Transcendence (2 page)

A second later, it disappears with a bleat.

I breathe a sigh of relief and almost drop to my knees. Nauseated and dizzy from the exertion, I half stumble, half jog to the side of the pit. The tips of the animal’s antlers are visible as it screeches and tries to jump to freedom, but I have dug the hole too deep; it has injured its leg in the fall, and it cannot escape. Cautiously, I move to the edge of the pit, take careful aim at the animal’s throat, and thrust my spear as hard as I can.

The antelope screams again and kicks at the walls of the pit, causing a shower of dust to fall on top of it and then lies still.

As tired as I am, I can’t allow myself to rest. As the animal bleeds, its scent will attract other predators—those that are larger than I am. I have no time to waste. I jump down into the pit and carefully extract my spear from the neck of the antelope. I am pleasantly surprised the weapon is not broken, and I may even be able to use it again. I toss it up and out of the hole and then heave the carcass up and over my shoulder. My knees try to buckle under me, and another wave of dizziness hits. I try to ignore it as I shove the body out of the hole and then climb out myself.

Once I am on flat ground again, it is easier to grasp the animal’s legs and toss the whole thing over my back and shoulders, and I’m glad the harsh winter didn’t completely deplete my strength. Once I get the carcass properly positioned, I start back toward the cliffs and begin the descent to the valley below. It’s difficult to keep my footing holding the animal, but I’m driven by my hunger. Once I reach the bottom, there is only the short trail up to the opening in the rock left to overcome. I pause for a moment as my thighs and arms burn with pain and then push on. As I reach the crack between the boulders, I realize I can’t walk into the cave while carrying the beast. I have to shove the antelope through the rock first and then follow.

Just inside, the coals from my fire burn brightly though there is no longer any flame. I quickly rebuild the fire—it should keep any competition away from my kill—and sit back on my heels for a moment to breathe. My rest is short-lived, and I quickly start working on my dinner. I roll the carcass over, slice it open from throat to belly with a chip of flint, and waste no time cutting off a few strips of meat to lie across the spit over the fire. I have to force myself not to eat it raw though my stomach implores me to do so. I will only be left feeling sick if I do; I’ve been in this position far too many times not to understand the benefits of patience.

After the first few pieces are set up to cook, I immediately skin the beast and lay the hide over two large rocks on one side of my cave. I will clean and cure it another time when I have more strength. I need something to help hold the rest of the carcass up off the floor, and I look around for my spear, knowing it will be the perfect tool for the task. I do not see it, and I realize I have left it next to the pit trap.

I place my head in my hands and push against my eyes. There is so much pressure in my head that it causes my temples to pound. I can’t believe I have been so careless as to leave my weapon behind. At the same time, I’m too exhausted to even consider going back for it. I rub at the hair on my face and neck and shake my head at my stupidity.

This is the kind of mistake that has nearly cost me my life many times since I have been alone.

Wetness falls from my lashes as I lean back and wrap my arms around my legs. I stare at the fire and let the tears fall, trying to convince myself that I will feel better and think more clearly once I have eaten the meat cooking on the spit.

Memories flood my mind.

It is early morning, and I sit wrapped in furs and my mother’s embrace as one of my older sisters grinds grain against a rock. My mother’s arms are warm and comforting, but I push away from her, anxious to join the other boys and men as they practice with spears and hammer-stones.

I reach up with my hand to wipe away the tears. I have no idea how long it has been since I felt the comfort of another person’s presence, only that many cold seasons have passed since then. Though I had already become a man before I was left alone, the memories of the woman who birthed and cared for me are the hardest to keep at bay.

A pop from the fire pit draws my attention, and I go to check the cooking meat. Some of the thinner pieces seem warm enough, and I devour them quickly before adding more strips of meat to the spit. I drink out of a water flask made from the stomach of an antelope I killed the previous summer and eat a few more strips of meat.

With slightly renewed energy, I rise to my feet and head back down the path toward the steppes to retrieve my spear. With the thought of more cooked meat waiting for me, I run lightly toward the pit trap but stop abruptly before I reach the edge.

There is an odd sound coming from the hole—high pitched and terrifying. I freeze as I try to understand it. At first I think it is another antelope—a straggler who fell after I left—but the noise is not that of a beast. It is like nothing I have ever heard before. I move a little closer, and the sound becomes louder and somewhat frightening. I take a step back away from the hole, intending to turn and flee, when something about the sound triggers another memory.

Flames are all around us, the heat licking my skin and the smell of burning hair in my nose. There is a young girl—I recall her from a neighboring tribe—trapped between the wall of flame and her terrified mother. Before the mother can try to reach for the child, flames encompass them both. The forest is too dry from the drought, and the flames are spreading too quickly. The mother cries out in fear and hopelessness. A moment later, there is only the sound of the crackling fire as it covers the trees.

I shake my head to make the images go away, and I hear the sound again. I’m sure it is not an animal, and my heart beats faster as I take a few steps closer to verify my suspicions. There is movement inside the hole, a flash of pale skin and what looks to be slender fingers poking out of the hole and then disappearing again.

I peer over the side, and I see it.

Not it—her.

I see
her
.

At the bottom of the pit, there is a young woman not far from my own age, with shining brown hair that flows over her shoulders and down her back. She sits on the ground and leans back on her hands, staring up with wide eyes that go even wider as they meet mine. I feel a tightening in my groin at the very sight of her, and my tongue darts out over my lips.

Though I recognize her femininity immediately, the strange coverings on her body do not show her to be female. In fact, they are the strangest furs I have ever seen. I can’t determine what kind of leather might have been used to make them, and the color of the clothing around her torso is like that of the setting sun—deep purple and bright pink. On her legs is even stranger stuff—dark blue and wrapped so closely around her, I can see the outlines of her thigh muscles and calves. She wears coverings on her feet as well, and there are cords wrapped around holes in the material. Like the rest of her coverings, I can’t figure out what it is either.

