Survival of the Fittest

by Jacqui Murray

  As they watched, Sa-mo-ke’s gaze found Nightshade. He turned to him, stance strong, feet wide, spear and warclub in hand.

  “That one,” and Nightshade pointed at Sa-mo-ke, “is the only warrior worth saving. The rest must be trained or destroyed.”

  Xhosa shrugged, not caring either way, but a hunch made her think these males were stouter than Nightshade expected.

  “There is a reason they survived on the run against countless enemies for so many moons, Lead Warrior.”

  She glanced toward Lyta, hobbling between the lake and her People, never spilling a drop of the precious water, face radiating what could only be described as happiness. “Something about the girl Lyta intrigues me.”

  Xhosa and Nightshade approached Pan-do. As though to prove her Lead Warrior’s point, Sa-mo-ke emitted no scent of fear. In fact, Xhosa saw nothing but confidence and power.

  Xhosa motioned, "Come, Pan-do. Tell us about this far away homeland of yours."

  The two groups gathered behind the bramble barrier and Pan-do enraptured everyone with stories of his People. It didn’t take long to decode his calls, chirps, body movements, and hand motions. They sounded like those of Coyote when angry or Wolf playing or Cousin Chimp calling friends. The words that made no sense were those related to locations like limestone cave or unknown animals like the white-headed black-winged bird. When she asked about Fire Mountains, Pan-do said they didn’t live in his homeland. Her many questions about how Big Heads fought and why Pan-do’s People lost would wait until they could speak privately.

  Bellies full, Sa-mo-ke and Pan-do joined Nightshade’s warriors patrolling the camp while Xhosa escaped to the quiet of a boulder. She chewed on pain bark while listening to Panther cough as he neared his prey, Owl hoot a warning to a hapless rodent, and Wolf’s chilling howl answered by pack members.

  When the ache in her head had dulled sufficiently, she joined Pan-do sitting on a ridge that overlooked the People’s land.

  “You discovered one of my favorite spots, Leader Pan-do. I often come here to soak in the night’s guidance.”

  Pan-do smiled. “Another similarity in our leadership.”

  “Are you not sleepy, after such a challenging day?"

  “I am too excited to sleep. For the first time in many moons, my People feel safe.” He studied her. “They are, aren’t they? Your confrontation with those you call Big Heads and we call Hairless Ones has ended?”

  She ignored the question. “Tell me more about your homeland.”

  “It was beautiful with high plateaus, woodlands, and waterholes stuffed with fish. My father lived there as did his. It rained often but the caves we shared with the Hairy Ones always remained warm and dry.” He paused at Xhosa’s confusion. “They are Uprights but not Others. They are more comfortable in the trees than the open grasslands that you enjoy.”

  As he spoke, his daughter squeezed against him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He absent-mindedly petted her hair as he continued.

  “Their legs are shorter than mine, arms longer, heads smaller, actions slower, and dense fur covers much of their bodies.”

  Xhosa nodded. “I know of them but haven’t seen any since I was a child.” No need to explain that one named Lucy often visited her dreams, at least not yet.

  Pan-do continued, "During the last hot time, many waterholes dried up and didn’t refill when the rain returned. The air—it became so cold, we shivered all the time despite the protection of our caves. When the one you call Big Heads arrived, they wore animal skins—”

  “They pretended to be animals?”

  “No. We could see they were Uprights. We thought they wrapped their bodies in the hides for warmth—as do animals—but came to realize it was to trick us. They knew our respect for all animals would mean we trusted those who honored them by wearing their skins. By the time we realized we were wrong, it was too late.”

  Xhosa peered into the darkness. “We too respect animals. They struggle to survive this land as we do. When we lose one of our People to Cat, we know Cat must eat. We raise our children as Wolf does—to be strong—and as Hyaena does, to be patient.”

  Pan-do chuffed. "Then you’ll enjoy this story. Early in our travels, we came to a wide river. As I pondered how to cross it, Cousin Chimp arrived, stared, and left. I thought nothing of this. Why would he know how to cross when I didn’t? A finger of Sun’s travel passed before Cousin Chimp returned with a stick. Imagine my surprise when he moved down the shoreline, toward me, and marched into the river, stabbing the riverbed as water rose to his calves, his hips, even his waist, but there it stopped and Cousin Chimp walked across."

