The Battle for Tomorrow (Ilon the Hunter)

by Frederick Bell

  “There is another hunter who speaks like you,” Krugjon told her after a harsh silence. “Many summers ago she came to our trod and talked of terrible things that were to happen. Some have said that no one knows the future better than her.”

  “Then she must know of these Iranha because they are our future.”

  “Megog knows many things,” he agreed. “One time she—”

  “Megog!” Horhon abruptly cut him off. She instantly knew why that name sounded so familiar to her.

  “So you know of her?”

  “I dreamed of her. I think she is the one I am searching for.”

  Krugjon slapped down his tail. “Then you are the luckiest hunter alive! We are on our way to her right now. Come with us, Horhon. Speak to Megog yourself. I believe it is very important.”

  “Yes,” she agreed wholeheartedly. “I believe it is.”

  Chapter Five

  For all their time on the wastelands the search for water was only marginally successful. Gangahar had found some, but only after burrowing down deep in the sand so that he and Antayak had to take turns crawling to the bottom to drink. All this physical labor for a mouthful of water, and now it was too late to leave. By the time the sun reached its zenith in the sky the daytime heat was oppressive; hot air boiled up in shimmering waves off the dunes. Despite this he found himself wanting to return to tell Horhon, though it would be better to dig in for the day and bring her back with him this evening.

  Meanwhile, Antayak was preoccupied with chasing another tarser up the side of a dune. It was a scrawny thing, not really worth the bother; still he roared enthusiastically as he snapped it up and clutched his prize as if this was his best effort ever. Very soon, however, his huge ears quivered and he looked down to see a dust cloud lifting off the field, arrowing closer and closer. The small tarser clamped in his jaws twitched spasmodically as it thudded onto the sand. Blinking its eyes open the animal suddenly bolted away to freedom, screeching as it fled.

  Gangahar heard the rumbling sound too, bounding up the slope to see what was coming. It had to be Horhon, her white hide shining in the sun. But behind her, brown shapes moved over the brown sand, almost invisible except for the glinting of their teeth. Roaring happily he hurried off the dune to greet them.

  “The forest is three more days’ journey.” Horhon pointed toward the south-east. “We leave for trod Megog. She is the hunter I seek. I am certain of it.”

  Again Gangahar stared at her, dumbfounded. “Amazing! To hear you speak her name, now I believe this must be true.” While it was a tremendous relief to know they were almost free of this wretched place, he had his own good news. “I found water.” He peered at the other hunters whose hides looked as dusty and dry as the desert. “Enough for everyone.”

  Krugjon’s cracked, black tongue licked his teeth. “So thirsty.”

  Since the watering hole could only accommodate one hunter at a time each took their turn going down headfirst. Only the very tip of Horhon’s long tail was visible to the others while she slaked her thirst.

  “Something else happened,” Gangahar told her after she climbed out. “We saw the Iranha.”

  Fear seized her and she spun about in all directions. “Where?” she gasped. “Are they following you now?”

  “No. No, they were far away—and we were not seen. The danger has passed,” he assured her. Seeing Krugjon sighing with relief he met his gaze and said, “You must know of these Iranha, too.”

  He nodded unhappily. “I now wish I had never heard that name.”

  After Horhon introduced everyone they chatted briefly. Gangahar was delighted to learn that trod Megog was right at the edge of the forest where there were malgots, a gigantic, meaty beast that he had only heard of but never tasted. He was eager to leave. They could have gone on, but the intense heat made daytime travel unbearable, so they decided instead to dig in and wait for dusk.

  At sunset Horhon climbed from her sandy lair and brushed herself off. She was alone; the others were still asleep. However, as the first bright stars took hold of the darkening sky Krugjon climbed from his burrow to see her sitting atop the dune.

  “What is it that you see up here?” he asked, yawning, his rows of white teeth glinting in the moonlight.

