grabbed the horse’s braid and smacked Scorpion’s rear. He argued, “If we give up just like this, we can’t brag to our friends.”

“You do have shit for brains. Learn how to assess the situation.” Carl shook his head. Worried, he said, “I don’t want Vicki to be a widow this young.”

“She’s not even fifteen. Hasn’t even held your hand. She’s not going to be a widow if she’s not married. Oh, and I have more proof.” Acamuthorm took out the dirty ragdoll from the saddlebag. The light of the flames shone on its patches and dried blood. He was reminded of what Angouleme told him.

If you have so many questions, why don’t you ask them? Acamuthorm smiled and pulled the patch away. “Perhaps the answer to the kids’ murder lies within here.”

***

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