Shadow's Magic

The hunter smelled the air, detecting the presence of the deer foraging near a tree. He listened intently to the wooded land surrounding him as his father had taught him. Off in the distance a squirrel dropped an acorn as it skittered across the treetops. A flock of birds swooped and swayed above the tree line. Other birds nesting chirped a merry tune. A light breeze wafted through the area, brushing against the hunter’s back, the hair on his neck tingling with excitement. When at last he was able to determine as close as possible the direction of his prey, he knocked an arrow into his longbow. He opened his eyes and scanned the area, catching site of the deer grazing unaware of him one hundred meters diagonally to his left.
Balanced on one knee, the hunter slid his left leg out carefully, as quietly as he could manage so his movement wouldn’t disturb the dry foliage, thus alerting the unsuspecting deer. He sat back so he was resting on the heel of his right foot and placed his left elbow comfortably on his left knee. He drew the string of his bow back to his mouth, keeping his hand loose and relaxed, feeling the tension of the superb bow his father had crafted from the trunk of an old oak tree. He locked his left arm, raising the point of the arrow in line with the deer’s exposed neck.
He watched the deer grazing for a few moments, absorbing all the details of his first kill. His heart thrummed a fast rhythm as he felt his adrenaline rush. He drew a long, slow breath, feeling the cool air of the forest enter his lungs. A calming sensation followed the air, coursing the length of his body, sparking like little electric jolts every time it hit a nerve ending. He narrowed his thoughts and surrounded the deer with his mind, visualizing the kill before it happened. Slowly, he let his breath escape from his mouth. As the last of the forest air seeped from his mouth, the hunter released the arrow.
Snapping its head up, the deer stood momentarily frozen as it stared into the intent eyes of the hunter. Its eyes widened in terror as it saw the missile streaking toward it. The deer uttered a soft whine of despair and attempted to turn from the coming shaft. The arrow aided the deer in its turn, the sheer speed of the missile piercing through the thin layer of skin and flesh, and digging in deep into the muscles of its neck. The momentum of the arrow caused the deer to spin hard and crash against the tree. It stumbled a few paces from the tree and collapsed in a twitching heap as it fought to hold onto the last moments of its life.
The hunter raced to his prey, drawing a thin knife from his boot as he closed in on the fallen deer. As the deer sensed his approach, the deer thrashed wildly, bucking its legs in any direction it could manage. It found enough strength to roll itself over, breaking the shaft of the arrow. As the hooves of its feet came arcing down, the front pair mashed against the hunter’s skull, sending him sprawling away onto his back. Dizziness assaulted his senses, leaving his entire body feeling numb. He felt a warm liquid oozing from his ears. He had the urge to speak, but his words came in a gurgle of froth and sounds that a babe would make in its infancy.
His vision twisted and spiraled out of control. The hunter tried to move, but his limbs would not respond. He was paralyzed from the shock of the blow, staring up as the wind rustled the leaves of the trees.
A soft, saffron light seeped through the gaps in the trees, and the light seemed to surround both the hunter and the deer, enveloping the area in its soothing radiance. Both the hunter and the deer calmed as they felt their spirits wrestling to free themselves of their bodies.
Gradually, a blanket of darkness clouded the hunter’s vision as he succumbed to his untimely death. There was no use in resisting it; his body was crippled beyond repair from that one fated blow of the deer’s hooves. With a final breath, the once bright life shining in his eyes faded, his eyes becoming dull and glazed.

