Analog SFF, September 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Gordon looked to see Ghaf's hand stealing toward his stone knife. He said to the hunter, “I have invited my sister to eat with us, my friend. Attacking her would be inhospitable."

  "I hope those furs Pela made you don't belong to anyone your sister knows,” the hunter quipped as he fell back to sleep chuckling.

  Gordon looked over to the wolf and she was licking her front paws, the meat gone, the bone splintered and clean. He watched her until his eyelids grew heavy and he slept.

  In his dream the wolf spoke to him. She said, "Nascha is at peace now. Our mother is healed of her sickness and now walks in Beauty. All of them walk in Beauty." He saw his mother, Hosteen Ahiga, and Phil Andreakos together in a world of green and blue, soft lights and gentle winds.

  He awakened and the wolf was gone. Ghaf the hunter and Ta Avi still slept. Sitting cross-legged in front of Gordon was Jatka, the boy who had brought him tea in the clanhouse.

  "Why does your face have no hair?” asked Jatka. “Do you cut it?"

  "The people I come from don't grow face hair."

  "Not even gifted?"

  "No. Answer me a question, Jatka. You seem older than Ta Avi. Why do you still sit upon the high tier?"

  "I have no one to feast me up to this ledge, God'n. No parent to offer me to the clanhouse."

  "What happened to your parents?” asked Gordon.

  Jatka glanced down, then back at Gordon. “Both dead. Tchama, my mother, was Black Mountain. A singer. She died in childbirth."

  "Your father?"

  "Also a singer. He was Yellow Claw.” Jatka looked into a shadow. “When I had ten summers, he tried to kill me.” Jatka looked back at Gordon. “He died with my flint in his neck."

  After a long silence Gordon asked, “Did he blame you for your mother's death?"

  "Every day.” The boy looked into his shadow once more. “Some villagers blame me for my father's death. He was very popular, a great singer."

  "Do you miss him?"

  "I miss having a father."

  "Jatka, my father left us the day I was born. My mother was Coyote Pass People. She was sick until she died."

  "You took care of her?” asked Jatka.

  "Yes. She walked in bad dreams but many in my village thought she was a witch and feared her. Because of that I was not a part of life. There was a Gifted One who spent time with me, though. I loved him."

  Jatka shrugged, stood, and looked down at Gordon. “I just wanted to know why you have the face of a boy."

  Gordon nodded. “Are you a singer?"

  "No. I do things around the village, mostly for Tonton Annajaka. In return she teach me about herbs, roots, and powders. Thank you for speaking with me.” Jatka turned and walked toward the western end of the ledge, vanishing into the shadows. A pair of unblinking yellow eyes looked back at Gordon.

  "Is that the path you would tease me onto, Coyote?” he asked as he closed his eyes and snuggled into his furs. “What would your lesson for that be, I wonder?"

  Jatka had been more respectful than Gordon had been at his age when he had gotten into Hosteen Ahiga's face. To belong nowhere, caught between fear, scorn, and indifference, condemned to loneliness and to carry the guilt of his father's death. Perhaps Coyote was showing the boy how much he could bear without breaking.

  He wondered if Ibrahim Taleghani had thought for even a second about how he would keep himself sufficiently detached from the people he found at the base of this cliff to make it possible to leave them to their fate. Or had they not been people at all to his mind? Perhaps to the scientist they were only subjects from textbooks, theories, drawings of heavy-browed, dull-witted Neanderthals hunting, eating, grunting, killing, and making little Neanderthals.

  Gordon pulled the furs more tightly about his neck and closed his eyes against the sight of the mountain. As he drifted back to sleep, Gordon reminded himself that—even if Dr. Taleghani spirit was watching with the aid of another dimension—the scientist's regard or lack of it for these people no longer mattered. Gordon's feelings did.

  * * * *

  XIII

  At the sound of loud shouting, Gordon jumped up, wide awake, the sunlight hurting his eyes. It was Ghaf doing the hollering. The hunter was on full yodel down to the village, bringing news of their night on the ledge with their new man, Ta Avi Beadsigns, who cut beautiful red-and-gold beads and would earn enough from last night's trading to set himself up smartly. Ta Avi, who bravely slept right through a visit by God'n's sister, a female great wolf who ate from God'n's hand and licked his fingers and left them attached to his hand all the same.

  After Ghaf had finished reporting the news, Ta Avi walked over and looked at the paw prints in the snow at the west end of the ledge. When Ta Avi returned to the fire, he squatted before Gordon and asked, “Do you command wolves?"

