Before the Tortoasise had begun to rise, Konta had already slipped on the makeshift sleeves of his Obsidian Panther pelt, which were made from the creature's forelimbs. Still attached to each paw were three long, razor-sharp claws, each as long as Konta's longest finger. As he slipped on the arms of his pelt, he had started off towards the creature's head at a sprint, but even at his breakneck pace he only reached its neck right before it had stood to its full hind-legged height. Furiously Konta lunged at the scaly neck, sinking both sets of claws into its flesh to find purchase as the creature bucked to and fro to try and dislodge him. His body flailed around helplessly as the Tortoasise fought to throw him from its back, but Konta dug deep and kept his hold for as long as he could. Just as it felt he would be sent sailing to his death, the beast began to heave forward, unable to hold itself upright any longer.
The creature landed back on all fours with such weight that the ground trembled for miles around it. Konta had kicked off backwards the moment it began to descend, lest the force of its landing sent him flying forwards. He landed with a massive splash in the pool where the Tortoasise's brood lived, the creature's movements sloshing its contents everywhere. Still, he couldn't try to escape yet; he had to buy more time for his fellow hunters to make away with their prey.
Konta had seen a lot of incredibly large creatures in his years of hunting, and often wondered how such creatures, which had very few predators to threaten them, weren't found all over the place. Certainly they should have been able to thrive, undeterred, and populate the entire land. It was only after learning about how other creatures mated that he had come to the conclusion that perhaps these giant creatures had troubles reproducing, either because of a rarity of mates or simply that their progeny did not live long enough to reach maturity.
Surely this was the case with the monstrous Tortoasise- the number of individuals ever found in a single season by the tribe could be counted on one hand. Such a giant probably lived for hundreds of years, maybe even thousands, but perhaps this was because their offspring so rarely reached adulthood. Perhaps they needed to live that long so they could produce enough spawn to ensure that one would live long enough to one day propagate themselves.
Yes, Konta had based his entire plan on a mere hunch of the Tortoasise's mating habit. However, this hunch was based on a lifetime of experience gained through life-or-death situations, where understanding the target was the difference between being a predator and being prey. It was those instincts that had allowed him to come this far in his life, and he would trust those instincts once more to get him out of this impossible situation. He had to hope that the Tortoasise would sacrifice two of its children to protect the one that had begun to fully mature, perhaps the only one that had grown this far out of hundreds of brood.
The creature's massive, lumbering body turned slowly as its head swiveled just in time to see Klik and Bobo, halfway up a dune, each clutching one of its children. Konta, sore from the fall, forced himself to run through the empty lake, towards the maturing Canteen Turtle. Both it and its remaining siblings had held on during their mother's bucking by clamping its powerful jaws into the strong tree roots that had been entangled beneath the water's surface. Swiftly Konta pulled his hand back and landed another firm blow on the head. The creature cried out once more, which caused the mother to roar and begin to rise on its hind legs again. Konta's hunch had been correct: the Tortoasise chose to protect that single ray of hope to continue its lineage rather than chase two possible dead ends.
Now all Konta had to do was escape with his life.
The Canteen Turtles had already clamped down again as the mother began to stand, which gave Konta some much needed time to prepare for his flight. From the inside of his pelt he removed the two hind legs of the Obsidian Panther, which had been refashioned into leggings. Konta pulled these on, sticking his feet in the slipper-like paws, and after making sure everything was snugly attached, he bent low and took off for the rear end of the Tortoasise's shell.
The descent was steep, and Konta struggled to keep himself from falling off the massive creature's back and head first into the sand, but thankfully by the time he could no longer find purchase on the shell, the back end had almost reached the ground anyways, and so with a deft tumble Konta hit the sand and rolled to his feet.
