Early Man
Page 1
Copyright © 2018 by Studiocanal S.A.S. and the British Film Institute.
First published in the U.K. by Igloo Books, 2018.
This paperback edition published by Sky Pony Press, 2018.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available on file.
Text by Richard Dungworth
Jacket and interior illustration by Aardman Animation
Jacket, interior, and insert design by Matt Hamilton
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5107-3538-5
E-book ISBN: 978-1-5107-3540-8
Printed in Canada
CONTENTS
Prologue: Earth. The Prehistoric Age
Meet the Tribe
Chapter One: Meet the Tribe
Chapter Two: Lord Nooth Muscles In
Chapter Three: The City of Bronze
Chapter Four: The Sacred Game
Chapter Five: A Late Challenge
Chapter Six: Tribe In Training
Chapter Seven: Goona Hits the Spot
Chapter Eight: Pig Trouble
Chapter Nine: Ball Skills, Badlands Style!
Chapter Ten: The Awful Truth
Chapter Eleven: Dug’s Choice
Chapter Twelve: Game On!
Chapter Thirteen: Brilliant Bronzio
Chapter Fourteen: The Tribe, United
Chapter Fifteen: Champions!
Epilogue: Overtime
PROLOGUE
EARTH. THE PREHISTORIC AGE . . .
In the vast blackness of space, a small blue-green world slowly circles its burning sun.
It is a harsh, restless world. Fiery volcanoes cloud its sky with ash. Earthquakes shake and split its surface. Its one great continent, surrounded by a single ocean, is slowly tearing apart.
Dinosaurs rule this volcanic, steam-misted land. But other creatures, too, survive among the lava flows and hot springs. Here, look, is a group of ape-like brutes, Neanderthals, fighting over their latest kill.
Something is about to rock their world.
In space, a meteor is hurtling toward them.
The unsuspecting Neanderthals go on bashing, gobbling, and grunting. Bashing, gobbling, and grunting are what they do best. Evolution still has some way to go before Homo sapiens, the human species, will walk the Earth. Neanderthal life lacks even the basic foundations of human civilization.
But that is about to change.
The speeding meteor reaches Earth’s atmosphere. It plummets through it, blazing as it falls. Below, a Neanderthal raises his hairy face to watch the falling space rock draw a fiery arc across the sky. He lets out a puzzled grunt, and a rival steals his hunk of meat while he isn’t looking.
KERBOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The meteor hits. Its impact creates a devastating explosion. It takes a long time for the huge dust cloud to settle.
The bravest and most inquisitive of the Neanderthals come to investigate the site of the awesome blast. They climb down the sloping sides of the huge crater it has left. At the very center of the crater lies a small, perfectly round rock, still smoldering. It is all that remains of the meteor.
One brute tries to pick it up and drops it with a grunt of pain. It is far too hot to handle. The hurt Neanderthal kicks the space rock angrily . . .
. . . it rolls toward another Neanderthal . . .
. . . who kicks it to a third . . .
. . . who boots it hard across the crater . . .
. . . sending the whole hairy mob chasing after it, howling with delight at the entertaining new activity they have invented. It is even more fun than bashing.
The joy of it does not fade. As the days steadily pass, the Neanderthals spend many happy hours kicking their meteorite-ball around their crater-field. Rules of play slowly develop. They pick teams. They make goalposts, first from their animal-skin shirts, then from great rocks stood on end.
The crater has become a stadium. Others come to watch. Some try to capture the drama and excitement in primitive art. They paint the highlights of the action on standing stones and on the walls of their caves.
The first step toward human civilization has been taken.
The Beautiful Game has been born.
A FEW AGES LATER . . .
Meet the Tribe
CHAPTER ONE
MEET THE TRIBE
It was the dawn of a beautiful new day in the Valley. Just the sort of day, thought Dug, for a first try at mammoth hunting.
Dug didn’t look like a match for a mammoth. The young, scrawny caveman, with his wild mop of dark brown hair, was the smallest of the Tribe. But Dug had never been afraid to think big.
“Come on, Hognob!” he called to his faithful pet hog. “Let’s go wake Bobnar!”
As usual, Dug and Hognob had woken up with the sun. The rest of the Tribe had rather less get-up-and-go. They were all still fast asleep. In his cave, Bobnar, their kindly old leader, was snoring happily in his hammock—but not for long.
“Chief!” cried Dug, bursting in. “Are you awake, Chief?”
Bobnar tumbled out of his hammock, startled. Hognob jumped on him affectionately. Bobnar was a patient old soul, and used to such rude awakenings. He gave a long-suffering sigh.
“Bit early, isn’t it Dug?” he said, rubbing his bleary eyes.
“But Chief . . . we’re early man!” beamed Dug.
Dug left Bobnar to pull on his rabbit-skin undies, and went back outside to wake the others. They were huddled in a snoozing heap in the forest clearing that formed the heart of the Tribe’s Stone Age settlement.
“Come on, everyone!” called Dug, cheerily emptying a bucketful of cold water over his friends. “Time to get up!”
