A faint whisper of a breeze brushed through August’s auburn hair, giving him pause before he let the arrow fly. The target lay several hundred yards away, leisurely attending to its meal, unaware of any threat. Ordinarily, it would already be dead with an arrow sticking out from the heart, but the dancing air both near and ahead of August threatened to disrupt his plan. He breathed in, held for three seconds, then slowly exhaled at the same pace as the wind.
His eyes focused, always his sharpest sense, so he could see the meal sitting in the open palm of the target, the man, ahead. A crust of bread and two strips of cooked deer. The man raised his other hand to deliver food to his mouth and chewed slowly. Deep blue material hung around his shoulders, drawn up to offer protection from the chilled air that was characteristic of the winds in this particular glade. His brown boots were caked in mud, and a light gray hood stained with dried sweat settled on his shoulders. Wherever he was before, it was certainly not a leisurely walk.
The wind continued to push a chill around them. Cold breezes were a mere nuisance, the real problem, however, was that the blue material was durable enough to catch any sharp object launched from any velocity. You see, the man relaxing in the grass, was an Archirides cornnus. Like all cornnae, it was not a mere cloak draping his body, it was his own wings, shimmering with the same colors as all born in the Archirides family, the warriors of the cornnae. That heavy blue that always reminded August of the sky right after sunset he had seen in his youth. And a cornnus’ wings were the strongest organic material yet discovered. Able to deflect the sharpest blades swung by the most powerful warriors, even the natural forces of air and water could not penetrate the silky smooth material that fell from the bones that grew outward from their shoulders and hung all the way to their ankles when they stood at full height. The only means to cut through was fire or a blade heated by the same. Unfortunately for August,unable to use fire on this job, he needed to preserve the integrity of the bounty. So his best option was stealth and needled accuracy.
The wind refused to settle, and the man’s companions would be returning any moment with food, berries and edible roots that the Archirides favored. How many was he hired to eliminate? He eased the bowstring, letting the arrow rest on the rock he was taking cover behind. Out of his left hip pouch, he withdrew and unfolded the parchment given to him by Abakk, the Leader of the Moonlit Blades. Four targets. Not for the last time, August wondered why Abakk sent him without any of his cohorts from their mercenary clan, especially on such a profitable mission. August tugged on his hood and shuddered, afraid that somehow he knew August’s history with the cornnae people.
Speaking of, why had these ones ventured so far from their regions without a formal procession? It wasn’t unheard of for them to cross the borders into Daashmio without using the registered crossings, but it was highly ill-advised. Humans and cornnae had a brittle truce, and the more brutal Daashmians had a reputation for poaching the wings of any stray cornnus. It could be used to fashion near-impenetrable armor, offering the same protection for an otherwise vulnerable human mercenary as it did the most noble cornnus royal. Simply put, these fools should have known better. And now August was the one doing the poaching. His back burned as the wind continued to chill his prey. He breathed a voiceless curse in protest.
The wind seemed to have heard him and stilled for two heartbeats. It was more than enough time. As soon as August saw the grass settle around the target, he drew the arrow back once more. Then, precisely as he predicted, the Archirides unfolded his wing from around his body for just a moment to stretch his joints. When he did, August’s bowstring was released and the arrow sent along its terminal trajectory. The Archirides’ sharp eyes caught the movement, but he was too slow. His heart was pierced before he could even cry out, he clutched the shaft of the arrow, then his grip fell apart as he stumbled backwards. A faint trickle of red poisoned the white of his tunic.
August didn’t hesitate and bolted to where his target fell, he had secured the bait for the trap and now it was time to spring it. The bright glow of the sun was steadily being replaced by a cold orange, and petrichor teased his nose with clouds moving in rapidly. It always rained heavily near the eastern border of Daashmio. There was little time left, he had to hurry or his full prize would escape him. As he went to work with the contents of his pack, a few charred sticks, a blackened knife, and small strips of blue cloth, he sang softly to himself, “walls of green, fields of gold, keep close and fear no cold. Tho’ flames may rise and fire blaze, honor will guide all our ways.”
He rolled the body onto its back and gazed at the face. He must have been in his forties, not much older than August. A hot tear slipped down his cheek, he pressed his right wrist against the bridge of his nose and grimaced, speaking over the body before him, “no more shall you return home, the forest has closed its boughs to you forever. Walk whatever path lies before you and don’t tremble in the face of your earned judgment.”
