Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

As Darna had mentioned, easily more than half the town was fine with so many city folks living there, even with the strain on their food it caused. Even Rachel handed cuts of her kills to other taverns to prepare and share.

Tibs wanted to do more to help, but short of going out on his own and bringing back enough meat for everyone, which would cause them to ask questions. The best he could do was the same as the hunter. Hand over some of the tubers he collected to those going hungry.

Over the days he went gathering with her, he sensed as far as he could for a sign of a dungeon. Her hunting grounds extended half a day away from the village, from nearly full Nadir to full Sunriseward. It felt small to him, but with how dense the animal population was, it seemed to be enough.

What it was, to him, was limiting. She wouldn't let him wander off, because she didn't want him to get hurt. Her concern wasn't justified, but she had no way to know.

After a week, and having brought enough for Darna to have a surplus of tubers, Tibs decided he needed a break. Or at least it's what he told Rachel when she came for him at the tavern. She seemed relieved and concerned at his decision.

She headed Nadir as usual, and he kept track of her out of habit, having learned the pattern of her essence enough that he could sense her among the rest of the village's essence unless he stopped paying attention.

He was about to shift his focus, as she passed the wall, but she headed Sunsetward, instead of the usual further Nadir, or Sunriseward. He sensed in that direction and, other than the density of the animals, nothing struck him as unusual. Maybe she'd felt there were too many of them for him to be safe.

He wandered the village before exiting the Sunrise gate with a group of loggers and farmers. They headed Nadir, while he turned Zenith. They didn't call after him.

He gave himself half the day to explore for a sign of a dungeon.

He didn't want Darna and the others to wonder where he'd gone, so needed to be back before they ate. The first days kept him close to the village as he traveled from the Sunrise Gate to the Sunset one, keeping away from the other hunters. The village didn't have enough of them for their current population, so they went out every day and returned multiple times.

He wondered how long the animal population could survive this drain. The herds still seemed dense, but eventually, the hunters would have to venture much deeper. Once he made it to the Sunset gate, he moved deeper into the forest and returned Sunriseward.

He had to run among the canopy each morning to return to where he'd left off the previous day, but he made steady progress toward not finding anything.

His search was interrupted by the supplies running low and going tuber gathering with Rachel. It was Nadir and Sunriseward again. When that refilled the supplies, he returned to his search.

*

Tibs rested by the stream, listening to it run, and sensing the complete lack of people. He was now deep enough that unless he pushed his sense to its limit, the only life essence was that of the plants and animals. There was a calm that make him miss his travels. Him, alone with the wilderness.

A few more weeks and Tylian would move on. Hopefully, the next city along the road wouldn't have a library or university, and he could gather the money for his research without attracting the notice of the copper haired hunter.

He resumed walking, sensing for anything dungeon made.

*

"Simtor, there's another one approaching." The voice was deep, but had an eagerness to it that made it feel young. Tibs almost stopped in surprise and gave away he'd heard them.

He sensed, trying to determine where the dungeon's entrance was, but none of the trees were dungeon made. Could the dungeon's influence reach further than his sense? That would make it old, with many floors.

Tibs restrained his eagerness. Old meant crafty, and with so many trees, if he surprised them, a violent reaction could kill him.

And they's said another one.

"Oh, that one is different," a new voice said. Simtor, Tibs figured. Not as deep, but also with enough eagerness, he had the impression they were very young. "I wonder what that means." Simtor would be the dungeon then.

"I don't know," the first voice said. "Do you think I need to change it? With all that essence, it might expect more."

"Double it," Simtor said.

"I think I should use something else. I'm running out of Metal essence. I wasn't expecting one so quickly."

"Nothing else seemed to work."

There was no sense of direction to the voices, so Tibs kept moving forward, attentive for the shift in essence that would mark the entrance.

"Why is it moving past?" the first voice said.

"I told you to increase it," Simtor said. "It has to mean the more essence they have, the more they need."

Tibs stopped. He hadn't passed anything dungeon made, but they spoke like he had. He sense in the distance to this left and right. Maybe they meant he was now walking away, instead of toward. Although he didn't know what him, needing more, could mean.

Nothing. For him not to sense the entrance meant it was far. So why couldn't he shake the feeling of inexperience as he listened to the dungeon and helper comment on his progress? He wanted to ask them, but he wanted to be inside them, where they would have the comfort of completely controlling the environment as security. Hopefully, that would keep them from overreacting.

And the mention of other nagged at him.

He was far from the village, but not so far someone couldn't wander here. There had been no talk of people vanishing, but with so many city folks seeking refuge, how long until someone noticed one of them was gone? That they decided it wasn't someone moving on. Families would notice immediately, but those wouldn't wander far. Lone people wouldn't be missed.

He pulled his sense closer. Someone had come recently. Maybe they'd dropped something outside the dungeon's influence he could use to get an idea where the entrance was.

What he sensed, instead, was a box.

A dungeon made box.

"Yes, it's going for it!" the first voice said. They were the dungeon. They were the one who'd talked of running out of essence.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing. It was circular, with grass low enough Tibs expected deers eating it. In the center, was a box made of branches and leaves. A chest in the middle of an innocent-looking clearing.

