She motioned to Ant’s mother, “Here is more of the blue flower,” and described how to care for the wound with it, and then motioned to Ant. "Ngili died to save you. His work has become your work. Be more careful next time."
As she left, Nightshade joined her.
"Rest," and he motioned toward a rotting log deposited by some long-forgotten flood. From there, she watched the children play their version of today’s battle. Though rough, it prepared them for the rigors of being an adult. At one point, the group ganged up on one weak child. They rained blows on him, bleeding his nose, bruising his arms and legs, cutting his lip open, but he never gave up. He kicked them in the groin, the chest, slammed rocks into the sensitive parts of their heads. In the end, they caught all four of his limbs and pummeled him until his father called him away. Children defended themselves or died. If this scrawny boy added nothing to the People, he should die before using their resources. Life was about the challenge. Survival awarded itself to those smart enough to grab ahold.
Nightshade crouched on his haunches and extended a moist broad leaf to her.
“Where are the scouts?”
She didn’t say it but her Lead Warrior understood. "They will not be ambushed."
Xhosa felt calmer but no less adamant about the decision to leave. Without looking at him, she motioned, "We must go far from these Big Heads."
"Take this." Nightshade handed her a leaf blade brimming with roots, bulbs, corms, rhizomes, baobab fruit, and crunchy seeds.
"I thought the seeds were gone until the wet time." Where did he find these?
As she crunched one bite after another, images floated about in her thoughts, of the females collecting dry pods, beating them with sticks, and then winnowing seeds from pod fragments—all while too many of her warriors were grievously injured and Ngili lost his life to the Big Heads.
With a lingering glance, as though he wanted to say something and decided against it, Nightshade left. Watching his solid muscular body move confidently across the clearing, she wondered again about her feelings for him. He was completely devoted to her, would gladly take on the responsibility to feed both her and their children. Females pairmated after they bled but as Leader, no one forced her. Nightshade mated often, fathered many, but never called a female ‘pairmate’ or the children ‘family’.
She cocked her head as Owl rose, carrying a shining snake into the trees. It bit into the wriggling creature even as it fought for its freedom.
Why did Nightshade wait for her?
She winced, pressing her palms against her temples. Nightshade stood across the clearing, eyes on her, head tilted, a curious smile on his lips.
"Go,” he motioned. “Take care of yourself. Nothing will happen that I can’t handle."
Xhosa rose and her world spun. At times like this, pain grinding into her temples and forcing her eyes closed, it was a struggle to maintain an appearance of vigor. Everyone thought she liked the quiet, which was true, but it was time to share the truth with Nightshade.
"Come,” her hand beckoned him while her feet headed across the plateau in the center of the homebase. She nodded to several females as they gathered their children, waved to a warrior patrolling the perimeter as he melted into the growing gloom, pleased to see Ant totter from the communal food to Ngili’s mate.
Away from the People, Xhosa squeezed her eyes closed, willing the pain into submission, but it never listened. Nightshade gripped her arm as someone inside her head banged mercilessly, trying to escape. She stumbled and he steadied her. His hand pulled a pod from his neck sack.
It stunned her. "How did you know?"
"It is my job to know.” When he saw her concern, he added, “No one else does. There is no need."
She laid the pod on a flat rock and slammed it with a hammerstone until the seeds popped out. These, she pulverized into mush, ate, and then waited for the numbness.
Is this what it means to have a pairmate?
Her finger found a black dried-out toe, the only remaining piece of her father. Even in death, he gave her courage. The band settled in for the night as she inhaled Nightshade’s presence, letting it sink into her pores, wishing it would wash away the horror. Stars twinkled, grasshoppers chirruped. Children ran their last races of the day, threw their final game of toss. Someone thumped the ground with open hands, the pleasant rhythm that calmed everyone and announced the start of grooming. Others hummed, hands too busy to beat the earth.
Her parents had been happy together, maybe what she felt with Nightshade. They read each other’s minds, did for the other without being asked. No matter the load, neither seemed
burdened. When her mother died, her father changed.
