Simon Hawke - The Seeker

Though the Ranger was at the forefront of their consciousness, in control of the body, those of them who were awake all shared his perceptions and experiences. Not all the entities who made up the complex creature that was Sorak were awake this night. Lyric slept, preferring the light of day to come awake and watch with childlike wonder what Sorak and the others did, coming out occasionally to sing or whistle when the others felt the need of the lightness of his being. The fearsome entity known as the Shade slept also, and the others reared to tread around the depths of Sorak’s being where he slumbered. He was like a great, hibernating beast, sleeping often, sometimes coming awake to watch like a lurking creature in a cave, coming out only when there was a need to unleash the dark side of Sorak’s nature.

Further down within the depths of Sorak’s psyche slept a being none of the others really knew, for this particular entity never came awake. They were all aware of him, but only in the sense that they knew that he was there, cocooned in layers of protective mental blocks. This was the Inner Child, the most vulnerable part of them—that from which they all had sprung. The Child was the father of the men and women they became, giving birth to them ten years before in the Athasian desert, when the small and frightened boy he was had been cast out from his tribe to die in the trackless waste. In one final, wrenching cry of abject terror, that child had given birth to them all and fled from that which he could no longer endure. He slept now, deep within the shelter he had constructed for himself, curled up in a sleep almost like death. And, in a way, perhaps, it was a sort of death. The Inner Child would likely never wake again. And, if he did, none of the others knew what would become of them.

The Guardian suspected. They were all born when the Child fled from waking life, which had become a waking nightmare. Now the Child slept. If he awoke again, it could well be the end for all of them. Perhaps even for Sorak;

Sorak, in a sense, was not the Child grown. Sorak was the primary, for that was the nature of the agreement they had made among themselves, a compact that had been necessary to preserve their sanity. But Sorak, too, had been born after the fact, after the Child went to sleep. If the Inner Child awoke, there was a chance—the Guardian did not know how strong chance—that it might integrate with Sorak, and perhaps with some of them as well. But there was also a chance that Sorak, like the rest of them, would cease to be, and the body they all shared would revert to the Child it had been before. Not physically, but mentally. The Guardian often thought about that, and wondered. Kivara had no such concerns. She reveled in the night. She often catnapped during the day so that she could be awake at night, especially when the Ranger came to the fore and set out to hunt. Kivara was no hunter. She was purely a creature of the senses, mischievous and inquisitive, a sly young female who lacked the capacity to recognize any limits. Left to her own devices, she would indulge herself in whatever sensual pleasure was presented, or explore whatever fascinating new experience she might encounter, regardless of the risks. In that sense, she could be dangerous, for if the others did not watch her, she could jeopardize all of them—and flee, ducking under to let someone else bear the responsibility of safeguarding their welfare.

Tonight, however, Kivara was content just to remain awake and watch, and feel, and listen. Through the acute senses of the Ranger, the night came vibrantly alive to her. She would not intrude upon the Ranger, in part because she lacked the capability. The Ranger was much stronger, and if she made any such attempt, he would simply brush her abruptly aside and duck her under, the way he might shoo away some annoying desert fly or flick a sand flea off his breeches. But Kivara had no desire to come out when the Ranger manifested because through the Ranger, she could experience sensual pleasures far more sharply than she could when she came to the fore herself. And, of course, she was hungry, too, and none of them would eat until the Ranger made his kill.

Eyron simply waited ... impatient as always. He wished the Ranger would hurry up and find some game for them. He never understood why it always took so long. His wryly cynical and pessimistic nature made him worry that, perhaps this night, the Ranger would fail in his hunt and they would have to go through one more day of Sorak and his druid food. Eyron found it maddening. Those silly priestesses had muddled Sorak’s thinking. He was part elf and part halfling—and both halflings and elves ate meat. Eyron preferred his raw and freshly killed, but any meat would do in place of the roughage Sorak ate during the day. What did he need with seeds and fruit and lotus leaves? That was a diet for a kank, not for an elfling! Each time they were in a city and Sorak passed a stand that sold cooked meat, Eyron would smell it and begin to salivate. Sometimes, Sorak also would begin to salivate from Eyron’s hunger, and Eyron would sense the primary’s irritation and sullenly withdraw to sulk. He wished the Ranger would be quick about it. He wanted to feed and go to sleep with a full belly.

The Ranger felt Eyron’s impatience, but paid no attention to it. He rarely paid much heed to Eyron. Such thoughts as Eyron had were pointless and of no interest to him. Eyron could not hunt. Eyron could not follow a trail. Eyron could not smell game, nor was he observant enough to detect its movement in the desert brush. He could not hear anything save for the sound of his own voice, of which he was inordinately fond. Eyron, thought the Ranger, was a foolish creature. He much preferred the company of Lyric, who was foolish too, but in a pleasant way. During the day, when the Ranger came to the fore, he would often allow Lyric to come out with him and sing a merry tune that he could listen to while he followed a trail. But listening to Eyron was a waste of time. And as the Ranger thought this, Eyron perceived the thought and resentfully kept his peace.

As he walked, his night vision as keen as any mountain cat’s, the Ranger kept a sharp eye on the ground around him, alert for any signs of game. All at once, he spotted something and knelt, examining some faint markings on the ground that any of the others would have missed. They were scratchings made by the passing of an erdland, a large, flightless desert bird that walked upright on two long powerful legs ending in sharp talons. The Ranger knew erdlands were related to the erdlus that ran wild in the tablelands, but were also raised by desert herdsmen for sale to the city mar-kets. Erdlus were prized by city dwellers mostly for their eggs, though their meat was often eaten. A wild erdlu could be quite difficult to catch, for they were easily spooked and capable of running at great speeds. Erdlands, however, being larger birds, could not move as quickly. And while their eggs were not as tasty as erdlus’, their flesh could make a satisfying meal. An erdland would provide a feast, enough meat to fill their belly full to bursting, with still enough left over to make a meal for the desert scavengers. However, while an erdland did not move as quickly as its smaller relative, bringing one down posed other challenges.

A full-grown erdland stood as tall as fifteen feet and weighed up to a ton. Its powerful legs delivered lethal kicks, and its talons inflicted damaging wounds. Moreover, an adult bird, such as this one was judging by its track, possessed a large wedge-shaped beak, unlike young birds, whose beaks were small and not as dangerous. A full-grown erdland could peck so hard that it would shatter bone, and a snap of its powerful beak could take a hand right off.

The Ranger carefully examined the ground around the track. Wild erdlands generally roamed in herds, but this one seemed alone, and the track was fresh. The Ranger went back to the track and began to follow it, looking for any signs that might tell him if the bird was wounded. A few feet farther on, he found what he was looking for. The bird was missing part of one claw, not enough to disable it, but enough to slow it down so that it could not run with the rest of the herd. This one had been left behind, but it would still be no easy prey.