Death in the Time of Ice (9 page)

—In Search of the Neanderthals
, Christopher Stringer and Clive Gamble, p. 183

Not long after new sun, Jeek awoke. He rubbed his eyes and rolled onto one elbow. The light of Sister Sun, streaming in through the open flap of the mammoth-skin doorway, showed him that his birth mother was not in the wipiti.

Mama
, Jeek sent forth, trying to locate her. A moment of small panic washed through his pounding chest.

Fee Long Thrower is having her baby
, came the answer from Zhoo of Still Waters, from a distance. The baby was being born. Jeek’s breathing eased.

He saw, through his mother, that she and several others were assisting Fee in the Holy Cave, where the new mother and child would stay for a few days after the birth.

Ung Strong Arm is now in her own wipiti
, Zhoo added.

He sat up. Sure enough, Ung was not there. He was alone. Jeek grinned and lay back on his warm bearskin. A new baby was a happy time for the Hamapa. They would hold a celebration, with dancing and singing. He visualized the festivity: laughing, lightness, dancing, feasting. But then a somber notion. The Hamapa did not have enough food for such a feast. Now they needed a successful hunt more than ever.

Four males had left on a trading mission very early, before first sun. Jeek had sleepily bade his birth brother, Teek Pathfinder, a good mission. Teek, Tog Flint Shaper, Bahg Swiftfeet, and Donik Tree Trunk had left with a supply of flint knives to trade for food with the Cuva. Jeek had joined the collective supplication of the tribe to the Spirits of Travel and Trade on behalf of the Hamapa males in hopes they would return with food to keep the tribe alive during the Dark Season. Then Jeek had gone back to sleep.

As soon as Jeek’s mother sent permission for him to come, he pulled on his moose-skin cape, left the shelter of the wipiti, and dashed across the Paved Place and up the hill to the Holy Cave. On his way he ran a hand through his tangled brown, sun-streaked hair. This day his mother had not been there to comb it. Maybe he should try to groom himself later.

When Jeek reached the top of the hill he shivered in his fur wrap at the cave entrance, unable to see Fee or the baby. Warm air poured out, with so many Hamapa crowded together inside, admiring the infant. There were wide grins at the tiny puckered face and the first smackings as the baby nursed. Jeek crawled through the legs of his tribe to see better.

The cave, which housed their permanent fire, blazed with warmth. The beautiful walls welcomed him with red ochre streaks, painted by former Hamapa brothers and sisters. The cave, big enough to hold the whole tribe, was over half filled. The guests of honor, Fee and her newborn, reposed on a thick pile of fur skins near the warm fire.

Jeek squatted for some time, watching amusing expressions flit across the face of the little one. Every time the baby made a tiny bleating noise, the females answered him with soothing ah-ah-ahs and smiles. Tribe brothers and sisters came and went while Jeek drowsed in the cozy cave, his back settled against a smooth spot on the wall.

Jeek came to when the cave fell silent. He looked at the entrance, where the New One stood, his pale face averted. When the New One looked up quickly and stole a glance at the mother and child, the color of his eyes gave Jeek a shock. They were flower-colored, or maybe the color of clouds, tinged with the rosy light of Sister Sun just after she had gone to rest. He didn’t remember seeing the color of those eyes before, since the New One kept them half-shut most of the time.

The New One looked down and took a step inside. He held out a small fur object and Zhoo accepted it.
Your gift is appreciated.
After he had limped out, she unfolded and held up a wrap for the newest Hamapa.

The silence broke as the females admired the wrap, then resumed making soft bird sounds that the baby ignored in favor of his mother’s breast.

Wetness gleamed on the cheeks of Roh Lion Hunter, who stood at the rear of the cave. Jeek could sense her pain. It had not been long since she had lost her last baby. It had died on the day of its birth. Her daughter Gunda, ten summers old, leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder to soothe her. Jeek grew uncomfortable in the presence of such strong emotions and started pulling at his hair.

