Huntsman Returned

by Andrew Michael Schwarz

  In time Tingor and I agreed that the woopa had waded in as deep as it dare. Woopa loved the mud, but weren’t so stupid as to get themselves trapped in it. Usually. And certainly not one this large, but the mud would slow it down a bit and give us a chance.

  Tingor began his approach and I readied the others, standing by in the thicket as the monster brought its lumbering head around to meet its adversary. Then Tingor flung his arm and his spear whistled through the air. The thud of impact echoed like a dropped sack of flour. The beast roared. He’d hit just a hair above the neck-vein. I tossed him another spear and he repeated the motion. A second hit, inches from the first.

  “Now!” I screamed above the trumpeting screeches of the thrashing beast.

  In a well practiced maneuver, half of the team circled to the other side of the woopa, while the first half tossed the net. The sound of a hundred serpents hissed through the air as the net sailed across the enormous girth of the creature.

  The beast lurched, straining against the net and causing a low creak as the rope fibers were stretched to their limit. The boys were lifted off the ground as the creature pushed itself up, some falling off like ants, others dangling.

  “Hold him down,” I shouted.

  Tingor was not fazed and continued his onslaught. A bundle of spears now sprouted from the creature’s neck. He had speared it five times and each time had managed to strike within close range of the precious vein but never wholly on target. The beast’s blood ran thick over its muddy skin, but its strength, instead of waning, escalated in a rabid fight against extinction.

  The other boys had been shaken off and lay littered about the forest floor with only a small shred of remnant net clinging to the animal.

  I clutched my own spear between two sweaty palms, too afraid to encroach. Tingor, covered in the beast’s gore prepared for yet another strike when I heard Felina’s voice in my head: You won’t let us down, will you?

  After the seventh blow, the strength of the beast began to visibly ebb. The animal had lost much blood now and was growing insensate from Tingor’s attack. I nudged in closer, careful to stay clear of its head. Its many tusks and sweeping flagella were not appendages a human boy could withstand even one encounter.

  You won’t let us down, will you?

  Somehow Tingor managed to stay in close enough proximity to throw close-range hits. Tingor thrust again and hit, blow number eight, but the tip of his spear met with the soft under-chin of the hairless monster’s head and snapped off with a muted clack. The leviathan screeched and bucked and Tingor had no choice but to duck and roll, lest he be impaled upon a spear of keratin.

  The animal thrashed about. Its blood pooled in the sludge beneath it. But it held a hidden bastion of strength and with an awkward stagger, threatened to escape yet. The edge of its rancor was dulled, but I feared with its last reserve it would break from the pit and make headway into a clearing, thereby eluding us and becoming an easy meal for a more efficient predator.

  You won’t let us…

  No, I thought, I won’t.

  I stepped forward, and finding the beast unaware of my presence, ran to it. It reeled and I crouched low. Its hind legs kicked; it jostled up from the mud pit. Close enough to strike, I had startled it.

  Now. The time was now: either kill it or lose it. I cocked my arm and with a flaccid thrust, let loose my spear. The shaft sailed straight and slotted perfectly into an open wound already primed by Tingor. A gout of blood burst out, spraying the trees and the hunting party in a hot jelly. The beast wailed and lurched, then dropped dead to the ground in a bloody puddle.

  A great silence rippled over us. Wide eyes stared from one to the next. The jungle throbbed with late season heat and there came an instant where we no longer little boys foraging for food. We were huntsmen and the world was ours.

  Cheers rent the silence, followed by howls and chest slaps and ridiculous beast parodies. Then all began to dance around the hunting ground, then around me singing: “The beast is dead, slain complete, we’ll cut it up and then we’ll eat! A huntsman has returned today so we will never fail to say: hooraaaaay!”

  ***

  “Aren’t you going to help us carve the quarry?” I asked Tingor, intentionally ignorant of his humor.

  “You mean your quarry.”

  “You were the huntsman today” I said. “I merely made a lucky blow. Everyone here knows that we couldn’t have done it without you.”

