Better Luck Next Time

CHAPTER 1

So many dazzling varieties of birds sang bouncy songs, whizzing and diving acrobatically to catch the newly hatched insects through the chilly early spring air. Squirrels ran at top speed scratching bark chips up, down and around the base of trees, playing noisily as a small herd of deer meandered. Shaking limbs crackled, gently releasing themselves of their wet frosty burdens. The sounds echoed off the weathered stalls of the corral nearby. It was enough serenity to make him sick.

Tilting his lean face to the partially cloudy skies above, Raven sighed in relief and dejection. The oppressive gray clouds had finally parted, giving a much needed break from the wintry climate. With fingers stinging like icicles, the half-elf dug into another bushel of hay, flinging the mules’ snack long and wild over the wooden fence. In response, Cortez flicked his graying ears and brayed in disgust at his owner finally remembering to feed him. The corners of Raven’s thin laugh lines pulled up into a sweet smile. Adjusting his bow and quiver across his back, he shoved his shivering hands into his coat pockets and wandered the grounds. Normally the sounds of his secluded home were comforting and rejuvenating, but since the day he had buried Sebastian, nothing had been the same.

With a heavy heart he took in the sight of the three-week-old overturned mound of earth with a pile of river rocks for a head stone, set atop a small rolling hill overlooking the creek that ran through the open field below. The thought crossed his mind that, every moment of his life since he was ten, had been lived happily on this very land. Yet every moment he spent lingering in the run down cabin depressed him further. His steps weighed sluggish in the snow packed mud with nagging suspicions. Pouring over the details again and again, believing he’d somehow missed something infinitesimal.

Below, in the soft undulating roll of the fields, elk, deer, and moose trampled and sifted through the melting snow, foraging to snatch stalks of weeds barely sticking through. He would have given his front teeth to see so many animals within range, he said dismally to himself. Spying a stray bull elk, he notched an arrow and pulled back, holding his position until the elk lowered his head to the stream. Letting out a steadying breath, in the blink of an eye, the arrow became lodged in the lower chest cavity, felling the heavy beast soundlessly to the ground. With a nod toward Sebastian’s grave, he walked toward his kill, thankful for all the things he’d taught him, including the one thing he hadn’t been born with, patience.

Moaning he bit his bottom lip and slung the bow back across his back. Reaching inside his coat pocket the crinkle of paper slid between his fingers. Pulling six tattered sheets of soiled paper from his coat pocket, he read the inscription on the last notation, casting the locomotion spell. Imbuing the deceased animal with enough magic to stand and appear to walk up the hill by itself. Guiding the eerie red light around the elk, he led it to the side of the house and let it fall next to the bales of hay.

Busying himself with quartering and dressing his kill, he grabbed one of the newly sharpened hunting knives from the window box mounted on the side of the house. Hefting the blade he just couldn’t shake the feeling Sebastian had been preparing for the inevitable. It was one of the two most heartbreaking moments he remembered being faced with, and finding Sebastian face down across the cellar hatch in the middle of his room put it at number one. The combination of the absence of any evidence of physical foul play and the discoloration of his face left him without doubt that either poison or magic or both, had been used.

He entered the ramshackle dwelling he called home and bent to wash his hands in a bucket of cool water by the foot of his bed. Shaking his hands dry he looked the room over, as if seeing it for the first time in a long time. On the far right wall, a large framed window smeared and caked with winter’s dirt allowed for thin streams of diffused light into the cabin, giving it a rusty coating. The meager light fell onto the two-seater wooden table poised precariously by the strings around the back legs tied to two nails sticking out of the wall. Fearful one day too much weight might collapse it, they’d only allowed a handful of items to rest there: Sebastian’s tobacco pipe, a bow Raven had been restringing, an unfinished book they had been taking turns reading, and a tattered over-stuffed leather-bound journal he hadn’t been allowed to touch or read.

The mantle of the fireplace stared back at him as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Suddenly he found himself grinning, remembering how it got that way.

Arrows had been bent, broken and lodged in fifteen different places in the dark stained wood when he first began his archery lessons. Not once had Sebastian made a single derogatory remark. Instead he’d patted him on the back, encouraging him to try again tomorrow as he turned in for bed. In his youthful embarrassment, Raven had tried to fix the tilting mantle overnight. But as the sun rose and his time ran out, the damned thing had finally broken off in several pieces in his hands, broken down from within by wood rot. There in the doorway to his bedroom (which doubled as the common room) stood a smirking human with a gruff beard.

