After Eve [Part Nine: The Devourer – Mantic Ore ]

A Soldier, of the Stone-Builders

At that moment, at that very second, Big-chest picked this man up, pinning him against the big pine, that was in back of him, holding him a few feet off the ground, his body dangling like a branch snapped off a tree ready to fall; there he held him, looking at him, strangely looking at him, almost stamping him into the tree. [At this point and time, Little-eyes was learning what Owl-eyes had tried to tell him, the nature of man is not what it may seem to be; or what it is he is portraying.] The eyes of Big-chest were paralyzing with its gaze: its dark haunting-bloody deepness to them. The man closed his eyes, surely feeling he would be dead within the second, a millisecond. But Big-chest just kept him pinned against the tree, like stepping on an ant, he pushed the youth’s chest into the tree, I could hear his ribs snap, he, the bowman, couldn’t move, couldn’t hardly breath. As I looked with placid eyes, for some odd reason, I was glad Big-chest had the upper hand, but that was simply a fleeting forgotten thought, as my mind strayed and stayed on the ‘here and now’ the invention of life and Big-chest taking one. It seemed, he had him pinned there for hours, yet it was but a moment, a very tense moment to say the least, for him, and somehow for me, but it was really a matter of minutes to be exact.

At this point, the strangest thing happened, Big-chest took his hands off the stranger, whom still had his eyes shut, and next Big-chest stood back from the tree, possible three feet again. Another moment passed or two, everything was silent: –the woods, even the wind seemed to stop, the sky was motionless, the insects, the insides of me and Little-eyes, all hushed: we were all frozen in the moment; everything stood as it was noiseless as quiet can be. The birds were nowhere in sight, they never are when there is trouble. Slowly the youth opened his eyes, nothing was now touching him, he must have felt safe, free, oddly safe I’d say, –very slowly his eyes opened, as his face turned at the same time into a half smile or smirk, as if to say: ‘he beat the odds, the giant was gone.’ But good fortune did not sway his way: as uncanny as it was, nothing happened, his eyes half open, opening up more, confusion filled his face instantly, the smile disappeared, his world stopped, the storm that was seemingly over, had not vanquished, it only hid for a moment, then in a second, no a millisecond, his eyes opened all the way to see the giant figure in front of him, standing, still staring, swinging his body back and forth, back and forth, back and forth: standing firm as a stone-cliff, a mountain: standing two feet in front of him, liken to a monstrous volcano. In the second, that millisecond I was talking about, he noticed from his peripheral vision [the corner of his eye] the picture of a hand coming towards him with ferocious velocity; you can see those things in slow motion sometimes, even if they are faster than lightening, don’t ask me how, it is simply a fact of nature. And Wack-wwwwwww

Wwww

kkk…zzzzzzz
no more was heard, Big-chest had hit, shattering his lower neck, along with the side of his upper face coming off–hit it so hard–it ripped all the bones and flesh right off his upper torso also. He lay next to Javaa-girl, sprawled out like her, like a bear stretching all his limbs out on ice, lying on his stomach. That is how he looked.

Part Nine

Rare Beauty

With truth ablaze

No falsehoods to gaze at

We found terror with beauty

Purged in death

By Little-eyes

[I must say when this happening took place with Javaa-girl, he: Little-eyes, got emotional, and did one thing for mankind, he opened up his mind, and he spoke in a poetic way, and I have now recited it on stone]

15

The Devourer – Mantic ore

Mantic ore
[A lion body with a human-demonic face]

One creature other than the Stone-Builders that scared Big-chest, that is, made him nervous, if not down right panicky, even though he’d not admit it, not in a hundred years, and I’d not say it to his face, and I doubt if he could even express it the fear he had for this creature whom was called: the Mantic ore [Manti Cora]. This creature appeared about twenty-two years after the arrival of the Stone-People, where it came from, I’ll never know, and I guess in a way, I blame everything on the Garden, so I thought at the time it might have come from there, but to be truthful, that’s not necessarily fact, it could have come from some another place. I had seen up to that point many strange things, that is, since the two beings walked out of the Garden–Eve and Adam, but this was among the most outlandish, bizarre, and weird.

