Forge found Falen outside the tavern, attempting to repair a broken wagon wheel with what appeared to be entirely the wrong tools.

  "I need a pig," Forge said.

  Falen looked up from his work, holding a hammer in one hand and what might have been a fish knife in the other. "What kind?"

  "Alive. Medium size. Healthy. Can you help me get one?"

  Falen's eyes narrowed with immediate suspicion. "This for that thing? That weapon?"

  Forge didn't answer directly. Didn't need to. The whole town knew by now that something was happening, even if they didn't know the details.

  "Old Marris has a few good ones," Falen said slowly. "Fat. Healthy. Perfect for... whatever this is." He set down his tools. "I know how to catch them too. All the tricks. How to approach, where to grab, the mud technique, leverage points."

  Relief washed through Forge. "Good. When can we..."

  "But I ain't doing it."

  Forge blinked. "What?"

  "I KNOW how," Falen repeated. "Don't mean I'm DOING it."

  "You just said you know all the tricks!"

  "Sure do." Falen nodded seriously. "Which is why I know better than to wrestle another pig."

  Forge took a slow breath. "Explain."

  "Last time I wrestled a pig, it bit me. Took two weeks to heal. My mother said I was cursed by pig spirits. If I wrestle another pig, the curse will get worse." Falen's voice dropped to a whisper. "Might turn INTO a pig."

  "That's not how curses work."

  "You don't know!" Falen said defensively. "You track things. I do... everything else. And everything else says no more pig wrestling." He brightened slightly. "But I'll show you where Old Marris keeps them! And give advice! I'll watch too. Moral support!"

  Forge stared at him. "Moral support."

  "The best kind!" Falen said cheerfully.

  Twenty minutes later, Forge stood at the fence of Old Marris's farm, looking at three pigs rooting through mud in their pen. One was perfect, medium-sized, healthy, alert enough to be wary of humans but not aggressive.

  "You gotta get low," Falen called from his safe position outside the fence. "Grab behind the front legs. Use your weight. Don't let it turn on you or it'll slip right out."

  "I've seen this done," Forge said, climbing over the fence.

  "Seeing and doing ain't the same thing!"

  Forge dropped into the pen and immediately sank ankle-deep in mud. The perfect pig stopped rooting and looked at him with what could only be described as deep suspicion.

  "Easy now," Forge said, approaching slowly.

  The pig backed away, watching him.

  Forge took another step. The pig took another step back.

  Then Forge lunged.

  The pig squealed and RAN.

  What followed was chaos.

  Forge slipping in mud, scrambling for purchase. The pig dodging with surprising agility for something that looked like a fat barrel with legs. Forge getting a grip on something… a leg, maybe? Only to have the pig twist free with an indignant squeal. Mud flying everywhere. Forge's dignity evaporating with each failed attempt.

  "You gotta be FASTER!" Falen called helpfully.

  Forge didn't respond, too busy trying to corner the pig near the fence.

  A crowd was forming. Someone must have seen Forge enter the pen because people were appearing from houses, from the tavern, from seemingly nowhere. Children running to watch. Adults following with interest.

  "Ten copper on the pig!" someone shouted.

  "Twenty on Forge!" someone else countered.

  Money started changing hands. An impromptu betting pool forming.

  Forge lunged again. The pig ducked under his arms and ran between his legs. The crowd roared with laughter.

  "GO PIG GO!" a child screamed.

  "GET HIM, FORGE!" an older man yelled.

  The crowd split roughly fifty-fifty, half cheering for Forge, half apparently rooting for the pig's continued freedom.

  Markus the blacksmith appeared at the fence, massive arms crossed, grinning wide. "It's about time Forge grabbed a lady of Hawth!"

  More laughter from the crowd.

  Forge, covered head to toe in mud, trying to grab a pig that seemed to be enjoying this, shot Markus a look that promised future retribution.

  "When's the Big Day, Forge?" Markus continued, playing to the crowd now.

  "She has to say yes first, Markus!" Falen called out. "Pig's not just gonna marry the first guy that tries to catch her, ya know!"

  The crowd erupted. Men laughing, slapping each other on the back. Several of the single women in the crowd scowling, crossing their arms, muttering about men and their stupid jokes.

  Forge ignored them all, focused entirely on the pig.

  The pig, for its part, seemed to be having the time of its life. Running circles. Dodging. Making Forge look like an amateur. It was playing with him.

  "No, no, LEFT side!" Falen shouted.

  Forge slipped, went down on one knee, caught himself.

  "Why'd you let go?!" Falen continued.

  "HELPFUL ADVICE WOULD BE HELPING!" Forge shouted back.

  "Pig curse!" Falen reminded him. "Can't risk it!"

