Pitra, 9999-9989 BC [ Completed ]

------------------------------------------------------ - art by Goldenboy



The mesa looked over the valley.

It fell at a sudden Angle directly into a vertical ridge.

Below the precipice - sound. Two voices quietly spoke.

"Where do they come from Grandmother?"

"Everywhere, and nowhere"

"Where are they going?"

"They are not going child... They are coming".

"Coming?"

"Here".

Her thin gray hair was pulled back, tied and twisted into a knot at the back of her skull.

She was old; old beyond the telling, old beyond the knowing of her name. The people of the village could only refer to her as "Grandmother".

Perhaps she was a grandmother. Perhaps there was a time when the pains and joys of motherhood had expressed themselves on the now-leathered lips of the old lady who peered out from the cave beneath the mesa, onto the valley below. If so it had happened before the time of the village of men.

Beside her stood a young woman, dark and pretty. Her brown and almond shaped eyes tilted upwards to observe the hawk as it soared into view from behind and beyond the mesa above their heads - an omen.

The old woman saw it too, and her expression hardened.

"Why do they come here Grandmother?" inquired the young woman, "What do they seek?"

"They do not seek. They flee".

Below the two the cliff fell into a series of terraces carved and scraped into the stone. On each terrace grew grain, and tubers, legumes, and berries. The domesticated birds and rodents of those who lived in the cave behind each terrace clucked, cackled or purred contented in the sun, ignorant of their fate as food for the women who kept them.

At the bottom of the cliff of caves, dust and rock rolled out beyond the gorge into a verdant plain.

It was here they walked.

The thousands. Tired, ragged, hungry and parched. A multitude of pain and tears. Men, women, children bound together and spurred on by the one thing that could bring such a throng to this place - fear.

They walked past the cliff of caves. Single mindedly they made their way to the village of men at the spot below the valley where the two rivers met.

The women watched the people walk by, between and beyond the two cliffs that formed the entrance to the canyon below the cliff of caves.

The scene reminded the young woman of the shadow images Grandmother made appear on the cave wall to entertain the girls.

They walked by slowly and with labor, their feet bound and bleeding. They hunched beaten and tortured as they walked by, determined, but eyes to the ground.

All but one.

He was tall. He towered above the squat, hunched bodies of the brown men that walked alongside him.

His posture was erect and proud.

His skin was tanned from the sun of the long walk. Still, skin so much paler in colouring than that of his companions.

He did not look to the ground ahead of him as did the others. His stare turned directly to the cliff of caves as they passed; a stare of arrogance and purpose. He gazed upwards to the two watching woman in the topmost cave.

He walked, watching, then vanished behind the canyon wall.

"Who was he, Grandmother?"

"One I hoped never to see."

The old woman turned, expression lost in concern. She shuffled inside the cave making her way to a shelve of rock at her eye's view. Reaching up to it she pulled an earthen bowl from the shelf, and peered inside.

Shaking her head she moved to a rock by the fire trough, and sat upon it.

"What frightens you Grandmother? They do not bother us. They do not come here."

The grandmother still gazed into the bowl, and spoke as if talking to it's contents.

"Oh yes. They will come. In times of plenty they will shun us. Shun us as they do the sick and the mad. In times of want though, in times of fear, they will come. They will always come."

"And what will they say?"

"They will say...save us".

***



It was a box canyon. One might enter, but would not exit, except by the path he entered. Many would not exit alive.

The sheep stood tethered by a rawhide strap. It stood at the center of the canyon tied to the gnarled branch of a leafless shrub.

It lifted it's head and gnawed nervously on a bitter branch.

Then...a shuffle from outside the canyon.

The sheep spun with surprising quickness towards the noise, froze and twitched it's black nose upwards into the summer's warm breeze.

A snort...more shuffling. It was large. So large.

Large yet hesitant. Whatever it was pawed about outside the entrance to the box canyon, hesitant to obligate itself to the obvious trap.

With the same quick side-about twirl, the sheep turned to face the rock walls of the canyon, first on one side, then the other. No escape.

It lifted it's head, and bleated in lament of it's fate.

Great padded footsteps approached the canyon entrance. A massive brown shape plodded into view.

The bear raised itself on it's hind legs and sniffed the air, towering above the sheep, like child to a rat.

Booomp. It fell down on all fours and walked with an air of nonchalance over to the sheep, which now frantically fought it's bindings, falling to it's face on the dirt before it, maniacly pawing, pushing forwards from it's back feet.

The bear thumped one enormous, brown paw onto the sheep's back, lowered it's jaw to the sheeps head, swallowing it up inside it's maw, and twisted it's own head, with a violent flip, flinging the sheep sideways, up off it's legs and...crunch.

The sheep kicked, but to no avail. The great jaws of the bear snapped off the sheep's head at the spine.

With the sheep's head in it's mouth the bear lifted it's own impressive head from the now silent and bloody carcass, chewing happily into the sheeps skull, lapping at the air as brain fell from bone onto it's tongue.

"Greetings, Great Brother", called the voice of a human girl from behind him.

To Be Continued

Grasping the pottered mortar with one clawed hand, the old woman mashed the contents with a rock pestle.

"Blossom", she called.

The young woman of pleasing feature scurried inside from the terrace outside where she had been fussing with her herb garden.

She brushed the earth from her smock and hands.

Her hair hung long, black and loose. She offered an awkward smile. Her teeth glistened white in welcome contrast to teeth seen elsewhere about the land.

"Yes Grandmother."

"Climb up. Go to the Rock of Wails. On the shady side you will find the lichens of the golden eye. Bring me some."

"Yes Grandmother."

"They are vain. Sing to them of their beauty."

"Yes Grandmother."

"They must be fresh. Their spirit must be strong."

"Yes..."

"Return with them then send for Pitra."

"Pitra, Grandmother?"

"Yes. Send for her."

"She is with the Hunters to the south. No one will dare...They are afraid."

"Then you must go for her."

"I, Grandmother? But the Hunters are not kind to women alone. Pitra is safe from the touch of men. Her story protects her, but I fear they may try to harm me."

Grandmother dropped the mortar and pestle from her hands. She reached back under the strawy, white hair that tustled over her withered neck, and pulled loose a rawhide necklace. Attached to it was a long black tooth, longer than her hand.

She removed the necklace, and offered it over her shoulder to Blossom behind her.

"Take this. If you are approached tell them the progeny of Varnath will return to deal with those who dare harm the children of the Cliff of Caves."

"But grandmother", said Blossom, "This has power. You need it."

"My power is not in a dragon's tooth", replied the old woman.

Blossom reached out to the necklace, and grasped it.

"Thank you Grandmother. A threat will be better. I did not wish to hurt them."

***




The bear rose once more to it's haunches. It looked down to the girl who stood at the canyon's entrance, and roared. The black lips curled from it's long, tartared teeth. Drool splattered from it's maw as it shook it's gigantic head.

One more such as the girl could have stood on her shoulders, and perhaps one more, yet still the girl at the top would not have looked into the eyes of the enormous bear.

"Come Brother." called the girl, "let us do the dance of death."

She wore a plain and shapeless smock of deer skin. She was tall for a girl of the land. Her skin was tanned with the sun, yet still pale as was the tall man's. Around both wrists small smooth coloured stones dangled from rawhide bindings. They were made by her sister and charmed with the gentle spirits her sister knew to protect the barer from the evils of men.

What you noticed first about the girl was her hair. It was long, disheveled. The colour was white, as white as the fat clouds in the summer sky.

She held a long wooden spear with a flint tip fastened by rawhide to the end. Around her neck she wore a necklace of rawhide, attached to which were the long curved claws of bears.

The bear thumped back down to all fours. It's eyes narrowed and held the gaze of the girl. The ears pinned back. The lip snarled. A deep and dangerous growl began in the bottom of it's throat, and rose upwards gathering in volume as it did.

The girl crouched and tensed, her spear hand stretched outwards from her body. The other arm stretched out in a similar position, making the girl appear in the posture of a crouching bird, about to give flight.

And then...the bear charged !

To be Continued

Light wisps of smoke wafted up like spirits from the fire trough. A breeze from draft holes carved at the cave ceiling caught the smoke as it dissipated above, and was ushered outside, into the dark night air.

Grandmother sat on her rock at the fire's edge, smoking from a gourd pipe, rocking herself, gazing into the glowing embers...listening.

The village elder sat on a stump at the trough's opposite side. He spoke in the quiet conversational drone of the elderly.

At either side of the elder stood two men. One was short and dark as were most men of the land. His features were sharp. His eyes darted about. He twitched and scratched.

The other was the tall, tanned white man. He stood calm with his hands folded in front of him. His gaze did not leave the grandmother's wrinkled visage.

From time to time her large, brown eyes looked up to him and the light within that would not die danced a dance of light for the visitor.

The elder spoke...

"It comes grandmother. The horde. It cannot be stopped. These two men have seen it."

"Hmm" she considered, and took a long puff from the gourd.

"They are evil, grandmother," interupted the sharp featured man, "Evil. They are demons."

"Demons?" she inquired looking up to the tall man, who looked back down and nodded.

"And they cannot be stopped, not by knife or spear." She blew a thin straight line of smoke into the air, as if to follow her comment out the draft.

"They feast upon the blood of men. Is this not true?" inquired the elder of the short man, who nodded vigourously.

"They even eat the children" continued the elder, and the short man continued to nod.

"Enough!" snapped the grandmother. She grasped her walking staff, and shakily attempted to rise. The tall man stepped towards her, bent and helped her to her feet, all in a single, swift, fluid movement.

