The Hunt: Sacrifice – Book 1

Chapter 1

Dakken rushed along the dirt road to the fishing village as soon as he heard. The quarantine was set and a barrier surrounded Pyke’s Cove to keep the disease from spreading. Only those who were members of the Hunt and immune to the illness were allowed through the barrier. Dakken was one of the lucky ones.

Occasional sickness sometimes occurred on Jaecar Island, but a rash of disease had never been heard of during Dakken’s lifetime. He wanted to see for himself that the protection from the regular offering of essence had failed. The whole point to the Hunt was to gather essence to stop this exact thing from happening. What had gone wrong?

Children’s cries could be heard through the open windows of many of the small homes that lined the main village thoroughfare. Dakken paused at the weathered wooden gate of one of the houses. A man stood on the rickety porch, face covered in a violent rash, begging him to help his daughter.

She’s dying and we don’t know how to help her, cried the man. Dakken opened the gate and joined the man on the porch. He rushed Dakken through the door.

A child lay on a bed in the main room of the house. Her pale features were scarred by oozing lesions. A tired woman sat by her side trying to spoon broth into the little girl’s mouth. It only made her cough. The woman held a bloodstained cloth in her hand which she used to wipe away spittle from the child’s chin when the fit of coughing subsided.

Dakken covered his mouth with his hand to ward off the smell of illness in the room and shook his head. Healing the child was out of his control. He dropped a few coins in the man’s hand and hurried out of the house.

Continuing on to the marketplace, Dakken hoped to see that the reports of illness were exaggerated, but even those who were well enough to manage their stalls had sores or rashes on their hands and faces. The few people who appeared somewhat healthy looked haggard from caring for the ill. It was an epidemic. Dakken was thankful that it had been caught in time to contain in Pyke’s Cove.

As he left the village, Otrid, an initiate of the Hunt, called to him from a window.

Dakken Argus, you are one of the recruiters. I know you carry a vial of essence. You can use it to help them. She pointed to a boy and girl whose bodies were thrashing on their beds in what seemed to be a fevered state.

I can’t do it. It’s not allowed, he replied.

But they are going to die, was her plea.

I’m sorry, but you will have to take it up with the Field Master.

Tears coursed down Otrid’s face as she said, I’ve already tried to talk to him, but he says that we have to wait until the Hunt. That is still a week away. You have the power to heal them now. Why won’t you do it?

Dakken hung his head and walked away, shaken by the encounter. Otrid was right. He carried the healing power of essence in a tiny vial in his pocket. But to give a child a drop of pure essence was unethical and against all the regulations of the Hunt. The addictive properties of the liquid would overpower the children, leaving them hungry for more. He was certain that Field Master was aware of this and had no intentions of creating a village of addicts. Dakken left Pyke’s Cove determined to speak to Lord Edgling, the Secretary of the Field. Maybe he could find a solution in one of his books.

Dakken found the man in his office at the cathedral in discussion with Lord Frayke, the Field Master. He started to back away from the office door, reluctant to interrupt, but they saw him and called him in.

Argus, you are just what we need, said Lord Frayke. We think we have found a solution.

Have you found a remedy to this disease?

Short of dosing everyone in Pyke’s Cove with pure essence, no, replied Lord Edgling. But we have a strain of essence that should hold off the symptoms until the Hunt. We believe that enough essence will be released into the air during the Hunt to heal everyone and renew the protections.

How can I help? asked Dakken.

You are going to dose the water supply with this. Lord Edgling held up a flask filled with an opalescent liquid. A ray of sunlight from a high window touched the glass, making it appear to glow. Dakken thought he knew what this was.

You don’t mean to waste the Sacred Waters of Life by pouring it into the village well? asked Dakken.

If it saves lives then it is not a waste, insisted Lord Edgling.

Dakken thought of the sick children he had seen and nodded in acceptance. He reached for the flask, but Lord Edgling held it just out of reach as if reluctant to relinquish it.

You must take care with this essence, he said. It was gifted to us many years ago and is the last of the supply.

Dakken let the weight of those words sink in. He had no desire to watch children die, but if the supply of the Sacred Waters of Life was gone, then the rest of the island would be at risk. Its protective properties were essential to the well-being of the residents of Jaecar Island.

We must hope an appropriate offering will be collected during the Hunt next week, said Lord Frayke. I intend on instructing the hunters to take their time stalking their prey to enhance the strength of the essence.

