Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure

by Allan Richard Shickman

  At length the group came to a crest roughly situated between two mountains, where a hot wind blew on them. As they rose to its brink, Zan felt sure that his time had come, and got ready to resist and flee. A sudden break away and he was running with all his might toward the woods with six tall men charging after him. Zan did not get far. The men split into two groups which flanked him on either side like a hunted deer, and swift of foot soon had him in hand, dragging him back to the crest. Zan prepared to die. He gazed in terror over the edge—but there was no cliff or deep pit at all. An entirely new scene opened before him. As far as his eyes could see there lay a gray and yellowish sickly land, ragged with rocks and scruffy brush. He turned his head around toward his captors and saw behind him the wasp men’s land of stately trees, water, and lush growth. He looked the other way again. There he saw not his death, but a dismal land of death. The mountains, like a great natural fence, made a sharp divide between two strikingly different landscapes, one green and one dry.

  “Go!” the gruesomely painted leader said, still sweating after his run, so that the red swirls dripped like blood around his eyes. “Go, and bring us no more misfortune. There is where we sent you,” and he pointed to the desert. “That is your land. This is ours. Do not come back again or we will surely kill you.” One of the men gave him a final kick which Zan did not return. He advanced toward the parched land below, assured that Dael had been sent there and secretly wishing to go there to seek him. The wasp men, with a final gesture of wrath and anathema, turned to go home.

  No sooner had the wasp men left than Rydl came out of hiding, calling to him softly while carefully observing their departure. Rydl had somehow gotten hold of Zan’s possessions, saving them for a whole year. The spear with which Zan had killed the lion was there, along with his sack and some food Rydl had placed inside. Zan found the goat skin, the fire-making kit, and even the black blade that Chul had given him. Most important, his hollow gourd canteen was there, filled with water. “I have kept these for you, Zan, and have kept your secrets too. I knew you were no fool, but I never said so.” Rydl had grown during the year of Zan’s captivity, both in height and in maturity.

  “I thank you, Rydl, and will always remember you as a friend when I most needed one.” Rydl hugged Zan-Gah and they said goodbye.

  8

  THE LAND

  OF DEATH

  As Zan descended he remembered well what Aniah had told him: “Do not go where none can live.” But what choice had he? Dael was out there somewhere, sold to the Noi and probably made a slave, as he himself had been for the last year. Zan hoped it was so for he still clung to the belief that his brother was alive. The wasp warriors who had driven him away had pointed a little to the right rather than straight ahead, and Zan took that to be his proper direction. For all the barrenness of the land, he saw at some distance in the blazing region a meandering path of greenery, which told him that a stream might be found there. He had not gone far when he came across a flat, vertical slab of stone which had a curious emblem scratched into its surface. Zan examined the design with curiosity. It consisted of a wild-eyed woman flanked on either side by two men raising their spears. Perhaps she was a goddess or a demon. No doubt she and her attendants were meant to warn off intruders, but Zan was not much frightened by these geometric figures. At least they indicated that people sometimes came there without dying of thirst!

  The sun was high in the sky and the rocks underfoot were hot, but there was nothing to do except endure it until he could get to the stream, which was a good distance away. Zan had time to think even as he walked on the burning surface. This part of the journey would prove to be the most difficult of all his trials. He had to provide himself with food, water, and shelter in this hostile wasteland! The fierce sun told him that he needed shelter right away. Already it was drying his throat and burning his skin. He took the animal pelt still packed in his sack and covered his head and shoulders as best he could. Lucky that Rydl had saved it for him! But the deeper he went into this sun-baked and desolate place, the more frightened he became. “Always face your enemy,” his father had taught him, but this enemy was neither before nor behind him. It was everywhere—in front and behind, over and under! Zan wondered once again whether he was going to die. Panic seized his heart and his breath almost left him. He stopped in his dusty tracks, looked around, and said aloud, “I will not panic!” and even forced himself to smile at his situation. Immediately he felt a bit better. “If this is a land of death, how can so many things be alive?” Zan observed the cactuses that had begun to appear in great numbers. Endless in variety, they were flowering vigorously in purple, orange, and lemon. At almost every step a lizard or rodent darted out of his path. He had to dodge the scorpions. Overhead an eagle soared, and other birds also flew in the bright and cloudless sky. This desert place was actually teeming with life! All of these creatures could survive and thrive! Why shouldn’t Zan-Gah? A ball of tumbleweed blew across his path, dead as anything could be. “That too was alive not long ago. I must try to learn the secrets of things that live—to become part of the desert instead of struggling against it!” In this way Zan tried to encourage himself and keep his presence of mind.