“No,” the proud woodsman screamed.
His scouts came back with the gravest of news. His son, William, wanting to prove his worth braved the forest by himself, but was cut down in the most unlikely of methods – by the will of his own prey.
“It cannot be,” Balen bellowed, his voice booming like close thunder and reverberating through the encampment. “I trained and taught my son everything I know. Everything! He wouldn’t be taken so easily!” His rage not fully played out, tears welled in Balen’s eyes, streaming down his face and soaking into his neatly trimmed beard. “It had to have been a band of brigands or something!”
“Please, Balen,” began one of the scouts, Daren, Balen’s closest companion in this darkest of ages the realms had known since the last war threatened to savage the very lands they called home. “I know it is difficult to believe. But I was there, and there are no signs of foul play. Only one felled deer, and sadly the corpse of your son, William.”
Daren offered a consoling hand on Balen’s shoulder, but it did little to ease the pain knifing at Balen’s heart.
His bottom lip trembled as the reality of the situation sunk in. He stared dumbfounded at Daren, looking for any sign that there may have been something he overlooked. But, not Daren. Daren was a master at tracking and investigating. He was renowned throughout the kingdom for his ability to find the most elusive of criminals no matter where they might decide to hide.
Balen realized that there was no error in Daren’s report, only his stubborn pride refusing to believe such a catastrophe could befall his family. He then thought of his wife, dear Miranda, and how he could best explain this to her. There was no easy way. But together, they would overcome this tragedy.
Softly it came, but Balen recognized the feeling encroaching into his heart, the feeling of a part of himself dying. Tears streamed from his ice blue eyes, and he found he could not contain his sorrow. He lowered his eyes and gripped Daren’s hand in one of his own, patting his friend’s comforting hand.
Without a word, Balen turned from his troops awaiting his orders. He breathed in a heavy sigh, he body visibly shaking.
Softly, with his back to his audience, Balen began to speak. “I need to be home, Daren. I shall depart at once. Until my return, you will see to the welfare of the king’s forest.”
As though he were trudging through a swamp, Balen dragged himself away toward his tent where he would pack his gear and leave before the first sign of the night. He would find some peace traveling when it was pitch black in the forest, the very essence of survival was needed to ease the pain stabbing at his heart and soul.
Shocked, dismayed, and feeling the weight of the world, Daren reeled at the words, his eyes going wide with disbelief. He struggled to find anything to say in response. But nothing came to light. He couldn’t think how to persuade Balen to stick around. That was too much pain, too much loss for one man. With the agreement unspoken, Daren watched Balen force each step he took toward his tent.
Daren turned to face the other members of the scouting party. He looked into each man’s eyes, seeing the sadness at the loss of a fellow woodsman, a brother of the forest. It was a weight each shared and each felt as deeply as another. They were more than just a company of men taming the wilds of the king’s forest; they were in many ways a family. With a nod of declaration, each man in the company acknowledged his pledge to follow Daren to death’s door.
Steeling himself for the coming days, Daren straightened himself and drew in a deep breath. “Well, boys, we got some work to do. Let’s get started.”

In the distance, the sun was barely above the horizon, long fingers of light snaking across the landscape, waking the many denizens of the forest. Sensing something of pure evil, the timid creatures scattered from their holes, knowing they were not safe where they reposed during the night. A mist-like figure floated from a ravine, flowing around trees and rocks, taking no absolute shape as it seeped and drifted through the forest.

In his hide tent, Balen was finishing tying the strings of his backpack and fastening his bedroll and blanket to the bottom of the sack. His backpack in one hand, longbow and quiver in the other, the woodsman stepped out of his tent into the forest encampment. He stood still for some time, steadying his breath while his eyes strayed to the spot where his fellow woodsmen were finishing the process of preparing his son’s funeral pyre.
The lifeless form of his son lay on top of a pile of logs and straw. One of the woodsmen placed the hunter’s longbow along the length of his body and folded his arms across his chest. With a heavy sigh, the woodsman turned from the corpse and noticed Balen reluctantly approaching. His heart hurt for the leader of their band, remembering the loss of his younger sister when he was only ten winters old.
Tears welling in his eyes, Balen closed the last few paces and stared down at the lifeless form of his only son. His strength sapped in the instant it took him to gaze at his son reposing in eternal silence, Balen collapsed to his knees in waves of sobbing. His hands loosed their grasp on his equipment, the bag and bow falling to the ground. Balen managed to grasp the side of the pyre and lift himself back to standing. He could feel his knees shaking on the edge of buckling under the tremendous weight of the situation.
Agonized, Balen brought his hands to his son’s face, brushing his hair back gently and rubbing his neck. At a loss for words, Balen simply stayed for a long while as his men respectfully kept their distance readying torches with which they would set the pyre on fire.
Sniffling in an attempt to steady himself, Balen closed his eyes and held his right arm behind him, his hand shaking unsteadily. Daren approached, a burning torch in his hand. He placed one hand on Balen’s shoulder as he passed the torch to the woodsman. Balen opened his eyes, his entire world blurry and distorted as he forced his arm to bring the torch to the kindling underneath the log pile. Slowly, the kindling took to the flame and the fire began to spread along the base of the funeral pyre.
Balen and Daren stepped back from the pyre. The remaining woodsmen approached the pyre and surrounded it, all bearing lighted torches. All at once, the troop of woodsmen cast their torches to the base of the funeral pyre, watching as the flames guttered and began to engulf the funeral pyre.
Gradually, the gathered woodmen took their leave and went about their daily work. Daren stayed beside Balen the entire time it took for the flames to cover William’s corpse. Content that his soul was set free, Balen took hold of his backpack and bow and with a final nod of resignation to Daren set forth into the forest, bound for his home and his darling wife.
Daren contemplated Balen’s departure, watching his every move as he swayed off balance into the thick woods beyond their encampment.