The First Omega (NaNoWriMo)

He sat, or rather kneeled, in the clearing, a wide swath of green pine needles carpeting the ground below him. Light shone through the canopy of spikes in odd places, catching a rogue drift of fog here and there, above head level. Light caught in the morning dew on the tree bark, in the bed of needles, on the quicksilver of the man's blade. Noticing this, he made the first movement in many hours, drawing his sword and wiping it on a cloth that almost magically appeared from somewhere within his robes.

The trees rustled above his head, and he froze, eyes flickering. Suddenly he turned, spotted the assassin, and raised his sword just in time to deflect a crossbow bolt, pieces shattering and the shaft even still managing to puncture the flesh of his chest with its speed. He pulled it out from where it hung, loosely, and rose to his feet, knowing there would be more to come. He had to make it out of the forest before he was pincushioned by a mob of crossbowmen.

"I guess he did say 'no movement until I say,'" he muttered to himself angrily. He snarled ferally.

He raised his head and sniffed the air in the passing wind. Three...no, four, he thought. Two are brothers. They've been here all night.

Whipping his body to the side, he took to ground in a fallen tree, almost a natural lean-to. The wind of his passing kept on going, stepping where he would have stepped, rustling the pine needles in the path he would have taken. The assassins followed the noise for a few yards, but then paused. High in the tree tops, they flitted from branch to branch, searching.

Suddenly, all was still. The light and the trees seemed to sigh, relieved that nothing was to happen.

A raven's caw split the air, then another, perfectly timed to coincide at the trailing edge of the first. In his hiding spot, Kirt's nostrils flared, taking in the world. They were too high, the scent too scattered by the wind. Another caw, far away, matched again by a closer one in the opposite direction. He folded himself further into thecubby hole, glad of the mobility afforded him by not wearing armor.

Another caw, directly in front of him. He tore out of his hiding spot and slammed the point of his sword into the tree directly in front of him, shouting words of power, reality coalescing in an alternate form. From out of the clear blue sky, a lightning bolt struck the tree violently, sundering it in half. As it slowly came to a creaking fall, the body of one of the assassins dropped, smoking, to the floor, smelling of sick sweet smoke.

A howl of victory rose in Kirt's throat, but he only let out a thick, guttural, "Feathered bastard," and leapt away, short hair sticking straight up and crackling. A long caw waited for an answer, then an altogether human scream of rage, vocal chords straining, echoed through the forest.

Fuck, I nailed the brother, Kirt thought, teeth clenched. The same shimmering of reality he had just called up gathered in the distance, and then the wind ushering his movement came to a sudden halt, like a dead wall. He struggled to push through it as the tide turned and gale-force winds began to gallop towards him. The wind all but tore his robe from his back, attached only by the belt at his waist. Closing his eyes against the hail of stinging pine needles, he forced himself to the floor, where the wind pushed him into a obeisant position. The temperature dropped, and he wished for thick, antarctic fur.

Hairs on his back crawled despite the wind pushing them down. Directly behind him was a figure in black, walking calmly through the wind as though it were nothing. Small movements in the fabric were reminiscent of feathers. The assassin's crossbow lowered to Kirt's neck.

This is where you die, dog.

Kirt tensed up. Then he stood up, swiftly, and the force of the wind carried him into the would-be assassin with the speed of a charging bull. With an explosive whuff as the breath was torn out of them, they flew backwards several yards and slammed into a tree.

Darkness came, then.

The two remaining assassins dropped from the treetops and surveyed the scene. Kirt lay crumpled on the floor, the third assassin laid out as if sitting leisurely against the tree, arms to either side.

"That one is extremely powerful," one said, gesturing at Kirt. "The spirits move with his every step."

"Yes. We should kill him."

"We cannot. He killed Tyet. It's Tyen's honorkill."

"I understand, but he is much too powerful to be allowed to roam freely."

The second one kneeled and considered him closely.

"I don't know what our Lord was thinking, letting him even this far into Raven territory."

The first was silent. Then, "What shall we do now? Leave?"

"Why not? I guess the first one to wake will emerge the victor."

"That seems awfully arbitrary."

