Ava's Chronicle - Hunting
Avlynka ran as fast as she was able down the river, her lungs screaming, burning; she felt like she had been running forever. The ice was thick and strong, strong enough that rivers this far north were used as roads by all manner of vehicles this deep into Winter, so her only fear was her pursuers. She could hear them, always only one bend of the river behind, just out of sight, yet, still chasing her.
Avlynka was wearing her heavy fur tunic and thick wool pants, her heavy fur-lined boots, her mittens, and yet, she was freezing. The night sky was clear, and the stars shone brilliantly, points of light in a sea of deep blue, and the air was as cold as she could ever remember.
The fierce cold sapped her strength, made her slow, sleepy. The intense pain in her fingers, feet, and ears would soon begin to wane, as frostbite set in. Her lungs screamed in protest as she gulped the freezing air, making her cough, her chest wracked with pain, but she could not stop running.
She screamed as the unthinkable happened, as the ice gave way, plunging her into the frigid water. Frantically she scrambled against the slabs of ice, the intense cold making her movements slower and slower with every second; she had to orient herself immediately, to get a breath of air. Avlynka wondered, suspended in the icy water, how this had happened...the ice should have been thick, sound...no time!
Avlynka gasped as she shoved her way through the broken ice, and managed to grip her ice-knife, pull it from her boot, and haul herself out of the life-stealing water, laying on the ice, breathing slow, paced breaths, holding her hands over her mouth in an attempt to warm them a bit.
Her pursuers rounded the bend. She lifted her head and looked back at them, over her left shoulder; those same tall, gaunt people, with blond hair and cold, lifeless eyes, ran towards her with abandon, a whole group of them, perhaps twenty in all. Some clutched knives in their hands, others carried an assortment of chains and shackles, a few carried nothing at all.
Avlynka staggered to her feet but made it only a few feeble steps before she fell to her knees; she was suffering from hypothermia, she could run no farther. Terror, the same terror, gripped her as she realized what was about to happen, yet again. The same thing, every night.
Avlynka?
Her pursuers closed the distance with an inhuman speed, crossing the expanse of ice separating them from their prey with impossibly large steps, running wildly, screaming with delight. She turned to face them, still on her knees, clutching her ice knife tightly in her hand. She intended to make them work for it this time. Not again.
Avlynka plunged her knife into the chest of the first to arrive, the man's voice gurgling strangely as she ripped it back out. She stabbed yet again, this time a woman, the blade finding its mark in her abdomen. Then they were on her, pinning her down, giggling and laughing and chanting in strange tongues. Her knife was pried from her grasp, and she was held, struggling, pinned against the ice by dozens of hands, laughed at and taunted by dozens of voices. Avlynka screamed as they picked her up, kicking and struggling, carried her a few steps, and threw her back into the icy water.
Avlynka!
She was too weak to fight, too weak to climb out again, especially without her knife. She struggled, pushing against the slabs of ice, the cold water stealing what little energy she had left. Exhausted, slowly sinking, she had no choice but to breathe.
“Avlynka!” Sukki screamed.
Avlynka sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath. Sukki knew better than to touch her while she was still dreaming, lest she be hit or kicked by her sister's frantic blows, blows aimed at attackers than none of them could see, none of them could help her fight.
“Avlynka?” Sukki called again. “Are you awake?”
“Ye....yes.” Avlynka replied quietly, breathing slow, deep breaths.
Tarja was sitting quietly next to her. “Honey?”
“I'm alright, Mom.” Avlynka whispered. “Really. I'm alright.”
Sukki handed her sister a bottle of water. “Here, Dreamer.” she said, smiling.
Avlynka nodded, opened the bottle, and took a few swallows. “Sorry.” she whispered. “I woke everyone up again.” Her mother, father, and sister all sat near her, their faces marked with concern, all doing their best to soothe her, to reassure her, calm her.
“I am alright.” Avlynka said again, a bit louder. “I know...I know what I have to do.”
“Avlynka?” Olno asked, looking first at her, then to his wife. “What do you mean?” Since she was a toddler, Avlynka had always been gifted-or cursed-with extremely vivid dreams. Usually they were good things. Happy things. Sometimes, however... they were not.
“I fought them.” she whispered in reply. “That is what I have to do.”
Tarja smiled a little; “You fought them?”
“Yes.” Avlynka replied, nodding.
“Honey, we cannot control what happens in our dreams.” Tarja said quietly. “Can we?”
“I think so, Mom.” Avlynka replied. “At least...a little.”
“You do seem less...freaked out, this time.” Sukki remarked. “Though you almost kicked my head off.”
Avlynka frowned a little, and hugged her sister tightly. “Sukki...I'm so sorry. I...”
“Just do what you need to do.” Sukki whispered. “We'll deal with it. You do what you need to do, to make your dreams stop. If I get kicked, well...I get kicked.”
