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The Spirit Caller - Chapter 3 Written by: Cymrick Ravenfoot HUNTER, PREY Once I watched a dog chase a raccoon. Though he caught his prey, the outcome of the chase was not in his favor. Just as any creature may suffer at the teeth and talons of another, it is not always the pursuer who is the hunter. When one pursues his prey and finds it to be stronger than he, is it because he underestimated the strength of his foe or because he overlooked his own weaknesses? How many times may one ‘test his mettle’ before his life ends in misfortune? An interesting problem, for I neither know the limits of my own strength nor do I understand the ways of my enemies. The air was warm and the sun shining. A gentle breeze stroking the rolling plains of Everfrost made the temperature pleasant and made nonsense of the plateau’s name. Five months had passed since I had joined the Shaman of Justice and winter had finally released the North from its icy grip. With winter gone and spring returned, the youths of Halas once again raced into the wilderness to continue the hunt. So here I was, trekking into the highlands with my five companions to catch game and tempt fate. With five months of confinement in the enclosure of our city, my friends and I were about ready to burst. ‘Twill be a bad day for anything we can catch, kill and eat. There is nothing more fierce than Northerners with cabin fever. Although I had gone hunting many times with this same group, this hunt was different. It was my first hunt as a shaman. "We aren’t going to carry your corpse back to Halas you know." Jordan reminded me for what must have been the fortieth time. "And you won’t share the gains ‘less you pitch in." I nodded knowingly at Jordan’s warning, the broad grin on my face doing nothing to ease his chaffed nerves. Looking to my group, I could see that they were all a little uneasy of my presence. Their consternation was understandable. We were going to hunt Snow Jaguars, a cautious but particularly savage feline that inhabits the Rausache Highlands to the northeast of Halas. My hunting party, marching in a line across the flatlands, was well equipped for the venture. In addition to a hunting spear, every member of the hunt was carrying a club or staff in hopes of taking an intact pelt. Most of my party was armored as well, wearing boiled leather armor or a studded leather half-coat. Our leader, Rhonan, was carrying his ever-present bastard sword and Mariel had her great bow. I was carrying only a bag of rocks. I must confess that I’ve taken some amusement from the reactions of my party. Striding into a dangerous hunt clad only in my hunting clothes and armed only with a shoulder pouch full of stones is a move worthy of a madman. Given my historical tendency towards being overly competitive they probably imagined this was some sort of joke on my part. I had, in fact, been prepared to explain my motives if they threatened to exclude me from the hunt. Instead they decided to call my ‘bluff’. I wasn’t bluffing, of course. I left Halas essentially unarmed and, now two days from our fair city, I had still refused to take the extra spear Rhonan brought for me. My hunting party was now beginning to doubt my intentions and I was enjoying myself too much to set them straight now. We halted our march, as Rhonan withdrew his map from a bone scroll tube and consulted with Derrick. Spying him throw a sly glance Mabel, I moved a short distance away from the others and waited for the ‘talk’ I knew was coming. A playful breeze tugged at my tunic and pulled at my hair as I stood and watched the still flanks of the nearby mountains. Exchanging a meaningful glance, Mabel and Mariel approached me. Sending the Lady and her retainer, I smirked inwardly. As they approached, I made great show of putting down my provisions and my ‘armaments’ with a grateful sigh. I tried not to let any trace of a smile show on my face. Mabel wasn’t fooled. "You’re enjoying this aren’t you, you miserable sod!?" She bawled at me, straining to keep her voice level. "No." I replied. Yes. Always direct and unflappable, Mariel got straight to the point, "This won’t be like last time. You get yourself killed and you will ruin the hunt for all of us." She folded her strong arms across her chest. "That will not happen. Understand?" In the face of Mariel’s ultimatum, I decided to abandon my mirth and answer truthfully. "I’m not mad. And I want the hunt to be successful as much as anybody else here." Seeing no change in her stony visage, I added, "I will contribute and I won’t need weaponry." Easily catching my implications, Mariel gave a derisive snort. "You’ve been a shaman for five months..." "Correct. But I know my limits, Mariel. You’ll have to trust me on this." Picking up one of my rocks, I juggled it from one hand to the other. "Except for the last hunt, I’ve never taken on a challenge I couldn’t best." "Then why all the stepping around and acting mysterious?!" Mabel blurted. As always, she is ten times more excitable