Two Rivers (12 page)

Chapter 11

Two Rivers felt the need to take a deep breath, his stomach
heavy, twisting uneasily. The torn carcass below their feet seemed to dominate
the clearing, glaring at them with its missing lower parts and the ravaged
stomach. Whoever had enjoyed this meal through the night must have been a real
monster.

He glanced at the youth beside him.

“Our friend seemed to find our offering worthy of his time,” he
said, mostly because he felt that something needed to be said. Something light,
non-committal.

The boy nodded, his lips pressed, eyes glued to the half-eaten
carcass, face lacking in color. Taking in the tense shoulders and the
lifelessly hanging hands, Two Rivers frowned, fighting the wave of compassion.
He wasn’t sure he would switch places with this youth, if offered. It was one
thing to think about the upcoming feat, to dominate the fear and get ready to
face the monster, but quite another to watch the actual deeds of the giant
beast. How could a normal forest creature eat so much in one night, tearing so
viciously at the flesh of a mature deer? But maybe he was an
uki
, after
all, a wandering giant, not belonging to the forest at all but to the wicked
creations of the Evil Twin.

“He is quite a large creature,” he said, compelled to keep
talking. “But his size doesn’t matter. One good shot will take the monster down
like a silly squirrel.”

“Yes,” muttered the boy, not moving and not taking his eyes off
the clearing.

Two Rivers sighed. “You don’t have to do this, if you don’t
want to. No one will know if we found that bear or not.”

The unanimated figure came to life at once. “You will know, and
I will know.” The youth turned sharply, eyes haunted but flashing, the
colorless lips steady, not quivering. “I will go down now, and I will wait for
him to come back. He will come, won’t he?”

“Yes, he will. Somewhere around early afternoon, I assume. He
would be hungry again, and he would want to finish his meal.”

“But I should be down there now, shouldn't I? In case he comes
earlier.”

“Yes, now it’s time to hide behind your fence.”

This time, Two Rivers suppressed his sigh, not wishing to
unbalance the youth’s resolve. The boy was destined to go through it all while
waiting down there. From the bottomless fear, through the urge to crawl away,
to the resolution to die bravely, he would feel all of it and more, wavering
between elation and desperation, wishing for the ordeal to be over, one way or
another.

He remembered his own trial too well, although close to ten
summers had passed since it had been his time to crouch behind the pitifully
small, low fence.

“Don’t lie behind the fence the whole day. Stretch your limbs
from time to time. You can sit or even walk a little. Don’t get your muscles
cramped by doing absolutely nothing. You will need your body alert, your
instincts sharp. If you get sleepy you are done for.” He reached for the
youth’s bow. “Let me check this thing again.”

“It’s all right. I checked it three times through the night.
And the arrows, too. They are all in good shape.” The youth looked up
resolutely, his eyebrows meeting each other across the handsome well-defined
face. “You did so many good things for me. I’m grateful. I will never forget.”
His frown deepened. “I should go.”

Curiously touched, Two Rivers did not try to suppress his
smile. “I’ll be waiting for you here, and may the benevolent spirits and the
Right-Handed Twin himself watch over you, enjoying your bravery.”

He watched the youth’s back disappearing down the invisible trail,
appreciating the lightness of his step. Oh, the cub was a brave little thing,
and proud, all right. It would be a terrible waste if he was destined to die on
the clearing this afternoon.

Shielding his eyes against the rising sun, he watched the
opposite hill and the sharp cliff protruding out of the brilliant green. A much
better vantage point, he reflected. And much closer, too. Not a bad distance
for an arrow to make its way toward the clearing.

He glanced at the torn carcass, squinting to see the fence
better. They had built it on the previous day, after shooting a deer and
dragging it all the way to this place, careless of the blood and the splattered
meat, anxious to make their trail as attractive as possible.

Placing their bait in the middle of the clearing, they then
checked the wind, and praying it would not change in the course of the next day,
they began working on the fence, placing it at about twenty paces away from the
carcass.

