Two years had passed since the conversation with my father, and no further run-ins with Bratar had occurred. The ceremonial tent was still off limits and I continued to get sour looks from some tribal members, mostly those friendly to Bratar. My training continued, but my father told me it would soon end, for I had learned all he had to teach me.
One morning, a commotion woke me from a spotty, dreamless sleep. I glanced around our tent and saw that Nanki still slept, breathing uneasily, as he often did now. In silence, I slipped out to investigate the disturbance. Hoarse voices spoke in excited tones of a deadly encounter with a can-rak prowling the distant hills. A hunting party on an early drive had come upon the snarling beast ripping to shreds the carcass of a freshly killed porse. The can-rak challenged the small party by charging into its midst, and before anyone could react, had seized a hunter’s arm in its powerful jaws and torn it completely off. Blood pulsed unabated from the stump and the ghastly red gore had sprayed over the others. As their comrade died in gruesome agony, the remaining hunters chased after the beast, which had grabbed the porse and fled into a nearby forest. Unable to keep up with the swift can-rak, the hunters returned to their slain companion, Gorsek, and retrieved his remains.
Later that day, on the flat top of a low hill that overlooked the Raso, Gorsek’s body lay upon a wooden platform, wrapped head to toe in an oil-soaked fabric. Stacked beneath the stand were numerous bundles of dried bennawood, also soaked in oil. The entire tribe gathered on the hill in a semi-circle, standing a respectful distance from the funereal structure. I watched as my father solemnly approached the platform, followed by Gorsek’s wife and their two young children. As a drummer beat a slow, melancholy rhythm, Nanki began a low chanting. Waving a smoking handful of sargrass, he blessed the departed soul of the late hunter. Each child then tossed a small bone from a can-rak’s foot onto the bier. This ritual was to ensure that the can-rak could not pursue Gorsek into the afterlife; without all its foot bones, pursuit by the beast would be impossible. Gorsek’s wife then approached the bundles with a stoic expression and lit them with a burning twig. The fire licked with eager hunger at the oiled stacks, dirty smoke billowed, and flames soon engulfed the platform. Gorsek’s wife and children watched, and then began to sob as the fire enveloped the body. They were still there, I suspected, long after I had left the scene, still watching as the body turned to ash.
Whenever death takes a tribal member, I find myself contemplating what comes next. The body of Gorsek departs, but what becomes of his essence? Tribal doctrine informs us that the sun god judges our life’s value when we pass through the portal, and one could either find oneself in Mimnon with Ra-ta or down in the black waters of Fuld to drown forever. Do I believe this? It is hard to say, for no one has ever returned to verify these beliefs, and our information sources in the spirit world are often cryptic or closemouthed about what goes on there. The only way to know is to go, but I have no desire to join Gorsek in exploring that mysterious realm anytime soon.
The hunt for the can-rak would begin in earnest the next day. I knew excitement and anticipation roiled within each hunter’s mind and stomach, for this animal was unlike any other. Though rarely sighted, this creature had shown from previous encounters that it could present an unparalleled test for a tribesman desiring to stake his claim to superiority among his peers. The can-rak was a fearsome predator, as quick and vicious as a burn from a hot coal, and unafraid of puny humans—as the unfortunate Gorsek had discovered. To kill one was the ultimate dream of all warriors. In our tribe only one hunter currently living, the great Semral, could boast to having single-handedly slain a can-rak.
On the day of the hunt I rose early. Ra-ta had not yet crested the eastern peaks of the Kodor range when I sneaked from the tent where Nanki fitfully slept. I headed south toward the nearest forest, which was some distance away from our encampment. The morning air was fresh and crisp and the thigh-high grass wet with dew. I took a deep breath, loving the sensation of cool air entering my lungs. The sky was cloudless, a perfect day to go can-rak hunting.
