The Hunt: The Hunted

The cold rain pelted Isabelle and her mother like the stones of the villagers. They ran through the forest, surrounded by numerous barren trees. Isabelle watched her breath steam from her mouth as she felt her lungs burn trying to keep up with her mother. “Mommy please, can’t we rest?”

Her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. “I’m sorry, Belle, but we have to keep going. Just a bit farther, I promise.”

As they came upon a fallen oak the faint sound of barking could be heard in the distance. “Dogs Mommy!” Isabelle’s shrill little voice pierced the air.

“That means run faster!” She yanked Isabelle to the left past the tree, eliciting a small cry from the girl. They eventually came to the forest's edge where a lonely farmhouse awaited them on a small hill. The pair darted up to the building, Isabelle’s mother began pounding on the door.

“I’m in the back you infernal woman!” A gruff voice called out from the other side of the house. The pair hurried around to meet it. They found its owner filling his cart with straw, mud, and rotten vegetables. He turned, staring at them with his good eye. Isabelle hid behind her mother.

“It’s good to see you kept your side of the bargain Stewart.”

He twisted the matted hairs of his grey beard between his thumb and forefinger. “Course I did, I’ve been left with nothing else-” The barking was close now as the hounds grew more excited, closing in on their prey. “Get your girl under the hay.”

Isabelle’s mother grabbed her and placed her on the cart. “Belle, I need you to bury yourself, understand?” The young girl nodded. “I love you.” Her mother kissed her forehead.

“I love you too Mommy.” She began to whimper as tears rolled down her face.

“Go on now. Get yourself buried.” Her mother ran to the nearby shed.

Wiping away her tears Isabelle nodded and burrowed into the heap. As she dug deeper the scent of rotted onions and garlic burned her nostrils. Although the sounds of the outside world were dampened, she could hear the hounds savage barking just outside her smelly cocoon.

Isabelle could hear Stewart cry out, “Inquisitors! Help! A madwoman just ran into my shed threatening to burn me to a crisp!”

What? But you’re supposed to help me and mommy! Isabelle thought.

The sound of hooves pounding into the mud approached then halted. “What’re you on about old man?”

“You got corn in your ears boy? I told you a woman ran into my shed and threatened me with that unnatural pizzle.”

“It’s rather unfit to insult one of the Ard-Firach, old one eye,” the inquisitor said.

“Begging your pardon your majesty.” Stewart’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“All is forgiven,” the inquisitor's tone was dismissive. The mud splashed as he dismounted his horse, stamping into the soupy earth. He began barking orders. “Alright you two cover the sides, Robert for shits sake keep your crossbow on the door,” he cleared his throat. “Woman, come on out so we can put these manacles on you and take you someplace nice.”

The shed door opened and closed like a whisper amongst the pitter patter of the rain. “I suppose the game is up then, isn’t it?” Isabelle’s mother said. “I’ll go quietly.”

The cold clink of the clasps closing and rattling of chains sent a shiver down Isabelle’s spine. She bit her lip. Mommy. She clenched her little hand, squishing a rotten onion and causing its fetid contents to gush between her fingers.

“Sir., a third voice called out.

“What is it?” The inquisitor asked.

“The villagers said there was a little girl with the woman, shouldn’t we go searching for her?”

“No need, we were told this woman here was the one with the strange abilities not her runt.”

“But sir, if she dies it’s on our hands.” The voice argued. “We’re meant to protect people.”

“Yes, we find her and make sure she’s safe. And that will be all for what? So that she can take vengeance on us for apprehending her mother? Let the wolves have her,” the inquisitor said. “Now, let’s get this woman to her new home.”

***

The sun had just begun to slip through the lonely window of Isabelle’s room. Every morning she wakes up early so she can run through the events of that day, ten years ago. She sighed. Guess it’s time to get ready. Despite the sun creeping into her decrepit little room, it still managed to retain the shadows of early morning. She rose from her bed which creaked and groaned with every movement. She stared at the three candles placed on a small dresser and snapped her fingers for each one. The wicks ignited at her order, lighting the room as the small flames danced in the dirty mirror they stood in front of.

