Karg rested on a rock shaded by a tree and looked at the valley below. Behind him was a cliff about three men high and had gouges and splits to mark where the boulders which surrounded him had come from. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees and bushes that helped conceal him as he leaned forward to get a better look.
Some distance below was a mass of vegetation meandering along the valley floor. The change of plants from the trees and bushes of the mountainside to the grasses, flowers, and shrubs of the valley floor was an indication of water. A wandering line of trees meant that water had surfaced and what they were hunting for - probably - would be there. He pointed at a particular break in the trees and announced to his son, “We’ll start there! It should be good hunting but remember there’s always some danger.”
Kok looked to where his father pointed and nodded his agreement. He’d been on hunting trips with his father for years now and knew the older man would always treat him as if he was still ten years old. The young man didn’t take offense since his father treated all his sons that way. He shifted position to hide a smile and studied the way down. It shouldn’t be too difficult, he decided. The slope might be steep but there was plenty of cover they could use. He and his father should be able to stay out of sight as they moved down the rocky mountainside, skirting a nearby rock slide and get into the trees near the stream.
The young man knew that water and plants always drew animals the Clan could use. But there’d also be other hunters; hunters on four legs that wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of his leg, or thigh, or arm. They always had to be on guard as a precaution. He adjusted his furs to they wouldn’t snag on bushes or rocks as he prepared to make his way down to the canyon floor.
Kok was very different from his father. Rather than being short and stout he was tall and slender. His facial structure didn’t have the prominent brow ridges and squashed nose of his parents. He even wore more furs than the others of the Clan because most of his skin was hairless. Although the Clan knew of his birth there were some that doubted Kok’s parentage. They claimed he was a demon and had wanted him killed at birth or so his mother had told him. His brothers and sisters were just as abnormal.
Karg took one final look at the valley and then moved next to his son to get a better look at the mountainside they’d have to cross. “I don’t want any rocks kicked loose to send the animals we’re hunting into hiding,” he whispered. A shiver ran down the old man’s spine and he shifted to one side to get better view of the hillsides.
“What?” asked Kok in low tones. He’d noticed the change in his father. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know,” replied Karg slowly as he continued to look at the hillsides. “For some reason I have the feeling we’re being watched.” He shrugged his shaggy shoulders and glanced over at his son. “I don’t see anything out there that’s dangerous but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something there. So we have to be very careful.”
With that said Karg moved away from the trunk and leaned on a boulder to get a better view of the sky through the branches. He was looking for that strange bird which kept live animals in its stomach. Maybe that’s what he was sensing. It had appeared several times since spring and Karg wondered if it was looking for the Clan. But he hadn’t heard the thunder of its approach so that couldn’t be the reason for this unease.
Seeing nothing and, more importantly, hearing nothing that might be dangerous, he grunted his frustration. His family and the Clan were expecting the two men to return with meat and they couldn’t do it here on the side of a mountain. Their prey’d be found near water. But that nagging feeling of danger still remained. Karg took a firm hold on his wood club and spear then started out of the boulders.
“Look!” hissed Kok grabbing his father’s arm before he could leave their concealment and pointed. “The mountain has a bright spot!”
Karg stopped and looked across the valley to see what his son was pointing at. He gave a little jerk when he saw a bright spot shining at them from a large grouping of trees on the opposite hillside. It was so bright he had to immediately look away because it shone just like a small sun. How’d he miss that?
“It just…came,” Kok said. “It wasn’t there before.”
The older man turned to look at his son as he thought of what to do. “Come on!” Karg ordered a moment later and pushed through the branches. “We’ll hide in the trees near the stream.”
Kok had already come to the same conclusion. He was out of their refuge and starting down the hillside. Karg followed on his heels. The two men moved from bush to boulder to tree, taking full advantage of the available cover. Although both men were anxious to reach the dense cover of the valley they moved with deliberate care. One rolling stone could cause more to move and that would kill them at the worst or could alert whatever was watching on the other side of the canyon at the least. Nor did they want to stir up a betraying dust cloud.
Almost halfway down the steep slope the two men paused to rest under a bushy tree that grew beside a clump of scrub oak. While his father rooted out a comfortable spot to rest Kok peered through the branches, looking for the shiny spot. Grunting, he moved around the stubby trunk to get another view of the opposite hillside. “The bright spot’s gone,” he announced after a moments search.
