Animal Kingdom: Book 1: Animalia

By Kristian Steel

Set in a post-apocalyptic earth, it's inhabitants survive segregated until the water supply runs dry. Chosen by a council of elders, Renier must venture beyond the borders of the village. Accompanied by Veruca, a warrior princess, together they must find a path through the ooze of the black mountains and solve the mystery behind the village water supply. The truth they discover will change the course of Earth forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663251718

Kristian Steel

After writing numerous plays for the black box theaters of Los Angeles, Animal Kingdom represents the first contribution to the literary world by Kristian Steel. He can't thank anyone enough for showing interest in his writing and promises to continue to evolve as an author with more work in the pipeline.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Renier’s eyes fluttered open as he sensed the sunlight piercing through a hole in his tent. Another dream disrupted by the break of day. Quickly, he removed his journal from beneath his makeshift pillow of hay and dried leaves. With a broken writing tool, he jotted his first thoughts of the new day.

I had it again last night. It was only a few short moments ago. The dream continues to vex my sleep, forcing me to rise confused, sometimes afraid. The images were much clearer this past night.

Once again, the dream starts, and I’m flying, but soon I see a giant beast. It is the griffin, flying above me, and then it’s clear that I am being carried. With the blood of war sprinkled on its wings, the griffin silently flies through the night air, remaining hidden among the clouds and the stars. Clearly, the beast has to remain undetected, but the reason is still unclear to me.

We fly the entire night, and as the first ray of light floods over the horizon, the griffin glides to the ground, making a perfect landing while keeping me protected. Then the beast lowers me to the ground. After taking a deep breath of relief, the griffin calmly approaches the ball of wrinkled cloth squirming on the ground. Baby cries can be heard amid the silence of dawn.

The beast moves aside the cloth with its wing and reveals to me, only I’m a baby, and I’m looking at myself from another viewpoint.

As you ordered, my emperor, the griffin says.

This is the child? The emperor’s voice is ice cold, and as the emperor approaches the baby, he lowers his brow in suspicion of what to expect next. The emperor closely inspects the human infant, giving the baby the chance to see the black eyes of the beast standing above him. The eyes rest above a peculiar mouth, a feature that extends far from the creature’s face.

A moment later, he says, Our intelligence was accurate. Your service deserves commendation, Leola. He is small. What to do? What to do? A decision I fear has no preferable consequence. Tell me, Leola: Would you bear the burden of this question?

No, Your Highness, says the griffin.

I suppose not, for it is not you who is judged for the choice, the emperor replies. I am. I value your counsel. Tell me, Leola. You’ve brought the baby to me. Tell me what you think I should do.

The griffin is slow to respond, but eventually, she answers the emperor. I do not presume to equal your wisdom; that is why I trust you will make the right choice. Still, if you seek counsel, it is my duty to serve. If the decision were mine, I would not kill this child. I would challenge the human superstitions and put them to a test.

A test? The emperor encourages the griffin’s counsel.

Yes, banish this child to the camps. If his destiny is written in a prophecy, his path will lead him back here. If he does not return, you can put an end to these stories of prophecies and silly superstition—perhaps even the war. A choice like this would show strength and wisdom, but I’m sure you already know these things, the griffin says.

Yes, your counsel is a very real option. However, should he return, that could mean the end of our kingdom. If I kill him now, I may wipe out any chance of a revolt in the future. In silence, they stare at the small baby responsible for so much chaos.

Suddenly, a bright light glows from behind their bodies, and then immediately, the emperor and the griffin are swallowed into the blinding glow of light, leaving nothing in their wake.

That is the last part I remember clearly, but the feeling of curiosity lingers in the absence of these beasts. I’m left to wonder where they come from. How did they get inside my head, and why do I continue to dream the same dream?

He continued to scribble notes with his broken writing tool, but soon his mind erased the remaining images dancing in his head. If only he could have remembered more, then perhaps some understanding could have been made about why he had such dreams and why he felt compelled to keep them secret from the rest of his camp.