[The Dreamer] I must first think on how to present this: you see even words are limited in this brief of what took place in this dream-vision. Short-legs had on occasions, witnessed the Stone-People, and we must not relate them to the Eve-People, for again, they were the descendants of Eve, but did not go according to the great Mother’s wishes and left their habitat to build great brick cities, and fortifications–alas.

But what I was going to describe was the sex preferences of these renegades–hoping to explain the existence of the Mantic ore–if I may call them, or those creatures–renegades that is, and if I can even give explanation to it. For time and again, Short-legs caught them, the Stone-People, forcing animals to have sex with them, and in a liken manner, had their spouses do the same. Yes, oh yes, with: dogs, sheep, lions, and many other four-legged animals, beasts; this may sound crude and demeaning, even mortifying, but none the less, it became part of the history, their history–like it or not–, yes their world history: and possible mine. What wasn’t expected was what developed down the road: the interplay: sex, that the Stone-People had with what they called ‘demonic-spirits’ [for they also were about roaming the world as they pleased: so it was said; one life form called the: ‘Dog-face Demon’]; yet, it was the Mantic ore [Leucrocuta], the man-beast that was given birth [by the new-breed], as he was known, thus, he could claim the birthright of an innovative breed from their foreplay. He had a treble row of teeth, sharp as a sword; lower body resembled a lion [Lyon], with a face similar to that of the Stone-People [with some demonic configurations], and a tail of a scorpion.

He would devour people faster than Big-chest could kill them, actually, he could kill three at a time, and three or four humans who were trying to capture it and it would mangle, contort, and twist them to pieces. Some of the Mantic ores, and there were more than one, had goat’s heads to the Lyon body, and horse’s heads. But most, and I say most, because Short-legs, only saw three in his many years of life in this Cliff Valley of Caves he lived: they all had feet, faces and ears though, of men; again, with the Lyon body.

[Short-legs–explains] I did also see the Dog-face Demon, creature once, he was huddled up with two others so called evil-spirits, talking away the night, as the Stone-People worshiped them, laid on their bellies rolling around in the dirt, jumping up and down, as if to call, or summons the demon to do some fanciful tricks, and sometimes they did. But back to the Mantic ore, that damn tail that would sting, oh he had a long, freighting end-to his tail, to say the least; –it was sharp-pointed with quills all over it. And its voice was high pitched, a most wild thing to look at, and its nature, its natural world, temperament if you will, was of that same wildness, evil packed tight with a dragging-dread wherever it went, a ferociousness that was only calm when it conquered; it was born to kill.

Mantic ore II
[The Horse Beast]

Mantic ore

The only way to kill it–the Mantic ore that is, or so it seemed (and if there was another way I didn’t know of it): and I saw it done, but I only saw it completed once: only once, was when one of the Stone-People shot an arrow into its butt–no, no, I didn’t mispronounce the word–BUTT, thereupon, it dropped, absolutely dropped to its belly, and they cut the tail off quickly, and then subdued it (had my mother saw this she wouldn’t have believed it).

The world had completely changed in such a short time, a very short time, since my mother had passed on. I thought if this was the case, it wouldn’t be long before everything went upside down; –but let me conclude this brief statement on the Mantic ore. We didn’t see them much, but every time Big-chest saw one he’d hi-tail it the other way, make a 360-degree turnabout, and run. He wanted nothing to do with them [yes he’d suck in his pride]. I always felt it might be a good fight between them two, but who am I to say, or even hope to see such a thing, the Mantic ore was even more coldhearted and deadly than Big-chest. But to kill a beast, you got to find a worse and hungrier beast, so my mother used to say, or become one, or become shrewder: and I was neither of these.

