The Line of Eyes

By Clayton Spann

The Civilization reigns supreme. Its males live long and prosper as specially bred females serve every need. Nothing can rival this magnificent sociey, and nothing can challenge it...except a long banished nightmare.

Homo sapiens meets Homo lupus. May the best man win.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clayton Spann
• Release date: Oct 22, 2009
• ISBN: 9781102466239

Book preview

The Line of Eyes

Clayton Spann

Copyright 2007 Clayton Spann

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by Clayton Spann at Smashwords.com:

Exchange Rate

Lord Protector*

Restorer of the World*

Expelled*

Day Nine

Two Timed

*Roger Ward Trilogy

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (except for historical figures), living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To Dad

For whom Duty, Honor, Country

Was not an empty slogan

And to Thomas,

Who now carries the standard

Part One

In The Beginning

Son of Great

Son did not like his posting. On this barren rise he was completely exposed.

Leader had sternly instructed he could flee only if a Raala directly charged his position. But then it would be too late. Son was swift, though not swift enough to reach the nearest tree.

The old, shameful fear numbed his muscles. Soon he wouldn't be able to abandon this spot even if Raala did head his way. How strange if he held firm in the face of death only because of fright. He wondered if anyone would be fooled.

Son knew everyone in the stand of oaks could see him. They were probably enjoying his predicament and wagering how long his nerve would hold. They all despised him, and some really hated. Five rains had passed but few had forgotten the death of Red Thumb.

The midday sun beat down. Though the wind blew strongly, sweat still trickled from his brow. Adding to his discomfort were the bite ants, which he had to continually brush from his feet. He brushed slowly, for the poorly sighted Raala that loved the flesh of man were still adept at spotting movement.

Why didn't Leader order the lurers out? It was hot enough certainly; the Raala weren't going to get anymore sluggish. Perhaps the lurers—save Fast as Wind—needed a few more moments to talk up their courage.

Or should he say talk up their madness? Everyone praised the great heart of those who lured, but lurers were more crazed than brave. They had a sickness that lusted danger.

The sun continued to pound. He was getting light headed. If they didn't begin soon, he might pass out. And then where would they be, with their best lookout unable to warn?

Son did not indulge such thought long, for he knew his fate if he did fall unconscious. The camp would demand banishment despite any defense Leader might offer. They would cast Son out to survive the Raala on his own. Deep down, Leader would probably be relieved to have him gone.

Son of Great surveyed the brush and grass before him. The dun land sloped away for several hundred paces, then rose gently again. His eyes tried to penetrate each clump of brush. The Raala loved to hide within any scrap of dense foliage, except of course where the thorns grew. He looked hard, but he could say neither yes or no if Raala lurked.

His eyes turned to the peka trees. He counted ten and four of the slender, broad limbed trees scattered about the valley. The limbs on each held an abundance of the black shelled nuts that were unmatched for providing sustenance. If the lurers lured, this gathering should be the best since the rains.

His attention returned to the oak stand, where the men had spent the prior night. He detected no movement. The men had to be anxious, but they were displaying good discipline. The only stirring in the heat was the occasional dart of a bird.

Would that men were birds. Or the turtle in its shell, the one creature that could cross the ground without fear of Raala. Life would be so much easier if men were either.

Suddenly the lurers emerged from the stand. The seven naked men strode forth as if they had not a care. As they advanced into the wind, the streamers tied around their waists unfurled.

The lurers remained silent the first fifty paces. Then they began to chant as they broke into a slow run. Their footfalls raised puffs of dust, and they quickly spread so their line extended halfway up both sides of the valley. Each man would have plenty of room. Each man would need it.

In the center of the line ran Fast as Wind. He was the best of the lurers and the most crazy. Son did not hate Wind, or even dislike him, but it pained Son to watch this man succeed so brilliantly. Wind—born only days behind Son—had gained the stature everyone predicted would go to Son of Great.

Wind was chanting the loudest, daring the Raala to come after him. The others, though certainly fearless, didn't edge their voices with quite the same defiance. If the Raala preferred to chase Wind, Son knew that would be fine with them. Raala however would settle for the flesh of any man.

