A man walks in the woods alone, he isn’t quite sure where he is going. Until two weeks ago, he was just another woodsman. His life consisted of felling trees and his hobbies of wood working, candle making, and reading. For a peasant, he is very well read. A few years back, he committed to reading one book a week. He has been successful in the venture while most weeks reading two. His thirst for knowledge drives him.
The man is young, mid-twenties but his full unruly black beard and long dark hair hides that fact. To everyone else, he appears to be a seasoned craftsman. Life in the wood business is hard, it makes you grow up faster than most. Even his gaze from his dark brown eyes is that of an older man.
He has been walking for days, yet he isn’t tired. His profession has built him into peak condition. His clothing can’t hide his muscles in the same manor that his beard hides his age.
The young burly man is named Rune, a woodman by trade because his father was one. He is the latest generation of logger in the family that spans the entire millennia since the Great War.
His job and his hobbies have isolated him enough from the major cities that he never married. Something that has rarely crossed his mind.
Rune would be doing his job if it weren’t for the singing. He tried to ignore it for days but once he realized that none of the other loggers could hear it, he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t going away and would eventually drive him mad.
He left his camp one morning before sunrise headed toward the singing. The ringing in his ear his only guide. His camp was near the southern border of Bellumi territory, with the singing coming from his northeast.
By his calculations he was now in the Witcher’s Woods, the uninhabited forest to the east of Bellum and between the sea. The place was once the home of a coven of witches who practiced green magic. The Bellumi couldn’t tame the forest so they pulled their border back beyond the reach of the magic.
For the last thousand years in the witch’s absence, the forest has been rumored to be cursed. Stories run rampant in the region of large animals attacking people, people dying from eating the fruit found in the forest, and insect hordes.
The forest is also known by its other name, the Dead Forest. For some reason many people have entered the woods never to be seen or heard from again. Some believe lost souls come to hang themselves, others believe that it’s the deadly animals that kill them, or the nasty stings of the insects; but most believe in a witch’s curse.
Either way Rune is on guard. His armament is light to say the least, a felling axe and a whittling knife. However, he isn’t afraid. The singing is close, its sounds comfort the young man as he steps forward. For some reason the forest isn’t any of the things that he had heard.
No animals, which he is glad. The legend that a snake sleeps under every leaf always unsettled him as a child. Rune hates snakes!
No bugs, just the silent wood with the singing ringing in his ears.
The song draws him closer; it won’t be long now. He just needs to be aware.
As he processes these thoughts, he hears a low rumbling behind him. As he turns, he is confronted with a Halo Bear standing on two legs just a few feet behind him. The white ring at the top of the bears neck among the black as night fur is a dead giveaway.
The beast is massive, at least fifteen feet tall and must be twenty-five hundred pounds, maybe three thousand. Its eyes are locked on Rune. Yet he is still not fearful. He is taken aback but not afraid. In the eye of certain death, Rune can still hear the song in the background. It did not bring him all this way to die!
The bear drops to all fours but still towers over the woodsman. The bear approaches him and sniffs him all over. He proceeds to walk past Rune, nudging him out of the way. The bear is walking toward the song.
As Rune stands still watching the bear walk in the direction he needs to go, his heartrate lowers a bit. Being that close to a Halo Bear is nerve-racking! The bear looks back at Rune and swings his head as to motion “come on.”
Rune follows.
The bear leads him down a hill with thickened vegetation, but the bear “plows” a path with his body. The song is getting louder.
As they walk Rune sees what appears to be a cave ahead. The bear leads them into the mouth of the cave. The bear sidesteps to reveal an axe head stuck in the stone wall. Rune just stares at it.
The bear touches his nose to the axe head.
“It’s a battle-axe.” Rune says to himself.
The bear nudges the blade with his nose again.
“How did it get here?”
Another nudge.
“Is this what’s singing?”
The bear just looks at him.
“There must be magic in the axe.”
The bear nudges the end of the axe again.
Rune steps over to the axe head, slowly reaching out to grab it. He begins to pull on the steel, but it falls into his hands before he drops it due to the weight. The singing stops.
“Maybe I can beat it into a plow.” Rune says as he examines the double-sided blade on the ground.
“What do you mean it won’t work?” He says to the bear.
“Really, the magic won’t allow the blade to be reworked. Well why would a magic murder weapon choose me? I’m a pacifist.”
The bear cocks his head to one side as if to show disbelief.
“Why am I talking to a bear? I’ve gone mad!”
“Oh, the ancient magic of the axe allows us to speak…you’re the protector of the axe…what?”
“Just pick up the axe and I’ll know what to do…Fine…”
Rune bends over, picks up the axe head and stares as if he is processing something in his mind. He looks at the bear…
“We have to get to the old Summer Palace by the dried-up sea now!”
Without another word, Rune steps over to the bear as it lowers itself. He hops on it’s back and the bear begins the journey. Rune makes note to collect wood to carve a handle along the way.
His thoughts running as fast as the bear. How could the axe choose him? Why not some knight who was okay with taking life?
The Palace is far away, and Rune has so many questions. Maybe the bear has some answers, Rune resolves to ask when they stop for a break.
Relics of the Old Age 