Rootworld Hunter’s Guild
Kristen hooked the strap of her paintball mask to her belt then pulled on her leather bracers in preparation for her hunting final. They were loosely fitted.
She had learned to go a size-up on leather items after hunting the Firewise desert on assignment two years back. Of course, she had read about amateurs being strangled by shrunken leather in the history books of the Hunter’s Guild by then, but hadn’t planned on experiencing enough water to worry about that. In fact, her major worry when she’d fallen victim, was the lack of water. Dying of thirst, for example.
With that memory in mind, she pulled a canteen off her dormitory shelf and shouldered it, then pushed a raccoon-skin hat down firmly on her head over her makeshift sweatband. In a pinch, she could ring the water from it. She wasn’t going to find herself being hoisted home on the shoulder of her mentor again after her clothes had been cut from her limbs by the sharpened bone of some unfortunate animal or another.
“Not this time,” Kristen said, poking the leather cap and her very own bone-handled knife, which hung along the trim of her closet on a string. Then she opened the doors.
She slid apart the array of uniforms. The outfits were all different colors and textures. One was actually made from leaves that she’d painstakingly strung herself, another entirely of feathers. From behind these, she withdrew her five-foot yew bow. Ran a finger on the string to test its wax, then laid it on the bed. Fixed a quiver of standard wooden arrows in place beside it, then after consideration, added some iron ones, plus some poison tips (corked for safety), four petroleum fire arrows, and an incendiary for good measure. She opened a trunk, rummaged inside, removed a rolled bundle, then closed the trunk and put her foot atop it loosening the laces on her boots. From the bundle she produced four throwing spikes and two hunting knives. The spikes slid into her left boot and she pulled the laces taught again. Up went her other foot and she did likewise, first checking that the handles of each knife contained the mandatory, flint, cheese wire, magnet, doggie treat, fishing hook, wax-coated paper, and piece of pencil. She laced up that boot, then folded the dark cloth, the only thing remaining of the empty bundle, into a triangle and tied it around her neck, tucking the excess into the back of her camouflage shirt.
She went to her desk, stopping to admire herself in the mirror beneath the array of taxidermies on the walls. All hunters had taxidermies. Though, a good drawing of a newly identified species was acceptable for a passing grade, real proof was required if you wanted to earn membership in the guild. She thought she looked pretty good. Her face could use some paint, but she would do that last. She paused before opening the bottom drawer of her desk to lift a framed photo from the desktop.
Back on the Globe, Kristen had been part of an all-boys paintball team. She often wondered what had happened to her teammates. John, the team captain, had gone through the guild and graduated two years earlier but because of the strict three year vow of silence, she wouldn’t know if he’d had passed, or done the other thing, which she did not want to think about at this point. Best case scenario was that he got shipped back Globe-side and was becoming acclimated to a world of magic and science. Maybe he was even married. She left it at that. Then put the photo down and removed a crossbow and bolts from the drawer. She strung one, put on the safety, and threw it over her back on a thong. She reached over the desk, and took the wooden club from the mount, securing it likewise, over her shoulder. From her top drawer she took a petrified larynx, good for calling any type of game, and tied it to her belt. Four bags of rations went into the pockets of her BDUs. Her climbing spikes went into a satchel with some rope. A multi-tool, shaped like a hammer, managed to fit underarm. Then she threw her fur cloak over the whole mess and turned to the mirror, trying to tell if Alpha would notice the unusual bulge. She pointed to her reflection and gave a click and a wink, then took a pinhole camera, which might save herself the trouble of drawing, and hid that down the front of her shirt. She’d recently become adept with the spring trap, and seeing as she’d gone through the trouble of polishing it, secured it, chain and all, to her belt as well.
Then, she threw the bow and the quiver of arrows over the fur, cinching them down. She pulled the stone axe off her shelf and pushed the handle into her tent roll before hoisting it onto her shoulders, then as an afterthought slid a blow gun down her left trouser leg. She thought of her old friend Beaver. Yes, today was the day to become either the hunter or the hunted.
As Kristen applied her face paint she thought of the four years under Alpha’s tutelage. He had taught Kristen everything besides what a heavy burden a guild membership comes with.
“That,” Alpha had said, “you will have to learn for yourself.”
She faced away from the mirror, took one step reaching for the door handle, and clattered to the floor.
"Lesson learned," she thought.
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Crossing the Barrier
Four years earlier, Kristen had crossed the Memorial Skybridge, equipped with little more than her diploma in Minor Magics, a scholarship for the Rootworld Academy of the Arts, and a visa signed by the mayor. She had tried smuggling her paintball gun and equipment, but that stuff never made it past customs. She remembered thinking the officer was going to let her through after the first of two men with swords, who looked considerably suspect, walked right through the stone archway.
“No projectile weapons,” said the Officer.
“Couldn’t he technically throw his sword?” Kristen had asked as the last man disappeared into the bright ripple of the portal.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The guard had grunted, then torn off a chit and handed it to Kristen. “Fill out your information and it will be returned to your home address.” He’d hiked an elbow toward a large drum, “Else, the bin.”
Kristen stepped out of line and started filling out the form on the table beside the officer, stopping only to watch the flash as two more people stepped through the portal. “How does it work?”
