Copyright © 1992 by Paul Cisek
Chwato's feet carried him swiftly through the underbrush. He was running
on all fours to keep pace with his elusive prey. Running by instinct, he
let his senses guide him and his muscles carry him forward. There was no
reasoning in his mind, only hunger; he was a slave to the adrenaline flowing
through his body. He moved to the rhythm of pumping blood from the heart
that was in his chest.
Trees flashed past him. One wrong step and he would smash his skull on their rough bark, but Chwato would not make a wrong step. He glided over toppled trunks and under low hanging branches effortlessly. His prey was cunning, almost as he, and continuously attempted to lose him in the tangled woods. Its speed was great, and its path twisted, but Chwato would not lose the scent, and would not let the distance grow. His insticts were flawless. All the creatures of the forest moved from his path without a word.
He was a fine hunter, broad and strong like his father of whom legends spoke. A memory of his first kill dated from the age of two: a fierce boar which he felled with one swift chop of the elongated claw. That was a moment of pride. And a moment of pleasure at feasting on the flesh of the kill. He gorged himself in it, and howled in triumph. It would be so this day again, only his howl would be louder than any heard in centuries and many would tremble.
The race had continued for hours now, but Chwato did not feel the bonds of exhaustion that would soon plague his quarry. His system had been preparing for the hunt for days, storing nutrients in his tissues and strengthening his bones and muscles. A set of hormones had been produced, and was now released steadily into his system, to tune his reflexes and expand his senses. As he ran among the trees at forty miles per hour, Chwato was aware of the spider devouring a fly ten feet to his right, and of the rabbits running for shelter at the sound of his passage one hundred feet ahead. As he ran he noted the uneven spacing of his opponent's tracks. The left hind leg was leaving a shallower mark; the leg where he had placed the first wound.
When it had entered the trap, it walked on its hind legs, looking around cautiously, sensing the presence of the hunter. It was naked as he, but it carried a long bone presumably to be used as a weapon. Its senses were very acute and it stopped when it reached the tree where Chwato was waiting. Suspended in the branches, in a trance state, only Chwato's ears were awake, waiting for a specific heartbeat pattern. This level of biological activity could easily be mistaken for an insect or a small bird, but the creature would not be fooled for long.
When it was close enough, a reflex sent a torrent of impulses throughout Chwato's body, bringing him to life. There was a short delay, long enough for his opponent to react and sprint away with a head start. Only a minor wound was inflicted. This was good, for a quick kill does not carry the satisfaction of a long hunt. The reflex was only a feint to conceal the true intentions of the hunter. On the first attack, Chwato only sought to draw blood.
The chase moved into its fourth hour now and left the shade of the forest behind. They were running over a rocky terrain sloping upward to a cliff. Chwato could see his prey now, some two hundred feet in front. It already adapted its skin color to camouflage against the rocks. It would be nearly invisible, but Chwato shifted his visual receptors to respond to lower frequencies; he could see it by the heat it emanated.
He noted that its tracks were changing slightly as it adjusted its feet to the harder ground. That was something Chwato was not capable of; he would be at a disadvantage here. The creature was surely aware of this, yet it continued toward the cliff where they would again be evenly matched. It must be planning something.
Chwato thought back to the weapon the creature had been carrying. It was the leg bone of a deer, familiar from numerous feastings. It dropped it when the chase began, but its presence disturbed Chwato. He had often thought that the use of rocks and bones could make a hunter more deadly. His grandfather, however, who had seen many winters, had spoken of it as folly. The body always proves stronger when unencumbered by things outside of itself. A tribe that dabbles in toolmaking always falls to one that practices in the magic of the Unfolding. Chwato himself would surely defeat his enemy, whose species had slowed its instinctive self adaptation. No, it was far better to adapt oneself than to attempt to force the environment to change.
The creature had begun the climb up the cliff well before Chwato arrived. It would not be difficult, the slope was not quite vertical, and there were no significant loose rocks the creature could hurl down at him. Still, he climbed off to the side, acknowledging its cunning. He used his elongated claw as a hook to pull himself along at a good pace. He looked up.
His opponent had reached the top, but instead of running it stood at the edge. It would surely not attempt combat, Chwato thought, regardless of the size of its weapons. He paused to observe it and squinted his eyes to bring its image closer.
It was stretching a fan of tissue between its arms and the sides of its body. It was preparing wings to glide back down upon, and escape. Chwato's first reaction was a surprised anger.
He redirected nutrients to the cunning brain that was in his head and accelerated the mental process. There were two choices: climb upward to catch the creature before it completed its wings; or slide back down to await its landing below. By going up he surely would not reach it before it was ready to jump. By going down he would let it use the wings as a bluff and run farther into the mountains, gaining great distance. It probably expected him to climb upward and therefore was preparing to jump - he must therefore be ready to get back down to the ground quickly. He must not however, let it see him descending. ...The wing growing process surely consumed a great deal of energy - it would be tired after the landing. The decision was made in a fraction of a second and Chwato resumed his climb while preparing the activation of a pair of glands in the back of his throat.
The creature looked down, its black within black eyes expressionless. Seeing his motion it leaped forward. Stretching the wings upon the air it glided.