Without skipping a beat Konta bolted, not even sparing a glance back. The Tortoasise would notice her attackers had fled momentarily, and the more distance he put between himself and it before it noticed, the better. He stumbled as the creature fell to all fours again, tremors emanating from its landing, but the pads of the Obsidian Panther's paws compacted the sand beneath his feet, keeping him from losing his footing as he righted himself and kept running.
His lungs ached, his muscles were sore, and his bones creaked from having been tossed around so much, but he forced himself to continue onward. Thoughts of his tribesmen, his Kontala, and their unborn child forced him to ignore anything that might slow him down as he dragged himself over the dune back towards where they came from. He thought that the sounds of the giant's footsteps and the shaking under his feet were growing steadily weaker, but he refused to turn around until he had reached the top of the dune and started towards the bottom, at which point his stamina finally caved in and he tumbled to the ground, rolling sideways all the way to the bottom where he lay, covered in sand and completely exhausted. He had made it.
He could no longer hear any stirrings from the other side of the dune. It seemed the mother had realized her most important whelp was still right where it needed be, and that was all that mattered to her. The hunt was a success…or so it would be, as soon as he found Klik and Bobo.
It was the duo who found him first, Bobo having risked taking to the air in the harsh winds to find Konta when he finally emerged. They both came up to him, cradling their shelled trophies who were still chomping away at the fruits, oblivious to the world. Bobo and Klik each managed to spare an arm to haul Konta to his feet and guide him as they trudged their way back to the dying forest.
It was only once they finally found some respite from the blasting heat and wind of the desert amongst some trees that they finally took a short rest. Bobo and Klik forced Konta to drink some extra munitions of water, against his wishes. They knew he needed the hydration, and with the victory of the Canteen Turtles, there would be no shortage of water for the tribe anytime soon.
*
Several hours later the tribe had their three heroic hunters returned to them, a bit more bruised and battered than when they left, but still alive and lively. A small number of communal tents had been set up for the tribe to rest in before setting out again the next morning, and Bobo wasted no time in pulling himself into the nearest one for some well-deserved rest. Klik decided to take his reprieve near the fire while playing with his little boy Klikin, who seemed ready to burst with excitement at the return of his father.
Konta decided to watch the tribeswomen as they prepared the Canteen Turtles for the Summer to come. The beasts would not cooperate with them just because it was desired; there were certain measures that had to be taken to make sure they got what they wanted from their prizes.
How the Canteen Turtle did what it did was a mystery that was still unsolved by the tribesmen. Their unique physiology, whatever it was, allowed them to act as a sort of purification system: they could process anything they ate, regardless of toxicity or lack of nutrition, and turn it into sustenance for themselves. In the process, they extracted all moisture from what they ate, and as a result, the sole excretion that they voided from their bodies was water, pure and clean as any known. The oasis that the Canteen Turtles lived in on the mother Tortoasise's back was actually filled with this water, a byproduct of their remarkable bodies. With the two captured Turtles, the tribe had access to a steady supply of pure drinking water for the entire season, and all they had to do was feed the Turtles anything they had on hand. First, though, they had to prepare the Turtles for transport- this was a matter
for the tribeswomen.
There was no denying the natural difference in the physiques of the men and women. The men developed larger, more powerful muscles than the women, and were therefore better suited to being trained in the hunt, as they had the best chance of striking lethal blows. However, many of the creatures that they hunted and fed upon- or in this case were captured and used as a tool- had to be specially prepared in order to get the full use out of it. This was what the tribeswomen did, and in contrast, their contribution to the tribe's well-being outweighed the men's by a considerable margin.
Konta sat and watched, spellbound by the grace and dexterity the women demonstrated as their expertly trained fingers ever so carefully measured out pinches and scrapes of various herbs, plants, and powders that had been foraged and stored for uses ranging from medicine to poison to spicing meals. Klik's wife, Klika, took these ingredients into a clay bowl and mixed them with a pestle, the concoction slowly being ground into a fine, bright orange powder.
