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Authors: Allan Richard Shickman

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BOOK: Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure
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It was obvious that Zan would get no help from them. At their best they were suspicious of strangers. Now, too weak to whisk away flies, they used the little strength they had to send him despitefully on his way. Just as he turned to leave, the two boys who had thrown rocks at him arrived. Not yet as frail as the others, they apparently had been foraging for food when Zan had come upon them. They were startled to see him again and stepped a little backwards in fright. In pure pity Zan walked up to them, handed them the rabbit he had brought down with his sling, and left. Turning around after a moment or two to look back at these miserable wretches, he saw that they had already fallen on the rabbit and were tearing at it like animals with their bare hands and teeth. They were starving.

Why were the Hru unable to feed themselves when Zan alone had succeeded in getting food in abundance as soon as he had begun his journey? It happened sometimes. The men of Hru had been unlucky in the hunt, and once they were weak with hunger their chances of success rapidly diminished to nothing. As far as Zan could see, they were simply waiting to die. Zan reflected that the gift he had given might well have saved the entire clan. He hoped so, for he did not feel hate but only sorrow for them. Still, he thought to himself, they probably would continue to hate and fear him as much as ever.

It was almost night and Zan needed a place to sleep. Thal had often advised him to select a place of safety rather than comfort. Safety
was
comfort, as his father had often said. It was best, he knew, not to be too much in the open because hunters might find him sleeping and at their mercy. When Zan saw a large pine tree, its branches hanging to the ground, he recognized the kind of place Thal had taught him to seek. There, beneath the tree, he would be completely out of sight, and the fallen needles would make a soft bed too. So Zan camped there, but he dared not light a fire lest he be seen from a distance. He had no desire to be a meal for the desperate Hru should they recover enough of their strength to find him and fall upon him. Best to disappear for the night.

When he awoke the next morning he was well rested, and peering through the branches for safety, he emerged from his hideaway and began hiking in the direction of the northern clan. At about noon, near a stand of lofty poplars, he came upon a dozen handsome young men, tall and well-built. As soon as they saw him they stood together, seizing their weapons and facing him. Zan continued to advance toward them, feeling fairly sure that they were the people he was looking for. He hoped he would not have to fight them but who knew? The clans seemed always to be on edge, belligerent to strangers and ever ready for a brawl. At once, spears and clubs in hand, they formed a ring around Zan, frowning deeply. As he turned to look at them, the circle of men rotated around him. They could easily have finished him at any time, but Zan didn't think they would. “He is too small to eat,” one of them said, and they all laughed. Another thrust toward Zan with his spear to see if he could make him
flinch, but Zan looked straight into his eyes and moved not a bit. Still another tried the same trick, and Zan faced him down without the slightest movement. Impressed though they were, the young fellows were still inclined to have a little fun at Zan's expense; but then someone noticed his scars—dark ribbons on his arms and across his shoulders. “It is Zan-Gah!” he heard someone say. “See his wounds!” “It is Zan-Gah who killed the lion!” A buzz of whispers followed, and Zan saw their hostility turn to friendly curiosity. Lowering their weapons, they examined his scars and his spear, and seemed not to know what to say until the oldest (so he appeared) said “Welcome, Zan-Gah!”—and all of the young men greeted him warmly, some even putting their arms around him and leading him like a hero and a brother to their camp.

The older tribesmen turned out to see what the commotion was, while several young girls peeked out at him with wonder. “This is Zan-Gah who killed the lion,” he heard again, highly pleased in spite of himself. Then, facing a leader of the tribe he said, “I seek Aniah, if he will speak with me.”

 

 

 

 

5

ANIAN

“Aniah has gone to hunt,” a dark-bearded man said. “Stay and eat with us and perhaps he will return.” They did not have much to offer, but were pleased to share what they had with Zan-Gah. While they were nibbling a few nuts and seeds saved from the previous year, an elderly man arrived carrying a deer as big as himself on his shoulders. It was Aniah. How he had managed alone to kill the nimble animal using only his spear was a mystery to Zan. One young man, guessing his thought, leaned toward Zan and whispered in his ear: “We do not know how he does it either. He always goes out alone. He is the greatest hunter who ever lived. And he is old! Look at him!”

