Savage Eden

by Kevin Ashman

  Savage Eden

  by

  K. M. Ashman

  Published by

  More Books by K. M. Ashman

  The India Sommers Mysteries

  The Dead Virgins

  The Treasures of Suleiman

  The Mummies of the Reich

  The Roman Trilogy

  Roman I – The Fall of Britannia

  Roman II – The Rise of Caratacus

  Roman III – The Wrath of Boudicca – (Spring 2013)

  Novels

  Savage Eden

  The Last Citadel

  Vampire

  Follow Kevin’s blog at:

  WWW.Silverbackbooks.co.uk

  or contact him direct at:

  KMAshman@Silverbackbooks.co.uk

  Savage Eden

  Copyright K M Ashman 2011

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the copyright owner.

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  All characters depicted within this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Golau cursed quietly as his freezing fingers crept up the haft of his hunting spear. The dung smeared pelt lying over his body had long ago lost its warmth, but the many bone chilling hours he had lain in this fold in the ground, faded into nothing as he faced the bringer of death.

  The giant auroch approached cautiously, his mud-encrusted hooves breaking the frosty grass of the late afternoon plain, and his large snout carving its way through the thick mantle of flies to find the sweeter shoots hidden amongst the scrub. Every few seconds, he raised his crowned head to check the surrounding tundra for any of the many predators that preyed on the young and weak of his herd.

  Suddenly, the mass of beef and ill temper stopped dead in his tracks, head tilted back and nose flaring at the chilled air. Something was wrong. The reindeer smell was too strong, and underneath there was something else, a faintly familiar and disturbing smell and therefore, a dangerous one.

  ----

  Golau cursed for the second time. He had been hoping for a reindeer. Even a gazelle would have been fine, but a male auroch was a wholly different proposition. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t hunted them before. Many fine cups made from auroch horns graced the huts of his clan, but usually they were taken by much larger hunting parties with many spears. On this occasion, there were only two, himself and Bran; a young unproven boy whose role was to watch, learn and warn Golau of approaching predators.

  Slowly, the auroch drew closer and though he was within range of Golau’s bow, it would take more than a single arrow to bring this behemoth down. Golau knew he had two chances, stay hidden and hope it changed direction, or break cover and run for the safety of the wood line. However, before he could decide, the matter was taken out of his hands.

  With a bellow of pain, the beast’s head jerked up and his body spun around toward the source of his ire, an arrow shaft embedded deeply behind the fore leg. For a second, Golau couldn’t comprehend what had happened until, with dawning horror, he heard the hunting cry of Bran as he ran from the forest edge.

  Golau jumped up from the furs, furious at the stupidity of the boy for thinking this was easy prey for two hunters. He knew he had no choice, so his own hunting cry joined that of Bran’s, causing momentary confusion in the animal’s brain. Golau’s spear hit home, deep in the Auroch’s side, unlike Bran’s, whose own weapon fell well short. The inexperience of his twelve summers was evident in his eagerness to prove his manhood.

  The maddened beast lowered its head and charged toward the source of its pain.

  Golau drew his flint knife from his waistband, determined to sell his life dearly. He knew the fire-hardened spear had cut deep into the auroch’s lungs, but it would take more than one spear to bring down this monster.

  The auroch lunged at Golau and tossed him through the air as if he was nothing. The hunter managed to break his flint knife in the animal’s neck, and though he was missed by the array of points on the animal’s horns, he smashed onto his back on the frozen ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Again, the beast spun around and closed in for the kill.

  With a deafening scream, Bran launched himself onto the auroch’s back, stabbing his knife repeatedly into the animal’s neck but it was only a matter of seconds before the boy was thrown to the floor and the beast drove one of its horns deep into his stomach.

  Golau watched in horror and ran to the death scene, picking up Bran’s spear from the floor as he staggered forward. Screaming in anger, he drew it back and thrust the weapon into the beast’s side, driving it deep through the chest cavity and into the massive heart.

