Hunter’s Blind
Hunter’s Blind
This is a rare freestanding sculpture, one of the final works produced before the artist’s disappearance.
Exquisitely carved from the bones of a massive creature native to the mortal realm, the statuette depicts a hunter lying in wait, though the prey remains hidden.
The hunter is a prone figure with cross-hatch carvings to detail the leather armor he wears while his features remain smooth, lending him an eerie, faceless aspect.
He is simultaneously every hunter and no one at all.
That erasure of identity hints at deep, repressed pain, possibly the anguish of following wrongful orders.
Note: Scrimshaw is not widely practiced here, as it carries unsavory associations in relation to humans.
Kerboros
Thea drops the cook pot, and her gaze snaps to me, as if seeking guidance.
I lift a single finger to my mouth as I silence the shrieking alarm.
Wordless, I gesture for the others to take cover.
Govannon and Rosa hide in the boughs above as Zeph pulls Thea and Olive into a glamour.
They are truly skilled, as I know they’re there, and I still can’t distinguish where they end and the foliage begins.
It’s good that they didn’t catch us in our bedrolls.
In the distance, I hear movement. One set of footfalls, and they’re not skilled with wildcraft.
A stick snaps beneath feet more accustomed to palace tiles than stalking in an Autumn grove.
The hunter emerges from between the trees, and I glide in the opposite direction, circling behind him.
Indeed, he wears Winter’s colors, not even trying to blend in with his surroundings.
And he’s vain, sporting a cloak the color of moonless snow, edged with frost that does not melt.
Such extravagance doesn’t match the setting and provides no protection whatsoever.
In fact, the light shade makes it easier to track him against the scarlet and gold of the turning leaves.
A weapon hangs at his hip. Another mistake. It should already be in his hand, a curved blade forged for aesthetic appeal, not for balance. I feel insulted that Liskaal thought this incompetent buffoon could face me. Yet he has found us. So perhaps he hunts better than he prepares for battle.
But then, there won’t be a fight. Only an execution.
Whisper quiet, I ease up behind him. He bends to touch the cook pot and murmurs, “Still warm,” to himself.
When he straightens, I strike, slicing my dagger sideways across his throat. Hot blood jets from the wound, and he presses both hands to his neck, gurgling as he fights for life. If there are others nearby, he might survive.
Unlikely.
“Let’s move,” I call.
Thea skirts the fallen hunter and retrieves her pot, shoulders hunched. I wish there was time to comfort her. But we cannot tarry. The others give me a wide berth, and I cannot say I’m surprised.
It’s one thing to know someone is deft at meting out brutality, quite another to witness that firsthand. I hope this doesn’t change how Thea feels about me. In unwilling service to my cousin, I have done so many dreadful things.
Olive passes me as Rosa leads the way from our campsite. Thea’s sister lingers long enough to say, “You did what you had to. To keep us safe.”
It helps. Possibly because Olive doesn’t know me well, and she’s under no obligation to comfort me. I scan the site one last time to ensure we’ve left no traces other than the body, and then I follow the group.
At our first break, Thea draws some water from a brook and washes the cooking pot. I pause beside her, not knowing what to say. She feels distant, and I can’t tell if it’s the stress of our situation or—
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“For what?” Of all things, I never expected an apology. Not from her. She’s done nothing wrong. I’m biased, but I hardly think she’s capable of wrongdoing that would warrant such a profound expression of remorse.
Her eyes are wide and tearful. “You’re in this situation because of me. But I’m also sorry you’ve had to live this way. Doing bad things for that bastard.”
“Not to argue with you, but I’m in this situation because of my father. And I didn’t mind playing my role. I’m good at it.”
“You hate it,” she snaps.
She’s right. I loathe putting weapons to flesh. It’s part of why I’m obsessed with using blades to create beauty instead.
“It’s better killing people I don’t know,” I say softly.
Thea sucks in a sharp breath. “He…he made you…”
I only nod, because if I start talking, I might never stop. And I don’t see how she could feel the same if she knew. If she knew everything.
Suddenly, her arms are around me, tight about my waist. “As the wild spirits are my witness, I will see him brought low for what he’s done to you.”
