Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  Mbasa turned away, hiding her disgust. “He stalks us, Rainbow.”

  “Well, here’s what we must do,” and then stopped, not knowing what he should say next. He wondered not for the first time what Xhosa would do.

  Mbasa huffed, mouth tightening as though reading his thoughts, which could be true. The female had instincts like no male Rainbow had ever known. “Xhosa would send scouts.”

  Rainbow snorted derisively. “I was going to suggest that.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” and Mbasa sent two scouts armed with spears and stones. They were never seen again and the line stranger continued to dog them.

  “Those were our best scouts.” Rainbow’s hand shook so he hid it under his armpit and then continued one-handed in what he hoped was an assertive, even arrogant, manner, “We must confront them.”

  He didn’t think that was the right response but it would force Mbasa to tell him what to do without it sounding like he asked for help.

  After a moment of thought, she motioned, “Xhosa and Nightshade both say a show of strength can be as effective as strength itself.”

  “Of course,” he responded, adding derision to his tone. “That’s obvious.”

  In fact, he had no idea what she meant. The warriors with him smelled of fear. How would they frighten anyone?

  “But we mustn’t antagonize him.”

  Her brows scrunched and her head cocked. “We need him to reveal his intentions.”

  “Don’t correct me, Mbasa. Send more scouts—

  “That will do no good! Our scouts aren’t trained well enough.” Her eyes flashed like sky fire.

  “I didn’t say scouts—warriors! They can fight back if threatened.” He involuntarily gulped. “Or we could ignore him. He does nothing menacing—”

  “Except hold his spear ready for battle while staring arrogantly at us. Oh, and there’s the problem of our two missing scouts.”

  She snorted. “I followed him last night back to his tribe. It is massive,” and she ticked off fingers over and over, indicating a group larger than the People had ever been even under Xhosa’s father.

  “How do you—never mind. Maybe they’re peaceful.”

  “When Nightshade discovered intruders that might have a legitimate reason to be in our territory, his scouts hid their weapons. For other intruders—like Pan-do’s People—Nightshade’s scouts carried warclubs and spears, to show a willingness to battle. This warrior carries a spear but retrieves his warclub only when out of sight.”

  “But why—”

  “They see us as invaders, Rainbow.”

  “We must show them we are friendly,” though how to do that, he didn’t know.

  Mbasa clamped her mouth shut to keep from spitting. “It is too late,” she motioned. “Our weakness has emboldened them.”

  Rainbow walked away, flapping his hands in a final order. “Tomorrow, send five of our best warriors. We will show our strength.”

  They too never returned. Mbasa stared at the crest of one of the sand hills, arms on her hips.

  “He is no longer alone.”

  PART FOUR: MIDDLE EAST

  The Many Become One

  850,000 years ago

  Chapter 37

  The Levant

  Xhosa awoke from the same dream of Lucy, evading yet another enemy determined to kill her. Her message last night to Xhosa: You will soon face a great adventure.

  Still blinking sleep away, a squeal announced another baby’s arrival. The constant walking pushed the pregnant females to deliver early. No babies so far survived.

  That was good. Xhosa couldn’t feed the existing mouths much less new ones.

  Pan-do tossed her a leg from a hare. She tore meat from bone and swallowed, so hungry chewing would be a waste of time, but not so oblivious she missed Pan-do’s shifting gaze, tense shoulders, and hand tightening on his spear.

  This must be about Nightshade.

  When her stomach felt less like a knot, she motioned, “What did he do?” The two males respected each other but that wasn’t the same as ‘like’.

  “I know you two are close—”

  “I trust him with my life, Pan-do,” she interrupted, hands firm. “My father hand-picked him.”

  Pan-do squatted and picked at the dirt. “I was hidden in the dark last night. He spoke with someone, questioning your leadership.”

  Xhosa glared at him through cool eyes. “You heard wrong.”

  “You know him well, and I am new—”

  “Yes, you are,” and left.

  How dare Pan-do try to come between Nightshade and herself. They had saved each other’s lives more times than fingers on her hand. Her band destroyed enemies, not each other.