It was cruel, but Dakken could see the necessity. He would do his best to help. He reached again for the flask, and this time the Secretary of the Field surrendered it into his hands.

It had to be done after dark. The streets were empty as Dakken entered Pyke’s Cove. The boats at the docks looked abandoned, giving an eerie feeling to the night. He hurried along, directing his feet towards the well at the center of the market square. Once there, he looked around to make sure that he was alone and then pulled the flask from a deep pocket inside his coat.

Dakken, reluctant to let such valuable essence go to waste, removed the cork from the flask and held it under his nose. A delicious, enticing scent rose from the carafe, tempting him to drink.

Just one drop, he thought. They will never notice the difference. He lifted the flask to his lips and was about to take a sip, when he thought he heard a noise. Looking around he could see nothing in the dark shadows of the quiet buildings. The interruption reminded him of his duty. Willing himself to ignore his desire to drink the precious liquid, Dakken returned to the task and began to pour.

The stream of essence let off a soft glow as it flowed from the carafe into the depths of the well. It had to be done slowly to allow the power to dissipate into the water. Staring down, Dakken could see the effects already. The essence slowly spread through the well until sparkles could be seen rising to the surface.

Dakken continued to pour until only a few drops remained in the container. Too tempted to resist, he drank the remaining essence, savoring its sweet taste as he rolled it over his tongue. He felt the change instantly. Enhanced senses felt every minute movement of air; smelled every nuance of fresh essence as it clashed with the putrid scent of disease; heard every whisper of sound…

Someone was watching. Turning quickly around, Dakken’s eyes locked on Otrid standing in the shadows holding a bucket. Her horrified expression grew to one of anger as she approached.

How dare you misuse essence, she accused pointing at the empty flask.

Tell me what you think you saw, replied Dakken.

You held the power to heal these people in your hands and selfishly chose to drink it yourself – and in the very midst of those who are suffering. Tears ran down Otrid’s face as she spoke. I didn’t fully believe the reputation of the Argus family for cruelty until now. My friends’ children are about to die and you stand here making a mockery of their pain.

Listen, Otrid. It isn’t what you think. I talked to Lord Edgling. There is a plan to save this village. No one is going to die.

I will believe it when I see it, said Otrid. In the meantime, step aside. I need fresh water for the children.

He was about to tell Otrid that he had just doused the well with essence, but the sting of her anger stole away his words. She would discover for herself that the water had healing powers when the children’s symptoms eased at its touch.

Stepping away from the well, he avoided Otrid’s glare and tucked the empty flask back in his pocket. In spite of the young woman’s opinion, Dakken cared for the people of Pyke’s Cove, but he also cared equally for the well-being of the rest of the people on Jaecar Island. As he walked away, his thoughts turned to the upcoming Hunt and the hope that the essence gathered would be enough to stave off another epidemic.

Chapter 2

Noise coming from what he assumed were abandoned hunting barracks, attracted Brandt’s curiosity. He left his snares beside the base of a nearby tree and slowly approached the series of buildings, making sure he stayed low enough to avoid discovery. There was no real need to stay out of sight, but Brandt needed the practice if he was going to improve his hunting skills. Maybe if he proved that he could move silently through the woods, he would be allowed to join his brother in the annual Jaecar Island Hunt.

The foliage, thick enough to mask Brandt’s movements but not so dense as to cause him much difficulty, was just beginning to change to its autumn colors. To Brandt, the weeks leading up to the Hunt were always the most beautiful of the year. He loved the sweet scent of ripening wildberries, the vivid colors of the forest, and the industrious activity of the islanders as they completed the harvest and prepared for the Hunt.

The temperature rose a few degrees as Brandt followed the noise. He crept from under the shade of the forest canopy into the clearing that housed the old barracks.

The noise turned out to be shouting. It appeared as though someone was being held against his will in one of the buildings. Another voice rose. It was a woman. Brandt could hear the pair arguing but couldn’t make out the words. They spoke with an odd accent. Brandt hesitated. He didn’t want to get in the middle of a lover’s quarrel. The argument stopped suddenly with the sound of a slap. The woman cried for help. Brandt began to stand, intent on going to the aid of the woman, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him from rising. It was his brother, Dakken.

