Bren Hedera

The woods were not Bren’s preferred place for leisure. It was cold, and his winter wear made it simultaneously hot. He was trapped in the unfortunate circumstance of wanting to shed layers, but knowing that doing so would freeze him. The blasted sun filtering through the dead branches of the trees wasn’t helping.

“See here. Tracks,” Lucia pointed.

No, this was not where Bren wanted to be, but he had offered to join Lucia on a hunt. Kat, Ann and Rosalyn were busy with other things, and his research on the ancient map had hit a dead end that Ann refused to elaborate on. Thus, he’d taken Lucia’s offer more out of boredom and curiosity than actual interest.

“What kind?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice down as instructed earlier.

“Small. Prey animal. Six legs, long feet. No, seven legs. Hare? Possibly.”

“This is what you are hunting?” Bren said, feeling a surge of incredulousness bloom within him. Lucia was skilled with the rifle, and such mundane prey seemed beneath her. In return, he felt her dismiss the emotion through the bond.

“Nothing beneath hunter,” Lucia explained. “All life struggles. Prey and predator. To hunt is to join them. Earn place.”

“Predator or prey?”

“Yes. Get to find out which you are. No illusions. Truth.”

“But what if you are both?” Bren asked. “I would be seen as a predator to the hare, but a greater Warped would see me as prey.”

“Then found place,” Lucia said shortly.

To anyone who didn’t know the woman, she would come off as curt, maybe even rude, but after spending a week or so with the woman, Bren was well familiar with her usage of tone and direct words. The emotional connection they shared through the Life Debt certainly helped things along, but he was still doing his best to ignore that. It felt like cheating.

“So what now?”

“Trap. Bait. Hunt,” Lucia explained without explaining. “Need branches. Thin, bending, and dead grass.”

“I will go look,” Bren replied, standing. Lucia nodded in return and slunk off to search on her own.

Bren was fairly experienced digging through the rough brush of the forests around Korvas. Kat had dragged him out here countless times in their youth to adventure. He remembered the first fire they’d made. A pitiful thing that barely stood up to a stiff breeze, but it was theirs. The guard who had been assigned to watch them had taught a better way to arrange the sticks and leaves, sheltering the heat while channelling the air into the core of the blaze. They’d shared a meal that night, the two children and the guard, talking freely as friends.

He found the materials Lucia requested, several twigs with acceptable pliability and dead grasses, then returned to their meeting spot.

Lucia was already there, a decently sized stone beside her.

“Are we going to kill it?”

“No. Just trap. Need alive for bait,” Lucia said, taking his offered bundle. “This works. Good job.”

“You know, you have never shared your skills with us. Is this one of them?”

Lucia’s eyes flicked towards him, then back away just as quickly. “Right. Still not… um…”

Bren could feel her turmoil bubbling through their link. “It is fine if you are not comfortable.”

Lucia didn’t nod or say anything, but he felt her relief at being given an out. Some people were like this, he supposed. Ann didn’t know better, and Kat was incredibly trusting. Lucia would get there in time.

Bren sat down, watching Lucia work with the sticks, grass, and stone. Before long, she had assembled a suitable snare trap, one that would catch their prey and hoist it harmlessly into the air. Reaching into her pack, Lucia pulled out golden hay and scattered it on and around the trap.

“Would it not be better to just put it all on the trap?” Bren asked.

“No. Obvious. Close to city, animals smarter. Smell something, see something too good, they spook. This way looks accident. Can mask scent. Come,” Lucia beckoned as she stalked away, back hunched. She led them to a snarl of bushes and pushed her way inside, making room for Bren to lay down next to her. “Now, wait.”

“How do you know all this?” Bren asked.

“Training. Family long line of hunters. Trapped first prey when five. Small mouse. Father very happy.”

Bren felt a torrent of mixed emotions as she brought up her father. Pride, anger, frustration, love. He didn’t push. “You said your tribe was traditional. Was that how all Thrundol were?”

“You know, book boy,” Lucia said, jostling him gently. “Nice to ask. Appreciate thought. Can feel concern. Is a long story.”

“I could tell you mine if you wish?”

Lucia lay there for a long moment, then nodded. The way they laid there, Bren noticed her tusks dipped into the snow if she did. It was something he never thought would be a problem for someone being in this position. Refocusing, he sighed.

“Can feel emotion. If don’t want, don’t have to.”

“No, no. I will share this. Do you know much about the trains?”

“Metal machines. Go very fast along tracks. Useful for travel and transport.”

“Yes, well, my parents helped get them where they are now. They are very intelligent people, alas that did not make them the smartest people.” His thoughts whirled as he pushed his mind back in time, pulling up the memories of his youth.

