Dawn of the Hunters

by Ryan Wieser

  She refocused her thoughts. She could not continue to focus on Falco and Kohl, on herself, or on Urdo. She instead focused on Hydo and how she intended to enter his mind late that evening. She had entered the minds of those in her proximity countless times, even if the person were out of sight or on the other side of a wall. But to enter the mind of one of the most powerful Hunters of all time as he hid in an undisclosed location was something she did not know how to go about without—

  “Ouch!” Jessop rolled down the sandy dune, knowing something had tripped her up.

  Falco was at her side in an instant, helping her up. “What was that?”

  Kohl looked down at her with a light amusement in his eyes. “Are you alright?”

  “It’s not funny, Kohl.”

  “Jess—”

  Falco shook his head. “Jessop doesn’t just fall, Kohl. Not ever.”

  It took him a moment to understand what they were saying. With keen vision in the darkness, an incredibly light step, and wildly accurate senses, Jessop didn’t just fall on accident. She never tripped, never slipped on a slick floor, never so much as rolled an ankle while walking idly. Something had caused her to fall.

  She stared at the sand beneath her feet but saw nothing. There was a light breeze that shifted the fine grains. There was a faint whistle in the air. But there was nothing to be seen. Just as she was about to admit that the trials of their recent affairs must have thrown her off her usual pristine balance, she felt a shift in the sand beneath her feet. It was the oddest sensation—as though a large mound had appeared under her heels and disappeared just as quickly.

  She instantly unsheathed her Hunter’s blade. “Something is in the ground.”

  Falco swung his own blade about him in a deadly spiral. Jessop shot her gaze to Kohl, his hand on his hilt, his eyes scanning the ground. “Unsheathe your blade.”

  He pulled at the hilt, nodding to her, when the dune beside him spouted up like a water fountain, a wild explosion of sand and dirt and shining metal. Jessop saw Kohl fall to the side just as she covered her eyes against the debris. She tried to maintain her footing, but the ground shook violently. She fell into Falco, toppling them both to the ground, her sword falling from her grip. They rolled down the quaking lip of the dune, sand flying in their eyes, filling their mouths, a mechanical scream filling the air.

  They sprawled across the desert floor, coming to a slow stop where the dune leveled out. Falco still had his blade, amazing Jessop that he hadn’t accidentally cut her as they fell. She turned her gaze from him, back up the dune wall to where Kohl was, to find a sight unlike any other she had ever seen before. The creature that had burst through the ground was a giant serpent—though not one made of flesh and blood. The entire body of the beast was made of fused bones, and not the bones of any reptilian animals, but the bones of men. Leg bones and skulls, tiny metacarpals, and hips, all meshed together, hundreds upon hundreds of them, intricately bound together, forming the towering body of the serpent. The head was the only part of the giant snake not to be made of human bone, instead being fashioned by shining metals, forming a menacingly sharp jaw. Its eyes were completely clear, like glass. Jessop could do nothing but stare as the snake used its long tail to hold Kohl twenty feet above the ground.

  With a deep breath, she threw her hand out and called for her blade. As it came flying into her grasp, she made for the beast.

  Falco grabbed her shoulder, pulling her back. “Jessop, don’t!”

  She froze. She watched as Falco sheathed his sword. He raised his hands out, palms forward, and took a slow step towards the creature. “It’s one of the Ophidia, beasts that clean up the ravages of man.”

  Jessop didn’t know why he was telling her this. “And?”

  He smiled at her calmly. “Their entire kind is loyal to me.”

  He held his hands out and continued to approach the beast with slow caution. Jessop had no idea what Falco was saying. She had heard of the Ophidia but she had never seen one and never imagined that the description was of something so colossal.

  The creature stilled and regarded Falco with what looked like a sense of recognition. It lowered its great body down, the crunching of bones and squeaking of metal deafening to Jessop. Her heart raced as the massive creature approached him, cocking its silver head from side to side. Slowly, it relaxed its tail, letting Kohl fall to the ground. It slithered over the sand, the bones of the dead creaking and cracking, the sand grinding between them.

