Yesterday:
#1: I bought a new video card. I thought, well, this will be a straight forward pop the case, yank the old one, stick in the new one, and I’ll be done. Ha… Ha Ha Ha. Nope.
Spent hours on it. Finally got it to work by downloading files from the internet instead of the DVD that came with it. El Sucko. Anyway, got that fixed and then noticed I had no sound at all. The install killed my sound. That took hours, I had to chase down the fix in a forum. But, hey, lucky me, I got it done after about 12 hours of screwing around. And, I know computers!
#2: Spent time this morning talking about movies that I knew absolutely nothing about. Happy Tuesday
#3: My new 7 string Schecter finally shipped… A few days away… Can’t wait to play it.
#4: Threw up a temp front page on books.wendellsweet.com until I get time to work on it (And of course since I did that here, I am today working on it. But if I had not thrown up a temp page I would have been delayed by weeks.).
Here is a free preview of Fire…
Fire
Copyright W. G. Sweet 2024
Cover Art © Copyright 2024 W. G. Sweet
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Inspired by the novel Quest for Fire. Copyright off. Translated from French with Google and CS and AI for syntax restructuring.
LEGAL
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living persons’ places, situations or events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission.
Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.
Part One
The Demise of Fire
The Clan hurriedly escaped through the treacherous night. Overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion, they felt defeated in the face of catastrophe: the Fire had perished. They had diligently tended to the glowing embers within three enclosures ever since the Fire had initially brought the Clan together as a community. The Fire had united them with its comforting warmth and safeguarding presence. Vigilantly, four women and two warriors nourished the flickering flames day and night.
Even during the bleakest moments, they cherished the flame, providing it with whatever it required to sustain itself. They shielded it from harsh downpours, sheltered it from violent storms, elevated it above the floodwaters, and cradled it while crossing rivers and swamps. The Fire never let them down. In the morning, it sported a blue tail, transforming into a crimson streak as the encompassing darkness of night descended upon them. Its enchantment repelled the black lion and the yellow lion, the cave bear and the gray bear, the mammoth, the tiger, and the leopard—its fiery jaws defended them against a vast and perilous world. All happiness emanated from its comforting heat. It carried the aroma of sizzling meat, hardened the tips of spears, and fractured solid stones. Its lively flames exuded a delightful warmth. It provided solace to the fearful horde amidst the foreboding forests, across the boundless savannah, and within the deepest recesses of dank and dripping caverns. It was the Father, the Guardian, the Savior—yet it possessed a ferocity and terror greater than even the mammoths when it escaped its confines and voraciously consumed the trees, ravenous and roaring!
And now, it lay lifeless—the Fire extinguished! The adversary had demolished two enclosures—and the third, while fleeing from the chaos, began to weaken and smolder . . . to fade, to struggle for breath, to perish. So feeble now, it could not be revived even by the thinnest strands of marsh grass. Its feeble heartbeat throbbed like an ailing creature. Eventually, it transformed into a reddish insect, its eyes losing their luster with each breath . . . Then, it turned black and cold . . . And the Clan fled without their belongings into the autumn night. The sky was devoid of stars. The dense clouds touched the leaden waters. The underbrush was damp and prickly. The rustling of reptiles could be heard in the fallen leaves . . .
In their disorganized escape, fear blinded and confused them—they collided with low-hanging branches and stumbled over boulders concealed by grass. Some of the weakest members of the horde sank into the quicksand and were lost. Struggling in the darkness, guided by instinct’s voice, the scattered Clan made their way towards the familiar elevated terrain, occasionally crossing streams and sandbars.
This path had been known for three generations, but it could only be traversed with the aid of the stars. As the first light of dawn emerged, they approached the savannah. A faint glimmer of light seeped through the mosaic of clouds. The wind ruffled the muddy waters and swayed the algae that coated the oily surface. Crocodiles drifted lazily among the reeds and water lilies with gentle tail swishes. A startled heron took flight from the shallows and settled on a bare branch. Beyond the tree, the shimmering grasses of the savanna came into view. The mist that clung to the grassy ravines was tinged red by the fiery sunrise.
