Isle of Woman (Geodyssey)

by Piers Anthony

  Despite the discomfort and continuing pain, he faded out, perhaps sleeping. Every so often he woke, to find himself still being carried. He knew that time was passing, because the storm was intensifying and the day was darkening. The beast man ignored it all.

  Then, seemingly suddenly, they were at the mouth of a cave. Blaze was set down inside it.

  After the dull pain of his jolted leg subsided, he looked around. In the fading light he saw two other figures: a beast woman and a beast child. The child was curled almost into a ball and looked miserable.

  This was the beast’s family! His mate and cub. He had taken Blaze home—the beast home. As food for them?

  Yet the beast could have killed him, hacked him to pieces, and brought only the best chunks here. Why had he taken the trouble to bring Blaze here alive?

  Why else but to roast him for their next few meals! He had been easy prey. Meat kept better while it was alive.

  Blaze shrugged. What difference did it make? At least it would be a swifter death.

  But there was no fire. That was odd, because not only did the beast men use it, they might even know how to make it by striking sparks from stones. Yet it was evident that there never had been a fire here.

  Blaze tried to sit up. His leg radiated pain, and he fell back with a groan.

  The beast man squatted. He took hold of Blaze and heaved, lifting him and setting him against the wall so that he could sit. Despite the great power of this act, it was also surprisingly gentle.

  The beast woman gazed at him. She was squat and massive, not as muscular as the male but probably a good deal stronger than Blaze, even when he was in health. Then she advanced on him.

  Now it was coming: she would wring his neck and pluck out his eyeballs. Maybe the eyes would be morsels to feed the beast child. Blaze decided not to try to fight; the sooner he died the better off he would be.

  But the female put her hands on his leg, instead, touching the swelling and pressing in toward the bone. The contact hurt, but not greatly. Her touch, too, was gentle. She seemed to be exploring the extent of the damage. Then, satisfied that it was not extensive, she retreated. She fetched a hide from a deeper recess and set it on him as a blanket. Then she offered him a dried fruit.

  Blaze was amazed. Her exploration had been for information, not to harm him. Her hands had been competent rather than clumsy. Now she was giving him warmth—and food.

  These creatures seemed not to mean him any evil. They had shown no hostility. Instead of killing him, they were taking care of him.

  He accepted the fruit, and chewed on it. It was tough, but the juices came in the course of chewing.

  The child stirred. The female lifted him and put his face to her furred breast, nursing him. Blaze saw that the little one was shivering despite being well covered.

  The child was ill. That made something clear. The beast men normally traveled in bands, as did mankind. These ones must have left their band, or been put out of it, because of the sickness of their child. Sickness was a mysterious thing, sometimes jumping from one creature to another. So this family had to live apart, until their child got well or died. That was the way of it among people, and evidently among beast folk too.

  Yet what of Blaze? He was in his fashion also ill. Why should they add to their burden? They had enough trouble taking care of their own.

  Yet there were stories he had heard, which he hardly believed, about beasts taking care of isolated babies, and sometimes even helping humans. As if the beasts were too dull to realize that these were enemies.

  Or as if they had compassion for anything that was hurting. So they tried to care for a sick human the same way as for a sick beast child. It was not the most intelligent thing to do, but it was pointless to expect intelligence in beasts.

  Where this would lead, Blaze did not know. But if this family was offering him life instead of death, he should respond in kind.

  Blaze knew what to do. He reached into his pack and brought out the firepot. “Fire,” he said.

  The beast man moved. He stared at the pot. “Fire,” he repeated, understanding. But then he shook his head in a clearly negative way.

  He didn’t want fire? Yet he would be an unusual beast man if he mistrusted the use of it. There must be a confusion. “Fire,” Blaze said. “Warm. It will make the cave warm. For you. For your child.” He tried to make a warm gesture. He pointed to the little one. “Warm.” For heat was what was needed, more than anything else. Time spent in the heat of a fire could make people well. He had seen it many times.

  The man tapped the cave floor with a strong finger. He shook his head. He made a choking sound.

  Perplexed, Blaze put his hand down on the floor and scraped it with a fingernail. Suddenly he understood. This was lime rock—and in the presence of fire, it gave off choking, caustic fumes. He had long since learned not to use lime-rock stones to fashion an interior hearth.

  The beast family had come to the cave for protection from the weather, but had known better than to start fire here. So they endured the cold. But their sick child, however hardy he might be ordinarily, needed more than blankets now. He needed the steady, healing warmth of fire.

  And Blaze was the one who could arrange it. Because he was a fire keeper. He knew how to nullify that lime rock.

  “Rock,” he said, trying to make himself understood. “Stone.” He cast about, and found a loose stone. He picked it up. “From a river. Big. Bring it here. Different kind of stone, for a hearth. For the fire.”

  They gazed at him in almost human perplexity. But he kept at it, making gestures of stone, of flowing water, and fire on the stone. Finally the man understood him somewhat—at least well enough to know what he was asking for, if not why. Would he do it?

  The man went out of the cave. The woman finished nursing her child and set him back down on the floor. The child was still shivering, despite being warmly covered. It was the kind of chill that came from inside, that no clothing or blankets could cure. Only sustained fire.

