'The haughty two-legged apes ... how do you know of them? We've seen none walking out on the savannah today and I haven't once mentioned them.'
Yowlar wrinkled his nose and hissed. ‘A snake told me.'
'Don't trust those cobras, sir. They'd sooner spit in your eye than tell you the truth.'
'The Uprights,’ prompted the cat.
Gingerly rubbing his clawed leg, the baboon said, ‘I have nothing to do with them, so there's nothing to tell.'
'You sound hostile toward them,’ noted Yowlar.
'The Uptights think they're better than everyone else.'
'I can relate to an air of superiority,’ the Sabretooth muttered with rare candour, ‘but pride does come before a fall. Is there anything you do know about them?'
'If you don't mind me asking, sir, why the interest?'
'Lets just say I'm hungering to get close to the locals.'
Jinku reserved comment but said, ‘I know where they camp out.'
'That's more like it,’ purred Yowlar, a slitted look of cunning in his bright eyes. ‘Tell me.'
'Home-rock.'
Swinging his black head around to the west to view the vertical smudge of grey that was the basaltic tower of caverns clawing up out of Scraggly Bush like a giant talon, Yowlar exclaimed, ‘That's where we came from! Why didn't you say so earlier?'
The baboon flashed his eyebrows cheekily. ‘You never asked me, sir.'
* * * *
Her feet ached terribly. Bushwalker trudged along the broad trail leading through the bush to Home-rock behind the rest of the tired Upright females. The troop had trekked many miles on their daily quest for food and water, and she was looking forward to getting back to the sanctuary of the caves to rest for the night. The mercilessly hot sun was dipping below the western horizon and the fading day gradually cool, the heavens afire with a soothing redness purpling the late afternoon shadows. Bushwalker put on a burst of speed. Before too long dusk would fall and bring with it the unpromising dark. She always wanted to be safely inside a cave before the terrifying feelers of night crept across the cringing land.
'Whoa, slow down girl!’ Rockshaper chided her. In her haste to return to the grottos Bushwalker ploughed into the back of the elder, causing him to spill the armful of stones he had gathered along the way and was transporting home.
'My fault,’ she mumbled apologetically, hurriedly kneeling to help the oldster scoop up his possessions.
Rockshaper smiled indulgently as Bushwalker heaped the pebbles back into his arms. Too old now to be part of the male protectors ringing the tribe on their daytime excursions, the old timer walked instead with the females and actually preferred their company. The males boringly discussed and debated personal prowess, while the less competitive females casually chatted amongst themselves. Rockshaper much preferred listening to juicy gossip than idle boasting.
'Are you planning to make another digger?’ Bushwalker asked him.
'Make a what?'
'A digger. That's what I'm calling this,’ she said, handing him the flat-ended pebble-tool he used to unearth the delectable tuber over lunch. Unbeknown to Caverunner she had doubled back to retrieve her friend's discarded shaped rock.
'You went back for it. Thanks!’ Rockshaper hefted the fussily crafted stone thoughtfully in his hand. ‘Dig-ger,’ he murmured. ‘I like it. Actually I wasn't considering shaping another digger straightaway. I have another project in mind to finish. Why do you ask?'
'I was hoping you might teach me to shape rocks. It looks like fun.'
The older Upright was amazed by the unexpected request. ‘It's not as easy as it appears,’ he cautioned. Rockshaper kidded her not. Current hominin hands were marvellous products of evolution, their straightened fingers a definite improvement on the curved finger bones that limited the manual dexterity of ape forebears. However, in light of a brain half the size of modern human intelligence controlling fine motor function, the complex task of knapping flint into even crude tools was especially demanding and the province of only a skilled practitioner. ‘Patience and practice is what's called for in order to fracture a cobble just right, so the flakes come away from the parent stone more or less how you want them to.'
'I'm up for it,’ Bushwalker avowed with the eagerness of youth.
'Caverunner won't approve.'
Bushwalker looked stricken.
