MOTLEB MAN

1

Jamas sat beneath a huge pine, squinting at the sun that filtered through dense treetops. The more he thought of it, the angrier he became. Laus had left him alone to fend for himself. The scenario blended together with other thoughts in his head and fought for priority. Deep inside the forest they were, both destined to be the first men to capture a motleb alive. The forest engulfed them and as they neared the lair, apprehension became obvious with Laus.

"Hey don't sweat it," Jamas had told him, trying his damnedest to soothe his friend's shattered nerves. Laus had not really wanted to come along, though Jamas had persuaded him to do so. Still, that gave Laus no right to leave as he did.

The motleb were nowhere around (as far as they could tell), so Laus's state of mind calmed considerably. They foolishly approached the lair and entered. Though no motleb were found, it was an insane act. What are we hoping to find? thought Jamas. A defenseless motleb, begging to be caught and taken to a village where people such as ourselves would gawk at it for days upon weeks upon years? No. It was something inside his body that overwhelmed even the wisest of advice. The feeling assured Jamas there were none around and even if there were, he would defeat them. Laus felt differently.

"Let's get the hell outta' here!" he yelled. Jamas cupped his hand over his companions mouth to prevent further blurts of stupidity.

"Laus you fool!" he whispered as loud as he could. He wanted to speak further, but the thought of a motleb nearby prevented that. If one was close, no doubt it heard Laus. Actually, something did hear him, but it was not a motleb. Just as bad, however, are staviks. About fifteen of these wolf-like beasts seemed to come from nowhere but at the same time, everywhere. Swords held them off quite adequately, which surprised them, but these were not healthy staviks. Their scrawny, bony bodies displayed half the agility and strength of regular staviks. The two were able to hold them off, but even after they had killed a third of them, more kept coming. Jamas lost his footing and fell into a gully. Laus stared down at him and as the staviks neared, he fled, leaving Jamas to fend for himself. Some staviks followed, but most of them turned to Jamas.

Luckily, Jamas was not hurt and was able to run. Unfortunately, the staviks followed. As the leader of them snapped and clawed at the heels of his hide shoes, he came to a cliff. Not pausing to see what was beyond the drop, Jamas leapt. Below was a huge lake and as he sailed towards it, the memory of it flooded his mind. I've been here before, he thought, but the thought perished as he splashed into it's cold, clear water. When he surfaced, he looked up. The staviks above him yelped and growled howls of frustration. They detest water and for this Jamas was as thankful as anyone could possibly be. Even if they didn't, it was doubtful they would have jumped the forty feet anyway.

Eventually he made it to a shore of swamp and mud. This scene finally made way to solid ground and there he sat, catching his breath, thinking of Laus, and glad to be alive. For the moment, Jamas let the thought of Laus drift. He stood up and looked around. He was not worried about meeting the staviks again, although he should've been. These woods not only hold staviks and motleb but a host of other dangerous beasts as well. He lost his sword when he jumped into the lake, but refused to believe he was helpless. Too many times had he survived the wild with the barest of necessities. He knew how to remain calm and comfortable within this environment. Nevertheless, his senses were constantly on the alert. He stretched, sniffed the air, then glanced towards the two suns in the afternoon sky. His village was six miles to the west, so he began to run in that direction.

After a mile he began to pant and he cursed himself for being so out of shape. Jamas was only twenty-six at the time and in his prime. As the forest whizzed by in blurs of green and brown, memories of running effortlessly throughout the mountains engulfed his thought. He semi-longed for those days again, but reminded himself that he is still very young and was hardly beyond grasping that nostalgic feeling once again. The forests continued to fly by. After another mile, a strange sort of instinct forced him to stop. What is it? The feeling made his hairs stand on end. He listened. It was quiet, yes, but he knew there was something alive out there, something following him.

What is it? WHAT IS IT!!??

Birds twittered, trees swayed in the soft wind, a river in the distance rushed forcefully. These sounds were heard, then mentally discarded. There was something else out there - something alive. He was about to run again, but stopped before he began. He could smell it. There is something out there!

It's...staviks!

His heart began to race faster and he thought it could be heard throughout the forest, but it didn't matter. There were staviks very near and they were watching him now.

A twig snapped. Jamas turned to face the sound and found his senses to be true. A huge stavik stared at him from behind a fallen log, fangs overlapping drooled lips. Within seconds, growls surrounded him and he felt trapped. He ran, but directly into another stavik. Faking a right turn, he switched direction and miraculously hurdled the beast, missing it's snapping mouth by an inch. This was only the start, however, for he had to elude their snapping mouths for a few more miles. That was unheard of. Healthy or not, staviks can easily outrun any man. Jamas began to panic slightly which surprised him. He never panicked, but then again, his death was never more evident as it was then. If he does not find another cliff or other means of escape quickly, then he is surely doomed.

The trees! About forty feet ahead of him, a branch hung low enough so that he could grab it and climb. Not remembering if staviks could climb trees, he focused on the branch. Ten feet before he reached it, however, two stavik jaws clamped onto his left leg, throwing him to the forest floor.

NO! his mind screamed, but it was really happening. Another stavik leaped towards his face and as Jamas closed his eyes and turned his head, the thought of seeing it's open mouth lunging towards him as the last sight of life tortured his mind. He somehow managed to get to his knees, but it was no use. Experiencing shock, his body became immune to the thought of death, the feeling of sheer terror and pain. It was hard to tell how many there were. The last thing Jamas saw before he blacked out was the black beady eyes of a stavik staring into his as it lunged for his throat.