His hair was brown flecked with gray. His eyes were green and dull.

"But Grandmother", spoke the elder, "What can we do."

Grandmother emptied her pipe into the fire, then tottered over to a rock shelf and placed the pipe upon it. She gazed upon the pipe, and spoke.

"You and the little one there will return to the village. This tall one will remain here with me. You will gather up your people, and those who have come to seek my council. You will take them to the camp by the rocks that sing; the camp before the path above the sea. You remember this place, Father of the village?"

"Yes, yes of course, but Grandmother. It is bewitched"

"Of course it is", replied the grandmother, "I bewitched it."

***





The bear charged. Dust exploded from it's path as it smashed towards the girl.

Pitra lept from her birdlike stance and charged towards it in return. Her step was rapid, her stride long.

She held her flint tipped spear before her. She roared the bear's challenge, "Kreauuuugh".

Muscle rippled under fur. Long claws dug into dust and dirt as the giant beast thumped toward it's prey.

She had a full length of the bear in front of her when she lept. First one naked foot grasped air before her then the other above that, she lept and churned in the air as though climbing an invisible staircase.

The bear skidded to a stop. It fell to it's rear reaching with it's front paws, jaws of brown teeth snapping into the wind.

Pitra soared silently above the massive brown mat of fur and fang. Long, curved claws tickled at the souls of her feet, as she soared overhead. The hot breath of the beast blew upon her ankles, and up her leg.

The two front paws fell to the dirt with twin thuds to puffs of dust. It raised it's rear to rise.

Whooshing above the mid-section of the great beast, Pitra spread her legs in a wishbone posture, and as she did, she grasped the spear in a double handed grip, pointing it downwards.

The arc of her leap dipped downwards, down towards the bears rising haunches.

And there she fell. The flint of the spearhead sliced deep through the thick flesh of hindquarters. Black blood gushed and matted into fur.

It's snout raised skyward, as it mewled in pain.

The spear stuck. The momentum of the leap propelled the girl onward, still gripping the shaft.

Driving deeper into flesh and pulled from the flint the wood splintered and shattered leaving half in haunch, half in Pitra's hands.

She fell in a sitting position, and skidded on bare skin through the dust.

With remarkable speed the bear rose and spun, now facing the sitting girl, lips pulled back, revealing two fangs the length of her hand, created to rip and tear.

And then...Whack! Something the size of a small head hit the wound at the bears tail.

It turned instantly to see a squat muscular little man scurrying behind the rocks.

And then...Whoomp another missile hit the haunch on the other side.

The bear turned again, jerking it's head first to one side, then the other.

More small, dark men, were climbing out from behind the rocks like ants.

They circled cautiously, some pointing spears, some twirling crude single projectile bolos in large circles around their heads.

A stone the size of one of the bear's paws sat in a rawhide net. The net was attached to ten foot lengths of rawhide cord.

The squat men twirled these. They rained blows on the bear from all angles.

Whap. A stone would strike from the rear, then whap, another would strike behind the ear as he turned to face his attacker.

He spun completely and two spears dug into his hindquarrters. He spun again and chased the spear carriers to the rocks where large stones rained down upon him.

Pitra tumbled and bounced to her feet. She ran to the rocks where a spear floated into her hand cast by another hiding there.

She grabbed the spear on the run, and ran to the canyon's entrance.

Halting suddenly by the sheep's carcass the bear backed against the gnarled shrub where the sheep had been bound. It tolerated the blows of stone. It swayed from side to side, daring the spear barers to be careless and approach too close, but none did.

The bear looked for escape.

Pitra stood at the canyon entrance, feet planted astride. She rested the spear outwards from her side.

"Come great brother", she called to the bear, "Ignore these fleas. I will give you glory."

As if understanding the mammoth beast pawed at the ground preparing it's attack.

And then once more the bear charged.

Pitra stood motionless as rock. She watched as claw, fang and fur pounded towards her.

The charge was slower this time. The rear leg was lame. Dark blood blotched the fur. Blood poured down into it's eye yet still it charged.

At the last instant she fell to one knee tilting the spear upwards, towards the throat.

It lifted one great paw for the last time to bat the weapon away, but too late. She thrust the flint deep from under the jaw, through flesh, through brain, and crunching into bone.

The bear fell onto the angled shaft like a gigantic lean-to over the now crushed girl.

One massive paw curled behind the girl's back.

Withdrawing two flint knives in either hand from the cord that bound her smock, she buried them in either eye of the bear above her, then fell back, and listened as to the thump, thump, thump of the bolos as they fell down on the dead beast's skull like dark hail.

Finally the thumping stopped. Three sets of dark dirty hands lifted the head from her torso, and she crawled into the daylight.

She struggled to her feet. Someone grabbed her at the crook of the elbow, and lifted her.

"Mahtaut?" she inquired, knowing only Mahtaut would dare lay hand upon her other than in greeting or console.

"Yes" replied the gravel voice of Mahtaut, leader of the hunters of bear.

"You see?" she inquired once more.

"Yes"

"You see. I have given my brother glory?"

"Yes. But such a small bear."

Pitra smiled. She knew it was not a small bear. She knew that among the skulls bleaching in front of Mahtaut's lodge this would be the largest.

Still this was the way of the hunters. No single member could claim glory before his day. Vanity was a luxury reserved for the day of glory. Until that day all must live as one. None could see himself, or be seen as above the group.

To be told such an obvious lie, was a great honour.

"Yes, yes", said the others crowding about Pitra petting her, squeezing her arms or hands to console her for the misfortune of killing such a small bear.

They were all the height of Pitra to the ears. Their chests were broad, their arms stringy, and matted with hair. They were clad in wrappings of skin and fur. Sweat beaded in their black beards. Their long and greasy black hair glistened in the sun. Inner light twinkled playfully in their nut coloured eyes.

Pitra knelt and looked at the head displayed on the shattered spear shaft. The head that seemed almost in girth the size of the girl's entire crouching body.

"Still" spoke the girl, "There will be enough meat on this bony carcass to offer a feast to the spirit of this Great Brother. We will sing the story of this one's journey to the world of shadows. We will sing the song of his last battle"

"Yes" said Mahtaut, "We will sing."

"And dance." cried another.

"Yes" nodded Pitra, "and dance".

Women did not dance the dance of the hunt around Mahtaut's fire, but Pitra did. She was not seen as man or woman. She was Pitra. Pitra the hunter, the one who lives.

"Pitra" said a woman's quiet voice.

Pitra looked up to the canyon's entrance. Standing there with two of the hunter's women was her sister Blossom. The dragon's tooth of Grandmother dangled below her breast.

With sadness the girl looked back to the bear.

"I am sorry, Great Brother. I must go. We will meet again on the day of glory."

To Be Continued

Steam billowed up from the circular trough rimming the sweat lodge. It undulated up the domed walls of the hide hutch, and dissipated into gray fog.

Sitting on a deerskin hide by the skin flap that provided an entrance to the hutch were two girls of nine or ten in age naked, but with a hide covering draped over both their laps.

Grandmother sat naked on a stump at the far side. Sitting also naked, on another stump next to her, was the tall man.

"What means the name, Martushck?" asked the grandmother, taking a long puff on her pipe then passing it to the man. He too hauled a long draw from the stem.

"It means...to watch", said the tall man finally, "It was given to me by the black man. It was given to me by him, when I myself was given to him by my parents."

"And you stayed with him long."

"Until the birth of the girl."

"He left?"

"He left."

"He taught you much?"

"He taught me much."

"About the girl?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about her".

"She was born under a portent."

"A fire in the sky?"

"How did you kno... It matters not. Yes a fire in the sky and she was born with a caul. Once removed it revealed a full head of hair, hair the colour of flame."

"Power in this one", muttered the old woman.

"Yes" agreed Martushk and took another drag from the pipe, then passed it back to Grandmother.

Martushk continued.

"There was a raid on the village. Many were killed. The girl with the hair of flame, was taken to be sold to a man of knowledge to the east. I followed.

When I arrived it was too late. He lay on the ground dead, killed by a rival who took the girl with her further yet east.

I followed. A sorceress had bought the girl. She lived in a hole entered through a hollow tree. I entered, and found this new owner of the girl laying dead like the owner before her. The rats gnawed at her bones. She saught to take the girls power you see, with a spell."

"The spell killed her?"

"It killed her. Yet the girl lived. An apprentice took the girl once more east to sell her to the eaters of power in the western mountains. I of course followed."

"Again dead?"

"Of course. All dead, but the girl. The girl lived.

The spirits of my masters watched over the girl with the hair of flame.

Such was the story for many, many births and deaths of the moon-mother. The girl was sold. I followed to find the masters dead, and the girl gone - sold once more.

Finally though, I could only wander, having lost the trail, until one day I came to a village you may know called T'ok. It lies to the south. They were in celebration of the harvest. They held a doll of straw in supplication to mother moon. The doll had been given hair the colour of flame."

"Ah joyful you."

"Yes so joyful. The people of the village told me of a girl in a village to the north who's hair had been used to make the hair for the doll."

"But..."

"As they told me the story of the girl, flame scarred the sky. Thunder fell. The earth shook. Flame rose to the north. The people feared. They would speak no more. It was many sleeps before they would tell me the flame had fallen on the village of the girl."

"And you followed."

"I followed to find a land of dust. None could have survived."

"Yet one did".

