As he piled random fruits and preserved meats into his arms, out of the corner of his eye he caught three of the younger tribeswomen looking at him. Two of them were wearing smiles he didn't like: it was the type of condescending smile flowering tribeswomen who were ready to find a mate gave to uninitiated hunters like him, as if questioning his capability to provide for the tribe. The third one also gave him a smile, but it was much softer and accompanied with an even softer blush, and when her gaze met his she turned away hastily. Konta took note of her long, bushy hair that fell past her shoulders to her waist and the almost endearing way she tried to hide behind it. She was a little smaller than most of the other young tribeswomen, but Konta found himself oddly charmed by that. He knew he would have to keep an eye out for her in the future.
By the time he was finished with his breakfast, most of the other hunters from the tribe had finally risen and were in preparation for the day ahead. The older hunters were donning their various animal cloaks as they washed or ate or honed their weapons, while the other uninitiated hunters like himself broke off into small groups to either tend to various chores around the camp or to prepare for the hunts the veterans would be taking them on today.
Konta milled in with the latter, trying to find the few other boys he had been assigned to meet with the day prior. As he looked around intently, something thudded on his shoulder hard, but when he turned it was only the grinning face of Faygo, his friend he'd known since he was old enough to remember. Normally Konta never bothered putting a name to a tribesman who wasn't a full-fledged hunter, but Faygo was different. Konta had given him that name long before Faygo's recent kill of the Triceraboar, and when his friend had shared part of the kill with him that night it made Konta realize how much he meant to Faygo as well. He hoped one day his pups could be just as good friends with Faygo's.
Today, though, they would have to go their separate ways. Faygo gave Konta one last friendly punch on the shoulder before jogging off to meet up with Bren, one of the older hunters in the tribe. Konta was a bit jealous that he couldn't be part of that group: the young hunters all revered the older hunters, who had to be very skilled to have lived so long, and none came close to Bren's age. Even with his White Wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, Bren's gray hair peeked out from the hood of his cowl. Konta mused for a moment that his father might have been as old as Bren if he were still alive, but the thought was short lived. The living tribe always came before the dead.
Finally Konta was able to track down the small group of young hunters he was to be part of. To his surprise, they were standing next to a group of full-fledged hunters that equaled their number. He was able to pick out Varsa, with his Boallista pelt wrapped oddly around his shoulders, the snake's head perched in a perpetual hiss on his shoulder. Next to Varsa was Telku, who wore a pelt woven from the hides of multiple small, black-quilled beasts Konta recognized as Coalcupines, though he had only seen pictures of living ones. Finally, behind those two was a small, squat hunter that Konta knew was normally a nocturnal scout, the one he referred to as Kukin. Like Telku, Kukin's pelt was made of several smaller creatures lashed together, but his were even more impressive, because Kukin's pelt was made of three Canteen Turtles. The sight sent a shiver down Konta's spine; It was only a couple Summers' passing since the failed scouting expedition he had been part of where the hunter Sinje had perished, along with several of Konta's fellow fledgling hunters. Clearly Kukin was a skilled hunter, if he was able to capture three of a Tortoasise's brood and escape alive.
The other hunting parties going out today only had one seasoned hunter with them, so Konta was beyond curious about why their party in particular had thrice that number. Kukin, the apparent leader of the group, gave an approving nod when he saw Konta approach and motioned for the hunters to head out at once. Konta's heart raced excitedly at the prospect of what lay ahead, and for the first time that morning his feeling of dread was forgotten.
Their party passed by the hunters who had guard duty today, and Konta couldn't help but notice how many more sentries seemed to be watching the outskirts than usual. Usually during Spring every hunter that could be spared was busy hunting or training the fledglings, taking advantage of the calm climate and more docile prey. On the other hand, Konta couldn't ever remember the tribe settling in this area during Spring. Perhaps the dangers in these parts were greater than he knew?
