Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  "Why do they attack, Father? What did we do?"

  He shoved her away. "Go! Get our People to safety! I will slow them!"

  “No,” she answered softly. "We stay together! We, Father. I stand with you!"

  His eyes, always soft and welcoming, held hers for a moment as though to object but instead, offered the faintest of smiles and then confronted the onslaught.

  Xhosa broadened her stance, picked the closest Big Head, and launched her spear. It flew true with such power it penetrated the male’s throat and into the next warrior. Both fell, dead before they hit the water. When a Big Head spear landed at her feet, she seized it, warclub in her other hand, throwing stones in her neck sack.

  "I am blooded!” She screamed. "I do not flee in fear!"

  Her scalp tingled and her eyesight grew vivid as everything about her grew stronger, harder, and faster. One enemy after another fell to the skill of Xhosa and her father. Her chest swelled with pride. No one could beat them. These creatures would soon withdraw as did all the People's enemies.

  She buried a spear in a young warrior's thigh. He screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  "You were never stabbed?" With a snort, she yanked the weapon from his leg, eliciting another anguished howl. He was not much older than she. Maybe he too fought his first battle.

  She threw the bloody spear at another Big Head who collapsed, blood bubbling from his mouth. Out of spears, she hurled stones from her neck sack, dropping one warrior after another, her barrage so fast no one could duck.

  But there were too many. One moment, her father brandished his deadly weapons. The next, the Big Head Thunder appeared, obsidian eyes blazing, white scar pulsing. He caught Xhosa’s eye and sneered as if to say, Watch what I do to your Leader.

  A bellow came from the Big Head Wind, “Thunder! Stop!”

  But Thunder jeered. “You are weak, Wind!” And he drove the spear’s stone tip into her father's chest, twisting it as he did.

  Xhosa’s hands flew to her mouth as fury burned through her. Her father, the one who believed in her above all others, pled, Go. With the spear thrusting grotesquely from his body, he slammed his warclub into another Big Head who made the mistake of considering her father a walking dead. A loud crack told Xhosa the warrior’s chest had caved in. Xhosa started toward him but Nightshade grabbed her.

  “You can’t help him. We must get the People to safety!”

  Body shaking with rage, she shook loose and squared off to Thunder. “I will destroy you! As I did the one who killed my mother!” She gripped her warclub, head high, body blazing with fury, never wavering.

  His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t known.

  Her father hurled his last spear and impaled a charging Big Head as another clubbed him. He legs collapsed but he kicked ferociously, tripping one and another before they overwhelmed him, pummeling him with clubs until he no longer moved.

  Nightshade forced her away. “We leave our meat. They will let us go,” or scavengers would take the food.

  To her horror, she chose life over her father and doing so, abandoned her belief in fairness. Her father saw the Big Heads first and let them be. Xhosa would never make that mistake.

  Chapter 2

  A blinding flash and a boom overwhelmed every other sound as Xhosa fled, blotting out the pounding feet, the screams, and the anguished cries of the injured. Within moments, a surprise storm swept over the land like a giant waterfall.

  As Nightshade predicted, the enemy chose meat over the sure destruction of a dispirited People with no defense except warclubs and throwing stones. Without their Leader, all turned to the Lead Warrior. He stepped up without hesitation, driving the group at a grueling pace despite the storm until they could continue no longer. Then, all except Nightshade curled against a cliff, huddled together for warmth, and slept.

  Xhosa stayed with Nightshade knowing her farsight was more important than ever. She dug her fingernails into her arm, letting the pain drown memories of her father, the evil Thunder, and the mystery of his brother Wind whose hope—if that’s what it was—surely became a casualty of the battle.

  As she watched, shivering, one thing was clear. Nothing would ever be the same.

  The sky growled like Sabertooth, its voice bouncing off the hardscrabble land as though agreeing with her.

  The next day, the discouraged hunters left as Sun awoke, hurrying along their backtrail, straggling toward the relative safety of homebase. When they crossed onto their land, Nightshade left warriors at the boundary with orders to kill anyone who tried to cross.

