The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  “The hunters were here,” Karkahass informed her when she landed.

  Horhon could see where the tall grass was trampled flat and the hunter’s clawed tracks ringed the area. This was where they had attacked from. Further up ahead a huge shape lay sprawled across the trail and as it came into view they saw the others of their trod bent over, feeding on the goud’s now dead remains.

  No one saw them coming, though when Gangahar looked up his cry of happiness made everyone turn around. “Horhon, is that you?”

  “Too hungry to speak. First must eat,” she blurted. Seeing the goud was almost too much to bear, though the worst part was waiting for the others to get out of her way.

  Promptly stepping aside Gangahar pointed at the ripped open carcass. “Just killed. Have some.”

  Without delay Horhon sank her teeth into the meaty hide, tore off a huge bolt and gulped it down whole. She hadn’t been eating for very long when she began to make choking sounds and regurgitated much of what she had already eaten. It was unusual that the goud’s delicious flesh would cause her to gag. Yet suddenly it was not so delicious after all. In fact the flavor was so revolting to her that she immediately spat out the remaining lumps of flesh.

  Gangahar stared at the wet pile. “What is wrong?”

  “What is wrong?” Her eyes widening, the answer seemed perfectly obvious. “This meat tastes awful. How can you stand to eat it?”

  After exchanging confused glances with the others, Yaryar swallowed another mouthful of meat and said, “I don’t understand. The goud’s flesh is tasty and perfectly good to eat.”

  “I cannot eat it.”

  “Why not? Tell us.”

  She shrugged. “I cannot. That is all.” Horhon had no explanation for it. None whatsoever. Why had only she among the hunters been unable to digest this repulsive meat?

  “I think it must be the sickness you taste,” Gangahar decided. “Perhaps you will feel like eating tomorrow.”

  She felt like eating now; she was ravenous. In silence she went off to sit by herself and brood. There were so many worries; she had no idea how to deal with this new one. More than once she found herself looking back to where they had traveled from. The image of what she had seen earlier was still with her, and she could not shake the feeling that they were all in great danger.

  “This hunt is over,” Yaryar announced. “Time to return home.”

  Just then, the word home triggered another powerful image for Horhon, so sharp, so clear, that this might have been as real as the hunters before her. Real enough that she sprang to her feet and shouted urgently.

  “Stop at once! Right now. Do not return to the burrow.”

  “Why?” Yaryar asked indignantly.

  “The Iranha! They are waiting for us.”

  Facing in the direction of their burrow, everyone knew that it was a long ways back. But not even Magamengon who had the sharpest eyes could possibly see it from this far away, so even as the hunters were straining their own eyes to look, Yaryar was instead looking straight at Horhon.

  “What nonsense. Don’t be so ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Are we to believe that you see things that we cannot?”

  “Then go back there and die! I don’t care.”

  His jaw snapped shut. “Enough! We leave for home.”

  “Let Antayak remain here with me,” Horhon begged Karkakass. “Please don’t let him go back to the burrow. Please don’t let him die. You must believe me, you must.”

  “Bring him!” Yaryar ordered, turning his back on her. “We go.” The swirling dust cloud from his tail slap was all that remained as he leapt away, heading for home.

  As the others started to follow, Gangahar was wracked with indecision. To stay here with Horhon meant that his loyalty was no longer to trod Yaryar. To leave her meant that he was no better than his trod’s namesake and deserved whatever fate befell them.

  “You’re going to your death,” Horhon grimly warned him.

  But his mind was made up. “I’ll come back for you,” he promised.

  “I hope so,” she said tearfully. “I hope so.”

  No one stayed with her. No one wanted to; their stomachs were full and they wanted to sleep. Daylight would bring her back home.

  At sunrise the forest rose as a thick, black line on the distant reddening horizon. The brightening sky was clear except for a few clouds that went scudding past. Stars were dimming out, only the brightest ones still flickering overhead. From the air any notable landmarks were indistinguishable on this formless grass-filled plain. One wrong turn and a hunter could easily be lost for good. But the track they were on was a well-traveled route. Each hunter was spread wide apart, leaping high.

  Yaryar made certain that he led the way home lest the others think he feared the Iranha. Not that he believed there were any Iranha. Being first was only so that he could prove Horhon wrong and finally be rid of her at last—this was what he most desired.

  Home was now only three short bounds away, though when Yaryar came down he stopped himself from going any further. “What is this?” he said to Magamengon who landed beside him.

  The hunter peered at the animal with the same quizzical look. “A nentenen,” he answered.

  “I can see that,” he snorted irritatedly. “But why does it not flee from us?”

  The sight of a nentenen wasn’t at all unusual. They were fleet footed herbivores that normally roamed in vast herds on the plain, though were not the meatiest animal so a hunter had to be motivated to want to eat one, especially if there were tastier choices nearby.

  “Something keeps it from running,” Magamengon deduced. “See that?”

  Despite its size and strength the nentenen appeared to be struggling against something that was much, much thinner, thin enough that it should have been easy for the animal to break free. What looked like a flexible vine was lashed around the creature’s neck. The other end attached to a strange, stick-like object coming out of the ground. Since they had no word for it the hunters could only theorize about its origin.

