The Legacy of Dirty Birds

The Black Hunt and a Miserable Afternoon

The sun roared like the empty stomach of a locust swarm.

"This is so stupid." Another boy who's name Calum wasn't sure of—something like Will—groans.

Had he been in the Hunt long? Calum was usually good with names. It was so hot out today. The glint from the light chainmail they wore stabbed at his vision, and his memory, evidently.

"We haven't seen anything in months, I don't know why Tarif makes such a blasted deal out of these—chores."

"Dancing with treason won't make the time pass any faster, I'm afraid."

Probably-Will rolled his eyes and resigned to silence. Though Calum agreed—there hadn't been a deadwing sighting in almost half the year—he knew how important maintaining the border was. He knew how they'd be treated if Patron Tarif accused them of slacking. He mustn't get distracted.

The path they trekked was hammered into by decades of Black Hunt apprentices assigned to Border Patrol. It was lowly apprentice work, tedious and often unfruitful, no matter how much Patrons insisted otherwise. Two boys left in the morning, two for midday, and four during the night, every day except for holy days. They were two hours into the four hour walk around the Kingdom of Colliste, with farmland to their right and the forest encroaching upon them to the right. The purpose? Colliste had no quarrels, no near enemies, but she did have a relationship with the nearby civilization of welves, one that called forth the Black Hunt to do her biding.

Calum had been in service for almost twenty years, next year he would be eighteen.  Right now, the only thing he wished for was that they'd hurry up and reach the city border where the shade sprawled about like cats. His sweat made the nicks on his fingers smart something fierce.

He pushed aside the scarlet nest on his forehead, when he spotted it. Ragged and ripped, hung from the thorn of a wild shrub, there was a feather. It was no ordinary feather, Calum immediately recognized the iridescent sheen, and the fact that when he yanked it free it stretched longer than his forearm.

Will had watched him walk off the trail, and when Calum turned back to show off his prize the other boy started and pulled out his sword. It was a pitiful thing, unfavored among the practice weapons, but he clutched it like gold.

"Where—?" he glanced around frantically, "Calum get back here, you don't know where that thing's been!"

"It looks old," Calum called back, and stared into the woods, "There's a few smaller ones about as well."

Will hesitated, before walking over, his sword still brandished. Calum knelt down into the earth and collected a handful of feathers that weren't covered in mud.

"What's it doing so close to town?" Will asked, Calum could hear a slight tremor in his voice.

"I don't know, but look, the brush was disturbed at some point." Calum brushed his fingers against the broken twigs, "A while ago, it's begun to heal. The scent of beast is long gone."

"What the hell, Calum?" Will grimaced, backing away. "Just tell me these are old tracks, don't be weird about it. I should have listened to the other lads when they warned me about you."

Calum shrunk away, but swallowed the sting and let the distance between them grow. The trees loomed like a muddy cliff-scape, easy to slip off, hard to climb out of. He pulled the feather through his fingers, straightening it out and cleaning it up. Patron Tarif will want to see this. He'll be pleased to have news for the first time in so long, maybe enough to win an extra roll at supper.