Savage Eden

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Golau,’ he said tapping his own chest gently, ‘Golau.’

  The male stood up, his naked, muscle bound form seemingly huge from Golau’s low position, and walked off into the darkness. Strong hands gently forced Golau back to the ground, and despite his protests, he realized he was still very weak. The chanting restarted and the hunter of the Fire-clan fell into a deep sleep, this time refreshing and dream free.

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  For the third time in as many days, Golau awoke, this time warm, alert and ravenous. He sat up quickly and looked around. He was alone. The fire was low, but he soon became accustomed to the gloom again as his eyes strained to search the dark reaches of the cave. He looked past the fire and glimpsed a blue light further back in the darkness. Golau gathered the fur around his shoulders and crawling slowly, dragged his broken leg up the earthen slope.

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  Dozens of the blue-flamed candles illuminated the area to his front, their light throwing dancing shadows on the walls. About forty adults and children sat in a semi-circle, all humming the strange monotonous drone he had heard the day before. Centre stage was the gleaming white, fully excavated skull of the giant Mammoth, its upturned tusks thrusting ominously toward the cavern roof. Flowers and evergreen foliage from the forest adorned the skull, obviously offerings from this strange people. Two more lamps, this time burning red, sat in the eye sockets giving the appearance of life to the giant behemoth’s bones.

  Immediately below the skull in the cave earth, a shallow pit had been dug, within which, lay the body of a small child. Evergreen foliage also adorned the corpse along with a small knife, a water skin and a spear.

  The giant male lay before the tiny grave face down in the earth, his arms spread out wide in supplication to his god, praying for a safe journey for the child’s spirit. Golau lowered himself carefully to the ground behind the group to watch the events unfold, and as the humming intensified and grew in volume, Golau found himself rocking in time with the hypnotic chant. His eyes were heavy and he realized there must be dream herbs being burnt.

  Kraiach rose from his prone position and sat cross legged in front of the giant skull. Hanging from a thong around his neck was a thin hollow bone carefully harvested from the foreleg of a young reindeer and polished smooth over the years with care and attention. Along the surface were a series of punched holes. He lifted the small tube and placed one end to his mouth.

  Golau heard a high-pitched haunting sound that swam around the burial scene like a sea mist on a shore. The sound ebbed and flowed, complemented by the accompanying chanting of Kraiach’s people. Golau had never heard such a thing. He struggled to keep his eyes open as the haunting melody invaded his senses taking him to sensations he had not known before. Visions of animals filled his mind, glimpses of Mammoth roaming plains of tall grass, well fed children laughing, and nurtured old people mingling with young healthy adults in a thriving and strong society. The feelings were warm and Golau felt the happiness of the people in his vision.

  The tone from the bone flute changed and the images took a different twist. The Mammoth faded from view leaving empty swathes of grass. The faces of young and old so happy a few minutes ago now reflected sadness and hunger. Hunter fought hunter and rows of small graves testified the high mortality of the young of the species. Golau was cold and frightened. Confusion reigned in his hallucinations and he longed for the return of the previous visions. Finally, he opened his eyes realizing the visions and chanting had stopped. All the people were standing with arms outstretched in total blanketing silence. The red fiery eyes of the Mammoth flickered over the supplicant Neanderthal. Silently, from above, a solitary leaf fluttered in ever decreasing circles from the cavern roof spiralling on unseen draughts to finally land onto the child’s recumbent corpse. A gentle breeze whispered through the cave and Golau struggled slowly to his feet to stare into the twin red burning eyes of the Skull, feeling himself being drawn in deeper and deeper into its world. It seemed like it lasted a lifetime and he had no self-discipline, or indeed inclination to break their gaze. He was elsewhere in the world of the Neanderthal Gods.

  Finally, his trance was broken, when out of the dark, a flat weathered face appeared from nowhere. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and Golau looked slowly down to see the point Kraiach’s spear pressed against the flesh over his heart. Golau held his breath as a small drop of his blood ran down the spear point, anticipating the deadly thrust. He stared back into the heavy ridge covered eyes of Kraiach, inches from his own, feeling his hot breath on his skin.