The second assassin shrugged, and launched off into the treetops. The first toyed with shooting Kirt, but walked away a few moments later.

~~~

Kirt woke, twitched, and rolled to his side, sitting up. The body of his pursuer lay slumped against the tree trunk. He listened carefully, and caught shallow breaths. Quietly, he rose to his feet and looked for his sword in the pile of pine needles that had built up against his prone body earlier. Finding it, he unsheathed it and positioned it against Tyen's chest. He paused. Something about him...

He grasped the cloth mask covering Tyen's face and yanked it off, and was met by a slim-faced, blue eyed girl.

Kill her now! Tensing, but he hesitated. Her hand whipped about and grabbed the dull end of his blade, a look of hatred contorting her features. Before she could try anything, he put added pressure on the sword, piercing black cloth and skin.

"Watch it, girl."

Shit, what do I do now?

She was silent, still holding a white-knuckled grip on the metal.

Kill her.

"I want you to turn around. Slowly. Or I'll run you through."

Kill her now, and you won't have to deal with it later.

She complied.

"Embrace the tree."

Why can't you do it?

"Embrace the tree!"

Finally, she did, and his mind raced on what to do next. He looked around. Pine needles. Trees. Crossbow. Crossbow!

"I changed my mind, put your hands at your sides."

She snarled. He pushed the point of his blade into her back.

"Why don't you just kill me? I'd kill you in a heartbeat" she hissed. Her voice was pitched low, heavy with hate. She lowered her arms. He didn't answer, reaching towards her crossbow with his foot. "Did your mother tell you not to hit girls,hmm?"

He finally got ahold of the crossbow and held it to her neck with his off-hand.

What the hell am I doing? He wondered. Playing Simon Says?

"As a matter of fact," he said, "she did." Then he dropped his sword and elbowed her in the temple, knocking her out. "But it's a damn sight easier this way, you crow bitch."

He caught her as she fell, and repositioned her against the tree. He took off his belt and tested its length. Thankfully, she was skinny. He wrapped it around her, arms, trunk, and all, and tightened it as far as it would go on the other side of the tree. Then he fired a bolt into it for good measure. He stepped away, the heat from their proximity cooling, the scent of her fading from his nostrils, and thought of home.

Then he loped away, towards the edge of the forest he had been seeking earlier. He had caught the lingering scent of the two remaining assassins who had been there only minutes before, and wondered why he wasn't dead. The Raven Lord feeling generous? Not likely. He had killed one of his flock.

He emerged into the unfiltered sunlight of the plain and breathed deeply, feeling no misgivings. Prairie grass and little grass bird scents met his nose, and the wide golden field was a glorious respite from the green of the forest. He reoriented, knowing exactly where he was now that he was out of the woods, and started towards his temporary home.

~~~

He dreamt. He dreamt of home and the love of his life, Kyria. Her arms running up and down his body, under his shirt, taking it off, his arms around her, breathing her in, sinking his face into her wavy hair, pressing her into his body. He kissed her as he had kissed no woman before in his life and he knew she was the one he would live with for the rest of his life. A low moan erupted from deep inside him, and she kissed his chest as if to silence it, licked him up and down. He ran a hand up her leg, following the curves of her waist and breasts through her clothes and grasped her chin, looking deep into her eyes. They sank to the floor. Gently, he removed her tunic and drew her in close, still holding her gaze. They lay on the floor on their sides, staring unblinkingly at each other, hands teasing, reaching more and more adventurously.

He rolled ontop of her, started to undo his pants.

"Can't," she whispered heavily, eyes pleading with him. "Not until we're wed..."

He took off his pants anyway, relieving the tension against the fabric.

"Even so," he whispered, "there's a lot can be done." He slipped a hand into her pants, and guided hers to his crotch.

He woke slowly and miserably, knowing he was waking, with an uncomfortable stiffness that wouldn't go away. He sat up and stared into the remains of his fire. How little he had guessed how much he would rue that night. They were awoken in the morning as the door burst inward, soldiers seizing them both. Their protestations that nothing had truly conspired were ignored, the governor's daughter escorted back to the estate in shame, and the interloper escorted to the jailhouse. Worse, though, was when one of them noticed the mark on Kirt's lower middle back, a mark even he hadn't been aware of.

The mark of the Omega.

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Yay for sex scenes in order to fill word count quotas! If this becomes a regular thing, my book might not end up strictly in the "sci-fi/fantasy" genre.