Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure (10 page)

After a while Naz was relieved of the duty (which he much resented) of guarding “the idiot.” A woman named
Hurnoa, who disliked any disorder or nonsense, spoke out with her characteristic firmness in Zan's defense. Perhaps she foresaw that he and Naz would end by killing one another if left in each other's presence for long. Anyway, all but Naz had grown tired of humiliating him. It had been settled for good that Zan was stupid and incapable of doing real harm, so he was largely ignored. Still Zan awaited the right moment, allowing chances of escape to pass. He had a degree of freedom but did not yet use it to get away.

Zan did make preparations, however. He began hiding things—a blade, a supply of dry food, and a spear which he had taken when no one was watching. Zan's strategy had been a success. He had put his enemies to sleep by acting dull and harmless, and now he could get away with a good deal. When things were missed, no one suspected him of taking them. He had even spirited away a supply of the wasp men's poison for future use! He had managed to hide some items outside of the village by a large rock near his fishing site, but the spear and poison he kept at hand under his bedding. Meanwhile he still had his sling wrapped around his waist, and no one noticed or cared. All of this prudent care and stealth did him no good, however.

 

Zan stayed with his enemies for over a year. He knew their language thoroughly, although he would not speak more than a word or two lest he lose his reputation for stupidity. He could learn nothing of the Noi, who held Dael, and dared not ask, although it was crucial
knowledge if he were to find his brother. Then one day, when he knew he must soon flee without the information he sought, he heard the elders talking excitedly about him. Moving as close as he could, he understood the anger of their words more than the words themselves, which were out of earshot. He sensed a new peril, for he knew that things had not been going well for the wasp people. Food had become scarce, as he could clearly see from his own decreased rations. The rains had stopped and the lake was drying around its margins where he had formerly been able to take fish at will. Worse, a strange sickness was spreading among them and several people had died. The chiefs, unable to account for the series of disasters, conceived the superstitious idea that “the idiot” had brought them bad luck. Thanks to Zan's fakery, his very glance now seemed baleful and unwholesome. Zan could barely hear what was being said, but he heard enough to realize that he was in danger.

The next morning, even as Zan was planning his escape, they came for him. With the sort of roughness he had not suffered for some time they prodded him along to a high place on a mountainside. It took most of the day to get there. Zan looked for an opportunity to run, but he was surrounded by several armed men. Remembering what Rydl had told him, that prisoners were hurled to their deaths, Zan wondered with fear whether they intended to slay him in this same terrible way. They were taking him higher and higher for no apparent reason. Then, looking around for any escape at all, he spied Rydl trailing behind. Rydl was avoiding being seen by dodging from one rock or tree to another,
peeking out as if he were playing one of his games. What did he want, who had so long ignored his existence—to witness his murder?

At length the group came to a crest roughly situated between two mountains, where a hot wind blew on them. As they rose to its brink, Zan felt sure that his time had come, and got ready to resist and flee. A sudden break away and he was running with all his might toward the woods with six tall men charging after him. Zan did not get far. The men split into two groups which flanked him on either side like a hunted deer, and swift of foot soon had him in hand, dragging him back to the crest. Zan prepared to die. He gazed in terror over the edge—but there was no cliff or deep pit at all. An entirely new scene opened before him. As far as his eyes could see there lay a gray and yellowish sickly land, ragged with rocks and scruffy brush. He turned his head around toward his captors and saw behind him the wasp men's land of stately trees, water, and lush growth. He looked the other way again. There he saw not his death, but a dismal land of death. The mountains, like a great natural fence, made a sharp divide between two strikingly different landscapes, one green and one dry.

“Go!” the gruesomely painted leader said, still sweating after his run, so that the red swirls dripped like blood around his eyes. “Go, and bring us no more misfortune.
There
is where we sent you,” and he pointed to the desert. “That is your land. This is ours. Do not come back again or we will surely kill you.” One of the men gave him a final kick which Zan did not return. He advanced toward
the parched land below, assured that Dael had been sent there and secretly wishing to go there to seek him. The wasp men, with a final gesture of wrath and anathema, turned to go home.

