by Kevin Ashman
These were Kraiach’s people. They were the Mwrllwch, the people of the mist, and they lived in the cold place, waiting for the forgiveness of the creator Huan. They were waiting for forgiveness for the terrible crime that was committed by one of their ancestors in the time before.
Mwrllwch spoke little and had few words to draw on. Most of the time, subconscious awareness was their only form of communication. Collectively, they knew when there was danger, and they hunted when the food run out. It was as simple as that.
The strongest of them led the tribe and had first choice of the women or meat, and despite their hard existence, they cared for each other. Food was shared and the children were cherished. They were at one with nature, and had roamed these lands for over two hundred thousand years.
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Kraiach knew that times were changing. The cold was colder and the wet feathers fell more often, staying on the ground far longer than it used to. The animals were moving further toward the cooling midday sun into the lands of the others and the Mwrllwch were following them into unknown tomorrows. As the leader, he knew much about the others. He had often watched, intrigued from the forest, as they had made their small caves from animal skins, and listened intently to the constant stream of strange words he could not understand. He had strained to see the stones that spit fire and wondered at the tiny spears that flew from their bent wood.
The others were very good at hunting, yet they burnt their meat before they ate and often kept food for many sleeps. They wore tight skins around their arms and legs, unlike the heavy fur lined capes of the Mwrllwch, and sometimes stayed in places for many moons. Strangest of all was the snarling wolf beasts that ran freely around their caves, un-killed and sometimes even touched and given food by the others. Strange animals, but easy and tasty meat.
However, Kraiach had become aware of something else, something strange and frightening. It was very, very old, from the beginning, from before the long ago when only Mammoth walked the land. The pictures behind his eyes flashed as quickly as autumn birds. Not settling on anything long enough for him to see, yet hinting at great age, things he must know and things that he already knew. His head ached, and voices speaking in his tongue mixed with the strange words of the others, screamed at him, but making no sense. With a high pitched guttural rasp within his throat, Kraiach spoke the only word needed, as the tribe gathered around.
‘Go!’ he said.
The tribe picked up their meagre possessions and silently walked past Kraiach and out of the valley. Moving smoothly and gracefully, taking advantage of every natural feature in the ground, they melted into the countryside, becoming one with the landscape, silent and ethereal, like a dawn mist lightly disturbed by a gentle breeze.
Needing to hear the voices again, Kraiach rose and left the enclave. He left the tribe and the security of the hills behind, aiming for the site where he knew a group of the others slept. The rest of the Mwrllwch needed no explanation. Kraiach would return or he would not. They had meat, and when it ran out, they would hunt.
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Kraiach trotted relentlessly forward, his heavy stone tipped spear carried easily in his mighty grip. His heavy cape made from the skin of a Woolly-Rhinoceros was rolled and draped over his left shoulder, unneeded in the relative warmth of the day, yet essential for the freezing temperatures the night brought.
Heading for areas of natural cover, he loped across the open tundra, never leaving himself exposed to hungry eyes for any length of time. At each outcrop of rock, bush or natural indent, he paused and crouched down on one knee, searching all horizons for signs of potential danger. His wide nasal passages sniffed relentlessly at the breeze, recognising the scents of dozens of different species, while his relentless gaze searched the expanse, filtering the information before him into the order of priorities for that day. High on his intelligent mind’s list and overruling all others was the avoidance of predators.
Nature had evolved this creature over the millennia to meet the demands of his home climate perfectly. The shorter form exposed less body area to freezing temperatures, whilst the thick layer of fat beneath the skin provided much needed insulation from the cold. The matted ginger hair on his head protected the large intelligent brain, and it fell down past his shoulders, while a short bushy beard on his receding chin protected the thinner layers of skin around face and neck.
The brown eyes were deep set and protected from the sun’s rays with a prominent bony ridge and the nose was bulbous with wide; hair lined its sensitive nasal passages. Strong jaws were filled with healthy, but worn teeth, scarred by the edge of flint blades, evidence of previous careless use of his hunting knife as he sliced strips of meat from butchered animal muscle, gripped and stretched between hand and teeth. The voice box was located high up in the throat, restricting the formation of some aspects of recognizable speech. Yet, it was compensated by nature with the ability to gorge food quickly with less chance of choking; an important skill in this environment.
The upper right arm and shoulder both heavily muscled and slightly out of proportion to the left side of his body, paid testament to the daily use of this favoured arm in the use of his heavy spear. Huge muscular thighs and calves ensured abundance of energy and endurance to propel its muscular form on its endless search for protein.
Relentlessly, he forged ahead. There were great changes afoot and he needed to make sense of the swirling imagery in his head. Though unaware of the detail, he knew that his tribe faced dangerous times and that somehow, the others had the knowledge that they needed. He also knew that his kind had to change before it was too late. They were the last of the Neanderthal and they were dying!
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Chapter 6
The rich tapestry of Golau’s world consisted of rolling, densely forested hills crisscrossed with a multitude of fish-rich rivers and streams, meandering through deep, weather-insulated valleys and dark craggy gorges. This dense foliage blanket was interspaced with animal-rich plains stretching unendingly eastward, and far beyond was a great tidal river that split the land like an angry flesh wound. Across the other side of the great river to the east, lay a savannah of Mammoth steppe. It was said that it stretched as far as a man could walk in all his life without ever reaching the other side.
