Kindle Edition
Amazon
www.bjedwards.co.uk
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Smashwords/Amazon
ISBN-10: 9781301723720
Type: Fiction
Pages: 300
Copyright: 2013
ISBN-13: 9781301723720
Price: $6.99 (eBook)
A young man goes against custom and leaves his tribal hills in search of a new land and new gods.
It is a time of change; the land is restless, the climate harsh. Driven by fate, starvation and fear, the last of the Neanderthals teeter on the brink of existence, perilously balancing between life and death. In a distant valley the last clan survive, eking out a subsistence in the wilds, fighting against the elemental powers of the land.
The delicate balance is torn asunder when the new men, Homo sapiens, clash violently with the ill-equipped clan. While the Neanderthals’ extinction is inevitable, they leave their mark on history: a curse of strong magic which will force change on the tribes of new men; and a boy, Dimek, a new man raised by Neanderthals, with a destiny of his own to fulfil.
Years later, now a hunt leader, Dimek must break away from his tribe’s tradition and lead his men to a new land, a land that is not cursed. Dimek, along with a shaman, warriors and hunters, set off on a journey, a journey that will change their lives forever.
Political intrigue and epic battles abound as the lives of the gods parallel the lives of man. Divine blessings are given, divine beasts are born, and the horse is domesticated. Magic and myth collide as the gods try to hinder and help the men as they eventually find their promised land.
History and myth is made when the tribes clash and eventually come together to form a society, a society built on battle and magic, stone and wisdom.
But all is not as it should be. For somewhere, out in the wilderness, a man waits; a scarred man who is blessed by a dark god, a man who could destroy all that the tribes have created.
Excerpt
They stood in the centre of the elder’s cave; it was a place of gathering gloom, and gathering magic. The air seemed to hum; the very rock throbbed with the intensity of the old man’s spirit. In the cave sat three skeletons, two huge, one small and child-like. Wearily, the three men approached the bodies, and the air crackled.
With a trembling hand, Drushuk reached out and touched an empty white skull. He trembled, and knelt on the floor, his eyelids twitching. Dimek and Kapok came to his side. The man he touched grasped the hilt of a spear. Like a bizarre and twisted tree, the wooden shaft grew from his chest. The smaller man next to him had a hole in his skull the size of a fist, and around his neck still hung a rhino horn. The third man’s skull lolled, his skeletal chin touching his collar bone in an attitude of sleep.
“Tell us.” Dimek whispered hoarsely, tears frosting his eyelashes. Drushuk touched the skull again, and then spoke….
The cold gripped them like a vice, and the land was as hard as the rocks. Hunger made their bodies thin and their people ill. What meat they killed was eaten raw on the field for fear of attack by hungry others. The clan was fractured; some followed the elder, and others followed nobody but their angry hearts. They blamed Dimek, for since he had left them their land had cheated them. This was to some extent true, for since Dimek’s leaving, some people’s hearts broke, some of the women grew ill, and the best hunters Lok and Klet grew lethargic and sad.
“Our time is over.” Lok had said, “We are in the hands of the gods now.” He and Klet killed rarely, and gave what they could to the weak, to the women and children and to their elder, who seemed to grow stronger and more stubborn with age.
People left the clan, left the hills in search of a warmer land and better hunting, but they were consumed by the cold, by other tribes, and in some cases by each other. Driven by hunger, and urged on by the instinct to survive, man began to consume man. At first, this was accepted as a valid strategy to survive, but the elder decreed that anybody accused of this vile act would be forced to leave the valley forever.
Time stretched on, age crept like a stalking predator, and soon other tribes came to kill them and drive them away, claiming that they wanted the land. At first, the Impoola fought hard, but their strength and resolve were swiftly drained.
“They come again.” Lok observed absentmindedly. Klet nodded and placed a spear in his bundle. Lok and Klet did not know it, but the men who came were from the river tribe and wielded captured spears from the mammoth tribe. The river tribe coveted these spears as they were strong and durable, sharp and deadly.
“This will be our last battle.” Lok sighed deeply. “It has been good with you cousin.” He hugged Klet, and for a moment sadness and love blossomed between them.
“When he who beats within leaves.” Klet prodded his massive chest, “We will meet on the hunting fields of our fathers.” Lok nodded and smiled;
“Today we fight for our elder, and for Dimek, wherever he is.” They touched knuckles, and then joined the battle.
All around them the battle raged. Women and children lay in heaps, and warriors bled their lifeblood, dark and shining in the desolate sunlight. Lok and Klet fought with every ounce of passion, love, experience and strength they possessed. Their spears flew, their rocks crunched, and their enemies fell. They protected the elder with their lives, their bodies aching and breaking in the carnage. Soon, even Lok’s great strength began to desert him. His spears felt heavy, and his reflexes began to slow with the lethargy of exhaustion.
“Go! Leave me, I will curse the brutes!” The elder shrieked, but they all knew that this was as good as a sacrifice.
“No.” Klek breathed, “We are your men.” The enemy pressed, having long since given up their slings, they used their spears, heavy and merciless. Lok could taste his own blood, and his vision was patchy with sweat and exhaustion. Klet speared a man through his throat, the slippery windpipe snaking out and snapping. With a gush of bloody air, the man fell twitching to the ground.
“Make for my cave.” The elder whispered, he too fought, his spear quick, his body light, a fleet moving target. Agonisingly slowly, pain shouting with every step, they made for the cave.
In the valley the last of the Impoola fell. A warrior, tall and proud crashed his fist into a man’s chin and sent his head snapping back so hard that his neck broke. Weaponless, the man used a severed limb from the ground to fend off another attack. This was useless, so he threw it aside and charged like a bull, sending men crashing around him. He got to his feet and bellowed in agony and rage, but this was the last sound he would make. The spear entered his mouth, pierced through the back of his throat and thrust upwards, wedging in his brain. He thudded to the earth in a fountain of blood.
They stood in the entrance to the cave, six men, bloody and drunk with the fight. Without a word, they barged their way in and grabbed the thin old man. He hissed and shrieked, his eyes smouldering.
“Know this.” He said in their tongue. “You can kill me, but I curse you and your land with every fibre of my soul.” They laughed. One held him up and the other crushed in his skull like a nut. They glared at the two surviving savages and smiled, but when they saw their terrible eyes, three of them fled.
Lok and Klet did not have the energy to pursue them. They looked at one another, and went berserk, launching themselves at the remaining men and flinging them against the wall of the cave. Their heads thudded into the rock, and they fell to the ground. They lifted them up, their strength buoyed by rage, and flung them out of the cave. Outside they stabbed them until they were unrecognisable.
“We are the last.” Lok whispered, propping the elder up against the far wall. Klet nodded,
“Life is empty now, there is nothing left for us.” Lok sighed deeply, looking round at the dark cave and out at the ruined valley.
“It has come to this.” His voice cracked, but Klet did not know if it was the emotion of anger or the longing for peace he felt. “Do you remember when the days were good?” Klet shrugged,
“Yes, we have had goodness. Good hunts, good fights, good women, Dimek.” They both looked at the floor.
“It is time to release he who beats within us.” Lok smiled, exhausted and saddened by the state of mankind.
Klet nodded;
“I don’t think I can.”
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