Aria [1]
The Burning Stag
The Silverpine
The Silverpine had always been an intimidating place, especially so at night. Dew had coloured the dark pines and their leaves silver in the glinting moonlight. A faint autumn whisper whistled through the sentinels, the ancient pines groaned and their branches rustled as if speaking to each other in some forgotten tongue.
A great white stag loped through the pine, following the path of a creek that snaked through the wood and down into the deep-set Silver Valley below. The soil under-hoof still held the last night’s storm, proving uneven and loose as the great beast stumbled from the bank and tumbled into the creek. With a cry the stag shakily righted itself and struggled back into a run down the treacherous slope, the fur on its right shoulder now matted with red.
Despite the lack of the sun, birds still let out forlorn songs to no particular rhythm into the night, oblivious to the hunters below darting from branch to branch, from tree to tree.
Four hunters cloaked in deerskin cloaks glided through the treetops like dark wraiths after the great stag. A crow, with eyes of green and feathers the colour of midnight skimmed above the dew-slick canopy. With a caw that echoed throughout the pine, the crow dived beneath the canopy and flew beside a lithe hunter, whisking her way through the branches. The hooded huntress tossed a snail into the air and the crow snatched it up, swallowing the wriggling grub and tossing the shell aside with a grateful squawk.
The wind pushed back the huntresses cowl to reveal a sharp, freckled face framed with hair kissed by fire. With only the half-moons light, her emerald eyes glowed green. A small, silent shadow fluttering beside her, the crow obediently followed by the huntress’s side as she passed her fellow hunters with a vixen grin and a plan forming on her lips.
“Altair,” She said to the broad-shouldered, yellow-eyed hunter with hair the same shade of moonlight and a scar diagonally dividing his chiselled face. “Flank it to the right and drive it west.”
Without a single question, Altair gave a small nod and slipped into the shadows. The huntress continued onward, leaping over a small gully, the babble of the brook passing on the warning of the wolfish hunters chasing their game to the rest of the pine.
Hair of summer and sunshine and eyes of a frostbitten winter, Angela slowed, allowing for the fiery huntress to catch up.
“Continue on and chase it west with Altair, Darius and I will back it up into the grove,” She ordered. Angela gave her a look with her acute, icy eyes as if to weigh up whether to obey or not. But after a moment, short, curly blonde hair bouncing Angela darted ahead without taking a moment to catch her breath unlike the huntress who stopped but for a second to wheeze for air.
The crow fluttered down to perch on the branch of the oak she leant against, but before its black claws meet the branch the creature was replaced by a boy; a head taller than the huntress, with eyes of an even brighter shade of green, he was of average build, with a defined face and body crafted by years of flight and hunting.
His brown-brass coloured hair tussled about from flight Puck peered up at her as he sat on his haunches. He smiled a wide, white-toothed smile that creased his emerald eyes, locks of brass hair dangling over his eyes.
“Puck, the whole communicating emotions through physical responses needs a tad more work, but any progress is good right?” The huntress smiled, holding her side. Puck, scowling his face in concentration spoke the only word he was capable of speaking.
“Ar-Ari…Ari?” He stammered with a lilt that spoke of his limited speech. Ari smiled, the only reward he seemed to need for his effort. The only reason that they knew that his name was Puck, was due to the letter they'd found crumpled in his tattered little coat, stained with dirt and tears of a wild, ten-year old, long-lost boy. A letter in which, the only intelligible words were, My Dearest Puck...''
Smiling in return, Puck didn’t notice that the branch he lent on was slowly bending, sending him sliding off. A moment before he hit the ground Puck shifted back into a crow and fluttered after Ari, who had continued the chase.
From branch, to outcrop, boulder and hunter’s perches Ari danced through the treetops, following the strong scent of the White Beasts fresh blood. The second it wounded itself the Beast had been dead, as the blood provided a trail even the blindest hunter could follow. Even one not gifted with the wild heritage that had provided the gifts these particular hunters possessed.
But all was to come to a sudden halt when the explosion of a gun-shot tore through the forest, the horrid noise ringing in Ari’s sensitive ears and causing her to lose her balance, sending her tumbling from her perch, crashing through the branches, leaves and brush slamming onto the ground with a thud. Her hair and cloak was tangled with leaves and twigs, her rough-sewn leather jerkin, boots and breeches dirtied, (or really just dirtier than they were before, in all honesty.) Ari’s ears rung, muffling Puck as he called out to her, helping her to her feet. How had they managed to get into the valley without the hunters notice?
A stealth unit then…damn.
