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“Dick,” Amber muttered, picking up her last spear and throwing it down again on top of the Finished pile without bothering to test it.
Nicci came and sat down beside her, but she was looking back at Scott. “What are you going to do?”
“Get a deer.” Amber clapped a hand to her cramping belly and rubbed hard, giving herself something painful to feel to try and avoid throwing up out of sheer, messy misery. “Or die trying.”
* * *
Amber had made twelve spears altogether. Of these, Scott judged eight acceptable; the other four, he said, were good for nothing but firewood and he proved it by tossing them on the fire. Then he picked out the hunters, in spite of the fact that this was allegedly her hunt. It was impossible not to notice that he did not permit any of the Fleetmen, all of whom had volunteered, to join them. If he could have smeared her with fresh blood and honey and tied her hands behind her back too, he probably would have.
Still, Amber managed not to instigate another argument she couldn’t possibly win. She took what little she was given and limited all the outrage seething in her stomach to one small stabbing: She invited Scott to come along.
She did it solely to keep him from stealing any time alone with Nicci and she really didn’t think it would work. She’d been ready to bully Nicci into coming with her once Scott brushed her off, but to her surprise, her, “And of course, you’ll be hiding way back here,” really seemed to get to him. He’d replaced one of his Manifestors on the spot, although he was just as quick to declare he was only there in a supervisory position. The success of the hunt (or more accurately, she was sure, its failure) rested squarely with her.
They finally set off sometime in the early afternoon, which Scott just had to point out was probably the worst time to go hunting. Deer came out at dawn and at dusk.
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t exactly pull these spears out of my ass at dawn this morning,” Amber told him. “I had to make them. If you’ll recall, I asked for your permission to do that days ago and you called me a pig.”
“Miss Bierce, it is deeply troubling to me that you perceive every attempt to educate you as a personal attack.”
She wanted to go on, maybe give him a real personal attack so he’d know the difference the next time they got to talking, but his Manifestor friends were listening and ready to repeat whatever they heard back at camp. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, but she was begi
The herd had been drifting further from camp all morning, but now that they were finally on the hunt, the scaly deer-things abruptly wandered out into the open plains and drew together into a beautifully obvious target. Watching them, Amber hesitated, knowing this was her chance but unsure how to begin. The spear that had seemed so crucial and so solid upon its making now seemed woefully inadequate, a splinter in her hands. Could she really hope to use this thing? And not just use it, but actually stab it into something alive and moving and do enough damage to kill it?
And what if the deer-things fought back? They fought all the time. A handful of them were fighting even now, balanced on their long hind legs so they could slash and butt away at their rival. These blows did not appear to be very effective against their scaly hides, but Amber was pretty sure they could tear through human skin just fine.
Scott was smart enough to recognize a golden opportunity when he saw it. She could almost see the gears of his mind turning as he realized that bringing home the first kill after Amber had not only failed to hunt but actually failed to act was immeasurably better than just letting her fall on her face. He stepped up.
“I’ve got this, Scott,” she said tightly.
“You don’t seem too sure about that. Okay, people, why don’t you two go around that way—”
“I said, I’ve got this! Come on!”
They started forward, spread out and low to the ground, with no specific idea of what to do or which animal to target. The scaly deer-things kicked sullenly at each other and gored the ground for roots, as oblivious to the humans creeping clumsily toward them as the humans themselves were to the dumaq prowling unseen in their own wake. They were close—close enough to see the golden rings of color around their huge dark eyes, close enough to count all three craggy claws at the end of each delicate foot—when Scott whispered, “Should we do it now?”
“No, get closer. We have to get—”
“Now!” Scott shouted, and all six of the Manifestors in the party jumped up with ridiculous cries of attack and threw their spears while they were still at least twenty-five meters away.
“No, dammit!” Amber shouted, ru
The deer quit fighting for one miraculous, motionless instant to gape at the aliens who had just popped up beside them and then the solid mass of the herd exploded into a hundred ru
But no. She swung. It leaped. Her spear co
And that changed everything.
