The Dreaming

The cold air clung to his throat as Castan waded through the snow. The ashen smell of the forest was muted by the white coating. It was both a curse and a blessing. Most first hunts of the Vanestier people took place during the falling of colour, but Castan was a late bloomer and was given his first hunt the day the first snow fell. The white sheen would only last three moons at most, but it made tracking his prey far more manageable, so long as he could keep pace.

It took him a whole moon's turn before Castan found the tracks. They were molded deep into the melting snow. It took another moon's turn before Castan first spotted the Dea. His heart raced, his breath sharp and shallow. The chase he had been waiting for had begun. Finally, he was within reach of his prize.

The Dea was giant, towering over the underbrush as it lifted itself onto it’s hind legs to reach for the last of the greenery in the canopy of the burnt forest. Dark brown fur stood in contrast to pail grey of the melting snow. The animal lacked the antlers of a male, but was still capable of killing Castan with only its hooves, if provoked.

Castan lifted his bow, taking aim at the creature. Droplets of sweat began to bead on his brow, chilling his features. A shiver ran down his back, a layer of moisture sprung up along the bones of his spine. It would be his first kill. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he drew back and notched an arrow. Slowly he calmed his breath and steadied his hands. He whispered a quiet prayer to Rya the Dreamer. He could feel the pressure build both in the bow and in his joints, his arms a spring, coiled at the ready. He took careful aim at the Dea.

Suddenly, from overhead, the roar of the massive Dragon filled the air. It swooped down from the sky, skimming the tops of the scorched trees. Terrified, the Dea attempted to bound away, into the protection of the dead forest.

Out of shock and fear, Castan released the arrow. It soared hard and fast, missing its mark on the Dea's heart but found its way into the Dea’s hind leg. Screams of pain filled the cold air combined with roaring hum of the Dragon as the Dea limped to escape.

Castan, shaking with surprise, leaped for cover from the Dragon beneath a fallen tree, black and covered in ash. The Dragon hung in the air for what felt like an era. The beast’s giant fly-like eyes surveyed the forest. The dark, metallic hide reflected the evening sun.

Castan's heart felt like it would explode as the Dragon circled above. His chest swelled with emotion – anger, hatred, and grief overtook I'm as he collapsed to the ground beating the soil to release his feelings. In his mind, he yelled at the earth, pleading words of another prayer too Rya. Begging her to kill the Dragon like she had done in the epic tales the priests always preach.

His payers went unanswered. It was all he could do not to take out his bow and attempt to take down the beast himself. But, he still remembered what had happened to his brother Hadien. One moment Castan was chasing his little brother through the woods; the next, Hadien disappeared. Castan thought that he had lost him, but then he saw the Dragon fly over head. It must have brutally consumed Hadien, leaving nothing of his brother behind.

The Dragon made a few more sweeps, empty eyes searching for prey. It made no move to follow the Dea. It seemed to only hunger for the Vanestier. Finding nothing, the noisy beast moved on, leaving the smell of a fire that had spoiled in its wake.

Castan released his breath and attempted to reclaim his composure. He sat beneath the shelter of the tree for a few more minutes. He needed to be sure the Dragon wouldn't return. He ducked out his head, searching the sky beyond the reaches of the tall skeletal branches. Sighing, he picked up his bow and continued the hunt.

The trail of blood and the Dea's tracks made it easy to follow. Castan cursed himself for leaving the creature in such pain. It was a needless cruelty that Castan knew would bring shame to his first hunt. But, regardless of his feelings, he had to finish what he had started.

The sun fell away, replaced with stars as his only guiding light. Castan followed the trail well into the night.

Finally, in the middle of a clearing, he found the Dea collapsed. The stillness of the night was interrupted by heavy, pained breathing, the agonized panting of the Dea. Castan approached the downed creature with care, slowly drawing his knife. The smooth satin of the worn wooden handle was cool in his palm. He could feel the ice cold blade stealing his heat as he approached the dying animal.

Castan paused over the poor creature. Eyes glazed, the Dea was not fully aware of what was about to happen. In a flash of metal, Castan sunk the blade into the Dea's throat. It thrashed violently for a brief moment before collapsing to the ground, motionless.

Kneeling over the animal's warm corpse, Castan fumbled through his pouch for a small vial of Tolima. He stared as he swirled the mixture of organic matter, a mix of greys, pail greens, and dark reds, gifted to him by the elders.

With his other hand, dripping in the fresh blood of the Dea, he grabbed a handful of snow. With a thumb, he popped open the vial's lid, releasing the smell of rot, infusing the cold air, irritating his nostrils.

Holding his breath, he threw back the Tilima into his mouth. He followed it with the blood-seeped snow.

The dry, sour taste of the Tilima was quickly replaced by metallic taste of the bloody snow. The foul liquid coated his mouth as he swallowed the ceremonial herbs.

For a long moment, Castan just sat there, waiting for the Tilima to take effect. Anticipation covered his body like a fluid. Nothing happened. Regardless, the animal needed dressing.

His hands on the knife were cold and numb as he cut into the animal. The adrenaline of fear and excitement that had kept him warm, with heart racing was beginning to fade, leaving his body to feel the effects of the world. Bloody steam flooded the cold night air as he opened the Dea's chest cavity.

Plunging his hands inside, they where met with the inviting warm caress of the Dea's internal organs. The Vanestier people did not have the luxury of letting any of the animal go to waste, so as Castan removed the liver, heart, and guts, he stuffed them into a snow-filled sack.

