The Fisherman and the Hunter

The faint waves rocked the canoe. The fisherman rested the paddle across the edge of his boat and looked toward the island and the thin plume of black grey smoke rising from its middle. He cut the surface of the lake with his paddle and started towards shore.

The wind whistled through the leaves, as he pulled up the sandy shore. To the fisherman, it sounded eerily like an alarm had sounded. He jumped out into the knee-deep water and pulled his canoe to shore. The sand stuck to the bottom of his wet feet, as he left the canoe and began towards the smoke.

Winds whistled through leaves and branches once more, just as he reached the edge of the tree line.

He knew that whoever was at the fire knew he was there. He called out, his voice echoing on the empty lake. His cry was met with another.

“Welcome,” a deep voice boomed from the forest. “Come to the fire and dry your feet.”

The man decided to go ahead, hearing the voice contained no malice.

He arrived at a small clearing. The fire and the man who had invited him sat in middle. The man around the fire stood and waved the fisherman over. They met and shook hands and introduced themselves.

“Hullo,” the man at the fire said, “I am a hunter.”

“Hullo,” the other replied, “I am a fisherman.”

“Please sit, I have been hunting alone for many days and would enjoy the company of another.”

The fisherman sat and stretched his feet close to the fire. He brushed the dried sand from his soles and between his toes and leaned back.

“Tell me,” the fisherman said, “how is it you came to this island? I saw no boat and the beach where I landed is the only suitable place to do so.”

The hunter did not meet his gaze; instead he added another two lengths of cedar to the fire under a cauldron. Knots popped and fizzled as they warmed.

“I will tell you,” the hunter said and then with a chuckle, “but not until we eat, my story is long and would bore an empty stomach.”

The fisherman nodded and rubbed the skin on his calf. He studied the man sitting in front of him. The hunter wore a leather tunic, lined with a reddish fur. His prominent stomach stuck out and stretched the leather. He had a thick beard but his hair was short and well kept. Deep lines around his eyes demonstrated he smiled often and truly. The fisherman decided this was a man he could trust, and his detached air only made him more interesting.

“I have a few trout in my boat,” he said, “I could go fetch them.”

“Nonsense,” the hunter said,” you are my guest and I insist on providing the meal. I have rabbit and grouse stew warming, and you are welcome to eat your fill of it.

The fisherman thanked him and graciously accepted the bowl the hunter offered him. The aroma of roasted game and woody herbs wafted up from the bowl and his stomach growled in anticipation.

“That’s what I like to hear,” the hunter boomed, “Go on, eat.”

The hunter and the fisherman ate slowly and deliberately. The fisherman answered the hunter’s questions, telling him of his small village east of the island.

“The village sits at the mouth of a shallow bay. A thick forest of cedar and birch trees grows behind the village, forming a natural wind barrier. Most of the men fish, but some also work with wood, they build the canoes the fisherman use.”

The hunter said it sounded like a fine village. They finished their meals in an easy silence. The fisherman set his empty bowl down and thanked the hunter.

“You are welcome my new friend,” the hunter said. “Now, I promised to tell you my tale, if you still wish to hear it.”

The fisherman found the hunter strange and exotic and was very interested in hearing his story and told him as much.

The hunter smiled and began to pack his pipe with tobacco. He lit it and inhaled deeply and offered it to the fisherman. The fisherman politely refused saying he had never enjoyed it himself.

The hunter took another pulled and leaned back and started his story.

“To tell you truth friend, I’m not quite sure how I arrived on this island. I awoke here two days ago.”

The men met each other’s gaze over the flames. The sun had set while they supped and now the stars had started blinking in the dark sky.

The fisherman did not say anything, but waited eagerly for the hunter to continue.

“Five days ago, I set out from my village,” he said. Then spreading his arms out in bewilderment, he added, “Where that would be in relation to where we are, I have no idea. I spent the morning walking south from my home, towards a small rivulet that many animals drink from. I climbed a tree and waited. I spent all afternoon on a thick branch, my legs dangling below and saw not hare nor hide.”

