Date:         Tue, 13 Oct 1998 15:31:16 MDT
From: "Robyn M. Herrington" <rmherrin@UCALGARY.CA>
Subject:      [WRITERS] SUB: Halloween Contest--Hunter's Moon

Ah yes, the entries are starting to roll in... *that's* what I
like to see!
Deadline: October 15th, midnight your time
Length: 3,500 words, 2 subs a piece
Fiction only.
Submit entries to rmherrin@ucalgary.ca
This is an anonymous contest.  I'll strip the 'who' and mail the
text to the list... speaking of which...

Hunter's Moon

  The smoke hung in the air like fog in the night. Terrified screams echoed
through the hills. Chaos had erupted in the village. Men, women and
children scattered like frightened quail, running in no particular
direction. All hoping to find some place of refuge to escape the marauding
evil. Women clutching babies to their breasts, eyes wide in terror,
screaming, running, falling silent in crumpled masses. Brave warriors,
hunched over, spears in hand ready to do battle with the intruder. The
smoke wrapped around them like a shroud of death as the screams gave way to
whimpers and then silence.

  The reaching fingers of dawn stretched across the sky. The smoke  gone,
the village lay in the gray light of the new morning. The few survivors
reluctantly left their hiding spots to search for family and possessions.
Death lay scattered around them. Many of the bodies too mutilated to
recognize. The cries and wails of agony filled the valley with an eerie
song. Nothing was left standing. Lifeless forms littered the ground. Dazed
and confused, they huddled together, the group moving to each lifeless mass
trying to discern the identities of the bloody remains.

  From the hilltop, Lone Hawk squinted his eyes together, taking in the
scene of death and destruction. The lines around his steel-blue eyes
accentuated by the stress and anger that coursed through his body. This was
much worse than last year he told himself. The tribal council had been
foolish to think that they could hide from the evil. He had been ready for
it, had been preparing for the evil's return since the massacre during the
last Hunter's moon. His face was drawn, no preparation could ready a
warrior for the terror that had struck last night. The evil had been
silent, invisible. It descended on the village without warning, killing all
that got in it's way, ripping bodies limb by limb.

  He had kept vigil every night since the last raid, eyes peering into the
darkness, ears cocked for any sound. Last night there had been nothing to
alert him. Once the attack was underway he had brief feelings of movement
around him, almost like an invisible bird with talons in a whirlwind of
death and mutilation. He had stood, spear in hand, defying the evil to come
for him.  He had sensed that whatever it was intended for him to be witness
to it's savagery.

  Descending slowly, Lone Hawk felt despair rising in his throat. He
swallowed hard, trying to dispel the fear and choke back the tears that
were building behind his eyes. Last year he had lost all that had mattered
to him. His sweet bride, Yellow Flower, and his new-born son had been among
the evil's victims. He had vowed to the Great Spirit that vengeance would
be his. He had spent the last eleven moons trying to find some clue that
would answer why the evil was terrorizing his people. The only clues were
the shredded, gory clumps of the dead.

  His heart pounded as he approached the first victim. Among the pink and
purple tattered flesh lay an ornate headband of bone and eagle feathers.
Chief Black Bear had seen many moons. His old, withered hand lay a few feet
away, still clutching a spear. Even though he had been an old man, he had
died trying to defend his people. Tears burst through Lone Hawk's eyes,
streaking through the dried mud on his face. He stood silently, offering
his prayers to Black Bear's spirit.

  Each body he passed looked exactly the same. A proud person decreased to
slivered flesh laying on a bed of crimson stained leaves.  Automatically he
began to count survivors. Seven women, two men and thirteen children. The
evil had destroyed his people. The tribe had been reduced to a handful of
vagabonds. Rage spilled out of him. His scream echoed for miles up the
valley. He lifted his head to the Great Spirit and demanded an answer. None
came.

  He and Spotted Dog, a boy just barely a warrior, went about the awful
business of preparing the burial sites. What Lone Hawk didn't understand is
why there were almost no bones among the remains. The evil had taken them,
leaving just flesh and muscle. Women and children gathered what remained of
the tribe's possessions, many of which would remain with the dead. The
group gathered, lifting their voices in prayer to the spirits. Lone Hawk
silently cursed the spirits, his tribe had been an industrious people,
always mindful of showing proper respect to all the spirits of the earth.
It had gotten them nothing. The spirits would not help them, he would have
to face the evil on his own.