Renier was certain if he couldn’t explain why he was having the dreams, the elders would question their safety and perhaps the safety of the camp. The young man knew that type of uncertainty must be avoided at all costs—a lesson taught to him by his guardian, Volvox, the supreme elder of his camp, at an early age.

Still, his journal, a gift from his guardian, was the perfect place to speak his mind and understand his peculiarities. The journal served as a close friend to Renier, especially when growing up without parents, a circumstance unheard of among his camp. Only a few months after Renier had been born, his camp had experienced a terrible fire in the middle of the night. Many families had been killed, including his parents, but Renier’s life had been spared. When he had been found, the only burn the baby had sustained was a mark on his shoulder, shaped like an X. He had shared these stories with his journal many times but could never find reconciliation with his own memories. He knew luck hadn’t been the only force at work. He believed fate had had much more to do with his misfortune.

As he pondered these thoughts early in the morning, from outside his tent, Renier heard his name called by his tutor, Patrick. His voice was a welcome sound, for it usually meant there would be work in the fields, a place where Renier could forget what vexed him and focus on his skills as a farmer. He found a certain satisfaction in raising a crop to harvest and then sharing that crop with the rest of his camp. Those moments gave him purpose and value, and so to work Renier prepared to go.

Renier! Patrick yelled.

I’m here, Patrick! I’ll be out in a moment! Renier yelled from inside his tent. He tucked his journal beneath his pillow and picked up his weathered gloves and dirty goggles, and wearing the same clothes he’d slept in, the young man left the tent.

The sun warmed the young man’s ruddy olive cheeks, which were still dirty from the previous day’s work. His body was strong for an adolescent but not developed. His average height and heightened imagination prevented him from pursuing the same regiments of physical activity as his peers. He preferred to study the properties of the food he grew versus digging a well.

Once outside, he was greeted by Patrick, a tall fellow perhaps a decade older than Renier in age but a century older in wisdom. Patrick was the apprentice to Volvox and had been placed as Renier’s mentor since Renier’s eighth birthday.

From Patrick, Renier learned about the earth and its power to grow the food they ate and about the natural forces of the planet at work. While Patrick was designated to teach Renier the ways of a farmer, over the years, Patrick had managed to share a great many other details with the boy. He taught Renier religion and the purpose of the council elders, and Patrick especially focused on teaching Renier the purpose and significance of the supreme elder.

The latter topic was of little interest to Renier compared to the air of the fields, the heat of the sun, and the beauty of a girl. Veruca was the most beautiful girl in the camp and the daughter of his guardian, Volvox. In her favor was where Renier longed to be, but that was a privilege Volvox expressly denied the young man. Her life was kept separate from his, and as a child of an elder, she was charged with the protection of the camp until such a time when she assumed her own place on the council, an achievement of least importance to the young Renier.

Veruca, on the other hand, was always serious about her role in the community. Attending private lessons with her father to study the chemistry of plants and then joining the boys for combat lessons were average activities in her day. She would also spend hours in the fields, practicing her balance and weapons training with Patrick. Renier spent many a day laughing at his tutor as Veruca’s wooden staff crashed Patrick in the legs. The amazing weapon was a long, narrow piece of coconut tree, and when it was in the girl’s hands, it could zip through the air like an irritating fly buzzing around one’s face.

She was a magnificent warrior, and Renier knew she would be a great leader for his people. This weighed heavily on the young man’s heart, for if she were to be an elder, it was unlikely they could be friends. Renier often dwelled on those thoughts during his nights as he lay in his tent, writing in his journal. However, today was a new day, and surely his tutor had a lesson of labor to teach.

It’s warm this morning, the boy said.

I think it will be quite hot today, the tutor replied. Strange too—odd for this season, he added while leading his pupil toward the fields. Patrick was dressed in a dirty tunic and nothing but leaves to cover his feet, compressed into a thick base of protection against the ground. Patrick continued his conversation during their walk together. How did you sleep?

