Zan secretly blamed himself for Dael’s disappearance. His grief struck him, not all at once, but little by little until it was a great weight on his heart. Dael was truly gone, and it seemed that Zan, like his mother, would never again be happy. It was as if an important part of himself were lost and he did not know where to look for it. Like Wumna he turned toward the sound of footsteps in hopeful expectation. Sometimes the brush of rustling leaves was enough to arrest his attention and make him look around, ready to rise in joy to receive someone—who was not there. Zan longed to share the story of the lion hunt with his brother—to show him the beautiful pelt and the spear still dark with blood. Dael did not yet know how staunchly he had faced the lioness, nor had he seen the scars of honor that were a record of Zan’s bravery. He longed to tell Dael his new name, Zan-Gah, and how the great northern elder had given it to him. But mostly he wished he could throw his arm around Dael’s shoulder and tell him that he was sorry.
Zan began to have bad dreams. Some nights he dreamed of the lion and sometimes of his twin—or both. More than once the lion was chasing Dael, and Zan was somehow unable to help because he could not find his spear—and Zan would awaken with his body shaking and his heart pounding as it had the night of the lion hunt. Or Dael would appear to Zan laughing and inviting him to play. Zan, overjoyed to see him, would start to tell Dael about his adventure, only to have the very same lion spring suddenly out of the tall grass and come between them. He often dreamed that he was looking for Dael, but all he ever found was the lioness he sought to avoid. One time, searching where his mother pointed, he found the animal dead and swarming with flies—and for some reason he felt overwhelming pity for it. Then Zan dreamed that Dael, smirking as though he had just played one of his tricks, sang out with a child’s bright smile that he had never gone away at all, but that their mother had hidden him deep in the secret part of the cave where he would be safe. And he laughed.
Zan spoke one afternoon to his uncle, Chul, to whom he described these disquieting visions. Chul listened, scratched his bald head, and with open mouth gazed stupidly at the air. Then, slow of speech, he said something he could not know: that Dael was alive. Had he died, Chul said, Zan-Gah would feel it inside. Dael was in some trouble, he thought, and his call for help was reaching Zan-Gah because twins shared a single spirit and were never really apart. This was surely the reason Zan-Gah so often dreamed of him.
Zan left Chul’s presence examining his inmost self. He found no message of his brother’s death there, and could recall no dream in which Dael had been killed. It was the lioness that was dead. Had Dael died, Zan would surely sense it, but his heart delivered no such report. “If Dael were dead,” Zan reasoned, “ I would be dead too, for when does a twin long outlive his brother? The great cat had her chance at me but I survived—and so does he! I am certain of it!”
The time had come to tell his mother and father what he intended to do. When he saw them alone he declared in a tone that admitted no contradiction that he would seek his brother, and would not return without him. He told them of his dreams and what his uncle, Chul, had said about them—that they were a cry for help from a twin whose spirit he shared, and that he would answer it or die. Zan did not say that the loss of his brother had been his fault and that, but for a morsel of meat, Dael would be safely home. Nor did he say that he would never feel whole and complete unless he recovered the missing part of himself, but Thal could see that it was so. He knew that each morning Zan awoke with a deep sense of loss because he, Thal, rose with the same bleak and empty feeling. He knew that for Zan it was like the persistent, dull pain of an aching tooth, or the anguish one strangely still feels in a limb that has been lost.
Nevertheless, Thal refused to let Zan go. He answered with an angry outburst, and when Zan stubbornly insisted, Thal actually lifted him up by the shoulders, gazing wildly into his eyes and telling him that he would not. But although Zan made no reply, with dismay he saw in the eyes of his son that he would. “Father,” Zan finally said, and his voice was calm but firm, “Dael calls to me every night in my sleep, and I must answer.” Thal did not know what to say. He realized that whatever had happened to Dael could happen to Zan as well, whether Dael had been killed by a beast, or a man, or was indeed alive and in the hands of enemies. But the boy was unshakable. Zan-Gah was a rock and would not budge nor be dissuaded. This his father also saw.