  Twenty minutes in, Forge was exhausted, covered in mud, and beginning to genuinely respect this pig's survival instincts. But he was also getting angry, and anger made him focused.

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  He cornered the pig near the trough. No escape routes. The pig realized it too, backing up against the wood, squealing protest.

  Forge remembered Falen's instructions: low, behind the front legs, use your weight.

  He went in fast, dropping low, getting his arms around the pig's middle from behind the front legs. The pig thrashed. Forge held on. Used his body weight to lift, to control, to dominate.

  The pig squealed indignantly but couldn't break free.

  Forge lifted.

  The crowd ERUPTED.

  "I KNEW Forge would get him!"

  "That pig put up a good fight though!"

  "Pay up! Pay up!"

  Money changing hands everywhere. Children cheering. Adults laughing and applauding. Even the single women who'd been scowling were smiling now, caught up in the spectacle.

  Forge stood there, holding a squirming, angry pig, covered head to toe in mud, exhausted, but victorious.

  Falen approached the fence carefully. "See? Told you how to do it!"

  Forge glared at him through mud-caked eyelashes.

  "You're welcome!" Falen said cheerfully. Then he looked at his own hands where they'd touched the fence. "Oh no. I touched the wood. Pig curse might transfer through wood!" He ran off toward the well, presumably to "cleanse himself."

  "I'm surrounded by idiots," Forge muttered.

  The pig oinked in what sounded like agreement.

  "Someone get me rope," Forge called to the crowd. "And a horse cart."

  - - -

  The next morning, Forge and Kandis left Hawth with a mule pulling a cart that carried supplies for four days and one very unhappy pig.

  A small crowd gathered to see them off. Mostly Shadow Conclave members. Marcus, Gregor, Old Carrick, a few others. Some well-wishers. Children waving. The pig mercifully quiet now, either exhausted from yesterday's wrestling or plotting revenge. Hard to tell with pigs.

  Falen approached last, still looking concerned about pig curses. "Good luck! Try not to get pig cursed!"

  Marcus clasped Forge's shoulder. "Come back safe."

  Gregor nodded to both of them. "Bring us hope. Real hope, not the divine kind."

  Kandis met their eyes, one by one. A promise and a responsibility in that look. They were counting on her. On Forge. On whatever deal they could make with the thing in the tower.

  Then they were walking, leaving civilization behind, entering the swamp proper.

  The sounds changed first. Human voices fading, replaced by bird calls, insect drones, distant splashes. The smell changed too. Less smoke and cooking, more rot and growth and living water. The transition from human world to wilderness always felt abrupt, even though it happened gradually.

  Forge led, navigating by instinct and experience. Kandis followed, alert but trusting his knowledge. The pig made occasional protesting noises but mostly stayed quiet in the cart.

  They traveled in silence for the first hour, both conserving energy, both thinking about what waited ahead.

  - - -

  Midday found them resting in a hollow between massive mangrove roots, hidden from casual observation, defensible if needed. They fed and watered the pig, rested their own legs. The pig was surprisingly cooperative now, eating its slop without drama. Maybe resigned to fate. Or conserving energy for a later escape attempt.

  Forge watched Kandis settle against a root, taking a long drink from her canteen. Time to prepare her. Time to explain something he still didn't fully understand himself.

  "There's something you need to know," Forge said. "About Jake. About being near him."

  Kandis looked at him. "I know he's dangerous."

  "No. I mean, yes. But this is different. This is... your thoughts. They just... come out."

  He explained it as best he could. The phenomenon of proximity. How being near Jake made internal monologue external. No control over it. No filter. Everything you thought, you said.

  "I think about NOT thinking something," Forge said, "and then say THAT instead. I've been trying for days to control it. Hasn't worked." He gestured helplessly. "Like right now. I'm trying not to think about what not to think about.

  Kandis almost smiled despite the seriousness. "How close do you need to be?"

  "Twenty feet, maybe thirty. Close enough to have a conversation."

  "Does it affect everyone the same?"

  "Don't know. I only experienced it myself. But it seems consistent."

  "Can Jake hear the thoughts directly, or just what we say?"

  "Just what we say. I think. Hope. Gods, I don't actually know."

  Kandis was quiet for a moment, thinking. Not panicking like Forge had expected. Processing strategically, the way she approached every problem.

  "This could be useful," she said finally.

  "USEFUL?" Forge stared at her. "It's a nightmare!"

  "Think about it. If Pantathian representatives have this same problem..." She let the implication hang.

  Forge saw it then. Saw what she was seeing. "You want to use Jake as a... thought extraction device?"

  "We can't torture information out of Pantathians, even though we would all love to try. Can't spy on them effectively. Can't infiltrate their society." Kandis leaned forward slightly. "But if their thoughts become words around Jake? Everything they think, they reveal. No resistance needed. They won't even realize they're compromising themselves."

