Zan-Gah: A Prehistoric Adventure (15 page)

“Hear me, Aniah,” Zan said with an intensity that surprised the old man. “We must unite. We have no choice! It is only by good fortune that the wasp men are not here this very day! I have struggled with land and weather, with enemies and fierce animals, as you have. But always the chief struggle was with myself! We must fight
down our passions and our rages before we can defeat the greatest of our enemies.” Then he added: “I know that you are a great man, older and wiser than I. But when did wisdom make war when it was not necessary, and neglect it when it was? Let us use our wisdom and your leadership to end this bloody strife.”

Aniah was amazed at the manly change that had taken place in one whom he remembered as a boy. With his hand over his mouth, and furrowing his aged, wrinkled forehead, he thought deeply over what Zan-Gah had said. He stirred the fire with a stick and after a long pause declared firmly at last: “There is only one man who can pacify our clans and lead us to a truce.”

“And who is that, Aniah?”

“You,
Zan-Gah!
You
are the only man among us who has the admiration and love of all! When you slew the man-eating lion you won the hearts of everyone, and your return with your lost brother just as you promised has gained increased respect!”

Zan was gratified by this speech, not only for Aniah's praise, which he much valued, but because Aniah had called him a
man
. Was he a man now and no longer a boy?

“The Hru will not receive me,” Aniah continued. “The Luta will not welcome your father or your uncle. There is no one but you!”

“Then hear my plan, Aniah, for I will need your help.”

Zan's project was first to hold a council to which each of the five clans would send two elders and one woman
of their selection. The meeting place was to be the exact spot where together they had killed the lion. It was chosen deliberately to remind those present of their former unity and how well it had served them. Aniah saw no reason to include the women, but Zan insisted that his plan could not succeed without their participation. Zan personally visited all of the five tribes, and was well received by every one of them. Even the truculent Hru chieftains made an honored place for him at their fires. Since his return with Dael, Zan's prestige had soared, so that there was none save Aniah who was more highly respected among the peoples.

There was little resistance to the idea of a meeting once the elders of the clans became acquainted with the impending danger of an attack by the wasp men—although each and every one protested against the presence of females. Zan had a special reason for wishing to include them. Not least was his certain knowledge that the women hated the feud with all of their hearts, and not much less the masculine vanity that fed it. They would tip the scales in favor of Zan's project, and be a force for moderation among their men. “Bring no weapons,” Zan told them, “but carry some wood there and bring food if you have any. I swear you will not be sorry.”

When the tribesmen heard that Aniah favored the council, women included, and that he himself promised to be there, all sensed that they dared not stay behind while great actions were being concluded. So everybody went.

They met when the sun was high in the sky. (It was useless to expect men at war with each other to come weaponless at night, vulnerable to any treachery.) The
men approached proudly, their women behind them. Character was deeply carved on every brow. They were mostly old warriors like Aniah, their hair whitened by age, and like him lean and muscular and covered with scars. From the Hru came Morda, the haggard chief who, long ago, had turned his back on Zan to kick dust in his direction. Morda had regained his strength and with it his haughty insolence. His shaggy brother stood beside him—a ragged branch of the same tree. One chief had a hideous gap where his eye once had been. He was the one that Thal said had been mauled by a lion. Another, his side teeth long since broken out by the blow of a club, exhibited a black hole in their place. Still another lacked a hand, which had been taken from him when he had been a prisoner—until Thal and Chul had succeeded in rescuing him from his tormentors. None of these battle-scarred men was handsome, but every one of them possessed the noble beauty residing in pride, honor, and manly dignity. The women, too, bore themselves with a statuesque dignity appropriate to their new role.

