The Mob has Spoken

A hardy burst of laughter erupted from the men seated around the dying fire. Laughter felt warm against the frigid night. The jest came from Norn. He sat cross-legged, in the hide of a sabertooth he had slaughtered during his first hunt, rubbing his hands. Smile lines creased his dirt-smudged face. The light of the embers danced in his dark eyes.

Across the fire pit sat the father of the tribe. Deep wrinkles crossed his face and streaks of gray ran through his long, tangled hair. Beside him, sat his lieutenant Ragah, the only solemn face among the grins and chuckles. Norn’s eyes met Ragah’s for a moment and locked.

“And then he said, what’s that for?” Norn made a crude gesture, shaking his fist over his crotch. The group broke into raucous laughter.

Kelsu, a wiry young man, frowned, “I didn’t say that.”

The laughter exploded again. All the while, Norn’s eyes fixed upon the lieutenant.
Ragah broke the gaze, looking into the fire.

After the laughter died, the group sat silently for some time. Fromin, an elder hunter, worked a piece of shale into spear head. Faint sparks from the friction or rock on rock leapt into the air. His twin brother, Yama, sat beside him. Yama’s face was craggy and scarred from a bear’s mauling.

Norn’s teeth gleamed in the light. “The herds are near,” he said, “we will we have a great hunt tomorrow.” He howled like a wolf. The youth Sarag, sitting beside the father whooped. Many of the men followed with cries of celebration. As the exclamations died in the night air, Norn spoke, “Great father, we have been in this valley a long time.
Will we move to the south soon?”

The father shook violently as if woken from some dream. He turned to look at Norn, his brow creased. One good eye stared thoughtfully at the hunter. After some moments he spoke, “No, it is not time.”

Norn frowned, “But father, many tribes have already left, gone for many weeks now.”

The father’s long forehead creased as if he was lost in deep thought. “Ragah tells me the hunting is still good in this valley. We will winter here.”

Ragah said, “The snows will come soon, probably in a few weeks. The stores would not be filled in time if we were to move. We must have one more good hunt and make preparations.”

Norn said nothing but his eyes betrayed disdain. Other then sporadic mutterings, there was no more conversation that night. Gradually, the men retired for the evening.

The morning woke crisp and cold. A heavy matte of gray clouds cast a dismal gloom over the lush green valley. Norn emerged from his tent, spear in hand. A frozen tuft of grass crunched under his foot. He swept the sabertooth tiger skin over his back with a flourish.

He moved to the blazing fire pit at the center of the encampment where several men loitered about. The father, stooped and old, stood among them.

“Norn, you are here. Your party is ready.”

Norn looked over those assembled: Ragah, Yama, Kelsu, Fromin, and Sarag. “Sarag, the father trusts me with his own blood,” Norn said.

“It is time for him to become a man. Watch over him.” The father placed his withered hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Good hunting. Go with my blessing.”

As the encampment disappeared behind a rolling hill, Norn looked back to see a smile still etched into Sarag’s face. He took stride beside him.

“Your first hunt,” Norn said, “make it memorable.”

“But don’t get too close,” Fromin added, treading behind them. He gestured back to his disfigured brother.

Norn and Sarag laughed. Yama looked at them, a puzzled expression on his face.

Norn turned back to the youth and tapped his temple. “Keep your head and your spear will fly straight.”

The narrow mountain valley soon sank into a wide plain. An ocean of green grass stretched to the horizon. Winds swirled and eddied, each breath sending a ripple across the vast expanse.

Gray clouds still loomed at midday. The party moved in silence, tromping over the fields that would soon be washed in snow. Norn walked at the front of the group while Ragah trailed. Norn’s hand suddenly flew up. The group halted and sank low in the grass. A faint trumpeting wail drifted through the air. They held still, listening for several moments. Norn turned and grinned, “Mumma.” The men hustled towards the sound; their bodies low to the ground.

Reaching the next rise they caught sight of the sound’s source. Two mammoths, mother and her young. They were still over a half-mile away. The men huddled together beneath the hillock. Norn crouched in the waist-high grass and turned to face the others. “We will go in twos. Sarag, you will come with me on the left flank. Yama, you and Ragah take the right. Kelsu and Fromin are the center.”

“Wait, what of the herds?” Ragah interrupted.

“The herds are miles away. Besides, a mumma is worth more than twelve wanzas.”

“We are too few. We need ten men at least.”

“Be brave, Ragah.” Norn said, his dark eyes burning beneath his brow.

“The wind is at our backs, should we not circle around?” But Norn was already gone, weaving through the high grass, with Sarag hurrying to catch up.

The men closed quickly to a few hundred yards from their prey. The mammoth rose her great head warily. She stood up, freeing the foal from her teat. The baby whimpered but soon grew quiet. The mammoth snorted, steam spraying from her trunk. Her head arced from side to side. A light breezed whipped through grass. The foal nuzzled in close to its mother’s belly. She pawed at the ground with her long tusks, tossing bits of earth and vegetation swirling into the air.