  With the dead buried, Lone Hawk had time to reflect on what had happened.
He was tired, his head was dizzy and he felt strangely disconnected. It had
all been like a dream. He remembered the anguished screams. Bodies falling.
What concerned him was that he remembered feeling as if he couldn't move,
couldn't react to what was happening around him. It bothered him even more
that he had awakened miles from the village. His memory of how he came to
be there was gone. Had he run like a coward? The thought troubled him
tremendously, he hoped that his memory would return.

  The sun had climbed into the afternoon sky. Autumn was in the wind. The
mighty oaks covering the hillsides bustled with their colorful leaves.
Usually this was the time of year for giving thanks for the bounty of the
summer. His people had always been nomadic but they always found prime land
to plant their crops. Since the first massacre they had left their
traditional homeland in search of safety from the evil. The tribe's elders
had seen it as a sign to move. A sign that the spirits were displeased with
them, that somehow they had violated their homeland. Lone Hawk yearned for
home, he saw the evil exactly as it was. Evil. He would take his people
home, face it there. He would either triumph or his people would be gone
from the Earth forever.

  The small band traveled light. Few possessions remained. Lone Hawk and
Spotted Dog hunted along the trail providing fresh meat. The women tended
after the orphans. Many still refused to talk or even utter a sound. The
terror was forever burned into their young minds. Winter was upon them as
they finally reached the river valley that his people had called home for
generations.

  A cold north wind howled down the river raising choppy waves on its muddy
surface. Lone Hawk's weathered face braced against it as he scanned the
river bank.  He knew they were close. The last two days of the journey had
seen threatening clouds, the wind nipping at them, prodding them along. He
spotted the white rocks, they would eat well tonight. The rocks marked the
location of a tribal cache of food and supplies. Looking over the group he
realized just how tattered these poor people were. They had all survived so
far, a few desperately in need of shelter and warmth. He was now on very
familiar ground. He knew if they pressed on a cave nearby would provide
them shelter for the night.

  The sun was kissing the evening stars as the ragged group reached the
bluff. In the darkened sky the sheer granite face still glistened. Nestled
at the base sat the small black hole of the cave. Lone Hawk pushed ahead.He
would get things readied for his people.

  The fire was just beginning to crackle as they arrived. They had been
pushing for weeks to get there before the snow flew. The children were
worn, hungry and cold. Warmth crept slowly through the cave as they stowed
their belongings and began to settle in. The women busied themselves with
the food, preparing the first hot meal they'd had in days. Lone Hawk
actually saw some of them smiling. This would be a good place for them to
weather the bitter winter that was at hand.

  Lone Hawk sat at the cave's entrance. The Cold Moon was rising in the
east illuminating the winding river. A pack of coyotes somewhere on the
bluff above him were tuning up for a night's worth of song. As he gazed
into the pale yellow face of the moon his mind reeled with  images of the
destruction two months before. The sensations he had felt during the attack
had plagued his thoughts on the long trip home. He had seemed suspended,
almost non-existent. Yet, he had felt strangely connected to the murdering
phantom. He could feel the rage that consumed it, the heartlessness, the
need to kill. Tomorrow he would leave his people to journey to the sacred
ground.

  Frightening images washed in red filled his mind. The dreams were always
the same. Yellow Flower holding his son as they melted away, pleading for
him to make it stop. He woke covered in a cold sweat. Nestled beside him
was a young girl no more than five years old. Her chestnut eyes looked up
at him filled with sadness and hope. He stroked her charcoal hair softly,
holding her close. The children were the only legacy of the tribe. He vowed
to protect them, to see to it that the tribe's heritage continued.

  It was a gray and sullen day. Snowflakes sputtered from the dark,
low-hanging clouds.Lugging the buckskin sack the women had packed for him
he started down the rocky path towards the river. Stopping to look back, he
saw the bright eyes crowding the cave entrance. Fear etched in their faces.

   Lone Hawk had never been to the sacred ground. The stories he had been
taught as a child were all he had to go on, but he knew that he would
recognize it when he got there. He would follow the course of the river
high into the mountains. Once he reached the head waters he would begin his
ascent into the mountain peaks. How long it would take he didn't know. What
obstacles lay ahead he could only guess.

