With no time to think, Konta clenched his spear tightly and whirled around, stabbing out as he flung himself to the side. His blow struck true, and the fire hardened point of the spit dug into the beast's flesh as it barreled past him, unable to quickly slow from its charge. Konta hit the ground in a roll, the footfalls of the Mammoth so heavy that the trembling ground bounced the hunter against his will several times. Konta winced as he was dashed against some loose stones uncontrollably, the feeling of fresh cuts and bruises beginning to well up all over his body.
Finally he managed to steady himself, and quickly rose to his feet gasping as he took quick note of his strike. The spear still hung loosely from the Mammoth's side, but for all the good it had done it might as well have been a pinprick. The creature trumpeted in fury as it shook itself and almost effortlessly dislodged the spear, with hardly a trickle of blood to mark that it had been wounded at all.
The next pass would be the last one. Even with his adrenaline rushing he knew that he wouldn't be able to dodge a second time. He was still winded from his flight, and though he wasn't gravely injured he knew that his movements would be hindered too much to leap out of the way in time. His only remaining option was to try and leave some lasting impact on the beast, to try and injure it enough that it would either retreat where it came from or at least be less of a threat should it find his village after it was done with him.
The ground shook as the Razorback Mammoth started for him again, its tusks poised to skewer the hunter where he stood panting. His knife was all but useless, a tool used for precision cuts to vital points that wouldn't do any good against the thick hide of his impending death. Instinctively, his hand closed around the shaft of his last remaining option. As the tip of the Mammoth's tusk loomed within inches of Konta's face he swung upwards, putting every last ounce of strength he could muster into his hammer blow.
There was a loud splintering sound and a great crack as the tusk broke where the hammerhead connected. The point of the tusk was thrust upward, but the tip of it still grazed Konta's left eye and sent him sprawling to the ground. His head swam with pain as he felt the blood pour from the gash in his face, and he expected to feel the crushing finality of the Razorback's foot trod down on him, but all that came was the horrific bellow of pain from the beast. He could feel its colossal foot crash down just next to him, and realizing he was still alive for the moment he quickly gathered his wits to now see that in its anguish and anger the Razorback had reared onto its hind legs. Its left tusk had broken clear away, and the pain had been enough to stop the creature in its tracks. Any second now, though, it would regain its senses and undoubtedly come crashing down on him.
A strange feeling stole over Konta, as he looked up at his imminent demise silhouetted against the Moonlit sky. He felt a bizarre catharsis at the sight of the marred animal, knowing that if he had to go out, at least he had done something far greater than he had ever hoped. He had injured a Razorback Mammoth by himself. The creature seemed to hover over him, slowly descending to crush him, but he had already accepted death as his thoughts turned back to his tribe.
He found himself wishing it had been Zanzu who had come this way tonight. He had killed a Razorback by himself before, and could have probably handled this far better than Konta. He thought of his fellow hunters Klik and Grim, Tamto and Senga, his old friend Faygo, now long deceased. He thought of all the hunts that he had survived before, and wished that any of his fellow tribesmen had been here to see his last stand. More than anything, though, he thought of Kontala, and their newborn Kontaren, whom he would never get to see grow into a hunter.
He didn't realize it, but his body had been moving on its own. Without a single thought put into it, his hands reached for the broken Mammoth tusk that lay where it had fallen next to him and pulled it upright, pointed straight at its former owner.
What transpired over the next few seconds blurred together for Konta. As he knelt with his arms wrapped around the tusk, he could feel the full weight of the Mammoth bear down and halt disturbingly. The beast let out a gurgling, almost pitiable noise as it landed unsteadily on its feet, where it only stood for a fraction of a moment before teetering sideways. One of its legs clipped Konta, knocking him down and sending his vision reeling again. When he finally managed to steady himself, he rose on shaky, aching legs. Right next to him laid the motionless body of the Mammoth, blood steadily bubbling from around the edges of where the tusk had stuck straight through its heart. It took a few moments for Konta to comprehend what he had just managed to do, but for some reason it didn't seem to matter much. The beast was dead: that was all that mattered.
His head was still swimming, but somehow he found the strength to start back towards the village. He took little care in concealing his movements. He had already given himself up for dead and was physically and mentally exhausted. It made little difference to him if something else showed up at that time to finish what the Razorback had started.
Konta barely noticed the sky slowly brightening, the Sun creeping up over the distant trees that had begun to stretch upward to welcome the coming Spring. He didn't notice the slight smell as he passed over the invisible territory line the tribe had laid out to try and ward off predators. He didn't pick up his pace as the tents of his people rose before him, nor did he stop walking when hunters and tribeswomen started rushing out from the tents towards him. It was only when a large form blocked his path and took hold of his shoulders that he finally stopped moving his feet, looking up to see Zanzu looking at him with an expression of complete bewilderment.
He looked around, seeing faces but not being able to put the names he came up with to any of them. Dimly, he realized that his body felt wet. He looked down at himself to see that he was covered in blood, most likely his own. A glance over his shoulder revealed a small trail of droplets that he had been shedding during his march back. He normally would've worried about it leading a predator back to the village, but like just about everything else it didn't matter at this moment.
