Chapter 8
Orion sat with his legs folded in on themselves in the cross-sitting style. The meaty portion of his thigh supported the weight of his elbows, providing a stable cushion for his elbow. His hand gently cupped the smooth polished wood of his rifle and aimed in down the sights. He steadied his breathing in anticipation of the hunt, the steady rhythm of his breath matching the rhythm of his heartbeats. The calm of the hunt, the peace of the forest, and the sounds of the birds that chirped their mating songs around his hunter’s nest seemed almost to match that same rhythm of his breath. In and out in and out, he watched the sights of his hunting rifle bob up and down slightly as he watched and waited for his prey. The familiar protests of his muscles twitched and ached against the position he had taken, yet he suppressed and ignored them, taking great care to willfully relax the tension building up in them. In time, however, the numbness set in, replacing the protests with a slight tingling sensation of inaction.
From the foliage beneath his hunter’s perch, he heard the rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs as the weight of the animal that moved through the brush smashed its way through. Even from this distance, Orion could hear the snorts and sniffs of an elongated snout rummaging and foraging, seeking out the delicate morels of newly grown mushrooms or young seedlings that fed the voracious appetites of the Highland Boars.
Every season, the highland Boars came to the only woods in the entire Ktholl highlands, a small but densely populated woods that housed a unique array of monsters, vermin, and wild game. Although small, this wood accounted for a significant portion of the food for the small villages that dotted the highlands, the rocky rolling hills of the region making farming all but the hardiest of crops an impossibility. The resulting mixture of high altitude living and a heavy protein-focused diet resulted in a population that was large in stature, heavyset men and women nearly two meters tall on average.
Both men and women of the highlands known for their great strength, size, and endurance. As a result, they were the prime targets for the thriving slave trade. These raiding slavers had led the inhabitants of the Ktholl highlands to reinforce alliances across the various tribes, resulting in a loose confederacy of tribes ripe with political intrigue and a teeter-totter of power balances spread across the highlands.
The iron sights of irons rifle steadied themselves squarely on the temple of the boar which had finally emerged from the foliage and had taken a roughly stationary position as it began digging into the earth. Great clouds of dirt were snorted up and behind the animal. It’s giant wickedly barbed tusks, digging into the soft rain-soaked earth as it rummaged for its morel shaped prize.
It was the biggest goddamn boar he’d ever seen. Even at this relatively short distance, he was unsure whether the velocity of his small round projectile would be enough the penetrate the thick bone of the Boars reinforced skull. If it wasn’t, well that’s where his spear would come in.
“No time,” he thought to himself, as he glided back the trigger mechanism of his wheel lock rifle. The sparking of the tinder caught light against the powder in the priming well filling the air around him with the smell of lit gunpowder. In an instant, the rest of the charge lit, and the loud bang of his rifle filled the forest.
The boar screamed and squealed as blood trickled down and around its snout and into its eyes. It charged the tree which Orion had established his perch, its tusks slashing and splintering wood with dizzying efficiency. Although blind, the Highland Boar remained a clear threat as the entire tree which Orion sat in began to lose integrity. The entire perch lurched and pitched with every charge from the Boar.
Orion quickly slung his rifle across his back and managed to grasp his boar spear right at the last minute before it pitched itself out of the tree with the last charge from the boar. That fury scared Orion, despite years of training. Past hunts with his father had been equally dangerous, but back then he could lean on his father’s expertise. That knowledge, the smooth clockwork-like movements of his father in response to any threat or situation had been almost inhuman.
At this moment, when the panic began to grip his heart in a python-like vice, he yearned for the comfort and safety of his father. Yet Orion could have no such solace.
This was the Umbatuu the trial of the hunt. It was his responsibility to fill the shoes of his father as the next master hunter. He gripped his spear and with the next shudder and groan of the tree, he swung down from his perch, rolling with his spear tucked in against his body as to avoid stabbing himself as he tumbled into the brush.
Despite being blinded, the boar turned from the now fallen tree facing Orion. Pain twisted its features into a terrifying demonic countenance. Its tusks dug into the dirt in front of it as it twisted in agony. Blood continued to ooze from the bullet which was visibly implanted into its thick skull. Its leathery hide was covered in disgusting warts, its hair was sticky and matted like the head of an artist’s brush.
The boar pawed the ground with massive cloven hooves and then charged, its thick skull braced against its massive neck. Its tusks came at Orion fast and dangerous like the head of a pikeman’s halberd.
