Author's Note: Several weeks ago I woke up in a cold sweat with this story just begging to be written. In one night I wrote 10,000 words. It was insane. I would have never done it if I had never read When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun by Mejhiren. Because of her story I saw the light when it came to Everlark and because of this my story is dedicated to her.
This story is rated M for graphic hunting scenes and Medieval medicine and if this is not for you I would not recommend reading it.
Bird of Ill Omen
Chapter 1
Once the Hunter Now the Prey
Mist rises up in the forest around me, making the world move at a surreal pace. Morning's first light cuts through the shadow, and I exhale a single breath and release the arrow. It flies swift and true, hitting my target. The animal screams and I curse in a hushed voice. My shot did not kill the animal and now it is suffering.
I step out of my concealed location and move to go assess the the damage I have done. Thirty paces from where I stand a rabbit is down. Its Belly split open and its intestines scattered. It won't survive, but it is not dead yet. Blood foams at its mouth and frantic rasping screams escape it.
No creature great or small ever deserves to suffer like this and I am already starting to bear the guilt of this kill. Hadn't my father always told me that it was a hunter's duty to kill, but not torment?
I draw out my knife and walk in its direction. As I approach the rabbit sees me with its haze filled eyes. It starts bucking and writhing making one last attempt to get away. The efforts are pointless and do nothing, but increase the damage done. When I am within one step of the creature it gives up on its vain efforts to escape. Instead it lets out a series of violent, wheezing coughs as it chokes on its own blood.
"Shh, Shh, little rabbit." I say as I position my knife over its neck, "Your pain is almost over."
I bring my blade down and sever its spine. Good. The rabbit no longer knows suffering, only darkness.
I look down at the skinny summer rabbit and am disappointed with myself. The kill is good for neither hide nor flesh and what little of it that could be eaten has been contaminated by the contents of its split intestines.
"Perhaps Prim and I could use some of the leg meat and add it to a–" I start to think, but then stop myself.
I shouldn't have thought of her.
I shouldn't have thought of my sister Prim. She would have been so disappointed in me. She is like my mother with her healing hands and gentle ways. She would have hated seeing the creature suffer, like she hates seeing any living thing in pain. I can hear her crying and begging me to fix it. Begging me to put the torn pieces of a dead animal back together again. She would have hated seeing it die.
"You would hate seeing her die from hunger more." A voice in my head fights back.
This is true. I hunt to feed my family, like my father did before me. I cannot afford to be delicate or sentimental. Someone must bear the harshness of this world. And for my family that someone is me.
Hunting is strictly forbidden in these woods and I risk my life every time I come out. I can't risk being caught over something as silly as being sloppy with a failed kill. My first priority now is cleaning my wasted arrow. Then I have to conceal my rabbits remains. The main part of the carcass I move into the under brush then I take a handful of leaves and cover it. I take more leaves and top off the blood smear on the ground. I work until I am satisfied that no one will ever know I have been here.
The forest is still again. Too still. Some part of my hunting instinct tells me I have made a mistake I cannot name. I try to shake it off, hoping that it is only paranoia. To calm my nerves, I reenact simple hunting tasks. The first I ever learned. I check the direction of the wind. Then I scan the ground looking for animal tracks or scat. I listen. Opening my ears up to every sound, the calls of birds, the rustle of the wind, the drip of running water. I listen until all I can hear is the forest and my heartbeat.
I am ready now. My fears were irrational and I must get moving, animals can smell a kill from miles away I need get to another part of the woods.
It has been an hour since dawn broke and if I do not want to be out all day I need to hurry. There is a stream two miles from here. I start to run. I need to put as much distance between me and the smell of blood as possible. When I am over halfway there I slow down and resume my normal stalking pace. I need to be silent now if I want a kill. It is like my father use to say, "If you want to bring home a kill Katniss, you need to be as quiet as death." That is how he saw himself when he was in the woods, he saw himself as the very persona of death.
I don't see myself that way. I always try to think of myself as a tree, or rock, or a river. Something that was innately part of the woods. Giving and taking. A fragment of the circle of things. Something that belongs here. However, I don't think my father was wrong I am sure to all the animals when they see me they see nothing more than an arrow in the heart, or a slit throat.
The soft bubbling of the stream grows louder. A bird drops from a tree out of no where and I stifle a scream. It came so close to my face I could feel the brush of the tail feathers. A startled 'Craw!' escapes the creature. It is all black. What my father would call 'a bird of ill omen'. A sign of terrible things to come.
