The Mantooth

Kalus* was wakened that morning by the sound of stalking footsteps. Reaching instinctively for his spear, he raised himself slowly and turned to face the sound.

*which means, 'The Carnivore.'

There before him, shrouded in the shadows of early morning, he perceived an ominous silhouette. It was Akar, the lone he-wolf that had followed his tribe for some time, living off the gnarled scraps of meat that the hill-people left behind after every kill. Kalus had often wondered what unaccountable circumstance caused it to leave the safety of the pack to strike out and fend for itself.

At first he was relieved. For this was only a scavenger, probably hoping to steal an unguarded morsel and slink away unseen.

But his instincts told him otherwise. There was something unnerving about the way the beast just stood there, as if unsure of its own intentions. Even in the dim light of the cave's entrance he could see that it had not eaten for many days. Arching ribs protruded sharply through an emaciated chest, and his eyes were wild with the blood-lust of a carnivore.

Something stirred deep within the young tribesman as he realized the true hopelessness of its plight. Cut off from the pack it could not hunt successfully, and there now, it stalked a prey it had no chance of killing. For all around him his comrades lay sleeping, and if aroused, they would kill the intruder without hesitation.

Reaching into a crude deerskin pouch slung across his shoulder, he pulled forth a long strand of cooked meat. Holding it outward enticingly, he motioned toward the terrified hunter.

Slowly, haltingly, the shadow moved forward, too near death from starvation to be cautious. When it was close enough Kalus tossed the meat gently into the air, where it was snapped up quickly by the waiting jaws of the hunger-crazed wolf. Smiling inwardly, he reached into his pouch once more and prepared to repeat the procedure.

Suddenly from behind him came the sound of angry voices. Whirling about he saw that the tribesmen had woken, and seeing the wolf, had armed themselves to attack. The frightened creature turned, but found there was nowhere to run. Barabbas, leader of the hill-people, had blocked the entrance to the cave and stood there waiting, a long spear clasped in his hairy hand. Forming a circle around the intruder, the tribesmen began to converge. Helpless, the wolf rolled over in the dirt, as if to beg for mercy. But the tribesmen showed it none, continuing to advance.

But then a strange thing happened, something that had not been seen on Earth since the disappearance of modern man from the continent. Not understanding why, or even how he did it, Kalus stepped forward and uttered the first word spoken since the day of destruction when all human tongues had been silenced.

'No!' he cried angrily. And that was all he said.

A deep silence filled the chamber as his comrades cowered back in disbelief. The he-wolf slipped out silently---grateful, but puzzled as to why he had been spared.

Regaining their senses, the hill-people's astonishment was quickly turned to anger and resentment. For many months they had grown wary, and suspicious of the young, tawny-haired hunter. They could not understand how this youth could be born of their own flesh, and yet still be so completely unlike them. For the color of HIS hair was light, and his eyes were a deep blue. And what of his peculiar desire to be on his own? Unlike the others he did not seem to need the protection of the clan, nor sometimes even to want it.