Hunting is a remedy of its own. The adrenaline coursing through your veins as you pull the string, the focus of all the senses on the creature about to be snuffed out, the dire hope that the arrow will strike its target. It's what I turn to when I don't want to think. Or at least, it was.
Saelyna had been gone thirty minutes before I realized we were running low on meat. I found it a pleasant excuse to go into the woods, and that is exactly what sets me on the knoll overlooking the village, and cutting around the King's Forest.
It wasn't always called that. Before the Rebellion, it was Halden Woods, named after the village. If the elves of this village were not the spearhead of the attack on the state, well, the forest would have remained what it was; a space for all. And my parents would still be alive.
I begin my descent into the first from the south side, where I'm sure few of the guards would be. Tales spun by village folk about dead and vengeful spirits hiding out in these parts have been corroborated by a few superstitious of their number, and it does not help that the boneyard lies that way.
It is darker in these parts. The trees are mainly ash, hickory, birch and mander trees, so the canopy provides a shade in grateful for.
The track is familiar to me. Father used to bring me here when we were little. We would follow a path adjacent to the roots, where the leaves did not lie, as quiet as feather fall. I would watch him take down rabbits, squinards and even deers on the run. His accuracy was unequalled. I had hoped to live up to him.
I pause every now and then to listen and peer into the murky depths of the forest. Father and Saelyna called it the godsight, my ability to see things others could not, that it was a gift from Aranon himself. My mother didn't say anything. Neither did I. Because godsight isn't the only 'gift' I possessed. And I don't think they came from a god.
I pause again, and this time, crouch close to a birch tree, arrow nocked. The smell reaches me, faintly, but clear enough to know it is meat under fur. Four-legged, and sharp-sighted as well.
I peer around the trunk. An animal comes into sight.
A deer.
I release my arrow and avert my eyes involuntarily. No huntsman shall hunt venison. It's a law that we've been obedient to since Xanwed of the deer-genn was made king. A disobedient thought comes to me. "Take it down. No one needs know".
I don't move though. I know better than to think one of the deer-gen guards would not feel the life snuff out of one of their own.
I look around the tree again. The deer has moved on, and I doubt it would have even fled if it had spotted me.
I continue my hunt, listening, watching the ground for signs of a hungry squinard back from a nut crusade, or a rabbit returning to its burrow, or…
I stop.
The tracks I see now cannot be spotted by the average hunter. I crouch and peer closer to the ground. They look like a dog's, possibly a treehound. But I've seen those before, and neither of them are that large. The only animal…creature that bears paw semblance to this is…
I rise quickly and strike out the incredulous thought. Wolves can't be here. We would have known long since. The patrol guard would have spotted one, surely.
"Would they?"
They go by many names. Raveners, devil fangs, shadowbiters. An agreeable name for their kind is wolf, and it is general knowledge that they are the most vicious, terrifying and cunning of the genns. If they were here, and they wouldn't want to be seen, they could pull it off. For a short while, yes, before they could be spotted, but long enough to cause terrible damage.
I rise, and I listen to the forest. Now that I pay more attention, the birds' chirps come in dispirited bursts, and the ground creatures are a tad quiet. Something is off. I can feel, see and smell it.
I advance, more out of curiosity than anything else. The tracks are hard to follow; they have been here a while, and the owner had been very subtle in its movement. I nock an arrow again at the sound of a snapping twig. But it's a squinard.
'Hold your breath. Be free with your fingers. Zero in on the target, and don't let it smell you'.
I draw slowly. As an elf, I could just let the arrow fly and trust it to be precise. That was if I had my magic. But father had taught me how to hunt without it, like a human would. It was almost as if he knew this would happen.
The squinard is moving directly into my line of target. It's a big one, almost as tall as a deer, and it's horns are already developed. It chews on the nuts sprinkled on the forest floor. I get ready to let the arrow fly. I usually hits the head, even though most frown at it as unprofessional or something. For me, I'm giving it a merciful and quick death.
I'm about to let release it into its skull when it hits me that the grandaunts are not scattered randomly. They're in a straight line leading to…
I nearly yell as a large bulky mass springs at the squinard, taking it down in one flash of claws. The wounded animal squeals in shock and pain, collapsing on the floor, blood spurting from its neck where the wolf had ripped it open.
Wolf? No. A wolf is big, but not THAT big.
My fingers are shaking but I barely realize it as the creature circles back to its victim. It bites down, again and again, until the squinard's neck is a bloody mess of tangled bone and meat.
