The Divine Hunter

The warm ball of light slowly slid down to the skies in the west. After coming back to Lofoten, the witcher wasted no time in asking all the villagers about the case, but everything they knew was everything Eji and Eva told him.

And then he ran into a young man.

An old oak tree with entwining roots and a huge canopy stood in the eastern part of the village, and it was there a lad of about fourteen years old came to see them.

Compared to the average Skellige man, this lad was scrawny. He only donned a rough flax shirt and greyish-white jacket. He looked so weak, a gust of wind was probably strong enough to blow him all the way to Ard Skellig. His hands were covered in calluses and frostbite. Obviously, the boy came from a poor family.

He had freckles on his nose, his hair was short, unkempt, and grey. His face was red from all the sea breeze blowing on him, and his eyes were blue, but he had this sheepish look to him. He was fidgeting, hesitating to speak. "Krott, Mr. Pitt, are you trying to find Ortolan?"

Roy smiled at the lad warmly. "What is your name, child? Do you have news about Ortolan?"

Roy wasn't that much older than the lad, but his smile was so inviting and warm. The lad trusted him for some reason. "My name's Yank, and I need your help, please. If you find Ortolan, can you ask him where my father is?"

"Can you give me more details?" Roy cocked his eyebrow. "What's your father's name, and what does Ortolan have to do with him?"

Noticing Yank's hesitation, Krott shook his head, sighing. He explained, "His father's a man called Flanden. They live in Ivy Village just east of Lofoten, but Flanden's not a reputable man. Never works and gambles all his coins away. Never cares about his family either, but it's been a while since he showed up. Sorry, Yank."

"It's alright. That's the truth anyway." Yank shook his head, looking dejected. "My father used to spend all his time in Ard Skellig's gambling dens. Gambled all our money away, and ma got so angry, she fell ill. But about a year ago, my father went missing."

Roy stared into Yank's eyes. "And what makes you think Ortolan took him away?"

Yank pursed his lips and stared at the nearby village, where smoke billowed in the air. "It was about a year ago, at midnight. I woke up and had to pee, so I went outside. Then I saw Flanden and some guy talking under the roof. They then left into the wilds. 'Twas a bit far from where I stood, so I couldn't hear them, but that man didn't look like a Skelliger at all. Acted like them snobbish landlubbers. When I came to Lofoten to see my friend, he told me that the man's name was Ortolan. When he came home the next day, he started acting weird. Would never talk to me or ma unless he wanted money, nor would he show us any pity, but the way he looked at us that day…"

There was surprise in Yank's eyes. "There was guilt in his eyes, so I wondered what he did with Ortolan that night to make him change so much. So I pretended to fall asleep for the next few days while I was actually keeping an eye on him, and I found out they went out for a week. Then came that fateful day. He took me over to ma's sickbed and talked to us about a lotta things, something he never did. Repented on what he did and started cryin' so loud, I could go deaf. An' he made me promise I would take care of ma. He then left some money on the table and left. Never came back since."

"Why didn't you tell us about it?" Krott smacked Yank's shoulder, admonishing him.

"Ma didn't let me. I mean, the money is…" Yank fidgeted.

"Ma got better, and we've almost used up the money anyway. And the more I thought about what happened that week, the more I thought somethin' was off." Yank looked at them again. "Back when Flanden left, the way he talked, he looked like he was, he was…"

"Leaving his last will and testament," said the witcher grimly.

"Exactly! Flanden might be a gambler who doesn't give a rat's arse about his family, but he's still my da." Yank ruffled his hair and took a deep breath. "I want to find out where he's gone. Ma's getting better and can start doing chores now, and she misses him sometimes too. Ortolan must’ve had somethin' to do with it."

Yank nodded.

Pity flashed in Krott's eyes, and he consoled, "Maybe that's money for your father's services. Flanden might be a gambler, but he's a strong guy. He can be a good bodyguard."

"Really?" Yank's eyes shone with hope.

Roy shook his head. Judging from the story, that money was payment for Flanden's life. The life of a chronic gambler. Flanden must be dead by now, but he didn't want to crush the lad's hope. "Do you remember how long it's been since your father's disappearance?" Roy asked.

Yank answered without hesitating, "I made a record every month after his disappearance. It's been a year and four months since then."

He had a strong feeling that the answer to these questions were hidden in Ortolan's secret lab somewhere on this island.

"You have to help me, Krott, Mr. Pitt. I just want to talk to Flanden," the lad pleaded.

"Tell me more about your father. His age, looks, height, everything," said Roy.

"He's about six feet tall and a hundred and eighty pounds heavy. Muscular, gray hair, has a faint mustache, and he's thirty-five this year."

"I see. I'll tell you once I have news." Roy patted his shoulder and saw the lad off.

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