by Damon Glatz
As he lay under the night sky, he was left alone with his thoughts. Setting up camp had kept his mind busy, but now that he was finished, he was trapped within himself. This was all so much at once. He was excited to be on his own, blaze his own trail. However, he missed his home. He did not want his tribe to think he had died, which they would have to assume any day now. How would they know otherwise? His mother must be so upset.
Stupid rules. Stupid traditions. All Ohitekah truly wanted was to tell them what he was doing, why he couldn’t come home right away. But it was forbidden, not to return until the vision quest is completed. Goleih was probably spreading rumors about him, telling people that he was too weak and lost to the elements. Imagine the look on his face when I come back with the Mythical Thunderbird! That would be a sight. He would prove them all wrong. I’m not weak, my spirit guide is a Mythic. Ohitekah did not know what that meant exactly, as far as he knew, it had never happened before. He was also at a loss about hunting or killing it. But he hoped Ashland would hold the answers he needed. They have a Mythic right? A dragon or something. Something with fire. He couldn’t remember off the top of his head the other Mythics for the rest of the kingdoms. He could find out the rest later.
Ohitekah woke up the same time the sun did. He emerged from his stick hut and happily drank most of his water pouch, not worrying about wasting any. Bolt had walked to a patch of grass and was eating. Ohitekah paced around the camp and checked his traps. Out of all of them only one had caught anything, a small mouse. It would have to do. He reset the traps and built a small fire. He skinned the mouse, cooked and ate what he could, then saved the bones and fur for later.
Today, Ohitekah had a personal challenge for himself. He would focus on building a bow. He was no stranger to the craft and had built a few before. But this time, he would have to use the tools around him and start from complete scratch, which was the challenge. He began by sharpening a rock down and made the head of an axe. He would need this first. Stripping some plants down into fibers, he tied the axe head to a stick. It was not sturdy enough to chop down a living tree, of course. However, Ohitekah found a large newly-felled log and chopped it into what he needed. He broke apart the log until it was almost as tall as he was and in the rough shape of a bow.
It took him the rest of the day, but he eventually finished the shape of the wooden bow. He was meticulous with his symmetry and carving. He did not want to start over again and this first try had to be perfect. He heated it above the fire to get the moisture out. This would have to be repeated a few times. He collected some lengthy strands of bark fiber and wove them together into a long, strong string. This type of string would not last for long, but it was enough to get started. When the bow was ready and the moisture dried out, he carved notches in the top and bottom for the string, then carved the place to hold the arrow.
Ohitekah gave the bow a few test-pulls to check its draw length and weight. He knew his length from previous bows, so that was perfect. This particular cut of wood was a bit tougher to draw to his face than usual. This just meant he had to practice it more often. It should give a hard impact, better too heavy than too light. He could always get stronger.
Excited to give it a try, he spent the evening gathering some straight sticks. He narrowed the tips for points, which was fine for practice, but the sharpened tips were not adequate for hunting large game. For that, he would have to craft stone tips for his arrows. That could come later. Finding a few bird nests, he was able to scavenge feathers for the arrows. These would provide the directional control he needed. His practice would mean nothing if the arrows were poorly made. After stringing the bow again and finishing a few arrows he positioned himself to take a couple practice shots.
The first round of shots missed their mark by an inch or so. From the distance Ohitekah was training at, most shooters would be proud. Ohitekah frowned. He was better than this. He re-nocked his arrows and tried again. His first few were perfect. However, his arm began growing tired and the last shots suffered. Instead of firing more wasted shots that only served to embarrass himself, he spent the rest of the day drawing his bow back over and over with each arm, to get comfortable with the weight. He wanted to shoot accurately with both hands if need be. Ohitekah considered adjusting the string notches as well and maybe the thickness to help with the weight. There were definite slight improvements to still be made.
Ohitekah spent the next few days perfecting his bow and his skill with it. By holding his arrows in his hand instead of his quiver, he mastered his rapid-fire technique with the new bow. Over those days he was able to successfully hunt rabbits and eventually deer. Ohitekah ate like a king. Using the furs and pelts he was able to fashion himself some footwear and clothing. It was nothing like his mother could make, but his outfit was good enough to offer some protection. Style wasn’t exactly his forte.
Ohitekah smiled at his accomplishments. He was healthy and armed, and he believed he was ready to move out of the forest. Over the last week he made himself a more practical stone tomahawk and an expert carving knife, along with his now completed bow. He impressed himself with the ability to walk into a forest with nothing, and come out with clothes, weapons, and plenty of food. The survival had kept him busy for almost a week, but now he wondered about his next plan of action. He needed to ask about the Mythics. He wanted to know more about them and their history. Ohitekah needed help from someone, the kind of help the tribes would not be able to give. He decided to leave the comfort of the forest and venture deeper into Ashland. He climbed on Bolt and found the closest trail, hoping to find a local town or anyone who could assist.