Giving her a sly wink, Rockshaper dismissed her fears. ‘Which will make it that much more enjoyable, eh girl.’ She impulsively flipped over her upper lip and hugged the old male. ‘Steady on. You'll set tongues wagging.’ Rockshaper was especially proud of his long-time bachelorhood, in spite of his unrequited desire for Bushwalker.
'When can we start?’ she asked, her eagerness apparent.
'Not tonight, maybe tomorrow after the outing. Like I said before, there is another tool I mean to finish shaping first.'
Bushwalker murmured a hoot of disappointment.
'Come now, girl. What's the rush?’ mollified Rockshaper. ‘My stones won't be going anywhere.'
'You aren't getting any younger,’ the female rudely pointed out.
'Get away with you before I change my mind and chuck these rocks at you instead!’ Rockshaper said with a half-hearted bark of condemnation.
She skipped away, her tired feet not so weary now. Rockshaper ambled on ahead, muttering curses about ‘cheeky kids'. Treeclimber suddenly pulled up alongside Bushwalker. ‘Finished playing with the boys?’ she asked somewhat testily.
The handsomely yellowish-brown male was stung by the accusation.
'Actually, no,’ he said rather sheepishly, a boyish face peeping out from around his legs.
Bushwalker could not help but smile. The impish face belonged to Caverunner's son and Troublefoot was as mischievous as his given name implied. His feet were always landing him in all sorts of strife. She gazed warmly down at the wide-eyed juvenile. ‘What have you been up to today, little one?'
Puffing up his small chest, Troublefoot emerged from between Treeclimber's legs and proudly announced, ‘Treeclimber is teaching me to scale thorn trees. I made it all the way to the first branch.'
'Pretty soon you'll be climbing right up near the crown and raiding beehives,’ Treeclimber said encouragingly, patting his head. ‘Collecting honeycombs is a great incentive to climb higher.’ Troublefoot beamed even more and scampered away to find and tell his father of his accomplishment.
Bushwalker tugged at Treeclimber's hairy arm. ‘Are you being nice to him because he hasn't any friends his own age or because Caverunner is his dad?'
The male Upright shrugged noncommittally. ‘I'm fond of Troublefoot. He's a likable youngster, just misunderstood that's all.’ He gave Bushwalker an artful look. ‘Besides, it doesn't hurt to stay in the leader's good graces. I hear he's looking for a number two.'
'Treeclimber, you're incorrigible!'
'I certainly hope so, Bushwalker. You don't get anywhere by standing still.'
The path narrowed and steepened as they drew nearer to the hulking edifice of weathered volcanic stone that was Home-rock, its jagged summit rearing above the tops of the scattered trees like a welcome cloudbank.
'I had hoped to run into the robusts today,’ Treeclimber wished aloud.
'Whatever for? Bighand and his tribe are all rather scary.'
Treeclimber put his arm around Bushwalker's shoulder. ‘Don't worry, I'll protect you from the uglies.'
She pushed him away and sauntered up the track, moaning, ‘You are crazy.'
Catching her up, Treeclimber defended himself. ‘Not true. The robusts encroach upon our foraging grounds every day, stealing food and intimidating us. It's about time we stood up for ourselves and fought back.'
'And you're the one who's going to fight first?'
'Why not? By doing so I'll prove my mettle to Caverunner and he'll have to advance me up the male ranking.'
'Making you more attractive to we females in the process.'
'That'll be
a side benefit,’ Treeclimber admitted. He failed to pick up on the jealous pitch in Bushwalker's voice.
'You are forgetting a few important things,’ she said in reproof. ‘The robusts are bigger and stronger, as well as outnumbering us.'
'I didn't say it was going to be easy, Bushwalker.'
She sighed in frustration. ‘Do you ever intend growing up?'
'Not if I can help it.’ As if to emphasise his point, he strayed from the beaten track and began cavorting about in the scrub.
Bushwalker slowed. ‘Treeclimber, I have something to tell you that may change your mind.’ She glanced about. He was nowhere in sight. ‘Treeclimber?'
'Over here. Come quick, I've found something.'
She struck off through the bush. There was a sobriety in his tone that made her hurry. Bushwalker found Treeclimber nervously erect beside an undersized fig bole, his mouth pressed against the bark as he conducted a closer examination with his pursed lips. ‘What's the matter ... discovered an old Hornbill nest?'