August winced and jerked upright, the knife slipped from his hand and the blade stuck into the earth. His left eye twitched as the first raindrops began to fall, his chest grew heavy and tight with lungs that struggled to regulate air. An image glowed throughout his brain, a painting of harsh reds, profane oranges, and violated greens. A forest on fire.
When his mind came back to itself, he realized that his blue tunic was damp from rainwater and that his hand ached. He looked down and saw his own hand locked in white-knuckled tension around the bow. The fingers slowly loosened around the treated red ash wood, letting it fall to the wet ground. The imprint of the wrappings etched deep into his palm. Water droplets clung to his eye lashes and across the horizon, the rain only grew more aggressive. Too much time had been wasted by a wandering mind.
He scooped up the knife, ran it lightly across the palm of his hand, just enough to draw a trickle of blood, took the blue fabric and dabbed at the blood, and wrapped one strip around the knife, coaxing the char marks and the blood to mingle on the metal. Hopefully the rain wouldn’t wash too much away before they arrived. He left the burnt sticks in a small pile, and scattered the remaining blue strips around the area. He took a white bandage from his pack and clothed the shallow wound on his hand. Even a light cut can be an annoyance for a fully drawn bow. Next time he’d make the cut elsewhere. If there was a next time, and he prayed there wouldn’t be.
With great care to leave visible tracks, which was getting easier by the moment from the rain, he quickly left the death place of the young cornnus, eager to never tread there again. And yet August knew that what he just did was easy compared to what was coming next.
Three hours had passed. August, now dripping wet from the summer rain, sat strapped into a tree with branches positioned carefully around him to conceal his presence from frantic eyes. Either they were slower in taking the bait than he had hoped or his trap wasn’t set up as well as he thought. His legs and back ached, eager for any sort of adjustment. He refused to listen to them, not wanting to risk revealing his vantage point with any extra motion. So he waited. And he continued to wait while his clothes grew heavier with rain. Maybe this plan wasn’t as good as he thought. Was the branch underneath him starting to strain? August could feel his pulse elevate. If only Stark could see him now…
The moon hung high, casting a pale light with its gibbous shape. Something glinted in the distance, forty yards to the north, somehow catching the moon’s ray underneath the thick umbrella of leaves. August tilted his head, searching for any sound or further visual disturbance, his lungs locked down their air. After a few moments, a twig snapped under a boot, but this time on his opposite side. He barely caught himself from rapidly pivoting his head. Trembling hands slowly drew his short hunting bow, a soft exhale drowned out by the rain. For ten seconds, all that moved on him were his eyes. They danced frantically, desperate to catch anything. Each muscle in his arms pulsed with a tense energy, eager to be released.
From directly below him, a harsh whisper reached out, “the prints continue over there, but something feels wrong. Poachers never hunt us alone, so why only one set?”
From where the moonlight glistened earlier, a more agitated voice responded, “be quiet! Maybe the humans are getting bolder, humility was never a strength they possessed. Besides, Whoever they are, only their blood will satisfy the dishonor that was inflicted on Eztli!”
There it was, the greatest flaw the cornnae had. Their damned honor. Eztli. A strong Archirides name.
The first voice called back “This isn’t safe, we should return home and mourn, not risk our lives and Jovi’s life!”
The second voice, in a tone August had heard only once before in his life, “you know what our laws say.”
August dared a look, leaning over and peering past his feet. If he let the arrow loose, it would crush through the head of the enemy beneath him. A blue shimmer surrounded him, another Archirides. Not surprising, the tribes favored each other over any others in their forests. He had to force his hand to wait a bit longer. A kill like that would reveal him in an instant and there was at least one more somewhere who hadn’t yet spoken. The number might be higher, intel on contracts was never reliable. Cornnae were so at home in the forest that many witnesses believed they used magic to travel through them. They didn’t but the fact didn’t make them any less of a threat. No, it was better to stalk them and bring them down one by one without alerting the rest.
At last, the cornnus below him moved away, his steps making barely any noise. August’s lungs gently reminded him they needed new oxygen, so he let out a slow breath and drew back in even more softly. His bow continued to follow his target though, just in case. In the moonlight, he could see the raindrops roll right off the blue around the cornnus' shoulders. He could pass through a waterfall and only his head would be damp. August conceded a feeling of jealousy as his boots filled with water. He longed to be curled up in front of the fire in his home. The remembered smell of gentle smoke and the sound of wings flapping from his pet Claude, filled his senses at the desire.