  But Tingor was not so succored, his resentment palpable. He unsheathed his knife and, begrudgingly, set to a course of flaying flesh.

  We hacked the monster into twenty parts and rigged each hunk with the ropes of our net. Its thick, calloused skin would protect the fibrous meat beneath until our return. Woopa was a long, slow cook, but once done the meat would turn tender and all but fall off the bone. The colony would feast on it upon our return, but most of it would be smoked and stored. Stews and broth would be made from the remains and the skin would be dried, tanned and stitched into tarps and coats. Even its tusks would be used for spear-tips and other tools.

  Each exerted heavily under the burden of the hunk in his charge. We would travel south then northwest, for to travel a straight course west would lead us too close into screechcat territory.

  Slaying from the neck-vein was not only the most efficient and, in this case, the only way to kill the thing, but also the cleanest. The meat would be, therefore, untainted. That and the cooler clime of the season, gave us an approximate two days before spoilage.

  We would travel constantly day and night.

  During the trek, Tingor’s mood remained sullied. We did not speak once. I did not deserve the undivided praise offered me by the party and believed this adulation to be as short lived as young men’s interests. I saw it as nothing more than misplaced credit and as soon as given a chance, I intended to set things to rights and give recognition back to Tingor for the hunt that was his, and in my mind, his alone.

  ***

  We returned to a shower of praise. At once the younger children, directed by the elders, and in particular, Felina, converged on our burdens and dragged them away for cleaning and preservation. We were exhausted, hungry and dehydrated but languished in the admiration of our peers, all except Tingor.

  Then we slept, long and sound and satisfied.

  I woke very late the next day and found the camp all abuzz. Felina had initiated a celebration. She hailed our kill as the single most bountiful hunt in our history. Hegira informed me that I was to dress in ceremony clothes. I was chagrined. I simply could not allow Tingor’s rightful reward to be eclipsed and awarded to me by a misconception of deed.

  “Hegira, if this is in honor of the hunt, I can’t accept it. It was Tingor who we depended on, not me.”

  “Felina has not asked you to accept anything, Cole.”

  “Yes, okay, but I know, as well as you, what she means to do. I insist that any honors be given to Tingor who speared the dumb beast eight times compared to my one.”

  “Dress as she wishes or deal with her.”

  The idea of verbally dueling with Felina or thwarting her presentation was not in my mind, but neither could I accept an honor that I did not feel was mine. I would insist that Tingor be honored concurrently.

  Succulent hunks of roast woopa, turned on giant spits, dripped sizzling gobs of fat into the fire. Roasted squashes of varying color, melons, potatoes, apples and sweet root steamed into the air. All of it made me delirious with hunger. I had not known how deep my hunger went until I saw that feast laid out before us. I sat at the head of the great towerwood table.

  To my surprise and delight Felina sat beside me. I half wondered at why she would deign to sit by me, but then, I was the Huntsman Returned, or something. Technically, I was just a huntsman because I had not been given the official honor, yet. I feared receiving it, though. I knew it was in Felina’s mind to bestow it and all I could think was how unfair that would be to Tingor.
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  I spoke to her very little during the meal and most of it concerning passing this dish or that. It was not that I did not wish to speak to her, but rather I found I could think of nothing to say.

  I did not see Tingor during the meal.

  After we’d eaten, we gathered in Ship Hall, the ruins of our once great space vessel that had brought us to this world.

  Ship Hall was decorated with torches, hanging drapes, hunter’s nets and spears. I saw Tingor as I entered, but did not exchange glances with him, though I am sure he was aware of my presence. Felina took center stage in the auditorium that had once been a cargo bay and everyone squeezed together to hear her speak.

  Hegira found me almost instantly. Her hand slipped around my wrist and pulled me forward through the crowd. I dared not find Tingor amongst them now.

  She brought me to the forefront to stand before Felina. All eyes were on me. I felt a wave of nausea and the burning of my ears. With a lithe and graceful gesture Felina reached out and touched her warm hands to my face and spoke to everyone without taking her eyes off me.

