The Legend of the Hunter

Each of the Hollow People had wrapped off-white gauze bandages around his or her eyes. They were all dressed identically in saffron robes except for Fythlasine, who had tied her robe with a deep lime girdle to distinguish her rank. All of them entered the village in silence and with folded hands. The gathered Elves and Weavers were all astounded by the spectacle, and could only mutely stare at the assemblage.

“Forgive us for intruding upon you as uninvited guests; we have come to offer succour and healing to your wounded,” Fythlasine explained. “We are not extending you any favours; on the contrary, you would be honouring us by granting us permission to assist your injured ones and to care for them.

“We have seen the error and horror of our ways as a miraculous result of the healing I received from the hands of an Elfling, who has become our Saviour and Muse. Lathlin, the Blind Seeing Elf, has knowingly or inadvertently restored souls to us, and we are now known as the Contrites. I am Contrition, no longer the Queen of my subjects, but simply the Prime Healer, and our sole purpose is to bring healing to any and all who need it.

“Our Shrine in the Forsaken Forest will become a true Shrine – a Temple of Healing, and we will welcome every citizen across Wrochcia to receive medical assistance and cures. Some of my Contrites will travel all over Wrochcia to administer to those in need, while others will remain at the Shrine to assist the visitors who turn to us for medical help. This is the path of redemption we have chosen, even though it is but a poor substitute as restitution for all the cruelties and savagery we had unleashed upon the Races. As further penitence, we have bound our eyes to punish ourselves for having been blind to the beauty of the world, and seeing only the foulness of the dark.”

By the end of her declaration, Contrition’s bandages were soaked by her tears of remorse, and she had to pause to regain her composure. Into this hiatus spoke Lathlin, his voice conveying his admiration for Fythlasine, but also revealing his disbelief that his manipulation of her energies had had such a profound and unexpected consequence.

“I know not if I can as yet address you by your new name, but I can admit that my heart is gladdened by the news you bring. We have all suffered much and any offering of solace to anyone is surely a matter of rejoicing. The Hollow People were infamous for their medical experiments, but they were also known for the advances in the medical field, and for their incomparable skill. I can only but believe that the Sweet Spirits have guided you to us at this time, for we are sorely in need of your vast medical expertise.”

Here, the youth had to stop for now it was his turn to be overwhelmed by his emotions. Qarethlin, standing next to the Elfling, took his hands gently in hers, squeezed them lovingly, and then addressed the ex-Queen of the despised Hollow People.

“Belac, the Hunter of Truth, was grievously injured in his fight with the Drakheen. He has been in a coma since that battle, and although Lathlin has stabilised him, that is all we could do. Not even the Weavers have the requisite skills the heal him, as his injury is life threatening. We have taken turns to keep a constant vigil at his bedside, waiting for the inevitable end. But perhaps you could return Belac from the abyss and restore our friend to us,” the Elf woman explained, a tenuous expectation clearly evident in her tone.

“Take me to him!” Contrition demanded. “I will take two of my healers with me, for if his injury is as mortal as you believe it to be, I will probably have to operate on him immediately, thus I will need their assistance. If only Zaherain were still with us, for that man had the most dextrous and precise hands I’ve ever encountered in any of my surgeons,” she added wistfully.

“Zaherain?” Lathlin asked in surprise. “But he is here in the village. In fact, Belac was taken to his house!” the Elfling exclaimed, unable to prevent his voice from rising with hope. “Belac is being cared for by Talat and Release at the moment, but come! Let us not tarry. Follow me,” Lathlin added and led the way to Zidayt’s cabin.

Belac was once again adrift on a memory from his past, one that mercilessly brought him closer and closer to a buried part of that dark time. The nearer he floated to it, the clearer became the smells, sounds and emotions. His mind was trying to resist the pull of the recollection, but it was relentless. Abruptly, he was once again a twelve-year-old boy on the dreaded slaver ship.

