A young boy stepped into a clearing between two high cliff walls surrounded by dense jungle.

  The boy stopped there and raised a stone axe in front of him to protect himself, but there was nothing to see.

  He ignored the sound of a feral warthog thrashing and bellowing in a tangle of thick ropes behind the boy’s back.

  The creature thrashed, roared, and let out an occasional squeal of protest, but it couldn’t break free. The ropes wrapped around the creature’s body to hold it in place against the rocks.

  Not even the razor quills along its sides could severe the ropes. They had been positioned right up against the warthog’s skin where the quills wouldn’t damage them.

  The boy took a position in front of the warthog and kept his back to it. The creature’s squeals and bellows echoed through the jungle.

  The area throbbed with damp heat and the chirp of hundreds of birds and insects. He strained every nerve looking and listening for something coming toward him through the thick trees.

  He paced a dozen feet to his left and stopped again to listen before he came pacing back the other way.

  He completely ignored the warthog’s roars, even when the creature pawed at the ground and tossed its spiked tusks at the boy from behind.

  The warthog stood as tall as the boy’s shoulders. The creature could gore the boy easily if it broke even one of those ropes.

  The boy came back and planted himself right in front of the creature, but he still didn’t turn around. He flexed his legs into a crouch and tightened his grip on his axe handle with both hands.

  That was the moment when the distant thump of heavy footsteps shook the ground coming closer. The boy tensed every muscle and raised his weapon higher.

  The warthog heard the footsteps, too. The creature flew into a panic pawing the ground, squealing in terror, and hurling itself against the ropes with all its might.

  The boy shut out all awareness of the creature and concentrated all his attention on those footsteps coming closer.

  They thumped the ground hard enough to rustle the surrounding foliage. Even the cliffs vibrated from the impact.

  The boy froze when the trees in front of him shook. The curtain of undergrowth parted and a massive, towering monster burst through into the clearing in front of the rocks.

  The warthog flew into a hysterical burst of frenzy and threw itself against the ropes hard enough to knock itself completely off its feet.

  It hit the ground, scrambled to stand up, and did the same thing again and again trying to flee from the monster.

  The creature towered as high as the jungle’s tallest canopy—as high as the surrounding cliffs. The boy didn’t even come up to the monster’s knee.

  Armored, razor feathers covered its forelimbs and angled backward in the shape of wings, but this creature was too big to fly.

  Giant black claws studded the three toes of its scaly feet. Rough fur covered its body as far as the curve of its leathery neck where it rose to support a fierce, beaked head.

  The creature looked down at the warthog. The monster’s eyes went hard when it saw the boy standing there blocking its way.

  The creature opened its beak and screeched at the boy. He took a step back and almost ran straight into the warthog’s tusks.

  The warthog lunged against the ropes again and again. The monster cocked its head from side to side to look back and forth between the boy and the warthog—its favorite prey.

  These enormous monsters were too smart not to recognize the tiny human standing between it and its next meal.

  The boy stiffened under that look, raised his axe, and swung it behind him. He didn’t have to look to see what he was doing when he chopped through the ropes holding the warthog in place.

  The ropes fell away and the warthog charged off into the undergrowth. It scooted out of sight so fast that the monster didn’t react in time to catch it.

  The monster dove its long neck down and snapped its beak trying to grab the warthog, but not fast enough.

  The boy reacted in a split second, swung his axe down, and struck the creature a wicked blow across the side of the head.

  His axe blade glanced off the creature’s bony skull and the monster spun back the other way screeching in rage.

  The creature dove for the boy next. He somersaulted away to his left and got himself into another position farther down the wall from where the warthog had been tied.

  The monster understood this standoff only too well. The creature stomped around to confront the boy. He raised his axe to strike, but the creature knew better than to come within range a second time.

  It advanced on him snapping its beak, but it never brought its head near his axe again. He swung time after time, but he never landed another blow.

  The creature screeched again, reared to its full height, and beat its wings while the boy crouched in front of it.

  The boy coiled himself for another strike, but it took him completely off guard when it did come.

  The creature swiped its wing at him. He swung, but his blade went straight through the creature’s feathers.

  They brushed around the weapon and the rest of the wing clubbed him off his feet. The feathers’ sharp edges slashed his face before the creature swiped its wing back the other way and cut him a second time.

  The blow sent him flying across the clearing, slammed him into the cliff wall, and he hit the ground. His axe fell next to him. He didn’t move to rise or pick it up.

  A dozen men watched the fight from a protected ledge on the clifftops above him.

  “Get up, Jono!” Hangman whispered. “Come on! Get up!”

  “Be quiet!” his father Shadow hissed a few places down the row from him. “Don’t attract the Gorlock’s attention or you could disqualify the test.”

  “The Gorlock can’t hear us,” Shadow’s nephew Alien murmured. “The test is still valid.”