"Go home", my instincts scream, "Run".
There is a belief that when you come in contact with a wolf, you run. My father said it was a lie, because you had just given the beast a reason to chase you, a race you would not win, no matter how swift-footed you are.
Neither he, nor the villagers said anything about what to do when faced with a wolfen or wolf-genn, the most abominable of the genns.
The wolfen is huge, large enough to take down a deer without fuss, and rip a man in two just as easily. Its hide falls in thick brown layers, like a bear's, and its eyes are green and fierce, but they also look….human.
It definitely is a wolfen.
I take a step backward, and another. I have to put up enough distance before daring to turn my back. Another step. It doesn't pay attention to me, for all I know, the smell I emit is that of rotten bark and leaves. I thank the gods father still left the spray around. I make a mental note to offer incense tonight at the temple if I survived this ordeal.
If I survived.
As if to mock my hope, a twig snaps. So loudly, it echoes around me. The wolfen is not deaf. And I'm not sitting squinard.
I bolt through the woods as fast as an elf can, which is faster than any mortal at all. The beast is close at my heels, close enough that I can hear the thump of its massive paws on the ground and its hungry roars. I turn, I weave, I zig-zag through the trees. The wolfen cannot easily be put off, but I try.
I see faint light ahead. I'm close to the entrance, then. My legs are getting heavier, even with the adrenaline that floods my body. For the hundredth time, I curse the elves and their stupid rebellion that took away the magic that could bloody well save my life right now.
The beast emerges in front of me like a ghost, and I'm within inches of its snapping jaws.
An arrow is in my grip.
I plunge it into the wolfen's eye and crash into the ground with the momentum of my attack. I get a slash at my ribs for my trouble, but its howls of pain are horrifying to hear. It rumbles through the forest, and perhaps beyond, loud enough to chill brave souls.
I don't wait. I rush to my feet and hurry out of the forest in a flash. My feet don't feel like lead anymore as they carry me across the knoll, and down into the village, away from the death that had awaited me.
SAELYNAMy alternative route inevitably takes me through the major parts of the village. I try to remember what Halden had looked like before the Rebellion. It's harder these days. The memories now come in snatches and bits, but enough for me to know the place has changed by a great margin.It used to be a giant sprawling town, the majority of its inhabitants being elves. We were of one mind, united by our magic. Unlike others in Quindar who had to be bound to certain animal spirits in order to channel magic, we derived ours from plants, the best of them being on Mount Ides.I remember the songs and the dances performed before spring fires, the annual hunts and the pilgrimage to Mount Ides for our magic renewal, and evenings like this, when my parents would take us to the town hall to watch a play or two. Halden was among the last towns before the Borderlands, and among the largest in the north.Until some genius decided that we were too strong to be ruled by some "deer-spirit-channel
CYRANThe sound of galloping hooves reach my ears, long before the horse and its rider pull up in front of the cottage. 'Cyran!'Oh hell, it's her.Given the circumstances, I'm supposed to be grateful or something, but it occurs to me that Saelyna would try to heal me with magic. I know the wound has gone too far; I've bled out excessively, and I can't feel my arms. Anytime now, I'll go into shock.She crouches by my side, tapping my face in a bid to keep me awake. 'Cyran, look at me'. Her face swims in and out of my distorted vision. 'You're beautiful, Saelyn. You're the best of us', I tell her. I don't know if I mean it or not. I just have to tell her. 'Shut up, Cyran, shut up', she mutters, though her voice quivers too much. Then she yells out for help, loud enough to wake the forest. 'I have forgiven you, Saelyna. Don't beat yourself up over it anymore. I've done a lot of nasty things too, but you always covered up for me. You don't have to be the perfect one…' I cough out a gob o
SAELYNAThe row of sycamore trees that line the top of Halden Hill used to be a spot where town folk gathered in the evenings to relax and get together. Here, it's peaceful, especially at night. A clear view of the village is offered from this point, and one can see just enough of every corner of Halden. I dig my left toe into the grassy soil and twist up earth. I've been here for half an hour, but it's starting to feel like forever. I've bitten my nails to the stub, I can't mess with my hair any longer, so I'm on the edge of going wild with apprehension. A sudden sound makes me jump and turn around. Someone is coming up the hill, slowly and deliberately. I duck around a tree, listening to my heart thumping wildly, as he summits the crest. He's wearing a black hood and a cloak. They've found me, then. The mages have tracked the magic. I brace myself to bolt at the slightest slip. I can't outrun a mage, but I have the advantage here, given that I'm an elf. I'm about to spring down t