The men rose to their feet, finding some solace in the sight of the swaying grain. Gradually, they left the reeds behind and entered a vast expanse of grassland, where the ground was more stable. With the fear of death subsiding, many of them collapsed in relief, their bodies weary and motionless. However, the women remained upright and restless, their anxiety unyielding. The mothers who had lost their children in the swamp cried out like wolves, their grief echoing through the air. All of them felt the heavy toll they had paid for their pursuit of freedom. Some, having saved their little ones, lifted them towards the sky in gratitude.
Druark, the Chief of the Clan, stood under the gentle morning light, meticulously counting his tribe using his fingers and twigs. Each branch represented the fingers of both his hands. His counting was flawed, but he could still discern that there were four branches of warriors, more than six branches of women, approximately three branches of children, and a few elderly men who had miraculously survived the arduous journey.
Old Tet, who possessed superior counting skills, declared that only one in every five men had survived, one in every three women, and only a handful of children remained. As Old Tet walked among them, touching each person’s shoulder, the magnitude of the catastrophe became apparent. Their numbers had been drastically reduced, and they realized that the future of their descendants was now at the mercy of a formidable world. From this point forward, they would wander the earth, feeble and vulnerable.
Despite his newfound strength, Druark was filled with despair. He had lost faith in his powerful shoulders and massive arms. His face, covered in thick hair, was marked with distress, and his eyes, resembling those of a leopard, showed overwhelming fatigue. He examined the wounds inflicted by the enemy’s spear and harpoon, then proceeded to lick the blood that continued to flow from his forearm.
Like any defeated man, he reminisced about the moment when he could have vanquished the enemy and emerged victorious. The Clan had launched a ferocious charge, and Druark had crushed numerous skulls with his club. Men were to be annihilated, women were to be taken captive, and the enemy’s Fire was to be extinguished, thus opening up new hunting grounds and securing abundant forests. What had caused the sudden reversal of fortune in the battle? Why had the attack unexpectedly crumbled? Why had the Clan been overcome with terror? Why were their bones breaking instead of their enemies’? Why were their bellies torn open, spilling entrails, instead of their enemies’? Why were their lungs filled with screams of agony instead of triumph? Shame gripped him as the invading enemy destroyed the Sacred Fires and scattered his people. And so, with his chin lowered to his chest, Druark pondered, his thoughts as sluggish as the tarpits behind them. His memories tormented him like a hyena feasting on a still-breathing carcass, gnawing at the remnants of his wounded pride. However, he could not dwell on his defeat and allow it to strip him of his strength, courage, and ferocity. The Clan relied on his unwavering determination.
The arrival of the new day consumed the darkness, bringing warmth to the frozen mud puddles and drying out the vast savannah. The morning’s delight was invigorating, as it danced across the unfurling leaves. The water appeared healthier, less menacing, and no longer murky. As the sun rose, it cast long, shimmering shadows in shades of jade and pearl over the silvery gray-green grass, which glistened with dew drops resembling flakes of mica. The air was filled with the sweet scent of late season buds from the willow and alder trees. The abundance of nature was evident, its beauty unaffected by the Clan’s tragedy. Strands of algae lined the riverbanks, while waterlilies bloomed in the ponds, displaying their hand-sized blossoms in shades of red and white. Thick-stalked marsh euphorbias emerged in scattered clusters, and knee-high iris stretched their rhizomatous roots from the shallow water to the muddy banks. White goose-necked flowers swayed gently in the breeze, while buttercups clung to the moist gravel covered in moss. A vibrant tapestry of sedum, cotton grass, cattails, pink willow, bitter cuckoo, and sundews competed for space in this fertile basin. Countless birds flocked to the crowded reeds, including water hens, black knights, long-fingered wagtails, lapwings, teals, and plovers. Herons observed the chaotic symphony of sound and movement from the russet-colored riverbanks. Startled cranes took flight from a rocky ridge, while in the marshy water, enormous whiskered carp devoured golden-scaled tench. Swarms of dragonflies darted through the air, their green wings sparkling with lazurite as they zig-zagged in the sunlight.
