“I think it is female,” Babo said. “Its head is badly bruised, as is its neck, and it struggles to breathe. Without-Name has damaged it.”
“Perhaps the Workers can repair it.”
The hominid coughed and struggled to sit up. Babo helped it with a lift from a powerful hand.
“My name,” the hominid said, “is Nemoto.”
Shadow:
The antelope had got separated from its herd. It was running awkwardly, perhaps hampered by age or injury.
With fluid grace, the lion leapt onto the antelope’s back, forcing it to the ground in a cloud of crimson dust. The antelope kicked and struggled, its back and haunches already horribly ripped. Then the lion inflicted a final, almost graceful bite to its throat. As its blood poured onto the dust of the savannah, Shadow saw surprise in the antelope’s eyes.
More lions came loping up to feed.
Shadow remained huddled behind her rock — exposed on the open savannah, but downwind of the kill. She kept her baby quiet by cradling its big, deformed head tightly against her stomach.
The lions pushed their faces into the fallen antelope’s carcass, digging into the entrails and the easily accessible meat of the fleshy areas. Soon their muzzles were crimson with blood, and their growls of contentment were loud. Shadow was overwhelmed by the iron stink of blood, and the sharp burning scent of the lion’s fur — and by hunger; her mouth pooled with saliva.
Her face itched, and she scratched it.
At last the lions” purring growls receded.
Already more scavengers were approaching the carcass. Hyenas loped hungrily towards it in a jostling pack, and overhead the first bats were wheeling, huge carrion-eating bats, their wings black stripes against the sky.
And, from the crater’s wooded rim, people emerged: Elf-folk like Shadow, men, women and infants, melting out of the green shelter of the woods, their black pelts stark against the green and crimson of the plain. They eyed the carcass hungrily, and they carried sticks and cobbles.
But the hyenas were hungry too, and in a moment they were on the antelope, burying their muzzles inside the great rips made by the lions” jaws, already fighting amongst-themselves. Their lithe bodies clustered over the carcass, tails high in the air, from a distance like maggots working a wound.
The people moved in, yelling and waving their sticks and throwing their stones. Some of the dogs were hit by hurled cobbles. One man, a squat, manic creature with one eye closed by a huge scar, got close enough to pound one animal with a fat branch, causing the dog to yelp and stumble. But the dogs did not back away. A few of them tore themselves away from the meat long enough to rush at the hominids, barking and snapping, before hurling themselves back into the feast. Most simply ignored the people, gouging out as much meat as they could before being forced away by a dog bigger and stronger.
So it went, a web of complex but unconscious calculations: each hyena’s dilemma over whether to attack the hominids, or whether to gamble that another dog would, leaving it free to take more meat; the hominids” estimation of the strength and determination of the hyenas versus their own hunger and the value of the meat.
This time, at least, the hyenas were too strong.
The Elf-folk troupe backed away sullenly. They found a place in the shade of the trees at the forest edge, staring with undisguised envy at the rich meat being devoured by the dogs.
At last the hyenas started to disperse. They had taken most of the meat, and the antelope was reduced to scattered bones and bits of flesh on a blood-stained patch of ground, as if it had exploded. Again the people came forward, and their stones and sticks drove away the last of the dogs.
There was little meat to be had. But there was still a rich resource here, which hominid tools could reach. The adults took the antelope’s bones and, with brisk, skilful strikes of their shaped stones, they cracked them open. Soon many of the people were sucking marrow greedily. Children fought over scraps of flesh and cartilage.
Huge bats flapped down, their leathery wings black, vulture-like. They pecked at outlying bits of the carcass, bloodying their fur. The people tolerated them. But if the bats came too close they would be greeted by a stick wielded by a hooting hominid.
Shadow came out from behind her rock.
A child came up to her, curious, a bit of gristle dangling from her chin. But as Shadow neared, the child wrinkled her nose and stared hard at Shadow’s face. Then she turned and ran for the security of her mother.
As Shadow approached the group, the people moved their children away from her, or growled, or even threw stones. But they did not try to drive her away.
Shadow saw a big older woman, the hair of her back oddly streaked with silver. This woman — Silverneck — was working assiduously at the remnant of a thigh bone. Shadow sat close to Silverneck, not asking for food, content not to be rejected.
The sun wheeled across the sky, and the people worked at the carcass.
At length Silverneck hurled away the last fragments of bone. She lay on her back, legs crossed, and crooked an arm behind her head. She belched, picked bits of marrow and bone from her teeth, and thrust a finger into one nostril with every sign of contentment.
Cautiously, her baby clinging to her back, Shadow crept closer. She started to groom Silverneck, picking gently through the hairs of Silverneck’s shoulders. The older woman, reclining stiffly, submitted to this in silence, eyes closed as if asleep.
Shadow knew what she must do to win a place here. In her home forest she had watched women seeking favour with their seniors. Still cautious, Shadow moved towards Silverneck’s waist and reached out to stroke the older woman’s genitals, just as she had seen others do before.
A hand grasped her wrist, gentle but strong. Silverneck’s face, worn almost bald by grooming, was a mass of wrinkles. And it showed disgust. She pulled her legs under her, and pushed Shadow away.
Shadow sat still, baffled, disturbed.
After a time Shadow again reached out to groom Silverneck. Again Silverneck submitted. This time Shadow did not try to cross the boundary to sexual contact, and Silverneck did not push her away.
As the shadows lengthened across the plain, the carrion-eating bats clustered closer around the remnants of the carcass. One by one the people started to drift back to the forest. The first roosting calls began to sound from the tree tops.
At last the old woman stretched and yawned loudly, bones popping. Then she got to her feet and ambled back towards the forest’s edge.
Shadow sat where she was, waiting.
Silverneck looked back once, thoughtfully. Then she turned and moved on.
Shadow got to her feet, her baby clinging to her back. Hastily she rummaged through the carcass, but the marrow and meat had been chewed or sucked off every bone. Cramming bits of greasy skin into her mouth, she hurried after Silverneck into the forest.
Manekatopokanemahedo:
With a wave of his hand Babo conjured an image of the Red Moon — but it was not an image, rather a limited injective-recursive Mapping of the Moon into itself. The Moon turned for their benefit, a great hovering globe twice Babo’s height. Manekato gazed at searing red desert-continent and steel ocean.
The little hominid who called herself Nemoto stood close to Manekato, her eyes wide, her smooth face bearing some unreadable expression.
“Your work is proceeding well,” Manekato said to her brother.
“It is a routine application of familiar techniques; merely a question of gathering sufficient data… But already the key to this world’s mysteries is clear.”
“Ah.” Manekato said sombrely. She reached up and pointed at the huge volcano that dominated the western side of the rust-red continent. “You mean that.”