As Bobnar emerged, blinking, into the daylight, Dug hurried to rejoin him. He put forward his bold suggestion for the morning’s hunt.
“A mammoth?” said Bobnar, raising his bushy white eyebrows. “You want us to hunt a five-ton, bone-crushing mammoth?”
Despite hunting for food daily, the Tribe was not very good at it. On a lucky day, they might catch a rabbit, at best. So, to go after a mammoth . . .
“Why not?” said Dug. “We could do it, Chief!”
Bobnar looked unconvinced.
“Look, Dug,” he said, drawing Dug’s attention to one of the several mighty rocks in the clearing that stood up straight. The standing stones were covered in faded, mossed-over paintings. According to Bobnar, these were the work of the Tribe’s distant ancestors, who had lived in the great, bowl-shaped valley long ago, before the growth of the lush plant life that now made it such a wonderful home.
Bobnar pointed to one faded painting. “You don’t see our ancestors hunting big things,” he told Dug. The group of crudely drawn figur
es in the scene were chasing after a small, unrecognizable . . . something. Bobnar squinted at it. “They hunted . . . little round beasts,” he went on uncertainly. “Of some sort.”
Dug, too, peered at his ancestors’ mystery prey. Small round things, just like what appeared in almost all the ancient paintings.
“What are those?” wondered Dug aloud.
“Rabbits?” suggested Bobnar, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose they weren’t very good at drawing back then.”
By now, the rest of the Tribe was more or less awake. After promising Dug that he would bear his mammoth-hunting idea in mind, Bobnar called them together for their regular morning ritual.
“Morning, everyone! Right, gather around. Grab a spear.”
The Tribe hurried eagerly to help themselves from the pile of flint-tipped spears. All except Treebor, the gentle giant among them, who took his with obvious reluctance. He looked at its jagged tip unhappily.
“Ooohh!” he moaned. “It’s pointy!”
His formidable mother, Magma, gave him an impatient look. Magma wasn’t scared of anything or anyone.
“Oh, Treebor!” she scolded him. “Just get over there!”
Barry, who was barely bright enough to tell which end of a spear was which, lugged a large standing stone with him as he made his way to join the assembly. The stone had a friendly smile drawn on it.
“Morning, Barry!” said Dug. “Mr. Rock coming hunting today, is he?”
“Oh, yeah!” replied Barry with a goofy grin. “He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
A pretty young cavewoman in a zebra-stripe fur raised her hand, with a pained look, as she took her place.
“Yes, Gravelle?” said Bobnar.
“Chief, when I put my arm up, it hurts!” whined Gravelle.
“Well, don’t do it, then,” Bobnar advised her patiently. It was a rare day indeed when Gravelle didn’t complain of some new injury or ailment.
Bobnar turned his attention to the ginger-haired, fidgety youngster who had joined the circle.
“Morning, Asbo. Changed your underwear today?”
Asbo needed regular reminders about matters of personal hygiene.
“Yeah, Chief!” he replied, hopping from foot to foot. He gestured to the muscular, gruff-looking individual who had just stomped up beside him. “I swapped underwear with Thongo, Chief!”
Thongo gave a grunt of confirmation. A grunt was Thongo’s limit.
Bobnar sighed. “That wasn’t quite what . . .” he began, then decided it was pointless. “Never mind.”
There was a sudden cry of protest from another person in the Tribe.
“Waiyaiymaaanyuscannaaeeeeeetmaaa!”
The angry outburst of gobbledegook came from the lankiest individual in the group. His neighbor was trying to take a bite out of his leg.
“Grubup, stop it!” said Bobnar firmly. “You can’t eat that. That’s Eemak.”
Grubup, whose simple mind was forever fixed on where he could find his next meal, sulkily let go of the outraged Eemak.
Dug was eager to help restore a little order.
“Heads down, everyone!” he said.
The circle of friends bowed their heads and fell silent.
“Thank you, Dug,” said Bobnar. He lowered his gaze himself, then began the blessing.
“We give thanks for our Valley, our home, this precious ground, which sustains us and gives us shelter from the Badlands.”
There were grunts of agreement from the others. All among them treasured their valley homeland.
“May we live in peace, balance, and harmony with our forest,” Bobnar continued. “And all the creatures we share it with.”
With a clap of his hands, he signaled that the blessing was over.
“Okay, let’s go and kill something!” he cried eagerly.
The morning’s outing in the forest followed the usual pattern of the Tribe’s hunting expeditions. It was a total shambles.
Bobnar had spent many hours trying to teach the Tribe the essential skills of rabbit-catching, but only Dug showed even the slightest promise. The others had about as much stealth and cunning as a herd of buffalo.
Fortunately, the Valley was brimming with life. It was only a matter of time before they stumbled on a potential catch. It was Bobnar himself who spotted their prey. A rabbit sat in a clearing just ahead. Taking care not to startle it, Bobnar gave the secret signal—a fake bird call—to let his fellow hunters know.
“Cooo-horr!”
From their hiding places in the forest undergrowth, the others stared blankly at their chief.
