Fire

Spread the love

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Inspired by the novel Quest for Fire. Copyright off. Translated from French with Google and CS and AI for syntax restructuring.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living persons’ places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

Part One

The Demise of Fire

The Clan hurriedly escaped through the treacherous night. Overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion, they felt defeated in the face of catastrophe: the Fire had perished. They had diligently tended to the glowing embers within three enclosures ever since the Fire had initially brought the Clan together as a community. The Fire had united them with its comforting warmth and safeguarding presence. Vigilantly, four women and two warriors nourished the flickering flames day and night.

Even during the bleakest moments, they cherished the flame, providing it with whatever it required to sustain itself. They shielded it from harsh downpours, sheltered it from violent storms, elevated it above the floodwaters, and cradled it while crossing rivers and swamps. The Fire never let them down. In the morning, it sported a blue tail, transforming into a crimson streak as the encompassing darkness of night descended upon them. Its enchantment repelled the black lion and the yellow lion, the cave bear and the gray bear, the mammoth, the tiger, and the leopard—its fiery jaws defended them against a vast and perilous world. All happiness emanated from its comforting heat. It carried the aroma of sizzling meat, hardened the tips of spears, and fractured solid stones. Its lively flames exuded a delightful warmth. It provided solace to the fearful horde amidst the foreboding forests, across the boundless savannah, and within the deepest recesses of dank and dripping caverns. It was the Father, the Guardian, the Savior—yet it possessed a ferocity and terror greater than even the mammoths when it escaped its confines and voraciously consumed the trees, ravenous and roaring!

And now, it lay lifeless—the Fire extinguished! The adversary had demolished two enclosures—and the third, while fleeing from the chaos, began to weaken and smolder . . . to fade, to struggle for breath, to perish. So feeble now, it could not be revived even by the thinnest strands of marsh grass. Its feeble heartbeat throbbed like an ailing creature. Eventually, it transformed into a reddish insect, its eyes losing their luster with each breath . . . Then, it turned black and cold . . . And the Clan fled without their belongings into the autumn night. The sky was devoid of stars. The dense clouds touched the leaden waters. The underbrush was damp and prickly. The rustling of reptiles could be heard in the fallen leaves . . .

In their disorganized escape, fear blinded and confused them—they collided with low-hanging branches and stumbled over boulders concealed by grass. Some of the weakest members of the horde sank into the quicksand and were lost. Struggling in the darkness, guided by instinct’s voice, the scattered Clan made their way towards the familiar elevated terrain, occasionally crossing streams and sandbars.

This path had been known for three generations, but it could only be traversed with the aid of the stars. As the first light of dawn emerged, they approached the savannah. A faint glimmer of light seeped through the mosaic of clouds. The wind ruffled the muddy waters and swayed the algae that coated the oily surface. Crocodiles drifted lazily among the reeds and water lilies with gentle tail swishes. A startled heron took flight from the shallows and settled on a bare branch. Beyond the tree, the shimmering grasses of the savanna came into view. The mist that clung to the grassy ravines was tinged red by the fiery sunrise.

The men rose to their feet, finding some solace in the sight of the swaying grain. Gradually, they left the reeds behind and entered a vast expanse of grassland, where the ground was more stable. With the fear of death subsiding, many of them collapsed in relief, their bodies weary and motionless. However, the women remained upright and restless, their anxiety unyielding. The mothers who had lost their children in the swamp cried out like wolves, their grief echoing through the air. All of them felt the heavy toll they had paid for their pursuit of freedom. Some, having saved their little ones, lifted them towards the sky in gratitude.

Druark, the Chief of the Clan, stood under the gentle morning light, meticulously counting his tribe using his fingers and twigs. Each branch represented the fingers of both his hands. His counting was flawed, but he could still discern that there were four branches of warriors, more than six branches of women, approximately three branches of children, and a few elderly men who had miraculously survived the arduous journey.

Old Tet, who possessed superior counting skills, declared that only one in every five men had survived, one in every three women, and only a handful of children remained. As Old Tet walked among them, touching each person’s shoulder, the magnitude of the catastrophe became apparent. Their numbers had been drastically reduced, and they realized that the future of their descendants was now at the mercy of a formidable world. From this point forward, they would wander the earth, feeble and vulnerable.

Despite his newfound strength, Druark was filled with despair. He had lost faith in his powerful shoulders and massive arms. His face, covered in thick hair, was marked with distress, and his eyes, resembling those of a leopard, showed overwhelming fatigue. He examined the wounds inflicted by the enemy’s spear and harpoon, then proceeded to lick the blood that continued to flow from his forearm.

