V.F. Aubrey

August stalked through the forest, carefully weighing each step, until he found a willing oak to climb growing at the edge of a broad animal trail. He ascended its knotty trunk and settled to wait among the leaves, which showed the first hint of yellowing at their edges. Below and across the trail, his best friend, Trillium, poked her face through the foliage where the sun penetrated the verdant tangle. She signaled to wait; she was right. The hum of swirling insects and birdsong rose and fell around them like a resting heartbeat—their prey was not yet approaching.Drawing moist air into his lungs, August bent his body against the bark and observed the forest with alert grey eyes. The night’s rain had long ceased, but errant drops still fell from the canopy, creating a staccato backdrop to the thrum of life and soaking his dark, unkempt hair. He wiped the moisture from his face and hefted his spear—its smooth surface felt incongruous against his hard callouses, built up on his hands from long hours of practice with the Warriors. His thumb traced his initials, AD, carved into the shaft, which now seemed to bear the weight of a promise. The Warriors’ leader, Magnus Swale, spoke to him before the hunt, his last words now burned into August’s memory, playing on loop: “Any wrong move and they’ll run, so wait until the absolute last second to let fly. First, focus your mind, and the rest will follow.”After years of waiting, August had finally been selected for the first strike. He touched the black smear of ash on his forehead, which directed the ancestors to guide his aim. Madrone Kinnikinnik, the village holy person, had placed it there. But at the selection ceremony, under the Council’s intimidating gaze and with Madrone close enough for him to smell the stale cider on her breath, August’s mind had been elsewhere, envisioning future glories.Now, August’s thoughts rebelled despite Magnus’s instruction for focus, darting from image to image with the speed of flickering flame: first, his beloved dog, Hubert, who always calmed him and who he wished was there now; then, the crude log target he’d practiced on after everyone else was long done for the day, its bullseye gouged deep with repeated hits; finally, the group of elders on the outskirts of Nievescondité who’d wished the hunters good luck on their way out of the village, their creased eyes brimming with pride and hope.The elders’ expectations haunted him. The People came together as the temperatures dipped for the year’s most important event, the Gathering, to celebrate the harvest and prepare for the coming frost. Even the extremely aged made the long journey from the Valley. There, the assembled clans counted on the hunters to provide meat to sustain them not only for the festival but for the entirety of the long winter. But the game had been sparse this season—the migratory herds through the Valley a shadow of previous years—and if they failed today, many of their most vulnerable would perish when the snow flew.He should be proud, he knew that. He’d beaten the odds, risen above his lowly status as an orphan through vigorous training and seemingly unending apprenticeship. He was tall and lean, and could hold his own in combat, even against Magnus. And now, his constant practice had been rewarded. But suddenly, he felt odd, as if he were a spectator watching himself from afar. How could he be so ready yet feel so disconnected? He knew his abilities, yet why did the boy he saw in the tree seem so weak—so scared? Interrupting his erratic thoughts was a clear message: he shouldn’t be there. He was an orphan, after all. If he were allowed this responsibility, there could be only one outcome: he saw starving, emaciated faces cursing his name as they withered to dust; children forced to go hungry, their parents looking on hopelessly; and the People emerging as a decimated husk of themselves in the spring, vulnerable to Piranha raids and slavery.His heart jumped and lurched in his chest like a skittish pony.It was damp and hot in the forest, but a tingly sensation rose up his arms as if they had been held too long in icy river water. He took deep breaths to calm himself, but his mind grew fizzy, like a geyser about to burst, and the world around him seemed to pulsate and dim at the edges with each erratic heartbeat.He should alert Magnus now—he had to leave. Someone else must take his place.Trying to refocus, he checked the sharpness of his spear’s blade. The metal was melted down from old machinery scavenged from the industrial outskirts of the Drowned City. The People had honed this art for generations, and he already knew this check was superfluous: he’d spent the last few nights obsessively honing its edge.For an instant, the pounding in his chest masked the realization that the forest had gone completely quiet. He glanced up and saw Trilly’s round face beaming below her auburn curls as she motioned up the trail to his left. Trillium was his best friend, his only close friend, really. Of course, she was excited—Trilly did not feel fear like regular humans. Even though she was a bit younger than him, she had quickly climbed the Warriors’ ranks despite always being asleep in the lofts when he returned late from practice.Ah, there it was: the rhythmic padding of many saucer-like feet and the sound of branches brushing through thick, matted hair. They had tracked this group of mastodon south for days, watching them give the Drowned City and other