The Hunt

The Hunter had been perched in the tree for over four hours now. Her breathing and heart rate had slowed to a crawl. She no longer felt discomfort in the muscles of her arms and legs as she clung from a high branch which afforded her an unobstructed view of the forest. The brown of her skin blended with the bark of the tree, camouflaging her. Twice, travelers had come along this path in the Abidan Forest, walking right under her, unaware. She could have easily dropped from the branch, ending their lives before their brains even had a chance to register something had happened. But they weren't her prey. Not this evening.

Several minutes ago she had become aware of something crawling on her hand. A spider. She could tell by it's touch; she didn't have to look at it. It had moved up her arm and down her chest. She didn't bother it. She often experienced the feeling of millions of insects crawling on and under her skin during bad periods of withdrawal. The touch of one spider was hardly noticeable.

She'd forced herself to go through the pain of the withdrawal, almost three days, in preparation for the Hunt. She needed her senses and reflexes in peak form. But without the kuerache, the other Pain had crept back to torment her, to remind her of the injuries she'd suffered in the city of Dalo years ago. An ambush during a mercenary operation had left her with her spine shattered. She was lucky to escape with her life. The Burungi shaman who'd tended to her had managed to repair the nerves and muscles in her back but was unable to relieve her of the constant, excruciating pain. Reluctantly, he gave her the keurache to finally quiet her screams of agony, knowing that her injuries were such that the Pain would likely continue throughout her lifetime.

The spider continued to trek across her body, stopping now at her knee. She remained still, staring down at the path. Dusk was beginning to set in. She didn't mind the dark. Her pupils no longer dilated and the brown of her eyes had been coated over with an opaque, grayish film, one of the telltale signs of advanced addiction. She seldom blinked, only once every few minutes.

There was a sudden rustling in the bushes off to the left of the path. Although there was no perceptible movement in her body, the Hunter's muscles had coiled up like a spring, preparing for action. Something was running this way. She waited. Moments later, a medium sized animal exploded from the bushes and darted across the path. It moved so fast she was unable to tell what it was. She tracked it with her eyes. It was prey, but not her prey. She waited to see what was chasing it. Seconds later, a large cat-like creature burst from the same spot in pursuit. She relaxed. Although the cat would have made for a nice kill, it wasn't the creature she was hunting.

She was here for bigger game. Every year or so she would travel to the forest to hunt emyr. The huge bear-like creatures were fast and vicious and nearly impossible to track. It was good sport. To kill one and return its hide always earned her considerable recognition as a Hunter. Not that her standing wasn't already solidified. Her name was legendary across most of the Northern Territories. Even rumors of her addiction didn't quell the status of her reputation.

The spider was now crawling back toward her face. She allowed it to walk over her collarbone and then across her neck. It paused there, just over her throbbing jugular. She didn't know what species of spider it was, whether it was poisonous. She didn't care. It continued around her cheekbone and over her ear, finally disappearing into the long braids of her hair.

Twenty minutes later the sun dropped out of sight. The first moon had already risen, the second would be following it shortly. A faint noise caught her attention and she look off to the left of the path. Nothing. Still, she had the sense that something had been moving. She focused her attention in the direction of the noise. No other sounds came. But something else was different now. She detected a smell riding on the breeze, almost undetectable through the scent of vegetation and earth. An animal smell. She heard another noise, this time behind her.

Her muscles tensed again, this time in alarm. She remained still, though, not yet willing to give up her position. A sound came again, this time on her right. She turned her head slowly and looked that way. Moonlight flashed off of something close by. Something metallic. A weapon? There should have been nothing metal in this part of the forest besides her own weapons.

Something was circling her position. Stalking her! Did it already know where she was? Was it down there on the ground right now, training a weapon on her? She decided immediately not to take the chance. Moving with sudden swiftness, she grabbed the branch she was hanging from, swung her legs over, twisted and dropped the twenty feet to the ground.

