Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure (11 page)

Finally one day Zan gratefully caught a glimpse of its shiny face perhaps two miles off. Or was it ten? Distances were so hard to measure in this sun-baked expanse, and seemed always to be much greater than he had thought. Staggering, dizzy and nauseous, he approached it at last, unless it was in his imagination—a dream, or a hallucination brought on by starvation. The sand had become a white powder, and when Zan fell, for he could no longer keep his feet, it burned his scraped knees and the wounds and sores covering his body. Zan didn't care
anymore. He was finished. When he finally reached the lake—which seemed to have taken forever—he had no more strength. He literally fell onto its gnat-covered surface and let the tepid water, filthy with insects, flow into his open mouth. To his grievous surprise it burned his cracked lips and throat, and seared his eyes. It was salt.
The water was heavy with salt!
Zan fainted away, bereft of any power. The last thing he saw was the skeleton of an unrecognizable animal.

 

 

 

 

Each of us is a little different from anyone else, but Chul was much different. From his birth, his strangeness declared itself. He came from his gasping mother unusually large, red, wrinkled, and covered with hair like a baby ape. He howled in an unusually loud voice for a baby, and his face twisted as he cried. When the women showed the squalling newborn to his father, Bray, he looked at the creature and frowned so that his face was twisted too. Father and son, squinting and grimacing at each other, looked comically alike for a moment. Bray gave his new son the name Chul, which in fact meant Ape.

Poor Chul! All of his life people laughed at him. He was an ugly child. His eyes were too close together and his lower lip hung down stupidly over his almost nonexistent chin. His posture was never erect except when he rose to sniff the air for danger—or to whiff an animal roasting on a spit. To make matters worse, his nose had been broken early in life and twisted to one side. Add that he was thick of speech, spoke but little in
his rumbling voice, and that he was as big as his father by the time he was nine years old. Growing up, he had a monstrous appetite, and for a time he was not allowed to eat until the others had gotten their share lest he eat everything! Yes, he was big for his age! What did he not shovel into his mouth whenever he could?

Chul's comrades made fun of his size and awkwardness, and called him stupid to his face. Chul only laughed along with them, until one older youth made the mistake of throwing a stone at him. Lout that he was, Chul was not too stupid to resent this obvious insult, and the smile vanished from his face. Seizing the foolish lad, Chul lifted him over his head and threw him about ten feet. It was fortunate for the youth that he landed in a soft mud puddle instead of on the hard rocks, but even so he was sufficiently hurt. Then the “ape” was sorry he had injured him, and later they made friends. It was not in Chul's easygoing nature to bear grudges.

If ever a man was a hodgepodge, it was Chul. He was a strange and preposterous mixture of good and bad, but on the whole his goodness was dominant. As is often the case with unattractive people, Chul had concealed virtues: a generous heart, courage, fierce loyalty, and sometimes insight. The time was coming when his clan would be grateful for these qualities—as well as for his physical might.

Chul's strength was legendary before he was a man. He once wrenched by the horns a young bull too frisky for three men to subdue, breaking its neck with a loud crack, so that the entire clan could feast on its carcass like
a pride of lions. It was said that Chul could wrestle down a stag single-handed if he could only catch one—and eat it single-handed too! Fortunately he learned early to share, and in time came to be known for his generosity as well as his enormous appetite. He began losing the hair on his head before he was twenty, and some of his teeth soon thereafter. By that time the war among the five clans had begun again, ending a long period of quiet. Often the object of mockery, Chul would prove his value in the renewed fighting.

He took a leading part. Standing at least a head taller than his fellows, the very sight of Chul with a troop of warriors, or the mere sound of his wild battle cry, could rout an enemy troop of even greater size. He preferred the club to the spear, and had one that reached to his brother's chest. It was a gnarled staff of hardwood that twisted and turned up to the great, spiky knob. Woe to the man who was struck with it! He would be unlikely to recover from the blow! Sometimes Chul chose to use the spear instead of this rude bludgeon. His spear was thick and heavy enough to support the roof of a shelter! No one would want these weapons. They were too large to use, yet Chul wielded them with ease and with terrible effectiveness.