  Pan-do grinned. "Cousin Chimp taught me that to cross a river, I need only find where it is shallow. Me, I saw everywhere as deep."

  Silence fell between them but a comfortable one. Xhosa wanted to hear about the girl’s farsight but wasn’t sure how to ask.

  She glanced at Lyta, eyes closed but Xhosa doubted in sleep. “Lyta is different.”

  Pan-do showed his teeth. “Yes, in a good way. A walk with Lyta becomes an adventure. Her hand explores the roughness of a tree’s bark, the brittleness of scrubbrush, and the bounty of seedpods. She will bump into everything around her just to hear the noise and then reproduce it.”

  As if to prove his point, Lyta jumped up, cocked her head, and stepped in rhythm with the chirring of grasshoppers.

  Pan-do laughed. “Walking in rhythm with sounds sooths her. It can be Cousin Chimp, insects, the thrum of raindrops, the rush of wind, or a grass fire. Anything aural, Lyta can repeat. Her imitations of bird chirps are so exact that they come to her voice.”

  “Why does she flick her fingers?”

  “That calms her, as does twirling and swaying.”

  Lyta tapped her feet to an insect’s chirrup.

  "Lyta likes you, Xhosa. That means more than you can imagine. One of her traits—as you say, that makes her ‘different’—is her ability to smell evil and dishonesty. No one can hide it from her. I’ve never been led astray when following her instincts.”

  Lyta stared at Xhosa and flicked her fingers.

  “She finds neither in you, Leader Xhosa.”

  Xhosa looked away to hide the warmth that flushed her face and neck. Pan-do’s honesty was unusual in a warrior as was the trust he placed in the youngster Lyta. It would be incomprehensible except that her own father had treated her that way.

  "Where is your pairmate, Pan-do?"

  The Leader blanched and finally whispered, "Dead."

  He shook as Wolf does to throw water from his fur. "I have a story to entertain you before we sleep.” Lyta settled at his feet. One by one, others of both groups joined her, sensing something fun about to happen.

  “Long ago, I stumbled on a carcass not yet chewed by Eagle or Coyote. Hunger made me eat from it even though the predator responsible for the kill undoubtedly remained close. Was the risk of starving to death greater than becoming someone else’s meal?” He shrugged. “Obviously, I lived.”

  Everyone awake squatted by Pan-do, attention fixed on the storyteller, mouths open. Even Nightshade listened intently.

  Pan-do continued, "I'd not been there long when a porcupine began to eat at the forelegs—I was at the hind legs. I considered his arrival fortunate for he would alert me to danger. Soon, in fact, his quills stiffened and he raised his head. I watched as a coyote and another approached from different directions."

  He yawned. "But I must sleep."

  "What happened?" A child yelled as another giggled. “How did you escape?”

  Pan-do responded with his own laugh. "Think about what you would do and tell me."

  When Pan-do tucked in with Lyta, exhaustion from the long travel and the new Others finally catching up with him, his daughter motioned, “Xhosa didn’t tell you the truth. The conflict with the Big Heads isn’t over,” and she fell asleep. It took Pan-do much longer to drift off, struggling with why Xhosa would hide that from him and what it meant.

 
Xhosa liked the new Leader. He was smart with common sense that protected his People as the prickled barrier did sleepers. His mildness might be out of step with the treachery of this land but it balanced Nightshade’s ruthlessness.

  One point they agreed on was the importance of keeping their People safe. Her father would want to help Pan-do.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, Nightshade explained to Pan-do that if he was to stay with the People, his warriors must be trained. Pan-do agreed, telling Sa-mo-ke that learning under the guidance of a fighter like Nightshade would be an honor. Nightshade scoffed at the praise, explaining he must forge their sloppy fighters into an effective and domineering weapon before the Big Heads invaded.

  Sa-mo-ke stiffened. “Will that be soon?”

  “Soon enough. Knowing how to fight will make the difference between slaughter and survival. Now go with Snake!”

  Xhosa grimaced as Nightshade huffed his displeasure as the scraggly group advanced toward the practice field. “Can you train them in time?”

