by A. K. Vyas
“We’ve not had war for many winters. The Mountain Men have better hunting lands than we do. It’d be truly foolish to risk war so close to the winter. Is it possible they were chasing the maneater, and it circled back to ambush them? Bret, how many came, did they hide their tracks?”
Bret replied, “It was a party of four. One was taken by the Sabretooth. At least one other was injured or limped. They hurried back across the river. Yes, they tried to hide their tracks.”
Chief Sev asked, “Spearmaker, are you saying the Sabretooth has killed so many Mountain Men they are this desperate?” Heads were shaking in disbelief. Night hunting carnivora was suicide.
Papa answered, “We haven’t heard this Sabretooth roar in eleven moon cycles because of Cloud. This morning the Mountain Men had already crossed back. They weren’t scouting to attack us. They hoped we wouldn’t notice. We should let this single intrusion pass.”
Bret raised his hand to speak. “One more thing—this Mountain Man hunting team tracked the Sabretooth across a river at night. This is incredible tracking skill, even if it is madness.”
Chief Sev stroked his white beard quietly for some time. A winter war would be deadly for the People. “The Spearmaker is right. We let this pass for now.”
After the others had left, Chief Sev motioned Aash over. They stepped out of earshot, away from the glow of the fires into the darkness. “Maybe your boy is right about talking to them,” he said.
The Chief went on speaking in hushed tones.
“We just don’t know and can’t take the chance. The fish won’t last and winter is coming. We don’t have enough men to hunt and also guard the village against attack. They started the last war with a sneak attack. Then there is the maneater. We need a scout to sneak over and see if their village is preparing for war. It’s very risky, but with luck, one good man could be back in a few nights with the answer. What are your thoughts, Spearmaker?”
Chief Sev lit his pipe. This illuminated Bret standing silently in the darkness right in front of them.
They both recoiled back in surprise, as the Chief’s heart skipped a beat. Aash had reflexively drawn his knife at the shock. Despite being seasoned warriors, neither had in any way sensed the little hunter’s silent approach. They both realized he’d been standing there the entire time. He could easily have killed them both.
“I’m the one,” insisted Bret softly, stepping silently out of the darkness back into the firelight.
Bret let this fact sink in, then turned back to face them in a matter-of-fact voice.
“Emil is right. It’d be better to talk to them, but there isn’t time. I’m fast, small, and quiet. That’s what’s needed to pull this off. They won’t see me just like you didn’t. I’ll spend tomorrow night in a tree by the Mountain River and cross at first light. I’ll watch their village and see if war is coming. I’ll stay another night in a tree if needed, and be back the next day.”
“If you are seen in their lands, that itself could start a war,” warned the Chief.
Bret replied in the manner of someone who had thoroughly thought things through:
“Simple. I’ll only carry weapons we’ve captured from other tribes. There are several hostile tribes to the north. I’ll approach the Mountain Man village from that direction. If I’m spotted, I never come back. I’ll lead their trackers due east, far away from the People. Send a hunting party to the hills by the river to watch for big smoke by the Mountain Man village. If you see smoke, it means I was spotted and they want war. I’ll set a big fire and take a few of them with me. If they don’t want war, but still spot me, I can lead them on a merry chase, but we all know their trackers are too good to lose in the end. It must be this way.”
Chief Sev felt deep emotion and had to look away for a second. He realized how wrong he’d been, how wrong they had all been about this plucky little hunter. A man cannot be judged by his appearance. The Eagle Feather was right to argue for him. The little man was a natural warrior, swift of foot and mind, and devoted to the People.
Chief Sev said, “I’m going to find Leif. You two please meet me in front of my Gher.”
The Chief had staked four burning torches in the dirt in front of his Gher. He greeted Leif and Bret. The Spearmaker showed up last with a bundle in his arms. Chief Sev began drawing in the illuminated dirt with a sharp stick. It was a rough map of the village, the Mountain River, and the terrain on the opposite side.