"This we know now. It was three winters before I began to hear the stories of another girl. A girl with hair white as the high mountain's snow. A girl of great power. But on that day there came the other story from the south."

"The story of the horde."

"Yes."

"What is it you called them?"

"The Turok Han."

"The Turok Han...hmm...and so you did not follow the girl this time."

"I could not. My black master had given me knowledge of creatures such as the Turok Han, knowledge of use to the people of the villages to the south."

"And so you stayed."

I stayed until we fled here, and I began to hear the stories once more of the girl of power, with hair as snow."

"She was brought to us."

"Yes."

"Brought to us to protect."

"Yes."

"And yet you would have us give her to you?"

"No...I would have you give me to her."

"To watch?"

"Yes".

"Because you are Martushck."

"I am Martushck."

"I am called Grandmother, yet many ages ago I was given another name. It means The Guardian.

As you must watch, I must protect. Girls of power are brought to me, and I must protect them. Such is the way.

I too saw the fire in the sky the night you spoke of. I saw it from the mesa above us from beneath the rock of wails. I knew on that night I would receive another child to protect.

She came to me a full cycle of the moon-mother later, a child with hair of white.

The hunters of bear brought her to me. These are men who do not bend easily to fear, yet fear was on their faces as they told me of the child.

They found her in a valley of mist and dust. For a full day's walk they found only bones; bones of the dead. bones of men, bones of deer, bones of fowl, bones even of the mighty bear.

Yet at the bottom of the valley of mist and dust, sat a white haired girl. She sat before a red rock, looking down to it. She stroked it with burned hands like a pet. Her smock of hide hung black and parched.

And they ran down the slope, through the dust to her. They ran calling to each other 'Pitra! Pita!' which means in their tongue 'She lives! She lives'. "

"Yes", nodded Marushck. She lives. She always lives. She is the one who lives."

"And so you would have me give you now to her...to watch. Will you show her the things the black man showed to you?"

"Some of the things."

"And will you show them to me?"

"Some of them."

"I am sorry Martushck. I must see them all."

"I may not show them to you. This was the order of the black man."

"But you do show them to me child of the west. You show them to me as we speak, and as you smoke, and as you breath the mist of my tent."

Martushck looked down into the watered trough surrounding the sweat lodge. He looked deep, and saw now a golden dust. It was the dust from the lichens patterned with golden eyes. He tasted now the bitter after-taste from the grandmother's pipe.

"Witch!" he spat the words and rose swiftly from the stump.

"Girls!" shouted the witch, and the girls at the lodge exit jumped up, raising two hands open palmed to Martuschk. They held the blanket before their tiny naked bodies with the other hands, yet still something was evident to Martushck. The two girls were connected, flesh and bone, at the hip. They were two, yet they were one. Each of the twins held the hide covering with one hand and opened the other hand towards Martushck.

He who's name means "To Watch" fell back to a sitting position on the stump as if pushed. He placed his elbows on his knees and knelt his head of tussled brown hair down to his open palms.

"You will steal her power."

"I will not."

"What will you do then?"

"I will give her more."

To Be Continued

Blossom and Pitra slept on the dusty mesa above the cave. Soft, sweet smoke crawled along the ground from the dying embers of the now untended fires.

The girls charged with tending the fires, had long since returned home to the caves.

Returning home themselves earlier in the evening, the two young women, Pitra and Blossom, discovered an empty cave, and no Grandmother. One of the mothers waited at the cave entrance instead to tell them Grandmother had gone with the stranger and the favoured twins to the place of spirits above the caves.

Blossom and Pitra followed discovering a group of girls feeding dry branches to the fire surrounding the sweat lodge by the tarn. Another group cut paths for rivlets of water from the cirque's tarn to feed a clay cistern below the slope from the lodge with water. The water would be hauled up the slope in skins to fill the trough surrounding the lodge. An older group of women spinkled golden flour into the trough, chanting quietly.

Wordlessly the two travelers had sat by the flap entrance to the skin hutch, and waited for the embrace of sleep. They knew better than to disturb the grandmother when she took guests to commune with her spirits.

They slept.

"Awaken! Awaken!" called the grandmother's raspy voice.

Pitra woke first looking up to see the grizzled shape of Grandmother above her. The dawn's sun rose behind the shape, like the crown of a giant frying egg. It blurred the image of Grandmother. Pitra lifted her arm to shade her eyes.

"Grandmother." said the white haired girl, groggy yet smiling, her freshly wakened eyes squinting in summer's crisp light of morning.

"Waken! Waken! Both of you. Haste! Haste!"

The eye's of Blossom also opened. She lifted her body without comment to a sitting position, and sat head hunched; long, sleep-tussled, hair tangling down to the dust.

"We have much to do girls. Much to do. Arise. Arise."

On command the two girls rose knowing from habit it was best to wordlessly comply when Grandmother commanded in such a tone.

"The time of man ends this day or it endures. How quickly you awake detemines it."

Pitra stood on uncertain legs such as those of a spring fawn. She felt the cold fingers of grandmother dig into her shoulder. Grandmother shook her by the shoulders. The white hair danced about in the northern wind.

Her eyes narrowed. Her lips sneered. The hands balled into fists.

Just as suddenly though, the fists opened once more into palms, and the smile returned.

"Grandmother." she said again, this time smiling broadly, and wide awake.

"You must run now to the cliff of the rock that sings. Climb the rock. At the top you will find a depression filled with straw, and dust. Beneath it you will find a large red stone. It will be strange in appearance to you, but you will know it. It will sing to you. It will be the colour of sun at dusk."

"Yes Grandmother."

"You understand?"

"Yes Grandmother."

"Then go!"

"Yes Grandmother." said Pitra, then spun about and ran swiftly away, across the mesa to the cliff on the far side of plain. She could just make out the gray shape of the monolith that marked the spot she strode toward as she ran.

"Blossom" said the grandmother, quieter in tone now, knowing sternness of command was not so necessary with her obedient apprentice.

"Yes Grandmother."

"I have much to show you. Quickly. Come with me."

With that the old woman set off hobbling towards the hemp ladder entrance to her cave, leaning on her walking stick, as she walked - stark naked.

Blossom watched, shook her head, then ran back inside the sweat lodge, swiftly bundling up Grandmother's hide smock, then rushing back out the flap, and hurrying after the determined old woman who was limping nude across the mesa.

To Be Continued

"People!...My people...Do you know the power of the sea. On this night you must know it. You must feel it, for on this night the sea is our brother."

The people of the land stood spread out along the expanse of beach below the giant monolith known as the Rock that Sings. They felt the spray and smelt the salty odor of the dark ocean behind them. They heard the giant waves crash to the shore.

The People looked to the boulder below the monolith. where stood Blossom with Pitra beside her.

In her simple hide smock, Blossom stood on the boulder speaking outwards to the throng before her. Next to her stood Pitra, spear at her side, she was painted for war.

The black hair and the white hair of the two sisters blew freely in the coastal wind.

Blossom continued to speak...

"Sun the father has withdrawn to the hunt, but we are not alone. Fear not. Moon the mother has returned."

The people turned backwards and looked up to the sky. They saw Blossom spoke the truth. The golden orb shone bright and full in the dusk sky.

"Even now the mother whispers to her son the sea and commands him, 'show us your world good son', offer my other good children passage through it."

The collective heads of the thousands looked down to the sea, and saw once more Blossom spoke the truth. The proxigean might and tractive force of the Moon-Mother pulled the sea from the land beneath it.

"Soon the brother will show us a path. A path to the land beyond. Even now the blanket of our brother Sea pulls from the path.

We will walk this path to the land beyond. Do not fear those behind. They are as dust to the might of the mother and the brother. They draw power only from the dark."

Pitra stood silent, towering above the small, dark, beauty that was her sister. Her sister who spoke little, but when she spoke, all would listen.

Pitra stood silent, legs astride, face painted for war, gripping the long spear, angling it outwards from her side.

She remained silent until silence was all that remained, then lifted her spear and shouted.

"Move now! Move out from the rock that sings. Move to the path; the path that will lead us to the land beyond. Move out to the water."

And the people obeyed. Suddenly all was noise, and clatter, and splashing as the people moved en masse out toward the ocean where Spring tide gradually pulled sea from shore and revealed a path of sand pointing outwards to the sliver of dark shadow that was the land beyond.

Pitra lept from the boulder, then turned and offered her hand upwards to her sister who cautiously descended.

The Two sisters looked up the beach in either direction. To the North a man weeped and wailed of his fate. Others gathered about, saw wisdom in his lament and joined it. Blossom hurried up the beach to the gathering crowd to speak to the them of the other way - the way of escape, and vengence.

To the South Pitra saw another sight. It brought a smile to her face. The hunters of bear had come down from their hills. Even they fled the coming horde of the Turok Han.

Martushck stood by the hunter's pulling on Mahtaut's spear. The smaller Mahtaut pulled at the spear's other end refusing to release his grip. They jabbered angrily at each other neither understanding the other's foreign tongue. The rest of the hairy group watched amused, squatting around the fire.

Pitra, chuckled as she approached the two bickering men, for she understood the words of both.

"No, No" berated Martushck impatiently, "It cannot be. You don't understand. The Turok Han cannot be destroyed with stone. Take the flint from the tip. Sharpen the point of the wood. Harden it in the fire with the salve I will give you. The wood must penetrate through the breast-plate into the heart."

And Mahtaut answered:

"Release the spear of Mahtaut, dog dung of the lowlands or feel it's thrust through your rectum."