Jeek also was not as fascinated with the wrap as the grownups. And now that the child was being fed instead of making those entertaining grimaces, Jeek grew bored watching him suckle and crept out of the cave. Fee would return to her home in a few days. Until then, Zhoo would be tending her much of the time and, with his brother Teek Pathfinder on the trading mission, Jeek would mostly be on his own.

Hunger was starting to cause him pain. He ate at every meal, but there was little to go around, and he did not eat much. Maybe he could figure out how to trap some game while he was spending time alone. The new mother must have enough food, he knew, or the baby would suffer.

He walked down the hill with his head lowered, his hair falling forward into his face, thinking about the baby growing, becoming older, and about the Naming Ceremony that would be held when the child had passed the number of full moons of all fingers and all toes, twenty full moons. This rite of passage included gaining a short name, something to call him. Usually the mother picked it. Jeek grabbed a wisp of hair and chewed it. What would be the future of this tiny boy?

A jarring wave of hatred interrupted these musings just before Jeek reached the edge of the village. He turned, facing toward the bad thoughts, toward the woods.

Ugly little creature. What should a person expect when Bahg Swiftfeet is the seed giver?

At first Jeek could not tell whose thoughts these were. They seemed to be private thoughts that had escaped unintentionally, and the source was not clear.

If I had given Fee Long Thrower the seed, the baby would be beautiful. How can she take seed from Bahg Swiftfeet, with his ugly long legs? Mine are so much sturdier and thicker. How can she couple with him?

Jeek stood very still for a moment, then slunk toward the spruce trees at the edge of the Paved Place. He crouched behind a large clump of sedge.

I want Fee Long Thrower. I want her for myself. Bahg Swiftfeet already has much that is good in his life. I do not. He has a quick mind and all the Hamapa like him. I do not have a quick mind and do not receive the high regard he does.

The speaker was one of Kung’s companions, Doon. Jeek knew Doon, as he knew all the members of his tribe. Doon was not given the ability to think like other Hamapa. They realized, shortly after his birth, that he would have to be cared for by everyone. His birth mother did not live through his birth and his seed giver was unknown. He was called Doon because “doondoon” was the Hamapa term for a person who is not able to know many things.

Doon followed Kung like a small child. He had a body small for his age, but he acted even younger than he was. His head was misshapen, flat where it should be round in the back. Hama had let it be known that she did not think Kung a good leader for Doon. But Doon had no other companions.

Jeek had never before heard such things expressed by Doon. He knew Doon considered Fee Long Thrower beautiful. All the Hamapa did. But Fee had coupled with Bahg Swiftfeet. No Hamapa would come between them, unless Fee and Bahg made it known they did not desire to couple any more. That was the way of the tribe. Jeek did not understand the evil that came from Doon. They were not normal thoughts. They made Jeek’s insides feel cold and dark.

* * *

The Hamapa males on the trading mission made their way through the familiar forest, along the path that led to the nearest tribe, the Cuva. To Bahg Swiftfeet, it did not seem that this tribe had as much ability to speak as the Hamapa had, but that may have been because their oral sounds were slightly different. They made a warning sound like that of a dove, “Cu, cu.” So the Hamapa called them the Cuva, or Cu Speakers.

Bahg assumed that the Cuva sent their thoughts to each other as easily as the Hamapa, regardless of darkness or distance, but he had some slight difficulty trading ideas with them.

Bahg’s traveling clothes, and those of his companions, were loin cloths and warm fur capes, shaped in circles with holes cut out for their heads. The skins tied around their feet made no noise in the woods, but the birds still sensed their approach and cried out. The pouches slung over their shoulders were light now, holding only dried provisions for their trip and the flint knives for trading. Bahg hoped they would be heavy with meat when they returned.

The baby had been born early enough that Bahg saw him before the group left on their trading mission. It had been hard to leave his mate and new baby for this trip, but he knew it must be done for the good of the tribe.

Along the familiar path, Bahg sighted several new stands of tree fern plants. He signaled his find to Tog Flint Shaper

Tog answered him,
I do not want us to stop now.