“I know their lands well from the war. We are here. The Mountain Man village is due east of us across the river. The river divides our lands flowing south to north. There are waterfalls to the north beyond the bend. The white water is too rough near the waterfalls. The terrain by the bend is rocky and full of caves. It’s very hard to track there, and likely where the cat lives. The Sabretooth changes everything. We used to swim across at night well south of the falls. Then, instead of going straight for the village, we’d work our way north into the rocky country by the waterfall. At the waterfall we would head east. The rocky area gives way to deeply thick forest. There are two hills, a little one and a big one. Their village is between them to the south. The big hill is where you want to be. At the summit, you can safely observe their village. There is a great purple birch tree to watch from. Then get out quick. This is the path to take, but with the cat, now night movement is suicide.”
Leif responded respectfully.
“I don’t know how Bret gets across then. The Mountain Men watch the river for the Sabretooth from first light to dusk. It’s too dark to try for the river tonight. We have to know fast if they are going to attack. The odd thing is the Sabretooth tracks. They just disappear by the river bend. I don’t think the cat just swims over at night. Both us and the Mountain Men have traps set for him all along the shore south of the bend.”
Chief Sev spoke next. “The Sabretooth must cross north of the bend somehow then.”
“Nothing can cross safely in the white water,” Leif said. “You either get sucked under or the falls get you.”
Bret chimed in. “The good news is if the cat killed last night, he probably won’t be hungry for at least a day or two. The bad is I’ll have to cross by daylight, by the falls where they don’t watch.”
“Impossible,” Leif said.
“No choice, brother,” Bret said softly with his lopsided grin.
Leif, the big man, had to look away in awe. This mission is pure suicide.
The Spearmaker took a knee and unwrapped the bundle.
“We have this from the war. A pair of Mountain Man boots, some pouches, and an ivory axe. There are also two good knives. I also have a good light spear you might want.”
The little hunter grinned.
“I’ve always wanted fur boots, though these are as big as a Gher. I’ll take the water pouch and both knives. Leif, can even your strength lift that mammoth axe? Those men must be giants. This is a good little spear. Too good. They’d know it was one of ours. Spearmaker, can you make me a simple balanced shaft with a tempered wooden point? I’ll leave at first light.”
The Spearmaker turned his head warmly. “I’ll fix these boots and have that sharpened stick for you at dawn.”
Chief Sev ordered, “Bret eat as much meat as your belly can take tonight, then more. Get to sleep.”
The next morning everyone in the village eyed Bret with a newfound respect. All knew full well the risks the little warrior was taking for the People. Papa had worked all night on the boots and the sharpened stake.
The little hunter wrapped the fur boots tightly around his ankles and twirled the new shaft.
“This is great, Spearmaker. I can run in them now. Careful, or I’ll tell all the women you can make fur boots. The wooden stake is well balanced. Perfect. Thank you, Aash.”
Bret handed Emil the obsidian stone—he hadn’t finished carving a knife out of it. Emil gave Bret a hug. “No dingleberries, OK?”
“Smile, young buck, I’m a ghost in the wind. I want my black knife back tomorrow,�
�� Bret winked.
Chief Sev put an arm around the little hunter.
“The clouds show a decent chance of rain the next few days. This should help mask your movement. There are plenty of good caves by the big hill, but the cat could trap you in one. Whatever you do, avoid the big cave on the little hill. It’s a deathtrap. Trust me on this, Bret.
“Listen to me, son. If it all goes bad, head southeast. East of the Mountain Village is another river, then nothing but open plains. You will never lose them there. To the southeast there are wooded hills, and eventually the snow mountains. I order you to return to the People from the south after a few seasons.
“There are hostile tribes all over. It won’t be easy. I only know two men capable of doing this. You move as well as the Eagle Feather did. You can do this, Bret. I have all sorts of things for you to do when you get back.”
Every hunter in the village clasped forearms warmly with Bret and wished him well. Then Bret was gone. He flowed swiftly and silently through fog and trees toward the Mountain River.