SAELYNACyran places a finger on his lips when our eyes meet. He doesn't need to tell me. Even Ima has gone dead silent.Floorboards creak as whoever it is walks into the house. My palms tingle with anticipation and magic. Cyran is crouched by the doorway, his bow and arrow in place. Nothing moves except the intruder in the kitchen.Then Camille stumbles into the kitchen and I release a breath. Cyran frowns upon spotting her. 'What are you doing here?' he growls. Her face flushes on spotting his annoyed expression. 'Sorry. Just wanted to say farewell. Quain told me…' She shakes her head and holds my gaze for a while before she grabs me in a bone-crushing hug. 'You're one of the best persons I know, Sae. Please stay safe and strong', she sobs.I've had my fill of crying for one night so I gently push her away. 'Ima', I say, 'Please take care of her'. Camille nods quickly. I know she will, we brought the panther up together. I rub Ima's ears one last time, and square my shoulders. 'See
On the bright side, we are not dead. Worst case scenario, we don't know where we are. But Xanwed hasn't gotten us, that much is certain.Cyran is awake, and looking at me with a queer expression. 'What is it?' I ask, sitting up. It requires a lot of effort than usual, and a headache begins as I do. 'I saw your dream again', he says quietly. 'Cyran, you said you'd stop', I say resignedly. 'I did stop. Last night it just filtered in. Your mind is fucked up, Saelyna'. I don't want to talk about the crazy dream I had, where Jerran and I were back together. The twist was that we both were wolf-genn.Most times I try not to think about the guy that jilted me. Other times, I bring myself to. That way I have someone to blame everything on. That way, I can allow myself to feel emotion.I take time to examine our prison. It's a room, but it has six corners and the air inside here is colder than usual. For some reason as well, I can't summon the magic like I did back in the woods. And I can't se
SAELYNAHe looks different. The coat's still black as night, but his hair is slicker and everything about him seems forced. He smells like Elwyn.I don't trust the smile he gives me, it's too casual, too fake. Too wolfish. I knew I'd see him again. I never imagined it would be like this. I never thought he'd be a wolfen.I dust my bottoms as I stand up. If I have to escape, I have to give him the benefit of the doubt. And be a good actor. 'A settlement of wolvens', I say, 'I presume we are here to be eaten, then'. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and the smile falters a little. 'Ok', he replies, the fake smile still in place, 'I have somewhere to be, so…do what you like, which is not much, considering the circumstances. I don't care, not really'.He turns to go, which is quite fine by me, but Cyran calls out and rises. 'Do not be offended by my sister. She's…well, just not on terms with wolvens kidnapping elves'. The man in black waves a dismissive hand. 'Whatever you think, I already care
CYRAN I take steps torward him, attempting to put myself between him and my sister, when Caivan rounds on him in a flash. 'Where were you?!' he snarls, 'And why the fuck would you keep them in the store room like animals?!' The silver coated man doesn't flinch, he stares at Caivan squarely, assuming a straighter stance. 'Instinct. Precaution against possible escape. Perhaps if you were here in person, you would have done it your way…' He doesn't finish. Caivan moves like lightening, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him to the wall of a nearby hut. Struggle as he could, he could not get the larger man's hand off his jugular. 'I let you go once. Cross me again, Ronn, and there'll be no third chances', Caivan says calmly, like he was having a lively conversation and wasn't choking a person. The sight is horribly satisfying, because I see the fear in his eyes, the same one he must have seen in mine. 'Caivan, enough!' snaps Veesa. He holds on for three seconds longer before he relea
SAELYNAThe first arrow misses the mark. I draw another and fire. It misses as well, and I kick the bow in frustration. Cyran is doing fine. He's the best at what he does. He nocks the arrow deftly, raises it up to eye level and aims. When he lets it go, it travels twice as fast as mine does, and strikes the red dot on the tree. 'The easiest thing in the world', he says when he sees me watching, 'I wonder why this isn't a sport in Quindar'. I stick my tongue out at him and draw another arrow from the stack on the ground. I try to imitate his adroitness, his stance, but it's hopeless. The arrow misses the red dot and the tree entirely. I curse loudly and toss the bow to the ground. 'Easy now, lest you vex Archon'. Dad emerges from the cottage behind me, his own bow in hand. He is a tall man, too tall for an elf, and he sports a green coat that matches his eyes. He walks down the steps and approaches me, picks up an arrow and nocks it in his bow. 'The key to being a perfect archer, i