Animal Man and Rip Hunter: Didn’t I See You Die? Chapter 1: The Ancient Book

by Philip-Todd Franklin

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Cape Town, South Africa, February 23, 1987:

When I agreed to go to that environmental rally in South Africa, I was promised it would be peaceful. But honestly, the idea of peace being promised in a country still under Apartheid didn’t make much sense to me. The weather was great, with a clear blue sky above as I stood on stage, waiting for my turn to speak. Still, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in my gut, like something I couldn’t quite grasp was about to go down, and I really wanted to be anywhere else when it did.

The main speaker that day, Mr. Zembuba, talked for a bit about how a new factory could mess with the environment. His strong accent made it tough to catch everything, and I almost missed my cue to step up to the mic. Dressed in my usual blue and orange Animal Man costume, I looked out at the crowd in Cape Town, noticing the mix of races and cultures as I gathered my thoughts. Finally, I heard Mr. Zembuba finish introducing me.

“Please welcome, everyone, the American environmentalist hero, Animal Man!” As I walked to the podium, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

Just a couple of years ago, I never would’ve imagined getting such a warm welcome. Back then, I was just another forgotten hero in a team called, appropriately enough, the Forgotten Heroes. (*) We were more like curiosities than anything newsworthy. My time with the Conglomerate had brought me fame and influence I’d never experienced before. (*) Now, with my recent dive into environmental and conservation issues, I felt like I could actually make a difference.

[(*) Editor’s note: See “Another Time, Another Death,” Action Comics #552 (February, 1984), “The World at Time’s End,” Action Comics #553 (March, 1984), and Justice League of America: The Final Chapter, Chapter 3: The Conglomerate.]

I raised my hands to calm the crowd before starting my speech. “Thanks for having me here. I was asked to talk about how industry can affect animal populations,” I said, noticing how focused the audience was. I’d never spoken to a crowd this big before.

Holding the mic, I stepped out from behind the podium to continue. “First off, not all industry is bad.” A few people looked shocked, but I kept going. “In fact, some industry can really help an area and its people.” As I spoke, I scanned the crowd, seeing folks in sharp suits, regular city dwellers, and several tribesmen who were there to share their concerns.

I walked back and forth on stage, discussing the ups and downs of industrial growth and how unchecked pollution could harm the environment. Eventually, I got to the main point of my speech about the animals living in the same areas as people and how industry would impact their lives. I was so into my speech and the crowd’s reactions that I almost missed a young guy sprinting toward the stage like the devil himself was after him.

The young man, apparently a tribesman, was only wearing a simple animal hide cloth. He dodged the guards with flips and tumbles, a move I’d only seen once before. He made it to me and started speaking quickly in his tribal language, which I couldn’t understand.

His sudden appearance left me stunned, and I just stared at him while he tried to get his message across. I shrugged to show I didn’t get it, and he tried again. Halfway through his second attempt, the guards finally showed up and tried to grab him, even as Mr. Zembuba shouted at them.

Zembuba turned to me as the guards restrained the young man and said, “I’m really very sorry about this. Sometimes the savages forget their place, even here.” I could see he meant it, but there was something behind his words that felt off. And I didn’t like that remark about “the savages.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Zem,” I said. “I’m used to that kind of reaction.” He laughed and smiled, then turned to chat with one of the guards for a moment. After a quick exchange, the guards started dragging the young man away, even as he kept shouting in his language, trying to get my attention. I really felt bad for the guy.

Before I got back to my speech, I asked Mr. Zembuba, “If you don’t mind me asking, what was so important to him that he needed to talk to me right now?”

Zembuba turned back to me, and for a split second, I thought I saw anger flash across his face before it disappeared. “It was nothing, Animal Man,” he said, sounding pretty insincere. “Just the misplaced desires of youth. Please just put it out of your mind.”

I nodded, but I made a mental note to figure it out later. Then I picked up the mic again and went back to my speech, talking for the rest of my allotted time before stepping off stage to meet people and sign autographs.

As I shook hands with an old tribesman, he pulled me close and said, “Your help is needed. Otherwise, an unspeakable evil will be unleashed. At midnight, come north of the city, and all will be revealed.”

Then he let go of my hand and vanished into the crowd, leaving me puzzled.

***

That night, after calling Ellen and letting her know I might be incommunicado for a while, I took off into the sky like a bird, heading north of Cape Town, and landed on the outskirts of town, right between the coast and the mountains. It was dark, and after waiting for a while, I started to feel a bit silly. “North of the city” is a pretty big area, and I was starting to think I’d been played as the world’s biggest chump.

Just as I was about to fly back to my hotel, I heard a voice from the shadows. “Are you the American hero Animal Man?” he said, speaking in the same accent of the area.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, eager to get to the point. “How can I help?”

A guy stepped out from behind a tree and walked toward me. He looked to be in his late twenties, wearing faded blue jeans, some elephant skin boots, and a blue Izod shirt. “As you were told,” he said, “a great evil is about to be unleashed, and only you can stop it.”

I glanced around to make sure I wasn’t walking into a trap. “What exactly is this evil, and who’s about to let it loose?” I asked, sizing up the man and hoping he’d stop being so cagey.

“Straight to the point, huh, Animal Man? I like that. Makes things easier,” he said with a slight smile. “The evil is called the Two Arms Death by the local tribes. I can’t talk much more here — too many ears around that don’t believe.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Are you willing to come to my village to learn more?”

“How far is your village?” I asked quietly. “You’ve got my curiosity piqued, I must admit.”

