by G. C. Julien
“I don’t see you catching anything, Flander.” Fisher laughed then swung down hard and tore a silver, yellow-backed fish from the water. “My favorite.”
I pointed the sharp end of my spear toward the water. I’d been about to jab downward when I heard it—a high-pitched whistling that skimmed the lobe of my ear. I quickly glanced back to find a broken arrow lying at the base of a massive boulder.
“Retreat!” Trim shouted.
Another arrow came flying out from distant trees, followed by another and another. Trim ran in the opposite direction toward the jungle, lunging over fallen tree trunks and fish carcasses. I kept up, fueled by adrenaline and survival instincts.
Everything was happening so fast, I didn’t know what was going on.
We ran into the thick of the jungle, plowing our way through heavy verdure.
Trim led us south, away from the shoreline and away from our attackers.
“Trim!” Fisher hissed.
Trim turned around.
“I think we lost them.” Fisher bent over, hands on her knees, fighting to catch her breath.
There was a moment of silence, before Trim’s eyes met all of ours. “Stay on guard.” Her eyes quickly shot down at my neck. “They got you.”
Confused, I reached up, and with the tips of my fingers, grazed over the skin of my neck, only to feel the lumpiness of the cut I’d been given the night before—the one I’d forgotten to clean.
“Oh,” I said. “Barely.”
I wasn’t prepared to tell any of them the truth. I couldn’t trust anyone.
“Anyone else?” Trim asked.
“We’re okay,” Fisher said. Everyone nodded in unison.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Fucking Northers,” Rocket growled. She pressed the skin of her thumb into the point of her spear, and I could tell all she wanted to do was kill someone.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“The arrows. That’s their specialty. And, well, they came from the North,” Rocket said.
“Did anyone see anything?” Trim asked.
Everyone shook their heads.
“Didn’t ’ave time,” Flander said, scratching the top of her gray-haired head.
“Guys…”
“The fuck are they doing on the Western shoreline?” Fisher asked.
“Guys…”
Trim sighed and shook her head. “I don’t fucking know. This is the second attack in broad daylight.”
“Yeah, and they’re trying to start a full-blown war. They won’t stop until they kill us all.” Fisher clenched both fists and turned in circles like a shark in water.
“Can’t we go after them?” I asked even though violence was the last thing I wanted. “I mean… hit them before they hit us again.”
“Guys…”
“Murk won’t allow it,” Trim said. “She doesn’t want war, and she can’t risk losing us or any of her people.”
“We’re already at war!” Rocket said.
“Guys!”
In unison, everyone turned toward Biggie, who’d been attempting to capture our attention. “Stop talking.” Her eyes were as round as golf balls, and her lips were curved downward as if she’d seen a ghost.
And in that moment, it was as if our surroundings suddenly came into focus—as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a gruesome reality. There were strings of teeth dangling from tree branches all around us, some of which were large canines, but most of which were flat and obviously human.
There were fragmented pieces of skull and bone scattered across the earth beneath our feet, around which tall wooden torches were stabbed into the ground. The candles had melted entirely, and their leftover wax formed crooked, drooping lips.
There was something eerie about this place; it was as if life itself did not exist. For a moment, all sound from the jungle’s wildlife faded, and the only thing I could hear was the shallow breathing of everyone around me.
“What is that?” Biggie moved toward the center, her eyes glued to the ground.
Beneath our feet was a circular drawing carved in mud, part of which had been smudged due to our footprints. It was a perfect circle with three gashes drawn evenly across its center. But what caught my attention was not the shape or its location, but rather, its color. It was stained in a deep red, which almost resembled black earth.
Trim’s knuckles whitened around her fishing spear. “We’re on Ogre territory.” I noticed Biggie’s face contort and her nostrils flare.
“Do you smell that?” she asked.
I inhaled a deep breath through my nostrils, although I suddenly wished I hadn’t. I couldn’t understand how I’d failed to notice such a foul stench. It was like nothing I’d ever smelled before, and the more I breathed, the more nauseous I became. It smelled of decay, something far worse than sour milk, and moldy cheese combined.