As was usual for Spring, the land was lush with green, leafy plant life that made it much easier for the party to travel conspicuously. As it turned out, Kukin's leadership was a well-made decision, for Konta's hunting party found itself stopping and making camp for several days afterward rather than returning to the settlement. The excitement and fear was almost too much to bear for young Konta, who had never spent the night so far from the tribe before, but Kukin was no stranger to this situation. He never seemed to need to sleep, oftentimes slipping off in the dark- scouting ahead, Konta assumed- and his Canteen Turtle pelt let him hold more than enough water to keep the party well slaked even as natural water sources started to wane. Varsa and Telku were no slouches either, quickly reacting to even the slightest warning and ushering the young ones to safety, more than once allowing them to narrowly avoid dangers from natural traps and nocturnal predators.
On the fourth day out, Kukin suddenly commanded them to stop their march. Ahead, Konta could see the thick foliage of trees and shrubs they had been winding through came to an abrupt end. The scout motioned for the fledglings to take to the trees and spot ahead, which Konta was happy to oblige: after so many days of only watching the other hunters work, he was eager to get some experience for himself. Konta chose the tallest tree he could find and navigated his way up deftly but carefully, lest he draw unwanted attention or wake up something. At the top, though, the sight that Konta surveyed made his breath catch in his throat, and he almost let go of the leafy fronds he clung to.
Just ahead of where the party had stopped there was a shallow grassy valley where a small herd of some large, indistinguishable beast appeared to be grazing. Undoubtedly this was what their hunting party had set out to capture, but to his right, towards where the Sun had begun to descend, a stark black expanse of desert and rocky outcroppings could be seen. The surface of this bleak area shimmered in the Sunlight, and even from such a distance Konta could feel the baking heat the land radiated.
Even though Konta had been on innumerable hunts since his youth, never once had he laid eyes on the area he came to know as the Blacklands. Normally the tribe kept well away from the area, where nourishment and shelter was nearly impossible to come by and terrible predators conditioned to live in the harsh environment roamed year round. Before, Konta had only seen pictures of the Blacklands and the various beasts that inhabited it, but for a moment the young hunter was enthralled by its dark, desolate beauty. Konta was reminded of Telku and his pelt; Coalcupines were one of the creatures Konta knew to live in the Blacklands, and for a moment he felt a great surge of respect for his elder who had hunted in such a terrible area. He pondered what other sorts of beasts could possibly survive in such a wasteland. Surely a pelt from such prey would be an incredible achievement, and cement a position as a mighty hunter in the tribe.
Konta quickly recollected his thoughts as he skipped back down the tree, knowing that today he had to keep focused on the task at hand. At the bottom he reconvened with the veteran hunters and his fledgling brethren, recapping what he had seen with a couple deft hand signals: a herd of beasts straight ahead, and a point in the direction of the Blacklands with the signal for danger. The other three fledglings gave the same report, and Kukin gave an approving nod. He obviously knew what the situation was already, and was simply testing to see if his wards had observed the same.
Telku led the hunters ahead slowly, right up to where the forest began to thin and the ground sloped into the valley. At the bottom was the herd that Konta saw before, slowly meandering along and grazing every so often. At this distance, Konta could clearly see that
it was a group of about seven Nuevenceratops: massive scaly herbivores that boasted nine deadly horns on the crests atop their heads. Five of them appeared to be adults, their powerful bodies as large as two of the tribe's tents lashed together, but two smaller whelps straggled near the back of the herd. One only had five horns on its head, while the smaller of the two had only three, marking them as far from adulthood.
It was the two whelps that Telku and Varsa motioned towards. Varsa climbed into the tallest nearby tree and began to unwind his Boallista pelt while the other two veterans each took two of the fledglings and began to reposition in the forest. Konta, who was assigned with Kukin, already could see what the plan of attack was: strike from a distance to panic the herd, drive the whelps as far away from the parents as possible, then strike for the kill against them. If things went well they could drive the parents far away enough to grab the whelp and make off with it whole bodied; should the parents decide to stick around and fight back, though, they might only be able to take what they could cut off the carcass. Even a young Nuevenceratops had a lot of meat, though, and that would be a boon in the coming seasons for the tribe.
