Dark Stag Ch. 01

All main characters are over the age of eighteen. Also, please consider the amount of time and research that went into creating this story before reviewing. I didn't proof read this one but the next two will be proof read for errors so bear with it LOL.

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She had managed to kill four spring hares today but our family would consume that in less than two days. We had to continue forward, kill bigger prey. We had to set our sights on antelope. The gazelle in this region could run up to sixty miles an hour, kick and buck were quite a threat to an eagle only half their size. But Bazahra is no mere eagle. She's bred to be the most efficient flyer of all the raptors as well as the most powerful.

From the tip of her beak to the tip of her tail, Bazahra is seven feet long, weighing upwards of thirty pounds, depending on the catch. She has sixteen feet of wings, bred to have specific traits for the most optimum of flight. They were broad at the base, providing extreme lift when necessary. They tapered at the ends into a fine point, providing less foil during high speed maneuvers. To add to it all, she has a relatively stout but broad tail, specifically designed for high speed maneuvering. All of this allows for rapid take offs, some of the finest acceleration in the bird world, but with no sacrifices. With her extremely low wing loading and aerodynamic efficiency, she could continue to pump more and more power into flight, allowing for speeds upwards of eighty miles an hour, simply on the flat. When diving, her speed can quadruple.

Why does a bird need a three hundred twenty mile an hour stoop? Well considering she weighs thirty pounds, and can be seen coming for miles on those giant wings, its best her prey doesn't see her coming at all. Her favorite thing to do is dive so fast, her prey can't see her approach and then at the last possible second, she stretches out those two and a half foot legs with pinch talons and 'punches' the prey.

Her size prohibits her to one big powerful initial strike before her prey most likely can escape due to her lack of agility and stamina at speeds less than a hundred miles an hour. Her speed is and stealth is truly all she has, particularly on smaller prey. Not to mention, it doesn't help much that we train all our raptors to punch prey, not grapple. Grappling is dangerous because prey can step on, kick or severely injure a raptor. Punching generally is powerful enough to kill small prey on impact. With larger prey such as antelope, boar and ratites, punching's effect varies. At best, a good head strike allows for an instant kill. At worst, a bum strike nocks the prey over, disorienting it and the raptor has to come around for another pass...

Bazahra loves doing such, simply because she likes the chase. To prolong it, she often knocks prey over for several minutes before she goes in for a head strike or neck strike. It always was a sight to behold. I watched as she soared on a thermal nearly out of sight. I only could make out the white translucent blotches on her primaries to identify it as being her.

With my stag, I navigated the thick bracket of forest, hoping to flush any hiding game. In the heavy undergrowth, I could see two horns sticking out. It was in an area I overlooked probably a dozen times before. I looked intently trying to make out was this really a gazelle or maybe just a skull or corpse of one. The gazelle's camouflage was near perfect. It was only one way to find out.

I led the stag into the thicket and indeed, a gazelle popped up weaving nimbly through the forest. I chased it with the stag, trying to push it out the forest. However, this gazelle was experienced. It knew just outside the forest, an eagle was somewhere lurking and that the eagle was far too cumbersome to navigate the thick woodland. Its best shot was to run tightly in the wooded area in an effort to shake me from its tail.

I stayed close on its tail; the stag I was on was trained for situations like this. It was not quite as agile as the seventy pound gazelle but was faster. It knew to push the gazelle into portions of the forest where tight turns were hard to make, gain on it and stomp on its tail. Soon, we pushed the Gazelle out into the open, staying as close as possible to the weaving animal, placing ourselves between it and the forest. Soon the Gazelle was off, sprinting as fast as its spindly legs could carry it, heading to another forest stretch.

Scanning the sky, I searched for Bazahra. She was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, the Gazelle was flipped high into the air, landing on its back. The durable animal got back to its feet disoriented, running even further out into the open. It was then I saw the sixteen feet of wings closing in on a swift glide. Bazahra plunged onto the Gazelle with those long legs and heavy talons. Again, I saw the Gazelle tumble through the tall grass. Again, the miraculous animal somehow managed to make it to it to its feet, this time running tight circuits that Bazahra was incapable of staying in.

