Chapter 5

Two uncomfortable days later, we were all woken up by the "swatch" of a rift opening somewhere close. The camp was nearly in a panic while I stretched and took a moment to relieve my bladder.

A little louder than I would have usually spoken to Reena, I announced, "it sounds as if prey is near. Let's go hunting." I had called out in English, which she couldn't understand, but the bravado did wonders for my spirits. I didn't bother to give a last look at our reluctant hosts; I had stomached as much of their weak hospitality as I could stand. My mom had taught me to be polite and I had gone out of my way for these people. Some folks are just assholes.

Outside near the tree line, I sent a weak spread in the direction from which the sound came. The rift was a blatant tear in the very fabric of the air and easy to locate. I stood to run off in that direction when Reena's hand grasped my arm.

"Master, you must mask your janeeda before you hunt," she told me. "Like this," and she manipulated her jayda to spread a distorting form before her body that diffused the brightness into momentary flashes that mimicked flying insects.

"You didn't use a mask when you were hunting me," I accused.

"I didn't know you had mastery of jayda or I would have." She humbly answered.

I snorted as I considered her admission. "Just like you, I expect our prey will not hide," I concluded. "We will split on my command. I will distract our target from the front while you work your way around and disable him from behind with an arrow. I don't want him dead, only near dead."

My adrenaline kicked in quickly as we raced silently through the forest seeking our quarry. I couldn't keep the grin off of my face thinking of the deadly surprise I would offer our intruder. We both felt him, definitely a male, before we saw him. Reena peeled off to the right while I paused to give her a chance to make some distance.

Then I roared at the top of my lungs in English, "Come and get me, you fucking prick!" Taking my sword in hand and with jayda coursing through my hands, I plunged down the game trail, celebrating the excitement in my prey. Perhaps he thought it was his lucky day to hear his supposed quarry give voice. He shifted towards my shouting.

We met in the middle of the trail, a straight length that ran twenty or so paces with trees and tough, thick bushes on either side. Sunlight dappled the ground in spots lightening the gloom of the forest canopy.

I watched his eyes widen as he took notice of the sword. He uttered an oath and then fired off a jayda curse at me. Using my blade as a pointer, I tossed aside the hurdled spell and cast one of my own. Too surprised to react, the spell slammed into his chest. He was unhurt but a wisp of smoke rose from a broken charm hanging from his neck. The smell of ozone filled the air.

With a shout of anger, he raised his sword and charged at me.

Practice in no way prepares a guy for the fear of a full charge of a blooded warrior. I remember watching an old war movie with my father in the family room. I must have been six years old. Just before the big battle, the green recruit panics with fear and his sergeant verbally slaps back, bringing the young man under control. I laughed and shouted at the screen, "woosy!" My father laid his humungous paw on my shoulder, which usually meant I was in trouble. He wasn't angry but he was very serious. He told me never to make fun of a man who is afraid; sometimes that fear keeps a man on his toes and alive.

I swallowed my fear and then set my pose into the beginning of the third movement. He blinked once and slowed, setting his sword in opposition.

Three paces away he muttered a curse that I slapped away the moment it issued from his mouth. He swung his sword to cleave the left side of my face and I parried, refusing to give ground. My arms shook from the blow. He rolled back for another stroke when the "whifft" of an arrow reached my ears.