Marked (2 page)

A deafening thunder crashed in the night

A bolt of lightning was unleashed on the black figure.

The Assassin fell to the ground. Dead. Struck down in mid-leap by the lethal bolt.

Haradin, shaken to his very soul, swiftly opened his coat. Luckily, he found the little one smiling and waving his arms as if asking for more action, apparently excited by all the commotion. Thankfully, he had not been harmed.

The Mage sighed, greatly relieved. He smiled at the child and, with a deep feeling of joy, stroked his little nose.

“You liked all that action, didn’t you, little one? You have the soul of a fighter, I can tell already.”

He tucked the child back under his coat, then examined his lifeless leg and found the small dart that was stuck in his thigh. He pulled it out. He then looked over at the Assassin lying dead in the snow.

Almost...

Without wasting another moment, Haradin began the last part of his journey, dragging his useless leg.

The house was dark. It was not large, but it was welcoming. A structure of the Norriel: built almost entirely of stone with wood trim. Half home, half farm, it housed a family and a few head of cattle. A necessary pairing for survival in the highlands. The roof was covered with snow and, since the chimney was still emitting a dancing thread of smoke, Haradin assumed the residents were sleeping in the warmth of the embers of a smoldering fire.

He approached the door and knocked. He was so exhausted he could barely stand. But thanks to the heavens, he had reached the final destination of his flight. The door opened slowly but no one appeared. The interior was completely dark and, being the middle of the night, he could make nothing out. Haradin slowly removed the hood protecting his head so his face would be revealed.

“Ulis, it is I, Haradin!” he called out, directing his words into the darkness of the hut. “I need your help!” he pleaded.

For a moment nothing happened; only silence and tension hung on the threshold. Something bright and metallic appeared in the doorway and Haradin soon realized it was the end of a Norriel sword pointed at his neck. He stood perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. A few seconds later a muscular arm appeared, brandishing the sword. Finally, a man of a strong constitution made himself visible.

“I see that hospitality in the highlands is as frigid as always,” Haradin commented with a smile.

“Only a crazy man or an idiot wakes a sleeping bear in the mountains in the dead of night,” the man gruffly replied as he lowered his sword. “Mirta! You can put down your bow; there’s no danger here. It’s just our friend Haradin,” he said toward the inside of the house.

“Are you sure, husband?” answered a woman’s voice.

“Yes, it’s all right. Come out and welcome him.”

Mirta came to the door with the string of her bow still drawn back, the arrow still nocked. She smiled and relaxed when she saw the unsteady traveler at her doorstep.

“It’s been a long time, my travelling friend. It gladdens my heart to see you in one piece. You look very tired. How is it that you’ve arrived in the middle of the night during a fierce winter storm? You hadn’t notified us of your visit like you’ve always done. Is everything all right?” Mirta asked, her face showing profound concern as if she sensed the danger.

“Everything is fine, Mirta. I just need to catch my breath.”

Ulis approached the Mage, a smile beaming on his face as he prepared to hug him.

Haradin put his hand up stop him.

“I bring with me a small travelling companion who requires immediate attention. He is hungry and tired,” he said as he opened his coat and showed them the little boy with emerald eyes.

Ulis stared at the baby in astonishment. “But... what in the world... I don’t understand... What are you doing with a baby in the middle of a snowstorm, you crazy Mage!” he exclaimed, completely stunned.

Mirta, however, reacted immediately upon seeing the child. She dropped her bow and went running to the Mage to take the baby into her protective arms.

“I knew something was going on; I felt it in my gut.”

“Norriel women have always had that virtue,” responded Haradin with a wink.

“Let’s go in where it’s warm—you both must be about to faint from exhaustion!” exclaimed Mirta as she guided them inside, all the while rocking the baby in her arms.

A feeling of relief and immeasurable solace radiated from Haradin’s very soul, as if all the fatigue, all the pain in his weary muscles, all the tension of the long and dangerous escape had disappeared in an instant to be replaced by a feeling of wellbeing as sweet as honey.

