Legend of the Jerawoc: Predator of Man

By David Thomas Stone

While working in the Amazon basin a young man, John Sullivan Brooks, fresh out of college, arrived with dreams of finding lost cities, Mayan temples, and old civilizations. At first, he bought into the many stories and ideas, and he had plenty of people willing to sell their secrets, maps and directions to this eager young man. All he ever found were old myths, other people's dreams, and rocks, lots of rocks, so he gave up on those ideas.

Twenty years later, still working deep in the Brazilian jungle, Brooks accidently stumbled on a secret legend hidden for thousands of years: An ancient people still alive, living deep in the Amazon. They had started their travel here from the frozen north twelve thousand years before. These were the people of the Great Blue Ice Wall. They had migrated here over time from a land cold and harsh, covered with glaciers.

Their many stories and oral history told of an ancient time when humans feared man's only natural predator, a prehistoric beast that even today creates, deep in us, a natural fear of the dark. This Legend of the Jerawoc and this hidden city were well hidden behind real native fears of death to anyone who spoke of them.

The legend was real, and this changed everything. Brook's challenge now was to protect these ancient people and their history from modern man's greed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662451850

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Legend of the Jerawoc

Predator of Man

David Thomas Stone

Copyright © 2022 David Thomas Stone

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-5184-3 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88654-858-7 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5185-0 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgement

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

Legend of the Jerawoc—Book II

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This is the story of ancient man against nature. Early man did not compete with each other so much as they competed with nature to survive when they had no control and everything to lose. This is some of their stories, of the legend that local natives kept secret for centuries for fear of death to anyone who spoke of them.

Acknowledgement

I have no idea how to thank everyone who has helped and encouraged me to write this story.

Special thanks to:

Tom and June Badgett, my best friends and partner and co-writer. Thank you for your knowledge, patience, attention to detail, your constant work, and for your guidance and support. There is no way to thank you enough.

David Perry and his wife who always guided me as a young man with his strong vison, humor and zest for adventure, strength, and perseverance.

My wife and boys and my mom who always inspire me and always offer good insight and for believing in me.

Nancy Deal for all her contribution, art, and years of continued encouragement.

Carley Little (Carlylittlecreates.com) for extreme talent, vision, and artistic help.

Thank all of you for your patience and endless hours of work. This story would not have been completed without you.

Introduction

We want to help our children get over their fear of the dark, so we tell them, Don't be afraid of the dark. There is nothing out there to fear. Yet we all have felt fear of the darkness.

Most of us remember a time in our life when we found ourselves alone, surrounded by darkness, and experiencing a real feeling of danger. The hair begins to stand up on the back of our necks and on our forearms. Our hearing becomes acute, and our ears pick up every little crack and sound in the darkness. We strain to see, and we instinctively quicken our steps toward some distant light. As adults we know better, and when we return to the light, we feel a little foolish. But for that moment in the dark, we cannot ignore this feeling that some unknown imminent danger may be very near us. This is our natural survival instinct imbeded in our DNA, because at one time there was something in the dark…

This is the story of an ancient people who followed great herds of migrating animals across the Bering land bridge that temporarily joined the two continents of Asia and North America fifteen thousand years ago before it disappeared for the last time beneath the rising sea. After three thousand years, these people had adapted to what was then a harsh, cold land. Their numbers grew very slowly as they struggled to overcome the real dangers and natural barriers to anything living in this hostile environment.

They prospered and slowly grew in numbers at the trailing edge of the great receding glaciers towering over them with five-hundred-foot-high vertical walls of blue ice that slowly moved across the land, dominating the landscape. These people found wonderful shelter in the many ice caves along the trailing edge of these glaciers. These caves, formed as huge blocks of ice broke away as the glacier moved forward, offered constant cool temperatures year-round. In the coldest of winters, temperatures could plunge to seventy or one hundred degrees below zero, but inside an ice cave the temperature was a constant thirty degrees, warm weather or cold. Here too they were safe from the massive snowstorms, harsh winds, and heavy rainstorms that frequented this land.