  It was not long before Zan discovered that certain succulent plants (the likes of which he had never seen before) were full of liquid. He knew better than to suck their juices, however, because many plants were poisonous—just as the berries were that the wasp women used to make their venom. Fortunately Zan still had some water, but he wanted to conserve it as long as he could. He rubbed some of the sap—not much—inside of his lower lip, as Thal once had taught him. If his lip swelled or became sore he would know not to swallow any more of it. Zan applied very little at first, knowing that some plants are deadly, even in small quantities. A little later, if he suffered no bad effects, he would try a somewhat larger amount. At length Zan successfully tested three different desert plants that provided moisture, and food too. One of them, a cactus, was so round and bulbous that Zan was fairly certain it stored quantities of liquid. He broke it open with a large rock, but the pieces were covered with needles, which made them hard to handle. Another cactus plant was sweet to the taste, both its sap and its flesh, but it too was covered with spiky thorns. Zan was out of water when he arrived at the creek, and to his bitter disappointment, all he found was a dry riverbed. It had looked better from a distance.

  For all his efforts and discoveries, Zan was parched and famished. He found himself eating bugs and a lizard, knowing that he could not continue this way for very long. He needed water. He noticed the paw prints of an animal in the dust, and then others, small and large, mostly going the same way. Zan followed them to a puddle in the rocky bottom of the creek that he had not seen. It was all that was left of what had once been a stream. Something scampered away and Zan lay down to drink what was left. He managed to refill his canteen, and decided to settle for a while. The bank of the creek gave him some shade and the few sickly trees that clung to it provided the materials for a basic lean-to shelter.

  The thought of advancing further into the harsh, dry land was hateful to him. He needed rest badly and considered traveling by night when it would be cooler. Building a fire was unusually easy because everything was so dry, and Zan was glad he had done so when he felt how cold the desert was at night. He thought of the heavy lion skin he had left with Chul, and he wished that he had it. It was soon time to go, but he could hardly see a thing, so he waited for dawn. Waited….

  When Zan awoke the day was well advanced. He looked for his puddle of water but it had dried in the sun. However, the river bed was still a little soft and taking his spear, he poked it into the ground where the water had been. The hole filled, and with a little more digging, Zan had a supply of filthy, brackish water. It would not last, and as things were going, neither would he! Who knew how far he had to go? Nor was he sure that he was even moving in the right direction. Zan decided not to wait for evening. At some distance he saw a high buildup
of rocky layers that would be worth climbing if only his strength held out. From its top he could survey the area and see where he wanted to go.

  Zan did not reach the hillock until afternoon. He paused for a while to rest, and became aware that two coyotes were following him. Zan would not have paid much attention to one animal, but two worried him. He took his sling from his waist and gathered some rocks. Zan had managed to keep the sling for a whole year without once using it. It was time to try it out. Pelting the animals with stones, but missing his targets again and again, he began to get the feel of the weapon once more, and finally succeeded in driving them off with pained yelps. But Zan sensed that his strength was failing him. He still had a steep climb ahead, and pressed on until he achieved the summit exhausted. His whole body, and especially his hands and feet ached and stung. He lay flat on his back and looked at the blanched sky while he caught his breath.