“One of my first memories was of my mother and father holding me. They were at our kitchen table. Sunlight was coming through the eastern window, and they were talking rapidly. Father had me sitting on his knee, bouncing me as he argued with mother. I was too young to understand what they spoke about, but later in life, I learned they were debating ways to increase pressure and generate rotational force in a steam engine. As I grew more aware, grew older, I began to see less of them.”

“Ah,” Lucia said, clearly feeling the complex pit of frustration and sadness that hit Bren as he dug through this point in his life.

“Yes. They were still present. I saw them most evenings for dinner, but many of my days were spent with the housekeeper and tutors. Henrietta was a wonderful companion, and I still love her dearly. She, over time, became a second mother to me, and was there for many important occasions in my life.”

“Parents sound bad,” Lucia grunted.

“Years ago I would have agreed with you,” Bren nodded. “I see what they are now, though. Incredibly driven people, intelligent beyond most, and consumed by their work. It was… difficult for me to accept this part of them, and that, though they did a poor job of showing it, they still loved me.”

“Can relate,” Lucia grumbled.

“Through my eighth year I lived in Indelholm. For those years I studied furiously, guided by strict tutors, and the best scholars my parents could afford. Any other child, I would imagine, might have rebelled, but I took to it with zeal. I was a Hedera, they would all remind me. I was born to great minds, and should foster my own intelligence. One of those tutors is where I picked up my manner of speech. She always insisted that contractions and common parlance were forms of laziness. I see the flaw in her logic now, and have worked on easing the difficulty of my vocabulary significantly. Nevertheless, I still find myself in this habit.”

“Opposite of mine. Funny,” Lucia chuckled, crimson eyes still fixed on the trap, scanning for movement.

“The Gods do have a sense of humour,” Bren agreed. “Especially Orenous. For some reason, I cannot imagine Bryltia or Qu’Sella having much of one.”

“Bryltia does. Often cruel, though. Not like Nylir. Nylir’s are mean. Bryltia? Hunt smaller beast, hunted by larger one. Unexpected challenge. Irony that might teach, if survived.”

“Best we hope that today is not one of her jokes, then.”

Lucia nodded. “Always careful. Never know.”

“Should I continue, or would quiet help?”

“Keep voice low. Can continue.”

“Very well,” Bren sighed, returning his gaze to the trap and the past. “My parents were prominent figures, being a fire and water magus each, and led the design of the newest steam engine you see today. It took them years to accomplish. Years where I would not see them for weeks on end as they lost themselves to their studies. I am not proud to say I hated them. They brought me into this world and were so distracted by their work they didn’t care to see me. It took years. Long, hard years to reconcile with them. They still are not the most attentive people. I have sent them letters about our situation and still have not received a reply. I fear I will need to track them down when I am next in Indelholm.”

“We,” Lucia grunted. Read full story at novel★fire.net

“Hm?”

“When we are there. Hunt your parents. Together.”

Bren rolled his eyes. Of course that’s how she’d phrase that. “I still need to introduce them to Ann and Rosalyn as well. So much has happened since I spoke to them.”

“Might be funny. Big surprise.”

“Possibly,” Bren nodded. “Serves them right for not paying attention.”

“Surprised. Feel anger,” Lucia said, taking her eyes off the trap for the first time during their conversation.

“I suppose I am not as stable in my emotions as I had hoped. Do not tell the others, please.”

“Will not. Maybe talk to me?”

“You do not mind?”

“No. Surprised princess doesn’t get talk.”

“I have, a few times,” Bren said. “She just does not have the best mind for this kind of thing.”

“Do not give enough credit.”

“Then there is Ann and her getting entangled with that.”

“Ah. Fair.”

“So, yes. I believe I still resent my parents for their lack of attention. For never being there for me when I needed them. For being so focused on their work. I was still their son! Still their little boy. Damn it all.”

Bren felt hot tears on his cheeks, startling himself. When had he begun to cry? He sniffed and wiped them away. Lucia watched, her face full of concern, but did not comment. He appreciated her for that as much as he appreciated the hand she placed on his back, gently rubbing at tense muscles. It welled within him again, the urge to weep, but he bit it back. 

“Apologies,” he sniffed.

“Nah. Know that feeling. Have some of it. Father was most of my life. Was not a good part of it.”

Bren felt a wave of hot anger wash over him from Lucia.

“Pain. Pain was teacher. Teacher of harsh lessons, not easily forgotten. Have scars. Failures. Reminders. Needed to be better. Always better.”

“Sounds awful,” Bren sympathised.

“Not all bad. When did well, praise was given. Rewards were earned. He… cared his own way. Made me huntress. Made me strong. Knew more than many about woods, traps, rifles. Expert shot by ten. Fastest by twelve. Could stalk predators unseen by sixteen. Tools still used.”

“Gods, he put you through all of that? Did you have anything we would consider normal?”

