Zan-Gah and the Beautiful Country (8 page)

The next morning, the clans awoke to an unusually thick fog that greatly limited their vision. The people were not inclined to move from their relative comfort when they could hardly see, and they began renewing their fires and warming themselves. However, the leaders, conferring together, resolved to press on, and goaded their clans to move. Every breath of wind reminded them that delay could be fatal.

But moving was dangerous too. Silence would be required. In the thick mist, careless chatter might alert unseen enemies and leave the group open to ambush; so a call for quiet was whispered from one to another. The men glanced around with unusual vigilance, clinging to their poison-tipped spears and readying themselves for anything that might spring at them. Every so often they were startled by the cry of a bird or animal they could not see.

The laborious, half-blind advance had not gone far when Chul, who was in the lead, motioned the train to stop. Just ahead, enveloped in fog and only faintly visible against the heavy, misty air, was the ponderous form of a mammoth. Its great domed skull, dark fur, and dangerous tusks would be seen close up, but at first it seemed almost as white as the surrounding vapor—a massive, monstrous blur. It turned out that its huge hooves were sunk in a morass of mud, and it was hardly able to move.

What luck! With a brusque hand signal and no word spoken, Chul alerted the numerous travelers. The babies were hushed and muffled as the women noiselessly drew back. At the same time, Chul waved some hunters forward with their envenomed spears.

The men knew what to do. Splitting into two groups, each band walked stealthily in single file to form a large ring around the great animal (a curl-tusked hill of hairy flesh), and at a signal threw their sharpened staves at their large target. The shrill elephant cry was dreadful as the men simultaneously struck. The mammoth struggled clumsily against the mire and the strange invaders, panic in its eyes. But it was doomed. The more the trapped beast strove, the more it slipped and sank. The thick hide protected it from an easy kill, but the powerful poison, entering through small wounds, did its work. The pathetic creature collapsed to its knees, flailing the ponderous trunk and screeching in terror. When it heavily lay down on its side, still wallowing, ropes were used to ensnare the hooves and trunk.

A few daring youths mounted atop the recumbent animal, among them Zan-Gah, who with grim efficiency stabbed at the animal's soft throat with repeated spear thrusts. When he hit an artery, the blood issued out in jets, covering most of Zan's body with the red shower and spilling onto the muddy bed beneath. The helpless animal thrashed and throbbed for a while, making strangled, snorting noises. Then its breath stopped and it was dead.

The hunters were silent at first, awed with their own accomplishment. Then, in the deep fog, and despite the danger of being overheard, a dull cheer of relief and rejoicing rose. It had been an easy kill, and here was meat enough for all the five clans! There would be no weary foraging for food for a while. Women and men began slashing the flesh with stone blades and axes, swarming over the hulk like hungry ants, or flocks of black-winged vultures, which, in a few hours, can strip a carcass clean.
Everybody was covered with blood, but they didn't seem to mind—and after a while a slow drizzle washed it away.

The cooking fires smoldered, but did not go out, and the aroma of roasted meat soon filled the air. All were happy. Strips of flesh were hung, and the tribes settled in again for the time required to dry them. The leaders chafed and murmured, anxious to get back on the move, but the people were already constructing makeshift huts on a low hill nearby and preparing for a stay. They were tired.

By dusk a congregation of wolves was heard gnashing and tearing at the carcass, for most of the flesh still remained, and its odor had reached their keen noses. Two wolves in particular drew the interest of the travelers, who, having gathered as much food as they could use, were watching the animals feast from a safe distance on the rising slope. The pair was fighting over a strip of muscle that one of them had torn off. Both clung to the same flank with their sharp fangs, tugging, snarling, and refusing to yield. The competition amused a number of the tribesmen, who noted the folly of fighting over a small amount when there was abundance for a hundred wolves and vultures! At last one of the animals let the meat loose, but only with the purpose of assailing his rival's throat. The witnesses above laughed loudly at this successful maneuver, and prepared to divert themselves with a struggle to the death.

