The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  “We stay the night, then tomorrow at dusk we leave,” Nagris said firmly. “The path we are on is a long one. The Olahn is still days ahead of us.”

  “After tonight,” Ilon agreed, “then we keep moving.”

  “Where will we find your trod?” she asked in earnest of his belief that they were still alive.

  “I don’t know yet.” He acknowledged the truth and thought little of the consequences. The journey begun, the destination unknown, his only certainty that wherever they headed his trod would be there.

  At hearing this, Krunod and Sekak, even Nagris, were sorely tempted to turn back. That would have been their first choice, but because there was nothing to return to they reluctantly decided to stay.

  With the hunting now finished and the long evening still ahead of them the hunters had little to do. After eating their fill of meat they were moving about sluggishly and so they lulled near the water’s edge. Few words were exchanged and this suited Ilon because he felt depressed. He knew the others were angry with him for leading them on this foolhardy expedition. Perhaps this future he was seeing was wrong. His whole life he had been fighting the Iranha, and to what end? What had he accomplished? He was filled with self-doubt and did not want to fight anymore. Upset as he was he realized this was too big a decision to make right now. What he needed was some time to be by himself to think, so he picked up his spear and headed up the side of the dune.

  The night was peaceful and the sky was filled with a profusion of stars. The second moon was sinking below the horizon, but from atop the dune Ilon watched the gibbous moon’s light die below in the still waters of the watering hole.

  “Ilon.”

  Someone called out his name and he spun around suddenly to see a dark shape at the bottom of the dune. He watched as it started up the slope toward him. Too small to be one of the hunters, he decided. His spear was raised, but he dropped it the instant he recognized the hunter who now stood before him. Clad in animal skins, carrying a spear, her long black hair was flowing off her broad shoulders. Ilon was close to tears for the memory of her had never died.

  “Aisahl?” Aisahl, who like a mother had comforted him and taught him everything he knew of the old ways and the life of the hunter.

  “Ilon.” She pushed her spear into the sand and stepped forward. “I am here. Now we must talk.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Ilon was so dumbfounded by Aisahl’s presence he was utterly speechless. To see her now, alive, was too much for him to bear. When he looked at her he saw only dark memories of the past. He remembered the Uta who murdered her, and how he had buried her in the cave and mourned her loss. She was dead. Dead. Unthinkingly he told himself this over and over as he peered at her and groped for an explanation.

  “You should be dead.”

  “She is dead,” Aisahl admitted, before adding, “And so are you.”

  She was speaking the old way, her one hand swinging downward so that it literally translated as one-who-sleeps-in-the-ground.

  Now he was genuinely puzzled, and a little frightened. He struggled for the right thing to say, in a language he had not spoken for ages. But after all he was still Taal. Maybe he had forgotten it during his life here, yet as he searched through his thoughts the words and hand movements came together one by one.

  “I don’t understand. Who are you? What are you?”

  Aisahl merely smiled. When she reached forward to touch him, Ilon stumbled backwards. “Don’t touch me!”

  Fumbling in the sand for his spear he seized it up and thrust it forward threateningly. “Stay back,” he warned her. Tears streaked his face; he had conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to believe that this was really Aisahl, while the other part of him believed it could just as easily be some devious kind of Iranha trickery.

  Aisahl frowned at him. “I thought I taught you never to show your fear?”

  “I fear the thing that dwells within you, for though you speak and look as she who I remember—you are not her.”

  “Part of me is Aisahl, her genetic material, the memories of her that you had. In many ways I am her.” She dropped her spear at his feet. “I wish you no harm, Ilon. If it is my form that distresses you, then I will assume another.”

  Although it was a strange offer which he only briefly considered, he signified rejection. With his hand still firmly on the killing spear he stared at her in resolute silence, his eyes never leaving her. Aisahl, or whatever she was now, made no further attempt to touch him; his spear point guaranteed that. Yet since her existence could not be denied he was soon forced to believe that her mysterious appearance was beyond even the Iranha’s capabilities. Indeed, whatever power had brought her across the gulf of space and time was beyond his understanding. So the moment she sat on the sand and started to talk he listened attentively to her every word.

  “I did not want to be the one to tell you, but too many things have already happened and so I must. You remember our life together as I do, and you know that you are Taal, or, as the Uta who now fill our world now call us, Neanderthal. But you also must know that the lives we lived were so long ago in the past that our world is new and changed.”

  “As is this world,” Ilon said.

  “This is not our world,” she agreed. “Look and see that your hunters are as different to you as night is to day. But here, as there, you have a ruthless enemy, a witless destroyer who wishes to wreck everything in it just as the Uta did, and continues to do. This is no coincidence and I will soon tell you why.”

  There was a brief pause before Aisahl continued; this time she was using the Egris vernacular, the syntax of her statements coming so simply and clearly to him that Ilon scarcely noticed when she changed over.

