by T. D. Steitz
An arrowhead appeared in the wolf’s red, glossy eye. Its face froze in a wicked snarl. It took a final stride towards Alistair before its legs failed and it skidded to a halt at Alistair’s feet. Arrows flew from every direction, whistling around Alistair’s head.
Dalibor pulled him to the ground and covered their heads, until the sound of the arrows flying stopped.
“Ahem…”
Dalibor and Alistair raised their heads. A large man stood over them.
He had long red hair and a thick beard. He wore black fur across his wide shoulders and simple, leather armor. His left arm was covered, and his hand rested on the hilt of a large sword. His right arm was exposed except for his shoulder. His right hand gripped a long wooden bow that bent as he leaned against it. Though the man was strong and battle-hardened, he had kind concern on his face. “You can get up now.” Said the man, offering his hand to Alistair.
Alistair took it and stood. The pain of his injury came rushing back and nearly forced him back down.
“Easy,” the man said as he steadied Alistair. “What happened to you?”
Alistair propped himself against his father again.
“We were attacked by a giant snake,” Dalibor answered. “It came out of nowhere.”
“Most of the time they do.” replied the man. “Beasts like that, and these things,” he nudged a dead wolf with his foot, “come out of the shadows. There is rarely any warning. You’re lucky we came along.”
“Yes, thank you,” Dalibor replied eyeing the slain wolf.
The man nodded. “The darkness is spreading. The Shadow Lands get closer to our borders every day.”
“Your borders? Who are you exactly?”
“Oh, of course!” The man laughed and held out a large hand. “My name is Wymond. I am the leader of the Forest Clan.” He brought his fingers to his lips and blew a loud whistle.
Dozens of men leaped out of nearby trees or rode into view on horseback. They were all dressed like Wymond.
“Now, who are you? Where did you come from?”
“My name is Dalibor. This is my son Alistair.” Dalibor explained. “We’re from The Valley of Plenty.”
“Well, you are a long way from home, my friend. Where are you going?”
“We don’t know. The Valley has been destroyed. So, we’re looking for a new start.”
“I see…” Wymond said sympathetically. “I am very sorry to hear that. I cannot offer you much. We are simple people, but we have food, shelter, and medicine for Alistair. Come with us. You might find what you’re looking for.”
“Thank you, Wymond.”
Wymond whistled again. “Let’s go home!”
One of the riders trotted over. He was young, about Alistair’s age.
“This is my son, Wybert,” Wymond said. “This is his first hunt away from the village.”
Alistair turned and grimaced.
“Man, you look pretty beaten up,” Wybert said as he swung down from his horse. Wybert was tall, like his father, and he had the same dark red hair. He was lanky though like he hadn’t grown into his body. He had the thin, patchy beginnings of a beard below a bulbous nose, and wide, bright eyes. “Here, you take the horse. I’ll walk.”
Dalibor and Wybert helped Alistair into the saddle.
Wybert took the reins and followed the Forest Clan company through the forest.
Pain shot through Alistair’s side as the horse plodded along.
Wybert walked in front of him. “You’re going to love the village. It's great. There aren't a lot of people our age, but there's a lot to do! It'll be great! Once you're feeling better, we can hunt, and fish, and…” Wybert’s voice droned on.
“Will he ever stop talking?” Alistair wondered. “He wouldn't be so chatty if he understood the world as I do.” Wybert’s friendly optimism irritated Alistair so much that he bit his tongue and said nothing with a scowl etched across his face.
A pack of wolves interrupted Wybert’s monologue.
Panic seized Alistair as the huge wolves bounded towards the marching men. Alistair expected them to spring into action, but they ignored the threat. Alistair searched for something to arm himself with, as the beasts closed in. One wolf ran straight towards him.
Wybert kept walking with a stupid, happy grin on his face.
“Wybert, run!” Alistair shouted.
Wybert looked confused. It was too late.
The wolf reached Wybert and reared up on its powerful back legs.
Alistair looked away.
“Hey, girl! Did you miss me?”
Alistair stared at the giant wolf licking Wybert’s face.
“Alistair, this is Huntress,” he explained. “She’s my dad’s sentry.”
Alistair looked ahead.
The wolves greeted the clan and joined the column.
“What? You live with these things?!” He asked in disbelief. “Can you trust them?”
“The wolves that attacked you and your dad were full of darkness. It controls everything they do. The ones we live with aren’t.”
Alistair looked closer at the wolves. Some were gray, or brown, or even white. Their eyes were piercing and clear. “How do you train them?”
“We don't train them. We find them, or sometimes they find us. Some decide to stay.”
Alistair looked at the Forest Clan Village. There were a few scattered huts on the ground and fire pits where people cooked meats and vegetables. Kids chased each other through the trees and around pens with hogs, goats and chickens. People returned with loads of water from the stream. Something above Alistair caught his eye. He squinted at the sun resting just behind the clouds. His mouth fell open as he marveled at hundreds of beautiful dwellings in the treetops. Wide, wooden bridges connected them all. Bustling people filled the forest canopy. Alistair’s gaze followed dozens of walkways spiraling down the trunks to the ground. It was magnificent.