Wumna, however, knew exactly what she would say. Her “No!” was loud and certain. She too would be a rock! But the rock melted. Falling upon her knees and throwing her arms around her remaining son’s waist, she wailed that he would not, could not go, clinging to him as if she meant to hold him on the spot forever. Zan tried to comfort her, feeling real grief that he must so upset his mother, and looking for words that might ease her heartbreak. “Mother, you should be happy—happier than you have been for this whole year. I will be leaving as one and will return as two—I promise.” But Zan knew that the words he spoke could well prove untrue, and so did she.
In the end, after much argument, Zan got his parents to the point where, without agreeing or giving in, they said no more in opposition. It was clear that they could not stop the determined lad, and that neither tears nor words would do any good. They began to see a glimmer of hope for Zan’s project, and to give credence to Chul’s pronouncement that Dael was alive. Maybe he was! The mammoth Chul could be as stupid as he was large, but on those rare occasions when his brute mind engendered an idea, it took on the glow of a prophesy. Chul was consulted and he repeated his words. Zan made ready.
Once the venture was accepted and the family was exchanging views, Thal stated firmly that he would accompany his son. But Zan said, and he saw for himself, that Wumna could not be left behind alone to wonder day and night whether she would ever see any member of her family again. That would be too heavy a burden to place on a woman who was already shattered by the loss of one son. Nor could Chul go, for he had a wife of his own and three girls yet of tender years. They all sat together at their fire and began to make plans for Zan’s solitary search.
Zan shared an idea with his family: Often, in the days when he and his brother played and hunted together, Dael had urged him to go further from home than they were allowed. Dael, Zan remembered, had been particularly fascinated by the river, Nobla, that ran nearby. While Zan had always wondered where the current might take him if he would follow its downward flow, Dael (how different the boys were!) always wished that he could follow Nobla to her mysterious source in the direction of the distant hills. The thought of finding her birthplace had enthralled Dael. Did the river come from afar in the fading blue beyond or gush from some remote cavern deep in the hollow earth? Some day, Dael had said, they might follow Nobla to her place of birth, hunting and fishing as they went. Perhaps the twins would by this time have begun the adventure if Dael had not vanished from sight.
In trying to decide which way to go in search of him, Zan had to make a difficult decision. Would it not be easier for Dael to have gone with the flow of the river? No, Zan explained to his family, Dael did not care where Nobla went, only where she came from. That is what he always talked about, never the other. He might, in his anger, have decided to make the trip alone instead of sharing it with Zan as he had promised. Zan resolved to travel upstream for eight days, by which time he hoped he would find a clue or sign of Dael. If he did not, he would reverse his direction. Thal and Chul approved. Now Zan-Gah knew where the first step would lead. (He little guessed how far this step would take him, nor what adventures and trials lay ahead!)
Wumna was not slow to point out that every stride might carry him further from his brother, even if he were alive, and that any path was full of dangers. Zan held up his spear, cheerfully reminding his mother that he had slain a lion with it and could as successfully face any other enemy. He was boasting, but he wished to reassure her. Wumna was not comforted. Would he always be as lucky? The clansmen might call him Zan-Gah, but she never once had honored him with t
hat name except with sarcasm. If she spoke it, it was: “Zan-Gah, straighten up the mess you made, Zan-Gah,” or she would say: “Zan-Gah, we need more wood, oh mighty warrior.” Never was it otherwise. To her he was a boy, not the man he pretended to be, and the search he was now resolved to undertake seemed to her a frightful absurdity that somehow she was powerless to stop.
