by Sean Golden
The shrill cry of an eagle startled Lirak. Amazed at the strength of an eagle flying high above where Lirak found it difficult to even breathe, he paused again to watch the soaring bird of prey. He mouthed a quick blessing for his totem. He hoped it was a positive sign.
Lirak forced his weary legs to move forward. He stopped only once more to take a careful sip from his precious water skin. Snow was piled up against large boulders all around him. Anywhere there was shade from the sun there was snow. The wind was biting cold against his face and his leather shirt and pants did little to keep him warm. Frequently he found himself trudging through ankle deep snow drifts. His feet grew colder as his moccasins became soaked with melted snow. Finally, just as he thought he could not possibly take another step, he stood at the top of the slope, and could see down into the valley on the other side. His legs burned from the unaccustomed exertion of constant climbing, and his breath came in hoarse gasps as he tried to get enough air. But he felt exhilarated, triumphant. He stood atop the Gap.
Lirak regarded the broken terrain of stone slabs and dark crevasses in front of him. At first look it appeared to be impassable, a broken, jumbled maze of massive stones scattered as if by angry giants, and dusted by white drifts of snow. With a grim chuckle he knew he had been climbing up the easy side of the gap. Getting down was going to be harder than getting up had been. At least it wasn’t as far down to the valley on the west as it was to the forest on the east. Far below, snaking through the valley, a gleaming ribbon of silvery-red reflected the afternoon sun. Lirak knew it must be the river the elders had described, but from his viewpoint it looked like a ribbon of fire. Lirak named the river “Fire River” in his mind. Green vegetation spread out in both directions from the river and crashed up against the slopes on his side of the valley until giving way to the boulders and rocky slabs that continued all the way to his feet. To the far west, across the wide valley, a wall of cold stone rose into an impenetrable barrier of towering rock, snow and ice.
Far to his left he saw that the river spread out into a great body of water, larger than any body of water he had ever seen. A great lake had formed in the valley between the mountains. With a sigh, realizing that he had little time left before the sun went down, he began to work his way down the broken slabs and boulders of the western side of the Gap.
Soon he developed a rhythm to his searching for a path downward. A pattern emerged and he found that if he worked his way back and forth as he descended, he could find handholds and footholds on the boulders between the great slabs of stone. It was difficult, but not impossible, and he made steady progress downward. His body took over the task of moving down the slope while his mind wandered.
Lirak noticed that he had begun to encounter small trees growing in the cracks of the boulders. Looking back up he saw that he had come a long way down the western side of the Gap. The great broken slabs were mostly above him now, and the slope was turning gentler. Not far below he could see that the trees were claiming the stony ground. High above, he again heard the eagle cry.
Lirak continued to descend down the western side of the Gap. He saw the broken boulders becoming rocks, then pebbles, and finally soil, where the trees began to grow. Kneeling down, he pressed his lips to the soil and asked for Kathoias’ blessing. The soil smelled different here, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was different about it. There were familiar pine, fir and spruce in the valley, but there were also strange trees with brilliant white trunks and leaves that danced in the slightest wind.
High above, red and orange clouds flowed across and around the towering peaks as shadows crawled up the eastern side of the valley. He needed to camp soon. It was much warmer down in the trees than it had been at the top of the Gap where the wind had been biting cold, but it was likely to get colder as night fell. He decided to continue further into the forest.
All forests are dangerous. The elders’ warnings came unbidden to his mind. Those who had returned before spoke of great beasts that hunted the forest, some by day, and some by night. They spoke of cats larger than any in their own forest, and great lumbering beasts unlike anything they had seen before. Lirak strung his bow and loosened the arrows in his quiver. He also pulled out his iridescent-bladed stone knife. The knife felt good in his hand, and he found himself holding it frequently as he walked into an ever-thickening wood while the sky darkened and the daylight dwindled.
