Token Huntress (9 page)

              “I had no choice. I had to save the life of Corso because that ridiculous chainsaw weapon was used against him. We have lost another two. I will not witness the death of anymore,” I said savagely.

              “You don’t have a choice. If you leave these grounds, there will be consequences.”

I felt the anger swell inside of me, like a savage animal clawing its way up through me. This image came to mind and I felt myself slipping out of control. Whatever was coming to the surface was radiating lust for blood. Campture took a step back, as if reading my thoughts. I took a shallow breath, reminding myself of the lessons my father had taught me.
Contain those thoughts and dark intentions… breathe
. Calming the darkness that bit at my insides, I focused on Campture again.

              Campture’s lips tightened at my internal anguish. She drew breath to speak, but I would not stay because she said to. My allegiance was only to myself. I bolted for the unsteady rope ladder on the north wall where Dillian and I often were placed on guard. My left shoulder was almost useless now. As soon as I reached the top, I flipped myself over the high wall, regretting it as soon as my knees took the impact of the heavy jolt. The fog swept around me, unsettled by my sudden jump.

              I scrambled on the forest floor to get back up. I narrowed my eyes on the direction in which my team would be in, then began running for them in the dark night. Repercussions were something I would consider later. I would not let so many die because of regulation.

              After a clumsy two-hour run, I eventually found the tired group, their pace slow. Much to my relief no more had been lost. Fam’s and Pac’s bodies had become paler. Dillian tiredly carried Pac and James carried Fam. The others formed a protective structure around all sides of the group. Dillian was struggling with the weight of Pac so I asked to carry him. James was one of the strongest in our guild, mostly because of his gift. He did not struggle or sweat in the slightest under the added weight.

              “They are doing what they can for Corso now,” I said, raising a hand to him before he had to ask.

              “Why are you in a white robe?” Kora asked, looking me up and down.

              “And why did Campture permit you to leave without giving a full report?” Kasey interjected.

It was protocol; of course they would question how I arrived back to them so quickly. A report of this magnitude would have taken hours. I would have to tell her every little step we had taken. There would be meetings, inquests, lectures. It was very obvious that I dropped Corso off before racing back. Very few defied Campture and she would not take it kindly. I made my face blank so they would not see my expression. This was something they were very used to, but James knew better.

              “What did you do?” he whined.

              “Is this really the time?” I snapped, rearranging Pac on my back. “We need to get back to the Guild.”

              The slower pace gave me time to reassess all that had happened. It pained me to search the eyes of my fellow teammates and to see very little emotion there as we carried our fallen comrades. I was upset to know I had failed them in so many ways. This was why I preferred to work by myself, because then I would only risk my own life. I would not show the others, but I truly cared for their safety under my guard. Being a Token you had to have strength, and weakness could not be shown. This was something my mother had constantly reminded me of. I took that in my stride, becoming every bit the savage Token that was expected of me.

T
he gates were opened for us immediately. Everyone’s expression mirrored the same emotion: disinterest, despite the death of our teammates.

              “Esmore, perhaps we should visit Campture straight away and ask that whatever punishment she has decided upon be lessened,” James said. He was always like a pet when it came to the Guild. He would follow and he expected the same from me.

              “First of all, James,” I spat angrily. “I will go to the families of those who have fallen under my leadership.”

              Before he could argue, Dillian was beside me, shooting a smile at James. “I will take her straight to Campture afterwards, James,” he said reassuringly as he went to take Fam from him.

James held tighter onto the body. “
I
will go with her,” he said possessively.

              “I don’t want you with me,” I said quietly. I felt the odd heat from within me once again rise. What was this sensation that was creeping over me? I pushed down the feeling, noticing the odd exchange between James and Dillian. Surely he did not see Dillian as a rival?

              Dillian and I walked toward the small homes. Firstly we went to Pac’s home. I had now been working with him for almost two years and I was saddened to know I had to tell his wife and children. But out of respect, it was something I would do, it was something I had to. Dillian and I were silent as we approached. It was as if we were walking to our own funeral. I tapped on the door lightly, struggling as I briefly forgot about my left arm’s immobility. Dillian gave me an inquisitve look. Before he could ask questions Pac’s wife opened the door.

              I wish I could have brought her to his body instead of bringing him to their door, but time was not permitted. I was soon to feel the wrath of Campture, and I didn’t know if anyone else on my team would be as respectful. Her eyes darted to her husband’s body. She did not move, her face did not change. She went to lift her hand toward his face but retracted it quickly.

