Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  Nightshade motioned, "We strike before they do—”

  Xhosa shook her head. "We enter their homeland in peace."

  "I agree," Pan-do interjected. "Besides, these may be scouts for a larger group."

  Nightshade glared at Pan-do. "No one can prevent us from settling here." He slammed his warclub into his palm, eyes gleaming and muscles bulging in preparation. Above him, clouds sailed, frightening shapes that promised more rain. The pummeling wind wrapped Xhosa in damp cold.

  Her father when young would agree with Nightshade but the older experienced Leader would try peace first.

  Xhosa motioned, "We watch how they live. Maybe there is room for us.”

  Nightshade stared at the ground to hide his irritation, clenching and unclenching his fists. Lyta cringed and scooted closer to Pan-do.

  Xhosa let her face soften and placed a hand on Nightshade’s arm. “There has been enough hostility.”

  He blinked and nodded tautly.

  Xhosa and Nightshade returned to the caves while Pan-do remained to observe the Uprights. He would howl coyote’s call if anything changed.

  By the time they reached the cave, dark clouds covered the morning sky and a punishing wind again whipped the land. Children stayed in the warmth of the caves while females collected roots and stems from the surrounding area. Subadults caught rats and birds and added them to the communal meal. Everyone worked silently, not wanting the Others to find them.

  Snake and Sa-mo-ke relieved Pan-do on the bluff overlooking the Others. Rather than rest, Pan-do built a natural stone barrier in front of the caves and showed the People how to sleep far enough from the opening to be invisible. Stone and Ant relieved Snake and Sa-mo-ke who were themselves relieved by Pan-do and young Bone, thrilled to do the job of a scout. Much later, Xhosa and Nightshade took their turn, lying invisibly in the waist-high grass, watching the field below. When Sa-mo-ke and Snake relieved them, Xhosa ate, groomed Nightshade, and then slept.

  Sun was not even a muted glow when Xhosa awoke. She hadn’t slept well, wondering if the Others would be trouble, if her People could stop running, and if choosing peace over violence was the right decision. Spear in hand, neck sack loaded with edibles and cutters, she snuck to the bluff. Nightshade and Pan-do were already there.

  The sounds of the Others reached her before they came into view—brash hissing voices and out-of-place snarls. Below, they brandished spears at two odd-looking strangers. The new Uprights—or they could be Others; there was no way to tell yet—cowered, spears aimed up, trying to avoid a confrontation with the burly warriors. Both had smaller heads than the Others in front of them but broader faces, probably to accommodate their over-large mouths. On top of their heads was a ridge like the summit of a mountain from where all things go down, and at the back above their necks was an odd bump, something like the one Big Heads had below their mouths.

  One of the newcomers moaned. He was huge, wider and taller than any of Xhosa’s warriors, shoulders massive, legs like tree trunks, hands the size of Cat’s paws. Battling him would be like a flea trying to bite Wild Beast. Even Stone would be dwarfed.

  The other newcomer was the scrawniest Other Xhosa had ever seen. A pelt hung from his waist and covered his dangling parts. His forehead was broad and smooth, topped by a pronounced brow ridge. One thigh dripped puss from a deep gash. It must hurt but you wouldn’t know by looking at him. Balancing on his good leg, he spun in circles, oblivious to the melee around him. Scrawny One’s head tilted up, a smile across his face, limping a dizzying circle, arms out. He halted facing the hill where Xhosa hid and focused to her side.

  “He sees me.”

  Xhosa jerked. Lyta. A sparkling smile, unusual for the girl, fixed on Scrawny One.

  They’d been discovered.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” but Xhosa’s motions lacked their usual bite. Would Scrawny One let the Leader know they were there?

  She couldn’t risk it. “I’ll talk to them,” but Pan-do held her in place.

  “They are waiting for someone.”

  Scrawny One showed no sign of giving away their presence so she crouched down to watch the drama unfold below.

  Scrawny One made a noise that could only be described as a giggle and then pivoted to his friend, Massive One, the male’s enormous breasts bobbing as he tried with awkward steps to match his friend’s fluid movements. He carried an immense sack that would bow any other male but danced as though the burden was nothing more than feathers.

