CRO-MAGNON (61 page)

“
Not yet,” she said, focusing on him but launching the stone at Hodr. Taken by surprise, the stocky youth staggered as it glanced off his forehead.

Mungo lunged at Gar, but the clansman, amazingly quick for a disabled man, evaded the bone point. Mungo, no slouch himself, recovered too quickly for Gar to close the gap. Leya saw her friend—much more than a friend, she realized, now that it was too late—slip his right arm out of the sling. The two men circled, Gar’s arm dangling, his big face clenched in pain.

Hodr advanced on Leya, and Fel charged. The hunter feinted left, thrusting his javelin and drawing a yelp. Fel rolled in the snow and came up hobbling, and Leya could see that the wolf’s right hind quarter had been pierced. She focused on Hodr’s youthful face.

“
This is not right, Hodr.”

“
You ruined the life of my
brator
, woman.” He puffed his bulky chest as if to assure himself. “You must pay.”

Leya could tell that his heart was not in this fight. But blood was strong, and she knew he would do his duty. Knowing that further talk was useless, she unleashed another rock. Hodr threw up his free arm and fended it, and Fel took the opportunity to leap upward and snap at his throat. Hodr, as skilled as Mungo with his javelin, twisted aside and jabbed one-handed, and Fel’s squeal mingled with an explosive grunt from Gar.

Leya glanced at him and saw that Mungo’s javelin had pierced his side and come out the back, tenting his fur tunic and what was left of his cloak. She saw him sag. Since Mungo was out of range, she bounced another rock off Hodr and backed away, drawing him farther from the downed Fel, now bleeding also from the ribcage.

They were beaten.

Well, she would go down fighting.

She threw again, missing as the now wary Hodr dodged. Fel staggered to his feet and savaged the hunter’s leg. Hodr speared him in the opposite flank and he collapsed. Leya threw another rock from closer in, bouncing it off Hodr’s temple. The sturdy hunter swayed, then poised his spear and trotted forward. Backing toward the cairn that sheltered Brann, Leya knew the end was near. With only one rock left, Fel down, and Hodr forewarned, she would not get another chance. Hodr came on, his javelin held low, square-jawed face expressionless.

A wordless cry rang out and Leya cast a glance at Gar, knowing that as soon as he went down they were finished.

But the wail had come from Mungo. Despite the shaft in his side, Gar had closed with the taller man and gripped his spear arm with his good hand. Leya had seen that even the women of the clan possessed immensely strong grips, and now she heard a crunch and saw Mungo let go of the spear, heard a popping as Gar twisted. Mungo screamed, and Gar shifted his grip to the man’s shoulder and butted him with his thick skull. Mungo’s head snapped back and Gar’s big front teeth clamped his throat. A wrench of his corded neck, and the windpipe tore free. Mungo flopped down, bright red blood spraying the snow.

Gar swung his big head and glared at Hodr, who had stopped to witness the performance. He lifted his tunic and grasped the javelin. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the shaft straight through in successive jerks until it popped free, the feathers at the butt scattering red drops in the snow.

Hodr stood gaping as the body of his
brator
twitched once and lay still, the fountain of blood ebbing to a trickle and then to nothing. Leya prepared to throw her last stone, but thought again. She stepped forward, careful to stay out of range of Hodr’s bloody javelin.

“
Your duty is done, Hodr. Go home.”

Hodr switched his gaze to her, then to Gar standing over Mungo’s body holding the javelin, then back. Animation returned to his eyes.

“
I’m sorry Mungo mistreated you,” he said.

“
I know you are, Hodr. Alys heard that you tried to counsel him before.”

“
It is so.” Hodr stared at the corpse of his
brator.
“And you are right. It is done.”

“
Will you tell my
mator
what happened?”

“
Yes.”

“
Tell her also that I found what I was looking for.”

“
What you were . . .”

“
Alys will know.”

Hodr held her gaze. “You could come back. I will raise no objection.” He gestured. “Perhaps you and I could . . .”

“
It’s good of you to offer, Hodr. But Sugn sees me as a threat. He has an excuse to expel me, and he will not relent.”

Hodr nodded at this truth. With a final glance at his dead
brator,
he turned away and started back down the trail.

“
We dropped the food bag when we spotted you,” he said, over his shoulder. “I’ll take what I need. I’ll leave Mungo’s sleeping-skin where he dropped it.”

“
Thank you, Hodr.”

For a few moments Leya watched the stalwart youth stalk away, knowing he might be the last of the People that she would ever see. Then she checked on Brann and turned to Fel. The wolf lay on his side, ribs heaving, blood congealing in the snow.

A muffled thud sounded, and she looked past Mungo’s body. Gar was also down, a red stain blossoming over the snow. She ran to him.

If he dies because of me . . .

#

Gar was still conscious, his broad lips skinned back over his bloody teeth. Kneeling, Leya pulled up his pierced tunic. Mungo’s spear had entered his left side just under the ribs, and Gar had pulled it through. The two wounds were bleeding, but not pulsing, though she could not know the internal damage.

“
Gar live,” the clansman said through clenched teeth. He touched her arm. “Help Fel. Not let die.”

When Leya frowned, he said, “Bind wound later, pack snow.” His free hand gestured. “Fel get more wounds.”

“
You could bleed to death.”

“
Gar hurt many time.” He nodded at his side. “Not die from this.”

When she lifted the wolf’s flank to inspect his three wounds, Leya found they were less vital than Gar’s, but bleeding worse.

All she could do for either combatant was pack the wounds with snow and bind them with the remainder of her chamois undergarment. Taking her chert kitchen knife, she set to work.

