For three more days Ashyn continued to follow the direction of the cat. At first, the young wizard thought himself foolish for doing so, but as they continued unerringly, he questioned just how intelligent the feline actually was.
He thought after the first few hundred feet the cat would change direction and head west or back north, but it didn’t. It maintained its southeastern trek night and day. Ashyn had to stop to break or sleep at night. For the injury the ginger cat sustained, Ashyn was amazed at its remarkable endurance. He supposed it would need such inner resolve to survive the hostile woods.
And the cat could eat! They ate together endlessly, and its hunger never waned. It never seemed satiated, not once. Anything they caught, they ate, and if Ashyn didn’t finish it, the cat would.
Ashyn took to calling the creature “Ginger.” It seemed as if the cat didn’t mind in the least. Perhaps it was just the loneliness of the woods, or maybe something more deep-seated. After all, he had not truly had a friend since he was a small child. Yet he felt a bond growing with the feline, a kinship.
It was finally midday of the third day when Ashyn encountered the Wild Elves once more. He spotted the movement in the trees and spied, only for a moment, a lone figure watching him from the lush tree line.
Ashyn wasn’t positive that this was the same elf from a few nights before, but he was reasonably certain that its visibility was no coincidence. Ashyn didn’t understand why now. For weeks he had wandered aimlessly in the woods, back and forth, hoping that the elves would make contact with him, yet they always remained out of sight and out of reach. Now, not only had they enlisted him for a night, they weren’t even hiding from him all that hard. Was it possible that he was building their trust?
If that were the case, it was even more of a reason to be wary. One slip, one moment that they found out he wasn’t the Lefhym he was pretending to be, and all that trust would be shattered. They would identify him for the skewer he was or, worse, recognize him as the dui Nuchada, and his attempted rescue of his sister would be all but gone. Ashyn pulled the cowl tighter over his head.
A small growl from Ginger brought him out of his thoughts. Ashyn scanned the densely packed horizon before him. Thick brown trunks congregated closely to one and other, their large roots entwining across the mossy floor. Any number of predators could find a shadowy recess to hide within under the thick foliage ceiling above him, even at midday.
After identifying no apparent threat, he looked to his companion. Ginger growled at the moss in front of its paws. Ashyn went over to investigate.
It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. He knew it was a hoof print from his days trapping with his father and hunting game. But this was massive in comparison to what he was used to seeing. Larger than a horse’s hoof, it took only a moment for him to remember the minotaur.
Quietly, he removed an arrow from a quiver and nocked his bow. He wouldn’t allow one of the beasts to take him unaware. He had narrowly avoided the dead one’s blows earlier. To not see one coming would most certainly prove fatal.
Ginger stopped growling, its yellow eyes silently sweeping back and forth across the dark folds between trees. Ashyn understood his ally completely. They were not alone.
He found another hoof print ten feet away, followed by a large scuff. It was heading in the same general direction that they were. Either Ashyn would have to go around and hope to evade the beast, which would take time, or he could skulk behind it until its path deviated from his own. That would take time, and every moment he didn’t find Feydras’ Anula was another his sister might be being tortured for being a dui Nuchada.
Ashyn glanced back up at the tree line high above. He could always hunt it. What if he led the elves to the bovine monster? Prove his worth. Was this what they were doing? Was this a test?
Once again, his sister’s ravaged face came to mind. The crescent scars, the hollow sockets. As a child, Ashyn had been slightly jealous of his sister. She had fit in so well with the rest of the village with her joyful demeanor, where he had been an outcast. She had been his only friend in Bremingham. She had been his lifeline.
When the orcs took her, he thought she was gone forever. But it had been a lie. The wild elves waylaid the orc troop and killed them all. They took Julietta, labeled her a dui Nuchada, the spirit eyes, and then burned them out as recompense for her allegedly evil nature. She had been their slave ever since. Winters. Countless winters she remained their servant, her body beaten and broken over and over until she gave them whatever they wanted.
Anger seethed in his chest like a fire desiring to escape. But it couldn’t. Something was trapping it there. He could feel it vibrating in his chest. He could feel the heat flushing his skin, but it couldn’t escape.
He stared at the tracks. He would hunt the minotaur for the elves. Prove himself to them. Force them to trust him. He would do anything to get to his sister now. Even if that meant killing again.