He crouched and brought his sense in until it was the radius of the clearing. This tight, he'd be able to sense whatever traps the dungeon hid.

"What is it doing?" it asked.

"Maybe they're trying to decide if you put enough in the box?" Simtor answered.

All he could sense was a space under the clearing, essence radiating from a central point to his left, a concentration of it so dense he couldn't make out any individual essences.

No traps. No essence in the earth or grass other than the chest, and, now that he focused, a line of it joining to what radiated from the core.

An unguarded chest?

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He remained on his guard as he approached it.

"It's going for it," the dungeon said with so much eagerness Tibs nearly backed away.

He made it without a trap triggering, without a creature manifesting or…. Tibs had trouble coming up with something else the dungeon could throw at him. Everything fell into the category of traps, creatures, or puzzles. If there was puzzle here, it was the chest itself.

He crouched before it. The branches didn't look as if they'd grown from the ground, but as if they'd been gathered and lashed together in the form of a box. Almost as if the dungeon wanted it to be noticed.

The top was mostly leaves, and Tibs sensed nothing hidden among them. Other than being dungeon made, they were normal. At the bottom of the chest was a pile of metal. He carefully opened it, ready for the dungeon to do something unexpected.

Nothing happened.

At the bottom of the chest were seven metal arrow heads.

"What is going on here?" he whispered, taking one. It was worn, they all were, and in the same way. He expected they'd still be usable, but no one would take them for being newly made. He put it back.

"What's it doing?" the dungeon asked.

"I told you to add more," Simtor replied.

Tibs stood. "Okay, you need to explain yourself."

"I told you, I'm out of Metal. It's not as easy to gather as you think, Simtor."

"I keep telling you to reach further, Karliak. There was a bunch of it so you can just reach further to get more. What's going to happen when they decide it's not worth coming anymore?"

"I don't know what you think I can do, but I'm reaching as far as I can."

"I need you two to stop arguing," Tibs said.

"Just try harder!"

"I said stop!"

"What's it doing?" Karliak asked.

"I'm trying to stop you two from arguing so we can talk." He pointed to the chest. "What is this about?"

"Is it talking to you?" Simtor asked.

"Can they do that?"

"Why didn't it before?"

Tibs sighed. "That wasn't me. And she can't talk to you." He wasn't fully Sunsetward from the village, but he hadn't tracked Rachel very far. He figured this was where she'd gotten her arrowheads. And why she'd been relieved when he decided not to go gathering.

"What am I supposed to do now?" the dungeon asked.

"I don't know," Simtor replied.

How did the helper not know? Alright, Ganny hadn't known anyone could speak with Sto. Neither had any of the helpers of the dungeons he'd talked with over the years. But they were there to help a dungeon be a dungeon. This clearing didn't feel like a dungeon.

But he should start at the beginning. "Hi, I'm Tibs."

"Hi," the dungeon said, after a stretching silence. "I'm Karliak."

"Who's your helper?" he asked when no one continued.

"If you can hear us," Simtor said, "how come you don't know our names."

"I know them. I'm being polite."

"Come on," Karliak said. "Be polite too."

"What does that even mean?" it asked.

"That you should give it your name."

"I'm Simtor," they said in a somewhat flat tone.

"I'm glad to meet both of you." This was going better than with Firmen.

"Are we supposed to be glad too?" Simtor asked.

"I don't know. That depends on how you feel about talking with me."

"Confused. I'm definitely confused."

"I'm rather curious as to how you can talk with us," Karliak said. "And why didn't the other do it, too?"

"Because she can't."

"What do you mean, it can't?"

"People can't talk with you." Tibs frowned. "Simtor, didn't you explain to Karliak about people?"

"Was I supposed to? What are people?"

"How do you not know what people are? It's part of what you need to know to teach Karliak how to be a dungeon. They should have taught you that before you came."

"Oh. I wasn't supposed to be Karliak's helper."

"Whose helper were you supposed to be?"

"I don't know. Whoever came after Karliak. That helper had to go to another dungeon when one just appeared, or so I was told when they sent me here."

"And you didn't get training ahead of time?"

"No, although I think they thought I had. They send me off with a 'remember your training' warning. Then I was here. It happened very quickly, and we've been doing well, I think."

He looked at the chest with the arrowheads. "Alright, I think you two need some help. Are you willing to let me help you?"

"You know about us?" Karliak asked, surprised.

"I'm a Runner. That means I've had to survive dungeons. I'm friends with one. His name's Sto, his helper is Ganny." When they didn't react, he figure the names had no meaning for them. It reinforced that dungeons who knew each other were extremely rare.

"Survive?" Karliak asked. "And Runners are the one who can talk with me?"

"Yes. It's what dungeons like you are about. You set traps, you make creatures, and puzzles to challenge runners, but no, I'm the only one who can talk with dungeons, as far as I know."

"I really wish the other has said something about that," Karliak grumbled. "It's not like I have a lot to make anything after everything I gave."

