by D. L. Boyles
She was quicker than he had guessed and it surprised him—almost to the point of joy—when she reached the woods before he picked up her trail once more. He lifted his face into the air and inhaled then opened his mouth and allowed the sensitive buds on his tongue to help him determine her route. It was faint, but he picked up her scent easily and increased his own pace. Perhaps he had misjudged this one, but he could not lose, could not let her escape. Too much depended on this hunt. Too many he loved depended on it.
It was dark when her scent turned into a warmth that indicated she was close. Nearby. Somewhere. The Hunter pushed the hood of his cloak back slightly to allow himself to hear more clearly. He picked up the faint sound of…crying? Moving forward, he replaced his hood, blocking out the cold air and the icy rain that had begun. His feet sank into the mud of the forest floor. The rain echoed off of the thick canopy above. He imagined that beyond the shelter of these trees, the wind and rain were much less forgiving. The little creature was lucky she made it to their shelter beyond the meadow before the storm began. Or maybe not so lucky.
The warmer and stronger her scent became, the more he realized that he could hear the faintest sound of a voice. Silently, he crept through the wood, his cloak billowing slightly behind him as he moved like a shadow over the ancient remains of trees long dead and covered with slippery moss. He nearly lost his footing more than once as he made his way.
Then, he spotted her. His prey. She was alone, knees drawn up beneath her chin. Despite her trembling—from cold and fear—her eyes were alert and keen. Both rain and tears streaked her delicate features and in one hand, she gripped a small blade.
“Do not come any closer.”
The authority in her voice startled him, making him pause. A tugging emotion filled him; one he did not recognize. She was no threat to him. Not in the least, but she seemed not to care. Or maybe she was just too foolish to realize who was hunting her. He was The Summer Hunter. Everyone feared him; large and small. He hesitated for only a moment, but the girl used that time to rise to her full height—a height that was not much higher than his waist.
“I will not allow you to kill me. Not without a fight.” The little creature flicked her wrist slightly, changing her grasp on the little blade. She clearly knew something about wielding the weapon she held in her hand. The Hunter’s mouth twitched, almost, but not quite a smile. The girl couldn’t see it beneath his hood, but he was certain there was admiration in his eyes as he beheld the trembling, gangly thing before him. A spark of unfamiliar emotion flooded him again, but he ignored it.
“And what will you do, little rabbit, with that blade of yours?”
“I cannot say, for if I do, you will know what to expect or, at the least, know what not to.”
Smart. He suppressed a chuckle—barely. Pushing back his cloak, he allowed the short sword at his right hip to glint in the faint moonlight of the forest. He had its twin at his other hip and many more blades tucked in various places upon his person, but he assumed only one would be sufficient in frightening her. “You are a brave little rabbit. As you can see, I am much larger than you, as is my blade.”
“That may be, sir, but I am not without my wits.”
This time he did chuckle. “Nor your words, it seems. You’ve much to say for someone who has been caught.” Again, a pang of emotion struck his heart and warmed his chest; it was akin to a kindred spirit. Had he not been sent to kill her, he might have liked her immensely.
“And had I not stopped in this spot, you would still be chasing me,” she said. “Do you not wonder, then, good sir, why I’ve chosen this place to wait for you?”
Cunning and well-mannered, too? He grinned wildly at her, impressed with not only her bravery but her words. No one had ever called him ‘good’ before. Well, no one other than his mother and perhaps, once, his sister. And no one had ever challenged him this way; plenty of adults had cowered where this young girl stood tall. It was a pity. There would be even less gratification in this than he expected.
“Wait for me?” He gestured to her with his gloved hand. “I can clearly see that you are exhausted.” He sniffed the air, just to be sure. He smelled no one else but her. “And alone.” He took a cautious step forward. “A little rabbit. Caught alone in the dark. And crying.”
His final words caused her to narrow her eyes at him. “I’m not crying for myself but for my family.” She crouched slightly as though getting ready to pounce. “For, while I am free, they are already your prisoners.”
“You are far from free, little rabbit. I’ve already caught you.”
The brave little creature motioned with her empty hand at the space between them. “You’re very distant for someone who claims to have caught me. Perhaps you ought to come closer before making such a claim.”
Closer? The Hunter paused, tilting his head to the side in consideration. She had stopped. The rabbit looked tired and weary, but despite his earlier statement, she did not look exhausted enough to have stopped because of it. Had she lain a trap? Was she baiting him to get him to move forward? There were no marks on the ground to indicate that she’d had time to lay a snare of any sort, no time to dig a pit. There was no evidence of the ground having been disturbed by anything other than the trickle of rain.
“Will you run, little rabbit, as soon as I step closer? It is dark and you are lost.”
“I’ll not go back. I’ll not allow you to take me as well.”
He clicked his tongue. “No, I imagine not. No worries, little rabbit, I’ve no intention of taking you back.”
