Authors: Piers Anthony
Hope of Earth (10 page)
He smiled, letting the matter pass. His band sister was indeed a young woman, with many qualities to recommend her. But most men could not see beyond the face and the too tall, too thin body, so she had little chance to act the part. Had she not caught the two tribesmen completely by surprise, they would soon have seen how small her breasts were, and that the string skirt covered mannishly slender hips. They would have raped her anyway, but with less gusto. He wished he could help her to find a good man. But maybe she would get lucky, as Flo had, taking a seemingly inferior man and having him turn out to be very good. Flo was now somewhat fat, after birthing her son, but Dirk didn’t seem to notice. Was there a good man who would appreciate an angular woman?
They made their way through the high pass, glad of the clothing to shield them from the cutting winds. The path was difficult, and it was late by the time they crested the ridge. They ate from the dried fruit they carried, and drank from their water skins, then bundled themselves in all their remaining netting and lay down back to back to sleep. They knew that no man would come upon them during the night, because it was too cold for others to handle. In any event, they slept lightly, and any suspicious noise would wake them.
“Something I must tell you,” Ned said. “You were so much like a woman, it excited me.”
“From behind,” she replied, calling out the flaw.
“So I could not recognize you as my sister,” he said, bypassing the flaw. “If I met one like you, but not you, I think I would not care much about her face.”
She twisted in her wrappings and kissed his ear. “You give me hope,” she murmured, very pleased.
In the morning they did some spot foraging, finding a few good roots to chew on, and moved on down toward the warmer valley beyond. They got a nice view of it, spread out before them: a grassy plain surrounded by the forest that grew on the slopes. And saw something problematical in that plain.
“A camp of men,” Jes said, shading her sharp eyes with one hand.
“Right where we have to cross the valley to return to our regular route home,” Ned said. “They are on the main path. Dare we gamble on their purpose?”
“No. They are either of Bub’s band, or have a pact with it. There may be others spaced along the valley. I suspect that someone is really angry with us.”
“And really determined that we not show it is possible for folk to mine their own flint and depart without getting robbed,” Ned agreed. “I think we had better not be caught.”
“They might get confused and rape you and murder me,” she remarked, smiling grimly.
But they did have to cross that central valley plain, and there seemed to be no way to do it without being spied by the lurking men of the camp. That was why the campers weren’t even trying to hide; they weren’t the ones being pursued. They would either catch the fugitives as they crossed, or keep them confined to the slope beside the plain until they were spied and caught by other searchers there. It might be hard to catch fugitives in mountains or deep forest, because there were alternate paths and hidden ways, but it was easy in the open.
“I think a handful of ashes will not suffice, this time,” Ned said, not seeming much dismayed.
“If hot the ashes, perhaps the fire?” Jes inquired, following his thought.
“It would be a distraction.”
So they worked out their plan in detail, knowing that any failure could be disastrous. Jes foraged for tinder while Ned brought out two suitable flint rocks and experimented with striking them together in the manner he had learned from Blaze. It took some time, but he was able to start a fire. Jes made a bed of sand, and they got a small fire going. Of course the smoke would give them away, but it would take time for anyone to travel this high up the mountain.
Then Ned damped down his little fire, so that it was mostly hot embers, and transferred it with its bed of sand to a section of leaf-and-sand-padded netting. He made a bag of it that he could carry. The first part of their strategy was ready. His setup was clumsy compared to that of a regular fire handler, but it would not have to last long.
They angled down the slope, leaving the path. This was for several reasons. There might be enemy men coming up that path to attack them, and they needed to get lost in random territory, and they needed to intercept the wind at the right spot.
But when they reached the place where the wind entered the valley, there was a man posted. He wasn’t even looking for them; he was just waiting, and watching the plain.
“He will have to be distracted,” Jes said regretfully.
“Briefly,” Ned agreed. “But you will need a sure escape.”
“You get that fire going soon, and I will have it,” she said. “You will need it too.”
He nodded. Then they prepared themselves. They spread out all their untraded net cloaks, then wrapped them around their feet and legs to the knees. They tied them in place just above the knees, so that the knees could still flex. Their legs looked enormously fat, because of the leaf padding between the nets. Then they took their water skins and poured them carefully out onto the padding, making it wet. They saved a little water for refreshing their leggings later. Of course this left them nothing to drink, but they knew there was a river in the next valley.
Now Jes made her way carefully around the position the enemy man guarded. When she was far enough from Ned, she moved with less caution, until the man heard her. He stood and called out. “Who?”
Jes did not answer. Instead she hurried on away from Ned. The man called again, going after her, trying to get a good glimpse through the trees and brush.
Now Ned went to the edge of the plain, where the grass grew tall, and opened his fire bag. He blew on his embers, feeding more tinder to them, and in a moment had an open fire. He set it down amidst the driest tangle of grass and fed in more fuel. The fire spread swiftly, eagerly consuming the grass around it. It reached up, catching the incoming wind.
Ned stood back, watching the flames eat into the field. Fanned by the wind, they grew and traveled quickly. Smoke billowed up, announcing the fire’s presence. The people in the center of the valley would see it soon enough, and would have to move, because the wind was carrying it right toward them.
