by Pedro Urvi
After giving their mother a farewell hug, Ikai traveled west for three days until he reached the Hill of Skies. From the top he could see a great part of the Sixth County. He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked out over the landscape, which was something he always liked to do. Countless tilled fields extended among the tributaries of the great river. Most Senoca families lived off cereals and fruits and depended on the benevolence of the floods from the great river. They were a people of farmers, they lived and died by the grace of the harvests, at the mercy of the weather and the river.
Ikai shook his head. We are the Senoca, the people of the Sea, condemned by the Gods to work the fields eternally. We, who once rode the waves proudly and sailed the oceans pushed by the winds, will never set eyes on our beloved Mother Sea again.
Six armed men arrived at the summit. Ikai took a good look at them. They were young men, strong and with rough faces: fighters. After them came their leader, a middle-aged man, tall, strong, of imposing bearing. His weathered face was marked by a tremendous scar which ran down the right side from temple to chin. His long black hair was braided in the old-fashioned style. His eyes were black as a moonless night and shone intensely. Ikai knew it was with intelligence.
“Hunter Ikai,” he greeted hoarsely.
“Master Hunter Sejof,” Ikai replied respectfully, with a slight bow.
“The Hunters have been summoned,” Sejof said in a solemn voice.
They all went down on one knee, presented their rings with the eagle symbol and looked at their leader. Ikai nodded at Ismes and smiled at Yestas. He knew the group well; he had trained with them for years under their Master’s command. Ismes and Yestas were like brothers to Ikai. Sejof took out a thick crystalline disc and held it in one hand, on which he wore an arcane gauntlet. Both gauntlet and disc were made by the Gods. Ikai stared at the golden pip in the heart of the disc. Sejof placed it over the Ring on his left arm. He ran the artifact over the royal eagle engraving which identified him. The ring flashed, as if replying to the disc. It rose above the Ring, and the Master moved his hand away. The disc remained hovering in the air a hand-span above his arm, then began to gleam with an intense silver light. Ikai had already witnessed that ritual before, but it never ceased to fascinate him. The disc sent out a beam of silver light towards the northeast, then after a moment, stopped shining.
“We’ll camp here. Leave at dawn,” Sejof ordered, pointing in the direction the disc had shown.
“How many fugitives, Master?”
“Half a dozen.”
“They won’t manage to cross.”
“I’m afraid this time is different. I’ve a bad feeling,” Sejof said, putting the disc away.
Ikai looked at him, surprised. No one could cross, no one who was not an Enforcer of the Gods or a Hunter in their service. But he nodded and prepared mentally for a new hunt.
With the first light the Hunters set out. They marched for ten days at a hunting pace until they reached the great forests in the West. They followed the direction indicated by the disc until they found the fugitives’ trail. When they came close to the Boundary they stopped.
Sejof checked the trees around.
“Find the spot where they tried to cross.”
The seven men left at once. It did not take them long to find it. Ismes pointed it out: “It was here, Master.”
They gathered around the spot. Ikai looked at what his fellow hunter was pointing and was speechless. On the ground he could make out a thin gold line, almost translucent, but which became more solid the more he looked at it. It was the Boundary established by the Golden Gods. No man could cross it. A terrible death awaited those who tried to do so without permission from the Gods. Ikai had seen it before; it was certainly atrocious. But what shocked him was that the trail crossed the barrier and continued on the other side.
It’s happened. They’ve crossed. But it can’t be. The Rings of the Gods can’t be broken, they’re made of a material which resists fire and steel. Nobody can find freedom. Nobody can cross and escape. How did they do it?
“By all that’s sacred!” Sejof exclaimed, looking worried. He bent over to look at the prints and shook his head, then straightened up and looked at his men.
“Not a word to anyone, your life is at stake!” he said in a tone which left no room for doubt.
The Hunters nodded.
