The Chronicles of Amon book 1 LINK

Chapter 3.

  The fire was blazing, now. Almost waist high, and hot enough to draw steam out of his clothing. Amon stepped back a pace, drawing his hands up in front of him, warming them, palms toward the fire. One by one, he began to see familiar faces coming back from where they had gone to relieve themselves.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his deerskin cloak. He hesitated for just a moment, weighing the possibilities, then turned slowly and headed back out into the brush surrounding the encampment.

  Pace after slow pace he moved into the haze, trying not to draw attention to himself. When he had gone a few more steps, he turned back toward the camp and leaned back against the trunk of a gnarly old pine.

  How should he handle this? There had always been disputes within the clan. After all, it was made up of individuals, each with his/her own ideas and priorities.

  But this situation was nothing like the others. Rumors had been floating that one of the old ones (the simian parents) had been seen consorting with the ‘others.’ Amon had tried to make it clear that the clan of humans and their simian parents should no longer associate with the ‘others’ (the non-seeded simians). He had explained that the risk of interbreeding must be avoided at all cost because their ‘seeded’ parents had been changed, and that if they were to breed with the ‘others,’ their offspring would not be like either race. The result would be an aberration, a race not compatible with either the simians or the humans.

  Amon believed that this had been understood at the time he said it. But now he wasn’t certain that, though it had been understood, it might not have been agreed to by all concerned. It was possible that some had refrained from voicing objection simply to avoid an unpleasant confrontation.

  Separation of the ‘seeded’ from the ‘unseeded’ simians made perfectly good sense to him, taken at face value. But he had no real understanding of how that separation might effect those who were directly involved. He was trying to be empathetic, but was having difficulty doing so.

  Standing there in the early morning mist, he searched his memory for some experience which might help him understand.

  When Amon was barely four years old, one of his new friend’s mother and father were caught and killed by a rival clan of “unseeded” simians. His friend had escaped with a half-dozen other families who had banned together. The clan adopted the orphaned boy and cared for him as one of their own.

  But the memory of the incident left a blemish on the young boy’s personality. He wasn’t mean or aggressive in any overt manner. But because he lacked for the closeness and nurturing from his parents, his personality became more harsh, less affectionate.

  Amon hurt for him, as did everyone else. But there was something about this kind of pain that he couldn’t quite grasp.

  One day the boy was walking at the edge of a nearby stream when he slipped and hit his head hard on the rocks. Amon saw it happen but was too far away to prevent it. He ran the few steps to where his friend had fallen, but saw immediately that it was to no avail. The boy’s head had cracked like an egg. He was face down, so Amon couldn’t see the startled look on his face.

  The last Amon chose to remember of him was the time they had sat close to each other next to the camp fire some time after his parents’ death. They had been talking quietly, as young boys sometimes do. His friend had said the one thing he missed the most was not having his parents there to guide him at night when the clan was on the move.

  “Its hard to take a step in the dark if you don’t know where you’re going.” Those were the last words Amon remembered him saying.

  Amon walked slowly back toward the camp. There was more activity now. He could here muffled noises all around him. The rest of the clan was waking. As he drew closer he could see his father and two men squatting near the fire. It had died down now, and several pieces of meat hung sizzling on sticks wedged between the rocks that surrounded the pit. The two men were arguing, not noticing Amon’s return. His father sat nearby, responding as necessary through gestures or grunts.

  When he saw his son, he hesitated noticeably, watching the two men closely. Then, quickly but subtly he signed for Amon to go back and wait for him. Amon signed: “No. We will settle this now.”

  He knew immediately what the men had been talking about. The father of one of them, the one who had lost his mate to the bite of a viper, had been rumored to have paid visits to the camp of the “others.” Disputes had arisen. The other man at the fire was the one who had made the accusation.

  He knew that this confrontation, this moment, would set the course for, and forever mark a distinction between the races. From this point there could be no turning back if the human race was to survive intact.

  To intermingle would only pollute both races, creating a race of un-natural beings, prone to their own desires with only minimal consideration for those of others. They would be of enhanced intellect, similar to other humans, but would remain forever attuned to the primitive, instinctual side of their lineages.

  Amon and his father had discussed this many times. He knew what his father thought to be the right thing to do. His father knew, probably more than did Amon himself, that a fundamental difference existed between the races. But to gain a clear perspective of what that difference was, one had to have been part of both worlds.