Prey 1 of 2

Part 2 is here.

The captain sits astride his horse. A little more than passably handsome, but not greatly so, his presence tells you that he is a man who will get his way without struggle. Dressed in accordance with his status, so that even from afar this can be seen and acknowledged, he looks around to watch the whole of the scene unfolding. The scene that he has brought to be a part of the history of this world. He is a maker, a shaper, and that is how it should be.

At this time he has three lieutenants and each is in flight, chasing across a field where the wheat still seeks the goldening sun at the behest of the farmer. Parallel, as best as the mismatch of men they command can be.

The end is in sight and almost without further ado, in but a few minutes it is done. Over.

And the men bring the spoils to him for inspection.

He finds the catch, shackled by invisible fetters. If only she knew, he thinks to himself.

He remembers how she moved. As though she were the very air itself, gliding along in naive thought, unaware of those eyes that watched her and wanted. He sees her now in her aery flesh, a vision of womanly curves and gentle disposition to melt even the sternest armour.

He looks at her face, young, skin so tender he thinks a stare will tear it.

He looks deeper. Searching. What can he see? What…? There’s confusion, he thinks. She’s asking herself “What’s happened? How did this happen? To me!”

And indeed, how could a spirit, an ether-being, made to wander the Earth as she pleased, be caught by men? Mere, clumpy, stolid men. And so easily?

How indeed!, he smiles.

He sees fear. She fears this unexpected development which to him is but to be expected: the prey should always fear the hunter. It is a feeling he…finds interesting. To explore it, understand it, and through it understand himself a little better; perhaps.

He sees a coquettish flirting. She knows her power over him, his men, all men. And he acknowledges it. To not do so would be a mistake. An underestimation of what threat she might pose. And to not do so would be wrong. It cannot be denied what she is.

Her fingers, slender, curving, shaping themselves into talons. A snare for the unwary, or foolish. The scar, white on tanned. Smooth buffed flesh. Tiny, almost incongruous, it tells you to be wary: the claws are not for show, the teeth have known flesh. The eyes, that shade of oval that marks perfection; of the physical kind. The lush brown of …what? Nothing he knew of in Nature was that shade, yet it promised familiarity, comfort…even bliss.

Fascinated, he looked deeper, probing. Could this be the one? They invite him in, open, gentle, pure. He wants to be lost in them forever and -

Pah! Nothing!

On the outside everything, but behind those eyes. Nothing. It’s a shame. Almost. But envigoured by this close encounter he knows a degree of certainty. Again.

A quick eye flick and an imperceptible nod and she is gone. Let the men have her. They’ll appreciate all she has to offer. And though she wouldn’t last long with them, the few who were lucky enough to taste her withheld pleasures would never forget, would brag and boast, swollen-chested and that would promote competition and increase the ranks of those who served him. Brutish, dull-witted, vulgar, how he despised them even as he recognised their disposable necessity. And he wanted, needed more as he continued his search.

Fame can be a powerful tool. A fiction, but in the eyes of the many a prize that is achievable and desirable; and so the many look for it. Immortality, of a kind. A life peerage that brings the rewards of the moment and delays the back-stabbing and disdainful chatter of the hangers-on until the fall from grace as fancy awakens each day with a new dress in mind, discarding you.

Fame brought the captain the men he desired, an acclaim he did not. Some would pry and try to discover his secret. Though none did. A real secret is never revealed, never known, not even to a lover, a best friend, a son. It is between a man and his God, if the latter cares to ever acknowledge it, being concerned with loftier matters.

But still there is dissatisfaction, discord, that which drives someone on past where others would stop and rest, feeling accomplished. Past the base drive to satisfy desire, to feel a bigger thrill as the last one subsides, taking a part of you with it each time until you are no more as the men felt, he believed.

And when you’ve scoured the depths of the underworld, the forests and plains and seas of Earth and even touched upon the heavens, where is there for you to go? Where?

Solitude is an uncomfortable chair, but it is the only one that fits. So he stands alone, watching idly, as the men enjoy another and thinks “It is time to end this.” He knows that as soon as he goes another will seek to take his place. But they will be unsuccessful. And so they will be replaced. To be unsuccessful. And so on. Until the army he has created for his own needs disintegrates back into the rabble from whence they came and a form of order is restored to the world. The old order, reinforced. For he is the key and only he.

