“Move along, it’ll only be harder the darker it gets. And don’t come back without one.”
Preta sighs again, and then she strolls to the chicken pen. She whispers to herself, “Strategy, Preta, they smell fear. They sense what you want, be quick, be decisive.”
Preta faces away from the hens to not startle them.
In the corner of her eye, she picks out her target. Don’t let her see you looking. Preta slithers through the fence opening.
The hens cluck and gather in the farthest corner.
Preta’s mark pecks the ground outside the flock. Preta creeps in the opposite direction to trick the hens.
The hens heads all rise and focus on Preta, and they oppose her every move in unison.
“Shoot!”
Preta cups a handful of grain and holds it out to them. She gently sways her hand back and forth, trying to coax the birds to come to her.
The hens don’t fall for her scheme and they cluck and skip in circles not getting any closer to her.
“Come on now, food, stupid hens. Come and get it, come eat.” Preta sneers. “Dang it, no takers. They know. So plan B it is.”
Preta stares straight at the one she wants and tiptoes forward.
The hen clucks with a twitching head. It stands sideways, glaring at Preta with a crazy red eye.
“Now!” Preta lunges into a sprint toward the hen.
The hen hops and skips, avoiding Preta’s plan B.
Preta crashes into the fence and falls to her knees, landing in the mud. “Dang it! Darn hen.” She stands up and stomps her foot with a squish then goes for the hen again at full speed. Her hand grazes the bird’s back, pulling out a few brown feathers. Preta staggers and tumbles to the ground. “Uh—”
She springs off the mud, furious with hands on hips, she focuses on her next plan of attack. She growls, and her face twists into a menacing warrior, aqua-blue light ripples over her eyes.
The hen and Preta square off for the final showdown.
Preta takes five calculated steps forward, matching the hen step for step and side to side. She traps the bird along the fence. “This is it, Preta Penter. Don’t let her escape this time.”
A few feet from the distraught bird, Preta bears down with intense focus.
The hen’s red eye bulges and twitches.
“Now!”
Preta leaps forward, but her feet don’t move. An aqua-blue haze fills her periphery. A single glowing string of light flutters away from Preta’s boots and connects to the hen’s breast.
Rapid pulses flow into her body, building in her chest. “Hmm—it’s weaker than Redly.”
“Who’s Redly?” a squeaky-voiced woman says inside Preta’s head. “What do you want with me?”
The faint throbbing energy makes Preta’s eyes twitch. She contemplates her words carefully, coming back without a hen isn’t an option. “I need your help.”
“What kind of help?” the squeaky hen says. “What’s not an option?”
Preta freezes. “Umm—you heard that?”
The hen’s crazy red eye twitches trying to break the connection. “Liar, release me!”
“No!” the blue light flashes, and it blinds Preta.
All at once, the hen’s energy rushes out of Preta’s body.
Preta drops to her knees, weak and gasping for air. She rubs her burning eyes. “I can’t see. What did I do?” Preta’s hands haphazardly wave about until she feels the wire fence. Hand over hand, she moves along the metal mesh until she finds a post. In silence, with eyes open yet blind, she rapidly blinks for a few minutes until shapes reappear.
Preta scans the pen for the hen and spots it lying dead in the corner. She staggers to the bird and stares at it for a minute. Giving a slow, understanding nod, Preta picks it up by its feet, rips out the feathers, and carries the hen dangling by its neck to the cottage and through the front door.
THE ALLEYS
The next morning, Preta enters the kitchen and sits across the table from Yaz.
Yaz glances up from his porridge, his mouth full of oats, he mumbles, “What’s your plan today, Sis?”
“No plan.”
“Wanna come to the alleys?”
Preta’s eyes widen. “Me? The alleys?”
“Sure, why not?” Yaz says with a shrug. “I won’t be around forever. Who else is gonna take you?”
Preta beams. “When we going?”
“Now. Put on your sturdy boots and pack what you need. Make sure you get the water and food, and I’ll prepare your fighting kit. Meet me out front in ten minutes.”