In battle Chul had another advantage. He seemed almost impervious to wounds. A blow that might have been fatal to most men he returned again with deadly results. Once, when he received a serious hurt in the thigh, he went on hollering and fighting, and only drew out the spear embedded in his leg after his enemies had fled.

Soon after he killed the kinsman of Aniah, something happened in his mind. He had had enough of killing, and regretted the way he had ambushed the man without warning. From that time onward he refused to go looking for the enemy, and was only willing to fight if his foes came to him. The other men of the clan were less disposed to go on the offensive without their giant, and the conflict seemed to have burned itself out. In fact, it came to a stop for several years.

The invasion of the wasp men brought the clans together. They had to put aside their feud for their very survival, and turn their attention to a new enemy. It was fortunate that the wasp warriors had not come against them in full strength. As Zan was to learn much later, the alien clans were often at odds with each other. Had they cooperated together, their combined might would have overwhelmed Zan's people before he and Dael were born. They had greater numbers and superior weaponry. Their poison spears did not need to kill to incapacitate, and even Chul, wounded slightly with a venomous point, was slowed down a bit—although he went right on fighting and bellowing his astonishing war-cry. Standing together, it had been possible to chase off the invaders. But that was an assault by only one of the several clans of wasp people. Perhaps one day they might return in greater numbers.

A period of peace followed, and Chul decided to get a wife. His feats on the field of battle would have recommended most men to the females of the clan; but it can be guessed how few of them wanted Chul for a
husband! Luckily for him there was one. Her name was Siraka-Finaka, which referred to her small size. (Finaka means Wren's Nest.) Chul could not pronounce her name, so he called her Aka. Standing on her toes, her nose just reached to his navel! But if she was small in size, she was mighty in spirit. Those she could not control with her physique she would quickly bring to bay with her energetic and dominating personality.

Chul did not choose Siraka-Finaka; she chose him—and once she did, Chul knew that he might as well not try to escape the marriage bed she had planned for him. Eventually they had three daughters whom Chul loved with all of his brute heart. With the coming of children his character softened considerably, and he did not resent the laughter that followed him; for what could have been more ridiculous than this giant being held strictly in line by his tiny wife, or more odd than the hairy warrior melting into tenderness when he held his baby girls and made baby sounds? He adored them; and was terrified of displeasing Siraka-Finaka, for his dull tongue was no match for her sharp one. Mighty Chul, who feared nothing, feared his woman.

When Zan-Gah decided to seek his brother, Chul suggested timidly to his wife that it might help if he went along. Siraka-Finaka would have hit him in the head if she could have reached it! But if she did not strike him with her small fist, she struck him with her tongue, and kept on striking too! Chul, she reminded him, had a family to feed and protect; and Zan-Gah would have to find his twin by himself. Later the subject came up again—with the same unpleasant result, but after a year
went by and Zan did not return, both Thal and Chul were much concerned, and Chul once again suggested to his wife that he should seek news of Zan-Gah. The great ape, Chul, and his tiny wren-wife could be heard roaring and chirping for a long time that night. Finally Chul, tongue-tied with rage, picked up his spear and stormed out. Here was this dwarfish woman, a third his size (if that), ruling the roost and telling him what he could or could not do! His younger brother, Thal, would not have stood for it, and neither would he!

 

 

 

 

The first thing Zan sensed was the absence of torturing heat. His skin still burned and his head ached fearfully, as it had under the blistering sun, but now he was shivering with cold, and so weak that he could not rise from the bed of soft furs in which he found himself. In trying to get up Zan groaned aloud, and someone bent over him, a girl with an expression of anxiety furrowing her brow. Zan wanted to ask where he was and how he came there. He also wondered what new danger he was in, but from weakness more than stealth he waited and looked around. The dim light came from torches bracketed on what he realized were the uneven walls of a cave. He squinted, pretending to sleep, and glanced at the girl caring for him. As she bathed his forehead with cool water he opened his eyes wide and looked directly at her. Her hair, cascading to his shoulders, was of a fiery hue he had never seen before; and her eyes were the greenish color of something rare. So striking was her appearance that Zan thought she was a demon, but her soft, low voice and gentle manner showed that she was not.