  “You know of the Iranha machines, know that they crossed through the emptiness of space to bring their swarm here. But there was another machine, one that stalked between the stars hunting for worlds as you would hunt for food. It was a thinking machine, a living machine, which created other machines like itself and dispatched them throughout the galaxies. Far in the distant past, thousands of lifetimes ago, one of these machines visited our world and used our people to bring to life the Uta whose ancestors eventually destroyed us.”

  All at once her meaning was appallingly clear. “Like the Iranha! Is that what you are trying to tell me? That there are other worlds where this same thing has happened?”

  “Many more. Thousands more. As many as you can see stars in the night sky.”

  Ilon gasped for air as his lungs suddenly emptied. So many? Now he knew for certain that there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all. Never in his whole life had he felt so completely and utterly helpless. The Iranha would eventually win, other worlds would collapse and die, and he would be long dead, his bones ground under the feet of his oppressors. His hand closed around the cold wood of his spear. This creature looked and talked like Aisahl, yet nevertheless he wanted to kill her.

  “You caused all this?”

  She tilted her head slightly. “The ones who sent me. They constructed the machine. Ages ago they built wondrous machines, left their own world and traveled to the stars beyond. It was a time of discovery and new ideas, a time of creating things never before imagined. Never once did they dare to think that what they created would turn against them.” She stared at him, her eyes moist in the cool of the desert. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

  “It did happen,” Ilon told her roughly. “You and your kind are criminals who deserve to die. All these deaths are your fault.”

  “Not entirely. But you are right; a large portion of the blame is ours. Those of us who remain regret what has happened and would change it if we could—we cannot.”

  He was not encouraged at all by her admission. Even what she had just said now made it seem all the more certain that the Iranha would keep on killing. And like his old home, this world and everyone in it was about to become extinct.

  “Too many have already died, more will die, I will
die, while all you offer us are empty words of consolation. It is not nearly enough!” Ilon shouted angrily.

  Aisahl stood by impassively while he continued berating her. Blaming her would alter nothing. The past was immutable, was as dead as those hunters whose skins now decorated the Iranha cities. What had been done could not be undone, so she swung her arm and motioned for him to be quiet.

  “You are lucky to be alive, Ilon. When I found you, your life was near its end. Had I not—”

  “So it was you!”

  Now he remembered, the bright light, the excruciating pain and terror. Thinking about it now made him shiver all over with cold. What had she done to him?

  “You are not the same Ilon,” Aisahl carefully explained. “That one died long ago. Fortunately I was able to preserve his genetic material. That is, you are an exact copy of him. Also, the memories that you have are his. His entire life’s experiences and knowledge as well.”

  At hearing this Ilon fell back, unable to speak. Deep down he had always suspected he was not the same person. Aisahl’s unsettling disclosure now confirmed that. He was two different people living two separate lives. Part of him belonged to someone else, but the part which was Egris belonged exclusively to him. Despite his present life he had no desire to break the bonds of the past. After all, deep in his heart, he was still Taal, and so long as he remained alive, Ilon’s memory lived on through him.

  “Not everyone was lost,” Aisahl continued telling him. “Your kind was not wiped out completely. I found others.”

  “Others?” Tears filled his eyes suddenly. He could not stop himself from thinking her name. “Lende?”

  “I cannot say. Not yet. First we must talk some more.”

  He had always believed himself to be the sole survivor. However his happiness diminished when Aisahl pointed out the dim and distant star which once was his home. For him that life ended long ago. Nothing that he wanted was there now. This was his home. So while she spoke in great detail about her plans for him, it was not until he started to tell her about his own plans that she made it perfectly clear he was to return.

  “Go back? To a world that crawls with Uta?” He firmly shook his head no. “I think not. The Uta are there, the Iranha are here. What is the difference?”

  “A lot of time has passed, many things have happened. You cannot imagine the changes.”

  “I can imagine the Uta have changed it for the worse. Again I must say no,” he said forcefully, this time signifying strong refusal, death-from-spear.

  “There is one important thing still yet to be told. These other Taal I spoke of . . .” Her voice trailed off so that the full impact of her next words would be felt. “They live now, among the Uta.”

  His eyes went wide. “Taal lives in our world again?”

  “Hidden from the Uta, and yet right under their noses.” Aisahl sighed. “I have tried to make things right. So you understand the reason why you must return. Believe me,” she told him, “one day you will return.”

  “If that day comes then you must know I will not go willingly.”

  “Understood. But what must happen will happen. When your task here is accomplished.”

  “What have I accomplished?” Ilon said bitterly. “Each day we are closer to defeat. Upon my death the only thing I shall leave my followers is the knowledge that those who trusted me died for nothing.”

  “You are on the right track, Ilon. Had I not brought you here these Egris would certainly be doomed. They are stubborn to change, helpless against an enemy like the Iranha who changes all the time. But you have taught them new things, launched attacks which have brought you successes.”

  “And failures,” he said. “They learn slowly—and die quickly. How can we defeat so powerful an enemy, how?”

  “I see Egris, lots of them, fighting at your side, joined in battle against the Iranha.”

  “I can’t do it anymore,” he protested. “The Iranha are winning. Can even you not see this? If you have the power of life and death as you say then you can stop them, destroy them as they have destroyed us.”