Walking up to Mahtaut, Pitra grasped his shoulder and said, "Greetings brother of the bear. It is good you are here. I will need you to help fight the enemy of the land."

She released her grasp and gripped her own spear before her, running her hand up the shaft to the flint tip. Grabbing it in a full fist she snapped it off.

Quickly she dropped the spear head and reached down for the flint knife, strapped in the rawhide cord belting her smock.

She began to sharpen the wooden spear tip then handed both implements to Martushck who released the spear of Mahtaut, took the other spear offered by Pitra, along with the flint, and began to slice slivers of wood from the tip to sharpen to a point.

"Stone will not kill these demons, Martushchk?"

"No."

"But, they can be destroyed?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"To kill the Turok Han you must pierce the heart with wood."

"And that is the only way?"

"Remove it's head from it's body. Burn the body in fire. These will also destroy the Turok Han."

"I will tell them," said Pitra, "They do not understand your words, but are wise in the ways of death. They will watch you and learn."

Pitra rose her arm, and spoke once more this time in the tongue of the hunters of bear.

"Listen...this she-bitch of the West is strange, but he has knowledge. We will learn what he knows of the demons. We will use what he shows us to fight them. Watch well, brothers, and learn."

The hunters rose in unison, then swarmed about Martuschk as he chiselled nervously now at the wooden speartip.

"They will watch you Martuschk. They will learn."

Pitra walked past him and up the beach towards the path to the village.

Coming up the path was a small mis-shapen form.

It was Tam and Ton, the twin sisters who walked as one.

They wore the wide deerskin smock sewed for them by the mothers in the Cliff of Caves.

Their gate was slow and irregular, but steady.

They each grinned mightily to see Pitra advancing towards them.

"Pitra. Pitra. We are here. We have come."

"You were to stay with the mothers, and the Grandmother", answered Pitra sternly.

"Yes, yes" admitted Tam with shame.

"But we have come", interjected Ton cheerily.

"We can help" said Tam.

"We have power", said Ton.

"You have the power to get two red behinds", said Pitra.

"We have news", said Tam.

"News?"

"Yes of the horde. It comes"

"We have seen it", said Ton, brown eyes wide now, and no more mischief in her voice.

"It comes" continued Tam, "We have seen them. They were as sand on this beach. We saw them from the mesa."

The two little heads spoke exitedly peeping up through the twin neck-holes in the single smock.

"They fear father Sun," yammered Ton, "He returned from his hunt and they ran to the rocks and forest hiding from his great light. They hid and they hid."

"And the mothers? And the Grandmother?"

"They did a spell."

"OOH...such a spell. It hid the Cliff of Caves from the demons sight."

"And yet you come here, little fools. I should tie you to that tree for the Turok Han to eat when they arrive."

"But, you will not, sister."

"I will not. Unless you do not do as you are told. Will you?"

"Yes. Yes sister. We can help" added Ton, "We can see them. We can see them even now. They awake. They are coming."

To Be Continued

Two sets of naked little feet slapped across the wet sand.

The moon was full and Bright. Tam looked up to her sister Pitra who held her hand and walked in half-steps alongside her, stabbing her spear butt into the sand as she walked. Ton looked up to her sister Blossom, who held her hand, and walked slowly alongside her.

Summer's evening breeze blew gentle and warm. It smelled of salt.

Smiling pleasantly as they walked along the sand path over the sea to the land beyond, they skipped a bit, or kicked at sand. It was good to walk over the sea with their two sisters.

"They walk too slow. They are too slow. We must carry them." said a petulant Martushk.

The faces of Tam and Ton, screwed into an expression of irritation. Who was this stanger to spoil their wonderful walk.

Within the spirit place in their tiny chests they watched without eyes as the horde advanced towards them - far behind, but advancing quickly.

They did not fear. They saw also from the single place within both their hearts, the people of the land standing safe on the beach of the land beyond.

"They will not be carried." said Pitra, "We have tried in walks past. It would be best if you chose to believe me on this."

"All move past us" said Mahtaut who also walked in half steps to keep pace with the two girls melded together at the hip, "The men, the women, the other children, even the old, and sick."

"This is good", said Blossom, "They must all move past us to the land beyond."

"Wait for us on the Beach!" she called to those who passed. It was a now familiar order. She had given it previously to those who had passed earlier, "You must wait for us when you arrive at the beach."

A long strip of sand crossed the miles between the two dark humps of land, one behind them now; the other ahead. Miles covered now by a long line of ragged men, women and children, stomping steadily forward. Torches blazed along the line in the moonlight. Light from a moon that shone so bright torches were not really needed.

"Some should run ahead," said Mahtaut, "they should prepare more spears, and fires."

"No." said Pitra firmly, and called, "All with me, stop here!"

The small dark warriors of the band of the bear stopped. Some carried bolos, some spears. Men of the village carrying torches and bundles of spears stopped.

Pitra stopped and released the hand of Tam.

Blossom retained her clasp on the hand of Ton, but stopped and turned with the twins to face Pitra.

Turning to the side Pitra looked first up the length of path to the land beyond, then back the path to her home. She squinted her eyes to shield the light, and pentetrate the dark.

"You see?" she said to Martushck.

"The path narrows here", said the man of the west.

"You see?" she said now in the tongue of Mahtaut, and Mahtaut nodded.

"Put down your burden good people", she said to the men of the village toting the bundles.

They did as the white-haired woman commanded, then squatted, or sat in the sand, and wept, for they knew what was to come.

"And this is good?" said Pitra to her sister, half inquiring, half stating the fact.

Blossom did not look up or down the path in either direction. She looked up instead to the night sky, and appeared to be counting the stars.

"Yes..." she said after a while, "This will do."

Pitra squatted down to a crouch on the souls of her feet. She scooped a palmful of sand, and allowed it to fall through her fingers in wet clumps. Mahtaut squatted also and replicated the gesture. The men of the bear fell to the sand in a group and rested to wait.

"You must watch the sky" dictated Blossom, "Do what you must do, but also watch the sky. It will grow dark in the center. When this happens you must turn and run to us. Hear me sister?"

Pitra nodded.

"Of all else you do here tonight, this is the most important. When you see the hole in the sky, you must run to us. Nothing must stop you. There will be light. Run. There will be sound. Run. Many around you will die. Do not stop. Run to the beach of the land beyond. Hear me sister?"

Hesitant now...yet still Pitra nodded.

Her sister had explained the magic must move through her. This must be, or all would die. So said her sister Blossom. She said it, and so it was true. The father sun may not return from his hunt in the morrow. She did not know. She did not trust him. But in the words of her sister she would always trust.

"We will wait too." offered Tim and Ton. "We will watch for the hole in the sky. We will fight the Turok Han."

"Lazy girls", scolded Blossom, "is this your way now? When others gather branches for the fire, do you say 'no we will play'? When the Mothers darn with bone and sinew, do you say, 'we will not help we must sing'? When the spells of power are cast do you say, 'no we will dance'?"

"No sister we do not say these things", answered the two girls looking shyly now down to the ground.

"You will come with me to the beach. You will help me with my spell. You must chant."

"Yes sister. We will chant."

"Come with me then. I will teach you the words."

Blossom turned and headed up the path of sand with the twins in hand, chanting in an indecipherable langue. Phrase by phrase the two girls chanted back. Gradually the little voices trailed off into the night.

Martushck fell to the sand and lay alongside the squatting Pitra and Mahtaut.

Mahtaut directed a series grunts and clicks towards Martushk. Pitra interpreted.

"Will the water kill them?"

"No" answered Martushk "they cannot be killed except by the means I described. They do not fear the water, but they shun it, as you might shun dung."

"But wood through the heart will kill them?"

"Yes, but the blow must be delivered with much force. There is gristle and bone much thicker than that of beasts you know."

Pitra interpreted all. Mahtaut grunted his satisfaction, squeezed a lump of wet sand together and flung it at another of the dark, small men before him, who looked up and smiled.

They watched as the steady throng of tired migrants moved by slowly. They watched until the last straggling group limped past them.

They watched the mass of people roll towards the far dark clump of land, congealing into a diminishing black spot along the path.

And then...All were gone.



People stretched out along the beach of the land beyond; weeping, pained, people, tortured through the ranks by an unrepentant, ceaseless lash of fear.

"Here by the fire." ordered Blossom.

Tim and Ton moved readily to the spot they were directed to by the sister's touch. They sat.

Blossom rose, and reached behind her neck, under the thick black hair. She grasped a length of rawhide cord that encircled her neck, then pulled it up and over her head. Attached was a large deerskin bag. It was full to bursting.

Holding the bag to her breast like a small child, she reached inside, then withdrew a handful of red dust.

"This dust is of the rock that fell from the sky on the day your sister was found", she said to the two small girls sitting attached to each other by the fire.

Light from the flickering flame danced on the two gape-jawed faces of Tam and Ton. They had heard the story of the rock that fell from the sky, and the fire that had turned the red hair of their sister white.

Their sister Pitra was to them as a god, and the stories of her finding more important to them than those of mother-moon. How they wished to be such as she; stronger than the bear, swifter than the deer.

"You also have power", Grandmother had said to them, but to them it was as nothing next to the power of their beautiful white-haired sister.

"You must chant" said Blossom, and the two girls began to chant the strange words they had been taught walking up the path of sand.

Blossom balled her hand into a fist and allowed the dust to sift in a singular red line down to the yellow sand around the fire.

The fist moved deftly this way and that, forming the patterns taught to Blossom by the grandmother.

