Hunter: Chapter 1.1 - Agrona [Edited]

 I hit the ground with a grunt, the boy landing on top of me. With a primal snarl he wrapped his fingers around my throat. I fought to breathe, gasping and clawing at his arm to no avail. The howls around us grew louder in volume, the bloodcurdling chorus echoing through the woods so loud they nearly shook the earth like thunder. Somewhere in the huge pack of massive, writhing bodies I could make out the distinctive calls of my parents, urging me on, crying out for me to fight.

I wasn’t about to live this long only to die at the hands of some whelp, even if he was larger than me. I kicked up, kneeing him in the gut. He barely loosened his grip; the world was slipping away.

No! I would survive!

With a yowl of defiance and fury, I slammed both knees under his ribs. Already nearly dislodged, he fell back, off me. I sucked air into my lungs, panting as I struggled to my feet. Before I could even catch my breath he was on me. I dodged and danced back, barely evading him.

He was stronger, but I was faster. He swung another punch at my face. I ducked and rammed my elbow into him, the full force of my body behind it. He stumbled backwards, and in that moment of unbalance, I let myself fall on top of him. I raised my fist and brought it down on his face, again and again and again.

The sea of giant wolves around us bayed louder, their voices drowning out the noises of anything else. Some, like my parents, called encouragement to me. Others egged my opponent on, yowling at him to fight. Yet more simply enjoyed the bloodshed and cried for us to fight, fight, fight.

So fight he did.

The boy punched me in the face, knocking me sideways. While I was dazed, he came back at me.

I ducked a second time and found myself behind him. Without a moment to waste, I grabbed him around the chest with one arm and head with the right.

He sank his teeth into my right forearm, but I didn’t dare let go.

“Kill, kill, kill, kill!” the wolven voices cried.

So I did. There was a snap and his body went limp, neck broken.

I had survived. After all my training and fighting and battling, I had survived. My heart was racing and adrenaline pumped through my veins. My senses were unnaturally keen as the howls went from bloodthirsty urges to those of excitement at the climactic conclusion to the battle.

Exhausted, I looked to the crowd. Blood, not all of which was my own, stained my face, my hands - my entire body. There was only one victor of the Ru’leth. It would seed out the weak and leave only the strongest left to become a werewolf and join the ranks of the Pack as a true hunter.

An elven man with deep green eyes and shoulder-length umber hair stepped out of the crowd. On his right walked a horse-sized wolf, with mahogany fur and eyes of the deepest yellow-gold. Her lower canines were extraordinarily long, the length of my forearm and serrated on the inside. On the elf’s left was a huge, burly werewolf with dark tan skin and a stern face.

I ducked my head to them, as appropriate of a wolf of lower rank. These were my parents and our alpha.

The man in the lead turned the the crowd, which quieted at his cool emerald gaze.

“Generations ago, at the beginning of the Hunters, there was a single hero among us. She battled more ferociously than any other and was fearless in the face of danger. They called her the Harbinger of Death. It is a name which has long since been forgotten, but now, with this victory, I bring forth her successor. I name this wolf-child, the whelp of Lupus and of Grimm, Agrona, the Harbinger of Death!”

The pack went wild, yipping and yelling in excitement and surprise. I saw the pride in my worg mother’s golden eyes, and Lupus gave me a nod. It wasn’t much, but in the world of wolves — particularly when you were adopted young such as myself — it was the most you could dare hope for.

Our alpha turned to me. I’d never been the object of his attention, and if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t sure if I liked it. He was old, powerful, and very strong; I was a bit afraid of him, and those green eyes of his were unnerving.

“Congratulations, Agrona, for today, not only have you earned your name and an outstanding victory, but today is the day you become a wolf.” He handed me an ivory knife. Legend said it was dragon fang; I wasn’t sure if I believed it, but it didn’t really matter. It cut as well as anything else.

He didn’t have to tell me what to do with it; I’d seen it enough times when witnessing the Ru’leth as a bystander instead of a combatant. I took it and raised the blade to my hand, crimson dripping from my fingers and to the already bloodied earth.

Calloused, steady hands took the weapon from me. Lupus repeated the ritual on his own palm and handed the dagger to Eoin. Grimm watched us, the look in her eye relieved and glad and proud all at once as we joined hands, our blood mixing.

Turning into a werewolf isn’t something that happens overnight. It often takes as much as a fortnight, sometimes even two, before one shifts under the cover of the stars. For some, it comes easily; for others, much sickness and pain is upon them as they reject the wolf. Once in a great while, they would succeed, and remain human; most of the time, however, they either succumbed or died in their battle to deny the beast blood.

It should have been easy for me. My personality was very compatible with the wolf blood. But several weeks later, more than an entire moon cycle, nothing had changed. I was just as human as I had been before the Ru’leth.

I was young, ignorant, naïve. I should have expected something — the wolves couldn’t keep a child who wouldn’t turn among them, after all — but I was too relieved to have even survived the Ru’leth and my struggle to survive before to think of the danger that was lurking. I was supposed to be safe now.

