by A. K. Vyas
The boys all screamed as the dark brown bear let out a ghastly gnashing roar. Lars and Mats seemingly flew back across the stream, howling in fear. The bear’s eyes followed them.
Emil had drawn his knife and yelled, “No, no, don’t run! Only food runs!” There were no trees close enough to save them. Cloud looked at Emil, then the bear, and charged into the stream, baring his teeth in a fierce wolf snarl.
Kilan frantically jumped splashing into the river. The Grizzly followed with a snort, catching him midstream. A huge paw smashed the struggling boy into the water, pinning him there. A barking Cloud splashing toward him was his last sensation, then there was nothing but blackness. Kilan never heard the sudden whistling sound. A thin wooden blur thumped into the bear’s dusty shoulder with great force.
Bret’s venom dart had caught the nut-brown Grizzly just behind the shoulder. The bruin bellowed in pain then grunted harshly, snapping savagely at the dart. It left the prone boy and powered forward across the stream. The Grizzly grumbled toward the cool little hunter with a deep, frothy rage. Bret gave ground slowly but surely. With Cloud harassing the enraged splashing bear, he couldn’t risk another dart from this angle. The bruin facing two threats halted in indecision. The white wolf was striking at him from one side. It wheeled back suddenly at the white wolf with lightning speed. Cloud barely ducked under a mighty crippling paw stroke. Massive Grizzly jaws snapped shut with a crunch, barely a hair’s breadth behind the rolling wolf. Cloud was too fast.
The great bear glared at Bret once again, surging forward with irresistible force as the white wolf nipped at his heels. Then the Grizzly began wobbling a bit. Bret made ready to thrust with his spear and drew his obsidian knife.
Another whistling dart from the other side slammed the bear in the neck. The bear’s spine-chilling roars became a marbled gurgle. The Grizzly finally dropped to its knees. The venom was taking effect.
Papa splashed over to Kilan while Bret quickly finished the bear with his spear. Papa saw the unconscious boy was scratched up with a broken arm. He’s breathing strong. No other visible damage. Cloud was now growling up beyond the hill, and bear woofs and barks could be heard from that direction.
Papa threw Kilan over his shoulder and hoarsely gasped, “Boys, we are leaving. Bret take point, I’ll follow behind.”
The little hunter smoothly reloaded his throwing stick and led the way. The boys were still standing there shaking in their shock.
Papa now boomed in the command voice he’d used with his hunting team, “BOYS, move. Drop the fish. FOLLOW BRET. MOVE NOW!” Emil had never heard Papa raise his voice before.
The three boys snapped to attention as if woken from a sleepy trance. They quickly followed Bret and Cloud away from the river. Papa turned to look back. There’s rustling movement in the bushes coming down the hill. There are bears all over reacting to the noise. This is bad.
Papa lumbered on as fast as possible, following the boys up over a small rise. He glanced back repeatedly to make sure they weren’t being stalked. There was bear sign everywhere and they could all hear bear woofs and see birds flying out of bushes to either side. Bret led them across a rocky meadow and onto the main trail. He was waiting there with the boys when Papa caught up.
“Why are we stopping?” whispered a breathless Papa. There was a huge bear scat below him.
Bret knelt, pointing to the trail. “We have fresh bear tracks and scat here and ahead of us all over this trail. The wind is behind us. There are huge sections of berry bushes as far as I can see to either side, which is where I’d be napping if I was a lovesick bear! I don’t think Cloud will be able to smell them ahead. How’s Kilan?”
Papa muttered, “Maybe the lovesick bears are nicer? Let’s not find out. Kilan will have one evil headache when he wakes up. Once the healers set his arm again, he’ll be fine. Bret, you are asking me trail or bushes?”
Bret responded by nervously scanning the bushes on either side of the trail again. Cloud snarled again at something back over the hill behind them. Something big and hairy was stalking them.
Papa decided, “We move much faster and see better on the trail—keep Cloud close. Either way, let’s clear all these heavy berry bushes fast. Let’s move.”
Bret grinned darkly. “Good, Aash, did I ever tell you I hate eating fish?’