Most of my night was still, but then—

Another dream? Patrick interrupted.

No, but I did have the same dream. I’m flying through the air—

Yes, yes, and you’re carried by a griffin. Stop it; I don’t want to hear it. I knew it was a mistake to mention such fantasies. Your imagination has such a tendency to run wild. I don’t know what this dream means, but I’m afraid of it, and not knowing why you have it makes me all the more nervous. Who else have you spoken to about these dreams?

Renier’s brow contorted and curved into a maze of wrinkles. I know I’d be in danger if I mention the ah-nee-mowls.

Don’t even mention the word, Patrick said. I’ve told you: we do not discuss the ah-nee-mowls; that is the first lesson the elders teach you. If Volvox knew what I’ve done, I could be punished or, worse, banished.

Do not worry, Patrick. I’ve spoken to no one, he responded with similar zeal. Renier understood what Patrick was trying to suggest. If the village found out the young man had dreams of beasts flying through the air and emperors banishing babies, they would see it as an omen and banish him to the Black Hills, a desolate land of dead fields covered in a black ooze. Renier believed the camp would not tolerate any more mysteries from the boy, because of all the pain he’d caused when his parents died in the fire, a tragedy with many consequences. One unexpected result had been that with Renier orphaned, Volvox had assumed the responsibility of caring for the boy. Consequently, by decree of an ancient law, Volvox was no longer allowed to have a biological son of his own.

Long ago, it had been decided that the population was to be controlled to prevent a shortage of food. Every man was to be paired with a woman, and each couple were allowed only two children. If a couple couldn’t have children, they would receive a child from another couple. This had been the way of his people for generations, and these rules were the strictest in his camp, practiced by every family and enforced with rigid punishments.

As a boy, Renier often had daydreamed of a time when he would be paired with his match. Who would it be? How would it feel? There was only one girl Renier wanted to spend his life with, Veruca. However, Volvox always kept Veruca separated from Renier for most of the day, except for two times, during breakfast and dinner. Those brief moments were the only moments shared between the young pair, yet they were spent well, with warmth and the enjoyment of good food. Then, afterward, they would return to their separate lives. However, with the beginning of his fourteenth year, he put away his childhood dreams and focused more on his labor in the fields.

Patrick and Renier continued to walk, and Renier paid close attention as they approached the field crops. Patrick usually quizzed the young man on different plants and cycles of vegetation, and Renier usually knew every answer. Indeed, that day, Patrick had a great deal of questions, some of which Renier could not answer.

We had three reports yesterday and five last week. Have you noticed the plants dying all over the fields? Patrick asked.

Renier casually answered, Yes, but no more than previous seasons.

Patrick retorted, I disagree. I have noticed sectors of our crops that have never shown signs of drying during this time of year, such as some tomato vines I found drying in the sun.

Perhaps there is a blockage in the irrigation lines, Renier said.

Perhaps, but if that’s true, then we should be concerned. The elders have been meeting. When I ask Volvox of these meetings, he reminds me to mind my place. I care little if he chooses to exclude me, but I am worried about our camp. What if these dead crops are more significant than we know? Perhaps a great disaster is upon us!

Renier was quick to disagree. I don’t think Volvox would hide a disaster from us and his people. You’re probably right about the meetings and the crops, but a disaster? No. Besides, it’s obvious what must be done. We simply walk the irrigation line and find the block.

Yes, and if there is no block? Patrick asked, but shortly after, he stammered, Then there is only one answer left.

What’s that? Renier asked.

The tutor was hesitant to speak as he stared blankly at their dying crops. Renier observed a significant shift in demeanor pass over his tutor’s eyes. Then, with caution, Patrick said, Someone will have to follow the water line to its source and search beyond the camp.

That’s nothing to suggest lightly, Patrick. You speak of the prophecy, Renier said.

Yes, yes, but someone will have to leave the camp.