Dael was not laughing, however. He was studying the combat with glowing eyes, drinking in the savagery as if he would acquire it for himself. Then, on a sudden impulse, he seized two spears and ran like a crazy man to attack the competing beasts. His friends called him to
come back, but they were ignored. Dael threw one lance at the fiercer animal, piercing its chest and bringing it down with a yelp of pain. He attacked the other one too, forcing the second spear down its throat, as Zan-Gah had once killed the lioness. Dael then retrieved his weapons, panting for breath, and stood still with arms outstretched, a spear in each hand. His cry of triumph over the two dead animals was frightful to hear as he fairly shrieked to the sky. The spectators, stunned more by his wild cry than the deed itself, finally ran forward to protect him from the rest of the pack, for Dael was still in great danger; but the other wolves were so preoccupied with their greedy feed that they had ignored the entire episode and went on tearing and gnashing their fill. Their snarls would be heard throughout the night—and Dael was received like a hero.

Any part of a kill might be valuable. The slaughtered wolves were stripped of their pelts. Dael gave one of them to each of his Hru friends, Oin and Orah, who were delighted by the rich gifts. (They now were even more strongly drawn to their dominant friend and willing to follow his leadership.) The task of harvesting additional parts from the dead mammoth would be too time-consuming for people on the move, but someone wanted the tail, and Morda, the Hru chieftain, refused to leave the great tusks behind. It proved a long labor to cut these trophies from the carcass—which had begun to stink—but Morda owned hard stone blades, and slowly ground the tusks off with the help of Agrud, his long-suffering wife. As usual the women had been enlisted, carrying food, water, skins, and other necessities for long distances. Upon the eventual departure of the Ba-Coro from the site of their kill, the men marched ahead proudly, spears in hand.
Their wives trailed behind dragging their heavy loads on pole carriages, including the cumbersome tusks.

As the travelers moved over the bare, unpeopled land, they enjoyed a southern breeze for a while, but then it was driven out by a cold west wind. After the chilly day's trek, they took shelter by a stream in an area overgrown with brush—which contrasted with the rising and falling prairie. Suddenly Chul stopped to listen. His mouth always dropped open when he did, and he stared straight into empty space. He was hearing the shrill, whimpering sound of a small animal and he tried to locate its source. Dael happened to be nearby when, stepping into a cache of dry leaves, he was startled by a high-pitched yelp and a sharp pain on his shin. Dael reached down reflexively and discovered something warm and furry—two wolf cubs, one of which still had its small teeth in his leg.

These were probably the babies of one of the wolves he had killed. Dael picked a cub up with each hand by the scruff of the neck. They were weak with hunger and whining continuously. On the spot Dael adopted them and resolved to restore them. He brought them to vigorous health in a few days with water and prechewed bits of meat transferred from his mouth to theirs with careful fingers.

Zan and Pax noted with some curiosity and no little surprise the care and tenderness Dael lavished on the cubs. Zan's violent brother had always hated the species, dreaming sometimes at night in fitful sleep that whole wolf packs were surrounding and attacking him, while he tried in vain to fight them off. Horrid dreams! Besides, these were the offspring of animals he had recently slain simply for the fun and adventure of it. Yet Dael formed a sudden and strong
attachment to them. They became his children and the focus of the little love that was still in him. Thereafter, wherever Dael went with his energetic and determined strides, the wolves would be behind. He would strike or even kick them when they displeased him, threatening to make a meal of them if meat should be in short supply; and yet they fawned on him and followed at his heels. By the time the clans reached their destination several months later, they were full-grown young wolves, as tame as their owner.

Dael trained them in toughness, tugging at toys in their mouths and fighting with them for their food. He sometimes amused himself by teaching his pets to howl. Sitting with them and holding one under each of his strong arms so that their heads were close together, he would begin to bark and keen in a way that drew a howling response from the animals. Then Dael, imitating them, would wail at the top of his lungs,
“arroo-roo-roo!”
causing them to howl even more. Perhaps it was the affect of their kinship, or maybe the noise just hurt their sensitive ears, but it was a strange concert. The three wailing together drew the laughter of all who saw them, and excited a good deal of admiration as well. Dael was already known for his fierceness and courage, and the company of his wild pets, forming something like a family, made him remarkable and respected by many, feared by some. Dael would leap with the animals, play with them, wrestle with them. And he began to seem like one of them. He enjoyed no one's company but theirs.