The first Raala charged from the bushes in front of Fast as Wind. The long snouted beast bellowed the savage grunts that usually foretold the doom of whoever a Raala had caught in its dim sights. The mud brown body lumbered hard at Wind, who had stopped completely. About the area other grunts resounded. The Raala lay in sloth no more.

Son had seen Wind dodge a hundred times before. Anyone not an elder could dodge, really. All one needed was vast nerve. One must wait until the beast's tusks—tusks that could rip a man from crotch to throat—closed to less than a pace. If a man moved sooner, the Raala could change direction in time. If a man moved late, the Raala trampled him.

A lurer's nerve was his life. He needed that nerve reliable each time the men gathered. A lurer could not just one time leave his nerve in camp, for then he would never return to camp. Unfortunately every man had a bad day, and that was why few lurers survived beyond five rains. Wind had lasted eight.

The beast before Wind closed until only that one pace remained. Then Wind deftly skipped aside. The Raala tumbled as it turned too quickly, and Wind bent over the beast shouting taunts. As the Raala righted its grunts rumbled fiercely.

Son watched without breathing as Wind led the Raala off. Raala could run twice as fast as men, so this one had little trouble catching up to Wind. But it could not close the final pace. Time after time Wind left the beast rolling in the dust. Once Wind even crashed the Raala into a tree. The Raala still pursued, though Son thought the beast would die first of rage.

Five other Raala had joined in chasing the lurers. The nerve of all lurers held, and the beasts caught only air. Quickly the land around the peka trees was cleared of Raala. The lurers ran until each had reached a sturdy tree far beyond the pekas, where they leapt into the limbs. Their furious chasers jumped and clawed at the trunks, but the lurers for the moment were quite safe. To keep the attention of the beasts the lurers shouted and snapped their streamers.

The lurer's shouts and the Raala grunts made quite a racket from even five hundred paces away. Son forced his eyes from the distant trees and again inspected the nearby brush. The other lookouts were doing the same. One by one they raised an arm to indicate they saw no Raala. Son took a last, careful look, then raised his arm.

Now the gatherers came forward. They walked without haste, though each certainly desired a quick return to the oak stand. Nor did anyone speak. It was imperative they not attract notice of any Raala besieging the lurers. These men were untrained in evading Raala; a Raala loose among them would kill many.

The gatherers arrived at the peka trees unharmed. There they worked by threes. One man stood on another's shoulders and knocked loose the nuts, while the third man scooped the harvest raining to the ground into baskets. The gathering was going smoothly, and Son thought they erred only in not bringing enough baskets. The nuts seemed without end.

Son returned his strong vision to the lurers. They were leaning from the limbs, barely out of tusk reach of the clumsily leaping beasts. Lurers were crazy. Who knew the strength of the limbs from which they so brazenly hung? A sudden snap and they were a Raala meal.

Had his father, the greatest lurer of all, acted as foolishly as these men? Son doubted it. Men still spoke in awe of Great Lurer's devotion to duty, and duty and rashness did not mix. Wind and his dangling companions were but deranged children compared to Son's father.

A panicked shout halted his thoughts. To his horror he saw a Raala charging from the opposite slope toward the peka trees. This Raala did not grunt as it approached.

Nuts and baskets were thrown aside as gatherers ran for their lives. The man nearest the Raala escaped only because he dove into a thorn bush. The Raala paused to nip at his exposed feet, and the pause allowed the other men to start climbing.

After the man in the thorns yanked in his feet, the Raala turned toward the pekas. Only half the men were up into the limbs.

The Raala charged an unfortunate whose desperately thrusting feet and hands had barely lifted him off the ground. The unfortunate was Strong Foot, a man well past his prime. Leader had reluctantly allowed him on the gathering.

The Raala knocked Strong Foot from the trunk of the peka, then thrust tusks into the man's belly. The Raala was grunting now, but Strong Foot's shrieks were louder. Bile rose in Son's throat as he saw entrails spill on the grass. The mortifying shrieks went on until the Raala finally savaged the man's throat. Strong Foot stopped flopping.

