Robin:

The forest closing around him felt good. As much as he appreciated the open spaces of the mountain dwellers homestead, the trees that grew in the shadows of the Avgiths always felt like they had his back. It was reassuring. Almost as reassuring as the hefty weight of the ax in his hand. It was well cared for - clearly a prized possession. He experienced a twinge of sorrow. He would bring it back, but it was likely to have a knock or two from the zeerk’s carapace armor. He’d noted the damage to the young woman’s gardens with an equal amount of weight. If he had his way, he’d return to help her rebuild. He glanced up the mountain. Lyndai wasn’t far. She’d cautiously followed the bulk of the family, working to keep an eye on them as they ranged while Robin dispatched to follow the juvenile.

He called to her in his mind and her response came instantly. Their linc establishing a clear view of her location, and the three zeerk she had in sight. The fourth had disappeared and Robin bit back a groan. He didn’t need the zeerk realizing that one of their family was dead. And the amount of destruction one zeerk could wreck was pretty substantial. A family of them could wipe out the peaceful valley long before he could take them down. He could only hope the brute had gotten distracted or found some den to explore. He found the path Lynda had marked where the elder creature had veered off from the group, his keen eyes searching for the signs that would tell him where the animal had gone.

Zeerk weren’t exactly brilliant. When the gods had begun their creations to supplement MaKar’s Races, Arin had spent a millennium with the Faerie to better understand them, then drew the Rhazoure and the Zor out of the ethos to be partners with the Race of the Air. The rhazoure were unmistakable. While they embraced all colors and designs of the great cats of the continent, their massive size, eagle wings, and the flames that licked from their mouths were not to be missed. It was said that the winged great cats had been gifted the power of fire by the Dragae, but that it had shortened their lifespan to only a few hundred years. Robin had never bothered deciding whether he put any credence in the tale or if Arin had simply tried to do too much in a single creation. The rhazoure breathed fire and lived a shorter time. The zor were nearly immortal, and were most often mistaken for a horse by the casual observer. The casual observer was dangerously wrong. Not just in missing the telltale whorl of hair along their shoulders that would bud into some of the most magnificent wings at will, but also in their own personal access to magic. Their control over the air was only a shadow of the control the Faerie had been gifted by MaKar, but it gave them the ability to travel great distances at great speeds by moving the air out of the way. The zors’ powers of observations however were some of the keenest on the planet. Yes, Arin had spent as much time crafting intelligence as he had beauty.

Kyna had done the same with MaKar’s Race of the Sea: the Sirens. Eventually, she’d drawn the massive hippocampoi into existence with the goal to serve as the servants of the Sirens in the sea. The water beasts were somewhere between a zor and a siren. If the zor had flippers instead of legs and wings. The hippocampoi were renowned for their size, but also for the colors that rippled across their scales and the grace with which they traveled. Kyna had also created the Pixie to serve as the eyes and ears of the sirens on land. The diminutive creatures, with little to do over the past few millennia, had become some of the most mischievous creatures on the continent. Even the thought of them stoked a longing in Robin to see the colors melt in the Jungle of Myths again. He shook his head hard to push away the desire. As small as the pixies were, their dust was the only true defense mechanism they had. In small quantities, it was enough to induce a happy, disconnected sense of time in humans. Long enough for the pixies to escape whatever danger threatened. In the jungle where they congregated in massive numbers after the Mala, it was strong enough to overcome even the Races. Robin could feel the disapproval radiating off Lyndai at even the thought of returning to the jungles where he’d lost so much time over the past millennium and a half and he shook it away. Here, a smear of blood on the rock told him that the zeerk he was trailing had found some small morsel of a snack. The smear wasn’t overtly fresh, but Robin still shifted the ax to his dominant hand.

Sivar had been more focused on creating servants than individuals when he crafted the zeerk. They had a keenly honed hunting instinct and a bloodlust that the god of Loss and Self had sworn to his siblings had been entirely accidental. Robin wasn’t convinced. From the poison they produced through their spines to their built-in armor, the zeerk were one of few beings in Haviar that seemed built for war. They sprang from Sivar’s pits as finely-tuned hunting machines with little sense of self-preservation. They hunted in the same packs they sprung from the pits thanks to the linc they seemed to share when in physical proximity to each other. A tendency that had prompted the terminology of ‘family’ to describe their small groups. Only recently had juveniles begun to be spotted again, though they were infrequent enough that it was unlikely Sivar’s pits were working again. More likely that the zeerk had finally discovered some way to self-procreate. The thought was deeply concerning and probably worth some attention when this was over.