The male pulled away and turned around, his face unusually grave. ‘Something else. Take a look.'
Bushwalker ambled up to the twisted trunk.
'There, in the bark,’ he pointed out. Quarter way up the trunk, four scrape marks running lengthwise was scored deep into the thin, pale-brown bark. Yowlar's calling card, unmistakable even in the fading light.
Tracing the ragged scratches with her blunt-nailed fingers, Bushwalker asked in a fearful whisper, ‘What is it?'
Treeclimber's reply was not reassuring. ‘Danger, I'm guessing.'
Chapter Seven
The debate continued.
'Those scratches were probably made by a Roarer.'
'Since when did a Roarer or Speeder venture off the savannah into heavy scrub? It's unheard of.'
'Well, something made them.'
'Maybe a Hookbeak did.'
'Hah! Can't imagine one of those ugly suckers flapping about the foot of a tree.'
Bushwalker listened intently while the squabbling males tried to figure out the maker of those disquieting marks Treeclimber discovered scoring the fig trunk. Caverunner had assembled the Uprights in the largest grotto at the base of Home-rock for one of those infrequent tribal meetings when a dire emergency faced the community. The last such gathering had been in the leader's youth when a five year long drought threatened the well being of the gracile troop and the then current Caverunner convened a meeting to discuss survival options. On that occasion the leading Upright considerately listened to the proposals and resolutely decided to weather the exsiccation rather than sensibly migrate. After all, no homeowner rashly abandoned his ancestral abode on account of a dry spell.
Kneeling abjectly in the middle of the cavern in the company of the other females and their associated young, Bushwalker wanted so desperately to join in the discussion and offer her opinion. She was prevented from doing so by the constraints of tradition. Males dominated hominin society. Females attended such rallies but were not allowed to participate. She fidgeted manically while the circle of her supposed betters, sitting along the rough cave walls, argued wastefully back and forth.
'Let the boys sort it out, Bushwalker. They'll get to the bottom of this mystery,’ a feminine voice gently advised.
Bushwalker tore her attention away from the raging discourse and looked over at Caverunner's favourite female seated across the way. Cradling Troublefoot in her lap, Leafpicker stroked her dozing son's head lovingly. Devoted to Caverunner and his policies, the middle-aged mother was hardly objective and far too trusting. A faint, intermittent banging echoing through the musty cave air momentarily distracted the two females.
'I suspect the robusts.'
Bushwalker jerked her head back around. That was Caverunner's supposition.
'I think you're right, boss,’ chimed in Treeclimber.
She smiled. Trust him to back up his leader. Her beau really wanted to start a scrap with their rival Uprights and make himself into a hero.
'Why do you agree with Caverunner, boy?'
Treeclimber addressed the challenge from one of his older peers. ‘He makes sense. Bighand wants to expand his troop's territory. The thug knows where we live and it would be just like him to gouge out a marker in a tree trunk to proclaim his intent to take over our caves.'
'With his bare hands?’ Bushwalker blurted out incredulously.
Coming to his feet, Caverunner levelled a remonstrative stare her way that silenced the outspoken female. Strangely enough, afterward he posed to Treeclimber, ‘It's a fair question. Answer it.'
'Bighand by name, Bighand by nature.’ A chorus of supportive hoots greeted Treeclimber's simplistic assessment.
Caverunner gave a satisfied grunt. ‘I'm decided then. The robusts are truly our enemies.’ Despite this evening's forum the leader always had the final say in tribal matters. Democracy had yet to evolve amongst humankind.
'We go and brawl with them!’ Treeclimber proclaimed in an emphatic holler.
'Wrong. We stay put at night and keep out of their way in the daytime.'
'But Caverunner!'
'No buts, boy. Our cousins can easily outfight us. Better that we keep out of the rode entirely and search out fresh foraging grounds. However, precautions do need to be taken. I want everyone to be especially vigilant and to move only in groups when outside the caves. Righto, I declare this meeting over.'