  At length Zan rose and looked around in a wide circle. The hills lay behind him, the declining sun still glowing on their granite tops. Before him lay the same field of stone, sand, and cactus for as far as the eye could see. But at the very limit of his vision he noticed a gleaming silver surface that could only be a lake reflecting the white-hot sky. And the lake beckoned to him.

  Zan was dying. A week had passed during which he had walked both day and night. He no longer had the energy to hunt nor even to build a fire. He had used up his store of water, and the relief of morning dew or cactus juice simply was not enough. Jackrabbits sometimes appeared with their large, fanlike ears, but Zan was no longer able to hunt them. He remembered the weak and starving Hru and realized that he was in their situation, only worse! They at least had water. He tried to ignore the miserable emptiness of his stomach but he could not ignore his thirst. If he managed to catch a lizard he ate it as it was, needing its moisture more than its nourishment. To cook it (had he the strength left to build a fire) would only have dried it out. He found some small eggs that would keep him alive for another day, and ate them ravenously, shells and all.

  Zan began to stagger and to fall, so that his knees were scraped. And were black vulture wings soaring over his head? The blazing, relentless sun smote sorely on him, while the hot and ceaseless wind provided no relief at all. Heat-tortured, aching, and thirstier than he ever had been in his life, only one thing kept him going—the vision of the lake as he had seen it from the high rock, gleaming silver on the farthest horizon. Zan thought of its wetness all day and dreamed of it whenever he slept, waking with his head throbbing and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Only the lake, only the lake could save him!

  Finally one day Zan gratefully caught a glimpse of its shiny face perhaps two miles off. Or was it ten? Distances were so hard to measure in this sun-baked expanse, and seemed always to be much greater than he had thought. Staggering, dizzy and nauseous, he approached it at last, unless it was in his imagination—a dream, or a hallucination brought on by starvation. The sand had become a white powder, and when Zan fell, for he could no longer keep his feet, it burned his scraped knees and the wounds and sores covering his body. Zan didn’t care anymore. He was finished. When he finally reached the lake—which seemed to have taken forever—he had no more strength. He literally fell onto its gnat-covered surface and let the tepid water, filthy with insects, flow into his open mouth. To his grievous surprise it burned his cracked lips and throat, and seared his eyes. It was salt. The water was heavy with salt! Zan fainted away, bereft of any power. The last thing he saw was the skeleton of an unrecognizable animal.

  9

  CHUL

  Each of us is a little different from anyone else, but Chul was much different. From his birth, his strangeness declared itself. He came from his gasping mother unusually large, red, wrinkled, and covered with hair like a baby ape. He howled in an unusually loud voice for a baby, and his face twisted as he cried. When the women showed the squalling newborn to his father, Bray, he looked at the creature and frowned so that his face was twisted too. Father and son, squinting and grimacing at each other, looked comically alike for a moment. Bray gave his new son the name Chul, which in fact meant Ape.

  Poor Chul! All of his life people laughed at him. He was an ugly child. His eyes were too close together and his lower lip hung down stupidly over his almost nonexistent chin. His posture was never erect except when he rose to sniff the air for danger—or to whiff an animal roasting on a spit. To make matters worse, his nose had been broken early in life and twisted to one side. Add that he was thick of speech, spoke but little in his rumbling voice, and that he was as big as his father by the time he was nine years old. Growing up, he had a monstrous appetite, and for a time he was not allowed to eat until the others had gotten their share lest he eat everything! Yes, he was big for his age! What did he not shovel into his mouth whenever he could?

  Chul’s comrades made fun of his size and awkwardness, and called him stupid to his face. Chul only laughed along with them, until one older youth made the mistake of throwing a stone at him. Lout that he was, Chul was not too stupid to resent this obvious insult, and the smile vanished from his face. Seizing the foolish lad, Chul lifted him over his head and threw him about ten feet. It was fortunate for the youth that he landed in a soft mud puddle instead of on the hard rocks, but even so he was sufficiently hurt. Then the “ape” was sorry he had injured him, and later they made friends. It was not in Chul’s easygoing nature to bear grudges.