The hunter was ready. He spit strands of spidersilk onto a smooth stone face and leaped backward. The thread slowed his fall considerably, but at the bottom he landed upon a sharp rock that cracked his left front leg. Immediately he stifled the pain sensation and stood upright.
His prey had landed some forty feet away and looked up to the cliff. Chwato fell to the ground and camouflaged instantly, but it saw the thread and followed it to him. It turned and ran, but the wing tissue impeded movement and forced it to run on two legs. It would probably take a significant number of seconds to dissolve the tissue. The hunter swiftly rose and followed, disregarding the mangled forelimb and running on all fours again. The bone cracked further with every step. It could be regenerated, but it would take several minutes. If he succeeded it really did not matter.
He gained quickly, his body almost delirious with the anticipation of the kill. He could taste the sweet flesh still vibrant with living cells, their genotype intact. The feeding madness would be difficult to suppress, but he had the willpower. This was to be his greatest trophy.
The creature stopped at the bank of a great river. It was too tired to swim or run further and turned to fight. Chwato stopped to face it, straightened. He could feel his teeth protruding from his gums, preparing. His elongated claw unsnapped from the hinge to swing more freely. His left, favored arm was useless though, and he rerouted its better tuned control neurons to guide the right. He poured adrenalin to his muscles and awaited the creature's first move.
It held a thick tree branch in its hands, sharpening it with its teeth.
* * *
One million years before, in this very land, a species of ape turned to cannibalism. Its members formed tribal groups that fought against each other, devouring the bodies of the defeated. Their wars were fierce, and only the most powerful tribes would emerge victorious. These tribes would often merge as the victors enslaved their enemies, and the gene pool remained essentially intact. This cruel selection served the species well, directing them toward higher and higher mental prowess. With an adversary as cunning as oneself, the evolutionary pressure was great.
Eventually these creatures discovered an otherwise untried survival strategy. The began to shape the environment with tools and even enslave plant species to bring them reliable food. Quickly their numbers swelled and cultures were born. A great civilization rose upon the planet. Although it lasted only briefly, this grand empire had conquered the world at the height of its power. The species held dominion over all life, and over forces unimaginable. The civilization chose to end itself however, in the time of the birth of the Unfolding, and the creatures returned to nature as masters of their evolutionary path. Their former glory was forgotten in exchange for the one true eternal art. They again turned on each other, and the god of time hurled storms of sand to hide their mighty cities.
* * *
The creature advanced toward Chwato. It brandished its weapon above its head, intending to threaten, but the hunter was only amused. To him it looked clumsy, swinging its unwieldy spear without grace. It was not an extension of its body, unlike Chwato's elongated claw which he could manipulate with the skill of an artist. The thing surely felt confident looking at his broken forelimb, but it was ignorant of the many deadly weapons he possessed. He could blind it in an instant with his spittle, he could slice its legs off with one swing of his powerful blade. He could lash out with his spiked tongue to puncture its heart, or lunge forward faster than its reflexes could respond and bury his teeth in its throat. It was completely helpless before him. He could play with it for hours with the energy still in him, to then mercifully kill it and devour its flesh. How his body ached for the battle!
Chwato's attack would be more subtle however, and far more deadly. His victim would not only be this frail creature threatening with its clumsy weapon, but its entire tribal species. This was combat at a much higher level, greater stakes demanding greater sacrifices.
The hunter swung his claw without the complex system of feinting that his instincts screamed for. The enemy skillfully dodged the blade and lunged forward driving its weapon through his belly. Blood poured out onto the sand as Chwato convulsed in pain. Now action had to be quick.
He cut off the circulatory paths between his head and torso and started the beating of the secondary heart that was in his skull. He severed and withdrew the neurons of his spine and closed the esophagus. The nutrients stored within his self-contained head could keep it alive for nearly a day, but he doubted it would take so long. The creature was already feeding on his body, smeared in his blood. He kept his auditory system alive so he could hear its triumphant shriek. The creature cut off his head and held it high victoriously. Chwato was patient.
He did not need to wait long. When it bit into his neck he shot out his tongue and drove it through its eye socket, injecting a poison into its brain. The beast froze paralyzed and Chwato began stretching the neurons of his spine along the tongue and into its head.
Here another battle began, greater in numbers and fiercer, but on a much smaller scale. Warrior lymphocytes poured out of the invader tongue into the creature's bloodstream, where its own immune system would attempt to thwart the attack. The hunter's cells were far more advanced however, armed with powerful enzymes to render the defenses helpless. Millions died but their purpose was filled; the enemy would not interfere. Discipline was kept, keeping the invasion local to the cerebrum region where the work was already beginning.
Chwato's spinal cells began incorporating into the creature's brain. They were forming a primitive mental entity that would exist without the victim's knowledge, as a seperate being. The enemy's own body would feed the parasite implanted in its brain, a parasite that could exert control over it at any time. It would invade other members of the tribe and spread like a plague of madness. Their weapons of rock and bone would be helpless against it.
The hunter's soul howled in triumph.
* * *
Shortly after Chwato finally died, his prey woke from the effects of the poison and began growing a patch of skin over its lost eye. It grabbed the lifeless head to present it as a trophy to the tribe, and set off along the shore, heading home.
January 1992