Yaz stands and tosses his spoon into his bowl then heads out the front door.
Preta’s face freezes with a grin, and she scampers to her room to pack her backpack. “He’s taking me to the alleys.” She hums while packing her things, and her mind fills with excitement. I’ve never been to the alleys. Every time Preta asked her brothers in the past, they just blew her off, not wanting to babysit her while they have their fun. But today she finally gets to go. She still remembers when her father took Deet and Yaz. It’s one of her earliest memories of him. The next year he was gone, killed in the Wheat Revolt. But now it’s her turn, she gets to experience what all the fuss is about. It is said once a boy completes his first day in the alleys he is no longer a boy but a man. And now Preta can graduate to that status as well. She never thought she’d get to go and gave up hope long ago. Today’s her day, and she’s going to breathe and taste and take in every second as if it’s her last.
In the kitchen, Preta prepares the food by wrapping bread and cured meats in a cloth.
Nala steps in front of her while squinting her left eye. “What’s got you all happy and in a hurry?”
“Yaz is taking me to the alleys today.”
Nala’s head flinches. “The alleys? Hmm—”
“What you doing today, Nala?”
“I’m meeting Lurrus in town to prepare for the wedding. There’s a lot of work to be done by Saturday. Don’t suppose you’d rather help us today?”
Preta chuckles and gestures her hands as if balancing a scale. “Let me see—so—alleys or wedding? Hmm—alleys or wedding? Umm—no.”
Nala rolls her eyes. “Suit yourself. A simple no without the theatrics would’ve sufficed. Have fun and look after your brother.”
Preta slings her backpack and grabs three leather water pouches and makes for the back door. “I will, gotta go, Yaz is waiting, see yah later.”
With a bump of Preta’s hip, the door flies open, and she heads to the well with water bags dangling between her legs. She skips with an awkward waddle-hop.
Deet stops chopping wood and watches Preta bumbling along. “Where’s the fire?”
Preta spins around, stumbling backward. “Yaz, alleys, gotta go, Dee.”
Deet laughs as he raises his axe. “Be careful.”
Preta fills the water bags at the well and meets Yaz by the barn.
Yaz stands over fighting gear arranged neatly on the ground in front of him; pack, two bows, and two full quivers of arrows. He trades Preta a bow for two water pouches. “You ready to go?”
Preta smiles. “Yup.”
“Good, let’s go then.”
Preta hums stride for stride next to Yaz.
They exit the Penter property and turn left, heading west on the main road.
Preta hangs on Yaz’s every word as he gives her advice on proper bow technique.
After an hour, Yaz turns onto a small path heading north. “Here it is.”
The winding trail rises on a steady incline along moss-covered sequoia trees with bases the size of two or three carts.
Preta gazes up the red bark and can’t see the tops they rise so high. After a few minutes, her ears pop from the release of pressure as the elevation changes.
In a drainage below, a tranquil water trickle flows over forest debris and smooth rocks.
Ahead, a circular beam of light shines through the dense canopy. The temperature rises as Preta
passes through the beam, then it cools a she reenters the covered forest.
A switchback forms, leading up a small iron-stained mountain. Thick bamboo lines the trail, and butterflies circle the lush yellowish-green leaves. The path transitions into a cracked cobblestone stairway weathered by time.
The stairs end, and the bamboo disappears; massive pine trees extend in linear rows as far as Preta can see. Sparse branchless pines reveal an open forest. Light-green moss, almost florescent, covers the bases of the trees. The ground is free from debris except for a thick blanket of bright orange pine needles.
To Preta’s right and left, multiple thin, vertical rays of light shimmer through each alley.
Faded and torn white-painted straw men are staked to the ground or attached to the sides of trees at varying distances.
Yaz drops his kit. “Here we are. Wait here and rest a minute. I gotta piss.”
Preta plops down on the ground, and she lets out a groan from her aching feet. She wipes the sweat from her brow with her sleeve and sips from a water pouch.
