Rune
It was the crack of wood splitting that startled me awake. Tooth-tipped arrows shot through the slit of my tent and into the tree trunk that held the thread-bare tarps together. The crunch of snow under boots grew louder as several attackers approached. Not wasting any precious time, I darted under the back of the tent and into the woods surrounding. I was too groggy for a fair fight. Let them have the tent—and cot, which took me weeks to find. I did manage to leave with my supply bag and the two hunting knives that were attached to my thighs even in sleep.
Leaving the illusion of safety the small camp presented, I continued deeper into the forest. The terrain took a sharp slope downward and my ankles shook with each step forward. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know they were still on my tail. Snapping twigs and sloshing snow echoed behind me, along with the occasional boorish grunt. The blurred backdrop of barren shrubs and snow striped trees rushed past as the bandits chased me down through the icy woodscape. I hoped running alone would tire them out. Their greed apparently wasn’t satiated by the resources I left behind.
It didn’t escape the back of my mind that the loud rustling we made would likely alert any nearby creature, which kept me glancing around as I wove through the thicket. Even in the first circle of hell, the animal mind was relentless in its hunger for entertainment. It was, however twisted, a bleak and motivating comfort that animals didn’t narrate the dissection of their prey like a human was prone to do. So I kept running.
An arrow grazed the side of my head, snagging my hood and throwing me off balance as I reached the bottom of the hill. I spat out dirt that forced its way behind my teeth and hauled myself up, taking a moment to look behind me. Descending were two men that I could see. One messing with the string on his bow and the other quickly gaining distance, sick grins flashing under eyes narrowed with obvious intentions.
I was certain they weren’t close enough to get a good look at my face, but I wrapped my scarf up over my nose just in case. My head on a spike was worth more than a couple of strips of canvas and whatever they had planned for me. Not that I intended to find out.
The brush started to get thicker; the trees were spaced so close together that I slowed my pace down to keep from smacking my shoulder into rough bark and thorny branches. I just had to outrun them long enough.
Long enough came quicker than I anticipated, credit due to the loud screeching that pierced through the frigid air and halted me in my tracks.
Either the men didn’t hear the high-frequency humming, or they didn’t know enough to care about where it came from as they kept pursuing. Their long strides closed the distance between us, but I kept as still as I could despite the heaving of my chest and the shaking of my fists around my blades. An arm’s length away, the man closest to me opened his mouth wider to say something.
His words were cut short as two long, thin talons hooked the side of his cheek and tore the muscle free from his face. Blood splattered the side of my cloak, but I dared not move.
The man reeled backward, hands lifted to cover his raw and exposed jaw. The creature returned with hawk-like speed, another set of talons braced to wrap around the man’s wrist. I grimaced, but couldn’t look away as the man was dragged sideways until sharp curved razors found the soft spot between the bones in his wrist and sliced them clean apart.
The man’s cries of pain were again interrupted by another pair of talons, shorter and much thicker than the first, hooking into his back and hauling him up, carrying his writhing body skywards until meat tore from bone and the man’s weight indented the frozen dirt below.
Aherrons hunted in teams. A joint effort of a mating pair to collect digestible-sized pieces of food for their shared young. An almost honorable task, if you weren’t the object of their hunt. It was difficult to know exactly what they looked like, as they moved so quickly that the only time they were visible to the human eye was when they slowed down just before making contact. By then, it was often too late to do anything about it. But they moved so quickly that only moving creatures aroused any interest in them. It was possible to escape the encounter, I just needed to stay invisible.
I could make out the wings of the Aherrons as they continued to dive for more pieces of their meal—soft dust grey feathers tipped with white. Wings like a moth. If it weren’t for their shrieks or hums of excitement, you would never hear them coming.
On the other side of the massacre, the other bandit stood shaking with his mouth open in horror. He had enough sense about him to stop still as his friend received the privilege of being the main target. Only when each muscle was plucked from their attached tendons did the Aherrons retreat from his skeleton to disappear back into the sky with a screech.
I locked eyes with my other pursuer, between us a trail of dark red blood and a man reduced to nothing but a pile of carrion.
Fearful, watery eyes met mine as the two of us stood frozen, the scent of metallic blood mixing with the earthy smells of the woods around us.