Robin was following the scent cautiously now, his eyes watching closely to gauge the age of each sign as they lit upon it. The trail had been at least a krell old when he’d first found it. Now he would guess that he was less than half a krell behind the zeerk at best. He hefted the ax higher in his hand, feeling the weight become more comfortable with each toss. The air shifted ahead and his step slowed instinctively. The air wasn’t sentient. But it could tell you enough if you knew to listen, and what questions to ask. Now it told him that it was split around something unnatural to the forest up ahead. He came to a full stop. Frozen in motion, listening intently. The Zeerk was tracking something. That was the only possible option Robin sent a gentle breeze up ahead, listening for how it split around the trees. The zeerk was less than a hundred paces ahead. The breeze alerted it that something unnatural was happening in the forest and it glanced over its shoulder. Robin was too well trained to give a hint at the irritation that bit sharply at the edges of his consciousness. It had been too long since he’d hunted zeerk. He should have remembered how sensitive they were to the shifts of air. He considered sending another draft of air to see if the beast had turned to investigate. On the off chance it was as rusty as he was, he resisted the urge. Instead, he tuned in to the rest of his senses. Listening closely for the brush of carapace against the edges of the forest as the creature might turn or the rustle of leaves underfoot.

Something about the air drew his eyes upwards in time to see the zeerk crouching on a limb overhead, glaring balefully down. The moment he glanced up, the creature was in movement. He had only a moment to throw a wall of air to slow the attack and raise his staff and ax in a block, cursing himself for forgetting how quickly the zeerk could scale. If he survived this one, he would take time to refresh his memory of the skills of the zeerk before the next one took him out. The beast snapped at him, jaws clenched around the ancient wood of his heavy staff and Robin extracted the ax, swinging the heavy blade towards the creature’s shoulder. Quarters were too close to get it anywhere vital. But they were equally too close for the zeerk to avoid the strike. It landed and the zeerk screamed in anger and retreated, nursing one arm as he circled Robin warily. The stalwart man allowed himself to stay in one place, turning cautiously to keep the zeerk in sight. One corner of his mind cocked to listen for the incoming sprint of the zeerk family. If they’d heard this one’s scream, he could only hope Lyndai would get here equally as quickly. If she could, he was certain he could swing to her back and the zor would be unmatched in the air. But here? No armor. No real weapons. And no element of surprise. It had worked out with the juvenile. It wasn’t likely to end as well with a seasoned fighter.

The zeerk seemed to be sifting through it’s long-lost memories as well as it circled warily and Robin realized it was reaching out to try and connect via the linc with its family. It would be tough from this distance. From here, even his connection with Lyndai was only faint. It still wasn’t worth giving it the chance. The staunch man shifted back, finding a rock with his foot to use as a launching point forward towards the black-clad beast. The creature responded, two limbs using the tree behind it to launch towards Robin with equal ferocity. Blue light crackled on the edges of his vision and Robin called another wall of air, this one attempting to push the zeerk off balance. The trick worked. The beast scrabbled sideways, hissing angrily as it bounced off the truck of a young sapling. The young tree cracked under the weight.

Robin spun away. Once again pushing the zeerk sideways with the air. The space between the animal’s razor sharp claws and Robin’s skin was no more than a hair’s breadth. The one-time-fighter took the brief respite as the creature scrambled to regain its balance again to dig deep. He filled his lungs. The pulse of magic surging through him. It took focus to expand the air in another creature’s lungs enough to burst the body. Focus he’d had time for when the juvenile was suspended in the air. Focus he did not have time for now. He caught the claws again on his staff, spinning the ax once more. The animal was prepared this time and evaded. A familiar hum of energy was building with each familiar movement. Each spin and clash bringing to mind another lifetime. Before the loss. Before the jungle. Before the wandering. Before the pain.

The stretch of battle felt good on his muscles and Robin settled back into the stance he’d nearly forgotten. A feral smile growing on his face. It had been a long time since he’d smiled. He sent a silent breath of gratitude towards whatever gods were left to listen for crossing his path with the zeerk sign at the river. Wherever this ended, it was a good place to be.

