by A. K. Vyas
Papa was confused. “Chief, we must avenge Tarik and kill this cat before it strikes us again.”
The Chief nodded in agreement. “Yes, we will, but you are the People’s Spearmaker now. You will hunt no more and fight only in defense of the village. Who should lead your team?”
They locked eyes in silence, then Chief Sev repeated softly, “Aash, …who gets your team?”
“Bron,” replied Aash.
Chief Sev gave final instructions to Bron, then put his hand on Papa’s shoulder. “I, for one, value knowing a good man of twenty-three winters will be in the village when the hunters are away.”
Bron clasped forearms warmly with Aash in gratitude, as the new Spearmaker said, “Blue skies, brother. Good hunting.”
Aash gritted his teeth in silence as his hunting team left after the Sabretooth.
For the first time Emil could remember, Papa was there in the morning when he woke up. Bret was now also ordered to guard the village.
Mama hugged Papa close and whispered in his ear, “You are a great hunter, see this as an honor. Only you can do this for the People now. If our spears fail us, the village dies.”
Emil just merrily grabbed his Papa’s leg, declaring, “Now you can teach me to wrestle, hunt, and track, and make spears!”
Aash looked into his son’s dark brown eyes. Emil shared his opa’s eyes. For the first time that dreary morning, Papa smiled. Seeing a young version of a lost parent will do this.
A maneater like this Sabretooth wasn’t a normal predator which generally killed for food or if threatened. Maneaters can develop a fiendish taste for blood and begin killing for pleasure. Maneaters at first strike only at night, then grow bolder. Papa knew the People would need better weapons now, and fast.
After the morning tasks, Papa began inspecting the old Spearmaker’s coarse dry stalks. The People preferred obsidian or flint for their spearpoints. Every hunter had a heavy ash spear balanced for his size and strength. The women and children needed weapons as well.
Emil was so excited watching Papa that morning. He sat imagining being a Spearmaker himself and was late for fetching the morning water. The People let boys gather eggs and water upon reaching six winters. The youngsters would boisterously joke, splash, and race the whole time.
To his surprise, Mama took his leather water pouch away, saying, “Emil, you were late. All the boys already left. You will not fetch water with the boys today.”
Emil asked, “But why, Mama?”
Mama said, “You can never be late. We have to be able to depend on each other, especially when there is a maneater.”
Emil pleaded, “But Mama, I can still catch them, and ….”
Mama interrupted, “If you’re late on small things, you’ll be late someday when it’s important. You won’t be there when your friends, hunting team, or the village needs you. This good habit starts with never being late. Are we clear?”
Emil knew Mama’s stern voice. He uttered, “Yes, Mama,” then he took Papa some fresh blueberries.
Papa smiled. “Thank you, Babo. Shouldn’t you be fetching water with the boys?”
Emil looked down, confessing, “I was late, Papa. Mama said no.”
“Ah,” voiced Papa, “I see. The People cannot be late, Emil. Do you want to be a great woolly mammoth hunter someday?”
Emil proclaimed, “Oh yes, Papa, I want to lead a hunting team just like you!”
Papa remarked, “Then you can never be late. Lives depend on this. Mammoth or big-horned bison are large, powerful, and dangerous. Half the hunting team draws their attention, while the other half attacks from the rear. If either side is late, it can be very bad. Emil, almost everything is easier when you are a little bit early. Do you understand, Babo?”
Then Papa added with a wink, “We need to find more straight dry stalks for spears today. You can tag along.”
Emil and Papa told Mama where they were going, then hiked into a dense, dark wooded area. The fiery sun had peaked for the day. They saw no animals and Emil asked, “Why?”
Papa explained, “It’s too hot to hunt now, Babo. The animals are smart enough to know this.”
Ironically, they instantly heard savage growls in the dense bushes lying just across the meadow. Papa grabbed Emil and quickly climbed a big oak tree.
Papa told Emil, “We’re safe here.”
A giant brown bear was fighting a pair of white wolves beyond the thorny foliage. The gnashing sounds of a fierce struggle resonated below. They heard a bear’s triumphant barks and gurgling grunts fading away. The forest went completely silent.
