by D. W. Rigsby
The group fell into laughter. It was a delight for Petro to be with his brothers. They’d all taken a lashing from Kad at one time or another; Sha was no exception.
Petro wondered to himself, what were they all looking for? Were they looking for different answers, and had he found his answer yet? What about Sha? There was one thought that came to Petro’s mind: Sha put them all at risk. Sha had made a mistake on top of the mountain, and though Petro didn’t speak to him as he planned, he did have a conversation with him once they were off the mountain. Sha never accepted full responsibility and had become more of an outcast to them. It wasn’t what Petro wanted, not at all; he wanted them all to work together, to be as a family, to protect one another. This did seem to be a hard concept for Sha, for he did things on his own and often would not communicate with the rest of the team. How did Sha even get into this brotherhood? Petro would never know. It did seem odd at times, and yes, he thought about what Kad had said in their room in the Gulch on the first day—how they were not picked for the same reasons as the others; seemingly, that statement had proven itself to be correct. Petro never said a thing to the rest of group about having retrieved the mike from Sha’s pack that night before they went to the top of the mountain. It would only cause more issues, more separation with Sha. He decided to try to make good with Sha, to put the past behind them, and look to the future.
They were headed to Wiltho forest, which was filled with wild beasts: bears, deerlings, rabbits, pheasants, wolves, and lots of boars. The boars—some called them wild pigs—were large creatures, some even twice the size of a man. They could be as fierce as lions, with sharp tusks that curled up around their snouts like curved daggers. Each year they spent in the Gulch, after their final test, it would end with a hunt, and they’d come to hunt the wild boar.
Petro had been on a few hunts when he had lived in Dugual, but not many; he had usually been in the castle reciting poetry, practicing music, or learning to speak different languages. He had learned about Dugual’s history and wars and about how to be diplomatic. These were subtle subjects but not as relevant to survival in the wilderness.
There was a sting on Petro’s arm, and he looked to see several bloodthirsty mosquitoes perched on his forearm. Their long needles plugged into his skin, and the red of life filled them. He found himself watching, wanting to see what they did.
“You just gonna let them do that?” Kad said, nudging Petro on the shoulder.
Petro moved slightly. “No, I was watching them. They take such risks, don’t they? To live, I mean. They could die at any moment with the swat of my hand.”
“Yeah, maybe so. I’ve heard the boars are fond of flesh, too—tearing it open, using their tusks to dig into meat and bone. Are you gonna admire them?” Kad smiled.
“It’s not the same thing, dodo,” Petro said, shaking the mosquitoes off, but they hovered nearby, waiting for another chance to draw blood.
“Here, take some of this tea-tree oil and rub it into the skin; they’ll leave you alone. It’s not good to let them draw your blood. They carry parasites and viruses,” Kad said.
Petro rubbed the oil into his skin, feeling how it glided so easily over his arms, face, and hands. It smelt of musty tree bark.
“We should get our tent set up first thing and make sure the netting is in place. We don’t want to wake up covered in welts,” Kad said.
The wagon slowed and then came to a stop. The horses whinnied and then quickly settled back down. Vetus Sepher’s voice filtered through the thick canvas covering. “Time to set up camp. Make it quick, or you’ll not sleep this night, covered from head to toe in mosquitoes.” There was a hint of playfulness in his voice. Everyone knew the story of Johnny Jennings, a brother who had not heeded the words of Vetus Sepher. Two teams had come out to hunt after they had completed their first year. JJ had decided that his team would put their tent up after dinner and went about his business, not overly concerned about the flying bloodsuckers. It wasn’t until late into the evening when the mosquitoes swarmed out of nowhere and covered all the tents, every bit of them, and those who had set up their tents were inside and protected. As for JJ and his team, they were not having fun. The little devils had covered them entirely; no place was untouched. JJ and his team smacked at the insects and squished hundreds of them, but the mosquitoes would not stop. Everyone could hear them outside complaining and cursing profusely, and then finally they settled down late into the night, having gotten their tent set up properly. The next day, JJ’s team looked like walking warts; bumps had formed all over their exposed skin—some large, some small, and some clustered, looking like patches of cauliflower. It was not an experience Petro felt he had to have, and so he quickly leaped out the back of the wagon and onto the soft soil. The rest of the team followed.