A great cycle of climate change already was well underway, and the glaciers, which provided safe shelter and much more, were melting. As they melted, the glaciers watered the rich land behind them, and massive herds of grazing animals migrated across the continent following the lush, green grass that grew waist high as the temperatures warmed each year. These large herds came at the same time each year. So these people had a steady supply of fresh meat to store in the ice caves to carry them through the next harsh winter.

The people in this story were hunters and gatherers who adapted and learned to hunt and survive. There were many dangerous animals present at that time, but one by one they learned to outwit and avoid them, except for one, the beast that nature had created to hunt and kill man. They were no match for this beast that came in the night, not just for food, but to exhaust the hatred nature had instilled in it to kill and eliminate man wherever it found them.

This was man's natural predator that kept their numbers in check as nature controlled the human population through this beast. These people adapted quickly and were strong, smart, and brave, but that was not enough. It was widely accepted that when this beast, eight hundred pounds of viscous hate, came in the night, it could not be defeated. Until a boy named Nezbeth changed everything.

Over thousands of years, these people migrated across the continent as they were trained to do perusing their sworn oath to Nezbeth himself as Nezbeth warriors.

In this story, the last surviving tribe of these ancient people live today in an isolated village deep in the Amazon jungle, completely out of touch with the modern world.

The story opens just outside this village today then takes you back in history some twelve thousand years to a time when no one thought nature's predator of man could ever be defeated, and the story of a boy who survived his own family's slaughter by this beast and swore on the graves of his dead family he would dedicate and risk his own life to learn to kill the plague of his people.

Legend of the Jerawoc

Chapter 1

Prayers of the El Tigre

Somewhere deep in the Amazon, at the base of a sacred mountain range that reached above the canopy of this virgin jungle, an old Indian chief made himself comfortable, continuing a ritual that began many nights before. He was the El Tigre, the last warrior chief of the Nezbeth tribe. He and his people were all descendants of the original tribe of Nezbeth. He was the only son of the previous chief, and unless something changed, he would be the last El Tigre. He had no son to succeed him, and his tribe was dying. His people once numbered as many as the fingers of a thousand hands, but now they were only a few.

Soon the last traces of this once great people, who left their influence on every tribe and nation they met over the last twelve thousand years as they migrated across the continent of North America, would vanish. This beautiful jungle home that had helped them conceal their city from the outside world for centuries would swallow the Nezbeth people and cover forever the wealth and knowledge they had amassed since their earliest beginnings.

The original Nezbeth was the first person in history to learn how to kill the plague of his people, the most ferocious predator that ever walked the earth. His people called it the Jerawoc. Nature designed this prehistoric beast that hunted man to control the human population. Before Nezbeth, no one stood a chance against man's only natural predator. Unlike other wild creatures, it had no fear of man. When it came, it killed everyone wherever it found them, and it killed not for food but because of its burning hatred for man instilled by nature. No animal would feed on the kill of the Jerawoc, and there was nothing that walked the earth that could defeat it. The Jerawoc had a powerful, cunning mind, much like man, except it lacked a conscience. It was the perfect predator. The original Nezbeth, as a young man, had sworn to rid his people of this curse. He made many personal sacrifices to learn the secret that gave him knowledge to overcome it. As he became more skilled, many wanted to follow him. Many volunteered, but Nezbeth looked for a certain quality in each, so their numbers grew slowly as they traveled.

The Nezbeth, as they came to be called, were known wherever they traveled for their ability to kill the Jerawoc. Soon it became custom for other tribes to pay the Nezbeth travelers to remove this threat wherever it was found. So this tribe evolved from hunters and gatherers to warriors. Their every need was provided in exchange for killing the beast that only the Nezbeth warriors were brave enough to face and defeat. To be accepted and ordained as a Nezbeth warrior carried the highest status and honor a man could hope to achieve. Their knowledge made them giants in the legends of all primitive people down through the ages. Nezbeth and his followers have been held up as gods throughout time by all who knew of them.

Nezbeth taught his followers to kill the Jerawoc and gave them the tools and the knowledge they needed to face this beast and survive. However, he kept to himself one crucial part of the ritual, information that he passed only to his son and he to his, down through time to each successive leader. This position came to be known as the El Tigre. With that knowledge came the oath to preserve forever the secret handed down from the original Nezbeth.