Zan looked and saw a sinewy, fleshless man, stooped and white-haired—about seventy-five. Age had twisted his hands into knots, and his skin hung loosely on his wrinkled face and body; but there was a vigor in his step and expression that suggested a great enjoyment of life however old he might be. Aniah flung the deer down at
the feet of the seated men, chuckling softly. “You ancient fellows may sit here relaxing,” he seemed to say, “but we
young men
have to find something to eat.”—and with a twinkle he tossed his great-grandchild a piece of fruit hidden in his hand. (It was the same kind that had luckily enabled Zan to invent his sling.)

“Well, young fellow,” said he, his eyes falling on the visitor. “What brings Zan-Gah away from his comfortable home? No, do not tell me now. We will eat first, and then you may declare your errand.”

While the deer was being prepared for roasting, Aniah donned a majestic dappled fur, and seating himself in his accustomed place, he looked like what he was—a king among his people. Zan knew that he must approach Aniah with great respect but no hint of fear. That, indeed, was the way everybody treated him—except for his great-grandson who, without ceremony, plopped himself into Aniah's lap and began tugging on his white beard.

Meanwhile, Zan was drawn away by the younger men to participate in a friendly tug-of-war. They usually had their contest stretching a length of strong vine over a pit of hot coals—no gentle sport—but the fire was being used to roast a haunch of venison, so they put the two competing teams on either side of an inlet where water from the river jutted inland. The losing group, or at least its leader, would either let go of the vine or go tumbling into the water. Zan was placed in the midst of one team—among the smallest lads of either group. What sport, what heroic effort, and what laughter as now one team lost, now another! Zan was a kid again, laughing
and screaming; and all the while Aniah looked on and laughed too. The rich odor of roasted meat soon drew the youths from their game, and the girls, who had been busy in preparations, seized the long vine and engaged in the same contest with loud cheers and shrieking laughter.

When the food was ready, all were seated and Aniah gave out portions, serving Zan first and himself last. None put food to his mouth until Aniah began to eat, and then a symphony of munching followed. When all had eaten their fill, Aniah turned toward Zan and waited. Laying his spear at the elder's feet and placing his knuckles on his chest, Zan bowed his head in obeisance. “Great Aniah, I thank you for the welcome you have given me.” Zan raised his eyes and watched Aniah carefully. “You know my brother, who twinned with me, is lost. I believe he still lives, and I seek him.”

“Why here?” Aniah replied sharply. Zan saw him stiffen. “We do not hold him.” He held up his withered hands as if to show that they were empty.

“Great leader, that mistrust never came to my mind. I visit you because you are famed to know the many secrets of earth and sky. I did not wish to undertake a search without asking for your help and advice. And because I received from you my name of honor, I decided to turn to you as to a friend.”

Aniah looked at the young man in front of him and smiled a strange, questioning smile, as of one who looks into the abyss of time and sees himself many long years earlier. “When your brother was lost, we all tried to find him, the same as if he had been one of our own. No one
knows what happened. I wish the birds would speak to me, as you seem to think they do, and then I would know. But yes, we have our suspicions.”

In answer to Zan's attentive and inquiring look, Aniah went on: “For several years now, and not for the first time, we have had encounters with the wasp men. They live many days off, deep in the blue hills, and yet they come marauding here. They hunt in our lands, they take what does not belong to them, and on one occasion (I know for a certainty), they carried away a woman of the Luta clan. I heard long ago that they were robbers and slavers too. These are fierce and dangerous warriors, but as long as they stayed far from us we were not much concerned about them.”

Zan's eyes lit up. “Do you think that….”

“Yes, Dael was alone when he was lost, was he not?”

“We think he may have been traveling up Nobla. He often said he would find her source.”

