“Everything will be OK,” Pan-do announced after a dismissive glance at the break. “Walk calmly to Stone!”
Instead of walking carefully, they stampeded, desperate to clear what they considered a collapsing bridge. Pan-do sidestepped the broken gap and returned to Xhosa. For a long time, he stood motionless, only his eyes moving as they darted over the landscape, taking the measure of their predicament.
He brightened. “I have an idea.”
He unlooped an old vine from his neck and handed one end to Xhosa.
It didn’t take much to figure out his plan. “No!” Xhosa motioned wildly. “I can’t risk the People’s safety. We continue along the Rift. When it ends, we make our way back on the other side, to the others.”
Pan-do’s tranquil smile spread well-beyond his lips. “We will go one at a time.” He extended the vine. “Hold this. I’ll carry the other end over—”
“It is too short,” Xhosa interrupted.
“We will twist the ends together until it extends all the way across.”
Xhosa grunted, trying to keep her face blank.
“As the People cross, they hold the vine. If the bridge collapses, you and I pull them up.”
Xhosa pushed everything from her mind. Sometimes, that simple process allowed answers to come but not this time so she twisted vines, making the final cord stronger but still not long enough.
Pan-do trotted away, dug around in the grass, and came back with an armful of dead brown stalks. “We use these to make cords when we run out of vines.”
She watched as he stripped the woody exterior and exposed flexible interior fibers. He wound these around each other, twisting them snugly, adding additional fiber pieces to the ends to make the cord longer. Satisfied, he handed an end to Nightshade.
“Tug as hard as you can, Lead Warrior,” and Nightshade did. He yanked Pan-do off his feet but the cord held.
Pan-do and Nightshade both grinned. “This will hold many if necessary.”
Xhosa frowned. How could these simple plants wrenched from the soil without difficulty carry the People?
Nevertheless, what was her choice?
Sun traveled a hand by the time they completed the cord. Without waiting, Pan-do left Lyta with Xhosa and walked firmly, one foot after another. His first cord ran out at the crack. He placed it on the bridge, next to the end of another vine. He hopped the broken part of the bridge and continued with the second vine to Stone. This way, should the bridge crumble, those crossing would hang on vines held by different groups of people. No one group would carry the full weight. Stone clapped him on the back, almost knocking him over, and handed him an egg. Pan-do swallowed it and beckoned the rest across.
Xhosa instructed, “Hold this. It anchors you to Nightshade and I. If you fall, we pull you up the cliff. When you reach the second vine, drop this and pick up the other.”
Lyta led. When no problems occurred, the People crowded forward, filling the bridge in their hunger for the food they could smell even from here. As the last of the People, save Xhosa and Nightshade, were almost across the bridge, a boom—like an explosion—pierced the air and chunks of the bridge tumbled to the valley below. A few of the People fell but most clung to the vine as they plummeted downward, even when wrenched upward and smashed into the cliff.
“Hold on!” Pan-do bellowed, motioning for the warriors to grab the vine. “Stop thrashing! We will pull you up!” Some fell, too frightened to pay attention, but most hung on until dragged over the lip.
Huffs blew from the rescued People. Food and water were thrust into their hands but Pan-do tensed, mouth open in shock, eyes across the Rift.
Alone, separated by the vast expanse of the Rift, stood Xhosa and Nightshade.
However, that wasn’t what worried him.
Xhosa let a breath out, surprised she had been holding it and relieved that the People were safe.
She swung her arms down the Rift, motioning, “We’ll cross there, at the end. Pan-do—lead the people to Endless Pond. We will meet you there!”
But Pan-do didn’t relax. “You face a bigger problem,” and pointed behind Xhosa.
She and Nightshade turned as one and stared, unblinking, at an assemblage of Uprights, spears in hand, scowling.
“They look angry.”
As if to prove her point, one howled, flinging his spear, a weak throw that wouldn’t kill. Nightshade dodged it easily.
He yanked it from the ground. “We’ll use their spears and our stones to hold them off until we can figure out an escape.”
