Dawn of the Hunters

by Ryan Wieser

  Jessop blinked and she saw Kohl’s face above her own. Suddenly, Falco’s face appeared above her. “Is she okay, Kohl?”

  She was confused for a moment until she tried to move. She could barely breathe and her arm felt as though it were on fire. She hissed as she looked down and saw that the linen of her tunic was singed black and her arm, where the whip had wound about her, was truly burned. Her skin was red and angry, the flesh crisped and boiled. Falco had his hands on her, his eyes shut as he focused on healing her.

  Kohl poured the last of their water over the burns and she cried out as the cool liquid washed over the charred skin. She felt the rib heal first, which allowed her to take deep breaths as Falco worked on her burns. She stared at the wounds, realizing that she could have died in Hydo’s dream. That he could enter her dreams and kill her there, if he so chose.

  Chapter 14

  Haren’dul Daku

  Present Day

  Her arm would never be the same. In function, she was perfectly healed, but Falco could only do so much about the scars, and it seemed that each day they passed in Haren’dul Daku, his healing abilities weakened. Jessop knew it was Jeco’s absence impacting his focus and ability. The angry red whip line circled her arm three times and ended in a sharp point just at her shoulder.

  She tore her gaze away from the wound and focused on her tunic. With a rough rip, she tore the charred sleeve off. She quickly evened it out by removing the other sleeve. They were not willing to waste any more time resting, no matter their weakened bodies and dwindled supplies. They needed to push on. She could hear footsteps, though they were not those of Falco or Kohl, for she knew their steps. It was the sound of several men, approaching quietly. She didn’t have the energy to fight any more desert attackers. She was wounded, confused by all that had happened, and beyond tired. Some part of her knew she needed Falco and Kohl to handle whoever approached them—but a larger part of her knew she would never admit that aloud.

  She listened keenly to the steps as she slipped out of their small tent, knowing whoever approached would be right behind her. She closed her eyes, focused all of her strength on her Sentio, and leapt out, a wild scream escaping her as she sent the group flying in all directions. It was only as one rolled across the sand, cursing profanities, did she realize whom she had attacked.

  “Urdo? Urdo!”

  He had found her. In the barren wasteland of mayhem and death, he had found her. She jogged to his side and wrapped her wounded arm around him, helping him to his feet.

  “I’m sorry—I—we’ve been attacked so many times ...I thought you were another desert brigand.”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine.” He brushed off his clothes, spitting out a mouthful of sand. He finally turned his gaze to her, his eyes softening at her mangled, wild appearance, and the burns. He offered her a small smile. “I’m fine,” he whispered.

  He grabbed her with his rough hands and pulled her into a tight embrace. What once would have made her violently uncomfortable, she now welcomed, resting her head against his massive chest, hugging him back, knowing they were thinking the same thing—how thankful they each were that both had survived this long.

  * * * *

  Urdo had brought supplies, provisions greater than they had originally packed, weapons and fresh garments, and food and beverages, but there was more—he had brought warriors. Jessop embraced Korend’a tightly.

  “Trax is well; he wishes he were here but he keeps the Blade secure and Azgul is calm under his temporary leadership,” Korend’a explained.

  “I couldn’t think of any better to rule in Falco’s absence.” As Jessop spoke, her eyes fell to Falco, who approached her with Dezane in tow.

  She wrapped her arms around the elder. “Dorei, Mesahna.” In truth, Jessop wished he hadn’t come. He should have remained in the Blade with his son, but she knew Dezane was a true, experienced warrior, with untold powers. He would have never sent his armies into battle without himself present to lead them. She simply wished for his safety in a time where safety could not be guaranteed, in a place so dangerous it made her think light of their former home in the Shadow City.

  “As good as it is to see you all, there is someone in need of Falco’s help.”

  Jessop looked from Falco to Dezane and knew of whom the elder spoke. “Mar’e. Where is she?”

  “The Hunter Kohl is moving her from the Soar-Craft to a tent as we speak.”

  “Take me to her,” Falco spoke. Jessop nodded to him, thankful for his natural leadership in such situations, though they both knew the red whip lines she now bore were wounds he had only been able to temporarily heal. Without his son, without his usual calm, his abilities were weakened. She hoped, for Mar’e’s sake, that he would be able to help her.

  Jessop looked around at the camp their troops had built to surround the Soar-Craft. Hundreds upon hundreds of warriors, both Kuroi and those of Falco’s army, had disembarked and now worked in unison, lifting and transporting beams and canvas and casks. There were the tents for sleeping and the tents for provisions, and a much larger tent to act as a mess, where they could all eat together. There were barrels of water and crates of supplies and she saw several men laying stones for fire pits. Jessop knew just by looking at the preparations that what Kohl had said was true—they readied themselves for war.

  “Jessop.” Falco’s voice drew her attention back. He had walked several paces with Dezane, headed for a row of tents. “Are you coming?”

  * * * *

  Mar’e shivered violently, her eyes clamped shut, her hands trembling around a blanket though she was covered in sweat. Jessop stood at the end of the cot, silent, admittedly more shaken by the sight of the Kuroi woman fighting for her life than she anticipated being. Kohl grabbed one of Mar’e’s hands, whispering reassurances to her.