  “I watch the sky. Ever since I was a small one like Yahu.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Many reasons. Why does the day become night, the night become day? Why does the sun change its course as the seasons change? Why do the moons rise and set? Do you not ever think of these same things too?”

  “Why, no,” he responded, surprised. “Will looking at the lights make me think like you?”

  “They are more than lights. They are like our sun, only more distant. I call them stars.”

  “Stars,” he repeated. “And do these stars shine on other worlds like ours?”

  “See that low one over there, larger, brighter than the others?” Krugjon nodded. “That is a planet. And on it I believe there are living creatures like us.”

  “You mean a world full of Iranha?” He grimaced to show this was indeed an unpleasant thought. “All this thinking is hurting my head. I think we should wake the others and go on.”

  Despite the great distance they covered, there seemed to be little change in the landscape. Other than a few clumps of grass the desert still remained desolate and empty. They traveled all night and into the early part of the next morning before the hot sun made them stop. But by nightfall they began to notice some spiny plants—these were the first ones, though as the hunters went on they began to see more and more of them. The second moon was coming up. Straight ahead the jagged, dark line of a distant mountain came into view.

  It was close to dawn when they crossed through a mountainous pass to find a grass-filled valley beyond. Herd animals grazed nearby in the foothills, yet moved off quickly when they saw the big flesh-eaters approaching. On the way the hunters surprised a large herd of nentenens drinking alongside the bank of a fast running river. They sent these lumbering, four-legged creatures plunging into the water to be submerged by the swift currents. White waves foamed up around their long necks as they swam for shore.

  Krugjon stood on the opposite bank and watched them gather downstream. “What should we do? Keep on, or go hunting?”

  Naturally they all wanted to eat but trod Megog was now closer than ever. In any case the sun would soon be up and they might have to stop anyway. They were leaning toward staying but it was Horhon who inadvertently forced the decision.

  Gangahar saw her trembling and caught her by the shoulder as she gaped open her jaw and retched. “Sick again?”

  “I keep hoping this will be the last time.”

  “It never seems to stop. Maybe it won’t.”

  “It will.” Shaking her head to clear away the fog she then turned to Krugjon and said, “Will you lead us on to trod Megog?”

  They started off immediately.

  When it was too hot to continue, when the sun was scorching on their hides, they halted for the remainder of the day. Horhon thought she would not be able to sleep and yet it was nightfall before she emerged from out of the shadow of the hill and joined her companions waiting up on top.

  Only one moon rose this night, and for the rest of the evening its cool light guided the hunters toward the distant outline of the forest. As they disappeared beneath the towering treetops Horhon felt the days of uncertainty lifting off her shoulders. It was a long journey that everyone was happy to see come to an end.

  Within a short time they came to a place where the gnawed bones of some gigantic creature lay strewn across their path. There were fresh tracks leading back into the woods and everyone knew they must be close. As they swung around a tree trunk Horhon spotted a group of hunters jumping up ahead. Her sharp growl brought the pack to a standstill. Now as they approached, one of the hunters, possibly the leader, leapt forward.

  “I know you.”

  “As do I.” Krugjon nodded to the scarr
ed hunter whose name was Katakana. Her right arm had been bitten off and there were several prominent scars across her ribcage where some animal had savagely clawed her. “These are my friends,” he introduced them.

  To the onlookers Horhon was a mystery. When it was learned that both she and Gangahar were from the Olahn territory, another hunter asked them, “Then you must know of Sosot, my daughter, who hunts with trod Kuro?”

  “I do.” It was Gangahar who answered her. Sosot was well-known to him. He, in fact, had hunted with her for many seasons before leaving the plains. “But she hunts with trod Kuro no more. She has her own trod in the Pok forest.”

  “Wonderful,” the old hunter grinned toothily, then added, “I once hunted with Kuro myself. I knew your mother well, Gangahar. Come to my burrow tonight and we will talk of the past.”

