Death in the Time of Ice (12 page)

When the does finally burst from cover, Jeek relaxed a bit to see the spear holders waiting. He let one arm drop to his side for a moment. The two large males had veered off and had not made it this far. If they had, the waiting spearers knew they should let them go, as Roh had prepared them.

The chasing children halted, staying in position, still waving their arms and yipping, in case some of the animals turned and tried to run back into the woods.

Even though the caribou were smaller than a mammoth, they were much larger than a Hamapa. Their hooves and horns were sharp and could do a lot of damage. Jeek smelled terror in all the young males holding the spears. Female spear holders sometimes gave off the scent of fear, too, but this emotion was far greater.

The eyes of stupid Doon grew huge. He gave a strangled cry and threw his weapon down, then fled. Kung trembled. His arm wavered. He threw a spear but it wobbled and fell short, not far from his own feet. Mootak saw Kung’s spoiled throw, trembled with his whole body, tossed his spear aside, then ran after Doon. Kung followed them.

Akkal, the young Fire Tender, was the only spearer left. He stood his ground, his legs planted wide. He let his spear fly and it hit a doe in the shoulder. But she swerved and the spear fell to the ground, landing beneath the trampling hooves of two other animals.

After the entire herd had rushed past the hunters, the echoes of pounding hooves grew dimmer and dimmer, until they were heard no more.

Akkal walked with deliberate steps to pick up the unbroken weapons. The children who had flushed the beasts stood in place, their breathing heavy and their thoughts heavier. They tried not to transmit blame to the throwers, but Jeek thought the shame of the throwers radiated with such intensity that the censure of the smaller children would not be noticed.

They sat to compose themselves. Roh told them they should wait until Sister Sun had journeyed one hand’s length through her Mother Sky to recover.

This herd is gone,
she thought-spoke, then reassured them.
Another day we can try again.

Jeek watched as, one by one, they lay on the ground and closed their eyes, giving in to their exhaustion. He had not slept the night before from excitement. Maybe the others had not either.

Then an idea arose, lifting his spirits. He darkened his thoughts, crawled to the pile of spears beside Akkal, lifted the smallest one, and headed back into the forest.

He was remembering the young caribou males that had first broken from the herd. He was also remembering spying on Gunda when she had spear practice with the other girls. Maybe he, Jeek, could spear one of the small male caribou.

He raced back to the stream where they had spotted the herd, covering the distance in a shorter amount of time, now that he wasn’t being careful and searching. There, he picked up the scents easily, a trail of acrid animal fear. He followed the direction they had fled, then found the place where one had split from the other.

But, in the end, the animal had reversed, then crossed the stream. Jeek knew he couldn’t cross it; the current was too swift.

He drew his arm back to throw the spear into the water in his frustration.

Wait!

He whirled around. Gunda walked toward him slowly.
Do not waste a spear, Jeek. I feel your rage. We will now continue to be hungry. But do not throw the spear away. We need it.

Jeek nodded at her. He knew she was right. A feeling of fluttering arose inside him as she took his hand and they walked back to the group.

The others were awakening as Jeek and Gunda approached. Roh did not ask where they had been. Jeek assumed Gunda would tell her mother later. His stomach rumbled in hunger. The small band started their long trudge home. There would be no feast, no food, no hero’s welcome.

* * *

After Lakala Rippling Water had sung a blessing to begin the nightly meeting, she went to sit next to Ung Strong Arm. This was the first outing for Ung since her injury. Enga Dancing Flower touched Lakala’s arm.
I am grateful to you, Lakala Rippling Water, for taking such good care of my birth sister. It relieves my burden.
She had even gotten in a short nap earlier.

The children had returned and Roh Lion Hunter had depicted the failed hunt for the rest of the tribe. She had cast her own spear at several animals on the way back, but had not hit any.

Hama stood to lead the meeting. She held her head high and steady with no sign of nervousness. Enga tried to imagine being a Hama. She didn’t know if she would like it. She was certain she would be shaky and uncertain of herself at first. One creature she knew she would not like to be was the New One. She didn’t see him at the gathering tonight.

