The First Riders

by David Ferguson

  Ma-Sek had looked bleakly at Ci-Nam for a long moment then a faint smile had appeared.

  ‘Yes, it was, but step out of line once more and you lot are in jail.’

  And then he laughed and this was the point when Wath-Moll's thoughts become anything but clear. These people were not straightforward. Their words and thoughts differed.

  After Ma-Sek had gone he put this to Tenni-Vill.

  ‘Ah, but Ma-Sek is a professional. He will do anything to keep the peace, and if that means telling us to behave then that's what he will do. In private he may find our trick very funny, but that won’t stop him from doing his job. He makes his job look easy because he thinks ahead, but it isn’t. When a job looks easy then you can be sure that whoever's doing it knows exactly what they are doing.’

  It was a new thought for Wath-Moll but he knew it was true. When, later that evening, he discussed the recent events with Eln-Tika, he realised that they both had unusual experiences, and that their life held plenty of surprises. But he too was beginning to miss the octet. Perhaps, as Eln-Tika had hinted, it was time to form a new one.

  Chapter 11

  The idea of a new octet grew in Eln-Tika's mind. There were many attractions: freedom, space, a return to control of one's own destiny, adventure. But was it feasible? She considered the level of expertise of the herdsmen and decided that it was. With she and Wath-Moll to lead them, they should manage. And then she wondered if she were not assuming too much. Would Wath-Moll want to be part of a new octet? He seemed happy in his new life. He enjoyed herding the flatheads and seeking out slashers and the tenth day excursions into town. She would have to find out.

  They had been riding with two of the herdsmen to bring in a group of flatheads. They had difficulty in finding the group and they had split into two groups of two. Eln-Tika and Wath-Moll were together and alone, a rather rare event these days. When Eln-Tika asked the question, Wath-Moll was silent for some time. He answered with a question of his own.

  ‘Does this mean you are unhappy?’

  Eln-Tika smiled at the directness of the consideration. It would be unthinkable to form an octet without him, even if you discounted his skill and experience.

  ‘No, I am not unhappy, Wath-Moll, but I am feeling restless. I'm not designed for herding flatheads, I've decided. I like the silent-house, though,’ she added uncertainly.

  ‘Do we have a good octet? Have you a list of names?’

  ‘Oh yes. Ci-Nam, Larri-Vo, Dro-Shord, Fen-Palui, Sil-Jeve, and Dalu-Mai.’

  ‘Sil-Jeve and Dalu-Mai? Who are they?’

  ‘They're from the silent-house. I have been teaching them. They have come on very well.’

  ‘Oh? So you've had this in mind for some time? You've been preparing the octet without telling me?’

  ‘Not exactly, no. Sil-Jeve, Dalu-Mai and I are friends. We teach each other the skills we have. And we talk. That was where the idea came from. They kept asking me about the old octet, and it became obvious that they envied us our way of life, and then I realised I missed it too. Thus I had the idea. And you are the first I have discussed it with.’

  Wath-Moll felt rather ashamed of himself. He had practically accused Eln-Tika of making decisions without his consent. It was a concept outside the custom of the octet and therefore inconceivable. This new life must be changing him. He came to an abrupt decision.

  ‘Let's do it. Let's talk to the others this evening.’

  The idea, mentioned quietly by Eln-Tika, was taken up with an enthusiasm that surprised the two hunters. They had not realised how much their stories had excited the imaginations of the herdsmen. Indeed Eln-Tika wondered if chanits were really suitable for the sedentary life. Rationally, a herdsman was better off than a hunter. Herding was safer, they had money to buy possessions, they could be entertained in the town. But the life lacked freedom. The octet was a democratic unit driven by its members. There was a leader to make the decisions, but essentially it was democratic. Although it had its own tyranny, Eln-Tika now realised. Talking with the silents had clarified her thinking, given it a new objectivity. The octet was tyrannical because you could not leave it. If you left, you would die in the wilderness. Staying with the octet was a basic premise they never questioned. But you would only think of leaving if you were unhappy, and an unhappy octet was unthinkable. Except that they were about to form one from scratch, something that was unnatural. Octets formed naturally from other octets when the eggs had hatched and the youngsters were mature enough. But that was not the case here. They were about to form an octet from non-hunters, chanits who had no experience of life in the wilderness, no experience of living in a tight-knit group which survived because it was a tight-knit group. Suddenly, Eln-Tika had doubts. Would it be wise?

