Ki'ti's Story, 75,000 BC Read online

  When the men rose from the circle, Reemast hit Manak on his upper arm. “So the good spider will be successful,” Reemast said under his breath with a sneer.

  “I hope so. I sincerely hope so,” Manak replied aloud, intentionally ignoring the bait Reemast had offered in mockery.

  The women had dinner prepared and the men came to be served. Those whose names carried the superior hunter “-na” suffix were served first. This was a trek meal. There was jerky and some boiled grain with some peas and beans that had been picked with haste as they left the homeland. As soon as the men were seated, the women and children were served. Ki’ti had to be wakened. She had gone to sleep beside her baby brother. Everyone ate quickly and cleaned up the tools, repacked them, and prepared to continue the trek.

  The People trekked by moonlight, and, with the cooler temperature, travel was easier. The ground continued to tremble and, occasionally, there was noise with it. Ki’ti walked beside Totamu, still behind Manak. Totamu’s white hair was pulled into two separate parts and held just below her ears with leather bands. She carried a light load and used a walking stick that was polished from many years of use. Her long tunic had been made recently by Pechki, her daughter. Pechki had made it of one piece of skin with a hole to put the head through and side seams instead of the single shoulder band of most of the clothing made by the People. She made it long because often, her mother chilled. The tunic fell between Totamu’s knees and ankles, longer than most of the women’s attire, which rarely came below the knee. Pechki had carefully drilled treasured shells with an old bone awl and tied them to the front of the tunic near the neck. A decorated garment was a novelty. The long garment was to have been a way to honor Totamu, and she wore it on the trek with pleasure. In the back of her mind, it might be her last trek, and it was a special occasion to her.

  “Izumo,” Ki’ti said quietly, using the term for grandmother or elder woman, “Are you well?”

  “I am quite well, my child,” the older woman replied automatically.

  “Did you see the bear over there at the edge of the woods?” Ki’ti was frightened. She’d seen the bear clearly among the willows. Bears weren’t normally that willing to show themselves when humans were present. It was the strange behavior that alarmed Ki’ti.

  “Yes, my little one, I saw the bear. It won’t bother us.”

  “How do you know?” Ki’ti asked, twisting her hair. Her eyes were open wide, searching the face of Totamu.

  “It is doing the same thing we are doing, finding a safe place. It knows the earth is troubled.”

  “You can tell that?”

  “Ki’ti, did you see how it kept stopping and anxiously looking about and sniffing?”

  “Yes.”

  “The signs of anxiety are the clues. It’s more worried about the place where it is than what’s happening with other living things.”

  “You don’t seem worried, Izumo.”

  “I am not worried. I have had a good life.” Izumo stopped for a moment and hit her palm with her right fist, though it was awkward with the walking stick she carried. She continued, “This will either be an introduction to more life or an end. Whichever way it is, I will not be troubled.”

  “Izumo, you cannot die now. I need you.”

  “Little one, what is—is. But I will tell you, I have more ability to make this trek than some of those who are a lot younger than I am. I fully expect to make it to the cave and live with the People more years.” Again, she hit her right fist into the palm of her left hand.

  “There’s a falling star, Izumo.” Ki’ti yawned.

  “They have been falling this night. You have not been looking up. They were falling last night also.”

  “Well, it’s hard to see the path when Wisdom sucks the color from the land,” she offered as an excuse for not seeing the falling stars. “Is that part of the mountain and the shaking earth?” Ki’ti looked at the dogs to be sure all was well with them. They were fine. She yawned again and again, yawn tears falling from her eyes.

  Totamu walked in silence a bit. She reached into her neck bag and got a tiny piece of a leaf to put in her mouth and she began to chew. She slipped the neck bag back inside her tunic. She knew Ki’ti was bright, but she was often unprepared for the connections she made. She walked through her mind web to see whether she could make the connection that Ki’ti questioned. Finally, she said, “No. They are not connected. One is of the Underground; the other is of the Sky.” Totamu reached out her hand for Ki’ti’s hand. The child quickly gave it to her. Totamu was her rock. She was calmed by the touch of a hand and small talk that all would be well with her world, even though the Winds of Change were blowing.

