To Save a World Ch. 06

'Pretty sentiments,' Trasnu thought, 'For one so afraid -- and yet so eager for -- death.'

He hefted the dagger in his right hand, and made the first move.

Trasnu sheathed the blade on the strip of cloth tied to his waist, and then picked up the bow and arrows from the ground. He drew and fired in one single motion and then just kept on firing until all five of his arrows were no more. Trasnu was aiming for its eyes, but only one found itself on its face, beside its muzzle, while three were scattered across its upper torso. One arrow missed.

The reaction was instantaneous. The creature exploded in anger, a mountain of flesh, muscle and claws bearing down on him with a mighty roar. He leapt backward from a powerful swipe, and then nimbly danced way to the right as the bear corrected and snapped up another clawed slash. He grabbed his spear along the way.

One would think that the hulking beast would be slow and ponderous, but it was impossibly swift. A moment's delay would have cost him a huge chunk of missing flesh. More than that, the animal could bend and turn in ways that two legged creatures simply can't. The beast roared its fury at the nimble beastman, and then leapt at him with paws flashing. A mountain of monstrous flesh surged towards him.

His battle instincts saved him. No room to think, he visualized the actions that Aaron had taken amidst the blind charge of the cursed monster -- he lifted up his spear and thrust it at the oncoming creature. A surge of relief swept through him as his arms felt the solid impact travel up his arms.

And then the bear swiped both of its paws at the spear, disintegrating it with barely a thought.

He managed to dodge from the charge at the very last second, but it wasn't enough. The oncoming animal clipped his side as it went past. It felt like the spirits of the earth tore a side of a great mountain and slapped him with it. He spun and went to the ground.

Once again, pure instinct saved him. He bounded to his feet the moment he hit the ground, and leapt backwards blindly -- a split second later the bear's paws were pounding away at the very spot he was lying on. The broken head of a spear jutted out from just below its neck, a little bit of dark blood running along it to drip to the forest floor. It was barely fazed. If anything, the bear merely grunted its annoyance.

Trasnu breathed to calm his pounding heart. This was a test -- to see if all his preparations amounted to anything. He'd lost his wife, his home, was enslaved, and made it through the deep wilderness of the Great Forest. Yet he was dying from a small wound. He had to know if he could do this, if his training and learning and changed him at all. If he couldn't defeat this bear, he might as well just die right here.

The animal raged, furious at the inefficacy of its attacks. It lunged, the movement like a great wave of darkness bearing upon him, razor-sharp fangs flashing. Trasnu used his whole body to dodge to the side, but it wasn't enough. The bear's vicious claws clipped him on the shoulder, almost throwing him to the ground.

Trasnu's heart missed a beat. The bear had feinted.

Despite its obvious fury, it had predicted his movements and displayed careful thought. Suddenly, the game has changed. Trasnu focus on his defense, leaping away and weaving through the bear's powerful but straightforward attacks. This wasn't a stupid creature of instincts, it was a thinking, planning, dangerous predator.

He should have expected it, of course. This deep in the forest, the accumulated magical energy -- untouched by humans and other harvesting sentient Beings -- did strange things to the environment. It made plants grow abundantly even with little sunlight. It blessed and charged a pack of wolves to become guardians of its realm. It cursed a boar that could not take its power.

It made a mighty bear faster, stronger, and smarter.

Trasnu's back had suddenly hit something solid, and with a drop of his guts he suddenly realized that the animal had cornered him into a giant tree. He wouldn't be able to back away anymore. 'Spirits of damnation' He cursed. The mass of fur and muscle did not even pause to gloat in its victory, rearing up and bringing both paws to bear.

Trasnu grunted, shifted something within himself. His blood sang, all of his senses were heightened, and the world around him moved a fraction of a second slower. Red hot fire blossomed in his guts, spitting and raging, barely controlled by years and years of practice. He had entered his battle rage.

The Old Hunter ducked and wove in under the bear's guard. He moved inhumanly fast, all of his being moved in seamless unity to escape sure death. He went past the swinging paws, under the torso, and then sideways -- and then he was out. He turned back to the bear, the animal turning to him as well but just a moment too late. Trasnu was already sailing into the air, aiming for the creature's back.

