by Morgan Rice
Kyra forced herself to focus. She played through the shot in her mind’s eye, seeing herself raising her bow, pulling it back quickly to her chin and releasing without hesitation. The real shooting, she knew, happened before the shot. She had witnessed too many archers her age, on their fourteenth year, draw their strings and waver—and she knew then that their shots were lost. She took a deep breath, raised her bow, and in one decisive motion, pulled back and released. She did not even need to look to know she had hit the tree.
A moment later she heard its thwack—but she had already turned away, already looking for another target, one further off.
Kyra heard a whining at her feet and she looked down at Leo, her wolf, walking beside her as he always did, rubbing against her leg. A full-grown wolf, nearly up to her waist, Leo was as protective of Kyra as Kyra was of him, the two of them an inseparable sight in her father’s fort. Kyra could not go anywhere without Leo hurrying to catch up. And all that time he clung to her side—unless a squirrel or rabbit crossed his path, in which case he could disappear for hours.
“I didn’t forget you, boy,” Kyra said, reaching into her pocket and handing Leo the leftover bone from the day’s feast. Leo snatched it, trotting happily beside her.
As Kyra walked, her breath emerging in mist before her, she draped her bow over her shoulder and breathed into her hands, raw and cold. She crossed the wide, flat plateau and looked out. From this vantage point she could see the entire countryside, the rolling hills of Volis, usually green but now blanketed in snow, the province of her father’s stronghold, nestled in the northeastern corner of the kingdom of Escalon. From up here Kyra had a bird’s-eye view of all the goings-on in her father’s fort, the comings and goings of the village folk and warriors, another reason she liked it up here. She liked to study the ancient, stone contours of her father’s fort, the shapes of its battlements and towers stretching impressively through the hills, seeming to sprawl forever. Volis was the tallest structure in the countryside, some of its buildings rising four stories and framed by impressive layers of battlements. It was completed by a circular tower on its far side, a chapel for the folk, but for her, a place to climb and look out at the countryside and be alone. The stone complex was ringed by a moat, spanned by a wide main road and an arched stone bridge; this, in turn, was ringed by layers of impressive outer embankments, hills, ditches, walls—a place befitting one of the King’s most important warriors—her father.
Though Volis, the final stronghold before The Flames, was several days’ ride from Andros, Escalon’s capital, it was still home to many of the former King’s famed warriors. It had also become a beacon, a place that had become home to the hundreds of villagers and farmers that lived in or near its walls, under its protection.
Kyra looked down at the dozens of small clay cottages nestled in the hills on the outskirts of the fort, smoke rising from chimneys, farmers hurrying to and fro as they prepared for winter, and for the night’s festival. The fact that villagers felt safe enough to live outside the main walls, Kyra knew, was a sign of great respect for her father’s might, and a sight unseen elsewhere in Escalon. After all, they were a mere horn sounding away from protection, from the instant rallying of all her father’s men.
Kyra looked down at the drawbridge, always packed with throngs of people—farmers, cobblers, butchers, blacksmiths, along with, of course, warriors—all rushing from fort to countryside and back again. For within the fort’s walls was not only a place to live and train, but also an endless array of cobblestone courtyards which had become a gathering place for merchants. Every day their stalls were lined up, people selling their wares, bartering, showing off the day’s hunt or catch, or some exotic cloth or spice or candy traded from across the sea. The courtyards of the fort were always filled with some exotic smell, be it of a strange tea, or a cooking stew; she could get lost in them for hours. And just beyond the walls, in the distance, her heart quickened to see the circular training ground for her father’s men, Fighter’s Gate, and the low stone wall surrounding it, and she watched with excitement as his men charged in neat lines with their horses, trying to lance targets—shields hanging from trees. She ached to train with them.
Kyra suddenly heard a voice cry out, one as familiar to her as her own, coming from the direction of the gatehouse, and she turned, immediately on alert. There was a commotion in the crowd, and she watched as through the bustle, spilling out of the throng and out onto the main road, there emerged her younger brother, Aidan, led by her two older brothers, Brandon and Braxton. Kyra tensed, on guard. She could tell from the sound of distress in her baby brother’s voice that their older brothers were up to no good.