pre-Fall settlements a wide berth, avoiding the decay. August glanced to his right and spotted Magnus further along the trail, camouflaged behind broad leaves woven through his clothing; they glistened from the gentle, constant spatter. Magnus’s body was coiled, ready—his determination palpable even from this distance.When August looked down, his hand was shaking uncontrollably. Forcing a deep, ragged breath, he gripped his spear and hooked his atlatl into a depression at its base—the curved wooden extension of his arm would allow him to throw the dart further and faster than he alone could muster. Every extra bit of force was needed to pierce that impossibly thick hide. Fifteen other hunters, hidden amid the foliage, silently did the same.The path ahead curved, almost one hundred feet from his hiding spot, where Magnus crouched. If they could only get the animal running, Magnus would try to deflect it off the trail and over a sharp precipice created from a landslide the previous year. The drop should instantly kill their target.The bull mastodon’s boulder-like forehead emerged through the leaves. Then, the powerful shoulders and forelegs appeared, rolling with each step; reddish hair shimmered and moved like a mass of auburn seaweed in the ocean. Furtive eyes, large but almost lost upon the vast body, scanned the trail ahead for any sign of danger. Overall, the animal much resembled an elephant, which August knew from timeworn children’s books manufactured before the Fall, but shaggier and with smaller ears.At the height of August’s perch, the massive head swung back and forth, curled tusks stretching forward, knocking meddlesome limbs out of the way with ease while the trunk’s tip probed the air. The trailing females were not yet visible, but the occasional deep groan revealed their presence, interspersed with the high-pitched bleats of young ones as they moved between their elders’ churning legs. Thudding footfalls pulsated though the ground and reverberated through the tree limb he grasped for balance.Something was off, however. The bull moved through the forest recklessly, at a pace that threw caution to the wind, very unlike the old survivor.The moment August had been preparing for and dreaming of for years was rushing by. As the bull began to pass, the burly knob of the forehead within a few arm’s lengths, August’s vision became spotty, his breathing labored.He quickly prayed to steel himself: Dear gods above and of the earth, please help me steady my hands. But when he looked down, they were still trembling.Trillium’s eyes were wide as they met his disoriented gaze from across the path. What must she be thinking? August’s wet palms labored to grip his spear.He steadied himself, lifting his weapon and cocking his elbow, fearing his vision might wink out like a candle. Then, something changed in the air: the bull sensed something was wrong. August saw its neck muscles tighten beneath the matted fur as it shook its great head and began to turn. All was lost. August looked up, anticipating Trillium’s disapproving gaze, but she was gone.A bolt of reddish hair flashed against the green foliage, and Trillium appeared near the mastodon’s back leg, barely reaching the animal’s knee. These behemoths could eviscerate a human with one shake of their head, especially if one was foolish enough to appear exposed in front of them. August began to call out for her to stop. But before he could act, Trilly slammed her weapon up into the vulnerable area below the animal’s ribcage. It bellowed in fury, and Trilly dove into the brush as the thick trunk swung at her with enough power to snap her spine in two, sweeping over the understory like a hurricane.August’s breath returned to him in a rush, and he instinctively drove his spear into the mastodon’s upper back haunch. The bull whipped around the trail and charged toward Magnus, still hidden, with ten females and two young ones rumbling close behind. Tree limbs flew wildly from the flailing of tusks and trunks while the earth shook. Spears from the hunters appeared through the leaves as the bull crashed along the trail; it roared as it ran, eyes wide with rage and madness. It quickly approached the turn—the crucial moment upon which everything hinged.Magnus threw off his leafy disguise when the quarry was within spitting distance, uncovering the terrifying visage of a saber-toothed tiger head worn like a hood. He leaped into the path of the rampaging animal, which trumpeted and wheeled to its right at the last second to crash through the overgrown forest.Trilly.August jumped from his perch and was across the path in a flash, calling her name and throwing aside downed logs.He found her beneath a maple bough, the color still flushed on her cheeks. She looked serene, a frozen image of life. Bending down, he felt a barely perceptible movement of breath flitter against his face. He let out a relieved sigh as celebratory shouts from the hunters echoed down the trail.“Trill,” he said, kissing her freckled forehead. “You saved us. And you are completely insane.”She opened her green eyes, the color of pine buds, and smiled. “I know…luckily, we’re not all cowards,” she said, laughing, as he let go of her shoulders and dropped her into the leaves.“C’mon, let’s see how we did,” August called, moving down the trail. Trillium jumped up and followed close behind.“Auggie, what happened back there? You froze?”“Trilly, I told you not to call me that….”“Auggie, really—what happened?”
