The Hunter's Son, page 1
Cover image copyright Jaguar (Panthera onca) in the Dark © anankkml, courtesy of istock photo.
Cover image copyright Romero © Dan Burr.
Cover design copyright © 2017 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2017 by Gregg Luke
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within his work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
ISBN 978-1-52440-522-9
To my son-in-law, Tom Ballard: a man who likes
a good adventure as much as I do.
Acknowledgments
I’m always a bit nervous about writing acknowledgments in a novel because I invariably—and quite unintentionally—leave someone out. This story was a long time in the making—almost ten years! I can’t remember everyone I asked to critique it throughout that decade, but I do know I had initial help from Julie Luke, David Dickson, Kirk Luke, and Rebekah Smith. Later, as I resurrected it, author Jeff Savage gave it a read to evaluate my voicing. Then, to make it more accurate to the period, historical fiction guru Heather Moore gave me an amazing (and humbling) critique. The finishing touches were provided by my amazing editor, Kami Hancock, who always does her best to make me sound good.
My sincere and heartfelt thanks goes out to all (named and forgotten) who contributed their time to bringing this story to life.
And there were some who died with fevers,
which at some seasons of the year were very frequent in the land—
but not so much so with fevers,
because of the excellent qualities of the many plants and roots
which God had prepared to remove the cause of diseases,
to which men were subject by the nature of the climate.
Alma 46:40
Chapter One
You will not be scared, I told myself with little success. Only a few minutes had passed since I had entered the cave, but already I was fighting an overwhelming urge to turn and run. My heart thumped against my chest and pounded in my ears. Sweat dripped from my body as if I’d been working in the fields for hours. A hollow knot tightened in my belly as I edged forward, straining to see into the darkness.
A low voice moaned from deep within the cave, “Jarem, son of Anatoth, the hunter.”
My breath caught. Footprints outside the cave indicated that perhaps a dozen young men waited somewhere in the darkness ahead. I could hear faint whispers, and the smell of sweat and freshly disturbed dust hung in the dank air. I cursed my eyes for not adjusting to the darkness faster. Think clearly now, I told myself. The light is to your back, so they can see you before you can see them.
“Jarem of Oranihah!” the voice called again. It was deep and resonant and yet still somewhat youthful. I swallowed forcefully to clear the tightness in my throat.
“I am here,” I said with all the manliness I could muster.
“Come closer,” the voice commanded.
My father had taught me that it’s easier to see things in the dark if you do not look directly at them but, rather, just to one side. I tried this and detected a bend in the cave straight ahead. Easing my way forward, I entered a chamber just beyond the bend. It was pitch-black inside. I paused to listen.
Something stirred to my left: the whisper of cloth against skin. I held my breath and focused, listening between heartbeats. Soft, breathy sounds came from five or so vague shapes in front of me. Standing in silence, I slowly turned my head from side to side to pinpoint the positions of those with me.
I knew the identity of most of the young men in the cave. They were roughly the same age as I was and full of mischief and adventure, so I was prepared for just about anything.
I let out a chuff, trying to sound bored. “Now what?”
“Silence, dog!” the voice snapped. A muffled snicker issued from a dark shape on my right. “You are here only because we want you here. You are alive only because we want you alive. And you will speak only when we want you to speak.”
The young man was trying to sound frightening, but I really had no reason to be so scared. This whole ordeal was an initiation into the Brotherhood of the Leopard, a secret group to which my friend Samuel belonged. I thought it sounded adventurous.
“It is our understanding you wish to join our brotherhood,” the resonant voice continued.
“Yes. I have heard—”
“That was not a question, worm!” Something hissed through the air, whipping against my shins. I winced at the sting but made no sound. I was determined not to show any weakness.
“The Brotherhood of the Leopard does not allow just any simpleminded fool to enter its secret order.”
Only handpicked simpleminded fools, then? I didn’t say.
“You must first prove yourself worthy. No matter what we ask, you must do accordingly.” Another snicker sounded to my left. “Are you brave enough to accept the challenge? If you fail, you will never be allowed to try again.”
I drew a deep breath and puffed out my chest. “Yes.”
“Fellow leopards, do you accept this dog’s petition?”
A chorus of young voices growled like jungle cats in approval. As my eyes adjusted, the dark shapes slowly became less obscure, though I still could not see any of them clearly.
“Very well,” the lead voice continued. “Jarem of Oranihah, answer this question: To whom do you swear total loyalty?”
“To you—I mean, to the Brotherhood of the Leopard.” Think clearly now, I again scolded myself. Try not to sound foolish . . . or afraid.
“Will you swear beyond your loyalty to your parents, to the Nephite people and their judges, and to . . . your betrothed?” This time, instead of a chorus of growls, a riot of laughter erupted around me.
I knew my friendship with Ishbel, the tanner’s daughter, would come up eventually. My father was a hunter; her father was a tanner. We were constantly in each other’s company. But although we had become best friends, I didn’t feel any passion toward Ishbel. Our relationship was more like that of a brother and sister. We’d play games together, talk of our fathers’ businesses, go on errands together. But she wasn’t my betrothed. I considered explaining this to the others in the cave, then decided against it. It would only give them enticement to tease me further.