The ground gave way with each step, like a sponge when pressed by a finger. Petro looked down where water came up and formed around his sole. It was everywhere; the ground was soaked. As they moved about, their feet sank into the ground, followed by a sucking pop at the end. It made interesting music for the ear.
Vetus Sepher had taken the horses over to a nearby tree. He tied them off and then stood by a green bush about waist height. It looked like a miniature pine but was more fragile. Petro thought he was going to pee, but then he saw Vetus Sepher tear off a piece of a limb and begin to grind the leaves in his hand. The green juices pooled in his palm, and he rubbed the ointment over the skin of the horses.
“What’s that?” Kad asked, nodding toward Vetus Sepher.
Petro looked over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Looks like something to keep away bugs, like that oil you gave me.” Petro went back to work and helped Kad take down a large, thick, canvas tent for his team to sleep in. They pulled it across the ground and then undid the ties. Once those were open, they unrolled the tent, taking it out and stretching it to the sides. The others were picking up firewood, making a fire pit, and getting food ready for the night.
Petro recalled that day on the field with the Father, how he had shown up unannounced and flaunted his presence in front of all. He wished it had never happened. Often he felt that maybe, if he could control the future, he might be able to warn King Amerstall or even stop something horrible from happening, but his precognition had been random. Even this past year in the Gulch, he didn’t experience too many visions. He’d noticed the repeating of words, but it was hard to see if someone actually repeating words or if it was a quick glimpse into the future. At times he felt that he was supposed to do more with his life and that many people were depending on him. He didn’t know what exactly they depended on, but it was a heaviness he felt at times. Even now, he felt like he was somehow set apart, different than the others, but he wasn’t so sure. Maybe some of them had an ability they hid as well, and for good reason. He didn’t want to be any different, and he wasn’t about to let people know about his own ability for that reason.
Sha and Nalum worked on getting the food together—a simple enough task, yet the two were already at each other’s throats. There was a loud clang.
Petro shot a look over at the two to see pans on the ground. Sha and Nalum appeared to be in a standoff.
“Look out, will you!” Sha said.
“No, you look out!” Nalum said.
“Guys, knock it off. We’ve got work to do,” Petro said; and suddenly everything was quiet. He looked around to see that Vetus Sepher was watching them and tending to the horses.
Petro went back to work with Kad. Dark would soon be on them.
The tent was only meant for about six or seven people. It was a six-sided pyramidal design with a cotton liner, eight aluminum eave poles, and one center telescopic pole. The center went as high as two meters, and the sides were close to one and a half meters. There was also a hole in the top, covered up, that could be opened for a stovepipe for heat, but they hadn’t brought the stove this time. It was warm out, and there wasn’t much need for it.
“All right, now we need to
spike it down before we can set it up,” Kad said. “Here, take these spikes and this hammer; go around, and work your way clockwise. I’ll start over here and do the same.”
Both worked together, hammering in the spikes, pulling the ropes tight to ensure proper positioning; it didn’t take long for them to get all eight of the ropes spiked down. Kad climbed under the canvas to the center. “Hand me the first section of the center pole,” he said.
Petro grabbed the first center pole and fed it to him under the canvas. The light outside had nearly faded.
“OK, I got this one planted. Give me the next section,” Kad said. Petro handed him the next section, and before he could ask for the third one, Petro fed it in right after.
“I’m gonna hold it in place; go around and cinch it down,” Kad said.
Petro went around gingerly, tightening down one side and then darting across to cinch down the next side. He continued until all the ropes were snug. “Got it,” he said.
