by Inmon, Shawn
Sekun-ak, his hunters, and Alex’s small rooting section—Dan, Malen-eh and Janta-ak—waited there for him. Alex skidded to a stop, too out of breath to speak. Instead, he simply handed over the backpack that contained the plate. He turned and looked west.
The sun was still an eyelash above the hills.
He had done it.
He fell to one knee, too exhausted to be jubilant. The children were not. They raised their hands above their heads, jumped, whooped and hollered.
Monda-ak took advantage of Alex being more at his height and attacked him with wet kisses from his magnificent tongue, which was already five inches long and resembled a head of cauliflower at the tip.
Dan, Malen-eh, and Janta-ak gathered around Alex, lifting him up, smiling and laughing.
Sekun-ak reached inside the pack and pulled out the plate. This time, his face showed a certain grudging respect.
“Final test tomorrow,” he said. “Same time.”
Alex looked at Dan and said, “There were snakes. The biggest rattler I’ve ever seen in my life was curled up around that plate. How the hell did they do that?”
Dan smiled ruefully. “I guess I should have told you. Balta-ak, the hunter with the scars on his arms, is a snake-charmer. He has a magic touch with them. It’s like he hypnotizes them and makes them do his will. Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It was almost the end of me. The rattler missed me, but I nearly died of a heart attack when I saw it.”
Dan glanced at Sekun-ak’s retreating back. “Let’s get you some food, water, and a bed. After these first two, I hate to think what he’s got lined up for the last one.”
Chapter Fifteen
A Quest IV
At apex the next day Alex and Dan met Sekun-ak at the armory once again. Monda-ak nipped playfully at their heels as they walked.
Whatever cockiness Alex might have felt the first two days was gone. He knew that instead of simply questing for a position in the tribe, he might be fighting for his life.
Sekun-ak stood in front of the armory; arms crossed against his chest.
“Gunta,” Alex said to him.
“Gunta,” Sekun-ak mumbled, then looked down at Dan. Unlike the first two days, when his instructions were complicated, today he was brief.
“He says all you have to do is capture a Desma-ta and bring it back. You can stay out as long as you want, but I think you need to return before it gets dark. The area where the Desma-ta lives is not dangerous in the daytime, but I don’t think you’d survive out there after dark. If you return to camp without one, you have failed at the task.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but what is a Desma-ta? Some poisonous lizard? A badger the size of a grizzly?”
“No, the danger is not in the capture, but in the likelihood that you won’t be able to do it. You would probably call a Desma-ta a prairie dog, but unlike what you might remember from our time, this is much larger.”
“Of course it is. Why does he think I can’t catch one?”
“Like prairie dogs, they live in a community of tunnels. They are also lightning quick. It’s easy to find them, but damn hard to get your hands on them. And even if you do, you’ll be surprised how hard they are to subdue. They have teeth and claws and will fight when forced to.”
“And he says he wants it alive? That seems odd for a hunting challenge.”
“It’s so much harder to deliver a live Desma-ta than a dead one. To bring in a dead one, you could find their tunnels and take one out with a bow and arrow when it pops its head up.”
“Okay. I get it. This isn’t supposed to be easy. Where can I find them?”
Dan quickly gave Alex directions to find the Desma-ta tunnel system, then said, “Stay here. I need to get you something.”
Dan hurried away, then returned with a large, empty leather bag. “Use this to carry the thing back if you actually grab one. You don’t want to have to wrestle it all the way home.”
Alex folded the bag and slipped it inside the backpack. “Thank you. I’ll be back with a Desma-ta or die trying.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Alex kneeled and held Monda-ak’s face in his hands. “This is the last time, okay? After today, I won’t leave you anymore.”
The dog whined as though he didn’t believe him.
“Hold onto him, will ya? I don’t want him following me and getting devoured by Ronit-ta or being a small snack for Godat-ta.”
“You got it brother,” Dan said nervously. “Don’t be a hero out there, all right? If you can’t catch one, you can’t catch one. Come back and we’ll find you something else to do.”
“I know, I know. Malen-eh can always use help with the laundry, right?”
“I can be such an asshole sometimes.”
“As we’ve discussed. No worries. I’ll be back.”
Alex left the compound at a more leisurely pace than he had the day before. He didn’t have the same strict timer on him and he didn’t have as far to travel. He didn’t want to dawdle, but he also didn’t want to exhaust himself before he got there.
The children didn’t seem as excited by today’s quest as they had been the day before, ignoring him as he passed through the field toward the forest.
Alex turned left onto the game trail and walked south for a few hundred yards. He came to a tree that had been hit by lightning and was mostly charred, but still stood. He slowed and continued for a few yards until he saw a barely visible game trail that shot off from the main path. He pushed through the forest, using his cudgel to push barbed vines out of his way. Dan had warned him that these vines not only tore at the skin, but also were tipped with a low-grade poison.
He came to the edge of the forest and his view opened onto the large plain. He knew he wasn’t far from where the tribe was attacked by the Ronit-ta, so he paused. He didn’t see any sign of the wolves’ backs cutting through the grass like a great white shark’s dorsal fin.
