Read The Hunter Returns Online
Authors: David Drake,Jim Kjelgaard
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Historical, #Prehistory, #Action & Adventure, #Survival Stories, #General
The Hunter Returns (20 page)
The cave, the dog, the hostile hunters, even Willow, who had awakened and was quietly watching him, faded into insignificance. For years he had tried to master the strength and life in the green wood, and now he knew that he was on the verge of finding what he had been seeking. Wood alone was not the answer. He must pair wood with sinew; the strength of trees with agility of animals.
Sitting beside the fire, he drew the sinew taut and flexed his fingers across it. It sang pleasantly to him, a happy song of triumph, a promise of great strength. With fingers that trembled from excitement, Hawk took one of the darts from its quiver. He fitted it against the sinew, pushed against the bent stick with his feet, and let the sinew go. The dart wobbled weakly across the cave, and bounced against the far wall with scarcely enough force to make a mark.
Hawk looked down at the stick, baffled. He almost had the answer he had been seeking; it was almost in his grasp. But something was lacking; what was it? A moment later he knew what that was. In three great bounds Hawk sprang across the cave.
A spear shaft! It had been a supple spear shaft that had first awakened him to the life in wood! Feverishly he sought among his bundle of shafts, and plucked out the greenest and most limber. He grasped it by both hands and bent it. A happy smile lighted his face.
This was what he needed! Sinew-drying sticks were green, and as such they had strength, but they were not strong enough to propel a dart. The spear shaft was stronger, thicker, and had the needed power. Hawk tied a length of sinew to one end of the shaft, braced that end against the cave’s floor, and bowed the shaft. Making a loop in the free end of the sinew, he tied it over the other end of the shaft. Very carefully, a little awed, knowing he held magic in his grasp, he pulled the sinew and bent the shaft more. He released the string and the shaft snapped back.
The breaking sinew snapped with a sharp report, and Hawk winced as one end struck him smartly across the cheek. Unmindful of the sinew’s sting, he looked in bewilderment at his handiwork. The shaft was powerful enough, but the sinew lacked strength to control it.
“Twist several long sinews together,” said Willow.
She was on her feet now, gathering lengths of sinew from her longest drying sticks. Tying the ends together, Willow looped three lengths over a stick and swiftly twisted them into one smooth, compact cord. Then she handed the triple-strength sinew to Hawk.
Eagerly Hawk bowed the shaft again and tied the sinew to either end. He drew it back slowly, a little afraid that it might break again when he let it snap forward. But it merely sang to him, a humming, stronger vibration than before. Hawk rested the butt of a dart against the sinew, drew it back, and shot.
The dart struck the cave’s wall so hard that its stone head shattered, and the wooden shaft bounced halfway back to him. Exultantly Hawk swooped to pick it up, and shot again, and again. When the wooden shaft itself was broken, he chose another dart.
Dawn was breaking when he knew that, finally, he had made and mastered a satisfactory bow. He could shoot the length of the cave and hit what he aimed at. Hawk looked grimly at the eight darts remaining in his quiver. The rest were shattered, but he had these left, and if that mysterious power in the animal sinew did not betray him, he might yet win this unequal battle. Hawk went to the mouth of the cave and looked out.
Only four hunters remained to guard the prisoners in the cave. The rest had evidently gone hunting. Soon they straggled back, empty-handed, and stood disconsolately around the fire.
For a moment Hawk stood tensely, then forced himself to relax. Sitting in the mouth of the cave, he fitted a dart into the bow, braced it against his feet, drew the sinew, and took careful aim. As well as he could he calculated the wind, the distance, and what last night had taught him about the bow’s strength. When he shot, the dart flew straight and fast, but dug itself into the earth several feet short of the hunters and quivered there.
The hunters stared uncertainly, muttering their astonishment, not sure whether this dart had come from the cave or from some other source. Most of them had paid no attention when Hawk first shot, but now they stood in a close group by the fire, watching his every move.
Now, Hawk decided, was the time to see if the serpent’s deadly power would come to his aid. Picking up the dart with the venom-dipped head, he fitted it against the sinew, and drew with both hands. Slowly, letting no muscle quiver, he drew the sinew as far back as he could, and again took careful note of the wind, the distance, and the trajectory which he thought the dart would assume. He moved the bow very slightly to one side and shot.