  As night wore on, Ki’ti stumbled. She was terribly tired. She was the youngest of the trekkers. Her younger brother was carried.

  “Manak,” Wamumur called from the rear.

  Manak turned around and faced the Wise One.

  “Get your sister and put her on my backpack.”

  Manak replied, “But I . . . .” Wamumur’s stern glare silenced Manak’s intended offer to carry her. He picked up Ki’ti and placed her on her belly across Wamumur’s already heavy backpack where she quickly fell to sleep. The trek continued. Manak made a mental note to carry tired, small children in the future so elders didn’t find the need to do it.

  Behind Totamu in line were Minagle and Domur. Minagle was Ki’ti’s twelve-year-old sister and Domur was Hahami-na and Enut’s thirteen-year-old daughter. Minagle and Domur were close friends. Each carried a pack just a little lighter than Manak, Slamika, and Reemast carried. Slamika and Reemast were Domur’s brothers. Slamika was sixteen and Reemast was eighteen. The girls struggled but tried hard not to let their struggling show. Each was proud of her own strength, despite the fact that the People discouraged pride.

  “Which of my brothers will be your husband, Minagle?” Domur asked as they climbed a tough hill.

  “I don’t know.” In fact, Minagle didn’t care for either one of them. Minagle was concerned about the subject. She was very slender, unlike the rest of the People who were stocky. Her hair was jet black, straight, and thick, framing a face that was different from the People. Her forehead didn’t take the gentle slope at the brow but rose vertically instead. The hair of the People was fine and brown to reddish. She also had brown eyes, while most of the People had blue, hazel, or greenish eyes. Minagle didn’t care for Slamika because he was unattractive to her and rarely talked. She disliked Reemast because he kept creeping up on her when she was gathering. She didn’t like their reddish hair. Reemast would pin her down and grope her under her tunic while he laughed. So far, he hadn’t forced her to copulate, but he was threatening, and she was uncomfortable around him. Maybe he knew she wasn’t woman yet. She often wondered what he would do when she became woman.

  “You like my brother?” Minagle asked, shifting the perspective, already knowing the answer.

  Domur looked at Minagle and smiled. “I cannot wait to become woman. Manak is special and I really want him for my husband.”

  “I am sure that he wants you also, my friend. Sometimes, he has asked me questions about you.” Minagle smiled.

  “Like what?”

  “What your meat preference is,” Minagle responded and paused, “and whether you like him.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that you liked aurochs and him.”

  “You didn’t!” Domur knew that the meat preference was often what the prospective husband had to exchange for a wife. Aurochs was more than what would be appropriate. “If he had to get one of those for me, he’d get to be Manak-na at an early age—or we’d have to wait a long time.” Her last comment ended with a drop in voice.

  “The way he feels about you, he’d find a way to get it as soon as you become woman.” Minagle did a palm strike.

  Behind the girls, Enut had heard snatches of the girls’ conversation. She was having serious trouble breathing but her hearing was sharp. She kn
ew that Minagle didn’t care for her sons, and that bothered her. Her sons were fairly good hunters and should be a good match for any girl of the People, but then Minagle didn’t look like the People. Sons needed wives. Reemast should be Minagle’s choice, Enut thought, because he had a great sense of humor and had good vitality. Slamika didn’t talk much so nobody knew what he thought. He didn’t seem very interested in Minagle, and she was the only girl available for a long time. Ki’ti was only seven and it would be years before she was ready. Of course, whichever brother got Minagle, he could share his wife with his brother. That might be the best. At least, until Ki’ti became woman. Minagle was, perhaps, too high-minded to be such a strange-looking female. She needed a husband to straighten her out. Enut’s thoughts shifted to her breathing. The girls had stopped talking. The headband to help ease her load was cutting into Enut’s forehead. She was sweating and was very tired. Her breathing whistled when she exhaled through pursed lips. She coughed frequently. She was aware that her health was failing but had discussed it with no one. All that mattered to her was reaching the cave. She had a spell of dizziness but kept her footing and continued on.