As he dressed the corpse, a feeling began to overtake him. Slowly at first, barely noticeable, like a warmth, fluid and thick, flooding gradually inside him. Every movement seemed in slow motion. He watched, apart from his body, as his hands did the work. His limbs transformed from two separate entities connecting him to a singularity flowing across the ashen white-painted background.

The flush of red blood that circled him in the snow suddenly bloomed into crimson flowers, their pedals spilling onto the snow only to bloom again almost immediately. The Dea's body amalgamated with Castan as he sat still, mesmerized, hands clinging to the beast’s soft brown fur.

As he sat beside his kill, there was no pride. There was no sorrow either. Castan could not remember being so at peace. It was then that the sky opened itself to him. What the Elders called the Northern Lights, what the Priests called the Dreaming lights emerged, replacing the lights of the stars and filling the entire sky with their shimmering colours. They moved in a rhythm of their own, like giant tidal waves of colour, they a performed a choreographed dance as though telling Castan their story – his story.

In awe, he stood and spread his arms to embrace them, embracing the Dreaming. To his surprise and delight, a small portion rushed to meet his embrace. The dancing waves of light flooded toward Castan, running themselves along his arms towards his centre.

"Rya," he whispered as the Dreaming engulfed him.

"Give me strength." The quiet prayer seemed to agitate the lights that covered him. Their waves turned to vibrations, shaking Castan violently.

He could feel his brain rock around, knocking and bashing against the inside of his skull, pulling him down to his knees in the cold snow. A ray of red dreaming light split into Castan's chest, filling his entire being for only a moment before exploding through his back. The pain was excruciating, yet he was unable to scream. His mouth had bolted itself shut by a thin shimmer of blue light. For hours the lights toyed with him, throwing him to the ground and dashing through him as he attempted to stand up. Finally, with Castan exhausted and beaten, the Dreaming roared back into the sky, to join the rest of itself. As the the lights resumed their dancing, engulfing the sky in their performance, as though nothing had happened before fading away to nothing.

Laying there in the bloody snow, staring up at the dark sky, Castan lost consciousness.

When he awoke, the sun was high in the sky. Every inch of his body groaned with pain as he attempted to sit up. He had not expected the Tilima visions to take such a toll. His head was ringing as though with the worst hangover.

In surveying the scene, Castan found himself in a snowy field of blood. At some point in the night, he had clearly vomited. He was more than a little relieved to find the Dea still lying there.

That, at the very least, had not been part of a vision. Heaving himself to standing, he began his preparations home.

This time he heard the hum well before he saw the Dragon.

His throat constricted as fear swelled up inside him. He rushed to the Dea’s corpse grabbing its hind legs and attempted in vain to drag it towards the tree line. He couldn’t bring himself to leave his kill behind. The Dea’s legs were cold, near frozen. The fur matted with blood was slick as Castan tried pulling it to safety. Castan’s arms betrayed him as the the night had sapped him of his previous strength.

He lost his grip and fell backwards on his ass, yanking hard on the heavy, unmoving carcass. He swore at the dead animal, yelling at it in a vain attempt to get it to follow him. All the while, the humming grew louder.

In tears, Castan threw himself on top of the Dea, pulling at its fur and sobbing into its hollow chest. That’s where the Dragon found him. For a long moment, the Dragon hovered over Castan. Devoid of emotion, it simply watched him cry over the dead animal. The monster seemed to be waiting to see what he would do.

Finally, after long unending seconds, Castan looked up at the thing hanging in the air above him. His fear swelling into an anger, he recognized from so many moments of regret, the endless hours he had spent thinking about what he could have done to save Hadien. Blaming himself for doing nothing while the Dragon stole his brother from him.

As these emotions consumed him, he stood up to face the beast. All the while, without him noticing, a small tendril of colourful light began twist out from his fingers.

The Dragon, which for so long had remained still now roared into action darting towards Castan. It’s metallic jaws screeched open as it prepared to consume Castan whole, just as it had Hadien. For only a moment, Castan thought he saw a person inside the Monsters gaping mouth. Fearless, Castan roared back at the Dragon and prepared to embrace the monster rushing him. The horrendous hum grew louder and louder it’s bug-eyes fixated on its prey.

Just as the monster was about to reach its target, the tendrils of light exploded from Castan. From every centimetre of his body, a tendril erupted. The colours stretched out from his body and wrapped themselves around the Dragon. Enveloped in colour, the hum faltered as the light suspended the beast in mid air.

Shock and surprise filled Castan’s face as he watched the beast, dozens of times his size, seized by the Dreaming. The shock transformed into a small grin. The corners of his lips curled up into a smile as he whispered, strangely calm, “Rya be praised.” He flicked his finger downward and the Dragon was sent hurtling to the earth as the tendrils of light pulled it down with ease.

A shock wave, as the beast crashed, shook the earth beneath Castan’s feet. The sound of tearing metal filled the air. The Dragon was left in pieces across the open field. To Castan’s surprise, there was no blood or entrails oozing from the dark silver carcass. Rather, the beast’s remains were humanoid figures strewn in the dirt and snow.

With hesitation, Castan approached one of the figures, twisted grotesquely on the frozen ground. Castan slowly removed it’s mask to expose a pair of light blue eyes staring blankly into the sky, his brothers eyes. A small trickle of blood trickled out of Hadien's lips.

Looking down at what he had wrought, felt nothing. But for that moment he knew that a new age for the Vanestier had come. Castan had been blessed by the Dreaming. The Dragons would no longer threaten him or his people so long has he drew breath. With a flick of his wrist a tendril of light stretched out from his arm and picked up the corpse of the Dea, still lying where he had left it. With his first kill wrapped in a strong tendril of light, suspended above the ground, Castan began his long walk home.