The pain receded to a dull thrum above her cheeks and below her forehead.
"We underestimated our rival, Nightshade, as Others do us."
"We saw them fight only once before."
She acknowledged but continued, "I fight like Cat—stalk prey carefully, watch for any trace. How did I miss the clues, Nightshade, telling me to withdraw?"
"Big Heads are weak. You mistake their far-throw spear for strength. We will learn to attach a stone to the tip."
"How?"
He brushed over that. "Our warriors are excellent with weapons. They will figure it out. Today Xhosa, our archenemy learned we are not easily defeated."
Then why did Xhosa feel that today’s conflict ended life here, at their homebase? In truth, she and Nightshade talked often of moving. Scouts went out every day in search of a new home, the urgency inspired by both the ruthlessness of the Big Heads and changes in the land itself. When her father first brought the People here, every type of animal traveled their territory, usually to visit the abundant waterholes. Today, dusty trails led past desperate-looking junipers to ever-shrinking ponds and lakes. They relied on rain but every season, it started later and ended earlier. The pond a young Xhosa dangled her feet in didn’t even touch the toes of her adult legs. The underground streams that used to run just below the surface now required a day of digging. Herds that left to escape the heat returned smaller.
Not just the animals and the water had changed—the earth itself seemed angry. The mountains exploded and the land split open more often and more violently.
Still, it always provided. Grasses, seeds, berries, and nuts, the People took only what they needed, leaving plenty to reseed for the next time they harvested. They ate cossid larvae, eggs, nuts, scorpions, and termites holed up in their massive mounds.
The evening air cooled their weary bodies. Nightshade brushed a finger over her smooth face. Blotchy white sweat glistened against the shine of his black skin, his hair heavy with trail debris.
“There is one other option,” she motioned, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
He looked away. “That is a desperate move, to be considered only when nothing else is possible.”
She leaned her head against his chest, enjoying the sound of his body beating, slowly and rhythmically, much like the beat in her ears.
Nightshade motioned, "Come."
By the time they crossed over the brambled barrier, built every night for protection, her head no longer pounded. She squatted by Nightshade, grooming the flees, ticks, and lice from his hirsute hair as he did hers.
As they finished, a whoop sounded from the males guarding the perimeter. Xhosa snagged her spear, as did Nightshade, and raced toward the noise.
It must be the Big Heads.
PART TWO: SOUTH AFRICA
850,000 years ago
Chapter 11
Pan-do urged the ragged remnants of his vibrant community onward. They wheezed desperately, muscles screaming, bodies starved for water, but he refused to slow. The hairless enemy with the vaulted heads and broad flat faces who threw a death stick farther than was possible would not stop their pursuit because his People were worn out.
They had been crossing these wide open lands for more than a moon, up and down steep slopes, sloshing through sha
llow rivers, cowering in open grasslands that provided little protection. The terrain was nothing like the limestone caves and forests that had been his home most of his life. And he missed the gentle kindness of the Hairy Ones. Though strange looking Uprights—short-statured and long-armed with pear-shaped chests and noses that flattened against their faces—they had welcomed his People when they had nowhere else to go, offering sanctuary and asking for nothing. Before living with them, he had considered them more like Cousin Chimp than Others though larger, more mobile, and more intelligent but as the Moons came and went, he got to know them as hard workers who respected his people and were always willing to teach them new skills.
Soon the shared hunting, gathering, childminding, and knapping became a way of life. Together, the tribes excavated bulbs and roots, extracted termites from logs, scavenged meat, and sniffed out water. Pan-do’s People were skilled fighters but the Hairy Ones knew nothing about combat. When handfuls of Moons passed without violence, the People’s warriors no longer practiced those skills. Why waste the time when attacks never occurred?
That mistake almost destroyed them. When the vicious hairless ones decided they wanted the caves, the combined group had no defense other than to flee. The Hairy Ones ran well but only short distances so soon, one by one, the Big Heads picked them off until only Pan-do’s People ran onward, for their lives.
