EISEN

A HUNT FOR HYMNS

"Brother. Do you hear that?"

Only minutes into our hunt in the early mountain sunrise, Brother speaks of hums. Their octaves deep and droning. Too deep for horns ... Too deep for war cries, as well. His face expressed great fear, yet I saw him to be mad, surely. But like Odin's trembling thunder upon my ears, it strikes the sky; and I find myself now clinging to his warnings like the Gods' own scripture.

"We head into the hills, brother," he said to me. "Guard my back; keep close."

He parted with an axe, worn and dirty, only but the blade cared for any amount. A family heirloom bestowed to him by our father. Though I did not trust the blade in my young age, I could not trust a soul more than thee. Brother was versed in the clan's ways. Hex to those who would stray from the call, the fight. Alas, a far cry from comfort that horrible noise—what could it be? It rattled my very being, down to my heart that had lost its rhythm. I felt woozy, trekking blindly to Brother's back as I surveyed the shrinking trees behind.

It never ceases.

Audible now is a restless grumble amongst it. Be it roars? Be it that of slumber? My pondering led me to stumble over a crack in the ridgeline, only able to catch myself against Brother. He tensed with great panic when his eyes veered behind his shoulder and reached to pry me away. He glared to the crack that had gotten the best of me, as if to decipher his own hunch.

"The ground, so strange ... Not a stone pure for acres."

He was right: something of this earth appeared wounded, as though one had begun to separate this bluff from the village below. We sought its travels as to be nights away from any sort of end.

Brother pulled me to my feet with a mighty heave. Now, there was no hiding his uncertainty. The noises would soon have to find a harmonic place in our heads if we were to survive this hunt. Suddenly, my ears—as desperate as they were to seek another tone less troubling—soon resonated with eerie comfort: vicious snarls. Yet, my eyes doth deceive.

A slender type, dressed in strange, silky garb of red and white traveled near these faint shadows we cast. Her deep blue eyes pierce the soul with their grace, neither bothered nor threatened. This woman hiked unopposed, enamored in converse with herself. My steps were halted by Brother's, of whom stopped with only a disheartened grunt; his sword was now firmly slid from its hide scabbard. I couldn't make it out well, but she murmured something further while she watched me. She slowed her pace.

My body trembled, tumulted further when I peeked from behind Brother. An icy Sabretooth Tiger blocked the forward path. Strange, too, a thick fog bank before it.

"Hold your ground. Do not make a sound ... When he pounces, I'll come 'round the side. He'll follow, and that's when you carve into the skull. Spare its pelt."

You could almost feel sorry for the trembling beast. It was clear that it, too, feared. However, Brother would relish the prey no different. He does as he said, without hesitation when the Sabretooth attacked. This would be the story we could have shared: how the Ghalihide boys provided the most deadly of meat for fortnights. But it was not fated as such.

Damned, panicked things—those hands!

My swing dug deep into its side; so deep, in fact, that it was now embedded into the wounded animal as a permanent fixture. It roared, wincing. Alas, it only briefly hobbled over then stabilized itself for another go. Brother was steadfast in luring the beast away with his blade flat-edged, batting at a nearby tree.

"Fight me, you crippled hide!" he taunted. "Face Ghalihide iron!"

In the moment, my tender ears perked. That was when the woman called. "This way, and make haste!"