  A growl startled Xhosa. A wolf sauntered out of the heavy brush and padded toward Massive One. Though still growing into massive paws, it reached Massive One’s hips. Its blue eyes shining, head twisting between Massive One and Scrawny One, it seemed to wait for a command. At a slight nod from Massive One, it bared its fangs at the strangers across the clearing and then serenely sat on its haunches.

  Nightshade motioned, “Anyone who controls a wolf will frighten these Others.”

  Xhosa flattened herself, silent and unblinking, one with the earth, No one except Scrawny One had detected her, so occupied were they with their disagreement.

  Nightshade scowled. To him, careful was weak. “We can’t wait any longer. We can take all of them before whoever they await arrives.”

  “And what of the wolf?”

  Nightshade huffed, clenching his fists, and didn’t respond.

  Xhosa didn’t want more hostility or to take what another tribe depended upon. She wanted a new home for her People, one plentiful enough to feed everyone who lived there.

  Another warrior arrived, a skin covering his chest and flowing down his arms. He strode proudly, head up, muscles bulging but spear down. The circle opened and he locked onto Scrawny One and Massive One as his warriors chanted, “Hawk! Hawk! Hawk!”

  The male named Hawk wove through his warriors, eyes on the odd Others, stutter-stepping when he noticed the wolf. He stopped in front of the strangers, clear-eyed, self-reliant, and unafraid. A Leader revealed a lot about himself in his face and how he walked. This Leader was exceptional.

  She straightened her shoulders, avoided the grab from Nightshade, and moved down the hill, never taking her eyes from Hawk, spear snugly in hand but directed down. Her scalp tingled and her vision grew vivid. Something inside of her grew larger, harder, faster, and stronger. Behind her, as though she could see them, the People’s warriors gathered along the bluff, limned against the sky. Their skin would shine with power, muscles bulging, faces fierce. Nightshade would be standing at the center, shorter but with such command, no one doubted his leadership.

  Hawk tensed at the unexpected sight of her marching slowly down the hill but didn’t hide his intrigue that a female would approach while the warriors remained out of spear range. He matched her stride and paused only when close enough to impale her if needed, as she could him. His posture remained straight, face impassive. Beyond the slight curl of his lips, he gave no indication of his thoughts.

  Xhosa’s chest tightened and her skin prickled. With a flick of her hand, Pan-do stood, Lyta with him, gaze locked on Scrawny One and his on her.

  “Who are you?” Hawk’s motions included familiar Other’s words of welcome.

  “I am Xhosa, Leader of the People,” and waved a hand through the air. “We seek a new home.”

  “You are not from here. We know all the tribes. You crossed Crocodile River?” His motions morphed from respect to anger. “You are cannibals!”

  “No!” Xhosa answered abruptly.

  “But you came from their land?”

  “They tried to stop us but couldn’t.”

  Hawk looked confused, waited for her to say more, which she didn’t, and then motioned, “No one can cross Crocodile River.” His hands moved softly but hinted at hardness. It made her trust him.

  “Neither one could stop us. I will explain all of it at another time, if necessary.”

  Hawk blinked, trying but failing to hide his shock, and something else—the respect of one Leader for another who
accomplished the impossible. Xhosa guessed few survived the Crocodile River. She studied him. Everything about Hawk—the alert eyes, hands that were still and relaxed as her father’s would be when negotiating—spoke of energy and leadership.

  “We would like to rest here. A groupmember is sick.”

  Hawk blinked before answering. “You may.” He gestured toward Nightshade. “Your warrior. Is he peaceful as you are?”

  “He is my Lead Warrior. We are loyal to each other.”

  Hawk grunted. “He may hunt with us, provide your food.”

  From behind him came a voice. “We too are hungry, Leader Hawk. We will cause no problems.”

  The Massive One moved toward Xhosa, the wolf at his side. He stood as tall as Xhosa but without her grace and lightness. Xhosa sucked in a breath trying to keep her face impassive.

  The he was a she.

  “I am Zvi. Seeker and I have traveled many moons,” and he ticked off all fingers on both hands. Xhosa wanted to shake her head. That was impossible. How could two such as these survive so long alone?