The Uprights dispersed. A number of the younger males subsequently milled about, muttering protests under their breath. Spoiling for a fight that was not going to eventuate, they vented their frustration by mouthing whispered oaths of discontent, mindful not to let Caverunner overhear their criticisms of his wishy-washy leadership.
Bushwalker avoided Treeclimber, busy enough critiquing Caverunner's inaction to a party of his like-minded fellows, and exited the assembly cave alongside the throng. Outside, the shadowy cloak of night enshrouded Scraggly Bush, a mellow northeasterly softly crackling the acacia crowns.
Heeding her leader's call for prudence, she attached herself to a small group of females headed for the ground floor habitation grottos further along the wide base of Home-rock. Bushwalker quietly excused herself from their company upon reaching the first of the sleeping caves and slipped away. Squeezing her slim body into a narrow vertical fissure splitting a soaring rock wall off to one side, she braved the cramped and lightless confines of a natural passageway through the core rock. Guided by the rhythmic bash of stone striking stone breaking the thick silence, the sound becoming louder and more distinct with each step taken, the female nervously inched her way into a tiny, isolated grotto faintly illuminated by a shaft of moonlight from high above where a section of roof had long ago caved in to form a natural skylight. Rockshaper, surrounded by piles of various collected stones arranged on the remnants of the fallen ceiling, crouched within that moonbeam engaged in constructing another of his fabulous tools, looking for all the world like a celestial creator. This was his workshop where he could fashion his pebble-tools in solitude without fear of ridicule.
'I missed you at the meeting,’ she hooted to him.
He gave her a cursory look. Rockshaper seldom attended the compulsory assemblies, irked that Caverunner made his decisions regarding troop welfare irrespective of other viewpoints, especially the elders. ‘Something important must have transpired to make you feel your way through the blackness to reach me here, girl. I know how fond you are of the dark.'
'Caverunner thinks there is trouble brewing with the robusts and won't take action. Treeclimber and his mates are acting all gung-ho and may end up doing something rash.'
Rockshaper appeared unconcerned and continued working, chipping away flakes from the stone cobble with cool precision. ‘Your boyfriend won't dare defy our leader,’ he presumed after a moment's consideration. ‘Caverunner's decision is final. Not even the troop's incumbent hotheads can refute that.’ The elder stopped hammering for a second, his face assuming a pout expressing curiosity. ‘You sounded
sceptical, my girl. Is there something else?'
Bushwalker wrestled with momentary indecision before replying. ‘I think Caverunner's mistaken about the threat.'
'The robusts have been a perpetual pain in our backsides.'
'And they probably always will be. That's not what I meant. Treeclimber came across a set of scratch marks about head high made in the trunk of the fig tree right outside the caves. That was the reason for the meeting being called. Every one of the males automatically assume it's some sort of warning left by Bighand.'
'You think otherwise.'
The Upright maid hunkered down beside the oldster. ‘Rockshaper, you've been around a lot longer than me.'
'That's a tactful way of saying I'm old.’ He resumed shaping his new tool.
'You have no doubt come across things I've not seen before.'
'Perhaps,’ he grudgingly conceded. ‘Where are you heading with this?'
'Just suppose that those scratches weren't made by any of the robusts, but something else.'
'Like what?'
'A clawfoot.'
'You mean a Roarer?'
'I'm not sure. Do you know of any race of big clawfoot other than the Roarers and Speeders?'
The industrious hammerer paused again. ‘Let me think. Nope, can't say I do. I take it you have seen these scratches for yourself.’ Bushwalker nodded in the gauzy moonlight. ‘What makes you certain it was a clawfoot that made them?'
'Cast your mind back to when Ditchjumper got chased down and mauled by a yearling Roarer last dry season. He barely escaped with his life from that encounter and bears the scars on his back where he was horribly clawed. The scratch marks in the bark remind me of those deep wounds of his.'
Rockshaper was pleased by her cleverness and said so. ‘It's a pity you were born a girl, Bushwalker. You would have made an admirable male. Come to think of it, probably a fine leader too, if only you'd show more confidence. You're far too shy.'
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