  Falco kept his hands out. The Ophidia was but a foot away from him now, and he stood only several paces ahead of Jessop. She was prepared to kill it, to set it ablaze with her mind if it made one foul strike against him. She flicked her gaze to Kohl, who had a look of shock and horror plastered so visibly across his face it was almost amusing. But then the Ophidia blinked, silvery metal eyelids moving up over its glassy eyes, and retracting back down. And instead of the eyes being clear orbs, they were filled with images of Falco. He was younger, but not a child. Jessop watched with amazement as the images of her husband smiling and meeting with the Ophidia kind played before her in the eyes of the giant snake.

  Slowly, the images went away. Falco outstretched his arms and the snake slithered forward, nestling its massive head against Falco. He ran his strong hands over the metal head of the creature, soothing it. “Return home, young one.”

  They broke their embrace slowly and the Ophidia turned from Falco, slithering up the dune wall, paying no attention to Jessop or Kohl before shooting its powerful body across the sand, disappearing down the dune and into the night.

  Falco turned back to her, calm as ever. She stared at him waiting for further explanation. She didn’t even know when Falco could have formed an allegiance with such wild creatures without her having known.

  He smiled. “Being Lord of the Shadow City does come with perks.”

  Chapter 12

  Haren’dul Daku

  Twenty-five years ago

  “Careful where you step—Ophidia are rampant here,” Octayn warned. Hydo turned to regard her by the spring behind the caves. She had shown him the spot, suggesting it as a resting stop for the night before they continued their travels to Bakoran. He couldn’t believe he was in Haren’dul Daku—no man’s land. They traveled by Soar-Craft and while they had remained mostly unseen, they had come across a band of Soren once. Though they had been no match for himself and Octayn, he had felt unnerved by the way they stared at him—as though they knew he was a Hunter. He had ensured there were no survivors, no one to run off and whisper that Hydo Jesuin was crossing the desert towards Daharia’s greatest enemy.

  He moved closer to her. “I’ve heard stories of the giant beasts.”

  She dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand, slowly rising from the spring. “Real and quite fire-proof.”

  He pulled her into his embrace. “Remarkable.”

  She kissed him, but Hydo felt her hand quick to her stomach. He immediately loosened his hold on her and rested his hand over hers. “That they are.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “I wasn’t talking about the beasts.”

  * * * *

  He rested, his hands behind his head, his eyes studying the cave walls, Octayn sleeping beside him. In truth, he could not reconcile the state of his life. He knew that he could not live without her—but he still did not fully comprehend what living with her would entail. The Bakora did not share Daharian beliefs. Octayn had a certain comfort with killing that he, as a Hunter, could never understand, empathize with ...or tolerate. And yet, he knew what he had done to be with her in this place. He could barely close his eyes without picturing Gredoria’s face.

  He turned to look upon her perfect form. They had mapped out their plan and they knew it would take many years to see through. Many years that they would have to spend apart.

  He didn’t want to think about that, thinking ins
tead of Urdo and Hanson. The relationship with his brothers had changed. They all had seen what had happened to Gredoria, but Hydo would not admit his role in it. Even if it hadn’t been for Hanson, he could not speak of his actions. They knew, even if they didn’t discuss it—they knew what he had done.

  Hanson had changed almost overnight. There was no longer any joy in his voice, his step was no longer light, his mood no longer carefree. Rather, he was despondent. Urdo drank. He drank through the day and through the night. Had Gredoria still been their Lord and Protector, Urdo would have been punished, if not forced into help. But Gredoria did little more than sit with his wife in silence, smiling at her idly. Hydo was thankful that Gredoria’s mind was intact enough to remember Hadonia, but too ruined for any of the Council to discover if his sudden descent into instability was the result of foul play. And overnight, Hydo was the new Lord Protector. The formal ceremony hadn’t yet occurred, but it was as good as done.