  “This is our companion, Spirit. We are pack.” The wolf wagged its tail and panted, but remained attentive.

  Zvi indicated Scrawny One. “Seeker would like to meet Lyta, the one who drew us here.”

  Spirit shook flies from his eyes and ears and then huffed.

  Before Pan-do could stop her, Lyta raced down the hill, pulling up a shadow’s length from Seeker. The boy bounced, head cocked, as though performing for Lyta.

  “She will do.” He moved closer to Lyta and sniffed as she did him. Both traced each other’s hand movements without touching. Xhosa prepared to intervene but Pan-do touched her shoulder.

  “Lyta dreamt of the boy Seeker. He comes from far away, seeking the stars and a new home. She promises I need not worry when they are together.”

  Seeker faced Pan-do. “The ones you know as Big Heads call the wolf a spirit. He frightens them. Without wolf, we would be dead. He will take care of Lyta and I. And Zvi. And you. And all your people.”

  Hawk shook his head and motioned to Xhosa. “This one—Seeker—makes no sense. Nor does his companion Zvi. You take them,” and left, pelt swirling against his body, motioning without looking at her, “Eat with us, Female Leader named Xhosa, with your people. And the odd ones. After food, we will know if you stay.”

  Hawk disappeared into the mist.

  Chapter 42

  Lyta walked with the newcomers, her rapt attention on Seeker as he bounced from one spot to the next, steps as flighty as a bee searching for pollen. Zvi plodded at Lyta’s side, eyes also on Seeker, a bright smile never leaving his face. Spirit pranced among the group, sniffing deeply and offering the occasional huff.

  Xhosa motioned to Nightshade, “What did you think of Hawk?”

  Nightshade snorted. “Tell him we claim this land, Xhosa. It must be ours.” His words carried an unusual hint of reproach.

  How best to explain her need for a peaceful home, one built on trust and cooperation, not enforced by bloodshed?

  “Hawk respects that we survived the cannibals and crocodiles. That’s a good start, Nightshade. We will eat with him, observe his leadership, his people, and decide if he would be an asset to us. Having an ally makes us stronger. Never again could Big Heads defeat us.”

  Nightshade growled toward the newcomers. “We are saddled with these weaklings. Zvi is slow and Seeker a child—”

  “What child travels with a wolf? And one with blue eyes?”

  The ancient female Lucy traveled with a wolf who considered her pack. Xhosa couldn’t ignore the similarity but she had never spoken to Nightshade about her dreams and wouldn’t now.

  Nightshade scrutinized the three. “If I saw two travelers with a wolf, I might leave them be.”

  “I suspect that’s why Hawk has made no decision.”

  “How does this involve Pan-do’s odd daughter Lyta?”

  “Lyta saw Seeker in a dream as he did her.”

  When the People reached their caves, Xhosa ordered the food they had harvested be returned to Hawk which made Nightshade furious.

  “We will starve!”

  “We took his meat. We show our respect for his leadership by giving it back. Besides, he promised to include you in the next hunt.”

  Zvi came over. “When you are ready, Spirit knows the way to Hawk.”

  “When was the wolf at his camp?”

  “Spirit will track the Leader’s smell.”

  As they prepared to leave, a warrior Xhosa recognized from Hawk’s People showed up. His alert black eyes darted through the People, finally settling on Xhosa. He strode toward her despite the warriors surrounding her. Something in his stride made it clear he feared none of them, not even her Lead Warrior. Without looking, she smelled Nightshade’s wrath, heard his hands tighten on his spear.

  “I am Water Buffalo, Lead Warrior of the Hawk People. I will take you to our homebase.”

  Spirit sniffed Water Buffalo and slowly wagged his tail. Xhosa sniffed too. The male smelled of fear but no danger.

  She motioned, “Thank you.”

  Arms loaded with meat, plants, roots, seeds, and berries, Xhosa’s People, the two strangers, and Spirit traipsed over hills, through valleys and marshlands, and past more waterholes than Xhosa thought existed. Seeker talked nonstop with Lyta about why the ground swelled and dipped and how he’d seen this moons ago when he and Zvi and Spirit traveled in a lightly-forested area. The boy took no time to breathe or listen. Nor did he require answers. Lyta absorbed every word, even when Seeker faded into what could only be described as gibberish. The Lyta Xhosa knew never listened so long, so intently, without clicking her fingers or echoing words or humming.