  Wath-Moll had no doubts, it would seem, and that was a comfort. If Wath-Moll was confident then it was almost certain the octet would work. After all, they had trained the herdsmen and the two silents to an acceptable standard. But there were the aspects they could not teach. It was the quality of an octet. It was more than eight individuals. Those eight individuals somehow fused together to create a new entity that performed on a higher plane. Eln-Tika had put this idea to the silents and they had understood instantly. They knew how it came about, too. It took a mutual regard of the members for each other. And it took time. A new octet did not perform as well as a long-established one, that was well known. Indeed the idea was so obvious that the silents had worked it out for themselves.

  So there would be problems. But lack of enthusiasm would not be one of them. Not to start with, anyway. After a month in the wilderness it might be different. The herdsmen might then be longing for a return to the cookhouse and the saloon, an end to the eternal tension of the wilderness where danger was ever-present. Eln-Tika was losing her optimism again. She looked at the eager faces listening to Wath-Moll telling them another of his stories and thought of the death of Ya-To. It was rare for hunters to think of death. They left their dead where they lay, unmourned. But Eln-Tika remembered Ya-To dying of his terrible wound. The old octet had been destroyed by a ferocious slasher attack. They had been experienced and capable, yet they had been destroyed. There was no reason to suppose the new octet would be immune.

  But these new hunters were imbued with a sense of purpose. It was Fen-Palui who had suggested that the octet ought to have a planned itinery, an ultimate goal, and it was the young Ci-Nam who had suggested the sea. They had all heard of it, but none had seen it, even though the town sent copper to the ports on the sea. Indeed if they travelled on the road to the east long enough, they would reach it. But this suggestion was considered too tame. There were many more exciting ways to reach the sea. One idea was to travel along the road for a few days then branch off to the north-east where there were high mountains. None of the octet had seen mountains at close range, either. This was the plan that was adopted.

  Bro-Bak accepted the loss of six of his staff philosophically. He knew Wath-Moll and Eln-Tika would not stay for ever, and he had actually considered that they would form a new octet out of his people. It was the way of the world, and he could live with it. After all, the slashers were under control, and his herd would survive. But he had some regrets as he watched the new octet in training. The two silents had joined the others, and had settled in very well. The eight hunters - for that was what they were - formed a very formidable unit, eminently suitable for maintaining the safety of the farm and, indeed, the town. That was why he had regrets, although he would miss them as individuals, too.

  Chapter 12

  They rode along the road to the east. The next town was a three day ride, but they left the road, as planned, after two days and set off to the north-east.

  They camped in hunter fashion, eight tents in a circle round a fire on a low hilltop so that they had a better view of the surroundings. In this dry, warm weather it was idyllic, and all that the new hunters had imagined. They chewed at their dried meat rations, drank the mead the silents had given them,
talked, and listened to the sounds around them. To the two silents, who had slept almost all their lives in the dark enclosed silent-house, the great sweep of the starlit sky, the rustle of the ferns, and the calls of the birds and animals was slightly frightening, yet exhilarating.

  After two days, the meat they had brought with them was running out; it was time for a hunt. Luckily, herds of flatheads abounded in the area. The wide scrubby plain - their favourite habitat - was dotted with the darker shapes of the grazing animals. This was the first test for the octet. Wath-Moll and Eln-Tika were explicit in their instructions.

  ‘The strategy is simple,’ Wath-Moll said. ‘First we make sure there's no danger - slashers and the like - that's Eln-Tika's job - then I choose a flathead by pointing at it, then when I raise my arm, we run it down, firing arrows at it. If anyone gets into trouble, blow your whistle. When we've made the kill, we again check for danger, then if there's none, three dismount - that will be me, Larri-Vo, and Fen-Pauli - and they rope the kill. Then we drag it off to the camp.’