  Falco touched her forehead as if assessing her. “She is still in the fighting stage. That’s good.”

  Jessop looked to Dezane. “Can she hear us?”

  The elder shook his head, keeping his glowing gaze on Mar’e. Jessop could sense how hopeful he was.

  Falco gestured for Kohl to move aside. “Show us the wound, Dezane.”

  The elder stepped between the Hunters and Mar’e. His hand froze above the blanket. “I did what I could.” Slowly, he pulled the blanket down.

  Mar’e’s abdomen was wrapped in blood-stained bandages. She had been sliced from shoulder to navel and Jessop could see that the bandages were holding her together. It was a miracle that she still breathed. Jessop immediately grabbed the woman’s leg, as if to show support somehow. “Why did she not return to Azgul?”

  Dezane stroked her dark braids back. “This did not happen in that first battle. We made camp when the vessel returned the dead to the Red City. The Soren came back in the night. Mar’e had been standing watch outside my tent.”

  Jessop understood. Mar’e had saved Dezane. She looked to Falco.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Falco laid his hands on her, his eyes closed. Jessop watched him as he focused on the injured Mar’e, his brow furrowing as he allowed his mind to explore her wound. Jessop knew when he had started, for it didn’t take long for Mar’e to start screaming. With eyes tightly shut, she lashed out in pain, screaming for it to stop.

  Kohl held her still, promising her she was going to be fine, Dezane spoke to her in Kuroi, advising her to fight through the pain, and Falco worked as quickly as he could, ignoring her violent resistance. Jessop knew the risk was great, but she had to ease her pain as Falco forced her flesh and bone to reconnect. She entered Mar’e’s mind without warning the others, and found it to be alight with red, angry, fear. She didn’t understand what was happening, she couldn’t open her eyes to see Falco helping her—she thought she was dying.

  Jessop worked quickly, washing over Mar’e’s mind with cooling thoughts, calming her friend, attempting t
o numb her to the pain of her wound and Falco’s healing. She pushed back in Mar’e’s memories, flicking through years of images and sounds that Jessop had never seen, but seemed instantly familiar given their shared tribe and homeland. She pushed through the thoughts, going further and further, knowing that she could do for Mar’e what she had inflicted on Hydo Jesuin—place her in a memory for safekeeping.

  She found the dam where she and Mar’e had played as children, swimming and drinking from the water, drying in the warm heat. She focused, and after a long minute, the screams died out. Jessop was at the dam. She knelt beside the pool and ran her hands through the water. She watched the ripple travel over the clear surface, expanding and splashing softly against the rim on the other side, where Jessop saw Mar’e standing.

  “What is this?”

  Jessop stood, running her hands over her tunic. “I’ve placed you in a memory, so you wouldn’t suffer any longer.”

  Mar’e nodded, as if instantly understanding what magic Jessop had done. “I’m dying.”

  Jessop slowly walked around the perimeter of the dam. “Falco is trying to save you.”

  “Is he going to?”

  “I really couldn’t say.”

  “Days ago you tried to kill me and now your husband seeks to save my life.”

  “Kohl has begged him to.”

  “Is Kohl okay?”

  Jessop stopped. She studied Mar’e’s beautiful face, with her glowing eyes and full lips and long hair. “You really care for him.”

  “You’re surprised by that. You must think so little of me.”

  “It’s not that ...You just don’t really know him.”

  “How long did you know him before loving him?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Jessop.”

  They stared at one another, stubborn in their silence, and their independent senses of certainty. Finally, Mar’e spoke. “I would never harm him. If that’s what you fear about my interest in the Hunter. If I survive, that is.”

  “Thank you.”

  In truth, Jessop couldn’t articulate what the issue was. She didn’t know if it was because of the feelings she harbored for Mar’e or the ones she still held for Kohl, that stopped her from encouraging their bond.

  “Thank you for bringing me here. The last time we were here together we were so young.”

  Jessop nodded. “No need for you to be in pain while he works.”

  “Why did you choose the dam?”

  Jessop shrugged. “As peaceful a place as any.”

  Mar’e walked along the perimeter of the water. “We never fought when we were here. I was cruel to you in childhood for your mixed lineage. But when we were here, I was never unkind to you.”

  Jessop thought on her words and realized they were true. When they swam as children, despite being of a desert people, they were at peace.

  “Do you think we were ever really friends?”

  “We were friends. We just weren’t friendly.”

  They both laughed softly at the thought. It had been a lifetime for them both. Jessop knew that the Mar’e before her, the Mar’e whom Falco fought to save, was not the same girl who had taunted Jessop in childhood. Mar’e knew that Jessop was not the same—harder, angrier, and more impatient. But also more mature. Jessop, for the first time, had begun to take responsibility for her life and her actions. Kohl had helped her to do that.

  “When we were children, you said that there was something different about my mother and me. You said you had heard your parents speak of it.”

  Mar’e sat beside the water; resting on the cool, damp sand. “And you want to know if I have learned anything more since?”

  Jessop said nothing, her silence an answer.