Dakken put his finger to his lips, and motioned for Brandt to follow him back into the forest. Reluctant to leave the continuing cries for help, Brandt stayed in place until he saw Lord Frayke, the Field Master, enter the building. The screams stopped.

Brandt turned and crept silently back to his snares before questioning Dakken.

What was that all about? Who is that in the old hunting barracks? he asked.

Dakken looked around, checking to see that they were alone before responding. It must be the pair of dirty mainlanders who were caught landing their boat in Pyke’s Cove. Lord Edgling said they are responsible for spreading the epidemic.

Brandt shuddered. Because the village was under quarantine, he hadn’t seen any of the victims, but he had heard about their oozing lesions and debilitating fevers. That the disease had come from the mainland wasn’t surprising. Most islanders were of the long-held opinion that those from the mainland were disease-ridden outcasts who were unworthy of their notice. The fact that many of the manufactured goods enjoyed by the citizens of Jaecar Island came from the mainland was generally ignored.

What’s going to happen to them? asked Brandt.

They will pay for their crimes during the Hunt, Dakken replied.

Brandt waited for his brother to explain further, but Dakken remained silent. After sending another glance back into the clearing, Brandt gathered his snares and followed Dakken back home to Rilling.

Marguerite, their mother, wasn’t home. Brandt breathed a sigh of relief as he put away his snares. His mother always mocked him when she discovered he had been hunting. As an adept of the Hunt, Marguerite constantly flaunted her superiority, making Brandt feel as though he would never live up to her expectations. She was worse at this time of year.

A shuffle of feet on the porch stairs made Brandt hurry to get the kettle on. His mother was arriving home. Dakken glanced at Marguerite’s inebriated movements as she entered the house. He gave Brandt an apologetic shoulder shrug and quickly made his exit out the kitchen door. The brothers had a tacit agreement about their mother. Brandt was better at dealing with her in the house, and Dakken did his best to keep her questionable activities out of the eye of the local gossips.

Brandt, my favorite son. Where is that ne’er-do-well of a brother of yours? He has something that I need and he keeps trying to avoid me, said Marguerite. She rummaged around the kitchen as if she would find him hiding behind a chair or in one of the cupboards.

You just missed him. He left a few minutes ago, said Brandt. Would you like a drink?

A drink is what I need from your brother, said Marguerite. She continued to rummage through the cupboards. A few spices fell from a shelf as she shoved them out of her way.

Ahh, she said as she picked up a tiny faceted vial. It was filled with a pale yellow liquid. A soft glow surrounded the glass as the fluid shifted.

There was something about that vial that caught Brandt’s attention. His eyes locked on the little bottle, following its movements in his mother’s hands. When she noticed that he was watching, she swore violently, and closed her fingers around it until it was out of sight. Brandt blinked with surprise.

The kettle began to whistle. Brandt poured hot water into two cups and then added the herbs that Marguerite favored in her tea. He placed the cups on the table. Marguerite sat down heavily.

Where are the sugar and cream? she demanded.

She never took sugar and cream with her tea, but Brandt jumped up to retrieve them from the counter. He was back at the table quick enough to see his mother pour a drop of the yellow liquid into the tea. She shoved the vial into her pocket, looking up to see if Brandt was watching. He pretended not to see. There was something about her surreptitious movements that stopped Brandt’s questions.

A few sips of tea were all it took for Marguerite to fall asleep at the table. He decided to let her sleep rather than risk her wrath by waking her to coax her upstairs to her bedroom. She wouldn’t thank him when she woke with a crick in her neck, but he didn’t feel like dealing with her at the moment.

Brandt cleared the table. He didn’t really like the taste of tea, so he poured his untouched drink down the drain. When he was about to do the same with what was left in his mother’s cup, his hand stopped. An enticing smell was coming from the teacup. Lifting it to his nose, Brandt inhaled deeply. A sudden urge to drink the tea came over him.

He took a small sip. It was sweet and delicious. He took another, longer, sip. That drop of liquid his mother had put in her tea must have been some kind of sweet flavoring. Unable to stop himself, Brandt drank the rest of the tea and then licked the rim of the cup. He wanted more.

Looking at Marguerite’s sleeping form, Brandt could see that her fingers were resting over the pocket containing the vial. He picked up a small spice container from where it had fallen on the counter and stepped closer to his mother. After carefully moving her hand, Brandt reached into the pocket and switched the vial of yellow liquid for the spices. Marguerite snorted and shifted in her sleep. Her hand went to the pocket and felt for the tiny bulge. She breathed deeply and settled back down.