Konta shrugged off Zanzu, who oddly obliged as Konta continued walking until he finally caught sight of Kontala rushing forward, her eyes bulging with fear and worry as she clutched tightly to Kontaren. He stopped, teetering in place, and looked at them both.
Then he smiled, and his legs gave out under him as everything went black.
*
The first thing Konta felt was something moist being pressed against the left side of his face. He tried to open his eyes, but could only manage to crack open the right one, and even that simple action caused his head to explode in pain. Still, he could dimly make out the face of his mate looking back at him, her expression surprised. It seemed he was lying outside on a rug, because past Kontala all he could see was a vast expanse of blue sky. He forced himself to sit, causing more pain to wrack his body, but there were more important things to worry about at the moment. How long had he been out? Had there been an attack on the village after his careless mistake of leaving a trail?
He saw now that he had been laid out near the communal tent where the fire pit had been dug. It didn't take him long to notice that something large had been dragged into the village and was now sitting just outside the tent: the body of the Razorback Mammoth he had killed.
Sitting had been painful, but standing was practically tortuous. It felt as if every bone in his body had been broken. Konta felt unusually stiff, noticing quickly that his body was almost completely covered in bandages and poultices. He reached toward the wrapping on his face that covered his left eye, only to remember the blow he had suffered from the Mammoth. He likely didn't have an eye left there. Kontala had tried to keep him from moving, but he fought until she finally gave up with a sigh of resignation. After standing still for a little bit to make sure he could keep himself upright, he slowly shuffled out towards where the body lay.
Many of the villagers had gathered around the corpse, where they either prodded at it gingerly as if afraid it might still be alive, or otherwise sim
ply stared awestruck at it. Several parents had to strike their pups when they wandered towards its back, the bladed fur as dangerous as ever. Konta could understand their interest. It was extremely rare to have a chance to see a Razorback up close, as the last one killed by the tribe was back when Zanzu had returned with the trophy he now wore as a pelt.
Two taps alighted on his shoulder, and Konta turned to meet the Chief's gaze. Murg looked at him, appraising for a moment, then nodded and took Konta by the arm and dragged him away from the crowd. It took some time, as Konta could still barely move faster than a limp, but eventually he was led into the Chief's tent, where a couple tribeswomen ushered them through the flaps before stepping out, leaving the two hunters alone.
Murg turned to Konta and stared into his eye for a good long while. Whatever he was looking for, the hunter couldn't fathom, but finally the Chief turned and went to a woven basket that sat at the far end of the tent. Murg rummaged through it for a bit, closed the basket, and walked back to Konta, shoving something in his hand. Konta sucked in a deep breath as he saw that he was holding the sleeve bracelet that he had coveted for so long- the sign of Murg's favor. Konta had finally been accepted as one of the top hunters.
Before he could put it on, though, Murg grabbed Konta's arm and held it out. Konta watched in curiosity as the Chief reached to his own pelt, and plucked off one of the numerous ashen-colored feathers that covered it. Before he could react, Murg stabbed him with the quill and held it in place. Konta winced by reflex, but strangely the pinion sticking into his flesh didn't hurt. Instead, he felt a soft warmth begin to radiate through his body, and he watched in amazement as the feather's ash coloring flared to a fiery reddish gold. Ever so slowly, some of the down began to smolder away, and as it did the pain flowing through Konta dissipated, replaced with the warmth that had been coursing through him. As the last of his pain subsided, the golden feather slowly faded back to grey, and Murg took the bracelet from him, wrapping it around the feather and tightly securing it to his arm.
Konta was completely confused as to what had just happened. He flexed his arms a couple times, as if testing to see if the pain would return. When he was sure that he was fine, he discarded the wrappings that he had been wearing before, and looking at his body he saw that the bruises and gashes he had suffered from his fight with the Razorback Mammoth were gone, without so much as the faintest scar to suggest they had ever been there in the first place. He remembered his injured eye, and removed the bandage on his head full of hope, but when he tried to open his eye he realized with a heavy heart that only scarred tissue remained there. It seemed that the healing feather couldn't heal an eye already lost.
Still, Konta now had answers to questions he had been pondering before, as well as a host of new questions. He understood how Faygo had managed to heal so quickly after their fight with the Ravagers during Autumn, but if he had managed to heal from that, why did he die to the Rafflesion? Did the burning of the feather mean that it had limited healing power? He understood that the bracelet Murg gave him now was to hide that he had the feather, but why would the Chief hide the fact that he had such an incredible tool at his disposal? Wouldn't he want to give this to every hunter, to decrease risk of death during the hunt?
As if to confirm his suspicion, Murg grabbed Konta's sleeved arm and put a single finger to his lips. This was to be a secret between Konta, the Chief, and those who also bore the bracelet; there was no question there. Konta nodded in understanding, and Murg gave the hunter one of his rare smiles that shone even through the bushy tangle of beard the wizened tribal chief wore.