Papa held Emil’s hand tight, observing, “A great bear was fighting wolves. I think it’s safe now. You stay up here in the tree until I come back. Mama and the People know we are here. Yes?”
Emil nodded. “Yes, Papa, I will stay in the tree.”
Papa gave Emil a peck on the cheek. He climbed down the tree with his heavy spear at the ready. The bear had killed both wolves. The bear was gone. Papa called Emil down from the tree. There must be very small cubs close by, thought Aash. This is the only reason a pair of wolves would be desperate enough to take on a Grizzly.
“The Grizzly came for berries by the wolves’ den,” explained Papa. Sure enough, a small whimper emanated from behind a rock under a clump of sharp thorns. Papa reached in and pulled out a tiny fluffy white wolf cub.
Emil frowned. “The baby wolf is all alone now, Papa.” He picked it up. The blue-eyed wolf pup was crying softly and immediately began licking Emil’s face.
Papa proclaimed, “Put it down, Emil. I will give it mercy, then we go home.”
He raised his war club. The orphan cub faced starvation or worse.
Emil started crying as well, pleading, “Papa, please! Let’s take him, please, he’s alone now!”
Papa thought, This is silly. It’s getting late and there’s a maneater. We need to get back before dusk.
Emil was carrying the sleeping cub in his arms as they returned to the village.
Back in their Gher, Emil was tired from the day. He fell asleep quickly with the cub cuddled in his arms. Papa went to remove the pup when Mama said, “No.”
Papa knew this look and tone. Wise husbands know better than to test it.
The People did not understand saving the wolf cub. This was not the custom. It was yet another mouth to feed, and would someday be a large, savage wolf. Papa told the People the little white cub would eat only from his share, and there was peace.
Meanwhile, the People’s hunters had tracked the Sabretooth to the edge of the Mountain River. It had crossed over into the realm of the Mountain Men. This was a dangerous warlike tribe it was best not to provoke. Many moon cycles passed with nary a sign of the Sabretooth. The game animals eventually returned. Bret went back to hunting.
Emil named the white wolf cub Cloud, and it became his constant shadow. The crisp spring turned into late summer, and then early autumn. Anywhere Emil went, Cloud would follow. As it turned out, Cloud actually helped bring in food. When the boys would hunt eggs, sometimes Emil brought a small bird or hare which Cloud had caught. Then one dark stormy night, Cloud became a true member of the People.
The wind was screeching wickedly on yet another starless new moon. Mama was leaving the Gher to make water when Cloud began growling aggressively. Papa sleepily grabbed his club to protect Mama. He noticed Cloud was growling at something just outside the Gher. Papa put Mama and Emil behind him and grabbed his spear. Cloud stopped growling.
In the morning, Papa saw fresh Sabretooth tracks just outside the Gher. The Sabretooth had been lurking this close during the night. It would have taken Mama. Papa went stark pale at the thought of this. For the first time, he picked up Cloud and gave the white wolf a fresh piece of meat.
The People’s hunters once again tracked the big cat to the limits of the Mountain River. Chief Sev called a tribe meeting.
“Emil’s wolf saved Lulu yesterday. It’s one of us now. We’ll find more such cubs when
possible. This Sabretooth has a taste for man flesh. It’ll become worse. I think this cat knows we stop chasing at the river. No choice—we’d lose even more lives in another war. It wouldn’t surprise me if this Shaitan hunts both us and the Mountain Men back and forth.”
Emil quietly announced to no one in particular, “We should talk to the Mountain Men and hunt it together.”
Everyone laughed at this child’s idea, except for Emil’s parents and Chief Sev. Talk to the Mountain Men? Ridiculous—they are mindless, bloodthirsty savages!
The People, however, now saw how useful Cloud was. The white wolf helped in so many ways. His keen nose detected both predators and prey long before anyone else. The children gathering eggs or fetching water were much safer with Cloud around. The white wolf was dedicated to Emil, could run like the wind, and never tired. Papa thought, The wolf can someday help the hunters run down prey they could never catch before. Cloud also keeps predators away from the village at night.