Zan-Gah appeared cloaked with the skin of the lion he had slain. Holding no spear, but only the staff that signified that he meant to speak, he stood before them like a stately pillar. He had grown taller since any there had seen him. Difficult trials had lent him both dignity and wisdom, and all waited eagerly to hear what he would say. None could look at Zan-Gah without detecting his deep sense of purpose and resolve. In the lion hunt, one man commented, Zan-Gah had stood behind his father, but now Thal and Chul were standing behind Zan-Gah. They also noticed that Siraka-Finaka had come. She and some other
women were building a fire. Zan assisted them, anxious that they should not be perceived only as servants.

The meeting began and all were silent when Zan-Gah started to speak. He stood in their presence like a tall, slender tree in front of a group of ancient, gnarled oaks. Long he remained there wondering how to begin. “Friends, brothers, and sisters,” he finally said. “On this very spot we all united together for our good against a dangerous wild beast. Although I was fortunate enough to strike the fatal blow, and though I wear the animal's skin today, it was
our cooperation alone
that made that victory possible. We had differences then too, but we understood that it was necessary to work together to achieve our ends. It is necessary again!”

He told them of his captivity with the wasp people and how their army had pursued them to the great cleft in the earth. The listeners learned of the feats of Chul with wonder. Chul the giant blushed in spite of himself beneath his ragged beard, so that some smiled and all huffed out grunts of approval. Zan continued: “The wasp men will not give up. I know for a fact that they mean to kill us or carry us off. That is why I beg you to unite—to put aside your ancient quarrels and thoughts of honor in a foolish cause. For when was honor to be gained from stupidity—and is it not the worst stupidity to fight your friends and leave yourself naked to your enemies?”

Several chiefs growled or muttered their anger and defiance. One gaunt and sinewy elder with deep, glittering eyes prepared to speak. He was known to all as Kragg. Kragg's scars told his story, and he wore the stern demeanor of one who had maintained his integrity
through a thousand hardships and conflicts. Zan yielded the staff to him. “It has always been thus, as long as I can remember,” he said with his gravel voice. “My own brother was killed when we were young, and I have sworn revenge. He died when the moon was new, and with every new moon I renew my oath. I know some of you have made similar oaths. Can we with honor break them?”

Siraka-Finaka was not shy. Aflame with indignation she seized the stave from the old warrior and pounded the earth with it, demanding to be heard. It was the first time in the long history of the clans that a woman had spoken her mind in a council. “Hear me, elders,” she cried above the clamor. “Which of you would lose a child or a brother—which woman here would lose a husband or son—because of stubborn pride or anger over something that happened so long ago that we cannot even remember what it was? I refuse henceforth to cook meat and to chew hides to feed and clothe fools!” The women, silent until now, murmured their approval of this speech. The men looked at each other, and their expressions were not happy ones.

Chul spoke next, and his words were few: “I am sorry, Aniah, that I slew your kinsman.”

Taking up the staff, Aniah replied: “In our long war I have killed too—and when I did I myself died a little each time, even though many have praised me for my deeds. I would gladly bring back all of my enemies to recover one friend.” A tear rolled down a wrinkled cheek that had never held one before. “We have been fools! Fools! Quick to anger and slow to wisdom!”

Something was happening so dramatic and unexpected that Zan was taken aback. These great, proud, life-bitten chiefs were saying that
they were sorry!
Zan could hardly believe his ears! Taking the staff again he said with a clear voice, “Let us seal a permanent peace with each other in order to stand firmly against our true enemies. Here is my proposal: Let this group of men
and women
be called the council of elders, and let it supervise all marriages. Henceforth, let no one take a wife from his own clan but with their special permission, rarely to be given. Rather, let us achieve a marriage of the clans by choosing from outside of our own, as we never yet have done. Swear to this and we become a single, unified people, and not five quarreling bands. Swear to this, and to abandon our ingrown hatreds, and we become a
nation
capable of standing up to the wasp men or any other invader.”

The elders consented with loud grunts of approval. Making a ring about their fire and each taking the hand of the nearest person, they swore. Zan-Gah administered the oath. Then he announced that there was further business. “In return for this vow, and to show my confidence in our new unity, I am going to present you with a gift—two gifts.”