A realization hit her. He could see it in her eyes. In that moment, he knew what she had discovered. While she assumed the rest of her family may be alive—for now—that was not meant to be her fate. The Hunter expected her to make a foolish mistake, to rage at him in her fury, to launch herself stupidly at him. She did no such thing, however, and her steely glare made something inside him tremble. No, this was no typical hunt, and she was no typical prey. He wished their meeting would have been different. There was no doubt that she’d make an impressive female someday—maybe even a warrior.
They stood there, staring at one another, the rain gently pitter-pattering against his hood and noticeably streaming down the young girl, plastering what was likely beautiful black hair to her face and shoulders. Neither moved, not even a fraction, for such a long moment that he wondered if she was even still breathing. Tired of waiting any longer, he reached for the short sword he’d shown to her and in an instant, much to his surprise, her hand darted out and the little blade she’d been gripping onto so tightly lodged into his hand. It hurt and stung, but he reached down and dislodged it easily.
“That was foolish,” he spat, barely able to contain the rage quickly growing to match his admiration for the little creature. “You’ve not injured me beyond my capability to bear.” He held up her blade, splattered with his blood. “And now I have your only weapon.”
“But not my wits,” she countered then took off like a flash. The Hunter moved to give chase but as he did, something came crashing from the shadows of the forest.
“A blood bear,” he groaned, watching as it hurtled in his direction. The beast lumbered towards him, its great maw wide and imposing, letting out a ferocious roar. The Hunter barely had time to brace for the impact before it knocked him back at least five feet and swiped at him with an enormous paw.
Blood bears were attracted to the fresh scent of blood. They were rare but feared amongst all those who traversed the Northern Wood. How the little rabbit had known the bear was nearby, The Hunter could not guess; he’d not picked up its scent. It was nothing more than a delay to him, though, and his twin swords flew in the bear’s direction.
Stepping forward to engage the bear, something yanked him backward. The Hunter whirled around only to find that his prey had caught hold of his cloak and was currently pulling it towards her with a ferocity he hadn’t expected. His distraction allowed the bear’s paw to swipe his side. Sharp claws t
ore across his hip and thigh. He let out a curse, turning at once to engage the more immediate threat—the bear.
Its sharp fangs dripped with saliva as it reared up, preparing to swipe at him once more. The Hunter plunged a sword into its hind quarter, but that served only to ignite the beast’s fury. Taking several steps away, he hurried to where the girl had managed to hold onto the end of his cloak. He shoved her—hard—and succeeded in freeing himself. Turning towards the charging bear, he ducked, only to discover that the little rabbit had regained her blade and sunk it into his thigh. He found himself now fighting two enemies at once…the bear and the rabbit. The irony was not lost on him in the least as he lifted his swords once more to fend off the bear’s attack. And, once more, the girl stabbed him with her blade, this time, slicing it across the back of his knee. He buckled beneath the injury, barely able to withstand his own weight yet still managed to slice a chunk of blood bear from the furious creature that was now assaulting him with a growing fury. Claws assaulted him as did the girl; no sooner would he fend off the bear’s strikes than he would discover that the girl was stabbing him once more, igniting the bear’s desire for blood into a near uncontrollable frenzy.
The bear knocked him down. His leg was barely able to support his fighting stance, so The Hunter rolled away, only narrowly escaping the ferocious claws and deadly swipes of the blood bear. His saving grace emerged in the form of a well-disguised snare. One that was clearly meant to capture him but had instead managed to twist around the bear’s hind leg. The little rabbit had been baiting him. What was meant for his demise now served as his savior. The Hunter took advantage of the bear’s distraction and with a fatal blow, severed the bear’s head from its neck.
Chest heaving and body battered, he looked up, expecting to find that the girl had taken off running. Instead, he found her standing there, now soaked in blood—his—and rain, staring at him curiously.
“No!” The girl stared disbelievingly at the dead bear. She looked sadly at its unmoving body then quickly turned a steely glare at him. “I’ve never known anyone to do that before.”
“Kill a blood bear?”
She shook her head. “Not with such a small sword.” The girl stepped towards him, shoving her blade into her boot. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“Do you not even know the name of your quarry, Hunter?”
He knew what she looked like at least. And who had hired him to kill her. That didn’t exactly tell him who she was. Or why a girl who appeared to be no more than eight years old had been able to deter him so easily.
“That would require me to know too much about my…employer. The less I know, the better.”
“So, you were hired to kill a young girl and do not even know who she is or why you’ve been hired?”
He knew enough. He knew the capabilities of who had hired him. And, while even she did not know who the true Hunter was, she knew how to cause him pain and to take from him who mattered, even if she didn’t know why.
The Hunter tried to step forward, but he found that his leg was not as willing as he’d have liked. His prey pulled a satchel from her pocket. It was small, nothing more than a piece of leaf tied neatly with a piece of tall grass, likely from the meadow.
“You will need that,” she told him as the mud began to swallow it from the place where she’d tossed it.
“Why? What is it?”
“The antidote to the poison I put on my blade.”
He looked from the small leaf back up to the girl. “Well played, little rabbit, but I am immune to human poisons.”
“That may be so, but you are not immune to the thorns of the briar rose.”
That statement caused his heart to race wildly. He looked down at his leg, twisted and sprawled awkwardly. Blood gushed, but he had dismissed the severity of the wound, believing the rain to have over exaggerated his injuries.
