The Huntress, Amelia thought as she traced her bow and string in the night sky with a cold, numb finger one star at a time. She sat with her back against one of the many black trees in the thinning forest. Their translucent white leaves seemed to glow a pale blue in the starlight. It was winter on this planet: it had been snowing for the past three nights out in the wilderness, but the stone-grey clouds finally parted when the sun went down.
The man Clyde would curse and yell at her to come back to camp, but the old guide was probably asleep by now, keeping his lovely wife warm who he had been married to for thirty years. Amelia was not totally unequipped anyway. The survival ax Clyde lent her swung on her hip.
"It's not just the biting cold, you young fool!" He had bellowed a few nights before, as she walked half an inch beyond the campfire's light. "The old art is still at work here," he growled, "things not even the emperor's scientists understand." Clyde's wife would then chastise him for his rudeness and offer her hot tea.
But the night was beautiful and clear on this planet of Lesser Valmio. The light pollution of the city she grew up in always fogged up the sky, leaving only a few bright white blazes to be seen even on a cloudless night; you'd have to go out into the fields to get a better view. But here, you could even see the grand wisps in the cosmos, speckled with stars, great and small, and dozens of constellations.
She knew most of them from her older brother, Jaxon. Though he suffered from a disease that seemed to make him age rapidly, both mentally and physically, he still knew every piece of the heavens and recited them to his little sister. The reason he did this, she suspected, was only to soothe her worries about his failing health. The memory of the smile she will never see again brought a tear to her eye.
Next to the Huntress was the Prince's White Hare. The creature was always behind her: the prized target she persued for an eternity. The legend went that if only she could catch the creature, she, even as a commoner, could finally marry the prince.
The star woman's arrow pointed ahead, but it only aimed at Carassius: The planet she called home. There are some nights where she wished The Huntress would loose her cosmic arrow. From her angel, it would strike that rotten Emperor down where he slept and ate in peace despite the terror below him. The rebellion would be over then, and no one else would have to die.
A rumor spread that the disease that killed her brother came from the Emperor's secret laboratories. This would not have surprised Amelia that much. That monster rose to power through lies, betrayals, and threats. It was due to such low cunning practices that brought her here.570Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBuBxA4fy4a
"Garland," she whispered to herself as if in prayer, "Oh, my Garland ... I'll find you, my love."
She warned him about the danger of spilling the secrets of one of the Emporer's men. More dirt on the emperor may convince more people to fight for the rebellion was his argument.
They were never safe after he went through with it.
City to city, coast to coast, even continent to continent, they ran until they could barely crawl. They were lucky if they got more than three hours of sleep. With there countless flights in the darkest hours of the morning, one would think they were running from the sun itself.
Leave me, he had said, struggling to keep his tears in, they only want me. I know some people. They can arrange something for you—
She squeezed him hard as if to stop him from finishing his absurd request. I will never leave you, she told him softly, never. She remembered the way he stroked her hair that night as she hugged him on the wet sidewalk under the flickering streetlight in the city Fran Paltio as passersby gave them odd looks.
One of them stared too long.
It wasn't until they reached the front desk of the hotel when a man with dark glasses, accompanied by three others, took Garland from the lobby.
He didn't fight. He just raised his empty hands and whispered, "It's going to be ok. You know what to do. I love you." To her.
She returned to her room silently, then began to rage and shout. She was angry at Garland for not even putting up a fight, but even more to herself for going along with it as well.
In her wrath, she tore up the card, of which held the names and contact information of those that would help her should they arrest Garland. No, she thought, I lost dad to that damn war, mom when her heart couldn't go on without him. She tossed the shreds out the window. I lost Jaxon to that disease ...
As she watched the shreds float down like snowflakes to the awning above the hotel's entrance, she thought she saw them make The Huntress's shape for a moment, before a gust of wind sent them away down the street.
One memory bore another memory.
It's alright, Amelia, don't cry for me, Jaxon had said as he lay dying. The old, sad memory rushed in unbidden.