Chief Sev watched him go with mixed feelings. I’m proud the People have a man as brave as you, little warrior. Forgive me for all the times we ignorantly teased you.
Chapter Ten
“The lion is valiant, the leopard treacherous.” -Afghan Proverb
Ghost
The little hunter made it to the waterfall when the young sun just peeked at the morning sky. A fine gray mist churned from the white water onto the hard, black granite. Bret was crawling low and slow with the spear shaft cradled in his arms. There was little chance anyone across the river could see him with the fog and spray. He kept an eye out for the cat, but knew the swirling river was the first danger. Mighty Leif was right. The Mountain Men don’t need to watch this area.
He watched a log swirl at the water’s edge down below. It was swirling and bobbing way too fast. The driftwood was down over the falls before it even made it halfway across the river.
Bret felt his body go cold. His skin seemed to contract tighter around him, making him feel smaller. He saw his pale reflection in a shallow rock puddle. The little hunter put his fear aside, and focused on what might happen to Emil and the little ones if war broke out. You say you’re a ghost in the wind, Bret. Prove it.
He’d seen old tracks in the rocky woods coming and going before the granite. The last set of outbound Sabretooth tracks were headed northeast. Bret stayed this course right up to the edge of the overhang. No harm will come to my People. Not on my watch.
Think. Think. There has to be a way. The Sabretooth knows how. How does the cat do it? If the cat continued on this course it’d end up right at the bedrock overhang of the waterfall.
A fly seemed to buzz right out of the ground just over the edge in a spray of vapor. The little hunter blinked again. He panned behind him, then silently peeked down over the edge.
It’s definitely flies, more than one.
It was a big scat. Herbivore scats are smaller and all things being relative, don’t smell as bad.
At least a day old and from a well-fed carnivore. The Sabretooth has been down there over the edge, but why?
Bret took a deep breath. You can do it, man. You know how. He began to feel the determination wash over him. His face took a hard set. The little hunter’s muscles tensed and his eyesight suddenly became very sharp. He slowly slid over the rocky edge. The little hunter landed gingerly right next to the putrid cat scat. Then it all made sense. You sneaky Shaitan, grinned the little hunter.
The impact and splash-back from the falls had eroded a partial cave-like rock path below and behind the waterfall. This is how the Sabretooth crossed back and forth unseen. Despite the watery smell, the scat next to him was still horrid. Bret thought, I think I’ll start eating more vegetables.
He was certain the hidden rock shelter extended to the other side. There was a faint twinge of daylight down the tunnel. Nothing could be heard over the deafening roar of the falls. He forced himself to ignore the massive sheets of raging white water pummeling down with thunderous fury a few feet to his left. If the Sabretooth fits through, so will I. If it’s waiting in there, I’m already dead anyway. If I slip here, at least it’d be quick. Time to go.
The littler hunter stayed as far to the right on the slippery rock path as possible. He began crawling through the wet darkness, poking ahead with the shaft to probe for obstacles. There were none, and he was through to the other side rather easily. This Sabretooth is something else, he thought.
Bret cautiously peeked up over the smooth granite ledge on the far bank. Clear. The little hunter crawled slowly but smoothly across the granite to the base of the thick woodland. He crouched low, sitting perfectly still between a scraggly holly bush and a thick oak tree. He just listened and rested until the bird chirps returned. The little hunter took a swig from his water pouch, and reached for the crushed green camouflage paste. He applied a darker shade on his forehead and jaws, with lighter colors for his cheeks and under his eyes. Once he was sure he was alone, he quietly climbed the tree to get his bearings. The little hill was on the far side of a thick wooded valley. There was a game path and a dirty stream at the base of the valley about halfway to the little hill. Bret checked the sun and the wind. The clouds told him it would start raining soon. He checked his knives and settled down to wait for the raindrops.
It's a good rain. Hard enough to restrict visibility and muffle sound, but not too hard. Bret took advantage of this cover to stalk to the edge of the game path just before midday. The rainy fog gave way to a hesitant sunny rainbow. Bret was about to crawl across the muddy game path when he sensed it. Danger. The little hunter froze and held his breath at the base of a thick spruce tree. He was fully caked in mud and leaves. It’s great cover.
