TR: 48

Chapter Forty-Eight: Predator to Prisoner

Brian stared down at the small specks moving about in the vast circle of mud far below. He surveyed the mountain pass on which they were on, looking for possible ambush routes and or high ground which would give them an advantage. Kel had explained earlier that Zampi, being prey animals, had an excellent sense of smell, so to have any hope in capturing one it was best to avoid being down wind. From the looks of it, the only passage that gave them any such grace was the swamp, which was shielded by the thick forest surrounding it. It looked like they would have to face them on the level.

“Come boy. The day isn’t getting any younger, and either am I.”

Brian and Kel made their way down the mountain pass, the warm sun baking the cliffs. Luckily the wind had abated and it hadn’t rained in days, so the pass was well groomed for their trek down. It seemed to be an auspicious day for Zampi, indeed. Brian was determined to prove to Kel that he was an apt hunter. After all, he had grown up in the wilderness near Falkner’s, so he was in his element. Well, other than being stranded on an island, of course. He was familiar with the large amount of preparation involved before hunting; in fact, the evening prior he had spent careful attention adjusting all the fletchings of his arrows so that he could increase his chances of shooting true. The last thing Brian wanted to do was jeopardize their safety because of poor planning. Despite the challenge ahead, he remained confident.

When they came to the bottom of the pass they came to a strange wooden plaque mounted into a soft patch of earth atop a boulder. Brian couldn’t read the writing but from the sun-bleached, jawless skull that had been placed on the top of the stake, he guessed that it lead to the swamp. He didn’t know what it was about swamps being associated with death, but the omen did not bode in their favor. Kel began to head down the left path which veered off the pass into the jungle, but he stopped when he saw that his younger protégé remained transfixed on the sign. Kel walked back to his side and stared up at the relic.

“It’s a marvel, isn’t it?”

Brian frowned as he gazed upon the indecipherable letters of some forlorn culture.

“Who would have made this? I thought you said that there weren’t any known indigenous peoples on Wyndrona. This looks like its centuries old.”

Kel nodded. “Indeed I did. And it’s thousands of years old, actually. Possibly tens of thousands. But you must forgive an old soul for forgetting his carbon-dating kit back home.”

Brian gave a single, quiet laugh at that, but he remained perplexed. He reached up and traced a finger over the etching on the bottom of the sign, the only portion he could reach. “These symbols…they don’t look like anything I’ve ever seen. It’s almost like…they’re not human.”

Kel placed a gentle hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It remains a mystery I’m afraid. Whoever these first settlers were, they weren’t around long enough to develop a recorded history. And I agree, these characters are of a nature that I do not recognize, but that does not mean we can jump to any conclusion about them. It is equally possible they are degraded an once represented something that a scholar may immediately know.”

Kel scratched his beard as he pondered the sign and its cryptic past.

“Or, perhaps, it was some wayward soul, like ourselves, who decided it was important enough to leave a message. Though, I would expect such a man to use a language of his time. Curious, indeed.”

Brian examined the strange figures with keen interest, getting drawn in by the shapes and angles with which they were scribed. As he ruminated over them he could almost hear the words themselves calling out to him in an arcane voice, except the voice was…not like any he had ever heard before. It spoke to him in ways he didn’t know one could be spoken to, both within his mind and all around him, weaved into the fabric of space time itself. He shook his head, suspecting he was suffering an heat hallucination, but the carvings in the wood continued to call to him. Everything about them suggested an immense complexity; and a superiority—over their language, their culture…their entire race. What was it about the swooping curve of the spiral, or the hook on the cruciform symbol? They seemed to stand for something familiar yet at the same time completely alien. And there was a gravity to it as well, as if it wanted to be understood. Brian leaned closer, and he could swear that he could hear it calling his name, though it wasn’t Standard. Yet, somehow, he knew it was calling him. It sounded almost pleading—distraught. What could it possibly want with him?

“Brian.” The voice lulled, barely a whisper.

“Brian.” It grew louder.

“Brian…Brian…”

“Brian! Snap out of it boy!” Kel grabbed his shoulders and shook him out of his stupor.

“Wh…what? How…”

Brian looked around him, taking in his surroundings. When his mind came back around to his surroundings, he shook his head once more. He reached up and touched his face, wiping away the sweat that had collected on his temple. The voice was gone and he was back in the jungle, just the two of them.

“Are you okay, boy? You completely zonked for a moment there. Something caught your eye?”

Brian frowned, looking back up to the sign briefly.

“No, I’m okay. I just thought…”

He paused.