“Are they gone?” He whispered.
“Yes.”
I didn’t feel guilt for lying, not even as the second man’s neck was exposed by the ripping of his head from his shoulders with deep, intentional cuts. It was either the creatures of the forest or me. It was less personal this way. Simply a beast and its prey. A nerve pinched in my chest. I couldn’t place where it came from—fear, anger, from the tension in my body—I didn’t care.
I stood solid as the trees, only allowing myself to shift my weight from time to time as long as the nearby branches were swaying beside me in the chilling wind. After what felt like an entire hour, I shuffled my feet where I stood. Nothing stirred.
The day the Aherrons learned to control their excitement when hunting would be the day The Colds would belong to them. In the meantime, the current lack of screeching gave me enough relief to make the truck back to my tent to see what was left of it. If it hadn’t been taken by someone else instead.
Hells. In the time that had passed since I was rudely and abruptly awoken, the thin dusting of snow was enough to cover the tracks I made down the hill. The densely populated bushes kept me from fleeing in a straight line, so picking a direction and walking in it wouldn’t help. I could eventually track my cot down, but it could take a while.
The growing ache in my stomach made me wince. After a few days without eating the weariness was catching up to me. I’d have to find something soon. I wasn't above resorting to cannibalism to fill my belly, but the Aherrons left only bone to rot away on the forest floor.
I walked at a leisurely pace, my only direction being any signs of edible vegetation. I was too far from any stream to fish, but I hoped a simple trap would bring me something warm to hold me over until tomorrow. That’s all anyone could ever really wish for out here.
Survival. The driving force that whipped my back and wore down the calluses on my heels had always been survival. If I was an honest person I might admit that I wasn’t really sure why I fought so hard to scrape by with my skin and bones as the only accolades. The lies were comfortable enough, I suppose. A warm broth of poisonous leaves steeping in my mouth, the unlikelihood of one day being my last day in hell was a strong enough lie to believe in. Maybe I was just trying to prove something.
Patches of dried grass poked out of dark earth in the distance, the best place for a trap out of seemingly worse options. I would need sticks and bark to form a crude cover for the trap so I looked around for dead, low-hanging branches. As I broke off the wood that I needed, I noticed intentional etchings in the side of one of the sparse cedar trunks.
There were no roads or pathways in The Colds, thereby making it easier to wander into starvation. But for those of us who survived out here for long enough, we made do with Marks. The carved notches in the wood didn’t relay much. They weren’t placed on routes of any sort, but they gave bits of vital information to passersby about the terrain—whose territory it was, how often raids occurred in the area, known monsters, and the like.
The tree that stood before me bore the Marks from two different communes, although it was difficult to tell if it was a border marker or a dedication of conjoining, where two might have merged into one commune. No major warnings were carved, so I decided to remain near what I guessed could be the borderline and walked the outskirts of the territory. Keeping to claimed land carried risks, but it was still far safer than walking the darker parts of the forest where more monsters dwelled. If enough people settled in the area, chances were good that they had chosen a safe location or had enough manpower to eradicate the deadlier creatures that lived there.
It only took a few minutes to set up a decent trap, camouflaged with what dead brush I could find available. Then, when I was far enough away that my scent wouldn’t linger, I once again found myself stuck in place, waiting.
The forest was silent. The rocks sticking out from under the dark earth were silent. The snow clinging to the texture of tree bark was silent. Everything around me was frozen in time, always dying but never decaying. Everything, except the twitch of a whisker and a brush of fur.
The shoddy trap worked well enough to ensnare the poor unassuming rabbit under a flat rock, but before I could bolt out from behind my hiding spot, the sound of mumbled speaking broke the stillness in the air.
“Yes!”
A young lad no older than fourteen years popped out from behind a distant tree trunk. I remained crouched and unseen as he drew his bow and fired it at the neck of the struggling hare. It would have been a much more impressive shot if he hadn’t stolen the profits of my preparation.
I turned my blade over in my hands with every intention of retrieving my rightful kill, but as the boy bent over the rabbit’s corpse, I caught sight of what he was holding in his hand. Through squinted eyes I saw his bow was expertly crafted, made of fine wood and sturdy drawstring. My eyes roved over his attire. He wore a lush coat, the white and grey fur blending him into the surroundings.