  Blaze leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. There was nothing he could do for now, so he hoped to sleep.

  He woke as the man returned, carrying a monstrous slab of stone. He set it down on the cave floor between Blaze and the woman. Blaze was awed again at the creature’s strength. He tried to slide the slab over a bit, but couldn’t budge it. This was not only big enough, it was flat, even slightly indented, making it ideal. It was from a riverbed, a stone other than lime rock, that would not fume when heated. The man had understood better than Blaze had thought.

  “Fire,” he said, tapping the top of the rock. “Here.”

  The man went out again. In a moment he brought dry straw and leaves and twigs of wood. He knew what a fire required. He was trusting Blaze to know what he was doing. That was a trust well placed, for this was Blaze’s area of expertise.

  Blaze brought the punk close to the straw. He got his face close to it and blew. The punk brightened. Then the straw caught. A flame crept through it. He put more on, carefully, and the smallest twigs. Then he put larger twigs. The fire expanded, and no fumes came. The beasts sniffed the air as if expecting to choke, but were reassured.

  The beast man brought larger pieces, and Blaze added them as appropriate. Soon there was a small blaze. His namesake. The smoke was finding its way to the ceiling and out.

  The woman brought the child near the fire. The clean heat reached out to them. Blaze had given them a gift in return for their hospitality. That gladdened him.

  Blaze repacked his smudge pot. Then he lay back, exhausted by the injury and the effort, and slept again.

  He woke to the continued blaze. The cave was warmer despite the accumulating snow beyond its entrance. The light of the fire illuminated the cave.

  The beast woman was now tending the fire, feeding it sticks as required, letting it neither rage nor die down. The child was lying close enough to be warmed, and looking less miserable.

  The woman saw that Blaze was a
wake. She grunted. She held a tuber out. It had been scorched in the flame.

  She was offering him more food. Blaze reached out and took it. He brought it to his mouth and tasted it. It was edible. He bit off a fragment and chewed it. Soon he finished it. Then, satisfied, he fell back and slept again. The warmth and rest were doing as much good for him as for the child.

  When he woke again it was morning. Snow was piled high against the entry, shutting it off from the wind. Instead of making the cave colder, the snow made it warmer, because of that. Blaze understood the effect; it was evident that the beast folk did too.

  Now he had to urinate. He didn’t want to do it in the cave, but he did not believe he could get to his feet and walk outside, for several reasons. What was he to do?

  The beast man had been sleeping deeper in the cave, not needing the heat the way the others did. He got up, went to the entrance—and forged on out, shoving the loosely packed snow out of his way. His power continued to surprise Blaze, though he had always known that the beast men were much stronger than humans.

  In a moment the man returned. He had gone out to urinate himself! Blaze sat up. “Piss,” he said, gesturing to his crotch.

  The beast man glanced at him, surprised. Then he nodded. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him that a true human would need to do such a thing too. He came and picked Blaze up, forging on out with him. The sharp chill of the outer day was fierce after the warmth of the cave. The man set him down in the snow.

  Blaze winced as his bad leg came down, but he was able to stand on the good one, bracing against the deep snow. He opened his garment and urinated. “Done,” he announced.

  The man picked him up again and carried him back into the cave. They seemed to understand each other well enough.

  The woman had more edible tubers. She gave one to Blaze to eat. Then she nursed her child again.

  The day continued. The man brought in wood and more tubers, keeping them supplied. The woman tended the fire, ate, nursed, and took herself and the child out to urinate or defecate. The child had been looking better, but was shivering again when she brought him in. He still couldn’t handle the terrible cold of the outside. Not until he was well.

  But maybe Blaze could help him there, too. He had a needle, just about his most precious possession, next to the smudge pot. He had some fiber thread, and an awl. One never knew when repairs to clothing might be required, and such repairs were important. In fact, vital, in weather like this.

  He lifted the blanket he no longer needed. He curved it around his body, to judge how it might make a jacket. Sewing was not his specialty, but he understood the principle. The beast folk wore clothing, but it was crude, leaking warm air at every corner. Mankind had fitted clothing, and that made a big difference, because it did not leak air. A fitted jacket would solve the child’s problem.

  Yet it was too complicated to make a jacket from an original hide. Bunny could have done it, but Blaze was not sufficiently skilled. It would be better to improve the child’s existing jacket.

  Blaze tried to explain to the others, but it was hard, because they used only words, not language. They had a word for everything, including things he did not, like each part of a tuber, but they did not assemble these into sentences. The closest he could come, after establishing the terms, was “Child. Jacket. Good.”

  When they did not understand that, he became bolder. He pulled himself around the fire, using his hands and good leg, approaching the child. The woman watched him warily, but did not protest. Blaze had, after all, shown no evil intent, and had enabled them to have the Iifesaving fire.

  The child was now sitting up, facing the fire, wearing his jacket. Blaze came to sit beside him, then took his left arm, slowly. The child did not protest. Blaze took the loose sleeve and creased it so that it was snug around the little wrist. Then he took his sharp stone awl and forced it through the material of the hide, making a tiny hole. He brought out his needle, strung some fiber thread, and poked it carefully through the hole. He had to work at it, but he got the thread through.

