by Renard, Loki
I glance back over my shoulder as I descend from the cave. I have little fear she won’t obey me. She is submissive almost to a fault, following the orders of authority as if they are seared into her soul. She wanted to feel my hand upon her, to know that I would enforce my will without becoming brutal. Now she knows. And I have learned, yet again, how much I enjoy handling her flesh, so fragile, and yet with such a great potential for pleasure.
The other tribe she spoke of, the place where her father came from, that is what draws my attention now. It is possible that she has family on this side of the mountain. Perhaps a father that might wish to claim her. Brothers, and sisters, even. She is mine, but she also belongs to this planet, and to these people. I now know what it is to be separated from those who care. I was hatched with my brood. I have not been away from them for more than a few weeks my entire life. Now I am lifetimes away, and aside from the brief conversations I have with an angry, jaded first hatched, Krave, and my much more eager broodkin, Tyank, I am isolated. I don’t want that for Tres, if I can help it.
It is not hard to find the other village. There are multiple plumes of stroke rising in the middle distance, around an encampment set on a gentle rise away from the mountain. They have fashioned a wall of stakes, and there are dozens of little huts and houses inside the wall. I am impressed. They have organized themselves.
They are clearly hunter-gatherers, with little store houses built here and there. I wonder if they’ve dried some of the food and berries, maybe kept some roots for later. That’s the beginning of the end, the ability to store food. Once they have resources to protect, they’ll have to settle. Perhaps that’s what the wall is about. Maybe domestication is already happening. The end of the wild human.
I creep closer, being careful not to expose myself to the humans who are milling about. There are women at a set of bushes, chatting and gathering. I give them a wide berth, though there may be some use in listening to them at some point. Women are the guardians and transmitters of all human information.
I want to know what the men are like. I want to see if the male who fathered Tres might still live. It is possible he has passed – he could have been killed, or died from something like an infected scratch, or perhaps a simple cold.
The most terrifying thing about humans is the way they can die from almost nothing at almost any time. Tres is casual about losing her life. Maybe it’s not because she’s madly brave, but instead, because she knows that even if she cares about it, it won’t make a difference. The end is always near for these animals.
Up close, I am able to divine that these villagers are quite different in many ways to Trelok’s little cult. They are louder, more boisterous. Their group is made up of males and females of many different ages and abilities. I see that the injured and ill are tended to by the others. I like what I am seeing. This is a much better place for a human to live than Trelok’s group, which only suffers the female and fertile to survive.
Also encouraging is the way these tribespeople look different, even from one another. There are some dark, some light. Some with pale hair, some with coal hair. I do not see any with the flash of red which adorns Tres, but that is likely because the gene is recessive and in these small populations, it has only rare opportunities to express itself.
I cannot get too close, but over the course of the day, several males make their way over to my position. I let them come, interested to see if they might bear any resemblance to Tres. There are many mating males and many mating females, unlike in Trelok’s group where all the females are his wives and daughters, and he mates with both with no sense of shame.
The men coming closer to me are hunters, talking about a beast they intend to bring down. Very large animals roam these plains, as well as the smaller prey like that I have already taken. They seem excited, as though they are planning to hunt something large.
“It will be dangerous,” one tall, bearded man says. They are all rather hairy. Closer to animal than the smooth skinned humans of the distant future, but also so very similar.
“I hope so,” his slightly younger compatriot says. “The last hunt was so boring.”
“We don’t hunt for glory. We hunt for meat. There are mouths to feed.” The tall, bearded man reminds me of Krave. Focused on responsibility, reminding the younger people that they have responsibilities as well.
“Let’s kill things!” A third hunter joins the group. A young one, younger than the one already present. He has bright hair the color of the sun, and eyes the shade of the sky. His smile is broad and he has the excitable energy of a young pup. I find myself smiling. These people are fully alive.
“Did you bring the brew?”
“Of course I did, Ulf.”
So Ulf is the name of the tall bearded man. He’s not a chief, I don’t think, but he has the bearing of one. I like this. Strong men mean a strong tribe. The more strong men, the more strength the group has. Scythkin warriors are all fearsome in their own right. Any who are not do not survive infancy.
Ulf takes the vessel from the younger man. His eyes narrow as he feels the weight of it, swishing it from side to side. “Why is it half empty, Og?”
“I may have had a little. Just to taste. To be careful. Don’t want you to drink the mushroom juice and become ill,” Og says.
“You’ve had half the brew, you little toad.”
“Og! You promised you wouldn’t do that,” the as yet unnamed young hunter complains.
I am not sure exactly what they are drinking, but I would put money on it being an intoxicant of some kind. Humans love their psychedelics. They were the first to originate consciousness - and the first to utterly obliterate it as well.
“This is potent!” Ulf declares. “You are not going to be good for anything besides talking to the dirt.”
“I know how to use the brew,” Og says, clearly offended by the insinuation he cannot hold his drink.
“The brew uses us, fool,” Ulf growls. “It helps us see what the world tries to hide from us, animals included. But you are going to be spirit speaking before the hour is out. I’d send you back to your hut if we didn’t need you.”