How little I knew.

I was up late one day. The rest of the pack was asleep; we hunted and trained by moonlight just as the more mundane canines did. I would often have a hard time sleeping — I loved the color during the daytime, and the creatures would all be out. Birds sung and insects swarmed all about. I didn’t often see furred wildlife. We were apex predators, so not many creatures dared come near us lest they become our next meal.

Grimm’s voice came from behind me. “Agrona.” Her voice was low, guttural.

I didn’t meet her eyes as I answered. To do so would have been a challenge. “Yes, mother?”

“Whatever happens, you must promise me something,” she told me.

I didn't quite understand what was going on, but I obliged anyways. “Of course, mother.”

“Promise me that you will follow your heart. Promise me that as long as the moon shines you will do as the Elders made you to do. Fight, my daughter; fight until the moon wanes and the sun rises, fight until the night is gone and there is nothing left to fight for. Never lose hope, death-bringer, because you are a warrior. Stay strong.”

“I promise.”

“Then please, forgive me.” Grimm crouched, ready to pounce. Her hackles were up all the way down her back, sharp fangs bared in a snarl.

My heart pounding in my ears; the rush of adrenaline; color faded from the world; the single instinct that bid me: kill.

~>*

I stumbled and hit the ground, landing on all fours. I could hear the howls of wolves behind me as I got back to my feet. What had happened? Where even was I? How many were after me? Questions flooded into my mind as I started to run. I didn’t know where I was running to, only what I fled from — and that was the Pack.

I wasn’t in the forest anymore. I could see the woods behind me, but now I was on the plains. Golden grassland stained silver in the stars’ light and the sky was clear, unmarred by the thick canopy of the woods. Constellations danced above me as I sprinted mindlessly away. I was used to being the prey, the hunted, but not like this. Not with full-grown wolven warriors after me and I didn’t know if I could survive.

I looked around for any cover, any escape. All I could see was the endless sea of savannah, sparse trees dotting the landscape. The wolves were faster than me, and I could see their eyes in the shadows behind me, glowing in the moonlight. Growling in defiance, I tore through the grass towards a single beacon of light. A torch or maybe a lantern, bobbing in the distance. Light meant people; where there were people, there was somewhere to hide.

They were hot on my tail. I couldn’t outrun them. I needed to reach that fire in the distance before the wolves reached me. Pain shot through my left leg as I bounded for safety like a gazelle pursued by lions, stumbling and nearly tripping over my own feet as I sprinted for cover.

The sound of a horn echoed through the landscape as the light came towards me, the thundering of hooves shaking the earth. They had weapons drawn as they charged with battlecries and yells of fury and challenge.

The horsemen flooded around me, taking no heed of my presence. They were hunting, and I would only be a distraction they couldn’t afford. I stumbled through the horde towards a shape in the night — a village? A caravan? A camp? All I knew is there were structures and the scent of humans on the wind.

I summoned the last of my strength I forced myself to go faster for the final leg of my escape. I was Agrona, the Harbinger of Death! I could survive. No, not could; would.

Drawn as a moth to a lantern, I staggered into the ring of tents around a flaming fire. I could smell horses, dogs, humans. Was this where the cavalry had come from?

I felt my knees buckle under me as I fell to the ground, shaking from exhaustion and terror. I might have tried to stand, had I not been so shaken. I let out a shuddering breath as I dropped to my knees. Perhaps if I’d had more time or if I’d been looking or maybe even if I simply looked up I would have seen the wolf in the shadows. A dark, reddish shape watched with eyes of honey gold from the swaying fields. She saw, thought, hurt, and disappeared under the moonless sky.

Time seemed nonexistent as my heart stilled and the adrenaline rush finally slowed. It could have been seconds or years; I knew no difference. There were voices, speaking in a tongue I didn’t understand. Their speech and footsteps merged with the flickering of the light and movement of the savannah. The world seemed to tip and spin, and then…

Someone was talking. Their voice seemed muffled and slurred; I couldn’t make out a single word in that foreign tongue. Bright sunlight filtered through the sides of a tent that smelled of humans and metal. It was a man with dark skin and a beard. I knew he was trying to say something to me, but I didn’t understand his tongue, and even if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make out the syllables anyways. He pressed something to my lips. A cup.

I drank without protest. I might have fought before, but now, I was so tired and shaken I just couldn’t. The liquid was bitter and warm with the same consistency as water. The man gently put it down and looked at me, talking again.

I tried to orient myself as he spoke. I must have been in the encampment where the horsemen had come from. I was on the ground in a canvas tent, covered by a cloak. There was a pain in my leg and upper right arm. It was a throbbing, dull ache. I wondered if I’d been bitten.