  If ever a man was a hodgepodge, it was Chul. He was a strange and preposterous mixture of good and bad, but on the whole his goodness was dominant. As is often the case with unattractive people, Chul had concealed virtues: a generous heart, courage, fierce loyalty, and sometimes insight. The time was coming when his clan would be grateful for these qualities—as well as for his physical might.

  Chul’s strength was legendary before he was a man. He once wrenched by the horns a young bull too frisky for three men to subdue, breaking its neck with a loud crack, so that the entire clan could feast on its carcass like a pride of lions. It was said that Chul could wrestle down a stag single-handed if he could only catch one—and eat it single-handed too! Fortunately he learned early to share, and in time came to be known for his generosity as well as his enormous appetite. He began losing the hair on his head before he was twenty, and some of his teeth soon thereafter. By that time the war among the five clans had begun again, ending a long period of quiet. Often the object of mockery, Chul would prove his value in the renewed fighting.

  He took a leading part. Standing at least a head taller than his fellows, the very sight of Chul with a troop of warriors, or the mere sound of his wild battle cry, could rout an enemy troop of even greater size. He preferred the club to the spear, and had one that reached to his brother’s chest. It was a gnarled staff of hardwood that twisted and turned up to the great, spiky knob. Woe to the man who was struck with it! He would be unlikely to recover from the blow! Sometimes Chul chose to use the spear instead of this rude bludgeon. His spear was thick and heavy enough to support the roof of a shelter! No one would want these weapons. They were too large to use, yet Chul wielded them with ease and with terrible effectiveness.

  In battle Chul had another advantage. He seemed almost impervious to wounds. A blow that might have been fatal to most men he returned again with deadly results. Once, when he received a serious hurt in the thigh, he went on hollering and fighting, and only drew out the spear embedded in his leg after his enemies had fled.

  Soon after he killed the kinsman of Aniah, something happened in his mind. He had had enough of killing, and regretted the way he had ambushed the man without warning. From that time onward he refused to go looking for the enemy, and was only willing to fight if his foes came to him. The other men of the clan were less disposed to go on the offensive without their giant, and the conflict seemed to have burned itself out. In fact, it came to a stop for several years.

  The invasion of the wasp men brought the clans together. They had to put aside their
feud for their very survival, and turn their attention to a new enemy. It was fortunate that the wasp warriors had not come against them in full strength. As Zan was to learn much later, the alien clans were often at odds with each other. Had they cooperated together, their combined might would have overwhelmed Zan’s people before he and Dael were born. They had greater numbers and superior weaponry. Their poison spears did not need to kill to incapacitate, and even Chul, wounded slightly with a venomous point, was slowed down a bit—although he went right on fighting and bellowing his astonishing war-cry. Standing together, it had been possible to chase off the invaders. But that was an assault by only one of the several clans of wasp people. Perhaps one day they might return in greater numbers.

  A period of peace followed, and Chul decided to get a wife. His feats on the field of battle would have recommended most men to the females of the clan; but it can be guessed how few of them wanted Chul for a husband! Luckily for him there was one. Her name was Siraka-Finaka, which referred to her small size. (Finaka means Wren’s Nest.) Chul could not pronounce her name, so he called her Aka. Standing on her toes, her nose just reached to his navel! But if she was small in size, she was mighty in spirit. Those she could not control with her physique she would quickly bring to bay with her energetic and dominating personality.

  Chul did not choose Siraka-Finaka; she chose him—and once she did, Chul knew that he might as well not try to escape the marriage bed she had planned for him. Eventually they had three daughters whom Chul loved with all of his brute heart. With the coming of children his character softened considerably, and he did not resent the laughter that followed him; for what could have been more ridiculous than this giant being held strictly in line by his tiny wife, or more odd than the hairy warrior melting into tenderness when he held his baby girls and made baby sounds? He adored them; and was terrified of displeasing Siraka-Finaka, for his dull tongue was no match for her sharp one. Mighty Chul, who feared nothing, feared his woman.