A throbbing pulse of life peppered the landscape, ranging from the tiny rat-deer that darted between the long grasses to the enormous, but solitary Woolly Rhinoceros that stamped their impatience at anything that encroached on their personal space. Vast herds of skittish gazelle thronged over the lush savannahs and the sheer weight of numbers was hardly affected by the predatory attentions of man and beast alike. Migratory deer jostled for room with the gazelle, while short stocky horses left trails of dust in their wake as they raced from the hunter’s spears. Possessive auroch protected their harems from the hunting parties and though their meat was highly prized, the risk of injury was so great; they were seldom hunted. Geese and Duck frequented the numerous lakes, and rivers teemed with fish and invertebrates, while Beaver, Otter and Stoat shared the banks.
However, this apparent Eden was seasoned with danger to the hunters and the abundance of prey was evident in the size of the predators. Afraid of nothing, giant hyena roamed in packs, running down the injured and the weak, while lions the size of horses preferred to lay in ambush at watering holes. Troops of large fanged baboon foraged for fruits and tubers on the plain and on the forest edge, but were not averse to taking a scavenged carcass from outnumbered and intimidated feline predators.
The forests belonged to the intelligent wolf packs whose close family ties ensured survival in the harsh winters of this interglacial era. Though, they too enjoyed the plentiful times, their expertise was when the snow was deep on the land, when the weakened hungry plains animals didn’t have the same energy as they did during the summer months and were quickly run down by the tenacious and unrelenting pack. The other great predator of the forest was the giant Cave-bear, a solitary beast who fed on anythin
g and everything that came into its path. Fruit, fish, herbivore and even the occasional unsuspecting human, if it was lucky!
However, the two greatest animals of them all lorded over all of these, one a predator and the other its prey. The enormous Sabre-toothed tiger ruled these lands, king of all beasts. Its giant tusks and razor sharp claws, along with its agile powerful body, combined to provide the ultimate predatory machine. This overwhelming package of death-wielding weaponry was lethal to all the beasts, but especially the giant slow herbivores that lumbered across the tundra. In particular, the one beast that was the perfect target for its unsurpassed hunting ability was the giant woolly Mammoth,
This was Golau’s world, a rich and beautiful yet vicious unspoiled paradise of seemingly endless summer, interspersed with short but severe winters. A world that unbeknownst to him or his kind was soon to have its balance turned completely around as the planet’s climate once again changed its eternal cycle. This temperate interstadial period of warmth, so important to human kind’s development, raced quickly to the end of its brief interruption of the natural order of things, as the next great glacial era loomed, unseen yet inevitable in the near future.
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Chapter 7
Raven led the women across the river and up a side stream under the canopy of the forest. Tan’s daughter Naiaj had brought her own daughter Joolan to join the women on the fishing trip for the first time.
The women found a suitable narrowing of the stream, dropped their belongings and started to dam the water with stones and branches. Joolan watched intently, the clan’s whole existence revolved around the ability to provide food, and it was important she learned this fundamental skill.
‘Do as I do,’ instructed Naiaj and started to collect the rocks from the bottom of the pool, adding them to the quickly growing dam. Joolan did as she was told and though the rocks were relatively small, they all had a purpose. Soon the women had placed a rocky barrier from bank to bank, except for a carefully crafted gap in the middle.
‘Why do we not block the hole, Mother?’ asked Joolan. ‘The fish will escape.’
‘Look to Raven;’ said Naiaj, ‘she places a trap over the hole. Any fish will be caught by her net.’
Sure enough, Raven closed the gap with a the net before leading the chattering women a hundred paces further up the stream. Finally, they turned to face back down toward the newly constructed dam.
‘Quiet,’ she said, silencing the giggling party. ‘While the men preen themselves and stand like the Heron in the river, we graft in the streams, carrying rocks that blister our hands. Yes, they may catch the occasional fish, but I want it to be our nets that feed our children tonight.’ The group laughed their agreement.
‘What do we do?’ asked Joolan, her words amplified by a sudden lull in the laughter.
Taking Joolan’s hands in hers, Raven smiled and crouched down.
‘What we do, sweet Joolan,’ she said, ‘is, for the next ten minutes, have fun. We will all wade downstream, and I want you to splash, kick, shout and sing. We have to thrash every bush and turn over every stone so all the creatures in the water are scared and rush down into our nets. Do you think you can do that?’
Joolan nodded excitedly and all the women lined up jostling for position. Shoulder to shoulder, they slowly walked downstream between the banks in a solid human line of aquatic beaters, making as much commotion in the stream as possible. Much to the amusement of all present, Joolan sang a favorite bedtime song at the top of her voice. Stones were overturned, soft mud churned up and the dense bank-side water foliage was thoroughly thrashed with stick and foot alike. Disturbed Crayfish and Frogs were quickly scooped up into shoulder borne baskets as they went, and occasional shouts accompanied with frantic splashing, indicated a lucky Fish or Eel successfully breaching the human leg barrier and escaping upstream. Eventually, they reached the dam and the women closed in toward the centre, herding any aquatic creatures to their ultimate doom. Finally, Raven eagerly retrieved the net, and the rest of the women stretched their necks excitedly to examine the results of their work.