A soft thump sounded to his left, this time he couldn’t slow down his darting look over. Green eyes met his from the forest floor, below those eyes stood a figure wrapped in orange wings. The face was young, as young as August was when he first left his home. He had to be Jovi from the Rodak tribe. He turned quickly and walked away, rapidly leaving August’s field of vision. August had to move, but all that energy that had built up in his limbs fell away and refused to return. Any moment now, the alarm cry would crash out and they would surround him before he could loosen a single arrow. But the call never came. Had Jovi somehow failed to notice August in the tree even though he looked directly at him?
Just before he passed out of view, August quickly released the strap holding him in place, dropped his bow, wrapped his arms around a large branch, and swung himself down. His boots hit the mossy ground with a soft squish. He scooped up his bow immediately after it fell. August crouched and rushed after the three men, maintaining a healthy distance. If things went well, he would be able to stay his hand until they fully fell into his trap.
Faint steam rushed out of his nostrils, he slowed his pace and raised his right hand. It trembled much more than it should have, it’s not like he had been sprinting. Something else, then. Before he could ponder further, voices ahead cut through the easing rain, “we need to leave, Zeltz. Nothing about this feels right, the air is troubled under my wings. We don’t have maps for this far into human realms! Do you even know where we’re headed?”
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Even from this distance, August could hear he was on the verge of panic. All it would take was one little push and their whole group would scatter from each other. The angrier voice from before responded, failing to keep his voice below a bellow, “you keep quiet, Ixta! Cornnae wings are not fit to be in human hands, our ancient ways make it clear what must be done to anyone who unlawfully cuts off a brother’s wings. If we do not follow these ways, our people will crumble to nothing.”
Zeltz let the gift of the sky fill the wordless void for a few moments, knowing his point could not be refuted. August whispered to himself, “you should listen to him, Zeltz. Your ways cause nothing but death.”
The ill-fated trio moved on, still ignorant of the predator stalking them. He paused and checked the landmarks around him. They were getting close. From ahead, a young voice finally spoke, “it’s so damp out here, even my wings are getting soaked.”
Ixta responded warmly, “it’s not your wings, it’s your clothing underneath your wings. Hold them up and around like this, see?”
He stood upright, extending his wings to their full span, an impressive ten feet. He folded the right wing tight around his neck, just going past the spine. He then took his left and did the same on the outside, overlapping across his back until his entire body was draped in blue. His free hands tucked his hood forward, sheltering himself from the water. Jovi slowly and awkwardly followed with his own orange wings. Typical of the Rodaks. They were always too busy making sure the cornnae lands were guarded and all rules were followed to take time with their kids. Jovi probably hadn’t seen his father in six months,especially since he was now a young adult. Of course, that might have been a blessing. Their patriarchs were colder than the hoarfrost in the Lozarian mountains. Rather ironic that they feared fire more than anything.
Ixta turned slowly to his companions, “Zeltz, please. I understand the value of tradition, I used to be a keeper, remember? But Jovi must be protected. He is in line to Gaius as a potential successor, we cannot risk his life here! We are out of our element and vulnerable!”
Successor? To the old hard heart himself? August drew back his bow, the prize had grown too enticing for him to chance their escape. A cornnus prince meant two things: untold riches as ransom or all out war, there was no difference in value to Daashmian minds. Abakk would love this. All August needed to do was eliminate the prince’s escorts, no way he could escape on his own. Easier said than done, though. Three to one, even with a free shot, wasn’t favorable. Especially against Archirides warriors, August had seen just one of them take down eight Daashmian mercenaries in a matter of minutes. They were stupid and didn’t plan out their strikes at all, but getting past those wings was difficult. And the gauntlet blades August saw dangling from the hips of the two cornnae ahead of him could shred right through the light leather he was wearing.
A crash of thunder shook him from his thoughts, and a following crack of lightning slithered over the sky, promising more to come. Zeltz’s head snapped upward and his hand jerked to his weapon while his wings rose around him.
“Perhaps you are correct, Ixta. Something in the air feels wrong.”
