Other Worlds Were Possible, page 17
The first argued that the clan should go ahead, leaving Pumpkin with Health and a couple of helpers. They would erect their camp, and return for the others once Pumpkin had completed his recovery.
In normal circumstances, such a plan would have been approved. But these were not normal circumstances. The members of their clan were still shaken. A strange people were in their midst; a people so malign, they had waged war on a forest. Who knew what else they might do?
The alternative school of thought called for the clan to remain together; to provide a united front against this weird and wicked foe.
This idea had won out.
The clan had remained in this oasis for nine more days, giving Pumpkin’s bone the time it needed to set. But the clans-folk had already consumed all the larger fish, the oranges, dried meat and edible plants. Search parties had been dispatched, to locate more food. But they had not ventured far, and had always returned by nightfall.
Sat around the fire, their conversations had inevitably turned to the First Ancestors...
When Sunny first heard of that group, as a child, he had assumed that their story was one of crime and consequence. The First Ancestors had committed the crimes of gluttony and sloth. As a consequence, the tribes-folk now had to dedicate a great deal of effort, searching for food to eat.
But now Sunny understood that there was more to the tale. It was a call of duty, commanding them to protect their natural environment.
The First Ancestors had been irresponsible. But their descendants had learnt the lesson. These days, they usually only killed the oldest and frailest animals. They left most of the females, and they never hunted youths. They burnt the prairie, to encourage new plants to grow. They rarely cut down trees. And they dispersed seeds; assisting Mother Nature, rather than overwhelming her.
These Wogies, however, had not learnt this lesson. Like the First Ancestors, who had killed all the woolly mammoths, they had taken all the trees in a forest. That place was also extinct.
If the Wogies continued to behave in such a manner, Mother Nature would surely make them suffer.
***
Sunny was still thinking of the First Ancestors when they eventually departed; travelling at half their regular pace, taking turns to carry Pumpkin on a stretcher they had made from bamboo.
He supposed he was not alone. The entire clan was quieter than normal; more pensive and downcast. Even the scenery seemed subdued. The mountains slouched beneath a blanket of clouds, and the hills were blurred by mist. The greenery looked less green; more like moss than jade. The earth had lost its spring.
***
Several days had passed, and they had almost reached their destination, when they were surprised to observe a radical change in the terrain. Had they not seen something similar, when they arrived at their ancestral forest, they might have been paralysed by shock. As it was, they advanced together; veering off the path, retreating into a copse of trees, and inspecting the scene from that hidden position.
Sunny climbed one of the taller trees, to get a better view.
Before him lay the plain which surrounded the watering hole. In normal circumstances, that seasonal lake would have been full to the brim; catching the sun’s light, and glistening in convergent lines. It did contain a little water. But it was surrounded by a tapestry of channels, which were transporting water around the adjacent land.
Sunny was mesmerised. He could not help but stare at the people who were digging those trenches; heaving a tool above their heads, holding it for just long enough to reflect the sun, before swooshing it down towards the earth. It was rhythmic. As one tool pierced the ground, the next one reached its apex. Up and down they went, up and down. The tempo was irresistible.
He fixated on this spectacle for so long, it came as quite a surprise when he panned around; spotting a second group about ten hut-widths away.
The people in this group bore an almost striking resemblance to several members of Sunny’s tribe. They had that unique type of nose, which was common in this region. It was only their behaviour that set them apart. They were down on their knees, uprooting the plants which had always grown on this land; plants which were suited to this climate, which provided food for numerous bugs, and which had roots which held the earth together; ensuring the rains did not wash the soil away.
Why would anyone do such a thing?
Sunny thought of their ancestral forest, and could not help but notice the similarities.
It took him a little longer to spot a third group, who were guiding an animal. That creature was pulling a curious device, which was parting the earth like a wave; spraying soil either side of a furrow.
A few people were following in its wake, dropping seeds, before covering them over with earth.
Sunny was impressed. He thought that their tribe could have benefitted from having such a device when they were planting tobacco.
He continued to observe this performance, before noticing the bracelets which were attached to people’s ankles. Made from a similar material to Hunter’s gun, they appeared to be connected; binding those people together.
Only now did Sunny notice the Wogies. One was standing amidst the three gangs; pointing here, shouting there; barking, growling and howling. Sunny thought he recognised that man. Perhaps he had seen him in a dream.
The other two Wogies were further away. They both had rifles. They were both wearing an unnecessary amount of cloth. Neither had earned a tattoo.
Sunny finally acknowledged the scene.
He had been focusing so intently on this small tract of land, that he had not yet registered the changes which had been made to the surrounding landscape. Trenches, furrows and mounds stretched out as far as the eye could see. Sunny spotted a smattering of seedlings. These dotted the land which had already been irrigated, ploughed and planted. Off in the distance, he could see thousands of lines of identical plants, arranged in parallel rows. Beyond that, there might have been a camp. Although this could have been a trick of the light, which had been smudged by mist and smoke.
He scratched his head.