Kad came out, pushing the canvas out of his face. “All right; now we just need to set up the other eight poles, check the ropes again, and then we’ll be done,” he said.
The two worked together, back and forth, up and under the canvas until they had all the poles in place.
Night had descended, and the fire was roaring. It lit up much of the camp. The tent was up, firewood had been collected, and now it was time to gather around the fire. Everyone moved toward the flames, seeing Petro lead the way. He felt it, their eyes, how they watched, how they kept their attention on him to see what he was doing. It’s strange to be looked at as a leader, Petro thought. Maybe this was his destiny; maybe that was what he was supposed to do in this world, but inside he rejected it and didn’t know why.
Vetus Sepher stood near the fire; his dark eyes reflected the light. His face had a weathered, leathery look about it. It was hard and chiseled, like that of a stone carved by a sculptor’s hands.
“You’ve done well.” He paused, looking at each one of them. “Tonight is not just about preparing for your hunt tomorrow; tonight is about moving beyond yourself and into a new person, forged by what our Father has given us. All of you are sons of a kind, gentle father, one who is strong and willful and holds your hearts. It is something many men miss as they move along in this world; they miss what God has for them. They go about their lives, their heads down, their work in front of them, and they never look up to see Him. He loves you, and He’s offering to walk with you every step of the way on your journey. Some of you will face opposition like nothing you’ve seen before; some of you will not face any opposition but will find your lives a struggle because there are no real enemies to face. Do not be fooled; do not see yourselves as being alone, for if you are alone, reach out to a brother, open up your heart, and let him help you. Your Father knows you cannot go it alone, and that is why you have one another. It is a sacred bond you share, and tonight you will be given a name—not by me, not by your brothers, but by your Father. Go out into the woods, find a place where you can find solace, and seek out your name. It will come for most of you; and for some, it may not. Do not worry if it does not come; know that it is not time, and your Father will give you a name when he deems it right,” Vetus Sepher said. “Take with you a torch and cover yourselves with anthemis cotula, or dog fennel; together they should be enough to ward off the mosquitoes.”
They got up, took pieces of dog fennel from Vetus Sepher, and covered their faces, their hands, and their necks. Next they each took a torch and headed out, one by one, into the dark forest.
Petro looked ahead, making his way through the brush until he came to an opening. It was on higher ground and was not as wet as the rest of the area. There was a tree in the center with branches that drooped down; he pushed the branches away and found inside a natural shelter. He stuck the torch into the soft dirt and then sat down with his back against the tree. The orange ambient light danced around. He could hear the crickets singing and the frogs courting each other. What was he doing here? Why would God give him a name? How would he even know it came from God? He shook his head and played with the dirt, letting it run through is fingers. He didn’t know what to expect; even as much as he tried to think on it, he could not envision what he was set out to do. The Numas were different then everyone else, not perfect as some might believe, but different. They thought differently, saw life in a different light, and at times held nothing of value here on Spearca. What they valued came from somewhere, yet from nowhere, and was everywhere.
Petro took a deep breath and let it out. It’s now or never, he thought. It won’t hurt to try. He ran his fingertips across the ground and then closed his eyes. What was his name? What was he to be called? At first it seemed silly, and he opened his eyes. His shoulders slumped. There was a quiet voice inside that came from nowhere—was it his own? He opened his eyes, and the voice was gone. Petro sighed. He took dirt up in his hand and released it, watching it filter down to the ground. This is silly, he thought, but then he closed his eyes once more and listened, letting his body relax, taking in deep breaths and letting them out.
He thought about his mother and father; they were faceless to him. Tears came to his eyes. Why did they leave him? Didn’t they love him? More tears erupted, and he choked back what he could, afraid that others might hear him. He wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt and swatted at some nearby mosquitoes. Emotions overcame him, and he placed his hand on his forehead and knelt forward. It was deep within; his core contracted, and his soft cries came forth. It hurt. His face screwed up, tears poured out, and he could no longer hold them back. He continued to cry, letting it out, letting out all the pain, letting himself feel for the first time in a long time what had truly been there inside him all these years. They abandoned me, he thought. They left me; they didn’t want me.
