Savage Eden

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘If Raven-hair lives, I will bring her back,’ he promised, and held Sky tightly as she cried quietly in his embrace.

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  Chapter 18

  All day, Neifion and the young boys had dragged piles of firewood into the valley, until the unlit funeral pyre was built high on the valley floor. Against the pyramid of wood lay the semi upright bodies of all those killed by the Baal, each facing the sky and wrapped tightly in their furs, and their favourite belongings by their side. The rest of the clan stood around the sad bonfire, each holding a burning torch as the dawn rapidly approached. The youngest children sat up at the cave entrance to watch from a place of safety. Tan stood wrapped in furs between Keera and Sky, as Ceffyl stepped forward toward the unlit fire, the great tribal spear held in his right hand. It was time.

  ‘Hear me, great God of the skies,’ he shouted, ‘we offer our brothers and sisters to your care. Warm them with your welcoming rays.’ Suddenly, he was cut short by a shout echoing around the tiny valley.

  ‘Stop!’

  Everyone turned around in confusion. Up on the rise where Night-owl had met her death only days earlier, a lone figure stood, wearing the white ermine of the Shaman, the face once again covered by the deep hood. The clan gasped in fright at the reincarnation. Surely, the Shaman had returned from the dead. After a moment, Ceffyl pulled himself together and challenged the interloper.

  ‘Who are you to interrupt a chief, stranger?’ he shouted.

  ‘Chief or not, the death words are for the Shaman only,’ the female voice replied calmly.

  ‘We do not have a Shaman;’ he replied ‘she lays on the fire with the rest of our dead.’

  ‘She may be dead, but her magic lives on in me,’ replied the voice. ‘For many years, I have been prepared for this task. Whilst she hid herself away, I have walked amongst your people. I am skilled in the crafts of the clan, yet I am versed in the ancient ways of the Shaman. ’

  ‘Who are you stranger,’ asked Golau

  ‘I am no stranger, Golau Lion-heart,’ she replied, and the crowd gasped as she pulled back her hood to reveal the face of the handmaiden.

  ‘I am Seren,’ she announced, ‘handmaiden to the Shaman and servant to the gods.’ She strode forward, clutching the cape at her throat to hold it closed. The wall of people opened to let her pass, astonished at the turn of events and this stunning vision of beauty that walked amongst them. She stopped short of Ceffyl, staring into his gaze for a moment. Her eyes were framed in thick black ovals and in-filled with vivid blood red ochre, highlighting the shocking green of her piercing eyes. The ermine hood of the cape contained her long brown hair.

  Ceffyl was transfixed and stared trancelike into the endless depths of her gaze, before Seren broke her stare, and dropped to her knees looking down at the ground.

  ‘Great chief,’ she said, ‘accept me into your clan.’

  Ceffyl re-gathered his senses and glanced at Tan who nodded his head slightly.

  ‘I have known you for many cycles, handmaiden,’ he said, ‘I know not if you can conduct the magic practiced by your predecessor, but you were closer to Night-owl than any other of our people and we are in need of a Shaman. You will be given the chance to prove your worth, but first you will lead us in the death words and ensure our people dwell on the plains of the Sun-god.’

  ‘I am yours, great chief,’ she intoned and standing up, walked forward to take her place before the funeral pyre. Ceffyl joined her and gave Hell-farch to the new, would be Shaman. Seren acknowledged the honour and paused momentarily.

  Turning back to face the funeral pyre, she unclipped the bear tooth clasp at her neck, and the whole clan gasped as she dropped her cape to the ground, standing completely naked before the sightless eyes of the dead.

  In awe, the remainder of the clan stared soundlessly at the back of her perfectly shaped body. Her skin was covered from head to foot with intricate geometric tattoos in all the vivid colours of nature, evidence of the long painful nights spent in the Shaman’s hut, being decorated with sharp blade and natures colour at the hand of Night Owl. She threw her head back and looked up at the lightening sky, raising Hell-farch high above her head, between her extended arms and her long hair blowing in the fresh dawn breeze.

  ‘Hear me, great God of the skies,’ she thundered toward the rising sun, surprising the gathering with the strength of her voice.