It was a good memory, like most of those he had of Sebastian. The man had saved his life, literally, and all he could do to repay him was bury him.

CHAPTER 2

Toeing off his calf high leather boots, he threw himself carelessly onto the colorful patchwork quilts piled across his rumpled bed, sensing the pressure behind his eyes increasing as he closed them. It was the beginning of another infamous headache. He’d tried herbs, massaging the sockets carefully with simple magic, and snow packed in rags laying across them, but nothing helped. The problem wasn’t with the headaches, it was with what came after: the phantom pains that felt so real they sometimes left strange marks on his skin; the lingering mixture of odors like rendering animal fat and chalk. And then there were the voices. They were creepy enough. As if waking from a dream, he would hear them as plain as if they were standing right in front of him, then they’d fade away.

Daring to crack open his cheerless cinnamon eyes in the waning light, he stared at the journal from across the room. Its cracked hide seeming older than the mountains, with curling corners and yellowing pages sticking out of the sides. Eyeing it speculatively he thought sourly, This all began with the likes of you. A few days is one thing, but months is a long time to keep a book like that tucked in a man’s trousers. As he lay there folding his hands beneath his head, he remembered how secretive Sebastian had been. It hadn’t crossed his mind at the time, but after he’d had brought the infernal thing into the room, he’d done everything he could to keep Raven distracted from it. What the hell did he read that he couldn’t share with me? What could possibly have changed everything? The memory came to him clearly, as if it had just happened today. This yours? Sebastian asked in his deep southern tone, waving a book in his direction before setting it cautiously on the mantle.

Raven peered up through errant strands of loose, velvety black shoulder length hair dangling hapless into his eyes from the pony tail.

Nope. Raven continued restringing the long bow before him sparing another look. Where’d you find it? Sebastian shrugged his bony shoulders and shoved his unruly graying hair back over an ear with one hand.

On the pile of your clothes you were gonna wash today, he accused playfully. Filling his pipe with vanilla tobacco he lit it and took a long drag, savoring the flavor as he watched Raven roll his eyes. Studying the book, he picked it up, weighing it in one hand while holding the pipe in the other. You sure?

Yep. Looks like it’s seen better days. Besides, if I were to buy one, it’d be new, not ratted, Raven remarked dryly. Maybe someone broke in and laid it there for us to find. He grinned mirthfully, but Sebastian wasn’t sure how to take the joke.

Maybe it has their name somewhere inside. Opening the book he flipped pages back and forth until he paused, skimming his eyes over the words.

You know, that’s private property. Raven’s lightly pointed ears twitched at the tops as he set the bow reverently aside. Maybe they’ll come back for it. Sebastian continued reading, turning the page, then flipping to a few pages earlier.

Maybe, he mumbled, taking another puff on his pipe. If ya don’t mind, I’m gonna take this outside and read in better light for a bit. Maybe you’re right. Maybe they’ll come back. Without another word he closed the book and headed out the door, looking around as though he were searching for the owner. Raven watched him walk out to the edge of the woods reading, this time aloud with his back against a tree, occasionally taking a long drag from the pipe and nodding almost imperceptibly in thought.

As he stared now at the book he realized two things: one—he had almost never been sick a day in his life until a few months ago when the book showed up, and two—he’d never actually touched the book once in all the time it had resided in the same house as him. It was always Sebastian who’d read from it or kept it close. Sliding off the bed Raven crossed the room, laying his hands to either side of it. Who in their right mind would break into a cabin in the middle of practically nowhere and leave a book like that with total strangers?

Maybe you can tell me why someone like Sebastian died suddenly only a few days ago, he spoke aloud. His natural sensitivity to magic was making him prickly head to toe. The hair on his arms stood as he drew closer. The air surrounding the binding on the book ebbed and flowed with waves of magic from the pages it bound. The headache he’d been nursing dissolved as his tingling fingertips slid down the sides of the book. The sense of familiarity, and something else, niggled at his conscience. As he brought the book up to chest level the scent of rabbit roasting on a spit filled the room. What dark magic do you possess? he asked, opening it, then immediately wished he hadn’t. The mother of all pain suddenly hit him, like someone landing a rock solid punch to his face. In a dazzling flash of bright light, the floor dropped out beneath him and the room faded from solid white to black.

CHAPTER 3

A fading distant voice in his head repeated, A hunter, lost in the woods? That’s a good one! before dulling into ringing in his ears. Sliding open his eyes to the darkness of the room, the sparkling bright dots dancing in his vision pulled into focus. Sounds of the mules head-butting the corral wall was all he needed to reign in the rest of his senses.