Brandt hurried out of the house, nearly running into Dakken as he ran from the yard into the nearby forest.

Why are you in such a rush, Brandt? Did she criticize you again? It’s just words, you know. You can ignore her, said Dakken.

Brandt wrapped his fingers around the tiny bottle and put his hand in his pocket. His face flushed with a guilt.

No, no. She didn’t say anything. She fell asleep at the table, said Brandt.

And you took the opportunity to get away, laughed Dakken. He put his arm around his little brother’s shoulder and changed his tone. You are nearly of age, Brandt. You can leave her house in just a few months if you want.

And go where, Dakken? asked Brandt. We have no close relatives or friends who would be willing to bear Mother’s wrath if they took me in and you don’t have your own house yet. And anyway, you will be gone long before I’m free.

Brandt paused for a moment and then said, Take me with you, Dakken. I promise I will stay out of your way.

Sorry, Brandt. You know that only members of the Hunt are allowed on the mainland, replied Dakken.

Then convince Mother to ask Lord Frayke to let me join. I know it’s too late for this year, but at least I will have my initiation and training to look forward to.

Dakken paused. He carefully scrutinized Brandt’s face for a few moments. He frowned as if he saw something he didn’t like. Brandt lowered his eager gaze and squeezed the vial tightly between his fingers. He guessed that the liquid it held had something to do with the Hunt. He was about to confess his thievery and ask his brother about it, when Marguerite’s voice interrupted his words.

Brandt, where are you? Go find your brother. I need to speak to him.

Brandt looked at Dakken, silently pleading for his interference. His mother was a solid, capable woman most of the time, but like today, she occasionally succumbed to her vices and became difficult to manage.

Go on, Brandt. I will see to her. I have a pretty good idea what it is she wants, said Dakken.

Brandt nodded gratefully and rushed off towards the forest.

***

The next day was the first day of the Hunt. Brandt got up early to watch his mother and brother prepare, wishing he was allowed to join them. They came down the stairs in their uniforms, ate a quick breakfast and picked up their muskets before walking out the door. Brandt hurried to follow as they left the house. Marguerite and Dakken joined other uniformed members of the Hunt who were walking or riding to the hunting grounds, calling out greetings. No one who was uninitiated into the Order of the Hunt was allowed anywhere near the fields and forests of the Hunt, so Brandt walked with his family as far as the fountain in the town square and then stopped beside a few other onlookers. Brandt was used to being left behind. He stared longingly at their retreating figures.

A few first-year tyros straggled behind the others. Brandt greeted one of the youngest and waved to another. Otrid, a young woman Brandt recognized from Pyke’s Cove, hurried to join them. Her coat wasn’t buttoned and her hair was a mess, making it look like she had just woken up, which was probably the case. Lettie, the Field Master’s youngest daughter, stood with a group of her friends, pointing and laughing at her. She didn’t seem to notice them.

Brandt went to join the girls.

Hello Lettie, he said. Lettie ignored him and continued to talk to her friends.

Brandt repeated his greeting a little louder, to the amusement of the girls. Lettie shook her dark curls and turned towards him.

What do you want, Brandt? she asked.

I have something to show you. Brandt fingered the little vial in his pocket. He was hoping to impress the young woman with it.

Okay, show it to me, she said.

Not here, protested Brandt, looking askance at the group of girls. Meet me at the bridge in an hour.

The girls broke into gales of laughter. The bridge was well known as a meeting place for secret liaisons. Lettie tossed her dark curls and shushed her friends.

Well, Brandt. I didn’t think you could be so bold, said Lettie. I’ve always had a preference for your brother, but now I’m intrigued. She ran her fingers down his arm. Brandt’s face turned red.

I–I didn’t mean th–that… he stammered. The girls laughed again.

Brandt didn’t stay to continue the conversation. He ran out of the square and through the woods to the nearby shoreline. The ocean always made him feel better.

Undulating waves rushed gently towards the smooth, sandstone shore. A few seabirds circled in the morning sky. A warm breeze blew in from the south. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Sitting down on a driftwood log, Brandt took the tiny vial from his pocket. He was surprised that his mother hadn’t yet noticed its absence. Brandt twisted the vial in his hands and held it up to the light. It still emitted a gentle glow.