The whistling dart left the bow. Faster than the swiftest bird it traveled, a flashing streak in the dim morning. It rose in its upward curve, and began its descent, down toward the leader of the enemy hunters. But instead of striking him squarely, the dart’s head merely nicked his shoulder.
The hunters milled about, confused by fear and awe of the lone man who could send his little spears such an incredible distance. The leader, however, apparently enraged by the slight wound he had received, was dancing up and down, brandishing his spear. From his actions, Hawk concluded that he was trying to overcome the hunters’ fears. Had the serpent’s power no effect, then? His hopes began to give way to black despair.
Suddenly the leader of the band took two faltering steps, stiffened, tried to take another step, and fell face down, writhing on the ground.
Bereft of their leader, panic-stricken by the mysterious manner of his collapse, the rest of the hunters took one terrified look and fled into the forest as fast as they could run.
RETURN
Hawk stood outside the cave, the dog beside him and the bow in his hands. The quiver on his shoulder held a dozen feathered arrows which, together, weighed no more than a few darts. It was an easy burden; the loaded quiver seemed feather-light and the bow was no heavier than his throwing-stick.
It had not been an easy or sudden transformation. Several experimental bows lay behind him, and uncounted arrows. He had learned to shoot the bow by holding it in his hands, standing upright. He could shoot an arrow, accurately, five times as far as he had ever been able to throw a dart. And the arrows were within themselves so powerful that he had no more need of the serpent’s venom. That was always in reserve, a deadly addition to his armament should he ever need it.
The bow spelled security. Even the mighty saber-tooths, which could be attacked with a very rain of arrows whenever they came near the cave, now stayed away from it. Two saber-tooth skins served as beds for Willow and himself, and there were deerskin coverings ready when the weather should turn colder. Now, in reality, Hawk was master of his world.
Willow came from the cave, a new basket in either hand. Hawk and the dog led the way back to the tar pit at their old camp site.
Save for a few tumbled ashes and bits of charred wood, all traces of the fire which they had maintained here, so long ago, were obliterated. The spot had seemed a haven then, but now, accustomed to the shelter of their cave home, they regarded it as a cheerless, exposed place. They had come only to pitch more baskets for Willow’s ample supply of storage containers.
Hawk sat down in the sun, the dog at his feet, while Willow began to line her baskets. Hawk’s only function was to protect her while she worked.
The first basket was nearly finished when the dog pricked up his ears and growled warningly. Hawk stood up, looking about alertly. Topping a nearby rise he saw a human figure, then another and another. He spoke softly and Willow came to his side.
Hawk was not worried, for his arrows were more powerful than many spears. Besides, the approaching humans had a strangely familiar look. But it was not until they approached nearer that he identified them positively. They were Wolf, Chief Hunter of their old tribe, Kar, the Chief Fire-Maker, two women, one boy child, and two girl children. They were all haggard, worn, and very thin. Obviously they had eaten little more than enough to keep them alive.
“Come no nearer,” Hawk called out warningly. “If you do, I will kill you.”
Wolf’s voice was weak and husky. “We seek food, and only food.”
“From us?” Hawk cried angrily.
“We have no right to expect anything from you,” Wolf croaked, “for it was we who banished you. That was an evil day for us, for no one else could make spears that flew as true as yours. When we tried to steal some from another tribe, there was a great battle in which half of us were killed.”
Hawk remembered that battleground, back at the scene of the mammoth stampede.
“Where are the rest?” he asked.
“Dead,” Wolf said. “Some killed by wild beasts and some by lack of food. All save us are dead.”
“And you seek only food?”
“Only that.”
As Hawk hesitated, Willow said softly, “They are our people, and they are in great need.”
“Come with us, then,” Hawk said at last. “We have food in plenty, and we no longer wander to find game.” He touched his bow proudly. “There is no need.”
A Note from the Junior Author
Alert readers will notice that most of the animals mentioned in this book are those of Pleistocene North America. The developments in human tools and society almost certainly occurred in Eurasia, before bands of hunters crossed the Bering land bridge. Furthermore, a few of the species of animals never reached North America.
I therefore suggest that readers think of
The Hunter Returns
as an alternate universe novel, in which crucial portions of human prehistory occurred against a background different from that which we believe happened in our own world.
—DAD