  Just before daybreak, Nanichak-na shouted a long O sound three times and the column came to a halt. The whistle came from Nanichak-na to the end of the line, and was answered with another whistle. The whistling told Wamumur at the end of the line that Nanichak-na had spotted Cave Kwa. It seemed they would be safe. The line began to move again. Suddenly, the earth moved with a great jarring and then a rolling. Wamumur and Nanichak-na looked back. There were multiple plumes from Baambas, and those didn’t seem to subtract from the smoky output, since all were equally large. Their eyes squinted and their lips thinned. This was something for which they had not been prepared. Without a word, all adults knew that this was unprecedented and they moved along at a faster pace. Even though Enut was struggling, she tried to keep up, but her breathing was worsening and she was lagging. Her cough was increasing in frequency. Wamumur whistled. Nanichak-na halted the line. Wamumur sent a message to Nanichak-na that Enut was failing. Nanichak-na told Slamika and Reemast to put their arms around their mother and help her along. The column began to move again.

  When they neared the cave, they had hardly reached the entrance when they saw light. It was not necessarily a good sign to see light from a cave they expected would be empty, but something was beginning to rain down and they entered, wondering what would happen. They were met by another group of the People they already knew. Greetings were extended. Each of the newcomers laid down their burdens and stopped to wash their feet using water from the bowls provided for them. Then the men circled and sat or kneeled to talk. The women were shown areas where it would be good for them to set up residence, out of the way of the entrance.

  Wamumur looked around. His eyes sought Emaea, his love from youth, whom he had not been able to marry. Was Thrullut-na still living? Thrullut-na wasn’t at the circle of men. He thought he saw Emaea over with the women, but he couldn’t be sure and he had to attend to the male conversation. Instead of feeling the overwhelming exhaustion of brief moments before, Wamumur felt the giddiness of energy and youth and hope.

  “We saw the Minguat as we crossed the toothed mountains. There were many of them,” Gruid-na said.

  “How many of the Others?” Nanichak-na asked. A piece of facial hair got caught in his mouth and he pulled it out.

  Gruid-na showed ten fingers four times. His brown eyes reflected concern.

  “How many hunters?” Nanichak-na persisted.

  Gruid-na showed ten fingers twice. “No more than that.”

  “How far away?”

  “Less than a day from here now.”

  “Were they heading this way or toward Cave Sumbrel?”

  “How can one say?” Gruid-na asked. “The path they trekked headed toward Cave Sumbrel but there is a path near the creek that leads here.”

  Nanichak-na looked toward Manak. “Go to the cave entrance, study the falling particles, and return to report to us of it.”

  Manak got to his feet quickly and sprinted to the cave entrance. He returned, reseated himself, and said, “You can see nothing. It is very thick and it’s entering the cave. It’s this deep,” he said showing the first digit of his forefinger.

  “You can stand on it without mashing it flat,” Manak added, holding out his hand to Gruid-na and showed him the material. Gruid-na held his hand palm upwards and Manak emptied his hand into Gruid-na’s.

  Gruid-na said, “Thank you, Manak,” slightly lowering his head.

  Manak lowered his head in respect.

  Gruid-na examined it. It was gritty gray powder with a few very tiny granules. He sniffed it very lightly noting the sulfurous odor. He passed the handful to the others. Each examined it carefully. It was caustic.

  “If they are still trekking, they will die,” Nanichak-na said, voicing what others suspected. “Let’s call this ash,” he said quietly.

  Wamumur cleared his throat. “We must plan. There will be a food scarcity when this ash stops falling. We will need to hunt for the animals that we can find and prepare the meat so that we can survive until the land heals itself and living animals are available. We have to see that neither we nor our people starve. We will need hunters to hunt and the younger males can gather firewood. Is there coal nearby?”

  Gruid-na shook his head. “I know of no coal.”

  Ermol-na, Gruid-na’s thirty-eight-year-old son-in-law cleared his throat. He was late to have white hair. At thirty-eight, he should have some white, but his hair was solid black. Against the black hair and olive complexion, his pale brown eyes were startling. They looked like wolf eyes, flecked as they were with gold. “There’s a place. It’s not far from here. We used to go there to gather coal when I was a child. It’s between here and Cave Sumbrel.”