  "You want to use Jake as a kind of invisible interrogator?"

  She looked at him directly, "I want to use every advantage we have. This qualifies."

  Forge nodded slowly. She was right. He'd been thinking of the inner monologue problem as pure liability. She'd turned it into potential advantage in thirty seconds.

  "We need to test this," Kandis continued. "See how it affects me. See if I can control it better than you."

  "Good luck. I've been trying.”

  "You're a ranger. Observant, reactive. I'm different. I calculate. I might have better discipline."

  "Or you'll just insult Jake more eloquently than I did."

  The pig squealed suddenly, making them both jump.

  "What?" Forge looked at it. "You're plotting something, I know it."

  The pig looked innocent. Definitely plotting.

  - - -

  Evening found them making camp on high ground, defensible, near water but not too close. Leech serpents hunted these shallows at night. Forge secured the pig to a tree with rope, fed and watered it. The pig was miserable but safe.

  As Forge worked, setting up their shelter, checking sight lines, his ranger senses catalogued the swamp around them. And something felt different. Not wrong. Better. More active. More... alive.

  He'd been through this territory countless of times over the years. Knew the normal rhythms, the usual patterns. This wasn't normal. This was something else.

  Tracks everywhere. Carrion beetles in unusual numbers, their trails crisscrossing the mud like highways. Vulture roosts heavy with birds, more than he'd ever seen in one place. Scavenger species thriving. Not just surviving, but actually thriving.

  The realization hit him slowly, piecing together evidence.

  Jake's rampage had killed dozens of creatures. Maybe hundreds. All those bodies. All that biomass. And scavengers had feasted. An unprecedented food source, sudden and abundant.

  Well-fed scavengers were fat, healthy, easy prey for their predators. Those predators were now thriving. Their prey responded by reproducing more, faster. Entire ecosystem surging. Death feeding life. The circle completing itself with ruthless efficiency.

  As a ranger, Forge saw it clearly. The swamp had been culled, violently and terribly. But ecosystems adapted. Recovered. Used everything. Jake's destruction had become fertilizer. The swamp hadn't weakened.

  It had strengthened.

  The bitter irony wasn't lost on him. The creature they were bringing the pig to, the monster that had killed so much, had accidentally made things stronger. Nature didn't care about morality. Only balance. Death fed life. Always.

  "The swamp recovered," Forge said as Kandis joined him near the fire he'd built. "From Jake's rampage."

  He explained what he was seeing. The increased activity. The thriving species. The ripple effects cascading through the food chain.

  "He made it stronger," Forge finished. "Accidentally, but still."

  Kandis processed this in silence for a moment. "Nature adapts to monsters."

  "Nature doesn't see monsters. Just sees food sources and population control."

  "What does it mean," Kandis asked quietly, "that his worst act helped?"

  Forge had no answer. Just uncomfortable truths. The swamp didn't judge. Didn't assign meaning to death and life. It just used both. It just survived.

  "You should sleep," Forge said, changing the subject. "I'll take first watch."

  "We should split it. Four hours each."

  "I've done this trek dozens of times. Can go without sleep for a few nights. You haven't. You'll need your strength for dealing with Jake."

  Kandis looked at him, assessing, then nodded. Trusting his judgment. She lay down, using her pack as a pillow, and was asleep within minutes. The exhaustion of uncertainty catching up. Tomorrow they'd face something unknown. Tonight she rested.

  Forge sat with his back to a tree, watching the mule bite at the swamp flies. Everything was so alive around him. Frogs calling. Insects humming. Distant splashes that might be predators or might be prey or might be something else entirely. The pig sleeping, occasionally snorting in its dreams.

  The ecosystem humming. Healthy, strong, thriving. Fed by death, creating life.

  His thoughts wandered. About Jake. The monster or tool or something else entirely? About Hawth. Could they really save it? About Kandis. She was braver than he'd expected, sharper, seeing angles he'd missed. About himself. What had he become, allying with parasites?

  No answers. Just questions. And the swamp's indifferent response: Survive. That's all that matters. However you can.

  The night passed slowly. Forge alert, watchful. The swamp's sounds were familiar, almost comforting in their constant danger. This was his world. He knew every threat, every shadow, every sign that something was wrong or something was hunting.

  Tomorrow he'd enter a different world. The necromancer's tower. Jake's domain. Where Forge would be the stranger and Jake would be home.

  Dawn approached gradually, light seeping through the canopy. Kandis stirred, waking naturally. The pig woke too, grumpy and vocal about it.

  Forge was tired but functional. Rangers learned to operate on minimal sleep. One more half-day to the tower. To Jake. To whatever came next.

  The pig oinked skeptically.

  Even it knew this was insane.

  - - -

  End of Chapter 38