The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  It was a very serious question, one which she had better quickly answer. “Yes.”

  “Then you must pay strict attention. Listen very carefully to what I have to tell you. Your listening will make the difference between life and death.”

  She talked a long time, mostly about ordinary things relating to the trod, though some of it was about Megog’s own personal feelings. Occasionally she asked Horhon deliberate questions just to be sure she was listening. But by the end of the evening Megog was rambling. When she finally began to slow and closed her eyes with fatigue, Horhon called her attendants and they came at once and took her away.

  As Megog’s health quickly deteriorated, the days they now spent together were fewer and fewer. So when Horhon was summoned to her chamber three days later the old hunter’s slumped figure was a discouraging sign that there was not much time left.

  Today Megog coughed so much that most of what she said made little sense to Horhon. It was not until after another day with her that the words slowly began to sink in. Understanding grew, a word, a sentence at a time, until it was perfectly clear what she was telling her.

  “What you ask of me is impossible, insane! I cannot do it.”

  But Megog paid her little attention. “After my death you will lead the trod. This is the way it must be, the way it was planned.”

  “No.”

  “Silence! If you must speak then speak only of your gratitude to what I offer.”

  “But I refuse. I must.”

  “Refuse.” Megog was incensed. “Idiot! Listen. Understand. You cannot refuse. I have waited a lifetime for you, always knowing that some day you would come here. Now it is happening just as I foresaw.”

  “But there must be other hunters more worthy than I.”

  “There is only you. This is your future. Now accept it.” Without further argument Megog motioned for her attendants. She was exhausted and needed to rest. “One more thing. The fire. Do you remember what we talked about?”

  “Everything. I will not forget. I promise.”

  “Good. Then I can now embrace death and die in peace. May you be successful in every venture.”

  Horhon stayed there, was thinking carefully of her response, yet she could think of nothing to say, only watch her leave.

  In the early evening a hunter came hurrying from the tunnel. It was one of Megog’s attendants. “Come at once,” he said urgently to Horhon. “It is Megog. She is dead.”

  Now the hunters were looking toward her, looking to the future of trod Horhon. All of them.

  Chapter Six

  The many days that followed Megog’s death were unhappy ones for the trod. The hunters were in a somber and restless mood, but it was the burial preparations that penetrated their innermost thoughts. As the final day of grieving ended they were ready to begin at last.

  Just before dark the funeral procession marched silently onto the field. It rained during the early part of the day but the sky was starting to clear behind the forest; a cool, wet wind was blowing from that same direction. Once the heavy clouds lifted the first faint stars began to appear in the eastern sky.

  While there was still daylight some of the hunters went on ahead to stand beside the pyre of wood where it had been carefully stacked. The pallbearers moved slowly toward it, carrying Megog’s prepared corpse high over their shoulders.

  For Horhon it was another exhausting day. Her mouth gaped open with fatigue as she fought to stay awake. With so many things to be done it made sleeping impossible. And because it was Megog’s fervent wish that she take charge, the funeral arrangements were now her sole responsibility. The old hunter was very precise about her death. She spoke of it in infinite detail before she died. How this and that would be done, how much wood for the fire, who would carry her body, who would sing her death song, on and endlessly on it went. It was an impossible list.

  But now Horhon was leader, speaking with Megog’s rank and authority, delegating the least important tasks to those who attentively came to her side, obeying her every command as though it had always been her they faithfully served. And Megog not even buried yet.

  Since this was a period of mourning no one was permitted to hunt, for it was customary to fast until the dead were buried. Once when Ilistruk returned with her mouth stinking of animal flesh Horhon reprimanded her so harshly that the listeners backed away in fear, not wanting to incur her instant and ready wrath.

  The transfer of authority had not been an easy one. Having the leadership and so many new responsibilities thrust upon her made it incredibly difficult for Horhon to remain calm. Consequently there were many angry outbursts. So now when she stopped in front of the procession and raised her hand they halted, their eyes trained on her, their ears straining to hear her every word.

  “This is far enough. Gangahar, go into the forest and find me some dry sticks. You know the ones I need. Those of you who carry Megog. Put her on here.”

  Carefully, they laid Megog’s body upon the prepared pile, the branches cracking beneath her stiff weight. The ceremony was to begin at once. Encircling her corpse the hunters looked on in silent thought, thinking of the past. Those who were old enough to remember recalled the days when Mogul was leader, and Megog a hunter just like them. Even fewer could remember back when she hunted with another trod. Now as they stared at her face for the last time, many of the hunters were feeling particularly heavy-hearted.

  Amink, an old hunter like Megog, suddenly fell prostrate before her corpse and wailed in anguish. Katakana, too, joined in, and soon there were few faces not wet with tears of unhappiness. Horhon,

  like everyone else, was caught up in this groundswell of emotion. It took a long time to recover, but when she could think clearly again, when she could talk of Megog and not burst into tears, then she talked as leader.

