The Spirit QuiverJorad & The North Woods of Ajirr

______________________________________________________A Short Story Collaboration by

Mike Weinberger & Jason Albert

A Rasher Quivers Story

Written by Mike Weinberger & Jason AlbertIllustrated by Gabriel Albert

Cover Graphics by Gabriel AlbertFormatting by Jason Albert

Deep in the north woods of Ajirr dwell forces unknown to man. For centuries they have been among us, watching in a quiet rage as Man and his ilk have destroyed everything that they, since the dawn of creation, have sworn to protect. They are the guardians of

earth, the protectors of nature and they can no longer stand by and wait for the ways of man to change. Some think of them as spirits, others think of them as ghosts, but no man has ever been able to prove their existence...

…until today.

***

Jorad Rasher paused by the stream and drank deeply of the cool mountain waters that he had come across on his track. The winter’s snow that had covered the grounds of Ajirr had begun their thaw and the chill in the stream felt good against his parched throat. It slaked the thirst he had developed while trying to catch up to the small herd of boar he was following and it temporarily eased the pain in the core of his being. He hadn’t eaten for two days, not since thieves had ransacked his makeshift camp and ran off with everything he owned save a few scraps of wool that he had fashioned into a sad, but functional quiver. If he hadn’t been collecting water when the thieves had arrived he might have lost his most cherished possessions as well, not to mention his life.

He still had his knife, the blade of which he had knapped from the blackest piece of obsidian he had ever seen and mounted it inside an Elk antler for a handle. He still had his water-skin, which he quickly submerged in the stream and filled to capacity. But most of all he had his bow.

As the water-skin filled he looked down at the bow as it lay next to him and admired how white the wood appeared next to the remnants of winter’s snow. He had carved the bow with his own two hands from a hickory tree that he had happened upon during one of his longer wanderings. The massive tree appeared to have been felled by a bolt of lightning that had struck near the base of the trunk, an unusual place for lightning to strike a tree to be sure, but as he had no axe, this was an easy opportunity for premium bow wood that couldn’t be ignored.

Jorad remembered pausing over the tree and placing his hand upon the fallen trunk. He didn’t know why he had felt such a need to impart a few moments of silent thanks to whatever power that had provided the great gift to him, but there he stood in any case, silent and reverent before he set about his task of carving into the great tree.

Ever since that day he had never let the bow out of his sight; however, he wished he had also kept the matted fur quiver and it’s contents of arrows with him as well when he had gone for water. The quiver he had lost wasn’t much, nor were the arrows it held.

Certainly nothing worth stealing, or so he had thought, still that loss mattered little and he had fashioned replacements quickly enough. It was the food and his sleeping wools that he missed most, although if he managed to catch up to the herd, then he could quickly forget those things as well.

He corked the water-skin and was about to rise when a rustling sound came from the bushes on the other side of the stream. Soft contented grunts rumbled in his ears as he pressed his belly flat against the ground and slipped a cedar arrow noiselessly from the wool quiver and pushed the nock against the sinew string. Unconsciously he ran his fingers lightly over the turkey feather fletching and tried to keep his breathing under control as he felt the breeze coming off the mountain blow into his face.

He could smell the wild pigs before he could see them, their sour smell giving their presence away to any predator that might be downwind of their position, which is exactly

where and what Jorad was now. A predator. Downwind.

The first pig to appear was a small sow, not even a yearling. She ambled out in the open unafraid of the dangers that might be waiting for her once she left the cover of the green foliage. More youngsters ran into view and began grazing on the river grasses that grew along the banks of the stream. Jorad placed his fingers on the string and lightly pulled back on it, creating tension and readying the shot.

Larger pigs began to cautiously emerge from the scrub of the forest, but were wary of the open space. They raised their noses in the air and snuffled repeatedly, trying to get a whiff of anything on the breeze that might represent danger, but Jorad was downwind and his sent was carried in the other direction by the breeze. The pigs had no way of knowing he was so close.

Then it came, the lead boar replete with six inch exposed tusks that could kill a man as easily as any spear or blade. Jorad’s heart began to thump harder in his chest as he watched the beast move toward the far side of the stream. This was the animal that he would take…if he could. The meat, once properly dried and smoked, would last for at least two months, which was more than enough time for the rest of the woodland animals to come out of their winter hibernation. Its fur-laden hide would warm and protect him through the rest of the cold nights and its tusks would fetch a proper price from the next village he encountered. Enough for him to buy more wool and flint to make up for all he had lost to the thieves.

He needed to shift his position in order to get a clear shot. He was currently facing them head on and needed to shift to the right in order to get his bow arm in a feasible position. Careful not to make any noise he slid his body around. There was the slightest scrape of his leather clothes on the grass as he moved only a few inches at a time. At one point the boar’s head shot up and Jorad froze while holding his breath, praying to any deity that would listen to keep the boar from noticing him.

