16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The stone sings of terrible things to come. Dark and dangerous songs from the depths. Notes of war are upon us, but from whom? Treachery, destruction, and pride are my possible allies. What answer is there but to trust my walls?

~King Roderic, personal journals

Like every day other than yesterday, I find myself in the forest alone, hunting for dinner for Cole and myself. The one part of the day that still feels right. Today's special, though. I'm not hunting for rabbits or squirrels. I won't turn down small game, but I'd like to do as Cole suggested and try to meet and get to know some of the Fae living in Aerwyn, and I think I'd feel a little better knowing that their bellies were full.

Plus, maybe some of them will show me a little more respect if I can bring home supper for more than just me and Cole. It would give me something to talk about as well. I remember the first time I brought home a deer. Sure, we never had a lack of food with how much money Uncle Trevor received after taking me in, but venison was a rarity. The look in all their eyes when I'd brought home a full-grown stag at ten had made me feel far better than the meat had.

I'd been able to tell the story. Aerwyn doesn't have farms or livestock. I assume the Fae here are hungry, and if I can bring down any large game, they'll be excited. It will be a way for me to break the ice between me and them, and hopefully, I don't let that ice build up again. The first bit of conversation is always the hardest, though.

I stop, something catching my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn and see the scratches against a tree at just a little under waist height, the telltale sign of boar. Quickly, I move toward it and see the black bristles embedded in the bark. It's higher than normal, and I pause for a moment, not sure that I'll be able to get something that large back to the village.

A wild boar can weigh over five hundred pounds, and while I'd have killed one that size when I was back home in Blackgrove since we'd smoke it and be able to store it in the cellar, it makes me nervous to do that here. I might be luring predators to the kill if I can only bring back a quarter at a time.

Predators that will hope to catch me rather than the boar. We're far closer to Draenyth now. There was a drakeling in the village when we arrived. What else could wait in these woods that would love to snack on a Wyrdling? I know nothing about the Immortal animals like drakelings. How to fight them, how to track them, or even how to not be eaten by them.

I have to follow up, though. Maybe I'll get lucky, and it's only a couple hundred pounds. Then I can build a makeshift sled and haul it back to the village whole.

Every hunter knows they could eventually become the prey. I just need to stay vigilant. As I move, I spot the trail that this boar has followed. Small tufts of bristles line the trees he's brushed against. Hoof prints in the soft loamy ground. The way the branches bend and shift in ways to allow a three foot tall animal through. That's the good thing about large boar. There's nothing in the wild that hunts them, so they aren't exactly worried about covering their tracks.

I run, not wanting to miss the first big game I've had in weeks. My thumb moves over the glyph on my spear.

And I smile. This feels right.

I don't know why, but I'm sure that I'm close to the boar now. The tracks are spotty here. Not nearly as obvious as they were when it was through the underbrush. While pushing through the underbrush was physically more difficult, tracking through the clearings was far harder. I don't know how many times I had to trust my gut feeling and just pick a direction.

My left hand brushes a fir tree, and I veer left. I don't know why, but it's like I can smell him. A thick, musky and earthy scent. And based on that scent, I know that he's only a few hundred feet away.

It's nearly noon, and as I cross the rocky patches in the forest floor that have created these clearings, the sun beats down on me. It's one of the few differences between these woods and the ones outside of Blackgrove, and I'm enjoying the change. The crunch of pine needles underfoot makes me nervous. The last thing I want is to have to chase the beast because I spook him.

Then I hear soft huffing as the boar roots. He paws at the ground, trying to dig up something that only it would want. My thumb moves to the glyph on my spear, and my heart calms in an instant.

Just past this overgrown holly bush. I take two very slow, very deep breaths, and I begin to stalk the creature. I don't know how large it is. I'm just glad that it's a boar and not an Immortal animal lying in wait.

Every instinct goes on high alert. I follow every lesson that Vesta taught me when I was first learning to hunt. Toes touch the ground first. Soft knees. Test the ground before putting weight on it. Don't look where you're walking. Let your toes tell you what's under your feet instead of your eyes. Your eyes are for spotting prey and choosing your path.

And never, ever forget that you can become the prey.

I slink around the patch of brush, and as silently as possible, I peek around it. There, next to a tree, is one of the largest boars I've ever seen. Covered in black bristles, a buzz of flies follows it. The creature's hooves are covered in mud, and its snout is deep in the mud that it's rooting in. Seven or maybe even eight hundred pounds with tusks that rise nearly a foot from its jaws. If Cole were to lie down, it would be nearly as long as him. Standing up, he's taller than my waist. This is the largest I've ever heard of.

Huge boars like this are one of the few creatures in the forests that I don't like the idea of fighting with a spear. There's a reason that they don't have any predators. Entire wolf packs struggle to hunt them efficiently. They're meant to win fights. Wolves are meant to kill, but boars outlast their enemies. They can be stabbed dozens of times and still keep rushing at you. They're covered in a thick hide that's hard to pierce with those hard bristles that do more to protect them than you'd think. Underneath that thick hide is a layer of fat that protects everything important. You don't kill them with a single stab. You have to keep fighting. Keep stabbing. And if, at any point, you make a mistake, they will be on you in seconds, and you will die.

