Lug, Dawn of the Ice Age

by David Zeltser

  The doe charged.

  Bad, I thought. Very bad. No chance of outrunning her, I desperately looked around once more. The llama followed my gaze and stopped a mere step away from me.

  I knew I was supposed to bash it in the head with my rock, but I couldn’t help admiring the animal up close. I observed the long graceful curve of her neck up to her strong jaw and found myself memorizing her subtly dappled fur pattern for my next painting. I peered into her big liquid-brown eyes, framed by lovely black eyelashes. After that, everything went black.

  “ONE HEAD BUTT from that llama and you were out like a whacked dodo,” muttered my father.

  “Where are the rest of the guys now?”

  “On the practice field, breaking in their beasts for the Big Game. Except for Stony—he’s already at the Council Circle.”

  “They’re going to banish him too?”

  My father nodded and walked over to the back wall. He picked up the little club and brought it over. “Take it,” he said huskily. He cleared his throat. “You’re going to need it out there.”

  I found all my other thoughts swallowed up by a desperate wish that I hadn’t disappointed him. Not today. Not ever.

  “Don’t cry!” I whispered to myself as I took the club. I knew that my father—like all cavemen—disapproved of crying. At least if I’m banished, I thought, I’ll never disappoint him again.

  Just then, my least favorite hairy figure darkened the cave entrance. Boulder the Bountiful lumbered in with his usual air of haughty menace. “Let’s go,” said Boulder to me, jerking his thumb behind him. “The Clan Council awaits.”

  “Boulder—please,” my mother half whispered, “is there anything we can do?”

  “Afraid not, Lugga,” he said. “Clan rules.”

  My father turned away so that no one could see his face.

  Even Windy looked worried as I walked past her out of the cave.

  A cold breeze nipped at me as I followed Boulder across the public clearing—a yard of packed dirt and scattered stones that served as a common area for the several dozen caves around it. Women and children peered at me from inside their dark entrances. Their looks suggested they might never see me again, which I found somewhat discouraging. Despite the clear blue sky, it was another strangely chilly afternoon. I turned away from the sun to look back at a series of jagged red cliffs to the east. There I could make out the long thin outcropping that marked my secret art cave—like a giant stone finger beckoning me.

  I wished I could go there now and spend the rest of my life painting. Paintings didn’t tell you what to do, or call you names, or make you feel small or worthless. And, unlike people, if a painting turned out to be unpleasant, I could always change it. Even better, if I didn’t like a certain person, I could always paint their face to look like a Llama’s b—

  “This way!” snapped Boulder, yanking me out of my bright warm daydream into cold reality. He nudged me past the last home cave and around to the back of our village. We passed an unused drafty cavern and then the huge stable cave that housed our clan’s captured jungle llamas. There was always a boulder in front of its entrance, but today there was also a caveman named Cliff guarding it.

  “Any suspicious activity?” Boulder asked him.

  Cliff shook his head. “Nothing, boss.”

  One of our clan’s llamas had mysteriously disappeared from the stable cave a few days ago and everyone had blamed it on the Boar Riders. The odd thing was that they had never stolen a macrauchenia before, but no one seemed to care about that. With the Big Game coming, tensions were running especially high.

  Boulder and I entered the jungle along one of the narrow llama trails that our clan used for moving through the thickest parts of the forest. We crunched along the strangely yellow leaves underfoot, the bare trees allowing the cold breeze to follow us into the jungle.

  “No weapons in the Council Circle!” Boulder suddenly barked, yanking my new club out of my hands. I thought I glimpsed a fleeting smirk beneath his bushy black beard, like the flash of a snake in the undergrowth.

  We walked until we came to a clearing that used to be a beautiful orchid garden surrounded by thick green bushes. Now the flowers had all withered and only the yellowing bushes remained. A dozen cavemen sat on rocks around the circle, grumbling disapprovingly and looking very self-important. Stony sat on the ground in the center, petting his frog. I sat down next to the boy and he shot me a friendly arch of his unibrow.