That doesn’t mean they’re not out there, though, does it?
He looked left and right and found a tree that was ripe for climbing. He climbed up forty feet and had a much superior view of the open plain.
A little reconnoitering never hurt anybody.
He peered out at the swaying grass, staring at each section for several long minutes.
If they’re there, they’re disguised as grass.
As quietly as possible—it was never a good idea to make noise when you could just as easily be the prey as the hunter—he climbed down.
He continued south along the edge of the forest, constantly casting a cautious eye out over the open plain.
Just as Dan said he would, he came upon an area where the grass stopped. There was an area a hundred yards square where there was only dirt, holes, and a few mounds with holes in the top.
Alex had seen prairie dogs before. He and his parents had stopped and watched them on their way to Devil’s Tower in Wyoming when he was eleven. He didn’t remember if those little guys were quick or not. All they had ever done was pop their head out of their hole, look around, and disappear again.
I’ll probably be up against the same thing today.
He settled into a comfortable spot at the very edge of the wooded area, put his back against a tree and observed.
Initially, all he saw was holes and mounds.
I wonder if they felt the vibrations of my feet as I approached and went to ground. Some animals are hyper-sensitive to vibrations like that. It would help if I knew more about these creatures, but I can’t exactly call up Wikipedia to read up on them now.
He craned his neck a little to get a better view. He remembered prairie dog holes to be only a few inches wide, but these were much bigger. Intended, of course, for much wider bodies.
Alex sat patiently for five minutes, ten. His quiet was eventually rewarded when a single head popped up out of one of the far holes. Its movements did seem to be surprisingly quick. It whipped its head around until it spotted Alex. It gave him
the stink-eye for a few seconds then disappeared back down the hole.
Alex reached into his backpack and pulled out some of the pemmican he had brought with him. He drank a little water, chewed on the pemmican—which he had come to like very much—and waited. After the challenges of the previous two days, he was glad for the rest.
Eventually, another Desma-ta poked its head out of a hole a little nearer to the trees. Alex couldn’t tell if it was the same one or not. Regardless, it gave him the same distrustful look for a few seconds, then disappeared.
Alex continued to sit and relax, doing his best to show he was just a lonely traveler and not someone who had come to capture one of their number.
While he waited, he considered his options. He could pull some vines and wind them into a cord, then try to lasso one. He soon rejected that idea. That seemed like something that worked much better in movies than in real life. He had dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween long ago, but he had no actual rope skills.
He glanced around and found some good-sized rocks. He might be able to throw one hard enough to knock one out.
He picked a promising rock up and gave it a toss to gauge its heft. It was the size of a softball, but with ragged edges and a more oblong shape. He picked out a bush about twenty paces away, wound up and threw. The rock sailed wide of its intended target by five feet.
Not sure that’s gonna work, either. What then? Chasing after them, leaping from hole to hole trying to play Whack-a-Mole sure isn’t going to work. This needs more brainpower and less horsepower.
Alex put the rest of the pemmican back in his pack and grabbed a few of the nuts and berries that Malen-eh had given him. He ate a few of the round red berries that most resembled huckleberries to him.
Of course.
He walked closer to the edge of the cleared space. A Desma-ta that had been watching him dropped down into the safety of its hole. Alex approached still closer, until he was standing on dirt.
He sat down and waited.
Nothing moved for what felt like a long time. Then, the routine he had shared with the rodents a few minutes before began again, with one new addition. This time, when the first one popped its head up from a safe distance, it didn’t just look at him—it barked. The noise was surprisingly loud and made Alex jump. That seemed to satisfy the Desma-ta and it disappeared down the hole.
Didn’t know they did that. Okay, now I’m ready for it.
Alex waited quietly. Several more times, one or another of the denizens of the community poked its head above ground to glare or bark at him. Alex waited and watched the sun and clouds move across the sky.
Eventually, he stood, stretched, and moved right into the middle of the clearing.
Again, he saw no activity at all for a long time, but eventually the furry brown creatures began popping up in the far corners to chastise him for invading their territory.
Alex waited until one popped up ten yards away and threw one of the red berries at it. It landed in front of the hole, but the Desma-ta dropped down. All was quiet in the little clearing for what felt like forever to Alex.
This is a long game. Can’t be in a hurry.
Eventually, one popped its head up and sniffed toward the berry. After a thorough examination, it gobbled the berry and retreated to its hole. It didn’t drop all the way down though. It popped its head back out and stared at Alex.
Alex grinned. He tossed another of the berries so that it landed a little farther away from the hole.
The Desma-ta glared at him, but snuck tentatively out of its hole, sniffed and ate it before retreating.
Alex repeated this exercise again and again, luring the creature out of its hole a little further each time. Finally, it came within five feet of him.
Still too far. If I dive for it, it’ll be back down the hole before I get close. Then it will never trust me.
Alex reached into his bag and gathered up all his remaining fruit and nuts. He held it out to the rodent in both hands.
The Desma-ta barked at him in frustration.
Alex shrugged and dropped the treasure back into his bag.
The overgrown prairie dog, who Alex estimated was two and a half feet tall, barked at him again.
