On The Edge of Blades (Chapter 2)

***Note: So the way this was written means that I can publish either 1600 word half-chapters or like 4000 words full chapters (so half-chapters it is ;)

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The bobcat hid several feet away, the vast forest concealing it in a cloak of foliage. It was late in the afternoon, and the warm rays of heat penetrated the dense tangle of greenery. The faint smell of roasted meat drifted through the air and the outline of a small tent was obscured only by the ever-stretching shadows. A gentle stream trickled in effortless symphony along with the birds and insects.

Syra raised the last piece of the tender venison to her mouth. A fly landed on the meat, but with a swipe it flew away. Resting on the forest floor, Syra ran a hand through her short black hair; it had been two months.

The bobcat crept further into Syra’s vision. It was beautiful. Its sleek fur gleamed in the fading light, and it was speckled with dark spots. But the creature of the forest was late, and there was no more food. And, after walking the perimeter of Syra’s camp, it left as if it had never existed at all.

Thoughts raced through Syra’s mind as she whittled down the edges of a long stick. The city could be ashes and rubble. Maybe a House war had broken out, maybe the bottom layer had finally revolted. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow these worn out troubles had fixed themselves in her head like brick and mortar.

No one would find her in the forest, and no one would look. A broken part was much easier replaced than fixed…

Taking a drink from her canteen, Syra stomped out the small fire and slid the whittling knife into a fabric strap on her leg. An ancient soldier of the forest awaited her.

“Ready yourself.”

I am, the soldier replied its many arms unmoving.

“Then this should be fun.”

Her splinter-ridden blade arched through the air landing hit after hit, but the soldier did not move. She ran the forms, all of them, but it did not move. Syra moved faster chipping away more and more of the wooden armor.

Syra knew it was impossible for the ancient soldier to last much longer. So, she readied a final blow, her opponent had fought well, but it was far too slow. Holding the sword with two hands, Syra swung with all of her weight, and a splintering crack raced through the air. At the same time, she tripped on a root and fell to the dirt floor. The wooden stick lay broken on the ground. Pulled up against the soldier’s feet, Syra wiped the mud from her face.

“I’ll win next time.”

Do you want to win…? Do you want me to fall?

“No…”

Then, what do you want?

“I don’t know”

What do you want?

“I don’t know”

What do you want? What do you want? The voice echoed in the darkness.

“Stop. I want it to stop. I want to forget the past, I-”

Then why do you keep fighting?

“I don’t know.”

Maybe, you should find out.

Syra lay on the ground. She clutched her head in both hands and shouted into the sky. The old tree looked down as always, its green and brown face blank, emotionless. And slowly Syra rose from the forest floor. She walked to her tent, crawling inside the same way that a mockingbird hides from a storm. The storm would not cease.

The night remained immature and she sat listening. The insects bickered, the stream shouted, the frogs bemoaned the day, and the birds chorused in mournful sorrow. And… and Syra didn’t know what was wrong.

She had tried everything to get away, but she couldn’t stop hearing them, seeing them. They were everywhere. She drifted to sleep, but even in the deepest crevices of sleep, the faces were still there…

A loud rustling came from outside the tent, and Syra shot up from her cot. It was dark, and as she stepped outside the small fabric tent, she nearly tripped over a root.

Staring into the black forest Syra saw nothing, but the crunching of leaves had not stopped, it was behind her. She pointed her knife into the darkness. Her knuckles were white, and her eyes jumped through the shadows like a tardy merchant in a crowd.

“Come out,” she whispered.

“I said come out.”

Syra creeped towards the noise. But, as she approached, only the fleeting shadow of a bobcat darted across the camp and disappeared into the forest.

“Of course, it was nothing.” Syra stared into the darkness, “What else would it be?”

She crawled back into the tent and fell to sleep.

It was early in the morning when Syra woke, and the remnants of darkness still remained. A fresh coat of dew coated the waxy leaves, and a sharp morning smell hung in the air. Syra walked to the stream, gathering wild berries and shoving them in her mouth.

