Death in the Time of Ice (6 page)

Not this few,
shot back Panan. Cabat leaned back, eyeing Panan. Jeek couldn’t help but detect the undertone of rancor in the exchange. The air that prickled between them made him squirm.

His mind wandered off again, picturing himself lugging home a huge carcass, enough to feed the tribe until the next Warm Season came.

Kung’s sharp scoffing pierced his daydream.
Ha. If anyone can save the tribe, it will be someone bigger and stronger than you, little skinny one. Someone like me.

Jeek sensed the minds of Kung’s two adolescent companions tumbling along with that of Kung. All three funneled in on Jeek so the others could not overhear.

Jeek lowered his head. He needed to guard his thoughts better. More dark colors.

Nanno Green Eyes stood and thought-spoke.
It is time for a decision about our food problem.

But we cannot decide without Hama,
countered Panan One Eye. He swiveled toward Jeek.
You must go and fetch her.

The young boy jumped to his feet.
He
would fetch Hama? Jeek couldn’t keep a tiny grin from his lips. He strutted with exaggerated importance past Kung and his gang on his way to her wipiti. He, Jeek, had been chosen to fetch Hama. Not Kung, but Jeek.

* * *

Enga Dancing Flower, fighting her tiredness, watched Jeek leave the circle and head toward the large, set-apart wipiti. But something was not right. A chill swirled through her mind. Wide awake now, Enga sat up straight. Hama would not have missed the intense disturbance caused by the wounds of Ung Strong Arm, or the deep sorrow over the death of Kokat No Ear. No matter how involved Hama became in her narrow, private thoughts, she could not have ignored the profound, widespread emotion of the tribe that night. Especially that of her own birth sister, Nanno Green Eyes, on the death of her mate.

Enga contemplated those around her and tried to read their minds. But whenever she was weary she had trouble receiving the feelings of the Hamapa. Thought waves came faintly to her. As near as she could tell, most were uneasy, like her, without understanding why. If Ung were here she would take action, for she always knew what to do. No one moved. Except Jeek. He drew nearer the wipiti of Hama.

Enga made a decision. She jumped up and hurried across the Paved Place after Jeek, sending him a message to halt. He hesitated. When he turned toward her she transmitted her fear with a subtle, narrowed thought. She felt him understand her concern immediately. A quick thinker, she thought. He must have perceived the unease of the tribe, too. He chewed on a hank of his hair and gave Enga a worried look.

Hama is old, twice twenty. We all know she will die someday
, he thought-spoke.

But, Enga somehow knew, the situation was worse than what Jeek feared.

Chapter 5

A rush of intuition, of dread, and of bravery overcame Enga Dancing Flower.

Hang back. I will look in on Hama myself. You stay where you are.

Well before she reached the entrance to Hama’s wipiti, a familiar odor drifted out to Enga. The odor of death.

She snatched the tent flap and threw it to the side. A soft sound escaped from Enga and her knees weakened, but held her up.

It was cold. The interior fire had gone out but light from the central fire at the gathering leaked into the dwelling through the open doorway.

She took a step inside. Brother Earth seemed to tilt beneath her feet. The edges of her vision turned gray and she swayed. Then she caught herself on the mammoth rib that supported the wall and sucked her feelings inside.

Something terrible had happened here. Something that went contrary to the order of things. Something that threatened to overwhelm Enga. She must keep herself in control. She must act as Ung Strong Arm would act. Calm, calm.

She shut down her outgoing thoughts, summoned up the very darkest colors she could, moonless night colors, keeping her horror from radiating to the group outside until she could get her ideas in order.

Red spilled from Hama’s body. It glistened bright and shiny next to Hama, but had dried to brown, the color of old leaves, at the edge of a large puddle. Enga stepped around the blood, hoping against her fears that Hama was alive. The little red hairs on her arms lifted and her scalp prickled with fear.

Must not touch the sacred Red of Most High Hama. Only Zhoo of Still Waters, the Healer, can touch this Red. Must see why the Red pours. Must see if there is any life left in her.

