The Wild Hunt (Part One)

Fox

"Hey, pretty boy! You think that's enough firewood? The Chief needs both carts full."

Yetae galloped towards me through the forest clearing atop his horse. A long bow was strapped to his chest, and he slowly steered his horse near me.

I grimaced and hacked at another fallen branch, splitting it in two before tossing the wood into the cart behind me.

The chief's son grinned down at me. "No, you cannot shove it up his chiefs butt."

I gave him a look and set to chopping another piece. "I didn't say that."

He barked a laugh, his feathered earpieces swishing around his face. "Aye, you didn't have to. Your face said it for you."

I chuckled to myself. Yetae was the Chief of Tewase's son. He found me in a village his tribe raided and offered me a job of servitude in return for saving his hide from burning up in a blazon hut, he unfortunately started and accidentally barred himself in. At the time he was only thirteen and I did not know he was the chief's son and thought he was another village bystander misfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Little did I know how the roles would be reversed.

His father took me in as a slave, and I became integrated into the barbaric lifestyle of the Tewase tribe. Yetae became my overseer and closest friend. Even though I was technically a slave and should submit to any of his request I found myself acting normal if not brotherly towards him and he the same. Our friendship was thick as bark, and we have been inseparable the last six years.

"What village are you to burn today?" I asked, mildly annoyed.

Yetae's face became grim, and he brought his hand to his neck. I could see the uncomfortable tension in his body from my asking. It never ceased to amaze me how easily he killed for his father and yet, his reservations seemed strong.

"The Cona village, south of YeGal."

I grunted, slicing a thick branch in half. The Cona village was near the palace. It seemed Chief Na-Wakee's nightly pillaging was getting closer and closer to those golden gates these past few months. I wonder what the beast of a man had in mind for King Mansee.

"Stop calling me pretty boy." Ever since the day I saved his hide he has called me pretty boy. It ruffled my feathers, and he knew it too. I didn't think I looked that pretty and to even be called pretty as a young man twisted at my pride. Even worse, to be called pretty in a tribe full of dark, brute men and brawn, wild women made me seem like a flower in a field of vultures. I was not pretty.

Yetae swung a leg back over his horse, climbing down to the ground. He cocked his head and held out his hand in a feminine way. He spoke in a high, winey voice. "Oh Yetae, oh handsome Yetae, second to Chief Na-Wakee, please..." he batted his eyelashes. "Excuse my wondrous colored eyes and silver locks of hair. The moon has given me its light upon my head. Oh! Do you find my dark skin pleasing to your eyes? My- my smooth face a table to rest your nu-"

I whacked him across the head with a piece of branch and he yelped, rolling to the ground.

I knew I was flushed all over with embarrassment. "So, help me I will chop you up and throw you in the cart with the other twigs." I warned, pointing the branch towards him.

Yetae laughed through his groaning, picking himself up and dusting off his bare legs. "Come on. The chief is calling a meeting. Let's hurry before he chops both of us in half."

Yetae pulled himself back onto his horse and reached down to grab my outstretched hand. I grabbed his thigh, and he hoisted me up behind him and set us off into a quick gallop.

The meeting took place inside of Chief Na-Wakee's hut. It was a large, domed tent made from sturdy, slender branches that curved and arched over each other. The hide of white deer were stretched across the skeleton and tied off at various joints. Smoke billowed out from the top of it and as Yetae and I entered the tent, the Chief and his battle advisors were seated around a deep, fire pit. A few warriors also sat among the room chattering away. The flames flickered red and yellow inside the chard earth and its smoke rose through the hollowed-out ceiling and disappeared into the inky blue-orange sky.

"Father." Yetae touched the top of his head with his thumb and two fingers, bowing slightly before taking a seat next to him.

"Chief Na-Wakee." I did the same and knelt near the far wall of the tent, beside the other slaves permitted within its confines. They wore similar clothes to mine. Brown, hide pants, a tan vest with a single button closure and the tail of a fox tied around their waist to rest atop their lower backside. These were the garments of slaves. The simple clothing set us apart from the Tewase people, but the fox tail meant we served the chief and only the chief.

"Alright, alright!"

Everyone quieted their restless chatter as Chief Na-Wakee spoke. He was a hefty man. Tall and muscled from years of fighting and hunting. His straight, black hair was shaved to form a narrow line down the center of his head. The peppered locks were tied off in three sections before twining into a long braid down his back. He wore blue-green feathers that dangled from his earlobes and brushed across the tops of his shoulders. Thin leather twine with beaded finger bones and emerald cut stones swayed beside them. The jewelry marked him as Head Chief over the Tewase Tribe and Yetae's similar jewelry- smaller in comparison, distinguished him as the Chiefs son and second in command.

"We ride to Cona after sundown. We keep to the thicket and approach through the rice fields before encircling the grain store. Kill the watchmen, take what we can carry then burn the rest. Leave no witnesses and kill a few to make an even bigger point. Mark the ground with Tewase using the ash of what's left of the grain store. King Mansee should know who stole his food!"

Whops and cries of vengeance and murder filled the space. People shouted and jumped up and down, swinging their bows and spears above their heads. Chief Na-Wasee beat his chest and howled.

"Let the king know what it's like to starve!"

Someone beat drums and their deep, thunderous sounds echoed the beating of chest and marching of feet. It sounded like a heart pumping outside of a body and the thrill to kill grated against my senses. I looked around at the men and woman who clung to each other, who beat at their chest or ripped their clothes apart. It was a wild sort of animalistic scene, and the chief sat in the middle of it all with a deep, malicious grin on his face. His coal eyes were set upon me, and I swallowed hard, digging my fingernails into the ground.

What did he want?