  He made a knot, then made another hole, passing the needle and its trailing thread through. He continued this, until he had circled the arm. He drew it snug, tied off the thread—and now the sleeve remained snug, leaking no air.

  The beasts looked, not comprehending what this meant. Undaunted, Blaze moved around and tackled the other sleeve. In due course this, too, was tight.

  Then he got another notion. He took his own hide, brought out a cutter stone, and used it to slice out a section. He formed this into a hood, and sewed it to hold the shape. Then he took it to the child, set it on his head, and sewed it to the top of the jacket. This took time, but he got it done.

  That was about all he could do. He was out of thread, and his bone needle was getting dull. But he knew that next time the child went out, he would not get chilled the way he had before.

  His laborious sewing had taken up much of the day. Blaze realized that he had distracted himself, taking his mind off his leg. That leg was still swollen, but the pain was easing. He was recovering.

  He needed to get out to urinate and defecate. The tubers fed him, but his digestion was not as hardy as that of the beasts, and his body was letting him know. So he tried to see what he could do for himself. He braced himself against the wall and managed to climb to his foot, keeping his weight off the other. Then he hopped out into the snow. He was mobile again!

  He did his business and turned to re-enter the cave. Then he had an idea. He searched the region and spied a dead sapling that had not yet been taken for the fire. He stripped this down, making a crude staff to replace the one he had lost. Now he was able to use it to take some of his weight, enabling him to walk instead of hop. It was a significant improvement.

  He started back toward the cave—and saw the others come out. The man was foraging for wood, and the woman for tubers. She was holding the child, and this hampered her.

  Blaze sat on a rock, bracing himself. “Child,” he said, extending his arms.

  The woman hardly paused. She brought the child to him. Blaze was pleased to note that the child was not huddled and shivering. The wind was down, and late afternoon sun was shining, so that it did not seem as cold. But it wasn’t just that. The tight jacket and hood were conserving his warmth. Blaze knew how efficient a fitted jacket was, because his own was fitted. Perhaps the beasts were coming to understand that now.

  Blaze held the child on his lap, keeping him secure. The child was more alert than he had been, and was gazing around at the things of the outside.

  “Mother,” Blaze said experimentally. The child’s head turned to face the woman. She was now foraging with surprising efficiency. She did not cast aimlessly about; instead she moved to a particular spot, plunged her hand down through the snow, worked her fingers, and came up with a tuber. As if she knew exactly where it was.

  As Blaze watched, he realized that she did know exactly where the tubers were. She never missed. She must have noted their positions in the ground before the snowfall, and now was collecting them when she needed them. She had a better memory than Blaze did, by far.

  “Father,” he said. The child’s head turned again, to face the man. He was locating dry wood the same way: proceeding directly to a spot, then bringing up a stick without hesitation. Now Blaze remembered how the man had brought him in: not only with enormous strength, but without hesitation about the route, though there were no visible markers. The snow had been falling, but it hadn’t made any difference. The man knew his way without markers.

  Blaze realized that these creatures seemed stupid because they could not speak in sentences and seemed to lack ability to reason things out. But they knew everything by name, and perhaps also by location. Perhaps they could never get lost, because they remembered everything they saw. That accounted for their excellence as foragers. They weren’t stupid, just different.

  “Father get wood,” Blaze said.

  “Father—wood,” the chil
d repeated.

  He was doing a sentence, of sorts!

  “Mother get food.”

  “Mother—food,” the child agreed.

  Could the child learn what the mature creatures could not? How to truly speak? Blaze was excited.

  The man brought in a good pile of wood for the night. The woman brought in a sufficient supply of tubers. Then she came to take the child back. The child was starting to shiver, after this time spent out in the cold, but it had been longer and better than before. The jacket was effective.

  Now Blaze returned to the cave, using his staff. He settled himself in his place, feeling better mentally as well as physically. The beasts were helping him, but he was helping them too.

  Next day the child was improved. Blaze talked to him some more, teaching him simple sentences. Did he really understand them, or was he merely mimicking? “Child—mother,” Blaze said. The child went to his mother. But that could simply be because of the second word. So he couldn’t be sure, yet the notion was intriguing. Maybe a beast child raised among people would learn to speak fully.

  “Child—stone—white,” Blaze said. And the child picked up a white pebble from among the darker ones laid out. He bared his big yellow teeth. He did understand!

  “Friends,” Blaze said, hugging the child.

  They whiled away the day, talking and playing with stones. The man and woman went out to forage, satisfied to leave the child with Blaze. Things looked very good.

  But on the third day the child was worse. His shivering returned, and this time neither the jacket nor the fire could ease it. He lay there, neither eating nor speaking, and his breathing became panting. When the woman tried to pick him up he mewled with pain.

  Blaze looked at the others. None of them knew what to do. The illness was stronger, making the child weaker, and they had no way to fight it from outside. They just had to wait, and hope.

  In the morning of the following day Blaze’s swelling was going down, but the child was no better. He would not nurse, and hardly seemed to wake. They waited all day, watching the child fade.