~ ~ ~
Two hours later, he found the bull. It hunkered down in a small copse of trees so close together that the branches intertwined to form a sort of protective overhang within which the massive creature could hide. Its stone maul lay against the trunk, easily within its extended reach.
From Ashyn’s vantage on a small rise of broken stone, he could he see its snout facing downward, the thickly muscled chest of the creature rising and falling gently. It was asleep.
Clever. The wizard thought. The bobble of a nearby creek ran by, churning the shallow waters violently against the stones. It masked the sound of the large creature’s breathing.
The wizard drew his arrow back and aimed at the same spot he had hit the previous monster a few days prior. He knew it would be a kill shot, but it would be a slow one. An inhumane one.
Ashyn stalled as he looked down the shaft to the creature that was completely oblivious to him. A headshot would kill the creature with minimal suffering, but that was assuming his arrowhead would penetrate the bone. No, it would have to be a sternum shot again. It was their most obvious weakness.
He took a deep breath and told himself that he had to do this, had to prove to the Wild Elves that he was worthy of their trust. It was this creature’s life for his sister. A fair trade, right? A carnivorous monster dies so that his innocent sister may live.
Ashyn bit the inside of his lip as he continued to stare at the monster hidden within the copse of trees. Their roles reversed, it would kill him, surely. Looking at the large hammer, he had no doubt of it.
So why did he refrain? He thought of the beast a few nights prior. Ashyn had been lying down and it had attacked him then. It had shown its true nature. Ashyn knew that it would kill him without question. So what then was stopping him from loosing the arrow into the beast’s chest? What was staying his hand? It would be so easy to just let go, and let the arrow fly. Kill the monster. Earn the elves’ trust. Save his sister.
He stared at the maul again. It was a weapon of battle, meant to buckle even the strongest armors, or the thickest of hides. It could crush every bone in his body in a single blow. There was something there. Something that he could see through its crude design. Was it artisanship?
He looked to the bull in the trees and saw the hides of other creatures wrapped about it. Clothing. Ashyn realized that this wasn’t a dumb creature at all. In fact, if it could tailor clothing and construct weapons, it was sentient.
His arm shook and he knew he needed to make a decision. He closed his eyes. He could still make the shot without looking. He knew he could. He had to make a choice: kill the beast and earn the elf’s trust, or find another way into Feydras’ Anula. A longer way.
No longer seeing the bull in front of him, Ashyn heard the sizzling sound of the red hot poker over the bobble of water. He imagined it piercing his eyes the way it had his sister’s. He felt his orb burst at the brand’s touch. He couldn’t stand the thought of her in pain any more. Of the torture’s she endured at their hands. His arms shook violently, barely able to contain the pressure of the string anymore. This creature could die, and he was sure he could earn his way to Feydras’ Anula. He was sure this was a test. But what would that truly gain? The death of one for what? Less suffering for his sister or for him?
He lowered the arrow and withdrew his pull, placing the string back into its neutral position and hating himself every step of the way. His fingertips were wet with blood where the string had cut into his skin.
“The few for the many,” he whispered spitefully to his companion. The cat looked up at him with its pale yellow eye. “I am the few. Always the few.”
Ashyn crept around the creek and continued to head southeast. Leaving his easy chance of finding Feydras’ Anula behind him. He could feel his grey eyes growing hot with tears, but he refused to cry. This was his choice. The choice he had made a long time ago when he agreed to be Xexial’s apprentice. When he agreed to be a wizard. The choice he had made to value all life, not just the ones of his choosing. That included what was evil as well.
He would find another way.
~ ~ ~
Jenhiro silently followed behind Ashyn after he left the hidden creature. Not taking any chances, he walked up to the sleeping bull and slit its throat. The churning brook nearby muffled its groans of shock. It grabbed its throat plaintively, knowing it did little good to stymie the flow of its rich, hot blood. Without a sound it tumbled to its side and the bull’s eyes became glassy.
This wasn’t the magic user. It did not have the staff. Jenhiro would find the one who did.
Ashyn continued onward completely oblivious to the death in his wake.
~ ~ ~
Neither Ashyn, nor Jenhiro were aware of a third party that watched silently from the shadows. Hidden by the power of nature itself, his amber eyes watched the two maliciously. It was time that the hunters became the hunted.