by J. H. Hayes
"And had no problem proudly taking credit for," Zephia added, delivering with the snipe a bright, teasing smile.
"Ah yes," Azerban intoned. "That grand sow ran straight at me. She practically begged to be eaten. And why shouldn't she? Such a magnificent beast should be served at a proud hearth like ours." He ripped a piece of meat off with his teeth, then took it between his thumb and index fingers, held it up slightly above eye-level and finally flicked it into the fire. "And we thank her for her sacrifice."
Quzo was always quick to copy his father, and often took his mimicry too far. He spit the meat he was chewing into his hand, lifted it up and threw it into the fire, yelling, "Thank you for the sac'ifice, Great Pig!!"
Azerban nearly choked on his food, he laughed so hard at this, although his mate was not so pleased. Zephia slapped Azerban's leg hard in protest before rebuking her son, "Quzo, you’re old enough to know sacrifices shouldn’t be taken lightly."
"Why am I being punished?" Azerban objected, playing innocent.
"Because you encourage him!" Zephia replied, feigning her disgust.
"What?" he asked. "The boy has a gift for the dramatic!"
Despite her worries, Azaria couldn't hold her laughter any longer and spit her food into the fire also, afraid she’d choke if she kept trying to chew it. She could feel her anxiety draining away with the back and forth, growing more confident she’d escaped unscathed.
"Azaria, you too?" her mother pleaded.
"Sorry mother, but I couldn’t help it. I almost gagged!"
Outflanked on all sides, Zephia finally gave in. "You’re all too much for me!"
As the giggling died down Azaria's father knew enough to change the subject when he had the chance. "So are we all looking forward to the Solstice Celebrations?" he asked, looking directly at his daughter. He could tell by her agitated state she was terrified of the consequences of her earlier actions. He wondered if it would be enough to keep her mouth shut. He also wondered how much she’d witnessed. The abnormal nature of the sacrifice ritual they had earlier performed had been emotionally traumatic for him. He worried it could be devastating for his young daughter.
"Yes, Az'ban!" Quzo said, the first to answer as usual. "I will win all the games!"
"'Yes, father!' Quzo." Zephia scolded. "How many times have I told you to show the proper respect for your father?"
Despite the rebuke, Azaria smiled at his enthusiasm. Her brother wasn't old enough to play the games she knew he was referring to, much less to win them. "I'm sure you can, my son," her father said, looking down proudly. "But for now the games will be played by the hunters and you will watch and learn."
"Aaahhhha," Quzo half-protested, knowing intuitively this was an argument he wouldn't win. Annoying as he could be, Azaria adored her little brother, who could count four full winters. His hair was straight and a deep dark brown, much like her father's and hers. To his mother's frustration, he insisted on wearing it short, just past the ears, an unusual cut which set him apart. The unorthodox style earned him a good amount of hectoring from the other children, but he'd always borne the harassment defiantly. Azaria had never understood her little brother's obsession with his hair.
"And you, Azaria?" her father asked, looking down at his plate filled with meat.
Azaria looked directly at him now, noticing he didn't meet her eye. Juice from what was left of the boar's liver dripped down his large hands. She wished he would look up at her, but knew she'd probably look away as soon as he did.
"Very much, father," she replied. "Mother promised to help me with my outfit tonight."
Before her father could reply, Quzo abruptly blurted out, striving to keep the attention centered on him, "'Zaria wants to kiss Dogahn at the Feast!!"
"Quzo!!" Zephia immediately scolded him.
"Be quiet, you dung thrower! I DO not!" Azaria nearly screamed, wondering where he’d obtained his information. He must have overheard Daneel questioning me, she guessed, thinking back to a conversation she'd had with her best friend several suns ago. Azaria had recently developed an interest in boys – one in particular - but wasn’t interested in admitting it to anyone, especially not her father.
"Look at 'er face!!" Quzo laughed, pointing at her reddening complexion and rolling over, holding his side laughing. Despite the scolding it was clear he was very happy with himself.