  “Come on, boy,” Hangman’s other cousin Chaos growled. “Come on. Get up.”

  “He’s unconscious,” Shadow’s brother Butcher muttered. “It’s all over. He lost.”

  Silence fell over the group as the Gorlock moved in on Jono’s lifeless body. The boy didn’t move. Hangman couldn’t tell from up here if his younger brother was even still breathing.

  Hangman could see just enough of the boy’s face to see blood seeping from the slash marks left by the Gorlock’s feathers. If Jono survived this battle, he would be scared for life.

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  Hangman’s hand automatically drifted to the scars on his own face. They disfigured him and left him ugly. He wouldn’t want anyone to suffer the same fate, especially not his younger brother.

  The scars always itched. He had developed a habit of rubbing them whenever he went into his own thought about something.

  The rite of initiation had to play out until its natural end. If Jono didn’t regain consciousness pretty soon, he wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about his appearance.

  The Gorlock strutted over to him. He didn’t revive even when the creature screeched down at him in open challenge.

  It tilted its head this way and that to study him. When he still didn’t respond, it pecked at him.

  Alien turned away first. “I can’t watch this. I’m going home.”

  Butcher grabbed his nephew’s arm. “You have to stay. We all have to bear witness or the test won’t be valid.”

  Alien yanked his muscular arm out of his uncle’s grip. “It’s already over. There is no test. I don’t have to stand here and watch him die.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hangman interrupted. “He’s still conscious. He’s coming around.”

  Alien turned back. Silence fell over the watching men as the Gorlock pecked at Jono two more times.

  It clamped its jaws around him each time, picked him up, dropped him on the ground, and then nudged him with its beak.

  When it still didn’t get the response it wanted, it reared back and squawked at him. Still nothing.

  “He’s gone,” Hangman’s cousin Viking murmured. “He can’t win now.”

  Hangman didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure how he knew it, but he no longer doubted that Jono would win.

  He would complete the rite of initiation into manhood in their Clan. He would take his place with his father, brother, uncles, and cousins as a man of this family.

  The Gorlock dove its head toward Jono’s still body. The creature opened its mouth one more time—but not to just pick him up and toy with him. It really planned to eat him now.

  The boy reacted so fast that a few of the men on the cliff actually yelled out in surprise that he could move at all.

  He snatched his axe handle. It lay right next to his hand. Hangman couldn’t even see until now how Jono even knew where the axe was.

  He must have. He grabbed it and swung hard enough to chop the creature’s head away.

  The weapon cracked across the Gorlock’s cheekbone. Its head whipped sideways and the Gorlock shrieked out loud before it recovered enough to come at him again.

  That one moment gave Jono just a fraction of an instant to drag himself off the ground and back against the cliff behind him.

  Blood saturated his face and dripped down his neck to cover his chest. More slash marks marked his torso and abdomen, but he didn’t notice his own injuries.

  That one blow infuriated the Gorlock beyond all restraint. It dove for him again and again, but he defended himself better each time.

  The Gorlock probably could have killed him instantly if it only thought to use its wings, but it didn’t. Its injured pride drove it wild.

  It stayed low in close quarters trying again and again to snap him in its beak. The Gorlock’s own actions saved Jono’s life.

  His axe connected with the creature’s head three more times. He pulled himself up a little more each time he smacked it away, but anyone could see he was seriously injured.

  He got onto one knee the second time. He could barely use one of his legs. His axe started to sink the minute he swung it. Holding it up caused him pain.

  He worked himself to his feet after the third blow, but he couldn’t go on.

  The Gorlock reared back, extended its head high above him, screeched again, and dove for the killing blow.

  It bobbed its head from side to side to avoid his axe, knocked it aside before it touched any part of the creature’s body, and then lunged for him before he recovered from his swing.

  Jono must have seen the same thing. He, his brothers, and their Clan and band had fought Gorlocks too many times not to recognize their behavior when they wanted to kill something.

  He raised his axe with a heroic effort. The Gorlock’s head plunged down from on high, but he didn’t swing.

  He hurled himself between the Gorlock’s legs, tucked and rolled, and landed a brutal stroke on the tendon behind the creature’s left foot.

  The creature shrieked at the top of its lunges, thrashed in pain, and spun around to confront Jono, but the creature could only balance on one foot now.

  It tried to put its weight down, stumbled, and landed hard on its chest before it struggled upright again.

  It kept bellowing in pain and fury. Jono limped backward to get clear of the thing, but it couldn’t come after him—not very fast.

  “Come on, Jono!” Hangman whispered. “Come on! Hit it again! You can kill it!”

  “Come on, boy!” Shadow muttered under his breath. “Come on!”

  All the men on the cliff crowded to the edge to watch, now that Jono was back on his feet. He disabled the Gorlock. One more hit like that and he would turn the tables in his favor.

  Hangman’s pulse started pounding when he saw the Gorlock hobbling one painful step closer. Jono backed away again to give it more space.