“If so, he was heading straight for the dwellings of the wasp people! What you say confirms my thought, Zan-Gah. I have long suspected that he was their captive. That is the best explanation of his disappearance—but it is only a guess. I know no more than you.”

“Why do you call them ‘wasp people'?” Zan asked.

“They claim an ancient relationship with actual wasps and say they are of their tribe. These people do not live in cave shelters as we do, but build great, bulbous hollows
out of trees, bark, and leaves. They look exactly like enormous nests of wasps, as they are intended to. The entrance is but a small round hole on the end of it. If someone unwelcome approaches, they lie there silent and motionless until the intruder is near. Then they swarm out, one after another, screaming, spears in their hands to attack and overwhelm the unlucky visitor. They tip their spears with poison, like a wasp's sting, so that the smallest wound becomes terribly painful and disabling—although the poison itself does not kill. I think the wasp men would rather wound than kill, so that they can take prisoners as slaves.”

“The people you describe are truly like stinging hornets,” Zan said thoughtfully. “My hair stands on end to hear you speak of them. My uncle, Chul….”

“Chul.” Aniah's eyes darkened for the briefest moment. Zan went on cautiously, sensing that he was touching a tender place: “He told me that there had once been an invasion by a distant people, and that the clans united against them.”

“Yes,” Aniah recalled, his brow smoothing again. “That was one of the few times that our five clans stood together. We could never have repelled them otherwise. They were many and dangerous.”

Zan told Aniah about his experience with the Hru, how ill they had received him, and of their miserable condition. The old man's face assumed an expression of contempt. “The Hru are a low people, thieves and cowards all. I do not pity them.”

In the course of their conversation, which became relaxed and friendly, Zan expressed admiration for Aniah's skill as a hunter. How, he could not resist asking, had he managed to kill a deer without any assistance?

“One should pursue good fortune with vigor and action,” he answered, “but sometimes the secret is to wait until good fortune comes to you.” He laughed his soft, chuckling laugh. As they conversed, Zan was surprised to discover that this great leader was in some respects a simple man, cheerful and good-humored. He liked a joke and could tell a story. And he had a way of laughing as if at something that had happened long ago.

Zan grew bolder: “Tell me, Aniah, why have the clans so often been enemies? What mischief could have caused our peoples to make war against one another? It is as if we were haunted by a strange secret that no one speaks of but everyone knows.”

“Not everyone, Zan-Gah.” Aniah replied ruefully. “My father knew, but most of those who first fought in the quarrel have died—some of old age! I think the war eventually stopped because most of us forgot why we were fighting. And there was the drought. Our struggle then was only to survive; and in our search for water and food we were forced to move away, beyond each other's reach. When the rains finally came, and we returned, none had the stomach for war and killing any longer. That is not so long ago. That is within your young lifetime.”

“But what could have started it,” Zan inquired earnestly, “or have kept it alive so many years?”

“I was hardly older then than you are now when it began.” Aniah's face became tight and grim, and he looked straight ahead. Red bonfires gleamed in his eyes. “One of the southern tribesmen stole a woman of Hru. Foh! Why would he want her? But her husband wanted her back and she refused to go back. Perhaps she was pretty, but her man was a cruel brute. An animal treats his mate better! I have always avoided hatred, even of the enemies of my people, but I cannot purge myself of my detestation of the Hru! The war could have been avoided entirely but for her blunt-brained husband who could not be pacified—no, not by the promise of many gifts. He wanted back what everyone knew he did not love or value.

“In those days the Hru were not the pitiable lot that you saw when you were in their camp yesterday. Back then they were the strongest and most numerous of the clans. The husband (his name was Bruah) rallied several of his assassin tribe and they looked for an opportunity to avenge themselves for the insult (as they considered it). Down they went to the southern forest and prepared an ambush—not for the offender, but for anyone who passed! The first to die was your grandfather's father. They fell on that good man and killed him with their spears; and boasted of it too, so that word spread of what had happened. It was not very long before the clans chose sides. You of the three southern clans stood together.”

BOOK: Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure
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