Page 28 of Circle of Days

They had agreed on their plan the previous evening.

It was based on the way they organized a deer hunt.

They spread out across the width of the wood: men, women, children, and dogs, all both excited and scared.

Bez and Fell were close to the center of the line, Gida and Lali with them.

Two experienced hunters, Omun and Arav, were on the wings, the ends of the line.

Woodlander society had no leaders. There were no elders, no Big Man; no one had the right to give orders to anyone else. But there were always strong personalities. Bez and Gida told people what to do only when asked—but that happened quite a lot.

Fell’s dog was with them. All dogs looked like small wolves, but Fell’s was larger than most, with a heavy coat of fur. The herders named their dogs, but woodlanders did not: they thought it was silly.

The hunting party moved forward at a steady pace, unhesitating despite the danger. Everyone could see at least one other hunter, so they were able to stay roughly in line. This was also reassuring. No one wanted to be alone when they saw the bear.

They moved as quietly as they could, and the dogs were trained not to bark until they scented prey. The quarry would hear them coming, of course—animals had good ears—but the later the better.

Bez and Fell and many other hunters had bows and arrows. Others had clubs and axes. The children would throw stones.

They passed the pond, and Lali proudly pointed out the paw prints to Fell. A little farther they saw the droppings and the dead tree with its bark stripped. The bear was a presence now, somewhere in their wood, lurking, threatening.

As they pressed on, Bez kept his eyes open for other signs. He stopped at an aspen tree and pointed out that many leaves had been torn away. “The bear came this way,” he said. “It ate the leaves.” They must be getting closer, he thought.

Not long afterward, Fell’s dog became agitated. It did not bark, but it started to run from side to side and sniff energetically.

Fell said: “He’s scented the bear.”

They picked up their pace.

Bez saw a flattened fern. “The bear’s running from us now. Look, he squashed that fern in his hurry.” He felt the tension of upcoming peril, perhaps just moments away.

He heard distant barking that seemed to come from both left and right. The dogs that had been at the ends of the line had now scented the bear, he guessed, and were moving toward it. The people would be following the dogs’ lead.

They were closing in.

Bez came to an area of low bushes leading to a dense grove of young beech trees growing close together, competing for the sunlight. He gestured to the others to stop. The bear was in the grove. It had tried to smash its way through, but the trees were too thick, and it was stalled.

The creature was dark brown, almost black.

It was medium size: if it stood on its hind legs it would be about as tall as Lali.

Its fur seemed loose on its body, as if it was starved.

It was panting after running, saliva dripping from its open mouth, its sharp canine teeth like flint arrowheads, designed to kill.

It turned and looked at Bez and growled, a deep, guttural noise that seemed to vibrate in Bez’s heart. It was as if the bear hated him.

Fell’s dog barked, but did not move forward.

Lali threw a stone, and it fell short. Gida said: “Wait till we’re closer.”

Then dogs came into the clearing from left and right, barking madly.

One leaped at the bear, flying through the air with its teeth bared and its clawed forelegs extended.

The bear swiped with a paw as big as a man’s head, shockingly fast for such a big creature; the dog crashed to the ground and lay still.

The other dogs backed away.

“That was quick,” said Lali in a shaky voice.

The dogs formed a rough half circle, pinning the bear in place with its back to the beech grove.

They began to work as a team. Three or four would run at the bear from the left, then back off before it could reach them.

Meanwhile others would attack from the right, running in and biting it then running away again before it had time to turn to them.

The bear barked, a sound much deeper than a dog’s woof, and it seemed to settle down to fight for its life.

Bez’s arrows were having ominously little effect, and the same was true of the other archers.

Points that hit the bear’s head or chest broke through the fur and skin but seemed to bounce away without doing serious harm.

The bear pulled out the ones that penetrated the flesh of its four legs.

Its back would have been a good target, but most of the time the bear was upright, facing its assailants.

The ideal now was a serious wound to the throat or belly, but so far it had not happened.

Eventually the bear would tire, but the dogs might tire first.