  Nightshade’s face hardened. “Each day, Pan-do’s warriors will be more prepared than the day before. Whether that is long enough, no one knows.”

  Nightshade left and Xhosa joined the rest of the males and females knapping scrapers, choppers, handaxes, cutters, and the other tools. Some would be used to slash attackers; others, like the sturdy blunt-end cleaver, to cut tissue and bone. Knapping was a complicated task that often required an exacting length, breadth, and thickness. The most challenging tool was the handaxe, a flat cobble longer than a hand with a narrow rounded point and broad base that must be flaked to a sharp edge on both sides. The hard rocks required for this tool were mined only in quarries by Fire Mountain so beginners practiced with pond stones. Completed tools were gathered in a communal pile to be loaded into individual neck sacks.

  Too soon, Xhosa’s shadow became a tiny sliver and her hair a soggy mat. Her back ached, her hands throbbed, and her eyes burned from the dust. She walked around, unbending her stiff legs, and nibbled at dried berries. Her muscles more relaxed, she picked up another stone, uncovered the story it held, and began.

  Nightshade glowered at the group in front of him. The People’s warriors defeated Pan-do’s in every skirmish not only because of superior skills but because of their dogged stamina. At the end of the first day, he fed only those who chased down their own food. The rest—which included all of Pan-do’s—slept hungry. Snake, Nightshade’s Second, admitted they were good hunters but slow so the People always got to the prey first.

  As the days passed, Nightshade recognized one of the true strengths of Pan-do’s warriors: They never quit. Each morning, they awoke energized, yesterday’s disappointments forgotten. They fought tenaciously, hunted vigorously, and sprinted until they collapsed. No amount of failure defeated them.

  Then, one day, the rhythm changed. Dirty-gray clouds gathered overhead until they blocked the sun. Nightshade ignored the imminent storm saying battles occurred in rain or sun. He paired up warriors who would fight until one lost. But no one gave up, even as the sky switched from dark to stark white, despite the deafening crashes of thunder that drowned out all senses, continuing when a huge tree at the edge of the field burst into flames and hurled burning embers over the fighters.

  This impressed Nightshade but it didn’t end there.

  All battles finally ended in a draw except the one between Sa-mo-ke and Snake. Despite a brutal contest, neither would quit. Every time Snake thought he defeated Sa-mo-ke, the tough male escaped. Finally, Snake showered Sa-mo-ke with a ruthless series of blows and headbutts. Sa-mo-ke’s eyes blackened and swelled and his lips turned red with blood but he wouldn’t stop. Finally, what had to be the end, he tripped over a sharp rock and fell, slipping in the mud, wincing as a deep gouge ripped through his leg.

  Snake set his feet in the slick soil, fists poised for the final strike and smirked, “Give up.”

  Sa-mo-ke leaned heavily against one arm, his blood mixing with the rain. No one would have thought less of him if he quit but instead, he fixed Snake with a defiant glare.

  “You give up, Second of Xhosa, and I will let you live.”

  Blood covered his skin. His strong arm hung uselessly, unable to hold the warclub or spear, but he showed neither fear nor resentment.

  Snake stiffened with rage and growled, “You have lost but you won’t admit it!”

  Sa-mo-ke didn’t blink. “You are to blame for what happens next.”

  Snake howled and swung his club for what he thought would be the winning blow but something flew from Sa-mo-ke’s hand. It slashed a deep groove in Snake’s upper arm. He dropped the club so his hand could staunch the bleeding. Sa-mo-ke leaped to his one good leg and charged—well, hopped, swinging his warclub weak-handed at Snake’s exposed chest. It smacked into the warrior’s muscle-bound chest sending both of them splashing into the mud. Snake lay there stunned, staring a ‘what just happened’ look at Sa-mo-ke.

  Neither got up. The fight was over.

  Nightshade couldn’t believe what he saw either. “What cut him?”

  Sa-mo-ke showed him a specially-designed cutter, rounder than the usual choppers.

  “Show me how it works.”

  Branches of fire cut the sky and then a rumble. Rain poured down in sheets, saturating all of them with freezing pellets. Sa-mo-ke whisked them from his eyes as he pushed to his good leg. He spiraled his body, ignoring the pain in his bad leg, digging his toes into the squishy mud. As one arm crossed over his chest, he flicked his wrist and flung. The projectile sliced the wet air and embedded deeply into a tree’s bark.