She knew this, riding an updraft on extremely swift wing beats until she was out of sight from the Gazelle's poor eyes. I could barely make out her shape as she kited on high atmospheric winds. She was waiting for the Gazelle to begin running straight again. Eventually, the spooked animal did so, running as fast as it's legs could carry towards a patch of forest.

Bazahra inverted with her wings tucked to her side. She dove straight towards the ground, looking like a bullet as her speed surpassed any of her previous records. I lost sight of her as she came closer to the ground. This maneuver was one of her staples though. She'd often dive towards the ground and use to momentum built up to catch up to prey.

Indeed she did such, spreading her wings into a glide, mere feet above the ground. All I could see was the gazelle tumble and not get back up, with Bazahra suddenly ascending into a glide with wings and tail outstretched, to dissipate speed. She reached the climax of her accent and wafted back down to the ground on swift shallow wing beats. She landed, making her way over to the dying gazelle.

I too charged over with the stag to make sure Bazahra didn't eat the wrong parts. I got off the stag, Bazahra sitting atop the gazelle with wings and tell outstretched to cover the kill. I pulled a chukar out from my bag, exciting the gorgeous raptor. She charged towards me quick to snatch the tiny chukar from my had and began eating it.

I often enjoyed looking at how Bazahra killed her prey. This gazelle's head was caved in on the right side. Its eye was pulverized and a horn cracked. Bazahra hit the poor antelope with as much force as she could. She must was really hungry today. Feeling bad for the poor girl, I cut off the head of the gazelle and tossed it to her. She began skinning it precisely with her razor sharp beak.

I began gutting the gazelle, letting Bazahra also eat the still beating heart and her choice of the entrails. I had to save the hide for ceremonial purposes. It was then I realized I forgot to bless the gazelle before gutting it. Quickly, I bowed my head.

"To the gods above, we thank you for providing us with one of your blessed animals to feed our hungry mouths. We beseech your spiritual presence...Amen."

I continued to cut the venison into quarters and chops, wrapping each and every portion into preserve paper. This gazelle was one of few remaining in the land. It made me feel guilty for killing it but, we have to do what we have to simply to survive. This wasn't always the case though. This land used to be teeming with gazelle, giant antelope, buffalo, wild boar, and ratites but poaching drove many to extinction and others simply left the Blessed Lands.

Suddenly, Rejon, the giant stag, bugled. This was the instinctive wale to call out some impending threat. Rejon walked forward, stomping heavily as he blocked my view of whatever was coming. Standing up, I looked past him to see several traders on horseback making their way over to me. My heart sank... Rejon hates horses.

The giant antelope charged forward at the nearest horse, causing it to rear up, throwing its handler. Rejon did the same, matching it pound for pound, being every slightly more lanky and taller. The two magnificent animals exchanged powerful blows, with Rejon's hooves proving to be too much for the horse to handle. Rejon chased the horse, eventually skewering it on those five foot horns. The horse fell over, bleeding to death.

Rejon then attacked another horse, lifting it off the ground with those powerful neck muscles and flipping it onto its back, crushing the handler riding it. Another handler took out a revolver and fired several shots at Rejon... Rejon bucked wildly, the bullets piercing his body causing searing pain. The raging buck reared up, kicking the armed trader off of his horse. Rejon then flipped the horse onto the man, crushing him. Not finished, Rejon then stomped the horse with those razor sharp hooves.

Suddenly, the distinctive ring of a riffle meant the inevitable. I saw Rejon stop in his tracks. He then turned, limping towards me. Another shot fired. I saw Rejon jolt, wreathing in pain as he continued to struggle towards me. He panted heavily as we reunited. I hugged my beloved stag, unsure what to do. Another shot was fired causing Rejon to drop to the ground. He didn't move, his big black eye expressing nothing but confusion. I watched as blood ran from his body, saturating the ground around him.

The remaining horsemen made their way over to me, surrounding me, Rejon and Bazahra. Three of the men leapt off their horses, looking on in shock.