The power of the El Tigre was the absolute law of his people. He was trained by all the previous El Tigres who had gone before him. His decisions were based on the rules and laws that he was taught during his childhood and his decisions were never challenged.

As their civilization evolved, the Nezbeth people developed their religious beliefs around the beast they both feared and worshipped. Here in this sanctuary, they had kept it alive over time as a service to that religion. They became bound to protect the beast they once hunted because their religion dictated that the last Nezbeth warrior's brave battle with the Jerawoc ensured that all Nezbeth spirits would be allowed to pass through the spirit world to reach the resting place of his ancestors. Their world revolved around the belief that they themselves had developed over time.

Now the last El Tigre desperately sought answers to the greatest problem that ever faced his people. With no son to succeed him, the chief would die and break the chain of responsibility he had inherited. Centuries of tradition dictated that only the ordained son of the El Tigre could be given all the responsibilities for safeguarding the rules and the laws of the Nezbeth. No other El Tigre had ever faced this dilemma. The old ones had always provided the answers. Now he searched his memory in desperation, looking for some long-forgotten fact and hoped that, through his prayers, perhaps some sign or answer would come.

El Tigre's clothes were the same clothes that a travel warrior wears when he leaves this city to travel through the outside world. He was properly armed as a warrior, always ready to do battle against evil. El Tigre stood in the evening light and looked down at the mat that had been delivered to him before sunset for this special ceremony that would last through the next morning. Beside him, folded on a small platform, was a beautiful robe that would be used later.

This mat was woven of simple palm materials used throughout the village. The person who made this was a skilled artist and craftsman weaving the painted palm fronds into beautiful patterns. On the border of the mat were many groups of people performing different functions for the village. It was obvious the artist had used the actual faces of the people in this village. All were painted in separate color schemes, giving each group a distinctive look.

At the top, near the center, was a detailed painting of El Tigre himself kneeling on this same mat. The artist pictured El Tigre's light, golden skin, large dark eyes, and long dark hair streaked with silver that hung to the ground where he kneeled before a tomb. There was an expression of concern on his weathered face, but the pride of these mystical people could still be seen reflected in his eyes.

At the bottom center of the mat was another member of the village. This figure was painted on a smaller scale but larger than the people of this city painted around the border. He was wearing a ceremonial robe adorned with long black feathers with bright yellow tips. In his hands he held a skin-covered disk with black and gold hair on one side. He appeared to be fanning a small fire with this ceremonial piece, causing bright yellow smoke to drift across the painted scene toward El Tigre where he kneeled with his arms in the air, praying directly to the spirit world. The sheená directed the yellow smoke up toward El Tigre, attempting to get the attention of the spirit world so that El Tigre's prayers would be heard.

Above him and on both sides of this mat were two figures that overpowered everything else. On the left was a depiction of the original Nezbeth. In his hand he carried a long curved white-handled knife, and he faced across the scene at a large dark crouching beast with giant white fangs. Even in this spiritual medium, it was obvious that they were ready to do mortal combat at any moment.

El Tigre moved this beautiful mat closer to the area where he would build a fire, and then he kneeled down on the mat to begin. Everything around him still sparkled from the evening rain that made every leaf and bush shine as the evening light slowly disappeared, allowing the shadows of night to come.

A small pile of dry wood had been placed near where he would build a fire, and there was also an earthen pitcher filled with a special drink in its place. He would sit by the fire and wait, denying himself food, kneeling before the ancient tomb of the original Nezbeth.

After he had positioned himself comfortably, he raised his weary eyes to these sacred hills and, lifting his old hands to the heavens, then began to pray.

"Hear me, O spirit of Nezbeth. You are the beginning and the end of the Nezbeth people. You were the first to kill the Jerawoc, and even today you stand guard, as you always have, at the entrance to our city.

"I am the last El Tigre, the last leader of your people. I have kept the promises to my father as he did to his and the same as all El Tigres have done. Only through your knowledge can I walk through fear and out of darkness into the safety of the light. You have never failed the Nezbeth people, and once again I have come to you for some sign to direct me.