Zan and his people rose early—Zan to prepare for his journey, and his parents, as well as others of his clan, to help him and to pray for his success. Zan was advised to travel light. He would need his spear and a few other things which he would bring in a pouch made of animal skin. In it he could carry some dried meat, another small skin, some thongs of leather in case he had to tie something, and a stone blade he had laboriously made from a piece of flint. He also had a hollow gourd to carry water, ingeniously fashioned. With regret he left his splendid lion skin in the hands of his uncle, Chul. It was simply too heavy to carry with him. In return Chul gave him a blade shaped of a black, glassy rock that chipped into an extremely sharp instrument. That knife was the finest thing Chul had ever owned. Zan promised to give it back when he returned—if he returned.
As he prepared to bid his son farewell, Zan’s father was dejected. He had always labored to protect his family from the terrors of their savage world, but he knew there were some things he could not do. He had been unable to save Dael, and now he was helpless to prevent his other son from doing what he felt he had to do. They had almost lost Zan to the murderous lion—and now?
Wumna began to sob. Would not Zan-Gah delay until the weather was warmer? It was the first time she had seriously given him his title of respect. “Do not mourn for me, Mother,” Zan said gently. “Last night as I slept I heard Dael calling to me, and I know his voice will guide me. I will not come home alone.”
“You will not come home at all. That is my night dream,” she said, weeping so much that hot tears fell upon Zan’s shoulder. Chul’s wife, Aka, and the oldest of their daughters, who adored Zan, were sniffling too, and others among them joined in the chorus of sobs. Mighty Chul, his own eyes wet, grew angry. Wiping his cheeks with the back of his great fist and thumping the heel of his spear on the ground, he loudly called for silence. Then more softly, but sternly too: “Let there be no weeping. Zan-Gah is going to find his twin brother whom we love. One will depart and two will return. Let us send him on his way.”
Thal embraced his son in his strong arms, pressing him against his hairy breast and muttering gruff tendernesses. As Zan gave a final farewell to his family he saw clearly what perhaps he had not seen before—that there was a great strength in living with a people that stood together in difficult times; and that he would now forego that strength, facing a dangerous and hostile world alone. He would not have his father to teach and help him, nor Chul’s great strength and protection. His mother who cared about him, loved him, would not be there when he wished for her. For a moment he actually was tempted to put down his spear, stay at home, and be a kid again; but the thoughts and events which had created that moment still urged him on.
Zan embraced his people one by one, Chul last among the men, and finally his mother with a whispered promise to return. It would bring evil luck for any to foresee Zan’s project as less than successful, so they held back their questions and fears. As he departed they chanted an ancient song of victory, and lifting their hands to the spirits of the sky, they offered Zan-Gah to their care.
3
THE
SLING
Not far from the moist cave that once had been his home there stands to this day a barrow of rocks, worn by time, encrusted with the soil of many centuries, and overgrown with moss and rough vegetation. Under it lie the bones and spear of Zan-Gah. When he died (as everyone someday must), he was widely known and greatly honored, as the huge pile of boulders witnesses. Long after his death, when the elders of his people would recite the deeds of their ancestors—beginning with the great Ack-Ro, who first spoke to the sky-spirits some twenty generations earlier, and Sra-Elod, who learned to make fire—they would not fail to name the deeds of Zan-Gah. Ages after our Zan had passed from the earth, it was still recalled that as a boy he had slain a lioness unaided and had borne her claw marks for the rest of his life. But the greatest of all his accomplishments, the one that changed the lives of his people forever, was something else. It was his invention of the sling. “He fashioned the swift weapon from a serpent’s sting,” the sages said—and it was partly true. What the old men did not tell when they spoke the long history of their clan, (chanting it, for it was their saga and song), was that Zan came to do it by accident.
It had rained the night before, for the first time in many days—a lucky sign. The drying river was rising again and Zan was cheered by the sweetness of the weather. It was a good time to travel. The birds were deliriously happy about something and the trees were almost in leaf. A gentle southern breeze was at his back and Zan was in very good spirits. Yet he well knew that he must be cautious and stealthy, even though he was still not far from home. The peace between the five clans was an uneasy one, for many still carried old grudges born of blood-strife. Zan wished he could proceed without being observed, but it made sense to follow the river, where game was likely to come and fish could be speared. Nobla would always give him water, and that was even more important than meat. But for the same reasons people—enemies—might come there too.
