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Ha'rai
Jul 28, 2012 13:18:03 GMT -7
Post by Riley on Jul 28, 2012 13:18:03 GMT -7
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Ha'rai
Aug 4, 2012 22:08:43 GMT -7
Post by Riley on Aug 4, 2012 22:08:43 GMT -7
Chapter I Erm io yer Starlight
Starlight, faint and cold, filtered through the gray sky into a highland meadow. It shone off of the frost-covered grass and filled every space and nook, until although it wasn't truly light, there was no room for darkness. A young vena named Ha'rai lay in the shelter afforded by a dry creek bed that skirted the meadow. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. It was an old habit of his to wake before dawn. Today, though, there was no need to rise so early — in fact, it might be better to sleep a little longer. He had a long way to walk that day, and it made sense for him to be a little more rested before he left. Falling back to sleep, however, proved to be impossible. It wasn't because of the cold in the meadow; cold didn't bother him so much. It was just his habit. He rose early and roused quickly. Knowing that he wouldn't fall back to sleep — and somewhat expecting it, as it was the same thing that had happened every day since he left the village — he decided that there was no point in dawdling. Today would be the seventh day he'd been away, and it was uncommon for anyone to take so long on a moraika. The others would begin to worry. It was time to go home. Ha'rai wouldn't have been so disappointed, were it not for the fact that he had come so close. When he had set out on his moraika, the unassisted hunt that would grant him adulthood in his tribe, he knew the exact animal he wanted to kill. It was a rgou. One in particular, which had stayed in his memory for years. It took six long, painful, lonely days for Ha'rai to track it down. Then, when he had finally found it, with the same scars, the same smell, the same look of desperation in its eyes; when he knew that his hunt would be over, and he would become a man, with one swift strike — He hesitated. It didn't matter. Ha'rai had tried to assure himself that it didn't matter, that most boys took several tries to complete a moraika and there was no shame in returning home with empty hands, but most boys had tried five times before they were as old as Ha'rai. Most everyone had succeeded and were made adults before they were as old as Ha'rai. Ha'rai had seen sixteen summers, and this was only his first attempt at moraika, one he had hoped would be his only attempt. He was frustrated and confused that he would have to return home, unable to try again until spring, because of a moment's pause, and he didn't even know why it happened. But then, in the sixth night as Ha'rai was cooking a field mouse he had caught, he smelled the rgou again. Although they were usually afraid of fire, the animal crept cautiously into the edge of the light and stared, just as desperately as ever, into Ha'rai's eyes. Ha'rai had readied his knife, but then lowered it. The rgou survived that night. Ha'rai even gave it some of the mouse. Whether it was truly grateful, or Ha'rai had only imagined that, it was not the viscous monster that Ha'rai had wanted to kill. Then, after one last glance into Ha'rai's eyes, it disappeared into the darkness. And now, just before dawn on the seventh day of his failed moraika, Ha'rai felt a strange peace. He opened his eyes, and looked up at the sky, where the stars gazed steadily back. Somehow, the moraika truly didn't matter now, in the stillness and silence of the star-watched gray. There was no reason he couldn't leave on another moraika during the fast-approaching winter. After all, cold didn't bother Ha'rai, and it had been unusually warm all autumn anyway. It was unlikely Salai would let him go, though. No prey was easy to catch during the winter, and it might be dangerous. Even if he didn't go during the winter, spring was not that far away. He was willing to wait — after all, he had already waited this long. Nata was anxious for him to complete his moraika, but she was part of the reason Ha'rai hadn't done it years before. He didn't want to leave her. A gust of wind interrupted the serenity. The advancing hiss of leaves and grass provided scant warning before it arrived, with icy teeth. Ha'rai felt his breath choke in his throat for a moment, and the bushes and grass around him flailed wildly. Winds were strong, cold, and frequent during the day, this high on the mountainside. The fact that it was starting to blow meant that the sun would be rising soon. If Ha'rai couldn't sleep, then he would get an early start on his walk back to the village.
