Circle of Beasts

He crouched on the dais. The grove was empty of humans, but otherwise the same as when he had left nearly four years ago. There was nothing present that was of any danger to him so he laughed in relief and sprang onto the grassy floor.

He was soaking wet. He had spent a long time in the womb of the Mother of all Nature. Longer than most. He had gone to her as a boy, and she had favored him, enjoyed the cleanness of his mind and body, and nurtured him through those years until he had grown to full manhood. As a man he had decided that it was time to return to the real world. And She accepted his leaving in the knowledge that eventually another would come to her.

Boun wondered if another would come soon. When he had escaped into the realm of the Mother, every person with the blood of Jhebbal Sag was being killed by one of the Beast Lord's sons. Golin Sag had wanted to be the only human carrying the blood of the ancient god. In the past four years the Pict might have succeeded.

The Mother of All Nature might be the mate of old Jhebbal Sag. Somewhere in a hidden place on some divine plane there could be a place where they meet and make love. Boun was not certain of this however, since the Mother had not spoken to him about it. In fact she didn't speak at all in the manner of Men, rather her communication had been without words on an instinctual level.

Her gifts to him were a strong body, keen senses, and a balanced mind. What he had been blessed with at birth was accentuated now. He lifted his nostrils to the breeze and savored the odors that drifted to him. He listened and heard the lifebeat of the forest. And he saw into the shadows and hiding places where the tiny creatures sought to hide.

He had no weapons. His hair was very long and tied out of the way with strings of animal sinew. He was naked and sunbrown. More important, he was free. The Picts had driven Boun, the youth to this glade and into the womb of the Mother. He was no longer that boy. He reveled in his strength, and knew that now the Picts would never drive him anywhere he didn't want to go again.

He shook off the wetness of the Mother. Her warmth was behind him. His lips formed a tight line as he jogged out of this grove where the Ligureans held their holy rites and entered the dark forests of Pictdom.

Before he went into the Mother his senses had been extraordinarily acute. Now he ran through a world so sharp in clarity that it almost hurt. Colors, odors and sounds rang in his mind with the distinct quality of a crystal bell ringing. It was easy to see the place where one thing ended and another started. Patterns of nature blended into each other to form a whole. He doubted that the Picts or anyone else would catch him unaware.

He knew where he wanted to go: a hidden grove sacred to Jhebbal Sag. Here he intended to challenge the ancient god. Boun wasn't interested in battle; he wanted to learn things from the Lord of Beasts. No, he wanted to know more than just things; he wanted to know who that ancient God of Beasts was.

The trouble was he didn't know where a grove dedicated to Jehovah Sag was. It was easier for him to pick up the trail of a deer or rabbit now, but his newly trained senses couldn't find a place he did not know the location of. There was no trail leading to a sacred grove. And he might wander for years before stumbling upon one.

One solution to his problem might be to find a Pict who knew where such a grove was. Someone like his enemy Golim Sag could probably supply the information. There might be others, but Boun didn't know their names or where to find them. He didn't know where to find Golim Sag either. However, he knew the man's name and that was a place to start.

To locate Golim Sag he needed to find a Pict. Any Pict. The path to Golim Sag was not a trail of tracks marking a forest floor. It was a trail that would lead from man to man. Boun ran off to find the first man to begin with.

Boun pinched the skin of the rabbit and tore if loose from its freshly killed body. He ate the meat raw. With a curved, sharp stone he had found, Boun scraped the skin and stretched it out to dry. He washed his bloody fingers and greasy face in a small stream.

He picked up the trail of a pair of hunters the next day. Following it a while, he discovered that they were trailing a large doe. While it might be possible for him to stalk the Picts and surprise them, it was much more feasible to circle ahead of them and wait in ambush. He calculated their position from the freshness of the tracks and ran ahead to prepare for them.

Concealed in the bush, Boun remembered his own nakedness with regret. It was not his lack of clothing that bothered him; it was his lack of weapons. In the Womb of the Mother he had lived without any weapons other than his body and his wits. There his opponents were of the natural world: deer, lions, wolves and others. In the world of men things were not so simple. Men specialized in killing from a distance, and these Picts were armed with the bow and arrow. Boun knew that most Picts were fine short range archers.

It was essential that they did not notice him until he could spring upon them. He cleared his mind of all human thoughts. He reflected the trees, brush and weeds that camouflaged him. He was still.

They didn't notice him. They walked right up to him and passed him without noticing him. When they did, Boun charged out of the brush and attacked them from behind. Fully grown, Boun was much larger than the Picts. He slapped one along the side of his head and sent him tumbling on the ground. He seized the other in a chokehold that turned his face from brown to blue. Boun tossed the unconscious man aside.