Chanting, the twins looked out to the ocean, down the path of sand to the spot in the black expanse where they knew their sister and the other warriors waited to battle the monsters.

***

Torches were burnt away to flickering memories. New torches were lit.

Pitra and the men sat or lay along the path from north to south, sea water on either side.

***

On the mesa above the Cliff of Caves, below the Rock of wails Grandmother looked down to the ground at a large red rock. It was strange in mass and design.

She shook a large, painted rattle of gourd.

Before the rock burned a fire higher than the five other women who danced around it.

They danced, careful not to disturb the patterns of red dust surrounding the flame. They danced chanting the chant Blossom and her two sisters chanted far away on the beach of the land beyond.

***

Blossom chanted wildly, passionately. She tossed her head violently to either side and her long hair whipped about in the moonlight.

Tim chanted. Ton chanted. They rose as they did,

And then suddenly, they stopped. They turned, and looked out past the ocean, watching the far shore which no other human eye on the beach could see. Quietly they spoke.

"They're here".

***

Pitra heard it before she saw it. It was as distant thunder, low and rumbling.

She rose and squinted towards the beach. Mahtaut rose. Martushck rose.

"What do you see?" asked Mahtaut, but Pitra did not reply.

She watched the dark hump of land which was once her home. She watched and what she saw she dared not describe.

Mahtaut and Martuschk turned their gaze to spot that had Pitra transfixed.

They watched until even they saw it.

The black began to speckle with white. The speckles became clumps, and the clumps glommed together finally into one long continuous strip of white.

The strip became a mass, and the mass of white slowly moved out onto the path of sand moving steadily towards them."

"Arise!" shouted the white-haired warrior, "Arise!"

To Be Continued

As the advancing froth of a wave broadcasts the power behind it, the white mass moved out onto the path across the sea. The movement seemed slow; rhythmical.

Martuschk stood and watched the white blob advance. He knew the truth of it. He had an image in his mind of the frantic charge that was rushing onto the path at the far beach. He knew of the lust for blood and chaos that fired the engine of the demon mass.

"Do not fear, sad man of the West. You are with me." she soothed "I am Pitra, the one who lives."

Martuschk realized the concern that must have been displaying on his face. He rose to his full height, and reassumed the proud demeanor that was his custom. Looking about he observed the stones and their attached cords at the feet of the men at the front line.

"I do not understand the purpose of these. Stone will not destroy demons such as these."

"Watch", said Pitra, "you will see."

The demon mass had gained full control of the first quarter of the path now. It came closer, and the mass appeared to move faster.

"You must translate for me", said Martushck.

Pitra nodded.

"Men of the bear, remember. First line low. Second line high. Advance, strike, retreat. Next line. Advance, strike, retreat. Next line, and so on.

The spear must pierce the heart. If the blow does not strike true, retreat. Retreat and rely on the advance behind you. On your next advance, strike the spear true."

The men appeared not to listen. Motionless, they stared up the sand path at the advancing white mass. In the light of the full moon it began to gain feature, yet you could not tell yet, of what.

Martushk continued.

"You men of the village in the rear. Have a spear ready for any hand ahead of you that reaches back. Be prepared to hand off your bundle and join the line should one in the line fall ahead of you."

Faster, faster the white mass advanced, and as it did there was sound. It was the sound of a thousand sets of naked feet slapping up wet sand, the sound of a thousand demons rushing through the wind towards them. It was the sound of what it was.

"You torchmen. Hold two. Always hold two. Let your fellow load you. Do not be taken. Do not advance too close. Burn only those that fall, and may be torched. The demons burn well."

Pitra looked up to the sky as her sister had requested. She did not see yet the dark spot in the sky her sister had promised woud appear.

She saw only the great dark, and the mass of stars that embroidered it. She felt the the cool light of the moon-mother behind her, and it was good. How small this all must look to the great mother. Even the white snake of demons that rushed up the path to kill them. How small it all must look. Pitra would be brave for the mother. She would be strong. She would not disappoint the mother.

***

The moon shone down also on the people of the land.

They encircled the fire of the witch and her two flesh-bound sisters. They watched as the sisters hunched their tiny bodies towards the fire, and chanted.

"Oh-h-h-h-hwah! Muhshah. Munshah. Ohwah. Munshah. Munshah. Ohwah. Wuhf!"

As they spoke the last syllable they reached into the pouches of their hide smocks, and each pulled out a handful of red dust. They flung the dust into the fire and flame ignited in a huge burst of white incandescent light tinged red at the outer edges.

"Ai-i-e-e-e" shouted the people of the village, "The witches will destroy us."

"They are evil"

"It is they who summon the demons."

"Kill them! Kill them!"

But Blossom, Tam, and Ton did not hear the cries. They could not. They were enraptured by the spirit.

It was like they gazed into an abyss - an abyss of fire. Sweat beaded and rolled from their dark little faces. Their hair was stringy with wet sweat. The irises of their eyes blazed with inner light. They shouted as they chanted...

"Oh-h-h-h-hwah! Muhshah. Munshah. Ohwah. Munshah. Munshah. Ohwah. Wuhf!"

Again they flung handfuls of the red dust into the fire, but this time the blaze burst even higher. It shot up even above the trees.

The people of the land ceased their advance on the three girls. Instead they fell to the ground and wailed.

Piteous they were for their fates, yet shocked now into acceptance, as is the rabbit when the hawk carries it away.

***

Atop the Mesa, and beneath the Rock that Wails, Grandmother and the mothers encircled their own fire.

Just as Blossom, Tam and Ton hunched towards their fire on the other side of the sea, so too did the grandmother, and the mothers hunch.

So too did the mothers chant. So too did the grandmother The grandmother shook her rattle of gourd and chanted. They spat into the fire as they chanted...

"Oh-h-h-h-hwah! Muhshah. Munshah. Ohwah. Munshah. Munshah. Ohwah. Wuhf!"

Then all threw the red dust into the fire, and the fire lit the mesa beyond the light of day with it's sudden burst of flame.

***

"Pull the wood from the beast when it pierces the heart" Martuschk continued yammering, and Pitra impatiently continued translating. The fire of the coming battle now blazed in her spirit, like the fire of her sisters, ignited by the red dust of her special comet.

"Anything in the heart of the beast when it dies will dissolve." Martuschk droned on. "We will need all our spears."

The men of the bear no longer listened. They watched the horde advance.

They watched the features within the white blob take shape. Gradually in the moonlight they made out the blurred shapes of bodies running towards them.

"Arrakah!" Shouted one of the bolo casters at the front of the line. His gaze was unshakeable from the center of the advancing horde of white shapes.

"Arrakah!" he shouted again, and another beside him also shouted "Arrakah!" then another, and another.

Finally all the the men of the bear waved their weapons towards the horde and shouted, "Arrakah! Arrakah! Arrakah!"

"What do they shout?" inquired Martushck of Pitra.

"It is like...I will urinate on your bones."

Martushck thought deep on this, then lifted his spear into the air, and shouted, "Arrakah! Arrakah!"

Closer. Closer. The horde advanced and as it did the earth shook. The sound was as thunder.

Closer. Closer. A head took shape. Another. Then another. Then hundreds of white heads each with a set of black, lightless eyes and ears pointed like those of the rat that flies.

Closer. Closer. Revealing their full form; naked and white. The manhood of each dangling, and flapping as the creatures charged at full speed in formation towards the small group of men blocking the narrowed path.

The demons were without voice, yet they ran forward with mouths open revealing rows and rows of pointed yellow teeth.

"Arrakah!", shouted Pitra.

To Be Continued

The cord of the bolos on the beach was not of rawhide as was the the cord of the bolos used for killing bear. It was thinner, and lighter weight. It had a different purpose. The stones were smaller. Three were attached to each bolo and the cord was a thin rope of hemp.

Wordlessly the bolo casters of the frontline crouched and retrieved their weapons.

They rose spinning cord and stone above their heads faster, faster, as closer and closer rushed the demon horde of the Turok Han.

No fear on the faces of monsters. If anything there was only mirth. These tiny whirling stones were to them no more worrisome than rain.

Pitra raised her two spears above her head. She backed up two steps, then three as the arcs of the bolos widened. She backed up and all stepped backwards with her along the secondary line.

Blood now filled the nostrils of the Turok Han. They smelled the hot and salty blood of man. The vampires rushed to feast.

"Ayah!" shouted the center bolo caster, and they all fell to one knee. Each knee struck to the sand and at the moment it did, a bolo was let fly.

They whirred through the air, each stone spreading outwards from the other, but the trajectory of each complete three-stone projectile whizzing straight and true to it's target - the ankles of the Turok Han .

And they fell. The entire front hundred Turok Han that crowded the sand, rushing though the narrowed path. They tumbled, one overtop the other. They fell and rolled, or fell and were pinned by the one behind who was pinned in turn by the one behind him.

The hunters had seen this all before. This was the way of killing for the ungulate herds. Push them though the narrow canyon, then cripple the front runners.

The terrible rush of the Turok Han to acquire and kill was it's own downfall. The front line of the horde halted, and all that ran up against it, fell or were jammed there. Eventually the entire line-up of Turok Han from the narrows to the beach came to an almost comical halt.

"Kreaugh!" screamed Pitra and she fell upon the white shapes that awkwardly attempted to scramble free of the pile-up.

The first line of spear carriers followed her at a run, hollering their own battle cries, thrusting out crazily with their spears at the white blurs of demons.

And there was Martushk. He had learned a word that luckily appeared to apply to any situation, and communicate in any language.

