Flint Dog

by Stephanie Dagg

Chapter 12: Flint dog

  The next day, Youngest helped to make ropes until his hands hurt. And the next day, and the day after that. Youngest even dreamt about making ropes in his sleep. But soon there were enough ropes for the job.

  First Son helped to fell young, healthy saplings. The Hunters chose the straightest ones they could find to make the best rollers. Mother and the other Birth-givers cut skins into thick strips. Hazel Eyes helped too. Everyone worked very hard.

  And then the job of bringing the menhir to the village began. The Hunters set up a temporary camp near the menhir while they worked on raising it and setting it on rollers, and also on clearing a trail through the wood. Father was gone for the whole time between new moon and full moon. A few Hunters stayed with the Birth-givers and children to guard them and hunt for food for them. One or two Hunters returned from the camp most days to bring news of what was happening and collect bread from the Birth-givers.

  Youngest wished he could be with the Hunters. He felt he ought to be. After all, he had found the menhir. He really should be there to help. The more he thought about it, the more annoyed he got. A couple of nights, he even thought about sneaking off in the moonlight to see what was going on for himself. But he knew that the darkness brought danger with wild beasts. And anyway, with Father and First Son gone at the moment, he was the Hunter of the house. The Birth-givers needed him.

  But at last the menhir was put onto the rollers and the ropes were tied around it. The task of dragging it to the village began. It took a long, long time. The hot weather ended, the leaves fell from the trees and the time of the frosts began, and still the Hunters wearily pulled the menhir, day after day, steadily closer to the village. Now that they were closer, the children and Birth-givers would go and watch. Youngest marvelled at the power of the Hunters. He saw how their muscles bulged and their veins stood out as they heaved and heaved. He watched as the huge stone glided forward, bit by bit, on the tree rollers. He even helped a few times to carry the rollers from behind the menhir to be put in front of it again.

  Meanwhile, work was beginning in the village on the site for the menhir. The chief had chosen the place where it was to go, at one end of the village, half way between the caves and the river. Some Hunters dug a huge hole using flint axes and big flat stones to scoop the earth out with. Father supervised the building of a huge framework of tree trunks next to the hole. This would be used to help pull the menhir up into position, just as he had explained to Youngest and the rest of the family that night, so long ago now.

  At times, Youngest almost grew tired of the menhir. Everyone worked so hard, life wasn't much fun anymore. Father was always weary in the evenings. He was often cross because he was so exhausted. Mother was busy too as new ropes were constantly needed. Youngest had to help scrape the skins, and he hated that. The fat on the skins smelt so horrible. And when he scraped it off with a sharp flint tool, it got under his fingernails and made his hands feel all greasy. He had to wash in the river every night, and now that it was getting colder, he came back freezing. It took longer every day to thaw out in front of the fire. He hardly had any time now to play with Flint and there was certainly no time to play with his friends. They were all just as busy as he was.

  But finally, at long, long, last, the menhir arrived in the village. The chief announced a feast that night to celebrate. It wasn't a very big feast as only a few Hunters were out hunting every day while the others pulled the menhir and so they couldn't bring much meat home. And there were no berries or nuts any more. But there was enough meat to go round and plenty of bread. Most people were too tired to dance and make music, but at least they felt happy that the task was nearly over. The next day would see it completed.

  At sunrise next day, the village was a hive of activity. The menhir was dragged the last few paces to the edge of the hole. Father and some other Hunters looped new, strong ropes around the menhir and then tied them onto the wooden framework, leaving long ends trailing down which they could pull. Some more Hunters brought some several tree trunks to lever the menhir up with.

  At noon, the chief gave the order to raise the menhir. The Spirit Man appeared in his strange costume with antlers on his hood and intoned prayers to the Mother Goddess. The villagers gathered to watch. Father and other Hunters heaved on the ropes that hung from the frame. Another group of hunters pushed down on the tree trunk levers. At first nothing happened. Then, amidst the creaking of the wood and the grunts and gasps of the Hunters, the menhir began to tilt upwards. Youngest gasped too and clutched Flint tightly. Degree by painful degree, the menhir tilted more. Then at last it was teetering on the edge of the pit. And then, with a mighty thud, it slid down into the hole.

  A cheer went up from the villagers. But the celebration came too soon. The pit was not quite deep enough to hold the menhir securely. It wobbled first towards Father and the wooden frame, and then back towards the Hunters who had been levering it in, toppling towards the side of the pit.

  "Quick!" roared Father. "More Hunters to help here!"

  Everything now depended on the ropes through the wooden frame pulling the menhir. Hunters and even Birth-givers raced to help. They grabbed the ropes and pulled with all their might. The menhir slowly, slowly became more upright.

  "Just a bit more, then it will be balanced!" yelled the chief, himself heaving on the ropes with the others. "Start filling in the hole on the far side of the menhir to help hold it up!"

  This job fell to the remaining Birth-givers and children. Most of the soil that had been dug out when the pit was made was in piles around it. Now, using their hands and their feet, they shovelled it back around the menhir. It seemed to be working. Youngest shovelled for all his was worth, but the next moment something clouted him heavily on the side of his head. He fell sideways.