The Masked dogs had made a habit of poaching on their lands, without a single regard for what they took and what they killed. Without their clan elders, the young hunters could only watch on as the Dogs did what they pleased. Everything about them, Ari found unsettling. The bright, unnatural green of the eyes of their masks, their guns with claws that tore hideous scars into the pines and guns that shattered the peaceful rhythm of the Silver valley. Ari had been forced to play the devils advocate, trying her best to keep the young, stubborn Darius from out right attacking them, remove the bear traps Angela had set and suffer Altair’s judging glare that made her second guess her every thought.
Keeping low, Ari and Puck crouched behind a wall of brush around them grove. Fireflies had come out to play, buzzing happily around a green-glowing lantern the Dogs had set down. Biting her thumb, Ari allowed a few heartbeats to assess the situation before her. Three Dogs surrounded the dying beast, the white belly rising and falling slowing with every breath, the poor beasts pelt now more crimson than white. They didn’t even bother to kill it before they rammed a blade into it, opening it from one end to the other and let it’s insides pour out in a steaming, wet sludge. It lived for only a moment more, a frantic look in its black eyes before it’s suffering ended.
The Dogs poked fun at each other, oblivious to Angela and Altair above in the trees, and Ari and Puck below, all watching their every move with disgust. Just as she had assumed, they wore the black cloaks of the stealth unit. Most like, they were being recalled back to the base a few hours out, and had decided to stop and try their luck. The very thought made her stomach roil with a familiar, fiery anger.
“…Did Creed care to highlight what was so damn important that she recalled the squadrons and fire teams?” The one gutting the stag grunted, his black stubble flecked with droplets of blood. The other leant against the Anagmous tree, the eldest and most precious of the great oaks in the Silver Valley. He pulled a glove from one hand with his teeth, muttering,
“Unfortunately, milady didn’t feel inclined to tell the Watch Bases anything of the sort. But…Rynth did mention that they found half of Alsic’s squad. Or at least, what was left of them,” The curly brown-haired one said, kicking his heel up against the tree as he inspected his copper blade that toked like a clock and occasionally zapped electricity.
“Half? Last I heard they were headed west, after them runaways.” The gutter said, the handle of the blood-soaked blade in his mouth as he continued to disembowel the white beast.
“The skin-head Edyrd…and the cute blonde, Demi I think it was.”
“Damn shame,” The gutter sighed, massaging his aching neck.
Her white, freckled neck flushed a cherry red, until a cool hand wrapped gently around her wrist assuredly. Puck gave her a cool collected look with his emerald eyes, an almost glare that soothed her temper, the cold smoking out the flames. Ari felt a small pang of embarrassment, seeing the other hunters patiently waiting for her instructions. Ari decided she’d go about it peacefully, then. With innocent eyes, the daggers strapped to her sides hidden and fiery anger doused, she stepped out into the clearing.
***
“That could’ve gone better,” Puck said. At least, that’s what he would’ve said if he had the ability to communicate beyond his looks and a single word. The three Dogs now dangled from the lower beams of their cubby, still very much alive with the amount of muffled curses they shouted, their ankles tied together and attached to a rope slung around the beam, their hands tied behind their backs and a sweaty cloth wrapped round their mouths in an effort to lessen Ari’s pounding headache.
In the tallest of the elder trees, the young hunters had moved themselves into the tree house, as their nomadic village had felt haunted ever since the elders leaving. The appearance of the three hunters had sent a fresh reminder to the youths of the elder’s mission, and why they’d left them so. Just this past summer, the Clan Mother and Father, a pair of grey-haired, blue-eyed wizened life-time hunters had led the odd ten or so adults of the hunting clan away and all the way to the Iron Eye, in search of desperate help from the Emperor to rid their valley home of the Dogs and uncaring poachers that did whatever they pleased, no matter how consequential it was to their forest home. As a result, when the Elders had left, the others that had trailed with the moving clan had dissipated, ones such as leather-workers, herbalists and all sorts of tradesmen that sold their wares to merchant caravans that travelled along the highway overlooking the valley. And thus, the Silver Clan had lost what little income they had.
Ari had argued endlessly with the Clan mother the few days before their departure, desperate to know why they all had to leave, as they knew that it would ultimately destroy the clan’s livelihood. The Clan mother had been ambiguous as ever, smiling her sweet smile and that made it impossible for Ari to be angry. On the day before they left, Ari simply caved in and let a few tears fall, missing the woman who wasn’t related to any of them by blood, but was mother to them all. Ari could’ve almost sworn that she’d the solemn Altair’s eyes water when the four saw them off, walking as the Elders had refused to buy horses with the last of their Bellas.
Ari held a wet cloth to her eye, trying to lessen the swelling from the bruise she’d been graciously gifted from one of the Dogs.
