[Flashback] Hunting with the Pack

[Vendaril]

36th Winter, 501AV

Vendaril was sitting in his room, reading. He didn’t read a lot – in these times, there was not a lot to read, especially not in Symenos – but when he could, he relished it, and had occasionally attempted to write his own fiction – although never with much success. This particular book was An Account of the Circumnavigation of Mizahar, a favourite of his. When he read of the foreign places and peoples his mind was set alight with adventure and intrigue. It led him to thoughts of what he would do with his future, where he would travel; the people he would meet. Even at the tender age of eleven, his heart was set on exploring the known world.

Of course, his time would come. He knew that when the web deemed him ready, they would send him forth on the harvest to bring back surrogates. Although he understood what would happen to the unfortunate women, this was his fantasy, so he glossed over the unpleasantness. He thought only of the excitement and danger, fending for himself in a world of money and meat.

His reverie was interrupted as a lean shadow fell across the pages before him. Glancing up, Vendaril saw his father looking at him, his sunken eyes glimmering. “Son.” His voice was strong, despite his failing body. The medics couldn’t understand what ailed him, but then they were better at bringing new life into the caves, not preventing it from leaving. Nonetheless, his father walked tall, proud with the knowledge that he sired a pure-blooded son for the Ixora web.

“Son, it is time. Today you learn what you shall need when you set forth on the harvest. Come, your uncles await us at the Woven Gate. You will not require anything, other than your armor.” Vendaril leapt up, grabbing his black exoskeletal shell, struggling into it as his father waited patiently. The armor was a gift, given to him on his 11th birthday from the web, and he was still growing accustomed to its limiting rigidness and weight. Still, he reveled in the status that went with it. He was finally taking his place as a respected member of the community, training to play his part in furthering the Symenestra race. The fact that he was being taken out on this excursion was testament to that.

Once properly dressed, he followed his father out of the silk lined cocoon of stone they lived in, and scrambled along the lines of fabric strung out between stalactites. Even now, as he gazed upon the far off empty rooms carved into the rock ceiling he felt an eerie sensation, despite having lived and played among the empty abodes for the majority of his life. There was a certain majesty in the way they hung from the rough stone roof, and yet a strange sadness, although Vendaril could not explain why at this time.
When they arrived at the gate, they were greeted by a small group of Symenestra, all garbed in their dark protective carapaces. “Are you ready, young Ixora?” one of the men asked Vendaril. Nodding eagerly, he asked what they were going to do.

“We have been informed by one outside Kalinor that there is a woman travelling near our home who is suitable for surrogacy. Today, you will learn how to hunt men.” The group now proceeded to leap upon the large net and climb up and over it. The sensation of hunting with the pack – his first hunt! – ignited Vendaril’s imagination. His mind was full of armed guards falling to the might of the Symenestra hunting party, the beautiful woman being liberated from the oppressing life as one of her own to come and live in the nest with the other surrogates.

[Vendaril]

As the group left the cave, Vendaril caught his first sight of the world. The night air played with his silvery hair as he gazed over the lush grass that covered the rolling hills. To the east he saw the distant form of a mountain range, silhouetted against the stars. Oh, the stars! How they glimmered and shone as their light played over the whole landscape. He was awestruck as he absorbed the view, so much so that his feet seemed rooted to the spot. A couple of the others in the group exchanged small knowing smiles, as they remembered their first times outside the subterranean city.

The group made swift progress, running with long strides towards a winding road that lay several miles away. It was not long before Vendaril began to experience a burning in the side of his chest and a lack of breath. The pace gradually slowed to a brisk jog, and eventually they arrived at the road. Despite the pains from lack of true exercise, Vendaril had been so enthralled by the world they passed through – every new plant, every tiny mammal – that the journey seemed to have ended in no time at all. When they reached the road, his father crouched over a long line in the dirt. “A carriage has been here tonight. See the way it has yet to be disturbed, Ven? Also, you can see the prints from the draft horse that pulls it here. They are travelling light, for a cart of this size – the deeper the imprint, the heavier the quarry. Remember that Ven, you need to remember tonight forever.”