As absurdly perilous as their situation was, Papa couldn’t let this slide. “What do you mean you don’t like fish? You are the best fisherman of the People. How is this even possible?
The little hunter’s eyes kept scanning for danger. His voice was like someone debating the weather.
“I don’t know. Fish don’t taste bad, but they don’t fill me up. I don’t like all the little bones or the scales either. Scales remind me of snakes. I hate snakes. Do you like fish?”
Bret rechecked his venom dart and wordlessly led them down the old game trail. He was gliding ahead with his head on a constant swivel.
Papa realized the little hunter was absorbed in this discussion despite the circumstances. Bret’s voice maintained the tone of debating apples versus oranges. The little hunter wasn’t crazy—they’d both seen what a Grizzly could do to a man. Aash realized he was in the presence of a truly courageous soul. We’re surrounded by who knows how many Grizzlies! It’s one thing to do your duty and learn to control your fear. If Bret cares about death, he certainly didn’t show it.
They pushed hard down the gritty trail at a good pace. Bret was poring over the backwoods trail sign like he was a bear himself. He moved them instinctively to avoid ambush sites.
They were all thirsty, dusty, and breathing hard with dry throats when they finally cleared the berry bush maze. Bret stopped them again on the crest of a pinecone-laden hill. The boys caught their breath in shallow gasps as Papa switched shoulders with Kilan. The boy’s conscious again and asking for his mama. Papa thought, This is a good sign.
The winding game trail narrowed into a singular bushy ridge. There was a concentrated tangle of dark green evergreen trees extending downhill on one side. A large leafy grassy meadow extended uphill on the other. Bret made his way back to Papa, whispering his thoughts.
“Once we pass this ridge, we’re back to open flat plains the rest of the way. Visibility is much better here. I think that bear’s mate may be what’s following us. She’s gaining on us. We can’t outrun her. You can’t fight well carrying the boy. Let’s switch. You lead the boys with Cloud. I’ll follow in case that broken hearted she-bear doesn’t quit.”
Papa didn’t like it, but Bret was right. The greater danger was likely now following close behind. Papa now led the group forward while the little hunter tested the air behind them for trouble.
There was another throaty roar somewhere behind them. The forest came alive around them with the sounds of frightened birds. Bret’s ankle was completely red and swollen now. He gritted forward, silently chanting his war mantra. “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” The little hunter forced a grin despite his parched throat and the dull throbbing in his ankle. He checked the mounting on his last venom dart to make sure it was sound.
It happened fast. They’d just barely heard the bellows of red deer when a broad rising wave of thrashing hooves and snapping brush exploded up onto the trail. A spooked herd of deer stampeded the trail from the dense tangle below. The air suddenly seemed full of leaping deer any way you looked. Papa dropped to a knee, holding on to Kilan, while the boys instinctively knelt and covered their heads. Panicked deer were flying between, over, and around them. There was a bone-jarring crash behind them and a shocked wheezing groan. A startled stag had crashed right into Bret, with the powerful antlers impaling the little hunter straight through the chest. The frantic buck began stomping him with its sharp hooves, before escaping uphill into the grassy plain with the herd.
Papa checked the boys quickly, and made his way to the little hunter’s prone body. Oh no, Bret! The stag’s horns had gone clean through the heart. Bret was down and barely ma
king bubbly gurgling sounds. Papa held the dying man in his arms and put his ear down close.
“The boys…?” rasped Bret.
“They’re fine, Bret…Bret, stay with me,” commanded Papa softly. No. No. No!
The little hunter had a peaceful, all-knowing look in his eye. He gurgled out, “I’m sorry, Aash. Give Emil my knife,” as the light went out of his eyes. Bret was gone.
The wind switched again and Cloud began growling at something behind them on the trail. Papa gently closed Bret’s eyes and scooped up the fallen weapons. He handed Mats the light spear and Emil the black knife.
Papa ordered, “Bret’s gone, boys. Now we run for the village. Emil, take Cloud and lead. That Grizzly is still coming. Boys, keep running with Cloud, no matter what you hear behind you. MOVE!” Kilan had passed out again. Aash scooped him up and followed as fast as possible with the heavy spear in one hand and the unconscious boy slung over his shoulder.