  “This unhappy day has finally come. As a trod we gather together to honor the dead. Megog, our sister, now joins those hunters who have died before us.” Scooping up a handful of dirt Horhon gingerly sprinkled it overtop of Megog’s body, saying, “We give her back to Agorgagoran from which all life was formed, and to where the dead must all return. Her physical body mingles with the dust of the dead, yet her eternal spirit now lives within us all.”

  “Should we not properly bury her in the ground?” Katakana interrupted.

  “Megog would have preferred it that way,” Saskakel agreed with her. “I do.”

  “Enough!” Horhon roared. “Did I not explain what would be done? Did you not listen?”

  Under the burden of her angry words her detractors instantly quieted. In the meantime Saskakel deliberately clubbed his tail in protest. He was angry and could find nothing about this strange ceremony that was satisfactory. Nevertheless Horhon continued.

  “Everyone take your places.” Slowly, deliberately, the hunters formed a complete circle around Megog’s body. Horhon stood in the center. “Bring me the sticks.”

  From all of the ones Gangahar collected in the forest she selected the two best pieces and was soon vigorously rubbing them between her hands. Few of the hunters had seen this strange thing done so they crept closer to watch, though were ready to flee at any time.

  Okinaw scratched his head in puzzlement, was startled when he saw the ring of smoke, the red sparks glowing redder, and screamed aloud as the first flames rose up beneath Horhon’s hands.

  Katakana’s blue eyes were enlargening in the firelight. “I told you,” she whispered to Amink beside her.

  Until tonight many in the trod had never seen fire. Seeing it now, this close, filled them with awe. Without thinking Amink reached towards the burning pile only to have Horhon slap his hand away.

  “Do not touch it! Fire burns,” she told him. Holding up a burning twig to show him Amink watched in amazement as it disintegrated before his eyes. Afterward she bid them all to join her at the fire, passing to each hunter a thick branch and giving them explicit instructions. At first they looked bewildered and confused, yet when she demonstrat
ed by lowering her stick into the flames, for some of the watchers it was almost too much to bear.

  “Must we do this?” Ilistruk protested, her arm trembling.

  “There is nothing to fear,” Horhon assured her. “So long as you do not touch the flame.”

  Still she was shaking so badly that Horhon had to clamp the flaming stick in the young hunter’s hands until she was able to hold it herself.

  “Gangahar. Here, take this.”

  Although he wanted to appear unafraid, as he reluctantly took hold of the burning branch his teeth were chattering together.

  Even despite Horhon’s orders Katakana refused to put her stick into the fire. Likewise Saskakel refused. However, Amink was determined to be an example to the others and lowered his stick into the fire until it caught and blazed brightly against the darkening sky.

  One by one the assemblage encircled Megog’s body and set their torches into the bed of branches. Most of the wood was still damp but the grass was reasonably dry and caught. Thick gray smoke swirled around them, sent them leaping backwards, coughing and rubbing their eyes. The flames grew in intensity, and so did the heat. A strong gust of wind fanned the fire, brought up the flames higher and higher, completely engulfing Megog’s body. Layers of flesh began to peel away, the exposed bones blackened, everything was being consumed.

  “This is not right,” Saskakel grumbled. “Her bones belong with the dead. We should have buried her.” Just then a piece of timber crumbled and a spray of red sparks shot up. “I do not like it.”

  No one answered except for Horhon. “It was her death wish that I do this for her.”

  “For what reason?”

  “For the same reason that prevents me from telling you now.” She smiled coldly at his attacking stance. He was arrogant and deserved to have his self-importance lowered a notch or two. “Since she never told you then it is a secret you are not permitted to hear. So do not ask me this again.”

  His nostrils flared and he snorted angrily. Her treatment of him was deplorable and he dug the claws of his feet into the ground, raking up clumps of earth to show everyone how much he objected.

  Saskakel had always believed that when Megog died he would be her natural choice for leader. It was no secret that he had lifelong aspirations for her position. After all, this was his trod since birth, and he was the popular choice to replace her. Everyone expected Megog to chose him. Now to see this outsider taking over, and doing these unnatural things. She was a troublemaker, he could see that already. Deep down he secretly hoped her hide might fall into the hands of the Iranha.

  “Megog was old before I was born,” Horhon told her listeners. “Yet she led this trod until the day of her death and was respected by everyone because she proved herself a capable leader. Certainly no one among you ever questioned her ability to make decisions. I now lead. This was never my choice, to be responsible for your lives and the lives of your children. Megog did this well, but I know I will never surpass her leadership. I promise nothing, only that if you wish it then I will try as I can to continue the task of keeping this trod together, and alive. Know that there is a new danger out there. I have seen these Iranha kill, have seen two whole trods wiped out, and nothing could stop them. Somewhere, I am certain this slaughter is happening again. And so we must prepare for the future. Our future together depends on what we decide today, right now. What say you, hunters?”

  For many of them, there was never any question as to who should lead, since it was Megog herself who had chosen. Even despite her choice, right or wrong, the decision was ultimately made for the good of the trod. Megog would never have selected Horhon as her successor for any other reason—they knew the old hunter too well.

