Going Feet First Ch. 03

"Hail," a voice greeted.

The Huntmaster turned on his heel as a black-furred female, a few years older than him, sashayed up to him with the bottom of her white, wool robe almost touching the ground. "Still waiting for your burden, I see."

"He is with one of your best, Lady Akal," Hail responded before turning back toward the forest.

"A matching I still detest," the Tracker Leader repeated as she stopped at his side.

"As do I. But our laws are clear, just as are the orders from the Elder."

Lady Akal nodded in agreement, though she growled audibly under her breath. "You will declaw Emiel for his treachery, I hope."

Still keeping his eyes forward, but developing a snarl upon his aged face, Hail growled, "It was your idea to pair him with her in the first place. You are the one who ignored her warnings."

"Perhaps. But it is now that he broke our laws and my taboo, neither of which I will let go unpunished."

Frustration was evident on Hail's face as the side of his mouth clenched. His brow arched down over his increasingly menacing, yellow eyes, refusing to give an answer.

With her claws threatening to poke out from her fingers Akal cast a demeaning glare in Hail's direction and turned back for the village. "I will leave you to your charge, Hail. Know that if he lays one hand upon my tracker, I shall gut him. Full hunter, or not."

As the leader of the Willher Trackers returned to the bustling paths of the village, two figures emerged from the brush line across the clearing from Hail. Working to calm his composure, he focused his attention on the bodies moving in his direction.

Instantly he recognized the faces of the human and his mate that had gone out that morning. What came as a shock to him was what they carried along in with them.

Michael's waist was strewn with three Jackalope and several other small captures; a fair-sized deer hung over his shoulders. Following in behind him was Mila, carrying another stag on her back. For several seconds, the Huntmaster was in awe, trying to fathom a human accomplishing such a feat.

"Hail!" Michael called out. "I got your order!"

As the couple drew closer, Hail turned to one of guards standing at the village entrance, ordering, "Point them toward the butcher, I shall be at the elder's hall."

"Yes, Huntmaster."

"Hey, Hail! Wait!" Michael yelled out, only to be ignored as the elder ventured back into the village.

I would have never thought it possible, Hail thought as he walked among the Willhers going about their daily routines, avoiding the passersby as they rushed to do whatever they needed to do.

The scene around the Willher village, as much as it had grown and developed over the years, never really changed at the core. It was what it had always been: the warriors patrolled casually through the village as keepers led groups of younglings around, explaining different concepts to their small minds. Hunters drifted about with other hunters to discuss their exploits and tactics as trackers traded locations of areas rich with game or abundant with forageable vegetation. Only Neko tongue was heard and Neko faces seen in the streets.

When Hail came to the edge of the open area that was the village center, his ears began picking up on the different merchants bartering the leatherworkers, trading new furs and skins for finished goods. Healers and trackers could be seen swapping herbs and medicinal goods as to properly tend to their patients. Tradesmen argued with tool makers over the quality of their knives and hammers while begging the warriors to break into Ra'zorlich lands to get metal tools. Again, everything from the faces to the spoken word was Nekonian.

This was a Neko society, with Neko principles, Neko laws, and Neko standards. To have a weak human reach the levels of his people, prove himself better one at a time, was a bitter sting for Hail. The only reason for another race to be in their walls was to receive healing, nothing more. Having a human stay permanently was a fact that still couldn't be rightly justified in the Huntmaster's mind.

Withholding his personal disgust, Hail crossed the village center, passing by the pit where the ceremonial Great Fire was held, where the human had sold himself to the clan with tales of bravado that he couldn't possibly prove. How convenient it was for his leg to magically heal after the clan had accepted him, claiming that some other human with Tree Elf magic had done it. Hail hadn't seen a second human that night, though others had claimed otherwise. Warriors even spoke of capturing a Ra'zorlich and turning it over to the human, though Warrior leader Sayn had not confirmed it.

Everything about this frustrating human, from his secrets, to his lies, to his supposed home on "earth," all infuriated Hail to no end.

The second this human falls out of line, I will remove him from my hunters. The second he shows treason, I will end him myself. This whelp cannot stay.

