“There was a time when I was happy…

Then the Rivft-Kain (Humans) came,

Everything, everyone except myself was destroyed.”

I

The forest was slowly thickening. The trees were slowly arching higher as their branches twined. The deer trail was cast into the splattered pattern of the canopy’s sparse shadows. Light was dabbled onto the path, as if a blindfolded child had flung canary yellow paint in all directions. The undergrowth was thick with saplings, ferns, and foliage, which was still browning from the loosening grip of winter. While moss clung steadily to the bark of great oaks. Sagging, ready to fall, in their weary yellow suits, the few leaves that remained clung to their branches. A soft mewling breeze whirled, like a playing child, between the trunks of ancient trees.  

 The horses’ hooves barely made a sound against the soft dirt of the leaf littered trail. The horses’ ears constantly swiveled in the direction of the sounds made by the whitetail deer and singing birds that resided in the far distance. 

 A silence was provoked in this part of the woods. As if nature was holding its breath. Only the breeze whispered. 

Sean pointed to the horizon.  The place where the woods ended, and where it was replaced by a small field, that was completely framed by the forest. 

 The two eyes of Daybreak looked unblinking over all of Sevvet, their fierce light cascading down. The Lesser Eye had once burned out, giving birth to all life in its quake, all that remained of the once inferno is a burning red flame against the wispy blue sky. The Greater Eye was a fiery yellow inferno, it maintained the life that the Lesser Eye sacrificed itself to birth. Both Suns could be seen through the open patch of sky that the field provided. 

 “See that, Jack?” Asked Sean. Jack, who had been staring at the horn of his saddle lost in thought, jerkily looked up. He blinked the haze of daydreams of his face and looked.  In the distance, across the field hovering just above the treetops, a dull green tint had invaded the blackening sky. 

 Jack’s brow furrowed, as he strained his eyes to see what his mentor was pointing at. “Yeah.”

“That's ‘cause of a Demora.” Like a stone tossed into a calm pond, shock rippled across Jack’s face. 

 “It’s affecting the sky?! How large do you think it is?!” Shouted Jack, as he leaned all the way forward. His horse’s ears tickled against his cheeks. The horse tossed its head, and Jack sat back. But his eyes never left the foreboding green glow. 

 “Don’t know. But it ain’t good. It’s gonna be a big one.”

 “Is it the one we’ve been tracking?” Hollowly asked Jack, as he both whipped his head toward Sean in worrisome disbelief, and as his grip on his reins tightened. 

 “No. The one we’re tracking is nowhere near that powerful. This one must've just opened a Rift. We’re gonna have to switch targets,” once more, he pointed to the sky. “That one is gonna be a troublemaker. For us and the people living nearby. Far bigger than the one we’ve been tracking.”

“We’re gonna go after it?” Squeaked Sidney, Sean’s other apprentice. She rode on the pack mule, which was tethered to Sean’s horse. They ignored the thirteen-year old’s question.

 Sean leaned dangerously out of his saddle too one side and spat on the ground. “Demora, damn bloody demons from Hell.” Muttered Sean, as he stabilized himself back in the saddle. “By Rift, we’re gonna need luck…” Sean fixated his hard gaze on Jack. “Boy, you remember the rules to Démora hunting?” 

 Jack sighed. Despite being Sean’s apprentice for several years he still questioned whether or not he knew the rules to Demora slaying. Out of habit, he rubbed the cold silver shackle on his wrist. The magical shackle that bound him to both elven command and Nameless slaying. 

 “Yes, I know the rules to hunt the ‘Nameless’.” Grunted Jack.  

 Sean swatted Jack in the back of the head. Jack flinched and rubbed the spot where Sean’s knuckles had struck. “Oww..,” Jack glared at Sean. “You should be asking Sidney these types of questions. Not me. She’s the one who’s new to this whole gig.”

“Yeah!” Agreed Sidney, who bobbed her head in delight, eager to be included in the conversation. 

 “It’s Demora. Not ‘Nameless’ or ‘Rift Creatures’. That’s what the Elves call them.” Corrected Sean. Jack rolled his eyes. Sidney huffed and crossed her arms; she was angry at being ignored.

“Does it really matter?” Implored Jack. 

