Night Hunting

There’s a certain melody to the way rain falls. Nature sings an odd sort of tune as it weeps, a bittersweet harmony of melancholy and renewal. The birds ruffle their feathers and hide to avoid the drops, their cheery songs broken off by the heavy notes. For a moment, it is as if the earth seeks to be scrubbed clean of its dirt, of the ugliness woven into its surface.

But he knew far too well that that darkness is not so easily removed.

He crouched in the scant shade of an evergreen, water running in rivulets down his cloak. His bare feet were caked in mud and pine needles. But he just ground them in ever deeper as he waited in silence.

Hunting in the rain was difficult, as most creatures had the sense to find shelter. But his quarry had little sense in that regard and little care for the dangers of the road. For that, however, he was grateful.

The carriage rumbled down the waterlogged road, its horses straining to lift their hooves out of the mud. The driver sat hunched over the reins like a disgruntled hawk, perfectly motionless except for the occasional twitch of his hands. A large axe was slung over his back, the kind that made one unsure if it was meant for trees or people.

But that was of little concern. It was the woman inside that he watched for. The window blinds were open, as if the sun would stream in at any moment. And the figure inside sat tall, swaying easily over the bumps of the road. She looked flawless, like a porcelain doll put on display. Innocent. Breakable.

All lies.

He ground his teeth, waiting for his moment, hand tightening on his dagger. She was a viper, but an excellent actress. She took everyone else in, fools that they were, and let them play among her coils. She never had to strike twice.

So here he was, the only one standing between her and her target, desperation curdling in his blood.

As if on cue, the carriage slowed just past his hiding place as the driver hesitated between the branches of the road. He sprinted forward, feet making soft sucking sounds as they plunged in and out of the muck. With a gentle leap he landed on the back of the carriage. He dragged himself up onto the roof with shaking fingers, and there he lay splayed and clinging like a spider.

The rain fell in torrents, soaking through to his bones. His fingers felt numb and brittle. The carriage beneath him creaked and groaned under his weight.

A dim glow gleamed in between the trees. It swelled as they approached and burned a bright and cheerful yellow. All at once, the trees split in front of them, breaking away and falling behind them. A lantern shot up abruptly next to the road, flickering and burning with unwavering cheer. They were close to her target.

With the forest behind them, and thus any place to hide gone, he crept forward until he was just behind the driver. He gripped his blade and swung, slamming the handle into the man’s skull. The man slumped, but his other hand cradled the man’s head, holding him upright. He swiftly pulled a length of rope from his belt, tying him to his seat.

Slipping over the driver, he snatched at the reins and tied them to the rail before they could fall. The horses, steady, unassuming ponies that they were, continued doggedly down the road.

He eased down onto the low step just on the side of the carriage. Edging along it, he slipped next to the door, gingerly hugging to the side. One hand held his knife pinched in two fingers, gripping the ledge to hold him steady. With the other he yanked on the door handle. With a leap and a spin, he landed in the carriage, whipping his knife towards her and—

His gaze met hers over their blades, each one held at the other’s neck. Iridescent blue eyes studied him over the cold metal. His mission melted away into a single, harsh truth.

“Son,” she said evenly.

“Mother.”

His teeth clacked together as his muscles seized up. A whispered curse slipped past his lips.

Laughing surprise crossed her face. “And to think you once kissed me with that mouth.”

He watched her as she laughed, the light, incandescent sound bringing back shadowed memories. The bitterness in his heart twisted into sorrow.

“Come home, Mother.”

Her laughter faded into a mocking smile. “Come now. I have a task. You know that I never turn back from those.”

He swallowed. “Think of me, this time. Think of Father. It is enough. There is no—”

“Once upon a time, you would have been right beside me in this. You know what the target has done. You know what he will do. He cannot be allowed to live.”

“That is not for you to decide. You endanger us all with your choices.”

She dropped her arm, tucking her knife away. He lowered his as well, wiping the blade on the edge of his cloak before sheathing it.

“He endangers you all. I’m removing the threat,” she said.

“Mother—” He stopped, shaking his head. “Is it not enough that the war is over? Or are you so desperate to continue ‘saving’ us all that you cannot rest?”

She didn’t respond for a moment, only stared at him, her eyes tracing the angles of his face. He knew she was looking for the little boy in there, the boy who had worshipped her, who had sought to be like her. But he was gone, hidden away behind his resolve.

“Come home. Please.”

“Why the knife if you didn’t come to kill me?” She asked suddenly.

He snorted. “You know why. You taught me.”

“‘Never approach an assassin without a knife, even if you approach in peace.’” Her voice went soft. “Your uncle was the one who said that first, did I tell you that?”

His shoulders drooped and he let out a heavy breath. “He’s dead, Mother. Revenge won’t bring him back.”

“No. It won’t.” She gave him a faint smile. “But if I couldn’t keep him safe, then I will do everything in my power to keep the rest of you safe.”

The carriage slowed and came to a lazy stop. The rain around them turned into a drizzle. He closed his eyes, wishing he could erase the truth of the words building on his tongue.

“Stop killing for us,” he blurted, “don’t you have enough blood on your hands? We’re never going to be ‘safe’ enough for you. Do you just intend to keep killing because you can, using our safety as the cheap ticket to sound good?”

Her jaw clenched. “I am good.”

“No,” he retorted, “you’re not. You can be, but you’re consistently choosing not to be. Put away the blade. Quit this warpath. Settle down and… and…” He just shook his head. “Just come home.”

His mother stared at him as if she had been slapped. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” he said, “I don’t. I can’t possibly understand why my mother —who was once loving, doting and happy to remain a family— could be so embittered that you can’t see what’s truly happening. You’re losing us, Mother. You’re so scared of us being taken from you that your actions are pushing us all away. We can’t keep living, wondering when you’ll come home and who… who you killed.”

Her face was tight, her entire body drawn taut like a bowstring. He had hurt her, somehow. He had meant for it to hurt, but he hadn’t expected it to land. He watched her as she processed, as a thousand emotions spilled over her face.

For a moment it looked as though she might strike him. She raised her hand and he flinched, raising an arm to block. But she merely shoved him into the carriage seat. He tumbled against it, scrambling back upright in a second. The door swung open and she stepped out into the rain.

He moved to follow her, hesitating on the carriage step.

Her dress pooled around her in the ground, dragging in the mud as she walked over to the horses. With swift and sure fingers she removed the harness from one of them and walked it a few feet away. He watched as she hitched up her skirts, swinging up and onto the pony’s bare back. There she looked back at him, skirts swathed awkwardly around her thighs, leaving her legs to hang free.

Her eyes met his and once again, he was a child staring up into beloved eyes. Then she looked down and away from the pained accusation in his.

“You could hunt with me.”

He could hear the carefully veiled desperation in her voice. And in that he could hear that addiction to, no matter how safe they were, defeat anything that could ever harm them, and through that, harm her. There was so much fear at the seed of that. It was at the heart of everything she did now.

He just smiled sadly and shook his head. “I don’t hunt to kill.”

She gave a half shrug at that and turned the horse with her heel. “Don’t follow me.”

She nudged the horse hard, and it leapt into a canter, sidling against the pressure. He dropped off of the step and into the mud, watching her as the rain muddled her silhouette. All too soon she was but a speck in the distance, a smear of black ink on grey paper. He turned and trudged towards the front of the carriage. He fingered the harness and patted the horse’s flank.

“She just doesn’t get it, though,” he murmured, unhitching the animal. He paused and let out a pained chuckle. “She taught me too well: I don’t give up the hunt either.”