The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  Something was just ahead of him. Climbing warily up the steep side of the dune he peered over then lifted his spear with satisfaction. Three tarsers were grazing below in the grass. Taking aim he drew back his arm and fired. His spear arrowed straight and struck one of the creatures in the midriff. It dropped and writhed in a spasm of agony before it died. He ran forward as the others escaped. They were well out of sight before he reached its body.

  As soon as Ilon wrenched his spear free, he sighed. This tarser’s vile meat would sustain him. How he wished for a deer instead, or better yet, a big mammoth. He knew it was pointless to think about these things. That world was gone. He was here now, so this was where he would hunt.

  The tarser was heavier than he first thought. As he reached the next dune he tugged on the animal’s dead weight and struggled uphill, knowing he still had a long ways to go. Perhaps he should not have come out this far. With no wood to burn, he decided just to butcher the animal here, carrying only what he needed to eat. Severing the hindquarters, he heard running footsteps behind him, turning just in time to see a karafin lunging straight toward him; its teeth-filled mouth was gaped wide.

  Without hesitation, Ilon reached for his spear, plunging it deep into his attacker’s chest, though not before the animal raked its claws across his shoulder and arm. Red blood gushed from the open wound. Falling backwards from the force of the blow he grimaced as he struggled back to his feet. The big meat-eater was nearly double his size and could easily outmaneuver him. It stood poised on its haunches, ready to strike again.

  Now the two of them stood unwavering, each waiting for the other to attack. Finally, Ilon took the first slow step backwards, waited, and then stepped again. With no spear, he had no wish to die fighting over a worthless lump of meat.

  The air was dry and hot under a thickening gray sky that had only the appearance of the sun behind it. A strong wind gusted from the northwest, sending with it darker storm clouds that obfuscated the sun completely. Soon fierce winds whipped up the sand around him, obscuring everything, yet he struggled on through this blinding haze, hoping to find his way home.

  By the time the storm was over he realized that he had wandered out even further into the desert. While he brushed himself off he felt the throbbing pain in his shoulder and saw that it was still bleeding.

  That was when he noticed something very peculiar.

  Surrounding him on all sides were several huge bumps in the sand where the windstorm had covered over. There was something very large buried under here; he could tell they were not a natural part of the landscape. Any hope that this might be a dune vanished when he climbed up the side and brushed away the sand. Whatever this thing was, its shiny green surface was rock hard and could not be scratched. What exactly had he stumbled upon here? And what was this? As he brushed away more sand he saw what appeared to be ice. Smooth, clear, but not cold, and he could see right through into its belly. He decided this was very strange and interesting, so he jumped down and started looking around to see what else he could find.

  There were more pieces to this puzzle. Directly ahead of him appeared to be a walled structure with a black hole that he could see straight into. A cave? Ilon thought curiously. If it was, then it was a very strange looking cave. The shifted sand had buried most of the doorway and spilled down onto a floor of some kind. Lying flat on his stomach, he crawled closer and peered inside. The room had a very large interior that extended for as far back as he could see. Up on the cavern’s ceiling shone rows of bright lights that he was sure could not be fire. Where he was looking there were odd shapes, stacks of things that could not have been put here by this desert. Rather, it appeared to be a purposeful construction. With this understanding came the grim awareness that only one creature could have possibly built this place.

  Iranha.

  Ilon cursed his bad luck. In his stupidity he had inadvertently walked right into the middle of the Iranha. Luckily, their cave appeared to be deserted, yet he wished no other surprises like the karafin’s unexpected attack earlier, so with the utmost caution he climbed onto his feet and started backing away. One step. Two.

  Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes frozen towards the horizon. Straight ahead, something was coming this way. In a panic he quickly retreated, running, stumbling over top of the sand. Once he crested the dune he threw himself down. Though he was out in the open, he was reasonably well hidden and lifted his face just enough to be able to get a good look at what was approaching.

  A four-passenger road vehicle rolled up quietly towards the compound, passing the big earth movers and heavy construction equipment before its six wheels squealed to a dead stop. There was a hissing sound as the passenger compartment unlocked and slid open. Two Iranha exited from either side of the vehicle.

  “I hate the desert,” Nalanusat complained, dabbing his dry skin with a moist phillum bar. His female companion, an ex-combat soldier named Qantoquil, surveyed the surrounding territory with a trained warrior’s keen eye.

  “That sand storm has made quite a mess of things, buried all of their construction equipment.”

  “Unfortunately, not enough to slow them down.”

  He was right. Despite all this sand, she could tell that once the workers returned, things would return to normal before this same day ended. “Their work here is progressing quickly.”

  “Then we shall have to put a stop to it.” Nalanusat walked behind their vehicle and pulled the latch. Inside were several small canisters which he now unfastened and quickly deposited on the ground.

  “Be careful with those,” Qantoquil warned him. “If not properly handled, gnarox can be highly unstable.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” he replied testily, only because females always questioned male competence.

  She looked up to see the sun breaking through the thinning cloud. “The storm is over. That means we don’t have much time.”

  “Enough to complete our task here. Take these and start over there.” In his haste to hand them over he clumsily let go of one, and watched, horrified, as it fell freely to the ground. Qantoquil reached downward and quickly retrieved the device.

