Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure (7 page)

“And you of the north?”

“It was not my choice. I was but a lad. Our elders made the decision, and it surely was a difficult one. It seemed imprudent at the time to oppose our powerful neighbors
in order to uphold the stealing of a woman, although we knew the circumstances. We found ourselves supporting the Hru. In time we were sorry because once bands of men began marauding, they attacked anyone who was in their path. You could not go hunting without wondering whether you were being hunted. Pretty soon our women were being carried off, and not by our enemies! If one of ours can be stolen, the men of Hru reasoned, why not one of theirs? So they attacked their own allies! Fools and scoundrels both!”

Aniah continued: “Soon all of the clans were at odds with one another, and we knew not in which direction to point our spears. Strangely enough, that had the effect of slowing the conflict, and there were long periods of a hostile sort of peace—intermissions that were suddenly broken by some wanton act or other crying out for revenge. There were fights over hunting territories and the best dwelling places. But after a time the chief motive was simply a desire to avenge deeds that themselves had been acts of vengeance.”

“Did anyone avenge my great-grandfather's murder?” Zan asked.

“Blood takes a long time to dry, Zan-Gah. I cannot describe to you the rage for vengeance that that act begot! But the northern tribes were wary of reprisal. For a long time nothing happened, and things quieted down. Meanwhile, we had to venture out if only for food. It was several years later when it began again. I was hunting with a favorite kinsman in pursuit of a boar—delicious eating, if the boar doesn't eat you! We had gotten careless. My
friend had run ahead, and suddenly there appeared in front of him an enormous, a
gigantic
man. My comrade was of slight build and had no chance against the giant, who struck him dead with his club. I confronted the slayer but he was able to knock away my spear and we wrestled for our lives. I barely managed to escape from the powerful grip of….”

“Of….”

“Of your uncle, Chul.”

Zan's heart sank. “Aniah, you know I love my uncle and regard him as a great man. Truly, I would fight with him and die for him, whatever the cause.”

“I do not hate him,” Aniah replied. “Time and advanced age have made me less eager for a fight than I once was. How many good men were lost in needless battles! My kinsman, as I told you, was killed at the height of his manhood. I am old now and have learned to love peace and the company of my grandchildren. But somewhere among the five clans is a warrior who still dreams of revenge, and one act of vengeance gives birth to many others.”

“Perhaps my twin brother was killed for revenge,” Zan suggested mournfully.

“No, Zan-Gah. To make vengeance good, his body would have been left where your family could find it. Besides, throughout this long war children were never attacked. Never once! Even the detestable Hru would not do that. Still, you should be careful. The wasp people do not spare the young, and I think they have made a slave
of your brother. I would advise you to save yourself and return to your home, but I know you must and you will seek him. That is why I respect you, young as you are. But fear the spirits most when they are excessively kind. So far you have been fortunate.” Zan thought of the lucky invention of his new weapon. “And beware the wasp people. They are a fierce enemy, treacherous, shrewd, and full of guile. If they find you spying on them, you will not escape the touch of their stinging spears, nor the sure captivity that follows. Hate them, if anybody in the world, Zan-Gah, and fear them!”

“My fear is for my brother, Dael, who never encountered unkindness and was incapable of it himself. What should so gentle a person do among the tortures of the wasp men? I think that all I will find will be his memory.”

“A young man receives a call from the spirits to seek and help his brother, and no brother is closer than a twin. You have a long trek before you, Zan-Gah, a journey of many days. First you will have to cross a deep gorge and pass through the land of red rocks. The wasp men hive in the blue hills beyond. If you go farther than these hills you come to a great waste, a deadly desert. Do not go where none can live.”

“Aniah,” Zan said with some hesitation, “let us at least be friends. We drink from the same river and warm ourselves with the same sun. We face the same perils and rejoice with the very same songs. Is that not a beginning? When I return with my brother, we will show our friendship by visiting you.”

