Lug, Dawn of the Ice Age

by David Zeltser

  After a while, he looked up at my painting again.

  “I miss my parents too,” I said. “More than I can say.”

  Woolly reached out and gently touched my back with his trunk.

  “WOOOOHOOOOOO!” I whooped, riding Woolly past the cave as Echo and Stony set up another target gourd.

  The young mammoth grabbed a large rock with the tip of his trunk and whipped it around.

  I winced as it missed the fruit and smashed loudly against the wall near the cave entrance.

  “Woolly,” I said, “try a smaller rock.”

  He ambled over to another stone and rumbled something in his own language.

  I glanced at Echo. It was all gibberish to me.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said. “Pay attention to him.”

  I listened to Woolly repeat his rumbling. The last part sounded like a question. Something like “MMMUOUOUAJAAAM?” Suddenly, a bit of the meaning became clear to me. “Good?” he was asking as he held up the rock. “Good?”

  “Yes!” I replied. “That rock is a good size!”

  He picked it up, examined it briefly, then hurled it at the target. The gourd exploded into a hundred pieces.

  “Nice throw!” I said.

  “I know,” he replied. (Well, it sounded like “CHOUAUO AUAAARRP,” but I was pretty sure it meant “I know.”)

  I whooped and shot Echo a smile. She had been right after all—I could communicate with an animal if I paid enough attention.

  “Okay, Woolly!” I said after he had smashed yet another gourd fruit. “Now … turn.”

  He circled around with surprising agility and charged back in the opposite direction, kicking up a dust cloud worthy of a rock slide.

  When Echo had finished sneezing, she beamed at us. “You guys should be ready for the Big Game in no time!” she said.

  After smashing every gourd fruit in sight that morning, we were worn out and starving. Echo went to forage and returned with a bunch of pale, hideous, rootlike things she called vegetables.

  “Are they practice targets?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes and took a big crunchy bite out of something that looked like it should have definitely stayed in the ground.

  “Now, that’s wrong,” I said.

  “This is from someone who eats things that move and poop and sing.”

  It was only after she ate three of these monstrosities and did not die that I finally tried a vegetable. I chewed very slowly, trying my best not to gag.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Delicious!” I said, spitting it out behind a bush as soon as she turned away.

  I got up to rinse my mouth in the stream.

  “Hamela?” said a small, unfamiliar voice from atop the boulder pile.

  We all looked up. A little red-haired boy no more than six years old squeezed out from between two boulders and started clambering down toward us.

  “Oh, no … no … no,” muttered Echo, clearly mortified.

  “Hamela!” shouted the boy, smiling and waving to her as he scrambled down the rocks.

  I looked at her. “Hamela?” I said, trying to keep a straight face.

  She glanced at Stony, who was also smirking a little. Even Woolly looked amused. She groaned. “Yes,” she muttered, “that’s the name I was given.”

  “You—”

  “However,” she cut me off, “since I do not eat ham or any other animal parts, I would prefer that you continue to call me—”

  “HAMELA!” shouted the boy, running over and hugging her. He had the same bright green eyes as hers, but his were twinkling in delight. “You are in soooo much trouble!” he said.

  “Everyone,” she muttered, “this is my little brother, Hamhock.”

  “What’s THAT?” asked Hamhock, pointing at Woolly.

  Echo sighed and led her brother away from everyone, into the cavern.

  As the siblings caught up on everything that had happened, Stony and I stood outside the entrance and eavesdropped.

  “It was easy,” I heard Hammock say. “I followed you out here one time before. So I guessed you might be here again. When are you coming home?”

  “After the Big Game tomorrow,” said Echo. “As soon as Woolly is accepted by Lug’s clan, you and I can hang out and play skipstone together, okay?”

  “I guess,” said Hamhock, sounding unsure. “Can I go pet that big critter now?”

  He darted out of the cave toward Woolly, and Echo trudged over to us, shaking her head miserably. “We’ll have to take him with us.”

  “I think those vegetable things are messing with your head,” I said.

  “Lug, if Hamhock blabs everything to my clan, they’ll find us and kill Woolly! Not to mention you guys.”