Twenty paces was a good range for a lethal shot. Any farther
and the arrow might miss, deflected by the wind, not to stick deeply enough to
reach the beast’s vital organs. A good strategy that the boy appreciated with
no argument, agreeing that his hiding place should be located in a closer
proximity, taking away his chance of escaping in the case of a bad shot.

Not mentioning it at all, they worked on the twisted pine
branches in silence, constructing the meager shelter. Five paces long and half
a human’s height, it offered some cover, but no protection.

“Remember that brown bears cannot see well,” repeated Two
Rivers several times. “Don’t make sharp movements, and the beast might not
notice you even if you stood at your full height. Rise slowly, aim carefully,
then shoot. After that, be ready to run really fast, preferably shooting as you
go.”

He remembered the boy nodding thoughtfully, braiding the twigs,
fastening them to each other, immersed in what he had been doing. If he was
sick with fear, he did not show it, although Two Rivers’ experienced eyes could
discern the signs, seeing the tension in the stiff shoulders, the slightly
trembling palms, the overly concentrated gaze.

He shook the memory off, watching the clearing, still vacant,
washed by the strengthening sunlight, with no noticeable activity of humans or
animals alike. The boy should have reached the place by now, but there was no
sight of him, and Two Rivers was ready to bet the best of his birds’ traps
against the claim that the boy was descending the path exaggeratedly slow,
prolonging his walk as much as he could.

Again, his eyes drifted to the opposite hill. To reach it and
make himself comfortable upon the protruding cliff would take time. He would
have to make a considerable detour, to circumvent the clearing and the
adjusting trails. The smell of a human might spoil it all, might cause the bear
they had made such tremendous efforts to lure, turn suspicious, might make it
more aggressive or frighten it away.

He measured the sun, then shrugged and got to his feet. The
trip would give him something to do, and it would also put him within a
shooting range, just in case. Of course, one was never to interrupt this sort
of a challenge. The boy had to face his fate and best it, or perish while
trying. He had to do it all by himself. And yet…

He shrugged. This hunt was his, Two Rivers’, idea, and the boy
was really too young for such a trial. He could shoot quite well, of that he
was sure now, letting the boy hunt the deer on the day before. Still, there was
a glaring difference between hunting and being hunted, and in the case of a
surprised, possibly wounded and blinded with rage, giant, the hunter could turn
into the hunted in a matter of a heartbeat. And then it would be the real test
for the youth who had seen no battles and no real hunting trips. If he panicked,
he would be done for, and even if not, his chances were painfully slim.

Making his way along the trees lining the side of the opposite
hill, careful to make no sounds, Two Rivers grinned, enjoying the walk and the
calm morning chirps. There would be no harm in being able to help should the
matters take a turn for the worse. The boy deserved that for all the bravery he
had shown so far. And also…

He frowned, unwilling to remember the dream. Last night it had
been bad again, with the old vision returning, more vivid than ever, so real he
could remember its smells and its sounds, the roaring of the invisible
waterfalls, the rustling of the trees, the voices of the people, and the
peculiar accent of their speech. He had dreamed about that place before, but with
fewer details, with no sounds and no smells.

There must have been the growling of the falls somewhere out of
sight, for he had always known that the dream was happening a short walk from a
very large river and its lethal rapids, but he never remembered actually
hearing it, while this time it had been distinctive, ominously near, promising
danger. He would be required to jump into these falls, he knew. It was some
sort of a test, to prove something, to make himself heard.

But what kind of a test could that be? he had wondered, as he
lay on his back in the grayish, predawn mist, soaked with sweat, although, in
this time of the night, it was actually chilly enough to make one use his
blanket. No one could jump into this sort of rapids and come out alive. Not in
this place. So it must have been a way to kill a person, a prisoner –
had he
been captured?
- instead of the customary gauntlet along the carpet of
glowing embers. Those foreigners must have had different ways. And they were
foreigners all right, he could tell by the sound of their words,
understandable, but barely, just a strange blabbering really.