“Come on!” Wybert exclaimed. “I’ll take you to Elthia. She’s our healer. She’ll be able to fix you up in no time!”
Alistair carefully slid off Wybert’s horse and stumbled after him to the base of a winding ramp and then to the treetop village. They crossed over a few bridges and ducked inside a home built around a massive tree trunk.
A kind woman smiled at them. She wore a simple, stained dress. Her sandy, blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun. She was about the same age as Alistair’s mother. The similarity stung.
Alistair looked around the room to distract himself. The walls of the house were covered in medicinal weeds, flowers, and herbs. A warm fire danced in a rock fireplace on one side of the room. A sleek, red fox lay on a large cushion across from the fire. Alistair met the fox’s piercing eyes.
“That’s Elthia’s sentry Osana,” Wybert whispered. “They’re not all wolves.”
Osana walked over and gently licked Alistair’s hand.
The woman finally spoke. “Hello. My name is Elthia.”
“Hi, I’m Alistair.”
“We found Alistair and his dad in the forest.” Wybert blurted. “They’re lucky we did too. He’s hurt bad. I think his ribs are cracked or something.”
“Oh my,” said Elthia with concern. “Let me take a look.” She led Alistair around the tree trunk, and he lowered himself on a nearby cot.
He lifted his shirt to reveal his bruised and swollen side.
Elthia gently felt the wound. It was hot to the touch. She pulled a dried weed from a bundle on the wall, crushed it into a bowl of boiling water, and offered it to Alistair. “Drink this. It will help you fight the infection.”
Alistair propped himself up and sipped the hot mixture.
Dalibor stepped through the doorway of Elthia’s hut and approached his bedside. “Hello, I’m Dalibor. I’m Alistair’s father.”
“Welcome, Dalibor. Your son will be fine. He needs to stay here for a while and rest, but he will recover.”
Dalibor sighed with relief. “Thank you.” He turned to Wybert. “Wybert, your
father is looking for you.”
“Oh, ok, I better go. See you later Alistair!”
“Yep… bye.” Alistair groaned.
Wybert left and Dalibor knelt by Alistair’s side. “Try and get some rest.”
Alistair laid his head back on a pillow. He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him. He didn’t trust the world enough to close his eyes. He stared into the fire and tried to remember how to let go; how to sleep. He watched the flames sway back and forth and listened to them pop and crackle as his empty mind filled again with the familiar pain of his once-wonderful life broken in pieces around him.
Chapter Five
Jacosa
Jacosa crouched low. She uncorked her water skin, splashed the contents in the dust, and smeared a handful of mud across her face, covering her pale, smooth skin. Her emerald eyes gleamed from behind the camouflage and through tall, dry grass. Her deep, auburn hair fell gently across her face and cascaded to her shoulders. She was strong and beautiful. Her breath was deep and steady. The grass brushed her cheek as she crawled without a sound.
A herd of antelope grazed quietly ahead.
She took a deep breath and poised herself for the hunt. Her grip tightened around the spear in her hand. She rose slowly, drew back her spear, planted her feet, and let it fly. The spear soared threw the air and descended on a grazing antelope.
The herd scattered.
The wounded animal bleated in pain.
Jacosa sprinted forward and drew a knife from the strap across her torso. She knelt beside it and whispered. “Thank you.” Then, she plunged her knife into the antelope’s heart. Jacosa sat in silence for a moment before she retrieved her spear and began dragging the antelope back home.
Jacosa was young, but she had taken care of herself much longer than most people her age. Her childhood was little more than fleeting, painful memories. Sometimes, as she drifted to sleep, she would remember scattered bits of her family. She would see a mother and a father. She would see them smiling and laughing. She clung to those memories when she could, but she always lost them again. Whenever pleasant memories played through her head, the other memories of her childhood surfaced as well. Those of choking on thick, black smoke crying alone and scared in the dark. She tried not to, but sometimes she would see them again, the things that came that day. They were far from human. Even as a child she saw that these monsters had no souls. They had no potential to be anything but evil. She called them the Dark Creatures, and when they struck, there was no warning and no escape. They materialized from the shadows. Some flew through the sky, others dashed across the land. Jacosa could only describe them as unique nightmares.
Her strides lengthened as she forgot about her tired muscles, and the weight of the antelope. Once the memories flooded in, it was hard to stop them.
Tears filled her eyes. She was screaming for her parents, but she couldn’t find them. There was smoke everywhere. People ran for their lives. She tripped over the dead bodies of people she recognized and hid in a nearby thicket. She watched a man try to fight a creature through the brambles.
He swung a burning branch in its face and the black, metallic flesh where eyes should have been sizzled from the heat.
The monster retreated, shielding itself from the flames with a wide, flat, tail.
The man advanced on the cowering brute when a second creature appeared behind him.
This one crept forward on reptilian legs with large, curved claws. It stretched open its mouth, exposing three rows of razor-sharp teeth. With a piercing wail, a long, black tongue shot out of its mouth and wrapped around the man’s neck.
He sunk slowly to his knees as the tongue tightened.
Jacosa remembered the look on his face as life left him and the torch fell from his hand. She cried in the shadows. She tried to be quiet, but it was too late. They heard her.