"That's enough food for you, Quzo," Zephia said, having had enough of him. "Go down to the river and fetch some water for cleaning."
"But I'm still hungreee!!!" Quzo whined, his mood taking an abrupt turn.
"If you were hungry, you would’ve been eating instead of torturing your sister." Recently she'd been thinking they should start holding the boy more accountable for his disturbances. This seemed as good an opportunity as any to teach him a lesson. But she didn't want him going hungry either. "You can take your meat with you," she added.
Azerban was well aware Dogahn was very close to his daughter, but was still taken aback by his son's exclamation of her romantic interest. He recovered quickly however. After all, Dogahn was an honorable young man, was developing into a brave hunter and would probably do well at the junior games. Perhaps his hearth didn't have as much status as he would’ve liked, but Irizahner, Dogahn's father, was a strong, proven hunter who'd recently been taking more initiative in organizing hunts. Their hearth was gaining status. With just a little imagination, he could see the boy would be a natural target of attraction for his daughter.
He was also not completely naive to his daughter's emotional state, and didn't wish to add to her discomfort, despite his current irritation with her. Without looking up he stated flatly, "Hmmph, Dogahn. He's a good boy. Just remember there are many young men out there, Azaria, and you haven't crossed path with all of them yet." He turned, gave her a wink and rose to help his son with the water.
Watching him leave, Azaria wondered what his gesture meant. Was he trying to let me know he saw me at the Temple and not to worry about it? Or was that about Dogahn? She decided on the latter and let her thoughts linger on the boy she’d been friends with for as long as she could remember. The boy she only recently recognized as being very cute. She silently fumed at her brother for his rude admission. She’d never said she wanted to kiss Dogahn. It was her best girlfriend Daneel who’d suggested it. The thought of kissing Dogahn sickened her, although she didn’t know why. Then she realized it wasn’t the thought of her lips on Dogahn’s that was so distasteful. It was more the shock of her brother blurting out her deepest desires for everyone to hear. In fact, the thought of an intimate moment with him was somehow exciting. She smiled to herself and entertained another, even more shocking idea. And if he tries to steal a kiss at the Feast, perhaps I'll let him.
2
By tradition, the Summer Solstice was celebrated on the closest new moon and consisted of two suns of games, the second ending with a magnificent feast. Azaria was up before the sun had woke, the morning filled with fervor and anticipation. The first event she would ever compete in, the Hare Hunt, would be held just after dawn’s light. She spent the morning inspecting her throwing spears, examining the shafts and sealing any cracks with cedar resin if they were minor enough. She also felt the tips to assure they were still sharp, removing ones that weren't and knapping new chips off to sharpen them. The ones she couldn't sharpen, she set aside and replaced with fresh tips her father had previously fashioned. His were always better than hers, although her technique had improved greatly over the past few winters. She also checked the feather fletchings to make sure they were intact and that her personal colored markings were identifiable. If the fletchings were loose or damaged, she tore them off and glued new ones on using a tar-like substance produced by heating birch bark. When she left her shelter, she had seven serviceable light spears and little wait left until the Hunt.
Before she set out Azaria took care of one very important final touch. She attached her lucky blue and red feathers to the back of her head. Many wore such ado
rnments, and bestowed upon them all sorts of supernatural capabilities. Azaria was no exception. Setting out one morning searching for grouse, she’d come upon the two feathers lying only paces apart. Because they were so close together, which was unusual since they were obviously from different species – and because she thought they were pretty – she took it as a sign and tied them to her hair and then forgot about them. It might have been just coincidence that she bagged so many of the plump ground birds that sun, but when she arrived back at her shelter and discovered the feathers again, it was obvious to her they were responsible. Since then, she’d never gone hunting without the bright charms.
