Climate of Change (6 page)

Haven drew her fur hood closer about her face and forged on into the increasingly chill terrain. Her companion did the same. After Hero's journey south had failed to find good, unoccupied land, Haven had decided to try a trip of her own, to the north. Hero, discouraged, did not come; instead it was her younger brother Craft who accompanied her. Craft lacked the power and expertise of the hunter and warrior, but had other assets. Actually he knew more about tools and weapons than others were likely to realize, because he focused on learning how to make them. In order to make them well, he had to know how to use them. But he preferred to pretend that he was no warrior, and indeed he was not, emotionally.

They had been warned against coming here, and the warning seemed well taken. It had been cool at home in the fall; here in the northern mountains it was cold. They had found nothing worthwhile; all the good hunting and foraging ranges were already occupied. Their only hope was to get beyond human habitation and find open land beyond—perhaps on the other side of these mountains.

But crossing the mountains was not proving to be easy. There was already snow on them, and they were not properly prepared. The two of them had bundled up as much as they could, but remained cold, especially in the feet. They would have to find warm shelter for the night, or they would be in serious trouble. She was almost sorry she was traveling with Craft instead of with Keeper, because Keeper would have brought his tame wolves, and they liked to curl up and sleep next to her feet, keeping them warm. But out here in new country it was too dangerous for the wolves, because other hunters would not know they were tame. Wild wolves never came within a spear-throw of a person, but the tame ones did.

Then she saw smoke. That meant a house. Where there was one residence, there might be another. They should be able to make a deal for food and shelter this night. It was a great relief, because they had
passed a number of ruined homesites, some with the bones of their former occupants scattered around. No mystery what had happened: they had starved to death in the terrible winter. Few people remained, and few animals. All had suffered horrendously.

They trudged toward the smoke. Sure enough, there was a stone and wooden structure, with a hearth in front. With luck, a friendly family lived there.

A man emerged as they approached. He was shrouded in furs, but looked tall and handsome.

“Hail!” Haven called. “Can we trade for shelter?”

The man didn't answer. He just stood and gazed at them. He held a spear ready.

Haven realized that the man might think they were enemies coming to attack. Strangers were always a gamble, and not to be trusted until something was known about them. The best way to satisfy him that they weren't dangerous was to reveal her gender. So she stopped, and drew open her fur cloak to show the mounds of her breasts under the skin vest. She inhaled. “I'm a woman. I mean no harm. My brother and I need shelter for the night.”

The man looked. He nodded. In the widely scattered enclaves of their species, young women were a universal currency. A man would gamble to obtain access to a woman in ways he would not for other purposes.

They resumed motion. They came to the hearth, where the radiating heat was wonderful. Haven put her hands out to it. “Thank you! We're freezing.”

The man turned and opened the bound-sticks door of his house. They ducked their heads and entered. It was dark and close inside, but warm from the fire. What a relief!

The man followed them in. He dug into a crevice and brought out sections of smoked meat. He handed them across as Haven's eyes adjusted to the wan light. She found a place to sit down, and Craft sat beside her. Then the man squatted opposite them.

They removed their packs, which were hide bags slung over their shoulders, containing their traveling belongings. That was one of the
things Craft did: he made superior packs, facilitating transport of tools and food. “I am Haven,” she said by way of introduction. “This is my brother Craft. We are looking for land for our siblings to occupy.”

The man said something, but she couldn't make it out. Craft caught on, though. “It's a foreign dialect. He doesn't speak our language.”

Oh. She should have realized. They were in the hinterlands, far from her tribe. But that was the point: they were looking for unoccupied land they could take over. Hunting and gathering required a wide range, so that the animals and edible plants did not become even scarcer. She had known that distant tribes did not speak the same language; she just hadn't thought of it. Actually the tribes were largely defunct; this would be a surviving remnant.

She tried again, this time augmenting her words by gestures. “Me Haven.” She tapped her breast. “Me woman.” She tapped Craft on the shoulder. “Craft. Brother.”