Sweet and tender Thea vowing vengeance in my name—what does it say about me that this feels like a declaration of devotion? Moved beyond any ability to speak, I press a quick kiss to her forehead.
“This spot is too open,” Rosa says. “We have to keep moving.”
I glance around, stepping away from Thea. “True. We march on. And look for a safe place to rest for a while.”
If there is such a place.
The next seven nights are nightmarish.
Once, we left an entire group of hunters for dead, courtesy of the poison-mist potion we apparently bought from Tempest. Twice, we fled in the middle of a meal. Three times, we scattered and regrouped after my wards sounded the alarm as we tried to sleep.
We cannot continue this way.
There has been no peace. Liskaal grows ever more desperate, throwing all his resources at capturing us.
Everyone is worn to the bone, weary beyond bearing, and we barely escaped the last time.
They’re getting better at predicting our movements, and the others are losing hope.
Only my tricks at obfuscation have kept us safe thus far, and I have little faith that I can prevail against my cousin’s relentless soldiers.
Visits from Zeph’s coterie of crows have kept us supplied with information, at least, and we know that we’re in the wildlands halfway between Summer and Autumn. Not that the knowledge helps.
Morale is low.
Thea pretends to be in good spirits, encouraging the others, but nobody likes our chances.
Privately, I have caught Rosa whispering first to Govannon and today to Taragon.
If nothing changes, she will likely split the group.
I suspect she’s saying that the size of our party makes us easier to track.
Unfortunately, she’s correct.
We can’t move as swiftly as a single hunter, nor can we disappear. As Zeph predicted, the stone and mushroom circles are guarded, impossible for us to pass. And the usual routes are being watched as well. I’m running low on alternatives and hope.
The forest offers plenty of forage at least, though people are tired of endless variations of pigweed porridge and vegetable stew.
Thea and Olive need to eat, along with their regular infusions of energy, and since they’re limited to how much they can draw from our small population, both Thea and her sister are looking peaked.
From what I have gleaned from their conversations, Thea should feed constantly, a delicate skim of negative energy that makes others feel better.
According to Olive, their existence is symbiotic with humanity, reducing violent urges and preventing wider harm.
To me, it seems as if Thea grew up hating the hunger that drives her, and in the past, she often refused to feed until the need grew ungovernable.
Which explains what happened with Tempest. I can tell that she’s worried about so many things: how Tempest is faring, getting caught by Liskaal, being banished, Mudge, and now her newfound sister. But I don’t press her to confide in me.
I have just called for a brief rest when Crow circles twice, then dives for Zeph. They communicate too swiftly for me to follow, and then Zeph faces the group. “This is the message I’ve been waiting for.”
“Spill it,” Rosa orders.
Their dynamic has changed since we left the In-Between.
Zeph complies. “We’ve received an offer of asylum. I knew Lady Mirralee would welcome me, but I’ve been negotiating for the rest of you. Today, Crow carries good tidings. Autumn is willing to host us on neutral territory as they facilitate cessation of hostilities between Summer and Winter.”
“Can we manage that?” Thea asks.
“They have a plan,” Olive predicts in a wry tone.
The flirtatious fae flashes her a wicked smile. “You know me so well already.”
Taragon frowns, hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you tell us before? It’s fine for us to risk our lives, not fine to be in the loop? Enough of that nonsense.”
For the first time, regret flashes in their facile features.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you after everything we’ve endured together.
But if I speak of these matters, it’s possible I could be overheard.
That is why I communicate indirectly, via the crows.
There aren’t many who can speak their tongue, and translation can be… tricky.”
“Just like you,” I mutter.
Zeph eyes me with a narrow look. “I’m well aware that you neither like nor trust me, hound. But you can believe this: You’ll be amply rewarded for your cooperation.”
Raising a brow, I rejoin, “I doubt you have any notion of what I would consider suitable recompense.”
“You might be surprised,” they say. “But be that as it may, we need to double our pace to rendezvous with the Autumn envoy on schedule.”
That galvanizes everyone, and we push hard, practically running, to make it in time for the meeting. Though I have doubts, an elegant fae awaits at the forest’s edge, clad unmistakably in Autumn’s livery, shades of brown and gold with red accents. For some reason, she bows deeply to Zeph.
