The Hunter (8 page)

“But Braldt…”

“…did nothing but love your uncle and all of us, yourself included, as his own flesh. His only fault being that his love and
his caring are of a better quality than your own. I have often thought, may the Moon Mother forgive me, that you love no one
so much as you love yourself. Braldt has received no more than he deserves and he brings much honor to our House. I ask you
to swallow your words. This is a time for prayers and reflection, there is no room for anger or ambition. Come to your senses,
lad, that is your uncle lying there, have you no feelings for him?”

Carn stared at his father, his face flushing darkly, then growing strangely pale. A pulse throbbed at his temple, the only
sign of the emotion that raged within.

“I care. More than you will ever know. But believe me when I say that Braldt is no brother to me, no son to you, and will
always be what he is… an outsider. And I promise you that I will die before I see him become High Chief, on this you have
my word.”

Braldt and Carn stared at each other, rediscovering old
familiar features and reinterpreting them in different ways, taking each other’s measure. Beast, sensing the hostility that
lay heavy on the air, intensified his throaty growls and slunk forward, inching his way toward Carn on his belly, looking
no less dangerous for all his obvious youth.

The door to the outside swung open without the customary announcement stating the caller’s name and the name of the person
he had come to see. Such an abrupt entry was both rude and offensive to custom, but it served to distract Carn and Braldt
from an open confrontation that seemed inevitable.

Braldt turned his eyes away from Carn and silenced Beast with a hacking motion as he studied the old man who had entered the
room accompanied by Attruk, High Priest of the Temple of the Moon. Braldt, who had no love for the priests who governed and
guided the tribe through every facet of its existence, averted his eyes from Attruk, whom he had seen no more than twice in
his lifetime. The High Priest spent all of his time locked away in the highest tower of the shining black Temple. There were
as many opinions of how he spent his time as there were stars in the sky, but no one knew for certain. Braldt did not care.

He did care for the old man who accompanied the priest, an ancient healer, perhaps even older than Auslic himself, a man named
Tarn who had never shown him anything but kindness since his earliest days. At times, Braldt had felt the weight of the old
man’s eyes upon him and looked up to discover a look of pity in the old, rheumy eyes. The look had vanished as quickly as
a cloud drifting
across the moon, leaving Braldt none the wiser. But Tarn was a staunch friend of Auslic’s and Braldt was glad for his presence.

“Greetings, good sir, father priest, I bid you both welcome to this House. I can only wish that it were under happier circumstances.”
Otius took Tarn’s frail hand in his own and led the ancient healer to a cushioned bench. To the priest he nodded, for no man
was allowed to touch a priest. The priest nodded silently in return, his features hidden completely by the enveloping folds
of the heavy black cowl. He took his place beside the healer, standing there like a dark shadow. A feeling of heavy watchfulness
fell upon the room and even Beast kept silent and huddled at Braldt’s feet.

Tarn took a cup of Jos’s steaming broth with a grateful smile. She offered the tray to the priest who stared through her without
even acknowledging her presence and she hurried away gladly, while chiding herself for feeling afraid.

Tarn swallowed the last drop of the rich broth and carefully placed the cup to one side. Looking up, he stared at Otius, Carn,
and Braldt each in their turn, studying their faces. Otius raised his head and met the old man’s gaze and then faltered and
turned aside; Carn flushed darkly and stared at the floor angrily. Only Braldt was able to look into the old man’s eyes, and
this time he saw many things, the glimmer of hope, the warmth of caring, and a deep sadness tinged with unmistakable overtones
of pity. This, all in an instant. Yet the look had been open and frank, with no hint of dissembling. The old man had meant
for him to see his true feelings.

“Good sir, master healer, is there anything…”

Tarn held up a wrinkled hand to silence Otius, the flesh mottled with age and thin as a butterfly’s wing, his eyes still fixed
on Braldt. He beckoned him with a single crooked finger. Braldt, with Beast at his heels, walked forward.

The old man looked down then and smiled at the lupebeast pup, chucking it under the chin and earning himself a guttural rumble
of pleasure as Beast curled himself
into a ball on top of the old man’s feet. Braldt was astounded for the pup had never granted him such liberties.

“You have no wish to become High Chief.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

“No, old father, I have no wish to be anything other than what I am,” Braldt replied honestly. Behind him, he heard Carn snort
in disbelief.

“There is a chance that Auslic’s life can be saved, spared from that dark river that will take him to the Great Moon Mother
and his eternal rest. But it is only a chance at best and will require much courage.”

Braldt stared at the old man, wondering at his words. Wondering if it were really true. If the old one could truly save Auslic,
why was he wasting time talking when he could be working his magic?

His confusion must have been apparent for Tarn smiled again, the sadness openly visible for all to read. “No magic spells
will work this wonder, my young friend, for that which ails Auslic is a failure of the body and not the spirit and cannot
be cured by words alone. It is a thing that is required, a rare and precious object that will be most difficult to obtain.”

“Tell me where I may find this thing and I will bring it to you,” Braldt replied without hesitation.

Tarn smiled sadly and shook his head as though he had never doubted Braldt’s response. “And you, Carn, are you willing as
well?”

Carn pushed past Braldt, jostling him with his shoulder and placing himself directly in front of Tarn. “Of course, old one.
Is Auslic not of my blood?” Turning, Carn smiled at Braldt, a smile that held no warmth but only the promise of hard times
to come. “Braldt and I will do this thing together, whatever it may be.”

Tarn appeared to take no notice of the unspoken hostility that hung thick in the air, although Braldt thought it unlikely
that it had gone unnoticed.

