Chapter 4.
They had been mated now for many moon cycles. She had come to him one morning just as the sun was coming up. He had been sitting at the edge of a small, slow moving stream near their camp. They had been following the stream northward now for several days. It had become his habit to be the first to rise in the mornings and go there. It was at these quiet times, when there were no distractions, when he contemplated the things which needed be done for the days ahead.
It had been light enough to see for well over an hour, but no direct sunlight had as yet found its way to the jungle floor. A waist-high, grey haze hovered a few inches above the ground. Now, as thin rays of sunlight found their way through the low-hanging tangle of vines, they stabbed through the haze, turning it a golden orange.
Not far overhead, a bird fluttered and chirped. Amon was lost in his thoughts, paying little attention to it and the other familiar sounds of the morning.
He thought that perhaps they would make the turn to the East soon. Evander had taught him about maps and how they related to his world. He had pointed to a place on the map and said that that was where Amon and his small clan were. He had then pointed to another place on the map and said that they would turn there and go in a direction Evander had called ‘East,’ the place where the sun came up in the morning. It was hard for him to understand how such a small distance on a piece of paper could represent such a great distance in the real world.
He was torn from his thoughts as he heard another noise, very faint, but nearby. He didn’t move, but sat quietly, muscles tensed, listening. Off to his right he heard it again, a muffled, crumpling sound, followed by another just like it, and then another.
He relaxed, recognizing it as the sound of footsteps. No effort was being made to hide the sound. There was no hesitation in the movement. He could sense this in the familiar rhythmic pattern of the sounds.
“Mahrom,” he said without looking in her direction. The sound stopped. “Ah-Moon,” came the soft reply. Her voice was husky, still thick with sleep. Quietly, but delicately, like females do, she moved past him and knelt at the waters edge. She glanced quickly in his direction, avoiding eye contact, then looked down into the shallow, trickling stream. Dipping a cupped hand into the water, she brought it up to her lips and sipped. Still without making eye contact, she let the remainder dribble through her fingers.
Slowly, hesitantly, she arose and turned back toward her mate. Eyes lowered, she walked the few steps toward him. She stopped and stood quietly, looking down at him. He averted his gaze, pretending not to notice the sensuousness in her movements.
She hesitated momentarily, as a trace of uncertainty crossed her mind. For long she had thought of this moment. How long had she watched him from a distance, admired the certainty of his step, the gentle forcefulness of his voice? From the time they were children she had longed to be close to him. But he had always remained somehow, distant; reluctant to engage, even in the simple, mundane tasks of everyday life.
But now it was different. She had reached estrus. She was now ready to choose a mate. She had been approached several times by prospective suitors, but they held no interest for her. These were typical young males, always in competition with each other, but never exhibiting any qualities which would set any of them apart.
Amon, on the other hand, never seemed to engage in such competition. Instead, he used persuasion and force of personality to achieve what he wanted. He wasn’t loud or obnoxious. He was quiet and attentive. It was comforting to have him close by. Mahrom stood quietly, not moving, waiting.
In a quick blaze of pictures, Amon’s memory flew through that time before. When it had happened.
His first mate had been killed just a few months prior when the rocks they were crossing shifted and she was caught between two huge boulders. The child she was still carrying inside her was immediately crushed as it was forced out through the rip in the side of her body. She died with a surprised look on her face, like she didn’t understand what had happened.
Just a second ago they had been walking happily side by side along the edge of an old rockfall; she with the big rucksack thrown over her shoulder, counterbalancing her swollen belly; he, with one hand helping her keep her balance, and the other holding onto the staff being held for him by his brother.
A deep, concussive jolt hit everyone and everything at once. Amon was momentarily disoriented, staggering. It was then that the earth slid away under him. It fell down and away, taking his feet backwards, out from under him. Then it slammed up again, hitting him full in the face. His mate, who was there in his hand one moment, was no longer there. In her place, the jagged edge of a freshly cracked boulder thrust violently upward, gashing his cheek and tossing him aside.
He heard a scream just as he hit the ground. All around him stones and boulders of all sizes jostled about, grinding and splintering in a deafening cacophony. It was impossible for him to stand erect. It was all he could do to avoid being crushed or pinned. His hands, forearms and bare shins were cut and bleeding as the gritty stone gyrated beneath them. All he could do was try to stay alive. And then he remembered the scream.
He looked toward the sound of her voice. His hair blew into his face, blocking his view. He reached to brush it aside. Blood on his fingers made the hair stick to his forehead. Something didn’t feel right. His head felt . . . wrong. He had a hard time focusing. He wasn’t sure where the scream had come from. He looked around frantically.
There, not six feet away, Nera, his first mate lay, wedged grotesquely on her right side. Her right arm was pinned under her body. The elbow protruded out at an odd angle. Her other arm caressed a steaming mass that extruded from under her clothing. Both her legs were pinned under the rubble, except her left foot, which was where it shouldn’t be.
There was blood on the jagged edge of the boulder which held her. It was his. Or was it hers? There was lots of it. His head was throbbing. His cheek burned. Not from the blood. It was the tears.
Distant, as a memory from the past, he thought he heard the scream again, this time not so loud. But her mouth wasn’t moving. Her eyes were staring right through him. She was fading. He couldn’t see her clearly. It was getting dark; but it was too early in the day. As the last of the light gave out he heard the distant scream again.
Some time later, he didn’t know how long, he awoke to frantic jolting and shaking. When he opened his eyes, his brother’s face came into blurry focus. His long hair and matted beard were covered in mud, interlaced with bits of dried leaves and pine needles. One of his eyes was swollen shut and was caked in clotted blood. His mouth was wide open, like he was yelling; but Amon couldn’t understand what he was saying. For a moment, all he could hear was a high-pitched squeal. Gradually the squeal began to subside.
His brother’s voice began to resolve. At first it sounded like a hiss . . . then a buzz. Amon shook his head. He could feel water or something coming out of his ears.
“Go! Go now!” His brother was pulling on his arm, trying to get him to stand up. “Come! We must go now!”
The ground wasn’t moving as much now. Mostly it just shivered violently, like a man lying wet and naked in a snow drift.
He remembered his mate. He looked around groggily but could see her nowhere. He was being dragged roughly down the side of a huge flat stone which protruded at a steep angle out of the ground. The stone was new to the surface, having just been thrust up by the shifting fault line a thousand feet below the earth’s surface.
“Nera! Where is Nera? I must. . . .”
“She is no more!” said Broc, his brother, as he continued pulling Amon down the steep slope. The last he remembered before he lost consciousness, was bending down, trying to grasp the strange stone in his un-cooperating fingers.