"This is your stag?" One asked. I simply looked at him as my blood began to boil... He was a poacher, one of the many responsible for running away all the game from the Blessed Lands. From the corner of my eye, I could see another poacher gearing to behead Rejon, as if this was his kill.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" I said, leaping over to the man. My fist careened into his face with as much force as I could muster. The man fell back, dazed by the blow.

"That thing just took out three horses and two of our guys!" Another poacher argued.

"I DON'T CARE!! Leave my lands!" I demanded. The three men began laughing.

"Your land? These are all our lands... We have every right you have..." The poacher with the strange hat said.

"You westerners don't value the way of life we Illisians practice... Coming from far and wide to kill the animals we depend of for survival with no disregard for what they might mean... And I don't give a fuck about your two dead friends! They don't belong here and death is what needed to come them." I hissed, walking up to the one who justified killing Rejon, "And you expect entitlement over my stag, when your people have stolen land, women and game from us? Hell shall experience a breezy wet season day before that happens."

"We're just travelers!" The poacher with the strange hat intervened, placing his arm between me and the younger poacher, "We don't want trouble..."

"You're lying... you're looking for the last bit of game that still survives these lands... You're a poacher and don't deny it! The game wardens will be informed and you will all receive justice...Illisian justice." I hissed, wrapping up the rest of the venison.

The three poachers looked at one another, their face lit up with worry.

"How about this...we take you back with us...say you gave us opposition and throw you in jail?" The young poacher responded. His words took me by surprise with just how little sense they made. I turned to him.

"What?" I asked. Then and there, the poacher from behind came rushing forward with his machete. I hit him in the face with the butt of my skinning blade. He tripped over Rejon's neck, still somehow managing to keep his balance. Even then, I went in after him, ready to stab him in his temples.

"STOP!" The eldest poacher begged. I did so, realizing I was seriously about to kill someone. I backed away from the poacher who simply looked at me in the utmost of rage. The youngest poacher aimed his rifle at me.

"Put your knife down, and we can settle this the...civil way." He said calmly. I put the knife on the ground and held up both my hands.

"Just don't touch Rejon..." I hissed, going down to my knees.

Suddenly, the poacher with the machete rushed forward and kicked me in the face. I was knocked out cold. I woke up in a slaver caravan, unsure where I was. It was obviously the morning after since evening had come. I was stripped from my robes, dressed in some strange leather tights. Looking around, there were other people captured as well, some westerners, some easterners and some southerners like myself.

The caravan stopped, an armed knight coming to the rear to open the door. He aimed his rifle at us as one by one; people began to file out the caravan. It was then I saw we were all wearing shackles and arm cuffs, chained to one another. My head hurt so bad, I simply could process what was going on. I just knew the city had bright white limestone walls, cobbled streets and it was ridiculously hot. I shielded my eyes, following the train of people inside the perimeter wall. Upon entering, I could see falconers on horseback, running their specially bred raptors along lures. It was a blatant mockery to what my people do for survival. These fools made a sport out of falconry when falconry has long been considered an art of survival.

It was then I realized I had to get the fuck out of this mess. I scanned the horizon, taking in every detail. This ring had thousands of acres of grassland specially tailored for falconers and their raptors. Buildings were scattered about, obviously being housing for the birds. Small antelope ran across the fields, seeming fairly tame. It did nothing but enrage me to know that animals we depended on for survival were mere pets here.

Suddenly a big swoosh caught my attention as we passed by a tree. The familiar wings of Bazahra delighted me as she took a perch. Hands down the smartest animal I've ever been blessed to deal with, Bazahra knew both spoken language and hand gestures. As she watched as I passed underneath her, I held up my hands and spun them counterclockwise in my shackles. This meant circle above but follow.

I was pretty sure Bazahra knew I was in trouble. Her ability to understand is often underestimated, even by me... not to mention, her capacity for learning also was far grander than I typically give it credit for. She was going to be my ticket out of here. I saw her massive shadow as she took flight from the tree. I watched as she began to circle on the thermals, eventually rising up to an altitude where she was barely able to be seen. I prompted her to do this simply to keep her safe.

We walked for about an hour before we reached and underground passing. The passing was long, illuminated by primitive light bulbs, leading into a prison cellar. We were prompted to all sit on the floor as several strange guards circled around us, stopping in front of us each to write a descriptive. This was all so confusing, but something caught my eye.

