The Blessed One

Her stomach rumbled, more insistently this time. Sighing, she reluctantly removed her hand from her bowstring and dug into her pack for some dried fruit. All the signs had indicated that the deer was moving in this direction, and she did not want to miss her opportunity because she was too busy stuffing her face.

Then again, an empty stomach was rather distracting.

She chewed in silence, the only discernible movement within the ruins. Carefully, she raised her head enough to peer over the stone-grey edge of crumbling wall she was hiding behind and looked down and to her left, down to the wide avenue below. From her lookout she could see in both directions, north and south, down the arrow-straight path of tall grasses interspersed with slabs of great, grey, flat, broken stones. The monolithic ruins towered on either side of the path, throwing shadows onto the verdant earth as the sun continued its descent at their backs. The buildings clustered shoulder-to-shoulder, most with hardly enough space between them for an elk and cart. Empty, gaping windows stared back at her. Nothing moved.

A hive without bees, she thought, not for the first time.

Her mind wandered briefly and she found herself staring at a window far above her and across the grass-carpeted avenue when a slight movement caught the edge of her left eye. Slowly, she turned her head towards the source.

There! Taking his first tentative step within the boundary of the ruins was the stag! His coat was glossy and dark. His antlers were slight but his body was full. Perhaps the Lightning Child had blessed her this day?

She stayed still as the statues of blue-green copper that dotted the ruins as the stag made his tentative way towards her, the prey unaware of the predator in his midst. Her breath came in slow and deep, leaving her lungs in long, quiet sighs as she controlled the beat of her heart the way that Shasser had taught her. The stag moved slowly, but she was patient, and she waited while he strode forward step by careful step.

The sun had shifted low on the western horizon by the time her target came within range of her bow, and she counted another one-hundred fifty-seven heartbeats before he was in the killing ground she had chosen, a space that the long shadows of stone and steel did not touch. Moving with the greatest of care - and never taking her eyes off of her quarry - she adjusted her crouch to give herself the greatest firing position possible, moving her body so her bow was over the low, broken wall that was her only barrier between hunter and hunted. Her left hand held the bow, her right once again gripped the string with the arrow nocked, and in one smooth motion she drew back on the string.

Her lungs expanded as she inhaled deeply of the crisp, evening air. The muscles in her chest and back pushed against her leather clothing while the fletching of her arrow kissed her cheek. She sighted down the wooden shaft and narrowed her focus until all she could see was a glossy, hair-covered shoulder alight in the glow of the falling sun at the tip of her arrow. Her lips pursed as her muscles contracted and forced the air out of her body, her already slow heartbeat slowed still further and she felt her body rela-

A burst of movement caused the stag to turn his head back to the north, back the way he had come. She - ignoring the distraction - released the string, but it was too late. Before the arrow had sprung the stag dropped his head, the muscles of his mighty legs and shoulders compressed, and with a great leap cleared the space where she had been aiming. With a dull whump her arrow was lost in a clump of grasses as her prey bounded effortlessly away to the south.

She stood, standing fully from behind her cover as a frustrated growl escaped her throat, and watched from her perch in the ruins as he zigged and zagged around mounds of grass-covered stones and narrow pillars draped with leaves and vines. It was only as he disappeared from view that she looked back to the north and the flock of ravens that had burst forth from between two of the ruined buildings, startling her prey.

Pursuit never crossed her mind. The stag was fleeing south, weaving through the debris strewn across the grassy avenue between the monolithic ruins into the Heart. He was going into the Sickness.

Thinking of the Sickness she clutched at the heart-shaped locket that dangled from a golden chain at her throat, the symbol of her people. The Etobiko were brave, but there was nothing they feared more. Of the many great hunters in her tribe only she was brave enough to hunt this close to the boundaries of the Heart.

Some said it was her Blessing that gave her courage. She didn’t know for sure. How could she when she had been Blessed all her life? How could she have known anything different? Few were born pure, and fewer remained so as they grew older, but she had been fortunate. No strange defects or deformities had greeted the midwives upon her exodus from the womb, and as she had grown she had remained strong and unblemished. Some sneered at her in jealousy, especially those born crippled or blind, or those with growths adorning their bodies. Others stared at her in awe. In her short years she had been taunted and adored, shunned by some and loved by others. She had been spat at and scorned for her differences, and venerated and praised for them. She did not understand it. She did not know why she was different only that she was. It made no difference. The sun rose and fell, the moon waxed and waned, the seasons cycled through their endless dance, and all the while the Sickness lurked. Ever-present, always near, weighing on the minds of the Etobiko, their burden and their curse.

Clutching the locket at her throat once again she looked to the south and glared in defiance.

After a moment of indulgence, of convincing herself that she was not afraid, she turned her eyes north and sighed with resignation. She hefted her bow, lifted her pack and began to make her descent from her lookout in the gaping eye of the ruin.

Her stomach rumbled, more insistently this time.