A crescendo of grunts and the pounding of hooves told that the other Raala had abandoned the lurers. These beasts unerringly surged toward the bloodied body of Strong Foot. Son grew more nauseous as the Raala huddled snout to snout around the corpse. The beasts ate ravenously, and they shortly exposed bone.

Strong Foot's unwilling sacrifice had allowed the rest of the gatherers to climb to safety. The other lookouts had also found a tree.

Only Son, farthest from refuge, had not moved. He lay prone in the thin, brown grass that barely grew higher than his head. Son told himself he would live as long as he kept still. The bite ants were biting, but their jaws were not Raala tusks.

When the Raala finished devouring Strong Foot, they turned attention to the men in the peka trees. Pekas were smaller and less stout than the spring watered oaks of the stand. The pekas shivered as the Raala rose on their haunches to push against the trunks. The limbs above shook, nuts showered free, and the clinging men began to wail. They cried to the spirits that lived in each tree to deliver them.

Son resolved that when a man fell—as one soon must—he would break for the oak stand, two hundred paces away. Hopefully the Raala would be too busy ripping apart that man to notice Son's dash. Even if they did, flesh directly at hand should stop immediate pursuit. Once in the stand Son would certainly survive.

The gatherers were in a bad way. The lurers could run back through the pekas, but Raala rarely left a man trapped in a small tree. The beasts knew they could shake loose their meal. The gatherers had only one chance, to drop from the pekas all at once and run for the stand. The six Raala would catch at least six men, but the majority would reach the oaks.

Son could hear the men in the pekas shouting. Panic edged many voices. Leader was telling everyone to keep their heads—and their grips. Men retorted they were all doomed. For a delicious moment Son welcomed that prospect.

Then a screaming madman raced into the peka trees. Fast as Wind ran with his arms waving and streamers flying. His eyes bugged and foam frothed his lips. Son watched astonished as the man darted from Raala to Raala. Never were viler insults hurled at any creature. Where insult didn't induce chase, a kick in the side did.

It was a sight Son would forever remember: six furious Raala chasing a single berserk man. Wind was actually gloating as he led the beasts about. Son waited for the inevitable. When the Raala caught this very brave and very stupid man, Son would bolt for the stand.

But the beasts the color of dung didn't catch him. Instead the Raala caught trees, and brush, and each other. With incredible agility Wind repeatedly avoided the six pairs of tusks. A plan emerged amid Wind's insanity, for bit by bit he and the Raala coursed up the opposite slope. Then they were over the rise and gone. Swirling dust hung in their wake.

Leader's voice broke the stunned silence.

Everyone for the stand! Now!

Son had never seen such a scurrying. Even the man in the thorn bush, Long Jaw, tore himself loose and sprinted for the oaks. Leader did not have to tell anyone to ignore the nuts and baskets. Everyone—including Son and the remaining lurers reached the stand and began climbing high. Men laughed in their relief and all praised the courage of Fast as Wind.

The laughter faded as men looked at Long Jaw. Blood dripped from his torn skin and he pressed a hand tightly over an eye. It was obvious he was in great pain, but discipline kept him quiet. Son wondered if his own tongue could have remained silent against a hundred rips of flesh.

Men also began to mourn Wind. All agreed he could not survive. Six Raala must win that chase; even Wind's skill could not overcome such numbers. With great sadness everyone realized they had seen the last of this remarkable man. They pledged all generations to come would know his sacrifice.

Leader told them they could grieve later. The Raala would be back, and the men had to fetch what they could. He asked for volunteers to go back to the pekas. Just gather what's already on the ground, he ordered. And do it quickly.

Twelve baskets were filled before a Raala was sighted. Fortunately this beast was many hundred paces away when it charged, and the volunteers made the stand safely with all baskets. The Raala rooted around the oaks and tried to shake men loose. The thick trunked trees barely moved. When the Raala realized no meal waited in the stand, it ambled away to chew on what was left of Strong Foot.