Sunny was familiar with a few types of agriculture. Sparrow grew cassava. The tribe grew coffee. Sunny had even observed a certain species of ant, who worked together to cultivate yeast. It was the scale of this operation that surprised him. These people were dedicating every last morsel of their strength, toiling throughout the hottest part of the day; channelling water, breaking the earth, fencing it off, and guarding it with their guns. And for what? To grow far more food than they would ever be able to eat? Why go to such lengths, when the rewards were so meagre? Why overburden the delicate layer of topsoil? Why use up all the water? Why obey the one man who wasn’t performing this arduous task? And why concentrate on just a few plants, when the valley contained so many? Having such an unvaried diet would almost certainly lead to malnutrition and disease. If the weather turned, these crops could fail. These people might even starve.
The bossy man did something with his hand, creating a whoosh sound which shook the leaves.
One of the natives yelped.
She silenced herself so abruptly, Sunny could still feel the resonance of her scream long after it had been muted.
He squinted, and attempted to deduce what had happened.
Although he could not be entirely sure, he thought the Woggy was holding a stick, which may have been bound in leather. It was attached to a length of material. It could have been a rope, or perhaps it was a leash. Here, Sunny had to make a leap of logic; concluding that the man had controlled the material with the stick, sending it flying, and slashing it down upon the woman’s back.
Things were beginning to make sense: These people were not toiling of their own free will. They had been kidnapped. They were being forced to obey the Wogies.
But how had they ended up in such a state? Why were the Wogies doing such brutish things?
Judging by his peers’ responses, Sunny was not the only one who was pondering these questions. Whilst a few had fallen asleep, most were analysing the scene. Some looked confused. Some were holding their fingers in a vertical position, moving them together and apart; the gesture they performed whenever they were scared. Others looked drained. Their eyes were heavy, monochrome, and shaded with fear.
They remained in this state, among these trees, until the sun had retired for the night. Then they retreated to a safe place and erected a temporary camp.
***
The clans-folk abandoned their normal routine…
They did not create a fire, sit around that fire, talk or eat. It was not until the following morning that anyone mentioned the things they had witnessed. It took several more conversations, before they were willing to accept the reality. And even then, they could not agree upon a response.
Dawn sighed before having his say. He lifted his shoulders, as though to shrug. But he kept them raised, aside his ears; refusing to allow them to return to their natural position:
“Let it be heard: These Wogies won’t surrender our land without a fight. Negatively, no! Yet we don’t have the strength to vanquish them in battle… I suggest we move on. We should establish a new camp, far away from this dangerous foe.”
This comment was met with a murmur of assent, which rippled around the circle; only coming to a stop once it had made its way to Dusk.
That man scrunched his nose with disdain.
“Let it be said: This is our land! It was the land of our mothers, our mothers’ mothers, and our mothers’ mothers’ mothers. It’s the only land we’ve ever known. I’m too old to move. And I’m unwilling to abandon our home without a fight.
“Just look at these people! Look at their cloths! They aren’t like us; satisfied so long as they’ve covered their loins. They insist on covering their chests, arms and legs; adding a second layer, and a third. They’re the First Ancestors reborn. Insatiable!
“If we were to move somewhere new, they’d surely move there as well. Positively, yes!... If we move again, they’ll follow in our tracks. They’ll push us into the sea, or force us into the desert.”
Sunny’s mother tutted so loudly, it sounded like two stones had been smashed together:
“Fight! Fight? Can you hear yourself speak? Have you completely lost your beads? Ancestors, oh ancestors: What have you done to this man?”
She waited for her face to soften; from a scowl, to a frown, to a grin; before adopting the sort of tone a mother might use when addressing a child:
“Dusk, lovely: Don’t you remember what you were told? These Wogies have guns. They have horses. They’ve killed hundreds-of-thousands of people… What you’re proposing isn’t a battle. It’s suicide.”
Dusk remained defiant:
“Guns? We’ve got guns! And we don’t need horses. We know the land. We could sneak up on the Wogies, shrouded by the night, and kill them as they sleep. Or we could pick them off, with gunfire and arrows, whilst hiding in the trees.”
A few people nodded. A guerrilla-style ambush made more sense than an outright war. But it still seemed awfully dangerous.
Sunny rose to his feet.
He had felt a sudden urge to interject, which was somewhat out of character. Sunny usually observed these discussions in silence; digesting the elders’ words, without voicing his own opinions. But this was different. This was his time. He was fit, strong and able. He felt a duty to defend his peers.
He tried to clear his throat; to make a noise which would win the group’s attention. In this, he failed. At first, he did not produce a sound. Then, he coughed. Then, he coughed again. He raised his hand, bowed his head, steadied himself, and attempted to strike a pose.
“I wish to propose an alternative.”
Everyone appeared to freeze. This was not just because Sunny’s behaviour was so unusual. He had never been so bold before. It was because they could not conceive of any other options. They could fight or they could flee. What else could they possibly do?
“I propose we bide our time. You know… We glide like weightless birds, analysing the situation, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop.”