  The auroch collapsed with clouds of steam billowing from its nostrils, and as the final breath panted from its straining lungs, black blood spurted from its severed arteries to enrich the welcoming soil of the steppe.

  Bran had somehow pulled himself from the dead beast’s horns and sat on the bloodstained grass, his back against the huge animal’s head. He held his scrunched tunic against the deep wound in his stomach, panting to ease his pain. His head tilted back, and he faced the sky, eyes screwed shut.

  Golau knelt and gently moved Bran’s hands to see the wound. Immediately, he knew he was dealing with a dead man.

  ‘We did it, Golau,’ Bran murmured opening his eyes, ‘we have taken the mighty auroch.’

  ‘We have, Bran,’ said Golau gently, ‘the beast has fallen.’

  ‘Did you see my charge?’ asked Bran, his voice shaking.

  ‘Your charge was that of a great hunter,’ Golau lied. There was no need for the boy to die in shame.

  ‘It will provide much meat for our people.’

  ‘It will, Bran.’

  ‘Shaman will sing of this hunt;’ continued the boy, ‘the day we two brought down auroch.’

  ‘The kill is yours, Bran; the song will be of you. This day you earn your name.’

  ‘Do I die, Golau?’

  ‘You do,’ replied Golau gently. ‘You will soon hunt in the plains of the Sun-god.’

  ‘I am not afraid,’ Bran lied, his eyes closing again with a grimace of pain.

  Golau retrieved Bran’s broken spear from the auroch’s body and wrapped the dying boy’s hand around the haft.

  ‘Meet him with your spear held high, Bran,’ said Golau, ‘your name will be honoured around our campfires.’

  With the last of his strength, the dying boy lifted the spear toward the hunter.

  ‘I see you, Golau Lion-heart,’ he whispered.

  ‘I see you, Bran of the auroch,’ Golau responded gently.

  Bran closed his eyes and his spear arm slowly dropped, releasing its prize to roll along the blood stained ground.

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  The sun was fading as Golau finally placed Bran’s bow alongside the corpse and finished building the makeshift cairn. It was too far to drag the body back to the camp and he wanted to protect it from the predators that would be swarming around the auroch carcass within the hour. Vultures were circling above, and in the distance, the blood curdling cackles of hyena were already staking their claim to the enticing smell wafting across the plain.

  He recovered the valuable dagger from the undergrowth and removed the dried meat from Bran’s belt pouch, adding them both to his own. The water pouch and furs could wait, as could the death words. Other hunters would come out and take Bran’s body back to the village the following day.

  He had to move quickly. The Rheibwr would be there soon and it was getting dark. He couldn’t afford to be out on the plains when the predators arrived. He returned to the auroch and using his knife, hacked through the cheek to carve out
the animal’s tongue. He stuffed a handful in his own mouth, before wrapping the rest in long chords of grass and placing the bundle in his food pouch. The night beasts would not take this.

  The hunter in him urged him to take more of the kill. The thick muscle from the creature’s haunches were prime meat and the heart was the prize of shaman and hunter alike, but his hesitancy was quickly overtaken by the survival instinct that had kept him alive these past twenty five summers. Chewing the fibrous tongue, he hoisted his hunting skin over his shoulder and picked up his spear. Without a backward glance, Golau trotted off toward the wood line, with the darkness closing in fast.

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  Chapter 2

  The old crone’s arthritic hands teased the reluctant embers back into life with the blackened end of a monkey bone. Her wise old eyes squinted against the smoke as she gently blew life into the slumbering campfire. Half-starved dogs lurked about the edge of the clearing, hoping to receive any scorched bits found in the embers, always a profitable scavenging ground.

  Keera fed the hungry flames and shuffled her squatting body closer to the fire. This was one of her roles in the clan; keeping the fire going during the hours of daylight. In return, she received food and a place to stay in one of the huts.