He landed, razor sharp claws digging in. The bear roared in mighty anger, the bellow of an angry god, and tried to swipe him with its paws. The hunter managed to dodge each and every one of them, his being centered to his paws and feet, claws digging into the rough fur for all he was worth as the world bucked and swayed violently underneath him. He managed to hold on with a deep, feral growl, lashing back with his fangs. Everything he could reach with his mouth, he bit and tore. The bear's ears became bloody stumps. The back of its skull was messy with opened fur and blood.

The metallic taste of draining life flooded Trasnu's mouth, combined with the earthy taste of the bear's fur. In every inhalation, he could scent the bear's mounting anger, furious that such a small creature would dare to harm him. Under his paws and feet, he could feel each vigorous flex of muscle, each shift of bone.

The beastman's heart soared. His blood boiled. He roared for himself, the sound of fury and of killing, of fear and defiance -- the sound of life.

Suddenly, the bear reared. Trasnu heard the thud before he felt it -- the bear had slammed him up against a tree. It did again with a great roar, the impact felt to Trasnu like he was crushed between two mountains. He tried to hold on -- but while adjusting his grip the third impact followed, hitting him solidly on the back, effectively dislodging him from the creature's back. He fell to the ground.

The bear swiped at him, and this time Trasnu had no recourse. He took the full brunt of the impact directly to his side, barely managing to pull a bicep so that it would break his arm instead of his ribs. But the force of the swipe was greater than he thought -- he sailed into the air some ten feet, his body rolling on the ground like a thrown rag doll.

He gasped, the pain slamming unto him. It was a sharp, white pain that came from everywhere. He could barely breathe, it felt like all movement caused agony.

Trasnu dug deeper into himself. His vision filled with red, his fur bristled. Sanity handed over the reins to pure instinct, his pains receded into the background as fury ran through his veins. He roared as he flipped back up to his feet. The humungous mass of pure, animalistic anger was charging straight at him, like a giant boulder rolling off a steep incline. Simply unstoppable.

The rational part of him would have leapt away -- but in his battledrunk state, rationality was not in control. He leapt.

Towards the charging beast.

Midair, the two bodies met. Trasnu should have been blown away, crushed into a pile of dead meat and bones, but while in the air he managed to grab hold of the creature. He twisted impossibly, lithe and limber beyond all measure, and shifted his center of gravity. Instead of flying away, he was now one with the creature's momentum. He twisted further. The world moved in slow motion, the air that passed by his enhanced ears was a different kind of deep, dull roar. Every fiber of muscle thrummed with power, and Trasnu felt them as they contracted and expanded to a unity of purpose.

His insane arc ended. He was now riding the beast once again, both legs astride the wildly bucking bear, as his paws dug once more into its skin.

The creature roared in insane fury, more than a little confused. This time though, it adjusted faster. It skidded to a halt, leaving a deep trench behind its paws, and used the momentum to buck its shoulders in an attempt to throw Trasnu off. He braced himself -- but then his right hand failed him. A glance told him that his shoulder was a mess of flapping muscles, even revealing the pinkish bone underneath in some places. The bear's paw had clipped him there, and he had forgotten it amidst his battlerage. He was dimly surprised that the impact hadn't simply taken the whole arm off.

Trasnu checked his magical reserves. He wasn't as versatile as Serche, or as any beastkin Shaman -- but what he lacked for versatility he made up for with reliability.

Battleraging was a type magic that was purely physical, mastered by the beastmen. From his understanding, it was more or less the same as a healing spell -- but more than using the body's innate strength to heal a wound or fix a broken bone, it also produced strength, speed, and acuity of mind. He counted on his magic's boost of his regenerative powers.

But then there was nothing. There was barely a trickle left.

'My cursed wound' Trasnu realized with horror. 'It has sapped me of my strength more than I have ever thought.'

The bear bucked again, and this time, Trasnu fell violently.

He growled as he fell, barely able to rise. Meanwhile, the bear huffed, hot breath puffing in its snout. It looked at him with hatred, its eyes full of the intent to kill. Trasnu was broken. His left arm was fractured, his right shoulder wounded to the bone. He barely had any magic left, and his battlerage was quickly dwindling, the pain he had managed to push back was slowly encroaching on the edges of his consciousness like frost upon a windowpane. He roared in impotent fury at the approaching predator.

