The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 27





“No!” screamed Brenner, seizing the bloodied shirt from the hands of a Pon, under the torches, near the string.

The Pons with the torches began again their eerie, keening wails.

The pack, too, bloodied, still sticky, was in the hands of another.

Brenner crouched down, his head in his hands. Rodriguez should not have left him. He should not have gone on ahead! He should not have tried to reach the village by himself!

“What happened?” asked Brenner, lifting his eyes, choking.

“Beast, beast,” said one of the Pons.

“Darkness, forest, shadows,” said another.

“Jump, take, kill, eat!” said another.

The keening was shrill now, almost as though it would cut the leaves from the branches.

“Big beast,” said another, gesturing with the torch, lifting and lowering it in what, for him, was a huge half circle.

It must be the totem animal, or an animal of that sort, thought Brenner.

Many of the small, simian faces were streaked with tears. It seemed strange to see these lachrymal traces on such faces. Brenner had not realized that Rodriguez would have meant that much to Pons. Certainly he had never been at pains to treat them well, or to consider their feelings. And Pons did have feelings, of a sort, of that Brenner was much aware. He had seen them throw back their heads upon occasion and utter raucous pleased cries, which may have been laughter, and, surely, upon occasion, he had seen wonder in their eyes, and perplexity, and, once, as yesterday morning in their hut, something like tenderness, or kindliness, or perhaps even love, and, too, he did not doubt they might know frenzy, and hatred. He remembered the small bones, the apparently hideous vengeances enacted upon two members of their own group who had, it seems, violated some rule, or taboo. Yes, they were capable of emotion, Brenner was sure of that, even strong emotion. Very little in the world, Rodriguez had once told him, is accomplished without love and hate.

I am alone, thought Brenner. The only friend I ever had is gone.

“Grief!” said a Pon.

“Sad, sad, terrible, terrible,” said another.

To be sure, Brenner understood that their wailing, their keening, their misery, might not be all on the account of Rodriguez, a stranger, one not even of their own group. They might be frightened for themselves, as well. The meretricious nature of the “pact” might have finally become clear to them. Perhaps they now understood, for the first time, the nature of the totem animal. Poor Rodriguez, thought Brenner, how confident he had been in his theories. How little he had been afraid. He could have remained within the palisade, for what protection that might have been worth. No, he had gone on with his work, and then, on the way back to the village, it seemed, he had learned, if he had had time to learn it, that he had been mistaken, that there was no pact, that the beast, after all, was a beast, only that, and that it might be hungry, a force of nature that might be hungry, and that it was no more to be trusted than rushing water or the stroke of lightning.

“When did this happen?” asked Brenner.

The Pons looked at one another, puzzled.

“Where did it happen?” asked Brenner.

Two of the Pons gestured back toward the village. “That way,” said one.

“You found the body?” asked Brenner. He had seen, after all, only a bloodied, torn shirt, and the pack, also with blood on it.

“Yes,” said one of the Pons.

“Come, come,” said another.

“Pieces,” said another.

“Not all gone,” said another.

The beast, Brenner thought, did not even drag its prey into the forest, to eat it in secret. It was such a lord, such a king, it would feed on it where it laid it low. It had not even, apparently, like certain of the beasts of the forest, dragged it into the branches of a tree, to keep it for later, to keep it out of the reach of others, such as the humped, crested ones. Was it such a hunter, Brenner wondered, that it could feed when it wanted, and eat only fresh meat, and only parts which pleased it at the time. Was the forest such a vulnerable, plenteous larder for it?

“Grief!” wailed a Pon.

Their world may have collapsed, thought Brenner. But perhaps not, he thought. Rodriguez was not of the Pons. Their sorrow may actually be for Rodriguez, or perhaps even for me. It was not as though it had taken a Pon. But what if they thought that Rodriguez had included himself within the pact, and had nonetheless been seized and killed? That would surely undermine their confidence in the pact.

But surely they could find some way to explain it away. Could that not always be done?

But sometimes such explanations do not, truly, satisfy even their propounders.

Are the Pons now as alone, and terrified, as I am, in the forest, Brenner wondered.

“Do not cry,” said Brenner, standing up.

“No, cry, cry,” said a Pon.

“We will mourn,” said another.

“We will love,” said another.

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“Come, come!” said Pons, tugging at his clothes.

“Why?” asked Brenner.

“See pieces,” said a Pon.

“They may be gone now,” said Brenner.

“No,” said a Pon.

“See beast!” said a Pon.

“You know where it is?” asked Brenner.

“Come, come,” said a Pon, earnestly. Torches were lifted.

Clearly in evidence was the agitation of the small creatures, “The beast?” said Brenner.

“Yes, yes!” said more than one of the Pons.

Brenner blinked against the light of the torches. Then the hair on the back of his neck rose.

“You have cornered it, you have trapped it?” asked Brenner, suddenly. That might be possible, with the torches. Many animals fled fire.

“Come, come!” urged the Pons.

“Kill!” cried another suddenly, shrilly.

“Kill the beast?” asked Brenner.

“Yes!” said the Pons.

Yes, thought Brenner, in sudden cold rage, kill it. Kill it.

But how?

“Come, come!” urged the Pons.

Brenner then accompanied the Pons. In a few minutes, to his surprise, and trepidation, they had led him within the gate of the palisade itself.