  “What could have done this?” Dhorsal’s teeth clicked together in puzzlement. “And why?”

  No one seemed to have the answer. Perhaps it had been grazing and gotten itself tangled up, yet being this close to their burrow the animal’s presence seemed almost purposeful. Or was it just a coincidence that it had trapped itself just outside of their burrow’s entrance?

  Obviously their presence was agitating the creature; it pulled wildly against its tether to escape them. But no one appeared to be overly interested in eating any more, though if the nentenen was going to stay here then it would be a convenient snack in the evening.

  “How can something this flimsy hold a nentenen?” Takilisk wondered aloud.

  Curious, Dhorsal tried to bite through the odd looking vine and could feel her teeth grinding against it. “Not even a scratch.” She then ran her clawed finger perpendicular across the taut line and sawed at it uselessly. “Doesn’t cut either.”

  While they were all too distracted to much notice their surroundings the wind changed direction and Gangahar got a whiff of something foul. Air was rushing in and out of his nostrils as he continued to sniff for the source.

  “What is that awful smell?” Magmengon now swung around in the same direction where it was coming from.

  Karkakass detected it too, deciding the stink was emanating from over there in the deep grass. Maybe some other animal had died—but where were the scavengers? While she was pondering this, suddenly something lifted itself out of the grass, then another one, and another. She counted five. “What are those things over there?”

  While they didn’t appear to be particularly dangerous looking no one moved. Magamengon stared. “They stink too bad to be alive.” Perhaps to prove to everyone that he wasn’t afraid he started towards them but one of the creatures reacted to his threatening presence by raising a stick shaped object. He saw the flash of blue light but it was Karkakass who watched him drop down dead.
/>   “Skin hunters!” she screamed in horror.

  “Run!” Yaryar roared. “Run fast and don’t stop!” As he turned to flee he knew what he had done: he had doomed them all.

  The attack came swiftly. Negoragil was hurtling skyward as something tore through him; he crumpled and fell into the grass. There was a sudden explosion as several hunters were tossed into the air. Karkakass rose shakily off the ground; her skin was spattered with blood. Two bodies were close by. She recognized the face of the nearest. Yaryar lay still, his eyes glazed over. He was dead. When she saw his murderers coming out of the grass she lunged toward them with her armament of teeth, thinking only of their deaths. There was a loud crackling noise, a blue bolt of light that arced right through her body. She dropped and died.

  Amid all of the noise and confusion Gangahar and Antayak somehow escaped. They bounded away, not turning back to look, for what they left behind was certain death. It was not long after this that a distant voice cut across the path they were traveling. It was Horhon.

  “Come on! Come on!” she shouted. “Hurry up before the Iranha find us too.”

  They wanted to get as far from them as they possibly could, so they went on without stopping, even as the great forest swallowed them up and they stayed under the protective barrier of the tree cover. When they finally halted they slashed their claws across a tree trunk and let the running water collect in a small pool before lapping up gulp after thirsty gulp. For the rest of the afternoon they kept going, though were watching their backs to be certain they weren’t being pursued. By evening the sun was setting; it was a safe time to stop.

  “Where will we go now?” Gangahar asked gloomily.

  “As far from the Iranha as we can get.”

  He looked at Antayak who was already missing his dead mother. “Do you think anyone else escaped?”

  Horhon shook her head. “All lost, they must be.”

  Although he accepted this he was nonetheless angry at her for not wanting to return.

  Likewise Horhon snapped at him. “Had you listened to me then those who died would still be alive.”

  “I understand that now,” Gangahar growled through his clenched teeth.

  “You do not. How could you when you left me to go with the others to where the Iranha were waiting for you just as I predicted.”

  “That is true,” he agreed, “yet how did you know this?”

  “It is too difficult to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “I can’t. I just had to stay away, to protect . . .”

  “What? What were you protecting?”

  Horhon stared down at her belly. Suddenly it was all very clear to her now. “My child. I am pregnant.”

  Chapter Four

  On their third day, the three hunters travled south towards the desert, moving farther and farther from the Olahn Territory. To the west the sun set beyond the dunes and the evening shadows lengthened under the low hills. Some animal had left its tracks beside a muddy pool, so they stayed with the trail until the second full moon drifted up high behind them and illuminated their moving shadows on the pale sand.

  Out this far on the arid plains water was more important than food, where a hunter would eagerly trade a full stomach for a mouthful of water. Luckily they found a meager watering hole; a small group of tarsers saw them coming and galloped away. Horhon just barely quenched her thirst when she glanced eastward and shrieked with alarm, seeing dark shapes moving through the star-filled sky. Gangahar looked, Antayak too. Something moved up there all right, but were they killer Iranha searching for them? Or something else?

  According to Gangahar who recognized them first, they were soros, a large flock of them, wings outstretched, toothed beaks showing. No doubt hunting for death. Horhon could see them now, watching as they hurtled down into the shadows and vanished over the crest of the dune, gone.

