No Man's Slave (Ranger Origin Story)

And we're back! Today we get a look at the Ranger's life before her exile to Wraeclast, and I'll warn you up front - this one ends on a bit of a cliffhanger. Not to worry, though! It shall be resolved in the last one, where we'll meet the Witch and finish our intertwined tale. (also, no Templar pants in this one, sorry, just couldn't make it work)

Previous Stories:
Templar - https://www.pathofexile.com/forum/view-thread/1403133
Scion - https://www.pathofexile.com/forum/view-thread/1414654
Marauder - https://www.pathofexile.com/forum/view-thread/1419489
Duelist - https://www.pathofexile.com/forum/view-thread/1457891
Shadow - https://www.pathofexile.com/forum/view-thread/1488082



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No Man's Slave
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Breathe.

Draw.

Release.

Watch the arrow fly downrange. Watch skin pierce, blood flow, legs falter, then fall.

Exhale.

I lope through the underbrush, tanglevines and thornbush nothing more than momentary annoyances against my leather clad legs, and kneel next to my prey. A quick slash across the throat, life’s blood spraying hot and heavy against the forest floor, and it’s done. The deer kicks once, the last tremors of muscles cursed to move no more, and then falls still. I set to work, transmuting the corpse into something more portable.

Another week avoiding starvation.

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My first memory was of the earth. Hazy shapes surround me, the blurry, oversized abstractions of childhood, but the smell remains vivid, as if I just encountered it for the first time this morning. Rich scents of dark soil and decaying plant matter, mixed with the sharp bite of autumn air, the cold not yet painful, but present in the stab of my nose and lungs whenever I take a breath. Underlying it, a subtler fragrance, the musky trail of... something. Something that fits with the earth and sky, yet stands apart; a part of the background, yet more.

Something alive.

Another scent intermingles with the rest, the acrid tinge of woodfire, death, sweat and hate.

Uncle.

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My parents died before I knew to remember them. Mother in birth, her blood and child spilling out along with whatever she hoped to be in life. Father half a year before, executed for poaching, dancing at the end of a rope. It didn’t matter he had a pregnant wife, or that Lord Priapus had more deer running through his forest than the wolves could possibly cull. A man was caught taking what belonged to another man, and the laws were clear.

Uncle didn’t want to take me in at first, or so the women in the settlement said. I can’t say that I blame him. What would a huntsman in a shabby village, filled with farmers and loggers, want with a newborn babe? A child would contribute nothing to his hunts, nothing to his life. It would be like catching his own foot in a trip snare.

I wouldn’t have taken me.

Luckily, Uncle did take me in, for whatever reason, and so I had a home. It wasn’t much, a small hut near the edge of the forest, stinking tanning rack stretching from its eastern side like a miniature gallows, dirty smoke gathering underneath the brittle straw eaves in the winter, but it offered shelter from the elements, and Uncle provided food for us both once I weaned off the teat of Marlia, one of the farmers’ wives.

Sometimes a home only has to be better than nothing.

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I was five when Uncle first brought me along on a hunt. A wild boar had maimed one of the farmers, crippling his leg while he was out in the fields. Soon thereafter, a delegate from the local lord, a pimple-faced youth wearing silk lined robes, rapped on the hut’s flimsy door, disturbing Uncle from his customary midafternoon nap. With a groan, he rolled off the feather filled pallet he called a bed and stood, his bulky frame nearly brushing up against the hut’s thatch ceiling. Several wisps of straw lay tangled in his close cropped black hair, giving him the appearance of a bear roused early from hibernation. He staggered over to the door.

“Yeh, what ye want?”

“Boar. Seems it’s developed a taste for blood. It needs to be tracked down and killed.”

“Pay?”

The delegate glanced at me, seated in the corner of the hut, and I tried to puff my chest out, squinting my features to appear brave. A stack of arrows lay in front of me, my fingers combing through the ragged fletchings and discarding the most unusable. Uncle firmly believed in the idea of everyone earning their keep. The delegate laughed, and turned back to Uncle.

“Twenty marks. From my father. Lord Priapus.”

Uncle spat on the dirt floor.

“Pah. Fer a boar, it be twenty five, and not a sliver less. Creatures ‘r dangerous.”

“Deal.”

Both Uncle and the delegate spat on their hands, then shook to seal the negotiation. The delegate looked over at me again.

“The brat do anything useful? Father is always looking for new toys. Some meat on her and she’d fill out nicely.”

Uncle paused, the youth’s hand still trapped in his massive grip, then the muscles on his forearm clenched, coarse black hair rippling. The youth’s face went white, and he gasped in pain.

“She’s a ranger, same as I. Ye tell his Lordship she ain’t fer sale. Now git ye gone, we’ve a boar t’ track.”

So speaking, he released the delegate’s hand. The youth clutched it to his chest, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then stumbled out the door instead, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. I stared up at Uncle, still standing by the door, a grim set to his mouth.

“What did he mean, ‘toys?’”

“Don’t ye worry ‘bout that. The arrows finished?”

I nodded, my hair momentarily falling across my eyes and glowing golden in the sunlight from the open door. I reached up to push it back and suddenly Uncle was kneeling in front of me, his face across from mine, his feet silent on the earth as always.

“That’ll get ye killed. Lose yer vision, lose yer life.”

He grabbed my hair with one hand, thin white scars crosshatching his skin, older, deeper scars running up and down his forearms - relics of a life before I was born. With his other hand, he pulled his hunting knife from his belt, its blade razor sharp. I swallowed, unable to take my eyes away from the length of metal.

“Cuttin’s easier. Won’t get caught in branches. Save ye from beasts, might save ye from men fer a while yet. Keep still, child.”

Two quick swipes later and a pile of blonde hair lay on the floor of the hut. The back of my neck felt strangely cold, air prickling skin used to a comforting weight. I reached up a hand to scratch instinctively. Uncle stood up in front of me, then walked back over to the door, pulling his oak longbow from its hanging perch on the wall. Below it loomed the squat black chest he never opened, a thick iron lock guarding whatever lay within. He looked at it briefly, then shook his head and stepped outside.