Through the encrusted window all he could make out was the shades of night falling with the temperatures growing cold enough to see his breath.

Nausea rolled his empty stomach as he became painfully aware of the flagstone floor beneath him and the latch of the wooden cellar door he’d landed on. Grimacing, he knew where the bruise would be, and sitting would pose a problem for the next few days. Rolling his head he tested other muscles and found he was fairly okay. Nothing broken and nothing missing. Freaking magic!

Out of the corner of his eye he spied the book with disdain, laying only a few inches away, quietly mocking him. Shimmering, the corners became straight, the cover and spine slimmed to a new finish, and the pages became crisp and white. Pulling both aching hands over his tired face he huffed, rolling to his side, and propped himself up on his knees. Blinking rapidly, he snagged a quilt nearby from the foot of the bed and used it to toss the book by his pillows. Heaving himself to his feet using the side of the bed, his aching legs stumbled until he found and lit a lantern. "First things first—start a fire, feed the boys, then deal with that damned thing!"

The hour it took to feed and stable Cortez and his gang of misfit mules, then get the fire going to chase the cold and darkness out of the cabin had been a good distraction. When he returned he closed the front door and opened the trap door to the cellar in the middle of the room. Below looked to be twice the size of the house that sat on top of it. With a little magic, the place was used for the storage of food and to keep objects from the natural state of decay for a short period of time. What was left of their supplies was slim pickings after he’d thrown out whatever he suspected might have poisoned his friend. It left him with a dinner of an apple, sharp white cheddar, a little bread with mold starting to appear on the side—he picked this off—and a plate of assorted leftover dried meats. Chewing the tidbits he looked with interest at the unassuming book on his bed.

Wiping his hands across his lap he stood from the table, coming to the edge of the bed with caution. He knew the consequences of physically touching it. Grabbing a pillow he pushed it on top of the book, somehow hoping it would smother it. When it did nothing he pushed at it with a blanket, which had no effect either. Agitated, he paced the room and kicked one of the chairs from the table; it toppled into several broken pieces. Slumping, he made to clean up the splintered mess when he got an idea.

Picking up a piece no thicker than his index finger and no longer than his hand, he grabbed the book again with the quilt and pried the pages open with the slat of wood. To his dismay, most of the pages were blank, and the first few were missing. Laying it on the bed he pushed it open with the blanketed hand; again nothing happened. Not sensing the magic in the same way as before, he dared hover his right hand over the book. A wavering tingle crept up his arm as a reaction to his proximity. Bringing his hand closer, he let his fingers tentatively caress the edges, with no adverse reaction. Flipping to the front of the book he could see writing on some of the pages.

The words made no sense, as if they had been scrawled in a hurry. How can this be? He flipped through the bare pages, finding nothing more than the first thirty or so pages with scribbling and accurate hand drawn maps of the area. Determined, he sat on his bed with pillows stacked behind him, intent on reading as much as he could. If I’m going to get the shit shocked out of me, at least I’ll be comfortable this time.

The middle of the night brought more questions than answers. The writing ended with barely legible words, It’s done. Closing the journal his gut twisted at the smeared words. The damned thing’s bewitched—up to my brows in dark magic. Getting up from the bed he walked to the fireplace. And I have no patience for it, he sneered, throwing it atop the fire licking the logs.

Expecting relief he watched as the book did the unexpected: it survived. Grabbing the longest piece from the broken chair he poked the book from the fire, letting it fall onto the stone floor. No smoke. No fire. Not even slightly singed. Shaking with anger, Raven hovered his hand above the book. Nothing. Touching it with his fingertips he felt little but the familiar tingle of magic. Grabbing it he felt no heat. It had remained remarkably intact. Swallowing hard and screwing his face into a scowl, he stood near the table. What the hell are you? Resentfully he tossed it next to Sebastian’s pipe, waiting for answers that wouldn’t come.

CHAPTER 4

Save for the lack of Sebastian’s craggy southern drawl and physical presence, everything continued its uninterrupted pace. After breakfast Raven stepped from the severely weather bowed porch into the just pinking morning rays lazily peeking over the tops of the trees.

Half asleep, the mules stood in patches of thinned snow braying. Cortez, nodding his head in a lethargic rhythm, shuffled up to Raven, showing his age as his white patch stretched across his forehead, taking on more white and gray across his long snout. Shaking his head briskly he waited while Raven leaned over the rail to ruffle scruffy fur between his ears.

