The Hunt

[Jay Carpenter]

His question was serious as a headwound, and her answer made light of the red halo. Light. A quiet chuckle shrugged the rest of the weight from his shoulders. He left it dead in the sand behind; and walked on.

He hadn't thought to wonder why she followed; though five years was quite the stint in one place. Jai would go stir crazy in such a lock down. As to what pulled her through the gate, he thought it was his boyish good looks, witty charm, and the uniform, of course. If he were walking around with a walking target on his back, he planned on taking every advantage. Struting around in a swaggering death shroud was the cherry on top. All black: mystery. The Dragon's swordarm: identity; pride. It was a hard look to resist. Suggesting as much, his brows curled buckets of playful mirth her way.

She went quiet for a while and Jai turned his face toward the freedom stretching behind her silhouette. He wondered, not for the first time, where his greatfathers found peace, and if he'd earned the same luxury. The blight was not kind regarding slow times. Light blasted peace. They fought hard, loved fast, and died well. One in particular loved so completely he abandoned kin and country for the love of his life waiting in Tar Valon. Jai found himself lazily fingering the fresh cording on Asad's hilt as tenderly as he had Nythadri's fingertips. His greatfather's old memory pulsed in there like the song of his bloodslicked fingers were permanently embossed down to the tang core.

From that state: relaxed and thoughtfully flirting with mirth, he was shielded from the sting of her proclamation like body armor. The hit vibrated chest to fingertips, but he had nothing but curiosity to express and no answer to make of her graven face.

The sigh of deep relief escaped when her facade melted. Twice in minutes she'd pulled the helm over his eyes and he'd done little but lay back and let her play. Of course, when the ending went well for him, he would let her toy with whatever she wanted all night long. Then she slapped the visor down a little farther and the question of his hands echoed in the bowl of such a sound fortification. What else was there to see? Blinded to the world except her movements, he could do little but hold excited breath and feel for where her tongue would next roam.

It came, something of a surprise in her revelation about Imaad's motives.

"Him, then?"


He frowned. Pieced together the memories stringing this light-blasted day together. The newly discovered name filled in the spaces Jai and Antony wrote with motive. Suaya wanted him away from Daryen. Why? So Jai would stop screaming logic and sense in the man's face? He shook his head; the answer elusive. He could feel something else buzzing the air, but like some invisible biteme in the dark, couldn't see what it was. It ended with him absently rubbing the back of his neck. Tension ripped through the cords of sore flesh beneath: blows from the physical day, not compulsions raining down from an anxious grip.

"Made it easy on him, didn't I?"
What a turned up world. Nobles, games, suspicion, power, lust. "Give me a quill or a target, Nythadri. Light, I'd fletch arrows for lordlings all day. Over this madness. Burn them."
His arm slid from his neck, seeking the caress of the sword again. Though for far less honorable reasons than before. The lie to himself painted war on his face as clearly as his intent for Nythadri when he closed some of the distance between them. Should the day dawn that the Black Tower had him creeping into cribs to carve sleeping babes inside out, he'd never give up the pins. Or the Power. Asad coughed from the grave, and his namesake stifled the sound with wads of justification. The world was different now.

Sand, sponged with seeping water, hardened with every step as he sank less and less into its clay-baked surface closer to active water. And Nythadri. Thoughts of hatred and conspiracy flew to the far edge of his voice. Softer for their distance.

"I decoded my own death note, today. You can imagine how that puts a man on edge."


Honesty, yes. Unlike the disdain blackening the previous, obvious lie. But more also an explanation. He wanted her respect, and found it hard to earn when an angel witnessed your sins. Even so black-tipped a liberal creature as Nythadri's wings dragged her down from heavenly heights.

Although the admission could get him a spot on the traitor's tree. At least the view would be nice.

Distracted, he breathed her words like smoke curling whispers on the wind. One stretch separated her shoulders from his grasp. Every muscle begged his logic to go closer.

"Five years. That's quite the stint."
He swallowed. A knot twisted his stomach as he stood his ground; ready to catch her if she leaped forward.

Instead, she eased back. Slow as the hand that tugged the robe ever so slowly from her shoulders.

"No thanks."
His was not the expression of a gentleman. It was base hunger. And more than willing to endulge a performer her natural urge for an audience.

Facing him all the while, even as she slowly sank into deeper waters, she held his eyes captive until the last of his strength dissolved. Melting smoothly as the ties of her robe slipped their knots to her deft fingers, his eyes fell to the throes of gravity. Hair kissed her bared shoulders first, then the slender arms sliding free. His eyes trailed the line painfully downward to where a gentle breeze off the water fluttered the slip around her waist. By the time the robe puddled at her ankles, the image of her shift ending around willowy thighs was blazoned forever in memory.

The scene shocked a galvanic current through a heartache waning on the steady hand of consistency. She pulled the first band and finished him off as though her's were the first feminine skin to fill the hungry eyes of his summertime youth. He knew, every time he thought of Nythadri in the days to come, this was how he'd think of her. He felt alive. And wanted her, so much it hurt.

And meant to go after her. Even if she were but a curve of robes whipping in the winds across the desert laying between them. He'd walk to her horizon until she was his.

"I just this cleaned these."
He called, loudly enough she could hear the half-jest over the waves splashing around her ears. No limb, no helpful rock awaited. Just sand to welcome his things left forgotten by hers. There was no nervous fumbling at buckles: but a practiced hand freed the black leather belt first. The sand caught the lacquered sheathe with a soft thud, joined by their leather brothers. Boots were toed off next. Finely stitched, dyed well, and soled to buttery comfort he smiled at the sand wafting inside so valuable a thing. After this, there would be plenty to fill out the long hours marching toward Shayol Ghul besides picking out sand in their seams. The wool opened and his skin gulped the free air with every passing button slipped free. He let the wind undress the coat and shirt from his arms which spread it like a blanket across the sand. Then went the laces he'd dedicated so much time to securing. He kicked the pants away like a broken chain and stretched arms high overhead in not but small clothes and a smile. Clear as rain to her view, he wandered toward the water with less desperation to jump in than he had mere hours ago.

The water's arms were just as welcoming as before. Warm, but relieving in a different way from washing blood, filth and sweat away. The bandage circling his thigh softened and he was suddenly aware of salt etching inside the wound again. He'd just cleaned that out as well.

Reunited, he made no pretense at keeping his distance this time and came close enough to trail a guiding hand across her shoulder, down her arm and beckon her to follow.

"Come on."


He smiled. Charming any fear that might keep her from following.

The hard pack under foot gave way as he pushed against the foamy break waters, backing beyond their violence cresting around his head until they emerged on the other side. The grin did not drop. There were gentler breaks, violent as children are sparring with sticks in the morning. It was a seductively easy threshold to cross and once on the other side, peace descended like a dove. The shore underneath was shallow enough to touch even at the height of wide, flat waves.

He grinned, playfully warning Nythadri that she not go far. Then gulped some air, bent knee and sat under. The wave went overhead, washing like a watery hat. Moments later he came up fisting a wad of cloth heavy with drips and stood tall. Failing to suppress a rather unmanly laugh for the tickle of water rolling up and down between waist and chest with the passing wave and subsequent trough. He chucked his smallclothes hard toward shore and watching them sail until out of sight. He had no idea if they made it or not. And didn't care either way.

He laughed, looking for Nythadri. The ends of her hair stuck to her skin like ink. Begging to be freed from their captivity, Jai obliged as a willing accomplice hungry to join their bold spirit by splaying fingers across her shoulders and brushing the slick strands behind her neck.

The laughter fell to something decidedly distinct from light-hearted innocence.

"Five years?"