“I too will go.” Otius joined Braldt and Carn, his hand closed upon the hilt of his sword that had not been drawn
for anything other than ceremonial purposes since Carn’s own youth.

The priest raised his gloved hand and placed it flat upon his chest, directly atop the large metal emblem of the Moon Mother
fixed in the center of his chest. A moment of silence followed this gesture. Then the priest raised his hand and made a cutting,
dismissive sign and Otius fell back a step, his face pale and drawn.

“This is a journey for young men, my friend,” Tarn said kindly, softening the priest’s harsh gesture with his words. “You
are needed here beside your brother to lend him your strength and the desire to live. The journey is dangerous and the way
fraught with unusual peril, but the object we seek is the only chance we have to save your brother’s life, else wise I would
not even consider it.”

“I am not afraid, old man. Tell me what it is that you wish and I will do it. Nor do I need another to dog my steps. I will
travel faster and return more swiftly if I am alone,” Carn said boldly, ignoring Braldt as though he did not exist.

“This is no competition, Carn. The dangers are real enough and no single person could hope to accomplish the deed on his own.
If you are to go at all, you will do as I say and swear upon the honor of your House that you will obey me!”

Never had Tarn spoken so sharply, with such authority, and Braldt as well as Carn hesitated only a heartbeat before nodding
their assent.

“Sit then,” Tarn said in a tired voice, looking to Jos for another cup of broth, “for the tale is long and not quickly told.

“As you know from your teachings, our world was born of the moon and is composed primarily of red stone, sandstone, and hardrock.
Here and there if we are lucky, we find deposits of rose and white and gold crystal that many of us wear in honor of the Mother
Moon who birthed us.

“She gave us this fertile land to feed and nurture us
and gave us the gods and the priests who decipher their will so that we might know how to live and give her honor.”

The old man paused for a moment to sip at his cup of broth and Braldt thought of the hundred and one gods whose rules governed
their existence. There was a god for everything one did. There was a god of the earth who governed the times of sowing and
reaping. A god of war who decreed when the tribe’s boundaries had been violated and a war party should be sent to avenge the
incursion. There was even a god of love whose approval was required before unions could be blessed. And it was the priests
alone who deciphered the gods’ wishes, the people had little or no voice in their own destiny. Dissension, what little there
was, was most often stifled, for the priests dealt harshly with those who opposed them.

“She has blessed us in many ways,” continued Tarn, “and in return requires only that we obey her. Without her love and guidance,
we would be no more than the karks, lowly animals in form and deed. Of all the world, we are the most blessed, and everything
beyond our borders must live without that same blessing. I know that young blood runs hot and impatient and sometimes chafes
beneath the constraints of rules they cannot understand, but you must realize that without rules, this clan, this city, this
world, could not exist. Beyond our boundaries is a world without rules, a world that is not governed by Mother Moon’s love.”

“We know all of that,” Carn said impatiently. “What has that to do with us?”

Tarn smiled up at Carn, a smile meant more for himself than Carn. “Everything, my impatient young friend, for it is beyond
our borders that this quest will take you.”

Carn started visibly and then stared at the old man to see if perhaps he was joking or playing him for a fool, for few men
were allowed to venture beyond the Guardian Stones. To do so without permission was to die, struck down by a thunderbolt out
of the sky, the gods’ messenger of death.

Braldt said nothing and wondered what it was that they
would be seeking. Although he himself had been given permission to venture beyond the stones, he had done so rarely and then
only in pursuit of raiding karks or predators. His pulse quickened at the thought of traveling within the Forbidden Lands
and he cast his thoughts over that barren ground, the empty desert and the sere mountainous regions that lay beyond.

“That which you seek lies two score dawnings to the east.” Braldt’s head came up sharply, his eyes searching and holding those
of Tarn’s, stunned and yet wanting to hope, to believe the truth of the old man’s words. A single sharp intake of breath from
Carn as well as a brief choked cry from Jos told him that the others shared his disbelief, for no man, not even Braldt, was
allowed to enter those Forbidden Lands that was the home of the gods and certain death to mere mortals.

Tarn met Braldt’s silent inquiry with a level gaze.

“Why… why do the gods wish such a thing?” Jos asked tearfully as Otius patted her on the back and held her close, attempting
to calm her. “Is it not enough that the gods are taking Auslic from us, must they have my sons as well?”

“Dry your tears, Mother, the gods do not ask for us so that they may place us on the Great River, they have a need for us
and require our services. We will do this thing and save uncle’s life, and when we return, you may boast that your son is
favored by the gods!”

But Jos was not comforted by Carn’s bold words and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder and sobbed.

Braldt reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently, then turned again to the old man.

“We have the gods’ permission to enter the Forbidden Lands?” he asked.

The old man nodded.

“What is this thing we seek and how will we find it?”

The priest rose then and stood before Braldt and Carn, his flowing robes obliterating the old man like a storm cloud covers
the sun. He raised his hands before him and Braldt
shivered, knowing what was to come. Stifling an impulse to glance at Carn, he lowered his head.

The priest placed his hands atop Carn’s and Braldt’s bowed heads and silence, broken only by Jos’s muffled weeping, filled
the room.

A tingling came over Braldt with the first touch of the priest’s palm. It was not unpleasant, nor was there any pain, rather
a sense of invasion as though something were searching through his mind like flipping the pages of a book. Although he had
never experienced the priest’s touch, he had heard it described and was prepared, blanking out all thought, thinking of nothing,
filling his mind with the image of the floor beneath his feet. He could not have explained why he did such a thing, nor had
he spent any time contemplating such an action, for never had he imagined that it would be necessary.