No sooner had the wasp men left than Rydl came out of hiding, calling to him softly while carefully observing their departure. Rydl had somehow gotten hold of Zan's possessions, saving them for a whole year. The spear with which Zan had killed the lion was there, along with his sack and some food Rydl had placed inside. Zan found the goat skin, the fire-making kit, and even the black blade that Chul had given him. Most important, his hollow gourd canteen was there, filled with water. “I have kept these for you, Zan, and have kept your secrets too. I knew you were no fool, but I never said so.” Rydl had grown during the year of Zan's captivity, both in height and in maturity.

“I thank you, Rydl, and will always remember you as a friend when I most needed one.” Rydl hugged Zan-Gah and they said goodbye.

 

 

 

 

As Zan descended he remembered well what Aniah had told him: “Do not go where none can live.” But what choice had he? Dael was out there somewhere, sold to the Noi and probably made a slave, as he himself had been for the last year. Zan hoped it was so for he still clung to the belief that his brother was alive. The wasp warriors who had driven him away had pointed a little to the right rather than straight ahead, and Zan took that to be his proper direction. For all the barrenness of the land, he saw at some distance in the blazing region a meandering path of greenery, which told him that a stream might be found there. He had not gone far when he came across a flat, vertical slab of stone which had a curious emblem scratched into its surface. Zan examined the design with curiosity. It consisted of a wild-eyed woman flanked on either side by two men raising their spears. Perhaps she was a goddess or a demon. No doubt she and her attendants were meant to warn off intruders, but Zan was not much frightened by these geometric figures. At least they indicated that people sometimes came there without dying of thirst!

The sun was high in the sky and the rocks underfoot were hot, but there was nothing to do except endure it until he could get to the stream, which was a good distance away. Zan had time to think even as he walked on the burning surface. This part of the journey would prove to be the most difficult of all his trials. He had to provide himself with food, water, and shelter in this hostile wasteland! The fierce sun told him that he needed shelter right away. Already it was drying his throat and burning his skin. He took the animal pelt still packed in his sack and covered his head and shoulders as best he could. Lucky that Rydl had saved it for him! But the deeper he went into this sun-baked and desolate place, the more frightened he became. “Always face your enemy,” his father had taught him, but this enemy was neither before nor behind him. It was everywhere—in front and behind, over and under! Zan wondered once again whether he was going to die. Panic seized his heart and his breath almost left him. He stopped in his dusty tracks, looked around, and said aloud, “I will not panic!” and even forced himself to smile at his situation. Immediately he felt a bit better. “If this is a land of death, how can so many things be alive?” Zan observed the cactuses that had begun to appear in great numbers. Endless in variety, they were flowering vigorously in purple, orange, and lemon. At almost every step a lizard or rodent darted out of his path. He had to dodge the scorpions. Overhead an eagle soared, and other birds also flew in the bright and cloudless sky. This desert place was actually teeming with life! All of these creatures could survive and thrive! Why shouldn't Zan-Gah? A ball of tumbleweed blew across his path, dead as anything could be. “That too was alive not long ago.
I must try to learn the secrets of things that live—to become part of the desert instead of struggling against it!” In this way Zan tried to encourage himself and keep his presence of mind.

It was not long before Zan discovered that certain succulent plants (the likes of which he had never seen before) were full of liquid. He knew better than to suck their juices, however, because many plants were poisonous—just as the berries were that the wasp women used to make their venom. Fortunately Zan still had some water, but he wanted to conserve it as long as he could. He rubbed some of the sap—not much—inside of his lower lip, as Thal once had taught him. If his lip swelled or became sore he would know not to swallow any more of it. Zan applied very little at first, knowing that some plants are deadly, even in small quantities. A little later, if he suffered no bad effects, he would try a somewhat larger amount. At length Zan successfully tested three different desert plants that provided moisture, and food too. One of them, a cactus, was so round and bulbous that Zan was fairly certain it stored quantities of liquid. He broke it open with a large rock, but the pieces were covered with needles, which made them hard to handle. Another cactus plant was sweet to the taste, both its sap and its flesh, but it too was covered with spiky thorns. Zan was out of water when he arrived at the creek, and to his bitter disappointment, all he found was a dry riverbed. It had looked better from a distance.