Two more Uprights advanced, both at a full run, spears cocked. Before the first launched his weapon, he collapsed, spear in his chest, eyes glazed in death. The next gurgled, clutched his throat, and crumpled. The rest of the Uprights retreated, mouths open, confused by what happened.
A spear thunked to the ground by Xhosa and Pan-do shouted, “The cord!”
It took Xhosa a breath to see the cord attached to the spear and figure out its purpose.
Nightshade grabbed it. “Jump on my back!”
Xhosa threw her arms around Nightshade’s neck and he ran full speed over the edge of the cliff. They flew forward briefly and then dropped. Pan-do screamed and motioned excitedly but Xhosa had no time to figure out what he meant, too busy bending her legs. When they slammed into the cliff, jarring every bone in her body, they bounced. Xhosa almost let go but Nightshade seized her arm with a grip like Crocodile’s jaws as they flew out over the Rift floor and bounced against the opposite cliff. And again. Somewhere in the distance was a hum like a swarm of bees and then something pricked her, nothing more than an insect bite. Below, spears clattered to the Rift floor and Pan-do roared. Then they started rising, their skin scraping over the rough rocks, arms and legs pushing themselves around the biggest projections, until finally, they were over the precipice.
She rose, body shaky, but turned toward the Uprights. Nightshade pushed close to her, shoulders strong, mouth a tight line, staring at those who would have killed them. His stance spread and he shook his spear at them, roaring.
“This is no time to show weakness,” Nightshade motioned, one-handed.
Xhosa agreed and shook her spear, howling, ignoring the blood streaming down her body from more cuts and scrapes than she’d ever had.
Finally, the Uprights melted into the distance. Eyes wet, hands quivering, Xhosa thanked Pan-do for his quick thinking. Then it was time to breathe in the fragrance of this new land.
“Rest everyone. We are safe from the Uprights now that the bridge collapsed.”
Over the next day and another, the hunters brought in a gazelle, Wild Beast, and a handful of birds. The scouts found Upright prints though never saw the two-legged creatures. That worried Xhosa. Why would they hide?
Every night before sleeping, the People sharpened spears, knapped tools from the wealth of rocks brought from Fire Mountain, and practiced throwing stones. Those who excelled with one hand moved to the other. Pan-do played with the children, teaching them to track, clash, and tolerate. Each day grew colder than the one before. They were busy enough during the day but at night, they huddled together to share body heat.
Without her pain bark, the pounding in Xhosa’s temples intensified daily and finally made it difficult to think. Her supply of pain plants was long ago exhausted and she had found nothing to replace them.
"Nightshade. Pan-do. I will scout ahead." She tried to project power but even to her ears, her voice sounded dull and lifeless.
"The subadults can do that. We need you here," Pan-do suggested but Nightshade motioned something Xhosa couldn’t see, to which Pan-do responded, "Yes. You’re right."
Nightshade led Xhosa away to where they could talk without interruption. "Find the herb. If we must leave, follow our trail."
She breathed out her relief. "The People are in good hands, Nightshade," and left. Within moments, Lyta called to her.
“I will be back soon, youngster.” Xhosa could barely control her temper.
Xhosa had no better idea of where to find the plant so set out the direction Lyta indicated. As always, with her were her spear for defense and neck sack filled with succulents, roots, and berries. Once to the crest of the hill, she crawled forward until able to peek over the seedpods to what lay beyond.
Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks.
“The tree… pain bark….” Relief washed over her body.
The descent was easier than the ascent, all thoughts of caution muted by the pain in her eyes. Finally, she collapsed to her knees at the base of the tree with the rough red bark and started to dig.
The air was cool but sweat prickled her forehead, equally from the work and the pain. She scraped, blowing shallow breaths, oblivious to the noise she made, driven by the crashing in her head and the progress of her digging. Her body was numb to the cold breeze that sprang up around her, her entire focus on excavating the hard-packed surface.
