Ars Hyrannor: Book of the Bloodcallers

CHAPTER 3: RICEWINE INDIGO

The South.

Cyrannis Village.

Ricewine Indigo knew it was time.

Oh, yes, how it was time.

A time they had been counting down to for 9 cold, unforgiving years.

Infact, she’d waited another day, just to be so very sure it was the right time.

But she finally had it: Adulthood.

And, with it, she was finally free to Leave.

Indigo heaved herself up from her bed, a mattress of loose wool in a canvas sack, and began to prepare.

It was how it always went, for everyone, even her. Your first 6 years is infancy, then 6 years of childhood. 6 years of being a teen, and after your three sixes, it is done. You’re your own. You either stayed with your family, in your village, or you left, found a new village, an apprenticeship, made or joined a new family.

Even for a person without a family to speak of, Indigo knew they could rely on this.

And she knew exactly who’s apprentice she would become.

Steadying herself on her feet, stretching away the overnight fog, she took a last look at the place that was home.

With no family to inhabit them, most of the Ricewine houses had been taken by others, or torn down. Indigo was left with only the house she was in now, the oval hall, -the one she had all but died in those years ago- and the barn they kept their hounds, all she could farm on her own.

Aside from her bedding and the Ricewine sword, Indigo kept a brick cupboard of tools and clothes, a travel bag, and clothing she had woven and traded the bronze fittings for herself, and the broad loom she wove the wool from the hounds with.

Wool was enough to trade to feed the hounds, and clothing or rope was enough to feed her. She lived, somewhat comfortably even. But, who was she kidding? There was nothing for her here. No space for a girl without a family. No space for a walking reminder of a tragedy. No space for that strange girl who cannot smile properly, who death hovers around like miasma, and who dresses like a funeral.

Family, family, family. It was all she ever heard.

But it was just her.

No, now she was 18. She could fix it. She could fix herself. She could finally find every single Vampire on this damned, damned world, and tear down every single one where they stand.

They could follow in the steps of that Steel person from all those years ago -the Steelhound, they had taken to naming them- and bring that cloud of death crashing down on those damned Vampires. Damn it.

Stewing in her fresh hatred, her anticipation, and that need to go and DO SOMETHING already, it’s TIME, she began pulling on the travel clothing she’d made.

Leather -traded from the Hawkstooth family in exchange for her making the dress their youngest wore to the spring celebration last year- made up her neckguard and the soles of her onesuit, the very outer pieces and inner of her wardrobe. Fur from a stoat kill lined the inner soles of the onesuit, whilst the whole piece was made of a dense, tough wool, dyed a colour not unlike the leather. Then, her undershirt was light and black, topped with a fleecy dress in dark cyan, with celeste blue stripes. Then, a pale blue short cloak over top, and her bag wrapped around her. Her outfit was dark, blue, and basic. Frankly depressing. But she wore it for death; the death she knew and the death she would bring.

But, there was one more thing she needed.

Her sword.

No fire to illuminate it, there hadn’t been for a long time, it was a haunting silver. Like ice, or the moon, all the colours of winter.

How she hated winter. That awful, uncaring time.

That was what she had to be. With this sword, she would be that creeping death, that force that cuts you down with one wrong step.

The metal was reflective, though, even without the blinding light to take it up. Indigo’s face marred its surface; her piercing sapphire stare, uneven in her right eye’s slight close, lips twisted in a scowl, midnight blue curls serving only to frame it all. And the pale scar that dominated it all. It dominated everything. She gritted her teeth.

Breath shaking, they took the blade off its rack, and slid it into straps along her pack, resting at their hip.

No going back now.

—

Snow was still thin on the ground, no doubt one of the last comings this season, as she trod across the grounds to the barn. Chill air nipped at her heels, but her craftsmanship was confident, and she was warm against the cold.

A resounding ‘Borf!’ bounced off the walls and floors as she unclasped and opened the door to the high-roofed building. The woolly form of one of the Woolhounds scrambled over and reared, all to lick at Indigo’s face. This one was Cream, a 2 year old male, the only one she had this winter. Clearly, she hadn’t been planning to stick around much longer. Infact, she’d come over to let the small bear out, and find a new owner.

But.

Cream licked at Indigo’s nose again, turned his head on its side, and made a sound that might have been an attempt at a bark.

“Cream… I’m going to go hunt vampires…” it sounded stupid, to explain this to a bear, “I can’t keep you and farm you anymore…”

He dropped to all-fours, and hopped around Indigo.

“I’m going to find the Steelhound, like I told you!” He couldn’t listen when she had said, ofcourse. But reciting her plans was a good way to make shearing less boring.

He would need shearing. Soon, spring. And he did have a good nose.

Cream nudged her leg.

She sighed, looking to the roof, before dropping her gaze to the farm animal. “I am going to do this before I can think better.” Taking two cords of rope, Indigo fashioned a belt around Cream’s core, and tied a length to it that she tied to her pack. “Come, we must go.”

Cream borfed in approval.

Making their way through, the pair entered the core of the village. The central path was abuzz with the busy and the hurried, all dressed in colourful fabrics, tassels flowing and shawls fluttering. And all making way for Indigo.

Was it because it was Indigo? The Ricewine’s only blood. The child with the scarred face. The one who spoke nonsense about the night she should have died?

Was it because she held a sword? That wouldn’t do. They were for display, not for blood. She should have had family to stop her.

Or was it simply that her outfit depressed them?

Indigo could not afford to worry. It was time to forget this village, and to let her mind be completely filled of death.

Or not.

She heard before she saw, a commotion up ahead. Their heart racing for just a split second as she remembered that commotion those years ago. But this wasn’t violence. It was worse; guests.

