by Daniel Smith
“Men!” Hamara shouted, bringing them to order. He waited for them to settle before continuing. “This boy has the blood of hunters in his veins. He stands here as every one of you once stood. Ready to uphold our traditions. He has one night and one day to find out what kind of a man he is.” He looked sideways at me and cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, he will bring us what the forest has seen fit to give him.”
“Elk dung,” someone whispered, making Hamara stop and scan the crowd with a frown.
“The forest is a harsh judge,” he went on, raising his voice. “It gives each of us what we deserve. We must know how to listen, and fight tooth and nail for our prey.”
Hamara stood straight and lifted his chin with pride. “This is what we have done for centuries and will do for centuries more. Nothing is given to us for free.” He paused and scanned the crowd once again. “A boy sets out into the wilderness, but it is a man who will return.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and said, “What do you deserve?” as he looked me in the eye and handed me a quiver full of arrows. Without waiting for an answer, he raised his rifle once more and fired into the air.
Immediately, the Place of Skulls was filled with the sound of gunshots as every man raised his weapon and fired.
Below, Dad nodded at me with the utmost seriousness. I returned the nod then, putting the bow across my back, I came down from the platform and climbed onto the ATV without looking at anyone else. All I wanted to do now was get away from there. I wanted to leave them all behind. I wasn’t afraid of going into the forest alone anymore. I was desperate to go.
When I turned the key in the ignition, though, nothing happened. I swallowed hard and tried again. Still nothing. It was as if everything was against me. Even the ATV was trying to —
The engine roared into life and I throttled it hard. I took one last look at Dad, then put the ATV into gear and drove away from the Place of Skulls into the wilderness of Mount Akka.
My Trial had begun.
Best. Feeling. Ever.
The wind rushed in my face as I hurtled along the track. It was fantastic to be on my own at last. There was no one here to laugh at me, no one to let down but myself.
The trees were an emerald haze as they flashed past and I headed deeper and deeper into the forest, leaving the Place of Skulls far behind. The sun was falling behind the trees, the low light filtering through the pine needles, dusky and gray. The narrow dirt path that snaked up through the wilderness looked like it had been trampled for hundreds of years. Ancient tree roots broke its surface like the arching backs of sea monsters, and sharp rocks protruded here and there, but the ATV passed over all of it, bumping and sliding. I kept low, avoiding the branches that reached out across the path, and felt myself smiling as I rode on, the sound of the engine filling my ears, the ceremonial bow tight across my back. It really was so much larger than my own, but Dad had made me carry his when we had hunted together, so it didn’t feel too strange to have it.
I had decided to head straight around and up the mountain toward the secret hunting ground Dad had told me about. From the look of the map, it was at least an hour and a half’s drive from the Place of Skulls, followed by a half hour trek on foot, but I reckoned I should be able to get there just before dark. Once I was there I would build a fire, and camp under the wind just below the place marked on the map. I had only one night and one day to hunt and bring my trophy out of the forest, so in the morning I would head out and try to find a buck.
I didn’t dare think about what I would do if there was nothing there.
Glancing at my watch I was surprised to see I had already been driving for almost an hour, so I must have traveled ten or fifteen miles without even realizing it. I was making good time.
As I sped along the path, bumping up and down on the tree roots and rocks, I thought about what it would feel like to fire the arrow that would kill the buck. I imagined skinning it, taking its head, and driving out of the forest with it strapped to my back, antlers spread wide above my shoulders. Hamara wouldn’t look down on me then. He wouldn’t be able to give me that pitying glance that said he knew I wasn’t good enough. And, best of all, Dad would be proud. I knew that, deep down, he didn’t think I was going to impress him, but he would be so pleased to see me bring out a trophy every bit as impressive as the one the forest had offered him.
Thinking about that reminded me of the photo I had taken from the board in the Hunting Lodge, so I slowed down and fumbled in my pocket to get it out. I rode with just one hand, holding the photo with the other, and glanced down at it.