Kel raised an eyebrow, shooting him a discerning glance. “We can call the hunt off if you are feeling under the weather. There will be plenty of days like this to come.”

Brian shook his head. “No, no. It’s nothing, really. I think I just had a quick heat spell, that’s all.”

He shrugged his quiver back into position and headed down the left path leading into the jungle.

“Come on, let’s get a move on before porky decides play time is over.”

Kel watched Brian go with a concerned look on his face. He glanced up to the sign, narrowing his eyes as if trying to perceive the message hidden underneath the symbols. The inscriptions in the wood glared back at him defiantly. No secret would be revealed that day. Kel turned back and sauntered down the trail after the troubled youth.

***

When they arrived in the clearing, all that separated them from the mud pit where the zampi dwelled was a flat of tall dandyreed which stood about fourteen hands high with sharp lancelike points at the top. Some had brilliant blooms of iridescent indigo corpuscles atop, which the bees buzzed merrily about. The reeds provided a thin veil of protection, behind which they could make their way to the edge of the hole. If they were lucky, Kel explained, the zampi would be sleeping and then they could have the greatest element of surprise. If they could throw the herd into a fit of confusion then they were more likely to scramble than to make a stand. At least, that was the plan.

Kel withdrew an arrow and knocked it in his bow and, hunkering over so as not to be seen, he took the first step into the bog. Brian followed and found that the mud was much more receptive to his weight than he had hoped. His leg sunk in past the ankle and he found that  taking steps wasn’t the Herculean effort he had expected. As they made their way through the tall grass, Brian grimaced at the thwock sound of his foot suctioning out of the mud every time he took a step. The zampi didn’t seem to notice amidst the backdrop of birds chirping and insects buzzing. He could tell they were drawing close to their target as intermittent grunts of the zampi could be heard not far off. Just as Kel had said, the sun shone down in full force, caking the mud to their skin, forming a protective barrier from its harsh summertime radiation. A sheen of crust had also formed on the surface of the bog, which was partially responsible for buoying them so. But the unappreciated side effect was the overbearing reflectivity it imparted on the bog’s surface, the heat cascading off of the thick mass almost unbearable to be near. Brian felt like he was in a furnace, not a swamp. He wiped the sweat of his forehead leaving a large streak of mud across his face, though at this point it was just mud on mud.

Kel slowed to a stop and motioned silently for Brian to go ahead. Brian moved past him as instructed, sloshing and cringing with each step he took, never having felt less the part. He came to the edge of the clearing, parting the reeds ever so slightly as he peered through the into the great mud pit.

The pit was circular and quite large, enclosed on all sides by a perimeter of dandyreed, save a small, sloping bank that served as an access point into the pit proper. Several Zampi languished on the bank, looking all but dead if not for the incessant flicker of their tail, but most wallowed about half sunken in the mud, snorting and grunting in pleasure as they basked in the hot sun and ripe stench; a potpourri of dirt, dung and pig flesh. Brian winced as the smell overtook him; the resemblance to an outhouse was uncanny. He backed away from the reeds and made his way back to Kel as carefully as the mud would allow.

“The left side is clear.” He said under his breath. “There’s a couple on the bank but I think they are dozing. If we go wide we can flank them. There are a couple of kuiper trees we can climb.”

Kel nodded. “Good. Lead the way.”

The two made a wide cut around the pit until they reached the far bank. Brian kicked the congealed mud off of his legs but Kel motioned him to stop.

“Leave it. It provides cushion for the sound.”

Brian acquiesced and they continued on, skirting the bank as they dashed from tree to tree. When they came close enough for an accurate shot, Kel took Brian aside.

“Okay, listen carefully boy. Remember everything I told you: don’t shoot until you are absolutely sure. Go for the heart or the lungs—it’s the quick kill. Zampi don’t die fast, so no party until the pig hits the dirt. You don’t want to give away your location. That’s number one. Got it?”

Brian nodded. He gave him a confident grin. Kel stared at him with an unreadable look. It was the kind of look that made Brian feel like he was standing naked, being cross-examined by a jury. Or, perhaps, one a demigod gave to their lesser tribute, while they meticulously examined their soul.

It was the look of a thousand looks.

Perhaps finding the confirmation he sought—or simply deciding that the boy was ready—Kel smiled his kindred smile and embraced Brian as would a grandfather.

“Then best hunting to you, m’boy.”

The two separated in different directions, splitting off onto to opposing sides of the bank. This was by design; if the shot did not land true, then the wounded animal would retreat out the only point of egress, and then the other person would have a clear opening to finish off the poor creature. Brian agreed with the principle; nothing deserved to suffer.