There was slight movement downhill in his peripheral vision as a red deer silently sauntered out of the thicket to drink at the dirty stream. The deer cautiously tested the wind and began drinking. Out of nowhere, a long yellowish-brown log from the dirty stream struck the stag with a steaming splash. Powerful coils instantly wrapped around the stricken deer. Bret was horrified to realize the log was the biggest python he’d ever seen. The forest came alive with chirping birds and thrashing branches. Bret heard voices rapidly approaching. Of course, it’s a snake. A big snake. Always a snake, he thought. The Mountain Men were also stalking this deer.
A red-haired giant stepped into the clearing right where the deer had emerged. Is everything big here? wondered Bret. I’m in the land of monster snakes and ferocious giants, thought the little hunter.
The python turned to face the man, as the rest of his hunting team came up to attack. Whirling ivory axes spun through the air, smashing into the great snake. The hissing python released the stag and shot straight for the big man with fangs glistening.
The red-haired giant deftly dodged the strike, and casually decapitated the great serpent with a single smooth axe stroke. Bret nodded silently at the giant’s skill. The muddy streambank became a whirling circle of laughing Mountain Men trying to avoid each other, as well as the thrashing snake’s body. The python’s decapitated head was still biting when anything touched it.
Bret considered taking this opportunity to cross the game trail. He decided against it. They’re all stirred up and too close. He was just uphill from them. The little hunter slid silently back until there was a fallen log between him and the trail. I’ll wait them out.
Three burly Mountain Men hoisted the python’s body over their shoulders, and made their way up the game trail. The redheaded giant followed with the stag slung over his shoulders.
Bret felt the wind change and avoided eye contact as they passed. The little hunter felt the bugs from a nearby anthill he’d missed on his skin. The knowledge he couldn’t move to swat them off combined with the creepy feel of things crawling on him. The giant Mountain Man stopped, closed his eyes and sniffed the air. The fire ants were eating Bret alive. Take the pain. Breathe. Breathe.
Something both
ered the giant, but he didn’t know what it was. He put the stag down and looked around for a long moment, searching to his right with all his senses. The giant finally shook it off. Maybe a hare or something. Certainly not a man.
The hunters carrying the python had stopped as well. One of them came back to the redhead and asked something in the guttural tongue of the Mountain Men. The redhead pointed his great axe in Bret’s general direction. The other man shrugged and began walking toward the fallen log. This Mountain Man saw the fire ants streaming from their hill and stepped back. If he’d stepped over the log, he’d discover the leafy mud there had eyes. He’d also get a sharp knife where all men dread. It was good he stopped just before the fallen log and loosened his furs.
The Mountain Man thoroughly watered the muddy leaves beyond the fallen log, before turning back to hoist the python. The little hunter’s hands started shaking once the Mountain Men were out of sight. He violently smushed the fiery ants all over his body, and took a deep sip from his pouch. Fresh mud helped the bites. The little hunter let out a relieved sigh. The sun was high and strong to his right. Bret knew he was facing east.
It doesn’t get much closer than that. That redheaded giant is a dangerous one. They almost had me, and they weren’t even looking for me. Bret realized he was alive only because a man’s bladder was too urgent to take another step.
Big scat. Big snake. Fire ants. Giants that pee on you. What a day, Bret thought. It isn’t even noon. One thing for certain, I’m not taking a dip in this stream.
The little hunter had just made it to the crest of the little hill, when he sensed the second hunting team. He could hear them coming. Bret panned left, seeing the big cave Chief Sev had described. Even without the warning, there was something sinister about it. They’re still a ways off, moving with great skill, stalking slow, but coming. No chance. Not going in there, he thought.
The little hunter took a deep breath and tested the wind.
Unclear. Are they stalking me or game? There’s much better cover at the bottom of the hill. There’s still time to move. It’s better to be moving.