  ‘We offer our brothers and sisters to your care. Warm them with your welcoming rays. Let them hunt in your bountiful pastures. Straighten their spears in their flight and let them find sweet waters running clear.’

  The words went on, imploring the Sun-god to ease their dead on their way. The clan repeated selected words and chants, adding their prayers to their deity, gradually getting louder and more impassioned as the girl found her voice, commanding the respect of all present.

  Finally, the clan fell silent, and as the dawn’s strengthening rays flooded over the horizon, the new clan chief moved forward to stand beside the young girl. After a few seconds, and in total silence, he threw his lighted torch onto the waiting funeral pyre. Slowly, every member of the clan stepped forward and followed his example. Within seconds, the pile of timber beneath the dead bodies of the clan was roaring with flames, greedily leaping upward to reach their cold meaty prize.

  When it was done, the survivors of the Fire-clan dispersed with most scaling the slope to the cave, the noise of the burning bonfire at their backs roaring into a furnace of heat, flesh and bone. At the fireside, Keera picked up the white cape and draped it back over Seren’s shivering body leading her back up to the Shaman’s hut.

  Most of the clan were resting in silence in the cave when the time came for Golau to leave a few hours later. His quiver was full of quality arrows. Sky had filled his large hide bag with dried meat and fruit and along with thick winter boots, any other things she thought he might need for the trip. His winter cape was rolled tightly, draped diagonally from his shoulders and fastened at the opposite hip. Ceffyl and the other elders were sitting around Tan’s reclining figure on his furs, deep in animated conversation. Eventually the heated conversations ended and Ceffyl stood to approach Golau.

  ‘Are you ready, friend?’ he asked

  ‘It is time,’ responded Golau forcing a spare knife into his animal skin shoulder pack and standing up to face the new chief.

  ‘I cannot spare any of the men, Golau,’ he said, ‘there are too many bellies to feed here. We will go hungry these coming moons even with the spears we have.’

  ‘This task is mine, Ceffyl,’ replied Golau, ‘I will take responsibility for no other hunters. I do not expect to survive.’

  ‘What is your plan?’

  ‘Are we not hunters, Ceffyl?’ replied Golau. ‘Is not the sign of moving people easier to follow than that of four legged beasts? I will follow, I will find, and I will hunt.’

  ‘And if our people are already dead?’

  ‘I will do everything in my power to ensure our children are the last they take.’

  ‘Ceffyl,’ continued Golau, ‘your task ahead is harder than mine. Our boys must become men quickly if the clan is to survive.’

  ‘Many did so at the spears,’ the chief answered quietly. ‘They have much to learn, but while they are taught the ways of the beasts, we will stay here and eat from the sea. Man and woman alike, young and old will gather the fruits of the great waters, and this summer, our boys will become men.’

  Golau nodded.

  ‘One more thing, Ceffyl,’ he said, ‘take care of Sky. Heed her words, for sometimes they are strange, but her ideas might help.’

  Ceffyl grunted his agreement, and both of the hunters grasped arms for the last time before the new chief turned back into the cavern.

  Golau left the cave and walked down the slope toward Kraiach and his people squatting in the dirt watching the remains of the cremation fire dwindle down. Kraiach was scratching something in the hard dirt of the valley floor and Golau looked down with inter
est at the picture Kraiach had drawn. It was a pictorial representation of three groups, each consisting of several people in sticklike form. Kraiach looked up at Golau, and then pointed at the first group.

  ‘Baal,’ he said, ‘Baal!’

  He pointed at the lead figure of the second group.

  ‘Golau,’ he said, ‘Golau!’

  Golau nodded as Kraiach pointed at the last group.

  ‘And those?’ asked Golau.

  ‘Mwrllwch!’ came the reply and he waved his hand toward his fellow Neanderthal.

  Understanding dawned on Golau as he realized Kraiach intended to go with him after the Baal.

  ‘No, Kraiach,’ said Golau, ‘this fight is ours, not the Mwrllwch’s.’

  Kraiach pointed at the drawing again.

