Fear! by Steven Nedelton (me reader txt) 📕

scorched by the very Holy Fire itself, the leader’s laughter turned into a sudden bear growl. He got up and shouted something angrily at the other three men so they got up too. The fools stopped laughing, stopped gawking at the object, and turned in fear toward the Man. For he was not merely a leader now, he was the Master. And for a few moments there was a total hush. No one spoke; no one giggled; no one breathed. Then, as if provoked by that very silence, the Man, angered beyond all control, grabbed the nearest club. Three of his men grabbed theirs, and all four rushed into the crowd and started hitting the fools on their heads. They hit them left and right and right and left; the old, the young, the weak, the females and the pups. They hit them on their heads, on their backs; anywhere and everywhere. Blood spurted, children whimpered, women shrieked in fright and men in agony. But the bullies kept hitting left and right, right and left. By then they had reached the weird object and the spear maker. The leader growled and his three men started hitting and destroying the toy. The spear maker began screaming in anguish and even tried to protect his work. But the Man turned around and hit the spear maker right on top of his bushy head and brought him down like a thunderstruck ox.
And that was the end of tribal happiness.

As if touched by gods and instantly cured from his manic fit of wrath, the leader suddenly quieted, stopped hitting people, lowered his club and, without looking around, walked back to his previous place, head down, his men by his side. Quiet reigned now; only the subdued sobs of pups and wenches could be heard. The leader’s wives had gone back to their cave. The crowd dispersed. The spear maker woke up and crawled on all fours back into the Big Cave. The fun was over. Gone. The Evil One had shown his ugly maw. And then a thick, dark night fell like an enormous bear pelt blanket and embraced all—the bad, the good and the evil. The fires slowly died off and the members of little tribe soon fell into a sound sleep.

Conspiracy

Many very pale moons have passed since that bad day, yet the memories linger on. It would appear, however, that the world is again the same as it used to be. The leader is quiet now, maybe even ashamed of his fit of jealousy, but the cave people are not so sure and feel betrayed. A couple of his wives were quickly returned to the Big Cave right after the beatings and were very quickly replaced by two of the most handsome young ones. At least his appetite was not lost as well.

One morning early in the first days of the new midsummer while the hunters were gone, a group of older men were sitting together taking in the sun and discussing the event.
“He is bad—bad. Only human though! When I saw him that mad, damn, I just picked myself up and ran…” One of the cave dwellers tried to laugh off the episode.
The others joined him in his merriment because, in truth, the oldster couldn’t have run if you promised him the best wench in three tribes. Forty moons he was, the oldest dog still alive. Too damn ancient for running and ‘wenching.’ And he had no teeth…
“Yeah, we believe ya,” the others guffawed while actually eyeing him skeptically.
“Only fools stayed waiting for those clubs… numskulls…” One of the other oldsters came to his rescue.

Yet, in spite of these elders’ general indifference, most of the tribe was disappointed.
The first rumors of something about to happen were started by two of the oldest women in the Bear Cave. They must have been almost as old as forty summers, although no one knew for sure. They had no more teeth. That much everyone could see.

“Wouldn’t it be just right if we all got together and got rid of that man?” suggested one toothless hag to another, during one of those slow mornings when the hunters and the leader were away and the old ones were left all alone to mill the corn.
“Did ya notice that he has the nicest knife and spear and stone dishes, that his wives show off ever so proudly, and they are the best you can get in three tribes?” cackled the other hag somewhat jealously.
“Yeah, and he always takes the best parts of the kill. And yet my son is so weak because he does not get enough good meat,” mused the first hag.
“He’s so rich. If we could just kill him and share his goods, we would be all wealthy. I tell ya, if the whole tribe and your weak son could have one of those golden-haired beauties he hides in his cave with the chesty one, I am sure that your son’s health would improve very quickly,” the second woman agreed with her best toothless smile.
“He’s no better’n us,” continued the first one.
“He’s no better’n us, you’re damn right. And did you notice how fat he is getting to be?” added the second hag.
“How could I miss it? I’d like to kill that fat, rich, son of a dog, drink his blood and be young again. Hah…He thinks he’s better’n us!” said the first hag.
“We have to talk to our sons and daughters tonight and then to the council,” concluded both, almost in unison.