Kyra’s eyes narrowed as she watched her older brothers, feeling a familiar anger rise up within her and unconsciously tightening her grip on her bow. There came Aidan, marched between them, each taller by a foot, each grabbing his arm and dragging him unwillingly away from the fort and into the countryside. Aidan, a small, thin, sensitive boy, barely ten, looked extra vulnerable sandwiched between his two brothers, overgrown brutes of seventeen and eighteen. They all had similar features and coloring, with their strong jaws, proud chins, dark brown eyes, and wavy brown hair—though Brandon and Braxton wore theirs cropped short, while Aidan’s still fell, unruly, past his eyes. They all looked alike—and none like her, with her light blonde hair and light gray eyes. Dressed in her woven tights, woolen tunic, and cloak, Kyra was tall and thin, too pale, she was told, with a broad forehead and a small nose, blessed with striking features that had led more than one man to look twice. Especially now that she was turning fifteen, she noticed the looks increasing.
It made her uncomfortable. She did not like calling attention to herself, and she did not view herself as beautiful. She cared nothing for looks—only for training, for valor, for honor. She would rather have resembled her father, as her brothers did, the man she admired and loved more than anyone in the world, than have her dainty features. She always checked the mirror for something of himself in her eyes, yet no matter how hard she looked, she could not find it.
“I said, get off of me!” Aidan shouted, his voice carrying all the way up here.
At her baby brother’s call of distress, a boy who Kyra loved more than anyone in the world, she stood ramrod straight, like a lion watching its cub. Leo, too, stiffened, the hair rising on his back. With their mother long gone, Kyra felt obliged to watch over Aidan, to make up for the mother he never had.
Brandon and Braxton dragged him roughly down the road, away from the fort, on the lone country road toward the distant wood, and she saw them trying to get him to wield a spear, one too big for him. Aidan had become a too-easy target for them to pick on; Brandon and Braxton were bullies. They were strong and somewhat brave, but they had more bravado than real skills, and they always seemed to get into trouble they could not quite get out of themselves. It was maddening.
Kyra realized what was happening: Brandon and Braxton were dragging Aidan with them on one of their hunts. She spotted the sacks of wine in their hands and knew they’d been drinking, and she fumed. It was not enough that they were going to kill some senseless animal, but now they were dragging their younger brother along with them, despite his protests.
Kyra’s instincts kicked in and she leapt into action, running downhill to confront them, Leo running by her side.
“You’re old enough now,” Brandon said to Aidan.
“It’s past time you became a man,” Braxton said.
Bounding down the grass hills she knew by heart, it did not take Kyra long to catch up to them. She ran out onto the road and stopped before them, blocking their path, breathing hard, Leo beside her, and her brothers all stopped short, looking back, stunned.
Aidan’s face, she could see, fell in relief.
“Are you lost?” Braxton mocked.
“You’re blocking our way,” Brandon said. “Go back to your arrows and your sticks.”
The two of them laughed derisively, bu
t she frowned, undeterred, as Leo, beside her, snarled.
“Get that beast away from us,” Braxton said, trying to sound brave but fear apparent in his voice as he tightened his grip on his spear.
“And where do you think you’re taking Aidan?” she asked, dead serious, looking back at them without flinching.
They paused, their faces slowly hardening.
“We’re taking him wherever we please,” Brandon said.
“He’s going on a hunt to learn to become a man,” Braxton said, emphasizing that last word as a dig to her.
But she would not give in.
“He’s too young,” she replied firmly.
Brandon scowled.
“Says who?” he asked.
“Says me.”
“And are you his mother?” Braxton asked.
Kyra flushed, filled with anger, wishing their mother was here now more than ever.
“As much as you are his father,” she replied.