Bobnar patiently repeated the call, making it as clear as he could.
“Cooo-horr! Cooo-horr!” he cried, nodding his head toward the rabbit.
The Tribe continued to look completely baffled.
Bobnar tried another approach. He made the silent hand signal he had taught them for “rabbit.” When it met with nothing but more puzzled looks, he gave up.
“For Pete’s sake . . .” muttered Bobnar to himself in frustration. “A RABBIT!” he shouted at the others, pointing.
The bunny in question looked around in alarm as the excited Tribe immediately broke from cover and charged toward it.
The next few minutes were mayhem. Bobnar tried desperately to coach the others. But they each found their own special way to mess up.
“I’ve got him!” cried Asbo, hurling a coconut at the rabbit. It missed, rebounded off a large, springy spider’s web, and knocked Asbo flat.
“Yoww!” howled Barry, hopping around with an arrow in his backside. His attempt to shoot the bunny had also backfired.
“Woah!” wailed Gravelle as Hognob’s enthusiastic pursuit of their prey knocked her off her feet.
Eemak and Thongo ran headlong into one another. Crunch! The rabbit escaped them both.
“Waaaiiiiiiaaaiiiyyaaageetwallawazzock!” ranted Eemak, incomprehensibly.
Thongo only grunted.
Treebor fared no better. He was nervously trying to surprise the bunny, as instructed by Bobnar. Instead, it crept up behind him, sending him shrieking in terror into the forest. It had no trouble outsmarting Magma, either, easily dodging her wild efforts to whack it with her club. Dug alone came close to grabbing it, only to be pounced on by Grubup, who wasn’t fussy about what or who he caught and ate.
In the end, it was down to an unlikely hero to save the day. The unharmed rabbit was casually making its getaway when . . . Crash! It ran straight into Mr. Rock, Barry’s solid granite friend, and knocked itself out.
Barry high-fived Mr. Rock with delight.
“Nice job, everyone!” beamed Bobnar. “Especially you, Mr. Rock!” He was always ready to praise a rare success, no matter how it came about. “Rabbit Surprise tonight!”
That night, back at the settlement, the high-spirited Tribe celebrated their triumphant hunt with a rowdy party. They bashed and twanged their primitive musical instruments and stomped out their Stone Age dance moves. Bobnar looked on in satisfaction.
“You see, Dug?” he said to his young friend. “We hunt rabbits, and everybody’s happy.” Bobnar was eager for Dug to abandon his grand mammoth-hunting ideas. It was better to accept their limits as a tribe. “Look at us!” the old chief went on, and they watched the others bump clumsily into one another as they danced. “At the end of the day, we’re a rabbit-hunting tribe.”
Before Dug could reply, his ears caught a strange, unsettling sound. It was coming from the forest.
Hognob had heard it, too. He began to growl.
“Shush, everyone! Quiet!” ordered Bobnar urgently, reaching for his trusty wooden club.
The Tribe’s partying came to a sudden halt. They listened, eyes widening.
They could all hear the noises now. Loud thumps, like heavy footfalls.
Something huge was coming their way through the darkened forest.
CHAPTER TWO
LORD NOOTH MUSCLES IN
The rumblings and thumpings from within
the forest suddenly stopped. In the eerie silence that followed, Bobnar crept toward the edge of the clearing, his club held at the ready. He picked up a small rock, and hurled it into the trees in the direction the noises had come from.
There was a loud Clang! as the rock struck something. The anxious Tribe exchanged puzzled looks. The sound was entirely unfamiliar to their Stone Age ears.
A spear came flying from the forest. It pierced Bobnar’s wooden club and pinned it to a tree trunk. Thunk! More spears quickly followed. They were very different from the Tribe’s primitive wood-and-flint ones. They had smooth, polished shafts and shiny tips.
“The rabbits are fighting back!” shrieked Barry.
The thumping footfalls resumed, very close now, shaking the ground. Trees near the edge of the clearing began to topple, crashing down from some mighty force.
“I don’t think this is rabbits,” murmured Bobnar gravely.
Dug was the first to pull himself together.
“ATTACK!” he cried, grabbing a spear and hurling it toward the forest . . .
. . . just as their mystery enemy came crashing into sight.
Awesome war-beasts thundered into the clearing. They were mammoths, but not like any the Tribe had seen before. Their giant shaggy bodies were protected by gleaming armor, made from plates of some hard, shiny material. Dug’s flying spear glanced harmlessly off the armor of the leading beast. Clang!
These were the trained fighting-mammoths of the mighty Bronze Army. Mounted on their backs and marching beside them were their metal-armored and metal-weaponed masters. The invaders had brought terrible machines of destruction with them, too. Swinging bronze wrecking balls smashed anything and everything in their path.
To the Tribe, who had no knowledge of metal, the advancing force was utterly alien, and utterly terrifying. There could be no fighting back against an enemy like this.
“RUN!” bellowed Bobnar.
The Tribe took to their heels, dodging bronze spears and wrecking balls as they fled. Their settlement’s ancient standing stones were reduced to rubble behind them as the invaders continued their advance.