T'aakshi

The smell of prey filled his nostrils. He could feel it close by, afraid and desperate, the sensation like the crackle of cloud-light across the skin beneath his fur. 

He surged across the snow. It was less deep here. Easier to move. Better for the hunt. Fangbrothers had gone ahead of him—he could feel them, too, already hunting. Already tasting flesh. The sweet copper taste of their victory flooded through him, urging him forward.

Finally, he arrived, and he tore apart the first of their hiding places, casting aside broken wood and shredded, long-dead animal hide, revealing the contents like a bear exposed a termite nest. The termites scurried away on their two legs. They were not prey. They might sate his hunger, if only for a moment, but he had stronger desires this night.

He raised himself up on two legs, raking his gaze across the nest of ants at his feet. Fangbrothers wove between the scuttling creatures and their nests, herding them towards each other and feasting in equal measure. His prey called to him. It was close.

He sank back onto his front legs, prowling through the carnage and slaughter. The hunger clawed at him, as it always did, made desperate by the smell of blood and smoke. This time, he ignored it, eyes locked toward his true prey. He did not know why it must be so, why this other strange need burned at him more than the eternal hunger, only that it did.

There. Another little insect’s nest made from wood. He must get inside. He moved fast, tearing its top away and casting it aside. His prey cowered as prey did, hands clutched around a star plucked from the sky, its light dimmed to a dull glow.

He roared, victory on his lips, and reared back to deliver the blow that would deliver it to him. Triumphant, he looked down at his prey, and the eyes of his mother stared back, terrified. Pleading. He—

“T’aakshi, get up!”

A boot found his still-healing ribs, sending spear-sharp pain across his entire right side, and he jerked awake, gasping for breath. T’aallin’s face peered down at him, expression grim. T’aakshi hauled himself to his feet and glanced around at the still stirring camp. He frowned. 

“Where is everyone?” he asked, grimacing and rubbing at his side.

“T’aarak stole a march on you, lad. He’s chosen his party and left already—he and five others. Must have woken them quietly to ensure he got what he thought were the best.”

“Shit.”

He was right. A sweep of the camp told him T’aarak had taken the best of the hunters that were here, as well as Mura, the only one of the group with more than rudimentary skill with healing. From what he knew, they should have picked together, alternating choosing hunters until they had complete parties; but there were no actual rules that dictated that he must, it more a breach of etiquette than anything else.

Of those that were left, he could only be certain of T’aallin’s support. T’aarak had taken mostly from the group T’aakshi had brought to Kuchisoto, and he had no way of telling whether those that remained supported him, or T’aarak. His choices now might be the difference between success and failure. Between survival or death. Not just for him and these hunters, but all the Su’roi. 

He perched himself upon a log they had used that night for sitting and waited, turning his father’s spear over and over in his hand. The tanae embedded in its haft gleamed enticingly in the early morning light. Gods what he wouldn’t give for some kind of advice from his father. 

Gradually, the rest of the hunters woke, and wordlessly began their preparations for what lay ahead. Each of them knew what he needed from them, what their task would be if he called on them. He could see how the fear, both from what had already happened, and of what was to come, weighed on them as they moved around the camp, the talk and humour that would normally have filled it viscerally absent. 

As the candidates, there were few rules governing how they chose their parties. But for these men and women, his offer would be one that they could not refuse. To do so meant death, by decree of the Inari-da. For Mura, going with T’aarak hadn’t been a choice. His grip tightened around the haft of his spear, jaw clenching. There should always be a choice. An option to walk away from risking your life, even if you have no intention of taking it.

“Every one of you knows the task that is ahead of us. I’ll be honest, I don’t know whether I’m fit to lead our people. What I do know is that our home is under threat—our loved ones—and I’ll be damned if I let that pass.”

He thought that perhaps there would be a ripple of agreement, or a few murmurs. Anything. Any reaction at all to his words would have been more welcome than the dead silence and unreadable faces he got. He swallowed, an act made far more difficult by just how dry his mouth suddenly was.