“Grab the arrows. It’s time ye started learning t’ hunt.”

Shivering, I bundled the arrows into a quiver and followed him out into the forest.

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Wind rustled the broad fanned leaves around us, the soft noise reminding me of a gently flowing stream. Ahead, Uncle glided from tree to tree, making no more sound than the wind, pausing occasionally to examine a patch of dirt on the ground, or a broken branch. I tried to keep pace with him, my short legs moving almost at a run, but it felt like every part of the forest conspired against me. Vines clutched at my arms and legs, branches tried to snag my feet, and piles of dead leaves hid snake and rabbit holes, making my footing treacherous. Gradually, I fell further and further behind, until suddenly, I realized I couldn’t see Uncle anymore.

I froze, looking wildly in all directions, but nothing met my sight except gently swaying trees and bushes. Inside the quiver I carried, the arrows began rattling together, and with a start, I noticed my hands were shaking.

“U... Uncle?”

“Quiet, child,” a voice hissed next to my ear, and I nearly screamed. In the shadow of the tree beside me, seeming to blend into its very bark, stood Uncle, his bow strung and in hand. He motioned with his hand for the quiver, and I passed it to him, watching him drive two arrows into the ground at his feet and then nocking a third, its spike tipped point long and cruel.

“Ye need t’ learn t’ move with the forest, not through it, child. Let yerself become part of its skin, its bones. Claim it fer yer own, else it’ll claim ye. Now, ye see that clearin’ up ahead? Where half the tree’s been ripped off?”

Silently I nodded.

“Good. Go walk next t’ that stump in the middle.” He paused, looking me dead in the eyes, his expression fierce. “And when ye get there, ye breathe deep, and don’t ye dare move, no matter what happens. Now go.”

Frightened, I turned and started making my way to the clearing, wondering why Uncle had said what he did. Another root threatened to trip me, and I almost fell, grabbing a branch at the last minute to halt my descent. Small thorns on the leafy twig bit into my skin, and I pulled my hand away, shaking it to try and ease the pain. Small droplets of blood pattered onto the forest floor, and then I emerged into the clearing.

Tall grass, nearly chest high on me, covered the open area, and sunlight lanced in from above, sending dappled shadows shifting across the swaying stalks. I pushed my way out to the middle, my eyes on the broken tree stump Uncle had given me as a landmark, grass crackling under my feet, then stumbled to a halt, fear tightening my throat.

Across from me, shouldering its way out from between two saplings, was the red eyed glare of a wild boar, nearly twice as tall as me at its shoulder, and close to eight feet long. Tusks like sabers jutted up from its lower lip, and it snuffled at the air, slowly turning its head from side to side. Suddenly, it took in a deep breath, then looked directly at me and grunted, pawing at the ground. I could see the bristly hairs standing almost straight out from its toughened hide, strands of saliva drooling from its narrow chin, and with a peculiar lassitude, I realized I was going to die. It grunted again, lowered its head, then charged, trotters tearing up great clods of dark loam. Time itself seemed to slow as I watched it close the distance between us, but I couldn’t move, held fast by Uncle’s dire warning. The air lay thick around me, and with an effort of will, I sucked in a shuddering breath.

The first arrow tore past my right ear, ripping the air with its passage, and buried itself in the boar’s left eye, blood spraying out from the edges of the wound. Nearly simultaneously, the second arrow whipped past my left ear, taking the boar’s remaining eye in another crimson flood. The boar lifted its head and began a squealing scream, still bearing down on where I stood, and then a third arrow hissed past my left ear again, smashing almost its entire length into and through the roof of the boar’s mouth, piercing up into its brain. The boar crumpled, sliding to a halt not two feet in front of me, the mountain of its heaving sides now still and dead.

That was when my own legs gave out, and I fell to the earth, trying not to vomit, the stink of the dead animal’s voided bowels wafting along the breeze.

-------------------------------------------------

“Ye did good, child. Not many men can say they’ve stood fast ‘gainst a boar’s charge.”

I sat in silence, watching Uncle prepare the carcass for transport back to the hut, my legs still shaking. The boar’s bloody hide lay splayed across the grass, like some ghoulish rug, and with a quick slice, Uncle separated another thick chunk of meat and placed it on the pile atop the skin, then looked over at me.

“Come, child.”

He beckoned with a blood drenched fist, and I tottered over to stand next to him. Silently, he reached into the boar’s belly, his arm muscles clenching, then withdrew a dark red object, its surface smooth and dripping.

“Here. ‘S heart. Ye’ve earned it.”

Trying not to shudder, I took the glistening mass of muscle into my hands, startled at its weight. I looked at him, confused. He laughed.

“Ye take a bite. No better source of life than a fresh killed heart. Make its vitality yer own.”

He must have seen the fear in my eyes, because he scowled.

“Listen, child. Ye lived. Remember that fear, what ye felt when it bore down on ye, when ye thought ye were gonna die, and remember that the boar’s dead, and yer not.” A red stained finger prodded my chest, not roughly, but not gently either. “Ye take that fear, and ye turn it into rage, make it so any creature that thinks of doin’ t’ ye what that boar wanted to do ends its life the same way. If ye let fear consume ye, yer as good as dead, no matter where ye might be. Ye breathe, and then ye shoot. That’ll keep ye alive, and naught else.”

I nodded, and raised the heart to my lips, fighting down the roiling sensation in my belly. A quick flash of teeth, and I tore off a hunk of the chewy material, the hot, salty tang of iron blooming on my tongue. I grimaced and chewed, thinking back to the utter helplessness I felt in the clearing. Suddenly, anger surged through me - anger at the boar for trying to kill me, anger at myself for standing there, useless and afraid - and I vowed never to feel that way again. Snarling, I tore off another chunk of the heart, worrying at it viciously. Uncle’s mouth turned up in a grim smile.

“That’s the spirit, child. You kill it before it kills you. ‘S the only law in the forest. The only law that counts anywhere, fer that matter.” He sliced off another slab, the pale bone of ribs peeking between layers of fat and muscle, and tossed it on the pile. “Now, why d’ ye think I sent ye t’ the clearing?”