  ‘Baal,’ he said, ‘Mwrllwch’ pointing at each group of figures. He then drew a straight line from the rear group to the first and violently rubbed out the Baal drawing with his hand, his intention clear as to how he intended to deal with the intruders. Kraiach stood and grabbed Golau’s spear arm fiercely.

  ‘Mwrllwch come!’ he said, staring up into Golau’s eyes. Golau stayed silent for a while, and then with a nod, agreed.

  ‘Ok, Kraiach,’ he said, ‘Mwrllwch come!’

  During the exchange, the clan had gathered at the mouth of the cave to watch Golau and the Neanderthal leave the valley. Ceffyl appeared at their head.

  ‘Golau,’ he shouted, ‘yours is a grave task. Even with your new friends, you cannot succeed,’ he indicated the Mwrllwch.

  ‘You cannot spare any more men, Ceffyl,’ responded Golau, ‘it is better this way.’

  ‘You are right, Golau; I will not risk any more men. But there is one who needs to earn their name.’ He turned around, ‘Step forward,’ he commanded

  From behind Ceffyl stepped Seren. This time dressed in reindeer skin tunic and leggings and carrying her own animal skin bag from her shoulders. Her hair was tied back with a leather thong, exposing the tattoos at her temples and the ceremonial colours had been washed from around her eyes. Golau stared in confusion.

  ‘I will take no woman, Ceffyl,’ he said, just loud enough to be heard, ‘this is man’s business.’

  ‘No, Golau, it is clan business and Seren is your Shaman. She needs no succour from you, and if she dies, it proves she is unworthy. If she lives, then she will take her name and have her own lodge within the clan.’ He paused. ‘It is all we can offer, Golau, the men are needed here.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Golau. ‘This is not happening!’

  ‘You leave me no option, friend,’ stated Ceffyl visibly raising his body to his full height, ‘Seren will go with you. I am Ceffyl, chief of the Fire-clan and I have spoken!’

  He turned his back on Golau and followed by the rest of the clan, he re-entered the cave, leaving Seren outside looking at Golau in hostility.

  Golau was stuck. He had been instrumental in Ceffyl’s appointment and if he defied him now, it would undermine him in the eyes of the clan. He stared at the would-be Shaman dressed in her travelling clothes and slowly walked silently around her in an intimidating fashion.

  ‘We cannot afford to carry you, Seren,’ he said eventually, ‘we will travel fast and I will not wait’

  Silence.

  ‘It will be cold and we will sleep little.’

  Again, no answer.

  ‘There will be hunger, thirst and we will probably die from wild beast attack long before we get sight of the Baal,’ he growled, his voice beginning to rise, angry at the lack of response.

  Nothing.

  ‘Even if we do catch up with them, you will be expected to fight for our children or die in the process. Do you still wish to come, little star?’ he asked sarcastically.

  Seren turned to walk away.

  ‘I am talking to you, woman,’ Golau shouted, his anger erupting, ‘where are you going?’

  She spun around, stormed back at the hunter, her eyes ablaze with anger and pushed her face close to his, staring into his eyes with her piercing green gaze.

  ‘While you babble like an old woman by the fire, the Baal get further away,’ she snarled, ‘I am going with, or without you, Golau Lion-heart, you stay here and cry about all the dangers if you wish, I have Baal to kill!’ With that, she turned away again and stormed toward the valley entrance.

  Golau stared after her in surprise and some admiration for several moments before looking over to Kraiach, meeting his impassive stare and shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘Looks like we have one more,’ he said, and lifted his pack and spear to follow her lithe form up the slope, closely followed by Kraiach and the rest of the Neanderthal.

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  Ceffyl and Sky stared down from the cave entrance and watched the strange expedition set out; a feared and skilled hunter, a sixteen-year-old untried Shaman handmaiden, and four strange creatures that raised more questions than answers.

  ‘Do you think they will succeed?’ asked Sky.

  ‘Golau is the best of us all’ he answered, ‘if anyone can return our children, it is him.’ Privately, he doubted he would see any of them again.