"Arrakah", he called as he smacked a less than accurate spear thruster behind the ear, then pointed accompanied by a stern "Arrakah", for the offender to stand behind him as he personally instructed through example the proper detail, and ettiquette necessary in the staking of vampires.

The vampire disintegrated to dust. Martuschk turned back to his student and with smug satisfaction said, "Arrakah", smacking him once more for good measure.

The student nodded. In matters of killing, he was willing to learn.

Up and down the beach the hunters of bear, and the people of the land were learning the education of the slaying of vampires.

One thrust would miss the heart. The second one would strike true.

Quickly they learned the truth of Martuschk's words when he told them gristle and bone was tough on these beasts.

The people learned to plant their feet firmly and thrust with full and accurate force.

Even so one might come upon one of the creatures scrambling up from all fours to regain it's footing. One might strike the demon straight and true through the heart. The demon might turn to dust, and that was when the striker of the blow would learn the truth of Martush's words, "Anything in the heart of the beast when it dies will dissolve."

That was a mistake the warriors would not make twice. Standing on the beach without weapon was the swiftest of educational methods.

In spite of all efforts however Martuschk could not organize the free roaming hunters of the hills into disciplined lines. They charged madly about on the beach, screaming and stabbing with the ferocity, and the pig stupid courage of the boar.

Mahtaut saw the wisdom of the watcher's words however. He followed him in stride listening and learning.

When Martushck stopped, Mahtaut stopped. When Martushck looked up, Mahtaut looked up.

Looking up then, they both saw what they saw at the same time.

The pile of vampires at the front no longer squirmed creating chaos behind it. The pile fell quiet and still. The entire rank of the Turok Han in the rear had stilled. With one mind it was beginning to think.

From behind the pile, naked white demons where climbing up and crawling over. At the sides of the path Turok Han were wading into the ocean and walking past to encircle the humans.

"Look out Pitra!" cried Martushck and Mahtaut in two languages, but in unison.

They pointed to the top of the pile where three at once stalked and crouched to pounce on the girl.

She looked up just as all three flew through the air towards her.

Falling to a crouch and split, she lifted both her spears catching each vampire through the heart as it soared over head.

The third fell to her side, but Martuschk, and Mahtaut were on it instantly, thrusting twin spear points through the creature's tiny gristle of heart.

Pitra snapped back to her feet like a spring, and called to the far rear of her troops.

"Bosk" she called, pulling twin stakes from her cord belt, and using one to point out into the ocean to the wading Turok Han, then the other to point to the other side of the path.

Two groups of five hirsute shapes walked out to either side of the path and waded into the ocean.

These were the squat muscular hunters who had used the large-rock bolos to crush the skull of Pitra's giant bear.

They carried those same deadly weapons with them into the dark ocean. One could hear the whooshing of the stones out there, the slapping of flesh and the crushing of bone.

"Back! Back!" called Mahtaut, using his spear to indicate a cautious, and partial retreat.

"Arrakah", shouted Martushck, "pointing behind the line with his wooden stake."

Slowly the line of hunters reformed, and backed steadily up.

All but Pitra. Pitra who was everywhere, and nowhere, flitting in, stabbing, thrusting, then a vanishing blur from a cloud of vampire dust.

The Turok Han crawled steadily over or around the pile-up of their fellows. There was no stopping them. There were too many. They were of too determined a mind.

Finally even Pitra stopped the killing, and backed up towards her companions, looking forward at her foe with a wooden stake in either hand.

"Bosk!" she called out into the ocean to her side as she edged backwards.

A thick husky voice from a dark shape replied. Splashing out in the ocean the shape replied, "Yes."

"Have you tired of this fight already? Why do I not hear the bolos?"

"It is not our choice Pitra. They are gone. The bottom falls to a steep slope." And then the voice began to laugh. It was joined by the crowd of them out in the dark.

"Are you mad from your fear fools?" she spoke as she backed steadily up pointing her two wooden stakes at the foe ahead of her that stalked slyly towards her.

"No Pitra. There is nothing to fear. You see...They cannot swim."

To the rear Pitra heard the nervous laughter of the villagers.

"Come forward brave torchmen" she yelled behind.

The laughter stopped, but none came forward. Then there was a series thick thuds as the sound that might be made by the palm of a large hand striking the backs of several skulls was heard.

The admonition, "Arakah" filled the air to the rear, and five torchmen stumbled forward.

Pitra stepped behing the line of spearmen. They stepped forward pushing the Turok Han back.

"Come with me" said the warrior woman, grabbing two torch toting villagers, and postitioning them between spear carriers. Spears and torches were thrust forward. More torches were pushed to the forward line, and found a spot there.

A careless Turok Han stepped too close. A spear sliced through the leathery flesh of the knee, and the beast fell forward. Two torches met it to the chin and chest as it descended. Surprisingly the creature got fire.

Why had she not listened to Martuschk she thought. He had told her the creatures caught easily ablaze. She knew now too late what she should have done. She should have lit the pile-up of Turok Han afire.

Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps they could some how push the line back the thirty feet to the pile-up that had not yet cleared.

"Attack" she cried, and with a torch in one hand and spear in the other she charged.

The men pushed back as best they could, but the line of vampire beasts would not be moved. For one turned to dust, or caught aflame, two more appeared to take it's place.

The two lines moved back and forth, back and forth, then a new danger showed it's face.

The Turok Han did not weary. The men did. Slowly the men were gradually being pushed backwards up the path towards the beach of the land beyond.

And as they were pushed back up the narrow path the space of sand got wider. Soon the line of men would be spread too thin to stop gaps of space forming between itself. The vampires would slip easily between the cracks in the line and encircle them

Pitra was up and down the line swiftly, pushing back where it weakened and buckled; pushing the demons back there, then moving to another spot in the moonlight where the line falltered.

Still it was hopeless. The men could not protect the path much longer.

***

The head of Blossom snapped suddenly, violenty backwards. The once beautiful face, now maddened with dark magic, and soaked in sweat, jerked upwards to address the sky.

Her eyes rolled backwards into her skull leaving only the whites showing.

Then Tam. Then Ton. All three witches; women and child, encircled the fire yet tilted their heads upwards to the stars.

Without warning a sudden, copious, and complictated burst of strange and varied language poured from the mouths of the three.

***

Around the fire atop the mesa it was the same. Eyes rolled back into the heads of the mothers. They appeared to look skyward. They also recited the same litany; the same garble of the unknown tongue.

Only the grandmother did not speak the words. She gazed instead, deep into the fire, and quietly chanted her own personal chant.

She chanted until she fell unconscious to the dirt."

***

Ferociously, wind stormed up the path above the sea. It roared as it rushed. Even above such a sound though, there was another.

It came from above, and could only be described as all the collective, horrific cries of all the demon realms.

Pitra looked up, as did Martuschk and Mahtaut.

A spinning circle of blackest black was forming in the center of the sky.

To Be Continued

The black disk span and hummed. The sky screamed.

Fighting ceased on the path to the beach, as all involved looked upwards in one shared movement.

"Run!" shouted Martushck to Pitra, in an attempt to be heard above the din, "We must run. This was the instruction of your sister".

But Pitra did not run. She could not. She looked upwards to the spinning black singularity in space. She rocked back and forth, swaying her head to and fro - humming.

Martushk felt the the hand of Mahtaut pulling him back from the woman by the arm.

"Look." he said in the lanquage of the bear clan.

The man of the west did not understand, yet he turned to the direction where Mahtaut pointed with his spear.

In almost mock imitation of Pitra, each and every demon of the horde, swayed his naked white body just as the girl did.

The Turok Han were transfixed by the happening in the sky.

Whatever it was had no effect on the humans that guarded the path. They looked about in wonder, and puzzled with themselves as to whether they should attack the distracted beasts, or run for the protection of the beach.

"Pitra" called out both Martushck and Mahtaut. They reached out for either shoulder of the white-haired woman to shake her to reality.

And as they touched the skin of her shoulders, an odd thing happened. Their arms and hands faded into shadow. To touch her gave an instantaneous sensation of freezing.

Quickly they withdrew their hands, stepping back and looking up.

What could only be described as a beam of black light, extended from the spinning disk in the sky, to the white-haired girl on the beach.

The black shadow engulfed her, and continued upwards into a now starless night sky.

Within the pillar of dark one could see the shape of Pitra, frozen there like a bug in amber.

"Run", shouted Martushck, turning now to the men guarding the path. The Turok Han did not appear to notice. They were transfixed by the spinning black flaw in the dark above.

"Run", he called again, and gradually the men began to think less of the events in the night sky, and more of their personal situations.

The men of the village to the rear were the first to run, followed by the toters of spear bundles, then the torchmen who shared the front line with the hunters of bear.

The men of the bear did not run. They looked instead to Mahtaut, who stood peering into the black shadow that held Pitra.

"Arrakah", shouted Martushck to the men of Mahtaut, and pointed up the path to the beach.

Still they would not move. Mahtaut looked suddenly away from the black cylinder, towards his men, and gestured to the beach.

Hesitant they turned. Mahtaut gestured again and they began a slow jog towards the beach. Five remained. They all looked back into the shadow imprisoning the girl.

Inside Pitra heard voices. Was it inside the black pillar, or inside her head. This did not concern her. She only knew she heard voices, and slowly she began to see shapes.

They were the shapes of girls. Strange girls, and hundreds of them...no thousands. They whispered and flitted past, and around her like spirit's.

"Tell my mother I'm sorry." spoke one.