The Pict he had slapped was coming to his feet. He had lost his bow when Boun had hit him so he raised his hatchet. Without waiting, Boun ran over and grappled with the Pict. One iron hand neutralized the hatchet while the other smashed into the Pict's jaw. The Pict slumped down unconscious.

Rummaging through their possessions, Boun took the best knife and hatchet. He was surprised to discover that these weapons were made of steel. He tied them to his waist with a leather thong. He also helped himself to a bow and arrows. Testing it he found the bow had a draw of roughly 50lbs. Sufficient for forest hunting.

It was several minutes before the two Picts recovered consciousness. They were not hurt except for a few bruises. Both were very astonished to find themselves still alive. The added surprise of not being bound also puzzled them. They rolled to their feet and stared at their attacker. Boun stood about twelve feet away in a relaxed poise without weapons in his hands.

Neither of the Picts were exceptional individuals. Both stood no taller than five and a half feet. While they possessed the muscular body of a standard Pict there was nothing outstanding about their strength. On the other hand, Boun was at least a half foot taller than they. The real difference between Boun and the Picts was the quality of his physical abilities. His sunbrowned body was broad, thick and corded with muscle. There was an aura of formidability about him that dissuaded the Picts from attacking.

Also, they were not painted for war. They had been on a simple hunting excursion. After a several long moments of staring, the Picts decided to talk.

"Who are you? Why did you attack us?" one of them said as the other one scanned the area to locate their weapons.

Boun smiled easily. "I am Boun, son of Yumak. I attacked you because I need weapons. Beyond that I will do you no harm."

These men were of the Weasel totem. While not a large tribe, the men were good fighters. And as brave as any Pict can be. Boun's words reeked of arrogance to these two men. The foremost Pict took a step forward, curling his fingers as he imagined wrapping his hands around Boun's neck.

"Test me if you must. I don't mind," said Boun. Pride launched the Pict at his larger enemy, his Weasel war cry stinging the air. It was over in seconds, with the Pict lying unconscious on the grass. The other Pict moved behind Boun and attacked. The young hunter allowed this man to seize him, then tore his hands away and dashed the Pict to the ground beside his fellow. Now that he had set an example, Boun sat down and waited again for his victims to recover their senses.

"I want to know where Golim Sag is," said Boun. The two Picts had settled down a bit when they recovered the second time. Though they were subdued, their black eyes burned toward the young hunter.

"Golim Sag? How should we know?" came a surly reply.

Boun leaned forward and slapped his open palm on the ground. "You might not, but if you do I suggest you tell me about him. I know he passed through this country a few years ago. If you had not known him before you might have heard about him then. He is a son of Jhebbal Sag. Does that help?"

The Pict who challenged Boun first, a man called Dishka, shrugged. "Of course he is, or he wouldn't carry his name. There are few left who carry the name of the Lord of Beasts."

"This I know. Tell me what I do not know. Tell me where I can find Golim Sag?" growled Boun.

Dishka and his companion, Hurdana, were sitting several feet away from Boun. Without weapons they knew that they were outclassed by this oddly overmuscled youth. It was apparent that he was not a Pict, not only because of the unusual green color of his eyes, but by his body build and brown hair. What he was doing so far into Pictdom, especially in these times of war against the civilized nations, was a mystery to them. While he was not a Pict, they doubted he was a Liguerean either. Dishka wondered what harm it would do to tell him what he wanted to know about Golim Sag.

"You speak the Pict language well," said Dishka.

Boun smiled at the comment. His father had been half Pict, the other half Cimmerian. Yumak had spend a lot of time among the people who lived in the borderlands of Aquilonia. As a result his father had been multilingual. Boun remembered the times they would speak in one language one day and in another the next. It had been a game between them; one that passed his father's multilingual capabilities down to Boun.

"Where is Golim Sag?" repeated the forest youth.

"Did you expect to find him here, so deep in our homeland. Hah, you fool, he swarmed into the lands of our enemies with the rest of the raiders. He could be half way to the capital of Aquilonia by now." Dishka pronounced this with pride, and the Pict's obtained further pleasure when he saw the surprise on Boun's face.

"What do you mean?" demanded Boun.

Seeing they had their 'captor' hooked, both Picts laughed. "Have you not heard? We Picts are swarming out of our forests. Armed with steel hatchets and knives. It will not be long before the civilized countries fall before our fury," bragged Dishka.

Boun recalled that his father had once mentioned that if the Picts were ever raised above their stone weapons and tribal rivalries they would be a wave of menace for all the world. If what this man was saying was true, they might have already begun to force the borderlands of Aquilonia to bleed.

"Hatchets and knives of steel will not prevail against the armor and swords of Aquilonian knights," said Boun.