Coming to the Elder's hall, a log cabin more than thirty paces long, Hail did his best to keep inner frustrations quelled as he went through the door. The dimness inside required him to stop and allow his eyes to adjust, but that did not take long before it all came into view.

It was here that he and the rest of the Willher leadership convened to judge whether or not Michael could stay with the clan, and it would be here that they will convene in to judge his best hunter for his violation of Nekonian law.

The long table in the middle of the hall seemed almost threatening in the wake of losing his favorite hunter, the long benches beginning to look like the seat of an executioner. Only the dim flame in the fireplace at the far end did anything to bring light to the scene, but it was unable to do any more than cast a candle's worth of light onto the waist-high, iron cage in the corner.

"Come to scold me, Huntmaster?" a voice growled from within that confined cell.

"Save your anger, Emiel," Hail retorted.

Emiel sat with his head pressed against the bars of his cage, tilted forward to hide his face in shadow. "I am not angry, Huntmaster. I am disappointed."

"That the clan favored against you? Yes, I would-"

"Not in the clan!" he snapped, making Hail take a step in retreat as his hunter's clawed hands wrapped around the bars of his cage.

Before the Huntmaster could lose his temper in response, Emiel finished his thought, "I am disappointed in myself for going feral. For losing control of my right mind."

Confusion struck Hail as he watched Emiel, hunched over in the cage with his head hung low. The greatest hunter and warrior of the new generation, one who once stood so proud and defiant against overwhelming odds, now wallowing in a sea of self-pity inside an iron cage. Hail never thought he would ever see this.

"So is it true, about Mila being with a human?" Emiel asked, retreating into a dark corner of his cage.

"Unfortunately so, and he will make it that much more difficult for you Emiel."

The hunter snarled, "Human rat... Where was I when she met him? Where was I when a chance to kill him arose? Killing the enemies of these ungrateful disgraces, that is where. Now we have a taint in our clan, breeding with us, poisoning our race."

"And passed our mating rituals, something you failed to do and is now added to your crimes."

"My crimes," Emiel repeated flatly, looking up at him expectantly.

Hail sighed softly, "Forcing yourself on a claimed woman, using your claws to threaten the life of a clan mate, betraying the elder's orders, betraying your hunter-tracker agreement, shall I go on? One of the crimes alone is damning to your afterlife, but together? Akal wishes to see your claws pulled."

"THE WHORE! SHE WOULDN'T!"

Hail shook his head at Emiel's outburst, a fist clenching at his side. "She is and she will. Teak will likely back this decision, but a hunter spoke of Sayn's neutrality until the whole story comes to light. If he can be persuaded to your side, you may get off with imprisonment, a whipping, and losing a finger."

"I'd rather sacrifice a pinky than lose my claws..."

"My point precisely. Sayn knows of your problems with anger, I may be able to bring him to your side. But tell me something first."

"What wishes your curiosity, Huntmaster?" Emiel said with a growl at the honorific.

"What ran through your mind when you set out to force yourself upon her, Emiel? What made you believe you could break laws and custom?"

Emiel's tail lashed in response. "I gave my life meeting hunting goals beyond what any other could bring in. I have slain a hundred men who wished harm upon our kin and neighbors. All I ever asked in return was Mila as a mate. After everything I have given, you must see it is right for us."

"Only you could be so foolish..." Hail scoffed. "Make peace with your demons, and beg forgiveness of the elders, Emiel. I will plead your case, but the laws are firm in what punishment you must receive."

The hunter looked down at his hands, his claws shooting out from his fingers before he clenched them into his fists. With a sigh and further drop of his shoulders, he nodded. "I know, Huntmaster. I know."

"Hail, are you here?"

The elder turned toward Michael's voice as it was approaching from the outside, the crunch under his boots coming close.

"Who is that?" Emiel questioned, feigning interest.

"You will know soon enough. May Necela grant you her mercy, Emiel."

"And her strength to you, Huntmaster."