than her friend. My carnivorous smile returning, "If the male members of this hunt are too stiff necked to ask me directly what I intend, then they *should* stew for awhile." I answered loftily. Mabel’s hands twisted into talons, "If you men spent as much time making war as you spent besting one another, we’d rule the continent by now!" She gave my bag of rocks a kick. "I brought bandages. Will we be needing them?!" "Only if you fume so hard you hurt yourself" I answered glibly. Giving me a frigid glare, Mabel stalked back to the rest of the group. After one silent moment passed, Mariel followed her. Mariel at least looked somewhat reassured. What I told Mariel was true, I *would* contribute and I *wouldn’t* need weaponry. My time with the Shaman of Justice hasn’t been spent idly. The Shaman are the priests of our patron saints, The Tribunal. Though not a priesthood like any other, members of the Order do possess many powers. In the past five months, I had risen in rank to become an initiate of the 3rd circle. This rapid ascension was unheard of amongst the Shaman of Justice, but my powers warranted it. Warranted and more besides. I had learned quickly. My mother is a skilled instructor and the Wolf haunting me an excellent motivator. Moreover, I had access to abilities that were not normally available to a novice, and I had been able to communicate with the Wolf Spirit since almost the first day of my training. Unfortunately, this is a secret I had had to keep from my fellows within the Order. By the end of our second day of travel, we had reached our hunting ground. We spent the night setting up camp and discussing the following day’s activities. In particular, we had to decide who would act as the ‘lure’ for our hunt tomorrow. Snow Jaguars are a cautious cat. Despite their ferocity, they will not approach an armed group of humans. The only time they abandon caution is when they are caught up in the hunt. Snow Jaguars and I are somewhat alike in that aspect. Due to the unusual traits of this feline, they are usually hunted by having one of the hunting party provoke the cat into giving chase and then luring it into a prepared ambush. Hence the need for a ‘lure’. Being the lure is very dangerous, as Jaguars are one of the fastest creatures in all of Everfrost. It also takes some practice to learn how to make the plain-cats angry. The instant Rhonan brought up the subject, I spoke up. "I’ll pull." I said firmly. Only Mabel and Mariel didn’t look surprised. Rhonan, Derrick and Jordan, on the other hand, were stunned by my decision. If I had any artistic skills, I would have sketched a picture of their faces. After one pregnant moment of silence, Jordan almost screamed at me in frustration, "Are you showing off!?! No buckler to beat the cat with. No spear to defend yourself. Even if you find one, it’ll eat you alive!" "It should be easy to catch then." I shrugged. "We’ll get at least one that way and I’ll be a cheap funeral besides." Rhonan cut off Jordan’s imminent retort, "We’ll sleep on it and sort things out in the morning." We arose the next day before dawn and sorted out our plans with little difficulty. Mostly it was Mariel who decided things. "Let him look. If he gets eaten, Derrick can take a turn." she said simply. Leaving our camp behind, we selected a site for our ambush and my companions went to work at preparing the area and concealing themselves. Hefting up my satchel of rocks and I made to trek off in search of our prey but was intercepted by Rhonan. Holding out his dagger, still in its sheath, he offered it to me. "Take this." Waving off my protest, he persisted, "You don’t want a spear. Fine. But take my dagger." "I need to be unarmed. The cats are too wary of armed men. If I need a weapon, then I’ve failed." I turned to go but Rhonan caught my shoulder. "Just take it." he insisted earnestly. "If you die, I’m the one who has to tell your mother. I’d hate to see her lose her son like she lost her husband." My amusement left me instantly. "If I die Anna will know without being told." "Just take the damned dagger, Cymrick." Mabel breathed. Her voice was carefully level and, despite the cross look on her face, there was a glint of fear in her eyes. Smothering my rising anger, I gave my best attempt at a sincere smile. "I’m not making this up as I go, I’ll be fine. There’s no blizzard this time, right?" Shrugging off Rhonan’s hand, I loped off to begin the hunt. Tucking his dagger back under his belt, Rhonan shouted at my retreating back, "You’re not making this easy for me, Cym." "It’s because I’m a difficult person." I shifted my satchel on my shoulder. "Just don’t fall asleep, I will be needing you soon." I went a fifty yards from the ambush site, selected a nice grassy knoll within view of my hunting party and plopped onto my backside. Setting my satchel down beside me, I reclined and laced my hands behind my head, trying to relax. ‘I’d hate for Anna to lose her son and her husband.’ Indeed. Why can’t people stop being so mindful of my family and leave me the hell alone? Letting the air out of my lungs slowly, I concentrated, trying to find the inner flame. There were still sparse patches of snow on the ground and I heard some crunch just behind my head. "Just what are you doing?" Jordan demanded sarcastically. "You’re just laying there." "True." I was still trying to concentrate. "You can’t find anything by taking a nap." Jordan mocked. "I suppose not." I opened my eyes to behold Jordan’s face, upside down from my perspective. "Could you go away please?" Before he replied, Mabel’s face hovered into view. "Didn’t get enough sleep, Cymrick? What are you doing?" I sat bolt upright. "Talking to you two." I snarled. "Now. Would you both sod off? And don’t disturb me until I bring home a Jag." I didn’t see either of their reactions as I laid back down sharply and closed my eyes. Mabel’s voice pierced the darkness, tight and angry, "Rhonan says you have until noon to find one, don’t waste our time." Then I heard them leave. "Finally." I muttered. Tribunal! Resuming my concentration, I found the inner fire. The focus and fuel for our powers, a shaman may only work magic when the inner fires burn brightly. As I was well rested, the fires were strong within me. With experience, the fires would grow stronger but for now they were more than sufficient for my task. Focusing upon my shaman sight, I stretched my senses out across the highlands, trying to feel the movement of primal powers. The mysteries of the land unfolded before my inner eye and I could feel the presence of all living creatures within miles. A thousand hearts beating, blood pumping through a hundred thousand veins and I could feel them all at the edge of my awareness. With effort, I could pick out the individual animals amidst the teeming wildlife and divine their activities. An arctic fox sniffing the air, trying to find the rabbit it knows is near. A wolverine, mind full of blood lust, the dry twigs and half frozen pine needles snapping under its paws as it stalks noisily through the bush. A mink, eating a bird that landed too close. A family of polar bears, pulling trout from a stream. A lone timber wolf, browsing the thickets for mice. A cougar, pawing at a beaver lodge. A skunk, waddling about unconcerned, looking for roots to eat. A hundred more... But no jaguars. Beads of sweat were on my flesh now, more from the exertion of concentrating on so many sparks of life than from the physical strain of channeling the inner fire. I had lost track of time but it was still hours until noon. I’ll have to wait. One will enter my sight soon. So many creatures, most of them hunting... just like us. The only creatures I couldn’t sense were my companions. Civilization had risen us too far above the land for the shaman’s sight to detect us in this manner. Maintaining a meditative focus, I rested and waited... husbanding my strength. Time passed and watched the movement of the wildlife like a man watches the movements of fireflies, a silent dance of sparks in the blackness. I watched as a some sparks flickered out and others moved within my sight. While doing so, I stayed aware of my immediate surroundings, conscious that there may be other creatures in plains that wouldn’t be revealed by my ‘sight’. The sun had been rising steadily in the sky for hours, when finally I located our first prey. The wind ruffling its fur and thin snow shifting noiselessly under its paws, an enormous and muscular snow jaguar prowled into the field of my sight. Clamoring to my feet, I stretched my hands out in front of me and summoned a spirit shroud. An intangible and invisible force settled about me, concealing me from the same creatures that I could feel using my sight. Provided I made no hostile actions, I would no longer register to the senses of any animals. Taking four rocks from my satchel, I then went directly to the jaguar, paying no heed to any other beast encountered on the way. I found the jaguar rubbing the pads of its paws on a fur tree. It was a magnificent creature. By stretching its body it was able to gouge the bark of the tree seven feet above the ground. It continued to mark its territory as I watched it, for the moment oblivious to my presence. That will change shortly. Taking a rock from my pocket I tapped my inner fire and called the Spirit of the Wolves. Though shaman are capable of performing several kinds of magic, our most dramatic and powerful ability is our strength as a medium. In much the same way a priest is the instrument of his god’s will, a shaman is the executor of ancient pacts with the spirit world. Through spiritual possession, the practice of housing a portion of a sentient spirit’s power in a mortal host, a shaman may acquire supernatural powers and may share those powers with his allies. Possession is not without its risks -- but to one who is attentive to the nature of the spirits, the risks are far outweighed by the powers bestowed. The Wolf Spirit answered readily, I could feel her mocking presence and amber eyes upon me almost the instant I made the entreaty. The