“We’re not going to kill the, are we…?” Darius, the youngest of the five at fifteen years ventured cautiously. As the youngest, he was also the most careless and immature, as they hadn’t trusted him on the hunt and left him behind to tend the stone fire pit in the centre of the cubby. Mind you, it didn’t hurt to mention his good looks, wild black hair, deep tanned skin, well-muscled body from years of cross-valley running and scaling, and swirling hazel eyes.498Please respect copyright.PENANAodgPih5u68
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“No…no, Angela is keeping an eye on them,” Ari assured him, grunting as she peered outside to the strange sight of Angela having a, who-can-dangle-upside-down-the-longest-before-loosing-consciosness competition with the Dogs. For such a pretty, petite girl you would’ve expected a completely different sort of personality, instead of the curious yet bizarre girl they had come to call family.
After the fight with the Dogs and their quick capture, Altair had taken it upon himself to drag the White Beast back, as he felt it was his given duty to do so. Ari, only have just woken up and even still in a delirious state had snapped at him that his birth didn’t require him to do fuck all, that it was his choice to play the role of clan heir. But, as usual, he ignored her and dragged the beast out of the grove all on his own.
“Well…I can’t just sit so damn still and wait around with the enemy just dangling under our feet. I’m gonna find where every they were camped and figure why the hell these Dogs feel the need to stomp around our forest,” Darius decided, standing up from his linen-cot and made his way to the translucent cloth-covered doorframe.
Ari attempted to weakly stand from where she sat on the edge of her cot, until her legs began to shake and Puck quickly came to her aid holding her upright.
“Darius…wait…no-” She began.
“-I won’t get into any trouble. Promise,” was all he cared to say before he left the deck, waving to Angela below as he went and began to descend down enigmatic tree.
“By the Forgotten World,” Ari cursed, hissing as she slowly crumpled to the floor with Puck’s help. Sighing in defeat, Ari lay on the bearskin throw rug and nestled against its soft fur, grateful for the fire’s warmth. Without a word Puck laid next to her, passively reminding her in a sarcastic manner that he was a (well, what Ari would describe as,) lanky giraffe at 6’7. With only the crackle of the fire and hiss of the embers for music and groan of the taut ropes below the cubby, Ari and Puck stared at the painted roof. Over the years one of the ways they’d discovered another way of communication to be art, as it happened Puck had an artistic streak, and found peace in painting away, lost in his own little world.
So, together, without uttering a sound they’d paint away at the cubby roof. They’d paint bright summer skies and distantly cold night skies dotted with white fire that stared back down at them and paint songbirds, crows, wolves and lions dancing in the leaves of the trees and pure white olive tree forests. Whenever Ari would become flustered, stressed or didn’t know quite what to do, Puck would just guide her to stare up at their dreams and hopes and remember there was always something to work towards, a reason why they carried on.
And so that’s what they did, reminding themselves that there was a world out there that needed to be explored by a wild huntress and her best friend the crow. From the snowy alps and shape-shifting cities of Winters Reach, the Red Mountains of Terraghar to the royal capitol of the Iron Eye they promised they’d travel.
Later that night, Ari, Puck, Angela and Altair gathered round the fire and shared a meal of Venison and vegetable soup, courtesy of a recipe one of the dangling Poacher Dogs had shared with Angela as they had a delightful conversation about home recipes, all the while upside down. Ari had made a habit of continuously glancing at the doorway, the cloth rippling about in the sudden storms wind. The rain wasn’t as heavy as it could be, but just in case they’d transferred one of their animal traps, a giant wooden cage, (apparently large enough to house three fully-grown men), up into the treetops where they all sat and gnawed on stale bread and filled a canister of water with rainwater to share between them, grumbling amongst themselves about how four feral teenagers had managed to bring them down.
“We’ll wait till morning, then decide what to do with them,” Ari had stated, mentally preparing herself for the awaited backlash.
“You’re just going to let them go scot-free aren’t you?” Altair had growled in response.
“We’re not going to kill them, Alt. Nothing good is going to come of that, besides, killing them off would only bring more of them here. We only managed to take them down because they didn’t know half of us were there, and they were distracted besides.” Ari sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
At that, Darius elected to make his entrance. Soaked, he trekked wet footprints across the wooden floor. With his usual smug look, he held up a small, copper-plated recording device and tossed it to Ari. She fumbled for a moment before finding the play button.
“Day 28 out in the field, corporal Khael.” The voice crackled through the speaker, as if in a long sigh and wheeze. “This…is bloody hell. The sods have their head in the clouds all the way up there in the Never Peaks, having us chase our tails. One moment, we’re assigned to recon at the Riftlings Watch, the next, all the way at the other end of the fucking New World. By Blacksteel’s bottom it’s ridiculous…why are they pulling squadrons all the way from the southern to the western territories?”