"The men of Aquilonia are scattered throughout the world protecting their vast empire. We will cut them down one by one, knight by knight until their lands are ours. We have waited a long time in our forests to pillage the wealth of civilized men.," said Hurdana.

Boun pulled out one of the knives he had taken from the Picts. It was made of steel. Maybe not the finest steel, but steel nonetheless. There might be some truth in what these savages were saying. If it were true the towns and forts on the borderlands would be running red with Aquilonian blood.

"What does this have to do with Golim Sag?" asked Boun.

"If he is anywhere it is in the camp of Gorm, the chief of chiefs. And Gorm is beyond the forest in the land of civilized men," replied Dishka. His broad face split with a toothy grin.

The forest youth stood up. "One more question. Do you know where a grove sacred to Jhebbal Sag is?"

Hurdana's laugh was filled with mockery. "What does a civilized child such as you want with the Lord of all Beasts?"

"It may be that Golim Sag is not the only one with wild blood in his veins. If you know, and you value your life, tell me where I can find a Grove of the Beast Lord," said Boun.

Hurdana shrugged. "I do not know. I would gladly tell you if I did, for it would mean your death if you went there. The Beasts of Jhebbal Sag would tear you to pieces. And this would make me happy."

Boun was unconcerned with things that made the surly Pict happy. He turned his question to Dishka.

"I have heard of a place, far to the West. A place where few men go, and fewer return. It is said there is a strong tribe that lives there with the totem of the great cat. Go to the west, Aquilonian, until you find the tracks of the big toothed cat. If you follow these tracks you may find the place you seek," said Dishka.

Boun nodded his head in a slight indication of thanks. He waved his hand toward the deep, green-brown forest.

As the Picts left, without weapons, Dishka turned and spoke to Boun. "You do not have the ferocity to face the People of the Tiger, let alone the Lord of All Beasts."

Boun laughed. It sounded like a leopard's cough. The Pict grimaced and joined his companion in the forest.

For one who was attuned to nature as Boun was it was not difficult to glide through Pictish territories until he found the forest of the People of the Tiger. He was not a reaver, and like most animals he avoided unnecessary conflict. When he came close to a party of Picts, he hid and waited for them to pass. He circumvented around their villages and camps. By the time he reached the deep forest where the Saber-tooth Tiger people lived, he had still spoken to no one since his conversation with Dishka and Hurdana.

One thing he noticed was that there were fewer Picts in the forest than he thought should be. It could be that the bragging done by Hurdana had been truthful. Picts were emerging from their ancestral homes, leaving their forests, and going somewhere. A few spoors Boun had picked up indicated they were going east, toward the civilized countries. In a moment of rare reflection, Boun hoped that the things his two captive Picts had said weren't true. Strangely, his primary regret would be the loss of perfumed ladies. It was something he had a taste for and little opportunity to satisfy.

Boun moved slowly. Deep in enemy territory it was his normal policy to take each step carefully. There could be an enemy lurking anywhere amid the green and brown shadows of the forest. Another thing alarmed him. It was true that any armed Pict was dangerous, it was said that the men of the Saber-tooth totem where even more so. He had heard legends of their unusual size, strength and ferocity. Boun's civilized side surfaced and wondered if it was an act of sanity to willingly venture into their lands, but the beast in him wanted to find Jhebbal Sag. Why, he didn't know.

A large man moved through the bush on the balls of his feet. He held a thick war spear in his hands and was otherwise armed with the traditional Pict hatchet and knife. Unlike many of the Picts recently, this man still used weapons of stone. His people lived deep in the Pict Wilderness and had not yet been consumed by the fever of invasion that had launched so many of his savage brethren against the civilized countries. His clan was that of the rare saber-tooth tiger, a beast that was nearly extinct except in the deepest ranges of the untracked wilderness west of the Black River. His clan was not large but each man was acknowledged as an exceptionally mighty warrior. They bred for size and strength, grit and ferocity. Kak was one of the better warriors of his totem clan.

Like the great saber-tooth tiger, the men of his clan often hunted alone. Amid a host of monsters that inhabited the black and red jungles of deepest Pictdom, this could be a mistake. A fatal one. Yet the men of his clan survived. There was no mercy in their hearts, for their enemies or themselves. While all Picts were savage fighters, the men of the Saber-tooth Tiger Totem were the most savage. They averaged over six feet in height, which was very tall for a Pict, and weighed well over 200 lbs. All day they practiced with the spear, knife and hatchet. They were famous for their charge; when they scream blood and destruction at their enemy and charge it with total commitment to kill or be killed. For all their might and skill and killing, their solitary ways and love of the deep forest kept them from away from the armies of the conqueror Gorm. And now Boun was traveling through their country.