The Auroch People, many winters from now, would eventually have dozens of wolf dogs in the village. The wolf dogs made a hard life easier. All of this was possible because of compassion. A little boy wanted to save a small white wolf cub that was scared and all alone in the world.
Chapter Three
“Where the cattle stand together, the lion lies down hungry” -Maasai Proverb
The White Bison
A blood red dawn started the day.
Snakes.
Of course, it has to be a snake. I hate snakes, thought the little hunter. The shaggy little bison was sprawled on all fours, silently crawling toward the herd. The chunky viper slithered through the heavy grass of the maize plains. The serpent’s forked tongue smelled something odd about this little bison. Bison were dangerous. Their hooves were sharp with few blood vessels below the joints of their front legs. Deadly viper venom has to get into the bloodstream to kill anything.
The little bison froze perfectly still. It held its breath in silence. The naked sun’s scorching glare punished everything under the heavens. Bret’s sweat under the stifling hot bison skin had turned ice cold. The mercurial viper paused on a rock just paces in front of his face. They were eye to eye. Bret stared into those cold dead eyes, wondering if this was also the last thing his mother had seen
Only a fool would still be here, thought Bret. However, any sudden movement, even one in bison skins, could spook the herd. Bison are dumb, but not that dumb, thought Bret. The bison herd was almost in perfect ambush position. The People had carefully prepared this site. Bret saw the Old White Bull snorting in the lead.
The Old White Bull was legendary for his belligerent ferocity. Over the seasons, no fewer than three of the People’s hunters had fallen under his hoofs and horns. The herd was on a narrow grassy ridge with a huge cliff. Everything was set. The People’s hunting teams had lined the grassy area with animal grease in a semicircle around the cliff. As the herd passed, they’d torch the tall, straw-colored grass. The sudden smoky crescent of blazing fire should panic the trapped herd. The only clear direction left was over the great cliff. That was the plan.
The irritated viper decided to move on. Bret’s heart started again as the last vestiges of its tail disappeared through the tall grass. The little hunter darkly pondered: How many more vipers are out here? It’s perfect snake country. The sun is scalding and there are rocky rodent holes everywhere.
The lead bison were in the kill zone. Bret triggered the ambush by igniting the greased grass in front of him. The little hunter leapt to his feet screaming like a banshee as the fire took effect. At this signal, a full howling hunting team sprang up out of the grass lighting up the crescent.
The bison were terrified by the sudden smoke and fire. The herd fell over itself in panic. With a deep rumble, they slowly began thundering for the cliff’s edge. Then the crafty Old White Bull saw a gap in the flames and turned for it. The entire herd swiftly followed suit.
A single young hunter hadn’t lit his section of grass. The terrified bison herd tore through this gap, stampeding anything in their path. There was no escaping them. They were an irresistible flood of grunting hoofs and horns.
Bret saw Red gored into the air by a massive pair of gleaming white horns. When the redheaded hunter hit the ground, he was flayed apart, screaming. Dozens of deadly stampeding hooves rendered him a hazy pinkish mist. The panicked herd scattered in every direction as it cleared the searing flames. It was scorched chaos.
Two otherwise brave hunters lost their nerve seeing Red’s fate. They dropped their spears and futilely tried to outrun the danger. Both were irresistibly swept under this thundering dusky tide. A thick dust cloud swirled into the heavens with the blistering smoke.
The Old White Bull charged the little hunter in full bovine fury. Bret’s light spear barely nicked the charging beast. The little hunter instinctively dove forward as high as possible. Somehow, the flying leap completely hurdled the barreling bull. Bret landed awkwardly on his forearms with a painful groan. He looked up to see several bison thundering down upon him. The snorting white bison wheeled back to finish Bret. The little hunter was dazed and confused.
Dak saw Bret’s miraculous flying dive over the Old White Bull.
Dak led this hunting team. A powerful man who, it must be said, always led his team from the front. Sometimes none of this matters.
Brave, Dak surely was…and stone-cold dead he was about to be. Dak shouted out the People’s war cry, dashing to save Bret. The Old White Bull spun to face him. The bull’s charcoal-red eyes burned with smokey fury.