No, the prophecy begins with a drought, and this is no drought, simply a few dead tomato vines and some lost corn.

We never lose crops in these cooler seasons, not with such numbers, and certainly not tomatoes. This isn’t simply a block in the water. The air is warmer because there is less water in our environment. As I have taught before, heat causes the water to evaporate, which then transforms into the clouds, which then cools and falls back to the earth as rain. We had less rain this summer.

Yes, but we had one of our best fruit and vegetable harvests in years—isn’t that right?

Ah, you do pay attention. Yes, we had record-setting harvests for fruit this year, but our harvest is merely a product of our hard work and your gifted talents. Still, I fear something is wrong with the water, and if we do follow the irrigation line, we will fulfill the prophecy, for it begins with someone forced to leave the camp.

You sound like an elder, Patrick, Renier said as he led the pair through the crops. You said it yourself: your hard work and my gifted talents will bring us more harvests.

Do not dismiss this matter. Our elders have devoted their lives to such issues and have frightening tales to tell of it. The elders believe in this prophecy, and that is all that matters. When they decide to send someone—and they will—whoever it is will have no choice. He, or even she, will go, whether he or she agrees to or not. The elders believe in this prophecy with so much conviction they are blinded to all matters of reason or logic and believe exclusively in faith. Patrick spoke with reverence and fear.

The young man and his tutor faced each other in silence while the sun strengthened and hovered high above them on the eastern horizon.

It grows warm, Renier. We should continue our crop inspection, Patrick said.

Renier did as instructed and turned to walk away from the tutor, but Patrick stood still and took a moment to absorb his personal discouragement and disappointment. The tutor chose to restrain his convictions of telling his pupil the growing concern that weighed heavily on his heart—the rumor of whom would be selected to leave the camp.

Instead, the tutor would continue the boy’s education of the earth and her fruit-bearing seeds until the time was right. As a result, the two farmers continued their walk along the irrigation line, stopping to inspect various points and guessing what should be done to solve their water problem. The sun was high above them, bearing down on them with the hottest heat of the day. Their long inspection caused both of them to build a powerful thirst. Renier suggested they visit a well not commonly used by the camp to quench themselves, and his tutor agreed, so they changed their course.

They walked for a short while, but as they approached the well, they heard the sound of a struggle on the other side of their corn crops. Patrick instructed his pupil to stop moving, and in silence, they carefully listened to better understand what they heard. Suddenly, the sound of a girl’s voice shrilled in the air. The farmers froze in anticipation of the next female yelp, but instead, they heard the sound of a man hollering in pain.

Patrick said, Renier, stay here. I’m going in for a closer look.

Renier nodded in agreement. He sat there continuing to listen to the sounds of a fight only a few yards away. Then, like the first moment of a new day, there was silence. His curiosity forced him to inch closer to his tutor, who was now out of sight. As he did so, he heard the soft mumble of people speaking in the short distance. Renier continued to inch his way closer, and the mumbles started to clear, until he recognized a familiar voice. He inched a bit closer, and he was certain he heard the voice of his guardian, Volvox.

Patrick? Renier called out.

Who’s that? Who’s with you, Patrick? Volvox asked harshly.

Don’t come out here, Renier! Patrick said.

Why? Renier asked. I can hear you talking to Volvox.

Come out here, boy. Show yourself at once! Volvox commanded.

As Renier approached the clearing, he heard Patrick ask Volvox, What about the weapons, Volvox?

Before Volvox could reply, Renier was standing with them and Veruca. With a smile, he acknowledged her. Hello, Veruca.

Silence, boy! the supreme elder commanded.

Renier’s smile faded away as he faced his guardian, who continued to speak to Patrick. Volvox questioned his tutor about the reason for their presence, and Patrick did his best to answer the old man. In Volvox’s and Veruca’s hands were long shards of metal. Both shards of metal sparkled from their razor-sharp tips all the way down to the handles by which they held the equipment. Renier had never seen such a tool before but assumed it was a tool used to cut crops.