A drop of red suddenly fell from above and onto Biggie’s shoulder. She slowly tilted her head back, and I followed her eyes.
I wished I hadn’t.
What I saw was beyond anything I’d ever imagined to find in the jungle. It was a naked female body tied by the ankles, dangling upside down from a massive branch overhead. Her throat had been slit straight across, and there were symbols carved into her chest and shoulders. Her skin was completely blanched and her face and neck swollen to the point of being unrecognizable. But her lifeless, dandelion eyes remained wide open.
I knew exactly who we were looking at—Sunny.
CHAPTER 8
“We continue to train our people.” Murk lit the tip of a green cigar and leaned back in her chair.
Trim clenched both fists and stepped forward. “Did you not hear anything I just told you? They’ll attack us again. We need to make a move.”
“I did hear you, and my decision remains,” Murk said.
I couldn’t understand how she was being so calm about our attack and about our being ambushed and forced to retreat into enemy territory. I also couldn’t understand how we’d manage to survive Ogre territory without an encounter.
Fisher stepped forward and knelt on one knee. “With all due respect, Chief, if we do nothing, we’re sitting ducks just waiting to die.”
Murk exhaled a cloud of white smoke, ashed her cigar onto the stone floor, then eyed us carefully. “You all know how this works. You Hunters are the only ones with enough experience to take on an attack against the Northers. If we lose our Hunters, we lose our food supply, and we destroy ourselves from the inside out.”
“Our food supply is already being cut,” Trim said. “We’re already going to destroy ourselves from the inside out if we keep being intercepted during our hunts.”
“Is this the first attack during a hunt?” Murk asked.
Trim nodded.
“Then we can’t assume they’ll attack at every hunt. Stay away from the Western shoreline until further notice. There’s fish in some of the fresh water around here.”
No one countered her argument, and all that could be heard was the waterfall’s heavy drop at the entrance of the cavern.
Murk slowly stood and met Trim’s side. “How many Battle Women do we have?”
Trim stiffened up with both hands on either side of her body. “Twenty, at most.”
Murk scratched her chin. “And how many Archers?”
“Two. Three, if you include Brone,” Trim said.
“I want six Archers at all times on our territory,” Murk ordered.
“And where do you propose we find these Archers?” Trim asked.
“I’ll let you handle that,” Murk said. “No need for another Assessment. It’ll only worry the women.” Trim responded with a quick nod.
“From now on,” Murk announced, her voice suddenly loudening, “no hunt is to be executed without proper caution, and no hunt is to be mentioned to anyone other than myself.” She crossed both arms over her chest and parted her legs at shoulder’s width. “If we’re strategic about this, we’ll never have to attack t
he Northers on their turf. Let them come to us… We’ll be ready for them.”
“And when they attack?” Trim asked.
Murk formed a slow-crushing fist below her chin. “Destroy them.”
* * *
“How many Northers you think they got?” Biggie asked, rushing to Trim’s side.
Trim walked briskly away from the waterfall with dozens of eyes following her. It was apparent trouble was lurking by the way Trim moved, and the women of the Village could sense it.
“I don’t know...” she said. Rainer took half our village when she left, and who knows how many drops she’s taken from us.”
“So equal or greater than our population,” Fisher said matter-of-factly.
Trim didn’t respond.
“Yeah,” Flander added, “but what you’re all forgettin’ is that Rainer don’t do civilization. She never believed in it. Which means all of ’er people are trained in battle. That’s what she recruits ’em for.”
Rocket hopped sideways, keeping up with Trim’s pace. “This would be so much easier if we could burn their fucking homes to the ground.”
“Agreed,” Biggie said.
“Enough,” Trim said. “You’re all dismissed.” Everyone stopped following her.
“Give ’er time,” Flander said. “She needs ’er space.”
Fisher’s eyebrows came together as she watched her leader exit the Working Grounds. “The last thing any of us needs right now is fucking space. We need to stick together.”