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Ha'rai
Aug 9, 2012 16:11:34 GMT -7
Post by Riley on Aug 9, 2012 16:11:34 GMT -7
Chapter II Hharka Frost
Two vena slid silently through a wooded field. Every piece of frost on the brush and grass bit at the younger one's skin as she followed her elder — each time, prickling the slightest bit. She was annoyed and uncomfortable, but she held her silence. A lakan stood in a tree, not too far away. It was an adolescent with a coat that had turned white a little too early this year, and it thought itself very clever. After all, it had found so many trees that still had leaves on them. Some of the leaves were even still yellow, and none of the other lakan were here to eat them and leave nothing but the brown ones. The white lakan was, however, oblivious to the fact that it was being hunted by a pair of vena. Such a bright coat was hard to miss for even an inexperienced hunter, since there was no snow for it to hide against. However, it was a small lakan, which meant it would be fast if it tried to escape. The hunters would likely have one shot at killing it, and that meant they needed to get close to it. Silently. The older vena, Skefva, carried the tools — a big knife, a shrill flute, and a pair of ueta — all tied carefully to his flanks, so they would bump only against his fur and not make any noise. He walked rather quickly but steadily, eyes fixed on his prey. The younger vena, Nata, carried only a single ueta, tied around her shoulder. She walked a little less steadily than Skefva, anxious that she could hear her own footsteps. Still, she tried to keep herself calm, and silent. It had just been a while since she had hunted. Both vena walked on all-fours, to stay hidden within the grass. The lakan remained oblivious to their presence, though it gave them a bit of a scare when it jumped into another tree to continue grazing. Before long, Skefva jerked his head to indicate a nearby bush. There was really no need to let Nata know where they were going, since she would follow him anyway, but he liked to let his partner know what was going on. Especially since Nata wasn't his usual partner. No need for surprises. Once behind the bush, Skefva untied one of his ueta. A heavy stone head chipped to a point with a long tail of rope looped through it, the ueta was the second most deadly weapon of the vena. Skefva began twisting the rope into a tight helix, occasionally tilting his ears to gauge the wind. Nata stood a little, and eyed the lakan. It was small but not scrawny, with a pair of large cupped ears and a stark white coat. She mused to herself that if it were small enough, an owl might carry it off, it looked so much like an overgrown mouse. It seemed pacified at the moment, dim-witted eyes bulging wide from its narrow head, and tongue and lips lolling around over a morsel of leaves. With a powerful set of hind legs, though, and such an ease to its balance in the tree, there was no denying that it would outrace the vena in a forest. Lakan liked to jump, especially from tree to tree. Entire herds of them lived in trees, usually only coming to the ground for water. They were excellent jumpers, known to leap over rivers, ravines, and from the ground straight into a tree. They were, however, poor runners. Any lakan on the ground was vulnerable. The vena, on the other hand, were swift, agile, and graceful when running. Built slender, with keen senses, they were undeniably formidable as hunters. Monsters of every kind had, in one story or another, been killed by a vena — rgos and wolves, rgatseta and bears, even strangers. Sleek fur covered the vena from muzzle to tail. Skefva's was matted, and very orange. He was sometimes teased about it, but more often was the one to start the jokes. Nata's fur was satiny, the golden color of late afternoon sunlight. Both had black fur on their arms and legs, white fur on their bellies and faces, and black and gray paint making twisting stripes across their bodies. The paint helped them to both disappear in dappled shadows when they wanted to hide, and to intimidate their prey when they wanted to be seen. Skefva was done twisting the rope on his ueta. He held its head in front of him and the tip of its tail behind, pulling the twisted rope taut above his head. He sent a stern glance at Nata, who carefully backed away from him. With a sharp breath, Skefva stood, swung the ueta once above his head, and released it. It flew with a faint hiss straight at the lakan — And missed. With a crack that