A large stone slab thrust up from the ground, rising perhaps twice his own height into the air. The “L” shaped hollow it formed provided some protection from the wind, and perhaps other things. Gathering some nearby deadwood Lirak made a small, nearly smokeless fire. He stacked more wood against the stone for firewood for the night. Using his axe, he cut some green leafy branches to make a soft bed. Looking up he saw the first stars coming out. Tonight there would be no moon.
Lirak contemplated the fire for a few moments, hoping it would keep most predators at bay. As he sat resting, the last purple hints left the sky, leaving Lirak’s camp encased in inky blackness beyond the small light of the campfire. From his pack he took a small leaf-wrapped bit of smoked meat. He ate it cold and drank almost all of the rest of his water from his water skin. Then he removed his belt, and placing his knife within easy reach, he lay back on the branches. Exhausted from his day’s long and difficult hike, he was soon asleep. The fire burned on, gently crackling and throwing light and warmth against the rock wall. Further into the forest the night was soon filled with strange sounds of the forest.
Lirak dreamed his worst dream. A Dwon village lay in flaming ruins. Strange insect-men brutally violated and murdered the helpless Dwon. A figure dressed in gray sent terrible lightning or fire forth which destroyed anything it touched. Bloated bodies of the dead swelled and burst in the hot sun. The screams of the tortured and dying Dwon swelled in his head until he cried out in pain and misery.
This is not necessary. Lirak heard the words and his blood ran cold. The voice was not the familiar voice that filled so many of his dreams and even his wakened thoughts. This voice was faint and entirely devoid of any sense of warmth. It gave Lirak the sense of a decaying corpse in a winter snow.
“Who are you?” Lirak’s mind sent the question where it seemed to merge with the blowing smoke and embers of the fires all around.
One who sees, the voice hissed. Lirak’s mind was filled then with the crushing sense of scrutiny he had felt in the spirit dream before Kodul had died. You do not yet know your power. I can help you. Lirak could think of nothing but the villagers who made Rysdun’s ward against him, and of Sampt’s belief that Lirak was touched by the unNamed One.
“No!” he shouted. “You killed Kodul!” He desperately willed the voice to go away.
War will always have casualties. The voice was fainter, and Lirak caught a sense of effort behind it, as if the speaker was having difficulty reaching him.
“No! You are the cloud of evil! I will not listen to you! I will fight you!” Lirak pushed with all his will, determined to force that voice out of his head forever.
I will come for you, little lifeling, or you will come to me. The voice faded, like the last broken leaves of autumn blown away by the first frigid winds of winter. Lirak woke, and for a few moments found himself completely confused and lost, until he remembered the long trip, the climb, and the valley beyond the Gap.
A cold sensation crept down Lirak’s back causing the hairs on his neck to rise as his eyes snapped open. The fire was slowly burning down and needed more wood, but the old familiar voice in his mind said be still. Without moving, he scanned the dark area around the fire, and suddenly his eyes locked onto two yellow points of light several feet beyond the fire. There was something about the eyes that made his stomach queasy. In the darkness it was hard to be sure, but the eyes had a feline look to them. He instinctively reached out for his knife, and as he did, the eyes blinked and a dark figure rose soundlessly. For a brief moment the two locked eyes, Lirak’s hand tightly clutching his k
nife, then the eyes began to edge forward one small, quiet step at a time.
So this is what it’s like to be the hunted, not the hunter? The fire began to falter and flicker from lack of wood. The eyes crept another step forward. A feeling of panic began to grip Lirak, and an image of Kodul’s four great scars came unbidden to his mind. I have to do something. Lirak shifted the knife to his left hand, and with his right he grabbed the unburned edge of one of the remaining branches in the fire, and hurled it directly at the eyes. In that same movement, he switched the knife back to his right hand and sat up on his heels, crouching with the knife pointed forward.
Flaring suddenly as the wind of its flight fanned the branch into full flame, Lirak saw a large, husky, tawny cat, easily more than twice the size of the forest cats he had known. Two enormous protruding fangs gleamed in the sudden flash of flame. The cat nimbly dodged the thrown branch, snarling at the trail of sparks it left behind. But it stopped moving forward, and after a short pause, turned and disappeared into the night without a sound.