  Scouts watching from the People’s tall bluffs spread the word that the hunting party returned without meat. When Nightshade led the bedraggled group into the homebase clearing, every groupmember froze in shock, knowing this meant their Leader was dead.

  When a Leader died or simply became too old, the designation passed to his son. Lacking one, it went to the most capable warrior as determined by the Primary Female. If several males qualified, a challenge would follow. The Primary Female held authority over all families, as the Lead Warrior did over males. Born before Xhosa’s father, her wisdom and experience imbued daily decisions and discussions.

  Every warrior, hunter, and female slept that night expecting Nightshade would be the next leader.

  With Sun a hand above the horizon, the People gathered with the Primary Female. She spoke with a mixture of body movements, gestures, and vocalizations, sharing the story of the People.

  When finished, she asked a simple question. “Who leads our People?” And squatted, waiting. Sadness drew her features down. Clearly, she never thought it would be her duty to preside over the choice of a new Leader.

  Two older males rose, both strong warriors with much loyalty among their peers, but when Nightshade stood, they dropped and slapped the ground to signify approval. Nightshade was young but admired as a masterful warrior, a successful hunter, and the favorite of their dead Leader.

  “I am ready. I won’t fail the People,” Nightshade motioned.

  The Primary Female allowed a heavy sigh. “Does anyone challenge this warrior?”

  Her hands were neutral, giving nothing away about her feelings. When Xhosa rose, like mist from wet hot-season grass, everyone snickered except the Primary Female. A wisp of a smile touched her lips.

  “I too am prepared. Nightshade, I challenge you.”

  Nightshade glared, though he kept his head down so no one would see. He should be the next Leader, after the death of Xhosa’s father. Never did the powerful male consider that Xhosa would challenge him but he should have. Her mother’s raw courage was legendary, as potent as a she-cat defending her cubs, as vicious as any warrior protecting the People.

  The only time he’d ever seen Xhosa cry was at her mother’s death.

  That child was no more. The adult Xhosa bristled with the strength of her mother and skills of her father.

  Nightshade grew up in awe of Xhosa’s commitment to never let what happened back then happen again. No other female—or male—had that passion. He became obsessed with her rebellious spirit and courage, her tenacity to learn warrior skills though few would help her. He wanted her as his Lead Warrior, fervent to harness her fearlessness for the People.

  When he was Leader and she Lead Warrior, then they would pairmate.

  That was his plan. He never thought he would be fighting her for leadership.

  Chapter 3

  When neither Xhosa nor Nightshade deferred, the Primary Female rose.

  “We solve this as we did when Xhosa’s father became Leader.” She placed stones in a pile in the center of the clearing. “There are this many challenges. The winner of each gets one. Who collects the most leads our People.”

  Grunts of approval filled the air. Of course, Nightshade would win. The warriors would get their pre-eminent Leader and the People would be secure.

  “First, the cliff challenge.”

  Without pause, Primary Female shuffled to a towering pr
ecipice that edged the homebase. Her hair more white than black, she moved prudently, hunched over and leaning heavily on one of the warriors, a spear serving as a walking stick. This cliff was one of the steepest in the People’s territory. Of those who tried to scale it, most fell to their death. The Primary hobbled past the only path to the top, one that was treacherous but doable, and stopped a long spear-throw and another and another farther away. There, she folded onto her haunches and closed her eyes.

  Xhosa kept her face impassive but inside, she blanched. This spot was considered impossible to scale and since no one had ever tried, no handholds existed.

  “Nightshade and Xhosa. Select a position no farther from here than a spear throw.”

  Xhosa strode to her strong side, Nightshade to his weak. He tipped his head, shoulders back, arms hanging loosely, with the relaxed assurance of one who knows he will prevail.

  She snorted. Nightshade thought he would win this one because he could hang by his fingers longer than any of the People but so could Xhosa—and unlike Nightshade, experience taught her that strength wouldn’t win this challenge. One day while exploring, Xhosa had discovered a family of Climbing Gazelles. They moved sure-footed and quick up a cliff steeper than the one before her, springing from one safe spot to another, clawing at the tiniest protrusions and leaning in. With leg strength and an astounding lack of fear, they completed impossible moves that should have ended in death.