"The powerful secrets we use to control the Jerawoc remains knowledge for El Tigre and the Nezbeth people alone, as you have instructed. I have carried without complaint this fearsome responsibility not only to my people but to my ancestors who have gone before. The security of all depends on me fulfilling my duties as I have been taught. Your laws have been obeyed, and we have lived in this place in peace for centuries.

"We have all that life can provide, yet today I am sad. There are no children in our village. There is little new joy in our lives. There is no son in my hut to accept this responsibility of the power over the Jerawoc. I have even sacrificed my own wives, and still, I have no live child to carry on as El Tigre. I am old. I am tired. But, O Great One, my faith is strong, not broken. I wait for a sign from you, the most powerful of all spirits, the ancient one, Nezbeth, our warrior king.

"My father taught me the traditions and the laws of the El Tigre and of the Nezbeth people. As the El Tigre, I must never allow the cunning mind of the Jerawoc to deceive me. I must never allow him to escape. My father taught me that to loose the beast would spell death and destruction for all people. This would be a crime against nature itself that I would be responsible for. Yet we must not kill the beast, for that would jeopardize the spirits of my ancestors' very existence in the next world.

"We live as we believe. Only through the Jerawoc can we, the Nezbeth, go through the door of life to the other side and once again run through the forest with our ancestors.

"As my father taught, each warrior spirit must pass through the Jerawoc as atonement for the many Jerawoc that we have killed. Every warrior looks forward to the day when he can face the phantom of death and prove his bravery in his final fight. Then, when the last Nezbeth dies, legend tells us that you, the spirit of the original Nezbeth, will meet the spirit of the Jerawoc for the last time and close the door to the spirit world forever. Only then will we rejoin the spirits of our ancestors and be brought together again, safe on the other side.

Even today Nezbeth warriors are feared and respected by all. We the keepers of the shadow of death, the protectors of all that inhabit the earth, are proud to be Nezbeth. Yet for the first time in my life, I feel fear for the future. Many of the people now ask openly what they fear: Is the power of the Nezbeth over? Why do I not have a son to train? Where are the children that used to fill our village? You have always provided the answers. Now I pray that the answer we seek will come soon. I feel my time here is short. I do not know how I have the time to train another. In your wisdom you have taught us that at the end of our journey a new Nezbeth warrior, El Tigre would be known to lead our spirits into the world of our ancestors. Now this is my only hope that what you have told us, as always, will be the answer I seek.

El Tigre thought of the many places he had seen and realized he had never seen anyplace he would rather be. He thought of the people he had met here, and this too was the same. He was content to be El Tigre and live in this jungle city isolated from the outside world, where he could enjoy the things around him in peace. To his ears came the evening sounds of the jungle all around like subtle notes of music on the wind. This always was a special time for him, and he listened intently and smiled.

Chapter 2

The People of the Great Blue Ice Wall

The chill of the night settled in as the old chief's fire grew small, yet he continued to wait, struggling with the fear that he may have forgotten something from his training as a young man so many years ago. He reviewed in detail the stories he had heard since his childhood, the living record of the Nezbeth, which he had seen his people act out one story at a time. The Nezbeth people had become masters of the dramatic. This was how they maintained their oral history, and it is how El Tigre could remember in minute detail the many stories of his people and their history over the ages.

The oldest stories were of the original Nezbeth as a boy, when he lived with his people at the foot of the last giant glacier that stretched across the continent from sea to sea. The place they lived they called the Great Blue Ice Wall because its vertical wall towered nearly five hundred feet straight overhead. El Tigre could see the picture in his mind, as if he were Nezbeth himself. Nezbeth's grandfather had been on the very spot when a giant piece of blue ice had broken from under the vertical wall at the trailing edge of the glacier, forming a large cave that penetrated deep inside the ice wall as it moved forward. He had taken this as a sign that here he should stay and raise his family.

Nezbeth's ancestors had followed migrating herds south to this location many years before. When these nomadic people realized that this lush land furnished all their needs, and when the ice cave opened to them, they chose to stay and make this their permanent home. The opening was just big enough for his small group to fit between the broken ice boulder and the walls of the glacier. Over the years, groaning like a thousand souls, as it ground its way across the earth, the relentless glacier moved away from the large broken piece of ice, providing more and more room for his growing family as the seasons passed. As a boy, Nezbeth played on this same piece of ice just outside the cave, a small mountain to him.