It landed and fell, dragging its body behind its kicking forelegs for a few stu
They tumbled through the grass together—wounded animal and winded human—the distance between them heaving long and staggering short. Twice, she got close enough to swing her spear again, but missed both times. The only other chance she had to hit it came when it unexpectedly doubled back on its trail and when it did, she forgot the spear entirely and grabbed at it instead. She caught it (and if you’d used the spear you dumb bitch you’d have hit it lamed it up some more or even killed it what’s wrong with you) and was dragged along for a few violent seconds only before it kicked her off. She fell, lungs on fire and head spi
It saw her about the same time as she saw it. With a high, bleating cry, it threw itself at her. She swung her spear, missing it completely and throwing herself so far off balance that she fell on her face in the thorny grass. It fled right over the top of her, its clawed feet trampling at her back and butt. She kicked in a blind panic, co
Then it bolted, bawling over and over, aiming for a thicket. She took off after it, lurching more than ru
It bounded through the outer ring of stiff, dead vines and thickening thorns, leaving Amber further behind as she fought to follow after, and when it reached a thick copse of wind-twisted trees and broad-leafed bushes, it staggered. And stopped.
And there it stayed, while Amber fought and failed to get any closer. There was no walking through the tangle of underbrush it had passed so effortlessly, and the harder she tried, the more damage she did to herself. Her clothes tore and her boots got caught and she cut the living hell out of her arms and hands and face, but she didn’t gain a fucking step on it and finally, in a fit of frustration that was nearly orgasmic in its entirety, she let out a howl and threw her spear from the impossible distance of four or five measly meters away.
It leapt aside and was swiftly lost in the deeper shadows of the thicket.
It leapt aside…and something else was there.
She never saw it until it moved, and it had to move or her spear would have gone right into its scaly chest. It whipped aside, pivoting at the hips, and suddenly her spear was suspended and quivering at both ends with its fist wrapped around it in the middle.
It looked at the spear.
And then it looked at her.
* * *
The creature let out an exhausted whoop that probably could have been a scream if it had more air and then fell over. It was not the faint Meoraq thought it was at first, because it was struggling almost at once. Its boots were tangled in dried thorns. More thorns snagged on its clothes, pulling its top-wrap half off and scratching up its pale skin with terrible ease. It fought to free itself, but it was trapped and, by the look in its eerie eyes, it knew it.
It would have been a simple thing to kill the creature. It certainly seemed like the most prudent thing to do, particularly since allowing it to live would alert all the others to his presence. And yet, Meoraq found himself strangely disinclined to strike.
There never should have been a reason for this encounter. The thicket where he had settled in to watch the creatures hunt was well out of the way, and yet the injured saoq had aimed itself directly at him. The will of Sheul could make itself known in many things, perhaps even this.
So then, what was Sheul’s will? Meoraq looked at the creature’s weapon again. Weapon, ha. A young tree, its branches torn away, made sharp at one end and tempered over a campfire. And what had the creature done with its fine pointed weapon? What, but swing at the saoq as if it held instead a club.
Meoraq had indeed watched the hunt, from its disastrous commencement to this unforeseen ending. It would have been easy to laugh at what he saw, except that, no matter how stupidly played out, it was still a coordinated attack. But as the hunt limped on, Meoraq’s derisive humor faded. It was trying. And no matter that it hadn’t a hope of success, it kept right on trying, until Meoraq actually thought it might take the saoq after all. He had, in fact, been sorely tempted while the saoq stood gasping before him in the thicket to put an end to the chase himself. One swift cut across the right tendon…it wouldn’t even bleed that much…the creature might think it had done it all itself.
But he never had the chance. The spear was thrown. The saoq fled. And now here he stood with the creature’s eyes wide open and full upon him.
“Sheul, my Father, I feel Your hand,” mused Meoraq, studying the burnt point of the creature’s weapon. “But I do not hear Your voice. Speak, I pray, and tell me what I am to do.”
The creature spoke.