Amidst the serene beauty surrounding him, Druark contemplated the tragic destiny that had befallen his people. The aftermath of the catastrophe had left them in a state of anguish, akin to a tangled nest of vipers coiling around their spirits. Their once pristine skin now bore the marks of yellow sediment, mingled with streaks of blood from their wounds and stained green by the swamp’s algae. The warriors, once formidable, had been reduced to a mere semblance of men—some curled up like slumbering pythons, others sprawled out like mindless crocodiles, and a few weakly murmuring to themselves, as if on the brink of death. Their injuries had already begun to fester, emitting a putrid odor. Horrific gashes marred their abdomens, causing even the slightest movement to be excruciatingly painful. The wounds on their heads were even more grotesque, expanding at the scalp and matting their hair like a sponge soaked in blood. Almost all of them required healing, as they had suffered wounds of varying severity. And let us not forget those who perished in battle or were swallowed by the treacherous quicksand—perhaps they were the fortunate ones…
Turning his sorrowful gaze away from the slumbering figures, Druark shifted his attention to the restless warriors who still harbored the bitter rage of defeat, refusing to succumb to the despondency that had engulfed the others. They were an exceptional group, the cream of the crop within the horde.
Many among them possessed the striking features characteristic of the Clan people. Their faces were handsome, with prominent cheekbones, strong jaws, and sloping skulls. Their skin, resembling the tan hue of a deer rather than the darkness of a panther, exuded a certain allure. Most boasted robust physiques and hairy limbs, while their olfactory senses rivaled those of the animals. Their eyes, at times fierce and at others weary, radiated a captivating beauty in the young and some of the women. The Paleolithic peoples, like the Clan, inhabited a profoundly different world—a world lost to time, forever concealing their youthful secrets. They were the buds of life, their strengths and struggles now left to our imagination.
Druark had finally made up his mind. He lifted his arms towards the sun and let out a long howl, capturing the attention of everyone around him. “What will become of the Clan without the Fire?” he cried out. “How will they survive in the savannah and the forest? Who will protect them from the darkness and the harsh winter winds? They will have to resort to eating raw meat and bitter plants. Their bodies will no longer feel the warmth. The spear’s tip will remain soft. The lion, the saber-toothed beast, the bear, the tiger, and the mighty hyena will devour them alive in the night. Who will possess the Fire? This man, the one who brings the Fire, will be Druark’s brother. He will receive three hunting shares and four parts of the treasure. He will also share Airle, my sister’s daughter. And if I were to perish, he will take on the leadership and guide us.” At that moment, Ghad, the son of the Leopard, stood up and spoke. “Give me two swift-legged warriors, and I will go and retrieve the Fire from the Sons of the Mammoth or the Devourers of Men, who hunt along the banks of the Double-River.” Druark eyed Ghad suspiciously. Ghad was the tallest member of the Clan, still growing in stature. There was no warrior as agile as him, nor anyone with greater endurance. He had even defeated Dongah, whose strength rivaled Druark’s own. Since then, Druark secretly feared Ghad and kept him at a distance. He assigned him unpleasant tasks far away from the tribe, hoping that he would meet his demise and alleviate Druark’s shameful fears of the young warrior’s potential.
Ghad held mixed feelings towards the chief, but he couldn’t help but be captivated by Airle’s presence. She possessed an enigmatic allure, with her tall and flexible figure, and hair resembling delicate foliage. Ghad observed her movements, whether it be amidst the thickets, behind the trees, or concealed within the folds of the earth. Enchanted by her warm complexion and graceful hands, his emotions fluctuated between agitation and tenderness, depending on the circumstances. He struggled to comprehend the depths of his own desires for her.