“Yes,” I stated boldly. “The Brotherhood of the Leopard comes before all.”
“Well spoken,” the leader said. “We will give you one chance. Repeat after me: I am a leopard. I will hunt like a leopard, I will fight like a leopard, and I will kill like a leopard. I will always live by the law of the leopard.”
I did as instructed.
The resonant voice grew louder as it proclaimed, “Let all who are not leopards beware! A new leopard is born this day!”
Those present let out a fierce roar. The combined voices reverberating throughout the alcove were quite impressive.
“Now prove yourself by sealing your oath.” A furry object bounced off my feet. I picked it up and explored it with my fingers. It was the forepaw of a large jungle cat—probably a leopard. Samuel had warned me about this part of the initiation. I wasn’t afraid. It just seemed like a foolish thing to do.
“Make the mark!” the lead voice roared.
I’d come this far; I might as well see it through. Tensing my stomach muscles, I pressed the claws against my flesh. The idea was to draw blood without showing fear or pain. I clenched my teeth and quickly drew the paw across, leaving four bleeding gashes in its path. I grimaced, gritting my teeth against the searing sting, but made no sound.
The cave was silent. I assumed the others were waiting for an outcry, but I made none. I slowly exhaled and tossed the paw in front of me. Again, there were roars, and I couldn’t help but swell with pride.
“Enough,” the leader said to silence the others. “Well done, new leopard. Now you must survive the ordeal. Are you willing to complete this task?”
“Yes.”
“Good. This is what you must do: You will dwell the rest of this day and this night in this cave. You must not leave for any reason whatsoever—not for food or water or to run from anything that may enter this cave. Only when tomorrow’s light appears may you come out, but no sooner. Do you accept this ordeal?”
That sounded easy enough. I had spent countless days and nights hunting with my father in the jungle and quite a few by myself. A day and a night in this cave would be child’s play. I now felt foolish for being so frightened earlier.
“Yes,” I responded confidently.
Standing motionless, I watched the dark shapes leave, their breathing sounds and body odors going with them. I wasn’t afraid to be alone in the cave, but the sudden absence of background sounds was strangely disturbing.
I half expected one of the group to jump around the corner in an attempt to startle me. But after a few minutes of silence, I figured they weren’t coming back.
I was alone.
I tried to relax but couldn’t. Any noise I made echoed harshly off the walls of the small alcove. My breathing sounded coarse and tense. Something wasn’t right about the situation. I slowly turned from side to side, concentrating, but could not determine what was wrong. It wasn’t simply the absence of noise; something didn’t feel right. Standing alone in the darkness, I tried to remember everything my father had taught me about evaluating things I could not see. Use all your senses, he’d said. I took in every sound, every smell, the weight of the air against my skin, the feelings in my soul. My intuition told me I was in danger.
“Run for your lives!” a woman shouted outside the cave.
“This way, quickly,” another called.
“Head for the jungle!” a man joined in.
I started toward the cave’s entrance—then stopped. I wondered if maybe the young men had enlisted the help of some adults to trick me into coming out of the cave. I smiled at first, but the cries continued to increase in both volume and intensity. The villagers sounded truly alarmed.
“Lamanites! Run! Run!”
“Lamanites?” I gasped as my muscles tensed.
I’d grown up hearing that Lamanite warriors were ruthless savages who loved to kill simply for the sport of killing. I’d never met a Lamanite warrior, but I had met several Lamanite hunters and merchants while conducting business with my father. Most were average men and women doing what they could to feed their families. But warriors were altogether different. And I’d listened to enough gruesome battle stories that the mere mention of them sent chills down my back.
Recently, a number of reports had surfaced of Lamanite warriors amassing armies just across the border in the wilderness. But they proved to be mostly hearsay. In fact, I’d gone hunting with my father just the previous week, and we saw no signs to confirm such reports. Besides, the Lamanites had not attacked the Nephite people for years.
“There can’t be Lamanites here,” I whispered to myself. “They wouldn’t dare cross the border.” Yet the more I tried to convince myself, the less I believed. And for the second time since entering the cave, I was very scared.
As the cries and shouts grew more fervent, I knew I had to look.
I peered around the alcove corner toward the entrance of the cave. There I saw a strange spear standing upright just beyond some large stones. It hadn’t been there when I’d entered. Slowly edging my way forward, I struggled to make sense of the chaos outside. I was sure the Brotherhood of the Leopard would not create such an elaborate ruse simply for my initiation. But if this was real, why hadn’t they come to warn me?
As I neared the cave’s entrance, a man’s voice shouted, “Wait. I need to get my spear.”
I froze.
Not twenty paces in front of me, a large, stocky man entered the cave. Bright yellow and red pigments painted his face and chest; a thick band of black framed his eyes. Oily, dark hair hung to his broad shoulders from under a snakeskin headband. I estimated he weighed half again what an average man would. He wore a bloodstained animal skin tied around his waist and sandals on his feet. I had no idea who this warrior was, but I knew he wasn’t a Nephite.