  There were members of the Assembly Council who disapproved—they either didn’t trust the circumstances of Gredoria’s ailment or they thought Hydo was too young to rule. But it had been made clear on too many occasions that Hydo would be the next Lord Protector after Gredoria, by Gredoria himself. They could not deny him his position, as none of them could deny his ability to claim the Blade if he chose to do so by force. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He could hardly recognize his own mind.

  Several months ago, Gredoria had been a father to him, Urdo and Hanson his brothers. He would have never kept such secrets, never become implicated in such trespasses, and never contemplated his ability to take the Blade by force. He watched Octayn sleeping peacefully. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen—and possibly the most powerful. It wasn’t just her Fire, though that was a force to be reckoned with, it was her. She had a hold on him that he could not deny. It had been there from the first. What he had once instantly believed to be the thrall of her beauty, he had soon come to believe was their shared nature—they were both Fire-Wielders. And that meant more than he had ever known. She was changing who he was, and while it was different, it wasn’t necessarily worse. He was becoming more powerful under her influence.

  The loyalty was not one-sided. They had spoken at length about what Gredoria had admitted to him. His Bakora parents had been murdered by Octayn’s uncle, the Bakora Emperor. She hadn’t seemed surprised by the information and had quite simply told him, “If you want him to die for it, I understand. Just give it time.”

  Hydo had learned that conversations could change people and that information could lead to death. He had learned of Gredoria’s true nature, and now Gredoria didn’t recognize his own reflection. He had learned of the Emperor Oredan’s role in the death of his parents, and just like that, him and Octayn had tweaked their plan to involve the death of a royal.

  * * * *

  They traveled in their Soar-Craft, keeping low to the dunes. Octayn slept frequently, her hands on her small stomach, her blonde hair a wild mess about her face. His dark eyes skimmed the desert horizon. He could not believe he approached a portal wall that could lead him to Bakoran. In truth, if he were forced to speak candidly, he’d had many reservations, long after the planning was complete, but once she had told him, he knew he was fully committed.

  He was still a young man and a great part of him longed to resume his life with his brothers—training, drinking, blissfully unaware of the truth of his bloodline, his history, or the actions of those around him. But if he returned to such a life, it would be one Octayn was not a part of, and that instantly reassured him of his decision. He had known for many years that he would rule Daharia, that once Gredoria stepped down, he would assume the mantle of Lord Protector. And if he thought on it with an uncritical mind, those things had happened. They simply hadn’t happened in the manner he had once anticipated.

  While he had always believed he would be a great leader, he had not envisioned a future where he would be known for much other than his abilities. Octayn had changed that. With her, he would assume the kind of prominence that would long outlive him. There had been countless Lord Protectors, countless legions of Hunters, but none among them had been able to reconcile Daharia and Bakoran. When all it would take was a child born of both realms’ leaders, with the powers of both Fire and Sentio, who could rightly be in a position to declare themselves sovereign. He kept the Soar-Craft true as he slowly reached over and rested his hand on Octayn’s swollen abdomen.

  * * * *

  The portal wall was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he had been travelling Daharia for all his life. His entire world, the deserts of Haren’dul Daku, the very skies he flew in, came to a sudden, blurry halt. The clear surface shimmered and swelled, as though alive, and, like looking through wavy glass, it obscured everything on the other side. Even if the other side looked like complete and total darkness, it was blurred. Hydo stared and stared. Each day he spent with Octayn he learned more about his life, his world, his destined path—the secrets Gredoria had striven to keep from him.

  The Void-Voyager was dressed in ridiculous garb. He had fine boots and an expensive coat, but his tunic and breeches were tattered. Hydo imagined the finer things had been obtained through unlawful means. He wore a leather cap that was near too small for his head, and one eye was mechanical. “Are you crossing over or not?”

  Octayn took Hydo’s hand tightly in hers. “Yes, we are.”