I wiped my face with the back of my arm, smearing crimson along its length, and tried to think. Uncle had been checking the ground constantly on the way there, along with the trees, and a longbow was only useful if the target was some distance away...

“You knew it was there. You used me as bait to lure it out into the clearing, where you’d have a clear shot.”

“Good, child. Good.”

“But what if it killed me?”

“When ye hunt, ye use what’s available t’ end the hunt, else ye be courtin’ death,” he pointed at my legs, “an’ ye still walk like yer feet are trapped in buckets. If ye moved, ye would’ve died, but ye didn’t. That means I can train ye. Now go look at the tree, the one with the shredded trunk. Tell me what ye see.”

I looked around the clearing, spotting the tree Uncle had pointed out earlier, the pale flesh of its exposed inner core stark against the dark skins of its companions, and walked over to it, absent-mindedly taking another bite from the heart in my right hand and trying not to make any noise with my steps.

Up close, the splintered surface of the tree appeared to have been gouged by some sort of weapon, deep grooves overlapping each other almost higher than I could reach. In the depths of the grooves, bristly hairs lay lodged like miniature saplings, and a pungent aroma emanated from the tree’s base, most of the grass trampled into the surrounding dirt. I returned to Uncle and told him what I’d seen.

“Ye mark that close, fer it’s boar sign. The beast likes to warn other beasts away from its den, and that’s how it does. Scratching trees with it’s tusks, ‘n markin’ the base with scent.” Uncle tapped his head, then wiped his knife clean with a fistful of grass and sheathed it. “One of the things ye need to learn is signs of all the different beasts, and what each means. Boar, bear, hart, hound an’ more - ye learn ‘em, or ye die. Now help me wrap up the meat.”

I grabbed the rear legs of the skin, and brought them up to Uncle, who quickly tied them into a knot with the front legs, turning the whole mess into a giant bag filled with boar flesh. Behind us, flies buzzed around the butchered corpse. Grunting, he clasped a thick fist around the knot and swung the hide over his shoulder, and we began to make our way back to the hut.

So ended my first hunt.

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Seven years passed under Uncle’s tutelage, seven years of learning how to make myself part of the forest instead of an interloper. We hunted more boars and the occasional bear for Lord Priapus, foxes and rabbits for the stewpot, birds for the spit, and very rarely, a deer for ourselves, but only when no other option presented itself. I can still remember Uncle’s words the first time we set out for one, the two of us ghosting through the twilight dusk of the forest.

“Ye listen close, child. Takin’ a deer and gettin’ caught be worth yer life, as yer father learnt. The gamekeepers track ‘em close, an’ if they be better than ye, ye’ll dance a rope necklace by day’s end. Ye only take a deer if ye’ve no other choice, if it’s between ye and starvin’, an’ ye make sure ye take ‘em where none can see.” He paused, staring intently at me. “An’ if there be someone t’ see, ye make a choice of yer life or theirs. Remember the law.”

I nodded soberly, my tied-back hair brushing against the shortbow slung along my back. I had no love for anyone not family, and his words made sense. The rumbling pangs of hunger in my stomach gave his words an added urgency, and silently I cursed Lord Priapus’ youngest son, the pimple-faced youth, now barely turned a man, who acted as emissary between Uncle and the Lord. Lately he’d been having us hunt night and day to set the table for his lavish parties, and game was becoming harder and harder to find, driving us into our illicit excursion. The stupid man didn’t understand the necessity of striking a balance, of taking only what was necessary.

Wolves that feast in summer starve in winter.

I slipped through a copse of short ash saplings, following the trail of our prey. A half-visible hoofprint in dried mud here, small tufts of fur on a branch there, a not yet dry pile of spoor under a broad fern - all signs that we were closing in. My feet glided silently along the forest floor, encased in supple leather boots, avoiding any treacherous twigs or dry leaves that could give us away. A slight breeze prickled against my face, always from the front. Uncle had made it clear that staying downwind of a deer was essential.

A bush rustled up ahead and I froze, letting my body sink into the rhythm of the forest. A branch swayed gently next to me... or was that my arm? A sigh of air danced through the canopy overhead... or was that my breath? Moonlight glinted off two pairs of eyes - mine and the deer’s? Or just mine alone, from two separate vantages?

Sap pulsed long mile journeys through my veins, and I slowly (oh so slowly) unslung my bow, its curved length barely five hands tall. The deer and I continued to lock gazes, the bulk of his body hidden by the thicket in which he stood, pale antlers like skeletal hands clutching towards the star-speckled night sky above us. I nocked an arrow, my fingers trembling slightly.

“Breathe.” Uncle’s voice murmured into my ear, the unseen weight of his body hovering just behind me. Slowly (oh so slowly), I inhaled, feeling muscles imperceptibly relax and loosen, then exhaled, the deliberate flow of air through nose and mouth. I breathed in once more, and held it. My fingers stilled.

“Draw.”

Wrist, then forearm, then shoulder, then back, my bowstring calmly stretching to rest next to my cheek, the barest hint of a tickle on my skin from the arrow’s fletching. In front of me, the stag’s eyes like midnight pools, drowning my gaze in their depths.

“Release.”

Without thought, without desire, simply as an action that must be, my fingers loosed their grip on the arrow. Wood blurred through the moon dappled air, gut-twisted bowstring slapped against my wrist bracer, and with a shocking suddenness, the stag crashed to the ground, kicking and bleating.

“Ye finish it quick, child. Hurry.”

I grabbed Uncle’s razor sharp hunting knife from his outstretched hand, and loped over to the thicket. Lying half in and half out was the thrashing form of the stag, his eyes rolling in pain, my arrow sunk halfway into his chest. Arterial blood, appearing black in the darkness, oozed out around the shaft and pooled in the dark soil below. I reached down, grabbing his antler rack to steady his head, and drew the blade across his throat in one smooth motion, taut skin peeling back to release a torrent of crimson life. One final twitch, and the stag lay still, head heavy in my hand, eyes dull and clouded.