It took the rest of the day to uncover the bulky white roots and then track them to the fingertip-sized bulbs. Finally, she chopped one free, popped it into her mouth, and chewed.
“I must never run out of these again,” and began to extract as many bulbs as could be found. Her first warning that she had become prey was Cat’s feral scent much too close for safety.
Xhosa froze, mentally excoriating herself for ignoring her surroundings while frantically considering her options. Her spear was somewhere behind her, dropped in her frenzy, but stones filled her neck sack. A purr told her Cat was ready to attack, which gave Xhosa not enough time to remove a stone, locate Cat, and throw.
“Do you know how afraid I am, Cat?”
She kept her voice low and smooth while rising slowly. The Sabertooth panted, her thin ribs etched against her dull coat. Her teats hung, empty, and a gash still bled on her haunch. She would fight to feed her babies.
“Where are your kits?”
Keeping her voice quiet, unthreatening, she backed up, gaze never leaving Cat but at the edge of her vision, searching for an escape.
It wouldn’t be the tree limbs. They were too high.
“Is being eaten better than dying at the hands of Big Heads? What do you think, Cat?”
The animal cocked its head, sniffing, trying to unravel why this upright creature showed no fear. Cat seemed exhausted but instinct forced her to continue.
There! Her spear, just a few steps away. Cat’s green eyes focused on Xhosa, still not understanding, even when Xhosa calmly picked up her weapon.
Next to it lay a palm-sized rock, too small to kill but enough to stun Cat.
“Cat. If I take your life, your kits will starve.” It took everything Xhosa had to hide her distress.
Drool hung from Cat’s jaws and her hackles stiffened as hunger overcame logic.
That gave Xhosa a plan.
She crept toward an outcrop at the edge of an overhang. Cat observed her stealthy movements, swaying at times, paws moving unsteadily.
She repeated, “I don’t want to hurt you, not with a family who relies on you.”
Cat panted, skinny chest heaving, and then stiffened her legs preparing to leap.
Xhosa flung the rock at the animal’s head and raced for the overhang. Thwack! It was a direct hit on the tender temple. Cat shook her head, spraying blood across the grass as Xhosa dove over the outcrop. She expected to find a recess below and was not disappointed.
Tucking herself into it, she rubbed dirt over her skin to conceal her smell, hoping to confuse Cat. Above, an arm’s length from Xhosa’s head, Cat whined, her feral odor strong.
“Go away, Cat. I’ll go to my People,” but the animal sniffed, padded, and inhaled again. Furry paws peeked over the edge followed by her head. Then, Cat leaped off the ledge, spun, and faced Xhosa, wedged against the rocky wall of the recess with nowhere to go.
“Leave me, Cat.”
Cat’s purr rumbled, too hungry to make a good decision. She snarled and leaped at her prey’s vulnerable neck. Xhosa whipped her spear up but not to throw. By the time Cat realized her mistake, she had skewered herself on the spear’s point, her speed driving it through her body and out her shoulders. Her momentum threw her on top of Xhosa, eyes glazed in death as her blood seeped from the gaping holes in her body.
Xhosa slit the body down the belly, tossed aside the entrails and cleaned the stomach and intestines with dirt, stuffing these with the root papules. That done, she removed a haunch, stuck the carcass in a tree away from scavengers, covered the blood-stains with soil, and built herself a nest for the night.
The return trip took longer than the outbound, the haunch more fragrant with each step. Nightshade must have smelled it because suddenly he was there. She explained where to find Cat’s carcass, head drooping though her head pain had disappeared. She couldn’t push away the horror Cat’s kits would feel when their mother disappeared.
Chapter 24
While Pan-do led the warriors in spear fighting practice, Xhosa and Nightshade tracked the distant lazy circles of Vulture, hoping for scavenge. They finally followed the carrion eaters to a hill that overlooked a clearing. There, below, would be whatever had died.
Xhosa gasped.
It was a small tribe of Others, their dead bodies picked over by scavengers, so ravaged that the raptors circling overhead didn’t bother to land. Whatever killed them surprised them. None of the dead even held a spear.