The man tapped his chest. He repeated what he had said before. Haven still couldn't make it out. So she repeated the closest word it might be. “Harbinger? Your name?”

He nodded. Whether his understanding was the same as hers was doubtful, but it would have to do. She would call him Harbinger, hoping that he was indeed the herald of good news.

She glanced at Craft. “We should pay for our lodging.”

He nodded, and dug into his pack. He brought out one of his carvings, three wood circles, linked, and proffered it to Harbinger. The man took it and studied it, curious in the way any person was who first encountered such a novelty. Then he shrugged and handed it back.

“But it is for you,” Craft said, gesturing.

The man shook his head. “Naa.”

“He doesn't understand,” Haven said. “Maybe when we work out some mutual vocabulary.”

So Craft put it away. Haven tried to engage Harbinger in conversation, pointing to things, asking their names, saying the names she knew for them. But the man seemed not much interested. He abruptly got up and pushed outside.

Surprised, Haven got up to follow him, but he gestured her back,
glancing at Craft. So Craft got up and went out. Harbinger picked up the last few sticks of dry wood and set them carefully on the fire. Then he set off briskly along a path toward a distant forest.

“More wood,” Haven said. “Help him fetch more wood.”

Craft nodded and followed the man. She stood just inside the doorway, peering out between the spaces between branches, until they were out of sight. Maybe Harbinger had understood, but wanted help with the wood rather than a novelty item. It was true that they needed heat, for the coming evening promised to be cruelly cold.

She took advantage of her time alone to go out to urinate. There was a path to a place not far behind the house that was plainly used for such functions. She opened her cloak, drew aside her loose loinskin, squatted, then scraped some dirt over the spot. There was no point in advertising her personal odor to the local animals, who could be as desperately hungry as the people. She returned to the house.

In due course the two men returned, bearing armfuls of gathered branches. The branches were of different sizes, ranging from twigs to substantial pieces. Some were firm, some dry-rotted. So they had had to forage for them, ranging across an area. A necessary chore for a night's fire.

They dropped their loads next to the hearth. “I'll get more,” Craft said, and walked back down the path. He had found a way to be truly useful.

Harbinger nodded, and built up the fire further. Then he entered the house, opening his fur cloak. Haven stepped back from the door and sat down so as to be out of his way. He closed the door behind him, and secured it firmly with a connected thong.

“But Craft will need to get in,” Haven said.

The man just shrugged, standing there.

He still didn't understand her. So she tried it again, with gestures. “Brother. Craft. Door.”

Harbinger nodded. “Craft. Wood.”

“Yes. We wouldn't want to lock him out.” She smiled, to indicate that this was humor, though she knew he would not follow the words.

Harbinger lurched forward, crashing into her. One hand pressed
against her shoulder, bearing her back and down, while the other caught at her cloak, opening it. He must have fallen. She tried to help him get his support.

Then his face was on hers, for a rough kiss. His chest pressed against hers, pinning her. She felt a hand at her groin, pushing the material roughly aside.

Suddenly she realized what was happening. “No!” she cried. But it was already too late. She tried to push him back, and couldn't; he had her locked in place. She turned her face away, but that was a useless gesture, as it was not his primary focus.

His firm member found its lodging and pressed hard. She tried to kick her legs, to get out from under, but all that did was spread them wider, opening the access. Her struggles were only facilitating the dread process. The member shoved on into her, stage by stage as her struggles shifted her posture, painfully distending the channel, until the thing seemed impossibly deep. Almost instantly she felt it pulsing in the center of her body, filling her with its hot fluid. She could do nothing to prevent it. The deed was already done. She had known that this sort of thing happened, but never imagined that it could be so fast.

She relaxed, realizing the futility of further resistance. She had been raped, and that could not be undone. She waited while he faded and subsided and diminished, like a storm abating. She neither moved nor spoke.

Harbinger rolled off her and lay there, breathing heavily, not even trying to cover up his spent groin.

