Hero Historia: Jericho Rising

Chapter One

Clay stood on the forest ridge alongside his brothers, wooden shaft of his spear gripped nervously, awaiting the enemy that would herald his first battle.

He was a hunter of the Bear Clan, and had been since the day he'd danced the totem and earned his manhood two seasons ago. Warfare did not often come to his people, but when it did all hunters were expected to rally to support their Champion, no matter how thin their beards, no matter how little experience they had in the ways of killing men.

Clay was tall for his fifteen summers, taller even than his older brother Flatnose, almost as tall as his eldest brother Broad. He'd long outgrown the habit that had earned his own name among the clan, but not the name itself; to the others, he would always be the child with one foot stuck in the muck of the riverbank, crying for his mother.

He was struck with fear now, but he wouldn't cry.

Not now, not with so much at stake.

His first battle.

What would it feel like, he wondered, to kill a man? Would it feel like killing a boar? To pierce his flesh with the sharp fire-hardened tip of his spear, to feel his blood run warm and sticky down its shaft?

He looked down at his own flanks, imagined his skin torn and bleeding, and felt a little ill.

A hand on his shoulder steadied him.

Eldest brother Broad was smiling his sleepy grin. "Do not look so worried, little brother."

Clay shrugged the hand off, not wanting to appear weak. "I'm not worried. I am just eager. For battle."

"Oh ho!" Broad said without malice. "Lucky us. Here come the Elk. Get ready to show them how fierce you are!"

Clay's eyes riveted to the bluff across the ravine, eyes widening as the Elk Clan seemed to materialize silently out of the woods. He recognized their pelts and the antlers they wore from the Tribal moots held every few years, but now, away from the sanctity of the gathering of Clans, away from the promise of peace, they bristled a new menace.

Where before the Bear Clan had mocked the Elk for being skinny, Clay saw them as dangerously graceful. Where before they had laughed at their horn-tipped spears, Clay saw weapons capable of slicing his flesh.

"Go home Elk!" Flatnose yelled, raising his spear. "This is Bear land. You are not welcome here!"

"You go home!" one of the Elk called back. "If we can take it, it was never yours!"

A fierce cry rose from the Elk warriors, and Clay almost dropped his spear.

"When do we fight?" he asked Broad.

The ways of War were one of men's secrets, known only to those who had met the enemy. Tales told at camp focused on the deeds of Champions like Clay's father. The lore of killing other men was unknown to him, but so far it seemed more like the dominance games played with the other youths than it did hunting.

Broad, along with the other men, were hooting and jeering a response to the Elk war cry.

He stopped and regarded Clay. "So very eager. We wait for Father."

One of the Elk threw a spear, and for a moment Clay was afraid that it was headed for him, that it would strike him despite the vast gap of the ravine. He stared at it, feeling both foolish and relieved when it fell far short.

"We don't need your poorly made horn-spears!" Flatnose called back. "Perhaps you could use some real weapons?"

He threw his own spear, and a pair of other Bear hunters followed suit.