The Source

by Dale Broda, Jr

from but…”

  When she looked away he reached out to her. She jerked at that. He withdrew his hand, fighting down the urge to touch her just for the mean spirit of it. “‘But’?” He prompted.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You’re not that old.” Her face puckered at him. He could feel the daggers cast. Ouch. Sore spot?

  “You are a fool aren’t you?” She tossed her hair. “Fine. I’ll talk as we walk. Deal?”

  He walked away. “So be it.”

  7

  The story she told was interesting… at least to one that wasn’t bored easily. She had lead a normal life as a child, blah blah, normal normal.

  Boring yet just interesting enough to take your mind off the seemingly endless grass.

  Then one day when she was playing with friends, she had fallen into a deep river.

  A clumsy thing that usually left one wet. Unless it was deep and you did not know how to swim. She did not. It should have been her end. But this was much more for her. This is where it began. Both for her, and a listener.

  Instead of drowning, she somehow walked the bottom of the river and came out on the far side. Her parents were naturally awed and frightened by this so they took her to the nearest church.

  Naturally. Phhs.

  The priest had little to say until he tried to test the girl. What happened next was hard to believe.

  Is she lying to me?

  He stared at her as she talked. Her strawberry hair was so unnaturally bright that he didn’t doubt her word on how it came to be that color. Still… “What did it say?”

  She sighed, her strange eyes gazing blankly out into the seemingly unchanged plains. “You do know we are not moving, yes?” She fingered her little satchel absently. “Or is this part of the maze you speak of?”

  “I told–”

  They both froze at the shriek.

  “Gods be damned… they really want you dead tart.”

  “B–but how…how did they–”

  He flipped his bow into his hand, dragging her to the ground with his free hand. He frowned as he sifted through the arrows.

  All dead. He cursed loudly.

  “Did they see us?” She was looking in the direction of the sound. He was looking around them, his eyes pinpointing movement through the grass.

  “That would be a yes, tart.” He rattled his arrows. “And these are useless now.” He dropped the little bow back into its case. “Gods be damned…” He took out his daggers. This was going to get touchy.

  “It’s not a full hecter.” Her voice sounded strange. He turned to stare at her, just as her hair lifted around her shoulders. “Only two in the air and maybe…four…on foot.” Why were they so few?

  She turned her eyes out to something he could not see. She pointed, a small tumbling ball of red formed there. “Follow this.” It shot out over the grass, shearing the tops away from the grass that did not drop out of its way.

  Without a thought, he ran after it. Two daggers at the ready as he sprinted low and fast as possible.

  Wait. Did I just obey that little turd?

  He had. Argh! Before he could ponder it further, he was on a blue black figure. The hunter was already on fire. Apparently, he had not been fast enough in activating his shield bracelet.

  That makes it much easier.

  Smiling, he drove his daggers home. One to the throat, the other into the hunter’s heart. The man fell dead without a sound.

  He wasn’t even crying out when he had been on fire. Well, they weren’t the best of the best for nothing.

  “Behind you!” The voice shouted.

  He dropped and rolled away as the burning shaft cut the air where his head had been.

  Gods! It had been so fast he wasn’t sure what it was till the hunter followed it up with a lighting fast downward hack.

  A spear.

  He caught it in an x he made with his daggers. Sparks flashed into his face, he didn’t cry out or blink. That could be deadly in this fight and he was no green chicken to pain or battle. Kicking at the hunter’s feet, he caught the man on the ankle, hearing a very satisfying crunch.

  Showing only a hint of pain, the hunter spun away, letting the glowing spear light the grass on fire as it cut.

  “Ahru-” he leapt into the air before the man could finish his curse. The spear cut through the grass, leaving a strange blue flame that leapt after him. As he came down into it, he grabbed the dead hunter, flipped him over, using his body to block the tracking flames.

  It worked, though not as well as it could have since it allowed the hunter to get a jump on him and spear his foot.

  Snarling–

  …same damned leg!!

  –he kicked his foot free, snatched the bracelet from the corpse and hurtled into the air. No point trying to stay hidden when different colored fires were flaring around you.

  Jamming the bracelet into his mouth as he lifted into the air, he activated it with his tongue as he fell towards the moving hunter.

