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With the door firmly closed behind us and the tormented screams of the army soldiers fighting for their lives still ringing in our ears, we melded into the forest as one quiet shadow. Soon, the dense masses of lush trees filtered out even that sound, leaving us with nothing more than the soothing drone of the nocturnal insects buzzing about. For a forest imbued with magic and overflowing with savage beasts bent on the extermination of the humans behind the wall, it was strangely tranquil. Positively giant trees with wooden limbs nearly as thick as the house-sized trunk itself bore layer upon layer of fluffy dark green leaves, forming a living roof so thick that the clear moonlight only flited through in coin-sized patches dappling the springy grass covered floor. They’re so different from the scrubby little twigs bearing their wilted leaves that resembled lumps of overcooked spinach that I was used to seeing planting around Lentiqua. I inhale deeply. The air itself smelled sparkling fresh, as if it had just been scrubbed clean by the rain. That never happens in Lentiqua, the smoke belched from the factories has permanently tainted the air with its burnt tang that not even a monsoon of rain could clear. Here and there, little forest mice gambled about our feet in an impish game, swiftly avoiding the kicks of the intolerant ones with amusing antics that only made their victims swear combatively.
I know I shouldn’t be but this place just seems so much happier than Lentiqua, or the entire kingdom in general. There’s nobody taunting you, nobody competing to see who is the most popular, and most importantly, no stupid rules aside from the rule of survival. If you want to eat, you have to gather your own dinner, be it plant or animal. It’s your responsibility to find a sturdy shelter, there’s no tobacco smoking landlord to fix the hole in the roof or the water seeping in through the walls. In short, the forest was beautiful. It was such a shame that more people didn’t get to see it. The veins of pure magic that thrum through the forest were pronounced just as deadly as the untamed beasts that attack Althea. A substance that Althea’s citizens must be protected from, no matter the cost.
Now that the hardest part of the evening was finished, ,y main problem tonight would be the Vitare. The cursed little creature have some kind of death warrant out for me, they will lie in wait, conjuring their most evil sneak attack while waiting for my back to be turned and then boom! They spring out in surprise with their scalding breath. The last time I came to the forest, I could find the nests easy enough – much like spiders, Vitare prefer small dark places to nest and lay their eggs. – The problem was getting the nests out while still intact. Whenever I would find and reach in for the silky threads, the mother Vitare would attack with her scalding breath and tiny sharp fangs, thinking I was after her precious thumb sized eggs. Who would want them? They share the same metallic bitter taste of as orange peels, so you can’t really eat them. This time I’m hoping to do better, I had my dad’s old heavyweight leather work gloves tucked into the pocket of my clock where I could slip them over my hands when I reach into the nests. Let’s see those little fire-breathing mites get through that!
“Whoa!” The Guild Member leading our squad barked out suddenly. Our entire little squad of lawbreaking commoners halted, some falling over their preceding member in a domino like fashion. The following laughter breaks out like humorous lightning, all fiery and hot, crackling through the tension filled air with an electrified boom. Even coarse voiced snickers and snorts broke out even amongst the stoic Guild members, providing a pleasant distraction from the frightening scene we had unknowingly caused and witnessed.
“Alright, you raving bunch of lunatics! This is the stopping point!” With a swipe of his arm, he flung his black hood off his face, revealing the hunched old man with the intense eyes of a hunting raptor that I met before – he’s surprisingly agile for someone that looks like he’s anywhere from 70 to 100 years old. His mind-numbing glare travels over the crowd like fire, scorching the faces of any who dare to look him in the eye. “Whatever your intention was for this trip tonight, it’s up to you to complete it. We’re not tour guides or servants. Our objective was to get you sorry lot out and back in to Althea mostly unharmed and with at least half of the original number.”
Wait a minute, return with half of our original numbers? What was he planned to do? Feed us to the werewolves?
The ancient one – I’ve decided to call him that – glanced down at the grimy black watch fastened to his bony wrist. “You all have got till an hour before dawn. Then, we leave and if you’re not here.” He smiled again, showing off those five yellowed teeth in a grimace more suited to a mummified corpse. “Well, you’ll figure it out. Now, march!”
We scattered like dried autumn leaves in brisk wind, some singling off to themselves while others gathered in groups of two or three. As normal, no one approaches to partner with me, so with a final tug to lower my hood, I drift off into the shadows. That’s fine. I’m used to being alone so it doesn’t really bother me anymore and besides, you can’t really enjoy the forest with somebody chattering about who their child is dating or explaining their family history starting with their third cousin twice removed.