I will take note of the location
, thought-spoke Bahg.
We can return to them later, but before they get big and tough.

Sometimes his tribe chewed the pith of the ferns for food, but they could use only new, tender shoots. Since the mature tree ferns were many, many times the height of a Hamapa, and tough, too, they had to get at them early.

The Cuva tribe lived not far in the direction of the rising sun, less than a half day, but the two tribes did not meet often. The Hamapa usually hunted in the direction of the setting sun and the Cuva toward the rising sun. Cuva hunted forest creatures and Hamapa hunted prairie animals. That way there had always been game enough for both tribes. Bahg fervently hoped game was still abundant for the Cuva.

Well before high sun, Bahg Swiftfeet knew they should be hearing the warning sounds, “Cu, cu, cu, cu.” When the Cuva heard and smelled their approach, they called out to make sure the Hamapa knew they were detected.

Bahg walked ahead of the others. It was easy with his oddly long legs, and this day he preferred to walk apart and focus on his mate, Fee, and their new baby. She had been sending him visions of the little one all morning. Bahg and Fee argued back and forth in their thought-pictures about who he looked like.

Those short, fat legs will grow to be long and swift like mine
, thought-spoke Bahg to his mate.

Look at his chubby fingers. I am sure they will be long and graceful, like mine.

I look forward to the reappearance of your narrower waist
, he teased. He daydreamed about what Fee would look like when she recovered from carrying the baby inside.

Tog Flint Shaper called Bahg back from his reverie. Bahg flinched at the sharp intrusion.
We have almost reached the edge of the village.There has been no sign from the Cuva.

The little band of traders crept to the edge of the Cuva village with caution, apprehension pounding in their chests.

The Cuva had no Paved Place, but, instead, they had positioned large, flat sitting stones on the bare ground around the fire pit. Their dwellings, made of skin with rocks piled around the outside, much like the Hamapa dwellings, ringed this gathering place. The spines of the dwellings, though, were made of wooden tree trunks instead of mammoth tusks.

No Cuva ran to greet them. Bahg, every sense on alert, followed the others into the village.

One lone male one stood, swaying, on the dirt in the middle of their ring of tents. Bahg Swiftfeet stared at the Cuva, one who was called Goe. The last time Bahg had seen Goe he had been robust, with a thick chest, his hair plaited in one large braid and dressed in a deer wrap in the Cuva way. For a moment Bahg could not move forward. This did not look like the Goe he had seen before.

Goe’s large, shaggy head shook, his shoulders slumped, and he was dressed only in a drooping loin cloth against the cool weather. His knotted hair had not been braided for a long time. The bones of his midsection stood out on his bare chest. He appeared too weak to be standing. Bahg did not want to go near him. Maybe he was diseased or carrying bad vapors. Tog Flint Shaper led and the group approached Goe slowly.

Tog thought-spoke for them.
Where are the others? What has happened here?

The Cuva shook his head and started to keel over. Bahg Swiftfeet ran to him and caught him.

Sit, Goe,
said Tog.
We will hear your story.

Bahg lowered him onto a stone, handling him carefully. Goe felt like a fragile bird, not like an adult male. The rest of the traders took seats nearby. Bahg looked around and now noticed that the dwellings he could see into were empty. The door flaps of most of them stood open. The interiors were dark. The central fire sputtered dangerously low and there was no woodpile.

Goe’s story did not take long to tell.
Hunt after hunt went bad. All but one of our female hunters were injured or killed. The males tried to hunt, but got little.

He took a moment to gather his breath.

There was not enough game for us to keep up our strength,
the Cuva continued.
And when our strength was gone, we could not hunt what little game was here.

Why did you not appeal to the Hamapa?
asked Tog.

We waited too long. Thoughts between us do not travel easily, as they do between some others, as you know. But the others we tried never responded. It may be that other tribes have suffered as we have. We were too weak for even a half-day journey to your village.
He said only a few Cuva still lived. Most had died of hunger. All of the remaining, but for Goe, who was serving as guard, languished in their dwellings, he told them.