Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  She did. Shadow was her responsibility. Nightshade glanced her direction, unconcerned. Lyta trailed after Seeker and his large friend Zvi, going with Snake and a mix of males toward Fire Mountain. At Lyta’s side, his head up to her chest, was the blue-eyed wolf, ears perked, nose twitching, keeping pace with these new members of his pack. Pan-do watched them go, relaxed, maybe because Spirit would guard his daughter?

  There was much to learn from these new people.

  Hawk was almost out of sight, hidden in a crevasse similar to Xhosa’s Rift. He paid her no attention, head constantly moving, nose flaring. His face spoke of wisdom with his world, trusting while not trusting.

  They arrived at a pristine pond and stopped by a healthy sapling.

  Hawk motioned, “We will make a spear and attach the stone tip used by your enemy Big Head.”

  Xhosa furrowed her brow. “I don’t know how, nor do you.”

  “We can figure it out.”

  Xhosa studied the tree. Green wood weapons didn’t last long but this one was supple and straight. Good spears had been fashioned out of worse.

  Hawk pulled an unusual chopper from his neck sack. One end curved exactly as her People’s did but the other end wrapped in a pelt. This allowed Hawk to grab it without blooding his hand. He chopped down the sapling and cut it to his height, which was Xhosa’s height. Next, he smoothed the nodes and twigs and scraped away the bark from the spot where he would grip it. That done, he flattened the tip and handed it to her.

  “Now we attach the stone.”

  Xhosa thought about the Big Heads’ spears and then dug into her sack for a palm-sized hand axe, one end whittled to a point and the other flat. Using a thin sinew from around her neck, she snugged the stone against the spear tip and wrapped until the tendon completely covered both.

  This was close to a Big Head spear so she lifted it above her shoulder, balanced, and threw it into a tree stump. The tip fell off on contact.

  Hawk picked the pieces up and rotated them, head cocked, gaze intense. “We should split the top of the spear and push the stone into the notch.”

  Hawk chopped into the end of the spear, forced the stone into the groove, and then wrapped the shaft with a tendon from the top of the groove to the bottom. This time, when thrown, the spear embedded deep into a tree stump, the tip remaining firmly connected to the shaft.

  Hawk’s eyes lit up and Xhosa wanted to shout but controlled herself. Still, between the two floated the meaty satisfaction of solving a problem together. Xhosa’s belly tingled all the way to her neck. To cover it, she sucked up a mouthful of water and swished it slowly around in her mouth.

  Hawk drank his fill and then speared fish for a meal. What they didn’t eat, they stuffed into their sacks and then continued the search for the healing herb. They stayed on the pond’s bank, now and then splashing through sedge beds. With Sun well over their heads, they arrived at a river. Sunlight glinted off its rippled surface as it curled over the land.

  “The plant lives across.”

  As Xhosa flitted between excitement they were almost there and concern about crossing, he pointed out a bigger danger than the river’s depth and width: a waterfall.

  Her excitement melted away. “There’s nowhere to cross.”

  Hawk headed to a tree the thickness of his waist that straddled the gorge. Xhosa had seen it and dismissed it, thinking it had fallen there in a storm.

  Hawk tied his spear and warclub across his back and wrapped a fat tendon over the trunk. He grabbed it with both hands, crossed his legs over the log, and shuttled across, face up to the sky, oblivious to the raging water and sharp boulders below.

  Xhosa gasped. Falling meant death. If he somehow survived, he would tumble downstream and over the waterfall. If that too didn’t kill him, who knows what waited at the bottom.

  Falling was not an option and he didn’t fall. He wasn’t even winded as he reached the other side and motioned her forward.

  She hesitated, eyeing the narrow trunk and the treacherous rocks. Hawk shouted something, muffled by the roar of the roiling river but clearly telling her to hurry. She smiled to hide her fear but suspected it was more grimace than joy. After securing her spear to her back, she looped a tendon over the log as Hawk did, crossed sweat-slick ankles over it, and moved out. One shaking hand at a time, her body hanging over nothing but air, only tendons and a tree trunk—and her trust in Hawk—stood between her and a painful death. Her gaze locked onto the fluffy clouds above, not the maelstrom below, and then her eyes closed, preferring to hear and not see.

