15 stones, p.2
15 Stones, page 2
The pre-dawn light slowly ate into the darkness on the eastern arc of the sky. As always Chaiko was conscious of the changeover from night into day, and he watched as the trees stood out, silhouetted by the rising brightness. He threw more wood on the fire and watched the flames grow from little tongues to a solid cone of heat and light. As the flames ate greedily into the wood, Chaiko was reminded of the evil rapacity of the great fire that had consumed the whole of the plain last year and nearly killed him. Fire, perhaps the most useful tool of man, was also a most reluctant servant, not to be trusted, but to be kept strictly under control, imprisoned in its circle of stones. Its cheerfulness hid an evil appetite. This early in the year, however, the ground was still drying out from the spring thaw and a fire would find no easy foothold in the wet soil and grass.
In a nearby alder, a bird left its nest to greet the day that was vanquishing the night. Its call was wonderfully melodious and evoked instant replies. The exchange woke the rest of the world: bird calls echoed under the trees, a chorus of frogs joined in and then the barking of a fox. An owl settled heavily on a branch, its large eyes already hooded against the light. The first glint of gold appeared above the earth, embracing its surroundings, and suddenly color filled the land.
Chaiko, clutching his robe closely about himself, walked through the still wet grass to the edge of the hilltop and looked at the valley floor below. A dense mist hid it from view, the milky whiteness shot through with gold where touched by the rays of the sun. Anxiously he peered south-west but the opaque curtain still obscured the view. He had hoped to see bison there or elk at least. Maybe today the herds would arrive, long lines of elk heading north and clusters of bison drifting along the river bed.
He heard a noise behind him. He turned to see his brother Baer, wrapped in a bison robe, approaching, driven by the same need to know: had the herds arrived? Behind him the cave was stirring; Tanya, his mate, was already feeding the fire. Baer nodded to Chaiko and he, too, peered to the south-west into the milky whiteness below. He grunted when he realized that there was nothing to be seen through the mist. They were soon joined by Cosh. The lines tightened on his usually unperturbed face as he looked to the south-west. The three exchanged glances, each preoccupied by the same concern. Where were the herds?
“The mist won’t lift for a while yet,” Baer said, but made no move to go back to the cave. Chaiko closed his eyes and turned fully into the sun, enjoying the gentle warmth that bathed his face. There was nothing to say. The herd would or would not come regardless of how long they waited and anticipated. Not entirely true, he corrected himself, a positive attitude often evokes a positive outcome. His right leg was cold but his left had no feelings, being made of wood. There is an advantage to be found in everything, he reminded himself wryly. He shrugged and turned toward the cave, limping only slightly as he made his way back.
Dawn, wrapped in a soft pelt, was awake and nursing the baby, her face softly tender. She was making cooing sounds to encourage the baby who needed little encouragement, but nuzzled her noisily, sucking. His arms waved haphazardly about, his tiny fingers closing and opening. Chaiko dropped down beside her, but she was in a private world, with a beatific expression glowing on her face. It seemed to him that she had retreated there more and more since the baby’s birth, sometimes excluding even him.
The sun climbed higher into the sky and filled the cave with light. The surfaces touched by its golden glow slowly warmed and the somber mood lifted with the receding chill. The sky was clear and though the sun appeared somewhat distant, the day promised to be seasonably mild.
The valley was still shrouded in mist. People went to the edge of the downslope, peered into the haze below, looking to the south-west, hoping to be the first to spot the bison emerging from the fog. Time and time again they returned disappointed, the milky whiteness having stubbornly denied them the view.
As was their habit, Baer, Cosh and Chaiko collected by a small fire apart from the rest, to discuss and make decisions for the coming day. They sat quietly while Tanya passed around their morning meal of smoked meat. Although smoked meats tended to taste alike, especially after a long winter, Chaiko recognized the flavor of bison slowly seeping from the tough piece. All winters were long, concluded Chaiko to himself. Some were milder, some were harsher, but all winters were long. It seemed that even his bones ached for the warmth and brightness of summer, for fresh meat fed on young grass, for the crisp taste of new vegetables and fruits. He chewed on the meat like the others, who were doubtlessly thinking the same, that though the winter had been mild, summer could not come soon enough.