“No. Yes? Mother. Mother was better. Still believed in tradition. Enjoyed the hunt, the challenge Bryltia demands. Had softer moments. Cooking, dressing kills. Learned language from her. Not how I speak, but words.”

“I still disapprove,” Bren grumbled. “They do not seem to have given you a good life.”

“Neither have yours.”

“That does not mean I can not want better for others.” Bren said, then quieter, “Or myself.”

He felt the wash of empathy from Lucia, despite her stony face remaining neutral. “Was not all bad. Will say again. Tribe not all hunters. Many cook. Keep houses. Not many farm. Small plots for not meat. Did like cooking. Was very calming.”

“You cook?” Bren asked.

“Yes. Many things. Like hare and venison. Tasty, gamey, good for strength. Will cook for you. Shh, something comes.”

Bren strained his senses, peeking from the mess of sticks in front of him to try to find whatever had been attracted by the bait. After a few tense moments he started to relax, then almost jumped out of his skin as a multi-legged hare thumped past him, not two feet away.

They were strange beasts. He would closest compare them to an insect, but with fur. He had read about ancient rabbits, and Ann had drawn him a picture or two, but these bore little resemblance. Long bodies, with seven legs, three on each side, and one at the back. Each leg was long, ending in a long foot as a normal rabbit would. White fluffy fur covered an elongated body that undulated as it hopped along. The largest difference, if it could be called that, was the head of the creature. Mandibles and a chitinous head ended the front of the creature, with four beady eyes that scanned the area at all times. It paused as it approached the bait, taking some of the seeds in its fore-claws and cracking the tough exteriors. Smaller, more dexterous appendages twirled the seeds as it scraped the shells for more to eat, then moved on to the next.

It took a few minutes, the hare avoiding the trap to Bren’s frustration. A feeling of calm reached through the bond, Lucia’s attempt to sooth his impatience.

They were rewarded. It was only two more minutes before the creature reached the centre of the scattered bait and the trap was sprung. A loop of reeds, covered by more reeds and bait, snapped up, the stick holding it down snapping under the weight of the hare, and snaring it around the waist. The creature screamed in panic as it writhed, suspended by its midsection, in the air. It twisted violently, trying to get at the snare holding it up, but it couldn’t reach.

“Perfect,” Lucia grunted, standing up. “Watch.”

Bren did as he was told, rising and following the Thrundol as she stalked forward.

With lightning swiftness, and a dexterity that spoke to years of practice, Lucia’s hand shot out and snatched the writhing creature just under the head. With her other, she unsheathed a knife and rammed it up through the head, the tip poking out the shell on the other side.

“Know how to dress?” Lucia asked as she cut the trap loose and laid the hare on the ground.

“No.”

“Then watch.” Lucia made a swift cut, severing the head, then another incision down the length of the body. From there, she reached inside and pulled out a bundle of intestines, throwing them to the side. She repeated this process until all the internal organs were removed, setting aside what she designated as the two livers, six kidneys, and two hearts.

Once that was done, she started skinning the hare. She slid her knife just under the skin, above the fat layer, and sliced, then pulled. Some grunts of effort later, and the creature was completely disassembled, arrayed in the bloody snow before them.

“Good kill. Large hare. Will make good stew. Fur can make good hat. Maybe, um, you want?”

Was she blushing? Oh Gods, Bren just noticed she was. This woman, covered in blood and having just completely taken apart an animal, was blushing over the thought of making a hat for him out of the kill.

“I, um…” he stammered, words failing him for a moment. “I would like that. If you would, that is.”

“Yes,” Lucia said simply. “Now, more. Watch close.”

A few deft cuts removed the legs from the body with pops that turned Bren’s stomach, and the animal was fully done.

An hour or so later, they were set up with a camp fire, sticks skewering pieces of the hare, and other pieces tied. Bren was slowly turning the spit as Lucia added seasoning occasionally.

“This is more mundane a thing than I thought I would see from you,” Bren admitted. “Not a bad thing. Just different.”

“Have many skills. Is how people live. We learn and keep going, no?”

“Sage words from someone with limited words to use in each sentence,” Bren teased.

“Learn to make best use. Not easy as seems. Am using more than used to.”

“I noticed,” Bren nodded. “I appreciate the effort.”

They sat there for a few minutes in silence. The fire crackled as the hare’s flesh darkened, steaming in the cold of the evening.

“It’s… nice,” Bren said, his words faltering. “This. Quiet.”

Lucia raised an eyebrow at him. “Mocking?”

“No. Just seeing how it felt to speak as you do? Do you take offence? I will stop if you do.”

“Is fine. Might do back. For fun, if alright.”

“That, Lucia, is fine by me.”

“Very well, I believe our meal is almost finished. Shall we eat?” Lucia said with perfect enunciation.

Bren grunted back.

They looked at each other, then fell apart in laughter over their meal.

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