  “When the ash stops falling, you could take several people and begin to stockpile coal in the cave,” Gruid-na said, glad for once that his daughter had married this slender fellow with the light brown eyes.

  Ermol-na lowered his head to Gruid-na. Ermol-na smiled. His life was special for once. He couldn’t wait to share with Flayk. He listened as the other assignments were made for the time when the ash ceased to fall.

  The women automatically began to store the foodstuffs they had brought to the common area. Food was always something the People owned together. Even when two groups joined, all food was combined for the use of all. There was no differentiation according to group. There was very little personal ownership of anything. It seemed fortuitous that there was a good complementary mix of food that had been brought. The women busied themselves with the evening meal.

  Each person had roles in their original groups. When the two groups gathered, nobody needed to tell other People what to do. There was a unified understanding. Even the young knew what was expected. The People were not by nature rebellious but worked together in harmony as they had for hundreds of thousands of geologic years. Voices were low as they spoke what was needed and little that wasn’t as they worked. It never occurred to the People that not working might be an option. For far longer than anyone living could remember, this was the way to live successfully. They must preserve the group at all costs or the People would perish. It was the way of Wisdom.

  Totamu hugged her friend, Emaea. “How is it with your People?” she asked.

  “The good news is that Mootmu-na and Amey have” she showed seven fingers “living children. There is only”—she showed one finger—“other child born to Ermi and Shmyukuk. Each generation shrinks, and I have remained barren. And you?”

  “Of this latest generation, one pair has”—she showed four fingers—“and the other”—she showed three fingers. “We, too, shrink. I was a child of”—she showed ten fingers and then five. “If I remember right, you were a child of more than that. What is happening?”

  “I don’t know. I worry. So many children cannot be born because their heads won’t pass. To save the mothers, we’v
e had to pull them out and damage their heads so they don’t live. Two of Neamu-na’s daughters died when their babies wouldn’t pass. The girls were so young. It’s horrible. To lose mothers and babies is double loss.” Emaea looked sickened.

  “We’ve had the same problem with babies not being able to pass,” Totamu admitted. “Some others are born dead for no reason we can see. I worry about our long term survival.”

  Emaea nodded solemnly.

  Ki’ti and her sister, Minagle, saw to the dogs that were placed near the cave entrance. They unburdened, fed, and watered each dog. Unsure what to do, the dogs relieved themselves just outside the opening of the cave beyond where the People had walked. Later, the men would sweep a large area for the dogs. The girls wondered why they were the only ones with dogs.

  Ki’ti looked around. She noticed that Enut was sitting on her sleeping mat. She looked very tired, and she was sitting with her arms around her legs and her shoulders pulled far forward. Ki’ti walked over to her and said, “My aunt, are you well?”

  “I struggle to get a breath,” Enut answered honestly with no trace of self pity, almost too bland. Enut was not fully alert. Few thoughts crossed her mind. She was mesmerized by the sounds of her own breathing. She experienced neither fear nor sadness once she realized she was dying.

  Ki’ti walked over to Totamu. When Totamu recognized her, she said, “Izumo, Enut is struggling to breathe. Can you help her?”

  Totamu put her hand on Ki’ti’s shoulder. “I will go.”

  Ki’ti lowered her head. She watched Totamu go to Enut and take out the bag she wore around her neck. She saw her give Enut a leaf to chew. She took another leaf and broke off a piece of it. She put it into a gourd and carried it to the clay pot that held heating water. She spooned hot water into the gourd and took it to Enut. Ki’ti could hear her say, “Drink all of this and do it while it’s hot. It doesn’t taste good, but drink it anyway. I’m suffering with the same problem. These leaves help a lot.” Making eye contact, Totamu put her hand on the side of Enut’s face. She stared into her granddaughter’s eyes. Enut put her hand on the side of Totamu’s face. They spoke in silence with their eyes. Then Totamu returned to her work. Both women knew that Enut’s condition was grave. Totamu was irritated with herself for failing to recognize the severity of Enut’s condition during the trek, but even if she had, she admitted, she could have done little.