  I’m not going to land on him.

  With that thought, he tossed a dagger and drew another. The hunter was fast, catching the dagger in his arm instead of his chest.

  As the hunter turned, trying to get as much momentum into his swing as possible, he exploded in a brilliant red plume.

  Even shielded, I feel that!

  He looked for the tart. He could see shooting balls and bars of red flaring up in the air as they hit the winged hunters. They were well shielded.

  Grabbing what he could off the dead hunter, he ran for her.

  Green…green…green…ah! He popped the stopper and drank the contents as he ran. The world grew bright around him, his leg, for now, was painless. Sprinting, he lifted the spear he had nabbed, testing its weight.

  He felt a hunter swipe at him as he ran. “Hey!” The girl looked at him, her eyes brilliant orbs of light. Taking her attention away from the mounted hunter dropping towards her, she tossed a tumbling, fluid like bubble at his attacker while he lifted the spear and flung it with all his might.

  It was odd when things like this worked.

  He felt the great blast of heat behind him as the hunter suddenly stopped and used his shield to no effect while at nearly the same time, the spear caught the winged mount just hard enough to spin it around and destroy its dive.

  The grass and dirt exploded where it hit.

  Turning, the girl tossed…something… and there was a rather thunderous sound and brilliant white.

  Was that one of the vials? He raced passed her, leaping into the air as the last hunter dived. Drawing different, longer daggers, he sneered into that glowering face.

  I’m not changing my course so– wha..!

  A force of some kind rocketed him towards the startled hunter. They collided in a bundle of swinging weapons, curses and beastly snarls.

  Bugger me!

  Locking the hunter’s weapon arm was only good for that one arm, he couldn’t do much about the small, wicked dagger that was coming towards him.

  Both of us then! His dagger was already sinking into the hunter’s chest when he felt the hunter’s dagger dig into his shoulder. As they fell, the world spinning, the hunter struggling, the mount desperately flapping its wings, red encased them.

  Little tart just killed m–

  …?

  He frowned as the red flowed over him. Literally. It didn’t just flow, it seemed to deliberately run over him, under his shield, seemingly taking stock of him, lightly brushing his shoulder, lingering over his leg, then driving home into the dying hunter and twisting mount.

  He hit the grass, a curious frown still frozen on his face as small flakes of red floated slowly down.

  It’s like snow. Bloody snow…

  8

  His eyes barely blinked away the light red powder. He had simply lain there, feeling the after effects of…well… everything.

  I’m still alive?

  The pain said yes.

  “Of course you are.”
Mayla laughed at him. “Look at you, taken down so easily. Are you getting old?”

  “Yes.” Damn, it hurt to talk. “I am.”

  “Really?” The tart asked.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you were going to be ok.”

  “She did.” Mayla said.

  “I’m afraid so.” He closed his eyes, not able to keep the sour note from his voice. He tried to roll but found himself wrapped in the grass.

  Fantastic.

  “Why is that a bad thing? You sound like you’d rather be dead!”

  He opened an eye. Why would that bug her? The tart was stomping around him with a spear, cutting at the grass. Her eyes were puffy, tired. Her hair was a bit less shiny. Hmm. “Mmm.” Was all he could manage.

  What is there for me here? Tart…. If you only knew.

  He lay there, feeling the strangeness. His foot was hurt. Bad. The spear had cut all the way through and the way he had kicked it off, it had to have taken out some tendons.

  Or bones.

  And his leg, never healing pain that it was, was throbbing like mad. Each heartbeat. He felt them in that cursed leg.

  And my shoulder. Guess I’m lucky the dagger wasn’t poisoned.

  “Why wasn’t it poisoned?” He wondered.

  “They must have been a different kind of hunter. Too few. Too fast.” The tart made sense. “That had to be some kind of…” she frowned searching for the word. “Fast attack? Strike force?” She said.

  “What’s that?” He asked.

  “It’s a force that…well… they come fast on the heels of a proper hecter if it has failed.”

  Great. So, how many of these will be coming?

  “I’ve not heard of this. Why do you know so much about them?” He knew of the Antia hunters. Most did. Though they were thought a myth by many. You never expected to actually run into them.

  As a life long warrior and bounty hunter himself,