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The cold night breeze stirred the leaves of the trees in a fervent murmur, the rustle of long dead foliage and creaking branches the most prominent sound in the wood. Faintly, crickets were chirping in the long grass far beyond a hill, and the withered stalks scuttled together in an almost insect-like sound. The moon leaked pale gray streams of light through the dying canopy overhead, splashing strange shadows across Aera’s determined face.
Her hand clenched tighter around her scimitar; a sentimental relic of her past, long since pitted and gone to rust. The aging leather around the handle creaked with the pressure, but the sound was lost to the wind. Aera turned her gaze upward to the heavens, the spattering of stars visible through the patchy cloud cover that drifted across the dark midnight sky. Elah’s hand would guide her, she was sure of it. She pulled slowly from a growing shadow and moved into another, the gnarled trunks of the decaying forest stretching up like black fingers to scratch at the sky with wicked claws.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest, the sound like a rising roar in her ears. She moved quickly and quietly, her footfalls silent even through the layer of dead leaves covering the dusty ground. She had learned her lessons well. The heat of the desert sun had tempered her as swiftly and lovingly as a blacksmith would a sword, honing her sharp and capable. The vast forests had taught her quiet strength; the mountains had taught resiliency and perseverance. But, it wasn’t enough simply to know. She had to do.
As she rounded a bend in the ancient forest, Aera could see the hulking figure silhouetted by the flashes of moonlight. Its body was almost humanoid in shape, but grossly disproportioned by four massive arms and a hunched back. The monster bristled with coarse black fur that stuck up all over its frame, and glints of moonlight revealed a gaping vertical maw filled with sharp, bloodied teeth, which were making quick work of a fresh kill. The very sight of it made her blood run cold and her breath twisted up in her throat in a strangled wheeze at the unnatural presence of it.
There, just a few footfalls away, stood the Na’Hatar, the eater of dreams.
It took everything in her power to muster the strength to move as she slid cautiously around the trunk of the tree, the rough bark of the long dead sentinel biting at the leather of her armor before crumbling away under the pressure into small chunks. Her heart was a quake of noise in her ears, and she was sure the sound shook even the ground beneath her feet. Even so, though her body seemed poised to betray her, her resolve had not yet left her chest. She took a long breath to steel herself once more before she lifted her scimitar, drew her dagger, and pressed her sluggish feet into a sprint.
A wisp in the wind, she cut a silent swath through the night air and closed in on the monstrous creature. The coppery scent of blood in the air was unmistakable and cloying, choking out even the fresh wind blowing in over the grassland. She raised her weapons, and with a rush of exhaled breath, threw herself at the Na’Hatar with the full fierceness of her being. Her blow, however, never had a chance to land.
Before the breath had even fully left her lungs, the creature seemed to disappear from in front of her in a rush of black and red, the very air seemingly sucked from the spot, leaving her gasping as she hit the dusty ground full force and tangled briefly with the half-eaten corpse. Partially congealed blood smeared across her face and arms, and darkened the tips of her hair before she could roll herself free. But her freedom was short lived as two pairs of massive hands seized her arms and slammed her hard against the packed ground. For the second time that night, her breath was stolen from her lungs, and her weapons skittered away from her hands with the impact.
The creature’s gaping maw and void-like eyes loomed over her as flecks of bloody spittle dripped onto her boiled leather jerkin. She twisted and writhed in the monster’s grip, but the brutal crush of its hands held fast and the pressure wrought new bruises into her bony arms. Its breath was hot and reeked of blood, wheezing from its open jaws as it lifted two of its enormous hands from her lower arms and over what served as its head. Staring up into the gleaming razor-lined cavern of its mouth, Aera shut her eyes and began to pray, babbling half-remembered prayers to Elah from her childhood.
There was a strange sucking noise before a rushing of air, and then the sound of breathing was gone, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums. Hesitantly, she opened her hazel-blue eyes. Holding her prone frame to the ground was no longer a monstrous nightmare of a creature, but a towering man with broad shoulders. From what little she could see he wore nothing but scars across his torso, the old furrows twisting across his skin like the bark of a gnarled tree. She could barely make out his features, so close were they to her own, and the shadows of night obscured the rest of him from view.
“Well, well. Look what we have here---a little rashka from the west.” He leaned in and buried his nose in her neck to take a long sniff. She could hear the smile in his voice. “You smell Bedine …and yet you are not.”
“I am Bedine!” she spat defiantly, as she twisted under his grip and away from his face. “And you are a monster, Na’Hatar!”
“I am afraid you are wrong on both counts, little bird,” he sighed.
“Do you deny it, then?!” she growled, angrily. “I will kill you for your arrogance, demon!”
The man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth chidingly and shook his head. His hair was long, and even with the new distance between their faces it tickled against her sand-burned cheeks. “You are wrong on that, as well, I’m afraid,” he said as he released her arms from his grip and stood, the moonlight creeping from the cloud cover behind him throwing his whole frame into sudden shadow. “However, it is a still a lucky night for you, my pretty little puzzle.”
Aera scrambled to her feet in a flash, but the man was much quicker, and his hands had hers pinned behind her back before she had a chance to grab her spare dagger out of her boot sheath. Once more, she struggled uselessly against his grip for a moment before finally asking, “Lucky? Lucky how?”
His breath was hot on her ear. “I’m going to let you live.”