This ice cave served their family well over time. This was a land that had many long, brutal winters, a land of deep, blowing snow that covered everything and made it white. This was a land where the outside temperatures could drop far below zero for many days, but inside the ice cave the temperature would remain constant. The ice cave provided many benefits. It was large enough to store ample dry wood to keep a fire burning both day and night through the hard winter. Much of the food they gathered during the warm season would keep longer in this natural cool storage. It provided a cool haven during the hottest time of the year for a people more adapted to cold than heat, and the streams that ran from under the great glacier provided easy access to water year around. Compared to the temperatures outside, this was a cozy, safe home.

The stories detailed how these people worked in the short warm season to fill their ice cave with wood for fire and a deep layer of fresh grass covered with hides to insulate them from the frozen floor. In the warm season, there was an abundance of fish and birds and eggs and enough meat to last through the hard winter that lasted so long.

The glacier's continuous supply of water nurtured the rich earth, where waist-high grasses, many varieties of flowers and mosses, and other plants sprang forth. The watered ground produced a wide green strip that stretched each spring directly behind the ice wall as far as a man could walk in a lifetime, bringing color and life to the continent from sea to sea.

Many varieties of grass eaters followed the grass, each in its own season, to feed on these lush new grasses. The hunters could predict the time that each different group would come. This was a natural calendar that told the hunters when to hunt particular animals for their meat or hides so they would have plenty to eat in the warm season and so the supplies they stored in the cool cave would be as fresh as possible to last through the winter. This reliable migration cycle provided a continues supply of fresh food for the people of the ice wall.

The slowly melting glacier provided a constant flow of water that spread across the land and pooled to form gigantic swamps that grew all manner of fast-growing tree and bush, animal, and fish. Many types of fish came upstream to the very foot of the ice wall each year to feed and spawn. Birds fed every day in the deep grass and the swampy land not far from the ice wall, then they would roost on the steep wall above the ice cave, spreading as they came the new seeds of life on the ground that the great wall had leveled as it moved across this land. The ice wall truly provided all in this lush land of Eden.

El Tigre always thought this place sounded so wonderful, if it had not been for the one ever-present fear: the Jerawoc. But for the Jerawoc, they would still live there as Nezbeth and his father and his family had for so long.

As the night grew long, El Tigre remembered the story of a time when Nezbeth was a small boy living in the ice cave. The sun had melted many feet of snow in the front of the cave, and soon the earth would be seen again, and the first brilliantly colored wildflowers would rise out of the snow, opening their lavender petals to the sun.

As always, the hunters slept in the front part of the cave, where they took turns standing guard at night and tending the fire that burned there continuously. Soon the people of the nearby White River Camp would arrive, and together these two camps would hunt the Giant Red Deer that migrated across this land by the thousands at this time each year.

Now it was late, and Nezbeth's mother made ready the area where all the women and children slept. His uncle and older brother had left early this day with enough provisions to stay one night, seeking the first signs of these red deer.

Everyone had eaten a warm meal from the last of the winter's meat and a few roots, now shriveled and drawn, mixed with last year's grain and boiled over the fire. This was a meal eaten often during the last days of winter.

Darkness had come, and the firelight danced on the walls and cast eerie shadows on the smoke-blackened roof of the cave. The smoke easily made its way out through the large opening at the top of the cave, that just a few days before had been all but blocked by the snow. Earlier in the winter, the people sometimes had to labor to keep this opening clear of blowing snow and to maintain a small walkway to the rushing water that came from under the ice just outside the entrance. But there also was a benefit. The snow wall at the entrance blocked out the very low temperatures and shielded the people from the bone-chilling winds of winter.

For many days the snow had melted fast, and on this cloudless night, the moon made the snow shimmer and shine. Everyone was excited about the days that would soon come. They were ready for the winter to end. The excitement of spring was on everyone's mind.