There was a cry from the man who had been pursuing Jes, as he discovered the fire. He ran back—and spied Ned standing at the edge of the forest. He stepped toward Ned, then hesitated, uncertain whether to chase the man or try to deal with the fire.
Jes hooted behind the man. He turned to go after her again—and Ned hooted. They managed to make the man turn several times in confusion before he got smart and focused on just one of them: Jes. He charged after her. And she ran directly into the spreading fire.
The man stopped and stared. He did not realize that her wetted leggings protected her feet from the heat of the flames. He could not follow her, for his feet and legs were bare. He did not know what to do.
Ned hooted again. The man whirled, reminded of him. He charged. And Ned strode blithely into the fire himself.
Now he held his breath and ran as rapidly as he could, getting beyond the burning section. He found Jes there, waiting for him. The smoke was blowing at them, but they were able to duck their heads low and breathe freely, crossing the plain close to the fire. With luck there would be no man to block their way; all the men should be running for the other side of the plain, to avoid getting cut off by the fire. They would assume that Ned and Jes were still waiting to cross, rather than being already across. Because they would not be thinking very clearly, during the considerable distraction of the fire.
But one man
was
on the far side of the field. Bub had been cunning enough to keep one man back, just in case. The fire was behind them, the man ahead. He had them—he thought. He made gestures at them with hips and fist, as of raping and bashing. He was big enough to handle both of them.
They paused to pour the last of their water on their leggings. Then they ran back into the fire, holding their breath again. They knew that the actual region of burning was narrow; the flames ate what they could and moved on, leaving soot and ashes behind. So they were able to run through the burned terrain, and the man could not follow. In fact he could not remain where he was, for the fire was bearing down on him. He fled.
They ran to the forest edge and hid themselves. Just in time, for their leggings were hot and charring on the outside. When the strings burned through, the leaf padding would spill out even if it remained wet, so they had to watch it carefully. They retreated into the safety of the forest cover, then paused to remove their leggings and beat out the smoldering sections. They had made it through thanks to their alertness and readiness to innovate. Ned was, in the process, coming to appreciate his sister better than ever; he was known as the smart member of their band, but she was staying right with him. If there ever should be a man who was interested in courage, loyalty, and intellect, instead of a pretty face and buxom body, Jes would be a rare prize.
They made their way toward the path that led up through the next pass, pausing to dig out any edible roots they spied along the way. They were somewhat worn after their chase through the fire, for they had been carrying their burdens of flint rocks as well as suffering the weight and clumsiness of the leggings. But they knew they had to keep moving, for the fire would not last long, and then the pursuit might resume.
They intercepted the general trail to the next pass—and suddenly there was a man ahead of them. They turned, and there was another behind them. They had after all walked into a trap. Thinking themselves beyond pursuit, they had let down their guard when they shouldn’t have. What were they to do now? They could try to run back the way they had come, but that led nowhere, and the men were obviously fresher than they were. They couldn’t escape.
“Fools. Caught,” Ned said with deep disgust, speaking slowly and clearly in the foreign tribe manner.
“Thought. Here. No,” Jes agreed in the same mode, for the benefit of the foreign males.
“Move toward the man in front,” Ned said swiftly, in a low tone, knowing that the syntax and detail made this unintelligible to the others. “When he grabs you, bite his hand. I will stab him from behind. Then we must turn together on the other, without pause. Without mercy. Without remorse. Only desperate and forceful action will allow us to prevail. You know the consequence of failure.”
“I understand,” she said grimly. There would be no forbearance on either side. This was a fight for their lives. Then, for the men to hear: “Escape. No.” She made a shrug of obvious hopelessness as she walked toward the lead man. Ned followed her, with similar show of resignation.
“Girl,” the man said, smiling without niceness. Evidently the word had spread.
“Girl,” Jes agreed, opening her netting to show her breasts. She inhaled, to give them more substance. Ned knew she was imitating Wona, who constantly flaunted her nice body. “Spare nice girl?”
“No. Make scream.” The man grabbed for her, leering. She caught his leading hand with both of hers and hauled it into her mouth. She bit hard on his fingers, at the same time hauling him around so that his back was to Ned. She might be slight in the womanly curves, but she was strong in the manner of a man.
The man howled with pain, and tried to strike at her with his other hand. But now Ned was on him, thrusting at the man’s exposed neck with his flint blade. The point dug in just above the bones and muscles of the shoulder. Ned pulled the blade back, and jammed it in again, trying to cut the tendons of the neck. It wasn’t easy to do.
“Ned—behind you, coming fast,” Jes said urgently. She still hung on to the man’s hand, trying to bend his fingers backward, her teeth bared for another bite. Yet she was evidently looking beyond him, too.
Ned didn’t turn his head to look. He jerked out the blade and whirled, throwing himself to the side. The second man lunged in, crashing against Ned’s shoulder. And Ned stabbed him in the near eye. He felt the softness of it as the blade sank in, and the hardness as it came up against the bone of the eye socket. Hot fluid spurted onto Ned’s hand.
