Death in the Time of Ice (14 page)

Panan nevertheless drew himself up to his full height and confronted Cabat.
There is no need to take so much for Hama. She is one person. Several of the tribe have not yet eaten and there is almost nothing left.

Cabat stuck his arm out and pushed at Panan’s chest.
Get out of my way,
he thought-spoke.

I will not let you do this
, thought-screamed Panan, and he grabbed the gourd. The two males struggled until it clattered to the ground, spilling the precious food onto the stones.

Why are you waiting upon this Hama?
asked Panan.
She is not your mate. She is your leader.

I waited upon Aja Hama
, shot Cabat, bending to retrieve the gourd.

The good eye of Panan narrowed.
Yes, you did. Although she was going to send you away and take me back.

Cabat froze, then straightened up, the gourd dangling in his hand. Enga closed her eyes and willed them to quit quarreling.

She was not! I was so good to her.
Cabat waved the gourd at Panan, flinging flecks of gruel onto him.

But you were ignoring her too much. And she wanted to return to me, the seed-giver who gave her the most children. I think you knew this and waited upon her the day she died. For her last meal, the evening meal.

Yes. Yes, I was there. I saw her before she died.
Cabat’s face sagged.
We fought.

And you killed her?
asked Panan.
You were angry so you killed her?

Enga’s fists clenched in her lap. She wanted to scream at them to stop. The group could not remain together if the Elders quarreled with each other. Cabat had assaulted Aja Hama? She had to keep paying attention, had to know if Cabat killed her.

No! No! We fought, yes, we fought, and I even ripped her clothing open. Those antler buttons popped off her tunic. But I did not kill her. We were both angry with each other. But I would never harm her. She was alive—and still angry—when I left her.

Cabat had laid hands on Hama! He had assaulted their leader and ripped her clothing. What else had he done?

Cabat turned and slowly waddled away, heading for the woods, still clutching the empty gourd.

The tribe froze, everyone motionless for a moment, no one blinking an eye or daring to draw in breath. Then Enga joined Panan and several others in trying to push the spilled food into another gourd. They saved some of it, but it was cold now. The salvaged gruel was returned to the wooden trencher, to warm near the fire.

Eventually, after everyone else had gotten a share, Hama arrived. She peered at the gruel, frowned at the quantity, then scooped up what remained and began to wolf it down. She did not comment on the absence of Cabat.

Young Jeek, the son of the Healer, squatted beside the fire. He hunched his shoulders and chewed rapidly on a strand of his hair, then spit it aside and shoved the last of his own gruel into his mouth. Enga wondered if something besides the Elders’ argument was bothering him. After he had gulped his last morsel, he arose and approached Enga with slow, uncertain steps, his brow furrowed in his smooth face. She liked the young lad, his energy and enthusiasm. He had been one who had helped retrieve the spilled gruel.

Before Jeek reached her, though, Hama finished eating and stood up. She rattled her gourd to get their attention.

It is now time time for Fee Long Thrower to return to her own wipiti.

Jeek’s eyes sent Enga a lost, worried appeal and his little chin quivered. She would make time to see what troubled him as soon as she could.

But now she must pay attention to Hama.

Enga nodded with the others over the announcement. Yes, it was time for Fee to return home. The baby, thanks to the blessings of Dakadaga and the Spirit of Birthing, was healthy and getting plumper. It was enough days, the number of one handful of fingers less one, since his birth. Sometimes new mothers stayed in the cave longer, but the tribal sisters agreed that Fee was ready to travel.

Why do we not try to get to the bottom of the slaying of the Aja Hama?
wondered Enga to herself. She wanted to share her thought with Ung, but, after what had happened at last dark time, she guarded this idea carefully from Hama, and all the others as well.
There is a killer among us. It appears that Hama will not pursue this matter, other than to accuse me. But someone should find out what happened. I will tune in to all the sisters and brothers as much as I can and try to discover their innermost secrets.