Brian found his tree and slung his bow back across his shoulder and began to shimmy up the kuiper. Kuiper trees had very rough bark and many low branches, making them great contenders for arboreal assaults. It was easy to get a hold and if you slipped you could find purchase easily enough with all the grooves in the bark. Kel had stressed the importance of choosing a good tree when hunting zampi; even though they were incapable of aerial pursuit, they had been known to charge aimlessly at the base of a tree after being shot. In some cases, if the tree was not big enough, it was enough force to fall the tree and the hunter with it. Obviously, not the best option if they wanted to be the ones getting out alive.

He clambered onto a sturdy branch and nestled up against the trunk in a groove between two other adjacent limbs. He withdrew his bow and knocked the arrow, using one of the limbs as a support for his bow arm. He took in his surroundings, surveying the area as he searched for his mark. He glanced around the adjacent tree tops for Kel but he could not see the old man. He was well hidden—a veteran at his craft, no doubt. As Brian’s eyes played along the mudflats, he found a large sow lounging about near the tree-line, cooling off in the shade of some broadleaf ferns. The animal’s familiar blue markings mingled in a motley coat of mud and grass, its horns covered in a sheet of dry white mud. It lay contentedly as it half-watched its friends mingle about in the mud, one eye partially open. Brian estimated the shot to be around half a bout—a fair distance with an arrow, but with good odds. Brian aimed for the pig’s midsection, homing in on its heart. He drew the string back to his ear. Even though it was handcrafted, it was a powerful test. Nonetheless, Brian’s arm strength allowed him to easily manipulate the weapon and he steadied himself as he slowed his breathing down. He imagined a tunnel between him and his target which his arrow would pass through. It began as a wide conduit, and as his focus became keener, it narrowed down until it became a thin stream of air through which his arrow would be guided. Kel had explained this technique to him, calling it “the narrowing of the path”. The path, he explained, really began between one’s intention and one’s attention, meaning how the idea was made manifest. Once attended, the path then changed from the one attending to the point of attention. Counterintuitively, that was the easy part, or so Kel had expounded.

“To put word to paper has always been man’s eternal struggle.” He had said. “Only once you master your self can you master your target. Now practice.”

Though by no means would he have called himself a master at any one thing, Brian felt he had gained some command of his attention through vigorous target practice; his accuracy had improved threefold since coming to Wyndrona, and he could hit targets almost twice as far as when he had first started.

His breath slowed and his pulse began to ease. He could see the line which he had to follow to make his shot count, and he envisioned the scene in his head. This shot would make Kel proud. Brian found the place, the path and he drew back the last inch and…

***

The sow stirred as grunting and the rustling of nearby bushes disturbed her lazing. A great boar plodded out of the jungle onto to the embankment, stamping and snorting as he asserted his dominance over the female. The sow huffed as the boar made a round about her, sniffing, inspecting his property. Brian had thought the colors of the female zampi were brilliant, but the males were superlative in every way. Besides a significant difference in size, the male had not only streaks of blue down its flank, but dazzling turquoises, crimsons and golds as well. Its bone crest about its head was composed entirely of a bright plume of purple feathers (or so they looked to be feathers) and there were multiple rows of colorful pseudo-eye like patterns, giving it an omnidirectional vigilance that would daunt even the most serious threat. And, if all of the flashy accoutrements weren’t enough, there were three sets of curved tusks that would easily gore any that attempted to get close enough to try and call its bluff.

‘Now that,’ thought Brian, ‘is a trophy kill.’

Brian switched his aim for the boar and began to narrow the path once more. This time, however, it seemed that no matter what he did he could not find a channel to the kill spot. The boar’s crest was angled in such a way that it made any kind of aerial shot impossible. The creature had a veritable helmet. There was only one way he could make the shot.

Hunkered down in a nearby tree, Kel watched the boar trot into the opening from across the bank. He lowered his bow from his target and watched in amusement as the proud creature paraded about a lone sow. Kel saw movement across the way and was able to landmark Brian not far off. His smile dissipated as he watched the boy recalibrate his aim to the boar. He watched helplessly as Brian made his way down the tree, carefully as to avoid breaking any branches and capturing the creature’s attention. He silently stalked over to the edge of bank where Kel knew he would make his stand. Except, Kel knew something that Brian did not: the boar could not be taken with an arrow.

Oh what a fool he was! How could he have forgotten to tell the boy about the thickness of male zampi hides?

Convinced that the surly male had finished his inspection and that she had passed muster, the sow plopped back down in the dirt, leaving the boar standing aimlessly, glancing from side to side, perhaps in search of more of his lady-pigs. Brian took advantage of the opening and knocked an arrow, drawing the string back for the shot.