Chapter Five:
The Brute
The trail wove through the forest for a while. Ohitekah expected it to be long. In his recent days living in these woods he had seen no travelers. The people of Ashland must not like living close to the plains. As he continued down the trail, it began to grow wider and the dirt darker. This was evidence of the trail being more and more frequently used. The tracks dug into it were becoming more defined. He must be coming closer to civilization. Ohitekah looked up and could see smoke rising above the trees a few miles east and headed that way.
Beyond the clearing of the forest he found his way into a small town. Men and women walked the streets casually and there were even a few horses tied to posts. The houses were permanent, something Ohitekah was not very used to, yet there was something simple about them. They were small buildings made of clay and stone that seemed to only have a few rooms each. There were larger structures as well, men working hot steel in their forges and shops where they butchered meat. The center of the town appeared the busiest, where most of the people were found walking and working.
Ohitekah had heard of these stone structures, but had never seen one until now. He tried to figure out for a moment how they could pack up their things and leave, before realizing most of them probably spent their entire lives in this very spot.
Even from a distance he could smell the ovens cooking food for eating and metal for smithing. The combination was a strong and unique one. It made Ohitekah feel hungry and sick at the same time. The people here seemed to be working in slow motion. Clearly this town was unaccustomed to excitement, the citizens all went about their daily lives in a quiet solitude. Each person doing their jobs and keeping to themselves. Even the smoke from the fires rose slowly. This seemed like a good place to get used to Ashland customs.
Ohitekah dismounted Bolt and they walked in together. A few heads quickly turned toward them. They clearly were not used to a young tribesman walking around dressed in freshly skinned animal furs. If not strange, he at least looked intimidating, dressed and armed the way he was. The locals were accustomed to seeing a tribesman or two every now and then, however they would not usually carry weapons into the town and they typically possessed more furs to be used for trading. Ohitekah did not wish to appear so uninviting. He was here to ask for help. Scanning the town quickly, he tried to judge who might be th
e best people to talk to. If anyone knew the history of the Mythics it would prove helpful. Near the inn he saw four armed soldiers. They were wearing heavy metal armor and carried long broadswords. They must know something about Mythics. Ohitekah approached them.
“Excuse me, sirs?” He tried to ask as politely as he could in the common tongue. Foreign customs were always confusing to him, and he knew his accent could use some work. “Could any of you please help me?”
“Now what’s a savage like you doin’ here, boy?” the lead guard asked, the rest chuckling. Their breath reeked of mead. Ohitekah took a moment to let the words of the man sink in. His people were a well-respected and noble culture, not “savages.”
He tried to brush it off. “I need help—.”
The guard cut him off. “Why are you wasting your time here, buffalo boy? Go back where you came from!”
Ohitekah clenched his fist. He used to think highly of the metal armored guards from Ashland. Now it was clear to them they were just ignorant and rude.
“I need to kill a Mythic!” He blurted out before he could control himself. The guards froze, some of them looked baffled by the sudden statement. Some of them frowned. The lead guard drew his sword.
Sword? Why? What did I say? Shocked, Ohitekah took several steps backward.
“You should know better than to bring up killing Mythics to an Ashland soldier!” The man pointed his blade at Ohitekah, who was too stunned to move. “This ain’t no game, boy! That’s blasphemy and them gods are gonna kill you for it! Now you get yer horse and ride outta here right now before you get in more trouble.”
The soldier’s face had turned red, he and was breathing heavily. Ohitekah had no idea this was such a sensitive matter.
Why did he care?
Regardless, Ohitekah decided to leave this town. He backed away slowly.
All right, I’ll just try the next town. This was a mistake.
Ohitekah heard the doors to the tavern open behind him, and felt footsteps vibrate heavily through the ground to his back. He was soon covered in the shadow of a massive person standing just behind him. He froze, afraid to turn around.
“So, you guards takin’ to beatin’ up kids now? Tryin’ to show off or somethin’?” a gruff voice boomed behind him.
It’s not a guard? Who is this?
Ohitekah turned to see the source of the voice. The shadows and footsteps had not deceived him. They belonged to an extremely large man. He towered above the soldiers and his arms were like trees. He must have had to walk sideways and duck in order to fit out of the doorway from the tavern. He was dressed differently as well, his armor a combination of steel and animal furs. It looked as if he was dressed for a cold winter, the way his thick furs lined his plates of metal. His eyes were blue and rested in a broad, stern face, yet his cheeks were rosy. He had a strong jaw that hid under a braided beard. A fur helmet covered the top of his long brown hair. His arm gripped the hilt of a sword resting on his back.
The sword was incredible, so there was no confusion as to why it rested on his back and not at his side. The blade itself was almost as long as Ohitekah’s whole body, and also much wider than the guard’s swords. The steel was almost an icy blue, unlike any metal Ohitekah had ever seen. When it shimmered in the light, one could notice there were ancient runes carved into the blade itself. He wore the massive claymore on his back that was hung over his heavy steel and fur armor. Ohitekah had never seen anyone like this man before.
“We’ve had enough of you causing problems ‘round ‘ere, Vatnic. Both of ya, get out!” The soldier changed targets and now pointed his sword at the large man.