For, as unlikely as it seems, that was what I planned to do. I carried my spear and rik-ta, along with a small pouch for food and a skin full of water; it was all I needed. I headed for the forest of the last can-rak sighting, making steady progress. Dew soon soaked my sandals, causing them to squish with every step. Removing them, I hung them onto my spear tip and continued my journey barefoot. I knew I was well in front of the hunters who would follow, for I was certain they would not depart camp until after the performance of the pre-hunt ceremonies. My father would preside over that, and I felt sure he would wonder where I was. Well, he would know soon enough—when I returned with a can-rak paw.
I was being foolish, dangerously so, but over the years I had become aware of a wild and stubborn streak within me. My training competitions with Lillatta did not end until I won, as I refused to lose. I had to be better, smarter, stronger, and would not quit until I proved to Lillatta, and certainly to my father, that I was the best. Lucky for me, Lillatta was an even-tempered soul and my obsessions did not perturb her. In truth, I welcomed her teasing and good humor, for they kept me on an even keel and eased the tensions that tended to build up within me. My temper was no secret. My father struggled to get me to control its fire, to harness the flame and not let it spread wildly, burning others and me along with it. He had succeeded—somewhat. I still had my moments, but the discipline of my training as a shaman and warrior allowed me to pick how and when I would display this side of myself. My choice.
I did not ask Lillatta to join me on this quest for the can-rak. Her mother, who had wanted a male child and thus never showed much maternal interest in her, had died earlier in the year, leaving her an orphan. Her hunter father had passed on to Ra-ta’s realm when she was an infant, gored by the tusk of a spartok. Through the years, my father had essentially been a surrogate parent, and he and I had provided Lillatta her most consistent emotional support. Lately, however, she seemed to tire of all we represented—the secretiveness, the sneaking out to the forests, the endless training. Her listless approach caught the attention of Nanki and he told me to expect, someday, that Lillatta might stop coming altogether. Then, it happened. I missed her, but in the end it did not matter, for the training was nearing its end.
I knew what diversion had attracted Lillatta’s attention—boys. We were, after all, fourteen now, and acutely aware of the changes in our bodies and emotions. The red flow had come when both of us were thirteen. The elder women at once began pressuring us to find mates and start bearing children. Lillatta, it seemed, was keen on fulfilling her duties as a woman in our tradition. She had her sights set on a congenial young boy named Kalor, a Raab captured in a raid some years ago but now fully assimilated into our tribe.
Kalor had dark skin, a flat nose, and short black hair. The length was not natural to the Raab, who normally preferred shoulder-length locks, but I knew Lillatta favored it and had persuaded Kalor to cut his. I caught the two of them kissing behind a tent one day. As is her nature, Lillatta began to tease.
“You see, Sanny, there’s a lot more to life than going out in the woods and killing starfens.” Then she laughed, adding, “And Kalor tastes better, too.”
Lillatta’s candid talk about our secret forest activities in front of Kalor shocked me. I took her aside, out of Kalor’s hearing, and lit into her.
“What are you thinking? You can’t speak of these things in front of people. What if the wrong ears are listening?”
“Oh, don’t be such a worrier.”
Lillatta realized at once by my irritated look that I did not appreciate her cavalier dismissal of my concern. “I’m sorry, San. I forget myself sometimes when I’m with Kalor. Still, you do take this way too seriously. No one has discovered our secret, and it’s been years. But I promise I won’t let anything slip again.”
As exasperating as Lillatta could be, I was hap
py for her, and thought Kalor was a perfect fit. We would always be the best of friends, but it seemed our paths were diverging. Since I was seven my father had insisted I would inherit this great, though still unclear destiny to fulfill. There was no mention of Lillatta being part of that destiny, and I could envision a different life unfolding for her. I wanted to protect her, and maybe this naturally occurring distance between us was the best way. My father and I were on a dangerous path. Lillatta was wise to jump off and take another, a safer route, with Kalor.