Kel cursed. “Brian! No! Not the boar! Never the boar!” He yelled.

It was too late. The arrow loosed and it struck true, right in the creature’s chest, but to both Brian and Kel’s horror the arrow impacted with a loud crack, striking the creature’s ribcage and ricocheting off into the jungle. The boar squealed in pain, leaping back in surprise. It reared up on in its hind legs, kicking wildly as it bleated a battle cry. The sow and all the others of her kind stumbled to their feet in a mutual panic, and in but moments the entire bog was a pork pandemonium of squealing fervor. Brian was frozen in both confusion and abject terror; he had struck true. What happened?

The boar turned to him, as if hearing his troubled thoughts. Brian’s eyes widened as the boar snorted, their gazes locking. When it homed in on its would-be attacker, it began to huff furiously, scraping its feet against the dusty bank as it prepared to charge.

Kel frantically made his way out down the tree, swinging from branch to branch in a way that would make Marlee proud, rushing to the aid of his disciple.

“Brian! Whatever you do, don’t run! It’s best to stand your ground and…”

Kel’s bow strap became snagged on a small branch and he yanked to a stop. He cursed and began to tug haphazardly on the strap, attempting to free himself, all the while swearing at the tree.!He grabbed the strap with both hands and yanked furiously on it until it snapped. He lost his balance and fell backwards through the air, striking one of his arms on a loose branch, yelping in pain. He managed to grab a hold of another branch with his good arm but he sacrificed his weapon in the process, his bow tumbling down to dry earth below. His grip faltered under the weight of his body, his sore arm hanging limp to his side and he spiralled to the ground, landing hard on his side, rolling down a slope. He tumbled into a small boulder, his head snapping back against the rock with a sickly crack. There was a single groan and then he lay unmoving.

Brian swallowed a lump in his throat as he faced down the boar who continued to huff and puff, kicking up dirt in an intimidating display. Brian slowly took off his quiver and placed it down on the ground with his bow. He raised his hands up to show the creature that he was defenseless.

“N…no hard feelings?” Brian stammered.

The creature squealed and charged full force at him. Brian cursed.

“Well, I bet you weren’t very tasty anyway.”

He turned and bolted into the jungle as fast as his legs could carry him. The creature crashed through the bushes behind him, its hooves stomping into the ground with thunderous malice as it huffed in rage. Brian swatted the broadleafs and hanging creepers out of his face as he hopped over dead logs and dodged incoming trees. He glanced over his shoulder to see the creature gaining on him. Such was the disadvantage of having only two legs. He came to a small stream which he attempted to leap across, but the breadth was too great and he came down in the middle of the stream, landing with an explosion of water, sinking in up to his chest. He waded across the rest of the way and stopped on the opposite bank in hopes that the hassle would be enough for the zampi to give up the chase. The boar careened full force into the stream and paddled across with little effort as it snorted in renewed frustration.

“Guess you’re not afraid of water.”

Brian turned and ran again at full force as the zampi waded onto the shore, shaking the water out of its fur before taking to full gallop once more. Brian ran deeper into the jungle where the foliage had become less dense which worried him as there would be more of an opening between him and the boar, and the boar was definitely gaining. The ground gave way to sloping hills which were littered with dry, fallen leaves which were nearly as slick as ice, Brian having almost slipped several times already. Light from the sun filtered through the canopy above like little rays of hope, though Brian didn’t feel that there was enough hope in the entire jungle to save him from the stampeding menace behind.

As he made his way up a particularly cumbersome slope, leaves crunching underfoot and the boar almost upon him, his foot snagged a protruding root and he found himself flying through the air as he crested the hill, tumbling head-over-heels down the embankment. He rolled and rolled, kicking up leaves and dirt as he tumbled about like a shirt in a dryer. As he came to the base of the hill a strange thing happened: instead of gravity taking its toll and bringing him to the usual stop, he found himself being propelled upwards in quite the opposite fashion. As he shot towards the canopy a dark grid like a spider’s web began to overtake the sky. He felt a bed of leaves beneath him, like some invisible hand had scooped up a portion of the jungle floor when it snatched him up. The upward motion stopped and he felt himself recoil from the change of direction. The world slowly began to spin. The whole charade brought back unpleasant memories, and that was when he knew he had been ensnared.

Again.