If this were known… there’d be hope… we could all escape the confinement we’re subjected to. But it would bring death… Ikai thought, his mind troubled. He remembered his sister’s determined face. She would try to cross it without a second thought if she knew there was a possibility. And she would die. He shook his head. Ikai recalled one of his first hunts, when a poor man had amputated his ringed arm, thinking he could cross that way. Ikai had tried to stop him, but he had been too late. The poor wretch crossed. When his body came in contact with the barrier he went up in flames. He died, charred, amid screams of agony.
The Master Hunter took a step toward the discovery, following the trail, and stretched out his arm. The Ring buzzed jarringly, and Sejof’s arm began to tremble violently.
“The Boundary,” he said with a grunt of pain.
The Hunters caught up with him and stretched out their arms. The shaking began at once.
Ikai took a deep breath. He stepped forward with his arm extended so that the Hunter’s badge of his Ring would cross the forbidden fringe, announcing to the Gods that one of their Hunters was going to cross over. The Ring gave off a silver gleam on contact with the barrier and Ikai saw the eagle engraving shine strongly. He had been announced. He passed his whole body across. Spasms of pain overwhelmed him as he crossed the translucent barrier. He fell to the ground amid uncontrolled convulsions, in visceral torment. His mind exploded in pain and he lost consciousness.
When he came to, he did not know where he was or how long it had been. His whole body, his mind, were still undergoing torture as if thousands of hot pins were being stuck in him. But he was alive. The Gods had allowed him to cross. He looked around and saw his fellow hunters trying to recover, just as he was. Sejof was already standing and scanning the forest with his bow at the ready. Ikai prepared his, nocked an arrow and stood beside the Master while he tried to clear his mind. A moment later Ismes, Yestas and the rest of the group were with them, their weapons at the ready.
“Let’s go. The trail goes into the woods, to the north.”
The group of hunters made their way into the forest. The trail was easy to follow, even on that abrupt terrain and among the dense vegetation. Although the Hunters were expert trackers, on this occasion even a blind man could have followed the trail. The more they advanced, the wilder and more primitive the forest and flora around them became. Ikai knew it would be the same with the fauna, and this made him uneasy.
Suddenly Sejof stopped and crouched. They all followed his example. Ikai could smell danger — or was it something else? It was… blood. Sejof made a sign, and they gathered around him in a semicircle. Ikai looked at the ravine in front of them. Sejof pointed two fingers to his eyes and then south. In the deepest part, by a brook, Ikai saw bushes with abundant blood which stained the water red. They watched for a while in silence, waiting tensely, but there did not seem to be anything alive down there. Sejof gestured to Ikai, Ismes and Yestas to follow him, and the four began their descent into the ravine. From their elevated position on the edge the other hunters covered them with their bows in case of any threat.
They reached the bottom of the ravine with some difficulty and went to the place where the blood contaminated the crystal clear brook. They moved carefully, on the alert, following the trail of blood as far as a sharp bend. Ikai looked ahead and was left stunned and speechless. In the deepest part of the ravine, lay half a dozen bodies grotesquely mauled and piled up. Wherever they looked, there was blood and the human remains of some terrible butchery. Not even Sejof could react. The four of them stayed staring at the macabre scene.
“What… w
hat beast could do a thing like this?” Ikai managed to mutter at last.
“It must have been a bloodthirsty pack… of beasts,” Ismes said with a frown.
“Yes, but what kind of beasts?” Yestas asked uneasily.
Sejof shook his head and moved forward warily. He examined the first bodies and came back.
“It’s them,” he said. “Their escape ended here, here ends our hunt. What’s killed them is something that doesn’t concern us. We’re hunters of men, at the service of the Gods. When the prey dies, the hunt is over. We’re going back.”
Ikai felt a chill run down his back as if someone had poured a pitcher of cold water over him. Out here they were not the predator kings. The Gods had erected the Boundary to prevent their slaves from escaping, and for more than a thousand years the predators had reigned and evolved at leisure beyond it, without any contact with humans. This was wild territory, and extremely dangerous.
We’d better get out of here, the sooner the better.
