Chapter 2

This day it shall be made known to you, whence this disorder springs in which you see me

- Jasher 44:28

The horizon lay sombre and still, a vast landscape of grey draped in a mist so thick it hovered over the ground like the breath of earth itself.

A curl of wind stirred a dreadlock from his cheek, brushing it along the rugged texture of his face-the only movement on the hunter's otherwise still form. Crouched low on a rise, his dark eyes, like endless pools, stared out into the world, absorbing every detail, yet reflecting none of it.

His hands rested idly on his knee, and his tongue rolled a stem of grass in his mouth, rotating it slowly like a sundial. He bit down, stalling its motion as his gaze narrowed ever so slightly at the shift in the eastern wind, which parted the mist for a fleeting moment.

It was enough.

He saw it now.

A thin wisp of smoke rising, standing like a lone figure against the heavens-a telltale line spiralling up from what could only be a burning altar.

Found you.

Not life itself, but a trace, a clue that hinted at movement within the valley below, veiled by fog. He considered trekking down to investigate the source of the smoke, to uncover what, or who, might linger there.

The light of day was still strong, and he doubted any true beast would leave the sanctuary of its shadow to roam. But not every creature feared the light. Some, driven by need or ritual, dared to wander in the open while daylight held sway, when all threats lay visible at a distance.

His fingers lowered, tapping the ground thoughtfully-a rhythm that matched the cadence of his mind, conjuring images of the beings that might await him and weighing the risks of seeking them out.

Merchants, perhaps. The annual migration of traders was well-known, their treasures swathed in thick cloaks and carried by whatever beasts could bear the weight. Frankincense, myrrh, onyx, bdelium, silver, and gold-prizes enough to draw even the most wary into pursuit.

His stomach clenched with hunger, a reminder of another, more pressing prize: food. Spices, dried meats, and unfamiliar vegetables bundled in the traders' sacks, all grown in lands he'd never seen but could taste in his memory.

The meal he ate had been meagre. Just enough to quell the growls that kept him from descending into complete sleep. A few pieces of meat roasted over a spit, the fat dripping tantalizingly onto the fire now a heap of ash outside his den. Water was plenty, but the constant breaks were beginning to wear at him.

He needed food.

Rising from his position. The hunter's hand alighted on the hilt of his sword that pressed onto his hip. He thumbed the rubber edge, a stalling habit that only showed his hesitance. Food. That was what was important right now. Survival was not the core of his purpose but if he died, the only entity alive to receive his blood would be the earth.

And then nothing.

The dead can't claim vengeance.

But he would.

And he would be damned if he died before fulfilling his purpose.

Mind set, the hunter turned on his heel and made his way down the steep incline. Pausing along the way to lower himself once the edge broke off into a sharp drop. His hands, hardened from years of battle and calloused over, gripped the cliff's face with ease as he lowered himself further into the valley.

He glanced over his shoulder at the breadth of the valley, his feet shifting seamlessly from one crevice to the next, each motion as precise as the last. He had fallen from enough walls to know where his hands and feet should land, the terrain now as familiar as any blade he'd wielded.

The air was cooler in the valley.

His boots touched soft grass, ankle high and undulating with a life of its own. The mist he'd seen from above now coiled around his legs, pressing wet against his cheek. He walked in the direction of the standing smoke, eyes alert and moving in a steady line all about him, surveying the environment. Seeking whatever secrets lay cloaked in the mist.

Merchants were deceptive, but they had their weaknesses. Ethics and morality no longer existed in this god-forsaken world where life was an abomination, and anything outside of wickedness a sin to man.

The world had long given up its inhabitants to their lusts and perversions. Everything mankind desired they sought in abundance and without caution. As a result their souls were snared forever, kept in bottomless pits black as coal where no line of light could reach. Where no reprieve could be earned or bargained for.

The trace of smoke shifted with the movement of wind. Tossed about like a double-minded person. His eyes remained fixed on the source. The closer he drew, the louder the sounds.

Music. tambourines, flutes and raucous laughter.

A celebratory batch this were, he thought. Pity he would have to end it so abruptly.

His hand curled around the hilt as his stance lowered into a thicket the distance of a bow shot. Eyes narrowed and searching, he followed the trace of smoke down to the origin and as he had suspected-- an altar.

Built on rocks and alight with unnatural flames. His eyes flickered to the source of heat -- chunks of flesh, thrown in with frenzied abandon.

A sacrifice.

The creatures that danced all around it moved with the gait of mad men. Leaping in different directions, maws gaping wide as ululations burst forth in high pitched sounds. They were streaked in paints galore, their minds as gone as the wind. He counted a travel of twenty. With no slaves but three large beasts of burden chained with their bartering goods.

Interesting, the hunter shifted in his position as his hands came to rest loosely on his knees. They seemed perkier than usual, a celebration of what was to come. He could only assume.

As he idly watched their entertainment and ritual of sacrifice to whatever gods they called upon, a merchant broke from the group. He - it - wore a headdress of feathers and chains of gold snaked weightily across his chest. The whites of his eyes swallowed whole in obsolete darkness edged with glistens of red that sparkled when the light hit at certain angles.

The hunter's eyes narrowed, what are you doing...

In the merchant's hand was a bowl of water the hunter had failed to notice. Once his gaze fell upon it, he grew still as stone, his stomach twisting with loathing.