The other Raala did not return. Ears strained but even the sharpest could hear no distant grunting. Which indicated the Raala over the slope were now sated, likely having fed on Fast as Wind.

As dusk approached and the excitement of the day faded, hunger began to torment. Everyone longingly eyed the filled baskets. Men however turned to the stale and meager rations carried from camp, because all knew wives and children and parents also hungered this evening.

Son could scarcely remember a time since puberty when his stomach did not rumble. No matter the size of a single harvest, only children were allowed to eat to contentment. Everyone else was given enough to carry on without collapse, and any surplus of nuts, roots, fruits or whatever was put aside for when baskets returned empty.

Son wedged himself between the trunk and a high limb and slowly chewed his dried root. It tasted more of dirt than anything else. Only hunger kept his teeth moving. Cool water gathered from the spring did help wash the meal down.

About Son men talked quietly, though no one included him in a conversation. The nearest men were but paces away, at the same height as he, but they kept their faces from him. It didn't bother Son; after six rains he was used to the aloneness.

Eventually he did notice one person sought eye contact. It was Thorn Nose. The man sat alongside Leader in a limb many trees away. Despite the fading light Son could clearly see hostility, and Leader was obviously trying to soothe the man both ugly and well muscled. Thorn Nose abruptly shut his mouth, but the baleful eyes continued to fix Son.

What was the matter with Thorn Nose? The man of course had never given him respect, but they never had a dispute. Then Son remembered that Strong Foot was—or had been—the nephew of Thorn Nose.

Son stopped eating. Did Nose blame him for Strong Foot's death? That was ridiculous. A lookout could not at every moment inspect every pace of ground. Son was one lookout of six, anyway. If Nose wanted to blame, let him blame Leader. Leader should have kept in camp a man who had grandchildren.

Night fell and the air cooled rapidly. The men who had muttered about the heat of day now mumbled about the evening chill. Fortunately, the wind had slackened, or men would have really suffered. Their beds of bark contained no warming covers—or warming wives.

Men were stiff with cold anyway when dawn broke. Though many nuts still waited at the pekas, no one challenged Leader's decision to return to camp. Memory of the seven Raala was too vivid. The men waited until light had fully reclaimed the land, then the lurers descended from the oaks. These men chanted without enthusiasm as they walked over pebble strewn ground toward the next clump of trees. They covered the five hundred paces without incident.

Sixty other men followed their path. Son carried a basket that someone had angrily shoved into his hands. Son barely kept from pushing the basket back. Instead he silently swore to throw aside the nuts if a Raala appeared. Let others prove their devotion to the camp, let others slow themselves a fatal step and give the Raala another meal.

While on open ground men were tense, even though the lurers had drawn no Raala. Son however relaxed. He could run faster than the sixty about him, and he had not forgotten his lurer training. He knew he could dodge any Raala. The trick for a lone lurer was to continue to dodge, but here the many fleeing figures would confuse a Raala. Son would make the trees even if behind him ten other men fell to tusks.

Through the morning they proceeded in like manner from stand to stand. Only one Raala charged and the lurers successfully led it off. By midday they had completed half the journey to camp, and Leader called for a rest at a stand that sat atop a commanding hill. He gave permission for each man to eat three nuts.

Rocks were quickly cracking shells. Son broke apart his nuts, but only after moving to a well shaded spot apart from the other men. They had kept an obvious distance from him, so he would keep distance from them.

After he ate—and savored—the soft chewy meat inside the shells, he rested. He did not bother to climb like so many others did, but instead sat on the ground with his back against a trunk. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the momentary respite from hunger.

Taking a chance, aren't you?

Son's eyes flew open. Leader loomed above him. The squat man with the thick chest smiled tightly.

Those words from anyone would have been mockery. But Leader rarely derided anyone, even those he held in low opinion.

This close to a tree there is no danger.

Leader knelt beside him. Perhaps.

Son found no hostility in the red rimmed eyes that lay too close together. They may have contained a little warmth. At one time—after Great's death—Leader had treated Son as a son. Most of that affection died when Red Thumb died.

You better stay away from Thorn Nose, Leader warned.

