Soul Seeker

10: Ensnared

A hunter is always aware of her surroundings. This made Ciara the worst hunter in the province.

The world spun around her, and all the blood rushed to her head. She was swinging upside-down from a rope around her ankle, caught by a snare, one of the simplest traps. She groaned and struggled, but the noose had tightened. She wondered if it was cutting off all blood flow to her foot. She had dropped her bow, and all the arrows had fallen out of her quiver.

Ciara swung through the air and tried to reach for her foot, stomach muscles trembling, but missed. Pain lanced through her ankle. Gritting her teeth, she tried again. This time her hand caught the rope, but the strain of her own weight forced her to let go again.

She closed her eyes. Think. Think. There must be a way out of this. But the pain was making it impossible.

"Who are you?"

Her eyes flew open again as a figure emerged from a thicket.

"I didn't think I'd catch a person in this snare," he remarked.

She glared at him, well aware the effect wouldn't be intimidating upside-down. "Is this your trap? Let me go!"

He cocked his head. His spiky hair was black, cut shorter at the sides but growing out, giving him an untidy look. He wore it well.

"Only if you tell me where you were going. I know everyone in these woods, but I don't know you."

"I'm on my way to Jötunheim, what do you think?" she snarled, snatching for the rope again. This time she managed to hold her weight and look down on him, although her leg shook. The young man had a straight nose, and a strong jawline darkened with a hint of stubble, but he looked young despite that – her own age if not slightly older. He wore a huge shaggy grey sheepskin cinched at the waist with a wide belt.

"I am not saying anything until you get me down," Ciara said. "This is no way to treat a woman."

He shrugged. "I don't know, some women might like it."

"You clearly know nothing of women." She was in no mood to laugh. "Let me down. Now."

"You're in no position to bargain." But he took out a knife and snapped the rope. With a yelp, Ciara fell into an undignified heap. As she was scrambling to shove her arrows back into her quiver, the trap-setter extended a hand to her. She took it, but as soon as he pulled her to her feet, he was binding her hands tightly behind her back.

A trick. Darius would never have fallen for it.

"Hey! What are you doing?" She thrashed, but his grip was strong, pinioning her arms.

"Stop talking."

She stamped on the vulnerable part of his foot with her heel and he gave a slight intake of breath, but did not relent. He tried to force her to walk but she threw her weight back against his chest, which was solid with muscle.

"Where are you taking me? I have done nothing!"

"You walked straight into my snare as if you were in a hurry, you had a bow and arrow ready but you were tracking our sleds; no one else frequents these woods. And you have just ruined my hunt. I'm taking you to my camp. Now, for the last time, stop talking and don't struggle."

His accusations made her ears burn, but she stayed silent as he marched her towards a plume of smoke. He had not even disarmed her, which showed just how little of a threat he thought she was.

The camp was a makeshift one, with tent panels tied to wooden frames. A group of people were swiftly butchering a skinned elk. A woman with waist-length hair had pulled the hide taut over a log and was single-handedly scraping it. A feat of strength: intact elk hides were enormous and so heavy they took at least two people to shift.