The man himself was relatively nondescript: black hair, ebon eyes, deep brown skin. He had tattoos on his face and neck, and probably his arms too, but I couldn’t tell for sure due to the light long-sleeved shirt he wore with a gray vest over it, the emblem of a sun with a trio of animals silhouetted on it on his chest. A sword swung at his hip.

A silver sword.

I started a bit, managing to utter a low growl. He raised an eyebrow, a bit amused by my feeble attempt to warn him off, and switched tongues.

“What is your name?” he asked me, now in Wolven.

I nearly didn’t tell him. He didn’t seem to wish me any harm, however, and he had helped me. I at least owed him a name.

“Agrona,” I answered, my voice a croak.

“I’m Dyami,” he introduced himself. “Can you tell me why the wolves were after you?”

I didn’t want to tell him I was a wolf-child. I didn’t want to tell him anything that had happened. Despite my lack of knowledge about what had happened, I did know it was out of the ordinary, and if it was out of the ordinary, it was potentially dangerous. Better to keep it quiet, especially to a Hunter.

After studying him for several seconds I finally spoke. “I wouldn’t fight.” He already would have known I was a wolf-child simply from my language, so I didn’t bother trying to hide that.

“Fight? The Ru’leth, you mean?”

I just nodded, thanking Winter I was good at lying.

“Ah.” He considered that for a few minutes, trying to see what he could make of it. Eventually he must have decided it was believable enough, for he soon spoke again. “Why don’t you stay with us for a few days, at least until you get back on your feet? You lost a lot of blood, little wolf, and got a few bites on you.”

There wasn’t really any good way to refuse and despite my instinct telling me to stay on my own, I knew that if I did, it’d surely mean my capture by the Pack. Again I only nodded my head.

“Come on then, mazs-vilks,” he told me. “You should meet our fifth.”

I got to my feet, wincing involuntarily as I put weight on the wrong foot. A bolt of pain shot up my leg and I bit my lip to keep from crying out and barely kept myself from collapsing.

Dyami handed me a whittled branch to use as a walking stick. I accepted without argument and shifted my weight onto it as he led me outside.

The camp consisted of seven tents. The same amount of horses were grazing nearby, knee-high in the grass. A dusty fire pit was in the center of camp as the soldiers milled about doing one job or another, from grooming the horses to keeping watch.

He caught a woman by the arm as she walked past and said something to her in that tongue I couldn’t comprehend. She responded, looked me over, said something else, and then left. Dyami smiled and called something after her before turning back to me.

“This way.”

He led me towards the nondescript triangle as I limped in his wake. I could feel the eyes of the Hunters on me and kept my head down. No reason to draw more attention to myself by challenging them.

He ducked his head inside the tent. “Urag?”

A grunt answered him. I guessed it must have been one of permission, for he slipped into it and pulled me after him.

‘Urag’, as it turned out, was quite definitely not human. He was no less than six and a half feet tall, possibly more. He had large muscles and broad shoulders. His skin was a green hue and his eyes were dark and menacing. The man’s lower canines were long, like a worg’s, about the length of my index finger. His uniform was slightly different than Dyami’s, too: instead of just one pip on his collar there were two.

Urag eyed me for a moment and proceeded to speak with Dyami at some length. I heard my name a few times, but, not knowing the language, wasn’t able to gather much else. I just waited, leaning on the stick more than I liked and trying to read their body language.

Eventually, the orc turned to me. “What’s your name, pup?” he asked me in perfectly accented Wolven.

“Agrona.” Of course, he already knew that, having spoken my name before.

“Agrona…the Harbinger of Death, yes?” His eyes were penetrating and voice gruff.

I simply nodded.

“You didn’t fight in the Ru’leth, then, wolf-child?”

“No, sir.”

“Then how, exactly, did you get that name?”

It caught me off guard. I hadn’t entirely thought through the lie, and it was only then I realized that if I hadn’t fought the Ru’leth, I, of course, wouldn’t yet been named, especially not one so revered as Agrona. It took me a moment to work all this out. The pause, however, wasn’t too long, so with hope he wouldn’t notice.

“I gave it to myself, sir,” I answered.

“Did you now?”

“Yes, sir. I hoped that taking on her name would give me her strength.” I didn’t have to clarify who ‘she’ was; Agrona was the killer of Avren, the Hunters’ founder. They would know her name.

“I see.” He didn’t appear to be entirely buying it. There was a tense silence for several seconds before Dyami spoke.

“We’re going home tomorrow, Agrona. We can bring you back to the Hold and see what we can do to get you on your feet, if you like. Besides, it probably isn’t a good idea to be going off on your own, injured as you are.”

How was I supposed to decline that without raising suspicions? I didn’t want to stay, for I didn’t trust the Hunters, nor did I want to get involved in the millennia-old war between the Alliance and the Pack.

Again I nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“It’s the least we can do.” He looked up to Urag and said something in that language I didn’t know.

The latter studied me one last time and then answered. Dyami saluted and ushered me out of the tent, back into the wild unknown of the Alliance.