Volvox said, Now, whatever you think you saw here today, Patrick, was never seen. Do you understand me?

Yes, Volvox, but—

There will be no questions and no comments. Veruca and I will leave, and neither of you will say anything of this day. As for you, Renier, if word of this day spreads to the camp, I will hear of it, and I will know you to be the source of the rumor. If you utter a hint of what you’ve seen here today, I’ll banish you to the Black Hills. There you will die a painful, slow death while thinking of the reason for your demise. The supreme elder commanded his daughter to follow as he quickly fled the scene. Come Veruca. They disappeared into the tall field crops.

The farmers stood in disbelief of what had just happened. Then his tutor said, Do as he says, Renier. I believe he is serious with his warning.

What were they holding, Patrick?

I’ll tell you, and then we will never speak of it again. Understand?

Renier nodded.

Patrick continued. They were holding weapons called swords.

I’ve never seen one before.

And for good reason, Renier. They are only used for one thing: to kill.

CHAPTER 2

The sky couldn’t be bluer, yet in the vast blue of heaven, not a cloud can be seen. Hard to believe only a year ago I doubted my tutor’s fears. A drought has ravaged our camp and dried up our river, and the days grow desperate. For too long, a cloud has not been seen in the heavens. For too long, the earth has not tasted the refreshing wash of a cool rain. For too long, the world and those who live in it have survived without her tears.

Our village draws near to its end. The people lose faith, and some have already given themselves to the land. Hard and rigid is the hand of the earth. She does little to comfort the broken. And so they lie, with the breath of life exhausted and stripped from their bodies. Life, however, does not stop for all of us. My life does not stop; I endure one year after the next, and after fifteen years, I’ve come to realize my life is not bound to these people. I have always had the choice to leave or stay since the day my parents died in the fire. My feelings deceive me. My intuition tells me to leave, but where would I go? What would I do? Who would I become?

Renier! cried Patrick’s voice in the distance. Renier, you are supposed to be ready!

Yes, yes! replied the young man. Sitting alone in his dilapidated tent, he held his journal in his hands. The journal, like the boy, had aged during the arid drought of the past year.

Renier, you’re going to be late for the council, said Patrick, poking his head into the tent. The tutor’s head was wrapped in cloth, and just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared.

In that brief moment, Renier’s eyes sparkled against the beam of light that flooded inside the tent. For a moment, the young man appeared to have a deep and sad soul, and then, like the snap of two fingers, the moment was gone.

Renier was compelled to scribble another thought in his journal, but just as he was about to write, he was interrupted by Patrick, who spoke with a great sense of urgency: Now!

Renier closed his journal, keeping his broken writing tool inside along the spine. He placed the journal next to his bedding and covered it with a cloth he used as a blanket on cold nights. He now used it to keep his secrets warm—secrets like the images that painted the walls of his dreams, as well as his theories as to their origin. He wanted to remain with his journal, for he knew a life much more distressing waited for him outside—a life of work, sweat, and secrets to be kept, a life in which he felt like the outsider without even trying. Still, he did as instructed.

Renier! Patrick called.

I’m coming, Renier replied. As he stood, dust fell off the creases of his clothing, which was tattered and torn. His body had grown healthy and strong, but his clothes were ripped and weak. The young man moved aside his tent flap, and a flood of light washed over the small quarters. The light was so bright all the detail of the room seemed dull, leaving the young man blinded and struggling to see. Renier found his pair of goggles next to his front door and slid them over his head.

Bearable. At least now he could see the path before him. The world had experienced many changes since the last harvest. Now the land was barren. It would have seemed to have no life on it at all, except for the fact that Renier’s tent was not alone.

A terrible wind blew through the camp, sweeping up dust and light brush. The clothing flapped against the force of the wind. With every step, the dust underneath kicked up into a small tornado, causing the men to look like a couple of giants creating a massive dust storm in their wake. From the side, it appeared as though the men had their body weight leaning forward to work against the mighty wind—a practice all too routine in the past months.

