//------------------------------// // Ch1: Long Fall // Story: Under A Wild Star // by SwordTune //------------------------------// A hunt could take days. Nisus checked the marks on her arms. Every chimaera had lines of glowing diamond-shaped scales that drew unique shapes on their bodies. The magic behind each mark was sacred, serving as both a tool and an identity for a chimaera.  She shook the snow off of her hooves, digging deep into the frozen surface of the mountain and using her slender tail to balance. Despite the snow, zoak trees continued to thrive, some even managing to bud zap-apple flowers. The multicoloured fruit was a delicacy, and in the middle of a freezing winter, Nisus welcomed even the memory of spring and its zap-apples. A smell of deer-hawks filled Nisus’s nose. She stretched the wings on her back, imagining the thrill of chasing a deer-hawk after it took flight. An impossible dream. Every child wondered why they had wings if they couldn’t fly. Every parent told a different story to sate their minds. In truth, no one knew why their wings were only bones without skin or feathers stretched across to catch the winds. Foretellers had a theory that their ancestors prefered ground prey, like wolf-hares or jackalopes, so the Elements didn’t see the need to give them wings. Whatever the past may have been, she needed to focus on the now. Nisus tightened her claws, looking at her arm again. Her marking scales glowed like sapphires, a sharp contrast to the rest of her speckled sandy-rose scales. The scales traced an arrowhead, its point aiming down her arm to her claws. Both arms were marked, always mirroring the other. The tip of her arrow marks were becoming dim. From experience, Nisus guessed she had enough magic for five or six more spells before she’d have to rest. Down the cliff of the snowy mountain, a deer-hawk stuck its head out from under the cover of a spare copse of trees. Nisus snapped her head towards it like a falcon-owl, her eyes unable to shake their target. Still, she wasn’t unaware of her surroundings. More snow-bearing clouds were rolling their way toward the mountain. Against their dark faces, the arrows of the Elements were sent down from the stars, great streaks of fire that fell from the heavens now and again. The mystical beings guarding their world were hunting as well. Nisus simply wished their arrows weren’t such great balls of fire. She’d have to kill her prey before the aorosstan crashed into the forest and spooked the deer-hawk. Nisus reached behind her to the hunting kit she had laid on the snow, working fast. It was a long fall for a burning arrow, but it moved fast.  She drew a spear, the most basic tool of a hunter, and raised her arm to throw. She stood about fifty reaches above the deer-hawk. Measuring with the length of her arm, she imagined her claw reaching fifty times further away. “Drogmos yege,” she whispered while pushing the blue hair from her fuzzy mane away from her face. Her mental image became real, at least to her eyes, and she was able to see the path her spear needed to take to hit the deer-hawk. The weapon launched from her claw, flying perfectly along its path and burying itself deep in the prey. The hind leg of a deer-hawk, however, was not lethal, and prey dashed as it panicked. The hunting spear shook around in its hind leg, spreading blood in the snow as it ran. The forelimbs of the deer-hawk, however, were wide and powerful red-feathered wings. The wings were sturdy enough to act like legs on the ground, but as it flapped the animal showed off its incredible power. Powdered snow whipped up around it as it soared up. Ten reaches, then thirty reaches. “Save me, Elements,” complained Nisus as she grabbed her hunting kit. She jumped down the cliff, using the soft snow underneath to cushion her fall. Without taking another second, she drew a second spear and aimed it at the deer-hawk.  She guessed it was at least a hundred reaches up in the air. Panicking, Nisus didn’t bother trying to aim like before. “Hathiertan!” she shouted as she threw the spear. Fire grew out from the tip of the weapon, engulfing it fully just before it hit its mark. The deer-hawk release a scratchy, high-pitched groan, but continued flying for its life. Nisus grabbed her kit, slung it over her shoulder, and then checked her mark again. Enough magic for three spells. A hunt could take days. Nisus knew how sturdy deer-hawks could be, and with two months of winter left, this one was still filled up with its autumn fats. But her hits were clean and the trail of blood wouldn’t take more than an hour to follow in the white snow.  