  “But we’re already taking you to my village,” I said. “Taking another Boar Rider kid is not part of the plan.”

  “Younger brothers have a way of changing people’s plans.”

  “Hey, I’m a younger brother.”

  “So you know all about it,” she said, marching over to Hamhock and helping him up onto Woolly’s back.

  “Wow!” I said. “I didn’t think it was possible to be bossier than my sister.”

  “Hamhock,” she said, holding him in midair. “Do you want to play skipstone with me tomorrow?”

  “Yeah!” he said.

  “Then when we get to Lug’s village, I don’t want you to say a word. Not a word. Is that clear?”

  The little boy nodded.

  The really strange thing was that I had started missing my sister too. And since this plan was the only one I had for seeing my family again, I sighed and climbed up Woolly’s side, settling in just behind his massive shaggy head.

  Stony quickly followed, sitting behind Echo, with Froggy on his shoulder.

  “Okay, Woolly,” I said, pointing in the direction of my clan’s village, “let’s go.”

  Treetops shot by, the ground rumbled—it was like riding a superlow, superfast thundercloud.

  I knew there were two main obstacles between us and my village—the mountain and the river. We could simply ride around the base of Mount Bigbigbig, but the cold water would have to be crossed.

  In what seemed like no time at all, we could smell the heavy, moist scent of the river in the air. Banyans were giving way to more and more gourd trees. I knew my village was in the jungle on the other side.

  “AAAAAAH!” we screamed in unison as Woolly plunged into the water.

  But the river turned out to be more fun on a mammoth. Woolly gamboled through the water like a piglet through a puddle.

  “Hold on tight!” Echo warned as the mammoth lumbered out onto the bank. He shook himself, spraying cold water in every direction.

  I looked upriver and saw some very familiar forms riding jungle llamas on my clan’s muddy practice field. I took a deep breath. “This is it,” I said.

  Woolly made a complicated grumbling sound.

  “Yes,” I said. “We really need to impress them today. Even though the Big Game isn’t until tomorrow.”

  He nodded once.

  “All right, then,” I said, giving him a pat on the head. “Let’s show them how we charge!”

  My clansmen halted their macrauchenias and stared wide-eyed as the biggest beast they’d ever seen charged onto their practice field.

  “Hey!” I said, spotting Bonehead and Bugeyes. “How did those maggots manage to worm their way back into the clan?”

  “Good question,” said Echo. “You don’t look dead to me!”

  “Huh?” squeaked Bugeyes, halting his llama. “Little Slug?”

  “No way!” grunted Bonehead.

  “Change of plans, Woolly,” I said, pointing at Bugeyes. “That one!”

  The mammoth reached out with his trunk and snatched the screaming bully off his macrauchenia.

  “Into that one,” I said, pointing at Bonehead.

  Woolly tossed one brute at the other. Bugeyes knocked Bonehead off his mount, and they both l
anded in an oozing mud puddle with a satisfying thwap.

  Most of the mounted Macrauchenia Riders approached slowly, but one bald man trotted ahead of the others, chins jiggling. “Lug!” he cried.

  I wanted more than anything to climb down and hug my father, but I knew he wouldn’t approve. “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  “What are you riding there?” he boomed with obvious pride. “It’s huge!”

  I scanned the other men’s faces. Most were looking at Woolly with a mix of interest and fear. I took a deep breath. If our plan was going to work, the next thing I said had better go over. “This,” I said with as much authority as I could muster, “is the world’s most monstrous macrauchenia!”

  “But that’s not—” Hamhock said, and suddenly stopped talking upon catching sight of his sister’s glare.

  Boulder, who rode the largest jungle llama in the clan, trotted forward and made a slow circle around Woolly, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why does it have tusks like a boar?” he demanded.

  “Because,” piped up Echo, “it’s not exactly a macrauchenia.”

  Boulder looked at her out of the corner of his eye, like she was a buzzing mosquito he’d like to swat.

  “You see, O Bountiful One,” she continued, “my clan bred our biggest boar with the most massive macrauchenia we could find. Thus creating a boarauchenia—the greatest headstone beast of all time!”