As the men battled against the elements, they slowly left the collection of tents and soon came upon a great field dead from drought and erosion. Miles of soil had been tilled in preparation for a great harvest, but misfortune had plagued the land. The sight of the dead field reminded Renier of the desperate times since the beginning of the drought.

For some time now, there had been no water, no crops, no food—no survival. Renier had little faith left for this world, but his imagination allowed him to remember a world almost forgotten—a world with water and with people living together in an everlasting cycle of life, a world pushing and pulling against itself but always finding perfect balance.

Renier! Can you hear me, boy? yelled Patrick.

Startled, Renier brought his attention back to the challenge at hand. Wind was breaking against his face like heavy rain during picking season. He still could not see anything in front of him, and he partly wondered why Patrick had torn him away from his thoughts in the first place. Now that he’d been brought back to the moment, he realized his lower lip had collected a good amount of dust on it.

I can’t hear you! Renier replied. The wind is too loud.

Patrick lifted his arms as if to strangle the boy, but then his fingers suddenly grabbed something wrapped around Renier’s head. Underneath Renier’s hood were a set of primitive earmuffs. Patrick looked furious upon realizing the young man had not heard a word he’d said during the entire walk. Gritting his teeth, he said, Maybe if you’d take off your muffs. Then Patrick wiped some of the dust from the young man’s shoulder. Now, look lively, boy. It’s not every day you’re brought before the council elders.

Renier knew Patrick spoke the truth, but what difference did it make? Every man had been asked to attend private meetings with the council elders. The young man assumed the reason to be another rite-of-passage ritual. Big deal. The elders made the youth do rituals from the day they were born. However, his tutor appeared distressed by a much bigger possibility Renier did not want to consider, not for a moment.

The circumstances with the drought held a heavy hand over the tutor’s disposition. As they pushed through the wind, Patrick continued to remind himself out loud of the unusual weather.

This is what I was afraid of. Feel that, Renier? It’s wind from the west. It brings sand to fill the river. If we lose that river canal, we lose everything, all because of these winds. Over and over, the tutor pined over the unseasonable winds.

As Renier listened to the concerns of his tutor, he was reminded of the stories the elders had told to him around campfires during his childhood. Renier credited those stories for teaching him about courage and valor, and he longed for the days when those campfire stories had been told. One story that always sparked his imagination was referred to by his people as the prophecy. This story foretold of a day when the earth would dry up, and man would have to find a way to survive, even if it meant a journey beyond the Black Hills, a dark and treacherous mountain range spanning beyond the field crops to the west. It was a place where the earth spit out the black grease of her old joints and where billions of years of geological sliding caused the earth to develop a lubricant to keep her plates cool. This lubricant flooded the lands, filling the sky with a black smoke and the air with a foul poison designed to do one thing: kill any living creature. Men who had traveled to those lands had come back stained, as if their very skin had been changed into a black version of its former self. Further, to maintain the balance in the camp, if a man left the camp in search of salvation, he would be accompanied by a woman. This would maintain balance and order—at least such was the belief of Renier’s people.

However, as the innocence of youth started its slow transformation into distant memories, Renier began to view the campfire stories as nothing more—just stories. The world never revealed any real signs of heroism or courage. Men and women, perfect balance, and complete dependence on the land were concepts that mattered little in the present drought. Renier always viewed the world around him as flawed; little did he know the world felt the same way about him.

Damn it, boy! Do you even know where you are? I swear the older you get, the worse your hearing is! shouted Patrick.

They arrived at the elder hut, an adobe hut much larger than the young man’s tent. From the main entrance, the hut expanded into various additional rooms of greater height and width, while the main entrance was rounded, with a simple piece of cloth separating the exterior from the interior. Renier stood at the entrance, behind his tutor. Then Patrick held aside the cloth for Renier to move ahead, but the pupil didn’t step through the entrance. Instead, he stood there motionless, until he was finally pushed inside by his tutor. The cloth swung closed, leaving the young man alone in the darkness of the elder hut. A moment passed as Renier’s eyes adjusted to the candlelight used to illuminate the ceremonial room.

