Spenser Phoenix returned from his resting spot to the steaming lakes in the middle of the night. A canine lapped at the water but saw him and darted away. He found that the red cloak absorbed and kept the heat even standing next to the hot water. Sleeping next to the lakes was an option, but a dangerous one. The whole area was a magnate for wildlife, indicated by the myriad of tracks leading to and away.
To fall back asleep, he wrapped the cloak tightly and buried himself in snow, which was deepest on the north side of the rocks. The stars dazzled in a few holes in the gray pall above. That’s the last thing he remembered before opening his eyes to the glow of morning.
He found the prints left by shoes again. They led deeper into the basin. He followed the tracks and realized how out of shape he was. Sure, the apartment had a treadmill, but it wasn’t the same as dropping from ledges, climbing, and walking in snow or on ice.
The sun sped to its zenith, and still, he followed the tracks. They led him over a shoulder of bare land and down into ravines. It was while he considered whether water still flowed here when he saw a situation ahead.
Ten short, stocky people with spears walked on a flat between eroded land. They were heading for an ambush. Figures lay prone in the snow, and others huddled on a ledge above with a pile of rocks, ready to hurl them down on the unsuspecting group.
Spenser wasn’t close enough to stop the stone tossers but could reach the flat if he ran. He flipped the switch on the lightning staff, and it buzzed to life. His legs protested and burned, and he swore he could feel every muscle individually because of their soreness.
Those in ambush popped up, startled by a man running from nowhere, and those on the flat formed a ring with their stone-tipped spears bristling. They skewered the first to charge them. Blood fountained from the wound, and the victim cried out.
Spenser nearly stumbled, and he wondered what the hell he was doing. He wasn’t a warrior. These were cavemen, shelf-browed brutes who lived and died by the spear. He pushed buttons for a living. It may be that that was all a facade, but that’s all he did. He had no business charging into battle.
Two Neanderthals faced him, and they were so lean and muscular that he felt like a dog facing off against a grizzly. Scratch that—two grizzlies. But the analogy wasn’t perfect. He was taller, and most importantly, his choice of weapon was superior.
Forks of plasma erupted from his staff and smote the caveman. The skin of the victim looked like burnt paper along a zigzag of torn flesh. But under the blackened skin, red blood seemed impossibly vivid.
Spenser thought he’d be sick. He’d just killed, which he’d done before when he ended the Admin’s life, but this was organic; this death was messy.
Luckily, the other ran away in terror.
That’s all it took to end the ambush. The one he took out and two others reddened the snow. The rest fled uphill, scurrying up ledges. Those who still palmed rocks decided not to throw and instead turned and fled with their squad.
The ten approached, and they lay down their spears and prostrated. One said, “Hindra!”
Spenser held up his hands. “No, I know what comes next. You’re going to make me your god, roast me on a spit, and eat me. No thanks.”
The caveman approached, gray specs in his curly, dark hair that fuzzed his cheeks and head and ran down his thick neck. His visage looked extra curious with the tucked chin of his kind. He stared at Spenser dumbly. “What? No, no, we don’t consume the flesh of man. You must not know us, but we know you. You are Hindra, the antigod.”
“You speak the common tongue?”
“Yes, if that’s what it’s called. They gave us books. They gave us lies. Follow.”
Spenser looked back at the smoldering body he’d left on the ground. He was in deep now. Follow? It had seemed like a good idea to search for others, but now that he’d found them, he had reservations. They were sinewy, wild men with an odd look in their eyes. They were wide eyes that seemed to hold no emotion, just open and constantly moving, searching, and rarely making eye contact. Were they men or animals, or somewhere between? Or was this simply what it meant to live in constant danger? And to be attentive to any opportunity, like the movement of a rabbit or bird. Yes, that’s what he thought it was. They were of a completely different mindset.
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The men began to march on crude leather shoes, and the one turned back and reiterated. “Follow.”
They led him deeper into the basin, and the ground became grassy and moist. The temperature may even be above freezing.
Eventually, they reached a village nestled in a narrow canyon. Wood walkways formed switchbacks that reached top to bottom. Tunneled earth on the sides formed five levels of shelters with fur doorway hangings. At the bottom, water ran over smooth stones and mud. They led him into one of the shelters, and thick smoke hung in the air, for there was no chimney. The smoke collected at the ceiling and crept out of the shelter opening.