Pan-do led with his pairmate Ah-ga and his daughter Lyta, with no real idea where to go. The forests and cliffs gave way to rolling grasslands marked with prickled bushes and deep-rooted trees, and then an infinite flat, dry monotony, a limitless scrub waste without landmarks or water, the only living animals being the People trudging onward.
Finally, when it was impossible to believe the enemy would continue to chase, Pan-do motioned, “We rest.”
His People collapsed where they stood. Scouts who explored the front- and backtrail reported no trace of the big headed-hairless ones. For them to continue the chase risked losing the caves and the surrounding lush lands to another invader. Still, every day while the People rested and replenished supplies, Pan-do sent scouts. One day, they stumbled into the temporary camp, breathless, skin damp with sweat.
“Big Heads—many—a day’s travel.”
Without a thought, Pan-do and his People moved on, this time away from the gentle salty tang that had guided them, its familiarity bringing comforted because it scented the air of their homeland. Maybe something about it kept the hairless ones following.
Finally, a handful of days later, Pan-do stopped, once again hoping—believing—he had lost the enemy. His People were exhausted and dejected. If they didn’t find safety soon, they would give up.
Ah-ga, his pairmate, motioned gently, “Are we finished running? When can we go home to our caves?”
No and Never, but Pan-do wanted to phrase it more positively, maybe shape their flight as a great adventure. As he struggled with that challenge, his daughter, Lyta, flicked her fingers toward their old homebase. “Bad lives there. Good lives ahead,” and she flicked toward the flat horizon.
Pan-do smiled.
“It’s decided—I will share the good news with the rest.”
Pan-do’s People accepted Lyta’s strange antics because what she heard and saw often saved lives.
He rose to leave but motioned to Lyta, “Do you know how far? Before we’re safe?” Though her visions often included no details, Pan-do hoped this would be the exception. Rather than answer, she twirled off to pluck a dry flower from a broken stem.
Ah-ga gazed at the flat brown bumps that grew daily. “Maybe she means those mountains.”
Mountains meant cliffs which meant caves so Pan-do adjusted their direction, still keeping Sun’s waking place to his strong side, sleeping nest to his weak. By the time Moon came and went once and again, two things happened. A bright star appeared in the night sky over their forward path and all trace of the hairless ones disappeared. Sure, the scouts uncovered the familiar long narrow Upright prints with the prominent bump at the top and a deep indent at the bottom, but few Uprights were enemies.
Lyta happily skipped, arms overhead, eyes alight with excitement.
“I will meet him ahead.”
While Pan-do had no idea what she meant, warmth and joy filled him as it did every day spent with his daughter.
With the immediate threat stemmed, Pan-do let everyone stop at a river to bathe and refresh. Water ran high on the banks creating swampy pockets and secluded inlets perfect for the children to play. The mud provided good opportunities for the hunters to trap game.
“Pan-do!” His pairmate Ah-ga had just finished bathing with Lyta and the child raced up to the dry shoreline. He would have watched Lyta until she was safely away from the water and any dangers it held but a wide log was floating toward Ah-ga, with eyes on top. Before he could scream, Crocodile!, treacherous teeth flashed dripping white saliva, and snapped shut on Ah-ga’s leg. She bellowed in surprise and pain. With a yank, the crocodile knocked her down and started dragging her into the depths. Her fingers clawed at the shoreline but it was all sand and silt.
“Ah-ga! I’m coming!”
Fury powered his steps as spittle flew from his lips and a muscle twitched beneath his left eye. He had only his spear—his warclub left behind while they bathed—but it didn’t matter. He would have attacked with no weapons.
The croc was a monster, as long as two of the People. Boney plates covered its back and left no space for a spear to penetrate. Still, Pan-do strode into the water and slammed the dull end of his spear into the croc’s head, aiming for his sensitive nose but missing. His goal was to force it to release Ah-ga and attack him. That didn’t happen. The croc slapped Pan-do away with a violent swish of its tail and continued dragging Ah-ga into the sludgy current.