Zan paused to catch his breath, a little bit afraid of what he was about to do.

 

 

 

 

“I have two new powerful weapons,” Zan declared, “to be used against our enemies, not each other—fatal to
them
, not to ourselves. The first is the red poison of the wasp men.” This announcement caused a sensation among the elders, for they knew its power. Zan raised his voice above the hubbub: “I lived with them for a whole year and learned about their preparation, and now I can give you some of that poison to anoint your spears. Yours will be as deadly as theirs!” Zan did not tell them how it was made, however. Prudence told him to withhold that secret until the new peace had stood the test of time. He still feared that the poisoned spears might, in moments of rage, be directed against their own allies.

But he reluctantly decided to reveal the second secret. Zan now told them about the sling he had invented, because it was necessary for the clans to arm and prepare themselves against the wasp people without delay. Zan and Lissa-Na had made ten slings, and he distributed one to each of the men. An exhibition of its power saved him words. Placing in his own sling a piece of a chalky rock that he had selected especially for the purpose, Zan suddenly flung it against a large boulder. The result was
dramatic. The soft rock hit so forcefully that it broke into powder and wafted away on the breeze. Zan showed them again, and the chalk became smoke again. The elders were wide-eyed! “You must make more of these slings for yourself. I will show your warriors how to use them, and they must practice until they are proficient. We must hurry! There is not very much time!”

Zan demonstrated the sling again several times, and most of the elders tried it, awkwardly at first but with gradually increasing success. As Zan showed the weapon he explained: “The sling has a number of advantages. A supply of stones is almost always available. You can bring lots of them with you, and if you use them up you can readily get more. That is not true of spears; and the rocks fly farther than one can throw a spear, so that you can keep a safe distance from the enemy and still attack him with deadly force. Also, they are light to carry and easy to conceal. I hid mine on my waist for a whole year and yet the wasp men did not know that I was armed!” This brought laughter and applause from Zan's audience.

For several days thereafter, Zan helped the fighting men to make slings and learn to use them. As had been his own case, it took considerable practice before any of them could handle the weapon effectively; but with diligent effort even clumsy Chul became very accurate. It was said that to be hit with a rock slung by this giant was either to die or to
wish
to die! The men set up targets and competed against each other as in a game. It was a revelation to them that their rivalry need not be destructive or fraught with hate. They became so remarkably skilled that together they were a formidable force.

Other methods of war were practiced too, notably the use of the envenomed spear. Poisoned, it was more dangerous to handle, as a couple of accidents proved to their sorrow. Chul was chosen to be their leader as they prepared themselves to go into battle. No one pressed Dael to fight, but a new ferocious liveliness showed his friends that nothing but death would keep him away. He longed to be revenged on those who first had taken him captive, and the thought of it lit his eyes with an unpleasant fire.

 

When the wasp men came, they did not come quietly. It was their practice to terrify their enemies before a major attack, rather than using surprise or stealth. From a distance sentinels heard them coming, well before they saw them. Drums of war and the savage chant of
Ah ah UH! Ah ah UH!
rumbled from afar. They had brought a light bridge, assembled at their dens, with which they had spanned the deep gulch. Now they appeared in great numbers, and it was a horrid sight. Seeming to wriggle toward them were the same human “centipedes” that Zan had observed while he was their prisoner. Each consisted of about thirty men marching in pairs with dance-like steps, deliberately winding as they went, and moving both arms and legs in unison to the rhythm of their chant:
Ah ah UH! Ah ah UH! Ah ah UH! Ah ah UH!
There were seven such groups—many-legged worms, ready to destroy anything in their path. Their total well outnumbered Zan's warriors. In preparing his clansmen, Zan had already described this method of attack. Except for the fear it caused, it actually was not a very good
formation, he said. A rock or a spear thrown at one wasp warrior would hit the second man if it missed the first, so that few spears would be wasted or fail to bring someone down. Thus, despite the dire clamor of grunts and hisses, Zan's people were ready and undaunted.