              “I am sorry that I let his happen. He was protecting his team. He was heroic,” I said. She nodded her head indifferently, showing no emotion. She did not reach for his face again, but instead held both to her stomach. There was a noise coming from inside. I assumed one of her children must have woken.

              “Very well, I will inform our children. In the new day we shall pay our respects. And where will you keep his body?” she asked me.

My heart froze and my body felt stiff. I wanted to shake and slap her, to scream at her ‘your husband is dead.’ But her movement was expected, this was what we all did. And yet, within the pit of my stomach, it made me nauseous. This custom was not right, yet I could never voice such an opinion.

She looked at Dillian as a few tears dripped from his eyes. He was one of the most sensitive people I knew. Most hunters did not appreciate that at all. Obviously neither did she. Did she see it as a weakness in Dillian to cry so easily, to be pardoned from the hard manner we all adopted? Or did she feel weak within herself for being unable to break, to let such emotion surface? It was the most I had ever looked into the emotional programming of our kind.

              “I will bury him at dawn,” Dillian said. “At our shrine, alongside Fam.”

              “Very well,” she said again, agreeing on the place and time before closing the door on us. The small light from her singular candle vanished when she closed the door and I felt myself harden again. I let myself slip into the darkness, far more comfortable with little emotions. At least there I did not think constantly.

              Silently Dillian led me to Fam’s home, which wasn’t overly far from Pac’s. It was daunting to walk around at such early hours in the morning. Hardly anyone was awake. Lightly he tapped on the door and within a few moments Fam’s mother appeared. Her throat tightened and she clenched her jaw at the sight. Instantly a tear dropped before she looked away into her home. She quickly wiped it away, calling for her husband.

              Fam’s mother had now concealed her emotions, as if in the presence of her husband she had to act in such a way. She was not as strong as most and the artery in her neck noticeably tightened. Her bottom lip was slightly quivering.

              “Your son...” I hadn’t the time to finish before his father cut me off.

              “We would like to keep our son here until morning, when we will bury him at the shrine,” he said. His voice was tough. Hesitantly, Dillian handed Fam over.

“Thank you for returning his body to us.” And with that, Fam’s mother closed the door. Once again the singular candle’s light was taken from us and we were left in the dark.

              “We should take Pac to the shrine before you confront Campture,” Dillian said, already walking in that direction. The shrine held our deceased, and usually everyone went alone. It was a white picketed-fenced area, and the grass was always maintained well and kept green. It was a symbolic measure: because of the fallen everything can still live and grow. Near the small gates of the shrine were thick sticks with cloth wrapped around them. Beside them was a silver container of oil for giving light. Dillian held two flames while I carried Pac.

A small white-pebbled path led through to the shrine. Beside us were various flowers that hunters had left behind in secrecy. It was a tradition created by humans, though we did not keep grave stones as they did. Instead, when you reached the three steps to walk into the shrine, we had small silver plated squares. Behind them was a small canister of the dead’s ashes. We were educated in human tradition: some would spread ashes over their favourite spot or in a memorable place. But we contained the ashes within the walls.

The circular room was about four stories high, mostly to contain the ashes. It was almost full and construction of a second building would soon need to commence. There was no roof to this shrine so the dead could bathe in the sun and moonlight. In the centre of the white shrine was a large circular stone. This was where we would set alight our fallen hunters, turning them to ash. Usually only the closest to the dead would witness it.

Already a few sticks were laid down on the stone. A member of the Guild who maintained the shrine had already been made aware of Pac’s and Fam’s death. Tomorrow they would be burnt and their human soul would be set free from this destructive world of everlasting war.

I recalled the words of a huntress who became sick in her old age. She began to misunderstand everything and forget who everyone was. It was called
dementia
. She was the only huntress to suffer from a human disease. Still there were no answers. When she and I paid respects to her grandson, she looked at the scenery peacefully. She questioned loudly why we fought so hard for a world which was already breaking. She said she couldn’t wait for the day in which she was set free, and that she didn’t understand why everyone clung so tightly to such a world. It was such a human thing to say. I could imagine that some humans also thought this. But she was not human; the disease made her think unconventionally. Shortly after that she died. Carefully I placed Pac on the stone. I reassessed his wounds, still so disheartened.

              “There is nothing you could have done,” Dillian said placing a strong hand on my shoulder in reassurance. I winced slightly at his touch, grabbing his immediate attention. I shuddered at the touch, but it did not hurt as much as I had thought it would. “What have you done to yourself?”

