Year 16-2
Death wasn’t easy, at least, it hadn’t started that way. I built my way up to it from rage to combat, blood, and war. Taking a life was motivated and too often rewarded.
People loved war despite the bloodshed or perhaps because of it. Wars were profitable. They were a distraction. For some, the games of death were a way of life. But no one loved losing those closest to them.
On the night of The Hunter Trials, I was paired against a mage named Vilk. He hadn’t any use for a sword nor a bow, an axe, or a spear. His weapons of choice were the gifts granted by gods alone. Different Gods and different Vows came with different gifts.
I knew nothing of Vilk or his vows.
He wore black robes encrusted with gemstones. A glass mask hid his face like a monarch too high to grace the rest of us with the sight of his features. Vilk stood several inches taller than me at the time. There was no hunch or sign of labor in his back.
His appearance gave nothing of value before our trial. His appearance was the least of my concern. He had remained silent and solitary while hiding his particular abilities. I was without a clue what he could or would do up until the moment we were told to begin our test.
But I learned quickly after.
Hallucinations were his gift. Of course, a man dressed in jewels from head to sole could control the perception of others.
His powers allowed the surrounding landscape to become unclear. I found myself running through the woods, lost on infinite and convoluted paths. Moonlight didn’t help my vision. Trees shifted while I stood with my back to their bark. I should have used a sword. A bow was crippling in a duel against a man capable of changing what I saw. He did more than blend into the shrubbery. Vilk made reality warp to shroud his presence entirely.
“Surrender, this needn’t be your last night,” Vilk said from a distance, far enough to echo, but I couldn’t trust that he wasn’t standing behind my ear.
“Hunters don’t surrender,” I protested while spinning in dizzy circles, aiming my bow at the slightest rustle in the bushes.
“You’re thinking of Knights,” Vilk laughed.
We were too far into the wilderness for spectators to see, but he toyed with me like a spectacle.
“I haven’t lost,” I tried to argue if only to boost my confidence.
“But you have. Now surrender,” he said as I felt a hand graze the short hair on the back of my sweating neck.
I shot arrows into the darkness. Again and again, out of trembling fear, my shots flew. The bastard laughed.
I saw double. I saw triple. Colors melded into images coming undone where they should have been set. Snakes slithered from the earth, and branches clung to me. My feet stood on ropes suspended above dark caverns. Within moments, I was out of arrows. Shortly after rendering myself sitting in wait, I was captured. We weren’t required to kill one another, but it was acceptable. Vilk was merciful enough to leave me conscious and alive when he tied my arms behind my back.
He didn’t carry a weapon, and his gifts were mere illusions. Could he have killed me? Did he have it in his heart, I wondered. Would he have been willing to use his bare hands?
Restrained, Vilk had me, but the trial wasn’t over. Until we both returned to the senior hunters overseeing the event, neither of us could win. Naturally, as we walked together, I attempted to break free of my bindings. Ropes were more workable than chains, so there was a chance.
“You’re Michael’s boy, aren’t you,” he questioned while pulling me along.
It was foolish of him to walk ahead of me rather than behind. But with a leash around my neck, he made it a challenge to pull away.
“Your father was a great hunter,” he added.
“He’s not my father,” I growled while pulling my arms apart, or at the very least attempting to.
“But he trained you, did he not?”
I wouldn’t answer. Following the help of Michael had resulted in my predicament. I should have used a sword. I should have used my father’s sword.
“This was not your night, but you’ll see tomorrow that you might come back and earn a hunter’s badge someday,” Vilk said while tugging me through the shadowy grounds.
The night wasn’t over.
“I’m saving you. I’m blessing you. Monsters, creatures, fae, beings of magic are much worse than I. If you can’t take me, your life would be short-lived as a hunter,” he added.
The rope was improperly tied in several places, but they were difficult to pull free while walking at an unnatural speed.
Vilks longer legs gave him more significant strides that required quicker steps on my part to keep from tripping over branches and roots.
“I can kill anything,” I thought and perhaps mumbled aloud.
“You have a spirit, but I can see behind your chest; you are much too soft,” he gloated with the presumption that we were done.
We were nearing the end of our walk. The path grew brighter, and I could see tents and people standing and waiting for our return.
“You think I’m soft,” I exclaimed while doing my best to free my arms.
As we approached the final stretch of dirt, something dawned on me. Why was I trying so hard not to fall? When Vilk pulled me again, I let myself fall to the ground.
The mage turned to see me at his feet, but it was long enough to free myself. I caught his leg at the boot and wrestled him to the ground. His limbs were long but weak.
“Wait,” he said, trying to kick and push me away.
His illusions clouded my eyes, making it impossible to see anything, but it didn’t matter. Blind or not, I had him. I sat on his chest, pinning him to the ground beneath me.
“You can’t hide while already in my grip,” I said before punching what lay trapped under me.
I’m sure I beat the dirt more than once, but my fist broke his face before I felt a pain in my knuckles. I could taste the spritz of his blood coating my face.
“I surrender,” he pleaded before I even lost breath.
We were inches from the finish line. With my armor stained in blood, spectators roared for me. I was tainted. Had their voices not broken my rage, I might have killed.
I took a breath, and while I did, sight returned to my eyes. The illusions faded, and I saw more than expected. Vilk’s robes were nothing more than rags, and his mask was pigskin cut and bound by wire. He was far from the gleaming mage he presented himself as before. Regardless, it made me sick to witness blood pool from his throat by my own hands. Poor or not, I nearly killed someone who had shown me mercy.
Still, the trial couldn’t end until we crossed the finish line. I could neither win nor lose, and Vilk could not be helped, so I stood up from his body and took him by the wrist. While he drew closer to fading, I pulled his body across the finish.
Our duel was one of many that took place that night, but I neglected to watch the others.
While I was taken to a tent to rest and celebrate with the winners, Vilk was moved. A healer wasn’t called. No one prepared bandages. Even as cheerful arms surrounded me, I couldn’t help but look back.
They weren’t going to save him.
I wasn’t persecuted for my transgressions. I was praised. I had become a hunter.
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