16

[The advance of the Stone-Builders: the victories they had over all the land and peoples, to include the ‘Valley of the Caves,’ where the Horde lived, left the people of the world in a ‘no man’s land,’–that is to say, no one had a real means of security, or better put: protecting themselves; or being protected by the advancing adversary. For the world at large, it was a no win situation, and just a matter of time before it became dominated by the new breed.]

The Great Transformation

[Short-legs] What I call the Great Transformation, of our time, others may have called simply, the changes that were taking place and gave it no more thought. Still others used such expressions of thoughts as, ‘The Conversion:’ still others, ‘The Great Makeover,’ whatever it was to others, to me it was the beginning of the end, that is exactly what was started–what was taking place. The People of the Fire now were copying the Stone-Builders by stealing the males and females of the Horde, our people, as well as the Branch-People; –using both of our life-lines, our children that is, for free labor purposes. Furthermore, they mated with our kind like never before, and we mated with the Branch-People to keep our Horde intact. As the Stone-Builders, year after year came to get more slaves from the People of the Fire, the People of the Fire did the same with us: they did not know [The Stone-Builders that is] they were getting interbreeding slaves: namely us, it took several years of this activity, and you could see a change in the children of the wives and females they took from our tribe, our Horde.

After a decade or more years of this ongoing activity, we had but fourteen members in our Horde left, only fourteen members that is it [out of almost-300], no more to come; my mother and brother being two, myself and Little-eyes making up four–: my mother who was getting on in years now, now whom was not stern as in her younger days, hard as a rock some say–was less rigid now: her nature had turned soft and kind. Quite different from being the matter-of-fact person she used to be: she was soften by age and tiredness, and at peace with everybody and everything, so much love for us two boys was evident in her face, we were her world, or at least a lot of it. A rainy cloud had left her: it was as if the stress to life had dragged everything out of her–she couldn’t battle anymore, even at times lifting her arms were hard for her to do. Although the weight of the world was off her, she had gained weight, and her heart was old and worn: dog-eared; –she breathed hard, walked slowly, and if she could stretch those arms, brought her relief. She knew she had lived beyond her time, longer than she had expected, possibly she was grateful for that, grateful to have seen me and my brother grow up, grow to manhood, grow old in front of her almost: maybe even grateful that she was to die before us, yes, I think so, I really think she was grateful for that, would be indebted for that: had we died before her, she would have died along with us, or shortly after us I do firmly believe.

In her, when she did pass on, die, leave this earth, in her, there was no cowardice, none whatsoever: she charged at life as it came, I daresay, too willingly. And was very protective of us kids, –she was killed by the Stone-Builders for sport. My father then ran off, to where cowards run I suppose, I know not where that is, nor hold any resentment, on this truth, be that as it may, for he must live with himself. And he ran and ran and no one knows where, never to return, which in itself was no big loss; for this reason, it/there was only my brother left–he and I at the end, at the very end of things, I and him, him, whom came to the Horde now to live in the Valley of the Caves.

[The Dreamer: but again I find my story getting ahead of me.]

Unification

What was to be made of all this, to the world at large–unification of some sort was developing and that was it I suppose, or so I thought, and Little-eyes said: the moment was coming. In the past, people adjusted to one’s territory. Now, it seemed, the territory had to adjust to its people, or it would be made to adjust, in particular the Stone-Builders had the edge on this [one time dilemma].

Somehow I knew, or so I told myself, and so it seemed to turnout, I, Short-legs knew, knew what resided on the horizon with the Stone-Builders, –that is, a concept was now developing, and it was called: ‘common language.’ Yet I feared what they had forgotten, misplaced, or simply didn’t think of was: one does not become a Stone-Builder because he or she can speak the/a language alone, should one be forced. For example, I gave myself this question: ‘Do you think because we speak your language, we think your thoughts?’ the People of the Fire–or even the Branch-People, we can take for example–if they were forced to speak their language, or even take my Horde for example, if we were forced to speak their language [the language of the Stone-Builders as this actually is happening with the People of the Fire], does not mean our thoughts are the same; that is to say, the language does not express the real meaning of a people. Something they’d have to learn I fear, and learn the hard way.