When he did not respond, she softened her tone. “August?”He briefly considered telling her of the dread that enveloped him, how his brain froze in the face of what felt like impending death. But how could she understand? It didn’t even make sense to him. Instead, he deflected: “Nothing happened, Trill. I was just about to throw when you lost your mind back there.”“You know that’s not—”“Shh, what’s that?”“August, do not tell me to shh after I just speared a mastodon.”“Trill…stop.”They were alone now, and the forest was silent once again. Trilly placed her hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “You’re acting weird. What’s going on?”Her eyes probed his. He wanted to run.“Everyone to me. Now!” Magnus’s voice reverberated through the trees.“Trill, believe me. It’s just an off day, okay? Maybe something I ate. Now, come on. Something’s up.”Trillium let out an unbelieving laugh as they jogged—somehow, everything she did was overshadowed by August, she thought, even this. She felt for a rusty key hung on a necklace she usually kept hidden under her shirt and once again pictured escaping the People’s narrow confines.They followed the mastodon’s destructive path through the forest. Tree trunks more than a foot-wide lay snapped like brittle twigs. They spotted the rest of the herd in an opening amid the trees. The little ones were beginning to play, frolicking in the ferns, while the cows stood apart, as if awaiting the diagnosis of a loved one quickly taken ill; their expressive eyes watched the two pass. August felt for them but reasoned that the male did not die in vain: his harvest for the Gathering would keep the People alive and well through the winter. Besides, a younger male was always waiting in line to take the mantle.The pair emerged through the dusky shade into the landslide scar, conifer-covered hills rolling away from them to the west and looked below to spy the ragged pile that had once been the bull. The drop had done the job well: the animal had not suffered for long. Hunters surrounded the carcass in a half-circle. Magnus addressed a few whose body language looked timid, almost scared. Several looked angry. August and Trilly carefully descended the sharp slope to join the group.“What’s wrong? Did you already say the words?” August asked as they approached. He noticed Wynn Shrike off away from the group, sitting cross-legged on a downed cedar, looking morose.“Yes, yes,” muttered Magnus Swale, August’s elder by about fifteen years. He was sinewy and lean, but flecks of grey in his beard, like a light coating of frost, betrayed his age. Like all of them, he wore deerskin leggings, moccasins, and a wool shirt. On his belt hung the tools of his trade: a skinning knife, fire-making kit, tomahawk, and an ancient brass-plated compass. Black streaks painted on his face gave him a menacing countenance, augmenting his typically laconic expression.A sacred plant bundle smoldered in Magnus’ hand, lit to thank the gods of the earth for their generosity and the bull for giving his life. Ash darkened the area between the bull’s eyes, preparing him for his journey.“We’ve been waiting for you two. August, we need to talk.” August’s heart fell. “But that can wait.” And then, addressing the group, he said: “We must leave this place now and the bull where he lay.” Many of the hunters cried out in response.“It’s against the law,” Wynn groused from beyond the circle. “We can’t just kill him and let him rot. People will die!”Magnus walked over to the carcass and lifted a broken spear, much different than the others, raising it high. It was larger than those of the People, made from a sturdy wood no one recognized. Three parallel red lines gleamed on its shaft, just below the blade. Most strikingly, a leaf-shaped, intricately flaked point of mahogany-colored obsidian shone at the tip: clearly the work of a master. It was not made by the People, that much was clear—they always used scavenged metal for their weapons.“This did not come from our people or any group we know of—it is something ancient that I do not understand. The Council must hear of this.” An uproar of noise rose from the hunters. “This is not open for debate. The decision is mine, and I will own it.“This spear was lodged in the animal’s shoulder and would have eventually killed him. Whoever threw it would know that and is likely trailing the herd as we speak. They could be approaching quickly. Hazel and Roderick, you two are the best at hiding. Wait here, in those downed firs over there. Stay until mid-afternoon, at least, and then return to Nievescondité.“If you see anything, make your way back as soon as you can, but under absolutely no circumstances will you make contact with the strangers.”August had never seen Magnus shaken before; he exchanged a concerned glance with Trilly. If the Council disagreed, this decision could ruin Magnus’s standing. It would leave the Gathering without its centerpiece and put the whole tribe at risk of starvation over the long winter months.“Now move,” Magnus finished.

The group wound their path through the woods, ascending the rugged hillside. Some occasionally glanced back to the opening where the bull lay, looking as if it were only slumbering beneath the overhanging pines. A few murmured their dissent. August thought of how many people the mastodon could feed and keep alive through the cold months to come and how many pieces of clothing and shelter covers the thick hide would have provided. Leaving the body went against all their teachings and could potentially incur the wrath of any number of gods.Trilly walked silently beside him. She nearly gave her life for the kill—now for nothing—and Magnus had not even acknowledged her bravery. August’s hand was swinging close to hers, and she momentarily thought about grabbing it. Instead, she reached for the rusty key held close to her chest and swore that she would make her own path through the world from that moment forward, no matter what anyone thought.After crossing the ridgeline, miles from the hollow, an otherworldly horn blast rang through the hills from the direction they had come. It held in the air for a few long seconds and then rolled away across the low mountains like thunder as it faded. Everyone heard the sound, unlike anything they had ever encountered in these lands, though none acknowledged it aside from a few knowing looks. Magnus lifted his head as he walked at the group’s front but did not look back.

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