Chapter 1

The gurt raised its huge head from the animal it was devouring, its nostrils flapping as it sniffed the breeze. Its tiny eyes, hooded to protect them from the intense sunlight and sudden sandstorms of the desert, gazed around suspiciously. Other than the usual sand dunes pockmarked by small bushes and a few scraggly trees, it saw nothing. The scent of something strange, perhaps dangerous, lingered faintly, disturbingly.

Then the gurt snorted. More with instinct than intelligence, it knew that nothing had ever presented it with any danger. It was a hunter, and everything else was prey.

As it looked back down at the remains of its meal grasped in its short, thin forepaws, the gurt’s insatiable hunger drove all thoughts of danger from its tiny brain. With massive jaws that could have powered its pointed teeth through a medium-sized tree, the gurt tore off another hunk of meat from the carcass. As it munched slowly, savoring the sweet flesh, the carnivore heard a strange thrumming sound and felt a sharp pain in its back. Dropping its dinner, the gurt whirled to see what could have had the audacity to attack it.

Before it had even fully turned, the gurt heard that sound again. Even with its incredible eyesight, it barely saw the object hurtling towards it before it lost the sight in its middle eye. This time, the pain was excruciating. The sound that came from its throat was strangely high pitched, but loud and frightening.

There! Right between those two trees, some tiny creature stood behind a boulder. Without conscious thought the gurt charged. It barely heard the thrumming sound and the hissing of other objects in flight that were aimed straight for its two remaining eyes. With its small forepaws clenched to its chest, the gurt’s four massive legs carried the animal forward with a speed almost impossible to believe. The gurt’s blind rage made it totally oblivious to the stout vine hanging about a foot off the ground, which was tied at each end to one of those trees.

As the huge creature tripped over the vine, snapping the thick cord in the process, it tumbled helplessly in a frenzied mass of hooves, fangs and bulky body. Before it even hit the ground, a swarm of other small creatures leaped from behind sand dunes, rocks, bushes, and even the two trees.

Most of the humans continued firing arrows from short bows, mostly aimed for its eyes, but some had spears they hurtled towards the few soft spots in the gurt’s hide. Many of the arrows hit their mark. Now totally blind, the gurt regained its feet in a total rage. Hearing sounds from all around, the animal was in a frenzy as to which direction it should charge. As the thrumming sound suddenly produced a burning pain in its throat, the only truly soft and vulnerable part of its body, the gurt charged in the direction from which the pain had come. Swinging its head wildly, it managed to catch the human with one of its long tusks, which was as sharp as any of those arrows. The creature grunted in satisfaction as it heard its victim scream in agony and fall to the ground.

That triumph was short lived. As it turned to find another victim, a wide-tipped spear found its throat, burying itself deep in the monster’s main artery. Now coughing blood and laboring to breathe, the gurt staggered forward, hoping to find that enemy as well. But it was too weak, too dazed to truly do any more damage.

Deliberately distracted by shouts from behind or to the side, pelted by arrows and the odd spear from all around, the gurt could not find another enemy to crush beneath its fearsome hooves or rend with its terrible teeth or tusks. Finally it fell to the ground, jerked its body several times, and then died with a final exhalation of its revolting breath.

All of the hunters gathered around it warily, weapons poised, ready to continue the battle if necessary. Then Tamala, the head huntress, raised her bow in triumph.

“It is finished,” she said somberly.

The others nodded mutely. Their eyes held pride, but there were no whoops of joy or shouts of victory, only the faint sound of a few lungs being exhaled in relief.

Tamala looked at LaSola and nodded with approval. Although she was only ten, the girl had been chosen to accompany the hunting party because she was already excellent with the bow, and as large and fleet as many of the young men in the city. Certainly, Tamala thought, LaSola was as competent as any of the men who hunted with them and were allowed to use the spears.

“You did well,” Tamala told the girl. “You not only hit the center eye of the beast, but stood your ground as it charged. You showed great courage on your first hunt.”

LaSola merely grunted. She was well aware that, if the vine had not been strong enough to trip the gurt, she would have been a bloody stain seeping into the thirsty desert sand. Still, she had only played her part as instructed. As the youngest and least experienced hunter, she had been the bait to lure the gurt into the trap.

She looked to where one of her fellow hunters knelt above the still body of the woman the gurt had gored. “What about Shalaka?” LaSola asked with concern.

The older woman stood silently. Looking in LaSola’s direction, she shook her head very faintly. LaSola’s shoulders slumped. Shalaka had been the only mother she had ever known. When LaSola’s birth mother had died, Shalaka had raised her for a year and then visited her nearly every day when she had returned to her father’s home, making certain she had the food, clean clothing and a regular bath that her father seemed too busy to bother with. LaSola fought to keep the tears of a weakling from entering her eyes.

“Look at this!” one of the other women cried out in excitement. The rest of the hunting party looked to where she stood, pointing down at the animal upon which the gurt had been feeding. “It’s a tooloo, and the gurt ate less than half its meat!”

The news brought huge smiles from many of the others, even Tamala. While the gurt would provide plenty of meat, it was difficult to butcher and tough to eat, no matter how much the cook beat the meat with a stone hammer. The tooloo, although weighing only a little more than LaSola, was one of the sweetest and most tender forms of meat to be found in Shaka. It was normally so fleet that humans could not catch it, only hope that one fell into a trap once in a while. This was a great boon indeed! The hide from the gurt would be used for shoes and carrying bags, while there might be enough left of the tooloo’s skin to make a fine, soft skirt.

“I will tell the headman,” declared Tamala, “that LaSola deserves a cut of the meat and its skin.”

All but one of the male hunters nodded and grunted their approval. Kuntani, who was nearly twenty summers, and who most of the others thought of as a weakling, turned his head away at this pronouncement.

Again LaSola only grunted at this fine gift. However, she could not stop from allowing a small smile from splitting her dark, attractive face. Suddenly the smile and all of her pleasure disappeared once again. Her thoughts went to Shalaka. No matter what, this hunting trip was not going to be a good memory for her.

LaSola crept into the house quietly. The hunting party had trekked far from the city of Kompaloon following the tracks of the gurt, and the second sun was already fading below the horizon. Even though Tamala was known to most of the guards and the hunting party was packing good meat on their skids, the guards detained them for a long time before Tamala gritted her teeth and offered the guards a few choice “tastes” of their hunt. Only then were they allowed to pass through the gates into the city.