2

Is this death?

His mind wandered, his life flashing before him.

I can tell this is not reality. Once in a while I'll get this feeling when I'm dreaming. I'll know that I'm dreaming and will be able to control everything around me, able to wake up when I want to.

But Jamas could not wake up. It was more real that any dream, but at the same time, completely unlike reality.

I remember the staviks. They surely must have killed me. Remembering seeing the one lunge for my throat was proof enough for me that I am not alive. I could not have survived such an attack and I wonder why it was me and not Laus. There was nobody around to help me. I was alone in the forest, just me and about ten staviks. No one could have helped me.

I am dead.

Strangely enough, he felt no remorse, no depression. Instead, he felt peace and contentment which is how he pictured death. He saw himself walking through a dark and shapeless arena of uncertainty. It was as if he were floating above himself and watching all that he does. He does not talk to his wandering body and does not try. Finally, gray images from into solid objects - a rock, a tree, a wall. A wall! He is at home, sitting inside on a chair he made several months ago. His wife Emma walks into the room and smiles at him. He wants to hold her, to let her know that he is dead and that she should know. She hugs him! NO! Now come the feelings of despair and helplessness. Jamas felt this scene cannot be real, that it was all within his head. He wants to tell her that exact thought but instead, he holds Emma tightly and begins to cry. As if she understands his situation, she smiles and comforts him, telling him softly that it's all right and that she will always love her husband although he will no longer be around.

Then she does know. I really am dead. Is she dreaming this also or is this just some wild after-life vision?

He feels frustration and the scene continues to expand. The gray boundaries that define the void of his dream take shape and become familiar landmarks. He is sitting inside his hut hugging Emma in the village where he has spent most of his life. Emma loosens her hold on him, then steps outside the hut to the bright day. Her long brown hair is shiny and for just a second, Jamas felt this wasn't a dream after all, but he continues to float above himself and he realizes that this scene most certainly is in his mind.

He stands up and follows her outside. His friends and neighbors are all present and they all stare at him. Then he sees Laus. Jamas forgot his anger for Laus having left him in the forest. He smiles and walks towards his friend.

"Laus!" he says, "You made it!"

"Yes," Laus replies, his eyes void of emotion, "but you didn't."

Jamas backs up and stares at him, his mind full of racing thoughts. This was not the Laus he knew. He looked around. He sees himself in the air above and smiles, but that soon fades.

Is this what death is? Am I going to spend eternity in this world where sorrow and vagueness engulf my mind?

The people's faces before him are unrecognizable, lacking eyes, mouths and noses. Staring at them he could not really tell, but Emma and Laus were different.

"Emma," he said suddenly, turning to look at his wife, "I love you and even though I am dead, I will always be with you in spirit and..." His voice trails off. He could see himself talking but he could not hear. Instead, his mind filled with things that he should have said to her but never did - how much he really loves her and how he would do anything to be with her forever, how he wanted to hold her and believe that their embrace would last forever.

"The motleb are on the march," Laus said, "We must find them and try to destroy them." This is exactly what he had said to Jamas before the two went into the forest. Once a year, the motleb go on a rampage and destroy all villages and people in sight. Nobody knows their reasoning for this, for it was only humans that they killed on this binge. People have been somewhat successful in avoiding them in the past. This made Jamas wonder what was really happening in his village at the time, and if his people would be able to avoid them again.

"I want help," Jamas said from above and everyone looked up as he continues, "but I am dead and unable to help."

"Are you sure?" Emma asks and looks at her husband as if he were telling an obvious lie. This confused him. His head began to spin and wondered why she asked that of him. "Are you really sure you're dead?"

"Well of course," his body on the ground said, "I mean..."

In a flurry that escaped even his quick mind, a huge motleb appeared suddenly. This terrified him, but everyone else seemed rather calm.

"Watch out!" he said from above, but nobody listened. More motleb appeared and it looked like their march had begun. Even in death, reality made the rules. A motleb grabbed Emma in its left hand and lifted her up. It's monstrous bear-like face sniffed her head as if it were savoring it's next morsel.

"No!" Jamas screamed, but it was too late. The beast forced Emma’s head inside it's mouth and clamped it's fangs around her neck with a crunch that made him feel nauseous. Throwing her headless body to the side, the motleb stared up at Jamas and reached for it's next bite. He was frozen with terror and wondered insanely if it was possible to die, even after death. He could not move. As other motleb chased around and gobbled up his friends, the one below him grasped him with immense, hairy hands with protruding yellow claws. Feeling the shock he felt with the staviks in the woods, he glared down the throat of a monster that ruled all others. Saliva dripped loosely about its inner mouth and Jamas could see unswallowed strands of Emma's hair protruding from its dark throat. When the beast shut its mouth and darkness overcame him, he felt the world around him fade away.

There was no pain, but consciousness prevailed. His body began to tingle all over, then eventually become numb. He opened his eyes as wide as he could but could not see anything.

More insane thoughts rushed through his head: Am I slipping away into another scene of death, another world to explore? Where am I? Who...what is controlling this dream? Will I ever get any answers?

He blinked, feeling the floating sensation again. The shock of having his head chewed off by a motleb had passed. He thought this to be hell, heading towards another terrifying demise, over and over again. But then he saw the black around him swirl to a feigning gray. The numbness began to fade and was replaced by pain. As the gray turned to light, he saw faces staring at him - two men and a woman.