  For what seemed like an eternity, the two individuals, similar in character yet descendants of different arms of a common ancestor were the only creatures in existence. Suddenly, to Golau’s astonishment, Kraiach spoke.

  ‘Gorlay,’ he ventured struggling to form the vowels. Easing the pressure on the spear, he prodded Golau sharply in the forehead with his finger

  ‘Gorlay!’

  Kraiach turned away and strode to the fire back at the lagoon’s edge, leaving the Mwrllwch women to fill in the sad grave. After a few seconds, Golau nervously limped after Kraiach followed by the rest of the males.

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  Golau sat in a circle of the strange creatures, more at ease with the situation. The fire was roaring and he had been given back his own clothes. Meat and water was passed around and some mirth was displayed as he insisted on cooking his share of the flesh. Kraiach and his kind ate theirs raw.

  It had been several weeks since the death of the child and attitudes around the circle had softened toward him. The one known as Kraiach was obviously the leader and had taken a personal interest in Golau. Apart from some names, attempts at communication were mainly unsuccessful with most of the group, though much fun was had in the process. Most of their words were beyond Golau’s abilities, and the strange people seemed unable or unwilling to try most of his sounds. After a while, Golau became aware that, despite not understanding the actual words of the strange people, if he concentrated, somehow he achieved a semblance of understanding of what they were trying to say. His mind played pictures behind his eyes, and though they were often random and unintelligible, occasionally they seemed to make sense.

  Through mimes, drawings in the soil and the strange mind pictures, Golau learned that he had been washed downstream under the ice, eventually fished out unconscious from the river by Kraiach, and brought back here to their cave. It seemed that both males and females took their turn to nurse him back to life over the first few days. He consciously avoided the flashbacks of being breastfed by one of the older women.

  Golau spent more and more time with Kraiach, building up an understanding of communication that was a mixture of verbal, mental and sign, eventually reaching a level that they could converse with a fair amount of understanding. Kraiach showed him the ancient drawings on the walls and he sat alongside the strange people as they paid homage to the giant skull each day, watching in silence as they lay fresh leaves on the child’s grave, a strange and seemingly pointless ritual to Golau.

  Each morning, when a glow of green light emanated from below the water at the cave entrance, a small party of males set out to hunt, often bringing back a small deer or rabbit alongside fresh herbs and roots. He longed to join them on their trips outside, but knew that winter still laid hold on the land and he would not get far with his broken leg. He didn’t hear the strange flute again and when he mimicked playing it to Kraiach, only received a sharp grunted rebuttal in return.

  Golau had no idea how long he had been in the cave of the Neanderthal, but his leg healed well and the makeshift cast was eventually taken off. His strength was returning and he knew that soon he would be able to leave the cave.

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  Golau awoke from another sleep suddenly, sensing something was wrong. Kraiach stood to one side talking to the one called Morlak. Behind Kraiach, the whole tribe gathered in silence. Morlak, still wearing his large furs, had obviously just returned from a trip outside, but he bore no ki
ll. He was talking earnestly to Kraiach in their strange language. Both Neanderthal looked over to Golau.

  Kraiach indicated for the hunter to follow and they went to the back of the cave, to the place of the skull and sat in a circle below its ever lit burning gaze. Golau took the indicated place, wondering what strange things he would experience now.

  After a few minutes, the chanting started again. Herbs were burnt on the fire and eventually Golau felt himself slipping to a different place once again. The vision was familiar, people, but this time it was Golau’s people who were laughing and joking. Though individual faces couldn’t be seen, places were recognizable. The valley, a glimpse inside the cave, the waterfall fed pool, all flashed through his mind. He recognized the ridge above the valley, and saw a figure standing against the skyline. Golau strained to recognize the familiar small person that danced on the edge of his mind, his closed eyes yearning to see more, and then suddenly, it was there. The terrible features of the creature who had tried to kill him by the ice, was looking down into the valley. His valley!