seemed deafening after so much silence, the ueta lodged itself into the tree, just below the lakan's feet. The lakan made no hesitation to bolt away from the noise. Skefva's ears drooped in disappointment and disbelief. Nata took off running after it. “Don't, Nata,” Skefva called out. She wouldn't have stopped if she had heard him. Vai might like to sneak around while hunting, which was probably why he and Skefva made such great partners, but Nata was never very good at it. She preferred a less subtle approach. If the vena were swift, Nata was lightning. Even the frostbitten grass that scratched at her belly could not slow her down, as she raced hand-over-foot toward the alarmed lakan. The animal was leaping as fast as it could, but this was no forest. Trees were far apart, and the easiest path through them was jagged and knotted. It was moving slowly, and tiring fast — and Nata knew it. The same thing had happened to her prey on her moraika. Nata didn't intend to wait until the lakan tripped or exhausted itself, though. It was hard to predict which way it was going to go next. If it got to a denser stand of trees, she'd never catch it. She stood on her hind feet and continued running, though not as fast, as she untied her ueta. She didn't bother to twist it — it would not fly as true this way, but there was no time — and swung it over her head, releasing it into a high arc. To Nata's satisfaction, it hit her target. However, that target was not the lakan. Rather, it was something much larger and less erratic, a gangly tree some distance in front of the lakan. The ueta made a clattering noise on the dry wood. Just as Nata predicted, the lakan clambered to turn around, and began leaping away from the noise, toward Skefva. She held still until it was past her, then shouted, “Skefva! Ready an ueta!” Whether or not he had heard her, Nata bolted to retrieve her own ueta. It was well out of reach, tangled by its tail in the gnarled branches of the tree she had struck. It was an old tree, but looked sturdy enough to support her weight, and it rather easy to climb, with an abundance of knots and limbs to carry her to where she could reach the ueta rope. Nata pulled on it, but it was badly snagged. How like a rope to make a mess of itself when left alone. A noise ahead alerted her that the lakan was headed this direction again. Apparently, Skefva hadn't had much luck the second time. Nata pulled harder, and with a crackling noise the branches relented, nearly causing Nata to lose her balance. A broken limb that had been cradled in the mess of branches toppled to the ground. The lakan was in sight now, and changing course again for a direction that was toward neither Nata nor Skefva. Nata had her ueta, though. She threw it again, straight for the lakan, but there was no time to twist its tail or aim properly. And then, much to her disbelief, it struck the animal. Not a hard blow, or a vital one, but the weapon clearly made contact with one of the lakan's legs mid-jump, immediately eliciting a distressed moan. Its footing slipped when it made contact with the next tree, and it failed to catch itself on a lower branch. With a thud, it hit the ground on its feet, then collapsed. Wide-eyed, Nata scrambled down the tree, and ran warily to where the lakan had landed. It was breathing hard, and trying to stand, but its wounded leg was bleeding, and Nata suspected that at least one of the others was broken. It turned its head to face her, eyes filled with confusion and terror. And rightly so. Nata drew herself to her full height, puffed out her chest, and looked down at her prey. She didn't know where the ueta had landed, but she still had the single most deadly weapon of the vena. Kikkuera. Nata circled around to the animal's back. The lakan scooted, trying to face her, flailing its head. It was looking for a fight. When cornered, all prey became viscous; and though they lacked antlers, lakan fought using their skulls. Nata pounced on the creature, trying to get an arm on its head, but not before sustaining a blow to the stomach. It squirmed and bucked beneath her, but Nata took a firm grip on both sides of its head. With a hard twist, the animal stopped moving. Skefva was standing behind her, his ueta twisted and drawn. “You shouldn't have acted so irresponsibly,” he said, but he could not hide the grin on his face. “You shouldn't have given up so easily,” Nata replied. He gave a chirp on the flute. A signal for the other hunters that quarry had been caught. “Come. We're missing two ueta.”