Unknown to Pitra she herself repeated the words in the language of the bear, and outside the cylinder of shadow seven men listened.

"Always gotta work the mission." spoke another.

The lips of Pitra worked in unison with those of the dark skinned woman in the strange black smock.

All at once Pitra reached upwards to the sky. A pretty young woman with yellow hair reached towards her. She held her blood-soaked hand to a spot below her breast.

"Hold the line." she said seemingly to Pitra, and Pitra repeated the words, "Hold the line".

She repeated them again, this time louder, "Hold the line!"

With grim and determined faces the six remaining men of the bear turned as one to face the Turok Han. They spread out along the line to hold it.

"No!", shouted Martushck, "You don't understand! You must run!"

But they did not listen to the meaningless squelches of the man of the west. They stood facing the line of swaying demons, and waited for the inevitable battle. They would hold the line.

"No!" shouted Martushck again, then once more, "No!"

He backed seven steps back from the dark pillar. It was as wide in circumference as two such as himself. Still, he knew what he must do.

He charged towards the black circle, and just before he hit it, he lept into the pillar of black with all the force his long, thin legs would allow.

The muscles in those legs froze the instant they hit the dark, yet the force of the leap pushed his body through the circle, striking Pitra, and knocking the girl free of the pillar of shadow. Martushck followed, tumbling behind.

Pitra fell from the pillar of shadow like a dead thing. She rolled once then settled in the sand looking blankly upwards.

Crawling towards her Martushck spoke in a harsh, cracking voice, "Pitra...Pitra...Wake up. We must run. Pitra?"

"Martushck", the voice of the girl answered.

"Yes. Yes. It is I. Martushck."

"Martushck. You are the watcher."

"Yes I am the watcher."

"And I am...Slayer". The word was foreign to her, yet she spoke it.

"Yes. You are The Slayer".

"I am...The Slayer."

"And Slayer..."

"Yes?"

"We must run."

Martushck rose, helping Pitra to her feet below him.

"Yes. Yes." muttered Pitra as she rose, "We must run. So says the sister. We must run, or all will die".

They looked up the path to see the fading shapes that ran up the path to the beach. Flecks of lights from the distant torches, bobbed about in the path like fireflies.

To Be Continued
(but not for much longer 😀 )

And they ran...

She carried them with her as they ran. The slayers.

It was like the dream you dream, so powerful it follows to the waking world.

It filled her, enraptured her as she jogged easily up the beach. Martushck labored and pushed to keep up, but he could not. With each easy stride she moved another length ahead.

It was a feeling foreign to her. A feeling...of power yes, but more. It was the feeling of being connected to something that spread through the ages, through the generations. Though she had never felt it, she would call it - family.

A thousand generations pumped through her with each stride, and spurred her onward with delirious joy and pain.

"Faster. Sister. Faster. Reach farther. Make your feet fly."

Mother-Moon shone bright encouragement. The warm ocean wind of summer blew at her back.

Faster she ran, and felt the breeze behind her no longer, only the cool night air battered her face as she cut through it speeding towards the beach.

Martuschk puffed away far behind her now.

She blurred past the hunters of the bear. They felt the power and increased their step.

Her long white hair lashed behind her as she whizzed past the running men of the village. They felt the power as she pushed the length of a village hut with each churning stride. They briefly shared in it, and chased the feeling, running faster themselves than they ever had.

Only Mahtaut, and his five fellow warriors did not run.

They stood; still at the narrowed stretch of path facing the Turok Han.

The vampire horde looked up to the dark pillar as little by little it dissipated into wisps of shadow.

One by one their bald white heads lowered to face the six squat hairy men before them. Their eyes black and breeding malice. Along the front line their thin white lips shared an expression of muderous anticipation.

"Hold the line", shouted Mahtaut.

They were the last words he would ever speak.

The creatures were on the men like wolves on rodents, ripping, tearing pulling apart each man, arm from chest, leg from groin.

The talon-like fingers of the white beasts slashed the meat of the men from their fellows' grasp, forcing the portions greedily between those thin lips, slicing into the flesh with pointed yellow teeth, sucking the blood from the meat.

Chaos formed in the front ranks as the demons each fought hungrily for the six hearts of man.

"Mahtaut!" yelled Bosk out in the ocean's dark. There was splashing as he rushed to assist his chief, then more splashing as something grabbed the hurlers of stone from below the dark surf, and dragged those men also to a final horrible feast under the waves.

As quickly as it began though, the frenzy of feeding ended.

The horde peered ahead to see the final scatterings of fleeing men far up the path.

They began at a jog towards the land beyond, moving steadily faster, until the thunderous step that announced their arrival once more shook the quiet night air of the beach path.

The gap between beasts and men quickly narrowed.

The slow, the lazy, the stupid were the first to be over-taken, and they also were mercilessly ripped apart.

The pace of the horde only slowed slightly, as the creatures feasted at a run.

Seeming almost to fly Pitra sped the final length of the path to the beach of the land beyond.

Before her the expanse of beach spread before her like the embrace of open endless arms.

Up and down the beach stood the men, women, and children of the land in one continuous line each holding the hand of the one next to him or her.

"Pitra!", shouted Blossom, Tam, and Ton.

She slowed the final strides to the line that stretched out under the dark silhouette of forest that marked the edge of the beach.

Ton and Blossom released each other's hand and reached forward to their warrior sister.

She accepted the soft hands readily, and turned to take her place in line.

And so they all stood looking out onto the moonlit ocean as shapes moved steadily towards them up the path.

Even above the thunderous footsteps of the horde they heard the horrible cries of men over-taken in the shadows.

Still the swiftest of them ran steadily, desparately for the slightest hope of safety on the beach.

The group was small that ran before the serpent-like, white demon mass of the vampire horde, and with each step the group got smaller.

Suddenly light burst brilliantly, high in the night sky.

There was a crack in the menacing black disk that once formed the pillar of shadow.

From within it glared a searing red light. Like dragon chick from a black egg the crack gradually opened, and a molten blob engulfed in blinding red light pushed forth.

Holding stationary for an instant it rolled from the black disk and plummeted down towards the spot in the path where the dark pillar had first found Pitra.

The men on the path did not appear to notice, they only anticipated the imminent grasp of demon claw, the ripping slash of predator teeth. They knew these would soon be upon them if they faltered a step.

"Run!" Shouted the thousand voices of the people on the beach, their faces lit by the glow of the falling globe of light.

All of them were seemingly unaware of their own peril. "Run!" they called.

The men on the path did run, and as they approached Pitra could bit by bit make out a familiar shape.

It was the long-legged form of Martushck passing those ahead of him.

He ran directly to Pitra and fell to her feet, clutching at one ankle like the last branch of a tall tree available to a falling man. His lungs gasped hungrily for breath.

Behind him the dying pleas of men being murderd cut through the night.

Almost unnoticed the tiny hands of Tam and Ton slipped away from the line. The little feet padded away up the beach.

"We will fight" cried Tam and Ton together, "We will fight like our sister Pitra. We have power".

"No!" screamed Blossom. "No!" echoed Pitra.

But they did not hear.

They ran out towards the advancing mass of white, under the red blaze of the falling meteor's light, shreiking, "Kreaug-g-g-h!!!"

Tam raised her left hand as she ran. Attached to her Ton raised her left.

"Kreaugh!" their small voices faded into the din as the horde advanced on them.

Ripples of thick, viscous energy separated the air in front of the them, and smashed into the wall of demon white before them.

The Turok Han at the front fell in a mass of twenty.

Steadily the girls ran forward their child warrior calls blasting the air before them.

The fallen shapes of the Turok Han littered the beach, as the single shape of Tam and Ton ran over the wet sand screaming the defiant call "Kreaugh!".

"Sisters." pleaded Pitra to the uninterested night. She tried to release the grip of Blossom, but blossom would not let go. Pitra knew she would have to drag Blossom behind her to follow Tam and Ton out onto the beach.

The frightened villager who had once held the hand of Tam now reached for Pitra's wrist, and dug her nails into the slayer's flesh.

"No" commanded Blossom. "You cannot go."

"You cannot go." wept Martushck from the ground below her, holding fast now to both her ankles."

"Sisters..." said Pitra.

The plummeting ball of light, lit up the sky above the small bobbing, black heads of Tam and Ton.

Lust for battle blinded them to all danger.

They stopped by a fallen white form and blasted into the mob.

Tam heard it before Ton felt it - a sickening crack.

The white demon claw of a hand clasped at Ton's leg just below the knee. The hand twisted. The leg bone of Ton snapped.

Ton's eyes deadened with shock.

"Ton" said Tam to the blanched face beside hers, and watched as the white shape of the vampire rose, and with one deft movement pulled Ton's head from her shoulders.

Martushck turned from the scene and pushed his face into the dirt of beach's edge. Blossom clasped her eyes shut, whispering chants towards the falling ball of light.

Pitra could only stand in the line. tall and straight, but helpless, tears rolling down through the paint and dirt on her cheeks, watching as the twin shapes of Tam and Ton were torn from each other for the first, last, and only time of their brief lives.

Pitra, Blossom and Martushck almost did not notice as the rock of fire from the dark dimension struck dirt.






Dust will blow through the winds of earth, high into the atmosphere. Molecules of moisture will settle around each mote of dust. It will collect there growing heavier as it does. Finally it will fall as rain.

The clouds above the mesa were thick and dark that morning. Still...they were not yet the clouds of rain.

With two exceptions. Over the Rock of Wails, and far off above the Rock of Song, two voluminous red clouds swirled.