She approached her reflection and sifted through the dresser. Most of the contents were the same in style, by order of her employer. “You need to show off that figure of yours, we’ll have no shortage of customers!”

Isabelle rolled her eyes and selected a dress that was just loose enough to pull over the shirt she had worn to bed. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t like the attention, laying low and out of sight was maddening to her. To be on wanted posters and have everyone in the Kingdom on the lookout for me. The deadliest woman for miles. She smiled as she finished getting ready. Only if. She took a moment to admire herself in the mirror, her raven locks and blue eyes-reminiscent of her mother’s- were perhaps her favorite features. She strapped a dagger to her waist to complete her look. Before stepping out she snapped her fingers again, halting the candles bright dance.

Upon arriving downstairs, she was surprised to find the tavern owner already up. “Not sleeping in as usual, Trent?”

Trenton’s eyes momentarily rose from the bacon he was slicing and then diverted back to the meat. “Is it really such a shock? I caught an earful for you burning breakfast yesterday, I figured I might as well do it myself if I’m getting yelled at for it.”

Isabelle shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Sorry won’t bring back customers.” He motioned to the oven behind him. Isabelle snapped her fingers starting a little fire underneath. “Why uncle Stewart wanted my parents to take you in after he passed, I’ll never know.”

Because you would need the help running this place after they passed. Isabelle rolled her eyes.

“Anyhow I need you to keep your head down for a few days.”

“And why’s that? Breakfast didn’t turn out that bad.”

Trenton leaned in despite them being the only two in the building. “Last night I caught wind of some travelers up by Burgenden castle. Inquisitors coming through soon.”

“So?” Isabelle asked.

“If you get caught then I’m in big trouble. So don’t go causing a ruckus.”

“You worry too much.”

“And you worry too little.” Trenton shot an accusatorial finger towards her.

“Relax Trent, I’ll keep to myself and let our patrons admire me as I work, just as I always do.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Trenton said, shaking his head.

***

Two days came and went, and Isabelle had kept her promise, much to Trenton’s surprise. The third had brought a cold rain that switched between showering the tavern with water and bombarding it with small ice fragments all day and into the early evening.

Heavy boots stomped into the building. Isabelle was lazily cleaning a mug behind the counter. “Barman!” a voice bellowed out. “Be a good lad and clear us a table.”

The voice prickled at the back of Isabelle’s scalp, boring a hole into her memories. Isabelle’s eyes widened. She placed the mug on the back counter and caressed the hilt of her dagger for a moment. It’s him. She didn’t turn around.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, tearing her back to reality. “Isabelle, get them some of the good stuff from the back.” Trenton said. She nodded and began to walk away but his grip remained. She turned and met his gaze. He gave her a nod and released her.

She entered the back room and felt her head spin and her body tremble. Isabelle bit into her hand and felt her blood rise and seep out of the wound. Thoughts stampeded through her mind and her temperature rose. I ought to block the doors and burn this place down. Her teeth dug deeper into her flesh. But Trenton. Her mind began to settle. She shook her head. Always have to ruin things, don’t you?

“Isabelle those- “he noticed her hand. “What happened?”

“One of those inquisitors was the one who took my mother.”

Trenton's face turned pale. “Do you think they’re looking for you then?”

Isabelle shook her head. It’s not possible. How could they? “I don’t know,” she said.

“No one saw you messing around?” Trenton asked, handing her a cloth to wrap around her wound.

She took the stained fabric and bound her hand. “No. The only time I practice is when it’s only you around.”

Trent nodded. “Alright, just stay calm and don’t talk to them if you can help it.” He started to leave. “Get their drinks together, they’re starting to get impatient.”

Trenton left as she filled two mugs with mead. Isabelle hurried out of the back room. She quickly spied the two Inquisitors. One was young, younger than her. He couldn’t be the one. Her eyes drifted to the other inquisitor. His hair, what was left of it, was silvered with age, three pink scars danced across his face from temple to chin.