I exhaled, sinking back into a crouch, my sense of the forest fading with my breath. I felt... empty, drained of some connection, but not upset. Simply resigned, accepting a world that could only be what it was. Uncle came up beside me, and my stomach rumbled, reminding me of why we were here.

“Ye did good. No sense in lettin’ a creature suffer unjustly. Now quick, help with the dressing. No telling if a gamekeeper be sniffin’ around this night.”

Uncle threw a rope net on the ground next to the deer and then went to work on its body, separating the legs and flanks into more portable sections. As he finished each one, I grabbed it and placed it in the middle of the net, until all of the easily accessible meat was piled up, then I brought the corners together and tied them off, transforming it into a sack. Uncle slung it over his shoulder, and we began the long walk back home, leaving behind the hastily dismembered carcass of what had been a proud creature not half an hour before.

“What happens if they find the deer?”

Uncle spat.

“They’ll know it were poached, but not by who. ‘S why we use the net, and only take what we can carry. Dragging the whole beast back would lead ‘em right t’ our door. Forest’ll make use of what we left, don’t ye worry ‘bout that. Something dies so others might live.”

I thought back to the stag, my vision locked with his, and a curious sensation crawled through my stomach, my connection to the forest reasserting itself. He was dead, so that I might live, and living was all the sweeter for that knowledge. One day, I would be on the other side of the arrow, and the forest would make use of me as well, but that day was not yet at hand. Even the strongest animal grows old, and none can stop time’s passing. Until that day, I would fight to keep my place, keep my life.

Life is nothing without death.

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More years passed, and I found myself changing from a girl into a woman. Uncle had one of the farmwives teach me about my monthly cycle, what to prepare for, but it was still a shock the first time it happened. The shock faded though, and quickly turned into nothing more than an annoyance, much like the strips of linen I now had to use to keep my breasts bound to my chest. Running through the forest was hard enough without flopping udders getting in my way like some milk cow. I worried that Uncle would say something, declare me unfit to be a ranger anymore, but he stayed the same terse enigma he’d always been, his only concern teaching me to be the best ranger I could possibly manage.

It was late one night, both of us sitting by the fire in the hut, that I asked the question that would change my life forever.

“Uncle.”

He put down the jug of firewine he’d been sipping, his nightly ritual, and looked over at me.

“What, child?”

“Where did you learn to hunt so well? There’s no one in the village better, and we’ve never failed to track down what you’ve wanted to find. The farmwives say if you had taken that deer and not Father, he’d still be alive.”

Uncle leaned back on his cot and stared at the roof.

“Aye, and if the damn fool hadn’t been so proud and asked me t’ take it, he’d still be alive. What’s it t’ ye t’ be askin’ such questions?”

“I just want to know.”

“Knowing’s a dangerous thing, child. There’s many things I wish I didn’t know, but I do, an’ the knowing’ll never leave.”

“Huh?”

He reached for the jug of firewine and took a longer sip, more like a gulp. Maybe it was because of the drink, maybe it was because he finally felt like he could speak to me as an adult, but for whatever reason, instead of retreating into himself like normal, he started talking.

“Ye know I’m yer mother’s brother, right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“We grew up far from here, the two of us, deeper in the wilds of Oriath. Our parents were farmers and gatherers, living off the land like theirs before them, but then one day, they died. Disease. T’was just me and yer mother, barely as old as ye are now.”

He took another drink.

“We tried t’ get by, but we weren’t strong enough. Couldn’t make the farm work, not by ourselves. I knew how t’ hunt, even back then, enough to catch rabbits, and that kept us alive, but only barely. Then yer mother fell sick. I didn’t know what else t’ do, so I carried her into town, near three days away. When I got there, the doctor said he’d fix her if I could pay.”

Uncle laughed bitterly, firewine sloshing inside the jug.

“‘Course, we didn’t have any money. We were children from the wilds, tryin’ t’ stay alive. I begged him, but he wouldn’t budge. No money, no cure. I didn’t know what t’ do.”

His eyes lost focus, then, fading into memory.

“That’s when I saw the recruiter walkin’ down the street, all gleaming black armor and shiny gold. I asked him if he had any money, and he grinned at me. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘I’ll give you ten marks on the spot if you sign up t’ join the Ebony Legion. We’re always lookin’ fer new Blackguards, and you look like you’ll do well.’”

“The Ebony Legion? You were in the army?”

“Aye. I told him yes, a’course. Otherwise she would’ve died, and I was done losin’ family. He gave me the marks, I paid the doctor, and then I left fer the capitol t’ serve, hopin’ yer mother would survive while I was gone.”

“What happened? In the army?”

“They found I had a talent, and they honed it. Stalkin’ a man’s not much different than stalkin’ a rabbit. Bit easier, t’ be honest. Rabbit’s got better hearing. Anyway, I learnt what they taught, and I must’ve learnt it well, because it weren’t long before I met the General. Gravicius.”

“Gravicius?”

“Aye, a snake on two legs, that one. Him and his master both.”

“Who’s his master?”

“Dominus.”

“You met the High Templar?”

Uncle tilted the jug back again.

“Aye, I served under him, though it gives me no pleasure t’ say. I was in the first group he took into the madness. Into Wraeclast.”

I felt surprise shoot through my veins. Wraeclast was forbidden, the nightmare to warn children with when they misbehaved, and Uncle had actually been there?

“You went to Wraeclast? Really?”

“I just said it, didn’t I? Maybe yer not old enough t’ hear this, yet.”

“I am!”

“Very well. Grab me the other jug. Ye may want t’ hear it, but it’s no easy story t’ tell.”

I hurried to the shelf to fetch Uncle his drink. He continued talking, his voice somber.

“It all started in Oriath. Dominus believed he’d found something in Wraeclast, something long thought lost, and he wanted t’ get it back. Wanted t’ get its power, so he told Gravicius to put together a battalion of his finest soldiers. Just my luck, I was one of those he picked. They bundled us all onto boats, told us we were on a ‘special mission,’ and then next thing I knew, I was walkin’ the ruins of the Empire.”

“The Empire?”

