Hunter’s Tale

conclusion

by K. A. Masters

Table of Contents
Part 1 appears
in this issue.

He sighed at the reaction, and rose to continue to wander about. Finally, after many long hours of restless pacing, he collapsed in the snow and cried wearily, “Brother, where are you?”

“Hunter, where are you?” he heard a distant voice cry echoing his own.

“Luke!” Hunter shouted excitedly, running in the direction of his brother’s voice; soon he had found him and swung him up in an embrace.

“Where were you?” the boy cried, clutching Hunter in fear. “I was worried that you’d...”

“I’m sorry; I went looking for you and I got lost,” the teen answered sheepishly.

“Hunter, we have been adopted!” Luke shouted in joy. “The doe fairy is named Shala and her parents are going to turn us into elves and let us live with them so we won’t have to worry about food or clothes or illness anymore!” he rambled excitedly.

“We are already transformed! Look at you!” he exclaimed, laughing in delight. “You’re a faun!”

“A baby deer?” the boy asked, pouting.

“No, like a satyr! You’ve got furry hooves and a deer tail. And look at your ears!” he exclaimed with a playful yank on the boy’s cervine ears.

“Look at you, Hunter!” Luke cried, “You’ve got four legs! You’re a... a...”

“He’s a halfhart, son,” a voice called.

“This is Melchior, our new Papa!” Luke said excitedly, dragging his elder brother to their new family.

“I know; I’ve met him before,” Hunter said with a smirk.

“You’ve worried us, Pricket. We thought that you’d run away,” Melchior jibed.

“Pricket?” Hunter asked, worried. “Oh, no! I’ve got horns!” he groaned as he felt the two fuzzy knobs upon his temples.

“You’ve got antlers,” Melchior clarified. “But they will be very light for you to bear. You’ve already gotten used to your hooves, I see,” he said with a smile.

The teen nodded. “Thank you for saving us.”

“Thank you for sparing our daughter,” he countered.

“But we didn’t, Papa, I shot her!” the boy cried remorsefully, but Hunter quickly silenced him.

“Luke, they were worried for different reasons. It is worse for a fairy to be caught by humans than it is for a doe; our kind does all sorts of nasty things to them. Fairies have a fatal allergy to metal, and even a pinprick can kill them. And they are often caught and killed for the curative properties of their blood and flesh.”

“Oh,” Luke sighed.

“Now we are that vulnerable. But Melchior will let me help protect you and all of the other fairies of the forest.”

“We’re not fairies,” Shala laughed, “We’re Cerven.”

“Cerven?”

“Deer elves,” Melchior clarified. “But you, son, are a halfhart, a halfling. You’re not as vulnerable to metal as we are; you’re protected from both metal and elfshot.” He handed the furry youth a bow and a dagger. “Do you still wish to use these to defend our land?”

Hunter nodded. “Will you teach me how to make the elfshot poison that you coat your dagger in? And...” he began, but soon his thoughts were overwhelmed by the depth of his ignorance. “I have much to learn.”

“No worries, Pricket, I’ll teach you all you need to know.”

“Will you teach me to find the door of our home, so I’m not stuck in the cold again?” he quipped.

“Of course, Pricket, we won’t let you freeze,” Melchior laughed and they returned home.

* * *

It was a long while before Hunter could find an opportunity to speak with Shala alone. Most of his days were spent outside, scouting the forests with Melchior and learning as many new skills as he could. He rarely saw his brother, except at night; Luke had not yet forgiven himself for wounding Shala, and spent his time at home, hovering over her and assisting her as best he could. It was difficult, therefore, for Hunter to find the appropriate moment to address his new sister privately. He was astute in perceiving the dynamics of his new family, and he wished to validate his suspicions.

He found his opportunity one day as she and her quiet but loving mother Amaris were preparing the last of the winter wheat for distribution among the aged bucks of the area. Amaris welcomed him warmly with a smile, as dearly as any doe would greet her young. Shala stared up at him, startled, but soon masked her panic. “Why, brother, you are growing swiftly! Soon you will not be able to fit into our home!” she teased.

“Yes, I know; I keep hitting the roof with my antlers,” he smiled, rubbing them sorely. “Can we speak, sister? May I call you ‘sister’?”

“Of course you may,” Amaris answered for her daughter, excusing herself from the conversation. “Would you mind assisting Shala in this task? I think I shall join my mate in an afternoon nap,” she yawned.

“We scouted the foothills at the edge of the forest yesterday,” Hunter apologized. “I fear that in my zeal to help, I have exhausted him.”

She smiled pensively and left. Shala twitched nervously, but accepted his aid and attempt at reconciliation.

“Sister, are you still afraid of me?” he asked, hurt.

“No, brother,” she said defensively, but soon sighed and confessed, “A little. But it will pass.”

“I hope that someday you can trust me, and we can be friends. But Shala, sister...” he began, taking her hand in his and nuzzling it against his cheek.