  From that day, Xhosa practiced being Climbing Gazelle. Many falls helped her master the technique she hoped would beat Nightshade.

  The Primary scrutinized their selections and motioned, “They are equal.”

  The People stomped, marking the beginning of the challenge.

  Nightshade jumped upward, quickly a full body-length and another ahead of Xhosa. He seemed to make decisions when he must, not before. Xhosa had a different approach. She stood still, ignoring Nightshade and the People’s whispers, only her farsighted eyes moving to study the bluff. One by one, the protrusions and ledges that would enable her climb and the slippery areas that would cause trouble burned themselves into her thoughts and she built her plan.

  By the time that was done, Nightshade had moved well ahead but his lead wouldn’t last. Xhosa could see that the course he followed would disappear well before the bluff. If he didn’t adjust soon, his only choice would be to reverse course and find another route.

  Once started, her ascent went quickly as she grabbed handholds exactly where they’d appeared to be from the valley floor. Time and again, her arms and legs stretched to their full length, her body tight against the jagged cliff, while her toes gripped the thinnest of ledges and her fingers found almost invisible protrusions.

  She paused for a breath as her eyes fixed on a seam in the rock an arm’s length away. From below, its color had appeared faintly different which meant it was softer than its surroundings. With a determined prod, it crumbled so she sidled over and tunneled out ledges and then sprang up, one leap at a time, as Climbing Gazelle would. The seam disappeared at a narrow shelf, offering a welcome rest while reconstructing her next steps from the image drawn below.

  “There you are,” she greeted her next hold.

  A precarious bounce allowed her to grab a ridge as narrow as a finger. She gripped tightly, leaned into the cliff, regained her balance, and again leaped, gripped, and stabilized, over and over. Her fingertips shredded and bled but it didn’t even slow her.

  By the time the People below shrank to the size of her thumb, fatigue caused her arms to spasm and her fingers to cramp. Just in time, there—exactly where it should be—appeared a shelf that should be wide enough to hold her entire body. She grabbed it, pulled up, arms trembling, and peeked over.

  And almost lost her grip.

  A massive black-and-orange snake examined her with its huge unblinking eye. She froze, body dangling by her fingertips, hoping he slept.

  His tail shook.

  A cutter was in her neck sack but could she reach it while dangling by one hand?

  She’d talk to him first.

  “Snake. I need this spot or I die. Go to your family. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  It twisted toward her, menacing coils level with her face, tongue tasting the air. She transferred her weight to one hand, preparing to snatch the snake with the other and fling it away but that proved unnecessary. He must have decided this odd creature who smelled of dirt and sweat presented no peril so slithered away, leaving behind a musky cloying scent and a smooth flat rock for her to sit on.

  After a long calming breath, Xhosa hooked her legs over the narrow shelf, rolled onto it, and leaned back against the cliff. Her muscles quivered and sweat poured from her body. It was time to rest.

  Panting, she peered down at Nightshade. He had realized his mistake and adjusted his path but again, picked a dead end. Frustration made him scowl.

  “There’s a nice path not too far below,” Xhosa muttered to herself while chewing a root from her neck sack. “But do it soon.”

  Xhosa felt the stirring of worry but shook it away. Her future would be defined by the choices made today. Those couldn’t include helping her competition.

  Rested, she gave a hard push with the balls of her feet and snagged a one-handed hold, but her foot slipped, wrenching her leg as it slammed against the cliff. Tears blurred her vision as she swung by one hand, flailing for a new hold, found it, and hung on until her heart slowed.

  Bit by perilous bit, fingertips bleeding, she clawed her way up, holding onto tiny protrusions while searching for the next.

  “I’m close,” she huffed much later, as Sun fought a losing battle with ominous dark clouds. Both she and Nightshade must be off this cliff before rain made it too slippery.