Giving his hunter a final nod of respect, Hail turned for the door, pushing it open to find Michael just a few steps away. Before the Sergeant could say a word, the Huntmaster pushed past him, not even looking him the eye as he said, "You pass, Hunter. Be here at sunset, when we meet to judge Emiel's fate."

............

Noon had long passed and the sun was halfway to the horizon when the forest began to thin out around Galen and Petra. Their horses trotted along the coarse sand along the river, the rushing water body flowing straight now as it had no more trees to weave around or hills to change its course. Within a quarter-mile, the waters would reach the edge of Atzla forest, leaving the embrace of the living wood and entering the endless, golden-grass expanse of the Rock lands.

Roughly a mile ahead of Galen lay the opening of the Sundered Trench: a canyon a half-mile wide that split the surface of the open prairie. Eyes narrowing the soldier began to scan the area ahead. He checked the hills and rocks, the fields and the opening to the trench, desperately searching but ultimately failing to see Pretayus's posse anywhere in sight.

Looks like he went into the trench, he thought before something caught his eye.

A single, black figure atop a horse was nearing the start of the trench, its cloak flapping in the wind as it galloped at full speed. With the sheer power of Galen's enhanced vision, he recognized the rider.

"There's the Dark Elf. Looks like she's heading into the trench," Galen announced.

Petra squinted as she tried to get a good look at the distant black dot. "I cannot say myself, but I will take your word."

"Yeah, I know, I got eagle eyes. Perhaps next time we meet Necela, she can do something for you as well."

A sly grin crossed Petra's face, "I would not push for it. She returned my claws and that was enough."

The sand along the river bank began to thin out under the horse's hooves, soft, black dirt intermixed with various stones taking its place. As though they had hit an invisible barrier, the trees of Atzla came to an immediate end, being replaced with the fields of tall, yellow grass waving gently in a passing breeze. Across the landscape were random boulders scattered like seeds, offering the only source of shade or cover across the treeless landscape.

This new vastness struck Petra like an icy shot of fear into her veins. Her heart began to pick-up; her nerves making her skin crawl around over her muscles like a tide of insects. The sudden departure from her home sent a nervous shiver down her back while the overwhelming space of this new province stole the breath from her lungs. Nothing could prepare her for this. Not the stories, not the maps, not the images travellers had painted in her head.

As her horse trotted on with the other trailing close behind, the assassin took one last look back upon the breadth of the forest. A single tear shed from her eye as her home fell behind them, a tear she quickly wiped away as she turned toward the plains ahead.

My mission is my life, as my life is for my mission. I will use all means to seek out my mission's end, even if it brings my own death. For death or judgement are the only things that will stop that mission from completing, anything else is nothing. My life is in the night, my purpose changing the day. One with the shadow when stalking the kill, never will I show mercy, have regret, burden doubts, or ever look back. I am a Shadow Stalker, the terror of Atzla.

Steeling her gut in the wake of the open world, she took a firm grasp of the horse's mane and settled in against Galen's chest as they rode further into the new lands ahead.

It did not take long for the pair to reach the beginning of the half-mile-wide trench, where the river had carved out a gentle slope down to an oasis below. Contrasting to the yellow plains above, the floor of the trench was rolling with green grass, trees blooming in pink and green, and bushes brimming with life all over.

Yet despite the lushness, the walls of the trench were covered in rough, jagged cliffs bristling with sharp stones. Every fifty yards lay another corpse of some creature that had fallen in off the surface, their chest or heads split open upon the rocks before vultures swarmed in over them to dig their beaks in while the meat was still fresh.

Among these gatherings of scavengers, a single path led along the left side of the trench wall: a flat road of stone carved out atop a cliff about half-way up the trench wall. It was more than wide enough for a cart to pass through.

"Which way do you figure he went?" Galen asked.

"Perhaps where the sign says, 'Redding?'" Petra answered, pointing to a large rock along the cliff. "Can you not read human?"

Galen stared at the boulder his assassin had indicated, spotting the large characters carved out into its face. For a moment, the letters struck him with some familiarity, though he couldn't quite place it.

"No," he answered. "Because I'm not from this world."