“I know what you are. There was not enough on the blade to be lethal, but you will get sick. I suggest you take the time to tend to your wounds, not to follow me. You will only have the time to do one, not both. It is your choice, Hunter. Your life or mine.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Hard and loud. Never had he been bested by any of his prey; especially not by a young girl who shivered from the cold. “Well done, little rabbit, well done!” He’d have applauded her if he hadn’t been suddenly and violently ill. Leaning over, he heaved up his insides before crawling on his hands and knees through his own vomit and blood, sinking into the mud as he went directly towards the little packet the girl had tossed down for him. She was right. He’d need it. While the thorns of the briar rose were prickly and deadly, the petals would renew him. It would take some time to heal, but he’d eventually be well enough to pursue her again. Though, he knew—as well as she did, apparently—that in the time he’d need to heal, she’d be able to disappear, her scent washed away by the rain, and be long gone before he could pick up her trail again.
Opening the leafy packet, he pulled out a smooshed rose. It was made up of seven delicate pink petals and a bright yellow center with its pistil still bulging with sweet liquid. The Hunter gently dislodged the pistil and shoved it into his mouth with a shaking hand. Then, cautiously, he peeled away one petal at a time, searching his body for the wounds the girl had inflicted with her blade. He shoved petals into each and into the long gash at the back of his knee, he pressed in two. The petals burned and stung, but he did not relent.
Looking up, he realized that the girl was gone. “Well done, little rabbit,” he said again to no one in particular. He fell back against the corpse of the blood bear, determined to use it for what warmth he could manage. The Northern Wood’s temperatures dropped dangerously low in the night, so he’d need as much warmth as he could get, even if it came from this dead creature. In the morning, if he were still alive, he’d have to make his way back to the briar patch to obtain more of the rose petals. She’d given him just enough to sustain him, not fully heal him. He wondered if she realized what she’d done. The Hunter allowed himself a shaky laugh, remembering the brave little rabbit who’d stood up to a wolf. For as long as he lived, he would never forget her, but he vowed at that moment that he would not pursue her again. She could have left him to die, but she’d taken pity on him, had given him a cure for the poison. “Your life or mine,” he repeated. “Perhaps the world needs more like you,” he sighed. They’d both live, then; there was no other choice, for something deep within his heart would prevent him from harming her.
He leaned back, shivering but unable to haul himself up out of the mud more than to push further up onto the bear’s carcass. His eyes closed, not even capable at this point to worry whether or not something else lurked in these woods that might kill him.
***
In the morning, he limped out of the forest and back through the meadow, greeted by nothing more than the buzzing of insects. At the briar patch, he devoured the rose petals, sucking on the sweetness of their nectar as he pressed more petals into his wounds. They would be absorbed by his body as it healed. Typically, his wounds would have already healed, given his nature, but the briar rose was as deadly as it was beautiful to someone like him.
“Smart little rabbit,” he mused as he tended to himself. As he moved along the briar patch, he heard a squealing sound. A few yards away, he discovered a young boar, caught in the tangle of briars, struggling to get free.
“Sorry, good sir,” he said, mocking the girl’s words she’d spoken to him, “but I am afraid you will not be escaping today.”
And though it should have caused him pain to kill the poor creature who was victim merely to circumstance, The Hunter killed the pig and carved out his heart. It was what he needed in order to prove his success—a heart. It was of the right size and the queen would not know the difference.
For the first time, The Hunter had met his match, and he could not so easily ignore such a thing. His prey had outsmarted him in more ways than one. He admired her. “Brave
little rabbit,” he mused, “I hope that you will run far away. If not, we will both find more trouble than either of us can afford.”
Then, with the heart wrapped in the leather satchel he’d brought along for this very reason, he returned to the cottage where the queen’s maid promised to meet him. He’d wait for her arrival, give her the heart, and return to his home, knowing that somewhere in the world a brave little creature existed, and wondered if he’d ever recognize her if he saw her again.
Chapter Three
A Party and a Plan
“Audora, I wish you would hold still. It is very difficult to pin this dress correctly when you are fidgeting so.”
“I’m sorry, Merriweather, but I am too anxious not to fidget. I want to be outside, not trapped indoors being fitted for a gown. You know how much I despise wearing such things.”
Merriweather frowned at her, clicking her tongue in annoyance. Audora adamantly disliked new dresses and even more adamantly disliked parties. Her mother even more fervently insisted upon both occurring at regular intervals.
“Well, it is not as though this party is just a daily affair. It is for you. Your mother only wants what is best for you.”
She sighed heavily. It wasn’t a daily affair but at least a weekly one; however, she understood her mother’s intentions. “I know, Merriweather, I know.” She looked down at the older woman and smiled. “As do you. And I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. More than I can say.”
There was a knock at the door and Flora, one of the other maids, opened it just a crack. “Oh! Your highness!” Flora stepped aside and the king stepped into the room.
“Father!” Audora moved to greet him but was firmly shoved back into position by Merriweather, whose lips were puckered with pins.