  “Dandy, this way,” he ordered, making his way towards what appeared to be his makeshift office. Hydo had to duck to fit under the thatch hut, but found that the inside was quite modern. The floor might have been sand, but the table at which the Voyager worked was made of shining metal, his documents were neatly ordered in glass trays, and soft light emitted from well-made, ornate fixtures.

  He pushed two documents into Hydo’s hands. “These are your standard indemnity forms. Sign them, pay the toll, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “We’re married—we only need the one form,” Octayn lied, grabbing one paper from Hydo and pushing it back at the Voyager.

  The man said nothing, simply holding out a quill for them. Octayn snatched it out of his hand and signed the forms. She wrote down a family name that Hydo had never heard before; he briefly wondered if she had made the name up then and there, but he doubted it. She then pulled a small velvet purse from her pocket and dropped it on the table. The distinct sound of coins clinked loudly. Again, Hydo didn’t ask.

  The Voyager pulled the bag open just enough to peek at his payment. After a quick minute, he nodded to them. “Bakoran it is then.”

  “Let’s get a move on then,” Octayn answered sharply. The Voyager flicked his gaze between her and Hydo, but said nothing.

  He shuffled them out of the office. “Alright, alright.”

  Hydo squinted as they stepped back out into the heat. “How exactly do we do this?”

  “Don’t you worry your head about how we Voyagers do what we do,” the man laughed, rubbing his hands together. “Just hold your breath and hold onto each other.”

  Hydo watched the Voyager continue to rub his hands together. He began to move them faster and faster, creating a friction that seemed to almost spark. He seemed to be mumbling to himself, but Hydo couldn’t make out any words.

  Octayn held his hand tightly. “Take a deep breath, Hydo.”

  Suddenly, the Voyager threw his hands out, his palms facing the wall, and a giant vortex of blue and gold light appeared. The center was a black hole. The sound was deafening, as though the world were being sucked into the center of the swirling darkness.

  Hydo looked down to Octayn.

  She squeezed his hand tighter. “Deep breath!”

  He listened to her, breathing in as much air as he could as he pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly and continued to suck in air, drawing it deeper and deeper into his body. Then, with a nod from Octayn, they leapt into
the portal wall.

  * * * *

  It had felt like dying. No amount of oxygen could have been enough. There had been no light. There had been no sound. It felt as though a thousand tiny pieces of glass had been cutting into him. The sensory deprivation and slow suffocation had been enough to convince him he was dying. And then, without warning, they landed firmly on the ground. Once again, air filled their lungs, and they could see and hear and move without agony.

  “That was…” He began, getting to his feet, but his voice trailed off.

  “I know.”

  Hydo wanted to say more—to ask more—but his eyes had fallen to an entirely new and alarming sight.

  The border of Bakora was a wall of azure fire, so thick and high one could barely make out the standing guards on the other side. Hydo let his gaze travel far, but no matter how many miles his keen eyesight could take in, he still saw the fire. The border’s blaze seemed never ending.

  Octayn noted his stares. “It cannot harm us.”

  He looked down to her. Her blonde hair whipped about her, her long white gown kicking about her feet in the sand, her bright green eyes always on him, always unblinking. To Hydo, she was like a Goddess of Fire, terrifying and beautiful.

  “It harms none?” he asked.

  She smiled at his naiveté. “I didn’t say that. Fire-Wielders are rightfully Bakora—they are welcome to pass through the blue flame without suffering its burn.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, refusing to be near the flame. He had been exposed to fires many times and he had learned that he did not burn as others did—but this was not Daharia and that wall was no natural flame.

  She pulled him forward slowly. “Don’t you trust me?”

  He knew the answer should have come to him instantly. He was in love with her. In truth, he was more than in love. He would never voice it, but Octayn had become all-consuming to him—she ruled his every thought, she determined his every action. He did not fear her superior Fire-Wielding, for he knew that if she were an enemy, he could strike her down—he feared something much greater than that. He feared that if she were an enemy, despite ability, he wouldn’t be able to strike her down. He was compelled by her every word and movement, admittedly enticed by her dark plans—she controlled him wholly.