All Novel Romance
456
NEW STORY INSTALLATION: THE BRUSH TIGER OF DERVEN (Sci-Fi & Fantasy Erotica)
Namora meets her future husband and everything changed.
A note from the author:
As cliche as this sounds, this story came to me in a dream and stuck in my mind until I got it out onto paper. I hope you enjoy the journey.
*****Property of Nô)(velDr(a)ma.Org.
CHAPTER 1: ENGAGEMENT
Swift, silent steps carry Namora through the dark woods. She purposefully shuffles her feet against the dead leaves, forcing the rustle to keep the creature in front of her moving. Arrow notched in her bow, she leaves it pointed down, her pace steady as she guides her prey closer to the awaiting trap. About a quarter of a mile ahead of her the other members of her group wait patiently for the creature to come to them. No doubt Amyee and Cari-the older of the three-are hidden well in the trees while Talia-the newest member of her group-waits ready to strike. For her, it will be her first kill. Talia will soon pass into the world of womanhood and be able to accept marriage proposals.
Quickening her pace, Namora forces the beast to move faster. She intentionally sought out an older male brush tiger, past his prime. She can hear from the unevenness of his gait that he has an old injury that still afflicts him. Even though it is her duty as Head Huntress to keep the brush tiger population under control, killing such a beautiful creature hurts her heart.
Namora stops suddenly, drawing back her arrow as she whips around. She senses, somehow, that something is following her, perhaps another brush tiger. Arrow pointed towards its position in a brush thicket, she slows her breathing while she searches for a sign of movement. Her eyes cannot pierce through the dense foliage darkened by the night but her ears pick up the quiet, muffled noise behind them. Her right arm trembles from the strain of keeping the bow drawn but she doesn’t release it, waiting for the precise moment. She takes in a deep breath; an out of place smell hits her palate: lemon with a tinge of metal.
Exhaling, she slowly releases the tension on the string, lowering her bow as she does so, “I almost shot you.”
The familiar face of her teacher, her friend, the Advisor of War-Laren-comes into view, “I know.”
Namora’s ears pick up an animalistic yelp; Talia has made her first kill. “You aren’t allowed to be here, you know that. Women only.”
Though his stance is casual, his hand draped nonchalantly over the hilt of his sheathed sword, his voice conveys the importance of his intrusion, “Your father asks for you.”
She puts the unused arrow back into her quiver before threading her arm through the bow. For her father to break tradition and interrupt the Huntress Festival can only mean something terrible. She follows Laren, who has already begun heading back to the women’s camp.
“Do I have time to change?”
“No.”
At the small Huntress camp, women try to act casually though it is obvious that all are unnerved by the intruding male soldiers. Namora shares in their awkwardness, feeling more out of place than most, in her hunting pants and slender leather vest that covers her skin tight, high necked wool shirt. The women of her country always wear modest dresses, made to cover the majority of their skin and curves. The Huntress Festival is the only time that they change into form fitting shirts and pants, out of a necessity for the hunt. Even this is a little known fact; most of the men think that the women hunt in the plain dresses that they leave their homes in. The women don’t share information about the Festival freely with their male counterparts; all the majority of the men in Derven know is that the women go into the woods twice a year to hunt tigers.
While someone has managed to get a bridle onto Greystar, Namora’s horse, he won’t have any part in a strange person putting a saddle on him. Without hesitating, she mounts him bareback and spurs him into a trot to catch up to Laren. The rest of the troop, two in front and two in back, keep their distance from Laren and Namora. She has to raise her voice louder than usual to be heard over the pounding of hooves, “Do you know what this is about?”
“No, but he seemed…” Namora thinks he is about to say angry, but he rewords it, “It seemed urgent.”
They make the rest of the ride in silence. Since the Huntress Festival is located in a forest just outside of town, it only takes them half an hour but each passing minute makes Namora’s stomach churn with anxiety. The group weaves in and out of the narrow paths carved into the forests of Derven.
Though Derven is slightly larger than its three neighbors, it is comprised almost entirely of trees except for the small patches that were laboriously cleared to make room for horses and crops. Since woodlands and forests take up a large portion there are fewer people residing in Derven compared to the others and it only has one town. There are smaller villages throughout the country side but none have the shops and markets that the town does.