  Nightshade motioned from well outside the group’s temporary camp. “Xhosa—here.”

  When she reached him, he pointed to footprints cut deeply into the ground, facing their camp. “Others scouts. They watched us most of last night.”

  “We will track them.”

  He touched her arm. “What did Pan-do want?”

  She scrutinized his tired face, lack of sleep barely dimming the strength. Mud streaked his forehead and cheeks from digging through bushes, his gaze its usual mix of curiosity and concern. The many scars collected during his tempestuous life warned of the powerful threat that lay within.

  Completely absent was deceit or guilt.

  “Nothing. Something about his People,” and then she motioned to Pan-do, “Watch the People.”

  She, Nightshade, and a handful of warriors trailed the Others over rugged bluffs and into scarred valleys where nothing could survive. After two hands of Sun’s travel, Nightshade motioned the warriors to halt while he and Xhosa quietly crawled up a slope and peered down at a deep canyon. Its high walls and the narrow valleys would carry the sound of feet, rocks tumbling downhill, or any other noise. Xhosa stilled her body, ears tweaked, but heard only bird voices and the occasional swish of Snake.

  Nightshade fingered indents left in the ground by spears. “They went into this valley.”

  The scent of moisture assaulted her. Sun felt warm but in the distance, the sky blackened.

  “We must return.”

  Before they got home, the storm hit with a vengeance. Thunder pounded and fire cut the sky. Water poured from her sodden hair, her head bowed to the driving wind, spear clenched, but her steps never slowed. When they reached the group, everyone sheltered against the cliff. The female who delivered this morning was empty-handed. The mother wanted no part of a new baby when she lacked energy for herself.

  Sun shone brightly the next day. Everyone had quenched their thirst with rain throughout the night but still licked the plants and rocks clean of their glistening dew. This may be the only water they found all day.

  Nightshade motioned, face fierce. “They are here again, watching. Leave the meat the hunters killed yesterday to show that we simply wish to pass through.”

  Despite the abandoned meat, Xhosa’s scalp tingled as they traveled. How to convince their followers that her People weren’t interested in this land. Everything was green and brown instead of tan and yellow and red. Rather than the expansive majesty of the baobab with its ready supply of food and water, they passed waist-high scrubbrush with thorns and no sap. In place of the tall swaying grass that hid her movements while announcing the presence of predators, brittle scratchy stalks made travel difficult and tasted like cattails. That explained the absence of Mammoth, Hipparion, and all of the mighty herds that fed predators and Uprights alike. She even missed Cat and her cousins who always guided the People to meat.

  Xhosa stopped to rest and crouched, staring, pleased when a string of Others lined up on the crest of a nearby hill.

  A foot scraped, Nightshade announcing his presence.

  Xhosa stabbed her spear into the ground. “I have a plan.”

  He nodded, understanding her intentions because he knew her well.

  “I go with you. Pan-do can lead the People.” After
a pause, he added, “I trust him.”

  They left the camp alone, knowing the Others would follow. Xhosa set a grueling pace, wanting the Others too exhausted to think clearly when she made her move. She crossed a stream, Nightshade steps behind, and plunged into the wasteland, smiling at the grunts and subdued hisses as those behind her struggled to keep up. The two sprinted up a hill and dropped below the bluff as though to descend but instead hid beneath the waist-high grass and waited.

  Nothing. No traveling feet, insect sounds, or the Others’ foreign scent. A quick bob of her head up told her why.

  “They wait below,” spears pointed down, faces passive. Her trick hadn’t fooled them. “I will talk to them.”

  Nightshade tried to dissuade her but failed so walked by her, his stocky frame shouting power, her taller lithe one fearless leadership. She forced a calm she didn’t feel to mask her nervousness. Her hair blew gently, covering her as a pelt would an animal.

  “Wait for me, Nightshade,” and she strode toward the one who must be the Leader. The Other matched her pace, pride in every step, until separated only by a spear-length.