  “You idiot! We’re not trying to kill anyone—especially ourselves. Now put those down immediately before the workers return to find us in pieces.”

  “Here,” Nalanusat huffed. “Do it yourself.”

  Once Qantoquil was on her way some of the anger left her face. She had spent too many years in city Tykrerek’s armed forces to know what this sort of explosive could do. As a trained explosives expert she had seen the results of her own work, innocent people blown to bits, if only to further a corrupt government’s baseless claim of terrorism. The truth was, they were murdering their own citizens to stoke the public’s outrage against the environmentalists. She no longer wanted any part in sanctioned killing. Not that she cared about these environmentalists; there were many more pressing matters than picking up garbage. Poxiciti and his wild-eyed followers were merely a popular diversion who filled their listeners’ empty heads with promises of change. He was a publicity seeker, a fast talker who ultimately would ruin himself with the same excesses that had corrupted this present government. Then the fickle public who once supported him would refocus their attentions on the next messiah. Nevertheless for now she would continue working for them—their money was as good as anyone’s. What did she care of their pitiless environmental anthem? To see Pulima Cos and her evil regime destroyed was always her first and strongest desire.

  The charge was magnetized and adhered to the machine’s metallic shell. Closing the wedge of her hand on the arming mechanism there was a high pitched whine now emanating from the canister. After placing another five charges she returned to their vehicle to pick up some more. Nalanusat was working on the opposite side.

  “How goes it?” he shouted over to her.

  “Almost finished. Three more.”

  “Did you place charges in the storage facility?”

  “Enou
gh to collapse the roof. All that sand piled on top will do the rest.”

  “What about those machines over there?” he pointed.

  “Impossible. There are not enough charges to destroy them all.”

  “This is our one chance to strike at them. The next time we return to this place it will be a city, filled with polluters and destroyers who will sully the landscape like an animal that defecates its waste. So think about this before we leave. We can prevent that from happening.”

  “A delay, that is all. This city will be here despite what we do. And do not include me in your environmental fanaticism. I don’t care about your cause. What matters most to me is that we get out of here in one piece.”

  Nalanusat turned to the smaller pieces of equipment with his gulun gun. He fired one burst; blue flames and smoke erupted from the center of a smashed digger. This was one less machine that he knew would hinder the builders. In the meantime their environmental movement was regaining popularity. Resettlement from their home world to here was bringing not only more people, but the same problems that everyone back on Epiphiline was in such a hurry to get away from. Nalanusat remembered the stinking, choking air, the daily pollution alerts. All that could easily come back, and would, if cities like this one continued to be built. His attention returned to the present when he realized that Qantoquil was standing next to him.

  “Done. Now let us go.”

  Ilon had been running for a long time. The forest was closer but still a long ways off. Once he looked back, only to see thick black clouds rising in the same direction he had come from. He knew that if he slowed for even a moment he would collapse from exhaustion, so heavy were his legs. Eventually, even despite his great stamina he tumbled over and fell face first into the hot stinging sand. His teeth were clenched together as he moaned in agony, unable to move.

  With much effort he hauled himself up, just to flop back down, clumps of sand sticking to his sweaty face. He felt too miserable, too exhausted to get up.

  A cackling sound opened his eyes and he was startled to see three soros maneuvering around him; six others were circling overhead. Each of them, exceeding the length of his arm, was testing his responsiveness by coming ever closer. A handful of sand was all he needed to send these ugly, buzzard-like things skyward.

  Back on his feet Ilon forced himself to keep walking. Something rustled in the grass and he was keenly aware of a dark shape crawling in and out of his sight, keeping pace with him. His only weapon was a sharp stone that he used for skinning; hardly enough to scare off whatever was stalking him now.

  Leaping across the field two Egris hunters swung straight towards him. Horhon was first to come down in the grass beside him while Antayak overshot his mark and landed a short distance away. There was a horrible screeching noise, and the next time Antayak lifted his head red blood splotched his face and teeth.

  “So once again I find you on these plains. Alone,” Horhon said angrily. It was not a question, but a fact he couldn’t deny. “Were you not supposed to take Antayak with you? That was our agreement.” She was furious. He had disobeyed her, even lied, or at least he had attempted to deceive her. This would not happen again. Folding her arms across her chest she said, “All sorts of dangerous animals are stalking out here. See, Antayak has just killed one now.” She bent forward and noticed his gashed arm. “What attacked you?”

  “A karafin. I stabbed it with my spear, ran.”

  “As you should have. What is your puny spear against a big stalker like that? For what reason did you foolishly risk your life to be out here?”

  At first Ilon didn’t want to tell her, he even considered lying to her, though she would easily see through this bald-faced deception. Then he thought of the Iranha. Talking about them would make her forget everything else.

  “I was hunting,” he admitted, then quickly told her, “But that is only a small part of what happened. A wind storm sent me wandering in the wrong direction. I was lost. When the storm finally ended I knew at once this place was not where I wanted to be.” Ilon pointed to the horizon, the black clouds were still clearly visible. “I should have left immediately, walked away, but once I knew what I had stumbled onto it was too late.”