“Them what came before us. Voll, the Purity Rebellion, Chitus and the like. Something bad happened in Wraeclast, any fool could tell, and we were there to pick through its bones, Dominus guidin’ our steps. ‘Cataclysm’ is what they called it.”

Uncle twisted the top off the jug with one of his scarred hands, fingers trembling slightly, then took another drink.

“We lost five men the first night, dragged into the trees by walking corpses, flesh all withered and torn. Swords barely bothered ‘em, and arrows just stuck in their flesh. Next night was worse. We saw things... things no one should be meant t’ see. Ice ripping through air and men from cackling skeletons, giant spiders there one minute and gone the next, pale green ghosts consuming entire squads and leavin’ only their screams.”

I can still remember the way Uncle looked when he said his next words, like he was trapped in a nightmare he’d been trying his whole life to escape.

“We were there fer what felt like years.”

He raised the jug to his lips, and kept it there for several seconds. When he put it back down, his eyes seemed even more unfocused.

“Ye ask how I learnt t’ hunt so well. Tis simple, child. I learnt in the forests of Wraeclast, in the streets, in the mountains and the swamps. I learnt from from watchin’ my friends die, and killin’ the monsters that took ‘em.” He pointed a finger at me, his dirt-grimed nail unwavering. “Kill or be killed. There’s no other choice. Those of us who made it back learnt that lesson t’ our bones. Ye use what ye have, no matter what the price of that usin’ be, and ye try yer best t’ forget it after.”

He glanced over near the door and shuddered, then closed his eyes and rolled over on his side.

“Once we found what Dominus sought, he led us back t' Oriath, preparin' an even larger expedition. Not scoutin' this time. Invasion. They wanted me t' stay, but I chose t' leave, and tracked yer mother down. She’d met yer father by then, the two of them livin’ out here in this village, and I joined ‘em. Rest of it, ye know.”

I should have left it there, should have let him drift off to sleep, but I had to ask. Curse me for a fool, but I did. I knew what he was looking at, the one thing in the hut that never seemed to fit, like the sense of an intruder in the forest I sometimes got when wandering the trees and a gamekeeper was on patrol, slipping through the undergrowth.

“Is that why you never open the trunk under your bow? The black one, with the iron lock? Because it reminds you of the army?”

His eyes sprang back into focus and he tilted his neck over, looking at me sharply, but when he spoke, it was with the voice of a wild animal caught in a snare, gnawing at its own limb to escape.

“There ain’t nothing in that trunk but bad memories and pain, child. Pray there never comes a day when we need it. Now get t’ bed. It’s late, and we’ve spent too much time on the past.”

Curiosity unsatiated, I did as he said, but even as I drifted off to sleep, I knew that I needed to know what was in the trunk. What was in it that could scare the most unshakeable person I’d ever known.

I soon learned the price of that knowledge, and to this day, I regret it.

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It was several months later that my life changed, like a lightning bolt shearing a trunk in twain. A knock came on the hut’s door, and I nudged it open with my foot, my hands busy tying my hair back into its customary ponytail. In front of me stood a figure in carefully tailored silks, his riding boots gleaming a freshly polished black in the late-morning sunlight, the fine scabbard of a longsword swinging at his side. He had grown from our first meeting, as had I, and I suspect that is what drew his attention.

No longer a pimple-faced youth, now a full grown man with a wispy blond beard, and master of the surrounding area after his father’s passing, the new Lord Priapus gazed at me with lurking shadows in his eyes, and I was reminded suddenly of a day many years past, of a scrawny child sitting behind a table, and of an odd request for ‘toys.’ Suddenly, he stepped forward into the doorway. With nowhere to go, I backed into the hut.

“Is your uncle here, by chance?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

“No. He’s cutting firewood. I need to go join him. Should I give him a message for you?”

I stepped over to the bed, sliding one of my boots on, and frowned at the sound of the door softly shutting behind me.

“No, no, I think I’ve found a way to pass the time until he gets back. I remember you, you know.” I slid my other boot on and turned around. He stood in front of the door, one hand idly stroking the hilt of his longsword. “Though I must admit, you’ve rather... grown... since then.” An ugly grin crossed his face, his eyes running up and down my body, and I felt my blood run cold. He took a step forward. “I also remember having my hand crushed for asking a harmless question.” His fingers continued to toy with his sword. Another step. “I have to say, your uncle seems rather neglectful. A fine girl such as yourself left all alone near this savage forest. There’s no telling what kind of terrible things might happen out here. You should be grateful I’m here to protect you. Perhaps you should thank me.”

He stepped forward yet again, now nearly on top of me, and a sick feeling of revulsion rose in my stomach. The thought of this man, of any man, taking what was not his to take, nearly made me gag in anger and fear. I could feel myself panting short, thin breaths, and he leered again, a rabid animal closing on its prey.

“I do so love it when they struggle. Don’t go limp on me, now. There’s no fun in that.”

I could feel my hips pressing against the small table where I carved arrows at night, my body trying to keep as much space between us as possible, and I leaned back, one hand held out, the other falling to the table to support my weight. Thin shafts of wood rolled beneath my fingers and he laughed, grabbing my outstretched wrist.

“Come now, you might even enjoy it. I know I will.”

He pressed up against me, his free hand tearing at my top, trying to unwind the wraps of linen covering my chest. I felt numb, trapped, the world spinning out of control around me. Where was Uncle?

Breathe.

I gulped down air, my head pounding. Lord Priapus continued pawing at me, his knee pressing against the inside of mine, trying to spread my legs apart, his tongue licking at my cheek. He let go of my wrist and reached down between us, fumbling at his waist.

Draw.

My fingers curled around an arrow shaft, its smooth grain warm against my skin. I placed my other hand on his chest, feeling the smooth beat of his heart beneath the cool silk fabric. He drew back momentarily, his lips framing a word.

Release.

With a quick shove, I opened a small gap between us, then slammed my other hand into his side as hard as I could, the wooden shaft making a meaty thunk against his lower abdomen as it penetrated. His face went pale, sweat forming on his forehead, and I pushed myself upright. Snarling, I kicked him in the crotch, and he toppled over to the floor, high pitched whimpers coming from his curled up form. I kicked him once more in the ribs for good measure, then burst out the door, sprinting raggedly into the forest. Once among the trees, I leaned over and retched, then wiped my mouth and ran on.