Dad with the bear’s head on his back.
He looked fierce in the picture. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his mouth was tight, and he was staring right at the camera as if daring anyone to challenge him. I bet they didn’t laugh at Dad when he stood up there on that platform the day before his thirteenth birthday.
I narrowed my eyes and clamped my teeth together, trying to imitate the look.
That’s when a tree branch whipped across my face.
It was thin, and stung like mad, making me turn my head in one direction while the ATV went in the other. The vehicle skidded off the track, wheels spinning on fallen pine needles, and slipped sideways down a shallow ravine. The engine revved hard as I tried to stay on, dirt and loose stones spraying about me, then the ATV tipped completely, throwing me off.
I was airborne for a split second before landing on my side with a sharp jolt that clattered my teeth, making me bite my tongue. I skidded and rolled fifteen or twenty feet down the ravine, bumping on tree stumps and rocks and roots as I went.
When I finally reached the bottom and stopped with a thump in the undergrowth, I opened my eyes to see the ATV, on its side, sliding down the dirt bank toward me. The bungee cords on the back had come loose and all my gear was spread across the forest floor, but that was the least of my problems. The vehicle was heavy and it was coming toward me quickly.
Without time to think, I spun onto my front and scrambled away on all fours, hands and knees sliding in the sticks and needles that covered the forest floor. It was almost like trying to crawl through slippery mud. Everything was happening in slow motion. Any moment now, the ATV was going to hit me and I would be crushed to death under its weight. Or left in the forest, trapped beneath it, with no one to rescue me.
Then my feet found purchase on a tree root and I gave one good push, throwing myself out of its path just as the ATV hit the bottom of the ravine and came to a stop, engine still idling.
For a moment, I lay on my stomach, face to the ground, breathing heavily and wondering if I was dead after all. I could taste blood and dirt, and grit crunched between my teeth. My muscles were too fired up with adrenaline for anything to really hurt much, but I was bleeding from a cut across one of my knuckles and my face stung. When I reached up to touch my cheek, my fingers came away with streaks of blood. I had the feeling that I would be covered in bruises by tomorrow.
Once I realized I was still alive, though, a thought popped into my head like an alarm bell.
The bow!
I could still feel the tightness of the string across my chest, but I got to my knees and slipped it over my head to check it hadn’t snapped in the fall. If anything happened to the traditional bow, my life wouldn’t be worth living. Hamara would be so angry if I broke it, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cut off my head and stuck it on one of those stakes in the clearing.
I held my breath and checked the bow, running my hands along it, testing for cracks and weaknesses. I breathed out in a long rush when I realized it was all in one piece. There were a few nicks and scratches, but that was all.
There wasn’t much time to feel relief, though, because the ATV was lying on its side, engine running, and Dad’s words echoed in my head.
Look after it, Oskari. Take care of it.
We couldn’t afford to buy another one.
I closed my eyes and made a promise that I would help Dad with t
he logs next week if only it would be all right. I said a quick prayer to the forest or whoever might be listening, then I got to my feet and sucked the blood from my knuckles as I hurried to the ATV.
With a great heave, I put all my weight behind the vehicle and managed to push it upright. I switched off the engine and checked it over for any damage. All around, the forest began to come back to life after the disturbance. Birds continued their late-afternoon song, and a woodpecker drilled at a tree close by.
Relieved and satisfied the ATV was intact, I wiped my face with my sleeve and set about collecting my gear and reattaching the bungee cords. I managed to find most of the arrows that had fallen from the quiver, so I replaced them and searched about for a good growth of moss at the base of the trees. When I saw a patch, growing thick and bright green between two exposed roots, I crouched and used my knife to lift it from the rich black soil. It came up in one piece, releasing a strong, earthy smell. Flicking away as much soil as I could from beneath it, I packed the spongy plant inside the quiver, keeping the arrows tight. They would be a little harder to take out, but at least they’d stay where they were supposed to. Slinging the quiver over my back, I returned to the ATV.