  He bowed his head respectfully. “I’d like that.”

  “First they must speak with Megog,” Krugjon interrupted.

  So while everyone went off together, talking, laughing, trying to see what they could learn, news of the Iranha soon spread throughout the trod. After hearing what happened their voices died so low that the listeners’ teeth were clicking together uncontrollably.

  They were only beginning to be afraid.

  Word soon reached Megog that the strangers were coming. But she was not well at all today and had retired to her burrow to rest. When she was first awakened from her deep sleep and told of these new arrivals she angrily chastised her attendants and ordered them away. But something one of them told her changed her mind.

  “A white-skinned hunter? She is here, in our burrow?”

  When told that she was, Megog stirred sluggishly; she sent an advance message instructing the trod to prepare for her presence.

  After struggling through the tunnel, Megog’s aides escorted her into the central chamber where the hushed audience was already waiting. Fresh meat and a skin bag containing water were placed in front of her. She shunned the meat, though did lap up some of the water before ordering everything removed. Megog looked at all of the silent faces, knew that they were watching and worrying.

  “I heard there were strangers among us.”

  “I am no stranger,” a familiar voice answered her.

  “Then come forward and name yourself.”

  His toothy smile was sufficiently enough for her to remember his face. “Krugjon.” Megog’s eyes shifted beyond him. “And what of Mako?”

  In the meantime Horhon stood watching from behind a cluster of hunters, hoping to see if Megog could recognize her, though she doubted that the two of them could have possibly shared the same dreams.

  “Such tragic news,” Megog said sadly after Krugjon was through speaking. “Your burrow mate dead, so terrible. When my daughter left us I wished her a long life. May she have died well.” The trod answered this with a resounding growl of consonance. “Of course you and your family are welcome to stay with us as long as you like.”

  “I thank you.” He nodded gratefully then stepped back into the circle.

  Gangahar decided it was his turn to speak but Megog rudely cut him off in mid-sentence. “Where is this white hunter? Come out and let me see you.”

  “I am here.”

  The instant Horhon appeared the old hunter gasped, so great was her shock. “This strange one who is before me. Remain here. Now leave us,” she ordered the others. “I will speak with her alone.”

  It was an unusual request yet one that the hunters instantly obeyed. When the chamber was once more silent Megog crooked her head. “Come closer.”

  Horhon could not disobey, for this was a hunter of considerable age and importance, one who commanded those around her just by her mere presence. As Krugjon had said, she was indeed very old. Megog’s face was thin and gaunt. Most of her teeth had fallen out, her bones showing through her thin hide. Part of her tail was missing, but she had held up well for most of her long life.

  “Yes,” Megog hissed slowly, screwing up her eyes to see her. “Yes, it is you. Come closer.” Placing her trembling fingers on Horhon’s shoulder she pulled her down. “Long ago I dreamed of a white hunter. Are you the hunter who can bring the light of day into darkness? Are you that same one?”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” Clapping both hands together she shouted for her attendants. “Go outside. Bring me dead wood. As much as you can carry.” Horhon knew exactly what the old hunter wanted her to do, and so now as they piled the sticks before her, Megog waved her hand and said, “This skill that only you possess. Demonstrate it.”

  It did not take her very long to bring up the fire, and as the white smoke cloud rose and filled up the chamber the curious onlookers gasped in horror and fled away into the tunnels. Only Megog remained in her place.

  “Does this thing have a name?” she asked curiously.

  “Fire,” Horhon told her.

  “Fire.” She repeated the word twice, poking the flames with her finger tips and drawing them out quickly. “It is very hot, this fire.”

  “Have you never seen fire before?”

  “Once, perhaps, a long time ago.” Then she asked, “Does it eat what it is given?”

  “Yes,” Horhon replied.

  Megog leaned forward; she was thinking. “Everything?”

  “I guess so.”

  “An important bit of knowledge to possess, don’t you think?”