  Boulder remained standing and addressed the council in a booming voice. “You all know these two worthless weasels,” he declared. “They have failed to catch even the smallest jungle llama for our clan. They are not worthy to be called cavemen.” He took a long pause for effect. “Let us banish them!” he shouted.

  Some of the men looked slightly uncomfortable, but a councilman named Frogface—who was Bugeyes’s father—nodded vigorously. Then, one by one, each man nodded his head in formal approval of the Big Man’s judgment.

  Boulder was grinning slyly as he turned to Stony and me. “You, Stony, and you, Lug, are hereby banished from the great and honorable Macrauchenia Riders Clan!”

  I stared numbly as Stony got up and wandered off along a llama trail as if taking a casual stroll. In moments, he had disappeared into the jungle.

  “That’s it?” I asked Boulder.

  This time he risked an open smirk.

  “But that’s … not fair,” I said.

  The Big Man just shrugged.

  “Look, I know you don’t like me, but what about poor Stony? He can’t even say anything to defend himself.”

  Boulder pointed a thick hairy finger toward the jungle. “You can both defend yourselves out there.”

  I thought I had one last hope. If I could somehow make myself useful to the council … maybe …

  I turned to the other men. “It’s been getting colder and colder out there!” I said.

  There was a puzzled silence.

  “What’s your point?” Boulder demanded.

  “Well … maybe we could all work together?” I said, my voice cracking with desperation. “You know … try to do something about the cold? I know you’re all a bit more … um … well padded … than I am. But if it keeps getting colder, then we all might—”

  “Little weakling is scared of a little cold!” Boulder sneered. “He is like the naked mole rat that eats the poo of a macrauchenia and lives in a hole in the ground.”

  “A true caveman doesn’t care about weather,” spat Frogface.

  “Don’t worry, Lug,” said Boulder, “it’ll get warmer again. But you will never be a Macrauchenia Rider.”

  I saw that there was no hope. “Can I at least have my club back?” I asked. “It’s a gift from my father.”

  The Big Man looked around as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. “What club?”

  I could feel the tears coming on when something just behind Boulder caught my eye. I cocked my head and peered at what looked like the end of a bone sticking out of the bushes. It quivered slightly.

  “So,” I said, looking back at Boulder, “not catching a jungle llama gets me kicked out, huh?”

  The Big Man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah?”

  I pointed dramatically at the quivering bone. “Well, everyone knows that spying on a Council Circle is strictly forbidden!”

  Boulder turned, his back hair bristling. He grabbed the bone and yanked it hard—dragging a yowling Bonehead out of the bushes. He might have pulled the bone loose from his son’s nose and cracked the boy’s skull with it if the foliage hadn’t rustled again. Everyone watched as a sheepish Bugeyes stepped out after Bonehead.

  I cleared my throat. “So, are you going to banish your own son too?” I asked, pointing at Bonehead.

  Now I had him. Everyone knew that Boulder was grooming Bonehead to be the next Big Man. I was as good as off the hook.

  Boulder’s milky blue eyes darted around the circle. A thick vein pulsed in his forehead. And t
hen a nasty little grin crossed his lips. “Bonehead and Bugeyes,” he barked, “you are banished too!”

  I WAS TOO stunned to speak.

  “B-b-but,” stammered Bonehead, “but me next Big Man!”

  I didn’t stick around for that family meeting. I knew that as soon as Bonehead and Bugeyes were officially banished, they would seek vengeance by hunting me down.

  “Stony!” I shouted, racing along the narrow llama trail that led to the river. “Stony, we’ve got to hide!”

  I soon caught up to him and explained what had happened after he’d left. Stony ambled over to a banana tree and lay down underneath it. Then he plopped his pet tree frog on his belly and started to play with the critter.

  “For stone’s sake!” I said. “This is serious!”

  Stony glanced up meaningfully at the banana tree’s huge withering leaves.

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly understanding. I plucked off the biggest leaf and used it to cover his bare belly.

  He giggled with ticklish glee.

  “Quiet!” I whispered, lying down next to him and putting another leaf over his chest and head.

  He squealed with laughter.

  “Enjoy your last laugh,” I said, covering my own body with a single leaf, “because if they hear us, we’re dead.”

