A Son of the Ages: The Reincarnations and Adventures of Scar, the Link / A Story of Man From the Beginning

by Stanley Waterloo

The babe was lying in the sunshine in the little fenced-off pen on the platform, of the kind in which the very young children were placed for safety’s sake, when it was seen by the great lammergeyer—the lamb-killer—which was hovering in the sky far overhead, and the huge bird dropped down upon it as it would fall upon a lamb in the hills. It came with a roaring swoop, swept upward with the babe in its talons, and sailed away with it above the lake, though flying somewhat lower and more heavily than usual.

Then came the marvel! Fishing far out on the waters was Lars, the best bowman of the tribe, save I, perhaps, but not so far that he did not hear the shrieks of Mona. They could have been heard a long way, those shrieks. And, by the merest chance, from hope of a shot at some water fowl, Lars had his bow with him, lying ready strung by his side and an arrow with it. He seized the bow and stood with arrow poised as the great bird came winging its way directly toward him, the child dangling below. He drew the arrow to the head and, as the bird came nearly over him, he let go the shaft. There was certainly the chance that he might kill the babe, but better such a death than to be torn to pieces by the lammergeyer. Yet the arrow did not touch the child, though it slew the devouring bird, passing fairly through its neck and bringing it down shrieking and fluttering and tossing to the water. Lars lifted out both babe and bird, the child with hardly a scratch upon it, the bird’s talons having clutched it where was its thick and protecting little breechclout. It was good to look upon the joy of Mona when she had her babe in her arms again. It was good, also, that Lars had killed the lammergeyer! Long had it circled in the sky above us, seeking a chance to descend upon and rob us of our lambs. And this was what made it seem to me that, mayhap, there might be something to the stone crescent and the worship of the moon. Surely Yak and Mona had been strangely helped.

Not all the time were we people of the Lake-Dwellers devoted to our labours, because there was no need, and because it was good to play at times and there was the call of man to woman and of woman to man. There was an open space left on the great platform near the centre of all the huts, and there the youth and many of the older ones met nightly for better acquaintance or frolic or merry chatting together. There were certain sports and there was dancing to the sounds of little skin-headed drums and of stretched strings which twanged agreeably. Sometimes there were feasts and festivals as well, when old and young assembled, and then men talked of the catch or the chase or of the tribe’s affairs, and the women of what might be in their minds or hearts. There was much proud showing of ornaments—though of none to equal those of my Elka—and there was mating, and it was for the good of all that we had this meeting place.

Yet it must not be said of us Lake-Dwellers that we never had anything to disturb us. The wild regions about us held too much of menace for that. The rude tribes to the east had not threatened us for years now, and with those on the northern sea we were on good terms, but there were others, outlanders and outlaws, whose lurking presence we must guard against at all times. They were bold and cruel and ruthless. It was not safe for the women to go far afield alone, and our flocks and herds must not be without guardians. Even at the time of which I am telling there had been a recent tragedy.

There had come up a great storm, one such as we rarely had upon the lake, though lesser ones were frequent in our climate. It rose in the afternoon, and continued into the night, the whole lake in a turmoil, and the braced huts on the platform seeming hardly safe from the onrush and pounding of the ravening waters. Toward morning, however, the storm subsided, and the sun shone out brightly, and there rose smoke from all the dwellings, save one, the home of Dill, a good fisherman and one of my own group. There was a call to the inmates of the place, but there came no answer, and the hut was entered to learn the reason for such silence. There lay Dill and all his family, speared in the midst of the storm, slain, as we well knew, by a band of the fierce wanderers. The slain could not be brought to life, but there was something else to do, for Dill had been my close friend and there was a trail which must be followed. I gathered together as many as I could of my group of hunters and fishermen, each wearing his armour of aurochs skin and each carrying his bow and spear and axe and food for many days.

Though there were shrewd trackers among us, at first we could discover no trace of the way in which the murderers had come or gone, because the storm had destroyed all trail; but, circling far, we found it where it became clear with the storm’s ending, and then, greatly aided by the dogs we had taken with us, we followed and moved more swiftly and earnestly than ever we had followed game less tremendous. We were like the wolves which follow the stag, as relentless and as pitiless!

We knew that the outlaws did not much fear pursuit. The task had, heretofore, seemed almost hopeless, because of the craftiness of the bands, to say nothing of their desperate resistance in strongholds of which they knew, or of their many secure hiding-places in the depths of the forest. Now, it was different! One, at least, of these cruel, marauding bands I was resolved should pay the penalty. This band must die!

For a day and a night we followed the freshening trail and, early in the morning, one whom I had sent ahead to creep along more softly than we could together, discovered where they were. They had just risen from sleep and were eating together in a little hollow in the very midst of the dense forest. There were eleven of them, unsuspecting our nearness, if, indeed, they had thought of pursuit at all, talking loudly and planning, it may be, other baneful expeditions. We were twenty to the eleven, and they were ours!

Silently as creeping wild-cats, we encircled the little hollow in which they were eating, and then, with my yell, we leaped upon them. They were as unprepared as they were unsuspecting. They were surrounded and none could escape. It was a time of fierce delight for us. We speared them howlingly, or brained them with our keen-edged stone axes. They were very dead when we left them, first stripping them of their plunder and their own belongings, not, as was first thought, to the wolves, but in another manner. There protruded from a huge tree which stood beside the hollow a straight extending limb which overhung it and was far above the reach of beasts of prey. With much labour, two men climbed the tree and crept out upon this limb, taking a rope of hide and many shorter ones with them. They let the long rope down to us and we fastened the bodies to it, one after another, and so they were hoisted and hung with the shorter ropes, eleven savage brutes in a row, to dangle long as a warning to other prowlers of what hazard faced those who ventured to invade the region of the Lake-Dwellers!

Yet such grim occurrences as this were rare. We were peaceful and prosperous, as I have told, increasing steadily in numbers. Because there were assembled together so many, all in helpful comradeship with each other, there came a greater knowingness and there was devised much of what was new. The potters made finer jars and all sorts of earthen vessels; the women contrived a way of weaving a sort of cloth from the fibre of plants, though as yet they could not do it very well; the hunters invented new and better snares, the flint chippers made more effective weapons for them; our fields were better tilled, and our little herds were better tended. It was the close companionship in such numbers which led toward our greatness.