“Refuge at last...” he murmured.

And he collapsed, exhausted.

Komir crouched down, hidden behind a rock and surrounded by tall undergrowth, waiting for his elusive prey. He felt fidgety. The sky was clear... just two small, white clouds dotting the celestial canvas. The sun shone radiantly that morning, its smile shedding a golden glow over the fields and lighting up the great forest to the East.

The much longed-for spring had finally arrived, marking the end of a tortuous winter. The whole forest had awakened from its extended hibernation and now pulsed with a lively effervescence, an essence of renewal wrapping it in a contagious spirit of happiness. Komir turned around slowly, trying not to make any noise. A low-flying robin caught his eye and he watched as it glided toward the basin from the edge of the river that, like a gigantic silvery serpent, zigzagged down the valley in the direction of the distant village.

He breathed in the fragrant mountain air and pulled back his long, dark hair with a leather tie. The sun was blindingly bright, so he lifted his hand above his emerald eyes to try to make out his village, Orrio, in the distance. He looked around him.
Nice day today
. Spring and the emergence of new life it brought with it always raised his spirits. But what would really make this a perfect day would be to succeed in getting the deer that he had been stalking all morning. Winter had been long and hard, and his stomach was as empty as the meager reserve of provisions they had left. If they did not get some meat soon they would be in trouble; they had almost nothing left with which to barter and they had already run out of grain a few weeks ago. The mountains were unforgiving. They were beautiful but cruel and merciless, and learning to survive was essential—that was a maxim Komir knew well. He checked the direction of the wind to make sure he was hiding facing into it. That way, the animals that came out of the forest would not be able to detect him but he could detect them. Nothing worse than being surprised by a gray bear.

He inhaled deeply, trying to pick up the scent of the deer on the breeze blowing in his direction. The delicate art of hunting required skills thoroughly committed to memory—and extreme patience, as his father had repeatedly reminded him on each and every one of the countless hunts they’d been on. He picked up the hunting bow resting at his side and verified that it was in perfect condition. All he could do now was to wait in silence for the precious catch.

After an hour, he finally picked up on the presence of the prey for which he had been lying in wait. Ever so carefully, without making the slightest sound, he stretched his neck and peered out over the undergrowth from where he was hiding.

There it was! A magnificent, large deer was approaching. Timidly. Cautiously.

To the east, at the edge of the forest, he noticed a silhouette moving stealthily, expertly directing the skittish animal toward Komir.

He mentally prepared for the shot. He could not miss; they needed this meat.

He breathed in, filled his lungs, and drew back the arrow, pulling his right hand to his cheek in a quick, trained movement. He took careful aim, looking for the heart, then waited an instant for the right moment.

He exhaled.

The arrow released.

The unsuspecting animal collapsed, the arrow stuck in its heart—dying almost instantly.

Komir stood up from his hiding place, shouting with joy.

“Great shot, Son!” Ulis congratulated him as he came running out of the forest. The expert hunter was carrying a bow in one hand, a leather bag and quiver filled with arrows slung on his back. He was dressed in his typical hunting attire: a doublet with tanned leather pants, both dyed a dark green. On his feet he wore lightweight, weather-beaten leather boots. Komir never remembered having seeing his father dressed any other way—whether in spring, summer, or the dead of winter. As was customary for him when hunting, Ulis had covered his face and hair with mud to blend in better with the underbrush and not draw the attention of his prey. Komir looked at his own clothes and realized he was dressed identically, right up to the same mud stains and the same dirty face. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, Father. You taught me well, even though I’m not half the expert hunter you are, nor do I think I will ever be. I wouldn’t have been able to find the deer’s tracks in the ravine this morning. It’s good you don’t miss a thing. You’re like a two-legged hunting dog!” he laughed admiringly.

“I wish! I almost lost the tracks on two different occasions. I have to admit it was more luck than skill that I was able to find them again.”