Kak picked up Boun's trail early in the day. Recognizing a stranger, and therefore a victim, it was with great joy that Kak had began to stalk the young hunter. It was a rare occasion when the territory of the Saber-tooths was invaded by outsiders. Usually the men of his clan had to raid into the territory of others to seek the pleasure of the hunt. At least the hunt for men.

Although Boun moved carefully and slowly, Kak was an experienced stalker and kept out of sight of his quarry. When the sign said he was close, Kak took special care to advance stealthily. It was the way of his tribe to inch close to their prey and then charge furiously with their heavy war spear. Because of this his people were expert stalkers. But Kak had made a mistake through no fault of his own. He thought it was a normal man he was stalking, not a child of the Womb or a man with the blood of the Beast in his veins. When the breeze shifted, it carried the scent of the Pict to Boun and spoiled any surprise Kak had been working for.

Boun acted normally though the scent of the Pict was so strong that he must be near. Too have gotten so close required a great deal of skill, and for this reason Boun knew he wouldn't be able to just slip away. He had been lucky just to detect the stalker before he struck.

If the man who stalked him had a bow, he might bring Boun down before the young hunter could get away. For this reason he couldn't just try to sprint to safety into the shadows of the large trees. He pretended he hadn't discovered his stalker and weaved his way into a particularly thick patch of foliage. He hit the ground and scampered away on four limbs with his belly brushing the ground. His stalker began to make noise as he realized his prey was trying to get away. Boun slid up to a couple of trees growing together, and with the agility of a squirrel he climbed up a tree with its trunk between himself and his stalker. High in the tree, Boun found a joining of limbs that acted like a stand and, after bracing himself he drew his bow and waited for his stalker to appear. He had hoped that the stalker would charge into the area, but evidently he was too wise to do so. Then began a game of cat and mouse drew minutes into hours.

Kak sat on his haunches behind a tree. Some six sense warned him not to take this prey lightly. He had seen the standard Pict bow on his victim’s back and, to be safe, presumed that the man could use it. At first Kak had lost his quarry after he ducked down and out of sight, but an hour of careful study had finally located him up a tree 30 yards away. It amazed Kak that he had climbed the tree so fast. 30 yards was not far enough to risk a charge toward the tree the outsider was sitting in. By the time he got in 10 yards most Picts would have put one of two arrows in him. Kak would have to find another way.

Boun remained still in his tree top perch. When he had been a boy, before he had entered the Womb of the Mother, remaining still for long periods had brought a stiffness and pain to his joints and muscles. Now he was inured to these problems. In the wilderness of the Mother's Womb he had hunted with his bare hands. To kill without weapons required either the ability to approach his quarry undetected and charge, or wait for it until it passed into his attack range. Sometimes the wait had been long. He didn't mind if this wait would be long.

The sun couldn't wait. Shadows lengthened in the forest-jungle. Day animals sought their dens and nests, and night animals came out of theirs. It was a cloudy, starless night that brought the oblivion of blackness to the woods. Kak decided to advance under this blackness. He thought that his enemy wouldn't be able to see well enough to shoot him, and at close quarters he favored himself over his foe. He advanced carefully and silently toward the tree his prey was hiding in.

To Boun he was not silent. He heard the Pict's slightest movement and could follow him by the strength of his scent. Straining to pin point the Pict's location the best he could by sound and scent, Boun pulled back an arrow and let it fly. It cut through the bush two feet to the left of the Pict, but more importantly it caused Kak to jump instinctively away from the sound of the arrow in a reflexive attempt to dodge what had already struck. In doing so he made more noise and presented a better target for Boun's next arrow which struck him in the right thigh. The young hunter smiled when he heard the arrow impact solid flesh. Now the advantage was his.

Boun's arrows were a simple hunting variety. Their tips were a broad wedge without barbs. Kak pulled the arrow from his thigh carefully, then brutally swift when he realized it was not barbed. He tore a large leave from a low growing plant and stuffed it in the hole. Boun fired another shaft at the noise he was making. This one grazed his back and opened up a long bloody wound. Kak snarled, then roared in rage. It was not his custom to stand still and let others shoot at him. He charged the tree where Boun was making his stand. He never saw Boun climb down on a nearby tree. The young hunter heard Kak rub against the tree he had originally been up. He leaped upon the Pict from behind and swung a stout branch. Several blows later Kak dropped to the moist, black ground unconscious.

A leopard coughed as Boun laughed.

Bound by tree vines, Kak glared hatefully at his captor. His wounds had been tended, cleaned and patched with herbs and moss. He was tied securely and comfortably in a sitting position. What bothered Kak was that he had been bested. Easily.

"Who are you, boy?" growled the Pict.