As the stories tell, Nezbeth's mother was busy doing the normal things she did each night, making ready the area for sleep. This was the last thing on Nezbeth's mind. He was thinking of tomorrow, dreaming of when he would be a hunter and, like the others, follow the dog. Three seasons ago this wild dog, young and weak, had come to the cave and had fed on the bones and the scraps that the people cast into the snow. She was all legs and feet and looked too tall for her age. Her coat was dark and gray, and she was thin, too thin to survive this kind of cold. She looked as if she had been weaned far too early. Nature doesn't show kindness to the weak, and ordinarily these people would have run her off or killed her. But her light blue eyes gave her an unusual appearance, and her nonaggressive nature toward these cave dwellers allowed them to make an exception they wouldn't ordinarily make for a wild animal. She fascinated adults and children alike, so they let her stay.

Even after she was accepted around the cave, she was not wanted on the hunts. The hunters tried to run her off and scolded her when she followed them. However, it was not long before she understood what the hunters sought and considered it a game. The hunters soon realized that she sensed many of the animals they hunted long before their eyes could see them. They began to pay attention to her reactions. As she matured, this large dog's desire to please was easy to train, and it became an asset to them, and they used her keen nose and ears as they hunted. At the same time, she began to come closer to them as they praised and accepted her. An unusual bond was built between the dog and the hunters. She soon became a valuable hunting tool for them. Soon she claimed the ice cave as her home.

At night, she could not be coaxed to enter the cave but would lie in the snow on the ground in front, just outside the ring of light cast by the fire. In the hard days of winter, she would lie in the walkway between the entrance and the stream. When the snow was gone and animals of the night would pass in front of the cave, their eyes like red coals reflecting the firelight, the dog would stand, snarl, and show her teeth, and the hair on her back would raise. With lowered ears she would growl to defend her home. The hunters eventually became accustomed to this as well, and the dog was accepted and fed.

On this particular night the dog was curled in a ball just outside the mouth of the cave, standing her usual vigil, listening to the sounds of the night and, like everyone else, settling in for the night. Suddenly the dog bristled and rose in a serious stance. The mood in the cave changed. The hunters nearest the front of the cave quickly changed positions and signaled two women who quietly piled much more wood on the fire. Other women, who also saw the signal, quickly moved to the back of the cave to still their children. The mothers and the old ones stood between the hunters and the sleeping area where grass sleeping palettes lay covered with heavy woolly hides. Time in the cave at that moment seemed to stand still.

It is not recorded how long they waited, but now the hunters were squatting in a line close to the center of the cave, the points of their heavy spears pointed toward the entrance and the blunt ends set firmly in the ground. The leader looked back, just for a moment. Nezbeth would never forget that look of dedicated concern. The women whispered as they picked up a rock or a stick to arm themselves as best they could. They shoved their children under their sleeping robes.

Nezbeth's mother told him not to make a sound. Instead of putting him in his sleeping area, she quickly used the knife she always carried and separated the hide cover where it had been laced together. She pushed young Nezbeth under the hides that covered unusually deep palettes of matted grass that rested between the sleeping pads and the frozen floor.

The grass, though many months old, still had the fresh smell of the fields from which it was harvested and provided a warm and comfortable barrier from the frozen ground.

Nezbeth's mother told him, as she pushed him in, Crawl in as far as you can. Do not come out until you hear my voice. You will be safe here. Do not come out no matter what you hear. Always be brave, my son, you must always be brave.

I am brave, Mother. I will soon be a hunter.

I know, son. Your father is very proud. Now, do as I say. Crawl deep into the grass and sleep.

Mother! What is it, what is wrong? She forced a smile he would never forget.

Nothing, Nezbeth. There is nothing to worry about. Your father will protect us. He is brave and strong. Do not ask more now. Do as I say. I will cover you up with many other skins. Nezbeth, always remember the things we have told you.

I will, Mother. Can I have my spear?

It will be right here for you in the morning. Now, go deep and try to sleep.