Vendaril was amazed by how his father could tell so much from such obscure markings. “Yes father,” he whispered in response. This was all so new to him, there was no way he would ever forget this. He wouldn’t allow himself.

“Come,” his father called to the others, who were catching their breath, and resting. “We must hurry if we are to catch them.” The group broke once again into a run, and now that Vendaril began to feel wearied and sore from the extended exercise – but he did not want to shame himself in front of the others, so he matched their pace despite the protest of his muscles. As they went on, the group became less jovial, focusing on the hunt - but it was not silent though. The buzzing of insects and calls of birds filled the air as they followed the winding road through the bright night. Ahead of him, Vendaril started to see a hazy glow. Mentioning this to his father, the elder Symenestra signaled for the group to slow to a standstill.

Crouching down on their haunches, the group exchanged whispered discussion, laying out the plan for the attack. The idea was to prevent any harm coming to the potential surrogate, but anyone with her was fair game. Eventually they settled on a course of action. Two of the more experienced hunters would strike from either side, killing the driver and horse pulling the vehicle. Then Vendaril, his father and two others would burst into the carriage, taking the woman and slaying anyone else. The thought of his first taste of action filled the young hunter with adrenaline.

The group was climbing to their feet again, when Vendaril thought of what had happened in his books when the heroes were preparing an ambush. He quietly queried, “Shouldn’t we cover ourselves in leaves or something? You know, like camouflage?” His father turned to him and gave him a stern but caring answer.
“Ven, a dumb beast may be taken in if you put a few twigs in your hair and think you to be a bush, but these are men. They are the noble prey, and must be treated as such. No man would be so foolish as to see a tree with eyes or a boulder with teeth and not have his suspicion aroused. No, we go as we stand, that is how it has always been.” Giving the child a pat on the back, the tall Symenestra turned and set off at a jog, the rest of the group following, other than those that had been selected for the advance party.

[Vendaril]

Gradually they gained on the coach, until it was mere paces away. It was a rough thing, poorly finished with peeling paint, and yet it fascinated Vendaril, who had never seen anything like it. The axels creaked and groaned as the aged wheels rolled over the various bumps and potholes, and ahead he could hear the thudding of hooves, and the occasional snort from the obscured horse. A yellow lantern hung from the side, spewing out an soft flickering light that was so unlike the luminescence of the opalgloams. Its presence contrasted brilliantly with the darkness of night, burning the youngster’s retinas and damaging his night-vision. “Don’t look at the lamp, Ven,” his father hissed to him.
The hunters strike was heralded by a horse’s scream, and the carriage staggered to a halt. No sound was heard from the driver. With a leap, Vendaril followed his father, clambering over the stranded wooden box, tearing through the now open door. A red mist descended as he charged inside, barely seeing anything. He glimpsed his father sinking his teeth into a man’s neck, heard a scream, this time from a woman. He saw the woman, sitting in a plain dress, but soon she was obscured by another from his web. What happened next, he wasn’t sure, but he soon realized they had taken the woman – there she was, held by two huffing Symenestra. A young man lay dead on the floor, and Vendaril’s father was yelling.

“One got away! Get them!” Eager to prove himself after failing to do much inside the cab, Vendaril flung himself out into the night again, and rushed through the thick bushes in the direction his father indicated. He was starting to understand the hunt. He looked ahead and saw where the brush had been broken as someone ran past, fleeing from the might of the harvest. There, he caught a flash of a footprint, set deep in some mus. In his mind he was playing out the scenario that was coming. He would break out of the scrub, finding the man on the ground, having twisted his ankle. He scrabbles franticly for his sheathed weapon as the hunter prodigy leaps upon his chest, pinning him to the ground. With a triumphant cry, he would sink his fangs into the fallen foes neck, feasting on man for the first time.