Aniah rose and led Zan to a new fire enjoyed by the younger men. Several of them offered presents to Zan, mostly stone blades, but he told them to save their gifts for the time of his return because he dared not take on any additional weight. The gift of Aniah he did not refuse. It was a kit for making fire, consisting of a straight, pointed stick, a strap, and two small blocks of wood, plus some very dry grass. Robo, Aniah's youngest son (the man with a dark beard) showed Zan how to use it. What a treasure! Zan had seen nothing like it before. It would enable him to make fire in moments, whenever he needed it. As he had planned, Zan gave Aniah the snake skin, which the old man took with pleasure, for it was very handsome.

Sitting around the fire, which threw a shower of sparks into the night air when someone added fuel, one lad began to tap a rhythm on a hollow log. Then a second coaxed out a duller sound, each drummer alternating the sounds he made with the percussion of the other,
tip TAH, tip TAH, tip TAH tip TAH tip TAH.
Their drums soon split the air, and these men of the north loved to sing! Their chant is now many thousands of years old:

Live bravely friend!

Live well to the end!

For no man lives forever!

 

The next morning Zan-Gah bade farewell to the people of the northern clan.

 

 

 

 

As Zan began his trek over a vast grassland, he could see that his new battle would be with the land, and that it might prove a bitter fight. The weather had changed. A persistent wind blew at his back as he walked, whipping the tall grass and chilling his body. The river was to his right with its border of trees, but on his left little grew but grass, except for an occasional dying tree raising its black branches against the sky. Zan strode along with vigorous and consistent steps across the empty land. In time he found a footpath which he was glad to use, even though it increased his exposure to danger. The feet of strangers had worn this path, not those of friends. As he walked Zan began to wonder whether he was hearing his own footsteps or those of another. He could not feel easy until the path, which was old and little employed, disappeared and left him on an empty field again.

Up to this point Nobla had been Zan's guide, but when he came to a fork in the river he had to choose which branch to follow. Considering in his mind what Dael would have done, he decided to stay with the
branch on his own side. He followed it for a whole day, leaving the other stream far away. Yet he worried that he should perhaps have taken the other; the one he was on twisted and turned constantly, lengthening his journey. After a while it reduced to a slight flow and began to turn sharply toward the direction from which he had come. It was useless to follow it any more. Zan crossed the waning stream and resumed his approximate path across the featureless plain.

For two nights Zan built his fires from the sparsest materials and slept in ruts padded with grass. He wished he could be more comfortable, but he did not expect it here. His aim now was not to achieve comfort but to keep himself alive. That required water, food, and shelter—and a sharp eye against enemies. He began to regret that he had left the river, but when he awoke on the third morning a heavy dew had left the various grasses dripping with moisture and Zan was able to refresh himself. There was no food, however.

Zan knew that he had to find something to eat, but his need was not urgent. With any luck there would be seeds or berries along the way, and eventually he would kill a rabbit, which was stupid, or a possum, which was slow. It seemed to him as he progressed that the earth he tread on was almost alive, whispering to him, a stubborn and willful creature to be dealt with each day anew. For a long time the ground was perfectly flat; then suddenly the platform of the earth dropped off for several feet as if the entire prairie had caved in ages before and was trying ever since to recover itself. As further evidence of its freakish nature, there lay in a gorge ahead (dug by
who knew what invisible force) an enormous skeleton embedded in the ground. Zan climbed down to examine the mastodon, whose ribs and curling tusks, whitened by an age of suns, rose over his head and stood out against the empty sky.

Crouching slightly, Zan could fit within the hollow cage of its upward-pointing ribs, and was amused to enter when to his surprise a live animal waddled out of it! It was a porcupine with bristling needles, and Zan stepped out of its way, at the same time readying his spear and quickly finishing it off. He would have meat again, but to cook it required wood. Fortunately he saw a dead tree at the top of a rise, so he walked there to get some, then to eat, and to rest. From this higher level he could see for a considerable distance, mostly high grass, but in the very direction he had been heading he saw—what he had not seen for days—a winding row of trees. It looked as if he had found Nobla again—the fork he had not taken.

