The SealEaters, 20,000 BC Page 18

  “I hear it,” he said. “It seems to come from . . . . Is that a man at the top of the split land wall?”

  “Yes, I think it is. Want me to call the hunters?”

  Plak nodded, keeping his eyes on the man and heading towards the split land wall ascent.

  Hunters came running from the larger stone structure. They ran past Plak and up the path of the split land wall far faster than he could have done. Plak returned to Tanturto. They along with many others watched the ascent to the man at the top. Slowly they reached him and began to help him down.

  The man was emaciated. He seemed not to understand much. Nogathat told them to bring him water and to make him drink it very slowly.

  Verra ran into the room and knelt beside the stranger. She lay across him despite the dirt that clung to him. She sobbed and sobbed.

  “Arangawee, Arangawee, you’re safe now. You’ve found us. It is I, Verra.” Verra repeated the words and later Arangawee moved, turning to her, recognizing her, losing tears from his eyes. He was too tired to speak, but he squeezed her hand.

  Nogathat cleaned his wounded body and the hunters put Arangawee on soft skins in the far corner of the stone building. He slept and awakened only briefly for days while Verra kept feeding him soup broth and spooning water into his mouth.

  Finally, able to speak, he offered the explanation all had awaited, “The war broke out the day after you left. Danumite and Toa set fire to our homes and then from the woods the Yellow and Green Bands came. They killed everyone they could find. Men. Women. Children. We had that tunnel under our place. It gave me a place to hide to escape the slaughter, for already I was blooded and sick. For many days I could hear them and finally, one day, there was no human noise. I came from the tunnel very slowly but needn’t have been so careful. They were gone. They might have gone to the Red Band. Their talk about how good things would be was a lie. Danumite and Toa were dead. I have no understanding why they killed everyone. We could have stood against them, but instead, they destroyed us all. I’ll never return.”

  “Arangawee, as sick and injured as you were, how did you cross the big river?”

  “I took a small boat and knew you were on the other side of the river.”

  Verra embraced him.

  Back outside by the river, Plak and Tanturto sat on the big smooth rock.

  “I ask again, Tanturto, will you be my wife?”

  “My dear Plak,” she replied, “What of your adventuring?”

  “What are you asking?’

  “Plak, what if I awake one morning and you tell me you’re leaving to adventure? If I have children, I could not go with you. I could not fight you about it anymore than Torq could fight you long ago.”

  “Tanturto, I no longer need to adventure. I adventured to find. I’ve found what I sought. I found you. This split land has many opportunities to adventure close to what is now my home. I would not leave you. You are my home.”

  Tanturto gazed unblinking into Plak’s gray eyes as he spoke. She was silent, still gazing. Finally, she said, “Then, yes, Plak, I would be pleased to be your wife.”

  “I love you Tanturto. I have loved you since I first saw you at the boat for the river crossing. You are beautiful, kind, smart, and unique.”

  They embraced.

  The coming together of Tanturto and Plak was cause for great celebration. The men hunted and women gathered greens. There was great music and dancing all through the night. They had built their house of stone back from the water’s edge. They slipped away for a while and then returned to the festivities. Fishers had brought fish from the river, large razorback suckers and humpback chub; hunters supplied a bighorn sheep; women supplied available greens, nuts, and berries. Before dawn people returned to their homes to have a little sleep before the day began.

  The next morning Tanturto and Plak emerged from their stone house early to watch the sunlight enter the deep valley.

  “We begin a new life,” Tanturto said.

  “Yes, we do,” Plak said putting his arm across her back with his hand on her shoulder..

  “That’s not what I mean, Husband,” she replied.

  Plak looked into her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m certain I carry new life.”

  “From last night?” he asked surprised.

  “Yes, my Husband. I’m certain. If not last night, when would it have been?”

  He lifted her off the ground and hugged her tight. As it turned out, she was right.

  Plak and Tanturto lived together for fifty years. They had ten children and many grandchildren. In the seventieth year of Plak’s life, a great rain from far away mountains became a flood. It swept through their lowland, arriving at their home and removing any trace of the people who lived at the river’s edge. All people who were in the river area at that time were swept away. The remains of the bodies of Plak and Tanturto lie near the black rocks near the volcanoes in the split land.

