Chapter 2: The Hunter
The gravel dug into Nick's bare hip, sharp and cold. He lay curled on his side, river water still trickling from his hair, each shiver feeling like it might crack his frozen ribs. The mammoth’s distant bellows were fading, swallowed by the forest, but the image of that ancient, tormented face in the water churned inside him, colder and more terrifying than the river. Who are you? The painted bull’s silent question had followed him out of the cave, echoed by the specter in the stream. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish it, to focus on the immediate agony of cold and exhaustion.
Then came the footsteps. A soft, deliberate crunching on the wet stones nearby. Not the thunderous approach of the beast, but something stealthier. More dangerous.
He forced his eyes open, vision blurry.
Silhouettes against the overcast sky. Three of them, standing motionless on the riverbank not ten paces away. They seemed carved from the landscape itself, draped in shaggy hides cured to a deep, earthy brown. Their skin was darkened, almost blackened in places with soot and streaks of dried mud or ochre. The tallest one, muscles coiled beneath his furs, held a long spear. Its tip, wicked sharp and crafted from a dull, smoky stone, caught the weak light. Another, broader, gripped a heavy wooden club studded with sharp flint teeth. The third, older, with deep lines etched around wary eyes, held a curved throwing stick ready. Their expressions were grim masks, devoid of curiosity. Only a hard, simmering hostility radiated from them.
Nick tried to push himself up, limbs leaden. A groan escaped his chapped lips.
The tallest hunter snapped something, his voice a harsh, guttural bark completely alien to Nick’s ears. The sound was sharp, percussive, filled with warning. The words meant nothing, but the intent was clear: Stay down. Outsider.
Nick froze, one hand splayed on the cold gravel. He met the tall hunter’s gaze. The man’s eyes, dark and unreadable, flickered over Nick’s nakedness, the mud and blood caking him, the fresh scrapes and the undeniable strangeness of him. Disgust and a primal fear tightened the hunter’s jaw. He barked another command, gesturing sharply with his spear towards the forest behind Nick. Go. Leave. Or perhaps, Die elsewhere.
Nick tried to speak. His throat was raw, frozen. "I... I don't... understand." The words rasped out, thin and useless in the vastness. They sounded alien even to him.
The tall hunter’s eyes narrowed. He took a single, menacing step forward. The other two mirrored him, their weapons shifting. The broad one hefted the spiked club. The air crackled with impending violence. The message was simple: You are not of us. You are threat.
Before Nick could even flinch, the tall hunter moved with terrifying speed. His arm snapped forward. The spear flew, a blur of wood and sharp stone.
Time seemed to slow. Nick saw the dark point, saw the sinewy arm that launched it, saw the hunter’s fixed glare. He knew this sound – the deadly hiss of air parting.
He twisted, more a collapsing spasm than a dodge. The spearhead grazed the outside of his upper right arm. A hot line of fire seared his flesh. He cried out, more in shock than immediate pain, falling back onto the stones. Warm blood, shockingly red against his pale, mud-streaked skin, welled from the shallow gash and began to snake down towards his elbow.
The tall hunter grunted, a sound of grim satisfaction. He reached for another spear strapped to his back. The broad hunter raised his club, taking a solid step forward. The older one adjusted his grip on the throwing stick, his eyes calculating distance. Their intent was unmistakable. Finish it. Remove the anomaly.
Nick scrambled backwards on his elbows and heels, gravel grinding into his skin, the sting in his arm sharp and bright. He raised his uninjured arm, a useless shield. "No! Wait!" he choked, knowing it was futile. The cold river behind him felt like a final barrier. He had nowhere to go. The club descended in a short, brutal arc.
"Teka!"
The shout sliced through the tense air, sharp and clear, higher-pitched than the hunters' guttural commands, yet carrying undeniable authority. It echoed off the riverbank stones.
All movement froze. The hunters snapped their heads around. Nick flinched, eyes darting towards the sound, half-expecting another attacker.
She stood on a low rise near the tree line, slightly upstream. A young woman. Long, wild black hair, tangled with small twigs and leaves, framed a face streaked with charcoal and smudges of red ochre. She wore soft hide leggings and a sleeveless tunic, revealing strong, lean arms marked with similar dark lines and symbols. In her hand was a simple spear, shorter than the hunters', but held with easy confidence. She wasn't breathing hard, but her sharp amber eyes blazed, fixed on the hunters.
She spoke again, rapid and firm, her voice carrying across the short distance. The language was the same harsh, unfamiliar tongue, yet somehow more fluid, more musical. She gestured sharply towards Nick, then back at the hunters, her expression fierce. She pointed at the spear lying on the gravel near Nick, then back towards the tall hunter, her tone laced with unmistakable reproach.
The tall hunter snarled something back, pointing his replacement spear directly at Nick. The broad hunter shifted his weight, glancing between the woman and Nick, his club still raised but wavering slightly. The older one watched the woman intently, his expression unreadable.