When she was finished, she made Brann comfortable with Gar and started back down the trail. By the time she returned with the food bag and sleeping fur that Hodr had left, both man and wolf had stopped bleeding, at least externally. Fel raised his head to lick her fingers. He seemed to be resting satisfactorily, so she went back to Gar.

“
Help Gar up,” he said.

“
Your arm is bent. I need to re-splint it with Mungo’s javelin.”

Gar shook his head. “Need javelin. Big cats.”

“
Then I need to straighten the arm and splint it again with your broken spear.”

He shrugged his left shoulder. “Do.”

“
We have no willow bark or honey-water. It will hurt.”

He grinned. “Hurt now.”

Leya set to work. Stories among her people held that Flatheads were unbelievably tough, and her experiences in their camp had not contradicted that. Now Gar proved it beyond doubt, lying motionless while she straightened and bound his broken arm, though sweat coursed down his broad face. He even related what had happened and how Fel had saved him, pantomiming with his free hand to clarify the clan word for “avalanche.” Since they would be communicating daily from here on, she told him the People’s word.

A short while later, incredibly, he was on his feet.

“
Not stay here,” he signed. “Night cold.”

Leya glanced around the barren pass, and beyond at the snow-covered hills. “Where, then?”

“
Next valley. Overhang. Junipers.”

“
Fel can’t walk until both haunches heal.”

“
Gar too weak to carry. You do. Gar take Brann and other.” He gestured at the food bag and sleeping-skin, then held out his hand. “Knife.”

Leya handed it to him. Food was something that worried her. They would have to rest for several days while Gar’s and Fel’s wounds healed sufficiently to travel, but Mungo’s and Hodr’s food bag was more than half depleted.

She watched Gar limp toward the dead tribesman. Crouching by the body, he stripped it bare and then kept working, and Leya saw that garments were not all he was taking. Apparently, the cannibal stories were not completely made-up.

She sighed. Considering the situation, she supposed that tonight she would become one also, unless Gar intended the meat for Fel.

She knew that most women of the People would not attempt to carry the wolf—who now weighed three-out-of-four as much as she did—while already bone-tired. But once Gar one-handedly hoisted the semiconscious Fel across her shoulders, his matter-of-fact assumption that she was up to the task proved accurate.

That night, huddled with him on a mat of aromatic juniper brush under Mungo’s sleeping-skin, with Brann snug against her ribs and Fel crowding her legs, she felt a contentment that had eluded her ever since she had reached the age of bleeding. She gazed through lacy boughs at pale stars in a black sky and wondered how she could feel so secure when the future was so problematical. She couldn’t go back to her own people because of Sugn’s self-centered opposition, and she couldn’t live with Gar’s clan because of her Shortface blood and the chagrined Caw’s hatred.

And even if she could somehow manage, she had seen that Brann, of two bloods, would always be a pariah.

And that just wasn’t good enough.

Careful not to lean against Gar’s re-splinted arm, she tossed a juniper branch onto the banked fire, which she had started with Mungo’s flint-and-fer kit. Fel and Brann were asleep, but she saw that Gar had roused from the deep slumber he had fallen into as soon as he lay down.

She reared up and checked his wound. “What will we do, Gar?”

“
Clan.”

“
But Caw will be jealous of us.”

“
Bor let stay while Gar get better. Then see about Leya.”

Leya felt a twitch of annoyance. Apparently, he had failed to catch the
we
and
us
in her last two utterances. She would have to make it plainer.

“
Where might we go to live?”

“
We?”

“
Gar and Leya.”

Gar’s leonine head lifted. The flickering yellow light made his eyes hard to read, but she thought he looked puzzled. Did he still not understand?

“
You would have Gar?” he said.

Finally!

“
Of course.”

He still looked perplexed. “But I Flathead. Shortfaces think Flatheads animals. Gar see in faces.”

“
You’re not a ‘Flathead.
’
” She searched his pale eyes. “And I’m not a ‘Shortface.’ You’re Gar, I’m Leya.”

She watched him consider, saw a slow smile light his big face as the implication sank in.

“
Go clan,” he said. “Get better. Find place.”

She snuggled, careful not to press his arm. “All right.”

“
Need talk Caw.”

Oh-oh.
“Why?”

“
Gar use trail before in winter. No avalanche.”

“
You’re suspicious?”

He turned up his good hand. “Need talk.”

“
I don’t want you to.”

“
Why?”

“
It would disrupt the camp over something I started.”

“
Not your fault.”

“
If there’s a fight, you could be killed. Where would that leave me?”

“
Gar handle Caw,” he signed.

“
I know. But not with a broken arm.”

“
Puk help.”

“
That’s my point, Gar. It would draw Puk, and probably Wim and the others, into a controversy that could break up the clan.”

“
Clan take care of clan.”

“
I don’t think so. They’re already on the edge. I don’t want them to fall short over something that started with me.”

Gar hesitated, his lower lip protruding. “Need talk Caw.”

“
Do you want Caw or me?”

This time there was no hesitation. “You.”

“
It’s settled, then? We visit while you and Fel heal, and we don’t cause trouble?”

Gar brooded for a moment, then nodded.
“Ay.”

“
Good.” She took his free arm. “So what do we do when you recover? Where do we live?”

“
Bor and others talk where go if no more game.” He lay still, facing the starry sky.

“
And?”

“
Not west or south,” he said. “Your people too many. Not bush tundra. Too hard in winter.”

“
Where, then?” she said.

She felt his big hips shift to ease his broken arm, sensed Fel repositioning himself. “Bor talk about mountains to east. No clan. No tribe.”

“
Could people survive there?”