Karg slipped over to where Kok was crouching. Moving a small branch a fraction with a cautious finger for a better view he peered at the other side of the canyon. A brief gust of wind rustled the leaves and sent a small puff of dust into the valley but Karg didn’t move. After a few moments of intense scrutiny he released the branch and moved back to look at his son. “It’s gone but it isn’t!” Karg said. “We’ve rested long enough. Let’s go!”
Kok followed his father from the shelter of the tree and the two men resumed their careful hike down to the canyon floor. As he moved down the mountainside Kok thought about what his father had said. Looking back up at the spot where the bright spot had been he considered. His father must have sensed they were still being watched and, after a quick inner inspection, Kok agreed. All of his senses warned him there was still danger.
A short while later the two men slipped into the denser growth of the valley floor and rested in the shade of the trees lining the stream. Karg crouched amid the bushes along the bank of the stream and peered around, taking in his surroundings. His son was just as diligent and joined the inspection.
The stream wasn’t large, small enough for the two men to jump, though it was deep and swift in most places. Further downstream were pools created by boulders which had fallen from the cliffs above and blocked the stream. But pools didn’t provide food for the Clan. Karg had tried many times to catch a fish but failed. His prey had seen his hand coming and flicked under a rock or out of reach every time.
Grunting in satisfaction that there was no danger Karg looked over at his son. “Keep watch,” he ordered then moved down to the pool to get a drink.
As his father drank Kok kept his stone-tipped spear ready and looked around. There was no longer the danger of them being watched by whatever caused the bright spot. Leafy branches from the trees blocked any view of the sky or the upper mountainsides. Only an occasional sunbeam reached the ground giving everything a light green tint. Bushes, ferns and shrubs formed a barrier that blocked the view of the nearby slopes.
When Karg finished drinking he waited for Kok to take his drink before returning to business. He selected one of the several animal runs leading downstream and downwind then moved off. Every sense was attuned, straining to detect any sign of approaching prey or danger as they followed the wandering path.
Although it couldn’t be seen through the trees the bright spot on the mountain hadn’t been forgotten. Both men could sense something was out there adding to the danger that accompanied the hunt. As a precaution they kept to the trees when the run they were following was exposed to the northern slope.
After they’d been walking for sometime the val
ley narrowed and the two men came to a point where a large rock sat in the middle of the stream. The water moved around both sides of the rock and fell into another pool on the other side. The run they were following dipped to the edge of the stream on the southern side of the rock and moved on downstream.
Kok and Karg followed the path around the rock and, in a thick stand of trees on the other side, came face to face with a herd of Tuskers. Startled at the humans unexpected appearance, coarse hair on the back of the lead animals bristled as they squealed with fear. The Tuskers nearest the two men turned to run but those in the rear hadn’t seen the danger and continued pushing forward. With their retreat cut off, the leaders switched from fleeing to a crazed offense.
Karg, being the most experienced hunter, was in the lead and took the Tusker charge first. The animals were too close to use his spear so he dropped it and gripped his club with both hands. Leaping to one side, his gray streaked hair flying, he brought his wood club down on the head of the lead animal. The impact jarred his arms and stunned the Tusker. He turned to bring his club down on the animal again to finish it off but the rest of the herd was too close and coming fast. Karg changed his mind and tensed to jump out of their way but the next Tusker in line clipped one of Karg’s legs throwing him off balance and to the ground.
The instant he hit Karg rolled to get out of the way of the charging animals. He was just getting to a crouch when another Tusker slammed into his side knocking him back down. The force of the blow sent his club flying. Again he fought to stand but gasped in pain when the animal used the tusks on his long snout to gore his thigh. Once again Karg rolled, trying to get away from those tusks. The animal continued its attack and pushed forward to rip and rend the downed man. The rest of the herd smelled Karg’s blood as it poured from the ragged wound. Their squeals grew louder and more frantic as they charged.
With a loud shriek of pain the Tusker stopped goring and Karg saw his son step in to shield his father from the rest of the herd. The creature fell over, its head a bloody mess. Kok took another step forward and swung his club again bringing another squeal from another animal.
Using a nearby tree as a brace and panting from the pain, Karg struggled to his feet. The pain seemed to come in spurts but he couldn’t stop. Kok would need his help against the herd. A quick glance showed the battle was getting worse. Squalling Tuskers were milling around trying to decide who to attack as Kok continued swinging his club to fend off the animals.
