Small story 12

Godo did not believe, like the other Hunters, that there was a higher being dictating the lives unfolding all over Amra. The Hunters believed, and had always believed, that there was a being, disguised as the sun, that had both created the world and was watching over it. There were legends that told of lands outside of Amra, and that there were other beings watching over those lands. These legends claimed that there was a land at the bottom of the world, where the Moon was this being, and that when the Moon visited Amra during the night, the Amran Sun visited them.

Some Amrans believed that the Sun and the Moon battled for dominion over the world’s souls, and when night came, the Moon tried to influence Amrans according to its will. Other peoples of the golden plains believed that the Sun and the Moon were brother and sister, and that one should honor them equally, and welcome the Moon when it comes visiting in the night. But no one ventured to the edge of Amra, for whether it was locked in battle with the Underland or not, there was nothing at the edge of the golden land but death.

To say that Godo did not believe is perhaps incorrect. It was not that he didn’t believe – he just wasn’t sure. He doubted. The stories failed to convince him, and he had witnessed no evidence himself. On the other hand, he had no evidence that there wasn’t such a being. Any objection that he could make against the idea of a higher being could be explained away in stories, legends and myths.

No other Hunter had these doubts. A Hunter’s responsibility is first and foremost to his tribe, to protect it and contribute in the gathering of resources, then to his family and friends, to keep them happy and healthy. But although life, and its practicalities, came before devotion to any greater force, in the end all Hunters believed, and none doubted. Except for their leader. It takes a capacity of mind to doubt, and knowing this, it would come as no surprise that it was in Godo that doubt would manifest.

When he was not busy fulfilling his duties, Godo would spend much of his time watching the horizon. He would spend a few quiet moments taking in the sunrise, contemplating life, just before the rest of the tribe got up to start a new day. After his people had gone to bed at night, he would stare up at the Moon and again wrestle with his thoughts. These questions were the only things in which Godo was uncertain and alone.

He could not speak of these things with the others. At the mere mention of it they would start reciting stories, told to them since they were young. There was no Hunter that would not listen to what Godo had to say, but even after explaining his thoughts to the best of his ability, they would recall the stories, and their faith would be galvanized to the extent that no amount of discussion would persuade them to consider anything else. There was no animal roaming the steppes of Amra that Godo could not hunt, no problem a Hunter could come to him with that he could not fix, but against faith he was powerless.

There was not one person among the Hunters who could understand him, and although he had managed to stave off the worst thoughts for years, he could not stop thinking about it. It was becoming unbearable.

Godo was one of the youngest Hunters ever to be chosen as leader, but his youth never made him take this responsibility lightly. More than anything else Godo wanted to serve his tribe. However, he could feel a restlessness taking hold of him. And it was not the usual restlessness that often comes when a nomad anticipates the next big move, to new hunting grounds. This restlessness was different, because he knew that wherever his tribe would go, it would never get better.

And although Godo loved his tribe and every person in it, even though it tore his heart in two, he had to leave.

He did not pack for his journey.

Armed with a spear and a knife, and wearing the clothes on his back, he joined the next hunt. The group’s spirits were high – with Godo along they would be assured a good return. Godo would act as one of the “chasers”, a small group of Hunters who were the fastest and most enduring of the tribe. Godo and the chasers tracked down a herd of horns; large, darkly brown creatures, with great horns upon their head. Horns were quick for their size, and when cornered they could be as deadly as any predator in Amra. Meanwhile, the rest of the Hunters positioned themselves in carefully planned and rehearsed positions by the edge of a cliff, overlooking a gorge. At the bottom of the gorge there ran a river.

The chasers snuck up close to the herd of animals before jumping out of the grass, shouting and waving their arms and spears. The herd of animals was scared into a run, towards the cliff. Along the way many animals escaped, despite the chasers’ careful herding, but it did not matter – it was a large group, and there were still many more than they needed.

The Hunters worked with perfect coordination. They jumped out of the tall grass as the pack of animals went by, speeding them on towards their doom. The edge of the cliff wasn’t far off now, and looking on, you might think the entire herd would plunge into the gorge. However, Hunters suddenly appeared from out of the grass in front of the horns, and they split the herd, some turning to flee to the left, others to the right. A few animals continued on between the humans, and these were shouted onwards.

Most of the chasers had let up, and were watching the other Hunters do their part, anticipating the sight of the horns dropping off the cliff. Godo, however, had kept up with the horns the entire way, and the shouts from the Hunters as he raced by were partly to scare the animals, partly for him. As the first horns leapt off the cliff, Godo let out a cry, a shout for help. Then he made it look as if he tripped as he threw himself in amongst the remaining animals.

Godo held on to the tail of a horn with all his might as it dragged him towards the edge, ripping his bone and bead necklace off his neck, grasping it tightly in his hand. It is no good place to be, the middle of tons of rampaging horn, flesh and hooves. Godo was thrown about in the chaos, and the back legs of the horn he was holding on to was pounding him, beating him black and blue.

Suddenly, the ground disappeared from beneath him. The animals continued to kick about with their legs, even though there was no ground to carry them. Godo managed to position himself on the back of a falling animal, and then used it as a springboard as he leapt from it, aiming for the water.

The horns that had escaped to the left met up with the ones that had escaped to the right, and they left this place of death together, reuniting with members of the herd that escaped earlier as they went. The Hunters rushed towards the gorge, confusion and disbelief upon their faces. They shouted for their leader, but they heard no answer. They peered into the gorge, but they saw no one. When they made their way to the bottom of the gorge, they found a necklace of bone and beads on the river bank. And they grieved.