Pan-do scrabbled forward on his knees, head spinning.
“Pan-do—stay there,” Ah-ga ordered in her I-have-a-plan voice. She knew he couldn’t swim and the croc was already too far into the lake. Ah-ga gulped in as much air as she could just before the croc dove, spinning, leaving a trail of blood from her bleeding leg. Usually, a crocodile kept its prey underwater until it suffocated but this time, it surfaced, hissing as Ah-ga beat its head and snout with a massive rock she must have pulled from the river bottom. She slammed it over and over, bludgeoning every sensitive part.
Finally, the creature let go with a deadly sigh and she kicked away with her one good leg, dragging the other. Pan-do extended his spear to Ah-ga so he could pull her to shore but the croc pounced again, this time closing his great jaws on her remaining good leg. She howled in pain but managed to adjust the spear in her hand and jab its sharp point into the croc’s unblinking eyes and throat, all the while screaming and bellowing to disorient the animal.
With a final low-throated bark, the crocodile released Ah-ga and she scrabbled up the shore with only her arms. The crocodile wanted no part of this vicious prey and slid soundlessly back into the river. Pan-do splashed to his pairmate and pulled her out of the water to the drier edging ground. One leg had been mangled to a pulpy red mass and the other bitten to the bone, leaving the shape of the croc’s snout in the skin.
Sa-mo-ke, his Primary Warrior, sprinted to Pan-do. He took one look at Ah-ga, gulped as though to keep from throwing up, but what he had to say was worse than what he looked at.
“They found us! We must run!” He tensed at the sight of Ah-ga’s shattered legs and damp white face, before continuing, “I can lead the People. You get Ah-ga to safety.”
Ah-ga waved Pan-do away. “Leave me in that burrow,” and she started to crawl toward a small animal den. “When I am healed, I will catch up.”
Pan-do shook his head. This female was life itself. Without her, he might as well quit. He motioned to his Lead Warrior, scarcely beyond childhood but blooded by Big Heads. His face shone with the light of youth mixed with the wisdom of age.
“That is a good plan, Sa-mo-ke. We cannot escape carrying a crippled member. I stay with Ah-
ga. When she recovers, we will catch up. Lyta—go with Sa-mo-ke.”
Lyta’s eyes glistened with unshed tears but she agreed. “I will see you again, Father. Don’t worry,” and she left moving at the only speed her uncoordinated legs could go. Finally, as they disappeared from sight, he saw Sa-mo-ke throw Lyta over his shoulder like the loin of Gazelle, and no heavier.
Pan-do hefted Ah-ga into the den she had found. After placing her gently on the dirt floor, he disguised the entry with brush and treated his pairmate’s wounds with moss, sap, and plant roots.
“I need bark from the shedding tree for the fever. And pain.”
He got no further than the mouth of the den when he saw it. “A dust cloud. They are here.”
He pulled back into the shadows away from the mouth of the den, spear clutched tightly, shielding Ah-ga with his body. Within moments, he heard pounding steps and smelled the stench of their bodies. They weren’t likely to notice this hole. It was too small for anyone’s interest. They picked up the trail of the fleeing People and followed. When they were gone, Pan-do emerged cautiously, sniffed for any remaining enemy, but found none. Still, as he harvested the bark, he stayed in the waist-high grass as much as possible, ready to drop out of sight at the slightest noise.
The days passed as he applied moss and honey to Ah-ga’s wounds, harvested bark often for pain, and brought water in his cupped hands so she could drink. Still, his pairmate got worse until cysts filled with slimy green puss that smelled like offal covered her legs. He ruptured the cysts, re-applied the poultices, but it did no good. Her skin burned so, he submerged her entire body in the cold river, head in his lap. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered, warmed by the heat radiating from Ah-ga’s skin.
One night, his shaking hands pouring water on her fiery body, dripping tears, her chest fell and didn’t rise. Pan-do dropped his head to her breasts and shook with sobs.
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