  One story in particular kept coming to his mind. He tried to recall all
the details. The story told of a wise shaman that lived high in the
mountains among the sacred ground. He had never seen a shaman, but he knew
that they dealt with the spirit world-good and evil. He hoped the story was
true and the shaman would have the answers he needed. Casting his eyes up
the river canyon, his face set with determination, he began his journey
into the clouds.

  The white luminance of the Wolf Moon peaked over the mountain top. He was
getting close but Lone Hawk was worried. The dreams had gotten worse, to
the point he no longer slept. He was having losses of memory. He'd find
himself sitting at a fire and not recalling how he got there. His appetite
was gone, he rarely ate. He sat looking at the moon in the clearing sky and
one thing came to mind; those beautiful chestnut eyes.

  Sleep came reluctantly as haunting images swam in his head. A face, dark
and foreboding, horns protruding from its head looked down upon him.
Startled, Lone Hawk snapped awake his lungs pounding as he gasped for
breath. In the dying light of the fire he saw the cloaked figure sitting
across from him. Reaching for his knife he prepared to protect himself. In
an instant it was gone. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he looked
around. There were no footprints in the snow. No evidence anyone or
anything had been there. He wondered if he had imagined it.

  Not waiting for daybreak, he hurriedly packed and continued his climb. As
he struggled in the knee deep snow he could feel the eyes upon him. He
hadn't imagined it, he was sure there was something out there in the
darkness. Something watching and waiting.

  The sun broke into the night behind him. Stopping, he scanned the
mountain side looking for anything that was out of place. He could still
feel the eyes upon him. He decided to press on, the trail markers
indicating that he was very close to the sacred ground. His heart was
exploding in his chest as his lungs gulped the thin air. Stumbling over a
small crest he was amazed as his feet hit dry ground.

  The clearing was ringed on three sides by sheer granite. Towering pines
and cedars guarded the entrance. Slowly, cautiously, Lone Hawk moved
forward. Bowing under the hanging limbs he entered the clearing. His worst
dreams could not have prepared him for what he saw. Hanging from the trees
around the perimeter of the clearing were skeletons whitewashed by time.

  Lone Hawk fell to his knees, the color drained from his face. His body
trembled with fear. Once again he could feel the eyes upon him. A tall
figure cloaked in bear skin and a buffalo head stepped from the shadows.
Lone Hawk's hand wrapped around the deer horn handle of his knife as the
figure slowly approached him.

  As he prepared to attack it's voice reached out to him. "I've been
expecting you my son". Lone Hawk froze in fear, a lump in his throat
stifling a response. "Our people have seen great pain. I have seen the evil
and it is among us. Look around you. Look into the hollow eyes of our
people." Eyes filling with tears, lips quivering Lone Hawk scanned the
hanging skeletons. "I am Shaman Running Buffalo," the figure continued, "It
pains me greatly the evil that you have wrought."

  The words cut through Lone Hawk. "Great Shaman, I have come here seeking
a way to defeat the evil. I did not do this", he pleaded. "Come. Look upon
your wife and child. Remember their cries for you to stop." The Shaman
pulled Lone Hawk to the two skeletons hanging from the cedar bough. His
knees trembled as he stood before them. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
"But, but, how, how could I have done this?", Lone Hawk stammered. "Ah,
remember your dreams, remember their pleads that you stop. You killed your
wife and child under the light of the Hunter's Moon, that doomed you to
become a hunter of men. It was you that killed our people." Lone Hawk fell
sobbing at the Shaman's feet. His wails of agony echoed off the granite
walls.

 The wind caressed him as he hurled from the mountain top. Images of the
dead ran through him as the ground swiftly approached. As he lay in a
crumpled heap, the life draining out of him, one last image stuck in his
dying mind- beautiful chestnut eyes.

-------------------------------------------------

Critiques encouraged!  Send them to: rmherrin@ucalgary.ca.

Thanks-
---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*--------------------------------
Robyn Herrington,Editor                         rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca
InfoServe                                       www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin
New Currents in Teaching and Technology         Com/Media
University of Calgary                           Ph: 220-2561
                      == Inter tormentia latitia ==
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