The boys and Papa made it over the last hill and were well into the silver-brown savannah when they heard it. The wind carried faint echoes of a wailing brown Grizzly in the hills behind them. Papa kept switching shoulders and checking behind them, but the bear wasn’t coming anymore.
The weary band hobbled back to the village without further ado, in an amber hue, as the lazy failing sun gave way to rapidly rising dusk.
Chapter Fifteen
“God is good, but never dance with a lion.” -Zimbabwean Proverb
Good
The weary mud-caked little boys collapsed into a crying huddle upon finally reaching the village. Their grateful mothers scooped them all up with tight tearful hugs while their fathers were unsuccessfully trying to look stern.
Mama and Papa hugged with touching heads and a sobbing Emil carried between them. Emil was inconsolable. “I knew it was a mistake. I made the second mistake, Mama. The second mistake, and Bret’s gone just like Dori.”
Papa softly told Emil it wasn’t true but let him get the tears out. Mama took Emil and Cloud back to the Gher. Chief Sev had also wanted to say something stern to the boys but thought better after hearing Emil’s weeping words. Life is hard for the People, he reminded himself. The boys went for fish to help feed the People. They’d been foolish but brave.
Papa talked the noticeably silent Chief through the day’s events. Chief Sev suddenly punched his palm, glaring up at the Sky Spirits.
“Bret, little Bret. Our best hunter. Bret survives a suicide mission over the river. He kills the Sabretooth single-handed, as well as a Grizzly. Then he’s accidentally killed by a panicked deer? I should have ordered him to stay in his Gher for three full days after the Sabretooth. How many deer has Bret taken with that light spear over the seasons? How is any of this possible, Aash?”
The Chief lashed out, kicking a protruding piece of kindling from the nearest fire. Sparks flashed out in the darkness like a swarm of fireflies. He looked around. No one else had seen this outburst. Chief Sev quickly regained his composure. It’s always the heroes we lose…
Papa cleared his throat and took a deep breath to steady his voice.
“Bret was the reason we made it back. I think the bear’s mate was stalking us the whole way and she spooked the deer. Nothing else makes sense. We need to bring Bret home.”
“I’ll lead a team to get him at first light,” swore the Chief. “Get some rest, Spearmaker.”
Emil and Mama were already asleep, exhausted from the day when Papa got to the Gher. None of them had any appetite. Cloud came over and licked Papa’s hand. He scratched the white wolf behind the ears and gave him a choice cut of meat from the evening meal. Cloud had been a big part of their survival today as well. The wolf smell had kept the vengeful she-bear cautious and back.
The next morning Stygian darkness gave way to a glowing red sunrise. Tomorrow comes like it always does, no matter what good or bad has happened today. The air had a crisp frost and the birds were again flying very low. Emil sat in Mama’s lap sipping some water. The morning was telling them a storm was coming.
“Mama, I knew we shouldn’t go. If I had said more, we wouldn’t have gone. Now Bret is dead,” whispered Emil.
Mama’s blue eyes looked softly at her son as she raised his chin up. She instructed in a strong but gentle voice:
“Bret would be the first to tell you the Eagle Feather was the greatest hunter of the People. Did you know your opa was too anxious to see a bison hunt as a boy? He actually watched from under a cliff as the hunters stampeded the herd off of it. Somehow, he escaped unharmed, but several boys who followed him were hurt or killed. This makes sense when you are standing under a cliff raining bison. He learned his lesson and never did anything so foolish again.
“The same happened to me too. When I first started helping gather fruits, I once saw a beautiful tree with graceful flowing leaves and little red berries. I picked a basket full and they were mixed up with other fruits we had picked. They were yew berries. The fruit is edible but the seeds and leaves are very poisonous. If an Elder hadn’t noticed before the evening meal that day, many of us would have died. Your papa too. He nearly burned half the village down. As a boy Papa once accidentally set fire to the Elder’s Gher when he tripped with a torch. Just once though.”