Boun crouched nearby. He sliced off a piece of red flesh from a fat tree squirrel he had just shot and stuffed it in his mouth. After a little chewing he swallowed the meat and washed it down with a slice of melon. Then he looked at the Pict.

"I am Boun. You may be wondering why I spared you. I have a few questions," answered the young hunter.

"What makes you think I will answer any of your questions?" growled Kak. His mighty chest heaved as he tried to burst the vines that confined him. A finely worked tattoo of a saber-tooth tiger swelled with his muscles to no avail for the vines held.

"Why not? We don't have to be enemies. Remember, you were hunting me. I merely defended myself. All I want is a little information. Then you may go your way," said Boun.

Kak was silent for a while. Then, "What are your questions?"

It pleased Boun that this man was direct and didn't waste time hurling insults like many other Picts did. "I seek a Grove of Jhebbal Sag. Do you know where it is?"

"Hah!" laughed the Pict, "of course I do. There is one in Saber-tooth country. Do not go there boy, for Jhebbal Sag is a god for the Picts. You will be torn apart by his beasts."

"Jhebbal Sag is a god born long before any Picts ever lived. He is a god of beasts, and men who act as beasts. A manifestation of primordial fang and claw. More than a Pictish god," disagreed Boun.

Kak regarded the young hunter with eyes that blazed black through narrow slits. There was a strangeness about this boy that he was beginning to recognize. A quality of that primordial fang and claw he had just referred to.

"Yes, boy, you are right. Jhebbal Sag is more than a Pictish god. Many seasons ago, more than a man can count, a spirit ruled over these lands. A spirit that was one with all the beasts in a world that boasted the largest animals that ever lived. These were the times before men had been born. Times of endless forests, jungles and grasslands filled with mighty beasts of the hunt and their prey. Jhebbal Sag was the master of all these beasts. When men were born, they were beasts too and Jhebbal Sag was their master as well.

"Men grew away from the forests, jungles and grasslands, and when they did they lost sight of the great Jhebbal Sag. As they turned the wilderness into towns, farmlands and cities they weakened the territory of the Lord of Beasts. Men ceased to know Jhebbal Sag. Soon other animals grew small and weak and began to forget their lord as did men.

"We Picts claim the Lord of Beasts as our god because we have not forgotten. We live in the wilderness like animals. We hear the whispers of Jhebbal Sag when the wind is strong. We bring meat to his alter in sacrifice. We provide women to him in his sacred groves which are sparsely scattered throughout the forests.

"Tell me boy, are you a pup of one of those women?"

Boun met the Pict's merciless eyes. "I am Boun, son of Yumak, son of Saga. I am born of the Beast and have passed through the Womb of the Mother. I am Boun who seeks the council of Jhebbal Sag."

Again Kak regarded the young hunter for several silent minutes. "Jhebbal Sag rarely gives council, boy. I believe your words, however. Free me and I will take you to the Grove of the Beast Lord, Jhebbal Sag."

It was Boun's turn to be silent. To weigh the risks of freeing this mighty warrior. It was Boun who must make a decision and trust his own judgment.

"While I do not fear you I do not want to find a spear in my back. Do you give your word not to attack me on this journey?" asked the young hunter.

"Since when has a civilized man value the word of a Pict," roared Kak. "But I will give you mine, if you take it."

Kak led the young hunter through the territory of his tribe. They had met with several of Kak's people, a couple of warriors and some women. Each warrior was tattooed with the sign of the saber-tooth tiger. Except for their dyed tawny hair and large size, they looked like any ordinary Pict warrior. Nearly naked, except for necklaces of human teeth and the fangs of ferocious animals they had killed, none of them were marked with the skull so they weren't on the war-path. All of them were aggressive and rude. Boun was a big man himself, and appearing with Kak, one of their best warriors, curtailed some of their ruder comments. Occasionally he would pick up something as he walked away, but he ignored it.

The saber-tooth people lived in tree huts or caves. They built no houses of hide or wood. Like animals they ate their food nearly uncooked and went naked for most of the year until winter came to the forest. The winters were very mild in Pictdom, so they were naked most of the time. The few women he had seen were large and fierce looking. For Picts, not bad looking either.

It took only a day to reach the grove. Boun realized how close he had come. The grove was situated in a dismal, dark forest/jungle where the animals were larger than normal and not afraid of men. They had a few encounters with these beasts, although nothing serious. Kak was surprised that the beasts had not wanted to fight. Several times his black eyes looked at Boun sideways in puzzlement.

It was growing dark when they came to the entrance to the section of the woods that led directly to the grove only a mile away. The scream of a panther broke the shadows. Kak grimaced and took a firmer grip on his war spear. All Picts were strong, fearless fighters, unless they were confronted with something as old and powerful as a beast who remembered Jhebbal Sag. They knew that all these animals were greater than normal and usually greater than the common hunter. Even a warrior as mighty as Kak preferred to avoid the Beasts Who Remember Jhebbal Sag.