  She raised her aching body and limped over to the woodpile to begin dragging over the logs. It would not be good for her if the fire lowered too far and a hunter had to carry fuel. Though very old, a face slap was not unknown to Keera if she failed in her task. Everyone had to contribute. A voice startled her.

  ‘You arise early, Keera!’

  She turned to greet Tan, the clan chief. The old man was standing, draped a soft patchwork blanket of fox fur that Keera had sewn herself.

  ‘I have not slept, Tan,’ she replied, ‘the pain from my tooth aches more than child birth.’

  ‘Have you sought the help of the shaman?’

  ‘I will today, when the women chase the fish.’

  ‘Ahh yes, I look forward to the soft flesh of the pysgod. As much as I love meat, it can be hard work for old gums.’

  ‘We cannot complain, Tan,’ said Keera, standing up from her task. ‘The hunting is good and the children’s bellies are full for the first time in ages.’

  Tan grunted his agreement.

  ‘Go back to your hut, Chief;’ said Keera, ‘I will bring you warm food.’

  ‘You are very free with your orders today, Keera; perhaps you forget who the chief is and who the slave is here.’ The warmth of his toothless smile betrayed the attempted gruffness in his voice, ‘Maybe I should have you beaten again!’

  It was Keera’s turn to hide a smile. He hadn’t beaten her since the first day she had been captured as a teenager, over forty summers previously.

  Since then, Keera had settled into the clan and many years ago had been allowed to join with one of the hunters, bearing him two children, both of whom had died during birth. When her man failed to return from a hunting trip one winter, she had faced an uncertain future, until the chief’s wife had taken her in as her personal slave. Eventually, when the much-loved wife succumbed to the fever, Keera had stayed on as the chief’s servant, seeing to the old man’s needs, as he grew steadily older. Over the years, they had become close, albeit unlikely friends.

  ‘I only worry for your comfort, great chief,’ she smiled, and then grimaced quickly, as the abscess beneath her tooth flared up.

  ‘Ask the Shaman if she can remove your tongue when she sorts out your tooth,’ he said, ‘then perhaps we can all get some peace.’

  She held the side of her lower jaw in silence until the pain subsided and watched the old man return to his hut.

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  The hunting camp was a simple affair located deep within one of the vast forests that dotted the endless tundra. Each hut was made from an elongated tripod of cut Birch trees, tied together at its apex, and the frame was covered with heavy animal hides, sewn together with animal gut. The weight of the hides stabilized the weatherproof shelters and rocks, pinned the natural canvas to the ground, weighing down the edges. Experienced hands could raise the huts in less than an hour and they could strip them in minutes.

  Tan bent over to enter his hut and walked over to his sleeping furs. A thick bed of bracken and grass provided the comfort, while quilted layers of soft deerskin provided insulation from the cold ground. On one side, more furs were piled up, ready to provide extra warmth and comfort during the night.

  The patch of ground inside the entrance flap was left uncovered, often occupied by a small cooking fire, or as a place for hot embers from the campfire as protection from the cold night air. Smoke, steam and breath-borne moisture naturally followed the sloping roof upwards and escaped the hut through a small hole cut in the apex of the A-frame.

  A young girl looked up from her own bed as he entered.

  ‘Good morning, Grandfather,’ she said sleepily.

  ‘Go back to sleep, Joolan,’ he said gently, ‘I will wake you when Keera brings the food.’

  ‘Okay,’ she smiled and curled up again, quickly asleep under the warmth of her furs.

  ----

  The village was made up of twenty huts, spread out between the edge of the river and a sheer cliff wall. A large open area was central to the small village and was dotted with skeletal timber racks, each draped with corpses of kills from the hunting party’s daily trips into the nearby savannah and forests.

  Hides in various stages of preparation lay over the timber trestles, drying in the smoke from the campfires. Like the carcasses, the skins were hung high out of reach of the frustrated dogs, a nuisance at most times, though useful to warn the camp of uninvited intruders, man or beast alike.

