Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure

by Allan Richard Shickman

  WHAT READERS ARE SAYING ABOUT ZAN-GAH:

  “Allan Richard Shickman’s Zan-Gah is a terrifically exciting adventure that will appeal to young adults and their elders too. Richly imagined and beautifully written, with characters and settings unlike any I’ve read, I believe Zan-Gah will be read and reread for many years to come.”

  — Scott Phillips, best-selling author of

  The Ice Harvest and Cottonwood

  “Highly recommended for young adult library collections.”

  — The Midwest Book Review, Children’s Bookwatch

  “Zan-Gah is told with such verve, energy, and style that it will appeal to all ages and sensibilities.…Shickman’s lively imagination is obvious on every page.…The power of Shickman’s words becomes apparent in the very first chapter.… heart-pounding prose…”

  — Robert A. Cohn, St. Louis Jewish Light

  “I refused to turn off the lights because I was enjoying Zan-Gah so much, and the next day…I took it with me on the subway to get those last few pages in between Brooklyn and Manhattan. This 35-year-old loved it…I kept saying ‘I know it’s supposed to be a children’s book…but it’s really, really good!!!’”

  — Sadie Nardini, Yoga master

  and author of Road Trip Guide to the Soul

  “An unexpected gem.…that has the rare combination of rich characters and fast-paced plot. I have already recommended it to several of my big readers, and each has had nothing but praise.… On my short list.”

  — Joe Corbett, school librarian

  “Rich with character, plot, and emotion. I was amazed. I felt like I was reading Kipling.”

  — Barry Crook, Library Media Specialist

  “Zan-Gah is the perfect book for boys, girls, teens, parents, and grandparents. You will love it.”

  — Joan Bartelow, middle and high school reading teacher

  “Zan-Gah is one of the best books I ever read…a truly gripping book. The characters are so real I feel like I know them. It gets deep into the mind of not only one, but several. I give this book five stars. I could read it over and over.”

  — Sam L., age 13

  “Zan-Gah was very interesting for a girl my age. I would read it again.”

  — Elaine H., age 15

  “I read a lot of books, so I know a good book when I see one. Zan-Gah is full of creativity and suspense. A wonderful book.”

  — Elan S., age 11

  “I am going to ask my teacher to read it to the class.”

  — Rider S., age 12

  “In Zan-Gah, I entered a world that was terrifying, yet beautiful. This book left me where the best novels aways do—wanting more.”

  — Bonnie M., teacher

  “There are parts of Zan-Gah that I keep thinking about even though I read the story several months ago. I imagined it so much that it feels like I saw the movie of it too.”

  — Jonah H., age 10

  “I dreamed about Zan-Gah in the red terrain of the Land of Red Rocks. Zan-Gah really seeped into me.”

  — Ally B., Jonah’s mom, psychologist

  “I felt transported into another time. I could not put Zan-Gah down until I finished it, and I cried at the end. The words are delicious. For ages 11 to 111.”

  — Patricia G., English teacher

  “I read Zan-Gah to a group of students up to age 13. Each and every one of them enjoyed the adventures of this brave boy. What courage and resourcefulness Zan-Gah exhibited to those children.”

  — Donna H., teacher’s aide

  “Zan-Gah paints a detailed picture of the three societies in the book. The plotline is well developed.”

  — Claire N., age 16

  “At times, I felt that I was watching the story unfolding rather than simply reading it.”

  — Hilarie N., Claire’s mom, academic administrator

  “I loved reading Zan-Gah! For me the book was more than just an adventure story. I felt like I was witness to an important moment in humanity’s history.”

  — David S., application developer

  “It is refreshing to see a book of this quality published for pre-teens and teens. It is age-appropriate in content, but still challenges the intellect of avid readers of this age group. I know several kids who will want to read Zan-Gah.”

  — Diane P., editor

  “I cried at the end.”

  — Burton S., age 69

  “During the book, I always felt a burst of emotions.…a wonderful book.…I picked up this book and couldn’ t put it down until the end. If I had to read this book 1000 more times, I would.”

  — Madelyn H., age 12,

  The Bismarck Tribune—Citizen Reviewer

  Mom’s Choice GOLD AWARD

  for Young Adult Series

  A PREHISTORIC ADVENTURE

  BY ALLAN RICHARD SHICKMAN

  EARTHSHAKER BOOKS

  ZAN-GAH: A PREHISTORIC ADVENTURE

  © Copyright 2007 by Allan R. Shickman

  Second printing, 2010

  Manufactured in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage or retrieval system without permission in writing from the author or his designated agent, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9790357-0-8

  ISBN-10: 0-9790357-0-8

  LCCN: 2006936675

  Published in the United States by

  Earthshaker Books

  P. O. Box 300184

  St. Louis, MO 63130

  All people, places, events and situations within this book are the invention and imagination of the author. Any similarities to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

  VISIT OUR WEBSITE AT WWW.EARTHSHAKERBOOKS.COM

  FOR THE KIDS IN THE FAMILY—EVERYWHERE.

