The Netheron Chronicles by Joseph Black (8 ebook reader .txt) 📖

The huge buck was lying still on the leaves of the forest floor, its head raised, listening intently, its huge brown eyes alert. The instant it saw the blur of movement as Tauren leaped out from behind the tree, it had leaped up with incredible speed, and was in mid bound as Taurens arrow slammed into its heart, stopping it dead cold in the air and throwing it onto its side, its head slamming with a sickening snap against a tree trunk.
Tauren landed perfectly, and standing from his squat, replaced the arrow he had automatically applied to the bow string in his quiver, and then paced over to the buck, gazing over its gallant head, its sweeping antlers, and at last resting his eyes on its beautiful brown fur. He felt a twinge of sadness at having to kill the majestic creature, there were plenty of them in the area, and killing one would make no difference to their numbers, but he still felt bad about the deed, he sighed, reaching inside his leather jerkin and pulling out his long, razor sharp, hunting knife. His grandfather always had told him that it would be a bad thing if he felt no remorse at destroying beauty.
He remembered the first time he had seen death, all those years ago.

He had only been ten at the time, a child.
It was late in the morning; Tauren had been running about the streets in Carmenton, playing with other boys in the warm, soft rain that had been falling all day, while his grandfather was at the fort, apparently called there by Marlan. He remembered his grandfather’s only friend of the time, Incroe, was with him as well.
Incroe had been remarkably similar Edrin, tall, grey hair, kind eyes, and a friendly spirit. They had known one another for longer than Tauren could remember and where nigh inseparable, both living in the same cabin, both always going everywhere they went, together.
In those days Edrin hadn’t been such an outcast, he had lived out in the woods in the very same cabin he still lived in; he had been well known as a hard worker and a healer, and he had done all he could to help the villagers and country folk in whatever they needed. Tauren had had friends then . . .
Early that morning a messenger had come from the fort to the cabin, and after frantically talking with Edrin and Incroe for a few moments had left. The two older men had talked in hushed tones for a minute while Tauren sat in the corner watching them. They had come to a decision, and then, gathering their weapons and belongings had gone up to the Fort with Tauren.
He remembered Incroe coming to get him from where he had been playing, he remembered being taken inside the warm fort and given a spot on the hay in the barn where he was told to stay. He hadn’t understood what was going on then, and it had been years before Edrin told him and he had finally understood.
He remembered that the all of the people from the town and surrounding countryside had come pouring into the fort that afternoon, carrying with them all of their possessions, their families, and a feeling of terror.
Late that night Edrin, Marlan, and Incroe had rode out of the fort at the head of a column of armed soldiers consisting of every able bodied man they could find. Tauren had crept out of his heap of hay, and gone up to the empty battlements the moment they left.
The surrounding countryside was dark, empty, and carried a sense of foreboding, as though a storm was in the offing. The night was cold and a crisp wind blew.
He remembered the sight of flashes of light coming from a spot; miles away in the forest, where he knew a fight was going on. There had been fire. There had been screams. And he knew fear that night for the first time.
He remembered the column of men coming back deep in the night, carrying with them dozens of dead and dying men and even Arrels. Edrin had run over to one of the men who had been laid on the ground, the instant the column stopped, and Tauren had recognized in terror that it was Incroe.
Tauren had crept over and looked down at Incroe. The old man’s eyes where almost closed, his cloak was covered in blood, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps, Edrin had known that his friend had hardly any time left to live and had stood over him, tears falling down his face, repeating how sorry he was that he hadn’t been there to help him.
Incroes eyes had gone to Taurens and he had smiled weakly, then, in a final burst of effort he had sat up, whispered something in Edrins ear, and then his eyes had gone dead, his face had gone slack, his hand had fallen and he had died. Tauren felt true sorrow that night for the first time.
Incroe had meant a lot to him, but he hadn’t meant as much to him as he had to Edrin. After a few tears shed over his dead friends body Edrin had leaped up furiously and stalked over to Marlan, Tauren still remembered his grandfather’s angry words.” Why weren’t you at the river?! Where were your men?! We had a plan, didn’t we!? Why didn’t you follow it?”
Marlan had backed down quickly, apologizing frantically, a sad, pained look in his eyes, blood dripping from a massive cut on his shoulder which he had been trying to bandage.
But Edrin had whipped out his sword and throwing his arms back looked like he was about to kill his friend in anger, but at the last moment he had fallen sideways against the wall of the fort. Marlan had embraced him, and the next morning Incroe had been buried in the meadow he had once called home.
Edrin didn’t like to talk about Incroe, and Tauren didn’t press him.
That night had been the night that a group of Halavardes had broken through the Arrel screen and gotten into the countryside, killing and burning with impunity, closely pursued by a group of Arrels.
When they had approached Carmenton, Marlan had known he had to stop them or they would simply skirt the fort and continue on their rampage, unchecked until the pursuing Arrels caught them. Gathering every able bodied man he could he had ridden out to face them, a plan in hand.
But he had misjudged his enemies and they surprised him, making it so that he hadn’t been there to support Edrin and his group of soldiers, as a result, Incroe had died.
And Marlan had never forgiven himself.

He sighed, shaking off the painful memories, and then he knelt, cutting the arrow out from where it had struck in-between the buck’s ribs, trying not to make a mess.
Then, carefully replacing the arrow after having wiped it off on a patch of grass; he waited a moment for the crimson blood to stop flowing. With a few deft slices, he cut a piece of rope from the dozen yards of thin yet strong cord that he always carried strapped to his belt, he passed the piece of rope under the antlers of the fallen creature and then tied the ends together, then, replacing his knife, he unstrung his bow and slung it over his shoulder.
Finally he reached down and grasping the thick antlers of the beast at their base, he heaved the whole body over his shoulder, looping the rope around him so as to leave him a free hand.
He sighed, holding the 500 pound creature easily; and headed into the underbrush. He continued this way for a few moments then turned west, toward the falling sun, pushing the underbrush out of his way, and trying to be careful so as not to catch the antlers on any low branches or underbrush.
The reasons that the people in the area didn’t trust Tauren and his mysterious grandfather where valid ones he thought, it would take three grown men to life the load he was now carrying, and Tauren knew it. What more, he was only 16, still, technically, a boy, and this was an easy load for him; they were different, there was no hiding from it, and though Tauren at times felt the pangs of being an outcast, overall he was content with his lot, the forest was his home, he had what friends he needed in the soldiers in the town. He always told himself he could survive any test the world could pose, and need no friends other than the ones he had, his fellow outcasts in a foreign world.
And Netheron was a foreign world for, a world where the un-ordinary meant “bad”.
It took him another half hour of brisk walking before he began to feel the weight of the buck on his shoulders, but he knew he didn’t have long to go, and pressed on through the underbrush, taking in the gentle light the forest allowed to filter down.
It was one of the most beautiful sights in the world to him, he always felt so much more alert in the forest, his senses seemed so much more sensitive; time seemed to slow down till he could take in everything, he felt stronger, faster, ready for anything. Ahead he saw a bright light in-between the trees and knew that he had reached his destination, and a moment later he stepped out of the tree line, blinking in the sunlight, his eyes resting on a different sight than what he was used to.
There before him spread a small meadow, covered in thick, green grass; that small rocky stream he had been at only a few minutes before was running through the middle of it, to one side he saw the dark form of the small log cabin where he and his grandfather lived, its thick log walls dark from the thick coating of moss that covered them, its thatched roof black from mold, and it’s small windows dirty and falling apart.
He smiled to himself, it was so little, but it was home: his home beneath the trees,

The Harvest Moon.