The blind fool was right, but it’s too late, August thought. He pulled his arm fully back and slowed his breath. He could see just enough of Zeltz’s head, he would drop before the other two even heard the sound. A steamy and gruff snort sounded to his left and blood left August’s face. He’d heard the same sound twice in his life this close, and the scars still remained on his stomach as proof.
He pivoted over and saw just one foot from him the shimmering razor tusks of a lettingboar. Five feet tall and almost as many wide it seemed, draped with dark gray fur that poured rain from tangled ends. How had it approached so closely without him noticing? It stood still, the rain almost evaporating from its fur with pure animalistic rage. And whenever you saw one of the deadly beasts, there were at least three you didn’t see. A cry far to his right gave up confirmation of this, but he didn’t have time to pay attention. The boar stamped its hoof and leaned into a charge. August loosened his fingers, sending an arrow out in defense and also in error. The arrowhead shattered against the tusk, seeming to only embolden the boar. Without taking time to form a thought, August lept upward and reached for another arrow. The boar charged beneath him, barely missing his feet with the attack.
August knew he had to get up above and out of their reach, but the bark was too slippery for him to risk falling prone and vulnerable to a killing blow. Lettingboars don’t usually miss. While it turned to face him, August fired a second arrow that found a mark this time just in front of the monster’s left hip. It didn’t slow down, but it would eventually. It had to.
August backpedaled, his boots slipping on mossy rocks. The boar charged again and caught him before he could twist out of the way. Another scar for his collection, if he could make it out of this. The wound burned through his left side, not deep but impossible to ignore. No luxury to worry about it at the moment, however. The boar continued its sprint, taking longer to turn this time. August, thankful for the stupidness of the creature, drew another arrow. Only one of them was walking away this time.
Stark’s old lesson whispered in the back of August’s mind, “lettingboars are at their weakest when they are at their deadliest. Thick hide protects all but one spot on their bodies, the snout. If you can’t hit them directly, don’t hit them at all. Just pisses them off and reduces your options.”
August’s hands trembled, he exhaled slowly, stilling them. The boar charged and roared in its raspy voice. August closed his eyes and relaxed his hand. A heavy impact hit his shin and pulled him over. Underneath him was the wet and rank hairy hide, but its chest no longer rose with breath. He opened his eyes and saw the arrow which made contact earlier, barely managing to stay stuck in the flesh. He let out a quiet, desperate chuckle. He was lucky.
He rolled to his right, off the mountain of putrid fur, eased up to his feet and leaned forward. The third arrow was entirely obscured except for the very end of the fletching, dark brown blood flowed from the beast’s snout and scarred up rainy streams on the forest floor. It smelled more rancid than the fur. His mouth tickled, wet fingers pulled out two dark gray strands from between his lips. Gross.
He ran his hands over his body, checking gear and physical integrity. Nothing that couldn’t be mended or replaced by a good leatherworker on the front of his armor. Unfortunately, he was down to only three arrows. The rest were either broken and trampled or stuck too deep into the boar to be removed without breaking. Stark was right, and August was bad at managing equipment. At least his bow was intact, but he couldn’t miss a single shot. The head or the heart, a tall try when your target is cloaked in mobile protection and have better eyesight than most wild animals.
A voice cried out far to his left. The cornnae were in trouble, maybe August wouldn’t need to use his arrows after all.
Wet boots splashed against a fallen tree as he carefully scrambled up to see what was going on. The three of them had scattered, Jovi in a full sprint away from the group, Zeltz was pinned against rock by a gray mass, swiping its tusks at any exposed limb it could see. Ixta had managed to wrangle himself onto the back of another. Of course, lettingboars are pack animals, August had been blessed to only deal with one. Would the trapped Cornnus escape as well as he did?
Zeltz, with one gauntlet secured to his forearm, aimed frantic strikes at whatever he guessed to be a weak point, but he was wrong with each try. Likely his first time ever encountering such a creature, it was impressive he’d managed to still be alive. It was impressive they all had managed it. Even if the tusks couldn’t gash through their wings, they were still besieged by a massive ball of pure rage and muscle.
“The snout! Hit them in their snouts!”
August blinked, was that Jovi? In the chaos, he found a rock to shelter upon while his guardians made themselves the bigger threat. But how did he know? There’s no way Gaius would let him out far enough to see a lettingboar close enough to study one, and they didn’t keep records of creatures who didn’t roam within those borders.