As far as my relationships went, I found my feelings all jumbled up. I knew my hips had broadened and my breasts were no longer invisible, but I always laughed it off when Lillatta insisted the boys were taking notice. I had never had a problem communicating with boys when we were children, but something had changed. I admit I blushed the first time I became aware of the reason for their stares.
“Come over, Sanny, and talk to us,” one would say. I would always make some excuse that I needed to be somewhere else, doing something important.
“I have to go get firewood,” I would say, and the boys would groan and soon be chasing after someone more available. It was just that I felt so insecure. It was all very confusing. My father just laughed and said I was at that age, whatever that meant.
As I approached the forest of the can-rak sighting, a shadow passed over me. I glanced upward and was disheartened to see boiling, dark clouds spilling over the Kodor range in pursuit of Ra-ta. Soon they would overtake him and blot out his rays. Kaynar, son of Ra-ta, was trying to usurp his father’s kingdom. Ra-ta grumbled and I knew the tears of the sun god would soon fall. He was angry that the clouds had overtaken him and flashed his rays through the black mass, but could not make them disperse.
I would have to find shelter among the trees. I could feel the oppression of the rising humidity and the wind had picked up, so I knew the storm would not be gentle.
The trees in these parts, as in most of the areas we traveled, consisted of a variety of species. Wettle trees needed more room to grow and produce their fruit, so tended to disperse over rather open land that allowed plenty of access to the rays of Ra-ta. This forest, in contrast, was a kakkata forest, dense and with scattered undergrowth. The trees were of tremendous height, sporting massive trunks and numerous stout branches. These branches had flat green leaves of considerable size, many of them as broad as a man’s outstretched arms. They would provide more than sufficient protection against Ra-ta’s sorrow.
I slipped my now dry sandals back on, held my spearpoint low, and stepped into the gloom. The spongy forest carpet cushioned my feet as I walked among the giant trees. My nose caught the lush odor of decaying vegetation and my ears the squawking of a bird challenged by my sudden appearance. Scanning above, I glimpsed only gray slices of the sky, as the kakkata leaves blocked my view, but I could still hear the sun god’s grumbling. Then, I felt a touch on the top of my head and knew that Ra-ta’s tears had begun to fall. I searched a while longer as the spotty drops picked targets around me until I found a large kakkata with a generous overhang.
When I settled back against the kakkata’s smooth trunk, a whipping wind rattled the small leaves of a group of kansers nearby. Kansers were a much smaller companion tree of the kakkata and were often found in the same forests. As the wind bucked and rolled, a high kanser branch snapped with a sharp crack. The branch plummeted down, crashing to the ground with a whooshing sound not ten paces from my shelter. A red-footed starfen, which must have ridden the branch all the way down, leaped as it hit and disappeared into the underbrush.
The rain came not long afterward. It arrived in hard-driving veils, swirling about and pelting all exposed surfaces, but unable to reach me beneath my expansive leaf cover. I listened as Ra-ta and Kaynar fought their battle, seeing the angry flash of Ra-ta’s light seeking a permanent opening through Kaynar’s clouds, and hearing his sharp shouts of anguish when defeated in that aim.
As I waited out the storm, I grew hungry. I pulled a wettle fruit from my pouch, split it in half and chewed on the pulp. I listened to the rain for a while, swatted a couple of insects, got up to stretch and relieve myself, and then settled back down.
A movement to my left caught my attention. The starfen that had fallen with the kanser branch was back, rustling for something in the ferns several paces away. An idea came to me. I checked the bones in the bracelet on my wrist—sure enough, a starfen’s was among them. I touched the bone, glanced over at the starfen, and said, “Come to me.”
To my amazement, the creature dashed right over. It looked up, directly into my eyes, obviously anticipating a further command. It was almost creepy the way he just sat there, waiting and staring. Not knowing what else to say, I said, “You can go,” and like that the rodent was back rustling in the ferns.
