"Kulkan! Watch out!" A young voice shrieked, slicing through the tense silence of the forest.
A wild boar, a brute of muscle and tusk, charged with terrifying speed. Its small, vicious eyes fixed on the target. It bounded high, a dark, primal shadow hurtling toward the young male teen.
The boy, frozen by a terror that seemed to root him to the earth, simply shivered, unable to move a muscle, unable to even lift his arms in defense.
The boar's lethal, razor-sharp tusks were mere inches from goring him when a wooden spear slammed into its side. The spear, primitive yet effective, was tipped not just with a sharp point, but with a cunningly sharpened rock head, a rudimentary arrowhead that proved the difference between a wound and a kill.
It pierced the boar's thick hide and sank deep into its belly.
With a loud thud, the massive beast crashed to the ground, a bone-jarring impact that shook the surrounding undergrowth. It let out a pained, guttural wince and desperately clawed at the dirt, attempting to lever its bulk back onto its hooves.
But its struggle was futile. Before it could regain its footing, several more spears—thrown with furious accuracy, rained down upon it, finding vital spots. Minutes later, the boar lay utterly still, a lifeless mound of meat and hide.
"You could have at least moved out of the way, you fool!" A boy screamed like a mad man, his voice edged with fury and disdain.
"Have you forgotten? He's kolön, even to himself!" another sneered.
"It's a disgrace he's a chief's son," a third, bald boy declared with brutal frankness.
"Hey, watch it! You can insult me all day, but don't you dare insult my father!" Kulkan finally roared back, the adrenaline-fueled shake still lingering in his limbs. He was the boy who had been paralyzed by fear, the son of a chief of the Bambara tribe.
Teasing had become the cruel rhythm of Kulkan's life. The word "kolön," meaning useless—was practically his second name.
He was an anomaly, known as the weakest and the strangest of his tribe. He was the perpetual outlier, the source of new, often brilliant, yet consistently dismissed ideas—all considered utterly 'useless' by his peers.
Even his appearance screamed difference. While his tribesmen adhered to the ancient ways—crudely draped animal skins covering their privates, and tossed over their shoulders like cloaks, Kulkan was an exception.
He had stitched hide into a rudimentary shirt and shorts, a radical concept of clothing. Sometimes, he would even gather his long, flowing brown hair into a neat ponytail, giving him a distinct, almost refined look that stood out starkly against the raw, unkempt appearance of the others.
"Kulkan, let's just leave them alone," Tingo said, his voice a steady counterpoint to the rising tension. Tingo was the one who had screamed the initial warning. With his dark brown hair and chiseled, strong face, he was every bit as handsome as Kulkan, and infinitely more capable in a fight.
Tingo was Kulkan's unwavering friend, his self-appointed protector against the relentless taunts of the other teens, often stepping in to defend his friend. He taught Kulkan combat, but skill in battle was simply a gift his friend did not possess.
"We have tonight's food. Let's get back to the village before those Kuvulkis ambush us," the bald boy, Zuma, cut in, his eyes already scanning the shadowy forest edges. Zuma was also the son of a chief, his arrogance a birthright.
"Kulkan, do the honor of carrying the beast with your friend Tingo," Zuma ordered, a smirk curling his lips. "After all, you were useless throughout the entire hunt." A cold, hard laugh escaped him, and his two companions—Naval and Kaval, close twin brothers—joined in the mocking chorus.
The bickering subsided, leaving behind only the cold task. Tingo and Kulkan hoisted the massive boar between them, the weight a heavy reminder of Kulkan's failure to contribute, and the five of them began the trek out of the deep forest.
Minutes later, they emerged from the dense growth and entered their 'sanctuary:' the Bambara village.
It was a rough, vital community, a large clearing carved out of the wilderness. The dwellings were simple, low-slung huts built from dried mud, rocks, and thick sticks/twigs, their roofs expertly thatched to keep out the elements. The earthy, primal smell of woodsmoke and dried mud hung in the air.
However, five huts stood out from the entire huts in village square. The materials used were more sturdy, and the buildings looked refined to the Bambarans' standards.
The five buildings were bigger than other buildings in the village and had ancestral paintings and symbols all over them. Even amongst the five, one was slightly bigger and beautified.
The five huts were the chiefs' houses, the bigger one belonging to the high chief.
As the five young men entered the central square carrying their enormous kill, the inhabitants erupted. Men, women, and children rushed from the huts, cheering a wild, frenzied praise for the hunters.
"A lu lu lu lu AYI! AYI lu lu lu lu!" The chant was a guttural, raw outpouring of sound, a primal bellow of joy and celebration. A sophisticated outsider might deem their behavior insane, but for these uncivilized tribal people, it was simply their way—the authentic expression of triumph and relief.
The women of the tribe immediately set to work, preparing the wild boar for the evening feast. That night, the villagers gorged themselves on the rich meat and jungle fruits before finally settling down for a well-earned sleep.
◇◇◇◇
Kulkan, his mind heavy with the day's humiliation, found sleep impossible within the confines of his father's hut. Needing to escape his thoughts, he laid down just outside on the cool, packed earth, his best friend and only steady companion, Bubu, the orangutan, curling up next to him, a comforting mass of dark orange fur.
He eventually drifted into a restless sleep, unaware that high above him, the modern world was in a chaotic rush.
Inside a plane hurtling through the night sky at near-supersonic speeds, two figures sat in the cockpit. They were military men, returning from a successfully completed, undisclosed mission.
"Will you close the window and stop making noise with that hole of yours?" the pilot snapped, focused on the controls.
"What? I need fresh air, and I can't help it!" the co-pilot retorted, mouth full of potato chips.
Just then, a small, dark shape—a spider—dropped onto the co-pilot's thigh.
"Ahhh! Get it off me!" he shrieked, a high-pitched cry escaped his throat.
"I can't believe it. A soldier is arachnophobic," the pilot muttered, disgusted.
The spider continued its terrifying crawl, heading toward the man's groin.
"Get off my d*ck!" he screamed, yanking himself violently upward.
The sudden, uncontrolled movement sent the spider flying—but it wasn't the only thing that launched. A slim, black object, a mobile phone he'd carelessly placed on his thigh, shot out the open window.
"Ah! F*ck it. I just got that baby from the lieutenant. Damn that spider!"
"I told you to close the window," the pilot said with chilling calm.
The plane roared on, leaving behind a tiny object that tumbled and spun, falling at incredible velocity through the black void of the night.
Because it was night, the descent of the small artifact was invisible to the naked eye.
It landed with a soft, almost inaudible tap on the dark orange fur of the beast sleeping on the floor of the Bambara village—right beside the handsome, tormented teen.
Everyone was deep in slumber, and even the vigilant warriors on lookout failed to notice the silent delivery from the heavens.
That night, a blessing—or perhaps a curse—fell into Kulkan's grasp, delivered directly to his hairy companion. It was now his possession.
The fate of the Bambara tribe, whether to be rescued from trouble or plunged into an unprecedented chaos, now rested squarely on the shoulders of the kolön.