Exhale.

I needed to find Uncle.

-------------------------------------------------

An interminable time later, I stumbled into a clearing filled with freshly felled trees. The smell of fresh sap and undergrowth filled the air, so clean compared to the thoughts running through my mind, that I almost threw up again. I looked around wildly, hoping he was around.

“Uncle!”

A burly figure rose from the stump he’d been sitting on, double bladed axe held loosely at his side, and I gasped in relief.

“Child? What’s the trouble? I expected ye nearly an hour ago.”

I quickly told him what had happened at the hut, refusing to let the hot tears pricking the corners of my eyes fall. When I finished, Uncle stared at me, his expression thunderous.

“That little- Did ye kill him?”

“N-no. He’s hurt, but he was alive when I left.”

“I told ye, there’s but the one law!”

I felt my heart sink at Uncle’s tone, at the thought I did something wrong, and I tried to keep it from my face. He must have noticed, though, because suddenly his arms engulfed me and pulled me into his chest in a not quite crushing embrace. This time, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Easy child, easy. It’s not ye I’m angry at. It just makes things a mite more difficult is all. Ye did fine, just fine. Ye were never in the wrong.”

I rubbed my face against his vest, wiping the tears away, smelling the earthy, pungent scent that was so undeniably his - blood, sweat, forest. He gently held me out at arms length.

“We must hurry now though, child. We need t’ be gone from here afore the sun sets, else ye’ll share yer father’s fate fer sure. Lords of Oriath brook no insult t’ their precious ‘honor.’” He spat on the ground, then looked me in the eyes. “We’ll be fine, but we must return t’ the hut now, quickly. There’s supplies there we’ll need.”

So speaking, he set off into the forest at a lope, soundless as always. Stomach continuing to roil, I followed.

-------------------------------------------------

The sun still lay high in the sky when we returned to the hut, Uncle’s pace causing sweat to bead up on my forehead and arms. I watched him circle around the mud-daubed walls, checking warily for traps or an ambush, but everything appeared clear. Once he completed his circuit, he waved me over to join him at the front of the hut and we went inside.

The smell of fresh blood, a sharp copper tang, hit my nose when we walked through the doorway - a small pool drying where I had left Lord Priapus, along with spattered droplets trailing through the dirt over to the door. Uncle took in the scene, then bent over the locked chest, fishing a small key out from beneath his shirt.

“Aye, looks like ye pierced him good, but not enough t’ kill him. Trail leads to hoofprints outside, which means he made it t’ his horse, which means he’ll be back with men as soon as he can. Take what food will fit in a knapsack, a spare set of clothes, and two waterskins. And yer bow, a’course.”

I rapidly gathered the things Uncle had listed from around the hut, cramming strips of jerky and hardtack into my knapsack, along with a spare shirt and pair of leggings, then looped its straps over my shoulders and grabbed my bow. I walked over to stand next to Uncle, still kneeling beside the now open chest.

Inside was a carefully folded uniform, black fabric with gold trim, a shortsword in a plain lacquered scabbard, and a small leather pouch secured with a simple knot. Shuddering, Uncle reached in and grabbed the pouch, tying it to his belt, then closed the lid of the chest and lifted his longbow down from its perch above. With one smooth motion, he strung it, then slid a quiver full of bladed arrows across his back.

“Throw everything else on the fire,” Uncle said abruptly, his voice rough. “Should give us some time t’ hide our tracks if they’re gawkin’ at flames when they get here instead of chasin’ us.”

I scooped up a bundle of unfinished arrow shafts off the table, trying not to think about what had nearly happened so recently on its surface, but was brought up short by the sound of thudding hoofbeats from outside. I felt the panicky need for flight rise in my stomach once more. Uncle nudged the door open a hairswidth, looking outside, and swore under his breath. The blood seemed to drain from his face.

“Aye, ‘tis him. And a squad of Blackguards. Wait here a moment, child. I’ll try t’ talk ‘em away. Don’t let them see ye.”

I nodded and crept over to the hut’s lone window, peering through a crack between the wooden shutters and the frame. Through it, I could see Lord Priapus and five rough looking men in ebon armor mounted on horses, curved shortbows slung across their backs, plain shortswords at their hips. Lord Priapus’ face was pale, and a bloodstained bandage lay visible beneath his silk robe, wrapping his left side. Uncle slowly stepped out of the hut, half closing the door behind him, and leaned against his bow.

“Can I help ye?”

“Where is she?” Lord Priapus snarled, hand pressed tight to his bandage. “Tell me, and I’ll let you walk away alive.”

“Ye want me t’ track someone? Would be easier if ye’d tell me who.”

“Don’t play the idiot with me! You tell me where she is, or I’ll have the boys here start cutting you. That whore stabbed me, and I want her found!”

Uncle sighed, and straightened out of his slouch.

“I’m afraid I can’t help ye. Maybe ye should get that wound looked at and come back tomorrow.”

He looked at the armored men on their horses, and slowly pointed at them.

“Now I understand ye’ve a job t’ do. I used t’ be a soldier in the Legion myself. Red Hand battalion, if ye’ve heard of it. First Scout division.” The Blackguards looked at each other, shifting nervously on their horses. “I see ye have. I’ve no wish to quarrel with ye. But if ye don’t talk some sense into yer lord, there’s a chance none of us walks away, and I’ve seen enough death t’ last me several lifetimes, I’ll tell ye true. Let’s take some time on this instead of doin’ anything foolish.”

For a second, I allowed myself the hope that things would work out. That Uncle would be able to convince them to leave, that we would escape without bloodshed. Then Lord Priapus’ eyes narrowed, and he started laughing hysterically.

“You think you can tell my troops what to do? I am their lord!” He winced, clutching at his side, and an ugly smile lit his face. “You’re protecting her, aren’t you? All dressed for travel - planning on running somewhere? What a fool. Throwing your life away for a woman.” He waved his other hand limply. “Kill him, and search the hut.” The five Blackguards looked at each other again, then nocked arrows atop their horses.