Alex waited a long moment, staring calmly into the eyes of his opponent. Finally, he reached back into the bag and offered it again.
The Desma-ta moved forward almost imperceptibly.
Come on, come on.
It came two steps closer, sniffing the air like a dog on a scent. It stopped and stared at Alex from there.
“I’m not throwing anymore,” Alex said.
His voice did not startle it, but it did bark back, albeit quieter than normal.
The standoff continued. Alex refused to throw any more, the Desma-ta refused to come any closer.
My dad taught me one thing about negotiating. Whoever can say goodbye and walk away wins.
For the second time, Alex moved to drop the food back into his pack.
The Desma-ta reached out with its front paw as if to say, wait, don’t be so hasty.
Alex raised his eyebrows but held the food out in front of him again.
The rodent took one tentative step closer then paused. Alex didn’t move.
Finally, the Desma-ta gave in to its stomach and took the final steps to reach the food. It plucked out a fat, juicy berry and moved back slightly. Its eyes never left Alex’s as it chewed the berry. It leaned forward to reach a nut.
Alex struck, snapping his left hand out to grab the rodent by the fur of its throat.
He anticipated a struggle but not the all-hell’s-breaking-loose furor that happened next. The Desma-ta kicked and bucked like a cyclone while simultaneously lashing out with its claws and doing its best to contort and bite the hand that held it.
It did manage to get its hind claw against Alex’s bare arm, and it tore roughly down it, leaving bloody claw marks in its wake.
Alex reached around behind it and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck, hoping it would calm it like it did when he had grabbed his kitten that way back home.
It did not work that way.
The rodent redoubled its efforts to free itself, twisting, gnashing its teeth and trying its best to dig its claws into Alex again.
Alex considered banging its head into the solid ground to stun it or knock it out, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The furry thing hadn’t done anything wrong except to trust him not to hurt it.
Instead, he kept his hold firm and continued to wrestle with it. He knew his stamina was greater than the Desma-ta. At least he hoped so.
As he thrashed around with it, the rest of its friends began poking their heads out of their burrows and barking wildly at him. As the fight continued, it sounded like he was in a kennel with dozens of angry dogs.
Alex paid them no mind. He knew they wouldn’t come at him, no matter how furious they were. Again, at least he hoped so. He thought he was winning the battle with the rapidly tiring prairie dog, but didn’t like his odds against a dozen or more of them.
Just at the point where Alex’s arms ached so badly he thought he might lose his grip, the Desma-ta gave up and hung loosely, defeated. It gave a few last feeble kicks, but it was done for. It stared at Alex with hate in its eyes.
Alex continued to hold it by the scruff with his right hand and grabbed the bag he intended to stuff the creature into.
That was when the fight started again. It twisted, turned and fought with renewed vigor, not wanting to go into the bag.
Alex had held a vision in his head of opening the bag and slipping the exhausted animal smoothly inside. Instead, it turned out to be like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube—if the toothpaste was fighting tooth and claw.
Being so close, Alex was not going to give up, and eventually he prevailed. He got the live Desma-ta tucked inside the bag and pulled the cord tight and tied it.
He plopped down on the ground, so exhausted he wasn’t sure he would be able to lift the bag
to get it over his shoulders to carry home.
The cacophony of the barking prairie dogs continued.
Until it didn’t.
Like a light switch, every one of them dropped down into their burrows and silence overtook the plain.
That’s not good.
Chapter Sixteen
Letting Go
Alex had been so intent on his conquest of the Desma-ta that he had let his vigilance slip. It wasn’t until sudden silence came to the meadow that he realized his possibly fatal error.
He let the bag sag to the ground. Tied as tightly as it was, there was no way for the Desma-ta to escape.
His right hand fell on the handle of the too-large cudgel that was the only weapon he had. His eyes scanned the horizon, trying to see what the prairie dogs had sensed.
The first thing he noticed was that the sun was near the horizon. It would be dark before long. He caught a furtive piece of movement in his peripheral vision to his left. He snapped his head, but it was already gone.
He used his training. He turned his body in the direction of where he had seen the glimpse of motion, then held his head still. He widened his eyes, looked straight ahead, and waited.
And there it was. Mottled gray fur slipping between a bush and a tree. Then another, and another.
And then, emboldened, they gave up their hiding spot and stepped out into the open.
At first, Alex thought it was a pack of dogs. Then he realized how similar they all looked. Triangular ears. Long, narrow snouts. Tails held low.
Coyotes.
It was Kragdon-ah, so they were not the typical twenty- or twenty-five-pound specimens he was used to back home. These were still lean and hungry looking, but they were taller than any coyote he had ever seen. As they slowly appeared and stalked him, Alex counted their number.
Eight.
Even as exhausted as I am, I could likely handle a couple of them. But eight? No way.
Three coyotes padded around him at a safe distance and took up a position behind him. No matter how Alex turned, he had at least two of the mangy killers at his back.
They were in no hurry to go for the kill. Each time Alex turned and feinted at them with his club, they skittered away out of reach. They knew what the end result of this would be—a big meal to be shared by all of them.