I take a step back, no longer feeling that sense of serenity that I've had since I walked into the woods, and in my shock at the size of it, I make my first mistake. A branch cracks under my heel. My spear comes down immediately, preparing for the boar to be aggressive toward me, but I'm not used to the ones that are this size.

It weighs at least four times as much as me. It's at least as long as I am tall. The beast snorts and turns toward me, not worried at all about a human. Especially one my size. I take another step back, not sure what I want to do. Fight this thing and have food for the entire village or not take a risk in fighting the boar and come back empty-handed.

I stare the boar in the eye. It looks at me like I'm nothing. Less than a fly on its back, and that brings out every bit of anger that I've felt for days now. I may not be able to fight harpies or the Nothing. I may not know how to use magic or fly or even fight like Cole.

But I can hunt. That bottled lightning inside me begs to be let out. It's desperate to be used, but now isn't the time for magic. Now is the time for the things that I've known for so long. The call of the hunt. My spear and me against a creature of the forest.

I press my thumb against the glyph on the yew wood of my spear, and I smile. The boar senses a shift in me, and for a moment, he hesitates as I charge.

He's probably confused. Nothing as small as I am should be trying to attack him. He's enormous, and I am not. But I don't have to be big to be deadly.

The hesitation ends, and he begins his charge toward me, the shift inside the creature's mind going from relaxed and unworried to life or death. My body sings with the movement. The anger hangs on, though. The lightning inside me zips around, urging me to fight, to kill. To give into the animal inside me that craves the hunt. That craves the bloodshed. That is just as wild as the animals that I've hunted. I've felt that for so many years, but even when I try to let myself give in, it's like it's just out of reach. The same happens today, but that's not surprising.

I time my footsteps just right, and as soon as I'm barely outside of range with my spear, I leap to the side. Boar are fast, strong, and fantastic at killing anyone once they're on the ground. But they do not turn well.

They can't move sideways like a human can.

As I leap, I strike with the spear, hitting it in the back, and I pull the spear out before it has a chance to rip it from my hands. The boar races past, but I know I've only made it angry. That was no death blow. Now I wait. In seconds, it will burst from the brush and try to knock me over so that it can gore me with its tusks and stomp on me, crushing me with its enormous weight.

My heart races, but my hands are relaxed. My mind is calm . Listen, Maeve. Boar are loud. They don't know how to be silent when they run. Vesta's words as she taught me to hunt my first boar. Like so many times in my life, she was right there the entire time as I faced down the creature so similar to the one I'm dealing with today.

The thunder of its hooves comes from behind me, and I turn. Over eight hundred pounds running at thirty miles per hour creates an enormous amount of noise. There's no running around bushes or moving out of the way of the brambles. No, he just crushes anything in his path. He's a smart one, though, circling around me to attack my back. Even with how loud he is, I can't see him yet, and the sound is easily distorted. Most people and animals wouldn't know exactly where he was coming from. That's probably one reason he's lived so long and gotten so big.

But I'm ready for him, and this time, when I leap out of the way, I thrust at his leg. Just like humans, boars have thick veins and important tendons in those legs, and when my spear catches the back of it, it's like someone knocked over the leg of a table. Well, a table that was moving as fast as a horse and weighs eight hundred pounds.

The creature hits the ground hard. Dirt and leaves and branches fly into the air in a massive crash as he roars in pain and anger. A cloud of debris covers him, hiding him from me for a moment.

I'm too slow to get my spear out of his leg as he crashes into the ground, and there's no way I can get it out while the beast is putting all of his weight on it like this. He roars so loudly that I'd swear the leaves on the surrounding trees shake. I should be nervous, but my body moves almost on its own. Instinct controls me, and I don't stop it.

I leave the spear in the boar and unsheathe the belt knife Vesta gave me as a parting gift when I turned seventeen. A horn-handled knife I've never had to sharpen. It's in my hand in less than a second, and even though I can't see my prey through the dusty haze, I know where he is. I rush forward, cutting that same tendon in both of his back legs before he has a chance to move his massive body to protect himself.

I could try to cut his throat, to end his suffering just a little faster, but this is not a starving wolf. I know this boar would do its best to kill me regardless of whether or not it had a chance of survival. Those cuts to his legs are enough. In the next fifteen minutes, the creature will be dead.

Already, blood is pooling around him, and as the dust cloud settles, his head is hanging lower. He's still trying to push toward me with his one good leg, but it's not strong enough. I take a deep breath and feel that lightning inside me calming.

I may not be able to fight or use magic, but I can do this. I can hunt. I can feed people.

The Fae in Aerwyn were hungry. This will be more than they're used to. I've proven that I'm not a worthless human. I may not be Cole Cyrus, Prince of Flames, but I'm Maeve Arden, boar killer extraordinaire.