The woman didn't retreat. She took a step down the slope towards the riverbank, moving with a fluid, almost feline grace despite the uneven ground. Her gaze swept past the hunters, dismissing their protests for a moment, and locked onto Nick, crumpled and bleeding on the gravel.
Recognition. Pure, electric recognition flared in those amber eyes. Not the hunters' fear or hostility, but a dawning, incredulous familiarity. It was as if she saw past the mud, the blood, the naked bewilderment of a stranger dragged from the freezing river. It was the look of someone encountering a face seen only in the deepest recesses of dream, a face impossibly rendered real. Her lips parted slightly, surprise momentarily softening the fierceness in her gaze.
Nick stared back, the pain in his arm momentarily forgotten. He saw no threat in her eyes, only that staggering sense of knowing. It mirrored the impossible familiarity of the face he’d seen in the water, but without the ancient dread. This was present. Immediate. And utterly bewildering.
Who are you? The silent question, asked by the cave, by the river, now hung unspoken between them in the charged silence. The hunters shifted, their weapons still poised, caught between their ingrained suspicion and the woman’s command. The only sounds were the rush of the river, Nick’s own ragged breathing, and the drip of his blood onto the wet stones.
The drip of Nick's blood on wet stones echoed louder than the river’s rush. He locked eyes with the wild-haired woman, her amber gaze holding that unnerving recognition. The hunters remained coiled, weapons ready, distrust radiating like heat waves.
"Teken," the woman commanded, gesturing sharply at Nick’s bleeding arm. Her tone softened slightly as she addressed the tall hunter. "Val, huran. Korr sees."
Val spat onto the gravel, knuckles white on his spear shaft. "Thaag ren!" His glare sliced toward Nick. "Spirit-sick. Bad air follows."
The woman – Asha, Nick thought, though he didn’t know how – snorted. "Bad air? From freezing river?" She stepped closer to Nick, ignoring Val’s snarl. Her movements were fluid, unafraid. She crouched, pulling a leather pouch from her belt.
Nick flinched as her cool fingers brushed his wounded arm. "Don’t..." he rasped. Her eyes flicked to his, calm but intense. She shook her head, smearing a pungent green paste from her pouch onto the gash. The sting was immediate, biting deep.
"Hold," she murmured, pressing a wad of moss against it. Her touch was firm, practical. Then she untied a coarse wolf pelt from her waist and tossed it at him. "Cover."
Nick fumbled with the stiff hide, its musky scent thick. Val cursed again. "Waste, Asha! He steals wolf-skin next!"
Asha stood, facing the hunters fully. Her voice dropped low, dangerous. "Korr decides. Not Val." She pointed uphill, toward dense pines. "Move."
Val hesitated, jaw clenched. The older hunter touched his shoulder, murmuring words Nick couldn't catch. With a final, venomous look, Val turned. They set off through dripping ferns, leaving Nick shivering under the wolf pelt.
Asha nudged Nick’s shoulder. "Up," she ordered. Her eyes held no warmth now, only urgency."Walk. Or stay for night-cats."
Nick staggered upright, the wolf pelt scratching his skin. He followed Asha into the trees, Val’s resentful back visible ahead. Every snap of a twig made Nick flinch. Shadows deepened as they climbed, the air thickening with woodsmoke and something richer – roasting meat, maybe. His stomach cramped.
Through a final screen of birch, the valley opened. Smoke curled lazily from several fires near a cave mouth, wide as a house. Nick froze. The surrounding cliffs were alive. Not just rock – painted. Ochre bison charged across stone; charcoal horses galloped beside them. Spirals and handprints scattered between beasts. Like the hidden cave, he thought, but shouting its presence.
Asha tugged his arm. "Come." Her voice was tight. Eyes appeared between tents of stretched hide. Children peeked from behind adults clad in rough furs. Silence fell, heavy as wet wool. Dozens watched – wary, hostile, fascinated. An old woman spat into the dirt near Nick’s bare feet.
Inside the cave entrance, tools lay scattered: flint blades, bone needles, antler hammers. Gnawed ribs and cracked mammoth tusks littered the packed earth floor. Hides hung drying on frames, smelling of fat and tannin. At the far end, on a raised stone dais, a man stood.
Korr.
Massive shoulders strained against his bear-hide tunic. Scars mapped his arms and throat, thick as vines. A necklace of yellowed wolf teeth clicked softly against his chest as he turned. His eyes, deep-set and dark, pinned Nick instantly. No rage, like Val’s. No recognition, like Asha’s. Only a profound, assessing silence.
Korr stepped down. Nick felt the tremor through the ground. The chieftain circled him slowly, nostrils flaring as he inhaled Nick’s river-stink and blood. He stopped inches away, his shadow swallowing Nick. One scarred hand lifted, hovering near Nick’s temple, tracing the air where dried blood crusted his hair. The cave held its breath. Embers popped in a nearby fire. Korr’s fingers didn’t touch him. They held the space where time itself felt thin.