He only needed a couple more inches…

Unseen by Jorad were the eyes of the elder spirit who had taken notice of him as he emerged from the forest and knelt by the stream. At first, the spirit hadn’t thought much of the tiny human and would have ignored him, but then he noticed what Jorad was carrying and felt something within the wood that the man carried along with him. It was almost as if there was a part of the man residing within the wood, which was a mystery to the elder spirit. So he watched as Jorad slowly moved in the grass until his body was parallel to the stream. Watched as the man rolled to his side and extended his arm out toward the boar on the far side. Then the man pulled on the string, the faint stretch of the heavy bow limbs creaked against the stillness of the scene and the boar looked up again at the sound.

With a muffled “thump” the arrow was released and the sound of the limbs retracting in violent rhythm reverberated through the air. The entire herd of pigs immediately reacted

to the sound and stood to attention, but it was the sound of the arrow striking hard against solid flesh that sent them all scurrying back into the forest. The giant boar let out a shriek that was part surprise and part challenge as he too tried to run for the safety of the forest, but after a few steps he stopped and looked around. The massive beast wobbled on his feet as if suddenly drunk, and then teetered over and fell to his side.

Jorad didn’t move after the shot. Although it was unlikely that any of the herd would have charged him through the moving water of the stream, it was better to be safe and still until he was sure of his kill. He had seen the boar fall and, once the sounds of the boar’s breathing had gone silent, he slowly got to his feet while nocking another arrow.

Soon Jorad was standing over his kill with his arrow protruding from the boar’s heart. Jorad knelt beside the boar, removed the arrow carefully and set it aside before plucking a sprig of wild sage from the spot where it grew. Crushing the sage in his palm Jorad sprinkled the herb over the boar’s head and mouth in a show of respect and thanks for the animal having given its life so that he can live.

It was at this moment that the elder spirit felt something stir within him. It had been an age since he had seen, or even heard for that matter, any human showing such regard for life and nature. It made the spirit think that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for mankind after all.

Jorad had the boar skinned, cleaned and broken down into manageable pieces in just over an hour. He left nothing to waste except the gut pile, but felt the wolves would make short work of that as soon as night fell. This also meant he would have to clear the area and try to find some high ground where he could start a fire and protect his kill from the wolves. Using his cloak as a makeshift sack he bundled everything he would take with him together and was about to walk out of the area when the wind suddenly picked up around him in a massive gale.

The unnatural torrent immediately put Jorad on the alert and he dropped the makeshift sack before quickly nocking an arrow on his bow.

Standing tall against the wind, Jorad shouted, “reveal yourselves!”

A voice called out to him as the winds shifted and eased, “relax hunter. There is no need for you to fear me this day.”

Jorad’s eyes darted from side to side but he could see no sign of where the voice may have come from.

“What trickery is this?!” Jorad called out to the open air, “again I say reveal yourselves!”“This way hunter,” the voice called back as the wind picked up again while parting fallen leaves that had accumulated on the ground to make a path that led back into the forest.

Confused and concerned, Jorad hadn’t been aware as he took his first steps along the

path, but before he realized what he was doing he found himself in front of a massive oak tree with a magnificent gnarled trunk and branches that seemed to climb up to the very heavens themselves.

And there, fashioned as if carved into the thick bark by the hand of God himself, was a face with features covered by inlayed leaves.

The face of Mistore, the great elder spirit.

Jorad had never looked upon the face of Mistore before, he had only ever heard the stories told around the campfires of the great elder spirit, but standing there he had no doubt of the identity of the spirit which he faced.

“Forgive me great spirit, but I know not the protocol for one such as I who comes before you. Be it proper that I should kneel?”

Mistore eyed Jorad for a moment and then the face in the bark seemed to brighten, “rather I think I would have you sit as I have much to say to thee.”

Mistore explained to Jorad the disappointment that he and his fellow spirits felt for mankind and how the people treated the world in which they lived. All hope for mankind’s salvation had, in fact, been lost until today when a human had finally shown reverence for the world once more. Mistore explained that it was time for the spirits to observe mankind beyond the boundaries of the forest and that, perhaps, there were more like Jorad out in the world.

“Fashion me a vessel and take me with you on your travels and I will share with you my knowledge." Jorad agreed to take Mistore with him on his journey and spent the next five days making a quiver from the boar hide to be used as the vessel for the spirit. Jorad burned the hair from the hide before cutting, carving, tanning, tooling, and then stitching it all together. When the leather he had created had finally come together as a quiver he held it up and smiled. It was a quiver unlike anything he had ever made before and was befitting the elder spirit. Just then, the sound of the forest went silent and the air stood still. Not a sound could be heard from throughout the woodland. There was nothing. No breeze. No scent of wildflowers. No movement of bird, critter, or cloud…and the quiver was gone.

Jorad waited in that spot for days, spending his time smoking and drying out the boar meat while waiting to hear from Mistore. How would he know if Mistore had approved of his work? How long should he wait?

On the seventh day all the meat was smoked and dried and Jorad decided he couldn’t wait anymore. It was time for him to go as he had an obligation to be in Caline within two days time.

"To Be Continued"