He was growing close, he could tell. As he was running, he could hear the sound of breaking branches, thudding footsteps. The haze was descending again, and as Vendaril tore out of the bracken into the clearing he had imagined, his enemy before him, but something was wrong.

His head clearing, Vendaril gazed at the girl as she wept in terror, sprawled on the ground, dress askew. She was young – younger that himself – and yet for all his murderous urges, he felt his bloodlust draining, he felt sick. He tried to choke out a few words as the child sobbed, and attempted to crawl away. He strode over to her and planted one foot on her spindly chest. His eyes were glazed over, and he was acting on pure instinct. His mind was frozen, seeing some of himself in the girl’s face. He imagined how she felt, having her family murdered and taken prisoner before her very eyes by fearsome hunters of the night. But he couldn’t let her go. His throat constricted. He couldn’t back down now that he had her. The shame would haunt him forever.

Sinking as if hypnotized, his face drew nearer to hers. She was silent, jaw quivering, eyes bulging, watching his fangs as they slid out of his mouth, growing longer and clearer with each passing second. When he was about to bite, she let out a piercing cry of terror, making him flinch. He was shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes were welling up. This isn’t how it was meant to be! he thought. I should have been fighting a worthy foe, besting him and earning my pride. This – this is wrong… Clenching his fists so his nails bit into the pale skin, he squeezed his eyes shut and plunged his teeth into the soft yielding flesh. A shudder ran through her body as he felt the venom seeping from his into her. A short gasp escaped her mouth, and then – nothing. Vendaril let her body sink to the ground. He couldn’t feed now, his appetite was gone and he wanted to vomit.

[Vendaril]

When he made his way back to the group, he was greeted by his father. The others had subdued the captive woman and were trussing her up to be carried back to Kalinor. “Did you get her?” The question sounded strange to Vendaril, an odd way to talk of someone’s passing. His face was blank as he looked to his father and answered.
“Yes. She’s dead. I got her.” A grin spread across his father’s face, and he ushered the others over to inform them of his son’s achievement. They all congratulated the young hunter, but their compliments fell on deaf ears. All he could hear was that last death-rattle gasp, he could feel her soft skin giving way beneath his fangs. His father noticed the strange look on his face, and proclaimed he must be tired. Gathering their captive, they left the derelict carriage for the next to use the road, heading for home at a brisk walk, no longer keeping their voices down. Leading the party, Vendaril walked besides his father. He wondered if these thoughts were not those of a Symenestra, that he was a peculiar specimen. He glanced at the woman they bore as a trophy, and saw the silent tears running down her face. He looked away, not wanting to think of what had happened. He thought of what a success the expedition was, how he had proved himself to the web as a capable hunter, but the lies failed to permeate the truth. He felt guilty for killing the girl, and now he felt guilty for feeling guilty. He considered talking to his father about this, but the satisfaction in a job well done was evident on the older Symenestra’s face, and Vendaril didn’t want to besmirch his opinion of his only son.

When they finally arrived back at Kalinor, dawn was just beginning to break. Even the beauty of the golden light spreading over the land failed to penetrate his almost comatose state of mind. He passed over the woven gate, through the fabric skyways lining the city, until his father and him had returned to their home. Without speaking, Vendaril created a mound of fabric in a corner and settled to sleep. His father followed suit a little way away. Alone with his thoughts, in silence, Vendaril went through the nights events again. The chase, the attack – and the aftermath. It all seemed so unreal now, as if it were not him who had taken the girls life, but some imposter. The undeniable truth lurked beneath this though, and Vendaril knew he was a changed person. A Symenestra hunter, he fell into a shallow sleep full of horses’ screams and little girls.

[Colombina]

The XP Wand Is Waved! Being a newish player to me, I didn't know what to expect from your writing. Some of my previous Syms have been less than stellar. However I am delighted and surprised by your talent! A good little story. I wish all the threads I read were this fun. Vendaril's Loot Lore of Kalinor construction Lore of the Harvest 2 XP Tracking 1 XP Hunting 1 XP Running Colombina is pleased!