  Her foot slipped. Trying to swing it back over the log dislodged the other. Only her hands prevented her from dropping.

  “Sling your leg over the log!” Hawk’s bark was calm but insistent.

  “I don’t need you to tell me that,” she growled to herself as both legs regained their hold and her slow journey continued, foot by foot. Her arms burned, her legs ached, and her hands bled from slivers shoved deep into her palms and fingers. Her neck throbbed from the effort to keep her head up.

  When her feet hit solid ground, Hawk grunted and jogged to a pool by the chasm. His back to her, he drank deeply and then trotted off. It took a moment before Xhosa stopped shaking and another to let her breath calm and the pounding in her chest slow. She slaked her thirst and then trotted after Hawk, not looking forward to crossing this chasm again on the way home.

  When she caught up, he was digging up a drooping dry plant. Attached to the roots were tiny bulbs.

  “Mulch this and give it to Shadow every day. If it doesn’t work quickly, let her die. The burden of a sick female is not the responsibility of my People nor yours.”

  When Xhosa collected as much as her neck sack would hold, leaving enough to regrow for future harvests, she speared a hare and they settled to eat.

  “You are a good Leader, Hawk. I suspect you are a formidable warrior but you balance this with compassion.”

  Hawk’s face softened. “I hope I lead well and with respect. My People are loyal and we are rarely challenged.”

  They ate in companionable silence. As they prepared to leave, Hawk put a hand on her arm. “I have met many Leaders, as I am sure you have. They either meet my gaze or look elsewhere. Which it is tells me all I need to know about whether they will be friend or foe. You Xhosa, are a friend.

  “I’m not sure about your Lead Warrior.”

  Hawk joined a long line of leaders who doubted Nightshade.

  She motioned, “I know him my entire life. My father hand-picked him to lead our People. Be patient. He will be worth it.”

  “How are you the Leader if Nightshade was ordained?”

  Xhosa offered a blank gaze. “That story is complicated.”

  “Is he your pairmate?”

  This surprised Xhosa. She looked away, trying to determine his meaning. Hawk hadn’t mentioned a pairmate or child of his own. One female—Clear River—tried to join him after his loss to Pan-do but he brushed her away. Xhosa fidgeted, trying to decide the best answer, and picked honesty.

  “There is no time. Nightshade deserves better. And you—is it Clear River?”

  She’d seen Nightshade eying this female. He liked to mate with the mates of other Leaders but not pairmate.

  Hawk shook his head. “Your Lead Warrior is welcome to her.”

  The trek back went quicker and the log not nearly as frightening. She could see herself soon scampering across with Hawk’s confidence. As they passed the last clearing before the final homeward trek, Xhosa heard the pad of paws over dry tinder.

  “Cat stalks us.”

  Hawk grunted and continued without looking.

  When Cat emitted a hungry growl, Xhosa added, “It sounds unfriendly.”

  “So am I.”

  The predator advanced toward them, crouched low, one step at a time. Xhosa smelled not only feral Cat but milk. A quick glance and she discovered tiny balls of fur poorly hidden in a grass hollow.

  “She wants to feed her cubs.
”

  Hawk ignored her.

  When they entered a boulder bed, Cat’s claws scratched against stone. After a breath, her ears peeked over a boulder ahead of them.

  Xhosa motioned, “We go around,” but Hawk shook his head.

  “Wait here,” and he moved away, as though oblivious to Cat’s presence. Only the tightened grip on his spear and warclub told Xhosa he prepared.

  Instead of waiting as ordered, she joined Hawk, spear ready, attention on Cat. Or rather, her ears. A growled purr announced Cat’s intention.

  Before Hawk could react, Xhosa yelled, “If you attack, Cat, Hawk will kill you and your kits will starve.”

  Xhosa tossed the remains of their hare toward the cubs. Mother watched, nose twitching, and then turned back to her prey. Hawk roared in a voice that would scare mammoth and stared into Cat’s eyes. The feline shook her head and fled. Xhosa stared, stunned, panting as sweat prickled her forehead, proud of Hawk’s raw courage, honored to be with him.

  Hawk continued as though nothing happened.