Bez moved closer, and others did the same. The arrowheads began to bite deeper. The bear bled from several wounds but continued to fight, and soon a handful of dogs lay on the ground, dead or dying. However, Bez thought, loss of blood must weaken it soon.

The bear may have figured this out. It was smart. Bez’s father, long dead now, had said that the bear was the most intelligent of all the animals. But what could it do?

A moment later, Bez found out.

The bear dropped onto all fours, put down its head, and charged.

It began by jumping with all four legs, covering a lot of ground and picking up speed, then it began to gallop.

The dogs chased it. It raced toward Bez and his companions.

Without thinking, he picked up Lali with one hand and dashed out of its way.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fell and Gida leap in the opposite direction.

He smelled a powerful stink as the bear went by.

It did not attack anyone; it was bent on escape.

Surely, Bez thought in dismay, the beast cannot elude us now?

It crashed through the undergrowth, dodging trees and flattening everything else in its path. The dogs went after it and the people followed. The vegetation slowed the bear, and the dogs caught up with it and attacked from behind as it ran, biting its hind legs.

The noise it made now was a loud wail, like the cry of a giant baby.

The hunters came close enough to shoot arrows again, and several struck in the creature’s broad back. It slowed. It was nearing its end, Bez thought hopefully.

It stood, turned, and made a weak effort to bat away the dogs.

Fell’s big dog leaped for the neck, slipping between the front paws, and sank its teeth into the bear’s throat.

The bear clawed at the dog, striping bloody cuts in its shaggy coat.

But the dog’s jaws were clamped and it held on.

The bear went down on all fours and shook itself violently, but could not get rid of the dog.

Blood poured from its throat, around the dog’s muzzle and onto the trampled vegetation.

The struggle went on for long moments. Then at last the bear faltered.

One foreleg bent and collapsed, then the other, and it lay prone.

The dogs rushed in to eat, and the hunters quickly stepped in and kicked them away before they could spoil the carcass.

Both the bear and Fell’s dog were dead.

Bez was overwhelmed with relief.

The hunters studied their kill. It was not a fat bear. Fell produced a flint knife and slit its belly. He pulled out the entrails and threw them to the dogs: their reward. They fell on the guts, tearing and eating.

Then Fell began to skin the carcass, peeling the fur back, using the knife delicately to separate the hide from the meat. The resulting coat would keep some lucky person warm next winter.

When that was done, everyone could see that they had killed a skinny bear. They would cook it tonight, and there would be meat for everyone, but none left over. By tomorrow they would be hungry again.

Next morning, Bez, Gida, and Fell sat on the ground in the middle of the village.

It was a sign that they wanted a conference.

The rest of the inhabitants joined them in twos and threes, not hurrying, for woodlanders rarely hurried.

They sat or lay on the ground, talking among themselves, content to wait.

When they were gathered, Bez said: “The migration of the deer could save us from starvation.”

Every spring the deer in the Great Plain went to the Northwest Hills for the fresh spring grass.

That meant they had to leave the shelter of the woods and cross open ground.

They traveled at night, making it difficult to hunt them.

However, the woodlanders would anticipate their movements and lie in wait.

Bez went on: “But last year we did not see the usual signs warning us that the migration was about to start, and this year may be the same.”

Success depended on knowing when the deer would move. The usual indication was the appearance of new grass ripening here on the plain, but last year that had not happened—no doubt because of the drought—and the woodlanders had missed the opportunity.

“I have been told that the priestesses at the Monument know all the days of the year, and can foretell when sheep will bear lambs and when there will be berries or apples or roots to gather.”

He noticed people nodding. They had heard similar things. The priestesses were supernatural beings. Omun, the accomplished hunter, said: “One of us should ask them.”

Bez nodded.

Omun said: “It must be someone who speaks the herder tongue.”

Bez nodded again. Omun was making his argument for him, which was fine.

“It must be you, Bez.”

Bez said: “I will consult the priestesses if you wish.”

Several people said: “Yes!”

“I will go with my brother, Fell, to keep me company. He also speaks a little of the herder tongue.”

No one objected to that.

Bez said: “It’s settled, then.”

Gida said: “Be careful.”