The man yanked the spear up with such ferocity that I flinched and in doing so scraped my sandal against the stony floor. The warrior instantly crouched into an attack stance, his spear pointed directly at me. I remained as motionless as possible but felt myself trembling. Sweat again began to bead all over my body. The warrior didn’t move for the longest time. He stared directly at me but wasn’t advancing.
He can’t see me, I reasoned. His eyes are still used to the daylight. I pleaded with God to help me remain motionless and silent.
Suddenly the man stepped forward two paces, staring hard into the cave, sniffing the air. His gaze swept past me several times but never locked on my position. He spoke in a forceful tone, “If you value your life, come out now.”
I didn’t move. He may have sensed something, but he couldn’t tell I stood only a few cubits away. I knew if I even twitched an eyebrow I would betray my position. I was invisible as long as I remained motionless.
Finally the man grunted and turned on his heel as if to leave then paused, cocking his ear over his shoulder. I felt my legs losing their strength. They began to quiver uncontrollably. Could he hear them shaking? I closed my eyes and concentrated on remaining completely still. Sweat now dripped from my frame. The warrior grunted again and marched out of the cave.
Silently letting out my pent-up chestful of stale air, I lowered to my knees and slowly crawled to the pile of large stones at the mouth of the cave. Oranihah was barely within sight through the thick jungle, but I didn’t need to see the whole of it to know what had happened. Flames and smoke rose from several places in the village. With sickening realization, I knew this was not a ruse. My stomach soured, and bile rose in my throat. I got up to run for the jungle then instantly sank back to my knees. My friend Samuel lay directly on the other side of the rocks. A deep hole pocked the center of his chest where the warrior’s spear had struck. His eyes stared lifelessly toward the sky; his mouth hung open as if calling for help. In his belly was an arrow of unmistakable make. It was Lamanite.
Foolishly, I quickly rose again and struck my head on an outcropping of rock. A flash of white pain was immediately followed by darkness clouding my eyes. I remember falling, but I don’t recall hitting the ground.
Chapter Two
Judging by the sun’s position, I knew I’d been unconscious for about two hours. I exited the cave and immediately saw that Oranihah was lost. Unbelieving, I gawked at the horrific scene from the vantage point of a grassy knoll. Many buildings and homes burned unchecked, dead bodies were piled in a careless heap on the roadside, and Lamanite warriors strolled around like ordinary citizens.
A small group of Nephites stripped of almost all their clothing, hands bound tightly behind their backs, knelt helplessly in the middle of a field. Two Lamanites stood over them, taunting them mercilessly. Focusing on the captives, I couldn’t see my parents or my sister among them. A sinking feeling told me I would never see them again. I tried to ignore that feeling then tried to deny it, but to no avail. I knew my father would have jumped to the forefront of the village’s defense. Judging by the extent of the damage and the small number of Nephite captives, it was easy to conclude that my father was dead. The mere thought of never seeing him again made the back of my eyes sting with tears. But I tried not to give up hope. I couldn’t lose faith.
Deciding the best chance to save my people was to head for Zarahemla, the Nephite capital, I began to crawl backward—then suddenly felt that I was not alone. A presence loomed over me. I turned and looked straight into the eyes of the Lamanite warrior who had entered the cave earlier. He was leaning casually on his spear, grinning at me.
“So. Where do you think you’re going?”
A thousand responses flashed through my mind. Then one stuck, and before I could consider its consequences, I found myself standing and walking briskly toward the warrior. The impulse was a lesson my father had taught me: When confronted by something fierce, act fiercer.
I stopped directly in front of the man, planted my feet, scowled, spat, and pointed my finger at his broad chest.“You’ve got two choices, Lamanite. You can turn now and walk away unharmed, or you can die where you stand.”
My mind instantly cried, Jarem, have you lost your mind? Run!
The warrior scowled, but I saw confusion in his eyes. He stared, perplexed at my young frame, seemingly unable to bring words to his mouth. He glanced around but, of course, saw no one near. I was almost his height, but he outweighed me threefold—and very little of that was fat.
Pressing my momentary advantage, I said, “To be fair, I’ll give you a few moments to make up your mind—but only a few.” I turned and began walking toward the jungle. “I’ll wait over here,” I said over my shoulder.
I’d made it a good ten paces before the warrior came out of his stupor and called after me. “Wait, you Nephite dog! Get back here.”
I sprinted for the jungle, but the warrior, in a surprising burst of speed, caught up and grabbed my shoulder. I spun to break free, but his grip was viselike. His fingers pressed deep into my shoulder as he dropped his spear and clenched my throat, choking me. Following a second flash of inspiration, I stopped struggling, let my eyes roll back, and went totally limp. The Lamanite paused then released his hold. Instead of falling down, I kicked him hard in the groin, turned sharply, and bolted up the hillside.