"Is he all right?" asks one. His senses burst with surprising awareness - his eyesight becoming very clear, his body feeling solid and heavy. The unfamiliar faces stared at him and he wondered where this death dream would take him. As Jamas looked around, his head cleared and the shock of reality swarmed through his mind. This was no dream - this time it was real. He tried to speak, but was unable to. His throat felt incredibly sore. As he sat there, he began to feel other parts of his body throb for attention. The people before him stared with concern. He did not know who they were or where he was for that matter. A confused mind tried to make sense of the scene, trying to remember how he had gotten there and why he was lying down in a strange hut staring at unfamiliar faces.

Wearily, it came back to him. The staviks...Laus...where is Laus? Am I really alive? Am I really here?

Regardless of how groggy he was, he could tell he wasn't dreaming. Reality is as obvious as anything and this made him more confused. Again he tried to talk, but all that escaped his throat was a hoarse whisper.

"Don't try to talk," the man nearest to Jamas said. "Those staviks took care of your voice for a while. You're lucky to be alive." The man had long blonde hair and looked rather scrappy. He squatted beside the bed that Jamas suddenly realized he was on, and stared as did others. Jamas sat up, wincing as his right hand shot a wave of sharp pain up his arm. He looked down to see what was wrong with it, but the hand was covered with white cloth, thick and tight.

"We found you in the woods fighting those staviks as best you could. You smacked one in the mouth, shattering its teeth and your knuckles," the man said, thus explaining the bandages. This made Jamas wonder what else was wrong with his body as the man continued: "If we had been a second later, you would be dead. A stavik had latched onto your throat but he was only there for a second before we hacked him up with our swords."

This was quite shocking, but at the same time, relieving news. Jamas was still alive because these people had saved him. He silently cursed himself for not sensing them in the forest as he had the staviks.

"Do you remember what happened?" the woman asked, her dark round eyes staring into his, "Can you remember being attacked by them?" Jamas tried to reply, but only incoherent mumbles slipped through his lips. When he tried to say anything, his throat sliced with pain. Therefore, he nodded. Yes, yes I remember those little bastards, he thought.

He had an urge to stand up, to leave the confined feeling of the tiny bed. He stood on one leg, felt it was fine, then tried the other one. This one (the left) hurt. The others in the room stared at him, refraining from helping this man whom they knew nothing about. They did know that he must have come from one of several small communities scattered about the forests. He seemed a rather large man, maybe from a stronger race originating from some other world, but he was definitely human.

"You should be careful with that leg," the woman said.

"Ah I'm all right," Jamas tried to say but only he understood the hoarse reply. He limped around the room, pausing every now and then to stretch the soreness out of his leg. Looking at it revealed obvious teeth marks, typical of ordinary stavik choppers, tattooing the back of his calf that swelled through the back of shredded clothing. Congealed blood blotted the newly-acquired pores. His mind raced with infinite thoughts: Where is Laus...I have to get home...Does my throat have bandages on it?...Ah, it does...Are the motleb on the march or did I just dream it...I want to see Emma!!

The thought of Emma dominated others as Jamas tried desperately to clear his head. As soon as he could think straight, then he would have to go to his village. The three people before him stared with concern, admiring his determination to walk around instead of taking it easy.

"You know you really should stay off that leg and get some rest," the scrappy blonde man said.

Jamas fixed him with a desperate stare and managed the words: "How long...have I...been here?" The man listened intently and was able to understand the garbled question.

"About four hours."

Jamas looked through the opening of the hut and into the afternoon sky. There was still plenty of daylight left and he was determined to take advantage of it. Leg or no leg, he was leaving, but there was something he had to know.

"Laus," he whispered and his throat sliced with pain at the word, "Where...is...he?" The three strangers stared at him, confused by his question, or maybe they could not understand him. "I had...a...friend with me," Jamas managed to say but the pain was too much. Nevertheless, he could tell by the expressions around him that they understood what he had said. The woman looked urgently to the two men. Jamas could feel it in their faces - they knew where Laus was.

"Where...is...he?"

Once again the confused expressions. This made Jamas angry. His face showed anger for their lack of an answer. He looked outside again and studied what he could see. People walked about casually, people he had never seen before. This made him wonder how far from his own village he actually was. These people seemed a bit smaller in physical build than himself, but this was nothing new. Several villages scattered about these forests seldom resembled one another. Some communities weren't even human, but intelligent nonetheless. He had to get away from this place and travel back to his own home. This was his next thought but it stayed within himself. He was impatient and figured if these people before him knew where Laus was, he would be in this village somewhere. Eyeing some curiously crafted pots that hung low from the ceiling, he stepped out of the hut and into the heat of the day.

"Where is he going?" the woman from inside asked. Jamas received many curious glances from passersby but his mind disregarded any thoughts except those of Laus. For a split second he contemplated screaming out his friend's name but knew that it would be useless. His left leg did hurt but that also was unimportant. Laus was here somewhere - he could feel it. He limped, but then managed to straighten his gait. The people around him did not disturb him. They all wore the same brown animal hides (probably from stots or breens) so Laus should be easy to spot. His friend wore a green suit and would stand out easily in the thin crowd. After several minutes more, he came upon some staviks lying lazily about in the cool shade for a newly-built hut. Instinctively he reached for his sword but it was not at his side. The beasts detected the apprehension and growled slightly.