  “No truer hunter has ever been among us,” she said. “We honor you this evening, Cole Ryanson, as our Huntsman Returned.”

  “I-I-can’t—” But the crowd exalted, my meek words lost in the clamor. Angst overwhelmed me; I had no wish to take glory from Tingor.

  In her hands Felina held a necklace supporting a pendant made of purple crystal.

  “A gift for the Huntsman,” she said. “May he always find his way home.”

  I sensed Tingor’s jealous gaze upon me.

  As she slung the pendant around my head she drew in close to my ear, so close that I could feel the warmth of her sweet breath on my cheek.

  “See me later,” she said. “Follow Hegira.”

  The irrefutable grip of Hegira’s hand caught me again and pulled me from the small platform, through the crowd and away. As she escorted me from the hall, my eyes, despite my reluctance, finally met with Tingor’s dark gaze. He did not move, an inanimate statue carved in the perfect expression of hatred. It was done. Tingor’s humiliation was complete.

  Outside the hall, Hegira led me. “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To Moon Hill. She wants you to wait for her there.”

  I stopped mid–stride and pulled my wrist from her grip. “Hegira no. I can’t. This honor and any others are not meant for me, they are meant for Tingor. I do not deserve this award. Tingor fired eight shots into the beast before my measly one. Surely he is the huntsman we should honor tonight.”

  Hegira’s expression turned sour. “She is honoring you, Cole. Not Tingor!”

  Just beyond the camp, we arrived to the hill. Our breath came short as we reached the summit. We both stopped to rest. Once our panting was quelled Hegira turned to me.

  “Wait for her here...Cole the hunt is only one reason Felina honors you. Tingor is a powerful huntsman and has many virtues, that is recognized, but he is not you. Do you understand?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  She sighed. “There’s no hope for you then.” Hegira departed and I was left atop the hill where the giant towerwood spread its dark and spiny branches. The three silver moons of our planet shone down on the hill and across the camp. I sat down and gazed upon the colony below, the battered Ship Hall seemed even larger from this vantage point when compared with the tiny outside huts that were now our homes.

  The crash had ruined most of the ship, but not the nursery. Felina had been a mere six years old when the crew, our parents, had perished. She’d learned responsibility very early.

  After a time a dark shape moved on the hillside. Tresses of hair and wisps of gown flowed in graceful flutters. Felina. I rose to greet her.

  “You have waited for me after all,” she said. “Hegira expressed her doubts that you would.”

  “There was never doubt that I would wait for you,” I said. “Only doubt that I would accept what honors you wished to give now. You must admit that I am not the Huntsman Returned but Tingor.”

  “Your humility does you no favors.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Did you not lead the hunt? And kill the beast?”

  “I did but—”

  “But nothing. I honored you because I wanted to. Nothing more need be said about it. I am in command of this colony, am I not?”

  I sighed.

  “But that’s not why I wanted to speak to you here.”

  My brow furrowed.

  She laughed. “Cole, my God, lighten up! Come here. Sit and listen.”

  I did as she bid, for I would have done anything she’d commanded. We sat cross-legged in the grass.

  “Cole, the colony is changing. We are no longer children. I am governess by habit, and from that office I do what I have to, to preserve us, to keep us alive in this wilderness, but we are no longer babies. More is needed if we are going to continue any semblance of society here in this place.”

  “Okaaay.” I wasn’t at all sure where this was going.

  “We need to establish stronger leadership, male leadership.” Her features softened, her guard dropped.

  I heaved a breath. For some reason more innate than cerebral, my heart rate quickened. “Why? You’ve ruled us alone for as long as I can remember. And gotten us this far.”

  “I have, but never alone.”

  I thought of Hegira and the others.

  “Cole, we are changing.” Then she did something very unexpected. She grabbed both of my hands. I blushed deeply at her touch, the warm intimacy of our fingers together. I had not expected this. Never expected this from her. I swallowed and nearly choked. I could scarcely concentrate on what she said next.