The man fell, screaming, clutching at the other man. The two went down together, both badly injured, neither quite knowing the identity of the other. Ned and Jes drew away and fled, knowing that there would be no instant pursuit by these two.
When they were sure they were beyond immediate danger, they paused to hug each other. “I never did that to a man before,” Ned said, his eyes flowing, the horror of it overwhelming him.
“You did what you had to,” she said. “You did well. You did well. You are a man.” But she was comforting him more in the manner of an elder sister, or a mother, now emulating Flo. Nonetheless, it helped.
In the prior volumes it was assumed that syntax was the key element that multiplied the effectiveness of human speech, facilitating the expression of complex concepts of time and condition: “Tomorrow, if you don’t see me here, look for me in the next village.” That is probably so, but this volume considers another aspect: velocity of speech. Suppose all concepts are expressible, but in one culture the language is slow, while in another it is fast. The fast one would have a distinct advantage. In fact all human languages are fast, the words proceeding so rapidly as to represent a liquid flow without many interruptions. Try listening to a foreign language to realize how confusingly swift it is; words can seldom be distinguished at all. The human brain had to develop the capacity to make sense of this phonic stream so that speech could proceed at jet speed, as it were, instead of walking speed. This was surely a potent innovation, taking time to perfect, and may have marked the difference between modern mankind and all others, such as Neandertal. Even in something as basic as physical combat, this linguistic velocity could make a significant difference, as shown here, and would have been a formidable survival trait. Of course it probably happened over the course of tens of thousands of years, and each increase in speed may have been slight, but the advantage was evidently sufficient. However it happened, there seems to be little doubt that the engine that powered mankind’s phenomenal increases in brain size was language.
Clothing was surely also vital. Mankind lost fur and went erect to facilitate cooling, but when the weather changed that could have become a liability. But clothing would have more than made up the difference, because of its versatility. It could shield the human body from cold—and even on occasion from heat. It could be removed as convenient, or bundled on double. Thus it enabled mankind to go further yet in sacrificing his body fur; cold snaps no longer put him into dire straits. In fact, it enabled mankind to travel out of Africa, following Erectus, without suffering unduly from the colder climates there. With enough clothing, he could handle it better than lightly furred Erectus could. Travel to cooler climes had enabled Erectus to handle the excess heat production of his brain without having to sacrifice any more fur, and that was fine, for most of two million years, but not the best strategy for the long term. Thus his body itself had to change to adapt to the brutal cold of ice age Europe, while modern mankind had far less trouble there, or anywhere else. Because he changed his clothing instead of his body.
With that final loss of fur he also became largely immune to parasites such as fleas, which surely improved his health. He retained hair only on his heady which still needed shielding from the sun, and in the groin, for adults. Why did pubic hair exist, in a region readily covered by clothing? Apparently to facilitate the aeration of genital hormones and odors. Perhaps particular men and women knew each other in the darkness by their individual smells, and were encouraged to make the effort of breeding when those smells were strong. At any rate, clothing may have been far more important to the final evolution of the species than has been recognized. By making it possible for that burgeoning brain to survive both extremes of heat and cold.
Worked furs and hides were surely the first clothing. But in time mankind discovered alternate ways to clothe himself. First he must have figured out how to salvage vines, as described, and work them into baskets, nets and items of clothing. Later he found thinner fibers, but they were too short, so he found out how to twist them into threads, and threads into string, and then to knot the string into finer nets. This was the first primitive stage of what in time would become the weaving of cloth. Also, string twisted into rope would have been extremely useful, and nets could have served in lieu of skins in the manner shown here. The technology was as yet clumsy, and it left no trace in the early archaeological record because it rotted away, but surely full-fledged cloth did not spring fully developed from nothing. The artifacts of vine fiber may have served for a hundred thousand years before the refinements of cloth developed. The string skirt itself has survived from three or four thousand years ago, but we know it goes back beyond 20,000 years because its semblance appears on the ‘“Venus” figurines (of which more later). It was as described: a stunningly sexy outfit for nubile young women, and a great enhancement for the triple ploy strategy in the covert contest between men and women. Who needed cloth, at this stage? But eventually the marvels of cloth would come. Whether any such thing as the string skirt was used 150,000 years ago is wildly conjectural, but it is possible, given the nature of the triple ploy. Today it manifests as the provocative miniskirt.
But why such a giant brain? Once mankind managed to forage in the hot savanna, and to scavenge for richer food, he would seem to have had enough intellect to survive. Once he adapted his mating scheme to provide support and protection for women, the better to ensure survival of offspring, no further intelligence was required there either. Why keep building the brain beyond any likely need to compete with other species? This is where the arms race figures. Mankind did have constant competition for the resources of his ecological niche: variations of his own kind. They were constantly fissioning off, setting up rival communities, and they had much the same abilities he did. So who prevailed? That subspecies that could do it best. For a time it seemed that bigger and stronger men were the answer, but in the end it seems to have been the gracile ones with more versatile intelligence and speaking abilities. So the race was between brains, and in the end the best brain won. Ours.