He was standing in a short hallway that led to an even larger room. He knew all too well the sight to be seen in the awaiting room, so he sojourned forward with the belief that this would only be another tedious ritual waiting for him. One step after another, he walked through the hallway illuminated by various candles attached to the walls. After only a few short steps, he breached into a spacious room with two benches organized in one long row. Seated on the benches were eight men: the council elders. Their presence gave the impression of a crowded room, and the young man was a little startled to find every council elder staring directly at him. Never had the young man attended a ritual that involved every member of the council, including the supreme elder, Volvox. After a quick survey of his audience, Renier believed he could see the look of death in some of their eyes.

Welcome, Renier, Volvox said. They were all seated in a single row on the provided benches. Their white ceremonial robes heightened the verity of the situation, and the tension in the room was palpable. We haven’t much time, so please have a seat.

Renier sat on the floor in front of the great council elders as a slow sense of anxiety crept into his heart. Images from his dreams danced in his head; thoughts for his journal wrote themselves onto the pages of his mind. What of the prophecy? His heartbeat quickened its pace.

Renier, why are you so nervous? asked Volvox.

I think too much. I scare myself, replied the young man.

And these thoughts—what scares you about them?

It’s silly, Renier muttered. Childish thoughts from the mind of a child.

Nice to hear you’ve learned something from us. Another council elder smirked.

Volvox carried the conversation. Yet for some reason, I sense you are not being honest with this council. What troubles you, boy? Volvox focused his gaze into the eyes of the young man.

It’s nothing, Supreme Elder. I’ve never enjoyed these meetings very much. Renier hoped this answer would satisfy his interrogator.

Ah, finally a bit of honesty, Volvox replied with a smile. I do agree. You never liked these meetings. However, Renier, they are quite necessary for the preservation of our camp. It is vital that every member of this camp commit to the common good of our civilization. Don’t you agree?

Renier was surprised to have this question posed to him. The silence alone was symbolic enough to the elders, who immediately began to talk among themselves. Renier tried to drum up an answer, but Volvox beat him to it.

It is clear to us now where your loyalties are. For years, this council has known of your curiosity of the world beyond the Black Hills.

That’s not true, Renier said. I don’t want to go near the Black Hills, much less learn what’s beyond them.

He lies! yelled a council elder.

He is a coward! said another.

Silence! Volvox demanded. Do you believe we live an honorable life of purpose, Renier?

Yes, he said shortly.

I don’t think you do, replied Volvox. No, I believe your feelings betray you, and your heart does not find contentment in our camp, but if I am wrong, then tell me so. I beg you. Volvox lifted an eyebrow, as if he were expecting another false answer.

Renier, with his head hanging low, replied, I don’t know what to say. It is true I fear we are lost. I fear we will not survive another season. I look around the village to my peers, and I do not see an answer for our future. What good is making babies if we can’t feed them? Why should I have a partner if I don’t have any land to farm? There’s no work, so what do I need any help for? I don’t wish to insult the council, but what you say is true. My heart has lost faith in our ways.

He is not the one! yelled a voice from the council.

He would lose his way or forget to return, said another.

Silence! demanded Volvox. To my fellow council members, do not be deceived by fear. The boy may be afraid, but he has the will. Don’t you, Renier? asked the supreme elder with a tone of allegiance, something Renier was not expecting.

The young man said, Elder Volvox, I did not come to this meeting to criticize our ways. Our people have survived for as long as I can remember, and they will survive past my stay here.

Ha! A council member scoffed. He thinks he knows our fate.

Another said, His arrogance clouds his vision.

"You are wrong, young Renier. Our people will not survive well beyond