After the Great War with the humans, those of us that survived, hid in the mountains. I remember my gran saying, "Boyo, them humans can slay us as easy as skinning a yak. Never let their looks deceive you." I didn't doubt her.She knew what she was talking about. Grandpa had fallen in the war, just like her two children.
Her words served me well, and return to haunt me, now at the twilightof my life.
When we were kids, I remember being hungry all the time. It is the human's curse, the saying went. For feeding on their flesh. We suffered, but it wasn't like anyone else in the tribe had a full meal. Mountain goats and yaks were all we had. In the summertime, the Dahl lake unfroze, and the entire tribe went fishing. The taste of raw warm fish blood still lingers on my tongue. Ah, for another sip!
Slowly we built a better life for our race. We learnt to breed animals and fish. We learnt to channel water, preserve dried meat for the winters. And throughout all this, we stayed away from the humans. Ever careful, ever fearful. And we built a world our parents would be proud of.
Our children did not know our pains. My son Haruk ate a full fish on Solstice Day. I wondered what gran would have thought. When we were kids, that would be our ration for a week.
But then again, we'd been a family of five. When Haruk was two years into marriage, there were 15 of us in the cave. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Some of us did. "Noone should parent more than 1 child", I remember Satya saying, to loud jeers. He stayed silent after that.
One by one, my mateys all passed away, as I watched our dreams crumble around us.
Suddenly, there wasn't food for everyone in the tribe. It felt like I was back in the childhood days. Only there was something different in the air this time. In our days, when there was no food, if someone managed to catch a single fish, the blood of that fish would be shared amongst the tribe, every man woman and child. Even if it meant all we got was a drop. Now I saw yaks getting stolen.
One night, at a council meeting, Jai spoke up. She and her folks had been sneaking away down into the valley. "There's meat down there,'' she said. Herds of meat. Human. I was scandalized.
"Don't you remember the war?" I said. "It's forbidden to go down there, you're risking the entire tribe."
"We'll starve if we don't." She said obstinately. "What’s your plan for the winter?"
"Share what little we have." I had said, and adjourned the meeting.
I should have done more to dissuade them, should have known that they wouldn't listen, but I'm an old man. I mistook that the terror of humans would hold them back. But they didn't share my terror. Their parents hadn't brought them up with stories of grisly deaths of relatives.
Last week, when I went out for my evening walk, my blood froze. Jai and her folks were carrying a dead human. "It was frightened of us, more than we were of it, " she announced, "and rightly so". " kept yelling - Zombie, Zombie!" Jai laughed.
I looked at the dead creature with fascination. It the same size as us, but with pailfuls of juicy meat lining its skin. It did look harmless.
Was it this very creature, our ancestor, who had wiped out half our race at birth?
That night, there was a feast. For once, everyone shared. The most delicious meat I ever tasted, filled my stomach. Warm blood slaked my thirst. I even shared the liver with Jai. She had saved our tribe.
At the time of the war, we had been newborns, I reasoned with myself. We didn't know how to build caves, communicate with drums, or breed animals. This time we were better prepared. I conveniently forgot gran's tales of fire raining from the sky.
Yesterday, Jai left with her folks again. I didn't stop them. The taste of meat had silenced my better judgment. She returned alone.
When I entered the cave, her eyes were red with tears and anger. "They were waiting." Her teeth clenched with anger as she spoke. "With fire." She plucked out a tiny stone from her skull. "Stupid sons of fishes. They'll feel the wrath of the tribe. Boyo, prepare for war."
I looked at this fierce young woman, her eyes flashing, lips drawn tight. And suddenly, I felt very old. Fire raining from the sky.
"War?" I said. "You do not yet know war. You’re the child who has tasted the first autumn frost and called it winter."
I do not know if we will survive the days to come. Half forgotten stories gran told me, now haunt my dreams. I keep thinking, we had two hundred years to develop, but so did the humans. If they could rain fire then, what can they do now?