Drizzle began at first light. Throughout the morning the drops of moisture collected and thickened in the red clouds. One drop at a time they fell inevitably downward splashing down to the mesa with tiny reports of dust.

Eventually dust was mud, and abruptly sheet masses of blood red rain poured down onto, and around the Rock of Wails.

The mothers encircled the reclining figure of the old woman, holding a wide sheet of hide aloft above her.

Rain collected in the skin and formed a red pool within.

Beneath the giant monolith that was the Rock of Wails girl children danced about and sang in the red rain, oblivious to the events of the night before.

Later in life they would think back on this time as the day the sky rained blood.

A girl approached the circle of woman who held the skin blanket above the sleeping Grandmother. She was quickly shooshed away.

"When will Grandmother awake?" she asked as she backed away.

"Soon." came the answer from one of the Mothers.

Grandmother stirred, and eventually opened both blue eyes wide.

"Grandmother," said one of the woman, "Are you awake?"

"So it would seem, foolish Maug", replied the petulant old woman.

"But, Grandmother", continued Maug, "Last night the sky was on fire."

"Yes, yes...it is done".

"And Pitra? And Blossom?"

"They were in my dream."

"But what has become of them?"

"Release the skin Maug," replied the Grandmother not seeming to hear the question, "but only you. The others must collect the water. You will help me up."

Fumbling about Maug did as instructed as best she could, but the impatient Grandmother quickly tired of her clumsy grasp, and rose awkwardly by her own power.

The two women soon stood by the Mother's circle, watching the red water collect in the hide skin.

Grandmother stabbed one withered finger into the pool, and absent-mindedly swirled the blood-coloured fluid about.

"Grandmother", insisted Maugh, "Pitra? Blossom? Where are they?"

"They live", the old woman replied.

"And Tam?" asked one of the Mothers.

And Ton?" asked another.

Grandmother shook her head.

Of one mind the mothers slouched and gazed into the red pool.

"You should not have made them go." said one of the women under her breath.

"What?!" replied the angry Grandmother moving with surprising speed over to the woman who dared speak.

"What?" Grandmother repeated.

"I will miss them." said the woman.

Grandmother looked about the coven. All bent their heads towards the skin, yet they nodded.

"I will tell you all this one thing one time.

In my dream I saw three paths.

There was the path that may be, the path that must be, and the path that will be.

Last night, for all three of our children the paths led to the land on the other side of the great water."

"But grandmother you sent the two sisters of power. Tam and Ton."

"This was the path that must be to the path that will be."

"We don't understand".

"Last night I dreamed a dream. I awoke to find you all here, yet this also is just a dream.

About us there is light, and there is dark. Beyond this reality though, there is the true dark and the true light. Last night the true light and the true dark made a choice. They followed the path that may be."

"And what did they choose?"

"The dark chose Pitra. It did, because once Pitra stood before it, it chose what it must choose, for Pitra's path is connected to it."

"And the light?"

"The light also chose Pitra, and those she protects. It chose her and carried them all to a land far to the South, and to the West. When the light decides, the dark must fade and vanish. The dark vanished and took the Turok Han with it. I watched in my dream as they tumbled into the dark. I watched Pitra and the people of the land carried by the light. I saw them awake in a green land, of fish, fruit, and birdsong."

"We are happy Grandmother, yet even so, we are sad? Why did you send Tam and Ton. You knew where that path led."

"Yes I knew."

"Then why?"

"To create the third path. The path that will be."

"But Grandmother..."

"Last night we did a spell. It was a powerful spell, yet it lacked. It lacked a final element; an element necessary to take the people from the "path that may be", to the "path that will be". It was an element of great power.

Add it, and the spell must work. Only one path remains."

"What then old one? What was the final element that completed the spell?"

The red rain pelted down on the group of women. It drenched the grandmother's thin gray hair, and cut rivulets through the crags of her ancient face.

The Grandmother answered...

"A Slayer's tears."





--------------Banner by Nix/Foi-----------------

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap and so on. Magnificent story-telling n4h, truly brilliant. I'm sure if I looked hard enough I could find a couple of spelling mistakes or typos...but, bloody hell, that would be really nit-picky...superb tale, well told...we are not worthy🙂

WOO!
ENCORE! :rolleyes0

I'm offically noting you as one of the best writers ever.
:worship: :worship: :worship: :worship: :worship:

Wow that was great if that was a true canon i would be so happy as it explains a lot, you are so good, i dont want to sound dumb but the light took them to england didnt it? you should write another story for the tales of slayers because that was WOW!!!

N4H, please tell me you do this for a living, because if you don't you really should 😀

Thank you, you four. So nice of you to say nice things.

And Cordelia, Pitra wants to know when she's going to get her picture on the TOTS timeline. Me too. That picture is "shiny".

Xin Rong, you ask:

the light took them to england didnt it?

Click to expand...

I'm glad you asked that question, because it brings up a question I want to ask you guys.

One of the things I was trying to do in that story is I was trying to filch that Whedonesque technigue of pointing at things rather than outright declaring them, or clicking it into lecture mode.

There were times though when I felt like maybe I should be playing the note a little harder, so to speak. Like for instance, I'm curious, did you all get stuff like the Guardian/Scythe connection, or the fact that Tam and Ton are Siamese twins?

Oh, but to answer your question, Xin...

At the very beginning of the story there's a blurb that talks about a real live archeological discovery in Kennewick Washington (USA).

It was significant, because the bones were those of a white man. Up until that time the prevalent theory was that the first men in North American were of Mongoloid (think Mongolia) stock.

Apparently there used to be a bridge of land that connected Asia to North America. It was huge, connecting up and down the Alaska coast, and possibly the Aleutians.

The sea gradually claimed that land though between 13,000 and 10,000 BC.

The hypothesis was that people came to North America from Asia by walking across the land bridge.

OK, so the question becomes, how did a White Man get to Kennewick Washington 10,000 years ago? Originally one of the things I wanted to try to with this story was answer that question in Buffyverse terms.

But, you still want your answer to the question "did the light take them all to England?" right. The answer is, "No. It took them to Kennewick Washington".

Yeah, didn't it say that they were joined by flesh or something...
Hey! I learned about that giant land strip between Asia and Canada... last year.

Huh? What Guardian/Scythe thing? :shrug:

Anyways, MORE! If I was richer, I'd sponsor you so you can try make a book! :tongue05:

MentPatient said:

Huh? What Guardian/Scythe thing? :shrug:

Click to expand...

Yeah, I knew I should have maybe hit that one harder.

The title of the first chapter was "The Guardian and The Watcher". That was a clue. I'm pretty sure I mentioned the guardian word a couple of other times later. Those were also clues.

The scythe clue was in the red dust, the mention of slayer connection to dark power, and the collecting of red rain.

Originally the story was going to end with the Grandmother talking about collecting the dust, and waiting for the next slayer, but when the other final line (the one I used) came to me, I liked it better, and just slipped it in.

You know what though? That Whedon writer trick of hinting at things without actually saying them, is tougher to do right than you'd think. I'm still working on it.

Oh and MP, thanks for the money offer. You need to buy some lottery tickets. 😀

It is actually really nice to be able to ask a writer questions about a story...I've often felt that I wanted to get Stephen King or Neil Gaiman on the phone and ask...wait, that's stalking isn't it?🙂

I got the twins thing - is that why they had so much power? The Guardian/Watcher business was pretty straightforward but I missed the scythe clue.

Did you intend that Martushck was the body found in Washington?

"the black man"/"black master" - one of the creators of the First Slayer?

Mr. Pointy said:

It is actually really nice to be able to ask a writer questions about a story...I've often felt that I wanted to get Stephen King or Neil Gaiman on the phone and ask...wait, that's stalking isn't it?🙂

Click to expand...

I know the feeling. I've only recently become interested in getting ahold of the Sandman series, but from what I hear Gaiman especially is a guy you'd want to ask questions of concerning subtext.

I got the twins thing - is that why they had so much power? The Guardian/Watcher business was pretty straightforward but I missed the scythe clue.

Click to expand...

I think the power in the twins thing was more a lucky accident for the Guardians than anything else. The way I saw it "special girls" were brought to the Guardians. It just turned out the twins were a little more special than whoever brought them to the Cliff thought they were. It became evident as they grew, and the Guardians knew how to nurture the power.

I had problems with the scythe thing, because for one thing, canon continuity prevented me from going into too much depth on it at that point in the history of the slayer line. They wouldn't have had the technology to actually forge the scythe at that point. All I could do really was show the power in the comet, and it's origin in a dimension connected to slayer power.

I had a similar problem with the Turok Han. By the time we meet them in Buffy Season 7 they're wearing middle ages garb. Why would they be wearing that style of clothing in 10,000 BC? My solution was to present them naked, and to write a kind of subtext explanation for myself as to how they might became clothed later in slayer history. Actually that little background story started to get kind of elaborate in my head, and although I feel a little burnt right now, I might put in for another TOTS story later, and go into more detail about the Turok Han, the Guardians, and the scythe.

Did you intend that Martushck was the body found in Washington?

Click to expand...

Yes. Originally the story was going to end with both a more detailed explanation about the power in the comet, and after that, an italicized quote from some internet source material, giving more info on Kennewick man, and the landbridge from Asia theory. The Grandmother was even going to mention the name Kennewick as something she saw in her dream.

"the black man"/"black master" - one of the creators of the First Slayer?

Click to expand...

Yes, because in End of Days the Guardian says the Shadowmen became the Watchers.