He pushed the memory away, his sense of well-being
disappearing. The accursed dream had always been there, returning every now and
then, disturbing in the way it repeated itself, presented in more and more
detail, gaining power with the passing of time.
As though the time to do
that was nearing
. He had been successful in his efforts to dismiss it, but
never for good, never entirely.

But oh, Mighty Spirits! This night it hit him with such
vividness, such realness, leaving him breathless, shamefully afraid. He had
been there, on that foreign shore.
He had been there!
Surrounded by
locals, some hostile, some doubtful, some just curious. It happened in the
previous times too, but back then, no familiar person was among the crowd.
While now…

He shivered, suddenly cold in the warm morning breeze. This
time it was different, because this time the boy was there, too. Somewhere
there, invisible but present, and he had known what to do. Lying by the embers
of their small, long extinguished fire, surrounded by the cold, predawn mist,
wavering between the sleep and the reality, he remembered how his heart began
beating calmer because of that knowledge. The boy knew what to do. And he was
not afraid. He knew this place and those people, having some ridiculously easy
solution that made the test of the falls possible.

He shook his head, pushing the dream away, measuring the sun.
It was already high. He needed to hurry.

Climbing the opposite hill, eager to reach the cliff now, he
wiped his brow. From this vantage point, the part of the clearing was clearly
visible, the carcass of the deer they had shot muffled, covered with clouds of
buzzing flies.

He could see the boy crouching behind the fence, clutching to
his bow and the quiver of arrows, not daring to move. Stupid! At this stage,
the hunter should be relaxed, should sit and even walk a little, be alert and
ready, careful but not overly so, not in this part of the waiting. Crouching
for half a day would do the youth no good, he knew. His muscles would be
cramped, and his senses sleepy.

He took out his own bow and made himself comfortable upon the
wide tier, enjoying the breeze.

Involuntarily, he rechecked its direction. The wind hadn’t
changed and he nodded, satisfied. The bear would not smell the boy, while his
own arrows, if proved necessary, would be assisted by the wind and not hindered
by it. A closer proximity would work better, but he still could make a good
shot even from such a distance. And a good shot it would have to be. If the
youth did not manage, he, Two Rivers, would have no more than a few heartbeats
to take the bear down before it was too late for the boy.

The heat grew as the sun reached its zenith and began rolling
down toward the opposite hill. Drifting in dreamless reality, Two Rivers
glanced toward the distant river. But for a good swim, he thought, wiping his
brow, aware of the sweat rolling down his back. Contemplating whether to take
his shirt off, he wished for the breeze to return. What a heat!

He wiped his brow once again, then froze, startled. The air
stood motionless, still, accumulating the heat. Nothing swayed the top of the
trees below his feet.
There was no breeze anymore!

He caught his breath, peering at the fence, seeing the figure
of the boy curled behind it, a small, insignificant spot, foreign to the realm
of the wild, both of them not belonging there.

He calculated fast. With no wind, the bear might smell the boy,
yet it was not a likely possibility, not with the strong odor of the rotting
meat dominating the air. The wind was of some help, but it was not critical.
The boy would be all right if he kept to his senses. A significant
if
.

He heard the flopping of wings as a flock of birds took off, rising
above the tree tops to his left. Eyes narrow, he watched the green foliage
swaying with no rhythmic monotony. Something was progressing down the hill,
shoving its way, pushing the bushes and the saplings away. Something determined
and forceful, sure of itself and mighty enough to create all this clamor.

He clutched his bow tightly, tearing an arrow from its quiver.
He didn’t need to see the actual progress of the beast. There could be no doubt
about who it was. The bear was coming to relieve his hunger, and it was coming
from the wrong direction.

***

Tekeni’s nostrils caught the unpleasant smell before he heard
the snapping of the breaking bushes.