The
king requested a horse from the Highlands, some big, beautiful thing with midnight
mane and spider-long legs. Its most recognizable feature: a blue third eye
adorning its forehead, said to grant whoever possessed it with the ability to
deceive. A muscled man was first hired for the horse’s retrieval, but though
his body was strong, his mind had been possessed by fear. Second, a young boy
was tried, but he was so cocky he came back with nothing but a long yarn,
exaggerated with wild boars and woodland witches.
Finally,
Isis was hired, a last resort though she was the best shot in her land. She
shrugged off the king’s bias, used to waiting her turn. After all, her stomach
was looking forward to this hunt. The king requested the horse dead or alive
and since he wanted its jewel, she didn’t think he’d mind it missing a leg or
two.
The
forest was a beast all its own. Thorns nagged her. Cold bit her. Still, she
journeyed on. She watched for hoof prints in the snow. She saw none and still
knew she was closing in. Animal’s heartbeats made the most noise, she’d always
say to other hunters whether they’d heed her sweet voice or not. You want to be
a good tracker, don’t see and don’t hear, feel the pulse.
Still,
it was hard for Isis to feel the pulse over the screaming pain of her bones
gone stiff. Some didn’t know bones could freeze, but Isis knew better. You get
numb, stiff. Then you shatter. Isis’s mom told that bedtime story all too
often, her attempt at deterring Isis’s hunting ambition while trying to pump it
into her brother’s veins. Of course, it hadn’t worked. Isis was born a
predator. Her brother still had the tendency to cower at a puppy’s growl.
Any
second now, any second . . . Her eyes scanned the shadows. Hiding was what
common beasts did, not the majestic, but why take chances? So absorbed in her
tracking, Isis narrowly missed sinking her foot in a ditch. A sprained ankle would
be a deterrent she couldn’t afford. She cursed herself in silence. Mistakes
like this were below her. It was the monster called Hunger in her stomach,
pushing her to extremes, begging her to get going and going quick.
Soon,
Isis halted.
There
it was, nibbling the bony fingers of a tree: her target. Isis readied her
rifle. Another creature unseen broke a twig with a thunderclap. The horse
snapped its head up, alert. Isis had only a second before it fled. She shot and
struck true through its third eye.
She
returned her rifle to its halter and got busy preparing the horse for its
delivery. Too heavy to carry, she tied a long sheet over and under the animal’s
bulk and fastened the ends of the sheet to herself. With it secure, she began her
trek.
Right
away she realized that dragging the horse felt too easy. An equine of such mass
should weigh like a cannonball on her lower back. She looked back and knew she
had been deceived by illusion for she now saw a regular, piteous animal,
bleeding a rotten stench that crinkled her nose and murdered her appetite, a
stink that couldn’t possibly be exuded from something she’d toppled not an hour
ago. She knew she’d fallen victim to deception, blinded by illusion cast on a
moving deer corpse. The cocky young boy who’d attempted the mystic deer’s
capture before her had mentioned such things in his fable, but she’d assumed it
was all myth. It puzzled and shook her, but got her heart throbbing with desire
too. Imagine a foe as wise as her, a prey with a predator’s drive. She would
have continued the hunt if she could see a point in it, but she couldn’t. Night
was falling harder and one gunshot was all any creature would permit before taking
cover. With her rations dwindling and days of journey ahead of her, it was
wiser to go home and plan a return. Reequipped, rested, and renewed with
ambition, she would get another chance.
Isis
considered untying the sheet and leaving her fly-bothered catch then thought
better of it. She hadn’t fetched the target, but the rotten deer had proven two
things: she’d come close and she was still the best shot in her land.
Through
the trees the horse with its third eye showed all its teeth in a gleeful
whinny, watching Isis leave.