A hand alighted on Konta's shoulder and he startled, looking up to see Kontala's brilliant eyes looking into his own. She gave a small, silent giggle at his reaction, something that only he would appreciate, especially after the struggle he had been through. With a weary smile he tried to stand to hold her, but instead she pushed him to the ground and wagged her finger at him, telling him to stay where he was.
With a surprising grace for someone bearing a child, she moved to the bowl and filled two small satchels with the powder. Inside each one she placed a straw made from a long, hollow blade of grass, and tied the satchels closed around them. Then she turned to where the two Canteen Turtles sat nearby, steadily being fed by a couple younger tribeswomen who were being taught how to handle them by the village's eldest woman, whom Konta had given the name Marg.
Marg had once been the mate of Murg in her younger years. Now that she lacked the ability to have children and the pups she had were fully grown, she spent her remaining years teaching the younger girls how to handle the innumerable tasks that had to be done around the camp. It was that cohesion, everyone having their vital tasks that only they could do, that gave the tribe its unified strength to handle surviving in the harsh world they lived in.
So Konta watched as Marg mutely instructed the girls, showing them how to tilt the heads of the Turtles back without causing them to fight the forced movement, and how to hold them still while Kontala showed them how to insert the straws into the noses of the beasts so that they didn't resist. Once the straws were in, each girl plugged the uncovered nostril while Kontala quickly tipped both the satchels upwards, unloading their contents into the beasts' noses. The creatures stirred for a moment, but the effects of the powder were extremely fast acting when inhaled, and both Turtles instantly went stiff. They continued to grind their food in their mouths, but it was a lethargic, absent-minded chewing, as if their reflex wouldn't allow them to stop.
Now that they were subdued, the girls had no trouble affixing water catches made of strong, waterproof leaves and sap around the hindquarters of the Canteen Turtles. This way, they could be strapped to the back of a tribesman while the tribe wandered in search of a place they could set up camp for the season, and the water they produced on the way would be collected until it could be better stored in a sturdier container.
Their job finally done, the young girls were dismissed. Sweat beaded on their brows from their concentration but their faces were alight with their newfound knowledge. Marg set about to finding a place for the Canteen Turtles to be kept safe that night. Her wizened body, forged strong from hundreds of seasons of backbreaking labor, had little trouble handling the large beasts as she relocated them to a more discreet location. Konta wanted to help, but the trials of the day had left him drained of strength.
Kontala floated down beside him, as if sensing his weariness, and rested her head on his shoulder just as she had during their last Settling. Her hand rested on his chest, telling him that his exhaustion was well earned, and that he needn't move until he was ready. After how many times he had cheated death that day, with Kontala and his young sire resting here beside him, he felt like he would've liked to stay where he was, in that moment, until he drew his last breath.
The Cactyringe
Konta was awakened one stiflingly hot morning by two sharp taps on the shoulder. Today was supposed to be a day of rest for him while the other hunters of the tribe were out foraging, and he had decided to sleep just slightly later than usual. To be woken up by a fellow tribesman was sure to mean that something was wrong.
He turned to find his mate, Kontala, kneeling beside him. One look at her heat-flushed face and Konta could tell that something was amiss. Her eyes were wide and impatient, and before Konta could try and figure out what was going on, she had already started dragging him to his feet. He put a reassuring hand on her own before pulling her grip from him. No matter the urgency of the situation, he couldn't run out into the intensity of the Summer Sun without a scrap of clothing on. It only took moments for Konta to wrap himself from head to toe in thick robes, leaving only a small space open on his face to see out of.
He emerged from his tepee into the stifling heat of Summer, which had descended upon the tribe with full force. They had managed to see the warning signs early enough to take necessary precautions for their safety, but there was no such thing as a gentle Summer. Even with a pair of Canteen Turtles supplying the tribe with fresh water they had to find an area to settle in that would provide a modicum of shelter from the incessant sandstorms and unbearable heat that would attack them each day.