  Sa-mo-ke motioned, “I held back on Snake. I wanted him to learn a lesson, not lose an arm.”

  Snake pushed to within a hand of Sa-mo-ke. “Teach me how to do that.” The statement, though growled, came out a question.

  Sa-mo-ke handed Snake one of the throwers. While all other warriors left, bedraggled and sodden, the two practiced. They finally straggled into camp, Sa-mo-ke’s eye watering, Snake’s black and swollen shut, both with cheekbones in varying shades of purple, blue and yellow, feet making sucking sounds as they trudged along the muddy path. Their heads bent together, sharing something that made both break into loud guffaws.

  As days passed without the Big Heads, the females of both groups foraged together while the males trained. Because Pan-do stayed away from the warriors’ practice, Xhosa got to watch him with his daughter. She always seemed happy. If he comfortably blended leadership with fatherhood, why couldn’t she?

  It was time to tell Nightshade she would pairmate in the new home.

  “Ouch!” Pan-do yelped as he pricked a finger on the bramble bush collected.

  The children giggled.

  “Here.” One of the females—Mbasa, Pan-do remembered—wrapped a leaf around his fingers. “The sleeping barrier must be as thick as I am tall so no animal can leap over or crawl through.”

  He smiled his thanks. “You are Nightshade’s pairmate?”

  “No. I bleed but am still learning to mate. He wishes only to pairmate with Xhosa.” She motioned this as though everyone knew. The bruises on her legs and arms belied her smile.

  “Pan-do—what happened?” A young voice shouted from across the clearing.

  Pan-do searched. Two eyes stared at him, wide and curious, mouth open.

  “With what?”

  The youngster shouldered his way past the crowd and skidded to a stop in front of Pan-do. “When the coyotes tried to take the carcass that you and porcupine ate?”

  Many ears perked. Even the warriors wanted to hear the answer

  Pan-do snickered. “What would you do?”

  “I would have fled!”

  “As did I, young one. Besides, my belly was full.”

  A chuckle rippled through the crowd but his daughter stiffened and stared into the distance.

  Nightshade motioned to Pan-do. “I see why you refused to share that answer.”

  Pan-do motioned, “Wha
t do you mean?”

  “It makes you look weak and stupid.”

  Pan-do refused to allow this warrior to rile him. “Knowing when to confront an enemy is often the most difficult—and wisest—decision.”

  “I heard how you run from enemies. Do you ever confront them, Leader Pan-do? Or is that never the ‘difficult and wise’ decision?”

  Nightshade didn’t wait for an answer.

  Pan-do watched as his warriors left to patrol with Nightshade’s. The fact that Sa-mo-ke liked Nightshade despite the male’s obvious animosity toward Pan-do didn’t bother Pan-do as much as what he himself had done to anger the Lead Warrior. He hoped to find out tonight.

  He hid in the darkness outside of the sleeping area and sniffed for Nightshade’s scent. Instead, he got a sharp cutter pressed into his throat, hard enough to draw blood.

  “If I hadn’t smelled you, Pan-do, you would be dead.”

  "I didn’t try to be quiet—” he lied.

  “But you should. Always. You no longer live in your safe caves with mild-mannered Hairy Ones. Here, danger always stalks.”

  "I was looking for Nightshade, Leader Xhosa."

  She released him and motioned, "He prepares. Conflict comes."

  Pan-do shivered. “My daughter feels it, too.”

  When Xhosa said nothing, he left. As he lay next to Lyta, Pan-do smelled Nightshade’s sweat, heard his unique footsteps.

  "Bad man," Lyta hissed in the darkness. "Evil."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Don't trust him. Xhosa shouldn’t either,” and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Xhosa awoke the next morning, anxious from a dream of the Hairy One Lucy, her pairmate Garv, child Voi, and a friendly blue-eyed wolf named Ump. This was the first time since her father died that Lucy had visited Xhosa’s dreams. Last night, the ancient female fled for her life, following landmarks Xhosa recognized as well as cairns that must be her father’s.