Enga knelt beside the bearskin. Hama lay on her side with her face away. Enga gripped the grizzled head and turned it a little. The eyes were closed. It looked as if Hama were asleep.

Her thoughts are usually kept private, unless she is announcing something to the tribe.
She had the ability to cloak her contemplations in darkest midnight black. Blacker than Enga would ever be able to.
But she was attacked—someone should have noticed that. Could even Hama keep such distress to herself?
Squinting in the dim light, Enga saw it. Now she understood why no dying emotions had gone out.

A caribou antler prong stuck out of her back.

Her hands froze in midair, hovering over the body. Hama must have been stabbed, killed so suddenly she had no time to form a single inkling. Stabbed with this sharp antler. Stabbed from behind.

Enga shook herself and gripped Hama’s shoulders and turned her more. The lifeless body flipped over as much as it could against the antler. Enga drew in air and blinked back the beginnings of tears. Hama’s stained moose-fur tunic gaped open in the front. The antler buttons that had been a gift from the New One, and which he himself had fastened to the tunic, were not in place. They lay scattered on the dirt floor around her sleeping skin. Holes in her tunic gaped where the buttons had been torn out.

Enga swallowed with a dry mouth.

I have lost my beloved Hama. She who was the birth mother of Tog Flint Shaper, she who was the leader of the tribe, she who was beloved by me because she raised me. I love her so.

But what had happened to her? Could she have fallen on the antler? Or did someone stab her?

The vision of Hama standing with the two males in her life, her first mate, Panan One Eye, and her present mate, Cabat the Thick, popped into her head.

The Elders saw the hunting party off, as usual, but they stood out of order. Usually Hama stood next to her mate, Cabat the Thick. Last time, her former mate, Panan One Eye, stood next to her.

Enga remembered wondering what was happening among them, wondering if Hama was changed mates. But then she had needed to concentrate on the hunt. That was the last time she had seen Hama alive.

The vision faded and Enga returned to the sight before her.
Too much Red has spilled. First Ung Strong Arm, then Kokat No Ear. And now Hama.

Just to make certain, Enga reached down and lightly touched her. Hama’s chest did not move. No breath came or went. Her gray-streaked braid spilled into the puddle of Red and stuck there.

Enga fought back the tears that wanted to spring forth while she poked her head out the doorway, motioned for Jeek to stay where he was. With difficulty, because they were so overwhelming, she shielded her dire speculations from him. She balled her fists and kept a mental grip on midnight hues to contain her thoughts. Sannum Straight Hair had risen and was slowly headed this way. She ducked back in to think. She wanted to figure out what gone on and she did not have much time. Was it possible Hama had fallen hard enough onto the antler to kill herself? No, Enga thought. She could not picture that.

A tear finally seeped from the inside corner of one eye. It trickled down beside her nose. Enga reeled while time once again seemed to whirl around her. She took a step. Stumbled, her foot caught on something. She bent to examine it and saw a figure carved from wood, like the one the New One had given her, except it was not a mammoth.

It lay half buried in the hard-packed dirt floor. Enga stooped and dug it out.

What a marvel,
she thought, with an intake of breath.
It is even more beautiful than my mammoth. This has to be the work of the New One.

The New One had carved a figure of Hama, her ample curves, the strong bones of her face, her large, wide-set eyes, her loose, flowing hair, even the woven bracelets at her wrists. The carving held dirt in some of the crevices but Enga could not take time to clean it now. She set it where she had found it. Others would have to decide what should be done with it.

There was no more Hama. How could that be? Hama had been like a birth mother to Enga. Her love for Hama flowed down her face with her tears. Then another idea sprouted inside her.

If someone had killed Hama, who was it? And now, where was that killer?

* * *

After Enga Dancing Flower emerged from the wipiti she stood for a moment, gathering herself. Then she used the brightest colors she could summon, the flare of the gaudiest bedding of Sister Sun, to broadcast her message.

Brothers and sisters, our Hama lives no more. Her life has left her.