Fortunately the tribe had found a depression in the sand dunes surrounded by several large boulders. The area was shaded against the Sun during several points in the day, and the natural bowl shape of the area allowed it to capture heat, making the bitter-cold night much more bearable. It was as ideal a place as they could hope to find to set up camp until Summer had passed.
Now Konta struggled against the sand whipped into his face by the wind that managed to squeeze between the rocks, trying to find where Kontala had gone to. He saw a heavily cloaked figure waving at him from a distance, its belly slightly distended, and noticed with a twang of dread that Kontala was standing in front of the medicinal tent. Someone was either hurt or sick.
Passing through the curtain into the tent, he saw Kontala and Marg, the elderly medicine woman, standing over a child currently lying on a rug. The young girl he recognized as Grimzi, daughter of tribeswoman Grima and her mate Grim. She was clutching at her arm and whimpering, her brow covered with a damp cloth. Konta marched forward and knelt beside the girl, removing the cloth to feel her forehead- she was burning with fever. He gently pulled Grimzi's hand away from her arm, where he saw a large welt, the skin around it discolored a grotesque purple. He knew the signs right away of Desert Flower poisoning.
The Desert Flower was no plant by any means, but rather a highly toxic species of scorpion. It took the shape of a brightly colored flower in order to lure in unsuspecting prey before striking it with one of several dozen “petals” surrounding its body, which were in fact a multitude of stingers. The stinger detached from the scorpion once used, continuing to inject poison into the victim until removed. A Desert Flower's stingers never regrew, but the sheer number of stingers it possessed made it a terrible threat throughout its lifespan nonetheless. The girl most likely was playing alone and came across the creature, its camouflage tricking the unsuspecting child all too well.
Marg had already removed the stinger, but the poison of the Desert Flower was quite powerful even in small doses. For such a small child, it was incredible that she was still alive at all. Undoubtedly Marg had already given her some antitoxin, but from the look of the wound Konta could see that it wasn't enough to nullify the poison.
Marg had retrieved one of the pictograph books they kept with the medical supplies to diagnose ailments and record their various cures, and set it before Konta. The page, made from the dried hide of some beast, was open t
o a picture of the very condition they now beheld: a picture of a discolored wound, a large inflammation in the center, with a drawing of the Desert Flower beside it. On the next page was a picture of the only known cure for the toxin, a large green plant with stocky branches and countless needles, a couple flowers blooming randomly on its trunk- the Cactyringe.
The Cactyringe was one of the only plants that had adapted to the harsh environs of Summer, capable of drawing what little water possible from the dry sand and soil. Its many needles thwarted attempts creatures made to eat it, and while the flowers that bloomed on its surface were a great source of nutrition, they were also almost identical to the Desert Flower in appearance, which naturally made the Cactyringe a desirable nesting area for the deceptive scorpions.
Konta knew that the antidote for the Desert Flower's toxin was produced from the Cactyringe, and with all the other hunters gone from the camp he knew it was on his shoulders to procure what they needed to produce more antitoxin before the girl succumbed. However, there was another problem to surmount besides the ones already presented to them. Konta, being a hunter strictly, was not knowledgeable in how exactly to obtain what they needed from the Cactyringe to create the antidote they needed. That area of expertise was the domain of the tribeswomen.
No sooner had he thought it, Konta turned to see his mate pulling another woman into the tent. It was Klika, wife of Konta's fellow hunter Klik, and one of the tribeswomen who was more experienced in medical remedies. Konta watched as Klika rushed to the child and examined her at a glance, taking note of the book still open to the diagnosis. Within moments Klika had gotten a grasp on the situation, and stood ready to do whatever necessary to save the young girl's life. Marg pointed swiftly to Konta and Klika, and then motioned to the book. Her message was quite clear: Konta needed to help Klika find the Cactyringe so that she may gather what they needed to treat the injury.
Against All Instinct Page 4