“We need to know about the herds,” Baer said, coming straight to the point. Cosh nodded emphatically. As chief scout, it was his responsibility to search for the game in their hunting domain. Since late winter he had been obsessed by this question about the herds. Would they show up this year, as they always had before, except for last year? Life was unthinkable without them.
Crow and Lana left the cave and were heading to the edge to look down. The three leaders watched the two young persons as they reached the edge and turned to the south-west as everybody else had done. With heightened interest they observed them, reading into their postures the anticipation of discovery as they leaned after their gaze, then the disappointment in the slight sag of their muscles, the tilt of the heads, the curve of the backs, the consoling looks exchanged. It was a disappointment of impatience rather than of finality, so the leaders concluded that the mist had not lifted yet.
“We have enough meat for a moon, enough seeds for half, and some dried berries, but no other fruits,” Baer resumed with their concerns.
“We have plenty of rhubarb,” Chaiko could not refrain from interjecting, his countenance frozen to hide his merriment. Cosh pulled a face and fidgeted. He was reminded of the days of hunger in the hills last year, when they had subsisted on sour rhubarb for breakfast, at midday and for the evening meal, to fill out the few other foodstuffs they could glean from a countryside that had already been picked clean. Baer knew his brother better, and watched him levelly until Chaiko could not contain himself but burst out laughing. Cosh looked at him in rising indignation.
“I have a great recipe for rhubarb ...” he tried to get out between fits as he saw Cosh wince at the mere mention of the word. Cosh had really grown to hate rhubarb, but ate it stoically to give a good example to the younger people, who were even less charitable toward the lowly vegetable. Baer smiled weakly, but Chaiko’s amusement was not enough to deflect him from his major concern.
“We need to know about the bison,” he repeated, calling their attention back to the topic at hand.
“Most years the bison are already here by this time,” commented Cosh in his matter-of-fact manner. “The sap is flowing. The willows twigs are turning yellow and will soon be in bloom, the trees are in full bud, the birds are back rebuilding their nests, the fish are swimming upstream. The fox is digging a new lair.”
“Then where are the herds?” Baer exclaimed, challenging them to come up with an answer he could accept. Cosh shrugged his shoulders. It was not his habit to muse over why something was not, he was too concerned with things that were. These “was-nots” had been Samar’s responsibility, but the old shaman had died, weakened with hunger in the hills. Without looking at Chaiko, the two expected him to come up with some answer.
“The spirit world stands in the shadow of the real,” Chaiko intoned with a straight face. “It’s influence is widespread and far-ranging. Perhaps it’s the spirits who turned aside the bison, deflected the elk from its rightful path, and led astray the antelope. But who can read the mind of a spirit?” Cosh tried to delve into this implied complexity, but Baer looked at his brother quizzically; why was he so full of hilarity this morning?
Chaiko wanted to lighten Baer’s cares, not add to them, so he hurried to correct himself. “The bison know the way, the elk have travelled these same paths all their lives, generations of them have walked the same way. So have the antelope, and the horses. It’s their nature to walk the ways they have walked before, just as it is the nature of man to build a fire and call it home. For a woman to suckle a child. For a child to run to the parents to seek protection there. If everything is true to its nature, then what could have happened? Last year, an earthquake, storm, drought and fire turned them. But this year, they will be back. The route might have changed. A mountain pass might have filled up with rubble from the earthquake and a river might have swollen or been blocked by shattered rock. All these things can slow them down, but cannot stop them. For it is in the nature of the beast to follow the rhythms and tides of the seasons. They cannot do otherwise.” Baer and Cosh nodded, reassured by this piece of wisdom.