  “Ooooooooooooh!” went the other players, crowding forward. (Their animals looked more skeptical.)

  “And who are you?” Boulder snarled.

  “I,” she said, “am this boarauchenia’s t—”

  “Target!” I interjected.

  Echo looked at me in surprise. The plan had been to say that she was Woolly’s trainer.

  “Target?” asked Boulder, clearly intrigued by the concept.

  “That’s right!” I said. “Those lawless Boar Rider cannibals were using their own kids to give this monster some headstone target practice. I saved these two pathetic children and tamed the boarauchenia!”

  Echo shot me a look that said I will bash your head in later, but she had to content herself with muttering darkly under her breath.

  “And now,” I cried, “this beast is going to win us the Big Game and bring home the Shiny Stone!”

  The crowd of players started chattering like monkeys.

  My father rode over to Boulder and bowed his head. He looked exhausted. I could tell by the dark circles under his eyes that he hadn’t slept much since I’d been gone. “Big Man,” he said, “now that Lug has caught a huge beast, maybe he can return to the clan?”

  “And Stony too?” chimed in Stony’s father, Stoner.

  Stroking his beard, Boulder studied the young mammoth coldly. “If the boarauchenia helps us win,” he announced, “they’re back in.”

  “YAAAAAAAAAA!” cheered Big Lug, Stoner, and several other cavemen.

  I shot a twitch of a smile at Echo and Stony. The plan was working!

  Boulder took advantage of the men’s distraction to lean in close enough for me to smell his putrid breath. “And if we lose,” he whispered, making a slow throat-cutting gesture, “you lose.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bonehead and Bugeyes slowly sitting up in the puddle and staring at me. Their faces were dark with mud, but their eyes were alight with the steady cold glow of pure hatred.

  THE NEXT DAY I awoke at dawn to find my parents and sister still asleep. It was fantastic to be home—the night had seemed almost warm in the cave with my family. I listened contentedly to my father’s rumbling snores and stared at the scratches on my mother’s forehead. Windy had told me that our parents had secretly ventured into the jungle at night to try to find me.

  I climbed off my sleeping slab and crept over to the old chipped dining rock in the center of the dim chamber. It was still heaped with dodo parts from the welcome dinner my mother had made last night. Lumpkin was sleeping on the rock as usual. The fat little cave cat half opened one drowsy yellow eye and then promptly shut it. I quietly gathered up some leftovers and slipped out into the early-morning light.

  I found Echo and Hamhock asleep next to Woolly in the normally unused drafty cavern behind the village.

  “Big day, people,” I said. “I brought you dodo parts for breakfast.”

  “You’re the dodo,” Echo muttered, eyes still closed. “I’m a plant eater, remember?”

  Unlike his bossy sister, young Hamhock took some dodo bits.

  I gave him an encouraging smile. “You ready for the Big Game?”

  “Yeah,” he said, chewing thoughtfully, “we’re going to bash you Llama’s Boys today.”

  “Hamhock!” snapped Echo, sitting up and glaring at him. “Remember what I told you? We want Lug’s clan to win so that they’ll like Woolly and keep him!”

  “And keep me alive,” I muttered.

  Hamhock nodded halfheartedly and gave the young mammoth a pat.

  Stony came in with Froggy perched on his shoulder. The frog eyed the dodo meat with distaste, but the boy sat right down and began gnawing on some gnarly unidentifiable organ. Echo whipped out some equally nasty vegetable and began to break it into bite-sized bits. We were soon surrounded by a buzzing little cloud of fruit flies.

  “The cold seems to affect the strangest things,” I said. “There were never this many flies before.”

  “It is a little weird,” said Echo, crunching on a bit of vegetable.

  “Speaking of pests,” I said, “I think I’ve found out how Bonehead and Bugeyes wormed their way back into the clan.”

  Stony looked up and loudly swallowed whatever it was he was chewing.

  “Chip,” I explained, “overheard them telling Boulder that they actually had killed me in the jungle. I guess they figured I’d never come back, so he’d never find out.”