There is something familiar about the way they are bickering. It is similar to the way my broodkin and I spoke to one another before time ripped us apart. We were always at one another’s throats, complaining, whining, growling, fighting. I once, not that long ago, saw the first hatched of our clutch rip the very arms off the last hatched for an impudence. It seems to me the leader of this clan would be well served to do the same.
“Where is Trug? We said we would hunt when the sun reached the peak,” the first hunter says.
“I think I saw Trug down by the river?” The second hunter points in two different directions at the same time.
“Why would he go down there now! He knows we need him.”
“I don’t know. I’ll go look for him.”
“No. Don’t do that. Then both of you will be gone, and…”
It’s too late. The second hunter has already wandered off.
I watch as Ulf sigh, hangs his head, and takes a deep swig of the brew. I wonder if that is how Krave felt trying to wrangle all of us. I wonder if he wanted to drink himself into a stupor. I wonder if he did when I didn’t know about it.
“Idiot boys,” he complains to himself. “There are monsters out there, and they drink the brew and run off to the river.”
I’ve seen enough. These men are men. Good men, but still only men. What can they possibly do for Tres that I cannot? If she lived among them, they would try to mate with her. And would they accept me? Almost certainly not. They are prepared to kill anything that moves. I move. It would be difficult for them to kill me, but I am sure they would try if they saw me.
It is time to move on.
Tres
I have been alone for too long. Vulcan ordered me to stay, but he didn’t say how long he would be gone. I am worried. For myself. For him. He is not of this world. Nor am I, really. The
sun is going down. The dark is gathering, and my fears are growing by the moment. Trelok will go to the cave eventually. He will see that I am gone. He will start to look for me. Or maybe he will not. Maybe he will assume that I have gone to Hyrrm’s embrace, that I freed myself from the ropes and killed myself the caldera. The lava has always called me. The wildness of the volcano reflects the wildness inside me, the heat I’ve always had to suppress. I used to think of joining Hyrrm with glee. I would finally be free. This is the first time I have ever acknowledged to myself what that would actually entail - my death.
Am I free now? I’m not sure. I’m hiding in a cave, awash with the lust of the monster who has claimed me. I don’t know what will become of me. I don’t know where he came from - or where he is going. He does not explain himself much at all. Perhaps he will tell me more when he comes back.
If he comes back.
“Vulcan, you moron.”
I let out a scream as a sudden voice intrudes on the silence and my solitude. Someone is here. Suddenly. I spin around, looking for them, but I see nobody. Did I imagine the voice? Have I gone mad?
“Vulcan, you’re supposed to keep this communicator on you at all times,” the voice sighs. It sounds much like Vulcan does, gruff and rough and with an edge of perpetual meanness.
This time, I am sure I’m hearing it. I don't know why I understand the language of these creatures, but I do. Maybe it is something in the magic of the monster.
I start looking for the source of the voice. Vulcan was messing around near a wall before he left. Now I am thinking he might have hid something there. Something that talks. Sure enough, I shift away some smaller pebbles to see a silver rock glowing with strange light sitting on a ledge.
“Hello?” I say the word softly, wondering what is happening. Why is this rock talking?
“Who are you? What have you done with Vulcan? Did you eat him?” The silver rock asks me a series of questions, rapid-fire.
“I… didn’t eat him,” I whisper. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”
“Yeah. He’s a big bastard,” the silver rock says. “And he never follows orders. You recognize someone by that description?”
“I don’t think Vulcan would ever take orders from anyone,” I say with a little giggle. The idea of Vulcan doing as someone else told him is unthinkable. Since I first laid eyes on him, I have found him to be utterly dominant in every way.
“He’s supposed to, but he doesn’t,” the rock sighs. “Who are you then? Human, I take it?”
“I’m Tres. He saved my life. He wasn’t supposed to.”
“Oh, our little Vulcan has grown up to be a hero, has he?” The voice rumbles with amusement. I find myself smiling along. I think I would like to meet the monster who speaks through special soil.
“He’s the only thing standing between me and death.”
“I’d say you’re safe then,” the voice says. “He’s always been a big block in the way of…”
“I’ll take that.” Vulcan reaches over my shoulder and snatches the silver rock from me. He shoots me a flashing hot glance before his eyes flick away. “What do you want, Tyank?”
“I see you’ve ignored Krave’s orders already. Got a human girl of your own, tapping that ancient Earth ass, huh.”
“Stop it, Tyank,” Vulcan growls. “And not a word of this to Krave.”
“It better be casual,” Tyank says. “You can’t take her home with you.”
“I will do as I please,” he growls.
I do not understand what I am seeing and hearing at first, but I am not entirely stupid. Vulcan is speaking to the stone as if it is another person. That voice cannot coming from the stone itself. It must be thrown from elsewhere. Someone is speaking through the talking rock. Someone Vulcan knows. His family, maybe. They are arguing like family, the way Trelok’s wives bicker. It is probably better I do not tell him that.
