The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels by William Golding

and began to let himself down it, one hand on the dry, clay cliff, the other feeling for support with his spear. But when he was the height of two men from the bottom the path ended. The last thing that had passed that way had leapt down and in leaping thrust with its hind legs so that the clay cliff had broken away. Without consciously putting these things together, Chimp knew what was the last animal that had used the path and his hair prickled. He stared down into the ravine, his nostrils wide. He saw a paw mark in mud and a tiny smear of blood where the thing had put down its kill to drink. He knew it all at once. Somewhere up the ravine or farther, there would be a cave or perhaps a convenient tree. A creature, a gazelle, perhaps, would hang dead and half-eaten among the branches. The killer would laze there in the sun, fullfed, and licking its paws. Chimp’s face went sallow, then dusky red. His breathing came short. He opened his mouth to sing and made nothing but a clucking noise. He took a deep breath and sang out.
    “Leopard!”
    The hunters snatched up their weapons and turned, then froze, staring up at him. Chimp, one hand against the crumbling cliff, pointed down with his spear.
    “Leopard! He has eaten!”
    Dragonfly giggled and Stooping Eagle gave a shaky laugh. The hunters moved together, shoulder to shoulder. Their legs quivered. The Elder of Elders went forward, following the indication of Chimp’s spear. He squatted, smelt first the paw mark, then the blood. He took his weight off one hand, touched the blood with his finger then tasted it. He glanced up the ravine towards the corner, moved forward a little and examined a mark so small that only he could see it. His face was expressionless, but he breathed as quickly as Chimp. He turned round and ran back to the other hunters. He seized one of the Elders by the wrists and stared into his face. For a moment they were both still and silent. Then the next they were clutching each other, chest to chest and laughing. Dragonfly stood by them. He held his spear with two fists. His mouth was open and his teeth chattering. He got his lips together but only forced the chatter into his body, which shook.
    The Elder of Elders let his friend go. He was expressionless again. He summoned the hunters with his eyes, looking at each in turn. It was as if he bound them together. He turned and began to move silently up the ravine, through the muddy pools, and the group came with him. The young hunters flanked him, the youths and the other elders were at his back. All crouched low, with spears at the ready. So alike were they, that they might have shared one face between them, a face proud, fearful and glad.
    Chimp sang out on the cliff, misery creating an exactness of words for him.
    “Wait for me!”
    He looked at the distance to the bottom of the ravine, bared his teeth and let go the cliff, to jump. But even as he bent his knees, he became aware of a difference in the air, a faint noise, new, unidentifiable. No herd of animals ever rushed so—and now louder, from higher up the ravine, louder, nearer—he stared at the corner and the hunters stopped, uncertain in their fear and pride, and stared too. They recoiled, lost pride and gladness and kept only fear and uncertainty, they moved aimlessly and clutched each other. The noise became a mighty roar. A mad creature of clods and branches, of trapped animals and rolling stones, of muddy water and foam burst round the corner of the ravine like a monstrous paw. It reared and roared higher than a man. It took the hunters, elders, men, and youths, included them, turned them upside-down, whirled them round, washed away weapons and strength. It beat ringing heads against stones, bounced faces in mud, twisted limbs like straws. It was mindless, resistless and overwhelming. And then the front wave of the flashflood was past, the roar diminishing to a vast, pouring sound. The water smoothed, washed sideways up the crumbling walls