And that’s when I saw it.
The buck was enormous. It was just standing there, behind a fallen tree, no more than thirty feet away. It didn’t seem to be bothered about me at all.
The animal’s body was half hidden by the old, gnarled trunk of the tree, but its head and shoulders were clear. At least as tall as me, probably taller, the animal was fit and strong, its hide tight with muscle. Its head was turned in my direction so I could see its large brown eyes watching me, its ears alert as it listened to me, and its antlers spreading wide like a crown.
It was beautiful, perfect in every way, and it was mine. A buck, just like Mom had always said.
My whole body tingled with excitement. My heart raced and my skin prickled. I had been in the trees for not much longer than an hour and already the forest had offered me a trophy. Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a desperate hunt after all. If I killed this buck, I could return to the Place of Skulls right away. Imagine the look on Hamara’s face then.
Without taking my eyes off the animal, I reached over my shoulder to take an arrow from the quiver.
The animal twitched and its ears swiveled.
I moved as slowly as I dared. The buck didn’t know what I was and it was fixed to the spot, curious, but it might bolt at any moment. Its muscles were coiled tight now, ready to bound into action. I had to do this just right.
As I slipped the arrow from the quiver, I thought about how I would look in the photograph Hamara would take of me. Pale face streaked with dirt, dried blood on my hands. I would have the traditional bow in one fist, my knife in the other, and the head of the buck strapped to my back. Dad would be so proud when Hamara had to pin the photo up on the board for everyone to see what I had done; for them to see what kind of a man I was.
I nocked the arrow onto the string as the memory of standing on the platform crept into my mind. I saw myself failing to draw the bow, and for a moment, I wished for my own. With my own bow I could … I gritted my teeth and pushed the thought away. I had to do this. I had to find the strength.
I took a deep breath and began to draw the bow.
A steady heart means a steady hand.
The buck continued to watch me, but his muscles seemed to relax. His ears twitched as if he was distracted by other sounds in the forest. He appeared to be losing his fear of me.
He knows you can’t draw the bow.
I don’t know where the voice came from; it just popped into my head.
I narrowed my eyes and tried to ignore it. I let my breath flood my body as Dad had taught me and I pulled the string harder.
The world became calm. There was nothing but me and the bow and the buck. Nothing else existed. I stopped hearing the birdsong and the woodpecker’s constant drilling. Even the wind faded into nothing. The forest became silent, as if every creature was holding its breath, waiting to see what was going to happen.
The bow creaked a little as it bent. The string cut into my fingers. My muscles began to tremble. I released some of my breath, closed one eye, and sighted along the arrow, feeling the excitement building in me.
The string was a fist’s width from my nose when I couldn’t pull it any farther. My shoulders and arms were aching from the fall and now they were beginning to burn with the effort of drawing the bow. I was starting to shake, too, so I was losing my aim. I had to fire the arrow soon, otherwise I wouldn’t shoot straight, but if I didn’t draw it back farther, the shot might not be strong enough at this distance.
I called on all my energy and pulled a little harder, but a distant sound broke the moment of calm. It started as a low rumble but quickly grew to a tremendous thundering beat, and then the whole world erupted into a whirling frenzy of sound and movement. It was as if a flash storm had fallen on the forest, bringing confusion and fear.
The noise was almost deafening. A heavy mechanical thumping that vibrated inside my head.
Thucka-thucka-thucka-thucka.
The treetops swayed in a whirlwind of movement, and the dry leaves and needles swirled on the forest floor as a powerful wind rushed among the pines.
Thucka-thucka-thucka-thucka.
The sound grew louder and louder as it came closer, and then it passed over in a deafening roar, sending the forest spinning about me.
The buck tensed for a second, then bolted, disappearing into the trees. When I looked up to catch a glimpse of the helicopter pass over, I twisted my ankle on a tree root and fell sideways, releasing the bowstring and sending the arrow shooting off into the air.