Her eyes widened as she glanced over her shoulder to see Galen's serious face, and then turning back to face the path ahead with a new, uneasy feeling in her belly. Is he a demon? Really, a demon?

Shrugging off the familiarity of the characters, Galen pulled the reigns to the left to guide his horse toward the cliff-side path. Most the vultures pulled their heads from their chosen carcasses as he rode by, ruffling their feathers and diving back into their meal.

As he rode along the cliff, the unshakable feeling of having eyes upon him rattled Galen's nerves, bringing that tremble back to his left hand. It was the same as when he had been walking through the scar when he first crashed in Atzla. By instinct, he slowly unbuttoned his holster, as he would be unable to draw his rifle with Petra pressed against his chest.

"Petra, when I say down, you duck down. I have a bad feelin' about this place."

"Yes... But, Galen, Master, can you tell me... where are you from? You are not really a demon, are you?"

A bit of surprise struck Galen as he glanced around at the face of the Neko. With a bit of a chuckle, he answered, "I'm Pretayus's demon, one that will stalk him to the grave."

Her hands clenched down on the mane of the horse, swallowing a lump in her throat. Again he chuckled.

"No, I ain't a demon. I'm just as human as Pretayus. But do I come from another world, where our knowledge and technology is thousands of years ahead of anythin' you see here on Raska. Only difference is that there's no magic on my world. Or at least, nothin' like what you see here. We can talk about it later, if you want. For now, let's worry about gettin' Celia back."

The tumbling in the assassin's belly settled out with her master's answer, though her mind began to wander into a field of questions. Why was he here? How did he get here? Just how advanced was his world? Were Nekos found there as well? Was he going to return? Could she go with him? So many other queries floated about her mind that she began to feel overwhelmed by them all.

She would want to talk to him about it later, perhaps when they weren't riding along dangerously high cliffs with nothing but lethally sharp stones to break their fall.

..........

Crimson clouds hung overhead as Galen passed another sign that, according to Petra, said, "Redding" in the human script. Over the last few miles, the trench had begun to zigzag left and right through the earth, changing direction every five hundred feet. The oasis below had thinned out considerably at this point, as there were less trees growing alongside the ever hastening river.

Still dogged with the feeling of being watched, Galen kept one hand on the holster at his hip with little intention of letting it go. Petra could feel the eyes as well, as she constantly scanned the area around her for any sign of a scout or warrior lying in ambush. It was only a few minutes later that they found out who.

Zigging around the corner of another zag, Galen and Petra were met with the sight of a cylindrical stone tower jutting out from the earth at the top of the trench roughly two hundred feet away. Its position gave whoever stood inside a perfect view over the surrounding area, as well as an excellent position to cover the thick, stone wall that stretched across the width of the trench. Flying from atop the copper-plated roof was a red flag sporting a single gold bar cutting horizontally across the background.

"Stop where you are!" a powerful voice called out, bringing Galen's attention back to the path before him.

A squadron of heavily armored Knights blocked the road, using their kite shields to form a defensive line while their spears jutted forward. Holding position right behind the steel-clad soldiers stood another man in a dark, red robe. What the Private found curious was how he held his hands out in a cone shape in front of his throat.

Then in a voice much louder than any man could naturally yell, the robed figured bellowed, "Who are you?"

"I'm Galen Martin, I'm seekin' passage to Redding!" the private yelled in response.

"Hail you from Atzla?" the robed man asked, his tone immediately striking up that terrible feeling within Galen's gut.

There was a reason the Knights were blocking the path with shields and spears. Why their leader wanted to know where Galen had come from. Pretayus had come through here, perhaps knowing the soldier would be on his trail. It was good his holster was already open.

"Petra," he started in a low voice. "When this happens, you grab the money belt and jump left to hide in the rocks. First chance you get, run for the city and find out where they're holdin' Celia. When you do that, do what you can to get her out. If you can't, find a safe place and wait for me."

"What are you going to do?" she whispered back.

"Whatever I have to," he answered, unhooking the buckle of the belt full of coins so she could easily pull it with her when she ran. When everything was ready, he looked back to the robed man standing in the middle of his path. "Yeah, I hail from Atzla."