by Libbylawrence
Lural, She Who Is the Moon, smiled down upon the bamboo huts perched in the massive trees that served as the homes of the Lanktor tribe. Within each hut, various tribe members slept with rare security, knowing they would enjoy a fleeting peace that night. They had slain their nearest enemies, who served the dark goddess called Dra. Their sleep was sweetened by the earlier feast of roasted meats, assorted nuts, roots, and berries.
Unlike most of their neighbors, the tree-dwelling lanktor riders had mastered the great secret of producing fire. They did not need to desperately fight to preserve the burning embers occasionally cast down from the heavens to ignite trees or start blazes within the tall grasses of the People of the Plains. Thus, they cooked their meat and ate well.
They also rested secure in the knowledge that their tribal leader, Baras the Old, had stationed the bravest of their young hunters around the Tree Village to protect them should any thunder-lizards venture too close. The only sounds that filled the peaceful night came from the screeching cries of the flying lizards, the lanktors, within their pens. The mighty leather-winged creatures inspired little awe among these tribal warriors, who had mastered and trained them to carry the Lanktor people aloft at will.
Not everyone, however, slept contentedly within the village. A lithe young boy sat against the thick heart of a tree, clutching both bare legs up to his chest. He rested his chin on one knee and stared out into the night eyes both keen and sensitive, having a perceptive and inquisitive mind. While the others snored blissfully, the boy named Kong instead found himself troubled by much that had occurred during the previous day. New to this odd community, he was clearly different from those around him. While the Lanktor tribe shared his smooth skin and Cro-Magnon features, they were uniformly dark or fiery in hair color. Kong alone had hair the color of Lural herself, a fitting mark since She Who Is the Moon had gazed upon him the night of his birth, marking him forever as one born apart from others.
Staring up at the Moon, Kong remembered the words of Attu, the only one who had ever loved him. She had given birth to him on such a moonlit night, filled with pleasure at the sight of her healthy infant. That pride had been shattered when the attractive young woman carried him to the new hunting grounds claimed by her tribe. She rushed past the place set apart for women and those men no longer considered fit to act as warriors or hunters, ignoring the cries of the other females. Driven by pride, she entered the presence of the tribal leader himself.
Kong had heard this story from his mother many times before her terrible death. He knew his imagination had added details that the less-creative Attu could not have noticed or understood. Still, he viewed the story as his own because he had made it so.
“Trog! I have a man child! I followed quickly, that you might accept him into the clan!” Attu had said, facing the burly tribal leader who had fathered the baby, as was his right. Already, she knew that the man child she had birthed, who carried Trog’s blood as well as her own, would be a fine warrior someday.
Trog had scowled, looking out through his dirty mane of tangled black hair to glare at the woman with his remaining eye. The scars of battle that had robbed him of his other eye seemed to glow in the light of the faint campfire as he saw his child for the first time. Trog the One-Eyed showed no parental pride, nor did he offer Attu any sign of concern or interest. He perpetually scowled, except when engaged in some primitive act of feeding or satisfying himself through violence or cruelty. “I have need of warriors, woman, not of whelps!” he had said, his mind focused on his war with the beast-men over the domain of the hunting grounds. “Take it away!”
Kong’s first glimpse of his father and tribal leader had brought only malice and contempt into his infant perceptions of the world. This might have been the end of his story had Trog’s loyal shaman, Magl, not stepped out of the cavern shadows, adorned with his ceremonial antlers and cloak, proclaiming his status and wisdom.
“Trog, no!” the shaman exclaimed. “Do you not remember that our legends tell of how long ago a strange tribe of great fighting men met our people? They too were led by a yellow hair! A mighty warrior called Kong! And Attu’s child was born while the goddess Lural showed her full face! The spirit of Kong may live anew within him! All life comes from Lural! If she has given him Kong’s spirit, he will be a mighty warrior! A hunter, and unbeatable in battle!”
Listening to Magl, Trog’s evil heart felt a touch of fear. Raising his head, he drew closer to Attu and the child. “This pup? Do you say that he may one day be mighty enough to challenge me, sorcerer? Others have tried — and failed!” He raised his stone-headed axe over the child, ready to strike. “So be it, then! The matter can be settled with one stroke–“
Attu fell to her knees before the brute, imploring him to leave the child unharmed. “No! Stop! You have no reason to fear my child! Don’t–”
His anger came swiftly, and he struck her hard on the side of her face with the back of his hand. “Stupid woman! Who spoke of fear? And since when does a woman dare to give orders to her chief?” As Attu trembled on the ground, Trog stood over her, speaking words of grim finality. “I’d kill you where you lie were it not that female blood would steal the strength from my axe! But there is no place here for anyone who questions my power! I do not fear your whelp! Take him and your belongings and get out! You are no longer of our clan!”
Magl reached one rough hand into the fur pouch he always carried, producing a foul-smelling powder that he hurled at the fleeing Attu and her infant. “Our chief has spoken!” he cried. “With this magic powder made from the teeth of the he-bear who lives ever alone, I proclaim you both accursed! Now — go!”
Attu fled with Kong, condemned to a hard life as one cast out from the security of the tribe. From that night onward, she could not partake of the food or fire of the tribe. Survival depended on the roots, nuts, and berries she could dig up. She and the infant came to know cold, darkness, and isolation.
Yet that solitary life drew them closer to one another. As Kong grew, he became more of a partner to his mother than merely her child. He learned to help provide for their daily meals and to endure the hardships of hunger and cold on many nights. Rejected by all the members of his mother’s former tribe, Kong used his solitary hours to become a skilled warrior with the spear and knife.