And that is how it all started. The conspiracy, the rebellion, the killing of the leader and the final chaos. All of that big mess just because of two toothless old hags. The young ones were the first to join the group of the dissatisfied. The leader always picked on them; they were always the first to be sent to check out the trap after the catch was announced by the scouts, the first to face enraged mountain lions caught in the trap. And the fight was not always even. Stone knives and spears of ten local men proved time and again unequal to the claws and teeth of the big and powerful cats. The leader claimed that it all was part of the training, of growing up, but the young men, often badly mauled and sometimes worse, did not believe it, nor did their mothers.

The first successful meeting of the dissatisfied happened after the three of the leader’s best friends joined the group. The leader was absent, off to one of the other two nearby tribes to barter for a new dog. The leader was known to have the best hunting dogs in all the tribes and now he wanted another one. Why? The young ones, emboldened by the presence of the older hunters, started shouting:

“He thinks he’s better’n us. He takes all the best, youngest women. Has the best dog, many fancy knives and the best spear but is that not enough?”
“He is rich. Look at his belt and that flashing dagger, and...” another young one joined in.
“Kill him and divide his riches between us. I think that be right. We want to be rich too,” said a third.
“Kill him, kill him, kill him!” responded the crowd from the cave.
“We are equal; we all should get his dogs and his women!” added the first young speaker.
“Men, men! Look here men! Listen to me! I have a word for you!” shouted one of the three elder hunters, who was perched on a stone in the middle of the Big Cave.
“Listen to me! We are in this together. We do not need this leader,” the first young one spoke again.
“Kill him, kill him, kill him!” the crowd roared back at him.
“Listen to me, friends! Listen to me. We must stick together. Later we will decide how to split his wealth,” the first young speaker continued.
“By the luck of the draw. That’s good for all,” shouted the new speaker from his elevated position.

“The draw, the draw. We want the draw,” the crowd shouted back at the speaker. But the crowd could not count too well. There were twelve men in the group, and five wives, two dogs, five knives, five spears, and one belt. And the men all wanted the leader’s women and dogs and knives. And the belt.

“Hunters, hunters! Listen to me! Listen to me!” this new speaker of the people of the Bear Cave was shouting again. The pups felt proud in their young hearts of being called “hunters.”
“Friends! Friends!” the voice called to them again. “Listen to me! Comrades, listen to me!” the speaker was yelling now.
“We are all equal! He’s not better’n us!” yelled back the crowd.
“He must die!” the speaker shouted back.
“Die, die, die! He must die!” the crowd was chanting.
“And we will share his wives and his dogs,” the speaker shouted back.
“His knives, his belt,” answered the crowd.
“Friends, friends! Comrades!” the speaker was yelling again. The cave was reverberating and the young men felt proud of being comrades of the older, tougher, hunter man. Yet they were also wondering if this man had ever been known as a good, tough hunter.
“We must decide who is going to lead us. Now!” by this point the speaker was yelling hysterically.
“You will!” yelled one of the other three older men.
“You will, you will!” the young picked up the cry.
“Friends, friends! We need three leaders!” the speaker shouted back.
“We need three leaders! We need three leaders!” repeated the young men.
“I say you select them!” the speaker responded.

Three old, formerly tough hunters were selected to be the new leaders of the Big Cave people. The killing of the old leader was done the same night, while he was sound asleep. His wives were shrieking, frightened that they were going to meet the gods together with their ill-fated master. But they were quickly assured that there was nothing to worry about and peace was quickly restored. Two hags grabbed the former leader’s body by its hands and legs and dragged it out into the fields, where the wolves would take care of that son of a dog. At least that was what the hags told the people later.

The body did disappear, but what really happened to it nobody knew for sure. The rumor was that the body was moved to a secret cave where one of the hags cut the throat of the dead leader and lapped his still warm blood in the hopes of a miraculous rejuvenation. But that did not work at all, for the blood-sucking hag died of old age soon after. Some women thought that it was the revenge of the dead man’s spirit, so the legend goes. After the killing, the whole tribe had a very long meeting, the first of very many that were to come. The meeting was led by a brand new speaker of the people. From his elevated position he yelled for quite a while: “He is dead, he is dead! We’re all equal! Comrades, listen to me!”
“Great are our new leaders!” yelled back one of the three old men, now one of the three new leaders, hidden somewhere behind the speaker.
And the crowd roared back: “Great are our new leaders! Great are our new leaders!”

That went on and on for quite some time. After that unanimous show of loyalty to the new leadership, the speaker pup, also the only son of the blood-thirsty already dead hag, stood up. He proposed to the Bear Cave people that the former chief’s wives should go to the new leadership: “Listen men,