  They rode cautiously towards the nearest herd of flatheads. They approached so close they could hear them munching the vegetation. Then one looked up and they were off. Wath-Moll kicked his blenji into action, pointed, and raised his arm. The chase was on.

  Three arrows missed the target and were lost, but five hit the flathead and the kill was made. With no danger around, it had been a routine hunt.

  They ate the roasted meat in the evening sun. The six who were new to this life were excited and happy, even the philosophical Sil-Jeve, who had never before experienced the incredible exhilaration that the hunt had given him. Wath-Moll and Eln-Tika were happy too, but they knew that there would also be hard times.

  During the meal they arranged the night watch, which had Eln-Tika taking the most dangerous period in the middle of the night, then they retired to their tents. Later, when they were more settled, they would stay up a little longer for a discussion, but not yet. Even the herdsmen were tired after the continual riding, and there was still a residual exhaustion after the excitement of the hunt.

  As they moved further north-east the land became more undulating, the ferns and the bushes larger, and the herds of flatheads fewer. Wath-Moll was vaguely worried because the landscape was unfamiliar. He was used to vast plains with distant mountains, but here the land was smaller, closer. He asked Eln-Tika her opinion, expecting a similar reaction, but she seemed happy.

  ‘It's different to look at, but there's the same amount of food, the same level of danger.’

  ‘You surprise me. There aren’t many flatheads.’

  ‘Then there's something else. It's here but we just aren’t seeing it.’

  ‘You mean it's invisible?’ Wath-Moll asked sarcastically.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean it's disguised. It looks like the vegetation.’

  ‘Ah. Like a bark-runner,’ he said, naming a small cryptically camouflaged lizard.

  ‘Yes, exactly.’

  ‘Is it disguised against telepathy, though? I doubt it, because you know they are around. Perhaps you should concentrate. We could stop somewhere suitable and let you think. The top of that low hill, for instance,’ he said pointing to the left.

  Eln-Tika followed his finger and agreed. The octet rode up the gentle slope to the top.

  ‘Yes, this is a good place. We could rest for a little while.’

  While the chanits and their blenjis found the shade of the ferns, Eln-Tika opened out her mind. If she relaxed in the way the silents had taught her, she could improve her perception ten-fold. In the heat of the day the only sound was the light breeze moving through the ferns.

  ‘North-east, rather far. There's some sort of food. It’s not familiar. There's more than one - a small herd, perhaps.’

  Wath-Moll gave the orders quickly and decisively. ‘We'll move north-east with a slowish approach. Keep telling us, Eln-Tika.’

  For an hour they rode, seeing nothing. But the telepathic signal was growing stronger.

  ‘There's danger,’ Eln-Tika said urgently. ‘Danger and food.’

  ‘You mean the food is dangerous, or there's danger as well as food?’

  ‘The food is dangerous.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘There's one quite close,’ Ci-Nam shouted in excitement. ‘I can see it!’

  ‘Calm down, Ci-Nam,’ Wath-Moll said quietly, but with an intensity that immediately subdued Ci-Nam.’Now tell us where.’

  ‘To the right of the big fern. It’s stripy with a pointed head and three horns.’

  Wath-Moll saw the animal. ‘Good grief. What is it?’

  ‘I think it’s a stripehorn grazer,’ Larri-Vo said quietly. ‘They're dangerous.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I've heard of them. When you chase one the others are likely to defend it with their horns.’

  ‘Do they now? The horns are big enough, and it’s mean-looking, I must say.’

  They were looking at an animal slightly smaller than a flathead, slightly less bulky, and camouflaged with green and pale yellowish-brown vertical stripes. The large head was armed with three formidable forward-facing horns. It was staring at them.

  ‘Can anybody see the others?’ Wath-Moll asked.

  Nobody replied.

  ‘They are all around us, I can feel them,’ Eln-Tika said.

  ‘There's one!’ Dalu-Mai exclaimed. ‘South-east, between the bushes. There's more!’

  Wath-Moll turned in his saddle and after a few seconds of confusion, saw the animals. He had been looking in that direction a moment ago and had seen nothing.

  ‘There's another!...and another!’