In his daydreams, Ghad would sometimes envision embracing her slowly and gently, while other times he entertained thoughts of forcefully overpowering her, akin to subduing the females of enemy tribes, and throwing her to the ground with a club. However, these conflicting thoughts remained perplexing and buried within his innermost being. He had no intention of causing her harm in any way. If he were to have her as a partner, he would treat her with kindness, ensuring that no fear would ever turn them into strangers.
Under normal circumstances, Druark would have been unsettled by Ghad’s words, but he was still recovering from the recent disaster. Perhaps forming an alliance with the Leopard’s son would be beneficial, or else he knew that one day he would have to eliminate him. Turning towards the young man, Druark responded:
“Druark has only one thing to say. If you retrieve the Fire, Airle shall be yours, without requiring any dowry in return. You will be Druark’s son.”
He pronounced the decree slowly, accompanied by an air of arrogance and disdain.
Then, he gestured to Airle.
Trembling, she stepped forward, her gaze fierce yet filled with uncertainty. Aware of Ghad’s constant observation amidst the grass and darkness, she dreaded his presence. However, despite her better judgment, there were moments when she felt drawn to him. The conflicting emotions within her mind, like intertwining roots, were a result of the fear of the unknown. On one hand, she wished for Ghad’s demise at the hands of the Devourers of Men, while on the other, she secretly desired his triumph and the return of the Fire. Druark’s rough hand landed on the girl’s shoulder, and with wild pride, he exclaimed: “Among the girls of men, who is better built? She can carry a doe on her shoulder, endure the scorching sun from morning till evening without faltering, withstand hunger and thirst, prepare animal skins, and swim across lakes. She will bear children who are invincible. If Ghad brings back the Fire, he will claim her without requiring axes, horns, shells, or furs!” Then Vorv, the son of the Aurochs, the fattest and most repulsive member of the Clan, interjected with lustful intent: “Vorv desires to conquer the Fire. He will venture across the river with his brothers in search of the enemy’s Fire. He will either perish by the axe, spear, tiger’s tooth, or the giant lion’s claw, or he will return to the Clan with the Fire, without which they are as feeble as deer or saiga.”
With a ferocious display of bared teeth and intense, glaring eyes, he exuded a primal power that was both tireless and merciless. His stocky build only served to emphasize the length of his arms and the enormity of his shoulders. The true extent of his strength remained unknown, as it had yet to be fully tested against formidable opponents like Druark, Dongah, or Ghad. However, his reputation preceded him, as all who had dared to stand in his way had either surrendered or perished without a fight. Whether he chose to simply twist or gnash an arm, or let his anger escalate to murder and collecting his victim’s skull as a trophy, his actions were a testament to his formidable power. It was fortunate that he resided at a distance from the rest of the Clan, alongside his two equally hairy brothers and a group of women who were subjected to a dreadful servitude. Despite the Clan’s inherent harshness towards themselves and their ferocity towards others, they harbored a unique fear of the Aurochs’ sons. The mere presence of Vorv and his brothers was enough to make the weaker members tremble in secret. This fear led to a passive alliance among the other members, who kept a collective watchful eye on the Hairy-ones. Ghad found himself surrounded by a group of individuals, most of whom viewed his lack of savagery as a character flaw. However, this perceived vice, when exhibited by a warrior as formidable as Ghad, was actually appreciated by those who were not as strong as him. In fact, Druark’s dread of Vorv surpassed even his hatred for the son of the Leopard, as he considered him to be more fearsome than any beast.
The brothers possessed hairy physiques and cunning strength that appeared impenetrable. If one of them desired the death of an individual, all three shared the same desire. Anyone who dared to wage war against one brother would be considered an enemy by all three, and they would either have to kill or be killed. Their alliance was unbreakable, fueled by their fiery tempers.
