The Legend of the Hunter
Zanderon

“All right, Arrows. At your best behaviour and on Level 1 alert,” Hojuthlin instructed the Elves. Juathlin strode at the front of the line towards a small welcoming party waiting for them at the top of the road. He could clearly discern the Elves from Ghoshal gathered with the Head Weaver and his Threads, elected members of the village who comprised the village council.

Zidayt looked for Zenia and saw her standing off to the side next to her mother. She smiled at Zabida, her daughter, and wiggled her fingers at Zenia, who giggled and returned the finger gesture. She called Zenia over and handed her the basket with mushrooms and onions.

“We will make some delicious soup later, all right?” she informed the girl and sent her back to her mother. The company reached the welcoming party and Zidayt took her place next to the other council members. Zando stepped forward to greet the company of Elves.

“Welcome, Commander. It is indeed an auspicious day for the Weavers to have not one but two companies of Elves gracing our village. We will have a wonderful feast tonight in your honour,” he said as the Elves bowed to each other and the Village Council members. The Commander of the Ghoshal Elven League and the two female Elves with him hurried over to Juathlin’s company and the Elves embraced with affection and kinship.

“Kloneithlin! Am I glad to see you here,” Juathlin told the Ghoshal Commander and both Elves hugged each other once again. “And you brought your beautiful daughters with you, too. This is indeed a rare treat,” he added as the Elf women stood smiling at him.

“Um, I take it the two of you are still unspoken for?” Marethlin said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Too right you are,” one of the women said, while the other added, “And we do not intend to give up our independence just yet, especially not to a rascal like you!” The other Elves laughed quietly in their Elven way at the barb thrown at Marethlin. Typically, the twin just smiled broader and grabbed both women in a fierce bear hug. Although they protested loudly, they didn’t resist him too much either.

“Sweet Shuarlin and feisty Fahmerelin, what would life be like without the two of you?” he asked jokingly.

“A lot duller, for sure,” Qarethlin quipped and also hugged the two women.

“Do not think because you have dimples, you will dimple my heart,” Fahmerelin threw her comment over her shoulder at Marethlin, who still had his arm around Shuarlin’s waist.

“Will I not?” the Elf asked teasingly.

“Incorrigible!” Shuarlin laughed and pushed Marethlin good-naturedly away from her.

The four Elves laughed heartily and followed Zando, who was taking the rest of the party to his cabin. As they all entered, the gathered Weavers dispersed to prepare the night’s feast. Zidayt was surprised to find Zenia clinging to her skirt, but she didn’t send the little girl away.

After Zareesha, Zando’s wife, had served some refreshments, the talk turned serious. Kloneithlin wanted to know why Juathlin had two Silent Ones as captives, while Juathlin wished to know if there had been any word from Lathlin. The Silent Ones had been taken away by some Weavers and tied up securely in a barn.

Juathlin explained the presence of the Silent Ones, and none of the Elves took the news well.

“So, Ragar the Brute thinks he can abduct one of our brethren with impunity? Has he truly grown this audacious?” Fahmerelin asked in obvious agitation.

“I suppose we have only ourselves to blame,” Borethlin unexpectedly said. “After all, we have become far too complacent over the last few years, allowing the Thugs to spread all over the continent of Wrochcia, and even neglecting to keep the Silent Ones in check,” he added.

“And do not let us forget about the Hollow People,” Rusthlin said with a shake of his head. “They are an utter blemish on the land, yet nobody has ever thought to mete out some justice to them.”

At the mention of the Hollow People, Zidayt swooned slightly and had to steady herself against a table. Qarethlin was quick to note the Weaver woman’s reaction and went to her side.

“What is it?” she asked kindly. “You have gone pale and you can barely stand. Please, have a seat,” she said and made Zidayt sit on a bench in a window alcove.

“Zidayt,” Zando said in a voice filled with compassion and sorrow, “could you stand to relate to our guests what happened to your mate? If it is too much for you, I will gladly offer to tell them, with your permission,” he ended. He held both her hands in his and pressed them gently to show his support. Unbidden tears filled Zidayt’s eyes, but she shook her head and said, “Thank you, Zando. You’re very kind, but the telling of this tale should be my burden.”

All the Elves had grim looks on their faces as they listened to Zidayt’s tale of woe.