  Chapter 6

  Torq’s Story

  Torq left the open land by the river and entered the forest in a state of anger unlike any he’d ever experienced. A large blood vessel in his forehead had engorged and seemed to pulsate against his headband. He couldn’t understand why he was unable to cause Plak to see reason. The two of them had grown up together. They spent their childhood playing together. They were taught together. Both had shared their personal views of things and always, they were together. Torq followed the path as fast as he could move. He wondered whether there might be something caused by a spirit in the new land, something that made people from across the sea do things they otherwise might not do.

  By evening, the forest had become darker than he remembered. He slowed to find a place to go black for the night. Lack of sleep from the night before had left his energy level lower than normal. He laid his backpack and spears on the ground. He barely heard the scream of the cat that flew at him from an overhead tree limb. The cat was as tall at its shoulder as Torq’s arm was from shoulder to the tip of his middle finger. The cat had black tufts on its ears. It landed on his back with a thud, holding on with sharp claws, while aiming to place its mouth around Torq’s neck. It knocked him to the ground where he rolled over to fight with all his strength. Finally, Torq punched the lynx in the side of the face with the full force of his right arm, causing it to run frantically deep into the forest.

  Torq managed to stand up, bleeding from his neck, back, and arms from the cat’s claws and teeth. Plak was momentarily forgotten as Torq tried to remember where he last saw a source of water. He couldn’t remember, so he went to the small bladder where he transported enough water to take care of urgencies. Torq dabbed with a skin at the places that had stopped bleeding. Then he put pressure on those that still bled. It was turning dark fast. He needed to prepare for the night. Continuing to bleed, Torq found some deadfall logs and set up a lean-to for the night. He covered it with limbs, leaves, bark, grasses—anything he could find nearby quickly. Torq put his sleeping skins on the ground under the lean-to. Then he carefully scraped the forest floor to the dirt. He gathered some dry material from the forest floor and set about creating a tiny hearth. Torq definitely wanted fire protection in case the cat returned.

  One spot on his neck was still bleeding profusely and he had begun to feel a little dizzy. Torq grabbed a handful of jerky from his backpack and sat down. He ate jerky while he kept pressure on the wound on his neck. He looked at his skin in the light of the hearth fire. He was a mess. He carried nothing to prevent the wound from going bad—all that was in Plak’s backpack, he reminded himself. Plak carried spear points and honey and herbs and something else wrapped in soft leather. Torq carried the food and little bladders of water. Plak had made the spear points. Torq just realized he had no spares except for two that he’d broken but still carried in his backpack.

  Torq knew he could have asked Plak for spares, and knowing Plak, he knew his friend would have given him spares. He hadn’t even thought to ask. The jerky was food for th
e hunger in his belly, but it didn’t taste particularly good. It was sufficient for the night. Torq tried hard to remain awake, fearing a return of the cat. His fatigue overcame him and he went black, as soon as he covered himself with the sleeping skin.

  When morning came, he opened his eyes, disoriented. His neck and back hurt terribly. He ate some more jerky, drank a little water, and gathered up his skins. He would continue his trek to the place where SealEaters were to meet to return to the Cove. He knew it would be many moons before he reached his goal. Late in the evening, Torq reached a small river. There he could clean the blood from his skin and loincloth to refresh himself. He felt not only dirty but also contaminated by things he didn’t understand but knew could cause wounds to become hot and filled with pus. Some wounds already had a bad feeling.

  He walked for days, trying to keep himself oriented. He did not feel at all well. He knew he was fortunate not to have had any serious encounters with predators. He had managed several times to spear deer to fill him not only with food warm from the hearth but also food that tasted good. Those times he enjoyed the trek. Other times he felt dispirited, still mulling over the treachery of his once friend. It mystified him that anyone could choose not to return to bring the SealEaters at the Cove to this place. Just thinking about it angered him anew.