It was almost night when he approached the trees, but enough light remained to observe a strange circumstance. Every branch of every tree was covered, even to the lofty tops, with a broad-leafed vine. Late as it was, it was a ghostly sight. They were enveloped and almost swallowed by this invader, so that they looked more like dark green hills or mounds than trees with branches and leaves of their own. Zan was a little frightened at this unfamiliar sight, but Nobla was in all probability on the other side of it, so he pushed the vines aside and entered the cradled emptiness. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. With amazement he made out a spacious dome above supported by the now
visible branches—for looking up it was still a little light, whereas darkness surrounded him like smoke in the lower reaches of this sanctuary.

Zan decided to go no further. He leaned against the slightly sloping trunk of a sycamore and began to doze. He was profoundly tired and he would be safe here, hidden from stranger eyes. But was he mistaken or did he hear something rustling in the bed of fallen leaves? And now a whimpering sound! What was it? Startled and affrighted, Zan reached for his spear—and felt something warm. It was a human foot! Zan almost fainted when, as he grabbed the ankle, he heard a wild scream of fear. It was a child, judging by the voice and the smallness of the limb. Whatever or whoever it was, it continued to scream in sheer terror, as if a wild animal had seized it in its jaws and would certainly devour it alive.

It was absolutely dark now, and Zan, unable to see, and afraid to let the small being go for fear that it would bring others, grabbed the child in his arms and tried to comfort it. He gently hushed it, stroking the forehead soothingly and assuring the child that all would be well. The terrified child was trying to bite Zan, and it was a long time before Zan could calm the youngster and convince this intruder that there was no danger. Eventually the child slept, exhausted by the powerful emotions it had experienced, and Zan slept too.

Zan was awakened the next morning by the sound of the waif searching his sack for food. He looked at him for a moment, seeing that it was a boy about two years younger than himself. When the child became aware
of Zan's glance he was alarmed and darted off, but Zan caught him and again calmed him down, offering a piece of roasted meat left from the day before. The child, ugly, ragged and dirty, was hungry to the point of starvation. Zan tried to talk to him as he ate but the boy spoke a different language. Yet his speech was not so different from Zan's that he was impossible to understand at all. Indeed, Zan had at first thought the boy simply had difficulty speaking clearly. In time Zan was able to convey his own name and learn the other's, which sounded like “Rydl”. At first the lad had been reluctant to tell his name, as if it might give Zan power over him, but in time he came to trust Zan a little. It took a good deal of effort for either to make out anything the other said. Zan tried to tell him that he was in search of his twin brother, and to inquire whether he had seen him, but Rydl seemed unable to comprehend “twin,” and that was that.

This Zan did learn: that Rydl was of the wasp people, and lost for many days. At first he was a runaway, but when he had decided to return he had lost his sense of direction and traveled farther and farther from home. The poor fellow had stayed alive by eating insects—beetles, ants, and grasshoppers. Zan immediately determined to take the youngster with him. When he came to the land of the wasp men they might be more willing to receive and help him if he brought back a missing child. That would be better than a gift. Zan asked Rydl to point where he thought he had come from. With some uncertainty, Rydl pointed toward Zan's dwelling. No wonder he was lost!

As the traveler prepared to depart, his new companion lost his fear of him and trailed after his footsteps like
a puppy. Zan would have no trouble bringing the boy along. Zan had only a rough idea of his way, but that was more than Rydl could contribute, so Rydl followed Zan, a few paces behind. The young fellow did nothing but chatter, as if his long isolation and pent-up anxieties were terribly in need of release now that he felt out of danger. Zan could understand little of what he said, and even when the boy lagged well behind, and could not be heard anyway, still he talked and talked. Zan understood his need if not his speech, and was actually very glad to have company. He decided to attempt conversation, so he slowed down and allowed the lad to catch up with him. In a couple of days of travel across the grassland together, Zan could catch most of what was said because their languages were related—similar if not the same. Rydl was even quicker to pick up Zan's words, and as each tried to use the other's speech, they arrived at a workable mixture of their two languages.