“It was about three months ago that my mate and I went to the Naddi River, which serves as a natural barrier between our lands and the Forsaken Forest. We knew of a safe area where Zaherain loved to fish for trout, and we had never come across any of the Hollow People there. I accompanied Zaherain because I wanted to gather some wild strawberries that grow abundantly near the fishing spot.

“As soon as I had helped Zaherain set out his fishing gear and tackle, I went off into the woods to gather what I needed. I think I must have been gone for only about 15 minutes when I heard a loud commotion coming from the direction of where Zaherain was.”

Zidayt paused for a grateful sip of mango juice, which Zareesha kindly offered her, and wiped away tears she was surprised to find on her cheeks. Juathlin was quietly impressed by the Weaver woman. Although her tears had been flowing throughout her account, her voice had never wavered. He both admired her resolve and empathised with her. After Zidayt had taken a few more minutes to compose herself, she cleared her throat and continued.

Zenia had crawled into her grandmother’s lap, and her presence lent the woman the extra strength necessary for the telling of the worst part of her tale. Zidayt’s insides clenched agonizingly, but she steeled herself and pressed on.

“I had just filled my hands with strawberries when I heard a shout of what sounded like pain. My heart stopped because I had recognised my Zaherain’s voice, and I raced mindlessly towards him. At the very last moment, my instinct for self-preservation suddenly kicked in. Never having been a stupid woman, I reasoned that caution would be more preferable to recklessness, thus I slowed down and peered carefully through the bushes. My blood turned to ice when I saw five Hollow People tying up Zaherain, who was sprawled out on the ground.

“By some miracle or fate, he saw me and silently mouthed a ‘No’ at me. My heart was breaking and every fibre of my being wanted to rush to his aid, but I knew that would serve no purpose. And Zaherain knew it, too. His eyes held mine as the soulless brutes lifted him up and carried him back to the other side of the river. He didn’t break eye contact until the forest obscured him from me.

“He had once told me he would die for me, and those words rang like painful bells in my head as I watched him being carried off to certain torture and death. I cursed myself for being a coward and faithless mate, but I just couldn’t make myself move to follow the Hollow People. Instead, I fainted and when I regained consciousness after a while, I somehow made my way back to the village. I can’t recall a single moment though of that trip back.”

What the Weaver woman didn’t share with her audience was that in her anguish, she had squashed all the strawberries, making it seem that her hands were bleeding. She had since then been unable to look at or even eat a strawberry. The mere thought of one nauseated her.

Into the absolute silence that descended upon those assembled, Borethlin voiced what everyone felt.

“The Hollow People must be dealt with decisively, and permanently. They need to be pulled up by their very roots and eliminated like an insidious disease,” he declared.

Suddenly, everyone started to speak at once, as if his comment had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Only Juathlin and Kloneithlin maintained their silence, locking gazes that spoke much over the heads of those speaking over each other. They both seemed to reach a tacit understanding, but Kloneithlin was the one who called for silence.

“Zidayt,” he said, “we thank you for your tale, and we honour you for the strength it took to speak of your loss. You are far from a coward; you are indeed an exceptional woman whom we are proud to be acquainted with,” he ended, his words causing a lump to rise in Zidayt’s throat.

“There is still the matter of Lathlin, and what has happened to him,” he continued, addressing everyone in the room. “The last we heard, he was in the Forsaken Forest and was about to be taken back to Ragar the Brute by the Hunter, Belac. We have not had any further word from him or about his whereabouts,” he stated.

“That is a pity,” said Hojuthlin, “for when we set out from Habelaterna, we had planned to go to Queleuq to ensure his release from Ragar. But if we do not know that he is there for sure, we might be on a wild goose chase.”

“Is there any way we could discover his whereabouts?” Shuarlin asked.

Zidayt was distracted by Zenia tugging on her skirt to get her attention, but she ignored the child, as she was intently following the conversation.

“Zidoo, Zidoo!” the child whispered urgently.

Gavurothlin answered Shuarlin. “We sent word to all the outposts on the Queleuq route to watch out for Lathlin, or to listen for any word from him, but none of the messenger birds has been dispatched with any recent news.”

“If only we had some way to communicate directly with Lathlin,” Marethlin said, punching a scatter pillow in frustration.

“Zidoo!” Zenia called louder, and this time her grandmother responded.