  A glance at Nightshade showed him on a good path upward but his hands glistened with sweat which meant he could slip. An arm’s length away but out of his view was a patch of green.

  “Nightshade! Around that rock—moss to dry your hands!”

  He ignored her or couldn’t hear.

  She shrugged and returned to her climb. Close to her was a wide crack. She swung, grabbed, and tucked herself securely into its tunnel. When she looked up, she couldn’t believe her luck.

  “It goes all the way to the top.” An intoxicating mix of ecstasy, fatigue, and relief filled her. “I made it.”

  By pushing her feet against one wall and her back against the other, Xhosa scuttled up to the lip and over the bluff only moments ahead of the rain. Eyes closed, her head tipped of its own accord and rain filled her mouth, drenched her hair, and cooled her neck. Red welts covered her arms and thighs from stinging nettles in the tunnel. Her knees throbbed from being slammed against the rocks. Her fingernails were broken and bleeding from scrabbling for purchase, but the climb was over.

  When breathing no longer meant wheezing, she peeked over the edge and gasped.

  Nightshade was stuck, trying to hang on until the rain ended.

  “Nightshade!” His eyes canted up. “That crack—there—it will take you to the top!”

  He took a moment to find it and then clambered over and up, finally crouching beside her. She handed him a piece of pain bark to chew and took one herself. Numbness seeped into her shredded skin, deep body wounds, and overstrained muscles. The gaping cut to her thigh, from something in the crevice—that would take more than bark.

  “That’s one for you,” Nightshade motioned. “There are two more.”

  The next day, Xhosa’s pile held one rock.

  Primary Female motioned, “For the next Challenge, each of you must kill a Wild Beast. Alone.”

  Xhosa blinked, her gaze on the Primary Female, ignoring every warrior and hunter sure this monster would end her challenge. For Wild Beast was a monster, its robust muscular body as tall as Nightshade with massive hooved feet, a head the size of Warthog, sweeping long horns, and a powerful tail that could fling a hunter to his death with one sweep. Predators underestimated this magnificent creature at their peril.


  Despite this, the advantage was Xhosa’s. While Nightshade often hunted in a group where males funneled prey to others who killed it, Xhosa was not allowed to join. At her father’s insistence, she still hunted the great prey—Wild Beast, Oryx, and Buffalo—but alone.

  “Many predators hunt without a partner or pack, Daughter. Be like cheetah stalking, like keen-eyed Eagle and vigilant wolf.”

  She became good at it.

  Xhosa and Nightshade were delivered to the border of the People’s territory. One headed to the strong side, the other the weak. Within a finger of Sun’s travel, neither could see the other.

  Xhosa speared a hare, slung it over her shoulder, and then tracked a noisy Wild Beast as it rooted in the brush, oblivious to the downwind intruder. She dropped the hare’s still-warm body at the base of a tree that would be in Wild Beast’s path, sliced its belly open to perfume the air with the pungency of death, rubbed leaves over her body to screen her scent, and scrambled up the tree. There, she waited, spear ready, for the Wild Beast to investigate the odor.

  A hand of time passed before the monster plodded toward the tree. It was smaller than some, only as tall as Xhosa’s hips and with a broken horn.

  “You have survived battle, Wild Beast. You are a worthy opponent.”

  It sniffed the tantalizing smell but approached cautiously, browsing on grass and shoots in its path, distracted often by smells it eventually discarded as less interesting than the hare, not understanding Xhosa was in a hurry. It finally shuffled under her tree to lick the hare’s innards. Xhosa cocked her spear but bumped into a branch which threw off her aim and she impaled only the ground. With a bellow, the Wild Beast fled and in doing so, stepped on her spear.

  Xhosa dropped from the tree, angry and annoyed.

  “I can’t hunt without a spear.”

  By the time she felled a sapling whose trunk was taller than her head and as fat as her arm, smoothed off the nodes and bumps with tree sap, and sharpened the tip, her body shook with anger. Sun had already peaked and now moved toward the horizon. The rules of the Challenge required spending nights with the People. Unless Nightshade tackled problems like hers, he was already finished.