  “Just look around. What do you see? What is here but trees and grass, screechcats and howlmen? What of our future here? We are a colony of toddlers that now find ourselves adults. Our parents died when we landed. And our stronger berths, made for children, held up against the impact that killed them. But those berths are not stronger than our fragile human natures, you have to understand that.”

  “Felina—”

  “Shhss, I’m not done. You are not so young that you do not know the desires and tragedies that befall grown men and women.” Her expression was cool and beautiful and in her explaining she had somehow inched closer to me, her petit breasts pressed up under her perfect dress, so close to my chest now. “Have you counted heads recently and envisioned a pairing of the sexes?”

  “Felina, I—”

  “Answer my question.”

  I looked down. The memory of what I had done with the howlwoman weighed on me. Felina’s inquiries somehow brought that secret to the forefront. I felt shame burn deep inside.

  “I don’t know how to answer you,” I said, struggling with the words. “Yes I have counted heads and yes, I see the disparity of the sexes among us. But I don’t know where that brings us. I mean, you and me.”

  “Then you pretend to be ignorant.” She shrugged. “Our colony is too small not to share. Do you have any concept how strong a force it is within men and women that makes them couple together? What jealousy comes between friends? Even Tingor revels deep in envy over such a paltry and impersonal affair as a hunt. Our colony is changing because we are growing older. If we wish to survive on this planet, colonize it in earnest, then we must multiply our numbers into an established social system that can effectively govern and care for our needs. How else will our posterity defend itself against the beasts, the wind and the snow?”

  “I don’t know.” I felt thickly stupid. I hadn’t thought of it like she had, with such depth and philosophical flourish. I was thinking only of the dark deed I had done with the howlwoman.

  “Know then, damn it! You are not a boy. You’re a man. Know what I am saying is true and stop pretending ignorance.” Her eyes were cold and fierce. “What are you thinking of?”

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked, sidestepping her last interrogation. “I’
m just as trapped or free as the rest of us, outmatched and outnumbered by the elements, the screechcats and...the howlmen.”

  She began to laugh at me. “Are you really such a simpleton? Or must I beat it into you?”

  I shook my head. “What?”

  She leaned forward, her perfect breasts brushing against my chest now. She caressed my face like she had in the hall. “Must I spell it out every single word? Cole, I want you to be my husband.”

  I was dumbfounded. Plain confusion stole my words. I stared into her beautiful eyes for what seemed like hours. At last all I could say was: “No.”

  She squeezed my hands. “Cole, I see how you look at me, I see how you watch me. I know.”

  “Felina!” I broke from her hold.

  “Why are so you threatened by me?”

  “Because, you’re…” I sighed. “Oh, forget it.”

  “What? Are you suggesting there is someone better I ought to have my eye on?”

  “Yes, Tingor!” I said.

  She laughed out loud. “I don’t think so!”

  “Why not? They’ll all listen to him. He’ll lead them in the hunt and at home.”

  “Enough with this Tingor fetish. Perhaps you’re right; perhaps he does deserve the pendant more than you. If you want, I’ll declare him the Huntsman Returned and be done with it. But forget the hunt for a minute, will you? I will not give Tingor or anyone else my bed...or my body. I will not, do you understand me? I have made up my mind. I want you.”

  “No!” I shouted and stood up. “I can’t be the one who Felina loves, the one who the others hate because he has the one possession in this colony worth having. I can’t…I can’t measure up to that.”

  She stood, crossed her arms and shook her head like the governess again. “I am not a possession, but I thank you for the compliment. I think.” Then in a double fisted grip, she grabbed my collar and pulled me to her lips.

  When she had finished, she said, “You can.” She was soft again, almost submissive. “The others can fight amongst themselves, share when the time is right or go without. I am eldest and I have this choice above all others: you will be my chieftain.”

  ***

  Winter came swiftly. The sun faded with the passing weeks until it was only a dim glimmer in the sky. At night we posted watches for the screechcats. The first snow fell thick.