Like any defeated man, he reminisced about the moment when he could have vanquished the enemy and emerged victorious. The Clan had launched a ferocious charge, and Druark had crushed numerous skulls with his club. Men were to be annihilated, women were to be taken captive, and the enemy’s Fire was to be extinguished, thus opening up new hunting grounds and securing abundant forests. What had caused the sudden reversal of fortune in the battle? Why had the attack unexpectedly crumbled? Why had the Clan been overcome with terror? Why were their bones breaking instead of their enemies’? Why were their bellies torn open, spilling entrails, instead of their enemies’? Why were their lungs filled with screams of agony instead of triumph? Shame gripped him as the invading enemy destroyed the Sacred Fires and scattered his people. And so, with his chin lowered to his chest, Druark pondered, his thoughts as sluggish as the tarpits behind them. His memories tormented him like a hyena feasting on a still-breathing carcass, gnawing at the remnants of his wounded pride. However, he could not dwell on his defeat and allow it to strip him of his strength, courage, and ferocity. The Clan relied on his unwavering determination.

The arrival of the new day consumed the darkness, bringing warmth to the frozen mud puddles and drying out the vast savannah. The morning’s delight was invigorating, as it danced across the unfurling leaves. The water appeared healthier, less menacing, and no longer murky. As the sun rose, it cast long, shimmering shadows in shades of jade and pearl over the silvery gray-green grass, which glistened with dew drops resembling flakes of mica. The air was filled with the sweet scent of late season buds from the willow and alder trees. The abundance of nature was evident, its beauty unaffected by the Clan’s tragedy. Strands of algae lined the riverbanks, while waterlilies bloomed in the ponds, displaying their hand-sized blossoms in shades of red and white. Thick-stalked marsh euphorbias emerged in scattered clusters, and knee-high iris stretched their rhizomatous roots from the shallow water to the muddy banks. White goose-necked flowers swayed gently in the breeze, while buttercups clung to the moist gravel covered in moss. A vibrant tapestry of sedum, cotton grass, cattails, pink willow, bitter cuckoo, and sundews competed for space in this fertile basin. Countless birds flocked to the crowded reeds, including water hens, black knights, long-fingered wagtails, lapwings, teals, and plovers. Herons observed the chaotic symphony of sound and movement from the russet-colored riverbanks. Startled cranes took flight from a rocky ridge, while in the marshy water, enormous whiskered carp devoured golden-scaled tench. Swarms of dragonflies darted through the air, their green wings sparkling with lazurite as they zig-zagged in the sunlight.

Amidst the serene beauty surrounding him, Druark contemplated the tragic destiny that had befallen his people. The aftermath of the catastrophe had left them in a state of anguish, akin to a tangled nest of vipers coiling around their spirits. Their once pristine skin now bore the marks of yellow sediment, mingled with streaks of blood from their wounds and stained green by the swamp’s algae. The warriors, once formidable, had been reduced to a mere semblance of men—some curled up like slumbering pythons, others sprawled out like mindless crocodiles, and a few weakly murmuring to themselves, as if on the brink of death. Their injuries had already begun to fester, emitting a putrid odor. Horrific gashes marred their abdomens, causing even the slightest movement to be excruciatingly painful. The wounds on their heads were even more grotesque, expanding at the scalp and matting their hair like a sponge soaked in blood. Almost all of them required healing, as they had suffered wounds of varying severity. And let us not forget those who perished in battle or were swallowed by the treacherous quicksand—perhaps they were the fortunate ones…

Turning his sorrowful gaze away from the slumbering figures, Druark shifted his attention to the restless warriors who still harbored the bitter rage of defeat, refusing to succumb to the despondency that had engulfed the others. They were an exceptional group, the cream of the crop within the horde.

Many among them possessed the striking features characteristic of the Clan people. Their faces were handsome, with prominent cheekbones, strong jaws, and sloping skulls. Their skin, resembling the tan hue of a deer rather than the darkness of a panther, exuded a certain allure. Most boasted robust physiques and hairy limbs, while their olfactory senses rivaled those of the animals. Their eyes, at times fierce and at others weary, radiated a captivating beauty in the young and some of the women. The Paleolithic peoples, like the Clan, inhabited a profoundly different world—a world lost to time, forever concealing their youthful secrets. They were the buds of life, their strengths and struggles now left to our imagination.

