Flash Fiction - 'In fear of the Huntress'

In fear of the Huntress

by

Andrew Bruce Fisk (September 2012)

The last of the Krestarti nursed her wounds. The hunters were near and she must be ready to defend against their relentless assault. The night had not gone well. She had not eaten for days and her body ached for the release of sleep. Her home in the caves above the high tarn was no longer sufficient for her needs.

They called her the Monster. The Murderer and worse, the Thief. She was old enough to know another name. She guarded that secret well.

In the long darkness she had born sons and daughters, had conversed with magelords and fought the warrior kings of the east. Now old and alone she had but one task left to do. So she hid from danger, keeping rock and ice between her and her enemy.

Outside the wind howled a challenge to those you would attempt the mountains. She wanted to think that they were cowards. The ones who desired to harm her would reconsider. She had chosen this place wisely. The steep sides of the peak could not easily be reached from the lowland below. She was protected by sharp walls of vertical rock. It would be difficult for them to access the summit above the lake.

She faced no such limitation. She had ridden the wind for a millenium as they measured time. She wished she could leave this lands of torment and ride again the currents of ice and dark. Maybe she could return to the far west. To the home of the Krestarti race. She hoped for a moment of meeting others of her species. To hear the ancient music of true speech that was now lost forever. Except in her dreams.

She was alone. The others were gone. Hunted and killed by the new people who now gathered below.

One such creature approached her sanctuary. It was a female. She sensed its bravery and its fury long before hearing the clip and scrap of climbing gear. Metal against rock. She smelt the taste of revenge mirrored with her own. This human child that had come to face her was kindred indeed.



Jonares entered the lair of the Dragon. Her people had chosen her not for her prowess in battle or her knowledge of weaponry. The girl had lost too much to be denied this honour. Her brothers had perished in the famine. This thing of evil that dwelt up here in the heights had taken their herds and left them with nothing to face the winter. She had watched her family starve and she wanted a reckoning. The climb had been hard. Her fellows had prepared her. She alone had the agility and courage needed to make the ascent.

The young woman observed the cavern mouth, holding her brother's longsword clumsily in her left hand. She could hear laboured breathing. A deep signing susurration. Jonares hid her fear deep and considered how to slay this enemy of her people.

The pitch black of the underworld swallowed her. She made her way forward with care. Into the dark hole she went ready to end the source of her terror. The rock floor crunched with the pressure of her boots on grit. The sound echoed loudly in the confines of the the eyre.

“So you have come to end me?”

The words echoed in Jonare’s mind. She looked up in alarm. The jet darkness was complete, rending her vision useless.

“I have known many like you. You come and desire revenge. Is it anger you feel, or fear?”

The human girl dropped to the floor and sought out the source of the voice.

“If it is not fear then come forward and let me see you?”

She remained still. The soft melodic syllables continued to run through her thoughts. She knew the drake was capable of sorcery. She would be careful.

“Am I not entitled to regard my killer?”

Jonares waited. Her moment would come soon. The air in the cavern was growing thick making breathing difficult. The sound of slow movement accompanied the deep voice of the dragon.

“I know your place, I can feel the heat of your anger. It is like the the suns of my homeworld. You can not hide from me.”

Silence dropped. The wind howled, a cry for mercy from an unforgiving spirit. A moment later even that sound receded, leaving only the beating pound of racing hearts.

“One of us will die.”

Jonares bit back the growing trepidation that threaten her now. Her brothers would have faced this better. Now they called to her from their shallow graves. She must not fail. She had nothing left. This bitter hatred had kept her alive through the winter. Its warmth filled her now, beckoning her on to violence. Jonares the Hunteress prepared for battle.

“I have lived for countless ages of your time. The music of creation still rings in my ears, little one. Do you hope to rid the world of all dangers, all terrors, all creatures of the night with only that piece of forged iron in your hand? Do you think the next winter will be easier than the last? I have known your kind. I know your thoughts little one. I could kill you in an instant if I wished.”

Jonares felt a touch. A feeling she had not experience for a long time. A foreign concept. A threat to her being. A compromise.

Gentleness.

“I ask of you but one thing when I am gone, little one?”

Jonares reeled in confusion. Overwhelmed by wave after wave of sadness. An empty vault of memories flooded her. They were not her own. Regrets and unfulfilled hopes of an alien mind mixed with her life experiences. Human and Krestarti merged, for one brief moment,

And then she was alone. The cavern empty. All was quiet. Except for one thing.

“Spare my children.”