Stunned by the suddenness and force of it, she couldn't even cry. Instead she asked a stupid question: “Why? Why did you do this to me?” But the answer was obvious: because she was there. He had caught her alone, so he had indulged his desire.

She knew from her brothers that men were always yearning for sex. She had seen them get erections, even as children. They didn't care what she saw, because she was only their sister, and they were candid about their fascination with the subject. They let her see them masturbate, spurting onto the ground, but said that wasn't enough. Usually they tried to persuade the better-looking young women of other
families to provide sex for them, and sometimes one did encounter an amenable young female.

Haven had watched once when Hero won a youthful game of penalties with a bored neighbor girl, and she had simply hoisted her cloak clear and gotten down on hands and knees, her nascent breasts assuming greater volume, her buttocks thinning and spreading apart. She had let him wedge his stiff member into her cleft from behind, teasing him all the while about his supposed inability to satisfy her. “Can't you get in any deeper that that, little stick?” It was clear that the maneuver was far more meaningful to him than to the girl, who had done it with others before. Indeed, she was happy to have the other youths watch, so they could see how little it mattered. She said she didn't see the point in it, because as soon as a boy got hard enough to get into her, he got soft again.

She was right; in moments Hero had to pull out, his member diminished. He looked embarrassed. The girl accepted it when she lost a game, because she could get good things when she won. Boys were foolish enough to bet good possessions against this brief silly indulgence, so to the girl the games were worth it. And, Haven suspected, she liked showing off her ability to do an adult act, awing her audience, male and female. To prove her superiority over any boy, by letting him do his utmost and seeing it leave her indifferent. By taking in the whole of his proudest aspect, in effect making it hers, leaving it spent and limp. Haven was indeed awed, never having realized that it was possible for a boy's big stiffened member to get all the way inside that small opening. But there was no doubt of it now.

Nevertheless Haven, though intrigued by what she saw, refused to make bets of that nature, because she didn't want to have to bare her bottom to anyone. The girl assured her that it didn't hurt, except for the first time, and sometimes felt slightly good, though she wouldn't tell a boy that. There was a sense of power in outlasting a boy, draining his potency from him.

So that was voluntary, but Haven knew that on occasion a man just took it, when he had the chance. She had been a fool not to anticipate something like this. At least she had known that it didn't last long, so the unpleasantness was brief.

Harbinger surprised her again. He propped himself on an elbow, reached out, and took her near hand. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

“You pretend this was an act of love?” she demanded, appalled.

His gaze met hers. Her outrage surely showed. He let go of her hand and looked away.

He had gotten what he wanted, and now he was sorry? That was hardly sufficient. But what could she do? If she made too much of a fuss, he might simply beat her up. That would hurt her a lot more than this had.

There was a sound outside. Craft was returning with more wood. Haven hastily pulled her loinskin back into place and sat up, wrapping the cloak about her. Harbinger watched her, then did the same. If she wanted to keep it secret, he was amenable. He got up and went to unwind the tendon, opening the door. He stepped outside.

Haven had a moment to herself. She reached down to check her cleft. She was raw, but not actually bleeding. She was wet, from his essence. She wiped that out as well as she could with the hem of her robe, then wiped the hem on the ground. She was in reasonably good repair.

Harbinger and Craft entered the house and settled into their places. Haven wanted to say something, to tell her brother what had happened, but she didn't. She wasn't sure how he would react. He was sixteen, and desired women, but would not countenance rape. But he was of slender build, no fighter; if he attacked Harbinger, he could get killed. Unless he paused to consider, and used one of his special weapons; then he might kill the other, and be sickened by it. So it was better to leave him out of it.

They settled down to sleep. The men were soon snoring, but Haven remained tense. How had this happened, and what was she to do now? Had she invited it by her foolishness? She had showed Harbinger her breasts, masked by the vest, making clear her gender. Could he have thought she was offering sex for lodging? But he hadn't asked, he had attacked.