The ominous spider web was no spell or gambit, it was a simple mesh snare that he had danced right into. Yet again, he found himself dangling in an anonymous trap, high above the forest floor. He heard a sound from below and recalled his furry pursuer who he had temporarily forgotten about. He contorted himself around as best he could given his predicament, such that he could glance down at the ground beneath him. There, perhaps around six or seven blades below, the zampi king paced furiously back and forth, grunting with irritation and having been denied its retribution. The whole thing might have even been funny if he weren’t the one in the net. Regardless, he had little else to do so he watched the boar mull about impatiently for, perhaps, ten minutes, until he began to grow tired of the inexorable animal so he turned his attention away. He looked around him in the leaves for something that he might be able to throw at it, but it was just leaves, dirt and him. He groaned and reached back, running his hand over his neck which had begun to develop a nasty kink. He then turned his attention to the snare, examining the knots for any possible flaws in its hitches, though it all seemed sound. Besides, he had dropped his utility knife in the fray, so there was no doing even if it were to be had. His escape planning was cut short when a shrill, trilling cry pierced through the jungle around them. The zampi squealed in fright and galloped out of his sight, obscured by the lowly treetops and foliage that lay beneath his level.

Brian waited in disbelief and silence for a time, until moments later it was broken by a gunshot which nearly made him jump out of his skin. Next, he found himself  falling through dead space. He grasped the sides of the net in an effort to brace himself but, before he could even think of an impact, it found him and he slammed into the jungle floor. The wind escaped his lungs as he collided into the collage of dry leaves below, though it did little to cushion his fall and the seven blade fall hurt about as much one would expect. Battered and bewildered, he did his best to prop himself up, the snare draping limply over his body in a defeated attempt at capture. Several figures surrounded him pointing sharpened spears inches away from his face. They looked to be about Kade’s age—mere boys. They wore tattered clothing, and their hair was all long and unkempt. None wore shoes. By the look of their skin, they appeared to have gone unbathed for some time, but it was possible that was just the look of the place; Brian could hardly have claimed any better. He wasn’t sure if what he was seeing was real—perhaps he had hit his head in the fall—but it seemed that he had been abducted by…children.

“Hey looky here!” one of them exclaimed.

“This one’s still alive.”

Two boys came down the hill dragging the corpse of the zampi boar by the hooves. One of them had a rifle slung across his shoulders. Perhaps Brian had misjudged them.

“That’s sayin’ more than this guy.” One of the boar carriers exclaimed.

The houligans shared a short laugh.

One of the spear wielders jabbed at Brian with his point.

“Two piggies are better ‘n one.”

Brian glared at the boy and in a quick swipe he had the spear in his hand, yanking it out of the boy’s grip, snapping it in two and throwing the pieces. The boy rounded on Brian in a fury at the sight of his shattered weapon.

“Why’d you do that for?” he yelled.

“I’m not a piggy, and if you try and poke me with your little stick again I’ll do that to your neck.”

The boy came at Brian. “Who do you think you are? I’ll teach you to…”

One of the older boys put out his arm, barring the enraged child’s way.

“Hold on, Ty. This one’s got some bite. Don’t think he’s pirate either. Sira will want to question him.”

Ty stamped his foot in defiance.

“What gives you the say? How do you know he’s not just a spy for Phost? That sea-louse will use any lowlife he can to do his biddin’. Besides, look’t he did to m’ spear!”

A blonde haired boy wearing a red bandana with bangs that covered one eye shoved Ty at the shoulder.

“Stop being such an ass. Feld’s right, Sira said to bring in all intruders. You know the code. We’re not savages like them.”

The blonde haired boy turned to Brian and put on a disdainful sneer.

“You! Yeah, that’s right, you. Who are you and why are you in the land of the Cast?”

Brian raised an eyebrow at the youth’s overzealous attempt at playing inquisitor.

“I’m…”

“Ah, won’t talk hey? Got somethin’ t’ hide I guess. Well, we know how to deal withy your kind.”

The blonde haired boy motioned to the two kids carrying the boar. They proceeded past with the dead zampi, its large bulk dragging noisily through the dry leaves.

‘To think just moments ago it was trying to kill me.’

Feld motioned at Brian. “Take him”.

Three boys grabbed the net and began to haul it after their entourage. Brian fell over onto his side as the mesh reefed against his body. He stared up at the canopy as his body dragged through the leaves and detritus underneath. There was really no point to resisting; whoever the riffraff were, they had technically saved him. Maybe this ‘Sira’ character would be a little more civil. Brian couldn’t help but laugh out loud as a fleeting thought crossed his mind. One of the boys dragging the net glanced back over his shoulder as he dragged his captive along.

“What’s so funny?” the boy snipped.

“I don’t think I want to have kids anymore.”

The two boys exchanged glances, shrugging at the sarcastic allusion that they would never understand.