Although the chief understood their brutal nature, he still sought their support. However, the Hairy-ones secluded themselves in the outer boundaries, barricaded by their mistrust and unable to believe in the words or actions of others. Acts of kindness from others only served to anger them. They were impervious to flattery or submission, and their emotions were only responsive to terror. On the other hand, Druark, despite his defiance and ruthlessness, possessed the qualities of a leader. He showed indulgence towards his followers, understanding the importance of occasionally soothing and satisfying them with praise. In return, he knew how to garner adulation and respect from his people. Under Druark’s leadership, there were even occasional displays of humor, celebration, and sociability among the people. However, for the most part, he drove them with the instincts for survival.
In response, Druark replied with brutal deference:
“If the son of the Aurochs returns the Fire to the Clan, he shall claim Airle without any cost. He will become the second-in-command of the horde, and all warriors shall obey him in the chief’s absence.”
Vorv listened with a defiant demeanor, puffing out his chest like an excited prairie grouse. He turned his bushy face towards Airle, appraising her, and his round eyes hardened with a menacing glare.
The Daughter of the Marsh shall be claimed by the son of the Aurochs. Any man who dares to touch her will face annihilation. These words provoked a strong reaction from Ghad. Fueled by his anger, he declared vehemently: “She shall belong to the one who retrieves the Fire!” “Vorv will bring back the Fire!” he proclaimed. They locked eyes, their gazes filled with intensity. Until this moment, there had been no animosity or need to compete between them. They had always respected each other’s skills and strength, without any hint of rivalry. They rarely crossed paths and never hunted together. However, Druark’s words had sown seeds of hatred between them. Vorv, who had barely paid any attention to Airle as she foraged on the savannah the day before, now felt a chill run down his spine as Druark praised her. Driven by his impulsive nature and instincts, he desired her now with a burning passion, as if he had desired her for countless seasons. From that point on, he viewed every rival as a threat. His longing for her was deeply ingrained in his being. Ghad noticed the change in Vorv and tightened his grip on his axe and spear. In response to Vorv’s challenge, his brothers silently rose, standing united behind their brother. They bore a striking resemblance to him, with their unruly red hair and eyes that shimmered like beetle wings. Their sun-kissed complexions resembled clay, and their agile, restless movements were as unsettling as their strength. They licked their broken teeth as they appraised Airle’s alluring thighs.
All three individuals, prepared for murder, observed Ghad. However, a low and indistinct concern emerged among the warriors. Even those who criticized Ghad for his cautious nature and viewed his willingness to cooperate as a weakness did not wish to witness his demise after the destruction of numerous Clan members, especially now that he vowed to restore the Fire. Ghad was renowned for his strategic thinking, adept planning, vigilance, and ability to nurture even the smallest flame, capable of reviving it from feeble embers. Many relied on his good fortune.
In reality, Vorv also possessed the patience and cunning required to ensure the success of the quest, and the Clan recognized the advantages of doubling their efforts. The entire horde erupted into chaos – those loyal to Ghad rallied around him with a clamor, demonstrating their allegiance and readiness to fight.
Fearless as he was, the son of the Aurochs also respected sound judgement. He postponed the dispute. Tet-the-dry-bone sensed the chaotic confusion among the onlookers and attempted to clarify their thoughts:
“Do the Clan desire to vanish from this world? Have they forgotten the countless warriors lost to enemies and waters? Only one in four remains. All those capable of wielding an axe, spear, or club must survive. Ghad and Vorv are formidable among the forest hunters: if one of them perishes, the Clan will be weaker than if many others were to perish… The daughter of the Marsh will serve the one who restores the Fire. The horde desires it to be so.”
“So be it!” agreed a chorus of rough voices.
And the women, formidable in their numbers, with most of their strength still intact and united in their sentiments regarding the situation, declared:
Airle will belong to the catcher of the Fire!
Vorv nonchalantly lifted his hairy shoulders, feeling a sense of disdain towards the gathering. However, he deemed it unwise to challenge the collective opinion of the tribe. Instead, he decided to bide his time and seek retribution against Ghad in a secluded location, away from prying eyes. With each passing moment, Vorv’s self-assurance grew stronger, filling his chest with unwavering confidence.
