Chapter Two

Chapter Two

A Chapter by Mehameha
"

Primitive Culture

"

Flyers crawling on his nose and lips were a poor greeting to Sharak's late awakening. The futile waving of his hands to scatter them confirmed that he had no other options. Even blowing at them produced no improvement. There was a chill in the morning sun. Yet not cold enough to hamper the flyers. Rays of the sun across the blanket on his back felt better than the cool air. But he could tolerate them no more. Throwing off his blanket he crouched by the fire pit. No embers remained. He debated whether to start another or just begin his journey. Something was not right. He felt a presence. Eyes were watching him. From where? He moved his fingers to his knife across his naval.

"You won't need that," the voice shot out.

He rolled and turned to greet his intruder. Laughter rolled out from behind the large elm. He could not see it's source. This one had positioned himself well, The sun blinded his view. So quiet this one was, The crickers never heard him and continued their chant.

"Who's there?" Sharak called out, using a dominance to mask his surprise.

"You don't recognize me? I'm hurt. And a little disappointed."  The figure stepped out blocking the sun from Sharak's eyes. "You are getting better at hiding your movements, Sharak. Yet your snoring betrays you."

"You still stink, Kavik. I was waiting for you to get closer. You're guts are only worth one thrust of my blade. Anymore would disturb my sleep,"  Sharak arrogantly retorted. "Sit over there, downwind."

Kavik trode the dew strown grass resting his long spear against the sitting log. Sharak shook out his blanket placing it beneath him.

"Brother, you should not speak so vainly. There is much you do not know."

"Your words are always wasted, my half-brother. You are like that chicketbird that our father slept with."

"Silence! You and I are going back to Doma. We leave at once!" Kavik demanded.

"I have no desire to go back. They never listen to me," Sharak refuted.

"Many of them still will not hear you. But a few still have ears. The Ugarin took their ears and their tongues. They speak and hear no more!" Kaviks volume increased contrasting his sinking spirit.

"What are you saying?" pleaded Sharak.

"Did those ghouls remove your lobes as well? Or perhaps you lost them on your journey? That is why you are alone. That is why you go scampering off like a dari leaving us to battle the Ugarins. They attacked us one month after you left. We lost a few that time."

"Who?" Sharek demanded

"That's not all, my little nuggut. We defeated them. But they came back with greater numbers. We fought bravely."

"How many?" Sharak begged, "how many are still on this earth?"

Kavik's eyes turned toward the fire pit. He paused swallowing his words. The dead embers which once danced with warmth formed an image of the coldness of those fallen. His eyes began to tear and his throat tightened as his spoke, "Fourteen. That is all. Just fourteen counting you and me."

Sharak's ears could not believe what his brother was telling him. "How? This cannot be?"

"It could have been the entire clan had Soli and a few of the others not been away gathering aiker nuggers that morning," Kavik went on. "Tovik returned from the hunt to bludgeon their ock. The rest of those butchers fled in fear."

Sharak remained silent. His words raced in his mind, yet none took lead to his lips. He rose. Kavik popped to his feet grabbing his long spear. The sun appeared dimmer in Sharak's view. The need for light had diminished along with it. So many were no longer here to feel it's warmth. Could he have saved them? Perhaps there was a reason why he was not there. The spirits play their games leaving no clues. Their ways and reasons never were questions one should contemplate. Doing so would only draw their unwanted wrath.

They walked down the ravine. Then one questioned formed and made it to his lips.

"Yari?"

"She is well." replied Kavik.



© 2016 Mehameha



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Added on July 31, 2016
Last Updated on July 31, 2016
Tags: Primitive, Fiction


Author

Mehameha
Mehameha

Honolulu, HI



About
Classical guitarist, short story writer, woodworker, disabled in wheelchair. Today I return to homelessness. 5/16/17 more..

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