She found the dying beast further down the mountain. With breath light and slow, the deer-hawk struggled to stand up but continued kicking as it saw Nisus coming near. “Easy there,” she hushed the frightened beast, circling around to its head to avoid its powerful legs. “You’ve had a good long time. Now it’s time to rest.”  Nisus drew a knife from her kit. The short blade was made of obsidian, a glassy black stone that had been carefully chipped away at its edge. She sunk the knife into the deer-hawk’s neck, cutting through its windpipe. “Elements, bless this beast’s spirit on its journey home.” Nisus began the Hunter’s Prayer, as she removed the spears stuck inside the animal. “Bless it with honour, for it has served the duty of feeding hungry mouths. Bless it with liberty, for now it is free.” Using the blood from her spear she made a copy of her mark on the animal’s hide. “Bless it with the hospitality of its fellow dead, for now it needs a home. Bless it with the will to inspire those it leaves behind, for its body will become great things. Bless it forever, Elements, with trust in its hunter’s necessity, for it has sacrificed for a worthy cause.” Nisus hauled the animal over her shoulder, placing her hunting kit on top of it so that it could not get bloody. She thought about all the good her catch would bring to her village. The deer-hawk was twice her size, enough meat to make stew for her whole clan. Its sinews and horns would make new bows for other hunters. Its feathers were ideal for arrow fletchings. A hunt could take days. This one did. Tracking down a deer-hawk wasn’t easy. But as new flakes of snow settled on Nisus’s head, all the effort seemed worth it. -------------------------->>>><<<<-------------------------- A dream of warmer days. Nisus awoke, disturbed by the buzzing of voices outside her tent. She grabbed her hunting kit and quickly hung it over her shoulders. If today was the day she thought it was, there was no time for preparation. A quick look at her arm told her the time. The last scales of her arrow mark had yet to regain their glow, meaning she hadn’t slept a full night. “They’re back early,” she said. Outside, the clan camp was alive with motion. The dirt beneath was cold and wet, but for the first time in months, Nisus could see the shoots of grass hiding under the snow. The Melt, the last month of winter, was beginning. Children gathered outside the camp, forming a line at the edge of their mountain’s cliff. There, they could see patches of snow trickling away to the reservoirs below. Blue zoak trees showed their roots, still growing strong even under the thick layers of snow. But children loved seeing one thing even more than the change of seasons. And though she had already had fourteen cycles, Nisus still wanted to stand among them and watch their elder hunters returning from the Grand Hunt. Winter was harsh on the mountain, but there were hills and grasslands where it was warmer, huge herds of animals grazed on stubborn winter bushes. Ghending. Their clan specialized in hunting. And when the other clans came to their gates after a long, hungry winter, they would have to have enough cured meat to trade with all of them. A long trail of chimaeras pushed up the mountain paths toward the camp, dragging behind them ox-bears on toboggans. The children, some so young they were Markless, rushed out of the camp to meet their parents on the path. They hung on the shoulders of tired adults, poking the prey and playing on the sleds. The fun and games slowed the hunters, but having been separated from their children for months, none of them complained. In all the joy, it was easy to miss the pain behind some faces. Not all animals could be prey, and during winter, predators were at their most desperate. The unmistakable shine of chimaera scales hung on the backs of comrades. Losing a member of the clan was hard on everyone. Nisus walked over to where the path entered the camp and welcomed back the hunters, showing empathy to those who carried the fallen. There was comfort in remembering that the dead’s rawhide, scales and all, would continue to serve the clan. But first, she needed to find August. Her cousin was ten cycles older than her, and one of the best Foretellers in the clan.  She scanned the hunters coming in. Like her, his scales had a sandy-rose colour and a blue straight-haired mane, though his mark glowed yellow instead of Nisus’s blue. She looked for his mark, two golden snakes circled around his eyes. “Nisus!” she heard behind her. She whirled around to see August already inside the camp. They met each other and clasped claws. “Glad to see you’re alive,” she said, reaching high above herself to pat him on the head. He was tall, even for a jack, though he didn’t have the muscles to match. Jills from other chimaera clans thought he was too skinny around the arms and legs. August laughed. “You should have joined us. I’d have someone to watch my back.” “Who’d feed the clan if I went?” Nisus laughed, though some of the other young hunters who were waiting for their families cast critical frowns at her. They turned and took a stroll around the camp, trading stories about they hunts they went on during the winter. Already, the cousins took to each other like brother and sister. As a clan, they were all family, but any chimaera would be lying if they said they didn’t have favourites.  