She landed, rolled and began sprinting south through the brush. She could sense a presence off to her right, tracking her, keeping pace with her, although moving just as silently as she was. This was no animal. Certainly not the emyr she'd traveled here to hunt. Her muscles screamed at being used so suddenly and so fiercely after so many hours of sitting motionless in the tree.

She leaped over a downed tree trunk and hunkered behind it, unslinging the bow from behind her back, waiting to pinpoint the location of her pursuer. Whatever it was, it had stopped too but she knew it was still behind her. She readied an arrow and waited. Nothing. Her pursuer was not foolish enough to reveal its location. Her instincts yelled at her that she was being watched though she could not tell from what direction. She had to move. Get out of the forest in into the clearing by the river. She had to continue south.

Taking a deep breath she scooted away from the cover of the tree trunk and prepared to bolt. A sharp whistle preceded the sound of a dart thunking into the wood behind her. She leaped, rolled and dashed away, zig zagging through the bushes. Thorns cut her arms and legs but she ignored. She needed to get to some kind of vantage point in a hurry. If she could elude her pursuer long enough to identify it and mark it she would be able to kill it with little to no effort. Still she was confused. Carelessness had not led to her becoming prey. She was being hunted by an intelligent creature. There was no telling how long she'd been marked. Though her curiosity was peaked she knew she would kill it before any questions were asked. Her sense of self-preservation overruled all else.

She continued to run until she was certain nothing was following her. The banks of the river were just ahead. She was breathing hard and the Pain was beginning to creep back. She willed it away and emerged from the black of the forest onto the moonlit banks of the river. She stood there thinking . She'd managed to outpace her pursuer but she wouldn't go undiscovered for long. Should she hide in the water? Climb another tree?

She decided to cross the river and wait on the other side. Where ever her pursuer emerged from the woods she would be able to see it and mark it. She plunged into the icy water and swam across, unhindered by the weight of the bow and the knife in her belt. Her only worries were that her pursuer would reach the bank before she got across. That would destroy her whole plan. Finally she reached the far bank and ducked behind a large rock, shaking water from her braids. She readied her bow again and waited, her eyes roving back and forth over the shores of the opposite bank. Once again, she was the Hunter, no longer the prey.

Soon enough, she saw motion on the other bank and a figure moved from the darkness of the woods and into the soft moonlight. It was a man. Tall, naked to the waist, his black skin shining almost blue in the reflected light. Stuck into his belt was a knife. She realized it was the glint of the knife that had alerted her to his presence in the first place. Careless of him. She shifted slightly to get a better angle with the bow. She would drop him before he had a chance to duck for cover.

The man walked a few paces toward the water and stopped, his eyes scanning the far bank much the same way hers' had done. She hesitated. What was he doing? Why was he just standing in the open like that? Especially after all the stealth he'd exercised tracking her in the tree?

The bow wavered slightly but she kept it aimed right at his heart. Then, the man actually sat down on the ground and crossed his legs as if meditating! Utterly confused, she relaxed her grip on the bow. Why had he stalked her in the tree, chased her through the woods, fired a dart at her, only to sit down on the ground as if waiting to be struck down? Did he think he had lost her? That she had just run for safety without even looking back? Anger flashed in her. Did he so disregard her skills as a Hunter that he would sit out in the open as if she wouldn't kill him?

It occurred to her that this man must know who she was. Why else would he be here? Was this some sort of game? His idea of sport? Soon she understood he was waiting for her to show herself; to make a move. Cocky. Foolish. She would kill him for the disrespect alone. She waited, calming herself. She'd hung from a tree for over four hours; squatting behind this rock was nothing. She would not show herself. She would not play his game.

Time passed and the man still did not move. His eyes were slitted and he barely seemed to be breathing. The Hunter had been watching him now for several minutes without blinking. She still held the bow in her hands but kept it pointing at the ground. Her eyes began to itch. She closed them for a second to apply some moisture. When she opened them again he was gone.

