Jameson’s feet sank into the fresh snow
as he trudged along the mountainside. Two days he had been in this new
territory, British Columbia, and he had already been asked to track something.
A spirit bear, they called it. A great bear with fur white as snow. No such thing, Jameson thought, but
still he listened to them; money was money. They said that it had started to
come down in the night and take people, that they needed help. Jameson obliged,
he told them what he needed on top of his pay and they happily agreed.
That was almost a week ago. Today was
his fourth on the mountain; his fourth without so much as seeing another soul.
Jameson was no stranger to the wilds nor the isolation. When he was an infant
his parents moved to the newly founded Oregon Territory. His father taught him
how to hunt and how to track; skills that would prove to be invaluable to him
as looked to make his own way in this world.
Tracks.
Finally. Jameson rejoiced, if only
for a moment. He could finally do something other than freeze to death. The claw
mark on the tree was no more than a few days old. He noted the direction of the
swipe, the angle that the marks are embedded into the wood. He moved in the
direction he thought the creature went. He wasn’t sure if it was the beast he
was looking for, but it was the best lead he had. The near constant snowfall
had covered any tracks that would have been made. He wandered onward, finding
more and more claw marks. He was close to its den.
As he rounded the cliff side he found
it. Nestled in the cracks in the rocks was a cave. Jameson hesitated. Focusing.
He heard nothing. Readying his rifle, he made his way into the mouth of the cave.
No beast, Jameson sighed in both
relief and disappointment. The cave
was shallow, no more than 10 feet deep. In the absence of the beast was the
mess it left behind. Bones strewn about from the mouth to the back wall. In the
center was what was left of a mangled corpse.
As Jameson left he noticed a fresh set
of tracks. The snowfall hadn’t yet had a chance to cover it. He wouldn’t have
long before he’d lose the trail again. This was his best chance. He made his
way down the mountainside, following the tracks. As he approached a frozen lake
he saw it. The beast.
Jameson readied his rifle. He took aim.
As he stared through his sights, he hesitated. He couldn’t pull the trigger. Jameson
had never seen such a majestic creature. But he had seen its den, he had seen
the bones and the mangled corpse. It was a beast, and nothing more. Jameson
took a breath and squeezed the trigger. Jameson returned with the beast’s pelt.
Spirit Bear
Source: Wikipedia
*Author’s
Note
In the original story, Ravana’s
Grandfather went to hunt a legendary snow beast that terrorized a village. He
killed the beast for sport and not to help the village. He then gave the
creature’s claw to Ravana as a gift. I wanted to completely change the setting
of the story. I replaced Ravana’s Grandfather with a human hunter. I made it so
the hunter took the bounty both as a job and also to help the people out.
Ravana, Roar of the Demon King by Abhimanyu Singh Sisodia
Hi Chris! I really enjoyed reading your story. All of the details you included in your writing helped me feel like I was there when your story was taking place. This was a really creative representation of Ravana's grandfather. The imagery you used really helped me. I hope this is something that you continue to use in other stories. I look forward to reading more of your stories in the future. Good luck!
ReplyDeleteChris, I really enjoyed reading your story this week. I have to ask, were you ever a fan of Jack London, because there is a lot of elements in your writing that remind me of his. The gritty narrative of a man in the wild is what really reminded me of him, and I think it is amazing how you were able to take this old Indian narrative and put it in a more recent setting.
ReplyDelete