The young man yelled at the top of his voice to keep the animals attention away from his injured father. Dirt, leaves, pieces of fern and grass was thrown into the air from the hoofs of the crazed animals as they made feints, turned and then charged. Another Tusker charged and Kok brought his club down. The animal staggered then fell over. The young man stepped over the downed animal and brandished his weapon.
Once he was upright Karg brushed strands of hair from his eyes and began a frantic search. There! His club was just a short distance away. Dropping back to the ground he crawled over to his weapon dragging his injured leg behind spotting the dirt with blood. Yells and squeals filled the air as the battle continued.
The older man had just climbed back to his feet with his club in hand and turned to rejoin the battle when he heard Kok’s cry of triumph. The angry squeals of the Tuskers turned to frustration as they swung around to run. Karg looked down the path and saw a small number of animals racing away. The rest of the herd lay around the young man’s feet. Karg’s mouth dropped open as he realized what had just happened. He shook his head. It wasn’t possible. Makto-the-strong couldn’t have done this without help and Kok was considered weak by the Clan. But Karg couldn’t argue with what he saw. There stood Kok, bloodied and scraped from the battle, yet triumphant with… Karg quickly counted… seven Tuskers his feet.
Pain washed over him as the excitement of the battle faded. “Kok!” he called. “Help me! I’m hurt.” Using his club as a support he settled back to the ground with a groan of pain.
Kok glanced down the path to make sure the Tuskers weren’t coming back then hurried over to his injured father’s side. Crouching, he studied the wound for a moment probing the gash with his blood smeared fingers ignoring the blood coming from the leg. Whenever Kok touched a tender spot Karg would give a small twitch and a soft moan. An occasional wave from the young man’s hand caused the ever present flies to buzz about angrily.
After a few moments of examining the gash Kok leaned back and relaxed. “It’s not too serious and should heal if it doesn’t get infected,” he announced. “But we have to get the bleeding stopped.” The young man reached into a leather pouch and pulled out some moss which he packed into the wound. Then leaves covered the moss and everything was held in place by leather strips. “This’ll help but you’ll have to rest for a while once we’re back home,” he said as he tied off the last leather strip.
Karg let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded his understanding.
After Kok finished tending the wound Karg struggled to his feet to test the injured leg. It seemed he could walk but there’d be pain. Using his spear for support he gestured at the bodies of the dead Tuskers. “How did you do that?” he asked and hobbled over for a closer look. From what he could see all the animals had split heads, something a wood club couldn’t do.
In answer Kok held out his club. “I call it a hatchet,” he said.
Karg took the offered weapon and saw it had two parts; a stick and a rock. The stick was as long as a man’s arm from the elbow to the hand and had been split at one end. A rock had been placed in the split and kept in place by what looked like strips of dried gut wrapped around the stick and rock. He tested the bloody edge of the rock with his finger and found it could cut his finger.
“Did you make this?” Karg wondered.
“Yes,” answered Kok. His father opened his mouth to speak again but Kok held up a hand to stop him. “This isn’t the time to get into how it’s made,” he said as if reading his fathers mind. Kok motioned to the dead animals. “We’ve got to get this meat back to the Clan. I’ll show you how it’s done after we get home.”
Karg looked at the dead Tuskers and nodded. They did need to get the meat home but there was a problem facing them. There were seven Tuskers to move. That was enough meat here to feed the Clan for a full hand of days. Makto-the-strong could have carried three Tuskers and most men two. But Kok wasn’t Makto and Karg was injured. How were they going to get seven good sized Tuskers home?
Karg watched in wonder as Kok took back his hatchet and moved over to hit a tree. In a few moments the younger man returned carrying two small trees with their limbs trimmed off. Then taking another stone from a leather pouch the animals were gutted and tied to the two trees with more leather strips.
As he watched the preparations Karg swelled with pride. His son had made the hatchet and killed seven Tuskers alone. Although Kok was the first born his other sons also showed promise. All in the Clan knew his sons were smartest and any who didn’t believe would have to face Kok’s great deed.
Kok walked over to his father and held out the hatchet. “You carry this and keep watch,” he instructed. “I’ll get the meat home.” Without a word Karg took the hatchet and watched as his son picked up one end of the two sticks. After receiving a nod from Kok they began the slow, painful trek back to the Clan.