The Hermit Herbalist

Chapter 9 - The Mortal's First Hunt

Clint Barton was welcomed when he arrived at the inn by Ragnar and all the older hunters.  The younger men and Kael shot him dirty looks but knew better than to say anything.  "We look forward to seeing your skills in the hunt," an older man by the name of Dand, said.  Clint smiled as he accepted a cup of ale.

"I am looking forward to it as well, sir," Clint responded.

"How is our sweet Ikol?" Ragnar queried.

"She has a slight fever and a twisted ankle, but I left her with the Healer Ogen and Gyda," Clint answered.

"Twisted her ankle?  Poor child!" Hunter Hagan exclaimed.  Clint nodded, knowing the reason for her accident.  

"At least she is good hands whilst you are away.  Bring her back the pelt of a great white stag!" Lanh advised.

"I think she would sooner ask for the heart for potions, than the pelt," Clint commented and the men all agreed with him.  

"She was never for frivolous things," Ragnar said in admiration before he finished his mead.  "Well, lads!" he called out and they all stood up.  "Let us gird ourselves and make haste to the woods!  The great buck waits for no one!"  Clint rose with them and shouldered his compound bow.  The older men kept him with them, sensing the unrest that would assuredly come about if he stayed with the brash youths.  "I was requested by Ikol to keep you away from Kael.  She said, 'I cannot trust him in company; I would never trust him in the wilds'."  Clint smiled at Loki's wisdom.

"She is certainly looking out for me," Clint said in response and Ragnar grinned.  

"She likes you, laddie," Hunter Hagan said and he nudged Clint with his elbow.  A pink filled Clint's cheeks at this.  After all, he recalled how he had had to vanish into the thicket to ease his body's desires because of her.  Of course, he could not get it out of his head that she had been a male in her previous life, as well as the jailer of his mind.  It was those obstacles that prevented Clint from following the good advice of everyone else in the village.  They all seemed so set on wedding their herbalist to the mortal archer.  They would rather have him than the capricious hunter.  

"Stay sharp.  Now is the chance to prove your worth, and to best Kael," Lanh warned him.  Clint put an arrow to his string and waited patiently.  They had been tracking a small herd of deer through the thicket and they were anxious to take the bucks.  Their antlers would make fine prizes, and their meat and pelts were also very desirable.  

"Bring one down, Barton," Ragnar whispered in his ear.  Clint inhaled, exhaled, and let loose his arrow.  It flew straight and true, hitting a mighty buck in the heart and felling him to the ground.  More arrows went flying into the herd and several other deer dropped down dead.  

"Did you see my worthy shot?!" Kael's voice cut through the peace of the forest.  Clint approached the buck he had killed, but Kael came up right after him.  "Excuse me!  This one's mine."

"Excuse me, but you're wrong," Clint answered.  Kael reached for his bow, but Ragnar and Lanh were soon on opposite sides of the mortal.

"He fired the shot, Kael.  I was beside him when he released it," Ragnar told the younger man calmly.  

"Challenging his shot now, are you?" Lanh asked Kael with a hint of a smile on his face.  Lanh took hold of the deer's antlers a lifted its head up.  "This belongs to the mortal."  Kael and two of his friends glared at Clint, who just smiled back.

"Keep it then!  I have no use for it," Kael taunted before he walked away.

"Shameful behavior!  No honor," Ragnar muttered under his breath as Clint and he began to tie up the stag to take it back to their camp.  

"He does seem pretty spoiled.  Was he rich once or something?" Clint asked.

"His father did used to be a captain in the army of the Norns when they stood against the All-Father's invading armies.  But, he ran from the field.  It is a great shame," Hunter Hagan explained.

"Well, he's really doing a great job of fixing that mistake," Clint commented sarcastically.  

"Verily.  His mother was not a useful woman and hid herself away after his father was executed for cowardice," Ragnar said.

"Wait a minute!  He was executed for cowardice?!  That's a little harsh, don't you think?" Clint asked as he shouldered the great tree branch that was carrying the stag back to their camp.  

"The Norns amended their laws after that.  There is even talk about declaring a ruler, a queen.  Since the Norns are female, they would choose a queen to be their mouth piece to the people," Ragnar explained.  

"Every four year term that kind of thing?" Clint posed, which earned him confused expressions from the men of Nornheim.  "That's what my country does: every four years, we elect a new ruler, we call him the president."

"That is confusing, and we would never do something like that.  Our queen would rule until the day of her death or abdication.  Then her eldest daughter would take her place with her own consort.  That is way true civilizations are managed," Lanh said.  Clint frowned a little but decided not to argue with these medieval men.  Their sense of honor and duty was in some parts contrary to his own.  

"Well... politics aside, I'm pretty sure we can all agree that this buck is going to be the kill they all talk about," Clint said, quickly changing the subject.  

"Indeed, Clint Barton!  They will speak of your slaying of this beast as the greatest kill on a hunt," Ragnar congratulated.  Clint smiled and was very happy to put the deer down beside the fire that was in the center of their encampment.  "Well now, mortal!  Let us clean your kill and you can claim your prize."  Clint looked at the impressive rack and tried not to think of Loki's bosom.  Ragnar and Hagan helped him skin the great beast and Lanh lent him a hand with removing the antlers.  

"Polish them up and present them to Lady Ikol when we return," Lanh said as he handed them to Clint.  Clint walked to the stream, the antlers in one hand and a cloth in the other.  Sitting by the side of the running water, Clint began to clean the antlers.  They were very large and he was willing to bet that no deer in all of earth had a rack like this.  He continued to polish and shine the horns.  

"Hello, mortal," said a voice and Clint sighed heavily, glancing over his shoulder and seeing Kael.  "You think Ikol will care if you present that to her?"

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it way more than a squirrel pelt shawl," Clint fired back.  "And besides, she'll turn this into a powder for her remedies.  I'm sure she'll be very grateful for it."  Clint suddenly felt the cold press of a blade between his ribs and he straightened up.  

"You will leave when we return from our hunt.  There is a caravan of merchants coming through our village on their way to Vanaheim.  You can get back to your own petty world from there.  You will leave, Barton, or else," Kael threatened.  For emphasis, he jabbed Clint hard in the side and Clint felt the warmth of a little blood.  Kael walked away, leaving Clint just sitting beside the stream.  The antlers were forgotten in his hand.  There was a caravan that could take Clint home?  How long had he been there?  Were the Avengers trying to find him?  All these questions rattled around in Clint's skull until he was called back by the others.  Ragnar and the older hunters all saw something was bothering him.  He was quiet and withdrawn.  Something was wrong, but they had no idea what.