The short grass grows taller around my legs the deeper I walk into the forest, reaching nearly up to my calf in some spaces, while every step sends resting bands of lightning bugs fluttering to life around my legs, petite golden gems of tiny lights flickering on and off in rhythm with their mate’s. One seemed to have taken a fancy to my cloak, choosing to rest on the edge of my sleeve with tiny antenna extended to feel the rough material below. So far, so good. They hadn’t tried to murder me yet.
The deep hooting bass of an owl called from a nearby tree. My head snapped in the direction of the sound, immediately meeting with a set of large golden eyes peering back at me. With its muted cinnamon brown-raven black feathers mottled with undertones of creamy white that resembles the rough scaled layers of time-thickened tree bark, and long blackened ear tufts erected tall, this ruling nighttime predator was almost indistinguishable from the tree it was crouched against, perfect camouflage for surveying wary prey. The owl never blinks, holding my gaze with that supreme sense of knowledge that only it knows. It feels ancient and powerful, like an ancient magician that wields the most extreme magic ever created. Without a sound, the powerful but short wings spread and flap, propelling the sturdy little hunter into the sky on silent wings and away on its next mission.
“If you are ever in need while in the forest, follow an owl. He’ll show you what you need.” My dad said. So, that’s what I do. I run like the very wind itself. The tall grass slaps against my legs, some sharper blades whipping against my calves and leaving thin slashes oozing trickles of bright crimson. The hurdles of thick knotted roots jut up from the ground, making footing perilous for the unwary, so I to watch the ground in addition to the sky as well. After a few leaps across the taller roots, it becomes a bit like a dance. Step here, then twirl over here, step here again, all the while moving to a hidden tempo conducted by the wild forest. Even though my steps are cautious, burning pain still flares up my legs from barely missing contact with some of the bigger roots. In between my whirls and leaps, I scan the sky for my forest guide, his streamlined body – it was undoubtedly a male based on his smaller size – was a dark silhouette against the even darker sky. Effortlessly gliding under low hanging branches and swooping around the looming trees, the bird appeared to be in no hurry as if he was waiting for me to follow him. “Don’t fly too fast or you will lose the stupid, clumsy human” I could almost imagine him saying in that deep bass voice that boomed through the night with relative ease.
My father always loved owls. He said there was none more trustworthy at your side than a dog and an owl. The canine will follow their master out of love to the end of the world, but the bird has no master, they will only obey a command if the bird respects the commander. Although I was only four years old when he died, I can remember the last few hunting trips he traveled on and the single owl feathers that he always returned with as a souvenir. His favorite was a long primary wing feather banded in brown and black horizontal stripes, a gift to him from one of the mightiest of great horned owl hunters for rescuing the bird from a hunter’s trap, or so he claimed – he always did love to make up his own stories.
The deeper we travel into the forest, the thicker the trees become, the small moonlit gaps twining together, blotting out even the most meager strand of light in a impenetrable dark skin. There were no sounds here aside from the whispering, papery rattle of the branches lightly rubbing together like old bones in the breeze. A death rattle, some would say, a warning of imminent death. Indeed, it feels like death. The warm summer air has become chilled enough that it raises gooseflesh on the exertion-heated skin of my arms, prompting me to tug my cloak tighter around my body to shy away from the chill. No lightning bugs dance in this pitch black space, nor does any birds sing or squawk lively. The grass doesn’t even swoosh when I step down, instead the strands cling to my legs like tentacles trying to suck me into their grasp, holding me captive for whatever magic-twisted beasts haunt this forest of despair.
The owl chattered a soft little “Whoo” as he began circling this one giant petrified old tree. All of the leaves had disappeared long ago, leaving a bony skeleton of spindly ash grey branches exposed. The silver papery bark was peeling off the tree’s limbs and trunk in shaggy arm length pieces. One of the branches crackled loudly as the owl’s sharp talons sunk deep into the rotten wood, producing a shower of fine sawdust that lazily floats to the ground. His round head swivels on his little sloped shoulders, those golden orbs first glaring at me, then turning towards the bottom of the tree, and back again to me. His stare is so intense it’s like he’s trying to beam a message from his brain directly into mine. I follow the direction of his gaze to the base of the tree. It’s just a mass of knobby, half-disintegrated roots partially holding on to the loose, loamy soil with scraggly fingers. Nothing special. So, what is he wanting me to see so badly?