Boun noticed Kak's reaction and smiled a little. Just a little, for it wouldn't do good to insult this man. "The Grove is in there?"

"Yes," replied Kak. "Perhaps a mile or so into these woods. It will be night before you get there for traveling in such a thick forest will be slow. Especially in the dark."

"You may be right. I'll wait for tomorrow. I'd rather see it in the light of day anyway," said Boun.

"You might not want to wait. It is said that Jhebbal Sag likes to come out at night. We have tales from men and women who have seen his eyes burning like yellow coals in the darkness. If you want to meet him, go in now," said Kak

Boun did smile then. Did the Pict want him to meet Jhebbal Sag or his death in the sacred grove? He wasn't sure. It didn't matter, anyway, because meeting the Lord of Beasts was what Boun wanted to do.

He didn't speak to Kak. Without a word he blended into the dark, forbidding woods.

A few steps along the path that led to Jhebbal Sag's grove separated him from the eyes of the Pict and sealed him in a different place from where he had come. Boun was aware of this separation as an feeling of unnaturalness, not in the sense that he was alienated from his environment or vice versa, but in the sense that he and the environment were alienated from natural reality. There was an extra pulse to this jungle. It was warmer, and though he was no astronomer he thought the moon was larger. It looked closer. The young hunter blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes to no avail, for when he looked again the moon was just as large. Larger than he had ever seen it before.

It was not the moon that was agitating him. A sudden knowledge of all the beasts in the area swarmed in his head like a cloud of angry bees. He walked only twenty of thirty feet before he had to stop. They were all around him. Crowding him. Each beast alive and pulsating with its own need to exist. Boun was confused and was dropped to all fours by the blow of this jumbled, bombardment of intrusive sensations. He remained there, breathing hard, until his mind finally cleared and became still. This was the way he became when he stalked an animal he needed to kill in order to eat, or when he waited in silence and without motion for some beast to enter the range of his arrows. It was nothing new to the young hunter. Soon his mind became so still it evaporated when it was touched so all the beasts that pounded on his brain passed through him and beyond and left no impact or mark on him.

He soaked in all that was around him through his inhumanly sharp senses. He saw the grasshopper, the cricket, the snake and the snail. The monkey, the squirrel, the chipmunk and the bat. In the distance he sensed the wolf, the panther and the saber-tooth tiger. In the darkened greenery of the forest he sensed the rabbit, the deer and the great elk. And in the far distance he detected the dragon of the woods, that armored carnivorous stegosaurus so rarely found by men and feared by all.

All were beasts. This was their bond. Blood of the Beast. Their lives were different, and their behavior was differently organized by those lives. and for all those differences they were the same. The struggle to live. Warm blood coursing through charged bodies. The passion to mate, the thrill to fight, and the pitiless urge to dominate or be dominated. Each animal was apart of this sector of life as each belonged to the Kingdom of the Beast. Now Boun was part of it.

It was a different experience than being in the womb of the Mother. There he had been one with all nature. Each animal had been a part in a great organization that included all working for the best whole that could be. And the Mother was part of the force that shaped the end result: a fertile, viable Nature. Here, in the territory of the ancient god Jhebbal Sag, it was the animals that were important. Their nature. Kill and eat or be killed and be eaten, chase or be chased, be strong and mate or be weak and die without progeny, these were the elements of the bestial world. The world of Jhebbal Sag.

Boun lifted from the grass. Cleared of the extraneous baggage that civilized men carry around, the young hunter allowed his surroundings to become his world. He thrilled to the coolness of the night breeze and swelled with the bigness of the primeval moon. His body was strong, his mind was prevailing; he was alive as never before. Naked he ran down the path to the Grove of Jhebbal Sag.

Two more Saber-tooth Picts joined Kak as he waited outside the entrance to Jhebbal Sag's Woods. They were two men often seen in each other's company. Both had spent more time among the other Pict tribes than most Saber-tooths who were solitary by nature. One was Quji and the other was Illiba. The former was smaller than normal for a Saber-tooth while the latter was a bit larger. The thing they shared most was their membership in the Jhebbal Sag Totem.

"So its true! You have led an outsider to the sacred Grove of Jhebbal Sag," accused Quji as he and his comrade read the story of the tracks leading into the dark woods. "Why have you betrayed your people."

Kak narrowed his black eyes on the smaller man. He was not used to others speaking to him that way. He resisted a wild impulse to stick his spear into the fool.

"I have betrayed no one. Watch your mouth, little man," warned Kak. "He is of the blood of Jhebbal Sag. What is more natural than for him to enter the grove of the beast-god."

