The Hunter

by Rose Estes

  Once again they began to circle, only this time Braldt was careful to keep a greater distance between himself and his opponent. If Batta Flor attempted such a move again, he would be forced to cross a greater distance, thus signaling his intent and allowing Braldt a slight advantage. They continued to circle, each wary of the other, allowing the other no edge, until the audience grew weary at the lack of action and began to hiss, signaling their discontent.

  It was Braldt who made the first move. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he hurled himself into the air, exposing the entire length of his torso for one very long moment until he touched the ground with his hands and pushed off, springing into the air once again before the astonished Batta Flor could react, his body arcing over to land on his feet behind his opponent.

  The audience was silent, dumbfounded, staring at him with wide eyes for they had never seen such a display of gymnastics that was but one of the skills all would-be Duroni warriors were taught early on in their training for it was said to quicken the mind and coordinate the body. As well as surprise the enemy.

  Before Batta Flor could react, Braldt slipped in close behind him and brought his hands up in front of the Madrelli’s arms and linked his hands behind the creature’s neck, exerting a steady downward pressure. This was a time-honored hold, one that was all but certain to win contests in Duroni arenas, but Braldt was not dealing with one of his own kind. Locked in such a hold, one had but to flex the hands to snap the neck of one’s opponent as well as dislocating the shoulders from their sockets.

  But Braldt had badly misjudged the musculature and body structure of the Madrelli. The deadly hold did not even faze Batta for who turned his head to look at Braldt as though wondering if he had lost his mind. Then, with one casual shrug of his shoulders, he began to slip from Braldt’s grasp.

  Braldt attempted to tighten his hold, to force the massive shoulders out of their sockets, to press the head forward, for in that moment he was not so concerned with strategy as he was with survival. But the Madrelli’s body was far more flexible than that of the Duroni and the shoulders drew inward till they nearly touched and still the Madrelli showed no sign of discomfort. At the same time he allowed his head to be pressed forward until the tip of his muzzle was touching his chest, and still there was no sound of cracking bones. The Madrelli slipped free of Braldt’s would-be fatal hold with laughable ease.

  Before the stunned Braldt could recover, attempt to think of another ploy, Batta Flor turned to face Braldt and gathered him up in an embrace, hugging him tightly to his chest. Realizing nearly too late what was about to happen, Braldt managed to bring his arms up, to wedge them between Batta Flor and himself. But it was not enough, it merely meant that his arms would break before his chest and spine.

  The powerful vice tightened and Braldt felt his breath burning in his chest as he struggled to breathe. Spots appeared before his eyes, fogging his vision and blurring Batta Flor’s grimace of hatred. He felt his feet leave the ground, saw Batta Flor’s face whirl beneath him, heard a bone snap in his arm, and knew that his death was fast approaching. Dimly he heard Keri’s voice crying his name and Beast’s high, shrill bleat of alarm.

  Using his last bit of strength, forcing himself to act through the red fog of agony that wrapped itself around his body, Braldt brought his knee up between the legs of the Madrelli and smashed it into Batta Flor’s genitals. Then, even as he gave himself up to the blackness that crowded in on all sides, he felt himself falling and he welcomed the darkness and the release from pain.

  Consciousness returned accompanied by a rush of pain as well as wonder that he was still alive. Dimly he sensed the presence of another and then as the roar of voices crashed down upon him, all of them calling Batta Flor’s name and urging him to rise, he realized that he had brought himself a short respite.

  He staggered to his feet, clutching his throbbing arm, taking note of Batta Flor writhing on the ground in even more intense pain, and wondering how it was that the Madrelli had allowed himself to be taken unaware by such an old trick. But there was no time for such thoughts, even now Batta Flor appeared to be struggling to his feet!

  Braldt flung himself on the prone figure of the Madrelli and using all of his strength pinned Batta Flor’s shoulders to the ground. Had he been unhurt, Batta Flor would simply have needed to wrap his legs around Braldt in a scissor hold to free himself, but fortunately the Madrelli was in too much pain to use the lower half of his body.