The falling snow swirled about in the breeze, forming eddies and currents in the air before her eyes as she walked along the ice. The windswept river was mostly clear of snow, except for a few stubborn patches here and there, and Avlynka preferred walking down the river to walking through the forest along either bank, as she did not need to wear her snowshoes. They hung, unneeded, on her back, her rifle was cradled in the bend of her right arm, and she walked slowly, near the bank, blending into the world of white.
As she slowly rounded a bend, she saw what she was hoping to see; a small herd of caribou, perhaps twenty animals, also taking advantage of the easier passage the frozen river offered, nibbling at the cedars along the shore. She knelt, using the rifle's leather sling to steady her aim. Her thumb flicked off the safety, and she waited for the nearest animal to turn away a bit, to present a better shot.
Avlynka did not have to wait long; she pressed the trigger, aiming just behind the animal's foreleg, and frowned when the caribou broke into a dead run down the river as the rifle's sharp crack echoed off the snow. Disgusted, she lowered the lever, removed the empty cartridge, slid a new one into the chamber, and closed the loading lever. She dropped the empty into her pocket, sighed, and stood up, walking over to where the caribou had been standing. Perhaps she would find a twig or something, something that could have deflected the bullet, berating herself for missing a rather simple shot, especially when her family desperately needed the meat.
As she suspected, a thin branch, little more than a twig, had interfered, now laying in splinters on the ice. “Damn it.” she said aloud. Winter had been unusually hard, their catch of fur, thus far, had been low, and Avlynka had just missed the opportunity to see her family through the rest of Winter. She did not take it well.
She stood, staring at the splinters, crying, as the stress, the emotion, became overwhelming. She wanted to scream, to kick, to explode, but instead, she quietly cried. She stood there for several minutes, not wanting to return home, knowing her parents would have heard her shot, knowing that, right now, they were hoping she had killed a deer or caribou, hoping that she had, for once, done something right. Avlynka looked down the river, in the direction the caribou had run, and then at her cheap wristwatch. She had been walking down the river for several hours, and however far she walked, she would have to walk, in reverse, on her way home.
Looking in the wrong place.
Avlynka blinked, blinking away the tears, staring blankly into the falling snow, as the words came to her, the thought appearing from nowhere.
A hunter does not chase her prey blindly. She sets an ambush...
Avlynka thought for a moment, doing her best to remember the river's course, thinking and looking wildly around. The river made a large bend...and doubled back...perhaps two kilometers...
She quickly tied on her snowshoes and ran, headlong, into the forest. She ran as fast as she could on her cumbersome snowshoes, jumping fallen trees, dodging branches, running at full speed through the forest. Two kilometers this way, perhaps five as the river flowed...maybe.
Avlynka was sweating, panting, in spite of the freezing cold, pushing herself. This one time, she had to be right, for once, she had to do something right. She ran as fast as she could, and then, pushed herself to run just a bit faster, slowing only when the river came into sight.
She quickly felt the wind; she was on the downwind shore. She scanned the patches of snow on the ice frantically, searching for....no. No tracks.
Please, Spirits, she prayed, please let them keep their course...
She crouched down in the branches of a shoreline cedar, wrapped her rifle's sling around her arm, and waited, doing her best to slow her heavy, panting breaths. She listened, her ear to the wind, straining to hear any sound, scanning to see....was that a branch, or a bit of an antler...
The caribou herd slowly rounded the bend.
Avlynka's heart pounded, sounding in her ears, burning in her cheeks. She checked, making absolutely sure her rifle was loaded, the safety off. The caribou came closer, plodding along on the ice, browsing on the shore side vegetation. So close...but she was in dense brush, branches and limbs everywhere, every one conspiring against her, waiting only to deflect the bullet.
A bull turned broadside, perhaps thirty meters away, picking at a low bush, close enough for her to see the burrs stuck in its fur. She said a few silent words of prayer, took careful aim, aiming through a gap in the branches, and fired.
The herd ran wildly again, the rifle's shot echoing through the low hills. Avlynka watched the bull run, her heart sinking to a new low...when it fell to the ice. She stood up slowly, watching as it kicked a few times, then lay still, perfectly still, less than fifty meters from where it was when she had fired. She ran over to it and stopped a few meters away, reloading her rifle, just in case...but there was no need. She knelt next to it, looked to the sky, and laughed. It was a large bull, at least two hundred kilos, well furred and healthy.
Avlynka pulled out her small battery-powered radio and pressed the transmit button; “Base, this is Avlynka, over.”
After a moment, Yura Lehtonen's voice crackled back; “Go ahead, Avlynka.”
Avlynka smiled brightly as she said, “Tell my Dad to bring the snow-machine, and his knives. We have a job to do!”