The beasts stiffened at her whimpers and turned to face her. They fed off the fear that rooted her to the spot.
The first beast bellowed and galloped towards her.
The second flung the man’s body to the side and scurried forward.
Her vision blurred, and Jacosa, the terrified child, closed her eyes and tried to prepare herself for the end. Then her rapid breath caught in her throat when a mighty gust of wind tore through her hiding place.
The howling storm grabbed the torch’s flame and threw it across the dry grass nearby. A fire ignited between Jacosa and the monsters.
The beasts shrieked and moaned. They couldn’t get to her. They turned away and sprinted back to the darkness.
Slowly, the gale quieted to a soft, gentle breeze, then a whisper.
Jacosa cried.
Then a faint voice floated to her on the wind’s soft breath. “Jacosa, do not forget. I love you, and I’m right here.”
Jacosa smiled and released a deep sigh. She let the memory of those sweet words heal the pain in her heart. Every time she relived the horrors of her childhood, that voice brought her peace. She didn’t know who or what saved her that day, but she believed the voice meant what it said. Somehow, it was still with her.
“Jacosa!”
Jacosa looked up at the sound of her name to see Sakina coming towards her.
Sakina had dark skin, thick, black hair, and lovely almond eyes. She was shorter than Jacosa, but every bit as strong and independent. She was Jacosa’s dearest friend. It was Sakina who found Jacosa as a child. Jacosa spent the night her home was destroyed curled up in the bushes alone. Sakina, who was only a child herself at the time saw smoke rising in the distance and came with her parents to investigate. They brought Jacosa back to their village to live with them.
Jacosa dropped the antelope and embraced her friend.
“It took you long enough,” Sakina said eyeing the carcass on the ground.
Jacosa rolled her eyes. “Anytime you want to switch jobs, let me know.”
Sakina laughed. “I’m good.”
The pair suspended the antelope from a nearby tree and Sakina prepared it.
They worked just outside the Key Village; the capital of the Southern Villages located in the southern grasslands. The Key Village began as a small settlement but was now a thriving city.
The people there had become Jacosa’s family. She had a natural knack for hunting, and now, it was her way of giving back to the people that had given her a home.
The southern people lived in simple, mud-brick huts. A fire always burned in the village center. The wild around them provided everything they needed, and they existed nearly separate from the rest of the world.
Their leaders, known as the Yettas, were kind and just. They didn’t hold themselves above the people. They taught peace and harmony in all things. They never spoke of the past, and rarely of the future. Their ways were peace in the present at all costs.
The Yettas were also Sakina’s parents. This made her the next in line to be Yetta, but she had never wanted that future for herself. To her, it was more of a burden than a gift.
She loved her home, but Jacosa never understood why the Yettas chose to cut the southern people off from the world and ignore its true nature. She knew better than most that Terrene was not a place of harmony. Terrene was at war with itself, and people only concerned with peace isolated themselves from reality. Jacosa knew peace through ignorance was no peace at all. She longed to fight against the darkness in the world, the darkness that no one else in the south acknowledged. She never shared any of these thoughts. She owed everything to the southern people, and she was willing to follow their lead to have a home.
That night, a bonfire roared in the village center. The scent of smoked meat filled the air. Musicians played around the towering flames. Villagers laughed together.
Jacosa and Sakina sat on a log beyond the circle.
Jacosa stared into the flames like the face of an old friend.
The night quieted as villagers bid each other goodnight.
Before long, Jacosa was alone. She gazed into the glowing red e
mbers of the shrinking fire as she considered her life and was overcome with anticipation. “Something big is coming.” She thought. Jacosa whispered into the flames. “Are you still there? You said you would be.” She gasped when a gentle breeze moved the strands of her hair, tickled her cheek, and coaxed new flames from the embers. She understood.
The moon moved across the sky, and Jacosa’s eyelids grew heavy. She walked sleepily to her hut and laid on a mat of warm furs. The strong sense of impending change remained in her mind. She felt excited and afraid. In her experience, significant events in Terrene brought pain and death. So, she clung to the voice that once spoke to a frightened child in the dark and trusted that she wouldn’t have to face the future alone.
The following months came and went. The Southern Villages survived off the land and didn’t worry about anything. The seasons changed. The winds howled and snow blanketed the grasslands. The villagers lived off stores of dried meat and roots.
Tomorrow marked the starlight festival. The festival was a wonderful day full of music and dancing followed by an evening feast. All the Southern Villages would come together and share food and stories from their homes. Once everyone had their fill, the night would end by gazing at the wonder of the stars. The starlight festival helped people ignore the cold, dark season surrounding it, and enjoy the beauty of the stars.
The Yetta had always taught their people to focus on the beautiful and ignore the ugly.
Jacosa had a different perspective. With a past like hers, she could never ignore the darkness. It left a mark on her. It was seared into her mind. But, even during her darkest moment, something beautiful had reached out to her. To Jacosa, the stars were beautiful because they shone despite the suffocating darkness around them. One day, she hoped her people would see that acknowledging the darkness does not negate the light. It gives people hope. Jacosa regained her wandering thoughts.