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Ha'rai
Oct 7, 2012 18:44:16 GMT -7
Post by Riley on Oct 7, 2012 18:44:16 GMT -7
The rgou Ha’rai had hunted, the one he had spared, used to visit him in his nightmares. Rgous by themselves merited place in nightmares — feral and merciless, they presented a very real danger to the vena, even warriors. They were the tall gray dogs, with sunken eyes and wide jaws, that never slept. Ha'rai did not hunt this rgou merely because of what it was. It had earned Ha’rai’s hatred.
Ha'rai, Nata, and Vai were always inseparable friends. When they were young, the three were simply referred to as ‘ehi’yario’ — those kids — especially by Salai, who was Nata’s grandmother as well as the leader of the tribe, and had raised both Ha’rai and Nata. Vai was two years older than his friends, and had a natural skill for hunting. At a very early age, he was allowed to go with the adult hunters. So it was, when Ha’rai and Nata had fared ten winters each, and Vai was called off to help with a hunt. The two children went off into the woods together that morning, disappointed but not discouraged by Vai’s absence. There was a tall ulifa-seed tree they liked to play on. The rgou must have been watching them as they climbed. Ha’rai was distracted by the smell of it, and slipped while climbing. Nata caught him, but not without catching a branch to her stomach. Ha’rai helped his injured friend to the base of the tree, where she struggled to catch her lost breath. That was when it attacked.
The scar that was the creature’s blind left eye came from Ha’rai. In his dreams, the creature was larger and more terrible, face drenched with its own blood, teeth dripping with Ha’rai’s — or Nata’s. It wasn’t the only thing to haunt him at night, but after as much as it did, Ha’rai was somewhat surprised to see it as it was. So pathetic. Perhaps that was what had stayed his hand. It hardly mattered anymore. The rgou had died in the night. Ha’rai was now carrying its carcass. Something large had it, and left it in a pool of its own cold blood. Ha’rai wasn’t sure how he should feel about its death, so he tried to feel nothing. The animal was to be valued though, which is why he drained what blood remained and took the carcass with him. The hillside rolled downward before Ha’rai as he walked. Shrewd brushes and stubborn grasses, all frostbitten, caught at his legs as he forged his wide zig-zag down the slope. The sky was light, dappled with faint silver clouds, but because the sun was yet to breach the looming mist-paled mountains, the whole canyon valley was veiled in a frigid, steely gray. This prelight was dear to Ha’rai. It exhilarated him, heightened his senses, made his blood feel like fire. It was almost as if he could run the rest of the way home. Of course, he wouldn’t. It had been an entire day since Ha’rai last had water. There was no point in making himself any thirstier. In fact, even in his state of excitement, he occasionally grew tired from the load of the rgou over his shoulder, and so would allow himself to briefly stop and rest when the burden became too much. The sky continued to grow brighter as Ha’rai steadily progressed through increasingly fertile and decreasingly steep highland. The colors of the landscape were beginning to appear, though dimly, beneath the whitening skylight, with the blue gray of the far canyon walls, the shimmering yellow of the leaves on nearby kala trees, red seed fringes sparsely spread among the swaying stalks of grass. The burn from the exertion had crept into Ha’rai’s arms again, and his back was feeling cramped, so he chose a clean place to put the rgou, and a soft place to put himself. His legs were stiff too, but that was more from climbing up this same mountainside the day before. It was good to relax for a bit without the anxiety of killing the rgou weighing on his mind, and the cushion of weeds beneath him kept his back from touching the frozen ground, making him in all more comfortable than he had been since he left on his moraika. That was when he noticed the music. It was the soft, melancholy sound of a low flute — the kind carved of wood by one of Ha’rai’s dearest friends. The melody was one of that friend’s favorites, as well. Ha’rai smiled and sat up. The sound was coming from a copse of kala trees not too far away. He considered leaving the rgou where it was to follow the song, but feared that a scavenger might get to it while he was gone, so after yawning, he willed his reluctant arms to lift the dead rgou again, and set off toward the sound of the flute.
