“Well done, brother!” Drust instantly whooped.
Talorgan roared in response, exultant at his prize.
The only person who remained silent was Tritus.
Talorgan walked toward his kill and pulled the stone head of the arrow out, wiping the blood on his brown robe before returning it to the sheath on his back. He then rolled the doe on one side before grabbing two legs in each hand and swung the carcass over his head to lay it around his shoulders. Once comfortable, he looked up at Drust, ignoring Tritus, who stood silently off to the side.
“Let’s go home, brother. A warm bed awaits.” He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. Talorgan hungered to show his masters this worthy prize. His people worshipped the deer above all other forest creatures. He would have liked to have claimed a stag, but they were favored by Cailleach and protected by her hand.
Drust nodded in agreement, the relief visible on his face. “I am eager to get back to Fìna.” He turned to Tritus. “Lead the way, my friend. Let us see if our deer have remained unmolested.”
Their progress was a lot quicker than when they were hunting as they made no effort to quiet their movements. Within minutes, they came across the tree where they had raised the deer.
Talorgan dropped his doe to the ground, panting from the fast pace they’d set, and waited for Tritus and Drust to lower their beasts down.
Today has been successful, he reflected. He was certain it was due to his efforts for the Samhain sacrifice. Cailleach was clearly well-pleased, and he was beloved. Why else would Cailleach grant them each a deer, he mused as he reached into his pouch for a hunk of dried meat. As he brought it to his lips, he heard a twig snap. He glanced at the sound, searching for the forest creature.
But it wasn’t a small animal. It was a stag—the king of the forest.
Some sixth sense alerted the other men that something was amiss, for Talorgan knew the exact moment they observed the stag, their bodies going completely still.
The stag lifted his head and pinned Talorgan with its dark, liquid brown eyes. Talorgan felt the connection like a punch in the gut. The stag didn’t shy away; it remained standing in place and eyed him warily. Talorgan’s eyes burned at the truth of what he saw, and he blinked, seeking transient relief. But as he broke eye contact with the stag, its dark eyes shifted, roving to the other men.
Talorgan couldn’t believe it. In all his lifetime, he’d only seen one stag before, when a hunter had returned to the village. He was a boy of ten summers, naive and easily influenced. In open-mouthed awe, he watched the hunter carrying the stag on bent shoulders through the village in boast, it’s incredible antlers majestic and proud. The village people had bowed their heads in supplication, acknowledging that the beast was sacred. A treasure of the forest.
He breathed in carefully, studying the stag in front of him. It appeared docile, its coat still; not a tremble to be seen.
This was not normal behavior for an animal. When faced with predators, they startled and ran. They didn’t stand there in challenge, unafraid and still. What was it doing? Was it waiting for something? Then he was struck by a thought. Was it a sign from Cailleach, another gift for his devotion?
Talorgan had just been thinking of her, basking in the aftermath of her favor. The stag had to be for him; there was no other explanation. Anticipation rippled down his spine. If I kill the stag, I will be touched by the gods and favored for my devotion!
Slowly, with fingers splayed and reaching—never once taking his eye off the stag—he grasped his bow, which lay next to him on the ground, and pulled an arrow from his sheath. Fortune favored him, for the stag swung its majestic gaze back toward Talorgan’s companions. He took the opportunity to swiftly raise his bow, notch the arrow and draw back. His heart was racing with adrenalin, his breath coming out in quick pants.
And just like the doe, the stag swung his head back, as if sensing the danger, but Talorgan didn’t hesitate, sighting the animal between the eyes. He pulled back a fraction more on the arrow and—
“NO!”
The shout cleaved the tense silence, and Talorgan jerked back involuntarily. Before he had time to understand what had happened, a sudden crushing weight smashed into his side. The arrow was released, and it whistled a foot past the stag’s head, thwacking solidly into the tree trunk behind.
The noise of the arrow hitting its mark startled the stag, and it suddenly came to life, turning swiftly away to gallop into the foliage. The rustling whisper of the leaves was the only evidence that it had been there. Talorgan watched it disappear with a crushing rage that built with each passing moment. He knew who his attacker was before looking to the side. The body was longer and taller than his brother; the muscles more solid and heavy.
Tritus.
Talorgan swiveled his head, capturing the man’s piercing green gaze. For a second, the world was still, and then he roared. Curling his fists, he threw a heavy punch at Tritus’s face. As his knuckles connected with Tritus’s raven-colored head, Talorgan reveled in the spray of blood that peppered his skin. Not hesitating, he used the momentum of his punch to lunge forward and push Tritus away before rolling to his feet in a flurry of swirling robes.
Clenching his fists at his sides, Talorgan ground his teeth and gave a savage snarl. “You bastard! You ruined my shot!”
Tritus was on his knees, a burgeoning bruise marking his jaw.
Drust stood a few feet away, confusion clouding his features. “Why did you do that, Tritus?” he asked. “Tal had first claim!”
Tritus pushed himself to his feet and said quietly, “She told us one deer.”
The air whooshed audibly from Drust’s mouth as recognition flickered across his face. He whispered, “One deer each we may take.”
“What? No!” shouted Talorgan. “He only says what he wants you to see, brother! Tritus doesn’t know our ways! He doesn’t know our gods!” He reached forward and grasped his brother’s arm, wrenching Drust to face him. “She favors me, brother!” he said harshly, stabbing a thumb to his chest. “She knows I am her loyal servant. The stag was sent as a gift. I know it!”
Drust swallowed and glanced at Tritus, before looking back to his brother. “You know how she favors her stags. The gods can be fickle and possessive of their things. How can we be sure?”
Talorgan whirled furiously, unable to stand still. “Did you not see how it came into the clearing just now, brother? Even with the three of us here, making no moves to keep quiet? Even with its sisters lying dead here in our presence?” he demanded, gesturing to the does which lay on the ground a few feet away. “It was sent to me as an offering! Standing there as if waiting for its sacrifice.”
Drust stared back at him, eyes widening at the implications behind his message.
Tritus interjected; his eyes resolute. “It wasn’t an offering,” he denied.
“What was it then?” Talorgan demanded.
Tritus’s voice was firm as he responded quietly. “It was a test.”
Talorgan snarled. “Do you believe this man, brother? This man—” he emphasized by stabbing a finger at Tritus “—who does not know our gods?”
Face tight with tension, Drust replied, “I heard Cailleach, Tal. She was adamant, and we promised to honor her wishes.”