Far-bark: Chapter Three
The great huntress chooses two unlikely candidates to cross the Field of Fiends and search out a new home
Two days after the council meeting, after the day of quietude, the elders assumed their grand posts at the helm of the Far-bark grove, where the tallest pines made majestic scaffolds against the denser forestry. Only six assembled though, since old Bow-stem kept to his hovel that morning in front of a weak fire, hateful at the day. These six took up residence in their outdoor perches while the thousands of Far-barkers huddled in the trodden basin, gaunt, wide-eyed, children clutching at the hems of their mothers’ dresses, men all sober-faced, spears in hand. They told the people that they would select two messengers, two seasoned warriors to go forth into the Field of Fiends to scout out the fearsome land, and report back on the best passage to the springs. They would hold several contests to determine which men should go on such a journey: the leg race, the spear hurl, the timber flip.
All these feats were already built, ready for the victors, with the young warriors making lines in the grove, rippling with muscle, stretching their tawny necks, cracking knuckles and heaving breaths from broad chests. Bear-kin and Boleo-kin were there, too, but back at the tail of the throngs, behind all the hunters deemed more seasoned and mature, grasping their weapons and straining to look over the shoulders of their superiors.
“A doomed prospect, friend,” said Bear-kin. “We’ve not yet killed our quotas to file rank with these gods among men, those athletes of body and spirit.”
“Might as well throw a stone into the pool, friend. We might gather some luck yet.”
Soon as the contests were about to commence, though, a great gasp and hush fell over the whole camp, as out of the trees arrived an unexpected visitor, solitary in her entrance, simple in her garb, with her bow and dagger crossed over her chest, hair an auburn flow behind her, sharp green eyes charging o’er the clan. Yes, it was Cayla-mar, deft hunter of the far forest, long so hidden from the vulnerable gaze of mortal men, now exposed in the sunshine standing tall for all to see. Even the elders at the helms of their games stood frosted with shock, mouths agape, eyes wide, unspeaking as she made her descent down the knoll and cleared the crowd so she soon stood in their midst, the woods full of silence and dry light.
“Far-bark, fair ones, co-creatures of the forest!” she cried, spinning ‘round to speak to the whole crowd. “Waste not a moment with your games and contests to measure the might of your men! Let me once trump your elections and have a say in your destiny. For it was I, was it not, who took your people in from the high plains when your grandfathers were babes on their mothers’ hips. It was I who led your wearied crew away from the demons of the rolling moors, and enlisted my friends to guard against the shadow. So also it is I who call you all to be brave, now that your chapter of the forest is nearing its end, and hear tell of my own hunch, what my own ancient heart decrees: It’s already decided, friends of Far-bark, who shall tramp through those chilly barrows, deal against the foes of the Vulture-man, and find the Springs of the Harrow Frost, those deep pools that gather starlight with an even fairer purity than your precious Northern Gem! These two lads I’ve elected, I’ve scoped from afar with my own eye, subtle to your mighty men for their young age, but great in my view for their cunning, their stealth, their skill with a lance and a bow, but great most of all for their bond of brotherhood, unmatched among even the finest friendships of your tribe!” Cayla-mar stopped her speech for a moment to look through the people until at last she chanced upon the gaping faces of young Bear-kin and Boleo-kin, so petrified by her words that they failed to understand she spoke of them; yes, these two youths were the bonded brothers she hailed, and when she saw them, standing side by side at the edge of the crop of fresh warriors, she smiled, bowed, and pointed with an outstretched palm. “You’ll call them pups, barely off their mothers’ teats, I wager. You’ll dub me a fool and a she-devil for my choice of candidates! But the fates of the forest cast the die and land on these lads, who stand upon the shelves of the great rocks long after your evening dispatches have gone to bed, who stare with a fixed eye upon the stars and dream of an open world, of plains and springs and rushing rivers frothing with floodwaters! Should not this quest be occasion for the boys to become men, and prove their mettle, and report back on best route to salvation? Don’t, and you starve and thirst! Don’t, and you shan’t share in my blessing, for you’ve gotten too drunk on the notion of arrogant will and the power of numbers. Now let the hidden colors sneak through unannounced. This time let the rookies test their cunning against the elements!”
The throng now parted enough for Bear-kin and Boleo-kin to stand alone, too, straight within the margins of Cayla-mar’s pointing arm, and still the grove was weighed with a silence so heavy that the far croaks of a crow echoed among the piney colonnades.
“What say you, wise elders, in light of my rare appearance? Do you give homage to my own wisdom only in jest? Do your minstrels write their poems after me only to shrug at my company in the flesh? Come now, speak!”
It was old Bow-kin who spoke his reply, after he glanced at the other members of the council, each shaking heads, not knowing what to do, what to say. So Bow-kin bowed before the timeless nymph, borne of the forest when the trees first birthed from drops of Northern dew, and said, “Oh dear namesake of many a maiden of Far-bark, Cayla-mar, secretive no longer in the shade of the great forest! You make your advent nigh at our most desperate hour on the edge of vital contests that’ll destine a strong band of hunters to run o’er the crafty moors at the southern margins of the woods. We can’t live without water, no doubt, and the mountains across the desert are bereft of their snowmelt after so many years of cold plentitude. Your recommendation for these cubs, thus, might fall on unbelieving ears, since the boys are hardly yet men, and have only just begun their marches with more seasoned bowmen and handlers of the oaken spear! But I hear your judgment clear and remember from the tomes of old how you saved our kin from certain destruction on the open plain. For some unseen notion you took pity on our grandfathers and bid us into the shelter of the forests, your domain, and here we’ve hunted and sparred with the beasts side by side with no conflict! All these hundred years of peace we’ve taken for granted, never prepared for days of famine. And all those years you protected our borders, even ventured into the moors with your clan of forest maidens and man-gods to scout the enduring evil of the plains. We would do you ill, then, to decline your will now.” Some of the hunters clashed their spears at the word and cried, “Never, elder! Never should these mere children be sent out into the night!”
“Silence!” said Wren-kin, spreading her arms high. “Cayla-mar’s ways are often above and beneath the sights of mere mortals, or have we forgotten her time-tested modes of wisdom? Read your history and you’ll find she has a preference for the untitled man, the maiden overlooked, the boy nearing the warrior save for a final test of wits and will. Read the tales and ask yourselves, brothers and sisters, whether her rare revelations have ever met foul ends?”
She lowered her arms and crossed them over her breast and looked up at the ceiling of branches high above. “The council blesses the choice of Cayla-mar! Young Bear-kin, gangly Boleo-kin, get thee to the armory for your fittings. You leave first thing in the morning on the heels of Cayla-mar and may the grace of the Great Hunter in the stars be ever with you on your quest to find the sacred waters and the best passage there!”
Before anyone could address Cayla-mar again, the sprite had slipped back into the fold of trees, and the hunters, though they stood beside the games and targets for a few moments longer, later disassembled and walked back to their tree trunks to break into the last reserves of water jugs in their cellars.
The cubs, meanwhile, walked to the feet of the elders and got on their knees with hands clasped.
“It’s fitting, maybe, that under these awful banners the fairy should appear and rattle our cage,” said Arrow-kin. “And rattled it she has. You are both young and fierce cubs, so her selection isn’t entirely against reason. But your youth and boyhood still latch to your curls like heavy weights. Learn to shed them on this terrible journey! Learn to rinse your minds of all that you think you know.”