“I don’t appreciate that kinda talk from a simple Ashland guard like you. I can stay wherever I damn want.” The man drew his giant sword from behind his back in answer. Now terrified, the rest of the guards drew their own swords and stood in position, ready to fight. Ohitekah was frozen. This is far from what he wanted to happen.
“Stand back, child,” the large man said in a hushed tone. His voice was much softer when speaking just to Ohitekah. With one massive hand he pushed Ohitekah to the side, away from the impending brawl.
A crowd of townsfolk gathered around the men and murmured to one another.
“Good, get these foreigners out of here, they don’t belong.”
“I hope he puts the guards in their place, they have it coming.”
“He couldn’t possibly take them all on, could he?”
Ohitekah stood among the crowd, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to make things worse.
This... This wasn’t supposed to happen. Darn it, what did I do?
The lead guard stepped forward to take control of the situation. The commander looked at the large man and then scanned the crowd. He had to assert authority or his command of the other soldiers would be undermined. In an attempt to make himself seem bigger he stood up straight and puffed his chest. It did little to bridge the gap.
“I am Julian, Commander of the Ashland guard for this district and I order you to stand down,” the lead guard stated boldly, feigning bravery in front of his men.
“I don’t take orders from Ashland guards. You need to earn my respect the hard way.” The large man gripped his sword tighter.
No, no, no.
“Failure to obey will result in arrest. Resisting arrest with deadly force will result in execution.”
Stop! I need to do something!
“We don’t need to fight!” Ohitekah tried to interject. “I’m sorry I said anything!” Ohitekah shouted at the men. They never took eyes off the other, and his words met uncaring ears. These men had their minds set.
There was a collective deep breath.
The first guard ran forward and slashed his sword. The large man blocked the strike with such a heavy swing of his own that the guard’s sword flew out of his grip and over the observing crowd. As the guard froze and stared at him, the large man hit him with the back of his hand and knocked him out.
Good gods, he’s insane!
The second guard rushed forward with his sword in the air. The big man raised his leg and kicked the guard in his chest. The blow sent him sprawling back into the dirt, the wind knocked out of him. The third guard hesitated with good reason. As he took a nervous step forward, Commander Julian put his hand up to stop him. The guard let out a sign of relief.
Julian stepped up to the Vatnic man and stood in his fighting stance. The larger man smiled confidently.
Can’t we work this out without killing everyone?
The two slashed their swords back and forth. They collided and clanged midair. Ohitekah had never seen a sword fight in person before, but he was not ready for the ferocity of the strikes, any misstep and either man could be injured, or worse. The loud impacts of their steel seemed to shake the ground beneath them, Ohitekah felt each blow resonate in his bones and his heart sink further into his chest. The Vatnic seemed to smile and laugh with each strike, as if this was a fun challenge to him. The look on the commander’s face was that of pure terror as he did his best to defend himself.
The larger man used two hands to wield the immense weapon and put all of his strength into every blow. Julian knew he could not block the strikes with his own strength, so he did his best to redirect the attacks away from him each time. The fight was far from elegant, it quickly turned into a contest of muscle. The two would exchange a blow and conjure up all the strength they had before attacking again, both simply trying to out power the other. Despite the Vatnic’s size, he seemed to be out of shape and was getting winded easily.
Even then, it was clear Julian was on the losing side. The larger man recovered his strength one more time and raised his sword behind his head for another heavy strike. He was going to end the fight with one last chop. Ohitekah’s eyes grew wide.
Please don’t kill him.
Julian, with the last of his energy, raised his sword above him with two hands to block the strike. The blow sent the commander to his knees and broke h
is blade in two.
The fight was over. Ohitekah took a deep breath, happy no one was actually killed. The Vatnic stood over Julian, who was breathing heavily on the ground.
“I can’t believe they still make your blades out of iron,” the large man said, taking a moment to admire his steel sword that still shined like blue crystal. Julian groaned in the dirt. The foreigner placed his sword on his back again. He leaned forward and held out his hand to help Julian back onto his feet.
“You fought well, Commander. Get up, I’ll buy ya a drink.” He motioned to the tavern behind him.
“This...this isn’t over,” Julian said, rolling over in agony. He ignored the man’s assistance.
“No hard feelins. It was just a scuffle. We didn’t kill anyone, did we?” The man looked around to see if the other guards were okay. One was unconscious, lying face down in the dirt. The other was trying to stand up, wheezing in short, and ragged breaths. The Vatnic man winced, then looked back to Julian.
“I just don’t like bullies...”
The man glanced at Ohitekah, then winked and walked back into the inn.
Ohitekah stood there looking stupid for a minute or two. In a daze, he watched the guards try to get up and organized again. He did not know what to do in this situation at all. His innocent nature caused the fight to begin with, but he only wanted to ask for help. The guards were being jerks, yeah, but they didn’t deserve this beating. He also didn’t deserve to be saved like that.
Julian got back to his feet and stumbled back to his horse. Once on top he gave a hard breath and glared at Ohitekah, the boy who caused this whole mess. Julian spat on the ground at Ohitekah’s feet and rode away into the forest.
