It was another sweltering hot day. Sweat plastered Faine’s shirt to his itchy skin. Leaves drooped off trees and tall bushes. Small twigs snapped under foot, and sunlight glanced off tall boulders that dotted the increasingly arid terrain. At noon, loud, rambunctious voices broke the quiet of the forest, stopping Faine in his tracks. They seemed to be coming from the other side of a bulky outcropping just fifty feet ahead. One of the mining towns nestled in the Western Jaw, a craigy mountain range to the north, could have sent out a hunting party to gather game for their reserves. It was also possible that he could be trespassing on private property. Then again, bandits were known to celebrate good fortune at any hour of the day or night.

Faine crept through the grass, hoping to get a better look. He winced as small rocks crunched underfoot. The path dipped dramatically into the outcropping, opening into a wide, man made tunnel. It curved out of sight, but sunlight gleamed off the walls near the bend. With a swallow against his nerves, he entered.

It wasn’t as musty as he expected, but his hand still came away with moss when he braced it against the wall. As he made his way toward the bright light, he picked up the sound of voices again. Squinting, he spotted a worn door jamb embedded into the right hand wall ahead. As he neared it, the voices drifting out of it became clearer.

“But what about your client?” a male voice asked.

“It’s an at will contract, and he paid me half in advance,” a woman said. “It’s up to me how to proceed.” She sounded much closer to the entryway. He pressed his back flat against the wall and peered out. From this angle, he couldn’t see anything but blinding sunlight.

“Of course,” the man said. “I was just wondering. Hey, could you toss me that shirt over there?”

“This one?” the woman said.

“No, not that one,” the man said. Faine could hear footsteps coming closer. He shifted from one foot to the other. “Look where I’m pointing!”

He crouched against the wall, and leaned over to peer out. After the initial blindness, his eyes focused on a campsite sheltered by the outcropping and long, curving tunnel systems. Two tents, one a vibrant red and the other a deep blue, faced each other across a fire pit. Burlap bags, tin pots, clothing, and various tools littered the area. Nylon cords secured huge bundles of cloth and provisions in the lower branches of a close strand of trees. Plain tents could be glimpsed through bushes bearing more litter. On the horizon, the forest cleared before a long and flat shelf.

Approaching him was a young black woman with a cute blue ribbon tied around her short afro. The look of intense focus on her face drew his attention to her sharp, intelligent eyes, which were a pretty hazel. Behind her, a short, muscular man with a blonde flip of hair looked on in annoyance.

Faine tensed in his hiding spot, reaching for his knife as she drew closer. To his surprise, she stopped a few yards away, and bent to snatch a dark piece of cloth off the ground. She held it above her head and waved it at the man triumphantly. The man rolled his eyes in exasperation. With a quiet sigh of relief, Faine let his guard down a little. He regretted it immediately, as the woman whipped around and sprinted toward him. Faine scrambled back, trying to put distance between them so he could brandish his knife, but she was too fast. He yelped as she seized the collar of his shirt and pulled him bodily to her, out of the tunnel and into the light.

Faine marveled at her strength before he was shoved against a rock wall. He groaned as his knife slipped out of his fingers and clattered on the ground. A sharp edge against his neck quieted him.

“Who are you? Why are you skulking around?” she growled, face twisted in an angry grimace.

“I’m just a traveller.” Faine swallowed, and felt a sharp pain in his neck. “Let me go. My mother’s waiting for me. Please, she’s very sick.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were spying on us.” The woman’s grip tightened. “What are you planning? Is anyone with you?”

“It’s just me!” Faine squirmed. “I was trying to get by without trouble.”

“Were you planning to rob us?” the man behind her asked with an aggravated shake of his head. He folded arms, drawing attention to his barrel-like chest and a purple Badger badge pinned to it. The man was a former soldier.

“No! Of course not!” said Faine, indignant. Movement flared in the corner of his eye before a tall, baby faced Asian man jogged up to them. A khopesh hung from his side. Faine wondered how many others were roaming the tunnels.

“I couldn’t find anyone in the area, or anything odd lying around, so, I guess he’s just passing through,” said the man. No one responded. The former soldier looked between the man and the woman, tapping his foot. The woman continued to snarl at Faine, nostrils flaring. Faine remained silent.

“Is he the only one you saw over the ridge, Kelmara?” said the man. When he was met with more silence, he reached out and tapped the woman on the shoulder. She sent a nasty glare over her shoulder, and the man backed off. Faine took the opportunity to grab her wrist and throw her off. She tumbled, but regained her balance quickly. Huffing, she twirled her knife so that the sharp side of the blade faced Faine, then took two quick steps toward him before the man stopped her with a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“I may be alone, but I’m not just going to let you rob me,” Faine warned. Searching, he spotted his knife by his feet. He snatched it up and brandished it, holding it close to his body. “I need these things for my quest.”

“Rob you? Why would we do that?” asked the man, looking confused.

“He thinks we’re bandits,” Kelmara laughed in disbelief. She shook her head, and sheathed her weapon. Faine scoffed, annoyed at being underestimated.

“We’re not bandits,” assured the former soldier, settling into a more relaxed stance. “We’re on a quest, ourselves.”

“So, he was sneaking around because he thought we were going to rob him,” said the man. He looked between the other two for confirmation, but was ignored.

“Oyez!”

The whole group turned to see two people emerging from a tunnel farther down the way. One was a very tall, very pale man with mousy brown hair, barreling toward them with a smile on his face. The other was a short, skinny Latino, chasing after him with a wild look in his eyes.

“Ba-” Faine started.

“It’s safe, he’s fine, it’s fine, traveler, alone, it’s fine,” gasped the two men. They skid to a halt before them, hanging onto each other to keep upright.

-ack,” Faine finished, lamely.

“We know,” Kelmara rolled her eyes. She turned and stomped towards the fire pit. The former soldier caught up to her, and whispered in her ear. The Asian man cast Faine a sympathetic look before following. The pale man and the Latino looked at each other with mirth before gesturing for Faine to follow them. Aware that he was outnumbered by a very paranoid group with unknown intentions, Faine thought it best to act on their goodwill for the time being. Maybe he could even trade some potions for supplies, if they were amicable.

They sat around the fire pit, on logs and rocks and the dusty ground. Again, Faine was confronted with the slovenly state of the camp. He had to pick his way through litter and various personal objects to reach an open spot. His lip curled in disgust at a brush full of wet hair set on an otherwise bare rock he intended to sit on. The pale man sitting next to him smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he said, reaching over and removing the brush. He placed it in his pocket. Faine sat down in a judgemental silence, and faced Kelmara, across from him.

“So,” the Asian man sitting next to her clapped his hands together, to Faine’s surprise. “Have you ever heard of the Demon’s Wives?”