Black River Rising

Chapter One: East From Nowhere, Bound For Eden

Chapter One: East From Nowhere, Bound for Eden

The high noon sun broke through the ancient oak trees that lined the road in shimmering patches, painting the bleached out asphalt in every shade of yellow imaginable. The path of the road disappeared around a bend. On the roadside in the high grass an old hand painted sign hung limp and unreadable, the only indicator besides the road itself that civilization had once been trying to encroach on this stubborn patch of wild on the fringes of a city. Around the bend in the road came the unmistakable sound of horse hooves, light and lazy.

Coming into view, atop a great black horse, sat a rider pulled from the pages of some epic fairy tale. Perhaps of vikings, and old kings. Had he dismounted he would have stood a confident six foot one. His shoulders were broad and led into well muscled, tattooed arms, exposed to the sun by his cuffed sleeves.

His dark blond hair was long and pulled back. A full, healthy beard obscured some of his face, but did nothing to hide his easy smile. He looked regal and dignified riding in the dappled sunlight. An image that was shattered when the man stretched leisurely on his mount, and turned in his leather saddle to shout over his shoulder,

"Get the lead outa your ass, Brother. We have places to be!"

His voice had a deep vibrato, a mix between a growl and a musical note, and when his brother called back a string of profanities from round the corner, the man laughed. His dark blue eyes lit up with amusement. Several paces behind, another figure appeared, this one riding on a makeshift cart pulled by a pair of rather disgruntled looking mules.

The mules, however, looked nowhere near as unhappy as the man, who though somewhat shorter and stockier with shaggy, dark hair, looked like a grumpier version of his jovial brother.

It was obvious that the cart he was riding in was originally intended for cargo only, and though a bench seat had been added along the front, it seemed to respond readily to every little bump in the road, throwing the large man around as it went.

"Eat shit, Hyatt. Why do I always end up on the cart?"

Hyatt smiled as he urged his horse onward.

"Because you always lose the bet. Every time you say you'll make the most kills, and every single time, you are bested by your baby brother. You really should have learned by now, Roland."

Roland just continued cursing under his breath as he twitched the reins, insistent that the mules keep pace with Hyatt and his horse. At least they were almost home. It was less than an hours ride to the Center Connecter, the large bridge that would lead them off the vast island they often hunted, and back into Black River's center city.

Technically, they were still in their Territory. In the last two years, Black River had expanded its borders to include the neighboring four counties, and over 60 miles of mostly forested islands stretching up the coast.

Many people, ready to stretch their legs, had left the city proper to try their hands at rural living, and to expand the territory's growing farmlands. Still, "Hunter's Island" remained largely uninhabited. After The Fall, rumors of possessed animals ravaging the wild life, and of lingering disease had scared most sane people away. Because of that, the game there had flourished and thrived.

Roland sighed heavily, catching Hyatt's attention,

"What's wrong now?"

Roland rolled his eyes at the patronizing tone in his brother's voice, but answered anyway.

"We've been gone for over a week. That's a lot of food and a lot of pelts, but every time you're gone for that long I worry that something might happen."