“Yes, brother?”

“I noticed that you never call Luke that title. And I would like to know: he’s not adopted into this family, is he? Are your parents raising him... for you? Are you two going to be together?” he asked awkwardly.

She nodded anxiously.

He threw his arms around her warmly. “Thank you. He deserves someone as sweet as you. In a few years when you are both old enough to live as man and wife, will you trust me enough to call me brother-in-law? And friend?”

She nodded.

He kissed her hand. “I am glad that he rescued you, sister,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” Shala smiled.

* * *

It happened a lot sooner than Hunter had expected. One night in late spring, the pair scampered off playfully, abandoning the family’s common rooms for a private chamber of their own. Hunter looked on, stupefied by his younger brother’s behavior; he stepped forward to reprimand Luke for his boldness, but Melchior intervened. With one shake of his grizzled, antlered head, Hunter was silenced.

And for the first time since he was adopted into the family, he noticed how weary both of his parents were. They spoke constantly of the coming winter and of hibernation; Hunter realized in horror that they would not awaken in the spring. They were watching in pride as Luke and their daughter began a new life together, relieved to know that the couple would be safe and happy after they were gone. He realized that they had no such reassurances for his own safety, as he had not yet proven himself independent of Melchior’s tutelage.

Amaris was watching Hunter anxiously, hoping not to find recognition in his expression. Their eyes met and her tears confirmed his suspicions.

“I’m leaving,” the halfhart said, picking up his weapons and striding to the door, determined to prove himself in the little time that remained.

“Hunter,” Melchior began, but his words died on his lips; there was nothing left to be said.

“Return to us before we hibernate, son,” Amaris cried, and ran to her bower in tears.

“Make me proud, son,” Melchior added, embracing him warmly and hastening to comfort his mate.

* * *

Hunter roamed the woods for days, lost in thought. He found himself traveling familiar routes, those that he trekked down in his youthful search for game. Allowed to wander, his hooves took him directly to their accustomed haunt: the abandoned stable of his childhood.

At first he dared not enter, feeling as if it were a betrayal of what he had become, but eventually curiosity overpowered him. He entered warily, and was shocked to find the hovel looted of his belongings, entirely empty of signs of inhabitation. The smell of decomposing hay brought tears to his eyes, or so he convinced himself. He knelt down by the hearth in quiet contemplation.

He was slowly pulling together his thoughts as a young Cerven female entered the stable, heaving a soft sigh and kneeling beside him. “Did you know them, too?” she asked. “It’s a pity. They were hunters, but they had good hearts.”

He remained silent, still lost in reverie as the permanence of his new form overpowered him. There was a constant stream of doubts flowing through his mind, drowning out her words.

“The elder one nearly broke my heart,” she continued, lost in a reverie of her own, “He was half-dead and raving from fever, and yet his only thought was for his little brother; he nourished him on fairy tales as they both slowly starved. I wish they could have made it.”

“Oh, I’m Llanalew,” she added in delayed introduction, but he was still unresponsive. She stood up demurely and continued, “You’re grieving; I’ll go. Perhaps we’ll meet again?” And then she was gone.

His reverie was broken hours later not by a newfound resolve, but by a distant cry of pain. For as he heard the fearful snort, he realized that one of his deer was in trouble and he hastened to the direction of the cryNtoo late.

The young Cerven doe had preceded his arrival, and was trying to calm a young buck caught in a metal snare. He was twisting his captured hoof in panic, inflicting unbearable amounts of pain upon himself in an attempt to break free. In the distance, both could hear the sounds of a hunting party, hastening to collect their prey...

As Hunter neared, he could hear the buck command urgently: “Go, lass, they’re coming! Don’t let them get us both!”

“No, you’re hurt, friend! Let me help you!” she argued.

“The metal would bring your death. Save yourself...” he pleaded.

“No; I have no mate and child waiting for me at home, as you do. Let me help; they will not survive the next winter without you.”

Hunter could sense the deer’s wavering resolve, but still he valiantly refused.

“Stubborn buck!” she hissed, “Go home!” and she placed her hand upon his wound, and instantly their bodies had exchanged places. She cried out in pain as the trap now clamped upon her ankle instead; golden blood poured steadily from the wound.

They heard the approaching footsteps of a hunting party and their panic escalated. “I won’t leave you...” the buck vowed.

“Go! Don’t let my death be in vain!” she cried, exasperated.

“I’ll get help, I swear I will,” he whispered, darting off in Hunter’s direction, and in a moment the buck had overtaken him. “Halfhart! You must help!” he called urgently.

“I am hurrying, but so are your pursuers. Elude them; I’ll protect the girl,” Hunter panted, continuing towards them.

He reached the wounded Cerven doe a moment later, and recognizing her, exclaimed “Llanalew, you’re bleeding! What have you done to yourself?”

“I had to rescue my friend,” she cried in pain as she tried to pry open the snare with her horn dagger; it soon shattered, crushed by the trap’s ironclad jaws.