  Braldt dragged himself upward, ignoring the pain of his own injured arm, trying to block out the sound of the broken bones grating against each other, and looked into Batta Flor’s face. “Let us stop this,” he whispered. “I have no wish to kill you or die in this place. Let us be comrades!”

  Batta Flor’s brightly striped muzzle had faded to muddy brown tinged with yellowish grey and his eyes were streaked with lines of red, yet still they blazed with hatred as he returned Braldt’s gaze. His only reply was a loud grunt as he hurled himself over, pinning Braldt beneath him, allowing his massive weight to hold his opponent helpless, while he struggled to regain his strength.

  Braldt knew now that he could never win out against the Madrelli in sheer physical combat, for the other was far too powerful and agile. He had not counted on the creature possessing such speed, thinking that one so powerfully built must be slow as well. It had been a near-fatal mistake. Even now, as he struggled to slither out from beneath the immense bulk, he realized that the Madrelli did not need to do anything else, he would die if they remained like this, squashed like a bug beneath a boulder.

  But Batta Flor was not content to let it end in such a manner and he rose to his feet slowly, dragging Braldt with him, gripping him in one hand, his fingers closed in an iron band around his neck. Braldt pried at Batta Flor’s fingers but he could not loosen even one digit despite the fact that they had appeared to be so delicate.

  He grew desperate, knowing that Batta Flor intended to finish him off, and without thinking used a technique he had developed as a boy when he was smaller and thinner than most of his companions. Wrapping his arms around Batta Flor’s own arm, using it like a horizontal tree branch, he climbed the Madrelli’s body with his feet and then wrapped his legs around Batta Flor’s neck. The Madrelli attempted to hold on, but the very surprise of the strange move, as well as the awkward angle, forced him to let go and Braldt rose atop his shoulders, legs firmly wrapped around his neck, like some odd totem.

  Batta Flor and the crowd roared in anger. Batta for spun about, pulling at Braldt’s legs and punching at them, but the angle was wrong and his blows did not carry the necessary force although they were painful enough. Braldt seized Batta Flor’s ears and hung on as he had done as a child, knowing that if he let go, he was as good as dead. The cartilage of the ear was thin and fragile and Braldt realized that this was the vulnerable point he had sought, the chink in the Madrelli’s defense.

  Braldt thought swiftly, he did not want to cripple the creature or do him irreparable damage for he still hoped to convince him to help them. But he could not allow himself to be killed. He folded the tapered points of the Madrelli’s ears between his fingers and pinched down as hard as he could and was instantly rewarded by a high shriek of pain. Batta Flor’s hands fell away from Braldt’s legs and began groping for his hands but they were blocked from his reach. Braldt squeezed again and Batta Flor sagged to his knees, dropping to the ground like a felled tree.

  Braldt straddled Batta Flor’s neck, never for the moment releasing his grip on the Madrelli’s ears. Tears of pain poured down Batta Flor’s face and his hands reached for Braldt. Braldt quickly jumped behind the agonized creature and his every attempt to seize him was met with yet another painful ear pinch. Braldt had heard the cartilage crack and felt the brittle stuff snap beneath his fingers; he could only imagine the pain he must be causing.

  At last Batta Flor lay silent, unresisting, his huge chest heaving as Braldt knelt at his side. The roar of the crowd fell to a whisper an
d it was apparent that they thought that he was about to end Batta Flor’s life. He could feel their hatred surrounding him like a living thing.

  Batta Flor’s eyes were open, fogged now with pain, his muzzle a sickly greenish brown. He watched Braldt without moving, resigned to his fate.

  “Will you help us, Batta Flor?” whispered Braldt. “I have no wish to take your life. Take Sytha Trubal to mate and rule the Madrelli as is your right. I ask only that you do not play us false and guide us in our mission.”

  Batta Flor looked up at Braldt through pain-fogged eyes, baffled by the words that he was hearing, clearly wondering if they were a trap.