He moves further away, speaks more quietly, and I lose the thread of the conversation, but it doesn’t matter. I have much to think on. Everything has been so strange since I met this beast of a creature, and I understand so little of him. With every hour, he becomes more strange.
The conversation does not take long. The sun has only just made its escape from the sky when Vulcan returns, silver rock in hand. It has stopped glowing and fallen silent. I feel a slight pang of disappointment. I enjoyed my brief conversation with the talking rock.
“You were not supposed to see that,” he says, tapping my nose with light censure. “But I should have taken it with me, not left it for a curious little human to find.”
“What magic was that?”
“It isn’t magic. It’s…” he looks at me, searching my face. “It is magic,” he sighs.
I sense that he is lying, but I do not understand the lie and I think he is at least trying to tell the truth. I don’t know why he can’t say everything to me, or at least try to. He pulled me from death. He insisted I survive, and I don’t know what comes next.
“Why do you frown?”
“You think I am stupid,” I say, drawing away. “You have your secrets and you keep them from me because I am little more than an animal to you. You know so much more than I could ever know.”
“You are not stupid, but my knowledge is not for your time, or your kind. I’ve already done more damage than I should have just by being here with you, letting you see me for what I am, and the tools which are at my disposal.”
He sits down beside me, his massive body long and sharp, the harsh ridges sliding away from me, retracting into the secret parts of his body.
“I am sorry, Tres,” he says. “This is probably the first of many apologies I will owe you, and if I don’t give them, remember this one.”
He seems sad, for reasons I don’t understand. But that is because he hasn’t explained them to me.
“Please,” I say. “Just tell me what is happening.”
“First things first,” he says, taking a woven package slung over his shoulder. “I found some clothing when I was checking the village below. You should put it on.”
“You mean you stole it.”
“Found. Stole. They’re just words,” he winks.
I am grateful for clothing. My skin has been bumpy with cold for many hours now, and though he left me with a smoldering fire for warmth, it has barely been enough. The clothing he stole is warm and fur lined, covering me from my feet to my neck with boots, leggings, and a tunic all tanned from animal fur. Trelok would lose his mind if he saw me dressed this way. He never suffered any of us to be dressed in skins or fur. They were reserved to honor him. We made do with woven clothing which leaked and chafed and which could be torn away so he could sate his lust as he pleased with any female. Any female but me. For a time, I felt as though I was being denied something important when the other women would walk about with swollen bellies and smiles of satisfaction. A pregnant wife never had to work. But then I saw what happened if she bore the wrong sex, how sometimes Trelok’s rages would not allow the boy child to live even a day and I was glad he never came to me.
Still, the memory of exclusion stays with me. I was not worthy of even a brute like Trelok. And now, I am unworthy of explanation from this great beast of a creature who sits beside me, his fangs extended but his mouth closed.
“I was told not to tell you anything,” he says when the silence had enveloped us both. “It is not because you are stupid, but because you are intelligent. Because there are things the human species does not know about and cannot know about for many thousands of years, or the entire course of the world will be changed forever.”
“Like what?”
“Like washing your hands,” he says.
“Washing hands? Why?”
He looks at me, his eyes burning with the desire to speak, and yet his mouth remains closed. “There is so much you do not understand about the world you live in. You think that disease comes from ill-spirits.”
“It does.”
“It
does not. It comes from little organisms which are too small to see which live on surfaces and are passed from person to person by contact or body fluids, or sometimes even through the air.”
I look at him, narrowing my eyes. “You are talking nonsense because you do not think I can understand the truth.”
“I… I am not,” he sighs. “In a few thousand years, everyone will wash their hands.
“Because of the spirits in their hands?”
“Not in their hands, on their hands. There are molecules of…”
“Molecules!” I laugh. “What are molecules!?”
He falls silent, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have worried. You’re not ready to hear the truths of the world. You’re a product of your time and always will be.”
I let out a soft hiss.
“I’ll tell you this, and you can believe as much of it as you like,” he says. “I came from the stars, and I am waiting to return to my home.”
“You are going to go back to the stars…” I take the meaning of his words in. “And I cannot come?”
“You can do whatever I say you can do,” he growls. “But…this world, it is yet so young. There are many thousands of generations yet to be. If I take you, and you were meant to be here, then I may be taking a mother of millions, an ancestor of entire cities.”
“I have no mate.”
“Yet,” he says. “I do not know what the future holds for you.”
“It held death on a plank.”
“Because I defiled you,” he says. “I have interfered too much. I am sorry for that. I have brought you pain, and for that, I apologize too.”
“They were going to throw me into the volcano,” I remind him. “No matter what you did, I was destined to die. You saved me. So you can take me with you. Nothing here will miss me. Take me where the rocks glow and talk. I want to see what is ahead of us in time.”
Vulcan
I have to stop talking. The worst part of this predicament is not knowing if I will be able to take her. If I tell Krave I have mated with a human, he will be furious. But I imagine Tyank has already told him. So the trouble may already have begun.