  “Megog’s dying wish was that it be this way,” Amink said. “I think so too. Like her I believe this trod must change as the world changes. The Iranha are a new problem, and so we must learn what we can to survive. I see no one among us better than Horhon to command. She knows these creatures so I think we must follow her as Megog wanted.”

  Because Amink was so admired for the veracity of his words no one doubted what he was saying now. In fact the majority of them were convinced that Horhon was their best choice, although she was an inexperienced leader. In time she would improve, but until then they would also be forced to live with her mistakes.

  “I approve of Megog’s choice as well,” Okinaw announced. Others in the group nodded and growled out their approval.

  “And you, Saskakel?”

  “I honor the decision of my trod only because I must.”

  Katakana then spoke up. “I believe Horhon will lead us well.”

  “That is to be seen,” he snorted.

  With his anger still unspent, Saskakel couldn’t look at her without having to taste the bitter bile in his mouth. Megog was dead. She had made her choice and so for him there was nothing, although he fervently believed that her protégé would ultimately disgrace herself and those who she commanded—if he waited long enough. In the meantime he might have to leave. There were other trods out there. He could reach one of them before morning. But if Horhon wanted to be rid of him, she might be doing that now. Obviously his own status in the trod threatened her position. She would have to be on her guard, watching him, so perhaps he would stay just a while longer.

  Even though the fire was almost out Horhon ordered more wood stacked on top. Flames roared up high and the dry branches crackled. A plenary moon, the first, drifted above the field; it was all very peaceful. Later, when the second moon appeared, Amink climbed to his feet and began to chant Megog’s memory. His was a plaintive, melodious cry that brought the others to tears. When he finished each hunter rose and took their turn, until the last one dropped down and was through. For the remainder of the night they kept a silent vigil while the fire burned lower. By the time Horhon threw on the last of the wood it was a simmering red bed of coals. Gangahar crouched beside her.

  “How long?”

  “How long what? The fire you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Until everything that was Megog has burned. Then her remains must be collected and stored away for the future.”

  He had absolutely no idea why, nor did he wish to know. He simply wanted this to be over so he could stalk some game and eat. She must have known what he was thinking because she immediately changed the subject to food.

  “You must be hungry. Antayak and Yahu could stand to sharpen their hunting skills—and what better hunter than you to teach them. Why don’t you take them hunting.”

  “I mean no disrespect to Megog,” he said guiltily.

  “I know that.”

  “Aren’t you coming with us?”

  “Until I am finished here—no. Now go.”

  Everyone else left for the hunt; Horhon stood alone on the field. Once the last of the embers glowed no more she dug her hands into the warm ashes and scooped them into a thick branch she had specially hollowed out for this purpose. Whatever was left she covered it over with sand, then started back for the burrow just as the sun was coming up behind her.

  With all of Megog’s wishes now satisfied, except for the very last one, she could sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  Sambalor heard the airship groan. Now she detected a subtle change in the air pressure and it felt to her like they were descending. “They’re bringing us down.”

  Blilo Yim, one of her two male companions, got up from where he was sitting. There was a small portal that he waddled over to look through.

  “Well?” Sambalor asked him impatiently. “What do you see out there?”

  “Lots of sand.” He said, fear-filled and visibly shaking. “They’ve brought us out to the desert.”

  Scowling, she said, “This is what happens when I put my trust in males. At the first threat of physical harm you shriek like chebollas in a fire, tell your jailors everything.”

  “At least we are willing to die for our beliefs,” Taluine said indignantly beside her.

/>   “And what good are beliefs if your environmental cause dies with you?”

  All three of them bumped hard in their seats as the airship settled on the ground.

  “We’re here!” Blilo Yim panicked.

  “But still alive. Remember, if we stick together we can find our way back.”

  “More male foolishness.” Obviously Sambalor didn’t share their misplaced optimism. “We will be eaten well before we ever walk off these dunes, before we ever—”

  “Shut-up!” Taluine snapped at her. “Can’t you see we’re frightened enough already? Instead focus your intelligence—that is, if you have any—on how we might escape this place alive.”

  “You are dreaming if you think Midlothian wants us to escape. Putting us out here alive is just an illusion that will evaporate as quickly as a mirage on the sand. We are already dead.”

  While they were heatedly arguing, their compartment suddenly filled with hot, dry air as the door hissed and slid open. Outside a dozen heavily armed soldiers encircled the perimeter while Lophine Lorim, their hahlok commander, stood at the doorway looking in.

  “Welcome to paradise,” she greeted them. Her grotesque smile increased. “I trust everyone had a comfortable flight and is looking forward to getting outside to enjoy this wonderful place.”

  Even Sambalor had to admire Midlothian’s ingenuity. She had found an effective way of making her problems disappear without having to deal with the mess since the evidence usually wound up in some predator’s stomach. “I’m surprised your abdominous leader is depriving herself of her entertainment,” she said coarsely.

  “Unfortunately she was busy with another important matter that required her attention, yet she deeply regrets not being here to see you off.”

  “No doubt she is killing someone more important than us.”

  “She prefers to involve herself in the decision making, and leaving the fun part for those of us who enjoy seeing her enemies suffer.”