Under the cover, deep in the layer of dry grass, it was warm and comfortable. The sounds of the glacier as it moved were barely audible because of the roar of the stream, which started its journey from miles away under the ice and ran close to where Nezbeth lay. It gushed out in a white turbulence near the entrance of the cave, providing a constant background noise. These were the only sounds that Nezbeth could hear. He was dozing off, surrounded by the smells of the summer grass after a long day anticipating a test that would prove he was a hunter. As just a little time passed, nothing happened, and Nezbeth fell sound asleep.

There was no way for him to understand what was about to happen. His people had always protected the young ones from the stories of the Jerawoc. They allowed the children to enjoy life until they were old enough to listen to the stories of the hunters and understand the fear that all adults shared, the fear of the killer that came in the night.

He knew nothing of the terror his family went through that night. He did not see the dog, lying just outside the entrance, suddenly come alert and change from its normal stance of protection to cowering close to the ground, its tail tucked between its legs. Shivering with fear, it sensed something unseen. The dog focused its attention on something in the darkness, something with eyes that did not reflect the glow of the fire like other animals. But the dog knew it was there. Then the dog did something it had never done. It entered the cave and crossed the entrance to the darker side of the far wall. The hunters felt its fear, and the hair stood up on the backs of their necks as they too now sensed something in the dark.

The hunters, squatting or kneeling in a line at the front of the cave near the rising fire, had done all that they knew to do. Then as if from nowhere, the thing that ancient man feared the most stepped into the entrance of the cave. There it hesitated for a moment that seemed to last forever, giving hope that it might not stay.

Then from the shadow of the night into the light of the fire, it came. Nezbeth's father took in a startled, sharp breath and held it. He had seen many cats up close. His people were used to dealing with the normal big cats, but this cat was massive, standing four feet tall at the shoulder. Its head, broad and wide, supported jaws that opened and closed as it entered. From its upper jaw hung two huge fangs that seemed even larger as they radiated white, glistening in the light of the fire. They appeared to stand away from his curved, muscular jaws.

His dark eyes took in every movement. They did not reflect the fire but seemed to pierce every shadow in the cave. His dark, heavy coat, covering wide shoulders, massive muscles rippled with every movement. He moved his bulk closer into the light with confidence and brute strength.

He stood on heavy legs, spread wide, with extended claws that looked like long knives, sharp and cruel. Around his neck, long hair formed a dark mane, highlighted with golden strands that caught the firelight and stood out like burning brands. His large eyes, wide, cast an expression of violence that permeated the air in his presence.

Before them all stood the living, breathing example of nature's power in its most dangerous form. This was the Jerawoc.

In the intensity of the moment, someone allowed his fear to be heard in a trembling, soft sob, a catching of breath that was almost a cry. Another of the hunters, sensing his friend's fear, began a slow rhythmic chant. One after another, they each joined in, fear resounding in their low, shaky voices. As the momentum grew, they now raised the tone. They clutched the wood of their heavy spears. Stronger and stronger they chanted their death song in unison. "Saan-a Ashan-a Shaan-a Ashan-a na-hann-a na-hanna Shaan-a Shann-a oolan-a-oolan-a oolan-a Shaana-Daa-Ya."

The Jerawoc did not hurry. It sniffed the air and inhaled the human smell that came from every corner of the cave. The very scent stirred something deep inside the beast. The human sounds filled him with rage. A violent urge swelled, and it answered the hunters' chant with a paralyzing roar that deafened the ears and panicked the hearts of everyone. Then the Jerawoc crouched low, locked his cold dark eyes on the hunters, his ears flat, he raised his head, bared his massive fangs, and growled a strong extremely loud growl that echoed off the walls. Then he committed himself with long claws extended like knives; he launched his massive bulk-like and uncoiling spring directly at the six hunters. Eight hundred pounds of raw hatred, muscle and bone.

The hunters were suddenly silent as they braced themselves for the charge. From his position behind the hunters in the front line, the magnitude of the roar hurt the leader's ears, and he saw the impact it had on the others. His mind raced as he measured the beast. Even this brave man had to fight panic to stand firm as it came.

He realized the futility of their stand, and he knew that he also would have to fight. Every possible defense was in place as he had commanded. Every hunter was committed to defend with his own body the very essence of this camp's existence, life itself. All this he understood in an instant, then he gave his full attention over to this relentless predator that loomed larger and more ferocious than anything he had ever imagined. Even the stories about this mighty beast had not prepared him for this.