As Enga rose to go up the Sacred Hill to help get Fee, she swayed. Little gray dots swam before her eyes, then slowly disappeared. She was so tired. A scrap of ill-guarded thought from Ongu Small One, the female who had not won the election for leader, floated to her. Enga could not be certain, but she thought Ongu was thinking that Nanno, the new Hama, should not be their leader. She, Ongu, would be better suited for the position and—here Enga’s eyes widened and her breath caught—the Hamapa would be better off if Nanno were not a Hamapa, if she were not alive.

Enga told herself she might have misunderstood the faint notions. They were just wisps, and complicated, and Enga was not clear in her mind. She would tuck away what she had just overheard. If Ongu never again had thoughts like these, Enga would ignore them.

But she could not disregard the tension among the three Elders. The situation could not work for the good of the Hamapa tribe. A person alone could not live. The tribe must stay together, must work together. And they must have good leadership. It was the only way they survived.

* * *

Fee Long Thrower gave her tribal sisters a grateful smile and settled into her own furskin bed with the baby. She was well supplied with soft coverings for her infant. Enga Dancing Flower could tell Fee was happy to be at home.

But not happy to have Bahg Swiftfeet so far away,
Fee thought-spoke.

Yes, we all miss the males,
answered Enga.
I will be glad when Tog Flint Shaper is back also.

Hama frowned at their interchange. Enga could not penetrate her mind, though, to see why she frowned. Maybe Hama assumed they were criticizing her for sending the males on the trading mission. Enga turned her mind completely inward and imagined, for a brief moment, the baby she would someday have after she mated with Tog, a pink and chubby baby like this one. Would it have her red hair or the dark mane of Tog?

The women fussed over Fee awhile, then left her to be alone with her baby for the first time. The Hamapa went about their daily business. Some went to the stream to see if their traps held any fish. Some ground the meal they were presently forced to eat.

Enga could not shake the prickly, frantic feeling she had had ever since Hama had spoken out against her. The terrifying vision of being thrust into the woods with Ung would not leave her mind. She pictured the tribal sisters and brothers screaming at them, throwing things, hurling harmful thoughts after them. Drops of sweat sprang to her palms.

But she had not killed Aja Hama. And she must prove she had not. The best way to do that would be to find out who had. She was certain a Hamapa was responsible.

Enga remembered Jeek trying to tell her something and looked around for him, to see if they could discuss what was troubling him now, but couldn’t see him. She tried to ponder the killing of Hama, but her hunger soon prevented her from concentrating. Doing something about the meat shortage was more pressing. The young girls had not had spear practice since the mammoth hunt went wrong. Fee was their usual instructor. Enga had only assisted her a couple of times and felt unqualified to lead the practice, but she would try. They girls should resume their lessons. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and summoned the girls.

* * *

The Hamapa buried their dead leaders on the top of the Sacred Hill, but there was no large hill nearby.

There are no hills here to bury the dead,
thought-spoke Tog Flint Shaper.
So where would this tribe with no name bury theirs?

They have to put them somewhere,
answered Bahg Swiftfeet.

If we find a graveyard, and these bones by the fire have been dug up from there, we can rebury them,
thought-spoke Teek Pathfinder.

They spread out and combed the rolling grasslands, seeking anything that might look like a graveyard. As they searched, Bahg joined his companions in wondering where all the living ones had gone. He climbed a small rise and searched through the growth of stunted willow bushes on its side. No burials here. Maybe if they found the burial ground it would give them a clue about what happened to this tribe.

Soon young Teek gave a shout and Bahg ran in the direction of the sound. He crested the next rise. Teek stood in a depression that was deeper than the others in the area. He held a bone in one hand and waved his arms, jumping up and down and pointing to his feet. Wisps of his streaked blond hair, refusing to stay bound, bounced on his forehead.