Once both hunter teams were in position, Kukin pulled out a small piece of shiny material and shone it in the direction Konta knew Varsa was in. After a couple tense seconds, there was a loud twang sound and something green shot from the treetops at a blinding speed. It struck the leg of the larger whelp with pinpoint accuracy, sticking to the terrified creature as it began to holler loudly and run around in panicked circles. The adults, now sensing danger, quickly tried to usher the whelps to the safety of the trees on the far side, but the one struck by Varsa ignored its parents as it ran off in agony. To the luck of the hunters, the parents appeared to have given up the injured one as a lost cause and loped away with the other two in tow, leaving the now injured juvenile to fend for itself.
Once the rest of the herd had vanished, the two hunter parties descended silently in tandem, spears and knives brandished to deliver a quick kill. As they ran down the hill, Konta suddenly felt the chill he had experienced earlier that day, stronger than ever. He tried to shake it off, but this time it wouldn't go away. Something in his gut was telling him to get out of here as fast as possible, but he forced himself forward regardless.
That was when he heard the snarl.
From the top of the hill just across from where Konta and the hunters were descending, three long ebony shapes rocketed towards the injured Nuevenceratops. The unfortunate herbivore barely had time to let out a shriek of dismay before the shapes pounced, flashing claws and teeth longer than Konta's finger. He froze for a moment, transfixed at the sight of the trio of predators, and could feel the cold sweat beading on his brow as he recognized them as Obsidian Panthers.
The pictures he had seen did no justice to the feral majesty the giant cats exuded. Their eyes glistened a deep green, like rare gemstones marred only by the single black slit that divided each in two. Their impossibly black coats shone in the midday Sun, so fine that Konta had no doubt that they were in fact made of the glassy rock he had derived the Panther's name from. Even as they attacked their scaly prey there was an eerie grace to the teamwork the Panthers employed to swiftly down the Nuevenceratops- two targeted the ankles to hinder it before the third struck at the throat for the kill.
The other hunters had barely stopped running by the time the small glaring of cats had finished the job. As he stood there, numb with fear, Konta realized that it had been strange for the herd of Nuevenceratops to left their whelp to die so easily before; surely they had only left when they caught the scent of the Obsidian Panthers. Now, Konta was wishing that he had heeded that feeling he had been nursing before.
The Panthers started sinking their teeth into the carcass with no hesitation, and for one tiny moment Konta hoped beyond all hope that the hunters would be ignored and they could simply leave. It only took a moment for that hope to be dashed as the pack raised their heads together and took in the sight of the hunting party, as if they only just realized they had had competition for their kill. Slowly their lips pulled back in angry, silent snarls, their long yellowish fangs still stained with blood.
One of the fledglings tossed his spear aside and immediately tried to bolt. He made it about four paces before the nearest Panther closed the distance in a single pounce, its claws sinking into the young hunter's back as he went down with a scream.
The horrid cry jolted the other hunters into action, taking off at a sprint without any thought as to where they were going. Konta knew the jungle would be the best place to try and lose their tail, but with so much open field the jungle might as well have been a day away. He'd never make it before he was taken down.
A strange yelp came from behind him, and against his better judgment he turned to look as he ran. One of the Panthers had taken off after them, only to tread on a number of large black quills that Telku had dropped from his pelt in his flight. The predator snarled in rage and pain as it lay helpless on the ground, staining the grass around it with a growing pool of blood.
The other two hesitated in front of the Coalcupine blockade, wary of suffering the same fate as their sibling, but by the time the hunters started scrambling up the side of the hill towards the thicket of trees the remaining Panthers had gotten over their fear and vaulted the barrier, bearing down on them quickly.
Konta managed to get into the trees when he heard another terrible scream behind him. This time he didn't look, but he could tell the cry of another human in agony when he heard it. At this point he could only hope that the Panthers' new victim would slow them down a bit, even while feeling sick at the thought of using his fellow tribesmen as decoys.