  Golau’s eyes snapped open, breaking the communal bond. He jumped up, absolutely certain his clan were in trouble. He turned around. Kraiach and three of the males were standing, silently watching him. All were dressed in their winter furs and carried their spears. Kraiach grunted an unintelligible command and a female came forward with a bundle in her arms. Golau recognized his hunting cape and was happy to see his flint knife, his bow, the quiver of arrows and his waist pouch balanced on the top. The pouch was crammed full of dried meat and some strange root vegetables, and his water pouch had been filled.

  He dressed quickly and received his hunting spear from Kraiach. He was ready. He knew they were leaving and that they were going to the valley. He just hoped they would not be too late.

  ‘Golau come,’ Kraiach said simply.

  Golau paused. Kraiach did not head for the watery entrance, but deeper into the gloom at the back of the cave. Kraiach stopped and turned.

  ‘Golau come,’ he repeated and, with a grateful glance back at the people who had saved his life, followed the three Neanderthal hunters into the depths of the cave.

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  Chapter 15

  High in the crags opposite the Long-tooth cave, Sky wept quietly in the Shaman’s hut, looking out through her tears at the retreating figure making her way to meet her certain death. Below her, the old woman stopped to catch her breath, leaning heavily on a gnarled branch for support and adjusted the hooded ermine cape to protect her sensitive eyes from the piercing sun’s rays.

  It was only a matter of moments before one of the warriors spotted the woman and raised the alarm. The blood-stained chief came forward, his attention momentarily drawn from the clan cave, but he hesitated before the strange sight, shouting at the apparition for the benefit of his followers.

  ‘What is this creature? More meat for Kraynar’s blade?’

  ‘Be silent, Baal,’ ordered the quiet voice from beneath the cape

  The Baal chief stepped backward in astonishment and a murmur spread through the tribe assembled behind their leader.

  ‘You speak our tongue,’ he said eventually.

  ‘I spew your words, eater of souls, it brings me no pleasure.’

  ‘Who are you, witch?’ he asked, intrigued at the apparition.

  ‘I am your death, defiler of children,’ replied the Shaman.

  ‘I do not fear old women,’ laughed the Baal leader. ‘Many such as you have fed Kraynar’s blade.’

  A horrible cackle spurted forth from the hidden figures mouth.

  ‘Such as I, Baal? There are none such as me.’

  The ermine cloak fell away and for a second there was silence. Gradually, a moan of fear spread throughout the massed ranks as they beheld the old woman.

  ‘I am Night-owl, Baal,’ she declared, stronger and louder.

  The Baal chief was transfixed though unafraid. The ancient woman had long white hair framing a craggy lined face and her eyes were white with cataracts peering hopelessly from their bony sockets. A thin layer of downy hair covered her body and her drooping breasts hung down to her waist, her skin almost translucent in its paleness. Krayna narrowed his eyes, recalling something from the far past.

  ‘I have heard of such an abomination,’ declared Krayna, ‘tales are told of how a beast such as you was cut from the offending womb and left in the forest to feed the Wolves.’

  ‘So it was, Baal,’ hissed Night-owl, ‘but the Wolf has more life spirit than Baal. Their eyes did not find this form repulsive, and their milk nourished Night-owl alongside their own cubs until one of the forest found me. It was she that taught me the filth of your tongue.’

  ‘Who was this one you speak of?’ asked Kraynar.

  ‘Aaah! She was the earth mother. The ancient one. She taught me the ways of all things past and things yet to be.’

  ‘And where is this mother now, abomination?’ asked Kraynar. ‘My blade aches to meet her. Bring forth this great one and I will spare these pathetic beings.’

  ‘She is everywhere and she is nowhere, Baal,’ came the reply. ‘She is not for the eyes of this world.’

  ‘You waste my time, creature.’ replied Kraynar.

  ‘Then carry out that which you must do, dark one,’ came the reply. ‘Through me you will reap the end of your kind as you would destroy this very tribe that has taken me as Shaman.’