  “I speak the truth,” said Braldt, releasing his hold on the Madrelli’s ears and rising to his feet, wondering if it were the last mistake he would ever make. The crowd seemed to hold its breath collectively. There was not a single sound from the hundreds who gathered there as Braldt extended his hand to their champion. A blackwing beat its way across the chill grey sky, its shrill cry the only sound to be heard as it winged homeward. Then, as Batta Flor reached up and took Braldt’s hand in his own, climbing slowly to his feet, the silence was broken by the soft sound of a hundred sorrowful sighs.

  15

  “You do not fight according to the rules,” Uba Mintch observed as he bound Braldt’s arm with strips of tightly woven cloth, winding it back and forth time and again until the pulse pounded within like a savage drum.

  “You said there were no rules,” Braldt replied through gritted teeth, trying hard to ignore the pain of the binding that was easily as bad as that of the injury.

  “There are no rules in the broad sense, but there are the unspoken rules of civilized people everywhere. It is not civilized to kick one’s opponent in such a place.’

  “I was not trying to be civilized,” replied Braldt. “You seem to forget that I was fighting for my life.”

  “Batta Flor would not have killed you. The most he would have done was subdue you. Batta Flor is no killer.”

  “You said nothing of the sort before the match,” Braldt said angrily. “Why did you not see fit to share this information with me then?”

  “Would you have believed me?” Uba Mintch asked calmly as he continued to bind Braldt’s arm. “Would you have fought differently?”

  Braldt realized that the old Madrelli was right. He would not have believed him, nor was he certain even now that it was so. He had fought in the only way he had known in order to win.

  “How is he?” Braldt asked gruffly, studying his arm, avoiding the old man’s eyes as the last bit of bandage was tucked away. “Is he all right?”

  “He will be stiff and in pain for several days,” replied Uba Mintch as he rolled up what was left of the bandage and placed it in a small pouch. “His ears are another matter, they will need much attention if they are not to be damaged for life. How did you know about Madrelli ears? I did not suspect that you Duroni knew so much about us.”

  “What are you talking about?” Braldt looked up, curiously. “What is there to know?”

  Uba Mintch put down the pouch and he and Braldt regarded each other, searching each other closely.

  “You really didn’t know, did you?” Uba Mintch said softly.

  “Know what?” Braldt replied.

  Uba Mintch shook his head, a small, dry chuckle escaping his thin lips. “Look you here,” he said, turning sideways so that Braldt might study his own fragile, tapered ears, which were so transparent with age that it was possible to see the very movement of the blood as it flowed through the single red artery. Clustered along the edges of the ear under the translucent skin were clumps of what appeared to be whitish crystals.

  “Do you see?” asked Uba Mintch.

  “I see, but I do not know what it is that I see,” replied Braldt.

  “Our masters were not content to alter us through generations of breeding, nor even through the use of the serum, but have made it possible to reconstruct, change, alter our behavior by means of these tiny implants. Here, Sytha, give me Arlin.”

  Sytha Trubal willingly gave the small Madrelli into the hands of her grandfather, her arms and legs flailing wildly as usual. “You see here, look at her ears. Arlin was one of the first born after we discovered the bush.” Uba Mintch placed the small wriggling bundle into Braldt’s arms.

  The small one twisted and turned until she could look up into his eyes and she fell silent, perhaps overwhelmed by his strangeness. Popping a thumb into her mouth she began to suck noisily, turning her head to watch him as he in turn studied her tiny ear. There was the same red line of blood, clearly visible along the rim and the peak of the tiny ear, but nowhere could he see the crystals that bulged under the surface of Uba Mintch’s ear.

  “What are they?” he asked, holding out a finger for the baby to grasp. “What are they and how did they get there?”

  “They are sensors that relay the hard ones’ wishes to us for they are silent and have no voice. They are also the method by which the hard ones dispense their punishment if we dare to displease them.”

  “I do not understand,” said Braldt. “How can this be so. If they cannot speak, how can they relay their wishes much less inflict pain. And if they are defeated, why do you not remove these things from your bodies?”