  CONTENTS

  1 THE LION

  2 THE TWINS

  3 THE SLING

  4 THE HRU

  5 ANIAH

  6 THE LAND OF RED ROCKS

  7 THE WASP PEOPLE

  8 THE LAND OF DEATH

  9 CHUL

  10 THE CAVE

  11 DAEL

  12 THE COUNCIL OF ELDERS

  13 THE LAST BATTLE

  14 THE HEALER

  1

  THE

  LION

  From a long distance a traveler, or some wild thing, might see within the deep and absolute blackness of night an intense orange light which looked from afar like a glowing coal. If that observer were curious (or hungry, as was often the case), and had the courage to seek a nearer vantage point, he would see a youthful figure seated on a rock staring into a blazing bonfire. The youth, just in his early teens, wore an expression as intense as his fire, which revealed the preoccupation of one engaged both in thought and action. In his hand he held a staff, one end of which he had briefly placed in the hottest part of the fire. He withdrew it for perhaps the tenth time to scrape the scorched end with a sharp rock, gradually shaping the hard, blunt rod into a pointed weapon. And as he worked he meditated on the events of the coming day.

  There would be a hunt. A lion had killed a child and it had to be destroyed. Living, it would be a constant threat to the neighboring clans. The elders had put aside their differences in order to unite behind a single strategy in which many would participate. As the sun rose, the males of each tribe would advance toward the wild, uninhabited region which spread between them. The clans did not much like each other, and were glad to have this desolate space separating their campfires—a treacherous, rocky area mostly covered with tall grass and a few trees. It was now known that the beast they sought
prowled somewhere within, and their intention was to encircle it. Each hunter would be separated by a considerable distance at first, but gradually they would get closer to each other as they approached their target. A very large circle would get smaller and smaller until the killer lion was sighted somewhere in the middle.

  The youth knew what followed. At some point, after the ring of men had tightened around it, the lion would see that it was trapped. At that moment an experienced and watchful leader would give a loud signal to charge, and every man at once would run at it with his spear. They would assail it and harry it as many wolves in a pack combine to attack an animal larger than themselves, striking and worrying and distracting until it was bled, exhausted, and unable to resist its final end.

  This was a common method of killing animals, but usually it was used to trap edible game—deer, pigs, and even rabbits. But this would be no rabbit. The lion was the fiercest and most dangerous creature his people ever encountered; and they encountered it by accident and bad luck only. It was avoided as much as anything alive—never sought out except in the utmost necessity. But now they had no choice. It must be killed.

  These were the thoughts that absorbed the youngster, and it was for this very hunt that he was sharpening his spear. Although he stared into the fire as if it alone interested him, as if he were hypnotized into rigidity by its flames and sparks, it was the events of the next day that completely held his mind. He took the spear from the fire and blew on the glowing end; and as he did, his face was illuminated for a moment with an eerie light. Scraping it again for the last time, he felt the still hot point with his finger, set it aside, and looked once more into the fire.

  It was horrible to think about. He knew poor Rias, the boy who had been killed. A little child, he thought, torn to pieces by a savage, hungry animal. In his mind he saw everything in terrible detail. His lip trembled, and he felt an unwelcome sickness of fear which he resisted with all of his strength. He lifted the spear yet again and honed it mechanically as he sought to steel himself for the coming day. He was afraid with all his heart, but he also knew that he must conquer his fear; because in moments of great danger, to be afraid is the surest way to die. It was not just a matter of preparing a weapon. Above all, he must prepare himself. The danger not only crouched out there in the wilderness; it crouched inside as well.

  Although the lad by the fire wore the skin of an animal, he was not comfortably warm. One side of his body was too hot while the other was like ice. He changed his position, turning his face to the blackness and peering into its depths. His thoughts of the lion were brought from the coming day to the present moment. Might it not be nearer than he supposed, stalking him and watching his every move? He looked and listened intently to the tiny noises of the night. There was no danger—at least no more than usual. Animals feared fire. That was one of the few powerful advantages people had over them. He piled the fire high with twigs and coarser wood and welcomed the crackling response. Then he stabbed the spear into the flank of an imaginary animal, and with a ruthless expression wrenched it from the wound. Tomorrow, in the hunt, he would stand his ground, but now it was time to lie down.

  Gripping his newly fashioned weapon, he stepped into the opening of the cave where several families lay asleep. They were all huddled together almost upon one another for warmth, still clinging to their spears and weapons. Their long-drawn breath froze as they exhaled. He lay down next to his mother and felt the warmth of her body. She jerked to feel the iciness of his, grunted, and went back to sleep. In time he too was asleep, breathing heavily.

  The youth’s name was Zan, which in his tongue meant Hunter. He and his people had a language, but we no longer know it. It was spoken in an era so remote in time that there were as yet no nations upon the earth, no cities, nor written words. Humans lived in caves and hollows or in the crudest man-made shelters—wherever they could establish cover from wind and rain, from wild animals, and from each other. Zan and his kindred lived in that dim period when there was no safety but that supplied by strength and cunning, when there were no laws but those imposed by nature and by humankind’s own fierce desire to survive. People faced constant danger, and not many lived to be old.