"Wait!" a fragile voice yelled. Looking to his left, Jamas could see a small girl running to the staviks. Her long black hair swayed erratically on her way to the staviks then settled into place as she did. "These are my pets! Don't hurt them!"

Jamas backed up slightly then cleared his thoughts. The dog-like animals before him were indeed staviks, but tame staviks. His mind recalled the ones in the forests first before realizing they can also be domesticated from birth if so desired. In fact, wild staviks are rare, but his recent encounter with the animal contradicted the term. Deep inside he felt a stereotype of the animal form a negative impression upon his brain. He turned and walked away, glaring at the many curious faces around him. He felt completely out of place, like a side-show freak allowed to roam freely, unchained to its designated post.

Laus, he thought, has got to be here. He continued to walk throughout the village. The mountain ranges surrounding the place were unfamiliar at first, but they eventually triggered his memory. They were Stot and Breen Mountains (named after the deer that flourished throughout them). Beyond these mountains were more forests. Calculating the distance best he could along with thoughts of Laus, Jamas estimated he was about twenty miles from his own village. It was quite a distance but one that will be easily covered after he and Laus left this place.

"Laus," he tried to call out, but the hoarseness of his voice carried the word to within earshot of nobody. People continued to stare. He was going to wave his arms wildly at them, as if shooing away unwanted birds, but then he saw a mound on the ground covered with breen hide, about twenty feet away. It lay motionless in front of a rather large hut, an old scraggly man walking around it, sizing it up. Flies buzzed crazily about the heap and the old man swatted what ones he could, continuing to inspect the bundle. He was prepared to lift the hide to reveal the contents within, but then he noticed Jamas. A small crowd was gathered around the outsider as he approached the heap and the old man. A certain unspeakable message passed from Jamas to the old man. The scraggly fellow stepped back for he saw Jamas walking towards him. Jamas studied the guy's beady little eyes, filthy beard and sparse head of gray hair. Go ahead and check it out, his glossy retinas beckoned him. Go ahead and look beneath the hide.

Jamas expected the worst. All was silent as he walked to the bundle, grabbed one corner of the light brown animal skin, then pulled it back.

He staggered back, staring horrified at the contents within. A horribly mutilated body lay awkwardly in the dirt, its limbs sprawling lifelessly from the bulk of a body ripped and torn from obvious violence. A barely recognizable face stared blankly at Jamas from a battered head. It was the face of Laus.

"My God what have you people done?" Jamas looked wildly about, feeling trapped within a group of vicious murderers. His head began to spin and the sight of Laus on the ground before him propelled his mind into a confused rage. He looked behind himself, to the right, to the left. People were on all sides of him and he felt they were closing in on him.

"What have you done to him!?" his torn voice managed to spit out, but the words were barely audible. The dreamy feeling of death overwhelmed him once again and he wondered if this really was just another adventure in the world of death. Dream or not, his instinct forced him to think rationally. Ten feet away to the left of the lifeless heap, he saw a spear resting on its butt against a hut. Quickly he dashed towards it, grabbed it as though his life depended on it, then spun around to face the apprehensive crowd. Faces stared at the unpredictable man before them. Though no one dared approach him, Jamas challenged anyone to do so.

"Hey guy, just calm down," a voice said, coming from his left. Jamas turned his head and recognized the blonde-haired man that was at his side when he awoke. He held up his hands and spoke slowly, very calm and serious. "We found him that way right before we found you. The staviks did this to him. This could have been you also had we not found you in time."

Jamas heard the words and tried desperately to make sense of them. What the man said made more sense than the thought of these people murdering Laus themselves. He studied the body of his friend once again. The rips and tears in the flesh were obviously made by the teeth of some animal. Looking closer he noticed that half of Laus's left leg was completely gone, as well as the entire right arm. The eyes were open and Jamas thought for just a second that his friend would jump up from the ground. He looked away and lowered the spear. His heart ached for the life of his friend and sorrow engulfed his soul as well as his face.

"Everything's okay, friend," the blonde-hair said again. He began to walk towards Jamas but stopped when the spear was raised again. Jamas was confused and scared. These people saved him. They could have left him to die or even kill him themselves but they didn't. Right now there are many more of them than there are of him and they could probably turn on him now if they so choose. But they just stared, many different faces and expressions drilled into him, making him feel like a fool. Fool or not, Laus was dead and Jamas tried to convince himself that it was staviks and not these people.

Jamas lowered the spear once again then stared at the ground. All was silent except for the soft pat of a pair of feet walking towards him.

"Be careful, Bat," a small cloaked woman said to the man approaching Jamas. He came from within two feet of Jamas then stopped. Two pairs of eyes stared into each other, studying the specifics of one man versus another. Jamas was clothed in hides as was the man before him, although Jamas was a bit larger in build and a bit hairier also. His long hair and beard gave him the appearance of a hermit, his dark eyes void of emotion although he was going through plenty. The blonde-hair was small, clean shaven and possessed bright green eyes. He forced a smile, still unsure of whether this rugged, exhausted man would commit to rational behavior.

"I am known as Bat," he said, his voice blending with other realities inside Jamas's head, "We are your friends. We mean you no harm. It is very unfortunate about your friend, but I assure you it was not our doing. Violence is greatly feared among people such as ourselves and we resort to it only for the killing of animals for food. I can understand what you must be going through. I had a friend eaten by a motleb two months ago and the thought of it still carves pain into my memory."