  “But what I don’t get,” said Echo, “is why Boulder wanted to bump you off in the first place. I mean, yes, you’re a pain in the—”

  “According to Chip,” I interrupted, “Boulder is worried that I could be the next Big Man instead of his son. Crazy, huh?”

  “Why is that crazy?” she asked.

  “Come on, Echo. I’m the smallest kid in my clan. I have about as much chance of becoming the next Big Man as you do.”

  A mischievous smile spread slowly across her face. “Then you might have a better shot than you think,” she said.

  I noticed her bright green eyes get all twinkly and suddenly found it hard to argue with her. Girls are annoying.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! came the rhythmic banging of stones as Boulder led our procession through the jungle toward Headstone Field. Each player marched in front of a very unhappy-looking jungle llama, pulling the animal by its short trunk. First came Boulder and the older players, in order of their steeds’ sizes. Next came this year’s rookies, led by Bonehead. Finally, leading Woolly by his trunk, Stony and I brought up the rear. To prevent their clan from spotting them, Echo and Hamhock walked underneath Woolly, hidden by long, shaggy curtains of mammoth hair.

  I had watched a few Big Games before, but it felt very different to be a player. My heart raced as we rounded the base of Mount Bigbigbig and saw the great Headstone Field ahead. Under a crisp blue sky, two crowds waited for us on opposite sidelines. On the left were the women, girls, and youngest boys of my clan. They cheered wildly as the first of our players stepped out of the jungle and onto the field. On the right was a strikingly similar crowd of Boar Rider supporters, hissing like a pit full of angry snakes. Although the sun was now at its peak in the sky, the air felt scarcely warmer than it had at night, and I could see strange clouds in the far distance—higher and lighter than any I’d ever seen.

  BAM! BAM! BAM! came the rhythmic banging from the opposite side of the field. A procession of mud-painted Boar Riders stepped out of the distant trees, leading their fierce razorback boars by their tusks. Their fans whooped and whistled, while our side booed deafeningly.

  Because of Woolly’s position at the bac
k of the procession, he was still hidden from the crowds by the trees. Stony was standing awkwardly, like he needed to pee.

  “Go in those bushes,” I whispered. “You still have time.”

  He shook his head resolutely.

  Boss Hog led Big Mumma toward the center of the field as the squads each waited on their end. I watched the huge sow plod along, the Shiny Stone on her back. When they reached the middle of the field, Boss Hog eased the Shiny Stone off her and planted it on the ground. It shone, slightly, in the noonday sun.

  A clan could win the Big Game only by getting the Shiny Stone to their side of the field. There were many more rules, but no one ever followed them, mainly because if someone stopped and brought up a rule, someone else whacked him in the head with a rock.

  Boss Hog scanned the ground around him and chose the largest rock he could palm. Then he climbed onto Big Mumma’s back. “Boar Riders mount!” he commanded.

  Stony started doing the pee-pee dance—holding his gourd and jumping up and down.

  “Go already!” I said.

  He ran off into the bushes.

  On our end of the field, Boulder the Bountiful stepped forward and chose the heaviest hunk of granite he could lift. “Macrauchenia Riders, mount!” he barked.

  I climbed up Woolly’s side until I felt a hand grab me and yank me back down. “No, Little Slug,” said Bonehead, brandishing the club my father had given me. “Me ride boarauchenia.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You don’t even—”

  He slammed the club into my chest.

  I doubled over and fell, gasping for breath.

  The brute clutched a handful of Woolly’s hair and clambered up onto the mammoth’s back. “Boy with biggest beast next Big Man!” he shouted down to me. Then he grabbed Woolly by the ears and pulled hard. “Go, beast!”

  Yelping in pain, the young mammoth charged out of the trees and onto the field.

  “Charge that Piggyback!” cried Bonehead, pointing at Boss Hog and yanking on Woolly’s right ear.

  A hush descended over the Boar Riders and their crowd as they caught sight of the mammoth for the first time. Boss Hog, normally a healthy pinkish hue, turned as pale as a pork chop. “Back, Big Mumma!” he cried. “Back!”