Leaving a pair of leather boots on the rocky shore, she slid into the cold-water shivering as her body adjusted. Syra slipped off her clothes and rinsed herself. The stained tunic and leather pants rose to the surface, each covered in a thick layer of sweat and grime. Syra brushed a hand through her short hair, sprinkling it in a thin coat of icy droplets.

The clear water enveloped her form and her ears sank beneath. The canopy of sound vanished and was replaced only by her thoughts. Every instant felt like forever, and when her last breath escaped her Syra reemerged from the water.

Inhaling warm air, Syra grabbed the wet clothes, climbed from the stream, slipped her feet inside the boots, and walked back to her tent.

The clothes dried over the rekindled fire. Minutes passed in silence, and only as the leather began to smoke did Syra remove the clothes from the fire. After they had cooled, she slipped the clothes on and, as the sun rose like a phoenix reincarnate, Syra grabbed her bow. It was an early morning. Early enough that the small mammals still foraged beneath the leaves.

Slinking beneath the towering foliage, Syra moved as if the inner forest had always been home. The air was warm and humid, and there was no breeze. Vines and leaves hung down from above like tattered curtains. And Syra slowed and hid herself behind a nearby tree.

It was quiet in the same way a courtroom was before a verdict. A tension weighed heavy in the air.

Syra raised the wooden bow and drew an arrow. It was an hour that Syra waited crouched behind the oak tree. At first a sharp and tight pain had gripped her legs, but the pain soon faded to numbness. Syra had felt calm. She didn’t have to think. And, as a faint rustling began to come from a nearby bush, Syra nearly forgot to raise her bow.

A little brown snout barely peaked out from behind the greenery. The rodent was small and round. It had clearly feasted well on the many plants and grasses beneath the canopy.

In her mind, Syra questioned whether it would be big enough, whether it had enough meat to be worth an arrow? Her gut had no such concerns.

A loud twang echoed, and the blunted arrow tip bounced against the rodent’s skull. Bleeding on the ground, the small mammal whimpered and squealed, shattering the silence. Its body spasmed, and its eyes blinked rapidly. A thick paint of blood enveloped its face.

Syra grabbed the arrow from the ground and slid it back into her makeshift quiver. She picked up the rodent and ran the knife against its fur covered throat. Silence returned…

The rodent was a brown sash on Syra’s shoulder as she walked. The camp was not far, and she had already walked three-quarters of the way. Living in the wilderness her thoughts were only companions; sometimes she wished she was alone.

I’ve been alone before, but this…this is different. There isn’t anywhere else to go, not anymore… There’s a reason it’s called-

“This is her camp alright, but she’s not here.” Syra nearly fell to the forest floor in shock. There were voices- real voices not tree voices. She had to be dreaming.

“Crazy woman probably got herself lost.” Syra reached the edge of the camp and crouched behind a bush.

“She was Bladebound, and you know the training they get.” There were two men talking. Both dressed in the uniforms of the Huntbound guild and held their finders close.

“But, Jonas that’s not the point; She’s crazy, lost her marbles, whatever metaphor you want. Stole a sword from the guild.” Syra didn’t understand. She hadn’t left the forest.

“We both read the conscription. You know what we hav-”

“Hang on, do you smell that? It’s coming from over there,” The other man pointed in Syra’s general direction.

“It smells like meat”

As the two men approached, Syra’s hand raced for her knife. They were Hunters. Long ago their guild had been the first; they had hunted game for The City. Now, they hunted for those who could pay.

She clutched the small blade in her hand, but as the men approached she loosened her grip. Syra did not want to fight. If the guilds thought she was guilty and she killed, her situation would only worsen. She stepped from behind the bush, and the two men drew their finders, the small metal darts floating above their palms.  

“You stand accused of treason, theft, and assault do you submit?” Jonas’s voice sounded as if he was an actor with a single line. As if he had repeated it so many times he didn’t know what it meant anymore.

“Yes.”

The dagger fell silently to the forest floor…