Just beyond the mule’s shoulder, movements among the shadows in the trees caught his eye. Barely visible in the oncoming predawn light, the dull wavering ghostly white outlines wandered at the fringe of his night vision. They could be hunters following the packs and herds, but this far south of town and way outside of any major landholdings?

The lines faded from sight as sunrise began cresting. Not wanting to spook whoever it might be until he could get a better look, he made his way nervously around the corral, petting each of the mules and listening to their snorts puffing billows of visible breath in the quiet chilled air. This wouldn’t be so dangerous if Sebastian were here. Gods, I miss him! Behind came sounds of twigs snapping loudly, echoing as though they began heading away from him. Backing up step by step, he made his way toward the edge of the forest, then waited. SNAP! On the loud crunch of a branch giving way he spun and rushed into the trees. Stooping he quickly gauged the tracks left by the visitors, their footprints paced at a low jog in the ankle deep snow appeared fresh. Three sets of shoes. The thought infuriated him. Three sets of feet had stood and watched, listened, and ran. Chasing them down was his only motivation until his idea was changed for him. All at once a large herd of deer thundered toward him through the trees, dodging left and right to gain passage around him. Rolling quickly behind a thick tree he waited as the herd stampeded any and all signs he might have been able to track into oblivion.

Raven’s heart pounded deep in his chest, panting at the near miss. I’m not crazy. I saw something. Leaning his head back against the tree he closed his eyes, opening all his senses to the living world around him. The loudest sounds standing out were the hammering of his heart, birds singing brightly, and squirrels jumping wildly from limb to limb above knocking off the snow. Then a horrible thought occurred, What am I doing? Really thought that one through, dumb ass. Outnumbered, lured into the woods—alone with no weapon! Great. Just great. The realization that he’d also left the cabin open and animals unattended brought an end to this self-laceration. Sebastian would scalp me if he were alive! Adrenaline pounded in his ears, racing him back into the clearing, sending up a silent prayer he hadn’t been too stupid.

As he approached the edge of the clearing to the cabin he could see the mules standing where he’d left them, yet the door to the cabin stood partially open. Jogging toward the cabin he didn’t know what he’d find, so instead of heeding caution, he did the next best thing. Kicking hard, the door met the wall with a resounding THWACK! leaving it reverberating on its rusty hinges. Quickly darting his eyes as his footsteps pounded from room to room, he saw nothing out of place. Nothing but braying mules and the front door closed. That was open, he thought. Swift and quietly, Raven retrieved his bow and a handful of arrows from beneath his bed, ready this time for trouble.

Carefully, with one hand on the handle of the door, he pressed and opened it, watching the sunlight on the floor for a shadow to give away his prey’s position. When no sounds followed, he opened it further and stepped back, crouching to get a better position. His sensitively tuned hearing met with silence. Remaining crouched, he stealthily made his way out the door and studied the surrounding grounds off the porch. Perplexed, he only saw his own footprints coming and going.

After several minutes of walking the property, he headed back into the cabin. As Raven shut the door he again felt the peculiar prickles the book had given him and a familiar aching at the base of his neck. Spotting the journal, he noticed it had been moved from his bed and now sat propped open on the table, held open by one of his arrows. His insides trembled at the thought that not only had someone entered the cabin, but they knew where he kept his weapons. Slowly approaching, he began reading aloud the quickly scrawled writing on the open page:

Would you believe me if I told you your life is in danger? Probably not. So listen up and follow my instruction: sell the mules, get provisions, take this journal with you and never let it out of your sight or fall into anyone’s untrusting hands.

And why would I do any of that? The next line got his attention: Because Sebastian died to make sure you lived. You owe him that much.

Son of a bitch! Stop wasting the time he bought you. Go to Heritage Ridge. There you’ll have to find a way to stop a massive assassination attempt. Listen to your new friends. And stop rolling your eyes. You’ll meet three people along the way. Trust them with your life...you’ll have to.

Raven snorted his distaste for traveling long distances, let alone the nerve of some strange book to think they could tell him what to do. Bury it. If I can’t burn it, I’ll bury it! Removing the arrow carefully from the center of the book he saw the page turn.

How do I know you have my interest at heart? How do I know you’re not trying to kill me? he read, staring at the new page. How do I know you’re not just someone from my past looking to finish the job you started when we were kids? Raven raised his voice in anger and frustration,

"And how DARE you