Dusk rubbed the outside of his arms; the gesture tribes-folk made whenever they were spoiling for a fight.
“We spent an entire afternoon ‘Analysing the situation’. What more could you want?”
Sunny closed his eyes.
He was taking control of proceedings; not rushing, not panicking; breathing slowly, and allowing the tension to build.
He spoke with steady assurance:
“We observed a few people, whilst they manipulated the land. But we didn’t discover how they’d ended up in such a bind. We didn’t enter the Wogies’ camp, find out who was there, what they were doing, or what they planned to do next.”
The silence continued.
“I propose we dispatch a search party.”
No-one replied. Sunny had not offered a definitive plan. But he had not denied Dusk the opportunity for a battle. Nor had he denied Dawn the option to flee. He had only asked them to wait.
Dusk supposed that the delay might work to his advantage. If they waited long enough, they could unite with some of the other clans and attack the Wogies together. And Dawn supposed that the delay would work to his advantage; giving his kinfolk the time they needed to accept defeat, make peace with the situation, and say “Goodbye” to their former home.
Dawn nodded, up and down.
Dusk nodded, down and up.
Hope and Sunny were sent to investigate the Wogies’ camp.
***
Sunny was happy to go. This mission was his idea. He felt a responsibility to see it through to completion. He hoped it would be the making of him; the day he came of age, risking life and limb for the group. And it meant he could be alone with Hope.
Hope was not so enamoured:
“This is as stupid as a dog in a tree.”
Sunny could not be entirely sure if she was serious, playful or frightened. And that, he supposed, was the point.
“What sort of person would go trudging into a ring of hungry wolves? Eh? Mister Wolf Food. Mister Please Come Here And Eat Me. Mister I’m Just About Ready To Die.
“Do you want to end up like those people we saw on the plains; chained and digging, digging and chained? Eh? No good will come of this. No good at all.”
***
Sunny was grateful for Hope’s company, despite her bickering. Hope’s presence settled his nerves, imbuing him with the feeling one only tends to experience when in the presence of someone who loves them; a feeling that you are being protected, even when you are not; a warm feeling, that centres on your belly, and inspires the hairs on your arms to stand on end.
The walk was uneventful…
Hope and Sunny took great care not to be spotted. If anything, they were a little too cautious. They did not see another person until they had reached the cultivated land. And yet they acted as though their enemies were all around; tiptoeing forth at the slowest of speeds, ducking for cover whenever they heard a sound.
The sight of another human, inspired them to proceed with even more caution than before. They remained in the trees, wherever possible; crawling behind boulders, and slinking between the few bushes which had survived the Wogies’ onslaught.
They eventually came to a rest, behind an earthy mound on the fringes of the Wogies’ encampment. That place had been erected atop the very same land the Eagle Clan used for their Small Camp. But the huts were completely different; larger, sturdier, with roofs made from layers of something that might have been straw, or reeds, or maybe even bamboo. A few of the walls had been covered in a white substance, which obscured the material behind. Others were made of wood. Sunny supposed it was probably the same wood that had been taken from their ancestral forest.
He was awestruck. The camp was still being built. Most of the huts were half-finished. They only had two or three walls, or walls which were only waist-height, or roofs which did not quite cover the ground. The pathways were uneven. But he could not help himself from admiring the progress which had been made in such a short space of time.
Hope was terrified. She was struck by the overwhelming permanence of it all. People who went to such lengths to construct their huts, might wish to live in them forever.
They remained in that position, mute and motionless; observing the camp, trying hard not to be spotted, and trying harder to dissect the psychedelic sounds which were wafting towards them: These screams, this bleating, and that tapping.
Sunny only broke free from this paralysis when he was distracted by a twinkle of light. He looked downwards and rightwards, in the direction from which that light had appeared; searching so carefully, and so intently, that he was almost certain he had made a mistake. There was nothing there. Then a sunbeam pierced the clouds, and the twinkle reappeared. This time, he was in little doubt. He wriggled forwards in the manner of a lizard, found the object, looked around to see if it was a trap, retrieved the item, and slithered back to Hope.
“Humph!” She scoffed. “It’s junk.”
The item was a tubular shape. One of its ends was open, the other was flat. It was made from the same material as the guns. Only its sides were thinner. It was turning orange, and it felt a little brittle.
“We could drink from this.”
“You’d cut yourself. And anyway, why would we drink from a dirty old thingamajig like that? What’s wrong with our bamboo tubes? What’s wrong with the coconut shells which have always served us well for a million generations?”
Sunny shrugged. He did not see the problem. They could drink this object and those coconut shells. But he did not suppose it was worth an argument.
“Okay… Well, I mean… We could use it for storage. You know, to hold arrowheads and things like that?”
Hope rolled her eyes.
Sunny waited for a response which never came, looked around, and then scampered back to the spot where he had found the can. This time, he discovered a carved stick with hexagonal sides. A grey substance ran through the middle.
He returned to Hope.
