It was past midnight, but that hardly mattered…
In the wastelands, where only the jergen thrived, had learned how to survive, where even the Tuska had never penetrated, the man who called himself Polycarp, although that wasn’t his name, waited.
Jergen were the fiercest predator. The Tuska sometimes told themselves the Danab had adapted so as to challenge them. This was folly. The Danab were Danab before they had ever called themselves by that name. Danab were tall by any standard, but even they looked up when a jergen emerged. The Danab had come before anyone knew dinosaurs had once roamed the planet Earth; this was a different world, a savage world, where their prehistoric creatures hadn’t died away. They had instead given way to the strongest, the largest, the fiercest…the jergen. Who stalked in the wastelands throughout the millennia. No one knew how they endured. Nothing else grew there. Except the jergen.
Polycarp was armed with a single axe. He brought no provisions with him, no shelter, no armor, not even his helmet. He stood truly exposed. He had been in the wastelands for a week. He was at the limit of his endurance. He had begun to hallucinate. As such, when the jergen first reared its head, Polycarp at first thought he had conjured it. At last. He had been relieved.
Then, even he began to panic.
The jergen advanced, slowly, as if dismissing Polycarp. Polycarp knelt in prayer, placing his axe down, voluntarily relinquishing its safety. The jergen sniffed and then snorted, scratching its paw in the sands. A cloud bellowed, engulfing Polycarp, who didn’t stir.
Then the jergen roared, and Polycarp’s hand reached for the axe.
He swung upward, faster than the jergen could react, slicing into its thick hide, and the jergen didn’t even notice. He swung again and connected again, and the jergen snorted.
It was a cold night. The wastelands were unforgiving. The jergen charged, the very short distance punishing Polycarp his impudence, knocking him over. He held onto the axe. He swung again, across the jergen’s flank, and there he drew first blood.
The jergen paused. Polycarp knelt again. The jergen began to pace.
Then Polycarp threw the axe aside, and leaped on the jergen’s back. He laced his arms around the jergen’s throat, and began to tighten his grip.
The jergen thrashed. Polycarp, weakened by his ordeal, knew even in peak shape he should not have been able to hold on. He did anyway. The jergen bucked, and Polycarp held. He wiped all thought away. Long ago, a lifetime ago, when he was young, his father had told him about the jergen, how in the old days, the Danab had held them as pets. Long ago. Ancient history. The long wars with the Tuska had changed all that. It became tradition to hunt the jergen, instead. To try and prove something.
Polycarp’s reasons were his own. No one knew why he was out here. No one knew he was even here. He could die, and no one would know.
The jergen slammed its own body into the sands. Polycarp held. Then it was his advantage indeed, since a jergen cannot easily right itself. It had in a sense already conceded defeat. Polycarp did not allow himself to believe it.
Through the jergen’s thick hide, he could feel nothing. The jergen betrayed nothing. Polycarp lost all track of time. He tried to read the stars. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. Still, he held.
He became aware that the jergen was no longer struggling. He held still. He held until it was daylight, and then for a little while longer. Then he let go. He couldn’t feel his arms anymore. He circled around the jergen, until he could look it in the eye, and then he knew. He picked up the axe again, and knelt. When he was ready, he swung the axe one more time, severing the jergen’s head, slung it over his shoulder, and began the journey…home.