Enga could not quite see what Hama clutched in her fist, but it looked like a carving. She squinted to see better.
Did she take the carving from the wipiti of Aja Hama after her death?
Enga kept her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
It looks as thought she did. Did she take my own carving also? But what would she want with them?
Enga shook her head in puzzlement.

Even though the topic for the night was the food shortage, Enga wanted to address another topic first. She stood.

It is time to discuss the slaying of the Aja Hama
, thought-spoke Enga.

The rebuke of Hama came swiftly.
We will not discuss this now. There is no point in going after the Mikino while the males are still away.

But we have not decided who killed her!
Did Hama really think a Mikino could manage to sneak into their village undetected? Enga was sure they could not. The Hamapa would sense them, smell them, hear them. Hama was not seeing this thing as it was. She was seeing something else. And Enga was not almost certain Hama held the carving the New One had given to Aja Hama.

So you think you know better than your leader?
Hama’s thought-speak felt harsh. She tucked the figure into her waist pouch.
If a Mikino did not slay her, who did? You are so sure a Hamapa did. Maybe the Aja Hama had decided to expel you and your birth sister and you killed her in order to stay in the tribe. You are not a true Hamapa.

Enga stared. The beating in her chest stopped. She dropped to the ground and tried to draw a breath.
No!

Hama gave Enga a sly glance.
I heard that Aja Hama did not want you. Twins bring bad luck to the tribe. She always wanted to get rid of you.

The venom of Hama’s lies struck her like a snake bite to the stomach. Enga sprang up and ran from the circle of light. She could not stay here and receive those thoughts. They were not true!

She ran into the cold woods, but soon stopped. Her tears blinded her in the darkness and she was afraid she would run into something. Maybe even a dangerous animal.

The Hamapa tribe has to know how much Ung Strong Arm and I loved our old Hama. She was not our birth mother, but she was our true mother. She loved us. Why does this Hama torment me this way?

Enga stumbled, then sank to the damp earth and curled her body into a round shape.

If an animal eats me, maybe then Hama will feel guilt, and shame. Maybe the Hamapa will expel Hama herself.

She knew she could not stay alone in the woods at dark time. Her sobs quieted bit by bit. She sat up. The wind moaned above her, sending gusts across her face and drying her tears.

Soon, thought-feelers broke through the darkness in her head. Old Sannum Straight Hair had followed her. He reached her and she rose and fell sobbing into his strong, warm arms.

He stroked her hair and crooned a low, audible note that rose and fell.
Come back, Enga Dancing Flower. Cabat the Thick and Panan One Eye have both told her she must not say such things.

But do any believe her? That I would do such a thing? That I am not a true Hamapa?

Most do not.

Do any? Do some Hamapa believe her?

He did not reply. But that was her answer. There were some who did.

* * *

After Enga Dancing Flower returned and everyone calmed down, Jeek’s mind wandered far from the deliberations of the tribe. The commotion of Hama’s charges, and Enga’s distress, both were over for now. But Jeek knew the animosity would surface again. This was not finished.

Jeek gnawed on his hair and considered what he had heard so far. Gunda, sitting halfway across the gathering from him, had a worried look on her face.

What do you think about all this?
he asked her.

I do not know. I have never seen a Mikino.

I haven’t either, but we know they eat babies.

He saw Gunda shudder.
It’s hard to imagine eating a baby.

But Jeek knew that traders had brought stories of them from far away, stories that put fear into Jeek, fear into all the Hamapa. Hamapa loved their babies. Panan One Eye, the Storyteller, often said that the babies were the future of the tribe.

The new Hama, still in charge of the meeting, invited solutions to the problem of too little food for the coming Dark Season.

We need meat and fish. Soon ice will form on the streams and prevent catching fish. Even now there are few fish in the water and none in our traps.