The owl chitters rapidly in annoyance—an extremely fast paced chi-chi-chi-chirp sound – and puffs his feathers up till it looks like he’s twice his size. I guess he’s upset because I didn’t do whatever he wanted me to do? He’s frowning like a grumpy little old man, a comical expression for a bird otherwise. He squawked – a fairly unpleasant sound that sounds like someone pulled a handful of feathers from his body – and utters a long string of bass hoots. Those stubby little wings snapped open again and he dived straight down to the forest floor, landing with a small whump atop a... small bird? Or maybe it’s a bat? There’s a few dark twig-like legs protruding between his curved talons but it’s hard to tell exactly what it is with his little body sitting on top of it. Whatever it is, he’s obviously very happy based on the way he constantly grunts little hoots as he tramples around on top of his prey. I hope he didn’t bring me all this way just so I could see his mental prowess as a hunter. I was in no mood for games.
Although his head is hidden behind his wings, the sharp snapping of his beak is cannon loud through the hushed air of the forest. A sickening sucking sound accompanies the snap, along with the cease of movement between his talons. The prey is dead. The short feathers around his neck ruffle as he twists towards me, those piercing golden eyes ablaze with the burning flame of the hunt, and a gore dripping head clutched tight between his scythe-like beak. I gasp. The upper curve of his beak was sunk deep into the ragged, bloody tissue of a large globe shaped eye ringed with a fine fringe of previously white but now stained red eyelashes – instead of the normal round sphere, it now looked more like a half deflated ball. The bottom half was neatly stabbed through the center of the smooth, armored skin between the damaged eye and the undamaged eye, effectively severing the creature’s spinal cord with immediate death. Now that he had stopped moving, I could see the elaborately swirled blue and green wings peeking out just beneath the owl’s soft feathered bottom. How could I be so stupid? The roots of the tree that were poking above the ground were lightly swathed in silvery white webs, Vitare webs. That’s what he was wanting me to notice. Dad was right, if you’re inside the forest, owls really do know what you need.
With his objective accomplished, the owl takes flight again with the Vitare’s head still nestled in his beak. I start to wave my hand in thanks to the creature, but something hard and damp hits my head and bounces into my open palm. The Vitare’s head now laid in my open palm with the undamaged eye glassily staring up at me, the slick red blood slowly trickling down my arm in a steady stream from the now empty head. I flung it away with a small shriek, frantically wiping my hands on my cloak to remove the last traces of dead bug-thing from my skin. The damn bird threw the bloody head at me! Angrily, I whirl around, looking for the stupid bird but he’s nowhere to be seen, only after I scanned the Not entirely visible sitting high in a tree just a few feet away, the low rumble of his amused clucks give his location straight away. One slitted eye gleams in the gloom when he turns towards me, the soft breast feathers sliding neatly through his beak as he cleans the blood drips away. Great! Out of all of the owls in the forest, I get the one who has a sense of humor.
His laughing clucks still echo even after I’ve stalked away towards the tree. “Sure! Laugh it up! I hope you get eaten by a werewolf!”. I don’t even bother slipping on the heavy gloves, I just grope around the tree base till a wad of silk gathers around my hand, slip it in my bag, and repeat again. Six peach-sized wads come away completely free from their source. Usually, only one Vitare nest will produce about a mouse sized bundle of silk- hence why such a little amount is worth so much – but this will keep us in stock for a very long time. At least, I hope it will.
Before l can start loosening the last few clinging strands from the bony roots, a noise akin to the whistling sound a tea kettle makes when it’s just reaching boiling screeched out into the air. Seconds later, a feathery lump slammed into my back, knocking me to the ground on my stomach. The owl was still screaming those earsplitting screeches, his talons buried deep into the cape across my back while his wings buffeting my head with every passing stroke. Just barely out of the corner of my eye, I could see the wildness and panic that glowed in those golden-yellow eyes. The owl’s fear over whatever had frightened him from the tree was now compounded by the catch of his claws in the thick fabric – thankfully thick enough that it prevented him from drawing my blood.
Then came the roar.
The trees shook with the sheer volume of power. The shrill scream from earlier on tonight multiplied by a thousand, easily seizing both my muscles and the owls till we resembled nothing more than a pair of stone statues. The burst of brain splitting pain didn’t come this time, instead it was just a steady numbing sensation that swept over my limbs. I couldn’t move, not even to turn my head and look at the owl attached to my back. My chest was burning as the Bloodwrath’s strange magic invaded deeper, clawing at my lungs and heart for the movement to cease forever.