jaguar did as well. Feeling the presence of a rival predator, the great cat dropped back onto all fours and tensed. My overt action had also banished the spirit shroud rendering me undetectable to the animal. As the great spotted feline fastened its eyes on me and snarled, I felt the Wolf Spirit pour her essence into my body. A guardian spirit notorious for meddling in the mortal world, the Spirit of Wolves is a symbol of grace and longevity. With her gift within me, I could run quickly and tirelessly. A gift I would need. I pulled back my arm and bounced a rock off of the jaguar’s head. The temperamental cat didn’t need any other encouragement. My harmless assault coupled with the presence of the Wolf provoked the beast into a rage. As I turned and ran, it came in hot pursuit. Even with the Spirit of Wolves aiding me, the great cat was a faster sprinter than I. I kept the cat from catching me by running sharply in another direction whenever it was about to pounce. My shaman’s sight let me know when it was close. I could feel the cat’s muscles tense, the heat of victory in its blood, when it was ready to bring me down. Running at full speed the cat wasn’t half as agile as I and would have to stop, turn and accelerate again whenever it missed. I also took advantage of every fold in the land between myself and my hunting party, crossing rough ground at a pace that only a two legged creature could maintain and running down the backside of hillocks at steep angles to force the cat to slow. I reached my group’s ambush site with a three second lead on the jaguar. Using this time to make another entreaty, I invoked an aspect of the Serpent Spirit. The spirit’s inscrutable reptilian aura hung in the cold air for the barest of seconds before I completed my abjuration and my flesh magically sprouted thick scales to ward off the impending attack. Then a mountain of angry feline tackled me, baring me to the ground. I met my attacker with open arms. Grasping the jaguar on either side of the neck, I struggled with all my might to keep its jaws away from my throat. I was trying to keep the jaguar from disemboweling me with its hind claws when I saw my companions burst from concealment around me, previously hidden beneath a layer of dirt and snow. Seeing one of his party set upon so savagely by their prey, Jordan charged the cat with his spear and tore a rent in its flank. His attack was greeted by an anguished squall from the cat and a strangled cry from the cat’s would be victim. "Clubs!!" I bellowed. Setting upon the jaguar with clubs and staves, my party beat it badly before it realized its peril. By the time it released me and looked to escape our ambush, there was no longer any chance of it doing so. I sat up, panting heavily, to watch my companions chase the feline and finish it off. Fate is cruel sometimes. What you thought was the eve of your victory was really the moment of your death. I understand only too well. Surprisingly, I felt somewhat sad seeing the cat die. As Mariel and Derrick went about skinning and butchering the cat, I turned my attention to my wounds. Although I had suffered numerous slashes and gouges, most were superficial. A few small punctures in my arm, some bleeding gashes in my flank and a veritable mountain of dislodged snake scales were the only evidence of my attacker’s fury. A long, slim finger poked my scaly shoulder and I looked up to see Mabel staring down at me. "Are you... okay?" she asked hesitantly. "Nothing serious." I grasped her hand, got my legs underneath me and she helped me to my feet. "Somebody jammed me in the ribs with a staff though..." I undid my abjuration and my scales shed, creating a little heap around my feet. Rhonan approached, his stride as broad as his smile. "Well done, Cymrick!" He clasped my hand. "Except for one cut, we got an intact pelt. Very valuable. Can you do it again?" I grinned back, "I look hurt now, so the next one should be easier to lure. I won’t have to keep him so close during the chase." The inner fire was still strong within me but I decided to take no chances. "Set aside my share of the trophies while I rest up for the next cat." "Wait a moment." Mabel held her hands up, a look of disbelief on her face, "You mean that *this* is what you intended to do?! Just how do you figure this is a good idea?" Rather than pointing out the obvious fact that it worked and that I escaped mostly intact, I instead decided to respond cryptically. I was really in no mood to explain my reasoning and I doubted it would mollify Mabel anyhow. "I am a shaman." I answered simply. She thrust her fists against her hips, "You are crazy!! You know that?" Whirling away from me, she stalked back to the group to speak with Mariel. I gave a sly smile. "Same thing really." I said, talking to the empty air. All told, my party killed five snow jaguars during two days of hunting. By the end of the second day, I was getting quite skilled at acting as a de-facto chewtoy for the great cats of the highlands. We had five intact pelts and a plethora of