Going Native

When writing about the more recent past, I feel that I have some degree of common ground with the characters in my stories. Cultures and societies change, often more swiftly than we are aware, but social values and norms from two or three generations in the past are pretty close to my own, and I feel like I'm on "familiar turf".

I've found that writing about historical settings with little or no common ground can be treacherous without some measure of first hand experience. At the very least I need to do some serious research before attempting to put the reader into the head of a protagonist in antiquity.

Even more difficult for me is writing about primitive cultures. While most readers won't have any common ground with the protagonist in a primitive situation, they will invariably be able to differentiate between "realistic" and "artificial" situations and responses. I've got to make my story believable enough to convince both casual readers, and readers who might have some knowledge of the situation.

This excerpt is from a short story I wrote entitled TO DREAM PERCHANCE TO SLEEP.

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Fog hung like thick moss in the cold morning air. Individual trees poked up through the white blanket, rising above the heavy carpet that filled the shallow valley. No sound disturbed the stillness save for the soft dripping of dew in the tall grasses. No breeze stirred the thick white vapors. A fur-clad body appeared briefly, only partially revealed by the heavy mists which swirled around him, stirred to motion by his movements. The figure moved silently through the damp growth, paused with head turned – apparently listening intently for a moment – then moved again and was gone. Moments later another body parted the grass and paused to listen. A third joined the second; both waited, then moved noiselessly and were lost again in the smothering fog.

A deep-chested snort disturbed the stillness of the early morning; a huge shadow loomed. A gigantic bison stopped, raised his muzzle to the sky and snuffed the heavy wet air. White plumes of damp exhalation jetted from his nostrils as he cast his massive, shaggy head from side to side. Failing to detect the scent of predators, the monstrous bull half turned and delivered a short grunt. The sound had not yet faded when a second bison appeared, followed closely by a third, a fourth, and then many as a herd of the enormous beasts moved slowly through the hanging fog. Young bulls moved with alert posture, breathing heavily, eyes rolling, their noses up and ears pivoting to catch every scent and sound. Cows moved silently, looking from side to side; the wet grass paint-brushing their bellies and soaking the tangled mats of their shaggy coats. Silent calves, shorter and all but hidden in the tall grasses, ranged among the cows on slender, shaky legs. The herd bull snorted, whuffed, and turned to trot ahead of the ambling cows and their calves. His thickly matted hide made an odd wet sound as he pushed forward through the fog-damp grass.

The first graying light of the dawn changed the texture of the fog and it began to thin rapidly. The first breezes of the day blew whispers through the soughing grass; fitful gusts tore the thinning whiteness into long ragged streamers. The cows perked their heads and stepped more quickly; the calves trotted faster to keep up. The first rays of yellow sunlight peeked over the horizon, pierced the rapidly fading haze and were sparkled into dazzling starbursts by countless dewdrops; the grasses blazed with shimmering brilliance. The cows moved in a single file, each following in turn the wet path of the heavy bull.

The last vestiges of the fog died a silent death under the yellow eye of the rising sun. The lead cow stopped for a moment and lowered her head to crop a tender clump of grass; others following closely behind her were forced to stop momentarily.

A harsh, ragged shout broke the crisp air, followed almost immediately by a second from a separate location. A blur of motion cut the sparkling light and a heavy wooden spear sank into the barrel of the lead cow. Stunned, the cow staggered, coughing hoarsely. A second spear leapt from the grass, arced low through the cold air, and buried itself behind her left shoulder. Other cows, bellowing in confusion and fear, surged forward in a mass and swept around the wounded cow like a rushing stream around an immovable boulder. Startled calves bleated and scattered. At the head of the procession the herd bull bellowed in anger, wheeled, and thundered back to protect his harem.

More shouts crackled in the cold and dancing figures rose from the grasses waving spears and ragged fur cloaks. More spears flashed through the gathering breezes and sank deeply into the sides of the wounded cow. She staggered and wobbled, and braced her forefeet wide to keep from falling. An anguished cough racked in her throat and frothy, bloody foam bubbled from her muzzle. The dancing brown figures moved in, yelling and brandishing their deadly lances.

A hundred yards away the herd bull pawed the damp earth. The instinct for preservation, product of countless generations of successful survival, overwhelmed the massing herd. The terrified cows and calves gathered quickly in a tight circle; calves in the center, and cows facing outward. Young bulls broke from the circle to paw the ground beside the herd leader, tossing underdeveloped manes and snorting their adolescent defiance. The herd bull raised his massive head to examine the scene; his nostrils flaring as he watched the brown figures around the dying cow. A sound like rushing storm winds rumbled deep in his throat and he turned to face the circled herd. A bellow broke from his massive barrel and the formation fell apart. The herd turned as one and raced away across the valley like brown leaves driven by a high wind. The big bull followed last, nipping the flanks of the slower cows. The tremor of their passing died as they swarmed up a distant hillside, topped the ridge, and were gone. The wounded cow staggered again, her legs shaking violently as she tried to raise her head. Blood poured from her muzzle and sides, matting her thick coat and puddling in the trampled grass. Disregarding the danger presented by her wickedly curving horns, one of the attackers, a big hulking man with shoulder length hair and a badly scarred chest, bent for a moment and then straightened slowly, a massive rock in his hands. He moved toward the cow and muscles stood out like thick cords on his arms as he raised the rock high over his head. Uttering a fierce cry of determination, he brought it crashing down on the head of the cow. All four of her legs buckled at once, and the beast crumpled to the ground. In an instant a dozen spearmen rushed forward and thrust their lances deep into the mountain of matted fur. A final hoarse cough escaped the throat of the cow; a violent shudder shook her body, and she was still.