“So what do you think of the alleys?” Yaz says, tying his pant strings.
“Where do we start?” Preta scans the landscape, taking it all in.
Yaz points a few feet away from them. “Right there, by the big pine with the letter X carved in the bark. Though it really depends on what your training purpose is.”
“And what is our purpose?”
Yaz chuckles. “For you? Ha, just stand still and try to hit the closest target. Are you ready?”
“Sure, I guess so.”
Yaz ties a leather guard on his left arm and then he tosses another one to Preta. “Put it on.” Yaz picks up his quiver and bow and counts off twenty paces away from her. He sticks two sets of five arrows in the ground ten paces apart.
Preta finishes tying on the bracer then looks around, lost, wondering what to do next.
Yaz waves at her. “Come on, Sis, over here.”
Preta skips to him and stops with a jump. “Now what do we do?”
Yaz grabs Preta’s shoulders, turning her into the direction he wants her.
The alleys transform. No longer does Preta see an alley; instead, the alleys create a staggered tree pattern with numerous obstacles in front of the straw targets.
“How am I supposed to hit the straw men with all the trees in the way?”
“Think small, focus on the target, not the trees.”
Preta lowers her head, unsure if she can do it. “But…”
Yaz pats Preta on the back. “Don’t worry so much, Sis. Remember, often it’s easier to hit a target in a small space than a target in a big space. It’s all about your frame of mind and focus. Pick a small spot in the center of your target, aim center mass.”
“All right, show me how.”
Yaz raises his bow. “Bow in left hand, arrow in right. Face your body perpendicular to the target with bow to ground. Keep your eye on the target and place the shaft in the notch. Grasp the shaft with two fingers and your thumb, and bring the bow up in a smooth, straight line tight to your body. Draw in a breath with strong posture. At the same time you bring the bow up, draw the string until the base of your right thumb rests on your cheek—and release.”
Yaz’s arrow fires and strikes center mass fifty paces away from them. He rapid fires four more arrows in different directions, all striking targets at varying lengths, all hitting center mass.
Pleased with himself, Yaz grins and nods. “See? Easy, Sis, now you try.”
“Right, small and center mass, got it.” Preta eyes her target, aims, bow up, draw, and release. Arrow misses to the right. “Dang it—again.” Aim, bow up, draw, and release—arrow misses short. She lowers her bow and faces her brother. “Yaz?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“What about muskets?”
“What about them?”
“Do you think it’s better to have a musket or a bow?”
“Depends. I get off ten arrows by the time a novice loads a musket. Though the range and power of a musket is hard to beat for one shot.” He raises his bow in his left hand. “But I’ll take this any day.”
“I see.” Preta raises her bow and faces her target. “I’ll try again.”
Yaz flicks his head down range. “Go for it.”
Preta fires off her remaining arrows, all missing her mark. She holds her hands out toward her brother. “I need more.”
“You shot-em, Sis, so now you go get-em.”
Preta rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She scurries to her target and yanks the arrows out of the ground and trees then returns to her spot.
Preta shoots her arrows and again misses her mark. “Come on.” She peeks over at Yaz.
Yaz dances from tree to tree, pulling arrow after arrow from his quiver. He fires at targets and strikes center mass every time. The quiver empty, Yaz runs at a target and dives to the ground, does a somersault, and pops up, releasing a blade striking the target center mass, then spins, kneels, and throws another dagger with his other hand.
After five times of retrieving arrows, Preta finally hits her first target. And after hours, Preta’s shooting improves to where she hits the target one out of every five shots.
Yaz slaps Preta hard on her butt, pushing her forward. “Not bad, now you’re getting it.”
Preta steps back to regain her balance from the jolt. Happy with her success, she’s unfazed and doesn’t care about her brother’s love tap to her backside. Preta holds out her right arm and waves it like a wet noodle. “My arm feels like it’s about to fall off.”
“Good, that means you’re doing it right. It’s getting late, let’s eat and start back.”
Preta points to bushes next to a mound. “I’m gonna go over there and go.”