teeth, claws and meat from our prey. An excellent haul. Not wishing to anger the Cat Spirit by over hunting, I suggested we return home after the fifth kill. We had as much as we could carry anyhow. During the trip home, Derrick, who is an enthusiastic craftsman, went about fashioning the teeth and talons into as many necklaces as he could make. He also made a bracelet for Mariel, who was properly appreciative despite normally being unmoved by gifts. I mostly practiced my faith healing on the forty or so cat-scratches I collected during the hunt. The Tribunal’s gift to their shaman is the ability to heal injuries, cleanse poison and abolish sickness and maladies of various kinds. Though the Shaman of Justice are not capable of the same miracles that the priests of the southern religions are, we can mend injuries with startling speed provided that the spark of life yet remains. As a result, I had recovered completely from my injuries long before we returned to Halas. Once we arrived home, we made haste to McDaniel’s Smokes and Spirits to celebrate and divide the bounty. I went to retire to my quarters in the Halls of Justice shortly thereafter. On the way out, Mariel stopped me. "It would seem you aren’t mad after all, Cymrick. But I swear you could’ve brought a dagger and some leathers to that hunt." She gripped my shoulders tightly, the faint odor of honey mead on her breath. "Why’d you leave your weapons behind? You would’ve been impressive even if armed and you did’nae have to show off for us anyhow." I gave her hips a playful squeeze. Tribunal! Strong grip you have there Mariel. "I’ll be armed next time luv. ‘Twas a test of mettle and I didn’t want to fall back on old habits." Lifting up her mug, she downed a draught of mead. "Pity you’re being a softie. We’re going to celebrate, you should be with us." Grinning like lion, she looked back to the table where the rest of the party was drinking and talking. In particular she stared brazenly at Derrick. "I’m going to celebrate." she growled lustily. I laughed evilly, "A good fight always makes you happy, Mariel. Don’t worry about me, I’ll celebrate plenty tomorrow when you’re all hung over." I slapped her hip, "You be good." "Suuuure I will." she smirked back. "Nite all." I shouted to my companions. Then I left. A bracing walk through the night air was the last leg of my journey that night. Sprawling atop a thick pelt in my chamber, I dozed. The cold night air from the open window commingling with the warmth of the fireplace coals made sleep come quickly and deeply. The first real rest I had in nearly a week. In the depths of slumber, I could feel *her* eyes upon me again. Yellow gemstones boring into me like twin augers. Her tongue hungrily sliding over her blackened jaws, she breathed her thoughts into my mind. --- A wolf is a skeptic about many things, cub. She always questions any supposed safety, or any easy prey. She always interrogates other predators and is mindful of her pack in their presence. She trusts her fellows, but not with her life. She assumes every meal is her last and guards it jealously. And she always protects her family, for they are her immortality. And the immortality of the pack. --- She slides easily through my dreams, as at home here as she is in the tundra. She stalks me, eyes afire. --- A wolf is never a skeptic about herself however. She never considers her own identity. That she continues to live and hunt is enough for her. For this simple fact, she is very powerful in her own realm. Her jaws never hesitate when about the neck of her prey. She and her pack move as one creature. Her life is freely given for her cubs. But can you say the same, cub? --- I could feel scorn in her thoughts, sharp and punishing. --- You fumble around and test yourself when you should instead act on your desires. You have questions, so find the answers. If you do not move forward, you will die. --- She lunged at me, a wave of foamy fur bowling me over, sending me tumbling into the abyss. --- You are a broken tool. Decisions greater than when to hunt, fight or run lay before you. Fight cub! --- I started awake with a gasp worthy of a drowning man. I felt feverish, despite the sweat on my naked body and the cool air from outside. Catching my bearings, I could see that I was in my small room within the Halls of Justice, not the Wolf’s haunted tundra. Glancing to the window, I saw only blackness. Still the middle of the night. Never free from her for a moment. Why? Rubbing my neck I got up from my bed. She was there when I recovered from the plague. Did she have something to do with that? And what does she want of me? She never asks for anything, she just taunts me. Realizing I wouldn’t find sleep anytime soon, I grabbed my kilt and laced it about my waist. If I can’t sleep, I’ll raid the pantry instead. Scratching my head vigorously, I left my room to find something to eat, and perhaps some time to think as well. Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | ||
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