“Zen-Zen, the adults are talking. Why don’t you go play outside, dove?” she absently told the child and turned her attention back to the conversation. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“But Zidoo, I know where he is,” Zenia said in a whining voice. Seeing that her grandmother wasn’t listening to her, the little girl got up and made to leave the cabin.

“Wait a minute, child,” Kloneithlin suddenly said. Everyone stopped talking and turned to him as he went over to Zenia.

“What did you say just now, little one?” he gently asked the suddenly shy girl, hunching down to reach her eye level. Zenia froze when she saw everyone in the room looking at her.

“Please excuse my grand-daughter, Commander,” Zidayt apologised, going to Zenia and picking her up to dispel her distress. “She didn’t mean to interrupt the discussion.”

“No, Zidayt. There is no need to apologise, trust me. This is not a case where a child must be seen and not heard. On the contrary, I believe she has something of absolute importance to tell us, and heard she shall be,” Kloneithlin said in a calm but firm tone.

He smiled beautifully at Zenia, making the naturally ebullient child return his smile, and said, “Zenia, would you mind repeating the last thing you said to your grandmother before you were about to leave the room?”

“You mean the part about me knowing where he is?” Zenia said sweetly, completely unaware of the effect her innocent statement would have on the gathered folk. It electrified all of them.

“That is exactly the part, yes,” Kloneithlin confirmed, straining hard to maintain his composure while his pulse was racing out of control. “Who is the ‘he’ you are talking about, Zenia?” he asked. Everybody held their breath in agonising anticipation.

“The blind Elf, of course,” Zenia said simply. “Lathlin. I can sense where he is, like I can sense where my grandfather is, too,” she added, her off-hand remark about Zaherain striking Zidayt like a thunderous bolt of lightning.

“Sweet spirits. A Ripple. She is a Ripple,” Rusthlin said in dumbstruck awe.

Far beyond the Gillipo Marshes, deep within the towering Warlock’s Woe mountain range nearly at the edge of the continent, a Beast stirred restlessly for the first time in nearly five centuries. The Drakheen had been in a comatose state within the bosom of the largest and highest mountain, buried under immeasurable tons of stone. He lay curled up in a pitch black cave, his large leathery wings cloaking him like a brown shroud and keeping him warm. The Beast moved slightly once again, emitting a few annoyed grunts and groans at being disturbed. He was loath to come to his full senses, but the intrusion persisted. He had heard the word “Ripple” – and had felt the girl’s faraway presence. But he yearned to be undisturbed still. Drawing the cloak of sleep firmly upon himself again, the Drakheen slumbered on.

“A Ripple,” Rusthlin explained, “is a very gifted person. One has not been around for nearly a century, so this girl being one is absolutely unprecedented. But it is a matter of grave concern, too, for there is a legend attached to Ripples, one that speaks of a Beast created by the Elf Warlock Azlotlin to counter a Ripple’s power in retribution for being spurned by the most powerful Ripple ever to live: Zaasisha.”

The Weavers and Elves were seated around an oval table under the stars, enjoying the delicious food and warmth of the various bonfires. The village was out in full and everyone was in high spirits.

After Zenia’s profound revelation, those who had been gathered in Zando’s cabin had sprung into a flurry of activity. Zenia was whisked away by Juathlin, Kloneithlin and Zidayt to the Weaver woman’s house, while the rest of the Council and Elves continued to discuss the situation. All of them had now gathered again to make sense of what they had heard.

“Yes, we know a little about this legend and that a Ripple is gifted, but what is their gift exactly?” Zareesha asked in understandable perplexity. Zando nodded his head, as he also wanted an answer, while Zidayt sat with Zenia in her lap. The woman looked as if she had gone into shock.

Gavurothlin picked up the explanation. “Ripples have the ability to sense where others they know are at any given time by connecting with their minds. Only the most powerful Ripples though could sense others at great distances, sometimes from impossibly far away.”

“And they can form a connection with strangers if someone they know is with that person they have not met themselves,” Borethlin added, “as in the case of Zenia knowing where Lathlin is.”

“Because Zidayt’s husband must be at the same place where Lathlin is,” Shuarlin said before her sister interrupted her.

“And because Zenia knows Zaherain, she could make a connection with Lathlin’s mind,” Fahmerelin ended.