  ‘And destroy I will, witch,’ he snarled, ‘but first, I will feast on their flesh. Their young will be taken back to roast in the fires of Bin-naarve and Baal children will suck on their smashed bones for the sweet juices.’

  ‘Your kind is not long for this sun, Baal,’ she retorted, ‘the Gods gather their cold revenge to fall on us all and your unclean kind nears its end.’

  ‘Enough words witch!’ shouted Kraynar, lifting his flint edged axe. ‘Your form offends my eyes. My blade will finish what my father should have done many cycles ago.’

  ‘I do not fear your blade, eater of filth,’ she replied, ‘but know this. With my death, you bring your own. The release of my spirit is the start of the end. Even now, the one who will spill your blood grows strong.’

  Enraged he charged up the slope, and swinging his stone axe, crushed the side of the old woman’s head with one swipe, her old frail body falling to the cold frosty floor. He grabbed the hair and lifted up her head.

  ‘No magic, witch?’ he growled in her ear. ‘I am disappointed.’

  ‘My magic is cast, Baal,’ whispered the dying voice, her blood leaking from her smashed face, ‘my death frees the one to end your kind. I welcome your blade.’

  ‘So be it, witch,’ he replied and pulled the white hair of her forehead back to expose her neck.

  ‘Behold, Baal,’ he shouted to the transfixed tribe, ‘it dies under Kraynar’s knife like all other creatures.’ For the second time that day, he opened the throat of a Fire-clan member.

  Krayna knelt at the body of the Shaman, slicing at the head with a razor sharp flint. Finally, he stood and faced the tribe holding aloft his prize, the skin from Night-owl’s face.

  ‘Behold the witch,’ he roared.

  The blood crazed Baal screamed their approval, waving their weapons in the air as they chanted their support for their leader. Kraynar held out the sides of his cape like a pair of grotesque butterfly wings, turning around slowly in front of his tribe, and exposing the many other face skins that had been sewn together to make up his cape.

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  An hour later, Kraynar sat at a fire, eating burnt flesh from the slaughtered girl. He stared up at the cave, chewing his obscene meal in silence. He was troubled. He was no coward and had taken more lives than he could remember, but he was not stupid, and he had a healthy respect for the supernatural. He recalled the witch’s prophesy and was loathe staying in this place any longer than he had to. The puny humans were well defended and he had lost more men at the entrance of the cursed cave than the fingers of both hands. Not that it worried hi
m, their lives were his to waste, but he couldn’t afford to lose many more, as he had to get his captives back to Bin-naarve. He turned to the prisoners. They lay on the ground, shivering with cold and fear, hands bound behind their backs and tethered together at the neck with vine ropes. It was a good haul, twelve children of different ages, healthy enough to survive the long trek back to Bin-naarve, and eight wounded, but alive adults.

  It was enough. He could return to his people in triumph with the captured humans. The children would make good slaves, the women would be used by his warriors to satisfy their lust and the two men would face the trials of pain before his people.

  ‘Enough!’ he roared at his tribe, standing up suddenly. ‘We return to Bin-naarve.’

  Decision made, he walked over to the captives, kicking them till they rose to their feet in terror. He stopped at a pretty young girl tied at the rear. Perhaps, he would enjoy her before they reached their destination. The Baal warriors, eager to be gone, urged their captives forward with curses and spear points, laughing at the reaction. Gradually, the roped line of captives shuffled up the shale slope to the valley exit, many crying or whimpering in fear.

  However, one small boy, just as scared as the rest, refused to cry. He knew that if his father were here, he would not cry, for he was a great hunter. Little-bear, son of Golau Lion-heart, tethered and beaten, led the sorry train away from their home. His courage belying what should be expected from his five years.

  ‘Be brave, Little-bear,’ whispered a tearful voice behind him, ‘I am here.’

  The little boy took comfort in the familiar tones of Raven as they were led away to an uncertain fate.

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  Chapter 16

  Golau lost track of the time he spent crawling through pitch-black tunnels or edging sideways along ledges with drops of unknown depths falling away at his feet into the inky blackness.