Divination.

In a heartbeat, his hand curled around the sword as the powerful muscles in his legs grew tense, coiling tight ready to spring out from behind the thicket like a predator upon its unsuspecting prey.

Yet something held him back.

As if a hand had come to rest upon his shoulder, firmly rooting him in place.

Not yet... not yet... his thumb tapping the hilt in a rhythm of impatience. Not yet... not yet...

He had suffered too many losses to these seers. their magic disrupting his plans, their foresight ruining his every move. Bitterness bloomed in his gut as memories came unbidden. If the diviner spotted him, if his face appeared on the water's surface...

The hunter remains steady as the sorcerer's hand that cradled the bowl, lowering it to the ground.

Sparks flared from the altar as bits of sacrifice were tossed in.

All at once the merchants lifted their heads to the sky, mouths yawning wide as a cry echoed from the very depths of their vacant chests.

The diviner bowed his head in reverence of the water, a murmur of prayer spilling from his lips. Something like mist rose up from the waters as his hand waved back and forth, beckoning forth foresight of their journey.

Would it be safe, or does danger lay in wait, a serpent coiled at their feet.

The hunter's eyes flickered to the water. The need to rise from his shrouded spot overwhelming. And yet that same force held him down. Waiting... waiting... patience.

He knew without a doubt that his image would spill onto that water. His sword like a scythe arcing through the air, aimed at the diviner first. The merchants second.

If I don't move now-- the urgency of his reality and need for survival like a strain on his flesh, pushing against the invisible force anchoring him low. The vein along his neck pulsed visibly, hot beneath his weathered skin.

The diviner leaned over the bowl then.

His heart hammered as sweat beaded on his brow, tricking down the sharp curve of his jaw.

The diviner waved another hand and leaned over the water once more. Its brows furrowed in bemusement, a shadow of doubt flickering faster than light across its disfigured face.

The hunter stiffened.

His eyes darted between the bowl of water and diviner.

What was happening? His brow creased. Could it be that... no, he shook his head as though casting the doubt away, Impossible.

And yet... and yet...

The diviner scowled and with a sudden flourish of his hand, tipped the bowl sideways, spilling the water. He turned towards the merchants and gestured angrily at the water. Though the hunter was a distance away, he could make out their words.

The water had been polluted somehow. Its magic no longer yielding.

The merchants were unimpressed. They spoke of drawing pure water from another source, perhaps at their next destination where a well of water might be. And with those finals mutterings, they continued with their rituals of dance and sacrifice, worshipping the entity of darkness that encroached the land.

The hunter remained rooted on the spot.

His gaze fixed on the spilled water, mind racing.

Doubt flashed across his features. How had it failed? Scarcely did such occurrences comes to pass. Hell, it never even happened to him... and yet... his gaze lifted to the fading sun, lingering on the horizon, a herald of the night's lurking dangers.

The merchants' celebration had tempered down, exhaustion and slumber drifting from one fellow to the next. They would soon camp in a circle, shielded by the magic of their diviner. He watched them move about indifferently, with such careless ease, unknowing that a predator lay crouched at their door.

Rise.

He began to stand, the invisible weight lifting as if dissolved by the night wind, his scent threading through the air, drifting toward the merchants.

When they scented him─

When they saw him─

It was too late.

He was already upon them, darkness descending in the shape of a man.

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Slumber found him satiated and satisfied.

The hum of contentment a warm thread running through him. He lowered the dagger from his lap which he sharpened to a wicked edge on a whet stone. The fire had died out leaving only a charred bed of bones sticky with remnants of meat clinging.

The hunter stretched back on his cot as his ears inclined to the roaming sound of beasts in the woods, calling out to each in the distance as they travelled towards the macabre disarray; merchant bodies lay separate from their heads. Precious metals and stones glittered like fallen stars around them. All food looted and hidden carefully in his lair.

He thumbed the dagger's edge feeling its bite against his calloused skin. Yet his mind had wandered back to the diviner and the water wielded in its hand. The spell had not worked.

The hunter raised the dagger above him, aligning it with the crescent moon shaped like something he had not thought of until now.

A smile.

A sly, crescent smile.

Tendrils of sleep waved around his body, softening the edges of his consciousness. He gave into it, yielding to its pull with little resistance.

He slept long.

He slept hard.

And in the quiet of night, a figure stepped out from the shadows. A girl, light-footed and silent, emerged from behind the trees, her gaze fixed on the mouth of his cave.

She had waiting, biding her time and listening for the gentle rhythm of his breathing to drift through the cool night air and guide her forward.

Barefoot, her soles bloodied and raw, she crept forward, keeping low to the ground and hovered at the cave's entrance eyeing the hunter's colossal form slack on the cot. If he had been huge from afar, a towering form of muscle and pure damning adrenaline, up close felt as if she was staring into the mouth of death himself.

Yet he was asleep. His usual sharp senses dulled to her presence in particular.

Eyeing the ashes of the fire still faintly warm, she crouched low with her knees pressed tight to her chest, chin balanced atop. Her eyes shut briefly as she breathed in the heat, steady enough to stave off the night's chill.

As the goosebumps receded into pale skin, she reached for a few scraps left behind from his meal, nibbling cautiously on each morsel.