  In the hand motions of her people, he spoke, “I am Koo-rag, of Koo-rag’s People. We know you flee Big Heads in search of a new homeland. If you try to stay here, we will kill you. You cannot hide. We know every crevice, every valley, every hill.”

  “We seek a new home where we are welcomed. Nothing more.”

  His shoulders relaxed, slightly.

  She motioned, “We come from down the Rift, following a path my father laid out long ago. We must cross the Endless Pond. Can you help us?”

  Koo-rag’s eyes lit with recognition and then he smiled. “I met your father as a youth. Even to one so young, he reeked of the stallion’s leadership, Leopard’s cleverness, and Snake’s power. I tell you as my father told yours, it can’t be crossed without a boat. You must go around, through the domain of the cannibals and then across a treacherous crocodile-infested river. Few survive but it seems your father did or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Cannibals? What are they?” And what is a boat?

  “Uprights who eat Uprights.”

  Xhosa twitched as though burned. “That can’t be.”

  “They are an abomination. They know you are here and would overrun you except for the protection I provide, to honor your father. You lose that when you leave my territory. Move quickly. Keep your weapons in hand, ready, and Sun to your strong side. Moon will disappear and reappear,” and he ticked off two fingers on one hand, “before you reach the Crocodile River. Cross it carefully. The cannibals will not follow.”

  “How will I know the cannibals?”

  “Their stench is nothing like you or me.” He examined her. “I look for a pairmate.”

  When Nightshade bristled, Koo-rag crossed his arms over his chest. “He is your pairmate?” In answer, Nightshade stepped forward and tightened his fingers on his spear.

  “Alright. Go,” but Xhosa didn’t move, too confused to turn away.

  “My father, you knew him?”

  “I see he didn’t tell you. My People were engaged in a deadly clash with these cannibals. They had gathered a huge force thinking so many warriors could overwhelm us. We would be dead without your father and his warriors.”

  He concentrated on something in the distance. “He told us you would come. We wanted to repay his help with food but he asked instead that we assist you.”

  She waited for more but he seemed finished.

  “Thank you, Koo-rag. My father shared nothing of his travel, just told us to follow the cairns.”

  As Nightshade tugged her to go, Koo-rag asked, “Did some from your group go toward Sun’s sleeping nest?” When Xhosa nodded, he continued. “They are in trouble, trailed by both Others and Big Heads. They are sloppy and undisciplined, not worthy of your father’s reputation. Once these enemies realize that you and Nightshade are not with them, they will be demolished.”

  Xhosa grunted and waved her hand dismissively. “They are led by a young warrior named Rainbow who refused to follow the plan laid out by my father. I am no longer responsible for them.”

  The next day was the hottest yet. Xhosa tied her mane in a knot and let it bounce against her neck as they traveled under the comforting protection of Koo-rag’s People. The travel was grueling, over hills, down and up gullies, with no meat other than snakes, scorpions, birds, slugs, and plants. Nightshade sent scouts, hoping to discover a way across Endless Pond despite Koo-rag’s advice, but they shook their heads. The People settled into a grim-faced trudge. Moon grew and shrank. The elders reminded anyone who would listen of long ago times when the People migrated often.

  When Koo-rag’s people disappeared, a different tribe—probably the cannibals—replaced them. Xhosa quickened the pace which made the males wary and the females and children fretful. Only Pan-do remained upbeat. He walked with the females, carrying their children while Lyta rode on his shoulders. He offered Xhosa a smile, a nod, but kept his distance. She said nothing to Nightshade about what Pan-do told her. Undoubtedly he lied but why had he told her?

  Chapter 38

  Since Xhosa refused to recognize Nightshade’s treachery, Pan-do must separate from her. If Nightshade took control of the increasingly disgruntled band, Pan-do’s People would suffer. Where Xhosa generally listened to Pan-do’s advice, Nightshade ignored it and that bode poorly for his People.

  For some reason, Lyta begged him to stay.