Suddenly, a chilling roar sounded behind, above them. The four turned with bows ready, hearts beating like galloping horses. They heard screams and a tremendous bray. Two of the hunters toppled off the top of the ravine and fell to the ground.
“Damnation! Cover them!” shouted Sejof, and they ran to them.
Ikai looked at his fallen comrades, and his blood froze in his veins. Kilten’s thorax was open from side to side, as if the huge claw of a wild animal had mauled him. He was dead. A bear or a tiger of enormous size, he thought. Moltes was still breathing, but there was a terrible bite on one shoulder and lacerations in his stomach.
“Help…” he moaned, his eyes on Ikai.
Above, they heard more screams and roaring; the fight was still going on. They raised their bows, but they could not see more than shadows above the undergrowth.
“We have no shot!” cried Sejof. “Ismes! Yestas! With me! Ikai, you stay, don’t let him die.”
“Yes, Master!” replied Ikai as he saw them running uphill through the brush.
He bent over, putting his bow aside, and tore off a piece of his tunic to improvise a bandage. His comrade was losing a lot of blood and he had to act quickly.
“Easy, Moltes, I’ll patch you up, you won’t die.” He pressed the wound and bandaged it. “Hold on, pal, hold on,” he encouraged him, trying to hide his anguish.
Suddenly an enormous shadow flew over him, followed by a dull sound and the crushing of branches and brush, Ikai looked up in alarm. As though from a nightmare, a huge beast appeared before him. He saw an enormous body with matted fur covered in dirt and blood. A wild bear head roared defiantly. The beast was huge; standing on its two legs it was more than a head taller than he was himself. Ikai’s heart nearly jumped out of his mouth as he stood up. He took out his sword. The touch of the cold metal pommel awoke the trained warrior inside him, displacing his fear. With his other hand he grasped the dagger he carried at his belt.
A huge claw searched for his neck. His reflexes and Hunting training took over. He threw himself to one side to avoid the claw. The beast roared again and lunged at him. Ikai thrust the sword in deep, feeling for the heart. He received a brutal claw blow in his side. Pain burst out in his mind but he did not budge. He knifed the beast again and again with both weapons, trying to hit some vital organ. A new laceration on his chest made him cringe with pain. But in his mind there was only one idea: he had to keep stabbing or die.
The open jaws of the beast went for his face. The stench of its breath invaded him and he was overwhelmed by fear. He was lost. All of a sudden the beast arced and roared in furious rage. At the top of the gully Ikai saw his comrades shooting at the monster. But the beast tried to claw his neck. Seeing himself lost, Ikai tried to protect himself with his arm. The fangs of the beast bit into it hard, only to meet the Ring on his wrist. Ikai knifed it again, this time in the neck. In the midst of a chilling roar he received a tremendous blow on his head and shoulder. The sword fell from his hand. He fell to his knees and was left helpless. Dizzily he tried to fix his gaze, but everything was blurred and he saw something strange, something that could not be: the eyes of the bear were not those of an animal; they looked human… but it could not be…
The beast brayed.
And darkness took him.
2
Kyra looked up from the pile of firewood and lowered the rudimentary axe her brother Ikai had made for her. She dried the perspiration from her brow and surveyed the fields. She had been working all day on the farm and exhaustion was depleting what little strength she had left. Every day she seemed to have less of it. Luckily night would soon come and she would be able to enjoy a frugal supper, which would not satisfy the hunger she felt, but which at least would be comforting enough.
She sighed and rubbed her stomach. She never ceased to be astounded by her mother’s ability to make soups and stews out of so little. A few vegetables and roots from the garden, and she could prepare a comforting hot dish to fill a grateful stomach. But the scarcity of grain and the lack of meat were taking their toll. Every day they were a little thinner, a little weaker. Until Ikai’s return they would not have coin to get more food and medicine with.
She looked at the fields beyond the north fence, which belonged to their neighbors, the Arken — suffering peasants like themselves. Kyra saw Colem, the patriarch, walk by, and wave at her. His two sons followed him, with his wife a little behind. They worked from sunrise to sunset, trying to feed their starving bodies. They were the living portrait of a society sunk in poverty and suffering. Scarcity and hunger spread like an epidemic among the peasants, already taxed with disproportionate quotas to satisfy the infinite vanity of the pitiless Gods.