The Mammoths and the Aurochs
As the sun rose on a new day, strong winds swept through the clouds, while the area surrounding the marsh remained covered in a warm mist that carried the scent of blossoms. The marsh water, adorned with algae, waterlilies, and pale reeds, mirrored the turquoise sky above. Slowly, the dawn revealed itself, shedding its red hues and allowing the bold sun to take its place. Sunlight illuminated the lagoons, painting them in shades of sulfur, beryl, and pink mother-of-pearl.
The Clan, facing the receding dawn and feeling the comforting warmth of the sun on their faces, experienced a sense of almost mystical connection within their souls. This same spirit inspired the birds to sing amidst the swaying savannah grasses and marsh willows. However, despite the promise of a new day, the wounded among them found little relief and groaned with thirst. A fallen warrior lay sprawled in the grass, his bloated limbs turning blue with decay. While the others slept, a nocturnal predator had devoured his face.
Tet stumbled through incoherent apologies and prayers for the deceased, and Druark ordered the body to be thrown into the water.
The attention of the horde then shifted to the Fire-Seekers, Vorv and Ghad, who were preparing to depart. They carried a club, an axe, a willow-wood harpoon with a sharpened tip, and a spear with a stone head. Ghad, relying on cunning rather than brute strength, enlisted the help of two young and agile men, Jezull and Roog, who possessed remarkable endurance for long-distance running. Although relatively untested, they were strong warriors with impressive stamina. Each of them also carried an axe and a spear. Ghad inspected the oak club he had selected—a rough-hewn branch that had been trimmed and hardened in the Fire. He favored this weapon above all others, even when facing formidable carnivores.
Druark initially spoke to the Aurochs, addressing the order in which they would choose their paths. He stated that Vorv, who saw the sunlight before the son of the Leopard, would have the first choice. If Vorv chose to go to the Two Rivers, Ghad would then turn towards the marshes and the setting sun. Conversely, if Vorv chose the swamps, Ghad would go to the Two Rivers.
The brute protested, claiming that Vorv did not yet know his way and that he sought Fire. He argued that Vorv could go to the river in the morning and to the swamp in the evening. He compared this to a hunter following a boar, who does not know where he will kill it.
Tet supported Vorv’s ability to change course later, backed by the murmurs of the horde. He argued that Vorv could not search for the setting sun and the Two Rivers simultaneously, and therefore, he should be allowed to choose.
Deep down, Vorv understood that he should stand up to the chief, but he chose not to arouse Ghad’s distrust. Instead, he declared that he would go to the setting sun, turning his wolf-like gaze towards the crowd. With a sudden sign to his brothers, he set off along the marsh.
Ghad, on the other hand, did not make a decision as quickly as Vorv. He wanted to savor a lingering look at Airle, who stood under an ash tree with Tet and the old men, behind the chief’s group. She stood still, her face turned towards the savannah. Adorned with carnation flowers and a moon-colored waterlily in her hair, the sight of her sent a tingling sensation through Ghad’s skin. The hairs on his arms felt as playful as the bubbling blue brooks and the shimmering green trees.
Ghad inhaled the essence of Life, the insatiable desire that drives both beasts and plants. His heart swelled to the point of suffocation, while his mind churned with a mix of tenderness and anger. Those who had separated him from Airle were as detestable to him as the Mammoth’s sons or the Devourers of Men. With an axe in hand, he raised his arm and declared:
“Daughter of the Marsh, Ghad will not fail. He will either be swallowed by the earth or the waters, consumed by hyenas, or he will return the Fire to the Clan. He promises to bring back shells, blue stones, leopard teeth, and auroch horns to Airle.”
Upon hearing these words, the warrior’s promise filled her with child-like joy. However, Druark, eagerly gesturing, urged Ghad to hurry:
“The sons of the Aurochs have disappeared behind the poplars.”
Ghad nodded in acknowledgement and headed south. …
The Book is only available from Amazon: Fire – Kindle edition by Sweet, W. G.. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
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