Forest of Lies

Chapter 4-Warnings on the Wind

The village square is thick with the red glow of the bonfire, while the air tasted of bitter herbs. The drums pounding, grows louder as Mother and I approach. Both of us with our bowls held before us, leaves and dirt crunching under our bare feet. The crowd watches on in silence, as we walk forward towards the girl clothed in sheer black cotton.

Amira is her name, a girl taller than I and fierce as any creature of the wood. A fresh scar wraps its way around her brown throat. The mark from a wild wolf's claw that would have taken out her vocal cords. If she had not killed it first. The wind ruffles the coiled strands of her midnight hair. Wooden beads clacking together in her braids, while the bonfire crackles like snapping bones.

Mother and I come to a stop before Amira, as the drums cease their pounding. Letting the wind and fire, fill the silent night air. With a nod from Mother, I approach Amira and dip my forfinger into the bowl and draw a line of pigment, from her forehead down to her chin.

"May the gods bless you Amira Cantela," I say, forcing my voice to carry across the square. "For you have proven yourself worthy of your first mark. So let it be known that this girl has braved the darkness, and come back to us with the spoils of her hunt. A feat most expectional to celebrate, upon her entering her fifteen year in this land."

Dipping my finger back in the bowl, I trace a crescent line across her forehead. The drums beat anew as a young girl takes the bowl from my hand. No more than ten, she holds it in her small hands, dotted with the figures of ants on her pale skin. As she steps back, Mother appears as I gently roll up Amira's sleeves while Mother traces the pigment down the girl's lean arms. As she does this, I step back and signal Amira's older brothers forward. A cloak of fur made from the black wolf of which she felled, held between them.

"With the symbols of the Goddess of the Hunt, we show our pride for another hunter who has proven their worth," I begin, as Mother hands another child her bowl and presents Amira with the cloak.

"Under the light of the stars, and the glow of our hearths. We present Amira Cantela the symbol of her strength, prowess, and integrity amongst the wild heart of the forest. From this day forward, she will have the title of, Lupus Venator, the Wolf Hunter."

Cheers, hollers, and whistles fill the air as Mother secures the clasp of the wolf fur cloak around Amira's neck. Joy shines in the young girl's dark eyes as the bone drums solemn pounding warps into the sound of celebration and joy. Taking that as my cue, I pull my mask down across my face as my fellow Marked draw forward towards the new addition.

Men and women wearing the pelts of our kills, and masks formed from the wood of trees we alone have felled. The faces of bears, wolves, cougars, and birds of prey, carved into oak, birch, cedar, and pine. Taking hold of Amira's hand, I draw her into the forming circle as she pulls down her falcon carved mask of ancient oak.

The bone drums beat louder, as the clapping of hands, and the sound of wood pipes, flutes, and voices rise into the air. Our feet pound in time to the drumming. Our bodies moving to the hypnotic sound of the ancient melody finding its way into our souls. My blood hums in time to the beating of my heart, my feet greeting the earth in sync with the drums that seem to pound on and on.

Exhilaration flows through my veins, excitement floods my body, sending my heart beating faster and faster inside my chest. Ripples of sparks, flow across my skin as the heat from my body's exertion causes sweat to bead upon my brow. As the voices of the gathered crowd increase, I feel a sense of peace and joy invading my mind.

My world reduced to this single moment of happiness. Watching my Mother smile from the sidelines, seeing me dance without loosing my mask. My feet aching from stomping them against the ground. Children shrieking and clapping along in time to our rigorous pace of jerking movements and fluid leaps.

Until I dared breath in the smoky air, reveling in the scent of pine, meat, and the salt of sweat. When I did, my vision grew cloudy as a cold chill wind blew up from the south. Bringing with it, a smell that turned my stomach and elicited my gift to push itself upon me.

I drop to the ground as peircing howls rip through the air. Distant cries of rage, hunger, and want. A sound I hear pounding against my skull, as my eyes are filled with images that turn my blood to ice. The Blood Plain dotted with muddy prints of boots, hooves, and claws. The Great River, twisting through banks that have been pounded down by the weight of many feet. And then, the very edge of the Endless Forest. Where a man with piercing blue eyes, jumps from his horse as a large brown wolf comes up to his side.

I do not hear what the man says, but I watch in horror as the wolf turns into a tall imposing man with dark hair. A cloak of green is quickly thrown across his shoulder, bearing the mark of a howling wolf stitched in silver thread. I suck in a breath as the scent of clear water invades my nose. The smell emanating from the man, whose blue eyes flicker to black as the werewolf whispers into his ear.

I hurriedly shake my head, as the flickering fire invades my sight. Along with the grim faces of the Marked, and the cries of children clinging to their mothers' skirts. For they all know those are no mere howls of wild wolves, but the cries of our prowling werewolf overlords.

Rage burns in my blood from what has occurred. Burning hatred that turns into the fuel for my next course of action. The knowledge that the Howlers have come to our forest. For what I don't know, but I will be damned if I cower like a mouse in its hole.

"Do not fear my friends," I begin, pulling my mask up and facing their fear whitened faces. "I will see that this threat for your safety is taken care of. In that regard, myself and my fellow Marked will see to it that none of the Tenebrae will be harmed."

Though my voice is strong, I feel that age old fear churning in my gut. I squash it down as best I can, while Mother takes over to advise our people. Allowing me, Amira, and the five other Marked to slip away towards the forest. Though our belts already are filled with sharp stone knives, we head towards the weapon's hut. This opportunity gives us quivers, arrows, shields, swords, spears, and other forbidden items to pick from. As always, I grab my favorite one, the crossbow, and swiftly secure it to my belt. Hiding it beneath the folds of my cloak.

As the others finish arming themselves, I count all of them in my head. The blond twins Ersa and Ezra, strapping bows and quivers to their backs. Hawk eyed Orlan, takes a bag of caltrops and to my relief, a fighting staff tipped with silver. The ever silent second set of twins, Aloutte and Celeste, strap circular shields onto their backs. Not neglecting to hide the silver tipped swords beneath their robes. Amira chooses last, swiftly slipping a pair of long silver coated knives into the leather sheathes strapped to her trousers.

We are silent as we prepare, aware of the village guardians guiding everyone to the safety of the hidden tunnels dug into the vast expanse of the Old Mountain. Soon, we alone will be left to divert away the monsters. As I turn and lead us through the wooden gates of the village wall. I pray to whatever god is listening, that this would not end in bloodshed. Not after the last time they came. Barely six years ago, when a band of Howler Knights ambushed a gathering party. Killing my father, raping my mother, and one of them claiming my sister as his own. All while I was forced to watch from afar, cowering in a briar thicket as my quiet life was set aflame.

"Never again," I whisper, into the chilling night air as I watch my fellow marked enter a forest that seems to trick and twist the mind. Promising not only my people, but myself that I will never surrender to again to the fear of the beasts. Unless, there is no other choice to protect that last bit of my heart I have left.

Pulling down my mask, I follow after Amira on silent feet. Fear slowly encroaching upon my body as we head deeper into the thicket of trunks, leaves, and brush. An emotion that I force down, letting my anger form a barrier between me and my surroundings. Protecting me from this forest of deceit, pain, and fear. Blocking out its hidden influence of promises and pleasure. For this forest of lies is a hungry one indeed.