“You useless whelp!” the Slave Master spat at Belac as he was lying on the deck of the wildly tossing ship. The young lad had just been punched by the Slaver, and he was reeling from the blow and the stormy sea.

“I should skin you right now and toss you overboard for the sharks to feed on,” the Slave Master continued. “When will you get it through your thick island skull that you belong to me, and my bidding is never to be questioned or ignored!” the man roared. Belac tried desperately to remember what he had done this time to ignite the man’s unpredictable ire, but the roiling ocean, the yawing ship and his throbbing head would not let him focus. Unpredictably, the First Mate came to his rescue.

“Captain, he has not yet learned our sign language, sir. Please, with your permission, allow me to take him under my wing and train him, sir!” the man shouted above the roaring storm.

Sign language. Yes, that was the problem, Belac dimly recalled. The Slave Master had probably given him an instruction using sign language, and he had missed it.

“Fine,” the Slave Master reluctantly relented. “Train him, but I give you only two weeks to get this rat into shape, or he’s fish food!”

The memory faded like misty vapour driven off by burning sunlight, and Belac opened his eyes. After a few seconds, he managed to focus his gaze on Lathlin’s anxiety-riddled face hovering above him. Belac gave his friend a sincere smile despite his body throbbing with pain, and he was rewarded to see the fear lift from the Elfling’s smooth brow.

“Blind, you say, huh?” Belac teased his friend.

“As a starless night,” Lathlin responded.

Belac finally registered the presence of others in the room, all of whom wore expressions of relief. Talat stood next to Release, his arm protectively around the beautiful woman; Krauwyk stood with the Elves while Zaherain and Zidayt stood on either side of the Ripple. Marethlin was lounging against a wardrobe and winked at Belac when he saw the Hunter looking at him; his twin was beside Lathlin. Qarethlin treated Belac to a wonderfully warm smile when his eyes alighted upon her; it gave him a warm glow and momentarily banished his aching wounds.

In a far corner stood a woman dressed in a saffron robe. She had gauze bandages wrapped around her eyes, but her body language made her seem vaguely familiar to the Hunter.

Unsurprisingly, Lathlin anticipated his friend’s query and said, “That is Contrition, whom you knew as the Queen of the Hollow People. She saved your life, my friend, but we will talk more about that when you are stronger. Rest now, Belac. Questions and explanations can wait.”

“Hurry up and get your lazy bones out of that bed before I have to physically drag you from it, Hunter,” Talat joked.

With that, Belac’s visitors left until only Zenia remained in the room. Her grandparents waited in the sitting room for her, as she had asked for a private word with Rachmin.

The little girl looked shyly at the Hunter of Truth before she approached his bed and gently sat down on it. She reached out and took Belac’s strong hand into her child’s one. All at once, her bearing changed and her Power came into effect.

“We are all indebted to you, Hunter, and your courage will be immortalised in legends. Yet, you will soon be called upon to face a new threat. Even now the peril is approaching our shores; it will test your mettle and powers as never before.” The Ripple paused briefly before she continued in a less grievous tone.

“Do not lose heart though, for you have garnered the loyalty and friendship of true companions, and you will not be alone in this trial, Rachmin. Rest now, brave warrior, and conserve your strength. There is time yet for you to have a brief respite, and to participate in the celebrations to come. You have our eternal gratitude, Belac,” the Ripple concluded.

Zenia released Belac’s hand and moved towards the door. At the threshold, she turned to give the Hunter a sweet smile, and Belac returned it.

“I fear no future threat or challenge now, for I have made peace with my destiny and with who I am,” he said. “I may have started on a journey that took me down many blind detours, but I have finally stepped onto the true path that has led me to where I was meant to be.

“I began my voyage as a Hunter for hire, pursuing and capturing criminals and scoundrels, but I now and will forever more accept that I am the Hunter of Truth,” Belac proclaimed and closed his eyes to sink into blissful, dreamless slumber.