The shouts of the approaching hunters grew louder, and the halfhart grasped her hand. “We must hurry. Let me help...”

“No, I’m already dead,” she spat, tossing aside the hilt of the dagger in frustration. “It’s a metal snare; I’ll never heal from the wound. Go before they kill you, too!”

“Let me free you,” he whispered; before she could protest, he bent low to grasp her wounded ankle. And soon he could feel her pain, and deep in his mind he yearned that he were the one in the trap, that she might be whole and free; soon he felt the wish fulfilled as his elfin blood obeyed his command, healing her wound and transferring pain from her limbs to his...

He opened his eyes and saw her free and uninjured. He smiled in relief of her safety, but then yelped in pain as his own hoof was crushed by the iron jaws of the trap. And his heart raced as he recalled the approaching hunters.

She shook her head in disbelief, crying, “You mustn’t die; not for me!”

“I’m a halfling; metal can’t kill me. Just go!” He pushed her to hasten her flight, but it was too late; the hunters were upon them.

Placing her behind him protectively, he strung his bow and cried “Halt!”

A hunting party of four woodsmen had surrounded them, but he held firm, continuing: “You may not harm any of the deer of this forest.”

There was a great murmuring among the four hunters, debating their next move. Finally, one of the more timid humans approached Hunter warily, stating simply, “But we must eat, or we shall starve.”

Hunter thought for a moment, scanning the horizon for an alternative to violence. Finding a familiar hawthorn bush in the distance, he offered up a prayer of thanks to fate as he released an elfshot arrow into the shrub. The hunters cursed in wonder as it immediately flourished, blossoming forth edible berries and leaves on its branches. “You may eat berries, and not deer flesh,” he boomed, hoping that he had not just condemned the spirit of the shrub to death.

“But...” a few began to complain, but Hunter silenced them with a scowl.

“You may eat hawthorn berries or nothing at all. But if you harm any of my deer, you shall pay the penalty. Make your choice,” the halfhart barked, holding his bow aimed at his antagonists warily. His bow remained level as they hastened towards the tree to collect his offering. This time, he mused, the hunters had accepted his gift of food in place of venison. But he knew that there would be other occasions when the conflict would not end as simply, and he knew that he had to be ready to protect his kin whenever that danger would present itself.

After the hunters had left the forest with their arms full of hawthorn branches, the halfhart lost his resolve to remain upright. The pain of his injury brought him to his knees; he freed himself from the trap and collapsed to the ground.

Llanalew carried him to the nearest shelter and bound his wounds. “You saved my life,” she said in quiet gratitude.

He, in turn, stared up at her in admiration. “You saved the buck’s life,” he countered, “You were very brave.”

“I couldn’t just let him die,” she justified.

“I feel the same,” Hunter said, “although I sympathize with the humans’ hunger pains.”

“Offering berries was a clever alternative to bloodshed. Most Cerven merely kill hunters out of necessity. Your mercy was exceptional.”

“I am a halfling. I have known hunger as a human, and,” he said, rubbing his broken hoof, “now I know the threat of capture as a deer. The knowledge of the one tempers the judgment of the other.”

“Human? The hunter from the shed — that was you?” she asked in wonder.

He nodded and added anxiously, “Please do not hate me for my human origins.”

She scrutinized his features and found something recognizable. Embracing him warmly, she replied, “No, of course I don’t hate you. Oh, forgive me!” she cried, kissing each antlered temple.

“Why?”

“I made you ill last seasonN-it was my elfshot arrow that caused your fever.”

He stared at her in blank disbelief.

“I shot you, and you took sick. Please forgive me, I didn’t know you had a brother! But you were stalking one of my deer...”

“Your deer?” he asked, puzzled.

“Yes, I protect the deer of this forest,” she said anxiously. “That’s why I shot you. You must say that you forgive me,” she said, “I did not know that you were merely protecting your kind, as I was.”

Anger overwhelmed him as he thought of his injury and of Luke’s waning health during his long illness, but as he looked into her eyes he recalled Shala’s wounding and Melchior’s kindness, and he relented. Accepting her apology with a nod, he smiled and introduced himself, “My name is Hunter, but my father calls me ‘Pricket’...”

She snickered, relieved by his courtesy. “You’re no pricket; you have the antlers of a mature stag!”

“I feel that I have not yet earned them,” he said with a sigh. “There is so much that I still need to learn about this new life...”

“Pricket,” she smiled, “Perhaps you can help me? Your knowledge of mankind can help me survive the next time I am caught thwarting humans.”

“Gladly! I was just about to ask you the same,” Hunter blushed, offering his bow to her. “I, too, feel the need to protect my fellow Cerven; perhaps we can guard the forest — together?”

“Partners?” she asked, musing on the invitation. “Very well, then,” she said, offering a hand; soon he had found the strength to rise and they strode out, hand in hand, into the moonlight.