  The next day was the same. The horizon ahead of them was as unchanged as the one behind. Earlier there had been some hills, but the land soon began to flatten out again. The ubiquitous clumps of grass became sparse and there was more sand, little else. Some time ago—Horhon didn’t know exactly when—they had crossed an invisible line that put them in the Un desert. While she had had spent most of her life living on the fringes of the desert, this was all very new to her. Few hunters had ever reconnoitered such a vast, empty territory. Even Gangahar had never traveled this far out before, and so what lay ahead was a complete mystery. But even that was far better than thinking about what they had left behind.

  What remained of the blazing day lifted with the first moon. To conserve the water in their bodies, earlier they had dug into the side of a dune to wait out the heat, but now that the night was cooler and a freshening breeze blew across their backs, they traveled forward. As the evening progressed, Antayak fell further and further behind, until Gangahar had to turn back and search for him among the dunes. Horhon was reluctant to slow down, until Gangahar’s distant roar cut through her worrying thoughts. Sinking into the sand she swung her tail around and jumped back to find him.

  She was no longer running, but plodding, certain that what waited ahead could only be another setback. Her first thought was of Antayak. All this day he had been whimpering for his dead mother. It would not surprise her at all to learn that he had now turned back for home. But there Antayak was, Gangahar as well. Both of them were stopped at the base of a dune. The bleached bones of some long dead animal were sticking out of the sand. When Horhon arrived, she could see that something was stretched out on the ground behind them. Gangahar stepped aside.

  “See what Antayak has caught,” he said, swelling with pride. It was another tarser, a desert variety, its narrow arched ribs showing through mottled gray skin. A mostly worthless creature though. Few Egris hunted them, for they were bony and not very tasty. Yet the way Gangahar spoke made apparent his resolve to praise the young hunter’s kill nonetheless.

  Horhon feigned surprise. “You did this Antayak? All by yourself? Wonderful,” she exclaimed, making known to him the magnitude of her pleasure.

  And Antayak seemed to thoroughly enjoy her gratitude, chirping enthusiastically as he snapped up the animal in his jaws and set it down in front of them.

  Sinking his teeth into the animal’s haunch, Gangahar tore off a limb, the bones cracking beneath his great jaws as he chewed on the tough flesh. “How much further?” he asked Horhon.

  “Tomorrow. One more day.”

  “That day is already here. You said that we would reach its end today.”

  “I said maybe today. How can I be expected to tell one day from the next if there is not the hope of tomorrow? Is crossing the desert more important than our survival?”

  “It isn’t if we die here.”

  Horhon scowled. “That won’t happen.”

  “Are you sure? Lately you say so many things it is difficult to know which is which. We could have stayed in our forest where the hunting was good, and yet you chose this impossible trek across the desert. Why?”

  Lowering her eyes, she was thinking hard, and when she looked up at him again she spoke only the truth. “To you it will make no sense, but I know this is the direction we must take. In my dreams I saw...”

  She had not even finished speaking out the words when suddenly Gangahar’s blue eyes widened and he threw up both his hands. “You mean we have come out this far—because of a dream? Insane!” he shouted. “Insane!”

  “There is a hunter who I search for,” Horhon said calmly, letting none of his negativity cloud her thoughts now. “Her name is Megog.”

  “So is this Megog real, or a part of your imagination too?”

  She returned his sarcasm with equal vehemence. “Were the Iranha real enough, or have you so quickly forgotten the bodies of the dead we left behind?”

  “It is you who I fear more than the Iranha,” he admitted. “Something has happened to you. Now when you say things I wonder if these visions of yours will lead us into more trouble.”


  Horhon hesitated. “I cannot say where this one will take us. I hear a voice . . . and it is telling me to go.”

  “There is something else,” Gangahar said worriedly. His clawed thumb retracted and brushed across the rough surface of Horhon’s hide. “Look at your skin. So strange. I noticed this morning, thought it might go away.”

  “So did I,” she agreed nervously. Despite her ignoring the problem, since this morning it had only worsened. For some reason her skin was losing its ability to match the color of her surroundings. When it was still daylight both Gangahar and Antayak’s hides blended perfectly with the sand while hers was more a whitish, grey color that still, even in the pale light of both moons seemed to glow more brightly than before. “I do not understand the reason for it.”

  “There is a reason for everything so there must be one for this.” Enough strange things had already happened to her that he feared what might be coming next. “I hope it is not a permanent condition.”

  “Will I be less a hunter for the color of my skin?”

  “Probably not,” he decided. “You must be hungry. Eat some.”

  “This tarser looks well fed,” Horhon said with exaggeration as she closed her teeth around the shank and tore off a piece. She was ravenous and gulped down the bloody meat whole, not caring nor wanting to enjoy its taste. However, even before it settled in her stomach she bent over and retched in the sand. The drool was still dripping from her teeth as she stared down at the fleshy pile, wondering what it could mean.

  Gangahar was visibly distressed. “Again? What is wrong with the meat now?”

  “I don’t know,” she swore, more to herself than to him.

  “You must try to eat something,” he insisted.

  Horhon wanted to, yet she doubted her next mouthful was going to stay down any longer than the first. Nevertheless she bit off a small strip of flesh and this time chewed it more slowly. “Tastes so bad,” she complained. “I wonder how you can eat something this awful.”