Org, Huntsman of the First MenThe mountains, south of Sotraecan Territory."If we do not act, they will kill us all. It is written on the Stone of Zoog!" Ack cawed for what must have been the fiftieth time. "They are the Second Men, there is no doubt!"
Org gave his eldest son, a boy of sixteen, a weathering look. "And you stood with Zoog as he fought these Second Men? Come, tell me how it is you know these strangers for Second Men?"
Ack shook his head violently. "Don't patronise me father. Such things will not be tolerated when you are old and weak."
Org brandished his spear, and stalked towards his son with the menacing gait of a hunter tracking wild boar. "You may be my first born son," Org muttered under his breath. "But I'll kill you now if you threaten me again."
Kren got between the two, his weathered features and full stubble making the eleven year old appear not so much younger than his father. "Enough," he cried. "There are too few of us for pointless threats."
The Neanderthal patriarch considered his second son, and nodded. "It seems you continue to be wise, Kren," he said, lowering his spear. "A pity Ack does not follow you in such things."
"Wisdom will not save us from the Second Men," Ack cut in. "Only spear, and club, and axe, and stone!"
Before Org could back hand his son half-way across the cave, Kren appealed once more for calm. "Give me to them father."
Org raised an eye at his second born. "What?"
"Give me to them," Kren repeated. "I will learn of their origin, of their purpose."
Ack spat into the dust of the cave floor. "They'll skin you alive and eat you. That's what Second Men do to our kind, you fool!"
Org mused over Kren's offer. The outlanders didn't seem overly hostile, and perhaps they'd be willing to allow one of the Neanderthals to settle with them - to learn. Knowing the strangers' language would certainly be an essential tool for the coming confrontation. Then again, why would they allow Kren to stay with them? Perhaps Ack was right. At best, they'd chase Org and his son off, or at worst, they'd feel either threatened or insulted and kill them both.
Maybe a daughter? Did these strangers value females as much the Neanderthals? From what he'd observed over the three days of watching them, he figured it a possibility.
"Ack," Org said suddenly. "Fetch Enn."
Ack recoiled. "What? Why?"
Kren was not quick enough to stem his father's temper, or perhaps he simply wanted to see Ack get disciplined. In any case, Org's first born son fell backwards with a crack; a bloodied hand print fresh on his cheek. Org's spear tip fell at his throat in short order.
"Get your sister, or get dead, son," Org said.
Ack scarpered off, his pride stung. Kren merely sighed, and looked at Org with a pitiful smile. "He'll kill you father, one of these days."
"Bah," Org said with a laugh. "He can try."
Era, The Barren.The Riza, Eastern Coast.The Stone of Zoog revealed little. The markings were simply too faded, too hard to track and follow. She'd used her flint knife to try and re-etch some of the lines, but this aided little in giving clarity to many of the pictures. She sighed, and stood back, defeated.
All she'd gleaned from the stone, was what she already knew. Her peoples once numbered in the thousands, covered the known world, and lived a merry life of hunting and foraging -- as they did now. Something happened, the Second Men came, although the Stone omitted any details of their appearance. A great battle took place, and the Neanderthals lost terribly. There were a few depictions of Zoog the Last Elder, who according to the stone, stood well over twelve feet tall. Other than this though, she had discovered little else that may confirm or deny the suspicions surrounding the outsiders.
All of what the Stone of Zoog offered, had already been passed on through the workings of the Neanderthal tongue for generations; her efforts to achieve more knowledge were apparently fruitless.
As she turned to leave, a rare thing happened - she lost her footing on a unseen rock, half submerged beneath the sand. Falling forwards, but recovering into a forward roll, she looked back at the trip hazard as a man would look at his murderer. And then she frowned.
There was an engraving on the rock.
She marched over to it, tried to pick it up, but found it much too heavy. Instead, she used her flint knife to dig into the sand around it, until more was revealed. Looking up at the Stone of Zoog, and then down at the rock, it was apparent that the two were at some point one in the same.
Buried beneath the sand, the rock had fared better than its parent, and it held a couple of very clear images.
One image was of Zoog talking to a man much smaller and thinner than he, atop a mountain. The second image, was of Zoog walking into the sea.
Man on a mountain.Realisation of her discovery's significance dawned on Era, and she stood and turned to face the Neanderthalis mountain range that sat off in the distance. No one had ever spoken of Zoog's meeting with the Mountain Man, before. Maybe that part had been forgotten, but how? The rock that had fallen off the Stone of Zoog was hardly hidden beyond reach.
Then again, she mused to herself,
how often do my people actively pursue stories of the past?