  Torq felt sick. He had been walking for how long he could not remember. He was struggling to see. He knew there were places on his back that had never healed. Torq was filled with a single minded purpose to reach the cache. Nothing else mattered. He slipped crossing a creek when he was startled by the sight of human foot prints in the mud. Torq went black as soon as he hit the ground.

  At high sun some young girls found the body of the man and ran to tell their people. Hunters followed them and found Torq with a high fever, emaciated, and covered in stinking sores. They carried him to their village. Man-who-knows-herbs looked at the wounds and wrinkled his face. He doubted seriously that he could do anything at all for the sick man. He began by cleaning the body to see better what damage was done. The wounds made Man-who-knows-herbs’ stomach turn. He began to clean the dead flesh off the wounds on the man’s back and neck, expecting him to wake up from the pain. He didn’t. Then Man-who-knows-herbs took firebrands while hunters held the man down, and he burned the wounds deeply.

  Through it all the man slept. Man-who-knows-herbs couldn’t believe the burning didn’t awaken the man. When they turned the man over, they found the wound on his arm and claw marks on his chest, but they were not terribly infected. They rolled him to his belly and placed herbs and honey on his back wounds. Man-who-knows-herbs laid a skin over the man’s back. He was concerned about the neck wound. He had burnt it deeply, and he hoped he hadn’t done more damage than the infection had. At least the massive stench was gone from the man.

  For days women tended Torq. They fed him broth and cleaned his wounds. He occasionally mumbled “SealEaters,” but they didn’t understand his words.

  “Will he live?” Hammer asked Man-who-knows-herbs.

  “It has been a long time now. I expect him to live, but what his condition of life will be, I do not know. He has been moving a little this day. He may awaken soon. When he is awake, hunters must be nearby, for we cannot predict what he will do.”

  “I will arrange for several of us to stand by the man,” Hammer said.

  “Good. I think it’s time.”

  “His eyes are open,” Mat, an old woman who had been helping Man-who-knows-herbs, said.

  Hammer went outside and brought two other men into the little structure. They sat at the far edges. Man-who-knows-herbs went to the stranger.

  “Who are you?” he asked Torq.

  Torq lay there on his side trying to reason where he was and who the people were. He was at a loss.

  Man-who-knows-herbs put his hand on his own chest and said, “Man-who-knows-herbs.”

  Torq put his right hand on his own chest and said, “Torq.”

  There was a murmur in the little structure as men wondered what Torq meant. Each of them had a name that meant something.

  Torq laid back down on the sleeping skins and went black.

  Oak Nut came in with food and spooned it into the man’s mouth. He let it go down without waking up.

  The next day Torq awakened and was hungry. They fed him soup.

  Torq looked at his body and was horrified at how much fat he’d lost. The SealEaters prided themselves in having plenty of fat to show that they were healthy. His hip bones protruded from his belly. It was embarrassing to him. Looking at the people around him, he noticed that none carried much fat on their bodies. Torq’s concern was crossing the sea. He needed fat for warmth and energy.

  Torq tried to communicate, but the natives were not ones who talked much. He waited trying to be patient.

  Man-who-knows-herbs came in and sat near Torq.

  He pointed at Torq, saying, “Torq.”

  Torq nodded, pointing back, wanting to know the name of the man.

  “Man-who-knows-herbs,” the man said. He showed Torq several herbs, saying the word herb. Then he’d point to himself indicating he was Man-who-knows-herbs. Finally, Torq understood.

  Time passed and Torq gained strength. He put strong effort into learning the language of the people. Outside at last, he tried desperately to learn where he was. All Torq knew is that he was in the mountains. His wounds were recovering, but there were deep wounds in his back, wounds he couldn’t reach. The one on his neck was deep. It itched. There were a few pus pockets that the women at night would place hot compresses on to make them drain. They covered the one on his neck with herbs and honey over which they tied a skin that went around the neck and under his arm. He didn’t like it, but they insisted he wear it.

  Torq worried about time. He had to go back to the cache. He had learned the language enough for basic communication. He tried to gain a sense of where he was.