Jamas heard the words and stared deeply into the man's eyes. The sun was hot and he felt a sudden urge of heat swarm throughout his body. Sweat trickled from his forehead and stung his eyes. His instincts told him not to be frightened. With this thought, he lowered the spear once again.

"I am Jamas," he said and tried to say more, but failed. Reality sunk into his brain ad he knew that the ordeal he had experienced today would change his outlook on life in general. The man known as Bat extended his hand for a shake, but Jamas was still hesitant. After a few minutes, Bat lowered his hand, only to raise it again when Jamas offered his. The two shook and an unspoken sigh of relief engulfed the crowd.

"Please, let us help you," Bat said, his voice soothing and welcome, "We have brought you here under good intentions." Jamas understood everything but was unsure of what to say or if he did, would it be understood. He half wished for the scenario to fall apart and to find himself actually dead after all, but that did not happen. People began to dwindle and his presence was soon accepted.

"Please come with me," Bat said and he began to walk away towards the direction in which he came. Jamas, however, stood still, glaring back at the few faces that continued to glare at him. One of the staviks approached him and sniffed his wounds, but Jamas did not flinch. If the little beast tried anything, he would gore it with the spear and this thought eased his wild thoughts somewhat.

Eventually Jamas followed, but cautiously. The shock of seeing Laus lying in the dirt all chewed-up was still with him, as was the feeling of dreaming death. Reality was enough that it overpowered the dreariness and he wished for a clearer head. The people around him were, in fact, no threat whatsoever. They were as docile as Bat proclaimed, but Jamas did not accept that completely.

"Ah, you don't need that spear anymore," Bat said to him, turning around to look at him once as he lead the way.

The hell I don't, Jamas thought. I'm keeping this spear right where everyone can see it. That he did.

Because of this menacing nature, people cleared the way as he walked passed. They seemed a rather timid tribe of people and Jamas wondered how they managed to survive the constant threat of motleb and other beasts. He also wondered where this Bat person was leading him.

The village was actually quite small and walking from one side to another took no time. A well was soon in front of them. Bat motioned for Jamas to have a drink and it was at that instant that he realized how thirsty he was. His throat suddenly ached with dryness and he longed for the wet, crystal coldness of the stuff. Bat held a large ladle, water dripping from its sides. Here you go Jamas, his round eyes said, drink some of this stuff. Wild thoughts rushed through Jamas’s head, thoughts of being poisoned and of distrust. Whatever these people's intentions, his primary instincts were not taken lightly. If ever there was a test of his endurance, it was now. Throughout his life he had encountered many different people on the face of this planet and they had, for the most part, been friendly. Fierce tribes were few and far between.

Dammit I can't sit here and try to decipher these people all day, Jamas thought. With that, he grabbed the ladle, almost spilling its contents out of desperate thirst, then drank. There was a small crowd looking on and this made him realize that he slurped and swallowed rather sloppily, but he didn't care. He drank another ladle full then thanked Bat for the quench. His thirst now gone, his mind was more rational and the world was viewed in a different light. These people were helpful and he naturally was inclined to accept their friendly intentions.

"Jamas," Bat said, "We have a nawman who can inspect your wounds, if you wish. He's over this way." He pointed across the compound, across many heads to a hut hastily constructed. The nawmen of the planet were known for their knowledge of healing, which they inherited from birth. His own village had a nawman and he felt he could wait until he got home before his wounds were cared for. With this thought, he stared at Bat and shook his head. No Bat, I have to get home. I have to see my wife and friends to make sure everyone is safe and all right.

Laus once again invaded his thought. The two were not extremely close friends but close enough to make Jamas wince with an emptiness and guilt that all deaths seem to inflict. He knew Laus's wife fairly well and hated the thought of having to tell her of her husband's death. Instead of following Bat, Jamas walked back to the body on the ground, testing his leg strength on the way. He was confident he could make his way home without any problems. Of course he would feel better with a sword or some other type of protection, but he had been through worse (or so he told himself).

The old scraggly man was still inspecting the heap beneath the breen hide and Jamas guessed this guy to be some type of undertaker. When the old man saw Jamas coming, however, he stepped aside once again and let the newcomer inspect the body. Jamas approached, stared briefly, then sat down next to the body that was once his living Traesian friend. Few people watched him this time, although he didn't notice and could care less.

"Laus," he managed to whisper, not trying to form audible sounds, "I'm sorry. I wish it was me and not you." Any further words stuck in his throat. He did not really mean what he had just said but Laus could not hear them anyway. The malignant eyes stared at the dirt in front of its face and fed information to a brain that no longer functioned. After a few minutes more, Jamas looked up to meet the eyes of the undertaker. He wanted to take Laus's body back with him but he knew that this would be too much for him. He motioned for the old man to come towards him and the undertaker obliged.

"You will bury him?" Jamas said, his throat slicing with pain. The old man assured Jamas that burying Laus was his intention and was about to do so when he was interrupted by the two (Bat and Jamas). Jamas felt terrible. How could he think of leaving Laus in a strange place to be buried by people he didn't even know? Looking towards the mountains, he knew he could not carry Laus all the way back to his own village. He would be lucky to make it himself, his body in the stavik-bit condition that it was.