  They were frequently hungry and thirsty. They ate only what they could hunt down or gather in their hands, and had to eat immediately what they could not store. Game was perhaps more plentiful in the summer, but meat kept better during the cold months, and the quarry was easier to see in the winter when there were no sheltering leaves on the trees and tracks could be followed in the snow. Animals also might be weakened by hunger during that season of scarcity, and weakness made them easier to kill. So on the whole, people ate better in the winter, but game was difficult to bring down at any time, and many days could be spent in frozen, fruitless chases. Animals were swifter and often stronger than the men who hunted them, could hear or smell their pursuers from a mile away, and seemed gifted with a special intelligence that humans neither had nor understood. Given these difficulties and rarity of success, it was possible to starve in the midst of relative abundance. When the men did manage to bring down an animal the clan had meat to eat, skins to wear, and horns and bones to fashion into tools—truly a cause for celebration.

  Homes and shelters were established where there was a source of water—a lake, river, stream, or spring. Zan’s family was lucky, for there was a spring safely within their cave which trickled from its deep, mysterious interior (where only the women were allowed) to the exit and beyond. There also was a river nearby, but the rains had failed for many weeks and it had begun to dry up, so that even the trees flanking it looked parched and sickly.

  Zan’s people were cold most of the year, but they were as used to it as the animals whose skins they wore. At night Zan slept beneath, and wore each day, the pelt of a goat which his father, Thal, had killed and which his mother, Wumna, had prepared by beating and chewing it until it was soft. Zan was fortunate to have it. Luxury was unknown, and strangers could be envious of a scrap of fur or a bit of food. Tools and weapons, crude as they were, were valued and guarded. A stone blade, which took a week’s labor to make, might induce an uncouth ruffian to take a life in order to possess it. It is hard to imagine how much simple things were prized and coveted in that frightful time. Darkness was indeed darker to them then, coldness colder, and the cruelest passions somehow crueler and more deeply passionate.

  Winter was approaching, the nights were long, and Zan had a deep if comfortless sleep. The family awoke, first one then another, to the sound of each other’s snorts and the chill of the morning air. Zan was the last to stir. Upon rising they saw that their world was gray with mist—a good sign because the tribes had lately been oppressed by drought. For the coming hunt it might be helpful or dangerous. They would not be able to see their fierce quarry, but the lion would not see them either at first. It would only hear the approach and fearful din of many men. By the time the hunters drew near, the fog would have burned away and all would happen as planned—unless it happened some other way, some unforeseen way.

  Zan’s father, Thal, would have been happy to have let him sleep. He had little desire to see a boy so young participate in the hazardous business before them. Zan, eager to assume a manhood not yet his, had raged and demanded the right to join, to carry a spear and raise his cry against the great cat. At last his father had yielded (to the horror of his mother), but warned him to stay close—closer by far than the men would be to each other. He impressed on his son the great peril, thinking in his troubled heart that the boy had to learn to deal with the difficulties of manhood sooner or later. But Zan was not a man, and when he rose that dismal morning the fears of the previous night returned to him and had to be conquered anew. In truth, every man among them shared his feelings to some extent and swallowed them down as he did, none allowing himself to ask whether this dangerous labor might prove to be his last. They made jokes at the beast’s expense and at their own, clapping each other on the back or shoulder
and uttering gruff words of encouragement. No one spoke of fear.

  The appointed time had come. Each hunter grasped a spear, and many took a drum or hollowed log to beat with the end of his weapon. The sun, vaguely visible, was rising over the misty terrain, signaling the first stage of their design. As the males of Zan’s clan spread out to form a great arc perhaps three miles long, strong legs carried them toward the great rock, Gah, where they would join the second arc of men. When the five clans finally connected, their circle would be nearly fifteen miles around. Speed was required. Zan struggled to keep up with his father, a powerful runner who urged him on, exhaling heavily as he spoke—with each stride a word or two: “Have courage…boy…courage….The…first…rule… is…to…always…face…your…enemy.” His voice was deep and sure despite his breathlessness, and as he panted his words out, they seemed to freeze as vapor on the morning air. “Better…to…die…than…to…flee…in…the… presence…of…danger….And…more…likely…to…die…if…you…show…your…back….Be brave…be brave…and live!”

  The region that the hunters wished to surround was rocky and uneven. Tall grasses grew wherever there was soil to receive them, and there were many places where a crouching lion might hide. Indeed, there was always the possibility that the great cat would escape in between the men who were encircling it, for they were hundreds of paces apart in the beginning. To prevent this, noise would be the first weapon they would use. The hunters would make a great, unaccustomed racket that the beast would avoid; so instead of breaking through their scattered ranks it would head right toward the center of the tightening ring of men. In one way lions were like people. They were frightened by what was unfamiliar. That was what the hunters were counting on as they raised their cries.