  Their eyes were suddenly seeing the colour and shape of the animals. The stripehorns were all around them.

  ‘Dangerous are they?’ Wath-Moll asked of no-one. ‘They're confident, I'll give them that. They're all looking at us, and none has moved. Have you noticed that they've got us enclosed? If they charge we could be in trouble.’

  ‘I wonder if they've seen a hunter before?’ Sil-Jeve asked.

  Nobody answered. Wath-Moll was busy working out a plan, Eln-Tika was concentrating on the stripehorns' minds, and the others were beginning to be scared.

  ‘They're wary, but they do not plan on attacking unless we do,’ Eln-Tika said.

  ‘Ah, but we have every intention of attacking,’ Wath-Moll said calmly. ‘They are food, and we are hungry. This is what we'll do. Ci-Nam and Fen-Palui will approach that one over there while the rest of us keep guard. As soon as you are confident you will get it first time, shoot it. If it runs off, leave it. We'll try again with another. If we get it, we will then wait while the others go away, as I'm sure they will. Then we'll rope it. Any questions?’

  Dro-Shord got in first. ‘We don’t have a campsite.’

  ‘True, but this is an improvisation. It was hard enough finding the things without us having to go away, find a campsite, and refind them. We'll think about a campsite later. Now - any other questions?’

  There were plenty, mainly concerning the potential danger of attacking an unknown animal that was armed with very nasty-looking horns while surrounded by said animals, but nobody voiced the questions. As everybody now realised, this was what hunting was about, and hunting was the way they lived.

  Wath-Moll said, ‘Now - Ci-Nam, Fen-Palui.’

  The two novice hunters moved closer, but the stripehorn never moved. Ci-Nam raised his bow just as the animal charged. He struck it between the horns but the arrow bounced off. His blenji was starting to panic. Fen-Pauli, Wath-Moll, and Sil-Jeve fired at its sides, hit the flanks and slowed it down. Out of the corner of his eye, Wath-Moll saw the other animals charging.

  ‘Follow the kill, and get out of harm's way!’ he shouted.

  Easy to say, but not so easy to do. Eln-Tika raced towards a small gap between two charging stripehorns and, dodging through the bushes, broke through the ring. She saw Ci-Nam and Wath-Moll following the wounded animal, and turne
d in that direction. She saw Larri-Vo and Sil-Jeve escaping the ring, but not the others. In this bushy terrain it was difficult to see. She blew her whistle, then followed Wath-Moll, blowing her whistle intermittently. Through the bushes the hunters came, all five.

  The other stripehorns seemed to have disappeared when Wath-Moll fired the final arrow into the wounded animal. It slowly fell to the ground where it lay quivering. Another stripehorn immediately appeared out of nowhere and ran to it. Other stripehorns appeared and stared, motionless, towards the dead animal. The hunters stopped and waited.

  ‘What is going on?’ Fen-Palui asked.

  ‘They're mourning it,’ Eln-Tika said quietly. ‘They will go away soon.’

  The hunters waited in silence until the stripehorns slowly departed, then they moved in and quickly dispatched the animal with knives. They roped it and dragged it to the top of a nearby hill. Here they made camp.

  ‘Well, that was exciting wasn’t it?’ Wath-Moll said, but nobody answered. The octet was subdued as it ate its kill.

  Chapter 13

  For four more days the octet travelled through the region of hills. The land was becoming higher and occasionally they glimpsed big mountains far to the north. It was hot during the day, but at night it became quite cold. Once more they made a stripehorn kill which was just as dangerous as the first. It was an uncomfortable time but morale remained high. The six newcomers were shaping well, Wath-Moll thought. Occasionally Eln-Tika sensed, but did not see, groups of slashers.

  On the fourth day the weather became overcast and it began raining, a cold insistent rain that battered their faces and made their clothes clammy. It was now late afternoon and it would soon be time to make camp. To their left was a low cliff rising from a fern-covered slope.

  ‘Is that a cave up there?’ Eln-Tika asked.

  Wath-Moll peered through the fine grey rain to the base of the cliff above them.

  ‘It could be,’ he said doubtfully. ‘However I don’t think we should investigate it. Caves can be dangerous.’