The Sha's Sword

Chapter 1: The Dawn of Morning

I

In the dawn light, the sun begins to brighten from its pale glow to a strikingly vibrant orange. A musky hue hangs around the forest, shrouding everything with the scent of pine trees, nuts, berries and the smell of fresh meat. I crouch in the underbrush, hand closed around my most precious possession – a wooden bow – feeling the weight of the sheath of arrows on my back. It's comforting, sitting out here with nothing but me and my bow, the wind tousling my hair, just waiting.

I'm waiting for Buck to come back. I still remember the day that I had him locked in my sights. The deer looked right at me, and started to graze, scarcely a few meters away from me. When I strung my arrow, he'd looked around unhurriedly, his huge brown eyes locked onto me, seeming to look right through me and once again he put his muzzle to the sweet earth, plucking up the roots. For a moment, my hands were kept locked around the arrow, and then I notched it and readied it to kill him. Buck stopped, looked right at me again and then bounded away. But he didn't, like most game, bound away with death on their heels. He bounded a step and watched my arrow fly through the air and miss him by centimeters. Then, knowing it would be a few precious seconds before my fingers could find another arrow to bring him down, he had walked slowly towards me, teasing me, the hunter. And then, with an unnatural energy he took off faster than lightning into the bush.

Now I remember that story as I crouch, seething with indignation and daring Buck to show his brown and white face again so we can finish our battle. But there's no sign of him. Coward. A bunny bounds into the small clearing. Seconds later and it gives a sharp guttural squeal and then falls to the ground, my arrow pierced in its throat. I always go for the throat if possible – it's painless and quick for the prey, and easier than aiming for the eye.

I sling the bunny over my shoulder and start to walk out of the woods. It's not much, but at least Tia and I will eat well today. With the death of our parents, two days apart, the responsibility falls on my shoulders to care for us - a responsibility that I do not take lightly. Tia hates the woods. Once, I took her there to hunt, thinking she might be of some use. She cried that she was scared and if I hadn't gripped her firmly and fiercely told her to be quiet, we wouldn't have eaten for at least a week when I bought down my first deer. She'd screamed as soon as the arrow had killed it and ran over sobbing, throwing herself over the body and screaming at me that it was cruel. She wanted to take some of mother's healing herbs and bring our supper back to life. And so I never took her into the woods again.

Now, as I walk past the familiar shanty houses and market stores to our little shack in Billige, I smile as I start to see people go about their work. The baker's already smells of fresh bread, the smell that always greets me as I take this road to our house. To me, it's the sweetest and most beautiful smell I will ever know.

"Mornin'." Francis waves and throws me a loaf of bread that has a few char marks on it. The baker's strong arms knead a lump of dough on his rough wooden board, and his greasy brown hair flips back into his eyes. "This'ns for you, my little friend. Tis not fit for sale, though some'd still take it." He shoots me a crooked grin and I nod my thanks. Most times, I'd politely decline his offer, as like me, he's trying to feed his family too. However, he's still trying to repay the time that I took some of mother's healing herbs to him, free of charge, the day that his daughter was dying. She's dead now, but my leaves added at least a month onto her life.

The bread is still warm as I pop it into my plain leather bag and head over to the soup stall. Ren is out already, wiping the wooden bench that serves as a table for her customers. I climb up onto one of the stools and lean my head over the counter. In exchange for some new medicine, she wipes a bowl and fills it with rich lamb stew that's full of roots and vegetables. I take a long sip from the bowl. "How's little Tia?" The question proves that her motherly instincts still remain after her son was taken to serve in the King's army.