A mixture of trout, eel, frogs and the occasional crayfish were tipped onto the bank, and after the smallest were thrown alive back into the water, the others were swiftly killed and threaded onto thin willow saplings to be carried back to camp. One particularly large trout was held up by Raven for all to see.
‘Look,’ she shouted, ‘this fish was caught by Joolan’s sweet song. I saw it with my own eyes.’ The rest of the women cheered and clapped, and the pride glowed on the little girl’s face, though she couldn’t remember actually seeing any fish as she walked.
The dam, minus the net, was left in place so it could be used again in a few weeks’ time when the stream had had a chance to recover, and they returned to the camp. Joolan’s fish was threaded on her own special pole and hung over her shoulder as she led the women back to the huts.
In the main river, the men had spread out, waiting patiently for the migrating salmon that returned up these waters to spawn each spring. In contrast to the women, they were still and quiet, their eyes seldom leaving the water’s surface.
Overall, it was a hard but achievable existence. Hunting was good and hunger seldom lasted. The clan was content with their lot, and had populated the hills for hundreds of years, working in harmonic balance with the nature of the landscape. They only killed for food, always left berries on the bushes for the birds, and unless forced by hunger to take more, they only took half of any eggs found in bird’s nests. Fishing made no impact on the aquatic river population, nor did the result of weekly hunting parties sent out onto the plains; affect the numerous ruminant herds that roamed from plain to plain. Camps were moved every few weeks, and nature quickly repaired and restocked the minimal impact the clan may have made in its immediate environment.
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Chapter 8
Golau emerged from the forest and strode across the shallow river to the camp. Standing at just over six feet tall, he was a giant of a man in tribal terms. Muscular in stature, his long black hair was tied back into a ponytail, matching his moustache and trimmed beard. Brown intelligent eyes peered from beneath bushy eyebrows and his nostrils twitched as it took in the many familiar camp odours.
Scars of long gone hunts and battles covered his body; each one remembered and passed on in his dreamtime chants alongside his fellow hunters. Strips of animal hide fastened his fitted reindeer tunic and leggings, and his feet were covered in sealskin boots, lined with the soft belly fur of reindeer calves. A stone skinning knife hung in a pouch from his waist belt, alongside a water pouch made from the bladder of a pig. Carried in his hand was the ever present ash spear, as long as he was tall, and its gnarled, fire hardened surface tipped with a razor sharp flint spearhead.
Golau walked into the hunting camp and approached the central fire where the white haired old chief was sitting, swathed in warm furs and attended by the ever-present Keera. Golau knelt and took the old man’s hand affectionately.
‘I see you, Tan of the Long-tooth,’ intoned Golau.
‘I see you, Golau Lion-heart,’ replied Tan returning the formality.
Immediately, Tan’s old and wise eyes noticed the absence of Bran, but clan etiquette demanded Golau’s needs were met first. Attracted by the arrival of Golau, a group of people had accumulated around Tan, excited as always by the return of a hunter.
‘Do you thirst, Golau?’ asked Keera.
‘I neither thirst nor hunger. I have slept, I am warm and I carry no wounds,’ answered Golau, short circuiting the polite conversation that would surely follow.
‘Tan, I would speak to you alone,’ he continued.
Tan acknowledged Golau’s right, with a slight nod of the head, and with a weak wave of his hand, he dispersed the gathered group back to their duties. Keera stayed at his side.
Golau quietly told the chief about Bran’s death and the location of his body, while Tan sat, silently absorbing the appalling inform
ation. The clan was very close knit and the loss of a hunter was always a disaster, but the death of one so young was particularly painful. Tan, like the others had had reason to chastise, compliment and teach Bran over the years and he had developed a soft spot for the boy. He had been eager to learn and was desperate to kill his first meat beast for the clan, but in the end, it would seem that his over eagerness had ultimately been his downfall. Though grieved, Tan hid his emotions behind a false mask of hard indifference. It would not do for the chief to show emotion.
‘Again, we lose a valued spear,’ he said. ‘They are too keen to become men.’
‘Ours is a hard life,’ agreed Golau.
A party of four hunters were immediately dispatched to bring Bran’s body home so the death words could be said and his remains returned to the soil. Tan sighed deeply. Sky appeared from behind a hut and nervously approached the two hunters, her eyes betraying the dread she felt at asking the question.
‘I do not see Bran; Golau, does he follow?’
Golau glanced up at Sky, slightly annoyed by a mere girl demanding an answer of a hunter, yet he grudgingly admiring her beauty. She would make a fine wife, but her spirit was very strong and she would be trouble. He turned away to face Tan, whose furrowed brow also indicated slight annoyance at the teenager’s inquisitiveness. Sky lingered, her face pale, and she shook slightly.
‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘I need to know. Is my brother still alive?’