Climate of Change (13 page)

Harbinger had worked well, despite his disbelief in the project, and so had both girls. The two men had worked together much of the time, and the two women, to avoid the complications of mixed genders. But when they finished, not long before dawn, Crenelle fell in beside him. “If it works, will you marry me?”

He couldn't answer that.

“There are other men who might find me worth raping,” she persisted.

“If you desired one of them, you would have made him do it already.”

“You're too smart. Which is why I want you.”

“Hero isn't known for being smart.”

“Hero is strong. That's good too.”

It was a valid point. “If you had been willing to marry him without rape, you would have had a child by him by now. If you are willing to marry me without rape, it will be the same.”

“I could have had a child by you already.”

That made him curious. “How did you prevent it?”

“I can tell when a baby is ready to be made. I avoided it, with you.”

“How?”

“Do you remember when we played the game of mouths and tongues?”

Craft was amazed. “To keep my seed out of you! I thought it was just for variety, to keep me entertained. I never realized.”

“There was no need for you to know. Rebel surely knows too.”

He glanced across at his sister. “Do you?”

“No,” Rebel said shortly. That was odd; usually she had provocative opinions on everything.

The dialogue lapsed. They reached the house, but were too tired to sleep immediately. Rain started, nicely timed, but its noise outside was distracting. So Harbinger and Crenelle brought out their instruments
and made music. Harbinger beat his drum and sang, and Crenelle played her flute.

“Oh, my,” Rebel murmured. “It's beautiful. How can I hate them now?”

“Why should you hate them at all?”

“Because of what he did to our sister, and what she will do to you.”

“I want to marry her!”

“She will squeeze you dry, you fool.”

He shifted the subject. “Harbinger's not a bad man. Haven loved him. But when the baby was cursed, she couldn't stay.”

“The child of rape. Of course the spirits punished it.” Then, oddly, she joined in the singing. Craft hardly understood his wild sister.

As dawn came, they sank into sleep. This time Crenelle did not torment him; apparently she was too tired to spare the energy.

By midday the horses were in the pasture, having passed the baffles. A storm was building up. This was ideal. They gathered all their spears and walked quietly down, staying out of sight of the herd. They crossed the river, which was rocky at this stage, and paused.

The herd was grazing to their north. Several horses were gazing alertly toward the intruders, well aware of their presence. But horses knew which predators could run fast enough to be dangerous and which could not, and their spooking range varied accordingly.

The storm had continued to build during their descent, turning the sky dark. The horses became skittish, not liking it. They milled about, uncertain whether to cut short their grazing.

“Now!” Craft cried.

The four of them spread out, each of them yelling and waving a spear in each hand. The nervous herd spooked immediately. In a moment it was in full flight north. They followed, losing ground but continuing the noise.

The animals came to the baffles and avoided them. Most passed left, the way they had come, but a few were unable to crowd in and had to pass right. This led them to an alternate trail that went to the canyon. Before they realized, they were in it, and the rest of the herd was pounding away in the distance.

The four humans ran up to the baffles, remaining spread out, blocking off the channel. Now they no longer yelled; the trap had been sprung. The horses had only one way out: past the people.

They continued to advance. Four horses were in the canyon, milling frantically. Fine fat animals. “All we need is one,” Craft said. “We need to be sure of that one.”

“The first one that comes within range,” Harbinger said. They moved slowly on in, Harbinger and Craft leading, the two girls close behind.

Suddenly one horse made a break for it. The animal charged toward them, while the other three paced uncertainly. But it lost its nerve, and skidded to a halt, turning back.

Harbinger threw his spear. It was a long, hard shot, but a good one; the spear struck the animal in the flank. It squealed and bolted, dragging the spear.

The three others were spooked by their companion charging toward them. They galloped outward, directly toward the people. “Let them go!” Harbinger cried.

They stood as the horses passed on either side, almost close enough to touch. Then they closed on the wounded one. Rebel ran up to give Harbinger one of her spears.

The animal tried to run past them, but both Harbinger and Craft hurled their spears at point-blank range. Both struck the horse in the chest. It squealed again and stumbled, trying to turn away. Blood came out, but the animal was still afoot, now dragging three spears.

They followed it, herding it back into the dead-end chasm. Suddenly it whirled and lurched, directly at them, making them scramble out of the way lest they be trampled. Neither man was in position to use his second spear.

But Rebel thrust hers as the horse passed, wedging it just behind the foreleg. It squealed again and plowed into the ground.

The men recovered and ran up to finish it. But there was no need; the animal was already dying. Rebel's thrust had mortally wounded it.

Harbinger turned to her, amazed. “You
do
know how to use a weapon!”

“Somebody had to,” she retorted. But she was clearly pleased, both by her success and the compliment.

They set to work butchering the creature. They used their stone knives to cut and hack off the legs, which had good meat that could be readily carried. Then they carved off as much of the surface meat as was feasible. There was really too much of the horse for them to take completely; they would leave the carcass for scavengers. It had been a successful hunt.