I shake my head. Silly man, believing in signs. There were no omens the night our house caught fire and he died inside, blinded by the smoke and flames. In fact, it was sunny the day before and all the birds were singing. And the night was remarkable cool and mild, before my family's screaming broke the silence.
My ear catches the sound of movement and I go still. I scan the shadows of the underbrush. The movement is coming from a thicket twenty yards from me. I must step away from my hiding place if I want a clear shot. I will myself to be as still as possible. With nothing to hide my form I must be a part of the woods now more than ever. The rustling increases and then I see it.
It is a stag, the biggest I have ever seen. I have a clear shot. I notch my arrow and take aim for the area right under his shoulder blade. I exhale slowly and start to release, knowing that that best shots should be a surprise even to you. This will be a perfect kill.
The call of a horn breaks the silence and I panic. The arrow flies too soon and loges itself in a tree by the deer. The beast rears backwards and retreats into the underbrush as I whip around to see where the sound is coming from and if I have time to get away.
"What Ho!" A man's voice calls. He has seen me. I am as good as dead. "And what little peasant do we have here stalking the same stag?" He calls again.
I can see him now on his gray horse. From his golden fur coat and green velvet clothes I can tell he is wealthy beyond imagining. In another life, in another world I would spit on him for looking so jolly with his red cheeks tucked under his golden beard. Does he not know he could have me killed for this? Then I see the golden chain around his neck. Not only is he wealthy he must be nobility. He could kill me on sight and never answer for it. Worse things have happened to little serfs at the hands of royals.
Another voice joins his. "What do you mean–"
The second rider sets eyes on me and pulls his horse to a sudden stop causing his horse to whiny in shock. Rage fills the new man's face. There is red behind his eyes that match the bright scarlet hat on his head. "That is not a little peasant. It is a wench." He spits in disgust.
"A what?" The golden man says and he looks me over again. I feel the need to hide my bow in a last attempt to appear innocent, but I know it is impossible. The man continues, "Indeed it is wench." This time he does not sound jolly, something about me being a woman seems to sober him.
"I could have your head for this." The second rider says, "In fact I should have your head for this! Stefan! Stefan!" The man begins to call over his shoulder.
I feel my knees go week. I must harden myself and prepare to say nothing in hope that they do not discover my relation to Prim and my mother. They will suffer enough without the meat I bring home. They do not need to bear persecution for having a poacher for a relative.
The golden man lifts up a hand to silence the one still calling for Stefan. "No, Cardinal Snow." He says in a distant voice, "Take her back to your house. I wish to speak to her."
"Say what you want to her now. She then can be executed here. We have caught her red-handed." Cardinal Snow says and then gives my bow a pointed glance.
My knees start knocking against my will.
"No." The golden man interrupts again, "I want her brought to your home. There is a task I wish for her to perform."
"Brought to my home?" Snow says as he bobbles his head like a shocked chicken. "You can ask some other menial to do your biding. I cannot allow an act of willful insubordination and theft to happen on my land and then invite the culprit into my home."
"You forget Cardinal that both your home and your land were gifted to you by me."
Cardinal Snow gives a twisting smile and replies, "They were not a gift to me. They were a gift to his Holiness and to the Holy Church. I am but a humble servant there."
"Than act like a humble servant and take her to your home. The king of this land wishes to speak to her."
A third rider joins them and I can only assume that it is Stefan.
Cardinal Snow points a single finger of his withered, translucent hand at me and says, "Stefan disarm her and take her back to my home. Detain her until we return."
The man dismounts his black horse and I can see he is twice my size. When he approaches me I willingly hand over my bow. My dead father's last gift to me. Then with callous hands Stefan deftly takes it and cracks it over his knee and tosses it to the side.
I want to scream and claw his eyes out. How could he? The sane part of my brain reminds me that I cannot win here. I try to remain calm as my shaking hands pass him my quiver and arrows for him to break and toss aside as well.
I feel as if my own heart is being peppered by arrows as he cracks them one by one. They were all I had. They were all that kept me alive.
He tells me to follow him and I do. Then with a great heave he lifts me onto his horse and climbs on behind me.
A terrible thought crosses my mind as we start to ride. The hunting part of me has been broken and tossed aside on the forest floor. I am no longer a tree, or a hunter, or death. I am now the prey.
Please Review. Your thoughts and opinions mean so much to me I would love to hear them.
Also I feel like I am writing this story so fast I may need a second opinion soon and if anyone is willing to Beta for me please PM me.