Lirak crouched with the knife held forward for several moments, until his ankles began to ache. He smelled the stink of his own fear. With his left hand he tossed more branches onto the fire, which then flared up more brightly. There was no sign of the cat. He slowly put the knife back in its sheath. The branch he had flung forward had landed on a small tree and was beginning to catch the tree on fire. This, more than anything else, brought him out of his panic and he rushed forward to retrieve the burning branch, beating out the few branches that had begun to burn. Then he returned to his campsite and put more wood on the fire until it flared up large and bright, making him sweat from its heat.
As certain as he was that he would stay awake the rest of the night, he soon found himself nodding again, unable to keep his eyes open. Finally he placed a few thick branches in the fire with one end positioned so that he could grab them easily if he needed to, and lay back down where he fell into an uneasy sleep. Once more that night Lirak woke up with the chilling sensation of being watched. This time he didn’t see the eyes, but he was certain he felt their presence. His dream confused and alarmed him, but again weariness overcame his fear and in spite of his efforts to remain awake, he fell asleep, and slept heavily until the morning sun finally woke him. There was no sign of the cat.
The first thing Lirak noticed in the morning was the dewy dampness. Everything was coated with fine drops of water. His damp clothes sent a chill through his body. Gathering branches from nearby, he soon had the smoldering fire brought back to flame. Smoked meat heated on a twig provided his breakfast. A short sip of his water turned into a long swallow that drained his water skin. Now he had to reach the river, or else find some small stream with clean water.
Taking off his buckskin shirt he held it above the fire to dry it as much as he could. He did the same with his leggings and moccasins. Once his clothes were dry and warm, he put his belt, pack and quiver back on. Carefully smothering the fire with soil, Lirak adjusted his pack and, with a final look over his shoulder for any sign of the cat, he set out to the west and the river.
He made his way to the spot he had seen the cat. He found tracks, both of the cat and of his efforts to put out the small fire he had started the night before. But the cat’s tracks made his breath catch in his throat. The paws were almost as big as his hands. This cat probably weighed more than he did, and was undoubtedly stronger, faster and quieter. He hoped the cat was a night hunter only and would be sleeping during the day.
He turned west again, and took a path he figured to be the shortest possible to the river. The firestones were on the other side, according to the elders. He hoped to find them today, and begin making his way back to the Gap and then to start the long journey home. He found himself walking more quickly than normal and began to worry that his fear of the cat was making him careless. He was walking too fast and making too much noise. A sense of dread filled his chest and he frequently looked back over his shoulder, as if he expected to catch the cat charging at him from behind.
Unable to shake this feeling, he pulled his knife from his sheath and kept it in his right hand. Moving slowly, Lirak made certain to check behind, and to carefully look forward, as well. His own forest may not have such large cats, but he knew that the smaller cats he was familiar with would sometimes lie in ambush for their prey.
He made his way toward the river, his muscles tense, and his breath coming in short, quick gasps. Sweating heavily he fought a powerful desire for a drink of cool, clear water. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch the scent of a water hole or a stream in the rich aromas of the forest. The air beneath the trees was still, and the growing heat of the day was becoming uncomfortable. Finally he smelled fresh water. Following the scent a few strides he found a small stream meandering through the forest, creating a small break in the trees. He carefully scanned the area, looking for any sign of danger.
The stream itself was a few feet wide, and maybe a foot or so deep. Sparkling water made his mouth feel parched as it flowed quickly down the slope toward the river. Taking his water skin in his left hand, he held his knife in his right hand, and then knelt to put the water skin into the water to fill it.