They all stood there in the tense silence, and Kyra looked to Aidan, who looked back with scared eyes.
“Aidan,” she asked him, “is this something you wish to do?”
Aidan looked down at the ground, ashamed. He stood there, silent, avoiding her glance, and Kyra knew he was afraid to speak out, to provoke the disapproval of his older brothers.
“Well, there you have it,” Brandon said. “He doesn’t object.”
Kyra stood there, burning with frustration, wanting Aidan to speak up but unable to force him.
“It is unwise for you to bring him on your hunt,” she said. “A storm brews. It will be dark soon. The wood is filled with danger. If you want to teach him to hunt, take him when he’s older, on another day.”
They scowled back, annoyed.
“And what do you know of hunting?” Braxton asked. “What have you hunted beside those trees of yours?”
“Any of them bite you lately?” Brandon added.
They both laughed, and Kyra burned, debating what to do. Without Aidan speaking up, there wasn’t much she could do.
“You worry too much, sister,” Brandon finally said. “Nothing will happen to Aidan on our watch. We want to toughen him up a bit—not kill him. Do you really imagine you’re the only one who cares for him?”
“Besides, Father is watching,” Braxton said. “Do you want to disappoint him?”
Kyra immediately looked up over their shoulders, and high up, in the tower, she spotted her father standing at the arched, open-aired window, watching. She felt supreme disappointment in him for not stopping this.
They tried to brush past, but Kyra stood there, doggedly blocking their way. They looked as if they might shove her, but Leo stepped between them, snarling, and they thought better of it.
“Aidan, it’s not too late,” she said to him. “You don’t have to do this. Do you wish to return to the fort with me?”
She examined him and could see his eyes tearing, but she could also see his torment. A long silence passed, with nothing to break it up but the howling wind and the quickening snow.
Finally, he squirmed.
“I want to hunt,” he muttered half-heartedly.
Her brothers suddenly brushed past her, bumping her shoulder, dragging Aidan, and as they hurried down the road, Kyra turned and watched, a sickening feeling in her stomach.
She turned back to the fort and looked up at the tower, but her father was already gone.
Kyra watched as her three brothers faded from view, into the brewing storm, toward the Wood of Thorns, and she felt a pit in her stomach. She thought of snatching Aidan and bringing him back—but she did not want to shame him.
She knew she should let it go—but she could not. Something within her would not allow her to. She sensed danger, especially on the eve of the Winter Moon. She did not trust her elder brothers; they would not harm Aidan, she knew, but they were reckless, and too rough. Worst of all, they were overconfident in their skills. It was a bad combination.
Kyra could stand it no longer. If her father wouldn’t act, then she would. She was old enough now—she did not need to answer to anyone but herself.
Kyra burst into a jog, running down the lone country path, Leo by her side, and heading right for the Wood of Thorns.
CHAPTER TWO
Kyra entered the gloomy Wood of Thorns, just west of the fort, a forest so thick one could barely see through it. As she walked through it slowly with Leo, snow and ice crunching beneath their feet, she looked up. She was dwarfed by the thorn trees that seemed to stretch forever. They were ancient black trees with gnarled branches resembling thorns, and thick, black leaves. This place, she felt, was cursed; nothing good ever came out of it. Her father’s men returned from it injured from hunts, and more than once a troll, having broken through The Flames, had taken refuge here and used it as a staging ground to attack a villager.
As Kyra entered, immediately she felt a chill. It was darker in here, cooler, the air wetter, the smell of the thorn trees heavy in the air, smelling like decaying earth, and the massive trees blotting out what remained of daylight. Kyra, on guard, was furious at her older brothers. It was dangerous to venture here without the company of several warriors—especially at dusk. Every noise startled her. There came a distant cry of an animal, and she flinched, turning and looking for it. But the wood was dense, and she could not find it.
Leo, though, snarled beside her and suddenly bounded off after it.
“Leo!” she called out.
But he was already gone.
She sighed, annoyed; it was always his way when an animal crossed. He would return, though, she knew—eventually.