He adjusted a quiver on his hip and revealed some sort of coin purse. Most likely used for storing small things, possibly extra arrowheads, but it was also finely made. I could just make out the elaborate stitching pattern on the side. This had to be from a well established commune, or maybe one merely lucky enough to have skilled craftsmen. Either way, I decided it was worth a trip to see their base. Perhaps I could rustle up another tent out of the adventure.
Although a clean shot when the target was stuck in place, the lad was a green hunter—cautiously looking about in all the wrong places. Following him was easier than I thought it would be with all the trees packed so closely together, but I also knew there would be safeguards near the base of the camp. There were rumors that some communes took advantage of the monsters in the area—trained them, even—to scare away trespassers, but I wasn’t sure I believed that.
There was no visible smoke stack above the tall tree branches, but the faint smell of burning wood greeted me—probably the only warm welcome I would receive. I slowed my pace. We were still what seemed like a long way off from a base camp—ahead of us only more forest, but the boy also slowed down. He approached a pair of trees—trees that bore similar Marks to the two near the edge of the territory. He whispered something to one of the trunks, as if he were telling a friend a precious secret. Then he turned to the other and did the same. A loud groaning sound erupted from the large pines as their trunks started to grow wider. Wider and wider, until they collided with each other. Suddenly, the lad was no longer standing before two trees but a magnificent wooden door.
Shit. Magic. The Colds were a land of lawlessness so I shouldn’t have expected any better, but this seemed a bit overkill. I sighed and sank to my knees as he reached into the coin purse and took something from it—some kind of grainy material—enchanted dirt, perhaps, and blew it into the door. Accepting his offering, the door creaked open and the boy disappeared through it.
The trees would probably shift back soon, but they gave me enough time to complain to myself and the shitty powerless gods I belonged to. I should have just taken his things and left with that. The rabbit was really the only thing that I needed. The bow would just be added weight and the coin purse was a beacon to other bandits… The coat would have been helpful. I removed a well-worn leather glove and blew warm air onto my numbing fingers.
My could-be tent and next meal beckoned to me from the other side of the ridiculous wooden door. Gods strike me. I really hated using magic.
I didn’t hear what the boy whispered, but luckily (at least in this moment) I had a convenient—albeit slightly less delicate way of making enchantments work. I took my hunting knife and sliced through the skin of my palm, biting the scarf around my mouth at the sting. I pressed my hand up to the door, which made a small click sound, like the undoing of a latch. I gripped my knife in my good hand and slowly opened the door to a camp that was no longer invisible.
Thank the shitty powerless gods that it was a back-entrance of sorts and wasn’t a grand entryway to a main road. The door was facing an empty alleyway between two barn-like wooden structures. The scent of livestock and dry grass hit my nostrils immediately and brought me back to a time when crashing in manure-filled paddocks was the closest thing I had to a bed and breakfast.
The commune was even larger than I had imagined, and indeed was settled nicely in the middle of the forest, unbeknownst to anyone walking near.
I could tell from the brightening sky that the sun was rising, but thanks to the never-ending fog that hovered over the forest I could sneak about shadowless even in day time. Sounds of townsfolk bustling about carried over the roof of the barns and bounced off the alley walls. Behind me was the forest where I came, and the lone wooden door. I wondered for a moment if anyone could see me approaching, or if the invisible wall worked both ways. Magic tended to work like that. There’s always a catch. Hide yourself from your enemies but risk hiding your enemies from you.
I snuck along the back of the barn, aiming to stick to the edge of the camp and far away from its folk. As much as I would’ve liked to explore the invisible town in the middle of The Colds, I needed to get in, get what I needed, and get out.
The next building had windows with actual panes of glass in them. How intriguing. This place is like a city. I wondered what kind of people made up the commune. The majority of people in The Colds were banished here as punishment, either from the Kingdom of Skevsurvia to the north or the Kingdom of Aristus to the south. It was a death sentence for most. Those with hearty survival skills eventually allied together, formed communes, and claimed territory. People had a better chance if they combined their skills and possessions, but I had never seen anything quite like this.