"Right, people." Tibs couldn't remember ever having to explain what people were. Even Sto had known because of the Runners. He'd had to explain to Firmen people mattered, that they were like dungeons in that they could think and want and be scared, but they had known people were something.

"I'm people," he said.

"You said you are a Runner," Karliak replied.

"Runners are a kind of people."

"How come?" Simtor asked.

"Because it's what the guild calls us."

"Why?"

Tibs rubbed his temple. "Because they feel like calling us something. It changes over time. But there are a lot of people. We've been around for a very long time. Scholars argue over how we came to be."

"What are scholars?"

"They're a different kind of people. They like to read and ask a lot of questions about anything, and they think they know just about everything, when they don't know as much as they think, especially when it comes to dungeons."

"Are scholars the same thing as Runners?"

"No." This wasn't helping. "I'm a Runner. I just happen to like reading and…" Tibs wished he had someone to glare at. "Did you just insult me?"

"You said scholars are people who think they know a lot of stuff, but don't when it comes to Karliak."

"They don't, because they never talked with a dungeon. They didn't have Sto as their friend, like I did. He and Ganny answered a lot of my questions. And I talked with other dungeons over the years. I don't know everything, but I know the basics."

"Okay."

He was thrown by the acceptance. He expected they were heading toward an argument about the worth of his knowledge about dungeons.

"So, people. There are a lot of us. There's a village—that's a place where many of them gather—about half a day's walk in that direction."

"That's not where you came from," Karliak said.

"I've been wandering the forest."

"Why?" Simtor asked.

"Looking for you."

"Me?"

"For whichever dungeon might be here. I wasn't certain there would be one. I'm glad I found you."

"I'm glad you found me, too," Karliak said.

"You are?" Simtor asked.

"It said it was. This is like when it gave its name, I think."

"Another thing, when referring to me, please use 'he,' or 'him'."

"What are those?" Simtor asked.

"They are how we refer to people. Men are 'he,' women are 'she'."

"What are women?" they asked.

"A different kind of people." How did he explain the differences between men and women to a dungeon? "Can you sense how I'm different from the person who came before?"

"Yes, all that essence."

Right, which meant they would be able to tell Rachel apart from anyone else who might have taken from the chest.

"What do I feel like to you, Karliak?"

"Lots of essence."

"What else?"

"You bright?"

"Other than the brightness, can you tell anything that's different between me and the other one?"

"No?"

"If you focus, you should be able to tell my essences apart, and see how it's distributed. If you compare that with the other person, you'll—"

"What's a person?" Karliak asked.

"Another word for people." So much for keeping this simple.

"Why have two words for the same thing?" Simtor asked.

Tibs snorted. "If only it was just two. People like to complicate things at times. But yes, when she comes here again, if you pay attention to her essence, you'll see it's different from mine." He doubted he could stop her from another visit before he'd taught Karliak enough to be a dungeon. Not unless he explained things he didn't want her or anyone in the village to know.

"Not as bright."

"Yes, but also different in how it's arranged. Every people has a different arrangement of essence. It's one way to recognize them."

"What do I do with knowing how to tell people apart?"

How did a dungeon use that? How had Sto? "You can learn what different people can do, so make changes to your floor. We'll get to that later. For example, you said that sometimes the per—people visiting doesn't seem to like the arrowheads. Those are what's in the chest. If you can tell people apart, I think you'll realize it's someone different, and they will prefer other things."

"So, if I know who is coming, I can put the right thing in the chest so they'll come back again," Karliak said excitedly.

"Yes, but you shouldn't be making it so easy to reach the chest."

"Why do I want to make it hard? They aren't going to come back if they can't get what's in the chest."

This could be dangerous. The village was close, all things considered, and he was confident two of them already knew about Karliak, although they might not understand what they were. If he taught them to be a dungeon, someone wouldn't survive. How long after that until stories spread?

"Can you move?" Sto had moved the location of his core within his deeper floors, but was that the extent?

"I can move about what I feel," they replied.

"I mean your core. Can you move where it's located?"

"I don't know. Simtor, is that something I can do?"

"He's the one who knows about dungeon."

"You said there's a spot with more Metal essence," Tibs said.

"There was more essence."

"In what direction?"

"That way."

He chuckled. "I'm going to need more than that."

"I don't know what you expect me to do."

He sensed and found many pockets with higher concentration of metal in them. "Deep, or close to the surface? The surface is where the grass is."

"The what?"

How could they talk if things like grass wasn't something they knew?

He ran a hand through the grass. "It's this Wood essence thick covering."

"Then it's kind of close to that."

"Okay, then I'd like you to try to move toward where that essence was. If it helps, there should be more of it in that direction, so you'll be able to absorb that."

"How do I do that? Move?"

"That, I don't know."

"So Karliak might not be able to."

"Maybe, but if they try, we'll at least know. You can tell me how it went when I return in a few days."

"Why are you leaving?"

"I can't have other people wonder what happened to me, so I have to return to the village before the sun is too low. Before the light essence diminishes too much," he added, thinking that would be easier for the dungeon to understand.

"Okay, I'll try that."

"Good. See you later then."

"See you later," the dungeon replied, sounding uncertain.