  Instead Aisahl rose to her feet and arched her arms for speaking. The finality of her movements was as firm as her answer. “No. We will not aid you in killing. Above all other things is our recognition of all life forms—including the Iranha. That must be clear.”

  “And the Uta too,” he growled. To Ilon it was perfectly clear. This cold creature of death would sooner see them wiped out than lift her hand against those whom she had inadvertently created. Had he been holding his spear at this very moment he surely would have driven it through her. Aisahl must have known what he was thinking because she took a step backwards and waited until his anger was spent.

  “Then I curse the day you found me. As I have lived and died once already, to live and die again never seeing the end of my enemy is a burden too unimaginable to bear.”

  “You wish to defeat these Iranha, don’t you?”

  “With my whole being. I have no other purpose than to see them driven away in defeat—forever.”

  “Then it will happen,” she said simply.

  Ilon scowled. “And how will I ever bring that many fighters together?”

  Aisahl’s broad smile brightened her face. “What you said just now is happening.”

  He had no idea what she meant, so he proceeded to address what he thought was his most important concern. “The Iranha will never leave this world peacefully. Without your help how are we to overcome our enemy?”

  “What you wanted the most—I have already given you. Remain here. In the morning you will see your future. Now I must go,” Aisahl said abruptly. “May you be successful in all of your ventures.”

  “Wait!” Ilon cried out. “Don’t go yet.”

  But Aisahl ignored his desperate plea to stay and was turning away, was looking up at the night sky, at the shimmering stars beyond. Suddenly there was bright burst of light followed by a searing wave of heat, and when Ilon rubbed his eyes open she was gone. The scorched marks in the sand were the only indication of where she had once stood. Picking up his spear he hurried back to camp to tell the others what had just happened.

  “Unbelievable,” Nagris gasped out after Ilon finished recounting his whole story. “And she told you to stay here?”

  “Until the morning,” Ilon nodded.

  “What then?”

  He simply shrugged.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Some of the stars were beginning to fade in the sky. Glancing eastward, Ilon saw the sun coming up over the ridge of dunes. “Get some sleep. Tonight we go on.”

  In a short while everyone was digging into the same bank. Nagris was curled up inside her burrow, almost asleep when she suddenly slipped her head out of the hole as though something had disturbed her. A speckled gnar scurried past, a small, carnivore with its jaws clamped around some limp animal it had killed. Nothing else moved.

  Moments later, after she was back inside with her eyes closed tight, she opened them again. Now she had felt something. Further investigation took her outside to the watering hole where she discovered mysterious ripples on the water’s surface. Then she felt the faint trembler hit just as some of the sand broke loose and cascaded down the hillside. Looking into the bright sunshine Nagris saw a dark cloud building on the horizon. A dust cloud. Perhaps a wind storm was coming. That or something very big was coming this way.

  Krunod was fast asleep when Nagris reached inside his burrow and grabbed him by the tail, dragging him outside. This rude awakening caused him to bellow at her. Silencing his noisy protest she ordered him to be attentive. “Listen . . . There. Did you feel that?” A head-shake confirmed that he had. “Wake the others. Hurry.”

  Soon the running hunters joined her on top of the dune. Nagris wasted little time showing them the huge dust cloud which stretched all the way across the northern horizon. There was a dull, steady rumbling sound as the ground shook beneath their feet.

  “There and there,” she pointed
. “This one from the north, the other from the west. Two groups.”

  “What could be coming?” Krunod asked.

  “Iranha!” There was immense fear in Ilon’s voice as he spoke aloud their name. Surely the Iranha could not have tracked them to here, could not have found them out so soon, although apparently they had.

  “Look again,” Nagris said confidently. “You will see that they are not Iranha—but Egris. Lots of them.”

  It couldn’t be. She had to be mistaken. Ilon refused to believe her, steadfast in his belief that the end was closing in. Yet as he watched this seemingly indistinct line coming closer, he was able to make out some of the leaders. Creatures with huge heads, long legs and tails, creatures that looked amazingly like hunters.

  “More coming from the south,” Sekak informed them.

  Krunod now noticed a faint cloud on the eastern horizon and knew there were hunters coming from every direction.

  From where he was standing they appeared to be all converging on this very spot, for as they drew nearer Ilon could see that they were indeed heading straight for here. Even though he saw them with his own eyes, he was completely mystified. What power had driven so many across the desert, to this one place, to where he was now? Then it struck him. What he wanted most was to bring all Egris together, and the creature who was Aisahl had given him just that!

  The approaching stampede sounded like thunder, the ground was trembling, shaking, the roiling dust so thick that the sky behind was blacked out completely. Nagris led Krunod and Sekak to the bottom of the hill where the first Egris were gathering. Only Ilon stood alone, and as they crowded around the bole of the dune he found himself overlooking a sea of hunters. Hundreds and hundreds of faces, their jaws stretched open in the warm sunshine, rows of white teeth glinting. It was the most wonderful, incredible thing he had ever seen in his entire life.