Peaking in the window I saw a small cot. No, not a cot—a bed. A sturdy wooden bed with blankets and even a pillow. I forbade my heart from sinking into jealousy. I’ve tried my hand at banding together with rogues and outcasts in attempts to join communes like this, but as it turned out my hand held shitty cards. I had many skills that were adequate enough to get me by in a wasteland, but I’m far more valuable dead.
His illustrious magnificence the Royal King of Aristus certainly thought a banishment to The Colds was an inevitable death for me, or else upon rumor of my still being alive, he wouldn’t have placed a very large sum on my head. Large enough to purchase your way out of The Colds and into civilized society. A tempting mark for anyone who misses the warmth of sunshine. Thankfully, although word has spread of the bounty on my head, rumors have twisted the description of what I look like. A woman with pale skin and brown hair was vague enough. My only damning identifier was the large scar on the right side of my mouth, which was usually covered.
I lifted my scarf up higher onto my face to cover my nose. No one was inside, but aside from the lavish bed and a few other wooden pieces, there wasn’t much for me. Sneaking to the back of the next building, I heard the murmuring of people inside. A woman and what sounded like a child. It was no small feat to keep a child alive, or to survive a pregnancy in the harsh conditions, but with the comfort and support of a town like this, it was probably a little more manageable.
I quickly ducked under the windows and walked through a tight alley that had collected lots of snow. I crept slowly, so as to keep the crunching sound from my boots low. Daring a peek into another building, I leaned against the wall. Another empty room, but the scraps of what looked to be a roasted bird were left on a table on the opposite wall. This commune is certainly doing very well for itself, wasting food like that. Just as I was able to pull the window open, a crash came from a few houses down. A few people started yelling angrily at a mystery disturbance, so I took my opening.
I crouched down, trying not to be too visible to anyone walking by the front window. The house was just one large room, with a bed in the back corner, and a table and chest of drawers near the front. I reached up to the table and sucked the tiny bones free of their tendons and skin. It was cold, which reminded me to hurry. From my crouched position I looked around and targeted the chest of drawers. My cut hand frantically searched through linens—too thin to be of any use to me—while my good hand remained rested on one of my hunting knives.
Suddenly the yelling from the townsfolk grew louder, and I realized they were headed this way. I leapt out the window and ran for the back of the house, not caring if my footsteps were heard. There were more footsteps behind me, pounding into the main street in front of the house I just left. Townsfolk running and shouting after something. Keeping clear of the windows, I kept a quick pace as I headed back towards the wooden door that I hoped was still there. I came to the barns and… there. In a stall opening I could see a tarp, draped over a fence. Perfect.
Content that a large portion of the town was occupied with something I had no interest in learning about, I found my way into the barn. I was greeted by a startled snort from a mule. They have work mules? What is this place? They had better living conditions than where I grew up in Aristus. I glanced around and started folding and rolling up the tarp. I took a nearby lead and fashioned it into a handle around the roll, slinging it over my shoulder.
As I was about to leave the way I came in, the mule in the stall next to me perked up. I too heard the footsteps, swift and growing louder and louder, and then for a moment, a pause. I was just about to swing my leg over the open window when—CRASH! The front doors to the barn burst open and through them tumbled the figure of a person, somersaulting over dirt and hay until landing right in front of me. They shook their shaggy black hair out of their face as they looked up, and as their eyes met mine, a gap-toothed grin spread across their face.
“Rune!” They exclaimed—and then shut their mouth with their hand.
I opened my mouth to respond, but as the hay-covered bandit jumped up to their feet and hopped over the window ledge, their small hand took mine and pulled me with them.
“C’mon! Gods I hope this stuff works.”
Confusion overtook my senses as I heard them speak. They were still dragging me with them while digging with their other hand into their pocket and pulling out a coin purse similar to the one I saw earlier. We made it to the door just as a group of angry members of the commune saw us, some even grabbing arrows to fire.
“Please work!”
Letting go of my arm, the bandit next to me reached into the purse, pulled out a fistful of the sand-like substance, and threw it against the magical door. As the grains sizzled across the wooden surface, a clicking sound came from the door and it opened. A heartbeat later, they grabbed my arm again and yanked me through.