Two red eyes, each one larger than my head, came shining through the shadowy gloom. The squishy whump of its body rolling and bubbling against the forest floor was echoing like thunder, a forewarning of the sheer massive size of the sludgy body as it’s emerged into the clearing. The ones earlier had each been the size of a horse but this one was nearly triple that. The entire body the size of a regular two-story building back in Lentiqua. I had read before that Bloodwraths grew larger as they aged, so this one must be absolutely ancient. The blackness of its body split in two, the mouthful of white fangs appearing in a sinister smirk. The beast was planning on an easy dinner tonight.
But I’m nobody’s dinner. If I could just shake off the magic, I could run away if I stayed in a zig-zag pattern – the bigger a Bloodwrath is, the harder it is for them to quickly change directions. Sucking in a steadying breath, I concentrated as hard as I dared on moving my fingers. The digits lying dead and flat till just the very tips began to tingle with the returning sensation. Yes! They wriggled – my hand was burning so bad that if felt like it was on fire, but they moved! Now to lift my entire hand and push myself away. The Bloodwrath lumbered closer, the bitter stench of rotten carrion belching from the rimless mouth. My arm and hand trembled but the weight-laden numbness remained. Move, hand, move!
Before I could even roll to my side, a red-fletched arrow flew straight and true toward the beast, burying itself to the hilt between the scorching eyes of lit coal. The Bloodwrath didn’t even scream, the massive body soundlessly folding in on itself till it had decreased in size by half. Inky shadows leaked from its body like black water, flowing back into the dark magic of the forest itself to be reborn another day. Slowly, the paralyzing grip of the creature’s magic lessened, releasing my limbs and the tightness in my chest, my breath coming out in fast rushes as I tried to suck in as much sweet air as I could. The owl on my back seemed to be doing the same thing, his body and wings spread out and limp while he panted, a sliver of pink tongue protruding through the split of his beak. With my shoulders completely enveloped by his wings, it was like I was wearing an owl shawl over the top of my cape, a very hot shawl. Now that the Bloodwrath was dead, the darkness was beginning to retreat and the soft moonlight was beginning to filter through in tiny increments once more.
“Why are you lying on the ground like that? Are you planning on getting eaten tonight?”
I rolled up into a crouch, my legs tucked up under my body. My hand slipped down into the small purse attached to the belt of my dress, my fingers resting on the handle of my hunting knife while my eyes scanned the surrounding forest for the owner of the voice. The owl, now finally freed from my back, soared off into one of the nearby trees with a string of scolding chitters for his rough treatment. I was expecting one of the rough faced Guild members lazily strolling through the forest, but instead a pair of eyes the color of fresh grass swirling with curiosity returned my gaze.
He was tall and lean, taller even then I am in my boots even though he looks to be about my age. His skin was as pale and smooth as fine porcelain – I know a few of the wealthier girls who would have gladly murdered for that kind of complexion – and his shaggy hair was a blonde so pale that it actually looked silver in the faintly lit shadows. Those green eyes were still watching me every bit as intensely as the owl had, studying me like some kind of experiment. My rescuer leaned casually against a tree, his well-muscled arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Wh-Who are you.” I stuttered, trying to disguise the tremor in my hands as I brushed the dust from my skirt and cloak.
“Name’s Alec.” His voice was as deep and steady as a river but it bears no emotion. No excitement, sarcasm, or even the plain ole stupidity that usually affects boys my age. He sounds almost mechanical if not for the way his eyes reflected his mild curiousity “You didn’t answer my question.”
Stunned dumb by his abrupt answer, all I could manage out was a mangled “Huh?”
“I asked you why were you lying on the ground waiting to be eaten?” His head cocked to the side in question, causing a lock of his unruly silver blonde hair to fall across his eyes, adding a bit more appeal to his innocent boyish charm.
Inward debating on how much to tell this stranger, I decided to skim over just the bare details in case he was some wandering insane mass murdered or something. “I was hunting Vitare silk and I followed an owl here because I was hoping that he would show me some.” I didn’t realize how stupid it all sounded till the very instant the last word left my lips. To his credit, he didn’t laugh or make any smart-ass remarks, although I did see his lips threaten to twitch into a smile twice before resuming to the emotionless line that seemed to be his normal expression. If I had to guess, I bet he was thinking just how crazy is this girl covered with dirt and holding a knife? Because everyone knows that you don’t just follow any old bird into the forest.