 “Yes! Why should we bend our will and call them by what the Elves please, when we are the ones risking our necks for those arrogant self-centered long-eared folk!”  

“It’s just a name!” 

“You sound like you agree with the Elves!”

 “No! I just find this silly! It’s always the same thing!” Jack hunched in his saddle slightly and spoke in an overly gruff voice- a poor imitation of Sean “The Elves hide in their Island palaces while they send us! The poor! To do their dirty work. So, we shall revolt against them by no longer calling them by what most do, and instead use a name used only by the Salk pirates, which quite literally translates to, ‘one without name’!” 

 Sean swatted at his apprentice, who this time dodged. Sean straightened in his saddle, while Jack slowed his horse’s pace slightly, so that they were no longer riding side by side. Sidney bit her lip, doing her best to stifle a laugh. Sean sent her a glare. And she shut up, looked down at the horn of her saddle, but was still smiling. 

 “I’m getting too old for this…” Muttered Sean, as he rubbed his salt and pepper stubble with his knuckles. 

 Sean warily glanced back up at the horizon. The green haze hadn’t changed. To shake his nerves he adjusted his boiled leather breastplate and crossbow, which was strapped over his shoulder. 

  Sean glanced back at Jack, his gruff but playful demeanor gone. “I want you to recite the rules to Demora hunting.” 

 Jack sighed. He knew better than to argue, when his mentor entered this mood.

 “Rule 1: Never get close to a Démora.

Rule 2: Never use close up weapons against a Démora.

Rule 3: Never fight one with your hands.

Rule 4: Never touch a Démora, even a dead one.

Rule 5: NEVER let the blood of a Démora touch you.

Rule 6: NEVER look one in the eyes.

Rule 7: Long range weapons only.

Rule 8: Always use traps.

Rule 9: Never enter the Rift.

Rule 10: Always close the Rift…. Satisfied?”

 “Let’s get going if we’re lucky we can kill it before the week’s up.” Sean clicked his tongue and urged his horse to a faster speed. Its hooves striking against the soft ground, like plows tilling -ripping- the sodden earth. “If we get this done fast, we won’t have long ears breathing down our necks. 

 “Look,” squeaked Sidney, as her tiny hand trembled toward the sparse canopy of an ancient magnolia tree, whose wilting pale green leaves were infected with white splotches of fungus. “That bird…. It seems sad…” 

 Perching nimbly on a single gnarled dead branch, which clawed into the sky like monstrous rotted fingers, was a raven. Its feathers were black, smooth, and perfect, like a disturbing stroke of ink against bone white paper.  

 The raven hoppled closer, its weight making the branch tremble and bend. It stared at the small troop; its head cocked curiously to one side. Its beady eyes like glossy black stones that a rich woman would hang from her lobes, bore into the Rift Hunters. 

 Jack held his breath. Sean tightened his grip on the reins. Sidney’s oval face tightened with sorrow, as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. 

 Suddenly, the raven cried. Its shrieking caw splintering into the air. It screamed three times. Each caw was grueling and harrowing, like a knife scraping against a whetstone. 

 Then it flew away- away from the Rift. Relieved from the weight of life, the dead magnolia branch whipped wildly; a large stick from the branch broke and fell from the canopy. 

 Sean reached for his leather flask and to relieve his jittery nerves, took a deep swig of his bitter ale, “Damn bird. Let's get going. The sooner this is over with, the sooner I can get a warm bed.”

Sidney stared at the dead branch, “It felt as though the bird was warning us...”

 “Oho, is that so?” asked Jack, with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Are you sure it's not some religious mumble jumble of yours?” Sidney glared at Jack, her face ripening with anger- the color of an apple, fresh and plump. Jack grinned. “Cause if so, you should know, that the gods are dead.”

 “So, you say. Almost every day. Yet you blame everything bad on them.” Snapped Sidney. 

 “A dead man’s actions can still affect the living.” Rebutted Jack, in a sing-song manner, his voice ringing merrily and chastising. 

 Sidney opened her mouth to retort but Sean beat her to it, “Both of you quit you’re squabbling. Y’all sound like miserable brats… Get a move on.” Ordered Sean as he spurred his horse into a canter. With sibling love, Jack and Sidney glared murderous knives at each other, as they followed suit. 

And the straggly band of Rift Hunters rode toward that infected sliver of sky.