Mama sang Babo’s favorite songs with him that morning, comforting him like only a mother can. Papa watched quietly, thinking, There is something magical about when a woman becomes a mother.
Emil was still silent after morning chores, quietly cuddled again in Mama’s lap, and listening to Papa.
“Babo, life is hard, we make mistakes, we learn from them. It was good you told Shala or we’d never have known. If Bret knew how things would turn out, he’d still have gone. That’s who he was. Let’s both earn the gift he gave us. Earn it, Emil.”
Chief Sev and the hunting team were back before midday. They brought back the little hunter’s throwing stick; otherwise there was nothing left of Bret’s body. The bear had eaten all of it and there were signs it was still in the area. Deep, angry claw marks were carved into every nearby tree.
The Spirit Ceremony for Bret was short and to the point, just as he would have wanted. Chief Sev was deeply emotional.
“My people, death smiles at us all. We can only smile back. It was a good death, a warrior’s death. Bret died saving little ones, something any warrior would be proud of.”
The Chief then tried to imitate Bret’s turtle dance. This folly, though unsuccessful, still brought a wistful smile to every tearful face.
Life was hard for the People. Kilan’s arm was hanging in a deerskin sling and his scratches were laced with healing herbal paste. The boy sincerely thanked Papa and gave Cloud a big piece of meat and a hug.
Papa could see still the guilt in all the little boys’ eyes. He told Mama he’d take them out to pick some winter berries before the storm.
The boys busily plucked the ruby red little berries, but were too quiet. Papa suddenly began howling like a wolf and throwing berries at the boys and Cloud. There was a full-on howling, berry-throwing food fight in progress. The shrieking boys began ducking and weaving, and pelting Papa with the little red berries. Faint smiles briefly appeared on resilient young faces.
Papa sat the boys in a circle, asking, “What made Bret a great hunter? He wasn’t the biggest or strongest; for a long time the People made fun of him. I think it was the word good.”
The boys all looked puzzled. The word good?
Papa went on and explained.
“Bret was a little hunter with the strongest spirit of the People. Whenever something went wrong, his only response was always ‘good.’ They said he was too small to be on a hunting team. Bret just said, ‘Good.’ Then he worked with the Eagle Feather to track better than anyone. One man, especially a smaller man, is always quieter in the woods than four. They said he couldn’t have a heavy spear. Bret said ‘good,’ then become a master with the light spear. They said he was too small to hunt big game. Bret just said ‘good’ and became a mast
er fisherman. The People’s smallest hunter still developed the skill to kill a Sabretooth alone. Boys, you can learn everything a man needs from Bret’s spirit. He was wise enough to know himself. Bret was sharp enough to focus on his strengths. His hunting style emphasized speed and silence, which are much easier for a smaller man. Whenever something goes wrong, just say ‘good’ and ‘better’ yourself. This is the ancient way of warriors and hunters. We just say ‘good,’ adapt, improvise, and overcome.”
The boys began murmuring “good” to themselves.
A berry-splattered Papa said, “All right hunters, storm coming. Back home we go!”
The boys were still a bit quiet, but chattering again. Cloud was barking up a storm, hopping around chasing squirrels up trees.
Emil took Papa’s hand in his as they walked. “Good, at least we won’t have to eat as much silvery bony fish now,” he said in a brave little voice.
Papa chuckled. “Good, yes, and I won’t have to make those pesky little light spears anymore.”
Emil ran his hand over the black knife in its flying fish sheath and looked up at Papa. Both of their eyes were misty. Papa put a proud hand on his son’s shoulder for the rest of the walk back to the village.
As the boys neared the village, they joked and chased Cloud and one another. The sun was at its zenith for the day. The boys still had to hunt eggs and fetch wood for the day. They all hurriedly dropped off their berries and grabbed their egg pouches.
They passed Bret’s Gher when Papa asked about the little hunter’s spear. Emil opened the flap to retrieve it. He coughed as dense, hazy blue smoke filled the inside of the Gher completely. In his exhaustion Emil had left the spear standing inside with a single fish from his pouch. He had forgotten to open the Gher’s smoke hole at the top last night. They had to wait for enough fresh air to go inside.