Brandt removed the stopper. Yesterday he had been too nervous to examine the vial carefully. Today he wafted the enticing scent towards his nose. The desire to drink was just as strong today as yesterday, but Brandt was concerned that it might be too potent. Kneeling beside a small stream that flowed from the forest to the ocean waters, Brandt cupped his hand, added a drop of the yellow liquid to a scoop of fresh water, and then slurped it into his mouth.

His reaction was instant.

It was as if he had turned on his senses for the first time. His whole body tingled with each breath of wind allowing him to feel the minute nuances of the air movements. Vibrant forest colors, contrasting with a brilliant blue sky and the deep emerald tones of the ocean, assaulted his vision. At first Brandt blinked rapidly and covered his eyes with his arm. He carefully eased into the dazzling display, uncovering his eyes slowly. It was remarkable. He could see shades of colors that he didn’t know existed.

Brandt breathed deeply and discovered that his sense of smell was also enhanced. He could smell the fresh scent of the evergreens, the sweet odor of ripening berries, the enticing fragrance of the yellow liquid, the salty tang of the seawater, and the unpleasant smell of rotting seaweed and dead fish. Brandt almost gagged at the overpowering stench of fish and had to hold his breath for a moment.

When he had his stomach back under control, Brandt decided to check his taste buds. It wasn’t difficult to follow the scent to the ripe berries. He picked a plump, juicy looking berry and popped it into his mouth. The result was what he had expected. It was as if the flavors from a hundred berries were concentrated into one. The tart but sweet combination was perfectly balanced with juices that rolled pleasantly across his tongue. Brandt tried another, but quickly spit it out. It was too sour.

The sound of a musket firing hit Brandt’s ears. At the same moment he thought he heard a woman’s scream, or was it more than one woman screaming? The gunshot must have come from the hunting grounds – Brandt had heard musket fire before – but he was much too far away to hear the sound of voices. He decided to investigate. Someone might be hurt.

Running along the forest path that skirted the sandstone beach, Brandt made his way towards the voices. As he drew closer, he could hear the odd male guffaw and what could only be the sound of women’s laughter. When he realized that the voice of one of the women belonged to his mother, he stopped short. He had run to the hunting grounds.

You were looking for an adventure, Merrik. You can’t complain your way out of it now. This voice belonged to Lettie’s sister, Bethell.

But they nearly killed me, said a man’s voice. Brandt could only assume that it was this Merrik who Bethell was talking to.

That was just an accident. My brother, Surge, is a terrible shot.

It looked to me like he was aiming right at me! insisted the voice. And what about… The rest of the words were muffled.

As they emerged from the woods Brandt could see why. Bethell’s lips were locked on Merrick’s. Brandt dove into some bushes to avoid discovery. Bethell must have heard something because she released Merrick and looked around. Her eyes caught Brandt’s.

Motioning for Merrick to stay, Bethell leapt across the narrow creek that divided the hunting grounds from the rest of the island and pulled Brandt out from his hiding place.

What are you doing here, Brandt, she hissed.

It was difficult to speak with Bethell holding so tightly to his collar, but Brandt managed to squeak out a few words. I thought I heard someone screaming, so I came to help. Bethell released him and began to laugh.

It was probably just my recruit, Merrick, said Bethell. She pointed back over her shoulder. He thought Surge was going to shoot off his manly acorns with his musket and protested with a lovely high-pitched squeal. Bethell pulled out her hunting knife and began to trim her fingernails.

At the sight of the knife, Brandt unconsciously covered his own ‘acorns’ protectively and began to back away. His movements elicited another laugh from Bethell.

Get out of here, Brandt. Forget what you think you saw or heard and run back to Rilling.

Another scream followed by a musket shot filled the air. Bethell stared at Brandt pointedly. He turned and ran.

By the time Brandt made it back to the forest path that led to Rilling, it was past the time for his meeting with Lettie. A sudden fatigue hit him before he arrived at the bridge making him stop beside a nearby creek to catch his breath. His enhanced senses were gone. It was as if the color of the world had been turned off. He needed another sip of the yellow liquid.

This time, Brandt fashioned a cup out of a rolled leaf from a nearby plant. He filled it with water and added a smaller drop from the vial. When his thirst was