  “What happened?” Horhon now had to ask him. “What did you see?”

  “The Iranha.”

  At once her eyes looked towards the horizon. Perhaps it was a good thing he had seen the Iranha first. If they were that close then the whole trod had better leave the area before the Iranha saw them.

  “How many?”

  “Only two,” he answered.

  “Where there are two, there will soon be more. Were you seen?”

  Ilon was sure he couldn’t have been, otherwise he would be dead. His slow head-shake indicated a negative, though what strength he had left to support himself now departed, and his legs collapsed underneath him.

  Picking him up in her arms Horhon quickly carried him home where he lay recovering for the remainder of the day in the cool comfort of his burrow. At nightfall he stirred awake and walked out of the tunnel into the central chamber where he found the hunters anxiously waiting, maybe for him.

  “Are you well tonight?” Horhon asked concernedly.

  “Better,” he acknowledged. On the floor was a slab of raw, bloody meat someone had brought in for him that he now hacked off a piece and held it to the fire. Fat juices dripped off the meat and sizzled on the hot coals.

  Gangahar stirred behind him. “Tell us what you saw today.”

  He had expected this, that everyone would be curious to know what happened to him out there and maybe to decide for themselves if they were in danger of being killed. As Ilon recounted his wild adventure in front of everyone, gradually, he could see from the look on their faces that this story of his sounded like an elaborate prevarication that no one wanted to believe.

  “It did happen,” he protested. “Exactly as I said.”

  If anyone had any doubt about his veracity it was Saskakel. “These Iranha things destroyed their machines?” He turned to the others. “Or perhaps what he saw was his own imagination. Not only is this creature no hunter, he is a liar too.”

  Angrily, he hurled his meat at Saskakel, catching him off guard by striking him square on his snout. “I am Egris!”

  The big hunter opened his great jaws and roared. “You are not one of us!”

  This time Saskakel had gone too far. Ilon could feel the pressure in his chest building, barely able to keep himself under control. Had he been holding his spear, he might well have driven it into him, he was that close to killing.

  No doubt Ilon’s very presence here among them was an ambiguity in the natural order of things. He was as much out of place in this world as were the Iranha. He should not have been here. Rightly so, at the very least he should have been hunting on the endless grasslands, or wintering in the mountain caves of his ancestors. How had he come to be here? This was an important question to ask himself, yet even more importantly, what power had resurrected him from the dead—and why?

  But the answer to that was right before him. He was to be the nexus, the link between two disparate peoples. For him his future was already charted, the path he was on so clear, so straight, that he knew the ending just as surely as the beginning. Although Ilon’s life was just short of three seasons, still a baby, somewhere else he had lived an entire lifetime. And so when he spoke next, he spoke the words of a man and hunter.

  “You have puzzled over my existence, have argued that I cannot possibly be Egris, and yet trapped inside of me is the mind and heart of a hunter who thinks and believes just the same as you.”

  Even with Horhon’s icy stare bearing down on her, Katakana spoke her innermost thoughts aloud. “How is it that you, small one, are Egris, when you appear to belong on another world?”

  Of course she was absolutely right.

  “The fate of our two worlds is inextricably joined together,” Ilon simply and grimly explained. “Mine is dead, yours is dyin
g. And without me, yours too shall come to the same end.”

  Most would have gaped at his audacity—a few did, yet it was of paramount importance he make his thoughts perfectly clear on this matter. He knew there were contrary opinions to his own, yet he spoke with such assurance that even his detractors kept silent.

  “Have none of you ever wondered why I am among you? You should. Is it coincidence that I am here just as the Iranha are here? Once I lived and saw the world in a very different way. But this does not mean that the problems of the past are any different than the problems of today. Here the Iranha are everywhere. There we were oppressed by this same kind of enemy. They were ruthless killers who could not be talked to or bargained with. So we fled and died in the miserable cold of our mountains.” Talking about the Uta opened up old wounds. And though he did not wish to remember any more he was determined to finish.

  “You hate the Iranha.” Holding up two fingers he said, “I doubly hate them. Hate them once because they are exactly like my old enemy, a different kind of killer, yet the same destroyer. And hate them twice because I see your future just as I once saw my own. If I speak so strongly of the past then it is to impress upon your brains just this one thing: we must fight the Iranha. Or die.” In his first lifetime a cruel history of circumstances had driven the Taal to their doom. That did not have to be the same eventual fate awaiting these Egris.

  “Fight them? With what?” Katakana broke in over the strong objections of the other listeners. “We attacked them once before and have been running away ever since. If you know these Iranha as you say then how do we stop them? Can we stop them?”

  “No. We cannot. Not alone. What is a single trod against a city of uncountable killers? To be successful we must band together, unite our forces and drive these creatures away forever.”

  Her eyes widened with disbelief. “You wish to attack them head on. A quick slaughter ending in a quick death. The end of us all! Insane!”

  “Only if we are united together by our desire to destroy the Iranha can we ever hope to be victorious. There are other trods out there. They too must know about the Iranha, must hate them with the same intensity, and wish them dead. So they must be recruited for this great task.”