“Dael,” she said almost tenderly, “what has happened to you?” and tears trickled from her strange eyes down her freckled cheeks. Her language was almost the same as that of the wasp people, and Zan understood her perfectly.

Zan tried to speak and could not, but after she assisted him in sipping some warm broth he managed to croak out “I am not Dael.”—to which she gasped out “Oh, Dael!” Zan, sick as he was, immediately recognized the problem. The girl mistook him for his twin. He fell back onto his bed and repeated in the same hoarse voice that he was not Dael, at length managing to add that Dael was his twin brother. The flame-headed girl stared at him with astonishment. He looked exactly like Dael. How could he be anybody else?

“Why do you tease me, Dael? You frighten me to death.” Then as she scrutinized his half-naked body, she saw his scars and realized that this was indeed Dael's twin.

Twins were so unusual among her people that they were the objects of superstitious dread. Terribly affrighted, she leapt away, her back to the side of the cave, her green eyes nearly popping out of her head. Then, as if recalling herself, she straightened up and said, “I am a daughter of Noi, and of a people so ancient that some gods were not even born when we came here as a people. We subdue wild beasts and triumph over giants. No man or devil will dishonor me!” and she seized a torch, ready to fight with the devil she took Zan to be. She said some other words too, in a low singsong voice which could not quite be heard or understood—magic perhaps. Poor Zan was
too sick to answer. He fell back on his bed, shivering and coughing, and when he sneezed she looked at him again with a new kind of wonder. This—boy—Dael's brother, was ill and needed help!

From then on, the girl redoubled her efforts to heal the invalid, rarely leaving his bedside. At night Zan had delirious dreams. The lion would come from nowhere to spring at him while Dael stood by, laughing cynically. It was not the cheerful laugh that Zan remembered, and it horrified him more than the lion's long fangs. As Zan slowly recovered his strength, and the evil nightmares left him, he questioned his caretaker. Her name was Lissa-Na, a priestess of a secret society dedicated to healing the sick and assisting women in childbirth. Na meant Healer. She told him that the cave in which he lay was holy, and forbidden to men. Blushing to his waist, Zan demanded of her why she had brought him to a place of women. She replied that it was permitted to bring the dying there for the final care that would usher them easily into the world of spirits. But that came out on the fourth day of Zan's recovery. He had hardly been able to speak when he asked the question most important to him: “Who knows that I am here?”

Some of the women and her servant knew. They had been gathering salt for the preservation of meat (which was one of their duties) when they had found him. Because he looked like Dael, they had assumed that Dael had fled his captivity and had gotten lost in the desert. At first they had thought he was dead (Lissa-Na sobbed a little when she said it), but looking closely, she had detected a little life stirring. Fearing he would be punished or even
tortured for attempting escape (and here she suppressed another sob), she had brought him to this place of safety. No one would enter here but the Na women, who kept apart from the place where Dael was imprisoned. So it was unlikely that they would realize there were “two” Daels.

Zan was overjoyed, as Lissa-Na could readily see, to learn that his twin brother was still alive. “How is Dael?” he asked, and here again Lissa-Na was shaken with emotion. “He has been in that cage for over a year,” she said. “He was given to the women of Na for a time, but he refused to do the work of women and was beaten.” Zan winced painfully on his gentle brother's account. Lissa-Na lowered her eyes. “Now, I do not know what they make him do. They use him as they please, and throw scraps to him like a dog.” She wiped away some tears with her fist.

“Can I see him?” Zan asked.

She told him that it would be difficult. The men of Noi would want to kill them both if they saw the brothers together, as they did their own twins at birth. “How can two people share one spirit?” she asked. Her eyes expressed a lingering doubt and fear.