  The Gorlock’s injury made it even more irrationally dangerous and murderously enraged. It might have lived if it just walked away right then and there.

  It couldn’t. It needed revenge.

  The Gorlock kept advancing. It took full advantage of its long neck, now that it couldn’t maneuver on its feet anymore.

  It dove for him a dozen times and measured each movement to avoid his axe.

  The Gorlock didn’t stop until it backed him up against another wall. Jono’s injuries stopped him from attacking the way he might have if he had been healthy.

  He stopped there and flattened his back against the unforgiving rock. He looked absolutely awful with blood all over himself.

  His dark eyes shone out of a film of blood. Gore saturated his long black hair. He didn’t look human. He didn’t even seem to recognize where he was or what he was doing here.

  The blows he delivered to the Gorlock’s head started to bleed, too. They made the creature even more monstrous and revolting.

  Blood even got into the creature’s eyes and drove it ballistic. It lunged for him again and he pulled the same maneuver.

  He threw himself under the creature’s body, rolled behind it, and swung his axe a second time at the creature’s right foot.

  This time, he flipped his axe backward and used the heavy, blunt back edge of the weapon to smash the Gorlock’s foot bones.

  The creature screamed in agony, tried to lift both its feet at the same time, and went down hard just as Jono rolled clear behind the creature.

  He rolled to his feet and wheeled around fast, all trace of his pain and injury gone. He raised his axe again and turned to brandish the sharp edge at the Gorlock, but he didn’t strike. He actually backed away.

  The creature thrashed on the ground howling and bellowing in rage. It kept trying to stand up, missed its footing, and crashed back down on the ground.

  The head and neck still posed just as much of a danger as before. The creature finally worked itself over onto its chest and stomach where it could dart its head at him and snap its beak. He couldn’t get close to it like this.

  The two stood off at a safe distance and eyed each other. Hangman really couldn’t tell from here just how injured Jono was.

  He didn’t flinch or wince or protect his side. He stood up straight as if he never had been injured.

  The cuts across his face made him look insane and ferocious. All trace vanished of the young boy who left camp this morning. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man in every way that counted.

  The Gorlock couldn’t advance anymore. It couldn’t move at all. It couldn’t touch him as long as he stayed outside the length of its neck.

  He inched a few steps closer and stopped within inches of the snapping beak. The Gorlock tried time and again, but it couldn’t get any closer to him.

  “Finish it, boy,” Shadow murmured. “End it now.”

  “Come on, Jono,” Hangman breathed. “You can do it.”

  Jono took a step back and raised his axe. He did everything with excruciating slowness now. He knew he had won. No one could ever take this victory away from him.

  He flexed every muscle in his body. The Gorlock shrieked at him again and lunged to snap.

  He struck without mercy, clubbed the creature hard across the face, and charged.

  The blow slapped the Gorlock’s head out of the way just long enough for him to dart behind the head. He stopped next to the creature’s neck.

  The creature saw him instantly and swung around to attack again. It curved its neck to swallow him, now that he stood within its range.

  It would have won, but its own movements played into his hands. The neck arched toward him and he grabbed it right behind the head.

  He hung on tight and the Gorlock thrashed and whipped its neck back and forth trying to shake him off.

  The force of its struggles inched him up the neck closer to the head. That must be where he wanted to go.

  He waited until the creature’s thrashing movements bumped him against its skull. It tried its hardest to unseat him, but nothing worked.

  He strapped his legs and one arm behind its skull and raised his axe in the other hand, but he still didn’t strike.

  The Gorlock tried a different technique and squirmed its neck from side to side trying to loosen his hold.

  He took advantage of that and pushed himself up a little further without letting go. The Gorlock saw the axe hovering in its peripheral vision and tried to screw its head all the way backward to bite at him.

  It had to stop thrashing to do that, and as soon as it kept still for two seconds, he reared upright, gripped with his legs, seized the axe handle in both hands, and brought it down in a crushing blow on the creature’s head.

  A dull crack echoed through the clearing. The rock walls amplified the sound and made it louder than it was.

  A collective sigh of relief went through the men on the ledge when the Gorlock’s head crashed down onto the ground with Jono still clinging to its neck.

  The head bounced and jostled him in his seat, but he didn’t fall—not until he brought his axe down again in a brutal, crushing blow that completely demolished the creature’s skull.

  Cheers broke out amongst the men on the cliff. Hangman’s cousins grabbed him and they all laughed.

  Hangman rushed the ledge, raised his fist in triumph, and whooped down at his brother, but Jono didn’t hear anything.

  He wrenched his axe out of the Gorlock’s head—and then all the fight drained out of him.

  He stared at the blood drenching his axe blade. He didn’t even seem to think about getting off the fallen Gorlock before he toppled sideways and sprawled in the dirt, utterly unconscious.

  End of Chapter 1.