              I pulled the white robe from my shoulder to assess my left shoulder. Dillian raised his flame to it, offering me the other one. My lips slightly parted in surprise. My skin was healing.

              “Corso, in his unconscious state, was dropping acid on me.” I shrugged the white robe from my back. “What can you see?”

              Dillian assessed it, poking his finger through the holes of my leather shirt. “If these holes were created from Corso’s acid, then you are healing somehow, Esmore.”

I flicked my plait again, readjusting the white robe to reveal where I had forced Teary to melt a part of my skin. Now only a small red blemish appeared. “It’s healing,” I said, just as surprised. It had been such a long time since I was seriously injured in any way that my healing rate came as a surprise. Dillian reached for my white robe, pulling it over my arm and covering me up.

              “You need to get rid of those clothes. You know it will not go down well if you are healing in such a way without explanation. If you were burnt by Teary’s flames and infected by Corso’s acid, you should not be healing so rapidly, especially without scars. It will only heighten suspicion around your huntress eyes, Esmore. You can speak of this to no one,” Dillian said sternly.

              “I know,” I agreed. I repeated the words to myself as I took a seat on the bottom step.

He sat beside me stroking his hand through his shoulder-length black hair. “You can’t tell James,” Dillian said forcefully. I found it an odd thing for him to say considering he knew I told James very little in comparison to what I told him.

              “I know. It is James who I have no idea how to handle or deal with anymore,” I said, annoyed by his very name. I looked at Dillian from the corner of my eye as he studied me carefully. “When you are around Julia or even parted from her...” I trailed off, not knowing how to voice my question. “Do you ever feel like you are enemies?”

              “No never, Esmore, that is not a relationship. I love Julia and would do anything for her. I would risk my life for her.”

              “I would risk my life for James,” I objected.

              “No Esmore, you would risk your life for anyone because you do not fear death.” His words rang true. It made me reflect on the darkness and anger I felt as a child. All that my father had helped me supress was now resurfacing again.

              “When Campture told me I was not to leave the Guild, I felt something within me, something... dark. It felt like an animal rising within me. I was fuelled by hatred, and I wanted blood. Sometimes I feel that way when challenged by vampires, but I had never felt it against my own kind. There is a feeling inside of me I cannot explain. The same darkness sweeps within me every time James challenges me and I don’t know how to control that anger. When I look at James and when I feel him touching my skin, I want to push him away. I feel as if that anger is instigated by both him and Campture. In my heart I don’t feel as if it is right anymore. I have a longing which I cannot explain... ”

              “You are very talkative tonight,” Dillian remarked, his eyebrows raised. I usually was so careful with my words. “Do you mean to say you have a longing for another?”

              I went to object instantly, but nothing followed. I thought about this for a while. There was no one I was fond of, and yet I felt something stir within me as if somebody had created a change. For some reason my thoughts instantly narrowed on the person who had shot the dart at me from the rooftops. I quickly scratched that from my mind.

              “I do not long for another, but I do long for
something
,” I said, holding my hand to my chest and gesturing outwards as if trying to convey my meaning. “And James... he is not a part of that. He wants to ground me, hold me, force me to be a minion of the Guild. I can no longer simply
be
,” I said, realizing what I was about to say.

              “Esmore, if you cannot speak to him openly, you shouldn’t be in a relationship. To me it sounds as if you feel like you are bedding the enemy. And if that is indeed how you feel, then that is not the bed to sleep in.”

              “But right now, my blood boils. I feel like everyone is my enemy.”

              “It has been a long day for all of us. You will find a way to find peace with this.” He placed his hand over mine in reassurance.

Maybe he was right. Well of course, Dillian was always right. His hand tightened over mine as his facial expression contorted. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He forced his hand to his face, tightening his grip around his forehead as if in pain from a sudden headache. He breathed heavily, removing his hands and opening his eyes, looking forward as if possessed.

              Suddenly I felt a creeping presence. I retracted the sword from my sheath that I had beside me and raised my Barnett bow. I searched past the shrine, the tops of the trees, and past the great wall. I could not see anyone, but I could feel them. Hunters had an eerie sensation when foreigners were close. But for some odd reason, even though the presence was faint and very far away, I was being led into that direction. I couldn’t describe the sensation of knowing this presence or being drawn to it. I had to stop myself from stepping forward. I was conflicted about whether to give chase to whatever presence it was I felt in the forest, or whether to stay by Dillian’s side. Something horrific was happening.