Callisto

Canyon Crawling

Rain-Born crept through the Great Canyon by employing the methodical strategy passed down to her through generations of hunters in the Tribe. She kept to the shadows, scanning the ridges of the canyon walls with every ten steps should the warriors of the Guthra be waiting in ambush there. Even in the darkness, her keen eyes could pick out the size and shapes of the canyon Stalkers.

Rain-Born's eyes picked out movement – a pack of Stalkers, 50 meters to her right, descending down the canyon wall, probably on the search for decaying flesh. She crouched low and nocked an arrow. She watched the bulbous black six-legged shapes leap to the canyon floor, scurry around, probing the winds for their prey, and then scurry away again to a nearby cave.

She heard a scream. Human, but so shrill that it seemed possessed. From the cave, the Stalkers had entered another shape that emerged from its mouth, sprinting wildly and fumbling with the pack it carried on its back. What happened next startled even Rain-Born, for a Stalker leaped from the cave entrance and, within a second, had pinned the human beneath its bulbous form, striking at his face with its pincer mouth. Then it emitted a squeal of pain and fell to its side, curling up its legs. Dead.

Three more Stalkers emerged from the cave and made for the human, but now, with his blade stained with their hunting mate"s blood, he was prepared. He struck the object in his left hand in one swift motion, and it emitted a brilliant flame, illuminating the entire canyon.

Rain-Born instantly knew which Tribe the hunter belonged to. She had known the great advantage the Guthra held in their fire stones – crystals begat by evil spirits that let them create flames from their bare hands. It was how they had managed to defeat so many of Rain-Born's family and others – all great, true hunters who did not consort with the evil ones.

The warrior stood with his fire billowing out of his left hand, in no pain, and screamed at the Stalkers who kept their distance from him, slowly circling him. Waiting for his next move.

It did not come. Rain-Born's arrow found his skull before he could savor his victory. He fell to the ground, and in an instant, his fire faded, and the Stalkers launched themselves on his twitching body. They were joined by several others who emerged from their caves all over the canyon walls, enticed by the smell of a recently dead human, and in moments the hunter's body was nothing more than a mass of black legs and fangs glinting in the darkness of the canyon. Lowering her bow, Rain-Born took her chance and sprinted down the valley of sand before her. She passed more Stalkers on her way that went to join in the feast.

She smiled as she envisioned them chewing on the Guthra's innards. That would keep them occupied for a while.

"A Huntress hunts smarter, not harder," she heard herself whisper in the dust-caked day.

...

Outside, the rain battered the dry red earth of the canyon floor. Rain-Born watched it inside her cave, the ramshackle fire she had constructed illuminating only her tattooed face and the inert body of the recently dead Stalker she had felled with another well-placed arrow.

She had made sure to offer a silent prayer to the Great Spirit for the creature whose home she had been forced to intrude upon. Its spirit was part of these lands, just as hers was, and so deserved a place in the afterlife.

She checked her deerskin pouch as the storm thundered with greater intensity, wondering if she should eat tonight or save the rationed meat she had taken for tomorrow when she would traverse the swamp of many eyes. It felt natural to rest for the night in the canyon, for even with its many dangers, she still considered it part of her home – the no man's land between the Hanahk and the Guthra through which only the worthy passed, regardless of their Tribe. She had made it to the end. The spirits had found her worthy. And yet, she knew that tomorrow she would venture to places she had never been before. She would see dangers she had only heard whispered about in the safety of the tribal campfire.

She watched the rain for most of the night. It had forever been a source of fascination for her since the day she first participated in the rain dances that were her namesake. On those nights that she danced with the Tribe, none could match her grace or her ferocity, the way she moved as though the rain breathed life into her soul, exhorting her to twirl, twist, and leap through it like a beast possessed. Sometimes the rain stung her limbs and burned her flesh. And still, she danced through the pain.

Her mind wandered that night as she slept, plagued by visions in the darkness of the Stalker's cave. In her dreams, she saw a great tower, burning bright with flames that touched the clouds in the sky. In flames were the bodies of men, women, animals, and creatures Rain-Born could not recognize – strange, malformed entities born of the poisonous Deadlands. She saw their souls try to escape their burning bodies but could not reach the skies above. Amidst their anguished cries, one voice, that of Father-Mother, bellowed from the depths of the inferno:

"Do not place your trust in any who wander in the evil winds of the wastes," she echoed. "And do not let any know of what you seek."

And yet another voice rose up from the ashes of the burning husks, small, meek, and nothing compared to the tremendous boom of the Great Elder's speech:

"Was everything they made evil?"

It was her own voice. Her own question, posed by her lost spirit, flailing about in the company of her teacher. It was dull. It was weak. But it was there - and it was hers.

She was awakened by the sound of unfamiliar voices. Her fire had faded, and dawn was creeping over the canyon wall. She grabbed her bow and slowly stepped further back into the cave, keeping herself shrouded in darkness. The Stalkers would not hunt during the day. They would not help her now.

And by the sounds she heard, she was sure that a Guthra raiding party was about to pass nearby.