He glanced at his watch, then turned and started walking away from the city without answering. I stood there like an idiot for a few seconds, then noticed a few vehicles driving toward me. With a shrug, I jogged after him, since he was moving pretty fast. I got the feeling it wasn’t a great idea to stand there in full costume at this time of night.

We walked for hours, avoiding the roads and making our way through the mountains and into the veldt. Just as the sun started to light up the sky at dawn, we reached a small village with mud and reed huts. My guide hadn’t said a word the whole trip, and I couldn’t help but think we could’ve saved some time if he’d just told me where we were going.

As we got closer to the village, he finally spoke. “Go to the large hut in the middle. The tribal elder is waiting for you there. He’ll answer all your questions.” Then he turned and headed for one of the smaller huts.

I walked over to the large hut, and as I reached for the reed curtain, a young boy around ten years old pushed it aside. Without saying a word, he gestured for me to go in.

Inside, the hut was cool and comfortable compared to the sticky air outside. Shadows danced on the walls from a small fire burning in the center. The village elder sat in a big wooden chair, dressed like the other men in his tribe but with a long, flowing brown cloak and a headdress made of animal skins and feathers.

As I approached him, I tried to show respect by kneeling, but when I got a good look at his face, I realized he was the same old guy who’d talked to me right after my speech the day before. I almost asked how he got there before me, until I realized it was the next day now, and he’d had plenty of time for travel.

The elder nodded and said, “Please, young man, either stand or sit, but don’t kneel before me.” His accent was strong, but his English was clear, and I understood him just fine. He walked over to the only table in the hut and motioned for me to join him.

“Thanks, sir,” I said, “but I really want to know what this evil is — this Two Arms Death.”

He held out an old book. “It’s all in here. Read, and I’ll try to explain if I can.” I could tell he wasn’t used to people denying his requests.

I looked at the book; it seemed old, but not as ancient as the elder. Carefully, I opened it, glanced at a few words, and said, “This is in English!”

The elder nodded at my words but didn’t say anything. Slowly, I began to read, being careful not to damage the brittle pages.

The old book was full of legends from the local tribes, going way back to a time long before recorded history. Each story revolved around this mysterious cave, the location of which was a closely guarded secret. It had a bunch of names, but most people called it the Cave of the Stranger.

Long before it got that name, the cave was where a tribal shaman could learn the dark arts that had been off-limits for centuries. For good reason, too — people said it was a gateway to the underworld, home to a powerful spirit that could grant immense power in exchange for a specific kind of blood sacrifice. That’s why it was also called the Cavern of Blood, since so many lives had been sacrificed at its entrance to keep the dark god inside happy. The spirit’s thirst for blood was nearly endless; it even started kidnapping people from other tribes for sacrifices. Eventually, the tribes got desperate and began sacrificing their own newborns and children to this dark god, receiving power in exchange.

But then, too much blood was spilled. The tribespeople seemed to wake up from whatever spell they’d been under for so long. They tried to stop the sacrifices, but it was no use. The dark god of the Blood Cavern wouldn’t let them go. He demanded more sacrifices, more deaths, more killing — and when they didn’t comply, he unleashed a supernatural force called the Two Arms Death, which wrecked the land and wiped out everything in its way. The people felt trapped.

That’s when the Stranger showed up. Having heard their cries from far away, he arrived dressed in strange dark clothes. With the tribes supporting him and the shamans promising to cut ties with the dark god, the Stranger agreed to help. A long battle broke out, leading to many deaths, but in the end, he stopped the blood sacrifices. He trapped the dark spirit inside a blood-red gem hidden deep within the cave. The people, overcome with gratitude, tried to worship him as their new god, but he insisted they stop, saying their worship was misplaced. Still, he gave them a sigil to put at the cave’s entrance to keep the dark god contained. From then on, the Cavern of Blood was known as the Cave of the Stranger.

The Stranger left, warning them that the dark spirit, though weakened, would return every generation to test their resolve. So, every fifty years or so, the tribes would unite to contain the spirit in the cave or face the Two Arms Death that would devastate the land. This became a rite of passage for many generations. While some warriors and shamans proved strong enough to resist the dark god, others weren’t so lucky. Entire families and tribes were wiped out trying to contain the dark spirit, often because they were deemed unworthy, but more often because the dark god had just grown too powerful. Still, great heroes and leaders emerged stronger from their trials in the Cave of the Stranger, and their stories of bravery and tragedy filled the pages of the ancient book.

I got so wrapped up in the book over the next few hours that I didn’t even notice when food was brought in or when the elder came and went. Later that evening, a hand on my shoulder jolted me back to reality, and I turned to see the elder watching me.

“You’ve been awake for almost two days, young man,” he said. “You need to eat and sleep.” Right on cue, my stomach growled. I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off. “Eat. Then rest. The book isn’t going anywhere.” He gently took the book from my hands, and just then, a young girl came in with my evening meal, which everyone else had already eaten.

When she set a plate of cooked meat in front of me, I shook my head and motioned that I wouldn’t eat any. She didn’t seem to get it, so I shrugged and said, “Sorry, honey. I don’t eat meat.”

She still looked confused, but the elder said something in their language, and after a moment, she took the plate away.

As I dug into the other food that was left, I turned to the elder and said, “Thanks again. I haven’t eaten meat in ages, and I’m not about to start now.”

He nodded and sat down at the table. “I’ve met a few others who don’t eat meat, so I’m not surprised,” he replied.

I nodded back while taking a bite of bread.

As he stood to leave, he paused and said, almost as an afterthought, “We need to hurry. Time is of the essence, young man.” With that, he slowly left the hut, leaving me even more puzzled than I already was.

My mind swam with questions, the main one being — what did the old man want with Animal Man? I hoped I’d have answers soon.

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