  A solitary shelter, covered in ancient Mammoth hide with strange markings of black and red ochre, stood at the edge of the camp. The occupant of this larger hut didn’t share the daily camp life of hunting for meat or searching for nuts and seeds. Not for her was the bone awl to sew reindeer hides into leggings and jackets. She took no part in the day-to-day grind of survival, yet she took her share of food, water and furs from the hunters.

  The occupant of this lodge was Night Owl, the rarely seen Shaman who was the mystical keeper of the tribe’s magic. Hunting would not start without her blessing and she would decide the time to move the camp. Night Owl was the teller of stories around the fires, the wondrous tales of great hunts and of days when the Mammoth were thick upon the plains. She captivated the listeners, old and young alike, with the stories of the soul eaters, the demonic stealers of the dead so feared by their people. And it was she who recited the essential death words to ensure a quick passage to the Sun-god when the cycle of life ended. To the tribe, she was as essential to the survival of the clan as the hunters themselves.

  ----

  Nursing her jaw, Keera approached the Shaman’s hut. The handmaiden, Seren, was already up and about, searching for snails in the morning dew. Her unruly hair and dirty face gave her a slightly feral look and her neglected skins were torn and un-mended. Despite this, there was an underlying beauty about the young girl.

  At the old woman’s approach, Seren stopped her search for breakfast and scampered back to the Shaman’s hut, resuming her normal place guarding the entrance. Keera stopped before the staring handmaiden.

  ‘I need medicine, Seren,’ she said, ‘is the Shaman awake?’

  ‘She sleeps,’ the response came. ‘What is your ailment?’

  Keera paused, because she wanted to see the Shaman, not discuss things with this scrawny girl who had not yet seen the first blood of her womanhood.

  ‘It is my tooth,’ she relented, ‘I cannot take the pain anymore. I either need some herbs to ease the ache, or I will have to ask one of the men to remove it with their knife.’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Seren.

  ‘Do you know such things?’ asked Keera her doubt showing on her frowning brow.

  ‘The Shaman teaches me many things, Keera, I have this knowledge.’

&nbs
p; Keera walked forward and opened her mouth to Seren’s inspection. The old woman’s teeth were well worn and yellowed, but despite her old age, she had lost surprisingly few.

  Seren finished her examination.

  ‘Stay here, I will bring what I need,’ she said, and disappeared into the Shaman’s hut. A few minutes later, she reappeared with a small roll of worn leathered skin containing various items.

  ‘Are they herbs?’ asked Keera.

  ‘There are some herbs,’ she replied, ‘but your problem cannot be cured by herbs alone. There is a well of poison beneath your tooth. We need to pierce the base to let out the filth.’

  ‘You wish to cut into my tooth?’ asked Keera, shocked.

  ‘That, or it will get worse and you will not only lose the tooth, but possibly your life.’

  ‘Wake the Shaman!’ said Keera with a sigh.

  ‘I have been taught well, Keera,’ argued Seren, ‘let me ease your pain.’

  Keera considered her options.

  ‘Have you done this before?’

  ‘Yes, twice.’

  ‘On who?’

  It was Seren’s time to pause.

  ‘It was on a dog,’ she muttered.

  ‘On a dog!’ answered Keera incredulously, ‘and he let you do this, did he?’

  Another pause.

  ‘It was dead, but the task is the same,’ she added quickly, seeing Keera’s disbelieving look, ‘I have been taught well.’

  ‘I don’t know, Seren. Perhaps it would be better to wake the Shaman. ’

  Seren took a step closer to Keera.

  ‘You are old and wise, Keera,’ she said, ‘you of all people know what it is like to be shunned and cast aside. This is my chance to prove to the clan that I have more worth than just clearing the Shaman’s filth and fetching her food. I know how to do this, please give me this chance?’

  For what seemed like an age, the old woman stared at the girl, remembering the early days when she craved friendship, and sought a chance to become a part of the clan. A sudden searing stab of pain from the abscess wrenched her back to the present situation.