“So the owl led you here? That was a very wise choice.” Alec glanced around at the surroundings with a practical surveying eye. “This is a very promising area for a Vitare nesting ground. The sunlight and moonlight is veiled by the thick canopy of trees, completely perfect for rearing light-sensitive young. The breeze is much calmer here as well, no stray winds to spread their young’s scent, and they have a readily available food source nearby.” He pointed to a nearby tree completely enraptured in twined vines of dark green with heart shaped leaves. Speckled intermediately between the fluffy leaves were trumpet shaped, milky white blooms that flared out in a perfect circle and left the sweetest of spicy scents floating in the breeze – with the vulgar smell of the Bloodwrath now faded away, I could actually smell a lot of different flowers blooming now in the night darkness.
“So, Vitares drink flower nectar like regular butterflies?” I asked. I hadn’t really known or cared what they eat, but that was interesting, I suppose.
He turned back to me with that mildly curious expression returned in place. “You haven’t been in the forest for very long, have you?”
Did my inexperience really show that much? I mean, it wasn’t like I was a total novice. I do remember some of my dad’s advice, and I have read the journal that he kept during his time as a huntsman. So, I do have some idea of what goes on in the forest. “Actually, this is only my second trip into the forest. The first time, I only lasted about an hour before I got burned pretty badly by an angry mother Vitare, but I have my dad’s journal and he kept notes about all sorts of strange things in the forest.” My cheeks burned hot with the amount of heated blood rushing to the surface to demonstrate my quickly growing embarrassment. Alec nodded attentively, as if what I just said made perfect sense and not the crazy ramblings of a stranger.
“Your second trip appears to be a much improved success.” He tilts his head towards the bulging bag at my side half-hidden by my cape. “There are not many seamstresses, particularly girls, who would be so brave as to risk coming into the forest for silk, even ones so extremely durable as Vitare silk. Your mother should be proud and you should be able to quickly earn the money that you need.”
Shocked, I sucked in a breath through my teeth. Just how did this guy know that? Because I sure haven’t told anyone what exactly I do back home. In fact, I had only spoken to the guides for the Raven’s guild and none of the others. I defensively folded my arms across my chest, my grey eyes becoming narrowed steel slits as I studied his face for every reaction. “I never told you any of that.” I spoke carefully.
Alec grinned, showing off a flash of perfectly straight pearl-white teeth. “You didn’t have too, your body language spoke of everything I needed to know. Your fingers are just beginning to curl inwards from the effort of holding the needle for hours on end. When you pulled the knife, you held it just like one would hold a needle.” Alec demonstrated by pinching his thumb and index finger together like a crab’s pincher. “Obviously a novice’s mistake due to the occupation of the user as this is a practically useless combat maneuver and would certainly wind up in you being the one injured. This goes in hand with your age, although you are tall, your face and skin is also free of wrinkles and still has the dewy glow unique to young adults similar in age to myself. Thus, you are somewhere in the age range of 16 to 20 years old, the perfect range for an apprentice, seeing as how you do not wear an engagement ring, you are not destined to be married at this current time. Also, your inexperience with the forest itself is almost comical. I’ve been watching you ever since the owl dumped the Vitare limb on your head-”
“It wasn’t a limb! The stupid bird threw the bloody head at me!”
“Regardless, an experienced visitor would have sensed my presence right away, not to mention one would have sensed the danger of the Bloodwrath from far away. Instead of paying attention to your surroundings, you chose to swipe at those webs like they were a giveaway of free candy. I’m actually a little surprised that the owl tried to warn you about the Bloodwrath, since obviously their smell grows worse as they age, even a small child would have recognized the danger long before the beast ever crossed into this clearing. Usually owls don’t take a liking to people that stupid. Finally, you spoke of your father’s journal in the past tense, as if he has been deceased for a long period of time. The death of a family member always places a serious financial strain on the family itself. Leading up to the copious amounts of Vitare thread bulging from your bag, it wasn’t that far of a mental leap to assume that you have to earn a large amount of money for your family, and since you have the beginning characteristics of a seamstress, it was as easy as 1. 2. 3.” He silently blinked at me as if awaiting my confirmation that his deduction was correct.