–

The homestead spread peacefully before him, almost identically to the way it had four days prior. Only now, three of the four garden boxes were solely filled with black soil. The woman was remarkable to have repaired all three, alone, in the short time Robin had been away. She’d restacked the firewood that had been knocked over in the battle, and somehow disposed of the juvenile’s body though the dark stain on the path wouldn’t fade until the next storm. Some part of him knew that those who lived in the shadows of the Avgiths, out of the reach of the Guild’s stories and the Immediency’s manipulations, were incredible people. The way she’d restored peace to her home so swiftly in the wake of the attack, infant in tow, was proof of that. She stood in the doorway now, surveying her land. If he had to guess, Robin would think she had a renewed gratitude for her home and life. Facing near death had a way of doing that to a person.

Her eyes lit on his figure in the shadows of the trees. Lyndai stood behind him, wings tucked, but the tall zor was still impossible to miss, and by default, Robin was as well. The red-headed man stepped forward into the clearing, the ax hanging comfortably from his hand. Naomi met his gaze with an appreciative smile and Robin returned it tensely. She’d all but guessed his origin last time he was here. He had no delusions that any gratitude would vanish if he asked him outright. He had no fears of what might happen. She may have been a remarkable woman, but she was still a single woman in the midst of the wilderness and Lyndai was pressed close to his back. A quick escape would not be impossible if needed. But the thought of seeing the disgust cross her face was not thrilling either. He’d considered leaving the ax on her doorstep overnight. It had been Lyndai’s idea. This way, there was no need to see the woman again. No risk she’d ask of his lineage. He was here instead. Not for the appreciation, but spurred by the faint hope that perhaps this might change the stories that were told.

He proffered the ax as he drew near and Naomi glanced down at it, then back up to meet his gaze. “Did you find them?”

He nodded. “Every one.”

Naomi reached out to take the ax, her motions subdued. “Thank you. You did not have to put yourself in harm's way for the valley.”

Robin shrugged and turned towards Lyndai, “I was better prepared for it than anyone here.” He glanced at the ax, “Thank you for the loan. I’m sorry for the notch.”

The woman glanced down at the ax, running her fingers along the knock in the blade gently, then glanced up to find Robin settling in Lyndai’s saddle. “You’re not human are you.” It wasn’t a question and Robin hesitated in gathering Lyndai’s reins, his eyes intent on hers. “What are you?”

Robin glanced away, “Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

A deep breath. “I am Faerie.”

Her face blanched but she steadied herself against the door. “The oldest tales say that your people once were a people of beauty and art. Before war came.”

Robin shrugged, his heart aching at the thought of what was once and he fought to banish those rising images of the city in the clouds back to the corners of his memories. “We were.” He couldn’t say more. Lyndai, sensing his discomfort, turned of her own accord towards the forest.

Naomi wasn’t finished. “Were you a warrior?”

Robin stilled the mare with a hand on her neck. “I was.”

“Why defend us instead of attack?”

Robin gathered the reins finally. “The Faerie never attacked. We only defended. I’m sorry we did not do a better job.” A million visions flashed before his eyes. Cities burning. Buildings swarming with zeerk. The cavalia, the famed fighting force of the Faerie, engaging haragnon in ferocious battles over the mass of humanity below. The massive, spiny winged creatures had always reminded Robin of some unholy cross between the zeerk, dragons and death itself. They were gauntness itself. Their thin leather wings stretched to catch the air around themselves. They were nowhere near the proficiency with air magic as the Faerie, but they were enough to hold the Faerie’s efforts to sweep the air from under their wings at bay. Blue fire sprayed the air around them, singing the fur of the rhazoure who carried fae warriors forward. One fell. The rhazoure were fireproof to normal fire. This was not normal fire. Whatever it landed not would not stop burning until it was consumed.

Her face returned. Sharp green eyes. A mass of red curls. A perfect aim with the shortbow that made her as deadly in battle as her mind was in the war room. He couldn’t breathe anymore. He was vaguely aware of the rocking motion of Lyndai’s flight. The mare had chosen to spread her wings and escape. It was a choice that would certainly leave the woman below in shock. Robin tried to force himself to care. He couldn’t. He’d tried to shape the story that would be told. He couldn’t. His mind screamed. Lyndai knew. She turned southeast. Towards the jungles. She didn’t like him using the pixie dust as a drug. But after nearly a millennium together, there was still nothing else that quieted the memories. Perhaps another round in the forest would dull them altogether.

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