The guard waved another woman through and then had briefly turned his head toward Kristen, “Don’t you know anything?”
“Well,” Kristen said, putting the pen back in the little cup and holding the slip toward the guy.
The officer pointed to a roll of yellow tape and a collection of large plastic bags with drawstrings.
Kristen started to bag up her items and noticed the guard waving another over to relieve him at the entry for a moment. “What about my facemask?”
The officer made a short exchange with his relief then took the paintball mask in his hands, rotating it, then examining the small snorkel. “Hmmp. No moving parts?”
“It’s adjustable if that’s what you mean,” Kristen said, wondering what that had to do with anything.
“I guess you can see if the rubber survives.” Then the guard said, “Hey Lance, they have rubber in Rootworld?”
“Dunno,” said his relief, “never been.”
“How they make rubber anyway?” said the Officer.
“Plant, I think. Should be okay.”
Kristen had wrinkled her nose at that. Maybe she hadn’t known anything.
“You can try the mask. Now, put the slip in the bag with your stuff. Write your name on the tape and stick it to the front. I will take care of the rest.”
Kristen had done as she was told, then watched another person pop through the lighted pool in the rock archway.
“Nothing to worry about. Didn’t your parents tell you anything?”
"Parent," she corrected, and then said, “You mean besides happy hunting? I know the history. I just don’t understand if it is still the sun out there.”
“Sun, white hole, what’s the difference? We’re still going around it and all. The Globe has just stopped spinning because the ocean’s all in one place.”
“I know that! I got top marks in geography and science.”
POP!
Another person vanished through the ripple.
The officer had tapped his relief. The guy began walking away. “You’re up kid.”
Kristen had stepped back to the front of the line and remembered telling herself not to close her eyes. “Yeah, but…”
“Quantum entanglement,” said the Officer nudging her forward. “Should have paid attention in physics class.”
“My counselor said I could enroll on the Rootworld side.”
The officer laughed just as Kristen began feeling the heat at the threshold and she looked back.
“I think you mean meta-physics,” said the big man, then slapping the next traveler and hiking a thumb toward Kristen, “Guilders! Always neglecting the tangible! Happy Hunting!”
POP!
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Rootworld Hunter’s Guild
“The belt’s most valuable aspect as a tool,” scolded Alpha, “is holding your pants up.”
The crimson color was just reaching Kristen’s ears as Alpha’s eyes fell on the knot she’d tied in her belt after the buckle had broken back in the dorm. She had hurriedly liberated herself of some of the unnecessary equipment and made it to the crossroads just before the last student straggled in.
The last student had been Maurice. He was only a second year, but because his father was the guild supervisor, he was getting to run the trial early. Kristen felt only a bit of self-pity before Alpha’s sarcasm chastised Maurice instead.
“Hazeus,” Kristen thought, “Maurice is wearing an orange vest for gods’ sake. Who could possibly get close to a respectable bit of game like that?”
But today, Alpha had no large interest in correcting mistakes, only in giving out final orders. He liked calling them ‘last rights’.
“Discoveries are to be presented no later than next Solar-full. Complete with documentation.”
Maurice leaned over and nudged Benjamin, who was a fourth year like Kristen. “When’s the next Solar-full?”
“Can’t really tell,” said Ben, adjusting his binoculars, which were strapped to his head semi-permanently. He wasn’t adjusting the focus, just pushing the glasses further up on his nose.
Alpha began handing out the collapsible cylinders for the students’ specimens. After Ben respectfully received his in turn, he continued, “That could be Mercury or Venus occluding the last bit of the white hole this morning, or it may be Mars. If it is, I would give us less than a day before nightfall. Then it matters how large the object is that passes by—"
“Nevermind,” said Maurice, extending his tube and looking into it. “Howm’I gonna fit a dragon in here?”
“—the antikathereon device could tell us precisely how much time we have, but I think they won’t let one of those through customs for another hundred years!” Ben finished. This time he was adjusting his focus to judge Maurice’s reaction.
Maurice was too close to the lenses for it to help. “I said, ‘Nevermind!’” He put a hand over the end of Ben’s glasses and turned to Kristen.
“Well,” said Ben, seeing only darkness, “I withdraw my previous conclusion… We’re buggered.”
Maurice yanked the binoculars back and forth, letting Ben know that the end had not yet come.
“You don’t need the whole beast, Maurice. Just a sample,” Kristen said.
“I’m not daft, Kristen! Just sayin’ I’m not coming back here with less than a taxidermy. I plan on joining the guild. Why would anyone settle for a sketch?”
Ben’s magnified lashes flicked at the ends of the binoculars like some cartoon character’s. “Well,” said Ben recovering, “some of them took this as an elective.”
Kristen considered this. She wondered what the students who chose not to specialize were going to do to make a living. Guess, there’s all the night shift jobs, like trash collecting and outhouse pumping. But, why would they need to learn math? Or language arts for that matter? Though, over here, Language Arts involved a bit more paint. And Spelling had a tad bit more to do with conjuration. No, she felt much more confident in a trade. Besides, she’d heard that there were vampires to deal with at night, not to mention the Rogues.
That wide world waited to be explored in depth, just beyond the horizon of this final exam.