That's why I write this, engraving it on the walls of my cave. Dear reader, I don't know who you are, but I hope you're a descendant of the tribe. If you're not, dear stranger, remember that we existed, that we lived, and we loved. Pray to your gods for us.
nilupagla t1_iy5sz0y wrote
Reply to [WP]"War? You do not yet know war. You are a child who has tasted their first autumn frost and called it winter." by Melkain
After the Great War with the humans, those of us that survived, hid in the mountains. I remember my gran saying, "Boyo, them humans can slay us as easy as skinning a yak. Never let their looks deceive you." I didn't doubt her.She knew what she was talking about. Grandpa had fallen in the war, just like her two children.
Her words served me well, and return to haunt me, now at the twilightof my life.
When we were kids, I remember being hungry all the time. It is the human's curse, the saying went. For feeding on their flesh. We suffered, but it wasn't like anyone else in the tribe had a full meal. Mountain goats and yaks were all we had. In the summertime, the Dahl lake unfroze, and the entire tribe went fishing. The taste of raw warm fish blood still lingers on my tongue. Ah, for another sip!
Slowly we built a better life for our race. We learnt to breed animals and fish. We learnt to channel water, preserve dried meat for the winters. And throughout all this, we stayed away from the humans. Ever careful, ever fearful. And we built a world our parents would be proud of.
Our children did not know our pains. My son Haruk ate a full fish on Solstice Day. I wondered what gran would have thought. When we were kids, that would be our ration for a week.
But then again, we'd been a family of five. When Haruk was two years into marriage, there were 15 of us in the cave. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Some of us did. "Noone should parent more than 1 child", I remember Satya saying, to loud jeers. He stayed silent after that.
One by one, my mateys all passed away, as I watched our dreams crumble around us.
Suddenly, there wasn't food for everyone in the tribe. It felt like I was back in the childhood days. Only there was something different in the air this time. In our days, when there was no food, if someone managed to catch a single fish, the blood of that fish would be shared amongst the tribe, every man woman and child. Even if it meant all we got was a drop. Now I saw yaks getting stolen.
One night, at a council meeting, Jai spoke up. She and her folks had been sneaking away down into the valley. "There's meat down there,'' she said. Herds of meat. Human. I was scandalized.
"Don't you remember the war?" I said. "It's forbidden to go down there, you're risking the entire tribe." "We'll starve if we don't." She said obstinately. "What’s your plan for the winter?"
"Share what little we have." I had said, and adjourned the meeting.
I should have done more to dissuade them, should have known that they wouldn't listen, but I'm an old man. I mistook that the terror of humans would hold them back. But they didn't share my terror. Their parents hadn't brought them up with stories of grisly deaths of relatives.
Last week, when I went out for my evening walk, my blood froze. Jai and her folks were carrying a dead human. "It was frightened of us, more than we were of it, " she announced, "and rightly so". " kept yelling - Zombie, Zombie!" Jai laughed.
I looked at the dead creature with fascination. It the same size as us, but with pailfuls of juicy meat lining its skin. It did look harmless.
Was it this very creature, our ancestor, who had wiped out half our race at birth?
That night, there was a feast. For once, everyone shared. The most delicious meat I ever tasted, filled my stomach. Warm blood slaked my thirst. I even shared the liver with Jai. She had saved our tribe.
At the time of the war, we had been newborns, I reasoned with myself. We didn't know how to build caves, communicate with drums, or breed animals. This time we were better prepared. I conveniently forgot gran's tales of fire raining from the sky.
Yesterday, Jai left with her folks again. I didn't stop them. The taste of meat had silenced my better judgment. She returned alone.
When I entered the cave, her eyes were red with tears and anger. "They were waiting." Her teeth clenched with anger as she spoke. "With fire." She plucked out a tiny stone from her skull. "Stupid sons of fishes. They'll feel the wrath of the tribe. Boyo, prepare for war."
I looked at this fierce young woman, her eyes flashing, lips drawn tight. And suddenly, I felt very old. Fire raining from the sky.
"War?" I said. "You do not yet know war. You’re the child who has tasted the first autumn frost and called it winter."
I do not know if we will survive the days to come. Half forgotten stories gran told me, now haunt my dreams. I keep thinking, we had two hundred years to develop, but so did the humans. If they could rain fire then, what can they do now?
That's why I write this, engraving it on the walls of my cave. Dear reader, I don't know who you are, but I hope you're a descendant of the tribe. If you're not, dear stranger, remember that we existed, that we lived, and we loved. Pray to your gods for us.