He looked at her. His chestnut eyes met hers. An unseen tug of war ensued between the two as she approached. His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Looks like our drinks are finally here. You’re rather slow girl.”

“I heard I would be serving members of the Ard-firach.” Isabelle said. She placed the mugs on the table.

“And? Have you something to fear?”

“No." Isabelle said, keeping her tone cool. "My mother always told me I should take my time when doing anything that deserves it.”

“Pretty and sharp,” the younger man commented. “I like her.”

“You like any woman that walks in your general direction Richard,” the older man said.

Isabelle giggled. “Afraid I’m only for gawking at boys.”

The old inquisitor eyed her dagger. “I bet you are.”

“So, who do I have the pleasure of serving? “She inquired.

“You have his name.” The Older man pointed to Richard. “As for me. My mother saw fit to call me Domeric.”

“Oi Isabelle, we’re getting thirsty over here!” One of the regulars yelled from across the room.

“Looks like you’ve got work to do little girl, best step to it,” Domeric said.

Isabelle nodded and went about serving other guests and cleaning around the tavern. She noticed that Domeric had been watching her the entire time. She felt a chill run down her spine.

She felt a hand smack her rear. “How’s your day going sweetheart?”

Smiling, she turned to the offender, his breath reeked of alcohol. “Just fine.” She sent her fist hurtling into the man's throat. His grin melted away as he collapsed onto the floor below him. “How’s yours?” Noticing most of the tavern was now watching her, Isabelle grinned and returned to her spot behind the bar.

A few moments later the man she had punched stumbled over, his throat was red and starting to swell. “Listen here you little bitch.”

“I’m afraid the lady and the rest of us in here would appreciate it if you left.” Domeric called out.

“Who the fuck just said that?” The man whirled around.

The old Inquisitor rose. He offered the drunkard a sympathetic smile. Isabelle noticed Richard had retreated into his drink.

The drunk’s lips twisted into a smirk as he began to giggle. “You’re serious? You’ve got balls old man.”

Domeric nodded. “Big ones.”

The drunk lurched forward, attempting to throw a punch at the Inquisitor.

Domeric caught it with ease and with a swift motion grasped his elbow and forced it in an unnatural direction until he broke the man’s arm with a snap that commanded silence from everyone in the tavern.

A pained howl poured out from the man as he writhed in Domeric’s grasp. “Richard, search this man for a coin purse.”

Richard rose from his chair and did as he was instructed. He pulled a coin purse from the man’s belt. It’s jingling promised at least two dozen silver coins. “Got a lot of money on you for a common drunk. Care to explain?”

The man was reserved at first, but a quick yank on his arm convinced to talk. “The merchants in the area had an increase in profits recently. My friends and I had a good haul last night raiding their coffers.”

“So, you’re just a scumbag,” Domeric said. “You have a demon or freak with you lot?”

“No,” the man hissed.

“I wouldn’t recommend lying to me.” Domeric tightened his grip.

“No! I swear it!”

“Then I guess it’s your lucky day.”

“You’re letting me go?”

Domeric laughed. “No, you get to live. Typically, I don’t deal with criminals, but you chose to fuck with me. Now you get to spill everything on your friends to the city guard.” He shoved the man towards the door. “Richard, pay for everyone’s drinks.”

Richard tossed the small sack of money to Trenton. The trio left the tavern. Meanwhile Trenton left Isabelle to mind the patrons while he counted out the silver in the back. He returned with his head held high and a kick in his step.

“Happy with the turn of events?” Isabelle asked him.

“We avoided trouble with the inquisitors and got paid a hefty sum for it. Of course, I’m happy,” Trenton said.

“Domeric. He’s the one who took my mother eleven years ago.”

Trent pulled her aside and kept his tone hushed. “How can you even be sure of that?”

“His voice. It’s just the same as the one I heard,” Isabelle said.

“And what are you going to do? Go hunt him down in the streets and murder him for the whole town to witness?”

She imagined the uproar it would cause. People hunting her from bustling cities to small hamlets. “As much as I would like the notoriety, I’d be snagged by the guard and executed. It’d be a waste of this pretty face of mine.”