Nightshade pointed to a footprint, not far from where they lay on the hill. “Big Heads.”
A chill ran through Xhosa’s body.
They hurried back to the People and let them know that tomorrow, they would move on. Nightshade posted guards for the night and the People scattered dry leaves, branches, and twigs beyond the brambled barrier that would crackle if anyone tried to sneak up.
The land that had looked so inviting from the bridge became dry and sparse as they traveled away from the Rift. Herds were thin, roots and bulbs available but only with much digging, and they had yet to find a waterhole.
Toward the end of the day’s travel, the tantalizing smell of water floated on the air. Xhosa sprinted up a berm and then stopped, awed. The largest body of water she had ever seen stretched in front of her, so large, she couldn’t see the opposite side.
Oddly, with no animals.
“It could be poisoned,” Xhosa thought. She’d seen that, where something turned the water so bad, no animal would drink it. Those that did, died.
It didn’t take long to reach the shore. A scent assaulted her that made her nose twitch and the taste from just a fingerful made her spit violently.
“Salt!”
The pond filled with it! Was it drinkable, despite the taste and smell? She ingested foul-smelling liquids when thirsty enough.
Pan-do touched her. “Salt-tasting water surrounds my former homeland. We call it Endless Sea. Drinking it kills you.”
“Could this be the river my father talked about?” Surely he would have mentioned it was deadly.
“We don’t even know if this has another side. I can’t see it from here.”
Before Xhosa could respond, Nightshade called. "Up here."
Xhosa and Pan-do scrambled up a hill further along the pond’s edge, taller than the first and set back more. When Xhosa looked at what Nightshade found, her heart raced and her skin tingled. Far across the pond, close to the horizon, were verdant grasses and full bushy trees.
Nightshade pointed. "That is where we escape Big Heads.”
“But how do we get there?"
A bird caught everyone’s attention as it dove into the water, emerging with a fish wriggling in its bill. Satisfied, it flew toward what must be another shore.
Pan-do motioned, “Birds didn’t fly across my Endless Sea because there was no opposite shore. This one, yes, we can get to the other side. We ju
st have to figure out how.”
Xhosa puckered her forehead. “Do you see those tiny brown spots, far out, touching the horizon?” They were so small, even Xhosa with her farsight barely saw them. Both males shook their heads. “They look like land, close enough together, we could walk from one to the next,” and Xhosa sprinted to the water's edge. "Your chimp, Pan-do, would try."
Xhosa stepped into the water and her feet sank into the soft bottom. Water lapped at her ankles. As she continued, it rose to her calves and knees. Nightshade barked but his voice was lost in the sounds of splashing water and bird caws. Quickly, the water touched her hips and then her waist. First, she relished the coolness but then, began to shiver.
"Xhosa—!”
“I am fine,” she motioned over her head as her foot kicked a slimy twisting creature that slapped against her leg. She swallowed her fear and moved forward, mouth a tight line, spear clenched by white-knuckled fingers.
If this doesn’t work, how else will we cross?
"Xhosa!” Pan-do called. There was no need to see his hands to catch the urgency.
“It's leveling out!” She lied when in fact, it crept up to her chest. How do I turn around?
She tried to pivot but lost her balance and fell head first into the pond, flailing desperately. Water flooded into her mouth and nose but as her head finally broke the surface, her body twisted toward Nightshade and Pan-do.
Not the way I would have chosen to turn but it worked.
One plodding step after another, wishing for a stick like Chimp’s, she finally collapsed onto the shoreline and retched up a fetid liquid, brown with dirt.
"We ... must find... a different way to cross."
A day, another, and another passed as they plodded along the shore of what Pan-do had taken to calling the Endless Pond. They continued toward where Sun awoke as her father directed, but never any closer to the verdant green valleys and tiny swaying animals in the distance. The few fingers of land that extended into the water always died out. Birds crossed with impunity and small creatures—like a rat—floated away on a vegetation mat.
Survival of the Fittest Page 14