Then she says, “It is a pleasure to meet you—”
“We have no time for niceties,” they cut in.
I have the sense that they’re preventing her from revealing…something, but I am not certain what they’re hiding. What other secrets might Zeph be keeping? I watch them carefully, failing to discern anything other than nervous energy.
“Understood. But it would be impolite if I didn’t introduce myself to the group. I am Leifan, first adviser to Lady Mirralee.”
Lady Mirralee governs the Autumn Court alone and has never agreed to any formal partnership. She has two offspring, one of whom will rule when the lady tires of courtly intrigue. The other is shrouded in mystery, a scion born from some fleeting passion.
Zeph offers an impatient nod. “Crow said that you can guide us to a hidden portal.”
“Indeed I can. Follow me.”
Wards I laid at our prior rest point twang in my head. “The hunters are closing in.”
“Hurry,” Thea calls.
Leifan responds by breaking into a run, and now it’s a race.
I pour my magic into the terrain all around us, and the branches snap to life, as do the leaves and vines.
The trees themselves will defend our passing.
Thea shoots me an awed look as she dashes headlong, putting her whole heart into this final sprint for freedom.
Olive falls behind. Her body is built for comfort rather than speed, and Govannon is flagging as well, poor fellow.
He spent so much time sitting in a tree in the In-Between that it’s unfair to expect his stamina to withstand this level of exertion.
I extend a hand and pull him off his feet.
Thankfully, he’s both small and light, and I settle him on my back without breaking stride.
“Hold on,” I say, increasing my pace.
Thea slows to make sure Olive doesn’t get left behind. The sisters have already bonded, and when they join hands, I can see the brightness of the energy flowing between them. Though they’re at the edge of my earshot, I hear the tail end of Thea’s encouragement.
“…stronger together. You can do this.”
Leifan leads us into a rocky outcropping that wends ever downward, and sounds indicate a huge hunting party pelting through the tunnels behind us. Zeph curses in a manner worthy of Rosa as we careen around a corner. The passage widens, ending in a silvery pool.
“Dive,” Leifan calls. “Don’t hesitate. Take a deep breath and swim straight through.”
“Won’t they follow?” Olive asks.
Leifan snaps, “I bear the portal stone, and they’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands. Which could happen if you don’t hurry!”
Zeph leaps first, then Rosa. Taragon plunges headlong, and I nudge Govannon forward. “I’ll be the last.”
Leifan shakes her head. “That is my role. I promised to escort you all safely back to Autumn, and my lady will be gravely disappointed if I abandon that oath.”
“Then I will wait until the others pass. Is that acceptable?”
She nods as Thea and Olive leap into the water, only a breath apart. Now it’s my turn. The subterranean pool is icy, nearly stealing the breath I saved, and I cannot see. It’s all dark rock, so easy to become disoriented, and yet it cannot be far, or Leifan would have warned us. I press forward.
Just as my chest begins to burn, I break the surface in a different space. I splash my way out of a fountain in a private courtyard in the Autumn Palace. We stare at the water until Leifan breaks the surface, and Taragon whoops with triumph. My gaze finds Thea, so precious, so inexpressibly dear.
We did it. Everyone’s safe.
Against all odds.
A gentle voice speaks, light as dry leaves rustling in the breeze: “Welcome to my domain. I am Lady Mirralee. We have much to discuss, but I can see that the journey has been difficult. Please avail yourselves of every comfort before our conversation continues.”
“That sounds heavenly,” Rosa declares.
“Zeph.” There is a certain tension in the lady’s voice. “If you would be so kind as to accompany me, briefly, before your sojourn to the baths?”
“Of course,” they say.
More secrets.
But I’m incapable of greater curiosity with the promise of a bath and fresh attire at hand.
I will never take such luxuries for granted again.
The group parts ways, each seeking the services that sound most enticing, whether it’s a massage or a skin treatment or a deep scrubbing from the castle staff.
It’s only after I reach the bathhouse that sudden wariness shouts at the back of my brain.
Divide and conquer? This overture came from Zeph, who has never once confided their intentions or their endgame; can Lady Mirralee be trusted?
And if she’s yet another enemy, one who wages war with guile and not force, do we have any options or allies left?