When she reminded him of the promise they made to travel amongst the stars when she got older, he told her that sometimes things happen out of their control. "We all have great plans for the future," he told her, "but remember, nothing is promised and we may never get to see those plans in action, so enjoy the time while you have it. Be sure to look back and laugh, too. Some of us are like The Huntress. She never caught the hare, but her dreams of the prince and the thrill of the hunt kept her going, right?"
She never understood what he meant. She hated that kind of talk; this acceptance to defeat, death, and darkness. It didn't help that her sign was that of The Huntress herself: born on the twenty-first day of the first month.
If she was The Huntress than her hunt was torment; the good things in her life were always out of reach, if not torn from her hands. Even Jaxon knew the legend, and how it was all a cruel joke set up by a wood's witch, annoyed by the huntress's frequent trespassing on the parts of the forest she claimed as hers. The hare was an illusion that would only reveal itself at the corners of her vision, only to hop behind her, as quick as lightning.
Got you. She raised a hand wrapped her fingers around Hare in the sky, pretending to accomplish what the Huntress had failed.
Garland is here, I can feel him. After the storming of the prison, many of those locked up escaped, including Garland. Some rebels had set up plans for the escapees. Amelia gathered that this very rock she lay on, its snow and its harsh cold that made her body numb, was the same Garland lived as well. It took her three years of research and questioning to find all this out.
That refugee's village can't be far now, tomorrow we'll—
The shifting of branches and crunch of snow sprung her up to stand on cold and sore legs.
"Hello? Who's there?" she called out. But no one answered. A shape appeared, peeking from behind a black trunk. By the size of it, and now realizing the figure as a human, it looked like a boy of six years.
"Oh, you poor thing!" she said to him.
He definitely was not dressed for this weather, especially at night: a white t-shirt, brown jeans, and a baseball cap.
"Come," she called to him as she walked closer, "let's get you warm."
The child did not say anything back, keeping a cold, dead stare on her.
"Don't be shy, I'm not going to hurt—"
The boy stepped out from behind the tree and said something in a bizarre language she did not understand. It was more than mere words: the noise seemed to echo within her skull, difficult to differentiate it from what was thought and what was heard.
As she covered her ears, she saw more people emerge from the white leaves and flowers, all speaking in the same tongue. Their eyes, and now, even the child's, glowed a fierce yellow. They shot their arms out, their desire to take hold of her clear.
The old art is still at work here, the old man had said.
If she did not move soon, she knew, they would surround her. She chose to run passed the boy, but she did not anticipate his bizarre strength. Quick as a snake, the child swung on arm out to grab her. His fingers gripped her by the wrist and she slipped back.
The child's grip was like iron and cold as ice. The people of the woods would be on her soon. Amelia cried and begged for release, but they were like machines. Some of them, Amelia noted, were dressed like imperial soldiers and some wore the rebel's badge on their breast. But they all marched forward, as fiery-eyed allies, to obey some darker duty.
Amelia took her ax out as a woman, dressed like a nurse, lept at her.
"STAY BACK!" Amelia shrieked as she spun and cleaved the woman from temple to temple.
The woman's face shattered like ice and stinging cold water splashed onto her eyes. Water? The faceless nurse stumbled back and her torso shattered on a rock.
She began to hack at the boy's wrist, hoping he was of the same substance. After separating hand from arm, the fingers melted quickly from her wrist. She bolted through the trees towards the camp to warn the guide.
"Clyde!" she shouted, "wake up! They are coming! Clyde!"
They were awake to be sure: their junky crawler sped away on it's creaky, rusted legs.
"Clyde, stop, the girl has returned! Stop the crawler," Clyde's wife bellowed as she shook her husband.
"I will not risk your life for her," Clyde said coldly. To Amelia, he shouted back, "I warned you. Didn't I warn you?!"
He's not stopping, she realized. The crawler's legs picked up their pace and they were gone.
She stood her ground as the strangers grew closer and in number. She scrambled her fingers on the ground and found a stone the size of her fist. She chucked it and killed one after it smashed through its glassy cranium.