Laus, I really am sorry. I'm sorry for being mad at you for leaving me in the woods. I would have never thought I would be the one to survive that ordeal. Please forgive me.

Bat approached. "Are you going to see our nawman?" he asked. Jamas sat in the dirt next to his dead friend and did not answer the question. He thought of what was the right thing to do under the circumstances and why he should feel guilty for following his instincts. Surely Laus's wife would understand if Jamas does not carry the body twenty miles to the village. He would have to make arrangements for Laus to eventually be brought back to his own village. In the meantime, he had other plans.

"You must see our nawman," Bat persisted. This irritated Jamas and he looked up to Bat with the expression that said just that. "Look Jamas, I know you don't want to, but it's for your own good."

Jamas shook his head, obstinate in his decision.

"Well then, what are you going to do then?"

Jamas pointed to the west and mouthed the word "home." Bat understood and let the stranger do his will. He pictured himself as Jamas and knew deep within himself that he would have done the same thing.

3

He turned to look at the people once more. They agreed to bury Laus and he realized that they really are considerate and peaceful, worried about his own well-being as much as their own. Bat waved once again, then turned away as did Jamas. Before him was the forest and he paused for just a few seconds to contemplate the world around him. Twenty miles was no easy stroll through the woods but Jamas was sure he could cover the distance within three to four hours. He looked behind once more. Bat had turned away as he did, but he did not look to Jamas. The people in that community really were friendly and Jamas felt a bit guilty for having doubted them, but that was only natural. Bat had introduced him to several other tribal members before Jamas decided to finally leave. Two women and the nawman tried to convince him to stay but it was useless. He needed to get back to his own people. With that thought, he faced the west once again then started to run. His leg bothered him somewhat but not enough to prevent him from keeping an acceptable pace. He always started out running fast, slowing down when he felt himself becoming tired, then eventually leveling to a pace that was neither sprint nor jog, but in between. The forest flew by. As trees, rocks, leaves, shrubbery and other fauna were encountered, he automatically stored the information in his head of size, shape and location. This kept his mind busy, making time dissipate quicker. If he were to pass by this area again, he would remember.

After several miles, his left leg began to throb with pain and he wondered if he would stop soon to give it a rest. He didn't want to and kept running, continuing to focus on the woods around him. If he kept his thoughts busy, the pain in his leg disappeared. He thought of Emma and how she would certainly be worried about his whereabouts as he knew Laus's wife would be about her now dead husband. The motleb march would begin soon and his people would have to prepare for it. Measures for avoiding the beasts were always new and desperate. The last march had destroyed nearly half the population of his village and it made him cringe with frustration. Emma longed for the life on another world, but Jamas felt that there was a way possible to destroy the beasts and overcome their dominance. Dominance it was, for not only were motleb huge, but very intelligent as well. He remembered long ago when there were no motleb, a time of ease and prosperity. Then one year, they arrived. From where no one was really sure, but the theory is that they came from some other world. He could still remember seeing the cigar-shaped crafts, speeding across the sky when he was about ten years old. To Jamas’s community, they were thought of as newcomers to Traes One. His own family had come from a planet called Thost in similar ships, but these were different. They were larger, obviously from some advanced civilization. It was from these crafts that the motleb were said to have come. The beasts began their rule not long after and Traes One became their domain. Many times their family had nearly left Traes One, but his father was obstinate and stood his ground. Old Morris (what everyone called him) was determined to keep his community together and all stood by his side. The last sweep of death the motleb caused was quite a blow. Because of this, Laus and Jamas decided to risk their lives and search for the lairs of these beasts in hopes of somehow destroying or at least deterring their attack. The results of that little trip were disastrous and Jamas thought of it as a failure as he traveled onward through the woods.

When he had run about ten miles, he stopped suddenly. He perked his ears and tried his best to calm his heavy breathing. He certainly had not disregarded the fact that there may be staviks or even a motleb or two lurking around. This type of thought was a constant threat, imbedded into his brain and always present. Of course, coming upon a motleb now would surely be the death of him.

One of these days, he thought, I will be able to meet a motleb face-to-face and defeat it.

His calf throbbed with pain, more than it ever had. It was in no shape to be exercised as much as he was exercising it, this he knew. This made him think of sitting down and taking an even more involved rest, but Emma invaded his thought and he was off again. He could not remember when he had run so much at once, if he ever had. His legs begged for more rest but he told himself to keep going until he dropped or was at home. It wasn't easy, but this discipline was learned from his father and he refused to let his physique overrule his mental concentration. Maybe this was damaging to his leg, maybe not. All he was concerned with was making it home and being with his wife, his people.

So his run continued.

The forest always fascinated him and the feeling of serenity and comfort it provided was a feeling like no other. Observing all the splendor of unspoiled foliage helped the miles fly by, and fly by they did. Soon he was in familiar territory and he stopped to rest once more. He was sweating and he had taken his upper hide garment off miles ago because of this. Looking around he could tell he was within a mile of his village, the trees and such very recognizable and comforting. He smiled as he put his hands on his hips and took deep, heavy breaths of air as though it was far better here than anywhere else on Traes One.

Emma will be excited to see me, he thought. The idea of telling Laus's wife of her husband's death was not a comforting thought. He cringed as he recalled the face full of blood and torn flesh. This made him feel guilty, but then why should it? It wasn't my fault, he thought, but the idea was hardly comforting. He walked, trying madly to ignore the overpowering knot of pain that swelled within his calf. His calf would surely need a nawman's attention, but at the moment, that was trivial. He concentrated on the faces of his friends and neighbors that he hadn't seen for quite a while.

