In the Pursuit of Death| ONC 2024

4 | The Hunt

Two years into the Ruin

*

THE FOREST had come alive that morning. Warm air carried the soft hum of insects. There were faint snorts, the crunch of branches, the bristling of leaves. Near their hut, Eris found the bushes had been trampled.

A bear, or boar perhaps.

Akul promised to teach her to hunt and so they set off toward the forest.

"When you see their eyes, clearly, Eris, that's when you shoot."

Eris nodded, though her eyes remained on the sky, tracking the bird as it flew across the barren blue-gray. She didn't recognize what kind of bird it was - gray feathers, medium-sized. It was not a songbird, she knew, as the world had lost its songs.

The bird circled overhead, as if overly cautious, scouring the forest floor for predators. Eventually, it landed, swooping through the canopy to rest on a branch not twenty paces away.

Eris lifted her arm and pulled her elbow back. Her fingers tightened around the bowstring. At one time, she might have thought it capable of snapping. But Akul had made the string, and the bow, and it would not break. Not in Eris's hands.

The bird began preening itself, its black beak dipping beneath its wing to tug free loose pin feathers.

Eris stood with a tight stomach and a strong stance. With power in her fingers, she drew the arrow back, the rough cuts of Akul's whittling biting into her palm.

She breathed in the forest air and noticed only the faintest whiff of rot. It still smelled fresh in the hills, of grass and green and good soil.

The bird raised its head, and Eris saw the colors wreathing its neck. Red, purple, and blue, each worn like a necklace. Then she saw the bird's eyes, and they were the blue-green of the sea.

She lowered her arm and the bow. The arrow slipped, stabbing the ground at her feet, sending dirt and moss flying around her ankles.

The bird let out a startled chirp, its eyes darting around. Deciding the ground was no longer safe, it sought refuge in the sky, as though it knew the sky was safe, the sky would not rot away.

"I can't," she said, kicking a clump of blackened moss. "Not when I see their faces."

Leaned against a tall oak, Akul moved, his steps effortless as he came to where Eris stood.

"When you impart death," he said, staring coolly into the distance, "you cannot look away."

She faced him. He looked withered again. Wrinkled and dulled and closed off. A god unwilling to mingle with the world.

Eris wanted to reach out and grab his hand, offering what little comfort she could, but Akul's touch was scorching, and she feared it as much as she desired it.

He had not touched her until she asked him to, and when he had, on those nights in their cabin, she had needed his heat. Craved it. It was the only thing capable of keeping away the chill, of keeping all her parts together. But in the morning, he withdrew, and so went his warmth. It ebbed and flowed, at the mercy of his moon, and Eris could do nothing but wait out the tide.

"You remember then?" she asked quietly. She needn't speak loud for Akul to listen.

He turned, his long black braid glittering as it caught a stream of sunlight breaking through the canopy. The light had been further away, where the rot had caused the trees to thin, but standing next to Akul, Eris knew the world seemed to adjust, to bend over itself, eager in its desire to be closer to him. So was the power of a god.