Cabat the Thick, the Most High Male, was silent. The others were silent, also. Even Panan One Eye, the Storyteller.

Enga sat in brooding silence, her face flushed darkly, almost matching her auburn hair. Jeek had not seen her dimples lately and he missed her smile of sunshine.

The pain in his stomach turned his mind to food. Again, the image of a sleek, fat beaver appeared to Jeek. It made spit pool in his mouth. In Jeek’s daydream, he sought the watery home of the giant beaver, the fearsome beast no one hunted, the dreaded animal as long as two and one-half Hamapa males laid head to feet.

Panan One Eye entered Jeek’s thoughts.

I will tell of the Saga of the Giant Beaver of ancient times
, he told Jeek, then began his tale.

In the times that are the dimmest in the memories of Storytellers, there lived a Giant Beaver, an Enormous Beaver, greater than the ones who live now. He was given a task by Dakadaga, the Spirit of Mother Sky. Her child, Brother Earth, was covered with swirling waters and there was no dry land. Dakadaga and Beaver dove to the bottom of the waters and brought up piles of mud. They shaped the mud into hills and valleys.

Then Dakadaga built mountains and caves while Beaver made paths for the water so it could run in rivers and streams. Beaver sent water over the mountains to make waterfalls, and dug deep holes to make lakes.

Jeek had never heard this Saga before. He tried to imagine such a time, with no land. There could have been no Hamapa, no land animals for them to eat. Jeek remembered a Saga of Brother Earth Shaking that Panan had told not long ago. In that Saga, Brother Earth, angered by the Hamapa, tried to get them off his back. But how could there be a time with no Brother Earth? He knitted his brow trying to imagine it.

When Dakadaga declared the work finished, Beaver rejoiced in what they had created. But then males and females were placed into the creation by Mother Sky. Beaver was jealous and did not want to share his creation. This Beaver invaded the villages and devoured males and females.

Jeek sat very still. Every Hamapa eye was on the one eye of Panan to see what came next from inside his mind. Mother Sky exhaled and a sudden gust of wind sent sparks into the sky.
One fell on the bare head of Panan. He absently brushed it off and continued his tale.

Dakadaga despaired of her creation and declared that beavers would only eat fish in the future. And so people survived and the beaver does not eat them in these times. Now the beaver eats only fish.

Jeek cocked his head when a new idea occurred to him.
The beavers do eat fish. Many, many fish. The trouble we are having finding fish is because the beavers have eaten so many fish.
Cabat the Thick stepped into his thinking.

That is a true thought. I have had the same one. Beavers eat so many fish there are not enough left for the Hamapa.

And I can fix that,
shot back Jeek. He imagined himself stabbing the beaver until it died. He pictured a huge store of meat from his kill and a large, thick, warm pelt. Countless garments would be made of this pelt. It would be called The Pelt of Jeek.

Jeek drifted off into another daydream. In this one he had passed fifteen summers and it was the day of his Passage Ceremony. His tribe was so proud of him for having saved them by slaying the beaver. Dakadaga had given his new name to Hama, and it was Jeek Beaver Slayer. Or maybe Jeek Master Beaver Slayer. Hama raised her gourd, then lowered it toward the shoulder of Jeek, Master Beaver Slayer. He caught Gunda’s eye, then bowed his head and smiled to—

NO!
This stern warning was from Cabat the Thick.

Jeek looked up and Cabat’s gaze caught him and held him. His fleshy lips pooched out with the frown he gave Jeek.

No, Young One. You cannot slay the beaver. Our best female hunters cannot slay the beaver. He stays in the water. We cannot get to him.

And, even if we could get to him,
Cabat continued,
our Saga says we must not eat the beaver. He helped create the land and it would be wrong to eat him. It would anger Dakadaga.

Jeek’s dream vanished. He would not be able to save the tribe. He would not be able to bring home meat from the beaver. He knew his vision, if it had continued, would have next included Gunda, looking at him with admiration, her green eyes large and glowing under her thick lashes. Most of his daydream visions ended that way.