His hands left hers as quickly as they’d grabbed them, but the cold gust of wind on her back spoke volumes before she even turned around to look.
He was already gone.
She wouldn’t be killing the Na’Hatar that night.
Her hand clenched tighter around her scimitar; a sentimental relic of her past, long since pitted and gone to rust. The aging leather around the handle creaked with the pressure, but the sound was lost to the wind. Aera turned her gaze upward to the heavens, the spattering of stars visible through the patchy cloud cover that drifted across the dark midnight sky. Elah’s hand would guide her, she was sure of it. She pulled slowly from a growing shadow and moved into another, the gnarled trunks of the decaying forest stretching up like black fingers to scratch at the sky with wicked claws.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest, the sound like a rising roar in her ears. She moved quickly and quietly, her footfalls silent even through the layer of dead leaves covering the dusty ground. She had learned her lessons well. The heat of the desert sun had tempered her as swiftly and lovingly as a blacksmith would a sword, honing her sharp and capable. The vast forests had taught her quiet strength; the mountains had taught resiliency and perseverance. But, it wasn’t enough simply to know. She had to do.
As she rounded a bend in the ancient forest, Aera could see the hulking figure silhouetted by the flashes of moonlight. Its body was almost humanoid in shape, but grossly disproportioned by four massive arms and a hunched back. The monster bristled with coarse black fur that stuck up all over its frame, and glints of moonlight revealed a gaping vertical maw filled with sharp, bloodied teeth, which were making quick work of a fresh kill. The very sight of it made her blood run cold and her breath twisted up in her throat in a strangled wheeze at the unnatural presence of it.
There, just a few footfalls away, stood the Na’Hatar, the eater of dreams.
It took everything in her power to muster the strength to move as she slid cautiously around the trunk of the tree, the rough bark of the long dead sentinel biting at the leather of her armor before crumbling away under the pressure into small chunks. Her heart was a quake of noise in her ears, and she was sure the sound shook even the ground beneath her feet. Even so, though her body seemed poised to betray her, her resolve had not yet left her chest. She took a long breath to steel herself once more before she lifted her scimitar, drew her dagger, and pressed her sluggish feet into a sprint.
A wisp in the wind, she cut a silent swath through the night air and closed in on the monstrous creature. The coppery scent of blood in the air was unmistakable and cloying, choking out even the fresh wind blowing in over the grassland. She raised her weapons, and with a rush of exhaled breath, threw herself at the Na’Hatar with the full fierceness of her being. Her blow, however, never had a chance to land.
Before the breath had even fully left her lungs, the creature seemed to disappear from in front of her in a rush of black and red, the very air seemingly sucked from the spot, leaving her gasping as she hit the dusty ground full force and tangled briefly with the half-eaten corpse. Partially congealed blood smeared across her face and arms, and darkened the tips of her hair before she could roll herself free. But her freedom was short lived as two pairs of massive hands seized her arms and slammed her hard against the packed ground. For the second time that night, her breath was stolen from her lungs, and her weapons skittered away from her hands with the impact.
The creature’s gaping maw and void-like eyes loomed over her as flecks of bloody spittle dripped onto her boiled leather jerkin. She twisted and writhed in the monster’s grip, but the brutal crush of its hands held fast and the pressure wrought new bruises into her bony arms. Its breath was hot and reeked of blood, wheezing from its open jaws as it lifted two of its enormous hands from her lower arms and over what served as its head. Staring up into the gleaming razor-lined cavern of its mouth, Aera shut her eyes and began to pray, babbling half-remembered prayers to Elah from her childhood.
There was a strange sucking noise before a rushing of air, and then the sound of breathing was gone, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums. Hesitantly, she opened her hazel-blue eyes. Holding her prone frame to the ground was no longer a monstrous nightmare of a creature, but a towering man with broad shoulders. From what little she could see he wore nothing but scars across his torso, the old furrows twisting across his skin like the bark of a gnarled tree. She could barely make out his features, so close were they to her own, and the shadows of night obscured the rest of him from view.
“Well, well. Look what we have here---a little rashka from the west.” He leaned in and buried his nose in her neck to take a long sniff. She could hear the smile in his voice. “You smell Bedine …and yet you are not.”
“I am Bedine!” she spat defiantly, as she twisted under his grip and away from his face. “And you are a monster, Na’Hatar!”
“I am afraid you are wrong on both counts, little bird,” he sighed.
“Do you deny it, then?!” she growled, angrily. “I will kill you for your arrogance, demon!”
The man clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth chidingly and shook his head. His hair was long, and even with the new distance between their faces it tickled against her sand-burned cheeks. “You are wrong on that, as well, I’m afraid,” he said as he released her arms from his grip and stood, the moonlight creeping from the cloud cover behind him throwing his whole frame into sudden shadow. “However, it is a still a lucky night for you, my pretty little puzzle.”
Aera scrambled to her feet in a flash, but the man was much quicker, and his hands had hers pinned behind her back before she had a chance to grab her spare dagger out of her boot sheath. Once more, she struggled uselessly against his grip for a moment before finally asking, “Lucky? Lucky how?”
His breath was hot on her ear. “I’m going to let you live.”
His hands left hers as quickly as they’d grabbed them, but the cold gust of wind on her back spoke volumes before she even turned around to look.
He was already gone.
She wouldn’t be killing the Na’Hatar that night.