“Mother!” he cried out. “Why? Why did you leave me?” Tears streamed down his face. “Father! Why didn’t you care?” He beat his fist into the dirt, cupped a large heap of it, and dropped it. He hit the ground again. “Why? I was your son, and you left me.” His breath was short and intense, his chest tight. “And now I’m nothing; I can’t do anything right. Can’t you help me? If I could only figure out how to use my ability, I could make a difference.” He wiped the tears from his eyes, leaving a trail of caked dirt.
He waited and waited, but no name came—no voice, nothing, only the emptiness he felt inside. Maybe it was just another test like before, but he didn’t know what Vetus Sepher was looking for. There was this pervading thought deep within that he felt close to it, close to God somehow; and he was certain he’d hear his given name, but it never came. Maybe it wasn’t meant to come, not tonight, like Vetus Sepher had said. It was getting late, and he’d been out here for a while now, and they needed to get back to their tents and get ready for their hunt. Morning would come early. He got up, brushed himself off, and paused a moment to see if he would hear God’s voice, but it was not there. Petro looked out into the darkened forest and headed back toward the camp.
When he got back, the mosquitoes were everywhere. The swarm would move out of the light of the torch, yet hover close by. His brothers were by the fire with plates of food in their laps. He extinguished his torch in a bucket of water and sat down next to the roaring fire. It was hot, almost too hot, but he was glad for it because it kept the mosquitoes at bay. “What is that?” He sniffed the air.
“It’s me; my stomach doesn’t agree with the food,” Jon said. The rest of group laughed.
Petro waved the stench from his face.
“Those are the torches. I soaked them in dog fennel. The rains were heavy this year,” Vetus Sepher said.
Petro looked at the torches then back to Jon, who was shaking his head, one eyebrow raised and slowly pointing at himself. The others stifled their laughter. Petro grinned to himself.
Kad handed Petro a plate of food.
“If you have your given name, do not share tonight; keep those to yourself for now. I want you to focu
s on two things. Tonight when you sleep, you may have dreams—pay attention to them. Take notes in the morning, capture what you can, and then look at them off and on to remind yourself of this night. The other is the task at hand. We hunt boars tomorrow, and they are dangerous. Be sure to check your gear and keep one another safe.” He took out a pipe and his tobacco pouch and stuck some of dried leaves into the pipe. He took a twig, placed into the flames, and then lit his pipe with it. The smoke rolled up in front of his face. “Finish up and get some rest. Make sure you know when you pull guard; there’s no reason for any of us to get ambushed out here.”
At that moment strange sounds came from the edge of forest around them. They all looked to see what it might be. Again, there it was; something was moving just outside the edge of the campfire’s light. Petro took a torch, lit it in the flames, and headed out toward the edge of camp. He held it high. The others did the same. There was a rush of feet stomping on leaves, and out of the bushes came a small herd of piglets that squealed and ran through the camp, bumping into things. One hit the pans, and they clanged loudly; another bumped into Jon’s legs and sent him tumbling. They tore through the camp and then were gone into the dark woods.
Vetus Sepher stood with his nickel-plated .44. “Sus scrofa. It means wild pig. The sows are likely nearby, but they won’t come into the light.”
Petro heard his words but saw the weapon in Vetus Sepher’s hand. Maybe what he said was true, but there was doubt.
They went back to the camp and finished up their food. Vetus Sepher finished his smoke, got up, and stretched out his arms wide.
“Clean up and get the food put away, or they’ll be back,” Vetus Sepher said.
They all got up and went back to work, cleaning up the site. Petro came over to Sha, who was picking up pans. He put the torch out in a bucket of water; it sizzled.