The Northerners navigated their massive wheeled vehicle into the largest part of the square. Lead by their own strange creatures -“deer,” if she remembered correctly- that snorted and stomped as they stopped. Flags, made of orange and red, fell from poles, as their soldiers dropped onto the ground below.

The Oheli Empire. Come to take.

No, no, they would never go to war with the Nojanin. Because, from what Indigo could tell, they needed them. Probably half of what she made went with the Ohelin on their carriages, never to be seen again. Not much she received in terms of payment.

Not to say the Ohelin didn’t give them anything; things of their invention had crept slowly and surely in, since before Indigo was young. Things like gender, the Havatu festival, or even simply a running knowledge of all their matters and worries, had been pushed into her home. She found herself calling herself her, receiving gifts in the autumn midnight, or worrying about their Lords. It had crept in without her even noticing. And it came in these peaceful envoys, full of soldiers.

Two leaned against the cart, both with bronze spears and tailed shields. Quickly, Indigo tried to shuffle past. But it seems the Ohelin didn’t know to revile her like her countrymen did.

“Oi. Girl.” Ok, so Indigo guessed her gender right. “Got anything for us? The hound?”

Indigo did not respond. She kept walking. Didn’t look at them.

“Hey! Don’t run away.” Ah. Wrong response.

“I have nothing for you.” She said, frankly. “I am leaving. I probably will not return.”

The two exchanged words in Ohelil. Maybe something about knives? They responded in Najanil, ofcourse, “To do what?”

“I’m 18. It is my right.” A few of the Najanin faces around perked up. She couldn’t read what that meant, she just kept looking to the floor. “I will seek an apprenticeship.” Hushed talk began.

It seems she wasn’t the only one who noticed; the leftmost soldier motioned their weapon to a woodworker, “Oi. What’s on with her?”

They hesitated, before muttering, “they believe in phantoms… They talk about this ‘Steelhound’ phantom so much… They might be off to see it…”

The soldier turned back towards Indigo, “that true?”

She swallowed, fixing her gaze as much as she could away from the soldiers.. “Aye. I seek the Steelhound. They will show me how to slay vampires. I will become stronger warriors than either of you.” Her heartbeat was thunder in her ears. Everyone in the village was looking now, even the other soldiers had stopped loading their cart.

“Vampires? Have you ever even seen a vampire around these parts? Come on. Don’t you people have families to worry about all day?” The other soldier scoffed.

Indigo locked up. Again. No. No no no. Nononononono. Not now. Not when she’s so close to leaving this place. Not when everyone is watching. Not when her knuckles are white around the hilt of her blade, infront of two Ohelin trying to get a rise.

Why did she have to freeze? Why couldn’t she charge into things? Why wasn’t she the type of warrior who ran into battle and didn’t stop til she was the last one standing?

Why hadn’t she done anything when everyone died?

She could have sworn she heard the crack as she snapped her head to the Ohelin. Felt the fire in her eyes as it burned her stare. Burned her scar. Fuck, she growled.

And then she ran.

Cream bounded after her, the white-furred beast panting as Indigo took off faster than she ever had. Past the banner-decorated bakery, past the wood carvings of the Granite family’s home, past the upright logs of the village wall.

Into the forest. Into darkness. Into what she did not know.

Sun above, she could barely see.

Was she crying?

Somewhere in the forest, she stopped. She had no food, hadn’t remembered to pack any, in her rush to leave. She had no clue where she was, and no idea how to use Cream to sniff home out. Damn, she didn’t even have a home, now.

The tears came freely now, like they never did. She never cried. Indigo had always been the type of child to shut down. To look ghastly into the distance. To stare into nothing. To seethe.

Well, it had been 9 years of seething, stewing, and refining her hate. All the tears that process made had to come out some day.

She cried til her gut hurt. Cried til she was curled up at the base of a tree. Cried til the tears left her, and all she had were the choked wails of her gut.

And when even those left her, when Cream felt fit to lick the salt from her face, only then did she stand.

Damn it all.

If she was damned to this, she was going to damn as many of them with her as she could.

She was going to kill every single vampire.

—

Forward was the only way it seemed fit to go. They had entered the forest coming one way, so it only made sense they’d find the other end simply continuing that way.

Indigo thought she was fine now. A force of death and destruction, yes, but she was fine emotionally. So, why did her breath come in ragged stutters?

Cream sighed at her feet, being just as hungry as Indigo most likely. Well, they’d be out soon enough.

Soon enough.

The trees shook.

Cream’s button ears perked.

Indigo drew their blade.

Another rumble spread through the forest, then a third. Indigo darted to her left, the direction they came from, stumbling across roots and bramble and snow, to be blown back by the fourth. Pushing on, running forth, she forced into the clearing it all came from. And she beheld majesty.

Sunlight and snow’s reflection danced across the Steel plates of the Hound, bronze gilding and maille cascaded across their form like fire, and they moved with it all like a craftsman’s fingers.

As they boxed a bear.

The beast was atleast 3 times taller than Indigo -maybe twice as tall as the Steelhound- with coppery fur that bore a golden ring around its neck. Muscles rippled beneath loose skin as its claws struck steel and weight slammed. It was probably the biggest living thing Indigo had ever seen.

So why was it losing?

A final quake rang as the Steelhound slammed the bear’s head into the ground. Standing over it, as the single strip of fabric they wore as a cape flitted in the wind. Simply seeing them stand was awe-inspiring. Indigo knew they were huge, but their broad, powerful shoulders, their precise stance, their sheer presence… It reinvented them to her.

Their head turned.

“I have nothing for you. You will regret every second you spend near me.”