This is it. He would die here spitting and snarling, biting and scratching to his very last breath. He lowered his posture. A terrible feral growl continually issued from his chest.

He'd have to apologize to those kids for his failure. He was too weak. He hadn't been able to change anything. One cannot rage against the storm. One cannot kill a bear twice your height and five times as big, with nothing but stone weapons and courage. No matter how much he made them train, or run, or climb.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, Trasnu chuckled. Oh how Aaron hated climbing.

And then he paused.

The rational part of him suddenly wrestled for a little bit of control. Battleraging is an art that required sacrifices, just like everything else. Reduction of pain, increased regeneration, additional strength and mental acuity came at the cost of decreased judgment, decreased rationality. Many a warrior hunter of the Clan has lost themselves to the rage, battling with nary a thought for tactic, devolving into predictable, animalistic attack patterns. Or else they submerged themselves too deep, burned too much magic at once, frying their brains so that they weren't able to come back. It took an awesome amount of training to instill combat techniques and knowledge into muscle memory, making restraint and basic judgment instinctual, not requiring thought.

He calmed his breathing, not completely giving up the rage but not completely out of it either. Skirting the tenuous line in between, Trasnu turned tail and ran.

He allowed his feet to guide him, trusting in his Ancestral Gift -- his Instinct. Desperate feet whished through the forest floor, even as he ran haphazardly it was second nature to him to leave as little trace of his passing as he could. He was a swift gust of wind in passing. The bear behind him, meanwhile, was a roaring landslide, tearing everything in its path.

Finally, he arrived. He looked up at the giant tree, his gut telling him that this was the one. One glance, and he could tell that it was truly massive. So much so that descriptions of size meant almost nothing to it -- the tree itself was like a whole different world.

Trasnu breathed deep and allowed himself to burn through the last handful of his energy, fully immersing himself in the fury of his magic. Red consumed his vision, his aches and pains vanished like a wisp of smoke in a windy day. Power thrummed in his blood, and every single fiber of his being worked as one.

To climb.

Wolves were not climbers. Neither really, were men. But beastfolk are different -- they were neither man nor beast. They were both, as one. They had the strength, ferocity and instinctual skill of wolves. They had the bull-headedness, flexibility and ingeniousness of the humans. And when the Sky Treader Clan, several hundred years ago, found themselves in the wilderness with its vast array of dangers, they brought all of these traits to bear. To survive.

And built their home upon the skies.

So Trasnu climbed. His instincts sought the barest bumps in the bark, the slightest indentations, the most hidden crevices. Fury propelled his muscles, his rage against life translating into another foot off the ground. He climbed till his lungs felt like they might give, till his damaged muscles might simply wither from the burning exhaustion. Risking a glance down, he saw something that made his heart still in dread. The bear, of course climbed up after him furiously. It was an incredible sight. It was almost as if the giant of a creature was merely loping at normal speeds, its huge body contracting and expanding like it was running vertically. It was steadily gaining on him. It roared mockingly, as if laughing at his decision to best it in this feat. From this distance, Trasnu could see the arrows and his spear, sticking out of its body like so many fragile twigs.

He knew, of course, that bears could climb. That wasn't why he was so afraid -- but for what would necessarily come next.

Trasnu climbed and climbed. Twenty feet off the ground -- then thirty, and then more. He climbed determinedly, without stopping, until he could barely breathe, until his limbs burned so much that he couldn't feel them anymore. Down, down, below, the ground became mind-bogglingly far. The bear was, in contrast, very close. One more step, and it would be able to pounce on him. His heart hammered. Fear almost made him lock in place.

But it wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all. He would not silently lie down and die.

He pushed himself off into nothingness.

For several seconds, there was only the dropping sensation deep in his guts -- the knowledge that there was nothing below you, that it was certain death if he couldn't... And then his claws latched on the bear's now familiar fur. His drop halted, his claws tearing, desperately clutching into his one chance of living through this. His fear he channeled into rage, and he began to truly tear into the beast's fur with his fangs.