My eyes move back to hers, and I tilt my head to one side to get a better look at her.

She opens her mouth and screams.

I have to take a step back from the shrill sound. It hurts my ears. I narrow my eyes and grunt sharply, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, she gets even louder. I can’t allow her to continue, or she is going to attract attention—possibly from predatory animals. Deciding to ignore her strange appearance, I step to the edge of the pit and jump down.

Her cries grow more piercing, and the sound is starting to hurt my head. I move toward her, and she propels herself backwards on her feet and hands until she hits the dirt side, sending dust all over her. She yells out again, stands, and tries to claw her way to the top of the hole. She’s too small to be successful, and her fingers only barely reach the edge.

Her shoulders rise and fall as her hands slide down the dirt walls. Her sounds stop, and nothing but her breath can be heard as she turns slowly and her wide eyes travel over me. I move closer and look down at her.

I feel the corner of my mouth turn up. Though clearly an adult, not a child, she is a tiny thing. Her head barely comes to my chest. It’s her hair that intrigues me though—it’s very straight, and it shines in the sunlight. I reach my hand up to my shoulder and grab at my own hair, which is rough, tangled, and full of dust and leaves. I had cut it down with a flint knife at the end of the last summer, but it was now near my shoulders again. I take a step closer and reach out with my other hand to touch the smooth locks around her head to see how different it feels.

Again, she begins to cry out, and I am tired of the noisy sounds. It’s dangerous to be making so much noise, and it really does make the sides of my head hurt. I close the gap between our bodies quickly and cover her mouth with my hand to silence her.

I’m surprised when she doesn’t acquiesce but begins to frantically struggle against me instead. She grasps at my arm, and her nails dig into my flesh as she tries to pull my hand away. She kicks at me, and the strange coverings on her feet scrape at the skin of my leg. She is still screaming, but the sound is muffled underneath my hand.

I still can’t properly feel the texture of her hair, so I further restrain her by pushing my body against hers, holding her up against the wall. With the increased leverage, she can’t move as much, and I slowly drag my hand down the length of her hair.

It’s so, so soft!

I have never felt anything like it. It runs all the way from her head to her waist in long, straight strands that do not bunch up together like mine do, but lie next to each other in beautiful lines. The color isn’t unusual—just a shiny, light brown—but the feel of it on my palm is glorious.

I look to her face, and her eyes are closed tightly. Oddly enough, her eyelids are blue, and there is pink and brown coloring running up to her eyebrows. There is also a dark blue, almost black line right around her eyes—both above and below.

I move my hand up and gently touch her eyelid with the tip of my finger. The bright blue color comes off of her skin and onto mine. I look at my finger a moment before trying to wipe the color back onto the skin between her eyebrow and eyelid.

She bites my hand, and I jump back, surprised at the sudden pain and not the least bit pleased. My eyes narrow into a glare, and I push my body harder against hers, roaring into her face as I grab onto her arm to show my dominance. Her eyes meet mine, and I can see and feel the fear in her. I am quickly contrite, not truly meaning to frighten her, though I do not want her to bite me again. I take her chin between my fingers and grip it as I growl softly in warning.

She goes motionless, and I know I have won her over. I turn her head gently to the side with a firm grip on her jaw and use the other hand to touch her hair again. I am fascinated by its texture. As I touch it, l look down the rest of her body, still confused by her strange, colorful clothing. My fingers run over the fabric at her shoulder, and I hear her sharp intake of breath. When I look back to her, her eyes are downcast, and her lips are drawn into her mouth around her teeth. I pull at the skin below her lip to stop her from hurting herself, and a shudder runs through her body.

The heat from her body warms me, and I think about how she is the only person I have seen since I have been on my own. She’s small but looks to be healthy. She has strong teeth, judging by the bite-marks on my hand. Even though her clothing is strange, she could make something more suited to a female from the furs I have in my cave, and I decide I’m going to bring her back with me.

Glancing up at the top of the hole, I know I will have to get her out of it though part of me wants to keep her right here, knowing she cannot move away from me. I look her over and feel myself smile again. Even out of this space, she will not be able to escape me. She is small and obviously weak. Though I am not as strong as I will be later in the summer when I have had more food, I am still much more powerful than she.

Thinking of the meat cooking over the fire causes my stomach to twist again, and I decide I need to get us both back to my cave quickly. The day is getting late, and the sky will soon turn the colors of her strange tunic.

Kneeling, I wrap my arms around her legs. She lets out a squeal, but thankfully, it only lasts a moment. I rise up and toss her out of the top of the hole, quickly following by pulling myself up with my arms. By the time I have tossed a leg over the side, she is on her feet and looking in all directions.

There’s little to see—the dry grass of the steppes and the jagged cliffs to one side. Off in the distance, the edge of a row of evergreens can be found, but the other trees are nothing but bare trunks now. There is a small creek and a lake beyond, but they are too far to be seen from here.

I take her wrist in my grasp and start walking toward the cliff walls and my home. As she had in the pit, she begins to struggle and grab at my hand and arm. She tries to back away from me, her arm extended as she turns and tries to escape through the use of brute force.

It’s…cute.

I yank her toward me, and she stumbles a bit before her body crashes into mine. Her mouth moves, and a lot more sounds come out. She’s not screaming any longer, and the odd, varying tones are not like anything I have heard before. I don’t like them—not at all. They are a little quieter than the yelling, but they are still loud enough to attract attention. I place my free hand firmly over her mouth again but only for a moment. I don’t want to be bitten.