“But that has brought something else to light,” Gavurothlin said, and paused.

“Again with the dramatic pause?” Marethlin asked in mock disbelief. “What is it with you and your building of suspense?”

Marethlin’s comment lightened the mood and was exactly what everyone had needed to dispel the thick tension that had been building since Zenia’s stunning announcement.

Qarethlin playfully punched her brother in the shoulder while Zareesha refilled everyone’s cups with apple cider. Into this happy release of tension, Zidayt spoke, her voice alight with hope and disbelief.

“He means that my mate is still alive, as incredible as that may seem. For if he wasn’t alive, Zenia couldn’t have sensed Lathlin.”

“Exactly!” Gavurothlin beamed with delight. “And we can now discover precisely where he is and rescue or retrieve him, whichever is needed.”

“So let us get to finding out already!” Marethlin said and went over to Zenia, who was still sitting in Zidayt’s lap.

The little girl was excited by all the attention she was getting, and she adored the fact that the Elves seemed to be especially fascinated by her. When the handsome Elf with the deep dimples approached her, she giggled in delight. He was definitely her favourite.

“So, clever girl,” Marethlin began, “can you be a sweetheart and tell us where our friend is? Could you tell us exactly where we can find Lathlin, pretty one?” he asked her and playfully pinched her cheek.

Zenia jumped down from Zidayt’s lap to stand in front of Marethlin, who took a step back so as not to intimidate the child.To his surprise, Zenia took his hand and smiled up at him.

“Yes, sir. I know where Lathlin and Zaherain are, but I’m afraid to say the name of that awful place,” she explained. Her smile disappeared and her eyes grew dark with fear. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Marethlin scooped Zenia up in his arms and held her to him. He was slightly unnerved to find that she was trembling uncontrollably.

“It is all right, Zenia,” Qarethlin said. She had come over to her brother and was tenderly stroking the child’s head. “Nothing can harm you while you are with any of us. You know you are safe here, so tell us where we can find Lathlin, please,” she encouraged the girl.

Zidayt patted Zenia’s back and the girl finally calmed down. What she said next confirmed what everyone had already suspected.

“He’s … they are … with the Soulless Ones: The Hollow People. They are at that place they call the Shrine.”

Before anyone could respond though, one of the Weavers called out loudly for Zando. It was one of the three Weavers who had been tasked with the guarding of the Silent Ones.

“Zando!” the man shouted again as he reached the gathered group. “The prisoners have escaped, and they’ve killed Zanod and Zingora. Slit both their throats and took off!”

“Why are you unharmed?” Borethlin, ever the suspicious one, asked the man bluntly.

The man was apparently too traumatised to take offence, for he only replied, “I had gone to relieve myself, but I was gone for only a few minutes, I swear by the Spirits!”

“Curse them!” Hojuthlin spat. “I should have killed them both long ago,” he exclaimed in fury.

“Did they harm anyone else, Zounith?” Zando asked the Weaver.

“No, fortunately not, but they are probably well on their way to the marshes by now,” Zounith admitted.

“We have no time to waste on them,” Juathlin said, “but perhaps we could deal with them and mount a rescue for Lathlin and Zaherain,” he added.

Kloneithlin was quick to ask, “What do you have in mind, cousin?”

“Would you take your daughters and three of my team to try and recapture the Silent Ones, while I will take the rest of the Quiver 7 team and go to the Shrine?”

“Of course,” Kloneithlin replied instantly. “Shuarlin and Fahmerelin will go to Ghoshal and Hulya to send messenger birds to all the outposts. We need to let the rest of the League know that Lathlin has been located,” he concluded.

“I agree,” Rusthlin said, then added, “I will go with Kloneithlin,” a second before Hojuthlin also volunteered to accompany the Ghoshal Elf Commander.

“I am going with them, too,” Marethlin said. “I still want to get one of those Silent Ones to utter a word or two,” he declared while Qarethlin shook her head at him.

“Incorrigible!” Fahmerelin and Shuarlin said in unison.

“We will decide after Lathan’s rescue how we will deal with the Hollow People in the long run,” Juathlin declared. “For now, let us not waste a single moment more!” Juathlin commanded.

Everyone leaped into action like a well trained platoon. Each knew time was of the essence, and all of them fervently hoped they would not be too late.

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