Therefore, as I watched the expansion of the new breed, the new order on earth take roots, our lives were affected by their economy and our interest as a people were drained. You see, we really, really tried to avoid war, the Horde that is–yes, we had the cowardly pacifist view, but then we always had that view, and that is why we ended up having little food, or at times no food. In a comparable manner, we as a society, or group, [the Horde that is] had no plan, no policy, no goal, call it a blood sacrifice, we lived in the vein of the world, and when the world started falling apart for our group, suicide also took some of us, and our unborn children. Also, there were no animals in our vicinity anymore, meaning, our ribs were showing all the time now, too many loses to keep a society going.

It was true, very true, mighty true, what our neighbors: the People of the Fire said about us: they implied, we the Horde, ‘…have no weapons to speak of, and now no hope, along with being unwilling to fight, we are cowards.’ What I noticed was our great fault was we had no leadership, like everyone else seemed to have. Even the Branch-People had Big-chest. I mean we had zero leadership. Consequently, we had no ‘Spirit-de force,’ in us; –hence, nothing was transmitted to our masses, what little masses we had. How could we fight a war when we were fighting ourselves: fighting for our independence to be left alone, as we had always been? Had we tried to unite all would have protested, a fabricated protest most likely, but none the less, it would have kept us as we were divided, plus we had no ally, no real friend, oh–Big-chest helped us once or twice, here or there, but had it come down to fighting a war, no way would he be on anyone’s side, other than his own side. The entire world had no ally for the most part, although the People of the Fire, and the Stone-Builders were seemingly or at least outwardly befriending one another,–again, so it seemed; but sooner or later, with passing generations, integration might solve that problem.

A Mother’s Death
[Strong-lungs]

[The Dreamer] The death of Short-legs’ mother: Strong-lungs, was strictly more different than what he had anticipated, thought it would be like, that is, death was a common factor in the Horde, which had been seen on a regular bases, yet when he came to visit his Mother’s cave, seeing his brother there, and trying to understand the situation, he became transfixed, spellbound looking at her dead form. As he caressed her arm, unconsciously almost: from her biceps down and around her elbow, to the other side, her blood was warm–somehow this helped his consciousness and then he let go of it, — his hand from her arm, no doubt she was dead, her face was waxed-white, pale, eyes shut, she seemed at peace, his face showed disbelief. He looked at her intently; the flesh on her was still soft to touch. And he touched her several times. Her arms, her braw, and kissed her check, her brow. He gazed with meaning over her figure, no words just association, sounds, gestures for a long moment. What crossed his mind was the immediate past, as her arms lay by her mid section softly-still; gently he caressed her face, kissed it again. A black silence was dragged over his grieving mind, as if the dread of a lifetime was upon him.

With the gloom of the sky: anger took over his composure, stillness filled his belly and lungs, unutterable loneliness prevailed–nothing, absolutely not anything, would ever be the same again in his mind he felt, his mind told him–his soul, or so called character was becoming unraveled–not, not in his world he thought, it will never be the same again. Yet time would prove a little different, life for him would go on, as life was planned to do; he would understand life was only given for a small period of time anyways, that is, time to each and every living thing, everything was measurable on earth according to time. A little more alone in this new world approaching he’d be, he knew that, but he would learn life did not stop, not completely anyhow, although it did knock him out for a moment, as if falling off a tree and trying to catch your breath back. He never expected this to happen, the shock, disbelief, almost anger, to take his guts and mangle them around, when a life is taken, gone, but it did; now he knew.

The Poem of Sorrow

My flame moves slow now,

Inside my chest

‘Tis lost from my naked world

Of the death: the fate of my mother.

No voice, eyelids weak,

Let us dream some more–

Of days past, days to be:

I remain bereaved.

By Short-legs