“Then let it go,” Trenton said.

Isabelle felt her anger begin to flare. “Just like you let the tavern go?” Isabelle said.

“Running my parents tavern is a bit different than murdering a man.”

Isabelle shook her head and made for the front door. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Don’t you dare walk out that fucking door.” Trenton’s voice rose above the clamor of the tavern leaving an uneasy silence.

Isabelle continued her way out without a second thought. The city streets were growing dark. The rain fell on her like tiny, icy pebbles. She stomped her way across the city. The jailhouse wasn’t far. One of the few benefits of living in the slums.

She could see the jailhouse growing closer with each step. The streets were void of any sign of people. Isabelle heard a voice call out to her from one of the alleyways. “Hey girl. Yeah, you. The pretty one walking the streets.”

Isabelle turned to face the voice.

A rather bulky man shifted forward alongside two smaller framed men. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about my buddy Lazlo, would you?” He continued to approach her. “See I just saw him getting dragged off to the pen by two gentlemen. Then, just when I started to worry, I spot you chasing their shadows.”

The man stood over her. She could see the red stubble growing on his round cheeks. “Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just on my way home,” she lied.

“That so?” He began to circle her. “Where’s that happen to be? Streets get dangerous this time of day. Maybe you need a big strapping man to take you home?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“No need to get stuck up.” One of his massive hands wrapped around her forearm.

Reflexively she freed her dagger and slashed at the man, carving into his left eye. “Little bitch!” He clamped his hands on the wound while his friends raced to grab Isabelle.

The three of them began dragging her into the alley. She started to scream, but a hand fell over her mouth. Isabelle shut her eyes and thought of the candles in her room focusing her mind on lighting the wick. She felt a small warmth surround her and the grip on her release. Her assailants cried out as their bodies were seared by a violet flame. She opened her eyes to them writhing on the ground as blisters rose on their body. The stench of burnt skin violated her nostrils. Scanning her surroundings, she noticed that surrounding buildings were scorched.

Isabelle’s gaze drifted to the Jailhouse. She could make out two figures staring at her from the front steps. Domeric. It must be. She quickly turned and began walking back to the Inn. Several blocks down she looked over her shoulder to find the figures following her, keeping to her pace. Her heart began to pound. She felt for her dagger and found it missing. Shit.

She saw an alley and dove into it breaking into a sprint. She weaved between the tightly knit houses and buildings. The sound of heavy boots thundering into the mud closed in behind her. A strong hand grabbed hold of her. “I’ve got her!” Richard cried out.

Isabelle screamed and swatted at him. Violet flames shot out from her hand and burnt through his face to the bone. The flesh fell off his skull like melted cheese. Richard didn’t make another sound. Isabelle continued her sprint, closing in on the back door of the tavern. Her fingers just wrapped around the handle when Domeric’s slammed into her as he tackled her to the ground.

“I just wanted to return your blade, miss.” He held her dagger to her throat. “You know you remind me of a woman that we apprehended years ago. Had eyes just like yours. And she had a nasty penchant for setting fires.” Isabelle’s skin turned as white as fresh snow. He grinned as his gaze cut through every inch of her mind. “So, it is you.” The blade dug into her skin. “If you hadn’t killed Richard, I would have taken you in and you could have had a nice reunion with the witch that spawned you.”

Trenton slipped into the alley unbeknownst to the pair on the ground as Domeric raised the dagger in the air. “Goodbye, Isabelle.” As the blade came down, Trenton smashed the Inquisitor’s head with a pot making his neck and head appear like a coiled snake, the blade fumbled out of the inquisitor’s hand into the mud next to Isabelle.

Isabelle shoved his lifeless body off her. Trenton pulled her off the ground. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. Hot tears streamed down her icy face. “I have to leave; they’re only going to send more.”

Trenton pulled her inside and helped her gather clothes, food, and anything else she could carry with her. “Are you sure about this?”

Isabelle sighed. “It’s what I’ve always wanted Trent, to be hunted.”

“Where will you go?”

Isabelle stopped and pondered for a long moment. “I’m going to find my mother.”