The Death of Magic: A Novel of Rootworld

Kristen hooked the strap of her paintball mask to her belt then pulled on her leather bracers in preparation for her hunting final. They were loosely fitted.

She had learned to go a size-up on leather items after hunting the Firewise desert on assignment two years back. Of course, she had read about amateurs being strangled by shrunken leather in the history books of the Hunter's Guild by then, but hadn't planned on experiencing enough water to worry about that. In fact, her major worry when she'd fallen victim, was the lack of water. Dying of thirst, for example.

With that memory in mind, she pulled a canteen off her dormitory shelf and shouldered it, then pushed a raccoon-skin hat down firmly on her head over her makeshift sweatband. In a pinch, she could ring the water from it. She wasn't going to find herself being hoisted home on the shoulder of her mentor again after her clothes had been cut from her limbs by the sharpened bone of some unfortunate animal or another.

"Not this time," Kristen said, poking the leather cap and her very own bone-handled knife, which hung along the trim of her closet on a string. Then she opened the doors.

She slid apart the array of uniforms. The outfits were all different colors and textures. One was actually made from leaves that she'd painstakingly strung herself, another entirely of feathers. From behind these, she withdrew her five-foot yew bow. Ran a finger on the string to test its wax, then laid it on the bed. Fixed a quiver of standard wooden arrows in place beside it, then after consideration, added some iron ones, plus some poison tips (corked for safety), four petroleum fire arrows, and an incendiary for good measure. She opened a trunk, rummaged inside, removed a rolled bundle, then closed the trunk and put her foot atop it loosening the laces on her boots. From the bundle she produced four throwing spikes and two hunting knives. The spikes slid into her left boot and she pulled the laces taught again. Up went her other foot and she did likewise, first checking that the handles of each knife contained the mandatory, flint, cheese wire, magnet, doggie treat, fishing hook, wax-coated paper, and piece of pencil. She laced up that boot, then folded the dark cloth, the only thing remaining of the empty bundle, into a triangle and tied it around her neck, tucking the excess into the back of her camouflage shirt.

She went to her desk, stopping to admire herself in the mirror beneath the array of taxidermies on the walls. All hunters had taxidermies. Though, a good drawing of a newly identified species was acceptable for a passing grade, real proof was required if you wanted to earn membership in the guild. She thought she looked pretty good. Her face could use some paint, but she would do that last. She paused before opening the bottom drawer of her desk to lift a framed photo from the desktop.

Back on the Globe, Kristen had been part of an all-boys paintball team. She often wondered what had happened to her teammates. John, the team captain, had gone through the guild and graduated two years earlier but because of the strict three year vow of silence, she wouldn't know if he'd had passed, or done the other thing, which she did not want to think about at this point. Best case scenario was that he was shipped back Globe-side and becoming acclimated to a world of magic and science. Maybe he was even married. She left it at that. Then put the photo down and removed a crossbow and bolts from the drawer. She strung one, put on the safety, and threw it over her back on a thong. She reached over the desk, and took the wooden club from the mount, securing it likewise, over her shoulder. From her top drawer she took a petrified larynx, good for calling any type of game, and tied it to her belt. Four bags of rations went into the pockets of her BDUs. Her climbing spikes went into a satchel with some rope. A multi-tool, shaped like a hammer, managed to fit underarm. Then she threw her fur cloak over the whole mess and turned to the mirror, trying to tell if Alpha would notice the unusual bulge. She pointed to her reflection and gave a click and a wink, then took a pinhole camera, which might save herself the trouble of drawing, and hid that down the front of her shirt. She'd recently become adept with the spring trap, and seeing as she'd gone through the trouble of polishing it, secured it, chain and all, to her belt as well.

Then, she threw the bow and the quiver of arrows over the fur, cinching them down. She pulled the stone axe off her shelf and pushed the handle into her tent roll before hoisting it onto her shoulders, then as an afterthought slid a blow gun down her left trouser leg. She thought of her old friend Beaver. Yes, today was the day to become the hunter or the hunted.

As Kristen applied her face paint she thought of the four years under Alpha's tutelage. He had taught Kristen everything besides what a heavy burden a guild membership comes with.

"That," Alpha had said, "you will have to learn for yourself."

She faced away from the mirror, took one step reaching for the door handle, and clattered to the floor.

"Lesson learned," she thought.