The Huntress [2018 Archived]

Prologue

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though,
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near.
Between the woods and the frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

...

Blood seeps into the white snow as I feel the warmth of it running down my arm. The sting of my wound pains me, but at the same time I relish, even welcome, the sensation. The feeling makes my mind sharp. It makes this whole thing seem real.

I shoulder my silver bow-how fitting, I might add-and I stare at it, glinting in the dim sunlight. It's almost identical to hers. Is it some sort of signal? Some sort of omen?

Some sort of threat?

Renata says that there is much to know about love. There is much to know about hate. I don't know much about either of them, nor am I sure if I want to. Not after the things I've seen.

I feel for the comforting coldness of the firm surface of the bow. My supple fingers tighten around it as the wind howls, sweeping my dark hair back. I'm a splotch against a stark white background, a single figure alone in the world. This is where I truly find myself. Alone, yes. But free.

My cheeks are pink with the frigidity of the grey storm, and yet, I am warm. A fire burns inside of me, and suddenly I am not who I always was, I am someone new, someone forged of passion and desire and bravery. If you touch me, you'll be singed.

I am aware of the hard glares, the scrutinizing eyes. But I am more aware of her.

Her gaze is like a knife, ripping through me, shocking me to my core. I can feel the touch of the cold arrowhead piercing my back, just like three others had before me. Half of me expects to fall to the ground, my heart frozen within seconds, a silent scream etched in my face.

Her kills are always short, quiet, and painless. At least, that's what I heard.

But, as my neck tingles with anticipation, nothing happens. I stand on unsteady legs like those of a newborn colt. I'm not sure what keeps me upright. Perhaps it is because of the knowledge that failure is not an option, I have to do this. Anything less...well I try not to think of the consequences.

I like to think that in a way, archery changed me. That it doesn't discriminate. It doesn't matter if you are poor or rich, black or white, because when you have your bow and arrow, it boils down to one's skill. There's no room for lying or cheating because an arrow flies true.

It's the one thing that makes me stand out, my one chance to prove myself. I owe everything to my bow and arrows.

In a way, it saved me. And how ironic that is, for it's the only thing that can save me now.

I close my eyes, the seconds ticking away. My breath is visible in the air, a wisp of white quickly dissipating into the air.

Is death always senseless? Can it be...worth something?

So many ways to die, but only one way to live.

The real question is, can I choose? Or will she choose, an innocent person or...me? I can hardly be called innocent.

If the choice was laid before me, I would gladly choose the latter, not because I want to be the hero in the story, but because I simply can't decide between two lives.

Sacrifice tastes like blood. Bitter and slightly metallic. It tastes of salty tears. I can feel them on my tongue.

It tastes of pain. Debilitating pain.

I eye my target and feel for the thrum of my heart. It beats so steady, soon to be stilled.

The whole world melts away and I'm only aware of my arrow and my bow and my target.

I draw back the bowstring.

Let it be quick, I tell myself, screwing my eyes shut.

I try not to think of the ones that I love with all my heart. I only want to think of the dark woods, insulated by a thick snow. My woods.

The Huntress is watching me.

There is only one thing left to do.

Forgive me, I think.

I let the arrow fly.