Druark had finally made up his mind. He lifted his arms towards the sun and let out a long howl, capturing the attention of everyone around him. “What will become of the Clan without the Fire?” he cried out. “How will they survive in the savannah and the forest? Who will protect them from the darkness and the harsh winter winds? They will have to resort to eating raw meat and bitter plants. Their bodies will no longer feel the warmth. The spear’s tip will remain soft. The lion, the saber-toothed beast, the bear, the tiger, and the mighty hyena will devour them alive in the night. Who will possess the Fire? This man, the one who brings the Fire, will be Druark’s brother. He will receive three hunting shares and four parts of the treasure. He will also share Airle, my sister’s daughter. And if I were to perish, he will take on the leadership and guide us.” At that moment, Ghad, the son of the Leopard, stood up and spoke. “Give me two swift-legged warriors, and I will go and retrieve the Fire from the Sons of the Mammoth or the Devourers of Men, who hunt along the banks of the Double-River.” Druark eyed Ghad suspiciously. Ghad was the tallest member of the Clan, still growing in stature. There was no warrior as agile as him, nor anyone with greater endurance. He had even defeated Dongah, whose strength rivaled Druark’s own. Since then, Druark secretly feared Ghad and kept him at a distance. He assigned him unpleasant tasks far away from the tribe, hoping that he would meet his demise and alleviate Druark’s shameful fears of the young warrior’s potential.

Ghad held mixed feelings towards the chief, but he couldn’t help but be captivated by Airle’s presence. She possessed an enigmatic allure, with her tall and flexible figure, and hair resembling delicate foliage. Ghad observed her movements, whether it be amidst the thickets, behind the trees, or concealed within the folds of the earth. Enchanted by her warm complexion and graceful hands, his emotions fluctuated between agitation and tenderness, depending on the circumstances. He struggled to comprehend the depths of his own desires for her.

In his daydreams, Ghad would sometimes envision embracing her slowly and gently, while other times he entertained thoughts of forcefully overpowering her, akin to subduing the females of enemy tribes, and throwing her to the ground with a club. However, these conflicting thoughts remained perplexing and buried within his innermost being. He had no intention of causing her harm in any way. If he were to have her as a partner, he would treat her with kindness, ensuring that no fear would ever turn them into strangers.

Under normal circumstances, Druark would have been unsettled by Ghad’s words, but he was still recovering from the recent disaster. Perhaps forming an alliance with the Leopard’s son would be beneficial, or else he knew that one day he would have to eliminate him. Turning towards the young man, Druark responded:

“Druark has only one thing to say. If you retrieve the Fire, Airle shall be yours, without requiring any dowry in return. You will be Druark’s son.”

He pronounced the decree slowly, accompanied by an air of arrogance and disdain.

Then, he gestured to Airle.

Trembling, she stepped forward, her gaze fierce yet filled with uncertainty. Aware of Ghad’s constant observation amidst the grass and darkness, she dreaded his presence. However, despite her better judgment, there were moments when she felt drawn to him. The conflicting emotions within her mind, like intertwining roots, were a result of the fear of the unknown. On one hand, she wished for Ghad’s demise at the hands of the Devourers of Men, while on the other, she secretly desired his triumph and the return of the Fire. Druark’s rough hand landed on the girl’s shoulder, and with wild pride, he exclaimed: “Among the girls of men, who is better built? She can carry a doe on her shoulder, endure the scorching sun from morning till evening without faltering, withstand hunger and thirst, prepare animal skins, and swim across lakes. She will bear children who are invincible. If Ghad brings back the Fire, he will claim her without requiring axes, horns, shells, or furs!” Then Vorv, the son of the Aurochs, the fattest and most repulsive member of the Clan, interjected with lustful intent: “Vorv desires to conquer the Fire. He will venture across the river with his brothers in search of the enemy’s Fire. He will either perish by the axe, spear, tiger’s tooth, or the giant lion’s claw, or he will return to the Clan with the Fire, without which they are as feeble as deer or saiga.”

Check out Fire Available only from Amazon:

The Clan hurriedly escaped through the treacherous night. Overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion they felt defeated in the face of catastrophe #Prehistoric #HistoricalFiction #WGSweet #Paleolithic #Neanderthal #Denisovans

U.S: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

U.K: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

MX: https://www.amazon.com.mx/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

BR: https://www.amazon.com.br/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

JP: https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B0CZJMD7BN

PL: https://www.amazon.pl/dp/B0CZJGRDL5

Home: https://www.pcgeos.com