“Hi there, Volte!” Kyra said, with a forced smile.
“Greetings, Kyra!” the youngest of the family replied, dull-eyed. He was as thin as an ear of wheat. Kyra shook her head, saddened.
“Damned Gods!” she muttered angrily under her breath. That was the way to keep them all under control: a people always on the verge of starvation, lacking any kind of vigor, incapable of rebellion.
And as if the punitive Gods could read Kyra’s mind, she saw him appear, on the brow of the hill, on the path that led to the village. The hated figure stopped and watched. Immediately he wrote something down in his strange silver book, the way they always did.
The damned Eye-of-the-Gods! The spy of the Golden.
The gaunt, somber being was dressed in the dreaded, unmistakable tunic of silver hemmed with gold, with strange runes that were incomprehensible to men. The rich garment covered him from neck to feet. His arms were bare, showing tanned ochre skin in which dark swollen veins were visible, as if instead of blood, dark ink flowed through them. His head was always covered by a sinister metallic helmet. The back of this was golden, as if it were made of pure, solid gold. The front was formed by two silver triangles, vertical, symmetrical and identical. One covered the left side of the face, the other the right. They were separated by a thin golden strip. Looking at the polished surface was like looking at a mirror that did not reflect any image
A shiver ran through Kyra, and the hair on the back of her neck bristled.
What’s that monster doing here? she wondered. It had been a whole season since she had last seen them, and then she realized it was already the end of winter, the end of a new season, and the damned Eye was coming to collect. But after the long winter there was nothing left, they had nothing.
An angry fire stirred in her belly, and involuntarily she clutched the handle of the axe. She almost went up to him, but then she saw them. Straggling, a few steps behind: The Executors. They were armed with long spears of bright metal. They protected the Eye-of-the-God and administered the law of the Gods without hesitation.
Kyra counted a dozen in close formation. They wore tunics as red as the blood they shed of the people from whom they stripped the fruits of their toil. Their faces were always concealed by a strange helmet, like those of their masters. The back of t
he helmet was red, the front a silver diamond divided into two identical halves, which stood out from the face. But unlike the Eye-of-the-God’s helmet, the division here was horizontal. The two triangles curved and lengthened at their ends, with the upper part covering the forehead and the lower the nose and mouth. A dark strip at eye level divided the two metal pieces.
No one had ever seen the faces hidden beneath those sinister helmets. The bright red of their tunics caught Kyra’s eye, and anger stirred in her. Over their tunic, covering chest and back, they wore a black cuirass, engraved in red with strange symbols which to her were indecipherable. Greaves and gauntlets, also in black, protected their legs and arms. A long red cape hung from their wide shoulders.
It was said that they had the strength of three men and the thirst for blood of a rabid beast. Kyra had heard rumors that they were like bloodhounds: once they scented blood they never stopped. Their skin was also dark ochre, and swollen black veins ran along their powerful muscles. They were hated as much as they were feared. Only a few brave dared speak to them, or even look at them.
After them, as was fitting given his inferior status, came a Proxy. He came forward in his elegant white tunic trimmed in blue and the symbol of the sun engraved on the chest. Several guards accompanied him. Kyra recognized him: it was Ambuk, the village Proxy.
Making way for their master, the Eye-of-the-God, the Executors came up to the Arkens. They immediately threw themselves on the ground in absolute submission, knowing their lives were in grave danger.
Rage inched across Kyra’s chest and then her throat, forcing her to swallow. They had the village sunk in terror. The oppression and suffering they exerted were dreadful; a mere look, a gesture, an unfortunate comment were punished with death. The heartless Eyes-of-the-Gods, in their tireless duty, controlled each and every one of the villages, suffocating an enslaved people by means of the Law of the Gods.
Kyra watched as Colem begged the Eye for mercy.