But among the men is one unlike any other he has seen. A kindred spirit? Unlikely, he knows, but there is something more there and that is enough.

Perhaps unexpectedly, for those who do not know, he does not have the man summoned to him, but makes the approach himself; direct, simple.

The greeting is brief and the questions within in him struggle to find form. Words, so often false friends to those who do not appreciate them, now choose to turn their backs on him, though he has learned the arts of diplomacy and tact.

The stranger, this man who once seemed but one of his army but who now so readily is not aids him. “M – tomorrow. One hour before noon.”

The captain knows the clearing that is referred to well; it is where he rallies his troops before a hunt.

Quickly, with an insistence lost to the whetstone of familiarity, he summons his lieutenants and has proceedings brought to a close. For the first time a captive is released and the men are unhappy, surly in their non-release.

The time comes and the only preparation is how to stave off the anticipation, the impatience of those who have only known vagary, not self-control.

It is after the agreed hour and into the clearing skips a rabbit. One of the men notices and points to it, encouraging those around to break the ranks of their barely-held concentration and jeer, looking for sport. His lieutenants are used to such insubordination among the men, especially as their ranks now grow daily, introducing many who have yet to learn discipline. A quick wave of the hand and order is restored.

The rabbit skips away. And is shortly replaced by a stag. One that seems to have no fear of the massed ranks of arms that could kill it a hundred times before it had fully turned its back. Again some men show their agitation and are silenced, though with a glare as well as the hand: this is a bigger prize and a greater temptation to those who have not known of greater things.

The captain waits. But, never patient, he wonders if he has been played for a fool Or if he is being played for one, seeing a test in all he encounters.

Following the stag comes a bear and the captain knows this is a test. The men closest to it do not, however, and rush forward to protect themselves, thinking false bravery is the way to reward. Their reward is death as the archers, trained with such instruction it becomes second-nature halt their progress with smooth, flowing shots. Ever-economical, they will collect their arrows from the corpses when it is right to do so.

The bear raises itself up on its hind legs and the captain rides to meet it, thinking that this may be a signal. The bear falls back down and turns its back unconcerned, padding away.

For once, perhaps the first time ever, feeling a little discomforted, the captain rides back to the head of the army.

“We will hunt at noon,” he thinks, knowing that this army’s stomach is growling and must be sated. Somehow.

The time for second chances does not arrive yet, however. Into the clearing ride three white horses. Brilliant in the purity of their coats, their breeding, they are tempting, even to him. Riderless, they seem surprisingly tame, adding further to the desire to profit from them. They stand and watch the men. Challenging them.

Into the clearing come three more. Brothers, sisters, all. And take up their place on the left of the clearing. All the men are now interested in only one thing and for once it is something above the desires of their pockets, their loins. Each and every one is consumed by the mystery, the expectation. All want to know what will happen next, not thinking of what catastrophe might befall them and end their miserable lives in an instant as short as was their making.

The third set of three horses arrive. Again riderless. This seems anti-climactic, a little predictable. Will there be more, and more?

The captain again knows a little disappointment while still captivated by his imagination: what might unfold yet still?

Out of thin air, they were borne and out of thin air they materialise. The riders on the horses, side by side, working from the outside in. Spirits, nymphs, dryads, call them what you will, these are the sisters of those he has caught. Bedecked in an armour that is almost translucent, all assembled know that these are not the same as the hunted.

And in the middle, at last appears the one he has been waiting for. She is … a little disappointing, he has to admit: golden, ringlets to just past her shoulders, a cold lustre that adorns a face chiselled from living marble, eyes of blue; she does not seem to possess the ethereal qualities of her fellows. She seems almost..l.human. But he knows she is not. Without introduction, he knows her: Diana, Goddess of the Hunt.

She looks at him. Unlike all mortal men, too aware of their frailties and station, he does not look away, cowering but stares back. He is searching and challenging: “What do you have for me?”

She stares back, unbowed. Is she not a Goddess?

And as they look into each other’s eyes they share a single thought: prey.