  Uba Mintch sighed again and stroked his ear in contemplation of Braldt’s words. “It is a complicated matter and one that we do not fully comprehend ourselves, but I will do my best to answer you. First, the hard ones communicated through silent pictures that appeared inside our heads, although how this is done, we have never determined.

  “The pain is delivered in much the same way as the pictures, like a thought, I believe. It begins at the edges of the ears and radiates inward, piercing one’s mind and nearly melting one’s bones with its intensity. There is none among us who has ever been strong enough to resist it. It can even kill. Several in Arba Mintch’s party were slain in such a manner by the hard ones, but there were but a few of them and they were overwhelmed before they could kill the rest.

  “As to why we do not remove them, quite simply, we do not know how. The hard ones implanted them shortly after the birth of our young and none of us were ever allowed to witness the operation. We have studied the matter, but have as yet to attempt their removal. It is quite possible that their removal will cause our death.”

  “I can’t believe that,” said Braldt, peering closely at the tiny clusters, noticing for the first time what appeared to be slender silver filaments trailing out of the crystals and tunneling into the darkness of the eardrum. “Why would it kill you?”

  “Why would it not?” asked Uba Mintch. “If such a thing were implanted in your body, would you wish to take the risk? Would you volunteer yourself for the good and knowledge of the community?”

  Braldt nodded, seeing what the old one was saying. “So, it is possible to cause pain with these things even though I am not a hard one and did not know what I was doing.”

  “I’d say that it worked well enough,” Uba Mintch said dryly. “But there is another thing that we have learned, a thing of value. We cannot be controlled from a distance; it is necessary to be close or the crystals do not work. Were it otherwise, the masters could have elected to take their own action in safety from afar. At least we are spared that concern. So long as we can prevent their landing, we cannot be controlled.”

  “But do you not fear that they will give up the thought of bringing you under control once more and simply destroy the planet as was their original plan?” asked Braldt.

  “I do not think that they will chance such a thing for there is the matter of the Grand Council. They would not risk their censure for we are a registered people and there are guidelines that even the masters must observe. They cannot eradicate us without facing the consequences.”

  “But what about us?” asked Keri who had come into the room silently and unseen. “Would this council not object to the eradication of our people?”

  “I do not know,” re
plied Uba Mintch, exchanging a troubled glance with Sytha Trubal. “There are many peoples on many planets, some more civilized than others. Some barely above the level of plants. There are rules for everything, this I know, but little more, for the hard ones and the masters did not share such knowledge with us. It was not in their best interests,” he added dryly. “Ahh, here are our cups, drink, everyone, drink.”

  Braldt and Keri took the sturdy earthenware mugs from the serving girl’s tray and sipped at the tart red tea, a daily tradition that was closely observed, even on a day such as this filled with pain and confusion. As he drank the pleasantly sour brew, Braldt was struck with a sudden realization. “This, this is the berry you were speaking of! This is the stuff that freed you from the masters!”

  Uba Mintch nodded. Then he spoke, his voice oddly troubled. “Forgive me if I speak in rudeness, but there is a question I must ask of you, you are unlike the Duroni and do not appear to be of their kind. How is this? Who are your people?”

  Braldt was startled by the question and could not help but notice how closely Uba Mintch and Sytha Trubal waited for his reply. He was puzzled by their interest but could not think of any reason to tell them anything but the truth.

  “Odd, most odd,” murmured Uba Mintch after a quick exchange of glances with Sytha Trubal. “Please forgive the curiosity of an old man,” he said with a smile, denying the importance of his own question. “Strange thoughts just come into my mind and bother me till I have the answer. Think of it no more.

  “Well, that will be Batta Flor, I imagine,” he said, rising quickly at the first sound of knuckles on the door, and, without waiting for the serving girl, hurried to answer the door himself. Braldt thought the old man’s behavior to be most peculiar, and that question… why would he wonder about Braldt’s parentage? But there was no time for that now for the sound of footsteps echoed from the long hall and Braldt rose to his feet as Batta Flor entered the room.