Son had maintained distance all morning. But the hateful eyes always followed.

I did not cause the end of Strong Foot.

He believes you did.

Do you?

Leader drew a deep breath. All the lookouts are responsible. Not you alone.

How can it be any lookout's fault? That Raala made no noise.

Now Leader's eyes flashed. Lookouts look as well as hear.

I—

You have the best eyes of all. And the Raala came from brush directly across from you.

The air about Son grew hot, though moments before the deep shade had cooled.

My eyes can't be everywhere.

Thorn Nose says they were looking for a nearby tree.

They weren't!

Tell me, Son of Great, where did you look? Leader spoke gently, but his tone said Son must speak the truth.

Son dropped his shoulders. I was watching the lurers.

"You weren't the only lookout doing so. But Strong Foot died because of that.

Son bit back a denial. He did not accuse Leader of bad judgement in bringing along Strong Foot. He told himself to be thankful Leader was spreading the blame. Six lookouts were harder to loathe than one.

I am sorry he died, said Son. Not that sorry, but Foot's death had been horrible to watch.

Better someone old than young.

Leader's words surprised Son. Leader always treated elders with utmost respect.

Wind is our real loss, said Leader. His skill let us take many harvests.

Son knew what Leader left unsaid, that with a firmer heart Son could have been the full equal of Wind. Yes, and just as equally dead.

Leader rose. Stay away from Thorn Nose.

I will.

I should tell you—Thorn Nose wanted to take you to a high place. He wanted to do it right there in the stand.

Son shuddered.

I talked him out of it...for now.

He's crazy! Son tried to snarl defiance, but fear thickened his tongue. He saw Leader's distaste.

Leader wouldn't meet his eye. If he taunts you, don't respond. No matter what he says. I need you alive. Leader walked off.

Son drew knees to his head. A man was permanently shamed if he refused a demand to climb to a high limb. Sooner or later, Thorn Nose would demand. Two rains ago Thorn Nose had shoved another man to his death. And that man had merely insulted Nose's wife, not helped kill his uncle.

Son groaned. People half tolerated him now. After the refusal he would face only scorn. It would also end whatever bond remained between himself and Sun Hair. She would be free to again marry, and his children would become another man's. He would not be banished, but would be the difference?

They arrived at camp in late afternoon. Wives and children poured from the trees and ran in joy to greet their mates and fathers. Son eagerly clasped his two daughters. But the joy subsided as other cries, those of grief, arose from two women. The widows of Fast as Wind and Strong Foot shrilled on their knees, and other women rushed to console.

Son searched for Sun Hair among the throng. His heart sank when he finally spotted her. She had remained in the trees with the elderly and all she could manage for him was a weak smile. He looked upon her beauty with longing and sadness. Once his wife had beamed at his very presence and freely offered affection.

At least he could find comfort in his two little girls. They alone in camp truly loved him, and did not judge. Without reluctance they pressed tight.

Then Leader's voice boomed over all the others. Up to camp, he shouted. Let us not tempt the Raala any longer.

Everyone started toward the ladders, though many made light of his concern. Raala rarely ventured near camp. They heavy rocks stored in every tree deterred that. Hurled rocks had crippled enough of the beasts so they stayed well away despite the abundance of the flesh they coveted so much.

But Leader refrained from unnecessary risk. Son respected that. This camp suffered less loss of life than other camps. The men trusted Leader's judgement even through their jibes about his excessive caution. The men would keep him as leader until his legs could no longer take him on gatherings.

Son put his daughters on their ladder and he started to follow. A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. The hand belonged to Thorn Nose. Behind Nose stood several other grim men.

Two eyes of venom made an ugly face even uglier. Son's knees turned to water and he waited for the dread words of challenge.

Two men have died because of your cowardice. By the spirits, I promise a third will not.

Son's tongue refused to move. Not that any babbled explanation would have mattered. The hulking man before had already decided his guilt.

You cannot be the son of Great Lurer. Thorn Nose's voice sneered. The men behind Thorn Nose nodded.

