THE HUNTERS

     The two men stood at the cleverly concealed door. The tall, dark-haired man wanted to ask so many questions, but one stood out in his mind - "Tell me what you know of those hunters."

     The other man, the one with the white hair and the shaking hand, shook his head. "Even I don't know the answer to all your questions. I only know the story as I heard it. I do know that it began in the far north, that it had no beginning and no ending. What I did hear of the story went like this:"


     In the evening, the man came to the small isolated village, just over the last pass through the northern mountains. The cat still followed. He had been days on the trail. He knew he was finally at the end of his hunt.

      In the growing darkness, the man headed for a small house just off the muddy main street, behind the already boisterous inn. He quickly entered the empty house through the unlocked door at the rear.

      The cat followed the man into the house, and then into a small and tidy room. He had been following him for days now. The man had an unusual smell, a smell intriguing to the cat, a smell that almost spoke to him. Careful of the man's feet, he slid into the room and looked about at his surroundings and then more closely at the man himself.

      There was nothing unusual about the man. He looked just like the rest of humankind, but the magical smell persisted, in fact, it grew stronger still while he stared openly at the man. The man, however, seemed not to notice him, although he was in plain sight, sitting there by the now closed door.

      Actually, the man didn't seem to notice anything. It wasn't that he was blind. It was more as if he weren't there, as if he had been emptied. The cat decided to try the man's hearing. "Meow!" Nothing. The man didn't move at all. His ears didn't perk up. He still stood there silently.

      Again "meow!" Again no response. The cat began to wish that the door was still open. What had he got himself into? If it weren't for that smell, he would never have put himself into this situation. What could he do now?

      Without thinking, he leapt onto the man's shoulder, a mighty leap, even for him. The man didn't move. Crouched upon the man's shoulder, the cat extended his longest and sharpest claws and raked the man's skin beneath the covering shirt. Nothing again. The man still didn't move.

      Now the cat noticed that the smell, the smell that he had been following for all these weeks, came from the man's wounds, came from the blood itself as it poured out. He hadn't dug that deep! The smell was stronger now - and more compelling. He tentatively licked at it. The taste was like the smell, only even more powerful and alluring. He continued to lick.

     He felt the change immediately. He began to see. He began to see himself in a new light. In fact, he saw he was made of light, of pure energy. And he was here to hunt this light, to gather it together, all of it. Now that he knew his purpose, he could leave.

     He continued to lick the blood from the man's wounds, licking until finally its flow began to slow, then stop. He would leave the room now. The closed door was no longer a barrier. He leaped from the man's shoulder, the man who had just stood there without moving throughout the entire blood letting.

     The cat left through the doorway. It was easy. He just thought it open, and it was. He exited, followed by the man who now saw and heard and moved - and who now felt the pain of his wound. Together, they began the hunt.


     After a long silence, the tall man asked, "Can't you tell me more. What happened next?"

      The other man, his hand still shaking, only shook his head. "I imagine much happened after this, but the story teller left unexpectedly. Myself, I think the story never ends. Who knows." Together they went through the door, and....

     By Eugene Marks