Dak’s heavy spear clanged harmlessly off the thick boss of the great bison’s horns. The Old White Bull hooked his left horn from below. It caught Dak in the groin, completely eviscerating the shocked hunter. His wet innards slipped through the tears in his dusty leather shirt onto the dry grass below. Dak’s eyes watered in shocked disbelief. He desperately tried to hold his insides together. Bret, as if in a nightmare, saw Dak’s slippery fleshy coils slithering at his feet like bloody snakes. This was no dream.
Dak, the gallant team leader, slipped to his knees. The men locked eyes an instant before the great bison whirled back with an angry grunt. It stomped Dak into a gory, crimson pulp. The Old White Bull bellowed away in triumph. His ivory hide splattered with the brave hunter’s ruby lifeblood.
The frantic bison herd stampeded past the little hunter. Bret could only lie prone, covering his head with his arms. His horrified screams were drowned out by the din of taurine grunts and the rambling of powerful hooves. The dust settled.
Then it was over. There was no sound save the still roaring sheets of cackling flame. Bret coughed in the merciful silence of thick smoky air. He thought, Why am I alive? It might have been luck. Perhaps it was because he’d forgotten to throw off his shaggy bison skins in the excitement. It doesn’t matter. There’s no one else. Nary a bison was in sight. A thick fleeting dust cloud on the horizon bore the sole remnant of their presence.
The entire hunting team had been wiped out. A heavy spear isn’t much help against a terrified bison herd up close. Bret staggered from hunter to hunter. All five had been thoroughly gored and trampled. There isn’t much left of them. I’ll save Dak’s bear claw necklace for his family. Bret salvaged a heavy spear and a few knives. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.
“Thank you, brother,” Bret whispered to the general area that had been Dak.
The little hunter covered his mouth from the thick smoke. He approached Zig’s body despite the reticent heat from the blazing flames. Why hadn’t Zig lit his part of the grass? Bret rolled what was left of Zig over. He squatted, squinting his eyes from the harsh heat.
Zig had been the youngest hunter on the team. His skin is too red, thought the little hunter. Zig’s water pouch is stark dry. It hasn’t been filled today. Bret thought back to morning inspection. He’d seen the young hunter bent over, retching. Nerves, Bret had thought. The youngest hunter on a team is responsible for drawing water for the tea
m.
He pieced it all together. The team had run hard half the day in this heat to the ambush site. Dak had sagely made his team drink half their water before the final stalk.
Zig’s skull was caved in by a great bison hoof, but at least he hadn’t felt it. That explains it, thought Bret. First, Zig had been sick. Then, he was late for inspection and had hastily filled everyone’s water pouch but his own. Zig had no water. No one knew this. Of course, we’d have shared water with him. Zig’s pride kept him silent. The sun, blistering heat, and strain of the stalk did the rest. Tardiness and pride.
Zig was late and had made the second mistake. The People don’t drill these lessons into the little ones for nothing. This is why I hunt alone, thought Bret.
The little hunter sadly shook his head. It doesn’t matter now. Bret ambled over to the edge of the cliff. He cautiously peered over.
Not one. Not a single bison panicked off the cliff. No meat. This is disaster. All of this because of a single empty water pouch! The circling vultures will bring hyenas soon. I have to move.
Bret made his way down the ridge. His silhouette was framed dark and solitary on the harshly flaming horizon. Bret paused to check his direction. The sun, trees, and wind told him he was walking the wrong way in his stupor.
Bret fought the fog in his head. His dull headache was throbbing. I’m not thinking straight. It’s too hot. There’s no shade anywhere on the plains. I need to cool off, there’s barely enough water to make it back.
Then his training kicked in. He could almost hear the Eagle Feather’s voice in his mind’s eye. Bret peeled off his shirt and peed on it. The little hunter wrapped the soaking shirt around his head. This instantly cooled his temples and refreshed his senses. Bret stumbled to a knee. He used a stick, a rock, and a shadow to pinpoint east. The lonely little hunter turned and trekked home alone.
Cloud sensed the little hunter before they saw him. Papa and Chief Sev saw the slight form limping solo out of the trees. Bret was covered in soot and scratched up by thorns.