Hunger

Part I - Chapter 1 - Silence - Part 1

Iya glanced behind searching for a glimpse of her pursuers as she fled through the forest of bluebirches that towered hundreds of paces into the sky.  Seeing nothing, she paused to lower the hood of her treecloak and closed her eyes, listening for the woods to betray the intruders.  For the last eleven pass these harsh lands had been her sanctuary, yet now her refuge, her asylum, was desecrated by the shadows hunting her—and one was nearer than she realized. 

Iya resumed her flight and hurdled lithely across the creek to land on a nearly submerged boulder, wet with the ebbing of the current.  She deliberately waded a few paces up the tributary, leaving dainty footprints on the muddy bank.  Nearly twenty paces from the creek, Iya leapt and grasped a branch.  She swung for momentum and at the peak of her second loop, launched herself to the next limb. 

Thirty paces above the ground, the boughs of the trees grew closely together and Iya nimbly traversed this first canopy of many, circling back to the creek.  When she was in position, Iya pulled one of the ties near her neck unfurling her mottled treecloak that so closely resembled the peeling bark of the bluebirch—light grey outer bark peeling back to reveal a deep indigo within.

And the trap is set, she thought, smiling to herself.  However her smile quickly faded when she spied the invader in her court.

The gaunt remnants of a man lumbered across the creek.  He did not possess great strength, nor speed, yet he was untiring and relentless—never stopping long to eat, or sleep.  He had hunted her day and night, and traveled so far and for so long that he could no longer remember who he was, nor any life before this task was placed upon him.  He could not recall the how, or why, but he knew that he could not be at peace until the azure demoness was dead.  The soles of his boots had worn through some time ago and each step left bloody prints.  His clothes were torn and ragged, and his eyes were sunk into his head, hollow with the fever that possessed his mind.   When he closed his eyes, he was haunted by two blue orbs of flame. 

From above, Iya watched this shadow, this fraction of a man stumble down the path she had led, and out of sight.  Yet this was not the invader she was interested in.  She had been hunted in the past by these men who bore a sickness of the soul.  The man who intrigued her was the shadow who hunted the shadow. 

Moments later, silence fell as if the woods sensed a predator.  From her vantage point, she could not see him yet but she knew he was close.  Iya tasted the breeze and caught a faint vestige of his scent. He did not smell like men she had encountered in the past, but he did not smell vernacular.  He smelled of a faint exotic flavor Iya could not put words to because it was unknown to her.  It was not unpleasant, and it did not taste of malice.   

Iya did not know his name or his intentions.  She only knew he hunted the man who was following her, and that he was most lethal man she’d ever encountered.  He was the first seemingly sane person she had seen survive this deep in her woods.  In fact, he was the first human she had seen in nearly five pass.  Most who ventured into the woods did not stay past one dyo, and if they did stay longer, they were not amongst the living.  This was a harsh land and weakness was not tolerated.

As she waited for her pursuer’s predator, Iya’s mind drifted to her last encounter with one of these possessed men.  The man had been nearly dead when he had stumbled into Iya’s woods.  When the man had discovered her presence, he had grown erratic and had chased her through the woods relentlessly disregarding his own well-being.   The closer he came to catching her, the more desperate his pursuit had become.  Iya had fled in fear for nearly four days before the man’s body betrayed him.  When he could no longer run, he had walked.  Iya shivered as she thought of how he had tried to tear out her throat with emaciated hands.  His eyes had been full of maniacal passion when she had plunged her dagger into his chest.

Since then, and until now, Iya had avoided contact with humans.

Her second pursuer walked into her line of sight.  She hadn’t heard him cross the creek.  Iya had never observed him from such a close proximity before, and as he crouched to examine her trail, she could hear the leather of his garb sigh like leaves on the whisper of a breeze. 

His garments were the color of the forest floor after a rain, a brown dark enough it could have been mistaken for black.  In this season, the days were warm, and he wore only a simple vest that laced up the front.  His leggings were of the same color, and she could see the hilt of a dagger sticking out of one of the black knee-high boots. 

From her vantage point, she still couldn’t see his face, but she could see he kept his dark hair cropped short—no longer than a finger’s breadth. It gave him a clean appearance. 

As he followed the trail out of her line of sight, his eyes were raised to the trees.

He knows my trail is a ruse, she thought as she watched him walk after the haggard man’s trail—although walk wasn’t the correct word to describe his movements.  This predator did not walk in the woods, he stalked. 

Iya watched as far as her vantage point allowed, not daring to move.  When he was out of sight she waited.  Soon, the normal sounds of the woods returned.  Bugs chirruped, small furry creatures rustled in the leaves beneath, and from time to time, birds swooped to feed on both.

I shall call him Silence, she thought, because that is how I know he is near—because it is how he moves in my woods. 

~*~*~*~

Silence knew he was indeed being observed as he examined the tracks on the muddy bank.  He had known for some time that she was near, staying in the peripherals but his primary concern was not the child mistress of the woods.  Silence was concerned with the assassin who was hunting her.   As assassins went, Silence was not impressed, yet what the assassin lacked in skill he made up for in ferocious determination.  It was almost as if the assassin had no concern for self, only for his objective—an objective which Silence would ensure was never met.

It was not long before Silence came upon the assassin.  He was slumped against a bluebirch, his head resting on his chest.  As Silence approached, an eerie cackle rose from the man, and he raised his head with unseeing eyes.

“Koryphii,” the man rasped, with a sickly grin.  Silence stopped dead in his tracks.  “Yes, yes, we know what you are.”  The man cackled again.

“What do you want with her?” Silence asked softly.

“We do not answer to you!” the man hissed.  Silence stepped forward and with a shriek the man scuttled away, careening to his feet.  “Do not interfere with us!”  In a flash, Silence had the man by the throat as he hoisted him off the ground.

“Answer me!” Silence growled, as the man clawed at him, trying to break his grasp.  The man struggled for breath, and suddenly his body went slack.

“Death, Koryphii,” a smooth and cultured voice demurred.  A new fire burned in the assassin’s eyes as a sinister smile formed on his lips.  Silence was overwhelmed with the smell of rot and decay that was now emanating from the man. 

 “Then death you shall have,” Silence said as he snapped the man’s neck.

[Author's Note:  Image via Prince of Persia, Jake Gyllenhaal — Inspiration for Silence]