Four countries comprise the island; Derven, located on the far eastern end, lies in a valley encased by treacherous, uninhabitable cliffs and though the sea lies just beyond them the only way in or out is by the use of the public road. The public road winds from Derven, through the middle of the island, thereby separating Alumenia and Sceadu until it finally dead-ends in the costal country Geofen.
Alumenia lies on the south side of the public road. A country born of rock, the towns are set into the sides of cliffs. In appearance it is almost the complete opposite of Derven; there are no great woods or clusters of trees and very little plant life overall. The only animals kept are horses who pasture at the base of the country in the small amount of meadow that lies on Alumenian land. The people of Alumenia spend their time mining the mountains for all kinds of metals imaginable, relying on trade with others for food and resources. Even if another country were to find metal in their own lands, the Alumenians keep their skills a secret, putting them in the position to set their own prices due to the demand for metal.
While she knows almost nothing of Sceadu, Namora still dreams of the shinning beaches in Geofen. She used to accompany her father on trips there when she was a child; he would talk politics and she would be allowed to wander the shoreline just outside of the castle walls, but never too far. However, as soon as she blossomed into a young woman he would no longer let her tag along. “Your new found beauty provides too many temptations to thieves and ruffians and while they would never get a hold of you, it is best that we prevent them from making mistakes instead of punishing them when they do,” he would tell her.
That was the stance of all Dervens: always promote peace before violence. They believe that the value of a life is high. Since each living being is unique it makes them impossible to replace. That is why Namora and her kinsmen like those before her and those yet to come after are always taught to take the route to ensure life instead of the darker path towards violence and death. Without hesitation any one Derven would sacrifice their own life if it meant they could save more or prevent disaster.
Though the other countries see this as a sign of weakness, their desire for peace isn’t because they can’t fight; on the contrary, all of them are taught how to defend themselves from a very young age. The seed of their outlook and ultimately their one flawed quality is that the strong willed people of Derven would never willingly enter a battle or duel without the full intention of dying for their cause. Because of that, those of Derven are taught to find other means to solve their problems, less there be none of them left to form a country when all is said and done.
Embarrassed to be seen in pants, Namora dismounts in the back by the kitchen door. She slips quietly through; still being about an hour before dawn, the chefs are just now waking up. Her soft leather boots carry her soundlessly through the halls, winding and weaving down the large corridors until she comes to the familiar, thick wooden doors of the throne room. Taking a deep breath, she pushes them open. Namora walks to the bench before the throne, curtseying before her father, King Nathanial of Derven.
Though he is ancient by any standards, he has always remained young at heart which kept age from creeping into his appearance. Today however, his face looks old, weighed down by great sadness. Namora had only upon rare occasions seen him this way. At times she would find him sitting alone in the throne room staring at the portrait of her mother while he recalled memories of their time together. But now he doesn’t look at the picture of her mother. In fact, when she sits down in front of him, he can’t even look her in the eye.
“King Irron has asked for your hand in marriage,” is all her father can say.
Namora studies him for a bit, waiting for more direction but she never gets any. She knows little of King Irron, other than his arrogance, greed and her father’s distaste for the man, “What are his terms?”
By the way his lips are pressed together, coupled with the expression on his face, she knows that the King doesn’t wish to say them. He has always been honest with her. With the things he does not wish to share he simply says ‘you will understand, one day.’
But though it hurts him so, he feels she should know the full threat that was made, “King Irron asks for your hand in marriage and in exchange he will allow the peddlers and traders from our land into his,” the old man sighs, settling back in his throne as the weight of the news threatens to crush him. “He has said that if you do not accept his offer, he will deny anyone who has business with Derven access to his country.”
As his words hit her, her expression remains calm and blank. She takes a moment to consider the options. Derven is not a wealthy county in terms of money or possessions. Its citizens are skilled and hardworking, mainly farmers and woodworkers. While the craftsmen of Derven are unparalleled and pride themselves in being self-sufficient, there still are things that they require which would be unobtainable if not for the peddlers: metal, certain kinds of wood for finer crafts and a variety of non-native meat.