She looked around, alarmed. How had he just disappeared? Impossible! She raised the bow but didn't know where to aim. What was going on? She sensed a presence behind her and whirled around. There he was, not ten feet away! She let fly with an arrow but surprise had affected her aim. He dodged slightly to the side and the arrow flew past his face, slicing his cheek. She had no time to load another. She dropped her bow and went for her knife, pushing her heel into the dirt and leaping backward. The man had something in his hand and put it to his mouth. There was a whistling sound and a dart pierced the skin of her neck.

She rolled away, pulling the dart from her flesh and wondering frantically how all this had happened so suddenly. She had her knife in one hand and rolled into a crouching position, judging what her next move should be. The man just stood there, a satisfied look on his face. Poisoned! she thought. He's poisoned me! How long before whatever it was took effect? Dammit! How had she let this happen? She would kill him before he could claim her as a hostage, or worse, a trophy.

Growling, she pounced at him, intending to bury the knife in his throat. He sidestepped her and grabbed her wrist, spinning her around. She stumbled and hit the ground, realizing whatever was on the dart was already taking effect. Her reactions had slowed and her brain felt foggy. She got back to her feet and turned to face him. He was backing away from her.

She felt numbness traveling through her extremities and realized, with a start that the feeling was familiar. The numbness, the light headedness . . . Kuerache! But she never felt the effects this quickly, not even when she smoked it as opposed to chewing it. He'd coated his dart with a concentrated extract. But why?

She stared up at him, her lids getting heavy. He seemed to present no more threat. "Who are you?" Her voice was weak.

He didn't respond to her question, just stepped forward and took the knife from her hand. She offered no resistance. He dropped the knife to the ground and held her hand kneeling in front of her. His beard was thick, yet tapered, his head shaved, face handsome. Blood trickled down his cheek where her arrow had sliced him. She stared at the skin of his hand, several shades darker than her own coffee color. Then she saw the tattoos on his arms, interlocking symbols that she recognized. Desha Tribe. But that was impossible. The Deshas had been extinct for over a generation.

"I have to say, catching you was much easier than I thought," he said, his voice soft and melodic.

Angered, she pulled her hand away. "Tricked . . ." she said, remembering his disappearing act at the riverbank. "How . . .?"

"Just a technique I've learned to apply. You were focusing all your energy watching me sit there on that bank; not blinking, almost in a trance. I could feel it. And I shared it. I sent it back to you. I used that energy to make it so that you continued to see what you wanted to see, even while I crossed the river and came up behind you. It's not a difficult process. The elders of my tribe had studied it for generations." He chuckled. "If you hadn't been so intent on watching me, I wouldn't have been able to do it. Ironic . . . The skills that make you a formidable Hunter are also the ones that proved to be you weakness."

She didn't understand. Projecting images of himself; confusing her senses. Was he a wizard? If so, why was he hunting her? What did he want? She asked. "Why?"

"Because, it's a chance to best a legend. I've heard tales of you for years. The way you recovered after that incident in Dalo. Many people didn't think you'd live but you did. And you became an even deadlier version of you former self. Always victorious . . . never defeated."

He reached and grabbed her hand again, this time caressing it tenderly. She collapsed to one elbow, unable to keep herself upright. The keurache was speeding through her bloodstream now. All she wanted was to lay down and let the euphoria take her. Her skin tingled where he held her. The pleasure centers of her brain were kicking in now, the pain disappearing.

She stared up at the Deshan. He wouldn't kill her. He just wanted fame. To be able to say he'd bested the legendary Hunter. And could she begrudge him? He had. Although tricks and sorcery had been used instead of actual hunting skills. Perhaps she should take it as a compliment. He still had been unable to take her on her own terms.

"Sad," he said, looking down at her. "I'd hoped that the stories about the keurache weren't true. Once your eyes become clouded there is no escape. Only death. Perhaps killing you now would be an act of mercy. You know the fate that waits for you."

He was right. She thought of the Pain that lurked in her body constantly, sometimes dull; all too often, unbearable. She hated that she had become a slave to the keurache, cursed that Burungi shaman for dooming her to this existence.

All of a sudden, she realized that she was weary. Weary of the Pain. Weary of the keurache. Weary of the Hunt. She'd already vowed to die on the hunting ground rather than waste away in one of the keurache dens. And better to die at the hands of a worthy foe. "Kill me, then."