A Southerner propped in the doorway of the cellar, eying me down with this look of giddiness.

"This one...," A guard said, "She'll be bought in no time."

"Bought?" I asked. All the gaurds looked at me in surprise.

"You can speak?" He asked, his jaw held ajar from shock.

"Why wouldn't I be able to speak?" I asked defensively. The guards all looked at each other.

"We've been deceived, yet once again. The king won't be happy about this..." The guard said. They turned to the southern guard.

"Who'd you buy him from?" Another guard asked.

"There were some merchants in the lower ring of the city...I didn't buy any of them, I confiscated them...all merchants must sell in the middle ring...easy take to be honest." The southerner responded.

"Wait, so there was no money lost?" The first guard asked, a feeling of relief hitting him.

"No, I'm not stupid..." The Southerner said back defensively.

"Still, though...what are we going to do with him...?" The third guard asked. The first guard came, squatting before me.

"What's your name kid?" He asked.

"Kijus..."

"Can you read, write?" He continued.

"Yes, English, Arabic, and Latin... as well as my native tongues" I responded.

"Where are you from?"

"I'm from the Blessed Lands...Where am I?" I asked.

"You're in New Trenton, far to the west of the Blessed Lands. How'd you manage to get captured by slavers?" The guard asked.

"Well, I was hunting gazelle, wasn't paying attention to my surroundings and they walked right up on us. My stag went on the defensive, killed a few of them and their horses and it went south from there..." I explained.

"We? Was there another person with you? Are they here?" He continued.

"No..." I sighed, growing tired of the question.

"Then where are they?"

"It wasn't a person...it was my..." I hesitated, not really wanting to say but figured there was nothing really to lose, "...raptor."

"You're a falconer?" The third guard asked. I simply looked at him.

"That's what you all call them? People who train raptors are called barbers. Falconer...that's so clichéd." I hissed.

"What kind of raptor did you have?" The guard asked.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" I responded dryly.

"Well, sir," The first guard said, "You're in quite the predicament...you will be processed in due time...but since you are not illiterate, the king would want to meet you..."

The Southerner came towards me as the other two guards moved along to asses other slaves. He used metal prying tools to separate my shackles from the chains. He hoisted me up and led me down the hall into a large cell. He opened the wide barred door allowed me through.

"Stand by the railing so I can unlock your cuffs." He said. I did so. He unlocked the wrist cuffs first and then kneeled down to unlock my ankles. He grabbed both set of shackles as they fell to the floor. As he pulled them through the railing, he took a quick glance at my crotch before he leaned up.

I began to walk around the cell, eyes clenched and head held. I was expecting for the Southerner to had left but no, he was still there. I looked at him menacingly.

"What?" I asked.

"It's just not every day you see someone...someone of your own kind... I'm sorry for my staring Kijus..." He said, apologetically. I rolled my eyes, sitting on the surprisingly comfortable bedding in the cell.

There was a tiny window, barred but nonetheless a window at the top of the cell. I didn't notice it before because it was now night time. It made me all the more worried for Bazahra. She was a diurnal raptor, having terrible eye sight at night. Where ever she was, I hoped she was safe from harm.

"So," The Southerner began, "How old are you?"

"Get the fuck away from me..." I snarled, not even turning to look at him. I simply sat, still looking out the window with my arms folded tightly around me.

"Ok..." The Southerner said, sounding defeated. It made me feel guilty for being so rude, but I had no idea who he was, where I was, and who could be trusted. I just wanted to go home by any means necessary. I have mouths to feed and to be locked away, the heavens know how far away from home, was by no mean beneficial to me.

Turning to see if he was still at the front of the cell, I was surprised to see no one other than Bazahra in my cell. Not only had she tracked me down, but she managed to slip past the guards, find my cell and slide in through the bars. I was ecstatic to see here but she may have put herself in some serious danger if she got discovered.

"You found me?" I asked. All she did was chatter ecstatically. She rushed towards me, nipping at my fingers like she always did. I got down on the floor to stroke her crown and nape. She ruffled her feathers, completely relaxed in my presence.