The sun glimmered occasionally through the towering treetops. Underfoot, leaves, rocks and mulch that comprised the forest floor passed him by as his walk quickened. He stepped on a twig at such an angle that it sprang into the air and he caught it with his left hand, surprised at the act. This made him smile a little. He was going to throw the twig carelessly to the side, but something on the end of it caught his attention.

There were a few hairs that knotted within the end of it. He could instantly tell they were not from a man, but then, what kind of animal were they from? He leaned closer, sniffed the few strands, eyed them over more carefully. With a jolt that made his heart nearly jump out of his chest, he recognized their origin.

"Motleb!" he said, realizing that he had spoken aloud. His throat hurt more than ever but the pain was unimportant. He looked around himself, feeling the shock of discovery that forced his head to swim with uncertainty.

No, he told himself, I am not dreaming. This is real. What was a motleb doing this far west? Why would one wander this way? Unless...

Gathering his faculties and calming his innermost fear, he searched for more clues of a motleb passing this way. Maybe it was just one that for some reason passed this way, maybe to chase a stot or a breen. He peered cautiously around. Whenever this motleb was here, it was not recent, but still it had been here. Its smell was gone but the traces of it lingered. Ahead of him was a tree, one of its lower branches dangling precariously downward. He knew this area better than any other and he knew that tree. Earlier in the day when he and Laus had left their village, that particular branch was intact. He approached it, feeling himself begin to shake in frightful anticipation.

The branch was big enough to be a tree itself. It was twisted by something that had immense strength. Jamas inspected it closely, all the time keeping his wits about him. The forest was silent, but that did not mean there was no other living things around. The branch hung loosely and easily swayed, but yet it was still part of the tree from which it grew and clung firmly. About three feet above his head on a knotted part of the branch, a red liquid ran to solidness, congealing in a long smear. It was blood.

Jamas's heart raced and his worst fears became reality. The blood on the branch was human and was about three to four hours old. The march! he thought. They started!

He ran, the throb in his calf completely ignorable. The last mile to his village would be covered quickly, effortlessly. As he ran, little bits and pieces of the presence of motleb (a lot more than one) were evident everywhere. Footprints in the earth, upset foliage, even halves of staviks and other domesticated animals were seen lying about. There was no evidence of human death yet, but then a clearing opened up before him and his little community were he had spent most of his life lay before him.

His heart sank in his chest and he felt the world around him sway with shock. The motleb have been here. Their march had begun and the small community before him was scarred with the destruction of it.

"No!" he screamed, not worrying about his throat or if there were any motleb around to hear him. Small parts of bodies littered the ground, both human and animal. Motleb rarely leave any part of any meal behind, but the frenzy that surely must have taken place at this site defied natural law. A small breeze blew lazily, carrying with it the scent of carnage. Instinctively, Jamas groped for a spear that lay on the ground just feet away. The end of it was covered with blood of yet another motleb and he wondered who had used it in defense. The tracks of humans and motleb thrashed together in the dry earth below his feet and he did not waste his time deciphering them. He knew what had happened here. It made him think of the last march and how he had come upon this same village to find much the same scene. Cautiously he walked about, keeping his senses alert and ready for anything, although meeting a motleb right now would make his body part of the others that laid about. He became absorbed in the horror of it all, trying not to recognize the faces of the bodies that lay scattered about. His ears were perked to their keenest, listening for any sound at all, whether Traesian or motleb. With that thought came the sound of a child crying in the distance. Maybe it was there all along, or maybe he just now noticed it. Whatever the case, he had something more pressing to find out - the status of his wife.

"Emma!" he screamed, his brain ignoring the shreds of pain in his throat. If there were motleb about, then he would take his chances. This was just too much for him to accept and he would welcome the world of death due to motleb if it meant being with his wife. What a horrid thought, he imagined.

His walk quickened. His home was now in sight, just up to the left and beckoning him to enter. Several bodies and parts of other living things littered the landscape. To accept this would be insane, he thought. How could this be happening? Funny, but this was the same feeling he had the last time this happened.

"Emma," he said, quieter this time, more in want for her than for his voice to be heard. At the entrance to his hut was part of somebody's left leg and he ignored its origin, expecting the worse. Cautiously he poked his head inside his home, which was a disaster. The roof was almost completely gone, showing that something huge had ripped through it. The gray sky above shown through. He looked about and was partially relieved not to find Emma or anyone else for that matter. A rat scurried over his right foot and it surprised the life out of him, but his heart was getting used to that feeling. Off to the right was the bedroom, the only other room within the hut. Before he walked to that direction, he made sure he was not missing anything. The interior so far seemed void of life, or at least anything that was once alive. Animal skins hung from the wall, a small table lay overturned, its legs cracked. A small hole in the wall of sticks and logs shown a ray of light filtering through tiny clouds of dust. Several of his belongings (spears, clothes, books of literature) lay scattered about. He procrastinated. If Emma was not in the next room then he was unsure if this would bring relief. Doubtful.

His head turned and faced the bedroom. Nearing it, he could see nothing inside except for the edge of the small straw bed and several articles of clothing flung carelessly about. A shaking right hand lifted up to wipe sweat from his eyes. Those same eyes peered further inside the room and to the right. Although it was dark, he could see a pair of feet laying at the far edge of the bed. He stopped.