The shrill cry of an eagle startled Lirak. He straightened up from the water, and turned to his left. The attack was as brutal as it was silent. The cat was on top of him before he could react. Searing pain exploded in his left shoulder as a heavy weight crashed into him, pushing him down into soft but prickly bushes. More pain stabbed through his right thigh as his eyes locked onto one yellow eye in the face of the cat, whose huge fangs were embedded in his shoulder. In desperation he drove his knife at the chest of the cat, and felt it stab deep. The cat released his shoulder as it screamed in pain, and Lirak pulled the knife out and stabbed it again, this time feeling the knife strike a bone in the cat’s chest. He kicked upwards with both feet, while driving the knife further into the chest of the great beast. He felt something snap, and suddenly the cat was gone, racing away into the trees with a wailing cry of pain, leaving a bright red splash of fresh blood on the leaves as it ran.
Dazed and disoriented, Lirak half-rolled, half-fell into the stream; where he lay stunned for a moment. He felt no pain, but he could not seem to move. A red streak in the water showed he was bleeding. This realization finally overcame his shock and he used his right arm to pull himself out of the stream and back onto the bank. His left hand was still clutching the partially filled water skin.
He gingerly moved his left arm, and that’s when the pain hit him. A fire seemed to burn in his left shoulder, and he felt warm wetness all inside his shirt. He looked around for any sign of the great cat, but saw only the quiet forest. Struggling against the pain, he took off his shirt and the sight of his shoulder made him sick. Blood streamed down his chest from four great holes in his shoulder, two in front and two in back. The flesh all around and between the holes on his front shoulder was torn and raw. He knew he had to stop the bleeding somehow. Using his knife he began to cut off his right shirtsleeve, and noticed that the top third of his knife blade was broken off. This hit him almost as hard as the sight of his shoulder.
Cutting his sleeve off, he used his right hand to wrap the leather around his shoulder as tightly as he could. He used rawhide strips from his pouch to tie the makeshift bandage to his shoulder and arm, compressing the wounds as much as he could. That seemed to stop most of the bleeding, but it left a lump under his armpit where the leather was knotted with the rawhide. Then he turned his attention to his right thigh. There he saw four bloody gashes in his leggings. Under the leggings he found four deep scratches, but the leggings seemed to have kept him from getting seriously wounded in the leg. The bleeding there was already slowing.
Finally, Lirak filled his water skins with the cold, clear water, took as long a drink as he could make himself take, and refilled the water skin again. After re-dressing he put his pack and quiver back on, and made himself get to his feet. He was terrified that the cat wo
uld be back to finish him off, and wanted to get as far away from the little stream as possible.
Lirak struggled painfully through the forest to the west for a while. Surprisingly intense, the heat beat down on him oppressively as the sun continued to rise, and he felt weak and wobbly-kneed. The smells of the forest overwhelmed him as his stomach became more and more queasy. Suddenly he doubled over and emptied his stomach onto the ground. Then he lay on his side, shaking as the shock of the situation finally overcame him.
How long Lirak might have lain on the ground shaking and sobbing he would never know. From the forest behind him he heard a cry of pain and anger that brought him to full awareness and alertness. And then he heard a crashing sound as something came bounding through the bushes behind him.
Sitting up and turning around, he pulled his bow and an arrow as his mind accelerated and his senses sharpened. The bushes in front of him shook, and then he saw the cat charging toward him. In one movement, ignoring the pain of his shoulder, he drew back the arrow and as the cat emerged from the bush, sent the arrow directly into the cat’s chest.
The cat screamed again, and its left front leg buckled. It fell forward, then rolled on its side, breaking the arrow, and crying out again in pain as it slid to a stop no more than five strides away. Lirak pulled another arrow from his quiver and fit it to the string as the cat regained its feet. But his shoulder gave out as he tried to shoot the arrow, and instead of a direct hit on the cat, the arrow left a bloody track on its right shoulder. But the cat stopped, its sides heaving and blood dripping from its mouth and side. Lirak again pulled another arrow and as he tried to notch it to the string, the cat gave a final look at Lirak and again turned and melted back into the forest. Lirak saw that the cat had two bloody wounds on its left side, and was limping badly.