“I won’t demand any of you to join the hunt. I can’t drag you away from your families with no option to refuse me. But I will ask for volunteers: will any of you join me in the hunt?”

Nobody moved. Seconds dragged by like they were hours, with nobody reacting at all. Then, shattering the tension, T’aallin snorted and stood.

“Well, lad. It’s been no secret that I’m committed to your cause. I’m an old bastard, but my spear is yours if you’ll have it.”

Sweet relief flooded him, and he smiled warmly at the man. “Thank you, T’aallin.”

T’aallin closed the space between them, and took a place at his side, facing the others. The movement sparked something in the others. Suddenly, S’aari stood, her left hand resting easily on the head of a hand axe strapped to her hip.

“I’m in. Not interested in who gets to be the next Chief, but I left Ri alone with our little boy in some shite tent, petrified that thing is coming back for them. I reckon you’re the best chance of making sure that doesn’t happen.”

T’aakshi nodded gratefully as S’aari joined T’aallin beside him and turned back to the others. It was as though the floodgates had opened. 

Jiro stepped forward next, scarred face set into a determined frown. He was not much older than T’aakshi, but the scars that lined his face made him look older. T’aakshi had hunted with him several times and knew him to be quiet, but doggedly determined. As he took his place, T’aajiro caught T’aakshi’s eye and thumped his fist to his heart. Hota and Kachi shared a look and quickly stood to join the others next to him, completing his six-strong party.

T’aakshi put his fist against his own chest and turned to face the five that had volunteered to join him. “Thank you, all of you. Whatever your reason, I’ll do everything in my power to see all of you back home. The rest of you: take what supplies you can and join up with the rest of the tribe. Let them know what we’re setting out to do. Good luck.”

The hunters got to work. They picked through the rubble with ruthless efficiency, looking for anything useful to bring back to the tribe, whilst T’aakshi’s group checked their own supplies and equipment for their trek. The biggest issue they had was food. Their supplies for the journey from Kuchisoto were close to spent, and there was little left in the village that the rest of their people would not need.

Having to hunt something other than their intended prey would be a distraction they could ill afford, but it didn’t appear as though they had a choice. The cured meats and dried root veg would only be enough to keep them going for a few days at most.

Still, things could be a lot worse. It shocked him that T’aarak hadn’t chosen T’aallin as part of his group, but he was grateful for it. His experience and knowledge would be invaluable. S’aari was another tremendous boon. She could be blunt, and wasn’t much for talking, but he didn’t know a better shot with a bow, and he was pretty sure the woman spent more time on the hunt than in the village.

Hota and Kachi, by contrast, were relatively unknown factors to him. He hadn’t hunted with either before, and they were even younger than he was. The lack of experience in the wastes was a concern, but the pair were at the village when the beast had attacked and still volunteered. They had the courage for it, at least, and watching them now, both handled their gear with a comforting level of familiarity.

Before long, his hunters had gathered everything they needed, checked all of their gear and equipment, and had assembled at the northern edge of the village—the direction the beast had come from when it had attacked here. 

The rest still busied themselves with their scavenging in the village proper, and the sun, now approaching its zenith, had melted the uppermost layers of snow, the resulting moisture now glittering like half-buried jewels.

They couldn’t afford to waste any more time. T’aarak’s group had been gone for hours, and the last thing T’aakshi wanted was to do was give them the opportunity to engage the beast in a battle they would not win. 

“I take it you have a plan?” S’aari asked, breaking the silence.

“The only thing we know about the beast is the three places it has attacked our people. We never found the first, but it attacked us when we got close to where we thought the hunting party had gone missing—that can’t be a coincidence. I can lead us back and we’ll look for any sign of it from there.”

S’aari shrugged. “It’s as good as any plan. Lead the way.”

“Right. Stay sharp, especially if the weather turns. It could be anywhere, and it’s taken us by surprise every time we’ve seen it—I’d like to avoid that happening again, if we can.”

The others nodded in understanding, and T’aakshi set off across the snow, ignoring the desire to look back and ensure they were following. They were, he knew; and crucially, they were doing it by choice.

Now, he just had to keep them alive.