  Stony’s next giggle was cut short.

  “What did your dad say?” Bugeyes asked as he came into earshot.

  “If us kill Little Slug,” Bonehead replied, “us back in clan. Look, he even give me new club.”

  “Your dad’s nice!”

  “Yah,” said Bonehead, getting closer. “When me Big Man, no more Mister Nice Big Man.”

  “Look!” Bugeyes screeched.

  “What?” grunted Bonehead.

  I heard a dry twig crack nearby and caught a whiff of stinky feet.

  “On the ground,” said Bugeyes. “Banana leaves.”

  Well, that didn’t take very long, I thought. I peeked up from the ground and saw Bonehead holding the new club my father had given me. I almost jumped up and grabbed it, but I didn’t want him playing whack-a-dodo with my head.

  Instead of going for the leaves covering Stony and me, Bonehead yanked a banana from the tree. Bugeyes did the same. Then each stuffed an entire unpeeled fruit into his mouth and began to chew like pigs.

  “Li’l dry,” said Bonehead, spitting out half the banana as he spoke. “Better with water.”

  Bugeyes chewed thoughtfully and nodded. I sighed in relief as they walked off in the direction of the river.

  Suddenly, I heard a loud rustle beside me.

  I poked a hole in my banana leaf and peeked out. Stony was frantically looking around, jostling the leaves on top of him. Bonehead and Bugeyes had stopped and turned around.

  “Stony!” I whispered. “What’s the matter with you?”

  He pointed up and gasped. His little orange tree frog was climbing the trunk of the banana tree.

  “Keep still!” I whispered. “We can’t do anything until they’re gone.”

  The frog was stalking a fat green praying mantis perched on the trunk. The frog was so fixated on the mantis that he seemed unaware of Bonehead and Bugeyes.

  “Hey!” squeaked Bugeyes, his eyes bulging even more than usual. “It’s Froggy!”

  The frog froze, staring back with equally protuberant eyes—perhaps wondering if Bugeyes was some sort of giant relative. Froggy gulped nervously.

  Bonehead turned to Bugeyes. “What?” he asked. “Want eat frog too?”

  “No … it’s orange!” said Bugeyes. “It looks like Stony’s Froggy.”

  Bonehead made a sudden grab for the creature. Froggy leapt onto Bugeyes’s shoulder. Bonehead swatted at him but whacked Bugeyes hard instead.

  “That’s my face!” shrieked Bugeyes.

  “Ribbit!” went Froggy, leaping onto Bonehead’s nose bone.

  This time it was Bugeyes who swung hard.

  “OWWWWWWW!” screamed Bonehead, rubbing his throbbing nose as the little croaker leapt into the air. Then he punched Bugeyes in the forehead.

  Froggy landed squarely on Stony’s upturned palm, which had suddenly popped out between the banana leaves on the ground.

  Bonehead and Bugeyes looked down, mouths agape. Even the aloof praying mantis cocked his head admiringly.

  “Stony!” I shouted, springing up and taking off. “Follow me!”

  He dashed after me, frog in hand.

  “Little Slug slow!” screamed Bonehead, waving my club just behind us.

  “And Stony’s stupid!” cackled Bugeyes.

  I jumped in first. My feet squelched in the mud as my lungs gasped at the shock of chilly water. I had not thought the river would feel this cold. But as soon as I was up to my neck, Stony lifted me up onto his shoulders. Froggy glided speedily ahead of us with twitchy little kicks. Bonehead and Bugeyes—still shouting—splashed in after us.

  It was a long hard swim but, finally, we emerged soaked and shivering onto the opposite bank.

  “Follow me no matter what!” I said to Stony, and sprinted ahead. I had an idea.

  We couldn’t hear our pursuers now, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, after a few moments, I heard Bugeyes’s screechy voice. “Hey!” he shrieked. “They’re going up Mount Bigbigbig!”

  I glanced back and saw a wide-eyed Bonehead stop dead in his tracks. “No one go up Mount Bigbigbig!” gasped Bonehead, shaking the club in the air. “Mount Bigbigbig sacred!”

  Stony caught up and shot me a nervous sidelong glance.