"He is not a Pict," growled big Illiba. "You should have killed him on sight."

"He has Pict blood, though it is diluted with the water of civilization. And if you want him dead, then enter the dark woods and kill him yourself," retorted Kak. Though they were two and he was one, he didn't fear them. Kak had killed greater men than these two.

Illiba paled at the suggestion. In the light of day, with his totem companions, Illiba would dare to enter the god's grove. Not at night, alone and under a full moon. No Pict would do that unless he were a powerful shaman.

"If not, then leave me alone. I wait for him to return. If that's what you want to do then do so somewhere else," said Kak. He shifted the grip on his war spear to a ready position. The other Picts got the message.

"That we will do, Kak. When the foreigner comes out we will kill him and rid our land of his tainted blood," promised Quji. He and his large companion walked away from Kak.

Kak remained facing the way they departed. He was no fool to turn his back on jackals. He laughed when he thought of Boun and those two fighting each other. Good entertainment!

By the time he stepped into the grove, Boun realized that he had entered Jhebbal Sag from the first step on the path. He was with the god now. He had expected something else. A vision of a mighty man or giant animal, or a beastial representation of the god to whom he could speak. Perhaps he was not worthy of so intimate an interview.

The grove was empty. None of the beasts in the forest were there. Boun walked into it slowly, suspiciously, as he didn't know what to expect. He circled the confines of the clearing, treading lightly on a luscious carpet of grass. Once he stooped to drink from a clear stream. He was nervous again, almost fearful since entering the grove. In a moment he understood why.

He heard the fall of its padded foot, and the throbbing of its purr. A gigantic black panther, a splendid king of its kind, strode into the grove directly to where Boun was standing. It weighed more than 250 lbs, enormous compared to normal leopards that ranged from 100-200lbs. It was a full ten feet long including a long tail. Thickset with more muscle than most panthers it must have been eating well. It screamed and yawned open its great fanged mouth. Over a flattened head and swept back ears, its blazing green eyes met and challenged Boun's. It charged the young human without further ceremony.

Although Boun held his weapons, the fangs and claws of men, he made no attempt to use them. In fact, he dropped his spear and bow and met the panther's razor sharp weapons with nothing more than the strength of his grip. On some level of being lower than his ability to rationalize, Boun recognized that this was to be a battle of beasts. Natural strength against natural strength. One animal naked against another. His beastblood accepted this as he waited for the panther to hit him.

But if he would use no weapons against the big cat, he could still use his brain. Boun knew that most leopards preferred to catch their victims with their fore paws and hold them while they bite and rip with their fangs. He had heard many tales of men, even women, killing leopards with their bare hands. Usually it was a matter of strangulating them. The trick was to survive their claws, keep their fangs away while you accomplished this feat. Another problem was that most leopards were much smaller than this beast usually, and its increased size and strength might change its method of attack.

Nothing was changed; it attacked as any other panther. Boun tried to twist around the cat and was caught with a slapping paw. He spun away from the panther's claws, spraying red in the moonlight, and back pedaled furiously as the panther turned and charged again. It was up and on him, cutting into his shoulders with its forepaws as it tried to bite off his face. Boun swung his right arm around and smashed into the panther's nose with a full body roundhouse punch. It shrieked and fell away, stunned by the blow, and bounded ten feet away from Boun with one leap.

Leopards hated to be hit in the nose. Often it was enough to send them packing. This big cat was different. Shaking its ebony head, the panther screamed its rage at the indignity of being struck. It came in again, this time lower with the intention of mauling Boun's legs. The young hunter leaped high in the air, diving over the low charging panther, and fell into a roll several yards away. As the panther turned, Boun leaped up into a wrestler's crouch.

Dimly, at the edge of his awareness, Boun noticed that other beasts had entered the grove. Huge, kingly representatives of each kind of animal, they formed a circle around the two combatants, which effectively cut off Boun and the panther from retreating. Boun had little time to see more of these spectators; the panther leaped high for him again.

Boun evaded again, this time with more effectiveness since he had already seen how fast the panther was. The panther missed him completely, and as Boun scrambled past the beast he reached out and seized its tail with one hand. Twisting and contorting its massive black body, the panther tried to bite the man who held its tail. Boun grabbed the long, thick cord of muscle with both hands and with all his strength pulled and turned at the same time. The panther left the ground, circled at the end of its tail, and soared through the air when Boun left go. It hit the ring of beasts and scattered them momentarily. Boun ran after the panther and sprang on its back before it could recover from the impact of hitting the ground.