Now sure she was ready, Azaria jogged to the competition site, the sun's blazing intensity already producing a gleam on her brow. She took the southern path leading to the softly rolling prairie where most of the games were held and beyond to the steeper approach to the top of Hare Hill. As she ascended, descending toward her was a young woman with dark brown eyes. Azaria noticed the hint of mahogany in the girl’s wavy locks as the mild wind blew easily through them. She’d always admired the trace of red in her friend's hair. The other girl was shorter than Azaria by about three fingers and possessed a curvier figure, although by no means was she considered heavy. "Daneel!! You're out early!" she called.
Daneel greeted her with a hug as they came together. The sun shone down on her rounded rosy cheeks and a twinkle flashed in her dark brown eyes as she smiled up at her taller friend. "Hi beautiful! I couldn’t miss your first event! Are you nervous? I would be. I can’t believe you’re competing. It’s so dangerous!”
Azaria was one of few who could make out every word her friend uttered. She talked so fast, it was as if she feared she'd not be able to get each thought out before the next trampled it. Azaria often thought their personalities complimented each other, as she tended to pick her words more carefully. Perhaps it was why they were such close friends. "A little," Azaria admitted.
“Don’t be. I know you’ll be wonderful. I hope the hares run your way!" Daneel said, using the common refrain after she’d accompanied her back up the hill.
Long, spiked grasses of emmer and einkorn wheat, rye and barley blanketed the entire southern face of the hill, providing excellent cover from the many aerial predators native to the region. Many small animals thrived there. It had long been a hare breeding ground and favorite place for young hunters to refine their developing skills.
Although the competition was simple - the prize would be awarded to the contestant who killed the most hares with seven light spears before the final whistle was blown - strategy was often as essential as skill. The most popular method was to run blindly down the hill, scaring the furry little beasts into abandoning their hiding spots, running and throwing spears as they darted in all directions. A less common technique, but potentially more effective if the young hunter could remain patient, was to hold back, shadowing the front runners. It had the advantage of allowing a better shot at the hares which dispersed at odder angles and those that survived the first wave of onslaught.
Each contestant's spears had a unique set of colored markings which would indicate who made each kill. If more than one spear pierced a hare, a pre-determined panel of experienced hunters would decide whose weapon had struck the fatal blow. The competitors were not allowed to retrieve a spear if it had struck a rabbit, but could pick up those that missed cleanly.
Azaria was confident in her aim if she had a chance to line up her prey, but wasn't overly concerned with winning. This being the first official game she’d ever competed in, she hoped only to make a good showing. She joined the other contestants – ranging from twelve to fifteen winters - at the top of Hare Hill. More than half of them were boys her age or older. There were also a few older girls, two her age, one younger girl and the rest younger boys.
At the opening whistle the contestants dropped to their stomachs and a half-moment later the second whistle was blown. Azaria jumped to her feet and jogged down the hill, scanning for a target, but overwhelmed by the mass of flying bodies. Immediately, almost everyone was in front of her. Chaos ensued. She could see the youngest hunters running forward frantically, throwing spears in every direction. She also noticed a few of the older hunters hanging back a bit, strategically casting their weapons. She was happy she listened to her father, who’d advised her to hang back - at least she didn't look like one of the startled hares. She also noticed the high grasses were completely trampled behind the first wave of frantic hunters, allowing greater visibility and therefore increasing her range. Again she silently thanked her father.
A plump coney launched out of the high grass, darting in front of her in a direction opposite the chaos. She swiveled and let her spear fly without cocking it back and then watched with satisfaction as it landed right on top of the little beast's neck, killing it instantly. She saw another hare hopping frantically away from the mass of flying spears, toward the wooded area to the east. She pulled a spear from her quiver, lined up and tossed again. But this time her aim betrayed her - her spear landed right of her target while the rabbit dodged left, leaving its full body exposed. She already had another spear in hand however and let it fly. This throw her accuracy was deadly. The light spear went through the little animal's abdomen, sticking into the ground with the hare left incapacitated and gyrating spasmodically, pinned to her spear. She spun back toward the pack, drawing more spears from her quiver. She pulled two as she ran toward the bedlam, shifting one into her left hand as she drew another over her shoulder.
