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Authors: Allan Richard Shickman
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shower of sparks into the night air when someone added fuel, one lad began to tap a rhythm on a hollow log. Then a second coaxed out a duller sound, each drummer alternating the sounds he made with the percussion of the other,
tip TAH, tip TAH, tip TAH tip TAH tip TAH.
Their drums soon split the air, and these men of the north loved to sing! Their chant is now many thousands of years old:
Live bravely friend!
Live well to the end!
For no man lives forever!
Â
The next morning Zan-Gah bade farewell to the people of the northern clan.
Â
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6
THE LAND OF
RED ROCKS
As Zan began his trek over a vast grassland, he could see that his new battle would be with the land, and that it might prove a bitter fight. The weather had changed. A persistent wind blew at his back as he walked, whipping the tall grass and chilling his body. The river was to his right with its border of trees, but on his left little grew but grass, except for an occasional dying tree raising its black branches against the sky. Zan strode along with vigorous and consistent steps across the empty land. In time he found a footpath which he was glad to use, even though it increased his exposure to danger. The feet of strangers had worn this path, not those of friends. As he walked Zan began to wonder whether he was hearing his own footsteps or those of another. He could not feel easy until the path, which was old and little employed, disappeared and left him on an empty field again.
Up to this point Nobla had been Zanâs guide, but when he came to a fork in the river he had to choose which branch to follow. Considering in his mind what Dael would have done, he decided to stay with thebranch on his own side. He followed it for a whole day, leaving the other stream far away. Yet he worried that he should perhaps have taken the other; the one he was on twisted and turned constantly, lengthening his journey. After a while it reduced to a slight flow and began to turn sharply toward the direction from which he had come. It was useless to follow it any more. Zan crossed the waning stream and resumed his approximate path across the featureless plain.
For two nights Zan built his fires from the sparsest materials and slept in ruts padded with grass. He wished he could be more comfortable, but he did not expect it here. His aim now was not to achieve comfort but to keep himself alive. That required water, food, and shelterâand a sharp eye against enemies. He began to regret that he had left the river, but when he awoke on the third morning a heavy dew had left the various grasses dripping with moisture and Zan was able to refresh himself. There was no food, however.
Zan knew that he had to find something to eat, but his need was not urgent. With any luck there would be seeds or berries along the way, and eventually he would kill a rabbit, which was stupid, or a possum, which was slow. It seemed to him as he progressed that the earth he tread on was almost alive, whispering to him, a stubborn and willful creature to be dealt with each day anew. For a long time the ground was perfectly flat; then suddenly the platform of the earth dropped off for several feet as if the entire prairie had caved in ages before and was trying ever since to recover itself. As further evidence of its freakish nature, there lay in a gorge ahead (dug bywho knew what invisible force) an enormous skeleton embedded in the ground. Zan climbed down to examine the mastodon, whose ribs and curling tusks, whitened by an age of suns, rose over his head and stood out against the empty sky.
Crouching slightly, Zan could fit within the hollow cage of its upward-pointing ribs, and was amused to enter when to his surprise a live animal waddled out of it! It was a porcupine with bristling needles, and Zan stepped out of its way, at the same time readying his spear and quickly finishing it off. He would have meat again, but to cook it required wood. Fortunately he saw a dead tree
tip TAH, tip TAH, tip TAH tip TAH tip TAH.
Their drums soon split the air, and these men of the north loved to sing! Their chant is now many thousands of years old:
Live bravely friend!
Live well to the end!
For no man lives forever!
Â
The next morning Zan-Gah bade farewell to the people of the northern clan.
Â
Â
Â
Â
6
THE LAND OF
RED ROCKS
As Zan began his trek over a vast grassland, he could see that his new battle would be with the land, and that it might prove a bitter fight. The weather had changed. A persistent wind blew at his back as he walked, whipping the tall grass and chilling his body. The river was to his right with its border of trees, but on his left little grew but grass, except for an occasional dying tree raising its black branches against the sky. Zan strode along with vigorous and consistent steps across the empty land. In time he found a footpath which he was glad to use, even though it increased his exposure to danger. The feet of strangers had worn this path, not those of friends. As he walked Zan began to wonder whether he was hearing his own footsteps or those of another. He could not feel easy until the path, which was old and little employed, disappeared and left him on an empty field again.
Up to this point Nobla had been Zanâs guide, but when he came to a fork in the river he had to choose which branch to follow. Considering in his mind what Dael would have done, he decided to stay with thebranch on his own side. He followed it for a whole day, leaving the other stream far away. Yet he worried that he should perhaps have taken the other; the one he was on twisted and turned constantly, lengthening his journey. After a while it reduced to a slight flow and began to turn sharply toward the direction from which he had come. It was useless to follow it any more. Zan crossed the waning stream and resumed his approximate path across the featureless plain.
For two nights Zan built his fires from the sparsest materials and slept in ruts padded with grass. He wished he could be more comfortable, but he did not expect it here. His aim now was not to achieve comfort but to keep himself alive. That required water, food, and shelterâand a sharp eye against enemies. He began to regret that he had left the river, but when he awoke on the third morning a heavy dew had left the various grasses dripping with moisture and Zan was able to refresh himself. There was no food, however.
Zan knew that he had to find something to eat, but his need was not urgent. With any luck there would be seeds or berries along the way, and eventually he would kill a rabbit, which was stupid, or a possum, which was slow. It seemed to him as he progressed that the earth he tread on was almost alive, whispering to him, a stubborn and willful creature to be dealt with each day anew. For a long time the ground was perfectly flat; then suddenly the platform of the earth dropped off for several feet as if the entire prairie had caved in ages before and was trying ever since to recover itself. As further evidence of its freakish nature, there lay in a gorge ahead (dug bywho knew what invisible force) an enormous skeleton embedded in the ground. Zan climbed down to examine the mastodon, whose ribs and curling tusks, whitened by an age of suns, rose over his head and stood out against the empty sky.
Crouching slightly, Zan could fit within the hollow cage of its upward-pointing ribs, and was amused to enter when to his surprise a live animal waddled out of it! It was a porcupine with bristling needles, and Zan stepped out of its way, at the same time readying his spear and quickly finishing it off. He would have meat again, but to cook it required wood. Fortunately he saw a dead tree
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