A face of lines interrupted by a thick scar from forehead to cheek appeared. It was the leathery face of an old Neanderthal man, and with missing teeth from an already receded chin, he looked comical. He listened to Spenser’s escorts and bobbed his head. “Sit.”
The man beside him indicated with his hand. “This is the chief. Join”
Spenser bent at the knees and laid the staff down flat. Then he sat cross-legged. “Chief, can I ask a favor? May I see your language books?”
The chief nodded and moved his fingers to a youth, who scampered away. “You have a strange look and a strange voice. But what do I expect from Hindra? Now, can you tell me your plan?”
Spenser kept his gaze on the fire and watched a new log drop and throw embers. He didn’t know how much eye contact was too much because they used it sparingly. And he needed to think of what to say and not say it too fast. They were slow speaking and patient. That was difficult because his mind raced. He wanted to blurt it all out, but it would likely be incomprehensible to the chief. “I am part of a group. I wish to bring them to safety.”
“Often, there’s a rift between our wants and our destiny. You are the antigod.”
“So I’ve heard. But what does it mean?”
“He will wield lightning and come as a figure as red as blood. This is the prophecy of the Hig, the first to rise.”
“This cloak and this staff are not mine. I borrowed them.”
“You killed a metal man to get them, didn’t you? That’s proof enough that you are Hindra. Barrow means different things to us. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Spenser fell silent. The youth returned with a book and tried to give it to the chief, who merely glanced his way, and the youth put it into his hands. It was old, probably a hundred years old. And it said it was the official language of the World Government. “What is this, a hundred years old?”
The chief said, “No, twice that. The original has been lost.”
Spenser stopped himself short of asking further questions. If this was a two-hundred-year-old copy, who knew how old the original was? It didn’t matter; whatever government this belonged to was long gone. He leafed through a few pages, and it was a similar dictionary as he was used to. But he never learned of any such origin. His world had layers of deception, and he guessed he’d barely if at all, uncovered the truth.
The chief watched him shut the book. “We have others, but they are not much use. Now, I will see you are fed. Most important, you must meet Ado.”
The chief was good to his word, and soon fire roasted meet dribbled juice down Spenser's chin. It tasted better than anything he’d ever put in his mouth. He’d had powdered meat before, but it was nothing in comparison. Perhaps it was the appetite he’d worked up from the long trek on an empty stomach. Regardless, he spent twenty minutes in heaven.
The food became a social gathering. The young Neanderthals didn’t look too different from regular people. They seemed to get heavier-boned faces with age. And their skin wasn’t as rough and scared as the older adults.
Dimness came early to the canyon village. Firelight painted the community, and smoke drifted up the cliff walls passed those standing sentinel at the top. Soon, the first starry sky he’d ever seen in person overtook the heavens. The figures above turned black silhouettes against the milk of the galaxy.
He became aware of a trio of young cavewomen looking at him, and one gave a small wave. Now, that was uncomfortable in more ways than one. Thankfully, the chief reappeared to bring the person he wanted to introduce.
The chief said, “This is Ado.”
Ado had a red glowing eye from a face plate on one half of his face. And a missing hand, and in its place, a metal stump encased most of his forearm. The man had been modified by the robots. “Hindra. I am the one who knows the gods the best. I wish to guide you. I wish to remain by your side until the thing is done.”
“What is the thing to be done?”
“Above us, above the metal men, are the gods. They have cities in the clouded mountaintops. They created us to watch us die. When they fall, the thing is done.”
“You think they gave you mortality out of cruelty?”
“No, not mortality. They fight us for amusement. They pit creature against creature, natural and unnatural, and when blood paints the sand, they laugh and cheer.”
Spenser didn’t know what to make of this man or his background. “Where are they?”
“Everywhere, but nearest to us, the forested south.”
Spenser could use a guide southward; this man knew far more than he did. The climate was bound to be warmer and more hospitable. And perhaps more of his kind, modern humans, were held there. They needed to be free. All of them needed to be free or face extinction.