Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure

by Allan Richard Shickman

  “Well, young fellow,” said he, his eyes falling on the visitor. “What brings Zan-Gah away from his comfortable home? No, do not tell me now. We will eat first, and then you may declare your errand.”

  While the deer was being prepared for roasting, Aniah donned a majestic dappled fur, and seating himself in his accustomed place, he looked like what he was—a king among his people. Zan knew that he must approach Aniah with great respect but no hint of fear. That, indeed, was the way everybody treated him—except for his great-grandson who, without ceremony, plopped himself into Aniah’s lap and began tugging on his white beard.

  Meanwhile, Zan was drawn away by the younger men to participate in a friendly tug-of-war. They usually had their contest stretching a length of strong vine over a pit of hot coals—no gentle sport—but the fire was being used to roast a haunch of venison, so they put the two competing teams on either side of an inlet where water from the river jutted inland. The losing group, or at least its leader, would either let go of the vine or go tumbling into the water. Zan was placed in the midst of one team—among the smallest lads of either group. What sport, what heroic effort, and what laughter as now one team lost, now another! Zan was a kid again, laughing and screaming; and all the while Aniah looked on and laughed too. The rich odor of roasted meat soon drew the youths from their game, and the girls, who had been busy in preparations, seized the long vine and engaged in the same contest with loud cheers and shrieking laughter.

  When the food was ready, all were seated and Aniah gave out portions, serving Zan first and himself last. None put food to his mouth until Aniah began to eat, and then a symphony of munching followed. When all had eaten their fill, Aniah turned toward Zan and waited. Laying his spear at the elder’s feet and placing his knuckles on his chest, Zan bowed his head in obeisance. “Great Aniah, I thank you for the welcome you have given me.” Zan raised his eyes and watched Aniah carefully. “You know my brother, who twinned with me, is lost. I believe he still lives, and I seek him.”

  “Why here?” Aniah replied sharply. Zan saw him stiffen. “We do not hold him.” He held up his withered hands as if to show that they were empty.

  “Great leader, that mistrust never came to my mind. I visit you because you are famed to know the many secrets of earth and sky. I did not wish to undertake a search without asking for your help and advice. And because I received from you my name of honor, I decided to turn to you as to a friend.”

  Aniah looked at the young man in front of him and smiled a strange, questioning smile, as of one who looks into the abyss of time and sees himself many long years earlier. “When your brother was lost, we all tried to find him, the same as if he had been one of our own. No one knows what happened. I wish the birds would speak to me, as you seem to think they do, and then I would know. But yes, we have our suspicions.”

  In answer to Zan’s attentive and inquiring look, Aniah went on: “For several years now, and not for the first time, we have had encounters with the wasp men. They live many days off, deep in the blue hills, and yet they come marauding here. They hunt in our lands, they take what does not belong to them, and on one occasion (I know for a certainty), they carried away a woman of the Luta clan. I heard long ago that they were robbers and slavers too. These are fierce and dangerous warriors, but as long as they stayed far from us we were not much concerned about them.”

  Zan’s eyes lit up. “Do you think that….”

  “Yes, Dael was alone when he was lost, was he not?”

  “We think he may have been traveling up Nobla. He often said he would find her source.”

  “If so, he was heading straight for the dwellings of the wasp people! What you say confirms my thought, Zan-Gah. I have long suspected that he was their captive. That is the best explanation of his disappearance—but it is only a guess. I know no more than you.”

  “Why do you call them ‘wasp people’?” Zan asked.

  “They claim an ancient relationship with actual wasps and say they are of their tribe. These people do not live in cave shelters as we do, but build great, bulbous hollows out of trees, bark, and leaves. They look exactly like enormous nests of wasps, as they are intended to. The entrance is but a small round hole on the end of it. If someone unwelcome approaches, they lie there silent and motionless until the intruder is near. Then they swarm out, one after another, screaming, spears in their hands to attack and overwhelm the unlucky visitor. They tip their spears with poison, like a wasp’s sting, so that the smallest wound becomes terribly painful and disabling—although the poison itself does not kill. I think the wasp men would rather wound than kill, so that they can take prisoners as slaves.”

  “The people you describe are truly like stinging hornets,” Zan said thoughtfully. “My hair stands on end to hear you speak of them. My uncle, Chul….”

  “Chul.” Aniah’s eyes darkened for the briefest moment. Zan went on cautiously, sensing that he was touching a tender place: “He told me that there had once been an invasion by a distant people, and that the clans united against them.”

  “Yes,” Aniah recalled, his brow smoothing again. “That was one of the few times that our five clans stood together. We could never have repelled them otherwise. They were many and dangerous.”

  Zan told Aniah about his experience with the Hru, how ill they had received him, and of their miserable condition. The old man’s face assumed an expression of contempt. “The Hru are a low people, thieves and cowards all. I do not pity them.”

  In the course of their conversation, which became relaxed and friendly, Zan expressed admiration for Aniah’s skill as a hunter. How, he could not resist asking, had he managed to kill a deer without any assistance?

  “One should pursue good fortune with vigor and action,” he answered, “but sometimes the secret is to wait until good fortune comes to you.” He laughed his soft, chuckling laugh. As they conversed, Zan was surprised to discover that this great leader was in some respects a simple man, cheerful and good-humored. He liked a joke and could tell a story. And he had a way of laughing as if at something that had happened long ago.

  Zan grew bolder: “Tell me, Aniah, why have the clans so often been enemies? What mischief could have caused our peoples to make war against one another? It is as if we were haunted by a strange secret that no one speaks of but everyone knows.”

  “Not everyone, Zan-Gah.” Aniah replied ruefully. “My father knew, but most of those who first fought in the quarrel have died—some of old age! I think the war eventually stopped because most of us forgot why we were fighting. And there was the drought. Our struggle then was only to survive; and in our search for water and food we were forced to move away, beyond each other’s reach. When the rains finally came, and we returned, none had the stomach for war and killing any longer. That is not so long ago. That is within your young lifetime.”

  “But what could have started it,” Zan inquired earnestly, “or have kept it alive so many years?”

  “I was hardly older then than you are now when it began.” Aniah’s face became tight and grim, and he looked straight ahead. Red bonfires gleamed in his eyes. “One of the southern tribesmen stole a woman of Hru. Foh! Why would he want her? But her husband wanted her back and she refused to go back. Perhaps she was pretty, but her man was a cruel brute. An animal treats his mate better! I have always avoided hatred, even of the enemies of my people, but I cannot purge myself of my detestation of the Hru! The war could have been avoided entirely but for her blunt-brained husband who could not be pacified—no, not by the promise of many gifts. He wanted back what everyone knew he did not love or value.

  “In those days the Hru were not the pitiable lot that you saw when you were in their camp yesterday. Back then they were the strongest and most numerous of the clans. The husband (his name was Bruah) rallied several of his assassin tribe and they looked for an opportunity to avenge themselves for the insult (as they considered it). Down they went to the southern forest and prepared an ambush—not for the o
ffender, but for anyone who passed! The first to die was your grandfather’s father. They fell on that good man and killed him with their spears; and boasted of it too, so that word spread of what had happened. It was not very long before the clans chose sides. You of the three southern clans stood together.”

  “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.

  6

  THE LAND OF

  RED ROCKS

  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.