“Corporal Khael seems kinda pissed, yeah?” Darius smirked, gnawing on some a strip of Venison.
“Which one was the Corporal?” Altair asked, resting his neck back onto the cot behind him.
“I believe it was the cute blonde one,” Angela pipped up with a sly look in her white-blue eyes.
Before Angela could make another not-safe-for-work inappropriate comment about their prisoner, Ari played the next recording.
“Day 34…still out in the fucking field. Reports in that-” The recording crackled and fizzled, spitting out a disjointed sentence of… “- Giant…metal horns…Manster…just fucking walked out into the Storming Wake…fuck. Maybe the Cloud King might feel obliged to come down from his bloody sailing castle and protect the seas that makes his peoples livin'.”
After a moment of silence, and a look exchanged between Ari and Puck, Ari said, “Well, that explains why so many squadrons are taking an uninvited stroll through the forest.”
“Ah, yes. Never a clearer explanation have I heard than, giant-metal-horned-fuck that walked into the Storming Wake,” Darius remarked, pacing the room with his arms folded.
“At least we have an idea where the disturbance is…whatever it is,” Altair attempted to reason.
“Like it helps us any,” Darius grunted under his breath before curling up in his cot, his back to all of them.
Without much else to do, the hunters followed his example and tried to get some sleep. Puck shifted from boy to crow, and fluttered inside his little nest behind a pretty set of silver bars Ari had bought from a merchant. With his beak he closed the door to the cage and nestled happily inside a swath of coloured cloths and orange tulips that had decorated them ever since Ari had mentioned they were her favourite flower one summer ago.
But with autumn closing in, with it’s whispering winds and taste of winter and her storms, Ari could not reach for the warmth of summer, and instead reached for her fur-blanket to fend off the cold.
***
Ari did not remember having dreamt, but she must of, she supposed. She must have sleepwalked, in fact, for how else could she explain waking up in the middle of a clearing, the moon still high in the sky, with the forest aflame around her?
The one thing she could assure herself, was that this was most definitely not a dream. No, not a magnification of her subconscious but yet most unfortunately a very real fire leapt from branch to branch and leaf to leaf, sparing not a single twig. Standing on shaky legs, Ari coughed at the sudden smoke wrapping itself about her like a deathly cloak amidst the embers. It almost made for a work of art, if she hadn’t being nearly dying that was. Though, then again, every now and then art and death tended to walk hand in hand, didn’t they?
Art was the very last thing on her mind, however, as the smoke reached down into Ari’s lungs and suffocated her insides, eyes watering and precious air escaping her.
The forest…no…my home… The grove where they offered part of their catch to the Great White She-wolf, the river where the hunters spent their long Summers playing in the shallows, the caves where Ari and Puck had spent an entire winter painting every inch of the rock into distant lands and wonderful dreams...and the clearing where she'd found Puck, bloodied and near-dead.
Your own home, everything you'd ever known, burning, the heart-break and feeling was just the same to Ari as she watched the only home she’d ever known be burnt to ashes around her. Every part of her body felt weakened, every muscle exhausted down to the bone, especially her left arm felt so aflame she was sure it was truly burning, but her blurred vision didn’t permit Ari to see any flaming limbs. On her stomach, the huntress attempted crawl, weak, in a vain attempt to save the baby robin squawking pitifully at the base of a tree, it’s wing evidently broken beyond repair. Despite this, Ari cupped the baby in her hands and held it against her chest protectively, curling amongst the ashes as she felt the flames crawl closer.
And then, by curse or blessing Ari’s eyes flew open at the sound of horse’s neigh. Her vision still blurred, Ari could only make out the shape of a great black stallion charging almost through the flames and leap into the clearing. It pawed at the ground beside her head and stared down at her with green, glowing eyes, tossing its head, almost to say to get on. Obeying the stallion, Ari found the strength to stand and throw herself onto its back and clasp a fistful of its mane, the other still holding the Robin.
She could only just hold on as the stallion practically flew through the flames, its hooves sending up a wake of ash and embers as it cantered to higher ground. By the time they made it to the lip of the valley, above the flames but not so much the smoke, the stallion was coated with sweat and he was wheezing for breath.
He slowed to a walk, until he could no more and keeled over, sending Ari toppling to the dirt. Yet…no horse fell atop her. She only found Puck, laying there struggling for breath and dripping with sweat. And to the frantic cries of animals and birds soaring upwards and blocking the moons cold light, Ari hugged Puck beneath her, in some vain attempt to protect the him.