Tears of frustration stung my eyes and I yelled at the sky. “Damn you!” I shook the bow at the sky. “Damn you!”
I scrambled to my feet as the helicopter continued over the forest, skimming the treetops, and I saw brief snatches of the black-and-white paint flashing in the falling sun.
“Damn you!” I shouted again, hardly knowing how to deal with the anger and disappointment that ached in every fiber of my body. At that moment I hated that helicopter and everybody in it. I wished it would fall out of the sky and explode into a million pieces.
When it was about a quarter mile away, the helicopter stopped. I could just make it out in a gap through the treetops, hovering over the forest.
“Now what are you doing?”
It began to descend, disappearing from sight.
It was landing out there, and that made me even angrier. It had to be poachers. Here. In our wilderness.
“Patu,” I whispered.
Patu used to live in the village, but had moved to town and set up Safari Tours. He said he wanted to make money showing tourists the sights, but everyone was sure he brought men here to kill deer and bear for sport when he wasn’t supposed to.
If it was him, and he was bringing poachers, then I wanted to know. That way, if I failed to come out of the forest with a trophy, at least I wouldn’t be completely empty-handed. I would bring valuable information.
I knew I would have to go to the helicopter on foot, otherwise the poachers would hear me, so I hurried over to the ATV and grabbed my camouflage from the back. I had made it myself, using a large piece of netting and covering it with scraps of cloth in different shades of green. When Dad and I had gone into the forest to try it out, he’d spent ages trying to find me before eventually giving up. He said it was the best camouflage he’d ever seen.
I put it on over my jacket and hoodie and left the ATV behind, sneaking through the darkening forest. I moved almost in silence, walking on the pine needles where possible, or stepping on the tips of the stones that broke through the soil. The bow was snug on my back, the string tight against my chest, and the arrows motionless inside the quiver. I might not have been strong enough to draw the traditional bow, but at least I was aware of its size, and I was thankful again for Dad’s insistence that I carry
his when we were hunting. Not once did I snag the bow on the overhanging branches.
After a few minutes I came to a place where the trees thinned out and then, ahead, I saw what I was looking for. A large grassy meadow in a clearing on the side of the mountain, surrounded by the forest. It looked like a good place for deer, and I briefly wondered why it wasn’t marked on Dad’s map. I made a note to mark it myself when I got home.
The sky was gray and thunderclouds were gathering. The light was grainy and sparse among the trees, but still good enough to see out in the open. A distant rumble of thunder growled and the air seemed to grow even colder. Mom would have said that Ukko, the god of sky and thunder, was getting angry.
The helicopter was right in the center of the meadow — engine off, lights on, blades slowing to a stop. The air shimmered around the exhaust, and the smell of fuel drifted toward me on the wind.
I crouched in the bracken below the trees at the edge of the meadow, using the shadow of a large spruce for extra cover. Close by, two plump magpies screeched a warning at me and hopped backward and forward on their branch. As they settled, I pulled my woolly hat right down over my brow, then scooped soil from the ground and put it into the palm of my left hand. I spat into it and mixed it into a paste that I smeared on my face, stinging the scratches on my cheeks.
I was invisible now.
Unblinking, I watched as the door on one side of the helicopter slid open and two men jumped down. Dressed in plain green combat trousers and jackets, with strong black boots, they didn’t look much like hunters. More like soldiers of some kind.
One of them stayed by the open door of the helicopter like he was guarding something, while the other walked away and lifted a pair of binoculars to his eyes. I ducked down even farther, sliding onto my stomach as he scanned the meadow, peering into the tree line.
Behind him, the pilot opened the cockpit door and stepped down onto the grass. He was about the same age as Dad, but shorter and not as strong-looking. He paused, taking something out of his pocket, then leaned back against the helicopter and lit a cigarette, watching the other men with interest. I recognized him right away. Patu.