Orion crouched in anticipation, mentally calculating the trajectory and momentum of his opponent. At the last possible moment, Orion rolled to the left side of the charging boar, miscalculating the charge by a hair and receiving a grazing blow from its razor-sharp tusk. Despite the shallowness of the hit, Orion’s shoulder gushed blood which intermixed with the mud and twigs of the forest floor deeply staining the bleach-white cloth of his ceremonial garb.
With his feet quickly regaining purchase, Orion, swung his boar spear, instinctively shifting his grip on its shaft into a piercing blow against the tough hide of the boar’s side. The animal squealed in pain as the spear point tore through its flesh and down across its belly, exposing its intestines which dangled and dragged through the muddied forest floor. Blood intermixed with the dirt, mixing up the few dry patches of dirt into dark crimson muck.
The beast’s eyes began to glaze as his life began to slip away. Yet it retained a devilish tenacity as it increased the thrashing of its tusks, attempting to gore Orion. It was hellbent on revenge, despite the fleeting strength that slipped away in the gushing of its lifeblood. Its blind rage made these death throes increasingly dangerous for Orion, far more dangerous than when it had been healthy.
Orion scrambled backward, nearly avoiding a tusk to his belly. The now slick mud made Orion slip and slide as he lost purchase and balance. He found himself prone in the mud, slipping his way back as the boar continued to blindly thrash, feeling around slashing and smashing everything in its path as it dragged its intestines through the blood-soaked muck.
The boar reached Orion and he lay frozen from exhaustion, expecting a tusk to mark his failure in bloody death. However, as the boar brought down its tusk in a final swing, the momentum of its thrust lacked weight, its energy having seeped out through the wounds inflicted by both the bullet and spear. The tusk did pierce through Orion’s chest but only superficially. Although painful, the wound was superficial rather than life-threatening. With the last ounce of his strength, Orion hefted the head and tusk of the boar off of his chest and screamed in pain as the tusk was pulled from his chest in a slurping motion. Silvery stars filled his vision as exhaustion and blood loss set in. As his vision tunneled, he saw the shadowy shapes of the elders emerge from the brush. Although muffled, he heard their solemn chants inducting him as the new master of the hunt. One elder ripped the intestines of the great boar, wrapping it around the neck of Orion like a necklace. His vision slid into darkness as they hefted his broken body into the air.
When finally, he awoke Orion was succinctly aware of the throbbing soreness that permeated throughout his entire body. His vision was wreathed in darkness, only vague shapes recognizable in the midnight darkness of his hunter's hovel. Someone had bandaged him, tightly wrapping clean pearl-white cloths around his arm and abdomen. He struggled to sit up, grunting at the dull pain that his fight with the boar had afflicted him with. He ran his hair through his thick golden locks which thankfully seemed to have been washed of the gory muck that had previously stained and soiled it. Orion was proud of those locks, the jewel of his ancestor for which every generation of a hunter in his tribe had borne.
He had passed the trials of the Umbatuu. The symbol of the boar was now his totem. He could feel its spirit filling him with its raw tumultuous power. Deep within him it writhed and seethed in a rage, only the wards from the village elders kept it caged. These tattoos were fresh, the skin around it still red and angry from the needle.
Orion reached to his tableside, lighting the whale oil lamp that sat there. He lifted the rough homespun tunic that covered his torso and examined his hard-won trophy. The black lines that formed the boar were intricate in detail. So fine was the workmanship of the artistry that it seemed to almost come alive on his skin. “how had they managed to replicate the rage so accurately” he pondered aloud to himself as he gingerly felt along the swollen lines of his fresh ink.
“Tomorrow everything changes” he mused to himself. “The formal induction and I need to select officers for the hunter's corps. I wonder who I should choose for the lead hunters. Perhaps Fverth would be best to lead the eastern team” Orion remembered how many promises Fverth had shown in the last hunting raid in the eastern portion of the Ktholl forest. He remembered how his quick thinking in response to a goblin raid on their fresh kill had saved both their kill and the lives of the fresh hunters. They had even managed to secure several goblin corpses along with an entire grown forest ox. Goblin corpses were highly prized for their regenerative and medicinal properties along with the heavy magical reserves contained within the special musk sacs contained behind their ears. “Yes, Fverth has earned a spot as lieutenant”
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Orion forced himself out of bed despite the protests from his aching muscles and throbbing thumping of his head. Shaking his head against his swimming vision, he righted and steadied himself against his sturdy nightstand. Once he had regained his composure, he set himself to the task of cooking. He pulled from his pantry several slabs of fresh pork belly, for which the butchers had carved from the Ktholl boar which he had slain. Although all meat within the village was carefully distributed in equal portion within the commune of their village, the best portions of the first kill for a master hunter was reserved for him and him alone. Orion slapped the meat with equal portions of salt and pepper, before popping the cut squarely in a heavy iron pan. He lit up his fire, which quickly roared to life. He moved the iron pan to the center of the dancing orange flames and soon the sizzling of the meat and the savory aroma of the meal filled his small hovel.