  Pan-do motioned to his daughter. “Is everything alright?”

  Lyta’s face lit up. “Seeker—he knows so much. Do you hear? He is amazing.”

  Pan-do shook his head, apparently like Xhosa, hearing only babble.

  As Sun dropped to its sleeping nest, the air’s warmth plummeted. Xhosa refused to shiver but ached for Spirit’s fur coat, wondering if Seeker and Zvi slept close to him at night.

  By the time their destination appeared in the distance, she was eager for whatever warmth Hawk’s caves held. The Leader walked toward them giving no indication what he thought of her massive group laden with food. Even Spirit dragged a huge leg bone.

  He motioned, “You have been busy.”

  Xhosa dipped her head. “We are good hunters.”

  His gaze caressed her glistening hair, long and smooth as it draped to her waist. He petted it, surprised.

  “It is soft.”

  When Hawk’s penis straightened, Nightshade growled. Xhosa ignored it, used to Leaders trying to exert ownership.

  She involuntarily shivered in the cool air, snugging her hair around her body. Hawk fingered the sack around her neck. “You show us how to make these, we show how skins can keep you warm.”

  He started toward a cave nestled into the cliff wall. “We live there—”

  He fell silent, a strange look on his face, something between worry and fury.

  “What’s wrong, Leader Hawk?” Xhosa asked. She saw nothing other than a well-hidden cave invisible to trespassers.

  “The fire—” But he stopped. A subadult sprinted to him, breathless, frightened. The thoughtful, open-minded Leader switched to one who was fierce, indomitable—and furious.

  “Leader Hawk.” The subadult’s hands shuffled to a stop at the look on his Leader’s face and his body trembled so fiercely, his teeth chattered. What could cause such abject fear?

  “Speak!” Hawk yelled, though his anger said he knew what was coming.

  “The f-fire...” The subadult’s hands shook so they stuttered as he spoke.

  Hawk clenched his fists and forced his arms to his sides. “How did it happen?”

  The boy dipped his head, gazed at his feet, shrugging. “The fire tender…” was all he could get out before breaking down.

 
; “Go.” Hawk’s command relayed the fury his words didn’t.

  “What’s on fire, Hawk? I can cover it with dirt or a boulder if it is small, or help you flee.”

  “It’s what’s not on fire,” he spit out and then shook his head and fluttered his hand in apology. “Ours died.”

  “Fire is inside the cave? Why?”

  He gawped at her. “You don’t use fire?”

  “We know grass fires and forest fires. The Big Heads used fire to chase us from our homeland.”

  “Yes, we use it to funnel animals but not against enemies. You must tell me more about this.” He hesitated, and then motioned, “But how do you stay warm?”

  “It is not this cold where we came from.”

  “What about safety?”

  Her mind raced, trying to connect safety and fire, but got nothing. “What?”

  “Animals avoid fire so we build one at the front of the cave.”

  “How do you get it here?” This made no sense.

  “When a fire burns, we grab it with a torch.” When he saw her confusion, he clarified, “a tree limb that will burn long enough to reach our cave. Subadults stay by the fire pit all day and all night to be sure the flame never goes out.”

  Was fire like the People? It must eat constantly?

  Seeker approached, steps quiet, arms hanging. “I can help.”

  Xhosa had not seen the boy so calm, nor his words so clear.

  Hawk jolted to attention. “How?”

  Zvi answered for his friend. “As we traveled, we noticed that knapping tools with certain stones—not all—produced a tiny flame.”

  Xhosa had detected this also.

  “But they were impossible to capture so we continued, without fire.”

  She pulled two stones from her neck sack. “One of the tribes showed us how to stones create fire. You need a special firestone, like this, and a striker stone.”

  She collected tinder and, hovering her hands over the pile, struck the stones again. And again and again. Over and over. Zvi never stopped, nor did her face reflect discouragement or defeat. After so many handfuls of tries, Xhosa ran out of fingers, a flame burst forth in the debris.