I have never been so confused and infuriated at the same time. My hands burned wit the urge to do something – most likely to slap the innocence straight off his face – but like everything else, I pushed the burning urge back down to where it would be safely contained. Okay, so cute forest guy was a genius and a creepy-ass nut even if he did save my life. I could deal with this, I deal with people higher on the level of insanity than this every day. He was no different than the others.
But yet, even though he’s dressed in the somber grey clothing of a commoner, there’s something about him that stands out, like a bulky bumblebee amidst petite honeybees. It’s a difference in his very character that I could sense, one that felt like there was something... more to him. My confusion began to settle into a dull ache in my chest, a sensation of something unfamiliar but almost like I knew it as well. I squinted at his face, trying to his see his features clearer in the gloom while mentally rolling through the faces that I remembered seeing before. I couldn’t remember seeing him in the squad of people that snuck through the gate, and surely a guy who looked like he belonged modeling the current fashions for the royal family would have been easily noticeable within the stressed expressions of the others. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Alexca-” He paused, his tongue tripping over himself before he finished in a bubbling rush, “Alec Masso. Could I ask what your name might be?” He said while executing a swift bow in my direction, a blindly gorgeous smile appeared on his lips that sent my heart on a little stumble that caused my breath to catch just slightly. My cheeks flared again with heat as I hoped to my very core that he didn’t notice.
“Ky-Kyri De-Dekot-e,” Oh, he really noticed it now since I couldn’t even speak properly. Those green eyes took on a calculating glow in the pre-dawn light. Wait, pre-dawn?
My eyes widened in sudden realization. Shit! It’s nearly dawn! The Guild members will be going inside right now! I’ll never make it back to the gate in time, not being this far into the forest. “I’ve got to go!” I called over my shoulder as I ran, my feet pounding against the worn dirt path out of the shadowy clearing —I hope it was the same one I came down. I didn’t have time for it to be the wrong one. The soft chatter of birds subtly starting to awaken bloomed into a raucous squawking as I thundered past, their morning rest violently disturbed and they were going to complain about it. Through the patches of trees, the midnight blue sky staring to subtlety sprout streaks of blushed violet, a very beautiful sight I’m sure but I had no time to stop and admire it.
“Hey! Wait up!” Alec called, his hand waving over his head. His long legs easily provided the speed and stride to catch up. “I know a faster way back to the entrance.” When he drew near enough, he captured my hand in his larger palm and tugged, veering my course off towards a cluster of sturdy oak trees. Even with my long legs, I stumbled behind Alec like a toddler, completely out of step with his steady sprinter’s rhythm. We narrowly avoided crashing into the trees like tiny bugs as we flew across the rough ground at top speed. The lush scenery of the forest quickly whizzed by into a blurred abstract painting of lively greens and browns. The birds continued to scold and a few early woken squirrels darted across our path. I’m almost sure this isn’t the way I came or even remotely close to the wall but Alec continues on, guided by some inner compass that I really hope isn’t wrong.
When he finally skided to a stop, a cloud of dust raises from the ground at his feet in large plumes. I can only stare in awe at the sight before me, jaw slack and eyes bulging. There is the wall, the stones faintly illuminated a dusty orange in the emerging dawn light, and the last few Guild members ushering in the remaining commoners who had ventured out beyond the wall.
“I told you my way was faster.” Alec pants. Small droplets of sweat dripped from the ends of his hair but his emerald eyes are twinkling brightly with the light of the morning sun. “Now go on or we will be locked out.” I needed no second command, taking off at a blistering run with a strength I didn’t know I had left in my legs. The hooded head of one of the Guild Members snaps up in surprise at the arrival of two more members of the party, but he just motioned us on towards the shrinking line of people with a leisurely wave of his hand. We herd towards the gate like cattle, an orderly line of people with head and shoulders stooped to quietly lumber on to our assigned destination. For once, there isn’t any sign of guards or soldiers stationed on or around the wall. With the Guild fearlessly summoning a pack of Bloodwraths as a distraction for us to break out, I shudder at the thought of what happened just so we could return to Lentiqua. I’m sure it ended in bloodshed.
The hazy sunlight brightened as we filtered in one by one. Each time a person clears the gate, the rapid pounding of slapping footsteps against stone echoes out as they dash to safety. As it grows time for my turn, Alec’s stoic voice lowered to whisper hotly in my ear. “When it’s your turn, run like hell. There’s always a second round of guards waiting just beyond the gate.”
