The ceremonial dagger was clenched tightly in Azrath’s hand as her black robe sprawled upon the cold, pebbled floor below her knees. Sacred glyphs on the nightsilk glittered like mica against the bustling plate of fire before her. The ceremonial sanctum resembled a castle’s turret in the center of an asphalt clearing within the confines of sprawling woodland; it stood resolutely with brick, mortar, and calcified mud. The foundation had stood for generations, with countless services performed amidst its horseshoe enclosure.
Azrath was kneeling in accordance with the Witch Hunter’s Rite, which by now was second nature to her; four bounties had thus far been sanctioned, and now a fifth beckoned. The demand for her services seemed a testament to her achievements, though accolades were rarely dispersed to hunters… humility was a precursor to efficiency, according to edicts spoken from holy tongues. The sacred pages of the Tome ej Huntae offered the testimonies and transcendent wisdom of slayers and scholars long passed.
Elder Jane wore a plain cloak that perfectly matched the hue in his shifty indigo eyes. He was once again designated the ceremonial priest assigned to bless the Hunter’s imminent departure. He had accompanied the young woman throughout her childhood, a privileged existence until she was plucked from her luxuries for training on the Hunter’s Mount. Azrath’s mettle were then thoroughly tested; her senses molded and sculpted to serve a hunter’s profession. She rarely saw her mother and father during her teen years; the Hunter’s regimen required absolute focus to ensure the divergence of attachment and duty.
…
The Hunter’s tenets were invoked from the very first day of instruction:
Kill quickly, joylessly, without satisfaction, for suffering echoes itself throughout the world of spirits.
Be sharp, be swift; all the while be aware. Surprise is always an enemy.
The waste of words is a sin. Brevity exudes certainty.
A shrewd creature with a dagger is more dangerous than a lazy man with a gun.
…
“Jah Rajo Nihn Maja Rann Ejalae.” The elder’s mouth annunciated the words with meticulous care from the holy Tome as he stood beside the fluttering flames. It was a sacred language lost to time but not to purposed lips. Azrath reached with her mind and absorbed each syllable… the words held a power she couldn’t describe.
“Magic is an art unsuited for common hands,” the Elder continued, pulling his eyes towards Azrath from the ancient text in her hands. “As the great mages declared long ago. Those who would defy such sacraments should not suffer their existence but instead their abilities, or themselves, be removed from earthly coils.”
The hunter’s eyes closed tightly as her mouth recited the last of the rite with a heavy, deliberate voice. “Dead or alive.” The emphasis on the former was evident.
“Nay.” The elder’s response was quite surprising, though Azrath’s body held in place, allowing only a fidget across her hood-covered face. “This one is to be brought back with her breath intact. She has potential.”
Though the curiosity only swelled in the hunter’s mind, she knew better than to inquire further. Instead, the discourse continued with due diligence. “When shall I depart?”
“Tonight,” the elder stated with a slight air of urgency. “Our spies have reason to believe a certain family of jaevins would know of her whereabouts. Conduct your business quickly and find her. Calm her with assurances if you’re able. But in the end, do as thou must to ensure her cooperation.”
“Of course, Mine Elder. May my task be completed in accordance with the Creator’s plan.” Azrath then took to her knees and stood on her feet, allowing the robe to fall and gather around her ankles before exiting the hut, leaving Jane and the still-flickering flame behind, turning towards the purple of an early-evening horizon.
____
A gray, ghostly robe fluttered against the wind as it traversed the contour of a rolling hill. The journey to Pinehart had taken three days of mountainous ascent, and now Azrath had measured her approach. She employed the cover of trees and bushes, keeping herself hidden from townsfolk whenever she was able, and open paths were only treaded in the absence of suspicious eyes. All the while the methods of surreptitious discipline held true…
The air of mystery carries itself along hooded travelers. Uncovered faces are less likely to be remembered.
A survey from a forgotten cliffside proved useful to the Hunter’s end. Binoculars helped to parse Pinehart’s clustered buildings and pinpoint the location of what she hoped would soon be informants…
…
Jaevins… orange-skinned, bird-like beings that in certain ways resembled the description of ancient Furies. They lived and gathered in large stables, with large wings, deadly talons and pinpoint eyesight which aided their stalking of game from the skies above. Though they were fierce hunters, their creed enforced the notion that subdued prey die as painlessly as possible. Sharp fangs injected numbing agents into the pulsing veins of desperate, flailing limbs, and the calmness of death preceded the first bite into fallen flesh.
