They would lag to try to see what she actually looked like when she grabbed the arrow. They always did.
So Kishi chose to wait.
She leaned back against the tree, fingering the arrow the big Hoshari warrior had shot at her. It was of a decent make. Maybe she could use it once she scratched out the hated enemy emblem.
Kishi's blue-green eyes narrowed into slits as she scanned the forest's silhouette. The horses and their unwelcome riders had gone…
but they would be only too happy to discover the rakhai's identity, or at least catch a glimpse of her.
Except they'd be gone by nightfall. No Hoshari wanted to be in this forest anytime after sunset–by now, they had all heard rumors of the men who had ventured into the woods at night and had never returned.
Thankfully, that number had thinned to almost none in the past few years. Kishi didn't care for the whole process of disposing of bodies.
The young woman sighed as she slipped the Hoshari arrow into her own quiver and stood up on the branch, her gloved hands feeling the trunk expertly for support. Her fingers molded into the bark as if they belonged there.
A few seconds later, her booted feet hit the ground, damp from that morning's rain. Pulling out a small knife–its hilt was similar to those of the much larger swords strapped on her back–she marked the tree carefully with a crude X. That done, Kishi wiped the blade briefly on her tan leggings and replaced it in its sheath.
Sighing, she took a moment to adjust the leather straps that carried the heavy twin blades.
Once, they had been too heavy for her. But now…
They were still heavy, but the weight was manageable.
Straightening, Kishi scowled as the young man's blue eyes sifted into her memory.
Strange. The man must be one like her–Karunic. His accent was, anyway.
But his fealty was not. Not with the Hosharan emblem embroidered on the back of his cloak, nor the gray lining of his mask that marked him a zakun. Or a metai, as the Hoshari called warriors in training.
Kishi broke away from the path, her slim figure slipping through the underbrush with hardly a sound.
If the man was Karunic, why had he dismounted?
Perhaps he wanted to meet her.
Or perhaps he wanted to betray her. She could never tell.
And now she would never know.
Kishi glared at the sun as it dipped towards the horizon painted pink beyond the trees that were her kingdom.
Another night.
Another day.
Alone.
Her bun had come loose. Kishi let her red hair fall and crescendo between the top V formed by her fathers' crisscrossed blades.
They were straight and true. As clean as the kingdom Kishi hadn't known long enough to remember.
Her father had been the most widely-known Tor'kesh–elite warrior–of all Karun.
And his daughter was only a zakun, really. Well, the soldiers had called her an ashkai–a warrior of a master's reputation, but one who had never been initiated. Sometimes the word was also used for an illegal teacher of martial arts.
But Kishi taught no one–besides herself. And she didn't intend to change that anytime soon.
Her hair lightly brushing a protruding branch, Kishi stepped into the small, dirt-lined grove she called home.
Well, at least that was what her father had called it before he left her to go lose a war.
Kishi wondered if he had known he would never return to his daughter.
Carefully, she unstrapped the twin swords and hung them on a tree worn bare by the ornate sheaths.
She ran her finger across the hilt of one for a moment. The gilded metal that had been forged by one of the greatest old blacksmiths of Karun, a personal favor to her father, the King's right-hand man.
That had been over thirty years ago now. Over a decade before one of the King's lady acquaintances had met his warrior comrade and fallen in love–somewhat to the King's personal annoyance.
And now the swords were all that was left of the blacksmith…
and Kishi all that was left of Tor'kesh Aishi, the man who had once been a living legend.
Her dark gray mask still covered the lower half of her face. Kishi pulled it free, smiling as she took a deep gulp of the musty, earthy forest air.
The mask itself had not been her father's. Her father's had been lost when he was.
It wouldn't have lasted for Kishi's kind of work, anyway. If retaliating on Hoshara's troops from the cover of the forest counted as work.
Now Kishi grabbed a few thin logs and added them to the charred remains of what had obviously been a small fire. She didn't try to relight it–fires were only for after dark, when the smoke wouldn't give her away.
There were more apples in her pack, red and shiny like the one that had regretfully been wasted on the passing messenger unit. Kishi unpacked them carefully. The smell reminded her of the apple pastry she'd been given a week ago.
Kishi smiled at the memory. She never visited the same village twice in the same month. But she remembered faces very well, and sometimes she thought her donors remembered her, too.
Despite the mask.
But of course. Her hair would give her away anywhere–only as the quiet zakun girl who left as suddenly as she came.
Never as the "ghost" of the Hiyashi, the woods that marked the old border between Karun and Hoshara.
Kishi sat down on the bare ground and leaned her head against the tree opposite that which held the swords. Her eyes fell closed–almost.
Sleep was dangerous. Sleep was always dangerous. Kishi sighed.
But sleep was necessary.
Well…she could sleep…now.
She didn't know how long it was before her eyes flew open again, but they opened to near-total darkness.
Kishi got up slowly, wincing slightly as a join snapped back into tension.
The fire… She could start the fire now.
The air was cold as it sifted through her many layers–layers that made Kishi feel comfortable wherever she was in this forest of hers, as well as layers that kept her nearly invisible to enemy eyes. Thankfully, though it was near wintertime, the temperatures in this part of Karun never dropped too low for the girl who lived outside.
In the mountains, she had heard once, there was sometimes snow, a white, freezing powder that cloaked everything in sight with pure beauty. Kishi had never seen it before, but she promised herself that someday she would.
Someday…
Kishi frowned. She belonged in these woods. She'd always been here.
There was no reason to ever leave, was there?
Not while Karun was still an occupied land.
A few minutes later, Kishi was blowing carefully at the small flame, hoping it would catch. It did–slowly. Kishi watched the small log suspiciously as the "tinder" of pine needles crackled and then blackened against the log.
Then it caught. Kishi crouched for a moment longer, holding her hands out towards the tiny flame.
It was time to go find that arrow. The fire would be okay until she got back–it always was.
~~~
It almost seemed as if the twigs themselves made way for Kishi's booted feet, her steps were so quiet.
She did not take the trees this time. Trees were for ambushes; the ground was for business.
As Kishi walked, she pulled on the mask. Her already quiet breathing was instantly muffled.
No one would see her–or hear her.
But she would make doubly sure.
An owl hooted somewhere. Kishi's fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger for a moment and then relaxed.
Something moved in the bushes.
She ignored it–just a rabbit. She could tell by the way the bush sprang back into shape a moment later.
Kishi didn't know why the timid creatures were so scared of her. It wasn't like she was actively hunting.
Then again, she had learned a long time ago that the cute furballs were most certainly not pets.
Not for her, anyway.
As she crossed the path, a tree's silhouette loomed up before her. It looked familiar.
Her hand traced the trunk near the base.
There was the X. Perfect.
Kishi turned left and followed the beaten trail, her eyes scouring the ground for all they were worth. Above her, the moon loaned its help. Eyes were only eyes, after all.
There was the arrow. Kishi bent to pick it up–and her eyes lit on a scrap of paper, folded carefully.
She hesitated for a moment, hunched perfectly still as she listened–and felt.
There was no one. Nothing.
Kishi slipped the arrow into her quiver, perhaps with a mental reminder to deface the Hosharan arrow she'd already collected.
Then her fingers closed around the paper, but she didn't unfold it. There was no way she'd be able to read it here.
She'd have to wait until she'd gotten back to the grove.