My body shivered from the heat of his breath against the delicate skin of my ear, but I barely had time to recover before he shoved me forward the same way he did in the forest. An iron fisted punch to the spine that sends me sprawling forward as ungainly as a newborn fawn, thrusting me into a stone floored clearing 30 feet long and devoid of any shelter or camouflaging trees whatsoever. Across the clearing is a series of ramshackle wooden shacks lacking a roof and piles upon piles of discarded waste, the entryway back to the normal life of Lentiqua and home, but first you had to dash across the clearing without getting spotted. The remaining guards that the Guild was unable to clear are stationed far along the wall, at least triple the distance of the clearing, but it’s no safety zone by any means. A person can still be seen running across the clearing even from that great a distance. All this took only a moment to sink in as I stumbled across the cracked and pitched stones, a knife edged pain flashing up my ankle when the corner of my littlest toe bangs against one of the more upheaved stones. The light smattering of snickering laughter emitting from one pile of rotten fruit was completely unnecessary. I didn’t look that stupid trying to run and avoid snagging my feet on the stone’s edges. The only final indignity would be if I tripped.
I just had to open my big mouth.
One second I was running, almost to the relative safety of the beginning of the shacks. Then the next second, I was flat on my stomach with the air rushing from my lungs in a drawn-out whoosh. My palms burned, scraped raw against the stones, and the bloody taste of iron floods my mouth. My eyes bulge and sting while I try to breathe, but all I can do is gasp like a stranded fish, my head ringing like someone is playing a symphony of bells.
“HALT INTRUDERS!”
An arrow strikes the stones just below my left ear, barely missing the vital part of my neck by an inch. I roll to my side and try to stand, but my legs collapse beneath my body like limp noodles. People scream in horror, the remaining ones outside the wall come thundering past like charging sheep, hands failing and feet thrashing anything in their path to dust. More arrows fire into the crowd like a swarm of angry hornets. The same people began to fall in their steps, both the injured and the dead, and are immediately trampled. The injured now dying and the deceased only further mutilated beneath the stampeding feet. Soldiers swathed in their shining black armor descend on the gate, slamming the door firmly shut, and fire more arrows into the backside of the crowd, creating a trap as missiles rain down from both directions. The screams are horrifying, pure terror mixed with the agony of pain. A sound I’m never going to forget as long as I live. Another batch of arrows hisses through the air, a razor edged cloud that’s headed straight for me. I close my eyes and flinch, anticipating the deadly strike that would end my life, but it never comes. Instead, there’s a deep grunt and a sharp snap before a stoic voice speaks.
“(y/n), get up.”
A heavy pressure descends on my shoulder and hauls me to my feet. I stumble, but an arm is right there to catch me before I could fall. It’s Alec again, urging me on in a race against certain danger and death. We merge into the sea of grey clad bodies and run like never before, feet pounding against the pavement, hearts desperately racing for stale air. All while arrows slice and buzz through the air, felling our predecessors into mere obstacles in our path. We dash around some, others we just leap over, a few reach out with bloodstained hands and beg us not to leave them, but we do. They’ll be dead soon anyway, or that’s what I tell myself.
With his longer stride, Alec quickly takes the lead, guiding me by my hand while weaving through the narrow alleyways formed by the neglected buildings and broken streets. We’re one of the few people left still running, the contorted streets and pathways preventing most of the archers from firing and the guards on foot are losing their steam as they trail behind the stragglers. We turn again, and then we’re alone, slopping through a trash and puddle lined street but blissfully alone. The howls and screams are far in the distance now, like the wail of a neighbor’s baby, annoying but not in direct contact.
“Do you think we’re safe?” I ask him when we pause for a moment, sucking in as much air as I could to sate the intense burning in my chest while I braced myself against my knees.
Alec doesn’t answer. His back is leaned against the filthy building wall, shoulders slumped and head down. I can’t see his eyes for the curtain of wavy blonde curls shading his face. Slowly, he lifts and nods his head, those vibrant green eyes glassy and dull like cloudy marbles. “We’re... far... enough. No... trouble.” His lips barely mumble out the words before he begins to slide down the wall, a dark trail of maroon red smearing down the wall in his wake. I reach for him, catching his shoulders just before he topples over on the ground, exposing the long muscled line of his back and multiple oozing arrow wounds bleeding through his shirt and cape. Some still with the arrow head and shaft sunk deep in the firm flesh.
“Oh, shit!”