  “There have been many stories over the years. Some of which Dezane confirmed, like you marrying Falco and learning Sentio, and some which none could speak on with any real authority. Your mother was part Kuroi, but none knew of her ties to the tribe. Your father was a true man of the desert, but one with no history, no family of his own, and no sigil. And year after year, the Hunter, Hydo Jesuin, would come and argue with them, and then leave, always angry, always ready to return.”

  Jessop cocked her head. She had no memory of Hydo ever speaking with her parents before their death. Before she could say anything, Mar’e spoke again.

  “Dezane told me that much. You have no ties to the tribe, yet you are of it. A Hunter, who ended up killing your family, made routine checks on you every year. First by himself, and then he brought the boy Falco with him.”

  “I can’t—”

  “There’s more.”

  “How can there be more?”

  “Dezane told me that many years ago, there had been rumors that a Bakora woman lived somewhere Beyond the Grey.”

  Jessop studied Mar’e’s face, as if looking for further clues to the riddle she was telling.

  “The only people with the gift of Fire are the Bakora people, Jessop. You are part of the tribe. But you are also part something else.”

  Jessop didn’t know what to say. She immediately thought of what Calis had said to her in the dream world—that she was half Bakora. She had received so much information that her first instinct was to be mad—she and Mar’e had spoken for many hours in the Blade, before Jeco was taken, and at no point had she shared any of this with her. But she didn’t have time for anger. She didn’t have the energy for anger. She needed to use all the information she gained to rescue her son. She needed to direct every effort—

  Jessop opened her eyes and found she was back in the tent, in Haren’dul Daku, with a hand on Mar’e, who was sitting up, alert. She had woken up, ultimately exiting the memory. Falco had saved her. Dezane embraced him. Kohl kissed Mar’e’s forehead. And Jessop took a step back from all of them, silently exiting the tent.

  * * * *

  Jessop managed to walk off mostly unnoticed. She found a place to rest against the hillside and contemplate all Mar’e had told her in the memory. Fire was a gift of the Bakora people. Her parents had had no ties to any named Kuroi or anyone else, it seemed, for that matter. Hydo had visited her every year of her childhood, something she had no memory of. She found that the pain and exhaustion were forcing her to relinquish a sense of control. The armies had arrived and Falco could lead them better than any.

  She ran her hands over her hair and knew she had to carry on, with or without the Hunters, the Kuroi, or the soldiers. She leaned forward, prepared to get to her feet, when a bag was thrown to her, landing atop her boots. Daylight was breaking on the horizon and she could just make out the face—the young Hunter Urdo had chosen to accompany them.

  Jessop grabbed the bag and stood. “You.”

  “They call me Hode Avay, but from a woman of your abilities, I’ll settle for ‘you’,” he said with a smile, approaching her slowly. He fixed his pale blue eyes on her, running his hand through his short auburn hair. “There are clothes, provisions for bathing—your tent is being fixed now, you can wash in there, and you’ll find a few other things.”

  She followed his gaze to the large tent in the distance. “Thank you, Hode Avay.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank O’Hanlon.”

  Jessop pictured Kohl’s face. He had been with Mar’e, rejoicing over her recovery, and yet, he had still thought of Jessop’s well-being.

  “Wait—I don’t think he wanted me to tell you that. Pretend I said nothing?”

  “Certainly.”

  * * * *

  The tent was grand compared to their recent living quarters. There was a large bedroll and a great wooden tub with pails of steaming water surrounding it. She knelt beside the bedroll and opened the pack Kohl had put together for her. She would bathe and then she would leave. She could not let Jeco wait any longer.

  Determined as ever to carry on, she still couldn’
t resist smiling when she found a comb tucked amongst the fresh garments. She used her fingers to brush out her wild locks as best as she could, loosening the matted tendrils before forcing the comb through. She hissed with each rough tug, but it didn’t take too long for progress to be achieved.

  Once she had finally worked through the mess, she stripped off her tattered garments. Her skin was so dry and reddened by the heat of the desert that it stung to drag the material over her body. She pulled her boots off for what felt like the first time in days—what was the first time in days. The leather of her shoes was well worn and true to her form; they had protected her feet well, but the skin was still hot and raw.

  She poured two of the pails of hot water into the wooden tub before stepping in. The hot water was as welcoming as it was unforgiving—cleaning her skin and reminding her of her treacherous travels. She lowered herself slowly. As she reached for a third pail, she sensed him behind her, silent as ever.

  Falco took the pail from her hands. Kneeling beside the tub, he poured the water over her back and shoulders. They remained silent as he bathed her. He cleaned her hair and ran his hands softly over her newly formed scars. He brushed the sand from her and rubbed her aching shoulders. When the water ran cold, he helped her from the tub.

  He knew she had no intentions of staying.

  “We must at least speak to Urdo first, and Dezane. We need to formulate a plan before we continue.”

  “We?”

  “You think I would rest here when Jeco is still missing?”

  She said nothing. She didn’t think that of Falco. She knew he would do anything for Jeco. But Jessop felt a maternal bias that could not be explained. She had grown Jeco inside her body, she had carried him for many moons, she had birthed him, and she had been the first to hold him. She would die for her son.