  “Just up a little bit,” I gasped. “Trust me.”

  We didn’t go up very long before I shifted course so that we ran parallel to the jungle below. The vegetation was thinner up here, which made it a little easier. Soon we saw the great Headstone Field below us, a huge natural clearing dotted with countless rock-slide stones ideal for head smashing. There was a long-standing agreement between both clans to avoid the field except on the day of the Big Game. So I decided the jungle just above it would be the perfect place for us to rest.

  I lay down on the ground, thinking we’d get right back up again. We must have been truly exhausted because my last memory of the day was Stony and Froggy cuddling. I wondered how the tiny animal had gotten so attached to this huge boy. But watching the two of them, I realized there was something about Stony’s natural gentleness that might attract all kinds of creatures. Even though he wasn’t much of a talker, I decided that I liked Stony.

  I got up at dawn and stretched my stone-cold limbs. We headed back toward the river for a drink, and I noticed that the foliage on this side of the water was denser and darker. There were fewer gourd trees and more multi-trunked banyans. Tangles of strangler vines crisscrossed in every direction, creating excellent hiding spots for creepy crawlies of all kinds. Oddly, several banyan trees seemed to have been trampled. What beast could have done that kind of damage, I wondered. Even the biggest razorback boars didn’t get that big. Was it the same thing that had taken the missing llama from my clan’s stable cave? My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden absence of footsteps behind me.

  “Stony?” I said, glancing back.

  Stony’s unibrow leapt up under his bangs and writhed like a worm in the shadow of a bird. I followed his gaze toward a thick stand of banyan trees. From the early morning shadows emerged a half dozen fierce-looking men, each astride a razorback boar.

  We stood frozen, not daring even to breathe.

  The biggest man I had ever seen broke the silence. “Bring Llama’s Boys to me,” he growled.

  I peed my gourd.

  “WE’VE GOT LLAMA’S Boys!” bellowed the Boar Riders’ Big Man, effortlessly lifting Stony and me above his head.

  As we entered their village, a few small children ran alongside the mounted procession, shouting, “Llama’s Boys! Llama’s Boys! Boss Hog’s got Llama’s Boys!”

  I was stunned to see that the Boar Rider village looked very similar to my own clan’s. I’d been told th
at these people lived in filthy wet holes unfit for naked mole rats, but instead I saw many cozy-looking caves surrounding a public clearing of nicely packed dirt. Even their rocks looked clean.

  Smack-dab in the center of the village, glinting in the late afternoon sun, stood the Shiny Stone.

  The Shiny Stone was a slightly shiny stone. It was also the trophy for the Big Game. The winning clan received the privilege of displaying it in their village until the next Big Game. Boar Riders of all ages began to sing spiritedly as we passed by it:

  When Big Game comes

  and time to fight,

  we kick your bums

  and show our might!

  Grind Llama’s Boys

  to llama’s bones,

  and always KEEEEEP …

  great Shiny Stone!

  Peeking above the stone was a pair of wide green eyes underneath a tangle of red curls. As far as I could tell, this girl was the only one who wasn’t singing.

  Boss Hog led us down a boar trail behind their village caves. I thought about the stories of Boar Rider cannibals and noticed Stony sucking in his stomach to try to look skinnier. Then I cleared my throat and addressed the Big Man. “Excuse me, O Huge One?”

  He ignored me.

  “O … Gigantic One?” I ventured, my voice cracking a little. “Have you noticed how bony I am?”

  Nothing.

  “O Humongous One! My friend here licks frogs. You really wouldn’t want to eat him.”

  “Eat?” grunted Boss Hog. He stepped aside, and I was astounded to see a circle of seated men in a small clearing down the trail. “We’re going to the Clan Council.”

  “Wow!” I blurted out as we approached. “You guys do that too?”

  “Too?” growled the nearest councilman, giving me a nasty snort. He had greasy red hair and small piggish green eyes. “I know you Macrauchenia Riders live like animals. You don’t have laws or councils.”

  “How do you know that, Snortimer?” asked a nearby councilman.

  The red-haired Snortimer eyed the guy for a moment. Then he whacked him in the head with a rock.