Enga then sent a mental picture of the leader lying next to a drying pool of Red. She had a faint reply from Ung, but couldn’t tell exactly what she was conveying.

Sannum Straight Hair arrived first and put a welcome arm around Enga’s shoulder. She leaned into his warmth and rested her head on his chest, still feeling disoriented and shaky.

The rest of the tribe rose and gathered outside the dwelling. Some of the females peeked inside the tent to see for themselves, but most let Enga’s mental image suffice.

The birth sister of Hama, Nanno Green Eyes, entered the dwelling and spent some moments inside, alone. When she climbed out, she brushed teardrops from her face. Her hand left a dirty streak on her cheek. Nanno took a few shaky steps before some of her tribal sisters rushed over and helped her to sit by the fire. She stared straight ahead, her light green eyes wild-looking. As much as Enga disliked Nanno, she could not help but share the pain of her two losses so close together.

Enga felt compelled to send Nanno a thought.
I know you are feeling pain. I share it with you, Nanno Green Eyes.
Her answer was a narrowed look with those green eyes, but no return thought-speak.

Panan One Eye, the Storyteller, went in after Nanno, but only stayed a short while.

Cabat the Thick, the Most High Male, arrived with the last of the clan. Even though he was the most recent mate of the slain leader, as well as her second in command, he did not live in this place. Some males lived with their mates. But Cabat, like several other males, single and mated, stayed in the wipiti of the males. He had joined Hama at her place when she summoned him to couple. His steps, always heavy because of his weight, were now also slowed with sadness, Enga thought.

While Cabat was inside, Panan walked around to inspect the outside of the wipiti. He studied the ground and squatted twice, tilting his head to peer at the dirt with his good eye.

A very private thought leapt into the mind of Enga.
Hama’s garment has been ripped open. Could her mate, Cabat the Thick, do something like this? In anger? Or a former mate?Panan One Eye?
She could not envision such a thing. She suppressed these speculations and saved them for another time.

Enga squatted with Sannum outside the wipiti and watched her bereft tribe congregate in the darkness. Zhoo of Still Waters, the Healer, stayed with Ung Strong Arm, but the rest of the clan shuffled about or squatted, wiping tears with the backs of their hands. Enga felt unable to move. The two remaining Elders had once again put on their mourning cloaks of black bearskin.

Cabat the Thick emerged from the wipiti and looked around at the group, then came over to Enga and reached for her arm to help her up.
You did a good job, announcing the death of our leader. That was not an easy task.

Enga nodded to him. He and Sannum led her over to the gathering place. She sat beside the fire, burning low now. Soon they all squatted together and joined their voices to raise a keening lament to the heavens, to whatever Spirits would listen.

Panan sent a message to the hunters who were away.
Our leader, our Hama, has been slain. We sit in sorrow.
Enga, along with the rest of the Hamapa, received the vibrations of the sorrow from the hunters, mingled with that of the village.

Under the stream of sorrow, though, Enga could feel an undercurrent of disbelief, quickly turning to anger. Or was that fear? It grew in strength; it must have come from more than one of them.

Several of the males bore the body out with great care and laid it on Hama’s sleeping fur next to the central fire, where the whole tribe could gaze upon their fallen leader. Some rose and stroked her cold, unresponsive skin.

Enga longed for Ung to be conscious enough for her to exchange private thoughts with, although she did not know what those thoughts would be. Her mind was numb.

Lakala Rippling Water, the Singer, started a Song of Mourning above the wailing. Young Akkal, the Fire Tender, scooped up ashes and handed them out so the tribe could reblacken their faces with sorrow. As they had just mourned Kokat, most faces still bore ashen traces.

Since Akkal was a birth son of the dead Hama, by the seed of Cabat the Thick, Enga admired the way he handled himself in his grief. His young, smooth hands shook, but he performed his job. Then he sat and wailed, joining in the chorus of sorrow. Even Kung, not a favorite of Hama, looked saddened, his eyebrows knitted together, his usual surly expression deflated. Her death must come as a serious blow even to him.