Konta's adrenaline forced him onward through the thick brush, not caring how much noise he made or attention he attracted. All he knew was that death was on his trail and stopping for anything was surer to kill him than the possible danger that lay ahead. He ignored the pain of tree branches and prickly bushes raking across his skin as he bolted past them, weaving frantically between the foliage in a desperate attempt to try and shake off his pursuers.
Before long the trees began to thin again, but Konta didn't dare risk turning towards where the plant life grew more plentiful and instead forced himself onward. His vision was half obscured by sweat pouring down his brow and half from sheer terror, but he could see that the area was beginning to darken. Had he really been running so long that night had overtaken him? He had lost all track of time in his mad dash for safety.
Finally Konta stopped, though only because his body couldn't take the stress anymore. He collapsed to his knees, and almost cried out as his legs began to burn. Jumping to his feet, Konta furiously rubbed the sweat from his eyes and took a good look around. His legs began to shake uncontrollably as he took in the looming shapes of massive rock formations surrounding him in every direction, all darker than night and shimmering in the early evening Sun. His legs had carried him straight into the Blacklands.
And he didn't have to turn and look to know what was snarling right behind him.
Flashback: The Obsidian Panther (2)
Beads of sweat continued to trickle down Konta's brow as he slowly drew his dagger from the sheath at his side, desperately fighting to control his heaving breath. It was unlikely he'd be able to strike down the Panther before it spilled his innards with its razor-like claws, but he knew he had to at least try. He pivoted as slowly as he could, trying to avoid aggravating the creature into an attack before he would have a chance to react.
Instead what he found was a bedraggled beast that was also panting in a desperate attempt to right itself after the chase. Apparently it had taken a wound or two from one of the other hunters, though which one Konta couldn't tell. However, there was no mistaking the broken wooden spear lodged in the Panther's shoulder or the gashes on its side that looked suspiciously like knife wounds.
Even injured, though, Konta didn't favor his chances against his foe. It was all he could do to keep h
is hand steady as he held his knife in front of himself, hoping that he'd be able to react to any sudden movements from the Panther.
The beast let out another throaty growl and began advancing slowly towards its prey. Konta instinctively backed up, making sure not to break eye contact lest his momentary lapse in concentration be his last mistake. He gave a halfhearted swipe of his knife towards the Obsidian Panther, but the creature barely flinched at the attack, responding instead with a louder snarl and a swipe of its paw, three claws extended that seemed to make mockery of Konta's weapon. The longest claw barely grazed his chest yet opened a large gash across his front, a testament to their sharpness. Still the beast did not pounce; perhaps it was too injured to attempt it, or otherwise it was more wary of the hunter than he had expected.
Step by step Konta retreated, until suddenly forced to stop when his back hit something solid. He would've startled if his attention hadn't been absolutely focused on the Panther. Instead he stood with his back to the wall, knife still poised at the ready. The Obsidian Panther halted at a few paces distance and, to Konta's shock, laid down. For a few tense moments Konta stared at it, rigid as stone, but all the Panther did was rest its head on its paws and stare at him. Finally, Konta risked breaking eye contact to take the briefest glance around, all while continuing to hold his knife out.
The rocky outcropping he had backed into wasn't terribly large. The top of the ridge could be reached if he stretched for it, and a few strides in either direction the obsidian formation opened up to barren, blackened plains. Behind the Panther, the jungle that Konta had been running through could just barely be seen in the distance. The problem Konta faced was figuring out which direction to travel in order to get back to the village. The Sun had already set, and though there was still some dim twilight lingering, the way it reflected off the Blacklands made it impossible to tell which direction was which. He'd have to wait until daybreak before he would have a point of reference to travel. That was the least of his problems though, considering the vicious animal still lying right before him and the fact that in short time it would be too dark for him to see anything, especially in a landscape that mirrored the night sky.
Against All Instinct Page 16