“No!” I screamed, but Uncle was already moving, his hand a blur as he reached over his back. The whipping hiss of fast moving projectiles filled the air, and then he tumbled back through the doorway, kicking it closed with his left leg. Outside, one of the armored men slumped over, then off his horse, hitting the ground like a sack of rocks, an arrow through his throat. I turned back to Uncle, still on the floor, and my heart sank.

He had his hands to his right thigh, where a wooden shaft sprouted like some hideous sapling, nourishing itself on blood and bone, black feathers its leaves. His teeth clenched in pain, but he didn’t make a sound as he probed at the injury, a thin trickle of crimson leaking around its edges. I hurried over to his side, and he looked up at me.

“Aye, not so young as I once were, child. Used t’ be a day where I’d’ve dodged all five. Ghosts of me squadmates must be laughin’ right now.”

“How are we going to get out? There’s only the one door.”

“We’ll get out, don’t ye worry. First I need ye t’ help me with the wound, though. Fetch me a piece of wood I can bite on, a jug of firewine, and some bandages.”

I went to get what he needed, and then froze. Several thumps sounded from above us, and wisps of smoke curled down through the thatch like the questing fingers of angry spirits. Uncle’s voice startled me back into motion.

“Hurry, child. They mean t’ burn us out.”

I rushed back over to him, placing the firewine next to his side, the bandages on the table, and handing him an unfinished arrow shaft. He took a hefty gulp from the jug, then grabbed the piece of wood, his other unsheathing the razor sharp hunting knife at his hip, and stared me in the eyes.

“I’m going t’ cut the top part of this shaft off, but when I do, I’ll likely pass out. Ye need to push the rest through t’ the other side, quickly, pour the firewine on it, then wrap it with bandages, tight. Once yer done, wake me if I’m still asleep. Ye understand?”

I nodded, my lips tight. Above us, the smoke thickened.

“Then no time t’ lose.”

Uncle took another gulp from the jug, then placed the unfinished arrow between his mouth, biting down on its length, his now empty hand gripping the shaft poking out of his leg. In one smooth motion, he brought his hunting knife slicing across in a flash of steel, severing the wood clean through barely a fingerswidth above his clenched knuckles. They whitened, and a crack like a branch splitting hit my ears. I saw his jaw and neck muscles clench into ridges of banded iron, then his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the side, the splintered remnants of the unfinished arrow falling from his mouth.

I fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm me, and pushed down on the arrow shaft, feeling the bladed head cutting through the resistance of muscle and flesh before finally emerging through the back of his leg. I grabbed its blood-slick tip and pulled the rest of it through, trying not to think about the warm liquid spattering my hands, and threw it into a corner, then hastily splashed firewine on both sides of the wound. I finished by tying off the bandages around Uncle’s leg in a quick knot. Above us, an orange glow appeared in the smoke, and I felt the temperature rising. I checked his face. Still passed out.

“Uncle. Uncle, wake up.”

Gently, I shook his face, then harder. Still nothing. Sweat prickled along my forehead, not all from the heat. Grimacing, I slapped him, my hand feeling like I had just hit a granite outcropping. His eyes fluttered, then slowly opened.

“Aye... aye, child, I’m here.” He examined his leg, then nodded at me. “Ye did well. Just like a ranger.” Grimacing, he pushed himself to his feet, heavily favoring his unwounded leg, keeping below the smoke now covering the entire top third of the hut’s interior. “So it’s fire they want t’ play with, is it?” His mouth set into a thin line, and he reached down to the leather bag at his side. “I gave ‘em a chance, fer the sake of the Legion, but if it’s fire they want, I’ll give them fire." An unfamiliar darkness appeared in his eyes, something I'd never seen before, like the bloody frenzy of a rabid wolf. "All the fire in the world.” His right hand emerged with a green gem.

I stared at it, entranced, its smooth facets seeming to come alive with dancing flames the more I watched. Almost unconsciously, I reached a hand out toward it, when suddenly a stinging sensation slapped through my fingers. I tore my gaze away from the jewel to see Uncle looking at me, an indecipherable expression on his face, his left hand returning to his side. The darkness faded somewhat from his eyes.

“No, child. Tis I who’ll bear the cost, not ye. Put it from yer mind. Get ready t’ open the window when I say.”

Sullenly, though not sure why I felt that way, I crawled my way over to the wooden shutters covering the hut’s open window, smoke near halfway down its length. The heat was close to becoming unbearable, a crackling roar sounding from above our heads. Uncle came up next to me, an arrow nocked in his bow, the gem somehow socketed into a cunning groove in its handle. He peered through the crack, and nodded once, sharply.

“Aye. When ye open it, I’ll take the one shot, then we run fer the forest. Ye don’t stop until ye make the trees. I’ll be right behind ye. Now, go!”

Grunting, I shoved open the shutters, the cool intake of air immediately feeding the growing blaze now engulfing the hut. In my brief glimpse outside, I saw the four Blackguards atop their horses, bows ready, Lord Priapus next to the rightmost one, and then Uncle’s arrow whistled past my ear, its tip seeming to glow.

When it hit the rightmost Blackguard, he burst immediately into flames, him and his horse transformed into a living pyre, causing the other horses to rear back, and then I was running, bursting out the door and towards the forest, Uncle’s ragged breath sounding from behind. Arrows hissed past me, like a deadly rain of wood and steel. I kept my head down and my legs moving, the trees growing ever closer, when suddenly I staggered - a bright lance of pain etching its way through my right side. Just as suddenly, I was amongst the leafy shade, and I dropped to a knee, panting, pressing a hand to my side. Seconds later, I felt pressure on my shoulder.

“Can ye move, child? They’ll be tracking us soon.”

Silently I nodded, trying to ignore the warm wetness spreading from my ribs.

Kill or be killed, and I was not yet dead.