A small rabbit darted beneath the legs of one of the trailing hunters. Azaria wanted to throw but hesitated, afraid she might hit the boy. She waited only the briefest of moments however, and then let loose when she thought she had a clean shot. It was a perfect throw and she watched confidently as her spear sailed toward its target. At the last moment however, another spear stopped the rodent dead in its tracks and hers hit empty dirt.
Cursing her luck, Azaria raced down the hill, with no other thought than killing hares. She saw one take off far toward the trailing edge of the chaos, just about to find shelter in the woods. It was a long throw, but instinct drowned her doubts. She let fly and immediately admonished herself, realizing what an impossible throw it was. She lingered just a tick to watch the spear land and was astonished to see it strike the left leg of her prey, leaving it incapacitated but not dead. The extraordinary effort left her with a difficult decision. Was another throw from this distance worth the risk of wasting another spear? If she left the hare it was possible no one else would see it, but if someone else did, they might strike the fatal blow. In the end, her instincts again took over and she threw. Her quick decision paid off – the second spear pierced the animal's abdomen, removing any doubt the rabbit was hers.
Was that three she had now? Was it four? She knew five was a respectable number and six was a probable win. With her success so far, Azaria let her focus slip and her mind wander. Do I really have a chance of taking this competition? But she had no way of knowing how many hares the others had bagged. She shook her head. Why am I letting myself get distracted before the hunt has finished?
Knowing the final whistle must be coming soon, Azaria gripped her last spear. She raced down the hill toward the rest of the group. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flailing in the brush close to where she had missed with her second spear. A rabbit was pinned to the ground with a spear through its left back thigh, but was clearly alive and struggling to free itself. The fatal blow was the deciding one, she remembered one of the judges saying. Not believing her luck, she raced toward it and plunged her spear right through its back. Then she grabbed the spear she had missed with earlier and raced on. Another hare was running wildly toward a hole in the ground, but still close enough to make an attempt. As Azaria let loose, she heard the final whistle. She was proud to see her last spear land in the unfortunate target. She wasn't sure if it was a fatal blow, but knew it shouldn't matter. No one could throw any more spears. She ha
d lost count of how many she’d killed, but felt it was at least four. She’d have to wait for the judges to tally the spears and announce the results at the feast that night to find out for sure.
As she made her way back up the hill, a slower chaos was unfolding. The judges were making their way down the slope, while the participants headed toward their family members at the top of the hill. Azaria could see more than hares had been hit. One of the boys was being rushed off on a litter, a spear sticking out of his mid-section, covered by a bloody rag. A woman was walking with him, wailing in despair. Probably his mother, Azaria thought. She hoped he’d be okay.
Although she’d watched this competition every summer for as long as she could remember, she’d never realized how dangerous it could be. A bit shocked, she made her way to her cheering family. As she approached, their attention shifted to something behind her. She heard a deep-toned voice laughing and then say, "Boba thought my leg was a hare!"
Confused, Azaria looked back and saw a hulking Boar Camp boy named Luzon limping up the hill with a spear completely through the fleshy part of his lower left leg. Large muscles protruded out of all parts of his body. Even his hairless head looked like it had muscles. Although everyone knew of Luzon and his hunter-warrior clan, Azaria was not close with him. The whole bald-headed family had little use for women, except for birthing and cooking. Luzon was little different and had hardly ever said more than a word to her, although she did vaguely recall playing with him when they were very young. Still, she felt bad and admired his fortitude. Most would be crying for their mothers right now, she thought to herself. When he passed by he looked her up and down, but only grunted. Azaria returned his gaze with an unsure smile.
Some of the other younger contestants were searching for their spears as the judges shouted for them to leave them where they were. Azaria remembered them explaining they’d get them all back that evening, along with the furs from any hares they'd managed to kill. She didn't understand why the boys didn't listen, guessing maybe they'd been too nervous or excited to digest the information.
