The Privileged Legacy: Wanted

The Privileged Legacy: Wanted Ch. 3

[Chapter Three: The Tracker and the Look-Alike]

I am alone once more; I stand, foolishly expecting him to return, but of course he doesn’t. Why would he? I stand quite still, rooted to the spot as I replay our meeting. I can still feel his rough finger, tracing my jaw, and the whispers of the leaves above my head seem to sigh my name: Arya…

I don’t even try to run this time, when I am, once more, bathed in the harsh glaring light of the hovercraft. I turn around, squinting against its furious brightness, waiting.

The lights dim, the throbbing of its motor reduces and finally whirs to a stop. The silence of the forest feels different now; not hostile, but wary. It is his doing; I feel it in my gut.

The door of the craft opens, and two figures walk down the ramp that the hatch has now formed. As they draw nearer, my blood chills.

They are Perfect, like I am, but theirs is a different beauty. A cold, icy, chilling beauty that is mesmerizing as much as it is horrifying. Most Perfects at least try to go for a natural look; but not them. It is the look of a hunter. And he – the man who I just saved – is the hunted.

Trackers. That’s what they are. They hunt the Wanted.

There is one man and one woman. They draw near to me, and we simply stand there for a while, looking at one another. The man is massive, and powerfully-built. Everything about him is square, but he moves with an odd, loping grace. It reminds me of something, but I can’t remember what. Some animal.

His face is very perfect – the proportions correct and measured, the features straight and sculpted. His hair is cut close to the skull, and I can see scars on his brawny forearms; I suppose he hasn’t had them removed because he enjoys the effect it produces on the Perfects. But the expression in his eyes is the most frightening thing about him – they are hard and piercing; the gaze is restless, always searching for something. It is a hunter’s gaze. Overall, he is the most intimidating being I have ever seen.

Then my eyes turn to the woman, and my heart stops. If the man was frightening, then the woman is terrifying. I think that their beauty is the most unnerving thing about them – such beauty does not belong on a face whose eyes are so hard and eager. She smiles at me now, taking in my reaction, and my body gives an involuntary shiver. She is less-powerfully built than her companion, but something tells me not to underestimate her. If I had to hazard a guess, she would be the greatest danger in a fight, rather than the man. She is lithe and slim, but as tall as I am. Her long brown hair is braided, and the thick cord is wrapped around her head. Her high cheekbones and slanted eyes give her a cat-like quality, and her stride is smooth and feline-like.

They are dressed in the Tracker style – tight black pants, leather vests, arm braces to protect the skin while shooting weapons. The man holds a long knife in one enormous muscular hand, and has a gun half his size – and most of mine – slung across his back. The woman clutches only a rifle, but I know better than to be reassured by that. Not only do their clothes most likely hide more weapons from sight, but the ones that are in sight are most likely altered, special Tracker weapons – poisoned, hallucination-inducing, immobilizers.

They are both the ultimate hunters.

The silence between us ends as the woman speaks. “Not at your best, are you, Traveler?” she asks, and her voice has her own melody to it – a haunting one.

I give a tight smile, quickly calculating how far away he should be by now. Is he truly safe? Or still in danger?

“Living in the woods does have its short-comings,” I reply, not relaxing my body.