  “Hammer, do you know how far we are from the eastern sea?”

  “What’s sea?” Hammer asked.

  “It’s salty water.”

  “Water isn’t salty,” Hammer replied seriously.

  “Sea water is salty,” Torq explained.

  “I don’t know sea water,” Hammer said. “I’ll ask Blue Jay when I see him. He is the most likely to know because he travels to our friends to trade.”

  “What’s trade?”

  “If you make good spear points, and you obviously do, and you want winter skins, some people will trade you skins for spear points. They take your spear points, and you obtain skins.”

  “That’s a clever idea,” Torq said, barely following the words.

  “We have done it forever,” Hammer replied.

  “I was following a trail that led from the west where the sun goes down to the east where the sun arises. Can you tell me where that trail is?”

  “I know the trail. It is back down this hill and part way up the next hill to the north. Is that where you were?”

  “I think so. I remember being dizzy. I was having trouble seeing. I kept falling.”

  “That makes sense. When we found you, we thought you’d die. Oh, what’s SealEaters? You kept saying SealEaters.”

  “My people are the SealEaters. We live across the eastern sea. Our land is being overtaken by ice. We have the sea to the west. We have ice to the north, and mountains to the east and south. The land past the mountains is filled with people constantly at war. They fight for land for villages and for hunting. Many die. We search for land where we can live without war and with food to put fat on our bellies. When ice came the seals came to our land. We learned to eat them. We are called SealEaters.”

  “We chose to explore to find a new land. We followed the sea by the tall mountains of ice from our land to this one. As we crossed the sea, we caught seals and ate them, because they live in the sea and come to rest on sea ice.”

  “I was trying to return to those of us who will travel by boat back to the land of the SealEaters to
bring them to this wonderful land.”

  “How many SealEaters are you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Definitely less than a hundred.”

  “That many people travel in a boat?”

  “Oh, no, Hammer. We have many small boats.”

  “What is the size of the sea?”

  Torq was surprised at the question. “It’s huge. It takes moons and moons to cross.”

  Hammer thought he was joking. “You lie?” he laughed.

  “Not at all, Hammer. It is frightening to cross the sea. Huge chunks of ice float in the sea. They break off from the enormous ice sheets that lay across the sea as they do on land. When storms come up, waves throw chunks of ice around. Little boats out there have people in them who are praying to the gods for protection. If you are hit by an ice chunk, you’d die out there. If the ice didn’t hit you and your boat overturned or filled with water, you’d freeze to death in the water.”

  “You’d have to be disturbed in thought to go on such water,” Hammer muttered.

  “It was not disturbed thought,” Torq said defensively, “We’re desperate. When you’re about to run out of land and food, desperation sets it. It’s survival.”

  Torq stretched his body out on the rock, absorbing the warmth from the sun, and he thought back to the crossing. He was in the boat with Murke and Wapa. He thought it odd that he and Murke always had a special something. Murke seemed to approve of him. He never said it—it just showed in his face. Torq always thought he looked a little like Murke, but his father was Mongwire. But then, all Torq knew of his own appearance was what he saw in water, and that could make people look very different from how they really looked.

  Torq shut his eyes. Hammer used the time to go back to the structure where Man-who-knows-herbs was. He told the old man about the progress of Torq and related the questions he’d asked.

  Torq thought of the night of the worst storm at sea. How terrified he’d been. He and Plak both admitted to each other after they were on land that they cried like babies during that storm. They were in different boats, but it was a night never to forget. He remembered the huge ice chunks rolling and pieces falling off from them as they rolled. He thought back to the visions that remained in his thinking place of the ice chunks lifted on waves that rose far above the boats. He remembered the howling of the winds, like nothing he’d ever heard, so loud that it hurt his ears. And the pelting water that felt like rocks. That was horrible. It was awful to remember. For a brief moment Torq wondered whether that was the reason Plak didn’t want to return to the Cove. Then he realized that regardless of what he thought of his friend, Plak was not a coward. Torq knew there was more than cowardice in Plak’s decision. Plak would have, he knew, been no more afraid to return than he was.