“Have at it. I’ll just be here resting.”
At the bushes, she throws down her bow and arrows and goes.
Finished, Preta picks up her gear and eyes Yaz sitting near the bamboo path. Her head twitches as a shadow flickers in and out of sight. “What’s that?”
A large brown shape in the distance forms and darts from tree to tree. Bear!
Preta runs toward her brother, waving her arms.
Yaz, with his back to the bear, is unaware of the approaching danger.
“Bear, bear! Behind you, Yaz, bear!” At thirty paces away, Preta drops all her gear except her bow and one arrow.
Yaz springs off the ground and spins around.
The bear lunges at him with claws exposed.
He bounces to the side, and the bear’s paw grazes Yaz’s shoulder, forcing him to tumble to the ground.
Preta releases an arrow, missing a few feet short of the bear. “Shoot!” She picks up another arrow and runs closer.
The bear goes for Yaz again.
Yaz regains his senses, and the bear’s right paw slashes toward his head. He meets the paw mid-flight, sticking a blade in it with his left hand and parries the bear’s arm away. He somersaults and pops up behind the beast.
Preta aims again—draws, releases, and misses long. “No, no, no.”
She bends down to pick up another arrow and grasps nothing but pine needles and dirt. “Where’s my—” Preta’s face freezes, realizing she only picked up one arrow when she moved forward.
Yaz spins toward the bear with nothing except bare fists. His blade is still stuck in the bear’s paw, and the rest of his weapons are out of reach.
Saliva foams and drips from the bear’s mouth. He growls, viciously shaking his paw, trying to dislodge the blade. The bear rises straight up onto his hindquarters and bares his teeth.
Unable to remove the blade, the bear drops down to the ground onto one paw, leaving the other one curled in close to his chest. The beast shakes his head side to side violently while growling then it power skips toward Yaz.
Helpless, Yaz crouches down onto a knee.
Spit sprays out of the bear’s mouth as it’s within striking distance.
Preta wells up with fear and anger. S
he focuses on the bear’s eyes, and a calmness washes over her. Her feet grounded, she closes her eyes tight, imagining her target. Preta’s eyes snap open.
A glowing aqua-blue arrow shoots away from Preta’s boots.
The light weaves and arcs through the pine trees and strikes the bear center mass in the chest.
The bear freezes in the air mid-skip with both paws off the ground.
Overwhelming energy pulsates into Preta’s small body.
Her body sways, chest heaving from the surging waves. “I don’t know… How long… I can… Hang on.”
“Kill the man, kill, kill, kill,” the bear says inside of Preta’s head.
“Stop attacking!” Preta says.
“Hungry—stuck me—kill the man.”
The energy flowing into Preta’s body is too much for her to handle. “Stop! I-I command—”
“Command nothing—kill!” The bear shakes free from Preta’s connection, and she collapses sideways into a pine.
The bear stumbles forward in a daze searching for Yaz, who is no longer where the bear last saw him. The bear spins around.
Yaz lunges, jamming an arrow into the bear’s eye. He grunts and snarls, pressing the shaft deep into the bear’s skull.
The bear folds backward with a mumbled puff of air, and Yaz rides on top of him all the way to the ground.
Preta pushes off the bark and staggers toward her brother. “Yaz, Yaz. Are you all right?”
Her brother, still hugging the bear, he rolls onto his back and then pops off the fur and lands on his feet. Yaz thrusts his arms toward the sky. “And the legend of Yaz the great ascends ever higher.” He laughs, yanking the arrow from the bear’s skull. Yaz twists the blade out of the paw. “I’ll be needing that back, thank you very much.”
Preta hunches over, out of breath, resting her hands on her knees.
“Holy crap, what the hell, Preta Penter?” Yaz says with bulging eyes.
Preta shrugs. “I just connected with the bear and tried to stop it.”
“You connected to the bear? Really, you connected to the bear? No crap you connected to the bear. What the hell was that light?”
“It’s been happening to me since the light struck me.”
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 7