The hunter chuckled lightly at his wordplay, and the fisherman smiled.

“Then, just as the sun was setting, something appeared on the hill on the other side of the stream. Its shadow loomed down the hill in the horizontal light. Now,” the hunter said, “this next part is unbelievable. If it had happened to anyone else, I would be the first howling skepticism, but as it happened to me, I am forced to accept it as true.”

The fisherman inched closer to the hunter and the fire. This last revelation had only whetted his appetite for the story, and how he hung on the hunter’s every word.

“The shadow cast by a magnificent elk, the biggest I have ever seen. Its antlers were five arrows across if not more,” he said, and pulled an arrow from his quiver to better demonstrate the width. “And so tall they seemed to threaten to puncture the sky. Its coat was a golden white that shimmered in the dying daylight.”

“I knew I could never fell such an animal, that I had no right to. But there was something magnetic about the beast, and I needed to get closer to it. I climbed down from my perch, and used the smoothed rocks to cross the stream. The elk still stood on the hill, and for just a moment, I felt like it was waiting for me. I took that moment to kneel and thank my forefathers for this glorious sight. The elk grunted as I knelt and turned away and began to walk towards red sliver of sun still visible on the horizon.”

The hunter cleaned dug the burnt tobacco from his pipe with the tip of his knife. The fisherman braided three long leaves of grass together and chewed the end.

“I followed that elk for three days, always from a safe distance. If I got too close, it would run ahead, and if I stopped to catch my breath, it seemed to wait. There was but a singular thought in my head, to follow the elk, and not hunger nor thirst nor fatigue could stop me. At the end of the third day I found myself in a dark forest. The trees grew together so thickly; they seemed to share the same trunk and roots. And worst of all, I had lost sight of the golden elk. Panic shook my body and I felt like I had just woken up from a horrible nightmare. I was lost. I hadn’t eaten or slept in three days. I felt I had been lead to my death.”

The hunter coughed and wiped the tear that pooled in the corner of his eye.

“White Rabbit, white rabbit,” the fisherman said. He waved the smoke from his face, and gave the hunter a moment to collect himself.

“I steeled myself,” the hunter continued, “acting like that was an insult to my ancestors. I lifted my chin and readied my bow and kept going, deeper into the dark forest. No birds sang from those twisted branches, and no squirrels gathered their bleak berries. But I pressed on, even as I felt the forest closing in on me.”

“The deep dark cannot last forever,” the fisherman said. “That is a saying of my village.”

“Yes,” the hunter agreed, “we have a saying in the same spirit. This strengthened me and I continued further. It was now dark, so dark I was practically blind. I waited for my eyes to adjust, but they never did. I could not bear to keep still, so I continued on. I must have walked for half a day, but I gradually sensed the trees retreating, and my breath loosened. I felt tall grasses brush against my legs and found this to be a good sign. A gentle breeze blew and it wicked the fear from my heart. I stopped and knelt again and thanked my ancestors for their help.”

“When I lifted my head, the elk stood in front of me. Radiant would be the only word to describe him, but even that falls flat. I am not ashamed to admit that I wept. For just a small moment, I felt as though the midday sun burned in my heart. I was filled with such joy!”

The fisherman whistled silently in wonderment. The hunter took a moment to breathe deeply, and to try to remember how he felt. But the feeling was elusive and always just out of reach.

“And then,” the hunter said, “the most unbelievable thing happened. The elk began to speak.”

“What did he say?” the fisherman spluttered.

The hunter looked the fisherman in the eye.

“He said that I had passed the first of three trials. I tried to ask him to explain, but I couldn’t speak. A warm light first grew from him and then roared, flooding the dark forest with an explosive flash. I closed my eyes instinctively, and when I opened them, I found myself here on this little island.”

The fisherman sat back and chewed his grass and the hunter added another log to the fire.