  But Horhon disagreed. “Your hunters already laugh behind my back. Others will too.”

  “So you should laugh at them. You can do what they cannot.” Again she rested her hand on Horhon’s shoulder. “Now we must talk of more important matters concerning the future of our people.”

  Horhon said humbly, “It is a great honor to serve you. But how can I, the lowest among your trod, help one who is highest?”

  “Something has happened. Something that will change everything.” Megog’s gaze moved downward. “You are pregnant,” she told her matter-of-factly.

  Her expression changed instantly. How could she have known about that? She was not dismayed, only surprised, shocked. “Why yes,” she admitted.

  “Just as I thought.” Megog continued to stare in amazement. “Do you know what this means?”

  She didn’t, but even while Horhon was trying to fit the pieces together, Megog went on, telling her, “Your world is in the Olahn territory where few of us have ever ventured that far from our home here. The Un desert divides us so we live apart, but we are still the same people. There are many other such places in the world where we Egris are separated, yet we have an enemy common to all.”

  “The Iranha,” Horhon growled through her clenched teeth.

  “The Iranha, yes. You seem to think of little else.”

  “I hate them.”

  Megog nodded. “And so you should. They are the killers of Egris. I foresaw their kind long ago, knew that they would come here, taking home with them their cargo of death. Our world is not theirs to have, so they learned to hate us long before we hated them. It is our total and complete annihilation that they plan, every Egris dead, or so that is what they want. Thoughts of these despicable creatures fill my dreams, day and night. I have spoken of this to those few who could understand, for it is difficult to carry such a terrible burden all of these years.”

  “I understand.”

  “Some of it. And now I will tell you more.” She wheezed, then coughed long and deep in her chest, her voice dropping so low that Horhon was just barely able to make out her words. “I am very old. It is a good thing to die old. Before me, Mogul was leader. He too was very old. He has since died. Now I look forward to death, to be with him, and those who have gone before me. But know that there are many hunters who will no longer have that choice. Now wherever there is death these Iranha creatures are certain to be there.”

  While Horhon listened in silence she was greatly impressed with Megog’s immense knowledge, especially her keen awareness of the Iranha. No other hunter had spoken with such vehemence. And it wa
s a great relief to know that someone else shared these same thoughts. More importantly though, Megog’s information provided new insight into her own situation, the things that were yet to happen, and so she was careful to remember every detail.

  “How long have you possessed this knowledge of the Iranha?” Horhon asked her.

  “Too many years ago to remember. Or perhaps I have always had it. Anyway I have known about them for a very long time.”

  Horhon was getting ready to speak again. Megog spoke first. “We Egris, the Iranha, all are inextricably linked to one thing, Horhon. Your child.”

  “My . . .” Her eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Do you doubt what I tell you?”

  “If you say so then it must be true, for it is my belief that you can look into the future and see many things.”

  “This one could not have come to you in a natural way. He is so different.”

  “Then you have seen him?”

  She nodded. “The child who is not a child. The one who is Egris but who is not Egris.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her interrogative only strengthened Megog’s temper. “You have no appreciation or understanding of what I have just told you, do you?”

  “Only the tiniest bit,” Horhon admitted. “Maybe it is better if I did not know the reason why this has happened to me.”

  “It is better to know the truth than to be ignorant and die for nothing,” she replied testily. “Now pay attention. It is our age alone that separates us. Do not doubt your own abilities. You have already made good use of them, have you not?”

  “I have, but only to escape the Iranha.”

  “And so you are here now. Safe.”

  Horhon, as usual, was cynical. “The Iranha will come here too. There is no place to hide where we cannot be found.”

  “Then you had better start thinking of ways to protect this life within you. Because without him, there is no future at all. No hope whatsoever. Growing within you is the very future itself.” Megog poked an angry finger into Horhon’s abdomen. “Many will die so that this one will live. If need be, are you willing to die for him too, Horhon?”