by Max Barry

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6

Prehistory - The Panthera



Oral histories of the aboriginal "Panthera" tribe describe a curious foundation myth.

Deep in prehistory, the Panthera (then known simply as "the people") were but one of many small, fragmented tribes coexisting in a kind of uneasy peace on their small island in the South Pacific seas.

In the island's dark, jungled heart, was a cave which the various tribes recognized as being hallowed and forbidden. The lair of the jungle's primeval, chthonic god, who on moonless nights was said to pace the surrounding forest in a silent hunt for prey to sustain their unfathomed slumber.

Every full moon, when the night sky was bright and shining, the various tribes sent delegations to the cave to perform rites and ceremonies aimed at appeasing this obscure deity, and in hope of garnering divine blessing. And every new moon, when the night sky was black and heavy, the peoples huddled close in their homes and shut tight their doors, lighting fires and playing music in hope of deterring any nearby beast.

One day, a youth of one particular tribe, either lacking in fear or a concern for safety, set out on a quest to discover the truth about this jungle god and put a stop to the cyclical terror being inflicted upon his people.

Taking what seemed to him an abundance of caution (though, in truth, the best caution would have been to not leave home at all), he timed his journey to coincide with skies plentiful with moonlight, and upon arriving near the sacred lands around the cave, waited until daybreak before approaching its mouth.

The youth was dismayed, however, to discover a portentous sign upon the morning of his final approach. Noticing the day grow dim, he looked up to watch a pitch-dark paw reaching across the sun, blocking out more of its light with every passing moment.

But rather than be swayed from his quest (again, due to either a lack of fear or wisdom), the youth took a final glance up to the vanishing sun before traipsing into the mouth of the cave. It was deeper than he had imagined, the walls and ceiling narrowing as the tunnel turned into the bowels of the island. As the last light from the sun was extinguished behind him, he paused to pull a torch from his pack and stooped down to light it. Sparking a flame, he stood once more and in the amber glow of the flame saw before him a great bestial shape slinking toward him from deeper within.

A death-black panther loomed mountainous over the youth, its shape seeming to flow from the very shadows that surrounded them and just as silent. Ice filled his veins and froze him to the spot he stood, only able to dumbly stare as the feline colossus opened wide its maw in a soundless howl. It was as though the mouth to hell yawned open before him. Inside, a nightmare was born before his very eyes. Later, he could only conjure sketches of the visions cruelly bestowed upon him:


A sea dark with figures floating just beneath the surface, black eyes staring back at him, unseeing

...

A room pestilent and skittering, the walls alive with a filth that seeped into every crack and crevice

...

A fire that burned for ten thousand years and would burn for ten thousand more, figures dancing within the inferno and laughing as world after world was consumed in the holocaust.


The mouth snapped shut with a gust of stale wind that snuffed out the youth's torch. He fled blind from the apparition, groping at walls damp and slick as he tried to make his way back to the cave's entrance. He would tell his tribe, after, that he was lost within the cave system for days. All the while, echoing laughter pursued him.

When he stumbled back into his village, they thought him a ghost come out of the jungle's depths. Color had fled him -- his skin pale, almost translucent; his hair a shock of white; the very irises of his eyes drained of their once-rich umber, now white and silvery.

At first, none of the villagers believed the youth (though "youth" no more). After telling his tale, he kept mostly to himself, and the rest of his tribe was happy to leave him there. But it soon became apparent, as the months passed, that the danger from the heart of the jungle had passed, as well. No sign of the god's periodic hunt could any longer be discerned. After a year or two, the people once more approached the now-reclusive survivor, and he again relayed to them his tale.

He would be made high priest of the tribe, a cult growing up around him that quickly spread to the other tribes of the island. The unifying force of this new "Dark Cult of the Panther" would at last consolidate the scattered tribes into one federation, led by a priest class that was the true power behind the nominal federated council that ruled the island.

When the High Priest at long last passed on, a great funerary procession embarked across the island, visiting each tribal center, so that all could partake in the mourning. However, almost from the beginning, people began disappearing from the procession. At night, telltale sounds of the Hunt could once more be heard pacing the jungle.

A council was held in the capital of the federation, and the priests conferred and deliberated for three nights. At dawn of the fourth day, a youth had been chosen (perhaps due to his lack of fear, though likely it was his lack of good sense) and was sent off, like the last, to the cave at the heart of the jungle, in order to discover if the Panther might again be appeased. And like the last, he returned days later, dazed and drained of color. And the gathered priests nodded to one another, and led the once-youth, now-High Priest back to the temple, where business could once again proceed like normal.

The Sulk of Panther

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