Below him, the bear raged. And then it did the impossible -- both of its paws let go of the tree to banish the terrible, furious pain from behind. I didn't really think this would work, Trasnu thought hysterically, the coming seconds seemed like infinity. He pulled at fur, jostled the creature with his grip -- backwards. Into nothingness, once again.

Too late, the bear realized its mistake. It was already toppling ponderously.

And then Trasnu and the great bear was truly falling down, down, down.

It took his breath away -- the sheer, unadulterated terror of the fall. His mind has no fury, has no rage, the blood in his veins which until several seconds ago was boiling now froze solid. His jaws opened in a scream, yet no sound came from his mouth but a choking, gasping, fear. His wife's smile flashed before his eyes -- decades ago, yet so fresh in his memory; her boisterous, genuine laughter, their transcendent lovemaking. "The best fur coat in all of the Clan!" She had boasted so often, and for him it was true. Her fur was the smoothest silk, the gentlest, purest spring, the most beautiful moon. It seems he would be able to caress it again, soon.

And then he thought of his charges, of Serche and little Lydia and budding Aaron. Such bright kids, their future full of possibilities. Graigha had always wanted children.

That thought pierced into his terrified mind.

'Children?' Trasnu thought hysterically, 'Those brats? Ha!'

Trasnu laughed, the sound drowned out by the almighty roar of the rushing wind. That act of defiance unlocked his muscles, and through the paralyzing fear he moved. His foot let go of its grasp, and Trasnu flipped over mid-air, his clawed hands adjusting in an insane, death defying feat of athleticism. Now he was straddling the bear's neck, its face inches from his own.

Curiously, Trasnu saw no hate in those eyes, saw no fear. It was almost as if the bear knew it was going to die. It most certainly was his imagination, but he thought he could even see a glimmer of respect in the way those beads of black regarded him.

That didn't stop it from swiping at his face with its paws.

Then -- Trasnu felt flattened. And then there was nothing but darkness.

* * *

Trasnu opened his eyes with a groan. He hurt everywhere. Merely breathing sent sharp shards of agony to pierce his lungs. His whole body was aflame with pain.

But then... He was alive.

Trasnu managed to hack a laugh, which of course intensified the pain. He was on top of the bear that he just killed, somehow he had twisted so the he lay on his side on the vast torso of the dead creature. He could see precious little slanting light entering the forest canopy -- it was almost dusk. Ever so slowly, he moved his limbs. His neck still worked. So did his arms, feet, and tail. Hurt though, oh spirits did he hurt.

The victorious Old Hunter closed his eyes. Yet, his mouth was spread open in a wide, feral grin. He won. His preparation had made a difference. He could live through this. He passed the test.

He paused. What was the test for again?

'Well, whatever' the hunter mentally shrugged. 'I'll remember it eventually.' For now, he gloried on the magic slowly trickling into him from the surrounding nature. Trasnu basked in the ecstasy -- the victory -- of simply being alive.

* * *

The early morning mist passed through the camp. Like an overly curious gipsy passing by, it touched and caressed everything in its path, seemingly intent on examining everything before the heat of the morning sun drove it away. It teased the struggling embers of last night's fire, not too strong to light it back but not too damp to douse it either. It curled over the posts of the great hall, over the simple log benches and table, the stacks of firewood, the vine baskets that held various things. It touched upon the curious tree houses. Two were unoccupied, but the one held the heat of three bodies basking in each other's warmth.

Suddenly, a voice pierced the peaceful stillness. "Heeey!" The voice shouted. The mists paid no heed to the voice, of course, for they cannot, and they simply are. They continued to wrap and curl about the camp.

"Heeey!" The voice shouted again.

From one of the huts, there was a feminine exclamation that sounded almost like an "Eep!" Then there was a noisy scrambling, of hurried, grunting bodies, and of joints painfully striking wood.

"Trasnu!" Lydia shouted, not even out of the hut. She rappelled down the vine ladder expertly, barely even touching it, and in no time at all she was running and tackling the older beastman. "You're back! And you have a scar! Lots of scars! What the hell happened to you?!"