"Emma?" his voice cracked. Slowly he inched his way forward, soaking up the sight of a body attached to the pair of feet. The body wore a long gray dress and it was familiar.

"Emma!" It was his wife. Forgetting the predicament the village had been in, he rushed into the room, feeling that Emma was still alive and just needed a simple slap on the cheek to bring her back to consciousness. With a surge of hope, he stood over her body and peered through the darkness down at her head.

But there was no head.

He stood there, a swarming dizziness sweeping over him. No, he told himself, this is just another dream. Many times he had told himself that today, and this time the idea was knocked viciously away. A strange throbbing voice spoke inside his head spoke and said: No Jamas old boy, this is real.

He could not scream or make any other sound. He felt the wind being pushed from his body and he could not breathe. Before him lay his wife, minus a head. This made him think of his death dream and knew it had actually happened that way, maybe even at the same time. He regained composure and knelt next to the body. Shock welled tears in his eyes and a dryness covered his mouth. Looking at the edge of a neck which once supported the head of his beautiful wife changed the dryness to saliva and he felt the vomit of devastation creeping up his throat. He grabbed her body and lifted its lifeless form. Were it not for the dress, the form would be just another hunk of dead meat, waiting for the maggots to hit.

"Emma," he managed to squeak from his sore throat. It was her, he knew, but instinctiveness fought for an alternative. One of Emma's friends came over, tried on her dress, then the motleb came before she had time to take it off. It was a nice idea, but that too was thrust away as hope, not reality.

The edge of her neck was torn (or bitten) cleanly, making a nice severed edge. The flesh was still wet with blood but he could tell it had been a few hours since this had happened. He wanted to hold the body close to him but then he realized how horrifying that would be. The carcass in his arms was no longer his wife. That fact dug a pit in his thought and controlled his mental state.

A frustrated whine escaped his lips as he stood up. Not looking back, he exited the hut and surveyed the village around him. Emma was dead, he knew that, but accepting and realizing that as a fact would take quite a while. Wild ideas rushed through the arteries of his stinging brain, every one of them explaining away the death of Emma as something other than death.

That's not her, it's a friend; I'm just dreaming still; this is the wrong village; I hallucinated; it was the wrong hut; her head's really there, I just viewed it wrong; she's really alive and this is just a joke that everyone is playing on me. Yeah right Jamas, everyone in the village decided to litter the landscape with obtainable body parts and everyone's hiding in the forest watching as you freak out.

All the excuses and reasons in the world did not fit. He almost went back inside to verify that it really was her, but he could not bring himself to look at that body again, a body that had once been his beautiful wife.

4

He eventually brought himself to bury Emma's body. There was a spot just east of the village where a cleared area in the forest was designated as a graveyard. It was untouched by the motleb attack but the air of their presence would stay with Jamas for a long time. He found himself crying as he covered Emma’s carcass with dirt. He wanted to see her face again, attached to her body and smiling the beautiful smile that made him tingle with passion. They had not been married long and the excitement of new love had still been with them both. It was unfair.

The next few hours were spent searching for survivors. He was unable to find the source of the baby's cry he had heard when he first entered the village. There were parts of people scattered throughout the village, which was normal for a motleb attack. Limbs and extremities littered the grounds. A motleb would usually consume every last morsel of meat, but a march was conducted in a frenzied manner and motleb did not act normally under these conditions. No heads were found so Jamas was spared the torture of recognizing lifeless friends, although he knew the arms, legs and what-have-you belonged to those he had lived with and known as friends. This attack was the worst he had seen. There were no survivors, at least as far as he could tell. Of course he was sure some had escaped and fled to safety, but the body count around him was an all time high. Maybe the motleb population had increased, in fact he was sure of it. A massacre like this could have been done with just a few of the wretched beats but the markings and telltale signs of the feast suggested way more than just a handful. He wished he had left this place long ago and he silently cursed his dead father for having the desire to stay.

His walk about the compound yielded many sights. The destruction of homes and life was beyond compare. As far as he was concerned, his social life on Traes One had ended and his life as a loner had begun. He was the only survivor and he doubted others had made it to safety. It was strange, but he hardly felt himself lucky. Rummaging through Laus's shredded hut, he found an ample amount of dried breen meat and some tocca root. To him, this was a meal fit for a king and he devoured the food greedily, looking around for more as he swallowed the last chunk of root. He found water, but no more food. No matter. He could easily find food in the forest around him.

He found it very disturbing that he found no other life, as far as humans were concerned. It was shocking and he wondered if this new reality would hit him full force later. Right now his body felt a numbness that permeated his whole being. Where do I go now? he thought. What do I do?

Emma was the most important thing in his life. The motleb had destroyed his life when they destroyed her. Not being able to control himself, he sat down on the hard brown earth below him, and cried. His once prosperous village lay in ruins around him. He contemplated suicide, decided against it. His will was strong and forced him to live through his devastation. Instead of dwelling on his misfortune, he implanted the thought of his friends, his village, and his wife into his priority. From now on he was determined to eliminate all motleb he was capable of destroying. It seemed insane, but this idea was his new meaning for life, his reason to go on living. Avenging the death of his family and friends became the sole focus of his life. A compelling surge shot through him. Although he was sad about the death that lay around him, he felt good that there was something more to live for.

THE END

To Stories by Max contents