Bahg Swiftfeet paused at the top of the knoll, rooted to the spot, unable to move. The view to the north spread out before him. Beyond the rolling hills spread a vast, windswept grassy plain. Beyond that rose high ridges of broken rock mixed with uprooted birch, willow, and pine trees.

Looming far off in the distance, many more days of travel away, a massive field of white shone in the cold sunlight. The visions of the Time of Great Ice, given to him by Panan One Eye, the Storyteller, paled before this sight. This ice struck him with awe and brought shards of cold to his insides.

This is what is coming. It will destroy everything in its path.

At the top of the rise, the icy breath of Mother Sky tore at his back. After his brief glimpse of the future, the wind impelled him down the slope. But, halfway to the bottom, he halted again.

The dirt at Teek’s feet was deeply furrowed. Piles of bones, torn from their careful resting places, lay like small snowdrifts around him. He had found the burial ground and animals had obviously disturbed it. Either this tribe had buried many, many leaders, or they had buried everyone in the tribe as they died, instead of exposing and giving back the bodies as the Hamapa did.

Tog Flint Shaper and Donik Tree Trunk came pounding down behind Bahg. They, too, were halted and sobered by the sight of the bones. The three started to draw closer to Teek, using caution in this strange place, the only sounds their harsh rasps and the rustling of the tall grasses in the bitter wind. At least Mother Sky’s breath was not as fierce lower in the hollow.

A roar sounded above the whine of the wind. Bahg jerked his head toward the sound and flared his nostrils. No smell could come against the blast of cold.

Then a shrill squeal came to Bahg from a nearby stand of stunted willow bushes. A small cub bawled and ambled from the bushes, his long, ungainly legs and his cute, short snout giving him a harmless appearance. At another time, Bahg would consider trying to kill the animal for food. But not now. They were between the cub and source of the roaring.

The four males braced themselves for what would come over the hill.

Chapter 11

The girls made their way to the meadow, trailing Enga Dancing Flower. There had been no spear practice for too many suns. The last one had been on the day before their instructor, Fee Long Thrower, had gone hunting.

Jeek watched the girls file into the woods, especially Gunda, the oldest. They all looked eager to learn to hunt. Gunda had confided to him she was a little worried about her Passage Ceremony, which she would have in only two summers, since she was ten now. She would become an adult and acquire her adult name at that time, and she wanted to be able to hunt well enough for an impressive name. She would not like to be called Gunda Bad Aim.

I hope
, Jeek thought,
she will be ready to hunt well by then. She must.

Jeek followed them, undetected, and observed from the edge of the field, hiding behind a stand of tall ferns, glad he was slim enough to do this. He loved to watch the concentration on Gunda’s face as she aimed her spear. Her braid, shiny in the sunlight and the color of ripe red berries, swung as she bent to pick up a spear, and again as she flung it toward the target, an old, battered gray wolf skin. His breath caught when she stretched and heaved another spear across the clearing.

Males did not throw spears, only females. Jeek knew this—his birth mother had told him many times—but he could not understand why. He wanted to throw spears. He had always wanted to. He knew Gunda would be impressed if he could do something no other male could. But he had no spear. Only females had them. He supposed the caribou hunt had demonstrated that only females should. Still, he wanted to spear, too.

My little goose,
his mother would thought-speak to him, stroking his tangled hair.
Males do not possess the patience that females do. And they could not throw straight. And look at the mess your hair is in.
She spent every night, when there were not patients to tend, smoothing out his hair and binding it up. He knew she wanted him to crop his hair as she did, but he would miss it if he did. When he became the Healer he would chop it off with a flint knife the way his mother did.

Jeek often followed the girls to watch Gunda. His mind was also on the spears and how it must feel to throw them. He was so very hungry and the girls were missing the target more often than they hit it. Could he do better? Enga Dancing Flower seemed nervous instructing them. Maybe she did not know how to teach them. He pulled a strand of his blond-streaked hair out of its twist and chewed on it as he watched.