For all his efforts and discoveries, Zan was parched and famished. He found himself eating bugs and a lizard, knowing that he could not continue this way for
very long. He needed water. He noticed the paw prints of an animal in the dust, and then others, small and large, mostly going the same way. Zan followed them to a puddle in the rocky bottom of the creek that he had not seen. It was all that was left of what had once been a stream. Something scampered away and Zan lay down to drink what was left. He managed to refill his canteen, and decided to settle for a while. The bank of the creek gave him some shade and the few sickly trees that clung to it provided the materials for a basic lean-to shelter.

The thought of advancing further into the harsh, dry land was hateful to him. He needed rest badly and considered traveling by night when it would be cooler. Building a fire was unusually easy because everything was so dry, and Zan was glad he had done so when he felt how cold the desert was at night. He thought of the heavy lion skin he had left with Chul, and he wished that he had it. It was soon time to go, but he could hardly see a thing, so he waited for dawn. Waited….

When Zan awoke the day was well advanced. He looked for his puddle of water but it had dried in the sun. However, the river bed was still a little soft and taking his spear, he poked it into the ground where the water had been. The hole filled, and with a little more digging, Zan had a supply of filthy, brackish water. It would not last, and as things were going, neither would he! Who knew how far he had to go? Nor was he sure that he was even moving in the right direction. Zan decided not to wait for evening. At some distance he saw a high buildup of rocky layers that would be worth climbing if only his strength held out. From its top he could survey the area and see where he wanted to go.

Zan did not reach the hillock until afternoon. He paused for a while to rest, and became aware that two coyotes were following him. Zan would not have paid much attention to one animal, but two worried him. He took his sling from his waist and gathered some rocks. Zan had managed to keep the sling for a whole year without once using it. It was time to try it out. Pelting the animals with stones, but missing his targets again and again, he began to get the feel of the weapon once more, and finally succeeded in driving them off with pained yelps. But Zan sensed that his strength was failing him. He still had a steep climb ahead, and pressed on until he achieved the summit exhausted. His whole body, and especially his hands and feet ached and stung. He lay flat on his back and looked at the blanched sky while he caught his breath.

At length Zan rose and looked around in a wide circle. The hills lay behind him, the declining sun still glowing on their granite tops. Before him lay the same field of stone, sand, and cactus for as far as the eye could see. But at the very limit of his vision he noticed a gleaming silver surface that could only be a lake reflecting the white-hot sky. And the lake beckoned to him.

 

Zan was dying. A week had passed during which he had walked both day and night. He no longer had the energy to hunt nor even to build a fire. He had used up his store of water, and the relief of morning dew or cactus juice simply was not enough. Jackrabbits sometimes appeared with their large, fanlike ears, but Zan was no longer able to hunt them. He remembered the weak and
starving Hru and realized that he was in their situation, only worse! They at least had water. He tried to ignore the miserable emptiness of his stomach but he could not ignore his thirst. If he managed to catch a lizard he ate it as it was, needing its moisture more than its nourishment. To cook it (had he the strength left to build a fire) would only have dried it out. He found some small eggs that would keep him alive for another day, and ate them ravenously, shells and all.

Zan began to stagger and to fall, so that his knees were scraped. And were black vulture wings soaring over his head? The blazing, relentless sun smote sorely on him, while the hot and ceaseless wind provided no relief at all. Heat-tortured, aching, and thirstier than he ever had been in his life, only one thing kept him going—the vision of the lake as he had seen it from the high rock, gleaming silver on the farthest horizon. Zan thought of its wetness all day and dreamed of it whenever he slept, waking with his head throbbing and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Only the lake, only the lake could save him!