  “Across the Crocodile River, we will meet one called Seeker who will be my pairmate. None of this can happen without Xhosa. Please be patient.”

  His daughter’s visions often were right so he listened.

  For the present.

  Xhosa slowed, letting the travelers pass until Shadow reached her.

  “Your cough sounds worse, Shadow. The stems I gave you no longer help?”

  Her supple skin, once a vibrant brown, looked pale and drawn. Her breathing was always labored and the imprint of her bones etched her body.

  After a violent outburst of wet hacking, she croaked, “I am fine. I won’t hold you up, Leader.” Another long cough but this time, her hand came away from her mouth bloody.

  “When did this start?”

  “When the Big Heads struck. One male tried to snatch my child but I pushed him away. He laughed and then started coughing. Blood speckled me. When he bent over, I fled. Soon after, I started coughing and bleeding like him. How can that be?”

  Xhosa considered this before shaking her head. “Don’t cough on anyone, Shadow.” She handed her a hard root. “Eat this. It may keep you alive until I find a better solution.”

  “I will do anything. My child needs me,” and her head notched up a bit as Xhosa left.

  Despite the brave words, Xhosa worried about Shadow. She had been one of the growing group of females interested in the warrior skills but quit because of her cough. Treating it required purple berries or the pounded bark of a certain tree or furry stems of some flowers, none of which Xhosa had seen. Soon, the female would be out of time.

  Long wisps of white clouds like cattail fur floated across the blue sky the next morning. It was good weather for what she must do.

  “Nightshade. Lead the People. I must find a plant for Shadow and will catch up.”

  “Our scouts are not back from last night.” His voice carried an unusual edge of worry. “It may not be safe. Pan-do and I will join you.”

  Nightshade motioned to Snake, Pan-do to Sa-mo-ke, Take over. Xhosa didn’t know Sa-mo-ke well but Snake got his name because he was as quiet as snake, often surprising prey before they smelled him. This skill, he had taught Sa-mo-ke soon after the two fought each other. Both were never anything but brave, reliable, and loyal.

  Xhosa rubbed dirt into her skin as did Nightshade and Pan-do before trekking down a well-used animal path. After evading the Uprights-who-may-be-cannibals, Xhosa found the plant Shadow needed and filled her neck sack while Nightshade and Pan-do hid. Finished, she
rejoined them. Nightshade pointed toward the Uprights. They stood listlessly, eyes darting over the horizon for a finger of Sun’s movement, and then left.

  “They lost us and will return to their homebase. We can follow.”

  Within a hand of Sun’s travel, the Uprights arrived at what must be their homebase. Males, females, and children worked energetically preparing food, knapping stones, and other activities Xhosa recognized but this group was much larger than the People.

  Xhosa motioned, “Food must be plentiful to support so many.”

  Nightshade jerked. “Do you smell that?”

  She sniffed in an odor like honey poured on a rotting carcass. “What animal stinks like this?”

  “Upright meat. I have smelled it in brushfires. These must be the cannibals Koo-rag warned of. Look there,” and he pointed below.

  Xhosa’s face hardened and she pressed her lips together to keep from snarling. There, in a bloody pile, lay the remains of the People’s scouts who hadn’t returned this morning, only recognizable by the thick frizzy hair plastered tightly to their heads, nothing like the Upright’s longer kinky hair. A female sliced a chunk off the scout’s thigh and chewed as though it were a piece from Pig. Xhosa gagged.

  As though on command, the Uprights gathered in the clearing around a pile of dry tree limbs. Someone touched the pile with a fire stick and it burst into flames. No one moved away or seemed frightened.

  Pan-do motioned, “They control fire, just as the Big Heads did.”

  For a finger of Sun’s travel, the trio crouched, so still the insects resumed their chirps. As the adults muttered strange noises to each other, the children played a familiar activity called the Running Game. Youngsters in every tribe Xhosa ever visited played this. One child was prey and the others, predators. The prey child dodged and swerved as the predators chased him. In this way, they learned to be fleet of foot.

  More Uprights straggled in, this time dragging a female and a child.