“I doubt that very much. I don’t know how you did it this time but you’ll have to teach me that. It’s one of your most extraordinary tricks.”

“Soon there’ll be nothing left for me to teach you, Son. You learn quickly—very quickly,” Ulis answered with a smile and an expression of pure affection.

“I’m sure you still have a lot of secrets to tell me,” replied Komir, chuckling.

“Well, your mother will be very happy today; we’ll be returning with an excellent catch. Now we’ll have meat for quite some time. A good day of hunting, Son. Let’s give thanks to Ikzuge, our Goddess of the Sun and Protectress for her blessing. There’s nothing worse for a family than deprivation. The mountains provide but they do not forgive human errors and carelessness. Up here a man can hunt and survive if he is tenacious and careful or perish from inattention. Just today I saw a herd of hungry wolves in the deeper woods to the east; thankfully they did not detect my presence. I saw bear prints as well... You must always keep your eyes wide open and your senses alert.”

“I will, Father, don’t worry.”

Ulis knelt down and began to prepare the kill for transport back to the village. In spite of his fifty-five springs and his silvery hair pulled back in a ponytail, the expert dark-eyed hunter was one of the strongest and most agile men that Komir had ever known. As a respected tracker and archer within the tribe, his opinion was always taken into account in the Tribal Council, which filled Komir with pride. To receive the same respect that the tribe professed for his father was the most fervent of Komir’s desires, though rather inconceivable for the moment... yet something that perhaps someday, a day in the far-off future, just maybe he would attain...

Though he doubted that.

He hurried to help his father who started providing expert directives. Komir already knew them all by heart but still gladly listened. Once the animal had been prepped, father and son began the long descent from the high forests to the village.

“Nervous about tomorrow, Son?” asked Ulis, placing his arm around Komir’s shoulder.

“The Ceremony of the Bear... well... yes, I am, a little... I don’t much care for the tribe’s ceremonies,” Komir confessed with a sigh. The truth was he never had been well accepted in the village. Everyone looked at him with mistrust, so he preferred not being the center of attention whenever possible.

“I understand, but don’t worry. Tomorrow will be a great day. You’ve already seen nineteen springs and you will become an adult warrior in the Ceremony of the Bear. From that moment on you will be a full-fledged member until your death. You will be a man, a Bikia of the Norriel; that’s something to feel very proud of.”

Komir nodded, trying to absorb the importance that moment would have in his life. He would finally get to be a Bikia, by family and by right, and nothing and no one could ever snatch that privilege and duty away from him.

“This final step in the development of young warriors of the tribe is vital to the survival of the Norriel people,” Ulis explained to him, “and it’s one of the most beloved festivals among the peoples of the tribes.”

The thirty Norriel tribes honored the tradition every spring. They paid tribute to the tribal warriors’ passage—both women and men—from youth to maturity. From that distinguished day on, the young people became part of the tribal society with full rights and responsibilities as Norriel warriors.

They continued their descent, following the bank of the river, chatting animatedly about the grand event.

Komir stopped a moment, pensively looking in the direction of the distant village.

“I’m worried I won’t do well, Father. It’s an important day and I want to make our family proud...”

Ulis smiled. “Don’t worry so much; you’ll do fine. Enjoy the ceremony and what it represents. It’s a unique moment in your life that you will always remember. Take it from this old mountain hunter who still remembers that long-ago day when he became a Norriel Bear.”

Komir returned his father’s smile and they continued on. As they walked, he contemplated the open fields surrounding them, lush with color and life, like a gigantic, multicolored woven blanket with thousands of interlaced threads of intense oranges, yellows, and greens. The soft spring breeze caressed the landscape, rhythmically rocking nature’s vividly colored cloak. Flowers swayed as if in a dance choreographed to the sound of the perfumed breath of the skies beneath the gaze of the eternal mountains.

What a vision of beauty my land is!