August was one of the clan’s Foretellers. He was born strong with magic and used his talents to guide hunters when they left the camp. For all his scrawniness, there were few other jacks in the clan as respected. When he wasn’t divining the meaning behind the stars, he was with the other Foretellers, teaching young jacks and jills how to discover their magical talents. They explained the meaning behind the glow in one’s marks, and taught how to measure one’s magic based on the glow. They swung around the edge of the camp and headed back to Nisus’s tent. In the camp, every tent belonged to a family. Every chimaera inherited theirs from their parents and passed it down to their children when it came time. Nisus turned her head and listened as two jills sat crying with their father. He was an old jack, Aldan or something was his name. He scolded his daughters, telling them to keep their eyes open. Stretched across a part of their tent’s wooden frame was a long piece of rawhide, still bearing the stubborn scales of the chimaera it belonged to. Nisus turned away when Aldan produced a bone needle and a bowl of body ink. He was going to put scrawlings on the hide, runes that listed all the great deeds that their kin--the jills’ mother no doubt--had done. Such things were too personal for Nisus to see, even if they were in the same clan. August knew what went through her mind. He felt it too. “You worked on any new magic?” he asked, eager to change the subject.  Nisus glanced at him. “I’m fine.” “Then we need to start preparing,” August continued talking, keeping pace with Nisus as they walked through the camp’s densest section, where the tents of the largest families stood. “Traders will stop coming if we can’t keep up with demands.” “Every year you say that, and every year we finish on time,” Nisus replied. “We’ve had a good collection of deer-hawk feathers this winter. We’ll have enough by the time the Melt clears out all the snow.” “Sure hope so.” August trusted his cousin’s senses, they were usually right. But it was worrying to take their clan’s resources so lightly. On the mountain, there were dozens of clans outside their own. Their clan lived close to the base of the mountain, where the game was plentiful, even during winter. When the Melt cleared the snow, paths to the clans higher above would open up and hundreds of Chimaeras would be coming down to trade for hunting supplies. “I’m thinking of getting one of those metal knives from the Ironhearth clan,” Nisus said once they reached her tent. She produced her old knife from her kit. “I’ve knapped this one too much, if it gets any duller I don’t think I can use it.” Flintknapping took flakes of stone with it. Eventually, even the best knives shrunk into stubs. August lifted it from her claws and took a look at it. “You’ve been busy,” he noted. “Seven times in one winter. Have you been cutting bones?” “You know I never make that mistake,” Nisus smirked. “I’m a better skinner than you. Like you said, I’ve just been busy.” “Alright,” August returned the knife. “Go back to sleep, finish recharging your mark. We’ll talk later about the trading.” The cousins separated, both with duties to the clan. Though the Melt was here, there was a month of winter left before the paths would open up. More hunts meant more hides to tan and more meat to smoke.  Nisus dropped back into her cot facing up. Her eyes rested on two swaths of Chimaera hides sewn into an old hole in the roof. “Elements, can they see me?” -------------------------->>>><<<<-------------------------- Two weeks later, August had her stripping sinew from the kills made by the Grand Hunt. Ox-bears had especially thick sinews. The massive beast had heavy hind legs ending in hooves, large and strong enough to kill a chimaera with just one kick. The front legs were no less dangerous. Their thick limbs filled with muscle had long cords of tough sinew. The claws on the front legs of an ox-bear were long and wide, effective for digging roots to eat or tearing apart prey. Nisus stripped out the hooves and hide for boiling, a process that turned the resulting soup into a tough adhesive when dried. The sinew she simply cut with her claws, keeping her knife sharp for another day. The tough, stretchy tissue would be dried and rehydrated to build the backing for composite bows. Come evening, when the day’s work was completed and the glue was left to boil overnight, children gathered around the clan’s fire in the centre of the camp. Foreteller Leodth, with fur puppets and his favourite flute, told the humourous story of how snakes descended from dragons and lost their legs.  “In the age of the Elements, those who guarded them, flew for them, heated them, was called by them the dragons. O, those heavenly heroes, haunted by duty under the Elements, played tricks on their brothers for time to pass.” The old jack’s stories were classics, and though his scales were pale from old age, he still claimed mastery over the right timing for jokes. Nisus smirked, thinking back to the first time she laughed at how two dragons, brother and sister, managed to trick each other into cutting off their own tails, accidentally dropping them onto Eldyrea as the first male and female snake. Unfortunately for Leodth, as his story finished, the applause could hardly be compared to the excitement over the following performance. Though he was the youngest Foreteller, August was a favourite among the children. When it was his turn to tell a story, even the parent’s ears seemed to focus on him. “You all know the story of the Elements, don’t you?” he asked the children. Heads nodded and chattered excitedly.  August responded by waving his claws above the fire and lowering his voice. “Ah, but I don’t think you know what came before.” Most of the young chimaeras laughed. “The stars! The stars!” they cheered. It was a story parents told their children on hot summer nights when the sky was clear and the heavens showed their face. Everyone knew the story. But to hear August tell it was another experience entirely. “Oh ho!” he exclaimed. He whispered a spell to the campfire and seemed to breathe in its flames until the logs sputtered and died. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell the story, since you all know it so well.” “Aw, come on,” whined the children. He waited, drawing out their bated cries until the joke seemed like it was real. August chuckled, knowing he had captured the children’s hearts. “Ongean bringan vur!” The fire returned, pouring from the snakes around his eyes into the fire pit. “Then listen close! This is the story of our people, of how the Elements chose Eldyrea as their home.” He whispered another spell, so quiet Nisus couldn’t even hear it, and when he stared up at the stars, his own magic was projecting the lines that drew the constellations and scrawled their names out in runes. He pointed to the Landed Boat, a long river canoe whose nose pointed north, forever fixed in the night. “The Elements once lived on a star, just like these. They once had a land full of creatures who lived together in peace.” August slowly shifted into a rhythm, speaking musically to the same pace as the reed-flutes played by the other Foretellers. “They lazed in their rivers and laughed while they played, all thanks to their Princess of Day. Her palace, as tall as a mountain. Her wings carried blessings of health. And never did wonder nor question what brought all that great power and wealth.” August whispered a spell, and the constellation shifted around. “Though gifted by the Elements she always sought more power for herself. Until one day the realm was dying and the Elements would not help. The Elements, perhaps, she wondered, could be testing us.” The fire roared with August, light casting a forest of shadows on the camp. “But here is a riddle, don’t say if you know: what happened to the Elements’ home? They took up its creatures and all of its features and found a new realm as their own.” “With dragons, unicorns, and griffons, they travelled through the stars. And what world would they find so perfect, except for-” “Ours!” cheered every child, and some adults as well. “Haha, yes!” August laughed with them. “And with the magic of nature, they use their creatures’ physiques, to craft a new host that would respect more than most of the laws they set for their peace.” “So children,” he whispered as if sharing a secret, “respect all life’s magic and avoid all those tragic mistakes of the Princess. Honour the Elements every day, and only good things will come to pass.” The fire died down to its original size, drawing the night closer around the camp. That rectangular piece of mountain, with nearly two hundred chimaeras inside it, seemed like the world to everyone at that moment. It was a spell that not even the other Foretellers could match: August’s voice and talent for stories glued the clan together and made them ready for the next cycle to come.