Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #19 October 2015 | Page 31

He longed for his comfortable bed back at Melasurej.
The food was abominable. When they had first arrived,
the tribe had only a rudimentary mastery of fire, so
that they often ate semi-raw meat along with fruits and
roots. At least now, they had a basic idea of gastronomy. Mandred had taught them better use of the pleasant-tasting herbs that grew nearby in their cooking so
that they had some variety of flavour. Unfortunately,
they were not yet farming grain crops. Beer had not
been invented. Manfred was grumpy again. As well as
always being tired, he always felt dirty. They had no
proper sanitation. He had finally got the tribe to use
fixed latrines, which was a big improvement. They had
no utensils to heat water in so a hot wash was a forgone luxury. Bathing was confined to a dip in the river
when the weather was conducive. During winter, when
the tribe huddled together through the long nights and
the river was often frozen over, the smell was almost
unbearable.

there was a loud bang and a bright flash. I suppose
that he will pull a rabbit out of his hat next.
It was better than a rabbit. Even Manfred had
to agree with that. No sooner had the flash subsided
and the appreciative murmurs from the crowd ceased
than they heard the sound of a throat clearing behind
them. The crowd turned around and gasped, almost as
one. Manfred caught himself with mouth open, agog,
and quickly tried to recover his composure. Even
Mandred appeared surprised, and he had appeared to
be expecting some one. Who the Balance is that? An
unusual figure walked towards them. He was a young
man, very tall and slim, and his skin was extremely
white. His hair was long and bright red and cascaded
down his shoulders. At his left side, he carried a large,
sheathed sword. Most startling was the fact that he
was otherwise naked. He walked towards them, hands
protecting his private parts from view. Manfred could
see enough to know that he was a real redhead. The
crowd giggled and pointed. The newcomer smiled
at them, showing a mouthful of white, healthy teeth.
“Hello, I’m Simon,” he said in a strange, nasal accent.
“I’m visiting from far away.”
Mandred recovered from his surprise first. He
rushed over towards the young man. “Welcome, welcome indeed. Simon, did you say? I’m Mandred. I’ve
been expecting you. Did Dammar send a message?”
The youth seemed surprised. “Yes, Simon,
Simon Redhead. I don’t know anyone called Dammar. I didn’t think that I would be expected. Do you
have any clothes?” Manfred observed Simon, shook
his head, and wandered off. Maybe Dammar really is
behind this craziness, but if so, he’s keeping his cards
close to his chest. I wonder what he’s up to? This skinny boy certainly doesn’t look much like a hero. In any
case, what need have we of a hero? I’m sure Mandred
will take much pleasure in telling me and gloating
about it in good time. I can’t be bothered with it now.
I’m going to have a lie down and take a nap.
Manfred made his way back to the cave he
shared with Mandred. There were few comforts here;
he was forced to sleep on the bare ground with a few
skins to keep him warm. His back ached constantly.

There were no compensating benefits either.
The people could barely string two coherent sentences
together and if they did all they seemed to talk about
was hunting, food gathering, and the weather. Their
vocabulary was very limited and their language was an
ugly-sounding guttural grunting that Manfred found
distasteful. The only sensible conversation to be had
was with Mandred and he seemed deluded and away
with the faeries at the best of times. The only excitement was when they were attacked by some of the
larger carnivores. The wizards tried not to use their
staffs unless they were sorely pressed. The tribe were
superstitious enough already, and Mandred liked to
prey on that. With Mandred’s help, they now watched
the heavens, and plotted the journey of the sun. They
were beginning to worship the sun as their god, alongside various spirit deities that ruled their lives, such
as the river spirit who often received offerings of food
that would have been better used to feed the hungry
tribe. They had special celebrations at midsummer and
midwinter. They didn’t always get the dates exactly
right, but Manfred did feel a glimmer of respect for
their attempts. Hungry, thirsty, tired, dirty, and bored.
What a life. I hate Adapa. I wish I could sleep for a
thousand years! Manfred was definitely cranky.

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