The two hunters arrived at the first signs of civilization in the high area after walking along the edge of a small forest of oaks. Large, sturdy homes built from rock with wooden roofs warmly welcomed them. They were located in a spacious high plateau surrounded by a closed forest. A dozen Bikia woodcutter families lived peacefully at that altitude, forming a small community. Ulis and Komir greeted two neighbors who were guiding a cow toward their family’s house. After exchanging some of the latest news, they continued their descent toward the valley.

“The ceremony—the ritual itself—doesn’t worry me,” commented Komir, doubt creeping into his mind. “What I’d like is to be victorious in one of the competitions... so you’d be proud of me...”

“You have trained well and you are ready; I have no doubt you will stand out. Very few are as skillful with a sword as you. You already demonstrated that when you reached your seventeenth spring in the Ceremony of the Wolf. It’s been a year already since I stopped trying to beat you, much to my dismay,” said Ulis, patting Komir on the shoulder as he winked at him. “The Master Warrior Gudin has taught you well and, besides that, you possess a natural ability. Coupled with those mountain cat reflexes of yours, you’ve got formidable skills.”

Komir smiled. He was convinced his skill was due more to the difficult training the Master Warrior had subjected him to during all those years of Udag—the obligatory martial instruction that all young Norriel, both men and women, received from infancy. He had taught them to be expert fighters, a skill that would save their lives—of that there was no doubt. His methods were rigorous and the training arduous, but the results: proven. Norriel warriors were feared not only in the highlands but throughout that entire half of the continent. It was said that there were no better warriors in all of western Tremia.

“Yes, his wise teachings helped me conquer the final. But we were younger then, Father; a lot has happened these last two springs... Some of us have already spilled enemy blood and killed in combat...”

“Too true,” acknowledged Ulis as he walked along beside him. “Killing a man is a momentous event in every warrior’s life. It changes you forever. You will carry its imprint on your heart, and you will never forget it. But in battle, only the best swordsmen with the steadiest temperament survive. The rest are food for the buzzards.”

“It was a difficult experience...” Komir stopped walking and turned his eyes toward the Sun Goddess, trying to soothe his unease. He was haunted by his memory of the bloody battle he had lived through while protecting the coast from a pirate invasion.

“Defending your people is your duty as a Norriel. Once the Ceremony of the Wolf is completed it is the obligation of the young warrior to protect his land, his family, and his tribe. If it is required that we fight, we will fight. The Wolf is the symbol of the young warrior, trained and prepared to fight in groups—in packs—surrounded by his companions. The Bear, the symbol of the full Norriel warrior, already completely formed and developed. Prepared to fight for himself, without need of the pack. This is what the tradition decrees, and our tradition is law. Always respect our heritage, my son, as our legacy is sacred.”

Komir nodded. “I will, Father.”

“Norriel are we, Norriel shall we die.”

“Yes, Father. Norriel are we and Norriel shall we die. You don’t need to worry; I won’t forget it.”

“I am sure of that,” responded Ulis, and they continued their descent.

As the sun followed its perpetual trajectory, dropping behind the peaks of the mountain range to the west, Komir and his father began to see more communities. A handful of large Norriel houses dotted a wide expanse on the slopes of the mountain to the east. From the looks of the buildings, larger than those of the woodcutters they’d left behind, Komir deduced they were meant for livestock. Grouped without any apparent order, they formed another small community, quite characteristic of the Norriel.  In the mountains of the highlands, life was hard, even cruel, and the chances for survival were better when they formed small collectives. For protection, families built their homes in close proximity to the other families of the tribe.

“Will you take part in the unarmed fighting competition?” Ulis suddenly asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh, no! Not a chance,” replied Komir, emphatically shaking his head. “Hartz is going to compete in that challenge. I wouldn’t go up against that giant for all the gold on the continent. You know what a brute he is—and if there’s a prize to be had he’ll take down anyone who gets between it and him,” he added, bursting into laughter.