With Spring so close, the village felt safe enough to hold a feast that night in celebration of the end of Winter, and more so, Konta's incredible hunting trophy. Though food stores were never terribly plentiful at Winter's close, there had been enough successful hunts that all the villagers were allowed to eat to their heart's content, and though it had been young, the Razorback Mammoth still had ample meat on its body to hold the tribe over until more bountiful Spring hunts replenished their stock.
As was custom, Konta was offered the first piece of the Mammoth meat, a sign of his triumph over the beast. He stared down at the still sizzling slab, and knew what would follow: the hide had already been stripped from the carcass, and over the next few days the tribeswomen would fashion it into a pelt that Konta would wear as his new symbol of status amongst the hunters. In essence, he would hold the same stature as Zanzu, which would effectively make him the second Head Hunter of the tribe. It was an honor that every hunter aspired to.
After what felt like ages of staring at the piece of meat, feeling the eyes of the tribe watching and waiting for him to partake of his kill, Konta stood and flung the slab of Mammoth into the communal fire.
The hunters and tribeswomen looked at him, then at each other, confusion spreading like wildfire across their faces. They then watched as Konta strode to just outside the tent, where the Razorback's hide lay folded. He picked it up carefully, lest he cut himself on its spines (and raise suspicion at them suddenly healing), dragged it to the fire, and tossed it in too.
Several hunters now rose from their seats, a mixture of shock, anger, and puzzlement crossing their faces. Konta didn't care, though, and when Zanzu stood and pulled them back into their seats, they didn't refuse. Nobody was foolish enough to argue with the Head Hunter's commands.
Konta walked away from the feast, wondering if his decision was the right one. He used to dream of one day becoming Head Hunter and leading the tribe into an age of prosperity. Being the best hunter he could be was always the goal he strove to accomplish, but he had been thinking a lot that day about what it really meant to be a hunter, and what the pelt he wore really represented. The Razorback Mammoth that died by his hands was only a juvenile, and after having looked at its body more closely earlier in the day, he realized it had been half starved to death before he encountered it. It was only through a fluke chance that he had managed to kill the beast, not some great act of cunning that the tribe likely thought had transpired. If he wore its pelt, Konta felt it would've been an affront to every hunter who put himself in mortal peril to prove their worth to the tribe.
He wandered into the tent Kontala, Kontaren and he were using and pulled out his Obsidian Panther pelt, which he wasn't wearing during his “recovery” from his injuries. Folded inside it was the sparkling stone that once made up the head of his hammer. The hammer's shaft had broken when he struck the Razorback's tusk, but the precious stone that made his hammer so special had been recovered with the corpse of the beast.
The Panther pelt and the hammerhead, both of these were trophies that Konta had once felt he had gotten through blind luck too. Now, though, he realized just how important to him they were to his identity. He felt they were inseparable parts of who he was, and knew now what being a real hunter truly was to him: it was the strength to protect the tribe, and more importantly, protect his mate and their pup.
He sat for a long while, staring at the cowl of his pelt that still retained the aspect of the beast it was created from, locked in a perpetual snarling expression. At some point in the night, Kontala came into the tent with Kontaren in her arms and sat next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and stared at the pelt with him as she nursed their son. She rested one hand gently on his arm, and Konta knew that she understood his feelings, somehow, just like she always did. Konta felt Kontala's breathing grow slow and steady, knowing that she had fallen asleep where she sat, but he sat up looking at the pelt all through that last night of Winter.
In that one small tent was everything in the world that Konta held closest to his heart. It was for these things that he was, and always would be, a hunter.
Flashback: The Obsidian Panther (1)
Konta awoke with a start. His breathing came in short, spastic gasps and a thin coat of cold sweat streaked his brow. As he tried to slow his rapidly beating heart, he struggled to recall what had led to him feeling this way: it was definitel
y a dream, but what had happened in it? Tried as he might, he couldn't recall, and as the seconds dragged on he felt more and more foolish for being so distraught over nothing.
Still, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that seemed to cling to his bare shoulders as he rose from his pallet. Around him his fellow hunters were asleep, and from the look of it far more soundly than Konta had been. It wasn't unusual for Konta to rise before the others, but for once he felt a pang of jealousy that he couldn't rest a bit longer like they were.
Carefully, Konta navigated his way over the prone bodies to the corner of the tent where he kept his equipment. Just like every other day, he strapped on his loincloth, his flint knife sheath, and his chest belt that secured a spear to his back. He was tempted to bring the hammer he had recently assembled from the strong glittering stone he had found, but was still unaccustomed to its weight and so left it where it lay.
Even going through the usual motions, though, the dread from his nightmare followed him outside the tent as he headed to wash up at the communal basin. He wished that he had a pelt to drape across his back, as if it would be enough to shield him from his baseless fears, but he had yet to prove himself worthy of one in a hunt. Hopefully today would give him a chance to remedy that problem.
The horizon was barely tinted with orange at this time of the morning, and the sky still hung heavy with stars as he splashed near boiling water from the basin on his face in a final effort to wash away his strange feelings. When that proved fruitless, he gave a soft sigh and wandered off to where the tribeswomen were preparing breakfast.
Against All Instinct Page 15