…
She waited until evening and approached the stable’s main gate, maneuvering through trees as a darting shadow. Her arrival was announced with a forceful plant of her dagger into a woodbrace that stretched from the floor towards the rafters above.
“Good evening, creatures of the skies,” Azrath called as a family of jaevins sat in a semicircle, feasting on the shredded husk of a horned shanta. They all turned their snakelike eyes to the disturbance as their leathery wings spread instinctively in an animalistic gesture, meant to frighten off predators or rivals. The hunter stood unwaveringly, clearly not intimidated, and waited until her presence was fully known.
“The Hunter’s Council seeks to apprehend a witch,” Azrath explained steadily. “She shall not die, and you needn’t either, should her whereabouts be provided without difficulty.” Azrath claimed the dagger once again into her hand, primed to slit as many throats as needed to leave the stable alive. Her attempt at negotiations were quite the abnormal tactic, but in this circumstance, the use of calculated words might spare unnecessary bloodshed, and more importantly… time.
The growls and heavy breaths of the jaevins filled the air, but the hesitation was clearly evident. A creature half their size had infiltrated their abode with catlike precision, masking her scent and hollowing her footsteps to ensure her ambush. The voice belonged to a Hunter, through and through.
“She means much to us.” The voice of one jaevin continued the peaceful path of discussion, at least for the moment.
“You’re a liar,” another snarled through clenched teeth. “Aren’t all hunters liars?” came the heavy snort of a female.
“I profess that I am not,” Azrath proclaimed through a heavy breath. A casual motion pressed the dagger’s point against her palm, along the mystic’s holy line of longevity.
The winged jaevins turned their widened eyes towards one another before collecting their stare back towards Azrath. The significance of the gesture, it seemed, was grasped almost immediately.
“The witch shall live, this I pledge to you, in accordance with the Hunter’s code.” Azrath then waited for her cue.
“Recite the psalm of truth,” the eldest jaevin declared, “and seal your oath with crimson.”
With one motion, Azrath nodded as she slowly sliced her palm, and a trickle of blood fell to the earth across the Hunter’s boots. There was the simultaneous, melodious chant of a passage drawn from the sacred Tome. Another long moment of scornful observation pressed upon the Hunter with narrowed eyes.
“Very well,” the eldest creature said after a time. “Should you break the promise set before us, may your existence turn to anguish for the rest of your days, and your afterlife be set aflame.”
Azrath passed a slow nod, rich with sincerity. “My intentions are now eternally bound, for the great Creator eyes me closely.” Reaching into her robe, a roll of gauze was employed to wrap her wound. “Now, then. Where is the witch?”
The hesitation amongst the jaevins persisted. The eldest spoke for the group once more.
“Three miles down Raevich path. The Apothecary.”
The Hunter bent slowly to acknowledge her understanding before excusing herself from the stable with nary another word. Her sacred duty would now arrive much more quickly than she presumed.
___
Once again the Hunter found herself relying on the strategy of concealment. She approached the witch’s cottage after waiting out a visit from a winged creature seeking help from her quarry. Her keen ears and occasional peeks from a thick patch of brush near the treeline kept her informed of the goings-on.
Eventually the Hunter’s quarry had left her cottage distraught, but Azrath held her place; the witch’s return was correctly assumed. She eventually settled for the night as the orange glow from the fireplace faded through the open windows. The Hunter pressed forward towards her mark with practiced stealth. A swift lunge through a window bypassed the unpredictability of a creaking door.
Once inside, Azrath found the witch laying on her couch… surprisingly naked, as the blanket upon her lacked the crinkles of clothing. There was salt caked around her eyes; she could smell it. The witch had been crying… the Hunter sensed that her aura had been dampened with failure. She watched her intently as heavy breaths accompanied the rise and fall of her chest.
The sun eventually rose and streamed its light through the cottage window. The witch shifted considerably in her couch when she awoke, and she waited for the stillness of realization before speaking.
…
The witch would see an oval face with elegant features peering from her cloak’s hood, pretty perhaps with a smile, but otherwise frightening with intent. Thin tendrils of auburn hair flowed and cupped the sides of her cheeks. The Hunter’s cloak was mostly gray with blue glyphs sewn along the seams; their fabric seemed to glow slightly against the now-receding dark. There was no reading the visitor’s eyes, as they were still swallowed in pools of shadow. She was fairly tall, with the top of her head almost grazing the door frame she leaned against. Azrath was surely waiting and watching for quite some time…
“Hello there,” Azrath announced with a lack of friendliness, her airy shadow bleeding across the floor towards her mark. “Get up and dressed, my dear. Quickly, please. You’ll be coming with me.”
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