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  Chapter 19

  Ninety miles to the North, the Baal raiding party had settled under a rocky overhang for the night. Their captive’s ankles were tied and they were bound in pairs, back to back, and secured by their wrists. No prisoners had been killed on the march and the Baal had fed on the animals they had caught en route. It had become apparent that the raiding party were keen to keep the prisoners alive, making sure they were fed, if not plenty, at least adequate scraps to sustain them on the forced march.

  Nearby, two bodies lay flat in the scrub of a low hill, watching the hunting party as they settled for the night.

  ‘They are well guarded again, Afon,’ whispered Gafr, ‘there is no way we can get anywhere near.’

  ‘We must be patient, Gafr, they will get careless eventually. Get some sleep, I will watch until the moon is at its highest and wake you to take over.’ Gafr crawled back into a fold in the ground and started to collect grass to make a rudimentary mattress to insulate his body from the cold tundra floor, before curling up and wrapping himself in his winter furs. He was asleep in minutes, as was the way of any hunter well versed in taking advantage of any chance of rest in this harsh environment.

  Hours later, he woke to a shake from Afon.

  ‘Gafr, Wake up,’ hissed Afon urgently for the second time.

  The air was freezing beneath the star filled skies as Gafr emerged reluctantly from his cocoon of warmth. His breath formed a thick white mist enveloping his head as he crawled out to join Afon.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘The moon is not yet high.’

  ‘There is movement,’ whispered Afon. ‘Something is happening.’

  Gafr became wide awake immediately, and grasping his spear, crawled back up the small slope close behind Afon’s silhouette, his belly dragging through the newly formed ice crystals on the tundra grass.

  He joined Afon on the lip of the slope, his body shivering at the sudden temperature change and peered cautiously down to the Baal and their prisoners below. The scene was a hive of activity, with the fires freshly stoked to give extra light. The prisoners were on their feet being shouted at and beaten to form a semblance of a line in case they had to move quickly. Many Baal had their backs to their prisoners and faced outwards peering into the darkness, spears at the ready.

  Gafr followed their gaze and as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, saw a long sinuous black shape closing in on the Baal position. He nudged Afon and pointed to the phenomenon. The two hunters could not make out what it was for a long time as it came closer and closer, until finally realization dawned on Gafr.

  Moments later, the Baal party below let out cries of recognition and chants from excited warriors broke the night air as they recognized their fellow species returning from similar hunting missions.

  ‘More Baal,’ spat Afon, ‘and they
have prisoners.’

  The darkness hid the details of the captives, though it was apparent that many dozens were tied at the neck and shepherded single file between two flanks of Baal warriors. Some of the incumbent Baal ran forward to welcome their brethren, poking and jeering at the new influx of captive slaves their colleagues had brought with them. Finally the approaching war party reached the cliff base and the two parties joined together with much merriment and back slapping. The slaves were bullied forward with threats and violence until eventually both captive groups crouched down together with their heads bowed, a sorry mass of terrified and beaten humanity, totally useless against the brutality of their captors.

  ‘They were expected,’ whispered Gafr. ‘The first group was waiting for the second.’

  ‘How many more might there be?’ responded Afon.

  The two hunters looked at each other, the implications clear.

  ‘We cannot do anything against such numbers,’ said Afon, ‘we should return and tell Tan. He will know what to do.’

  ‘No!’ said Gafr. ‘Our task was to find where they took them. They haven’t finished their journey. We will follow them as instructed.’

  The two hunters lay in the dark watching the activity at the rendezvous, their confidence falling as three more groups joined the others at the base of the cliff during the night. By dawn the Baal were over two hundred strong, matched in numbers by tethered prisoners. It became apparent that there were no more expected and by mid-morning the huge caravan left the cliff face to resume their journey north. Afon and Gafr ate a cold meal of dried meat and followed the giant column from a great distance.

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  Over the last three weeks, since leaving the valley, Golau had hardly spoken to Seren. Each day he spent most of his time alongside Kraiach examining and following the spoor left by the Baal, while by night he sat apart from the rest of the group wrapped in his furs, worrying about the fate of his son. On the other hand, Seren had quickly found a common thread with the remainder of the Neanderthal group, eating and sleeping at their fires each night, teaching them the language of the Fire-clan.