After his various preparations for supper, he sat at his wooden table, his large wooden plate filled to the brim with freshly cooked pork belly which sat on a bed of wild rice. Thick Pork gravy heavily enriched with flour and butter smothered and soaked the rice and pork. Thick Ktholl butter rolls sat on a side plate, sticky and sweet with maple glaze. Despite the modesty of his hovel, Orion enjoyed a special status that afforded him the rare comforts of exotic foods. Orion dug into his meal, relishing the tastes his status afforded him.
He ravenously devoured every last morsel and crumb available. Although his belly groaned in desire for more, he resisted the temptation, returning to his bed and blowing out the whale oil lamp. He noticed the bobbing of torches in the distance through his large shutter-less window which was intensified by the contrast of heavy darkness caused by the overcast night sky. Orion felt himself drifting back into the warm embrace of sleep as his stomach struggled to metabolize his recent feast. It was sleep well deserved. Sweet dreams of tomorrow’s ceremony swirled to life. Dreams of responsibility and satisfaction at finally having fulfilled the legacy for which his father had groomed him for.
The deep booming of a horn jerked Orion back from the comfort of his dream borne fantasies. The walls of his hovel shook as the deep boom of another horn blast through the twilight of the waning night. The boom of the warning horn finally shook free his head from the cobwebs of half-sleep jolting Orion into a panic. “An invasion? This far north into the Ktholl highlands?!” The tribe wouldn’t stand a chance, not without leadership from the hunter’s corps which acted as a defector defense force for the village. There simply weren’t enough tribal members to form a real guard. This coupled with their advantageous position atop a hill deep within the forest meant that had enjoyed the complacency and illusion of safety after ages free from violence. In fact, the last raid, carried out over a tribal dispute from their eastern neighbors at the edge of the forest, had been resolved without any actual bloodshed from either side.
Orion scrambled to his feet, adrenaline temporarily numbing the aching pain from his muscles and wounds. He grabbed his musket from its stand, his fingers fumbling to secure the rifle sling. Orion felt afraid, an emotion for which he felt deeply embarrassed. He concentrated on a memory of his father chiding him to be a man, a real hunter. He drew on the voice, using it to goad himself into action. Concentrating on this self-loathing spurred him into action, drawing on routine and repeated practice. Muscle memory and the focus of discipline won out over the rising panic and he managed to properly load powder and a shot into the barrel of his rifle. He shoved the stick deep into the barrel, packing in the round tightly against the powder. He rushed towards the door, then doubled back, nearly forgetting to strap his ammunition and powder to his belt. He slammed open the door to his hovel with a fierce kick, stumbling out into his garden and racing as fast as his feet would take him down the dirt path and down into the center of town.
“Orion! Here” a voice of a hunter cried out before a loud snap of exploding gunpowder was quickly followed by a meaty thump and wet gurgling sound as the hunter dropped lifelessly to the cobbled street. The rest of his companions dove to quickly find cover. The panic in their eyes compelled them to abandon reason and order, instead, they scrambled to find cover. Some clumsily clutched their rifles as if they were pieces of driftwood after a wreck at sea. Others still had abandoned their weapons entirely, choosing instead to cower and hide in whatever crevices or hidey holes they could find.
Orion kneeled, wrapping the sling of his rifle around the meaty portion just above his elbow, and pulled back the trigger of his wheel lock rifle. Nothing. He cursed as he realized how he had forgotten to fill the priming chamber of his rile.
Quickly rising and ducking behind a nearby tree, Orion narrowly avoided a stray bullet, which ripped past him, the loud cracking of the projectile slit open a small cut as it whizzed past him. Once again kneeling, Orion fumbled to fill his chamber with primer. Success! Her raised his rifle and in the half-darkness, aimed his sights at a shadowy line of lumpy shapes which had formed within the perimeter of the crude wooden walls of the town’s defensive perimeter. He pulled back the trigger, forcing himself to calm his heartbeat. This time, the powder caught, and his rifle released its projectile. A moment later he saw the lump collapse.
He saw the line collapse forward as the enemy broke ranks and charged the streets of the village. Orion screamed commands he had learned from the past drills his father had insisted they practice despite the safety of the village. Despite the drills, the hunters had never taken it fully seriously. They had always seen defensive drills as a chore, a relic of the past and monument to tradition and nothing more. They had always played games, ran jokes, or simply grumbled during the drills, moving slowly as if they were encased in thick molasses. This complacency left its toll as the hunters simply ignored his orders, choosing instead to either hide or spread out disorganized in a few mavericks who craved glory of foolhardy saviorhood.