He locked his legs around its body right above the panther's hind legs and shoved an arm bar across its throat which he tightened with his other hand. It was his intention to knock the beast out or strangle it in this fashion, and this proved to be much more difficult than he thought. Its neck was corded with muscle, and it jumped about and rolled around in an all out effort to dislodge the man on its back. This went on for minutes, nearly a half hour, as neither combatant could make any progress. Both beasts were tired, panting as they struggled against each other. No matter how tightly he pulled on the arm bar he couldn't tighten it enough to strangle the big cat. Eventually he would get tired and the panther would throw him off. Unless the cat tired first.

The king of panthers possessed a seemingly endless vitality however. Several times it had clawed Boun's legs with its fore paws until they were severely lacerated and weakening. It was Boun who was weakening first. Weak from the loss of blood and extreme exertion. The next time the panther leaped in the air and came down on its back, it crushed the man under 250lbs of hurtling body and knocked the wind out of the young hunter. Boun's arms stretched out upon impact, freeing the panther, and he lay for a moment helpless. It was all the panther needed. In a dark flash it was upon him, clawing at his chest, tearing his flesh apart like a dog digging after a bone, as it dropped its fangs to his throat.

The animal in Boun wanted to surrender. He was tired, bleeding from a dozen or more deep lacerations, and the only thing his beast-mind could come up with was submission. If he submitted, exposed his throat to the panther he might be spared. It was a wild thought, and appropriate only for battles between beasts of the same kind. He may have thought of it because like him, this panther was of the blood of the beast-lord, Jhebbal Sag. Or he might just be giving up, rationalizing that he was submitting legitimately, but really just surrendering to his fate. This is what the beast in Boun wanted to do.

Boun was more than a beast. The man in him was revolted by surrender. By submission. He was enraged at himself for considering it and the panther for forcing it. All this cerebral negotiation took place in a half second. By the end of the same second, Boun had driven his left fist deep into the panther's mouth. Whelping with the pain, he plunged his whole arm down the panther's throat in a valiant attempt to strangle the beast more directly than with a mere arm-bar. The panther went wild. It chewed and ground its fangs and other teeth down on the arm that continued to grope down its throat. Boun would not give up. His body was being shredded by the panther's fore and rear claws. Eventually the panther weakened and lay still. His body a mass of blood and torn flesh, Boun lay still beside him.

He was hurt so bad he no longer felt it. He lay with his face twisted into the bloody grass. There was nothing he could do. His body had no strength and his mind had no will. Until a cold moist nose rubbed against his cheek he was certain he was dying. He opened his eyes; there was old Silver.

"Get up or die, young brother."

"What," mumbled the man. Old Silver had spoken to him, though no sounds had been made. The grand beaver's large dark eyes were full of compassion. Was this the animal Boun had almost shot once for his silvery pelt?

"Get up and take your place," communicated the big beaver. Then Old Silver backed away and rejoined the circle of beasts.

The meaning of the old beaver's words sunk in through the haze of numbness and pain. If he didn't get up the fight had been for nothing, and he would surely die. Boun wasn't ready for death yet. He pulled his numb arm from the beast's mouth and struggled to his feet. In a dream he rose up and stood on widely braced legs for the circle of beasts to see. The woods reverberated with the call and roar of all those mighty animals assembled. Each was a king of its kind, and now, in the center of them stood a king of human kind. A man-beast who had won his right to stand among them.

Boun fell over the body of the slain panther. The ritual was over. Two score or more beasts walked up to him and licked his wounds. They lapped up his oozing blood and so closed his wounds. After they had tasted his blood they cut themselves with tooth, fang, claw or antler and let their blood mix with his. Beneath him the dead panther's blood also mingled with his. When this had been done, they left him and disappeared into the black woods.

He lay for days on the grass in the grove of Jhebbal Sag. Feral dreams of beast and man flowed through his mind during this time and washed him free of the pettiness that crowded in most people. When he awoke his wounds were partially healed. Tender red streaks of barely closed flesh scared his body. He was hungry. The panther was gone, so there was nothing to eat. Weak as a newborn fawn, he gathered his weapons and staggered on wobbly legs out of the grove to where Kak waited.

The Pict had been witness to the screams and roars of the beasts of Jhebbal Sag. Prompted by some primal instinct he had waited for the young man to come out. When Boun stumbled and nearly fell, the Pict caught him.

"What happened in there?" asked Kak. That Boun had been in a terrific fight was obvious. The Pict could only wonder with what monster he had been fighting.

Boun looked at Kak with clouded eyes. He smiled. "The family of Jhebbal Sag are a bloody group. Not recommended for the faint of heart."

This was an odd statement. The Pict was taciturn by nature and said nothing more as he helped Boun back to his own cave. Here his family would care for the young hunter until he fully recovered and could tell more of his story. Kak thought that might be a while.

The End

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