 

 

 

 

Possibly the most difficult part of the journey would be crossing the great split in the earth. It had been one thing for a small party of intrepid youths to traverse the harrowing, wind-swept expanse; it was quite another to expect women, children, and the aged to scamper fearlessly across the gulf as Rydl might! The depth of the gorge was absolutely terrifying, and the bridge built some years before by the wasp men was slender and unsteady.

Chul, who was a good parent, understood the need to prepare the children. Well before they came to the bridge he would lead a group of them around in single file, as a gigantic mother duck might walk its ducklings to water—to everybody's mirthful entertainment. It seemed to be a game, and the children enjoyed it, but it was really an exercise in trusting and following their leader. Yet when the time to cross the abyss arrived, Chul had to carry most of them in his arms or on his neck and shoulders, holding their urchin legs tightly in his grip. Rydl, that amazing acrobat, assisted, and even walked across on his hands to amuse the children and lessen their terror. Rydl
was perhaps the only one of the entire group who was not intimidated by great heights.

There was another problem: Aniah was sick. He had become feeble with illness and extreme old age, and was so unsteady on his feet that Chul had to carry him on his back like one of the children—exactly as he had jokingly suggested some months before. Dael helped the women, who showed surprising courage and determination, while most of the men faced the ordeal with their usual bravado—each crossing accompanied by a chorus of cheers, laughter, and congratulations. How fierce Morda looked with a twisted elephant tusk over his shoulder! He made the crossing twice, risking his life to protect his prized possessions.

It was at this point that something unusual happened; Dael's thinking began to change. That intense and inexorable man, watching the fearless antics of his enemy Rydl, became aware that he admired him in spite of himself. For many weeks Dael had wished to get back at Rydl, and thought of little else. Once again he reflected on the way Rydl had trapped him in his snare—had lured and outsmarted him. And although he could still taste his humiliation, he had to admit to himself that Rydl was a clever and dexterous opponent, and no coward. He was forced to respect Rydl and, strangely, he almost started to like him. Maybe he would take his revenge, and maybe he wouldn't! Just now no private quarrel could be allowed to impede the difficult progress the Ba-Coro were making toward their new home. The elders simply would not tolerate it. Dael understood this and dropped for a time his former attitude of hostility, while still keeping his distance as he thought things over.

However, the volcanic nature of Dael's psyche led to another schism that resembled nothing so much as the deep split in the earth, which unnerved all who saw it. The divide, the new fatal gulf, was between Dael and his twin brother. It is difficult to say what caused it. There was no quarrel, only a striking difference in their personalities and outlooks leading to ever-increasing division and conflict. One might have supposed that they would enjoy each other's company, as they had during their younger years, now that they were reunited. But everything had changed. The brotherly friendship between them was gone.

Nor did it matter that they looked almost exactly the same—were mirror twins. The slight differences took on new importance. Zan still bore the scars of his battle with the lioness, whereas Dael's shoulders were unscarred. And Dael alone happened to be left-handed, a cause of wonder to all who noticed, and fear to some. The left hand was thought to be soiled and sinister, and Dael had been taught from his infancy to use his right. However, whenever he was upset about anything, he tended to revert to using the left, and Zan observed that he now regularly relied on it. He even seemed proud of his ability to use both hands and was determined to be different from his twin. Otherwise, the two were remarkably alike—physically.

So it was a strange fact that Dael was accounted much more handsome than Zan. What distinguished them? Was it something in their bearing or stance? Was it that Dael's intense eagle eyes conveyed conviction and authority, while Zan's were full of hesitancy and doubt? And why did Dael attract followers, each one of whom assumed a
similar look of certainty, as if there were no other way to see the world but theirs?