He saw three of his men fall in the twilight, their screams filling the echoing valley of the forest below the hill. One of the buildings that formed the perimeter of the village caught flame illuminating the scene against the weak waning darkness of twilight in that dawn of early morning. The flickering of that arson revealed the bright yellow of the uniforms of the men who had attacked them. On their coat was the symbol of the black scorpion. They were mercenaries. Even out here in the middle of the Ktholl highlands, Orion recognized them. The agents of the Guilds, those who were agents and slaves of industry. They served efficiency and coin above the lives of men. These mercenaries enacted slaughter and violence at the whims of whichever purse was heaviest. They were a scourge of the Ktholl, essentially the muscle of the slavers who supplied the mines and factories of the guilds of Godsprings, the capital of the Abino Canyon confederacy. But how had they breached the perimeter or the walls of the village for that matter?
Orion quickly scanned the length of the wall, noting no noticeable cracks. Instead, he saw only that the gate itself was left wide open. It seemed to him almost like the open space of a gaping maw, exposing the soft fleshy bits of gums and throat that lay venerable inside. It was like their teeth had been knocked out, his hunters left in disarray and ignoring his orders despite years of discipline and experience in the hunt. Although they were veterans of the hunt and even experienced in combat against the primitive communes of the goblins within the forest, against a well-trained veteran company of mercenaries, they may as well be untrained peasants.
Despite the odds, Orion continued to fiercely resist the invasion of yellow jacket mercenaries. As some of the hunters witnessed Orion put down a handful of yellow coats from his random potshots behind his position, they began to find courage. In a rallying cry, several left their hidey holes and formed a line from the topmost part of the hill. The steep streets of their village along with the snaking labyrinth-like corridors of its streets put the invaders at a distinct disadvantage even despite their superior training and gear of their armament.
Orion directed what few hunters that would listen into a double line, the front fixed bayonets while the second line sent a volley down into the bottom portion of the town which the Yellow Jackets now occupied. Most rounds bounced off the brick of the buildings the Yellow Jackets occupied but several screams indicated that some had found their mark.
Orion directed his forces to split, using the largest buildings which stood near the top of the village as cover. More screams rang out as his forces sent out almost continuous volleys of fire. Smoke from the gunpowder on both sides choked the village air within a thick cloying plume.
Despite the progress, the hunters stilled remained doomed. Yet each successful kill emboldened them. Orion began to feel hope again. Perhaps they could repel the invasion.
From the rear, Orion heard the shouts of fresh troops. The front had merely been a diversion, as fresh troops used the time to climb the steep ridges and rocks of the backside of the hill. Now surrounded, half of the troops dropped their weapons, raising their hands in defeat. The rest charged the fresh troops but quickly fell to the war axes of the superior troops.
The battle now over, the hunters (Orion included) found themselves bound, chained in the irons of slaves. The mass of Yellow Jackets swarmed over the village which was now free from resistance. They looted, smashing with gleeful vigor all items they deemed not worth looting. Another building, this time the church of the hunt, caught fire.
When the mercenaries had finished looting, they rounded up all the slaves, consolidating them in the center square of the town. From within their ranks, emerged a Mercenary, clad in an immaculate, intricate version of the yellow uniform. He wore a long flowing cape which was adorned with a large embroidered figure of a black scorpion; the symbol of their company. Although he was overshadowed in terms of size by his captives, the captain of the mercenaries was a behemoth of a man. His intricately forged iron helm obscured his face casting a demonic visage and almost ethereal countenance. Behind him was a tall spindly Kthollite dressed in a Yellow Jacket's uniform that was too small for his lanky beanstalk-like frame. His face was contorted in a sneer of satisfaction his wispy and unruly hair sticking to his slick and shiny forehead in greasy stringy lumps.
Fverth, Orion’s intended lieutenant had betrayed them, defecting to the greatest enemy the Kthollites had ever faced. A man Orion had trusted, even thought of as a friend, a companion. “Why?” it was the only thing Orion could manage to get out between the exhaustion and pain he felt at the battle and betrayal. But he never heard a response, Fverth simply spat before turning on his heels and disappearing into the crowd of his new masters.
That night the new slaves were loaded onto the cage carts. Double decked steel cages were pulled by the towering oxen of the lowlands which bordered the Ktholl territory. As the carts wheeled away into the forest paths, Orion looked back and saw the blaze of his home village burning. The plume of smoke quickly disappeared, obscured by the thick bows of the trees. That inky black smoke was the last he ever saw of his village, his home.