Hunt

The barbarian bent down on one knee and sniffed the spoor. It was fresh; the beast was nearby, not a half hour away from the spot. But in which direction? And, what was she doing? She couldn’t be hunting for prey this far away from the water hole. The river wouldn’t be flowing at this time of the year; the gazelles wouldn’t be grazing this far north.

He looked around for tracks. They seemed to lead east to the bushes. There were scruff marks on the bark of the betel tree. He wondered if he should pluck any leaves for his daily dessert, but decided against it. The main course is more important than dessert; luxury came last on his list of priorities. Food before luxury; water before food; air before water, and the tribe before air; and for the tribe to survive he had to slay the beast. The Wise woman had told him that in her fevre dream.

“The air smells of drought, Waerjak. I see death and decay all around. A womb plague strikes our women. Our weapons have rusted. The Lady of Destruction walks this land now. All this I see; it is near. But there is one hope.”

“What is it?” asked Waerjak, though he believed in none of this, he knew well enough that his tribe’s future lay in the beliefs of his people. He could see Tarnum again, lecturing by the fireside. The two of us may not believe in what we cannot see, Waerjak. Nature follows her own laws, but they are not the laws of Men. Men see beyond the roaring of the cataract, they hear a different music. The flash of lightning, the rumbling of thunder – they mean much more than rain to Man. To Him, it is the chariot of the Rain God flying across the Heavens. To move Man, you must listen to His beliefs, His hopes, His fears. You may stand on the peak of the mountain and see beyond, to the very Heavens; but Man, Man stands in the trough of the valley. You must start at this nadir before you can take him to the zenith. Belief before Empericism. Mysticism before Science.

“The beast that walks this land, Waerjak - you must slay her to save the tribe!”

Waerjak shook himself from his reverie. He stalked the beast now. He would have to bring her head back with him to wake his tribe from the malaise that had gripped them. From tree to tree, stalked; from paw mark to paw mark, he tracked; from rabbit track to boar path, he ran, till finally he saw her.

Magnificent! She lay on her side looking away from him. He tested the air; he was downwind. Her fur stirred in the air, from nose to tail, she must have been eight feet long. She stirred lazily, like a woman rising from sleep, stretching, thinking of the breakfast she would have to cook for her man. She put out her forelegs, and licked her right paw, a low purr escaped her maws.

Waerjak unsheathed his hunting knife. He rose from his haunches. The kill would be quick, he thought, a strike on the back of the neck would freeze her, before she even turned.

That’s when he saw it, a ball of orange moving beyond the beast. Waerjak froze in his tracks. The ball soon came fully into his view. It made a hissing sound, in mock anger. The beast nuzzled its nose against the furry ball. Soon three other balls came into view, all mewling away in hunger and primordial fury.

Waerjak backed away, without making a sound. Tarnum’s voice sounded in head, playing in contrapunt to the little beasts’ music. Luxury before food; water before food; air before water; the tribe before air; but, Waerjak, remember this, remember this – Life before all else. Life, Tarnum had sighed to him.

Waerjak turned to walk back to his tribe. The quest, a failure, but he would teach his tribe the path to the peak through another route.

Happy birthday, H!

T