“Yeah, well, that ship’s sailed,” Biggie said. She used her forearm to wipe sweat away from her chin then turned around and made her way toward the water.
“I’m with Biggie,” Rocket said. “Need me some water time.”
Fisher released a sigh—a growl, almost—and walked in the opposite direction. I stood awkwardly by Flander’s side, pondering whether or not to also walk away.
“Looks like ya got the day off, kid.” Flander stretched her back, cracked her fingers, then said, “I’m goin’ to take a nap.”
I suddenly caught Savia’s eyes—the woman who’d been supposed to train me as Needle Woman. She was sitting underneath the shadow of a tree with a dry piece of leather in one hand and carved wood in the other. A pile of arrows lay beside her, and I could tell by the solemn look in her eyes that she knew exactly what was coming. I tried to smile, but my lips didn’t move. So instead, I left the Working Grounds and made my way toward the Village.
I’d been about to enter my tent, when I heard Ellie’s voice, “Hey, right on time.”
I glanced back.
“I’m doing my rounds,” she said. “Here.” She offered a closed fist, so I placed an open palm underneath it and caught five pearls.
“Payday,” she said.
“Oh, um… thanks,” I said.
She stared at me for a moment, her almond eyes narrowing. “You okay? Looks like you’ve had a long day.”
A long day was an understatement. I’d nearly been killed out on the Western shoreline, and although grateful that I’d survived the attack, there was a part of me that wished the Norther who’d fired the arrow hadn’t missed. I couldn’t get Sunny’s swollen, lifeless face out of my mind or the way she’d just dangled above us, poisoning the air with the rancid smell of decay. How was anyone supposed to live with such a memory? The image of Sunny being dragged away by a masked Ogre still haunted me, and now, I’d have a new memory to accompany it.
I felt queasy.
“Brone?”
I shook my head and forced a smile. “I’m okay.”
“Come here,” she said, pulling me in close.
I stiffened, feeling entirely ill-prepared for affection.
“Relax,” she said. “You looked like you needed a hug.”
Although uncomfortable, I enjoyed the sensation of her warm body against mine. It soothed me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been touched, with the exclusion of Rocket, Biggie, or Flander slapping me across the shoulder or on the back.
She slowly pulled away and smiled, her plush pink lips curving on either side. “Better?” I nodded.
“Now use those pearls wisely,” she said.
I opened my hand and stared down at the silky, multicolored pearls, suddenly remembering that only two of these actually belonged to me. I remembered the yellow serpentine mask hovering inches away from my face, and the last thing I wanted was to see that mask again. I’d do as instructed and drop three pearls near the Cliff.
Ellie reached up and stroked my cheek. “You’ll be all right.”
I didn’t understand how she saw right through me, being that I’d always been the type to hide my emotions from the outside world, but she did. And I wished this were true—that everything would be all right. I wished that I could rewind my sentence and steer clear of Trim and her crew. I didn’t want to be an Archer. I wasn’t prepared to go to war. I wasn’t prepared for any of this.
Maybe—just maybe—this inevitable war could be delayed just long enough for me to finish out my sentence. Attacks were unavoidable, but it wasn’t unrealistic of me to hope for long gaps in between each attack. I didn’t want to be a part of the merciless bloodshed. I just wanted to go home.
“Ellie?” I asked.
Her eyes lit up, and she waited in silence.
“How long do you have left to serve?”
I suddenly felt as though I’d offended her. The happy-go-lucky way about her faded, and what remained was unease and masked depression.
“Why’re you asking me that?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I just… I’m just wondering… How do you know when your time is up? I mean, do you count the days? Does the government keep track of it? Where do you get picked up? When will I know when my sentence is up?”
And she just stared at me as would a child being explained the actual meaning of death for the first time. She parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out. I’d been about to ask her to answer me, but something told me I already knew the answer.
I felt a sickening nausea overwhelm me. No one was coming back for me—not in three years, not ever.
Visit www.gcjulien.com for Part 3 and more.