Zeltz didn't care about such trivial matters, all he cared about was protecting his charge and slaying his enemy. A heavy knee struck its chin, causing it to falter for just a moment. Just a moment enough as he struck forward with his bladed momentum right into the weak point. Even from great distance, August heard the deep squelch, life drained out of the boar and over Zeltz’s arm.
Rain was the only sound for several beats, until the soft splishes were interrupted by Ixta, trotting forth with a gasping voice, “I see you fared as well as me, my friend. The repulsive creature was foolish enough, all it took was me covering his eyes and he smack cracked his skull against some rocks. A trifle to finish him after. Jovi, is he secure?”
A young voice called out in response, “still flapping, the wilds of Daashmio aren’t enough to crush a prince and his protectors.”
A gleeful, confident tone. Jovi must have missed how close to death he really was.
Zeltz, finally steady enough to talk, “Let’s get out of this downpour, and perhaps keep these details to ourselves.”
Ixta shrugged in agreement, “aye, now we must-”
All three froze instantly, cut off by a sharp crack that would have been missed by human ears. August cursed himself as he removed his boot from the now split branch under his foot. The trio turned and bolted, un-eager to discover what caused the noise. They passed into a narrow passage cut into the rock by ages of rainfall.
August spat in anger, burning because the stalk and kill had altered into a rundown and exterminate. The rain made his footing treacherous, but at least the path was clear. He splashed over persistent and youthful streams, quickly reaching the passage they had entered several ticks ago. Before entering, he drew up and listened. A less intelligent foe might have set up a mis-guided ambush in such tight quarters. Wet footsteps scuffled down ahead of him, far away but still near enough to be heard. They were in a panic, perhaps they thought he was another boar? Luck hadn’t abandoned him yet today, it seemed.
The way forward grew narrower still, too narrow to avoid turning sideways. August’s shoulders pressed against the stone, coated in cascades of water. A potential flash flood zone, he would have to be quick. Curse the creators, everything was working its way against him today! As he sidled through the passage, he failed to restrain an agitated kick against the wall. He cried out in pain as his senses crested above his outburst. He thanked his bad fortunes for their mercy in sparing his toes any damage this time, and audibly cursed himself for being so childish, he was an adult now. With pursed lips and a set jaw, the pursuit continued.
Sounds ahead grew difficult to hear, drowned out in an increasing rhythm of rainfall. Then, the entire wall before him glowed white and bright. Three beats later, a boom echoed and shook his world.
August sighed harshly, “not again. Please, not again.”
No time to stop, and anxiety is a potent taskmaster, pushing any memories far down so they don’t become a hindrance. But he had to get out… For all he knew, they were through this crag and on flat ground. Curse those boars! Desperately clawing his way forward, he stumbled and was flung to the ground after a bad observation of what was beneath him. A large rock, upon further examination, had caught the end of his boot. He rolled onto his belly and looked forward. Gifted with the sight of an open stretch of muddy ground, pocked out by fresh boot prints, his mouth shifted into a weak grin.
He slipped once upon standing and dropped a knee into the ground, splashing the blue fabric on his uniform. Abakk would chide him later, certainly, but he could get over it. Until he started paying their cleaning bills, he had no room to complain.
August’s eyes studied the tracks for a moment, they were hurried and staggered. The direction shifted several times before settling generally to the East. Somehow, they had discerned the direction of their homeland. Or perhaps the faceless force of fortune had turned them correctly, he was a fickle lord. Regardless, they couldn’t be allowed to return home or Abakk would actually have something to complain about.
Lightning arced above, cracking his thoughts apart. His hand trembled, stirred by a buried fear. His eyes crawled shut and he sank to his knees. If he was still feeling anything, he would have noticed the mud seeping into his garments.
A child, nearly, certainly not a man, sprinted through the woods. The crusted blood only recently adorning his back was obscured by the rain, washing the red stains away but unable to cleanse the deeper wounds. The path ahead revealed itself with each lightning crack. Salty tears, burning from anger fell, almost steaming up as vapor. The boy no longer had a home, and his family afflicted him with exile. A pity, then, that he would not be able to continue his grieving alone. The lightning failed to reveal the real threat which lurked behind the trees.