  "Ow! Who did that?" he yelled, looking up. And then he froze. He saw what had hit him - one of the ropes holding the menhir up had snapped and whiplashed back.

  "By thunder, the menhir is falling!" someone screamed.

  Youngest looked up again. Sure enough, it was slowly toppling again. Youngest felt a rush of fury. His menhir was not going to fall. He wouldn't let it.

  He scrambled to his feet. The Hunters were desperately hanging on to the remaining rope, trying to keep the mighty stone up. Youngest looked into the pit. Surely if they could just get enough stones and soil to this side of it, that would be enough to keep it up.

  "Keep shovelling!" he heard himself screech. Everyone had stopped to gaze in horror at the toppling stone. "Come on, quick!"

  He pedalled his own legs furiously to kick soil in. Others did the same. But still the stone was toppling.

  "More, a bit more!" called a voice.

  But all the soil was gone! Some had been moved away from the pit by the Hunters earlier. They thought they had left enough to fill it once the menhir was in place.

  They only needed another dozen rocks or so to hold the menhir up. Youngest looked wildly around. His gaze fell on Flint and the other rock animals that the children had left in a heap when they had hurried over to help. They were the only things near at hand. There was no time to fetch rocks from further away.

  "Our animals!" he cried. "Our rock animals will do it!"

  At that moment, the menhir lurched menacingly as a few people let go of the ropes, unable to hold on another second.

  Youngest dived towards the animals and scooped them up. A few of his friends did the same. Then, with a last look at his dear Flint, Youngest dropped them into the pit. The stone creatures were just bulky enough to hold the menhir steady.

  "It's stopped moving!" cried the Chief. Sure enough the mighty megalith stood firm and still. This time nobody cheered. No-one had the breath or the energy. They sighed with relief that disaster had been averted.

  The chief began to bark out orders to the Hunters to fetch more rocks and earth to fill the rest of the pit. Youngest watched in a daze as gradually the hole was filled in. He felt very dizzy from the b
low the rope had dealt him and light-headed from all his exertions. He sunk to the ground.

  "Goodbye Flint!" he whispered. "Thank you for saving the menhir!"

  "No - thank you," said a voice in his ear. Youngest looked up and saw the Chief standing over him. Father was beside him, looking weary but triumphant. "Your quick thinking and action kept the menhir up. You stopped it falling. You really are quite a Hunter, aren't you!"

  "Oh no," blushed Youngest. "I'm not a Hunter yet. I'm too young."

  "As from now, you are a Hunter," replied the Chief, squatting down beside Youngest. "You may be a bit young, but you have proved you are wise enough and brave enough to be a Hunter. And to celebrate that, I have a special present for you."

  He turned and called out something to his wife. She scuttled off and returned a few moments later holding a small bundle wrapped in a skin. She handed it to the chief.

  By now the whole village had gathered to see what was going on. The chief began to unwrap the skin from the bundle. Suddenly a small, shiny, wet black nose appeared. Then a face followed. It was a puppy!

  "My bitch had puppies a moon ago," said the chief. "I was going to keep them all, but then I remembered about your White Tail. And now that you have given your little flint dog to save our menhir, you must have this dog. Here, he's yours."

  The chief pushed the little creature into Youngest's hands. Youngest couldn't believe it - his very own puppy! He wanted to jump for joy, only he was too dizzy and tired.

  "Thank you!" he croaked at last. "Thank you, thank you! And you know what, I shall call him Flint too!"

  The chief laughed and put his hand on Youngest's head again. "So!" he announced to the gathered tribe. "We have our menhir and we have a new Hunter. We will rest now, but at sunset we will honour the Mother Goddess here and then we will eat and dance and make music all night long!"

  The villagers cheered, and began to chatter happily about the day's events and what the evening would bring. Many of them had a few words to say to Youngest, congratulating him on becoming a Hunter and thanking him for saving the day.

  Youngest was in a haze of happiness. He was proud of himself for saving the menhir. He was proud of himself for becoming a Hunter. But most of all he was proud of his new dog Flint - and his old flint dog.

  A note from the author

  I hope you liked this story and enjoyed learning about how our Stone Age ancestors lived.

  I've always loved writing. I wrote my first stories when I was about 7, all about Apple and Carrot! English was my favourite subject at school and I went on to study it at Oxford University. I did a postgrad degree in Publishing Studies and Stirling University and then began working as a desk editor. I took a few years out to be an accountant, but when we moved to Ireland from England in 1992, I set myself up as a freelance editor and indexer, and I've been doing that ever since. I'm married to Chris, have three children - Benjamin, Caitlin and Ruadhri - and since 2006 we've all lived in France on a 75 acre farm. We run a gite and carp and farm llamas, and also edit ebooks.

  My first books were published in 1996. I have around 30 to my name now and I'm moving into adult fiction and non-fiction, as well as carrying on writing for children and young adults.

  Follow my blog about our life as expats, which is never dull, at https://www.bloginfrance.com and find out about my other books at https://www.booksarecool.com. Follow me on Twitter too: https://www.twitter.com/@booksarecool23