Kyra continued on, alone now, the wood growing darker, struggling to follow her brothers’ trail—when she heard distant laughter. She snapped to attention, turning to the noise and weaving past thick trees until she spotted her brothers up ahead.
Kyra lingered back, keeping a good distance, not wanting to be spotted. She knew that if Aidan saw her, he would be embarrassed and would send her away. She would watch from the shadows, she decided, just making sure they did not get into trouble. It was better for Aidan not to be shamed, to feel like he was a man.
A twig snapped beneath her feet and Kyra ducked, worried the sound would give her away—but her drunk older brothers were oblivious, already a good thirty yards ahead of her, walking quickly, the noise drowned out by their own laughter. She could see from Aidan’s body language that he was tense, almost as if he were about to cry. He clutched his spear tightly, as if trying to prove himself a man, but it was an awkward grip on a spear too big, and he struggled under the weight of it.
“Get up here!” Braxton called out, turning to Aidan, who trailed a few feet behind.
“What are you so afraid of?” Brandon said to him.
“I’m not afraid—” Aidan insisted.
“Quiet!” Brandon suddenly said, stopping, holding out a palm against Aidan’s chest, his expression serious for the first time. Braxton stopped, too, all of them tense.
Kyra took shelter behind a tree as she watched her brothers. They stood at the edge of a clearing, looking straight ahead as if they had spotted something.
She crept forward, on alert, trying to get a better look, and as she weaved between two large trees, she stopped, stunned, as she caught a glimpse of what they were seeing. There, standing alone in the clearing, rooting out acorns, was a boar. It was no ordinary boar; it was a monstrous, Black-Horned Boar, the largest boar she had ever seen, with long, curled white tusks and three long, sharpened, black horns, one protruding from its nose and two from its head. Nearly the size of a bear, it was a rare creature, famed for its viciousness and its lightning-quick speed. It was an animal widely feared, and one that no hunter wanted to meet.
It was trouble.
Kyra, hair rising on her arms, wished Leo were here—yet was also grateful he was not, knowing he would bound off after it and unsure if he would win the confrontation. Kyra stepped forward, slowly removing her bow from
her shoulder while instinctively reaching down to grab an arrow. She tried to calculate how far the boar was from the boys, and how far away she was—and she knew this was not good. There were too many trees in the way for her to get a clean shot—and with an animal this size, there was no room for error. She doubted one arrow could even fell it.
Kyra noticed the flash of fear on her brothers’ faces, then saw Brandon and Braxton quickly cover up their fright with a look of bravado—one she felt sure was fueled by drink. They both raised their spears and took several steps forward. Braxton saw Aidan rooted in place, and he turned, grabbed the small boy’s shoulder, and made him step forward, too.
“There’s a chance to make a man of you,” Braxton said. “Kill this boar and they’ll sing of you for generations.”
“Bring back its head and you’ll be famed for life,” Brandon said.
“I’m…scared,” Aidan said.
Brandon and Braxton scoffed, then laughed derisively.
“Scared?” Brandon said. “And what would Father say if he heard you say that?”
The boar, alerted, lifted its head, revealing glowing yellow eyes, and stared at them, its face bunching up in an angry snarl. It opened its mouth, revealing fangs, and drooled, while at the same time emitting a vicious growl that erupted from somewhere deep in its belly. Kyra, even from her distance, felt a pang of fear—and she could only imagine the fear Aidan was feeling.
Kyra rushed forward, throwing caution to the wind, determined to catch up before it was too late. When she was just a few feet behind her brothers, she called out:
“Leave it alone!”
Her harsh voice cut through the silence, and her brothers all wheeled, clearly startled.
“You’ve had your fun,” she added. “Let it be.”
While Aidan looked relieved, Brandon and Braxton each scowled back at her.
“And what do you know?” Brandon shot back. “Stop interfering with real men.”
The boar’s snarl deepened as it crept toward them, and Kyra, both afraid and furious, stepped forward.