Miles Eques, Captain of the Mythic Knights, was a man who commanded respect from all who knew him. When he walked, his stride were slow and deliberate. When he spoke, his voice was soft and firm, with the authority of a sage. His sword, a beautiful albeit simply wrought instrument of war, waited in its sheath at his hip. A mantle sewn of thick furs draped over his shoulders, and around his leather tunic and leggings. His silvery hair was long but kempt, his beard neatly trimmed. Though most of his face was hardened and careworn, not a blemish obscured the thin white scar that crossed from his right jaw between his eyes to his left temple. And then there were his eyes. Eyes the color of stormclouds. Eyes that one moment could be as sharp as bladesteel, and the next as warm and loving as the stars on a summer’s night. Eyes that whispered of great wonder and pain. Ha’rai often wondered what those eyes had seen. Miles sat atop a lichen-speckled boulder, lips pressed to his simple flute, fingers dancing with dexterity uncommon for a man of his age. His walking staff was propped near his feet — the long hike from the vena camp was surely not merciful to him. Ha’rai saw his pack and gear leaning against a tree, where a small campfire had been the night before. Miles’ eyes were closed, but Ha’rai was sure the man knew he was there. It was this way with Miles. Long before dawn, he would play this melody on his flute, and Ha’rai would follow the sound of it, until he found the glen or clearing where they would have the day’s lesson. If Ha’rai had not arrived when the song was over, he would have to find the rest of the way himself. If Ha’rai arrived before the song was over, Miles would finish it before greeting Ha’rai. The familiar last notes rang forlorn from the little flute. Miles opened his eyes to meet Ha’rai’s. “My salute, Captain,” said Ha’rai in Miles’ language. The market tongue of the land where Miles once lived was one of the things he had taught Ha’rai in their daily lessons. “And mine,” Miles smirked. Not for lack of trying from either teacher or pupil, Ha’rai still had a fairly heavy accent. “Are you thirsty?” Miles held up a taut waterskin, which he offered to Ha’rai. Without hesitating, Ha’rai took it and gulped at the contents as fast as he could.
...
“You tracked me, Captain,” Ha’rai said. It wasn’t meant to be an accusation. Ha’rai just wanted to make sure there would be no pretense – it was obvious, really. There was no other logical reason for Miles to be here. “Followed,” Miles corrected. “I’ve never been more than a day behind you.” “Why?” Ha’rai asked. It was a hard climb for a young vena, and Miles had always needed a stick to walk. “Because I knew your moraika was the best chance I’d have to find out what kind of man you are, when you have nobody else’s expectations to fulfill. You could have done whatever you wanted out here, without fear of disappointing your tribe. Or me, for that matter. And it was my intention to see what comes with that kind of freedom.” Ha’rai paused. He wasn’t sure how to take this revelation. It was as if every good thing he felt that day were tainted – hollow. It had all been a mere test. “Now,” Miles continuted. “I see you found the rgou that attacked you when you were a child.” This made Ha’rai grunt. Miles really knew what this rgou was? Miles frequently spoke of the importance of forgiveness, as well as nonviolence whenever possible. Ha’rai knew that Miles would not approve of his intentions for the rgou. Ha’rai felt his chest become heavy, and his breath hot. “I’m sorry, Captain.” “What for?” Ha’rai turned his eyes from the ground to see Miles’ eyes smiling. “You didn’t kill it. In fact, you stayed your hand when you had the perfect chance.” Knowing that Miles was not angry with him comforted Ha’rai, although it was a little unnerving that Miles had seen so much of his journey. “I still wanted to,” Ha’rai said. He didn’t want to be blamed, but wasn’t sure he deserved Miles’ forgiveness. “I know,” Miles said gently. “Nobody forges a path over mountains just to feint with a knife. I know you set out to see blood. But, when you change your heart, that’s when you make things right.” “It wasn’t that noble, Miles. I just hesitated. I couldn’t go through with it, and I still don’t know why.” “The first time, maybe. That animal strayed into your camp, and instead of a knife, you gave it meat.” Ha’rai was starting to get very anxious. “You saw all that from the comfort of this place?” he said, indicating the cold firepit, “no short walk from where any of this happened.” Miles didn’t say anything for a moment. He was calculating a response, and Ha’rai didn’t like it. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about this man, who was always capable of just a little more than seemed possible. “I underestimate you sometimes,” he said at length. “I forget that you’re no longer a child. Tell me, though, do you really know how long I sleep, or how fast I walk – or how well I see, for that matter?” At home, Miles was always aloof from the tribe. He would interact with them sometimes, usually to make a trade, or to teach Ha’rai in their predawn lessons. It had occasionally raised Ha’rai’s curiosity, that he had never seen the man eat or sleep, though he was certain that Miles walked very slowly. In light of how uncanny Miles’ observations were, this realization was almost sinister. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Captain.” “There’s something you don’t know, Ha’rai, and as long as one detail is missing, then there’s an explanation you haven’t considered. I care greatly about making sure I know what kind of person you are, even when it means taking long hikes for long days and nights, up and down a mountain. I can honestly tell you that I didn’t sleep at all last night.” Ha’rai felt a little sheepish, but still felt that Miles was hiding something. “Why camp here, then?” “This is where I was at twilight yesterday. That was the only time I could build a fire, without the smoke or firelight betraying me. This is where I left my things when I went to check on you, and when I went to get water.” It made sense, though if Miles could so easily mobilize himself, it seemed to Ha’rai that he would have. Whatever Miles was hiding, he was doing a good job of it. Ha’rai would have to wait for Miles to reveal his own secret. “Now, for such an inquiring mind,” Miles began to chuckle, “who seeks to pick apart how I got here, you haven’t yet asked why.” “I know why you’re here, Miles. You want to knight me.” It was Miles’ turn to be taken aback. “I really do underestimate you sometimes. How did you figure it out?” Ha’rai allowed himself to smirk. This was exactly how he liked Miles to be, not preachy or sentimental – as he was prone to be sometimes – just fun. When it came to matters of swords and knights, both Miles and Ha’rai could relax. It was a realm where they were comfortable. “You really think I’d be surprised? Since spring, you always talk about how an apprentice needs to prove himself somehow before he becomes a knight. But you never suggest how an apprentice might prove himself. Then, without fail, you always change the subject to me going on my moraika.” Miles was chuckling again. “Was I really that clumsy about it?” Ha’rai joined in the laughter as well. “Well,” Miles continued,“if you expected it, then you ought to be ready for one last spar with your mentor.” “I was worried you wouldn’t ask.”
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Ha'rai
Nov 13, 2012 22:27:18 GMT -7
Post by Riley on Nov 13, 2012 22:27:18 GMT -7
Vai woke with a jerk, and a small noise of alarm. He he had slept too long, and he knew it. It was irresponsible and reckless of him. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Ha’rai. The tribe, especially Salai, were counting on him to see his friend home safely. Meanwhile, he was alone in the mountains, tired and thirsty, without a good idea of where Ha’rai even was. There was a pop from Vai’s shoulder as he sat up. The rocky floor of the shallow cave had been a very uncomfortable bed, but it was the only shelter from the wind Vai could find in the night — he scarcely understood how Ha’rai could endure such biting winds. Besides, he had been so exhausted, he didn’t care much. The sun was already up outside the cave. If today were like any of the other days, Ha’rai would have been up for a while. It was over, though. Vai knew that Ha’rai would likely be headed back to the village, which meant that although Vai had lost track of his friend during the night, he had an idea of which way to look. He gathered his things from the cave floor, then shakily, he stood. It took two attempts with his numb fingers to tie his knife belt around his waist. Then, with his favorite spear in hand — noting with some frustration that both the spear and hand were covered in blood — he took a tentative step toward home.
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