The river would take him north and then turn to the west in a wide arc. That much he knew. Just as it was beginning to curve Zan would encounter the dwellings of the two northern clans, and he was resolved to visit them. Zan wished to speak to the white-haired Aniah, to inquire of Dael and seek the elder’s advice. Aniah, who had been the first to address him as Zan-Gah, would receive him, Zan thought, in spite of the antique quarrels that rooted in the minds of old men.
But before that he would try to see the people of Hru. Zan was more hopeful about Aniah than he was of the Hru, but if he followed the river he would encounter them first. Of all the clans, the Hru were the least friendly and the soonest to quarrel over an imaginary insult or some trifle. Zan wondered whether he should bypass them entirely. It was not likely that they would know anything about Dael, nor that they would tell him if they did. The Hru kept to themselves. Deeds of courtesy were unknown to them, and generosity was rarely to be seen in their brute lives. Zan did want to pursue every possible lead, so he decided to attempt a visit, but he knew there was the danger of rebuff—or worse. He gripped his spear with resolution, and at the same time hoped he would not have to use it.
Meanwhile, Zan resolved to enjoy his freedom. His father would not be telling him what to do, and his mother was not there to weep and tremble over his every step. Their parting had been sad, but being gone, he was inclined to look on the happier side of things. This would be an adventure! He felt the fresh air in his nostrils and enjoyed the bright sunshine of the clear blue sky. When he glanced at Nobla’s sparkling stream, he could almost see his cheerful brother spearing fish in it. Zan allowed himself to hope that he would find Dael before long.
After several hours of walking, he decided to rest and eat some of the food he had brought. He was about to sit on a flat shelf of rock a few steps ahead when he heard a sound that chilled his blood and caused his hair to stand on end. It was the muffled hiss of a snake. Zan froze in his steps and searched for it, trying to move nothing but his eyes. He did not see immediately where the noise had come from, and dared not move until he did. The hissing noise began again, and Zan could now see that the serpent was a poisonous one. It was coiled directly in front of him! Zan stared at the snake and the snake stared at him, and neither seemed to know what to do.
Zan’s heart leapt to his throat and pounded there. His mouth went dry. The serpent might strike at any moment! Once his uncle Chul had been bitten by a snake and had lain sick for many days. He had been saved from death by his powerful constitution and the care of his family. Zan, far from home, knew that he probably would die if he we
re bitten, but what could he do to prevent it? He could only back away a little at a time, hoping that the reptile would not be provoked into striking. Then as he began to withdraw, stepping very slowly backwards, he noticed that the snake had a bird, half swallowed and still fluttering in its jaws.
Those creatures have mouths that can open so wide that they can swallow small animals whole. With great relief Zan realized that this snake would be unable to bite him because it was gorging on something else. This changed everything. It was the snake that was in danger now! Although it might try and even succeed in scratching him with a poisonous fang, it was open to attack. Backing off slowly, Zan made a wide half-circle around it. Then with a movement that had to be swift, Zan, in a single motion, seized the snake’s tail with a firm grip and whipped its head against the stone. Its neck was instantly broken, but Zan repeated the action three or four times until it was as limp as a piece of rope. Then for a few moments he left the body lie, observing it for any movement and cautiously poking it with his spear to make sure that it was dead. The bird could not be saved.
Dinner! Snake meat can be perfectly good to eat, even if its bite is poisonous. With the sharp stone blade Chul had given him, Zan cut off the head and hurled it away with the bird still in its mouth. He slit open the belly so that he could peel away the skin in a single piece, looking at it with some admiration. In spite of its venomous bite, this was a handsome animal with rich geometric patterns decorating its slender body. He would save and use the skin, but first he must eat.
Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure Page 3