-------------------------------------------------

The hours to sundown passed in a blur, filled with the ragged sounds of our flight, the closing horn calls of the last three Blackguards, and the chittering noises of forest life interrupted by our graceless passage. Throughout it all, the pain in my side grew and grew, until it seemed it must encompass the entire world. Finally, when it felt like I couldn’t possibly bear it any more, I dropped to a knee, panting and wheezing, the weight of my body leaning against the rough bark of an oak tree.

When I looked down at my side, nearly half my shirt was the reddish-black of congealing blood, but I resolved to ignore it, telling myself Uncle must have made it through worse in his time on Wraeclast. Instead, I fumbled open a waterskin, the lukewarm liquid refreshing against my dry lips, and looked around, trying to get my bearings.

It was then I noticed that Uncle was no longer with me. A cold chill went down my back, and I dragged myself upright, the waterskin tumbling to the forest floor from my now nerveless fingers. In the distance, though not so far as I would have liked, the hunting horns sounded their low moan once more, and I began retracing my steps.

A minute or so later, at the edge of a small clearing, dusky orange beams of sunlight lancing through the gently shifting leaves, I found him, his back against the base of a spreading ash tree, his eyes shut, bow still tightly gripped in one hand. I staggered over to his side and knelt next to him.

“Uncle!”

His right eye cracked open, the brown of his pupil shockingly dark against his now pale face.

“Aye, child. I’m here.”

“Uncle, we need to move. We have to keep going.”

The horns sounded again, closer, as if to accentuate my point. He laughed, a short bark of noise that quickly turned into a coughing fit, and shook his head.

“‘Tis up t’ you now, child. This leg’s gone as far as it will, and someone needs t’ show these young pups what it means t’ be a soldier. What it means to protect, instead of plunder.”

I felt the hot pricking of unshed tears, but shoved it into the same corner as the pain from my side.

“No! You have to move! They’ll kill you!”

“Aye, they’ll try, but whether it be their arrows or not, I belong t’ the forest now. No use in denyin’ otherwise. Ye bandaged it well, but some wounds aren’t meant t’ be run on.”

He reached a hand up to my face, pushing back a wisp of hair.

“Ye’ve learned well, child. Yer more a ranger than most I served with, I tell ye true. Ye know how t’ keep yerself alive in a cruel world, and that’s all I could’ve hoped fer. All yer parents could’ve hoped fer.”

“But I can’t leave you!”

“Ye must.” His voice turned rough. “I wish I could be with ye, child. Family needs t’ stick t’ each other, and yer all I have left of her.”

The hot pricking turned into streaks of moisture on my cheeks.

“The farmwives said you never wanted me. That you made a mistake taking me in.”

“Pah, and what do those cows know? Yer family, child. Ye always will be. I’d’ve sooner cut off a hand than abandon ye.”

“You’re abandoning me now!”

He sighed.

“Aye, and it pains me t’ do so, but this is a hunt. And I’ve taught ye what t’ do in a hunt.”

Saying the words felt like ripping out pieces of my soul.

“‘You use what you have to end the hunt, else you die.’”

The horns moaned their call, much closer this time.

“Aye, and I can still shoot.” He untied the pouch from his waist and handed it to me, his hand shaking. “Take this.” His expression turned fierce, a last surge of vitality returning him to the man who’d watched over me my entire life. “Ye don’t open that unless yer life is on the line, and if ye do, ye remember. Kill or be killed. No matter what it takes. I’ll not see ye fall t’ that darkness without a fight.”

I placed the pouch in my knapsack, feeling the edges of two gems inside, and tried not to wince at the burning in my side. Shaking, I pushed myself to my feet, and looked down at the only man who’d ever cared for me.

“I... I love you, Uncle.”

He smiled, the only time I’d ever seen him do so, and it transformed his entire face, craggy features like mountains softening into the calm waters of a hidden lake. He took his hand away from the bow, the gem sparkling green in its handle, and cupped my cheek.

“I love ye too, child. Now go, and don’t look back. Find a way t’ live. I’ll be with ye always.”

I stumbled away, wiping the tears from my eyes with one hand, the other pressed to my side, leaving the clearing further and further behind. The horns moaned again, their low notes heralding the last dying rays of the setting sun, and then flames flashed into the sky, once, twice, thrice - momentarily brightening the twilight into hottest noon. A thunderclap of sound roared past me, hot wind whipping my hair against my cheeks, and I felt ice cover my heart, the raging inferno behind me unable to thaw its frozen grip. The light and heat faded, and night spread across the sky on velvet wings.

I lurched to a halt and screamed at the stars emerging overhead. All my rage, my sorrow, my fear; a tearing lament of agony splitting my very essence apart in fracturing torrents of pure emotion. No horns answered me, Uncle dangerous to the very end, a cornered bear saving its cub, but something else did. In the distance, a wolf howled, then another, and another, the forest joining me in an eerie dirge, until I had no breath left to give. Shaking, exhausted, I pressed on into the darkness, the pain from my side looming larger and larger over my senses, until, suddenly, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. My knees buckled, and I fell.

The stars overhead whirled and spun, dancing their endless song, while the forest floor accepted me with a lover’s embrace, my limbs placid and heavy on the cool loam. Pain was all I knew, all I could understand, my burning side the center of my universe. The last thing I remember was green eyes staring down out of a nut-brown face, a long braid swinging by her left cheek, a hand running across my forehead, the feeling of dragging motion, and then the darkness claimed me.

Thanks for the reads! Can't wait to read the next one!

Great character work, man. Love the interactions and the crafting of a relationship. Your restraint in showing game mechanics is a boon to the storytelling. Can't wait for the Witch.

Excellent as always, these stories are really good. As i said before only waiting for the books now

awesome lore, i love it
nice job

Amazing writing as always. I must admit that emotion hit me near the end there.

Looking forward to the next one!

I started reading this not having read your other stories and from my mobile i thought this was something of a series that GGG posted. This is top quality writing, cant wait til the witch! I'll be going back to read the others in the meantime.

Thanks for all the comments everyone, they are greatly appreciated. Looking forward to finishing this up. Also, if you enjoyed it, don't be afraid to tell your friends to come check them out :)

Holy crap this is a lot. Welp, now I have entertainment during the next few days at lunch. Read, just a bit, but it looks very well written. Good job!