He released her hand and went for a pouch on his belt. She watched him, heavy lidded, and waited to see what sort of instrument he would use to take her life. Instead of a weapon, he withdrew a long metal rod with a flat, carved glyph on one end. He held the rod in one hand and waved the other over it, mumbling some sort of incantation, his brow furrowed in concentration. As the rod began heat up and glow red, she realized what he intended to do. She pulled herself out of her stupor and tried to crawl away but he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her back toward him.

"NO!" She may have been willing to lay down her life on the hunting grounds but she would not let him brand her!

"I'm not going to kill you," he said, gripping her ankle, his palm scaldingly hot. "But I will leave my mark on you."

Fear and desperation flooded her, momentarily overpowering the effect of the drug. She kicked at his hand, knocking the rod away. He grabbed her other ankle, this hand shockingly cool compared to the other one. She wrenched her ankle out of his grip and kicked him. He was surprised by the viciousness of her attack, expecting her to be completely narcotized by now. What he didn't know, and probably hadn't bothered to research during his planning, was how much of the keurache she could consume and still keep her faculties. The dose in the dart had been potent but not nearly as much as she had been known to ingest in one sitting. His mistake would cost him.

She yanked her other leg free and kicked him again. Her knife was still on the ground between them. She snatched it up and lunged at him, aiming the blade at his throat. He countered her, twisting his body to the left, moving just fast enough to save his life but not enough to avoid the blade completely; he rolled away, missing a small piece of his earlobe.

The Hunter got to her feet, the familiar bloodlust returning, her moment of weakness just moments ago forgotten. The Deshan had rolled to one knee and was grinning up at her, ignoring the blood trickling from his ear.

"So," he said, unsheathing his knife. "Am I about to meet the true Hunter, then?"

"Yes," she said, bluntly. "Unfortunately." No one who had met the true Hunter had lived to tell the tale. This Desha would be no exception. He made a move as if to attack but feinted to his right instead, trying to throw her off balance. She anticipated his move and dove to her right, striking out with the blade, trying to find an opening in his ribcage where she could plunge it into his heart. She missed. Didn't even touch him. He was fast. Almost as fast as her.

He attacked then and she blocked him, though not as easily as she should have; the drug was still slowing her reactions. She admitted to herself that even if she were in peak form he still would have been a match for her. The half smirk never left his face. He was enjoying himself. She realized that she was too. The combat had excited her, much the same way the Hunt excited her. They circled one another in the moonlight, sweating. Neither of them had inflicted wounds yet, just a series of attacks and counter-attacks. She found herself beginning to respect his skills as a warrior. She now felt it was a shame that she would have to kill him.

Her senses suddenly became very aware of her surroundings. Gaenor, the largest moon was now high in the sky, while Gamaliel-her smaller sister-was rising in the east, their combined light reflecting brilliantly off the river. Nocturnal birds whoo'd and chirped in the trees. She could smell the sweat of her opponent, pungent and musky, mingled with the scent of his blood.

While she waited for him to make his next move, he did something totally unexpected. He straightened up, backed away and tossed his knife into the grass. Her confusion showed on her face.

"I said before I don't intend to kill you."

"I guess that's your weakness, then."

He laughed. "No, but I thought I would throw down my weapon. Even the odds for you a little bit."

The Hunter gritted her teeth, furious. No one had ever talked to her like that! She'd had enough of his insults. She threw her knife aside; she was not afraid of hand-to-hand combat. They faced each other, unarmed. The Deshan was larger than her but that meant nothing. She was not intimidated but she would not attack first.

Then, with blinding quickness, he dashed forward and grabbed her arms. She crouched and twisted, using his size and momentum against him, throwing him off balance and flipping him onto his shoulder. He rolled, got to his feet and sprang at her again, this time getting his arms around her waist. She captured his neck in the crook of her arm and applied pressure, cutting of his air supply. He lowered one arm and grabbed her leg, toppling them both onto the ground.