The beast showed no fear of the hunters or of the fire, now snapping and popping as the new wood quickly caught. The Jerawoc closed on the hunters with absolute purpose. His ears were flat against his head, his eyes wide with rage. Massive amounts of adrenaline surged through his veins, pushing him to the brink of insanity, instantly magnifying his natural hatred and strength tenfold.

Four men rose from their kneeling position and attempted to lunge their spears into his enormous body. With tremendous force and violent speed, he batted the spears aside, first ripping through the four who rose. He slashed through the line, killing half of the hunters, breaking their necks with powerful blows. Then he turned on the other two as they broke to run. The Jerawoc made short work of the remainder of the group, taking them down from behind, crushing their skulls and slashing away complete sections of their bodies. The hunters lay wherever he left them, limp, lifeless, broken, and covered with blood.

Now, only one man stood between the women and children and the scene of slaughter. As the Jerawoc butchered the last of the group, he turned to face the leader himself whose mind was playing out everything he saw in slow motion. Without thinking, this large man began to assume the position he had used so many times in the past to confront a dangerous, charging beast alone, as if it could stop the beast. In the last seconds, his anger overcame the fear.

He crouched slightly, raising his spear over his head and turning his body sideways. Instinct born of years of experience told him how to choose the exact point to intercept the charging hulk with the point of his spear. The Jerawoc closed the distance rapidly, wild with hate. The leader took a step forward to meet the great cat. His ability to anticipate the beast was heightened by the fact that this kill was not for food but for survival. Now, hopeless fear rising in his heart, he waited for the moment of contact, reality suspended.

He quickly sidestepped at the last possible moment as he so often had and braced himself. From nowhere came a powerful blow to his legs that knocked him facedown, stunning him for a moment. Thinking only of his family, he screamed defiantly at the beast, the sounds echoing off the walls, assailing the ears of the women and children, now in terror in the shadows at the rear of the cave. The Jerawoc placed one large paw with claws extended in the middle of the leader's back and applied just enough pressure to hold him down. Still Nezbeth's father never stopped fighting. Driven by concern for his family, he struggled with all his strength, below the beast.

The cat paused and peered into the back of the cave. Somehow Nezbeth's father managed to reach one of the cat's hind leg with his knife. He stabbed with all his strength as deeply as he could at the animal's hindquarter, and the cat's reaction was immediate. It dropped to the ground, one paw on the man's head, the other between his wide shoulders, completely covering his victim. In a single fluid motion, it clamped its powerful jaws shut on the leader's neck, crushing bone and ripping tendons loose in one massive bite. Nezbeth's father never moved again.

The cat, covered with its victims' blood, crossed into the shadowy part of the cave. Seething with hate and intent on its next victims, the cat advanced confidently, searching the darkness. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the dog leaped at the cat's throat, growling viciously, with fangs bared.

The cat reacted instantly. Its paw flashed, meeting the dog in midair. With a ghastly hiss, he smashed his attacker to the ground. The dog rolled across the ground with wild yelps of pain as she tumbled toward the entrance, slashed, bleeding, and broken. In agony she pulled her broken body out of the cave, whimpering into the darkness.

In a few minutes the last screams were over and nothing moved. The Jerawoc then began its ritual of tearing the bodies to pieces and spraying his scent on each one. Then, with indifference, he picked up one of the bodies, turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter 3

The White River Camp

The next morning the sun was shining, and the air was very still. The remaining snow around the entrance to the cave had begun to disappear, showing patches of green grass and low shrubs. The air was fresh and crisp and cold. The many types of wildflowers already were sprouting, and the small buds were beginning to open. The sounds of spring could be heard as bees buzzed over pollen inside the lavender petals of the first snow lilies. A butterfly, fresh from its cocoon, darted across the scene, and a pair of brightly colored birds flew in pursuit of nature's call. Spring was really here, and nature was revealing itself again.

The people of the White River Camp were already traveling to meet their friends at the ice cave so they could hunt together as they had for many years. Their journey had