Son could not draw breath. In a moment Nose would call him to a high place. These men would be witnesses to the demand—and refusal—and by nightfall all would know Son of Great's disgrace.

Speak—Daughter of Great.

The men snickered. Son put all his energy into not stepping back from the face less than a hand span away. How badly he wanted to shove this hulk. That of course would bring an instant demand.

So Daughter has no voice today—just as she didn't yesterday when the Raala charged Strong Foot.

Son's mouth finally moved. I am sorry for his death, he croaked.

Thorn Nose!

Son turned to see Leader advancing, fury on his face.

Thorn Nose edged back from Son. We're just talking, he said.

I told you to leave him alone.

I am leaving him alone. I did not ask him—her—to climb.

Trouble him again, you and I will climb.

Thorn Nose stared in disbelief. Then he shook his head and he and his friends walked away.

Leader's tone did not soften as he addressed Son.

Get up. And keep away from him.

Son got up. Eyes averted as he climbed into the tree. He wondered how many had heard Thorn Nose call him Daughter. It would take only one with long ears to have the insult already spreading through the trees.

When he reached the platform where Sun Hair and their children waited, he received a hurried embrace from his wife. Her first words inquired not his welfare but of the harvest. She grimaced when he told her how many nuts had been left at the pekas.

Before the sun set nuts were distributed. Son's family received twenty-two—no more, no less than others with the same number of mouths to feed. Sun Hair gave each daughter four nuts, and she and Son ate two. A few stems and berries were added to the meal. The children of course bolted down their food, while he and Sun Hair chewed each fragment at length. The two did not speak as they ate.

As the last light of day faded shrieks erupted from the far side of camp. Sun Hair instinctively clutched their daughters, and Son thought someone had fallen or Raala had appeared. Or both.

Then voices hysterically shouted that Fast as Wind was alive. He had made it back to camp unharmed. Which Son knew was impossible, no man survived six Raala. Such a feat would have been beyond even Great Lurer. In the growing darkness someone must have seen what he wanted to see, and in his mind returned to life the brave but reckless man who died yesterday.

Despite the poor light, and the difficulty of spotting Raala, men and women dropped to the ground like ripened fruit in a high wind. All were shouting, crying, screaming. Son had never heard such a din. How foolish everyone would shortly feel when they realized they rushed to greet an apparition.

With a cold voice Sun Hair told him to get down, so see if it was really Wind. Son said they would know soon enough. Why risk when risk was unnecessary? Raala knew men did not see well in the dark, and night was when they approached closest to camp. Sun Hair scowled.

The tumult only increased. Into the center of camp surged a group of men followed by everyone else. The ecstatic men carried on their shoulders a grinning if obviously exhausted Wind, and the cries of thanksgiving were loud enough to pain Son's ears.

Son did not believe his eyes. The man on those shoulders should be dead. In a way Wind's supposed death had been a relief for Son, not that he ever wished Wind ill. During the past six rains people had always compared Son and Wind, wondering how the two blessed with equal talent had turned out so differently. Until a moment ago Son thought that comparison at an end.

The camp danced around Wind. People were yelling themselves hoarse and faces fairly glowed in the near darkness. The feeble light revealed only one man not joyous, Leader. Leader peered anxiously about and motioned that people should return to the trees.

The camp had seen little joy these past rains, so people were reluctant to give up their exultation. Women shooed their children back into the limbs, but the celebration around Wind continued. Son wondered if even Raala grunts would have disrupted their jubilation.

Finally people did heed Leader and returned to their platforms. The hum of chatter though persisted far into the night as the details of Wind's escape were carried from tree to tree. All agreed the tale would live as long as the camp lived, and that hence this man would be known as Wind the Great.

Everyone slept late the next day. Around noon Leader met with his best men to plan for the next gathering. A successful harvest would have permitted men to avoid the brush several days more, but of course no one would call the last gathering a success. It had added little to the camp store. The past scoredays the store had been running ever lower, and now held enough to feed the camp only six days.

Leader went from tree to tree to tell men they would depart tomorrow at dawn. They would return to the same peka trees and try