A beast without memory is no beast at all. But were they born with the memory or was it something they learned? How could that be figured out? Chaiko mused to himself, his inquisitive mind nibbling at the edge of a new puzzle he had just stumbled upon. Baer, however, needed answers now.
“Then you’re sure that they will be back?” On this point he wanted absolute clarity. Though he understood what Chaiko had said, he wanted Chaiko to refocus fully on this matter, even hoping to elicit more ideas from him.
Chaiko looked at him and nodded. “Does a river search out a new path each year?” but half his mind was still on something else. His assurance was enough for Cosh, who had grown to respect Chaiko’s abilities, but Baer wanted more. “Could they have died out, killed by the earthquake, the fire or the drought?”
Cosh sucked in his breath and waited, suddenly tense again. Chaiko sighed deeply but turned his attention back to the topic. “An individual might die,” he answered, “but not the whole of its kind. Even a half can die but not the whole. Something always survives, as you survived in the hills and I on the plain.” The clan had survived the great fire by escaping into the hills, while Chaiko had found refuge in the river which then carried him far from his clan. Dawn had also survived by herself. In fact, survival was the nature of both man and beast. Often life hung on by a thread, yet insisted upon it and clung to it. Like a spider to a spider web, looking flimsy but, for its purpose, more than adequate.
“Should then we expect fewer numbers?” Baer asked, wanting to consider everything.
Chaiko chewed on a grass stalk, lost in thought. “That seems reasonable. Yes, we should expect fewer. Some would have died in the quake, some in the fire, and some in the drought. I don’t think many calves could have survived the hardship of last year. In the coming years we will miss the loss of that generation.”
“Would there be enough for the clan to live on? The whole clan?” Baer drilled his brother. He had his own thoughts, but wanted to know Chaiko’s.
“I do not know,” his brother replied. “There are about twenty of the hunted for every hunter. Maybe thirty grass-eaters for every wolf, cougar or bear. But it is man who kills more than he eats; most he stores away for winter; some he kills for its skin, even for its color. How many would that make? We shall have to see how many will come.” He could guess, but then there were only varying degrees of certainty.
Baer got up, the two followed and they went to the edge to look again to the south-west. The sun was higher in the sky and shone down into the haze, illuminating it, making it harder to penetrate because of the glow. Gusts of wind played on the slopes and tore holes in the white curtain, but the distance remained impenetrable to their eyes. Finally Baer shrugged. “We shall wait until it lifts.” He looked at Cosh for any suggestion, after all he was the lead scout. Cosh nodded; as always he was ready to follow or do wherever Baer suggested. The three returned to the cave.
Tanya looked at Baer and arched her eyebrows questioningly, but he merely shrugged his shoulders. Dawn holding the baby looked at Chaiko, trying to read the expression on his face, but the look of those half-hooded eyes was carefully blank— too blank, like a mask. She nonetheless recognized that expression; he was thinking naughty thoughts, and she reddened. In broad daylight no less, she fumed to herself, with everyone about and a baby to take care of. Does he not see that they could not leave the baby alone to search out some privacy in the forest or on the river bank? Men, they are always thinking of themselves only! Her mind suddenly flashed back to their early days and nights of pleasure, when she could not get enough of his attentions. A flush of longing for those days coursed through her and a feathery feeling filled her stomach. It was spring after all. “Maybe tonight when the others are asleep,” she whispered, her blue eyes sparkling with promise and he nodded.
Dawn turned her attention back to the baby. Was there ever a cuter, more perfect child anywhere, anytime before? Surely not, she thought with pride. With a finger she gently touched his palm and immediately his chubby little hand closed upon her finger. She shook her hand lightly, but he would not let go. She pulled a little harder, but still he resisted. The eyes of mother and son met, and she could not help it, she smiled her love and pride and he smiled back with that silly wide expression of total joy that lit up his face and melted his mother’s heart. It was a new expression for him which he was practicing. Dawn could not get enough of it. “Look, Kaiko, look. Look at your son,” she called to her mate as if there were no more important thing in the world than this moment between a parent and child. Chaiko obliged, turned and looked at his son. Yael waved his arms with enthusiasm, burped, and bubbles of white froth spilled from his mouth.