  Hawk never watched even anyone bravely face down danger as Xhosa did. She hung from the slippery log where some of his own warriors wouldn’t. She smelled mother’s milk, located the cubs, and created a plan that protected their lives without wasting the mother. Xhosa would be an asset to his People.

  Chapter 44

  Hawk returned to his camp and Xhosa to hers. Pelts lay in the clearing, one for each family. Unlike the one Xhosa wore, these smelled like rotting carrion. The females were settled in the shade, moving as the shadows lengthened, scraping the inside of the skins to remove the spoiled remnants of meat and sinew that would attract the white worms.

  Nightshade hurried to her. “We harvested firestones as well as hard rocks for choppers, cutters, cleavers, flakes, and hand axes.” He motioned wide-eyed, just noticing her stone-tipped spear. “Did you run into Big Heads?”

  “No. I will show you later how to attach a hand axe to the spear. Let everyone know we will join Hawk’s People for the meal.” She ignored his curious look and headed toward Shadow.

  The female bent over a skin like the others but looked up at Xhosa’s scent.

  “Pan-do gave this to me.”

  Xhosa ignored her. That was none of her business.

  “Eat this,” and handed her the healing plant Hawk had found.

  Shadow tried to smile at the noxious taste but it ended as a grimace.

  “Thank you. If not for you and Siri, I would die. What would my son do?”

  Xhosa suspected Shadow knew the answer to that. Many among the People would willingly help a child. They were the future.

  As she rose to leave, Spirit tore into camp and raced toward Nightshade. The Lead Warrior yanked his spear up causing Spirit to whine and sprint to Lyta. He pawed her chest, mouthing her hand as though to pull her, and growled in wolfspeak. The girl stiffened as Spirit pivoted toward the open field. Just outside of the clearing, he reversed direction and fixed his blue eyes on first Lyta and then Nightshade. The wolf was more agitated than Xhosa had ever seen him, pads dark with mud, fur saturated with the smell of pig, and something red stuck to the top of his head.

  “Where are your minders,” Nightshade snarled, spear still at the ready.

  Lyta batted it away. “Don’t hurt him! He is asking that we follow him.”

  Xhosa jerked her head around, searching. “Has anyone seen Zvi and Seeker?”

  Spirit bounced, paws slamming the ground, tail tucked, hackles up.

  Shadow motioned, “They were about to show us how to use the firestones when Spirit ran off and they chased him.”

  Lyta tugged at Xhosa. “They need help. Spirit would not leave them if not for trouble. Please!”

  Spirit howled, sprinted away and then loped back to Xhosa, howled again and ran again.

  Xhosa clutched her spear as memories of Big Heads drawing her warriors away so they could invade the homebase swirled through her head.

  Pan-do crouched in front of his daughter. “We will find them.” He held her shoulders but that did nothing to stop her shaking.

  Xhosa motioned, “Stay, Pan-do. If this is a distraction, you must defend our People. Tell Snake and Sa-mo-ke to be prepared! If Nightshade and I don’t reappear soon, warn Hawk.” She faced Spirit who pranced impatiently, tongue hanging. “Take us to Seeker and Zvi, Spirit!”

  Without another word, Xhosa and Nightshade dashed after Spirit. He sped forward, leaping over crevices and plunging into grass beds. No unfamiliar smells wafted across her path but the silence—of the birds and insects—could only mean they sensed a threat. She should move cautiously but the frantic wolf wouldn’t run slower than a full-out sprint.

  Shadows stole over the foothills. Coyote whined plaintively, frogs croaked, and Owl hooted. The night hunters were already out. Ahead was a sprawling tree that must be Spirit’s destination, its leaves rustling in the cooling breeze.

  At the base circled one of the largest pigs Xhosa had ever seen. It was taller than Spirit and stretched wider than the tree. It pawed the trunk leaving deep gouges in the supple bark, snorting, its horn glistening red in the fading light.

  Beneath the tree was a bloody pool the size of Xhosa’s hand.

  With a throaty growl, Spirit tackled the surprised pig, pulling away before the deadly tusk stabbed him.

  “Spirit!” Xhosa barked. “You are no match for this monster. You did your part leading us here. We will take over.”

  She patted his head and made a shooing motion which the wolf ignored. His neck bristled, bared fangs gleaming, saliva dripping as he continued a throaty growl.