She stepped back and her foot caught a root, sending her to land on her back. The press grew thick and they quickly came into arms reach, taking advantage of her fall.
A man in a frosty business suit grabbed one leg, and a butcher with an old apron spattered with frozen blood grabbed the other. A woman in rebel clothing ripped the ax from her hand and pulled Amelia by her wrist while an old man took her other arm.
They dragged her through the snow, mumbling their strange language. The cacophony made her sleepy: comfortable by no means, but rather strength-robbing as if a powerful sedative ran rampant through her system.
I was so close, Amelia thought as tears warmed her cheeks, you were locked away for seven years and my heart lept for joy when I heard of your escape. I traveled to this chunk of ice just to see you again. My Hare...
Garland... she thought as her eyelids became heavier and heavier.
Above, she saw a shooting star swipe across the sky, striking through the Hare.
At that instant, a man shouted some kind of order within the coal-dark woods.
A spew of blue flame ravaged a large group of the strangers, who's chants turned to high-pitched bestial cries of madness as they were consumed.
A bolt of white energy buried itself into the butcher's heart. He dropped Amelia's arm to grip it, but before he could reach it, the shaft exploded and his torso with it.
What sort of trick is this? She thought as her strength returned to her, And who's saving me?
The other three holding her hissed at their attackers, released her limbs, and charged into the action. She rolled over on her stomach and looked to the battle ahead of her.
Dozen's of white-bolts flew and blue flames danced as the number of golden-eyed brutes decreased. A gloved hand reached down to help her up.
"You okay?" A woman, who wielded a trident whose bright prongs licked each other with red electrical energy, asked.
Amelia took her hand. A strong grip she had as well, though it was human this time.
"Thank you," Amelia said weakly, "you saved me."
"Don't worry about it," she said as a man far off yelled, "All clear!"
"Are you from the village of Stan Star?" Amelia asked, hoping Garland was with them, "we were camped, and that's where we were headed."
"We?" the woman asked with concern.
"My guide and his wife, they made off in a crawler." A look of worry came on her face. She felt no ill will against Clyde. If they did stop for her, that would surely have put them in danger for her carelessness.
"We'll send a team to search and check on them," she said after seeing the worry in her face.
They helped her into the cab of a large, military-grade vehicle, its tread making deep lines in the snow. Covered with blankets, she warmed her numb fingers with hot air blowing noisily from a vent. The woman with the trident, who told her her name was Mally, offered her a piece of dried salted beef.
"So," Mally began, "what brings you out into the Ice Witch's Woods?"
That explains a lot, thought Amelia after hearing the name of the place, or maybe it doesn't. The old art ... thought it was nothing but fairytales.
"Well, honestly, I was looking from someone."
"In Star Stan?"
"Yes, someone I love, and I've been far from too long."
"How sweet," Mally said, "where you from?"
"Dillinger. A little city on the east coast of Carnavalia." Amelia flexed her fingers, feeling the blood flow back in them.
"You're from Carassius?" said Mally, taken aback, "You flew here?"
"Yes. It was a long and expensive ride, but I made it. I tell you, I thought the ride would be the worst part of this trip." She said with a giggle as she rubbed her wrist.
After Amelia told her about herself, it was Mally's turn. Her and the force she rode with was one that sided with the rebellion. There were bases and plenty of villages like Stan Star; they were places for refugees and a sanctuary for civilian enemies of the Empire.
"I can't wait to see it!" Amelia said after hearing about the beauty of Stan Star, "I'm glad Garland gas been kept safe in such a wonderful place."
At the mention of the name, Mally shifted uncomfortably on her bench.
"This Garland," she asked awkwardly, "this wouldn't happen to be your lost lover would it?"
"Yes, actually" Amelia answered, catching on to Mally's discomfort, "he is. Do you know him?"
"So you're that Amelia," she whispered to herself, looking away.
"Mally, are you alright?" asked, Amelia as she leaned over trying to meet her eyes.
Mally's head whipped back at her, smiling sadly.
"I ... Yes I know him," she said bristling, "and I believe I love him, too."
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