“Oh, you little fountain,” Dawn cooed, and wiped his mouth with a soft piece of chamois. “Next you will be spouting from the other end.”
She lowered her head and pasted a noisy kiss on his chest. Yael chortled in delight, his chubby little arms waving and his curled up legs kicking from the pleasure he experienced. His sounds were becoming more varied and expressive. The smile on his face also grew more differentiated, and Dawn drank in every nuance of it. It never seemed to tire her. “Look, look,” she would call, and Chaiko would dutifully look again at his son wriggling with enjoyment, basking in the full attention of his parents. But even pleasure was exhausting. Yael’s movements slowed, his eyes closed and he was asleep. Dawn felt a sweet disappointment flood through her from being deprived of the joy on his face, akin to the coolness and the loss of radiance one feels when the sun hides behind a cloud. Were there any feelings more precious than the ones between mother and child? Dawn mused, content.
Around this family idyll, the life of the cave flowed on. Over the winter, Crow and Lana had become inseparable. Her liking of him had deepened and there was never any question of his feelings for her, not since the fire when he had dared to declare himself. Around them, Ido, her closest friend, felt awkward and shut out of this relationship. It was not that they tried to exclude her; in fact they tried to draw her in, but could not share with her the same intensity that they had for each other. Indeed, Crow and Lana were a happy combination, neither oppressed by memories nor by great concerns for the future. For both the present was enough.
Shy by only a few moons of twelve, Lana’s body had developed, curves filling out the straight lines. Inside she had changed too. She felt light of mood, prone to ringing laughter and filled with an unquenchable optimism. There was a fever growing inside her that barely let her sleep, so eager was she for each day, for each measure of time she could spend with Crow. She touched him gently, hugged his neck and badgered him to carry her, or sweep her up in his arms, which he gladly did. Each contact was electric, coursing through the whole of her body with a lingering after-touch. She could not get enough of these feelings and was constantly after him. Sometimes the intensity so overwhelmed her that she thought she would swoon with pleasure and delight. These new feelings were so powerful that she worried that she was becoming sick, but her mother reassured her that it was part of growing up. Tanya did not tell her how fortunate she was in having the ability to enjoy even a simple touch to such an extent. Oh, to be young again, Tanya thought at those times.
Crow, having struggled with these feelings and yearnings longer than she, had himself under better control. He could therefore indulge her need for exploration but was careful never to let it get out of hand. Still, there were times when he had to run away from the intensity of feelings and sensations her play aroused in him. This puzzled her. “Why should one run from pleasure?” Ido was too inexperienced to help her and sometimes Lana was reluctant to confide in her mother, wanting to keep these precious moments to herself alone. She became more possessive of Crow, demanding his time and all his attention, but she also rewarded him with a caress, a tender kiss, a hug that melted into him. Sometimes he had to struggle for breath, so easily could she take it away. Noticing this, she would laugh delightedly and its ring would echo in the cave causing everyone to look.
When Ido asked, “How can you toy with him so lightly?” Lana looked puzzled at her friend and replied offhandedly, “Crow likes to play. Go ask him if he doesn’t.” Ido, who would have loved to command so much attention, envied her but disapproved of her friend’s teasing of Crow and the way she ordered him around. Lana seemed to be so lighthearted. Here, then someplace else again. When Ido would have a man after her, she would treat him right, she promised herself. At the present there was only Makar; she pulled a face, he was such a ... a lump. He had the personality of a rabbit, hopping first this way then that. Anything to make people laugh. She did not like having him hop after her.
Around the fire, Tanya and Ile were also exploring this situation. “With spring here we can expect Tusk back soon with the rest of the clan,” Tanya offered.