Wow! I was going to have to study this ability further. That was fantastic!
As I continued to wait out the storm, my thoughts drifted to the can-rak. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if this was a fool’s errand. What chance did I stand against this fearsome beast, this tearer of limbs, this devourer of flesh? The great hunter Semral had told my father the story of his can-rak encounter, and Semral's humble account had impressed me. Semral insisted his battle with the can-rak had been quick, with only his reflexes saving him that day.
The carnivore had been devouring a fresh kill of a sartel buck when Semral stumbled alone out of a stand of bennawood. He found himself staring in horror at the can-rak’s broad, sinewy back as it fed on the sartel’s carcass. He watched, unmoving, as its ripping jaws tore a large chunk from the animal’s flesh. The hunter knew he had two choices, neither of them favorable to him. His first option would be to turn and flee. The monster would hear or smell him, no doubt chase him down, and he would die a disgraceful coward’s death. His second option was to face this nightmare. He could still anticipate the shredding of his body into bloody strips of flesh, but he would die a preferable hero’s death, the kind all warriors envision. The problem was, with no one to bear witness, who would know the difference, for the grisly outcome would be the same.
The green-skinned beast made the decision for him. It caught Semral’s scent and roared a bowel-loosening challenge. In a flash, it swung to face the intruder, rising on its two hind legs as it completed its turn. A massive paw swung toward Semral with murderous intent. Its long, razor claws reached out to cleave the hunter’s head from his shoulders. Semral froze, but then his hunting instincts kicked in. He shoved his spear forward in a defensive move, seeking only to distract the creature. Somehow, by the grace of Ra-ta, the point caught the can-rak directly in the heart. The beast’s swiping paw immediately changed direction as the enraged animal shrieked and clawed at the killing stick protruding from its chest. The can-rak’s flailing knocked Semral backwards, and from his seat on the ground the shaken hunter watched as moments later the fearsome beast collapsed and breathed its last.
The rain continued to fall as I contemplated the wisdom of confronting this formidable animal. The boredom of waiting, and the soothing rhythm of the rain tapping the leaves, made me drowsy. How long I dozed, I do not know. I awoke when a blood-curdling cry reached through the sleep haze to pierce my consciousness. Leaping to my feet, I was instantly aware that the skies had cleared and that the rays of Rata were penetrating the forest gloom. Whatever made that sound was close. I peered around me, anxious, seeking a direction to focus upon. My stomach churned and sweat dampened my brow. Had I just heard a can-rak? I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. My stomach felt tight.
Was I afraid? No. Surprisingly, no. Despite the stomach discomfort, which seemed more related to the recently eaten wettle fruit, I felt remarkably calm. My senses were alert, and though my brain raced, my thoughts were clear. My heartbeat felt slightly elevated but was already steadying. My years of training at the hands of my father kicked in a
nd I began breathing in a regular rhythm, a shamanic tool to relax and focus. I loosely gripped the shaft of my spear and tightly sheathed my rik-ta. I was ready for whatever was out there.
A thought came to me. I should climb. I should get into these trees and from high above move undetected to discover what threat disturbed the forest calm. I would have to leave my spear and sandals, along with the food and water. I would come back for them once I determined the source of the shriek. The cry had not repeated, but I was now certain it had come from the south.
I grasped the lowest limb I could reach and pulled myself up by sheer arm strength. My sleeveless tunic was perfect for climbing, riding well above the knees, allowing free movement with no loose attachments to catch on branches. I heard the cry again, definitely from the south, this time much farther away. With the agility gained from years of practice, I maneuvered higher into the kakkata, and then with deliberate moves proceeded to leap from one rain-slicked branch to another, some as thick as a man’s torso. In this way, I advanced from tree to tree, always heading south. The cry came again, a lot closer and with a piercing intensity. Then, I heard a sickening sound, a sound I had never heard before.
It was the sound of men screaming.
**
~~FIVE~~