Norn rushed from the cover of the grass. The other men charged toward her, spears over their heads. The mammoth stamped her feet in alarm. The youngster cried out, all the time pressing into its mother’s shaggy mane. A volley of spears sliced through the air. The mammoth reared up on her hind legs as two shafts penetrated her midsection. The ground shook as the beast settled. Whirling around her small pink eyes fell on her foal. The babe lay crumpled with a spear protruding from its eye socket. She released a deafening wail.

The men formed a circle around here, hatchets in hand. She stamped her feet and snorted, her wild eyes darting around. Norn, facing the creature’s rear, slowly moved forward. Dropping to the ground, he retrieved a spear. She shook her head violently and charged forward.

“Move!” Yama shouted.

Ragah jumped to the side, a tusk catching him in the small of the back. He cried in pain. The beast stumbled forward and crashed to the ground. The spears in her side cracked and broke as she rolled over to right herself. She swung around and charged again, the ground rumbling under her feet. Ragah, lying on the ground, scrambled out of the way narrowly missing another swipe of the tusks. The raging beast turned for another attack. Norn’s spear sang through the air, sinking deep into her back. She roared as her back legs collapsed. Kelsu leapt onto her, clinging to her mane. The animal whipped her head around sending him roughly into the underbrush. On the other side, Sarag drove a spear deep into her neck. The beast flailed momentarily and slumped lifeless.

Holding a hatchet high above his head, Norn whooped. A grin seized his face. Sarag, visibly shaking, still held the shaft stuck deep into the creature. Norn tousled the youth’s hair. He smiled and released his grip.

“How is everyone?”

“Kelsu’s hurt, ” Fromin shouted from a short distance.

“What about you, Ragah?”

Ragah staggered to his feet with the aid of Yama. He clutched his back. “I’ll live.”
Norn smiled, “A great hunt.” He slapped the beaming Sarag on the back. “You made your first kill today, your father will be proud.”

Kelsu hobbled up clutching his shoulder, his face contorted in pain. “I think it’s broken.”

“You and Ragah are hurt. Sarag and I will go back to get help. We would not be able to bring a mumma back on our own anyway.”

The first snows came as expected that year. The mammoth’s flesh had been cut, dried and stored, the hide used for warm clothing. The tribe settled in a cavern for the winter’s duration.

Several months later, while the winter storms raged, the father took ill. Great coughing fits overtook him. His flesh resonated with unnatural warmth. On a morning soon after, he took one last ragged draw and ceased to exist.

The tribe huddled close to his funeral pyre; sadness echoing in each of their dirt-streaked faces. Sarag stood at his father’s head, Norn and Ragah solemnly on either side. Norn wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders and whispered in his ear, “He was a great man, a worthy leader. I grieve with you." Sarag nodded.

Norn spoke loudly, “The father was a great man. He fed us, clothed us, and gave us warmth and shelter. He was a leader, worthy of our praise. Now, he is gone and we must choose another.”

Surprised looks passed through the crowd. Ragah grabbed Norn’s wrist and pulled him near. “What are you doing? I am to take on his duties.”

Norn turned, a sly grin forming on his face, “We will let the tribe decide.”

Projecting his voice over the murmurs he began, “Long have I been a part of this tribe. You all know me as a great warrior and hunter. The food you eat and my trophies bear witness to that.” He lifted the sabertooth tiger pelt over his head. “Long have we wallowed in this valley and denied our greatness. I wish to become your new father. I will restore our tribe to its former glory.”

Ragah was dumbfounded. He fumbled to speak, “This is treachery. As elder and adviser to our late father, I am the one to take his stead. It has always been this way. I have planned, assisted the father in gathering for the winter.”

“I will not follow a coward, “ Norn roared. “Were you not afraid at Sarag’s first kill? You would have run.”

Ragah’s lips quivered, “We were too few.”

“Too few? Admit your fear. Sarag remained strong. Even the crippled Kelsu did not hesitate. Only you.”

“I have devoted my life to all of you. This…This is betrayal.” He barely whispered the last word.

“And what is that worth? The life of one who would rather run then face his danger head on. Tell me that.”

Ragah shook his head, speechless. His eyes darted wildly, searching for some acceptance from the mob but found none. He began to tremble.

“Brothers and sisters, “ Norn addressed the crowd, “is this what we want for our tribe, a cowardly father? You know me. I am strong and I am brave. Accept me as your leader.” He smiled, slapping Sarag on the shoulder. A chant rose from the crowd, slowly welling up. Norn’s name formed on their lips. The chant grew into a roar. Norn, his dark eyes glinting, glanced over at Ragah. The elder’s shoulders slumped and his glazed eyes stared blindly into the flickering pyre.