“You were right,” Harbinger said, excited by their victory. “They went by without knocking down the wall, just as you said. Then they couldn't escape us. We can hunt this way, now, and always get a horse.”

“When they return,” Craft agreed, quite pleased by the success of his ploy. “But they may not return soon.”

“They will return. It's good grazing here by the river.” Then he glanced speculatively at Craft. “You threw fast and well. You are no novice with a spear.”

Craft shrugged. It was not a side of his nature he cared to show, ordinarily. It was necessary to fully understand the use of a weapon in order to make it well, so he practiced carefully, and was competent. He liked fathoming the ways of tools and weapons, and wished he could spend more time studying them. But he was no warrior. He lacked both the muscle and the spirit.

Well satisfied, they hauled their meat up to the house. Then they took down the baffles, so as to save their elements for future use.

When Rebel worked beside Craft, she commented on another aspect. “You did well, inventing the baffles. It's too bad you can't spend your whole time inventing things.”

“Yes. But there are so many other things to do.”

“If I could go out and hunt all the time, I'd be glad to let you stay home and make things.”

He sighed. “But you can't. And I can't. We both have other tasks. Everyone does.”

“Everyone does,” she agreed. But she seemed thoughtful.

Dusk came before they were done. Crenelle and Rebel put some of the new meat into the pot, and in due course served up good portions.
They all ate well, and then sang well, and retired for the night. The two women slept in the center, but this time Rebel was beside Harbinger rather than Craft.

However, they were all worn out, and sleeping was all they did.

In the morning the two women were up first. Craft heard them talking as they set more meat on the fire to roast. They seemed to be quite compatible now. “It's time to decide,” Rebel said.

“Yes.”

“You know he'll never commit if you don't force the issue. Men don't.”

“I know. But what will you do, if I take him?”

Rebel shrugged. “I haven't decided.”

“You don't hate my brother anymore.”

“He does intrigue me. But if Craft doesn't stay, neither will I.”

“So you won't be my enemy, either way.”

“That held you back?”

Now Crenelle shrugged. “It holds him back. Maybe now he'll commit.”

“Maybe. But I think some concession will be required. Nobody in our family likes rape, especially considering the way it angers the spirits.”

“Maybe I can compromise.”

Their dialogue lapsed. Craft suspected that they had meant him to overhear. It was true: He had returned to marry Crenelle, but there had been constraints. He didn't like the rape aspect, or Rebel's antagonism to Harbinger. But there was more: He wasn't sure he liked this northern life. He had had a winter of pleasure with Crenelle, but he would much rather have that pleasure in a warm climate. He knew she liked this territory, and now that he had worked out a way for them to hunt the horses on the plains, she would want to go on north, following the herds. That would mean more cold winters.

Harbinger stirred, so Craft stirred too. They got up to join the women.

They ate. Then Crenelle made her move. “Craft, it is time for us to decide. Are you going to marry me?”

“I want to. But—”

“Harbinger and I will go north, following the horses. Come with us, and I'll let you take me without rape.” She smiled, somewhat sadly. “That's more than I did for your brother.”

This was awful. She was conceding a key point—and he still wasn't sure. “I don't think I want to go north. I want to take you south, into warmer lands.”

“Then you will have to take me by force. I will fight you.” She paused. “But after the first time, I will do whatever you say. I will go south with you.”

“And what of your brother?”

“My sister and I stay together,” Harbinger said. “If she goes south, so do I.”

Rebel looked at him, but didn't comment.

Crenelle returned to Craft. “So which is it to be?”

The moment of decision was upon him, but he had no idea what to do. He couldn't rape her, even though he knew she wanted it, but neither did he want to commit to life in the cold north. So his choice was really between marrying her and going north, or going south without her. Neither prospect appealed.

Climate, it seemed, was his destiny. He needed a compromise, but did not see one.

Mankind spread across Asia, but was more thinly spread in Siberia. The earliest evidence dates to circa 67,000 years before the present. As elsewhere, he hunted the large game animals, horses included. Yes, today we think of horses as steeds and pets, but before that they were prey.
Erectus
seems to have been on the way out, probably outcompeted for resources and marginalized until he was gone.
Erectus,
like his cousin Neandertal, was well suited to endure, but he had a limitation that was to prove critical.

Mankind moved across southern Asia, crossing India and Indochina and coming up against the Pacific Ocean. The ice age lowered the sea level, making what we call land bridges in several parts of the world, but in human times there was always a gap between Asia and Australia. However, at times Sumatra/Java/Borneo and the Philippines were connected to Indochina, and evidences of mankind there date back as far as 50,000 years ago. That is the time of this setting. The place is by the shore of the Sulu Sea, which today separates the Philippine Islands from Borneo, but at that time was a great inland sea some four hundred miles across. Climate does, to a fair extent, determine the outlines of the land; when it changes, the land changes.