Perhaps more remarkable was the fact that the bright youth learned a secret denied to Trog and his shaman: Kong figured out how to start a fire with two stones. He gained the comfort and warmth of a fire for his mother after a brave but foolish night quest to steal some fire from the carefully preserved flames of Trog the One-Eyed’s tribe. That initial acquisition of fire led the quick-witted boy to eventually learn how to create the vital red source of so much good. Attu had been so proud.
Recalling her words again, Kong sighed as he wondered why he had been rejected by his own tribe. His own father had thrust him out. Still, others in the young world offered him friendship. He knew he owed his very life to the bond he had formed with an unlikely ally. Gurat the beast-man, who in a future era would be described as a Neanderthal, had become a blood brother to Kong and protected him after Attu’s sudden, violent death.
At first, Kong had wrongly assumed that his beloved mother had been murdered in his absence by one of the stronger, hairy primitive beings known as beast-men. However, his keen eyes and ears soon spotted footprints indicating that Attu’s slayer had worn shoes. The beast-men did not wear shoes. Thus, only one of his own kind could have ended his mother’s life so brutally.
Anger and a desire for revenge filled his young soul, motivating Kong to seek out Trog in order to kill him. He knew that Trog had threatened Attu more than once after casting her out of the tribe. He was correct in thinking that any murder could only have occurred with Trog’s sanction.
Kong had wept for the first and last time in his young life after finding Attu’s body. Those tears initiated him into a new life with a new goal: he wanted to kill Trog. (*) Still, his rash impulse would have ended in his own death had Gurat not chosen to defy his own kind to rescue the “smooth skin,” as the beast-men called their Cro-Magnon rivals.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Kong the Untamed,” Kong the Untamed #1 (June-July, 1975).]
Gurat was a hulking brute with massive strength and an impressive appetite. Possessing a primitive instinct to admire courage, he rewarded it with loyalty. Gurat saved Kong when the boy’s desire to avenge Attu’s murder led him directly into the clutches of the beast-men, who saw him only as prey to be slaughtered in payment for the pain others of his kind had caused them. In their flight, the odd couple battled the wild animals beyond the tribal fires, remaining loyal to one another despite temptations from each of their respective peoples. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Blood Brother,” Kong the Untamed #2 (August-September, 1975).]
During their escape, they stumbled through the cursed Caves of Doom. The mysterious caverns contained many tunnels, and one passage led them into a valley that could well have been a whole new world. This valley was full of people like them, but it also housed huge lizards. Some of these beasts could fly, while others rampaged across the land like armored giants. (*) The dinosaurs had survived the doom that had befallen the rest of their kind by escaping into the time-tossed valley beyond the Caves of Doom. Still, Kong did not know the word “dinosaur.” He marveled at the giant monsters and faced them when necessary with the same courage and resourcefulness that had enabled him to survive in such a harsh world.
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Caves of Doom,” Kong the Untamed #3 (October-November, 1975) and “Valley of Blood,” Kong the Untamed #4 (December, 1975-January, 1976).]
Now, Kong looked up to see Gurat emerge from one of the tree huts. “Blood-brother, why do you stay awake when we are safe here?” he grunted. “Ginny and Errus are good friends. I know we may trust them and their people. They tended my hurts when first they found me. They allowed me to rescue you from their enemies when you were taken by the people of Dra! They ride the flying lizards called lanktors, and they will accept us as part of their tribe!”
Kong stood up and replied, “Gurat, I do trust them. Still, I saw how they used the flying lizards to bring death to all who served Dra. (*) Not all of them were deserving of such death. I lost a friend there just before you arrived. He died because he tried to make the Dra people realize that men and women did not need to master each other. The women of Dra ruled their men like the men of Trog’s tribe rule their mates! I have seen both ways of living, and both bring pain. I have seen my kind try to kill me. I have seen your kind try to kill you. I have learned that we should all think and act for ourselves. The ways our peoples embrace are wrong. I would have a tribe of people with many ideas and many different ways. I would see them work together to get food, warmth, and hunting grounds. This vision kept me awake.”
[(*) Editor’s note: See “Bones of the Martyr,” Kong the Untamed #5 (February-March, 1976).]
Gurat scratched his head. “You think too much, little brother! For now, we should be glad the people of the flying lizards let us live in their tree village. We will be happy here.”
“Yes,” Kong agreed. “Still, when I am older and stronger, I will return to our old land and find Trog. He killed my mother, and I will avenge her loss. That is owed to her!”
Gurat nodded. “Yes. I will help you. Still, now is not the time. You must wait. You must become stronger. Remember, Magl said you would be a mighty ruler someday. His magic cannot be false!”
“His magic made us outcasts,” Kong replied. “I will pay Trog back for all we suffered.”
“All in its own season, my blood-brother!” Gurat said.
They glanced down at the huge series of pens where the winged lanktors were kept. Loud cries echoed from below, and Kong looked at Gurat in concern. “Surely, the lanktors don’t make such a noise normally! Is something wrong?” he asked.
Gurat began to climb down the tree via a thick rope of hanging vine. “Errus should be there. He is lanktor master. Let us see!”
Kong followed the agile beast-man down the vine until they reached the ground below, then made their way through the night to the pens, where a scene of horror awaited them. The lanktors were struggling furiously with their keepers, and the brave Errus was fighting for his very life as one of the huge creatures ignored his commands and raked his skin with its talons.