  From the leafy boughs, a voice called, “Ah. Spirit brought you. Of course. Don’t worry, friends. We are both fine,” Seeker waved, chewing on a root, seemingly unconcerned.

  “Seeker.” Zvi. “We’re treed by a massive pig who prefers to eat us than allow escape.”

  Zvi shared little of her friend’s peacefulness, probably to do with the leaf around her foot that dripped blood.

  “Is it painful, Zvi?” It looked bad to Xhosa—long and jagged, cutting the skin to the white tissue beneath.

  The bulky female shrugged. “I climbed too slowly,” and with her size, not often either.

  Spirit flapped his ears and spread his legs with a glare that asked, “What’s the plan, pack?”

  Nightshade motioned to Xhosa, “You go that way.”

  Spirit huffed, announcing his intention to join them, and the group separated, now covering more sides than the pig could see. The hunter became the hunted.

  With everyone in position, Spirit raced in and nipped the pig’s hoof, his reward a bruising kick. The wolf flew backward, crashing upside down with a whine, and tumbled to his paws as Xhosa loosed her spear. It lodged in Pig’s shoulder. Not a death strike but painful enough to enrage the beast. It snorted, forgetting the assailants in its desperation to bite lose the spear. With a thunk, Nightshade’s spear pierced the pig’s throat, protruding like a heavy bristle. The stricken creature wheezed and groaned, and fell over dead.

  Seeker jumped from the boughs nimbly and Zvi clunked, twisting a knee as she tried to balance on her good foot, finally falling over with an oomph. Both hugged the massive wolf, petting the spot where Pig kicked him. Seeker tried to lick away the blood stuck to the crown of Spirit’s head but it clung obstinately, dry and cracked.

  Nightshade regarded Spirit with new respect. “His bravery makes him a worthy partner.”

  Zvi motioned, “He saved me many times by alerting to a sound or smell, but never before has he gone for help.”

  “Where is your spear? Nightshade snapped. “You endanger all of us if we must rescue you for something you could handle alone!”

  Zvi drooped and Seeker giggled. “We left without them. Spirit needed us.”

  Seeker pulled Spirit up on his rear legs and swirled in a circle. Amazingly, the wolf kept up, tail wagging so hard it jiggled his rear legs.

  Xhosa shook her head but tried to see
things as this odd male might, finally giving up.

  Nightshade motioned, “The pig will feed everyone this night,” and swung the carcass around his neck one-handed, hooves draping to his waist, and tromped angrily away.

  Sun dropped, sucking out whatever heat remained in the air, and Xhosa shivered as she ran, slowing to accommodate Zvi’s injury. The bulky female limped awkwardly, leaning heavily against Seeker’s slender shoulder who exulted nonstop about the strength of the pig, its prowess as a hunter, and its sacrifice in feeding the People. By the time they reached the caves, most of the People were snugged into the new skins and cuddling their children beneath them for warmth. Zvi’s was large enough for herself, Spirit, and Seeker. When the wolf tried to eat the pelt, they pushed him away.

  Xhosa led the People to Hawk’s camp. They covered the distance faster than the day before. The Hawk People were gathered around the fire with room open by the Leader for Xhosa. When they saw the massive pig covering Nightshade’s shoulders, space was made for him to Hawk’s other side as the hunter who brought the meat, the spot Pan-do sat in the night before.

  Xhosa motioned to Pan-do. “Here, with us, Leader.”

  Hawk beckoned also. “Come. Make our circle complete."

  Lyta plopped down next to Zvi, rubbed her injured foot with a sticky sap and then, applied it to Spirit’s bruised ribs. The wolf tried hard to lick it off but gave up, whined, and exposed his vulnerable belly.

  “You deserve this, Spirit,” and rubbed and scratched until the wolf fell asleep. When she stopped, he awoke with a start and eyed her as though to say, that’s it? When she ignored him, eyes on Seeker, Spirit rolled onto his belly and rested his head on his paws. Only the twitching of his pointed ears and sharp nose indicated his continued vigil protecting his pack.

  “Eat first, and then we hear the stories.”

  As they ate, Spirit sidled over to Nightshade, hungry drool dribbling from his jaws, pleading for a share of the pig bone the male held.

  Xhosa laughed. “He considers himself your warrior, Nightshade.”