  "I command no one, Ta Avi. I have many brothers and sisters, though. Wolves are Coyote People.” Gordon saw the ones who had left the ledge as the night grew colder now returning to claim their places next to the living legends of the sleeping bead maker and the wolfman. One of them, an old shaggy-headed mat weaver called Doven, ended the ceremony by making a prayer to the sun. He took barely warm ashes from the edge of a fire, washed his hands and arms in them, then took a smoking brand from the fire, turned and began making marks on the cliff wall. He began with what looked like a large numeral 6 followed to its right by a smaller o. Doven continued writing, from left to right, until there were five lines of characters, each line apparently separated into words. Once written, Ta Avi began reading the prayer out loud.

  "Ekav, in the name of Wuja, god of men..."

  It was a prayer that listed the functions and responsibilities of manhood as individual, husband, father, exchanger of value, producer, and contributor to the common defense. It stated that Ta Avi, under the supervision of the gifted and the Great Bear, had fulfilled the requirements and asked the sun god for his blessing. Ta Avi and the gifted then left the ledge as Doven once again scrubbed his hands with ashes, Gordon watching him.

  "Doven,” said Gordon to the mat weaver, “what is that sign?” He pointed at the 6."

  Doven stood, shook the ashes from his hands, smiled, and nodded. “Sign of Ekav.” He pointed at the sun's edge peeking over the eastern horizon. “Sky traveler, bringer of light and life, healer, father of crops, father of all clans.” He retrieved his piece of charcoal, went far to the left of where he had written his prayer, and drew another 6 on the wall and pointed to his ear with his left hand. “Also is eh sound sign.” To the left of the 6 he drew what looked like a T with the right half of the crosspiece missing. “Sign of Pash, goddess of forests. Also is p sound sign.” To the right of the 6 Doven drew a chevron with the point downward. “Sign of Loka, guardian spirit of ehlodomak." It took some signing and drawing pictures in snow, but Gordon learned ehlodomak was the physical underworld of caves and caverns. To the right of Loka's v sign Doven drew a short horizontal line—a dash. “Avina's sign,” he said. “Avina is goddess of river. Sound sign ah."

  Doven drew a line beneath all four signs from left to right. “Pee-eh-el-ah. Pela.” He grinned at Gordon. “Pela,” he repeated.

  Gordon found two sticks, added them to the fire, and moved some of the cooked meat from the night before close to the heat to warm it. Finished with that, he stood next to the mat weaver. “If you have the time, Doven, I would learn all the sound signs."

  Doven touched his left thumb to his tongue, shrugged, and said, “There is little else for this gifted to do until the reed bogs sprout in the spring.” He held out a finger, let it droop until it pointed down, and then laughed.

  As Ekav climbed into the sky, they shared the meat, Doven made the signs, and Gordon learned his alphabet, the gods, their sound signs, and tried not to think about the mountain at his back. Before he had left the ledge, Jatka was back carrying a message from the naticha. “It is time,” was all he said.

  * * * *

  Tonton Annajaka's dwelling was past the cl
iff at the northeastern edge of the village, deep among tall cedars and dug into the side of a rocky hill. A single window filled with stretched translucent skin, and a dark leather and branch door in the sod wall at the end of a path, marked the house's location. A thin ribbon of smoke came from the rocks and brush above the dwelling. Tonton Annajaka was standing in the open doorway dressed in a simple deerskin long shirt and moccasins. Her thin white hair was wrapped with a wide black deerskin band. “Come, God'n,” she said. “Best to pull the thorn quickly.” Tonton stood back from the door and Gordon entered.

  It was a dark cave-like room, all but the east-facing wall of sod and the packed earthen floor formed from the hill's rock. The north wall was crowded with leather-and-branch shelves filled with herbs, rocks, and powders contained in ceramic bowls, some with lids. Tonton seated Gordon on a leather cushion atop a rocky shelf. She sat upon a bed of furs facing him, both of them warmed by the west wall and the small wood fire at its base. The fire and the light coming through the scraped skin in the window added to the light provided by the fish oil lamp tucked into a rocky niche near Tonton's bed. The smoke from the fire went up through a crack in the overhanging rock above.

  "Now, God'n, you tell Tonton Annajaka about coming storm.” She brought her fierce blue-eyed gaze up and fixed it to his face. “Tonton will see if you believe your words."

  And he told her all that he knew about the great thing that fell from the sky long ago, covered the surrounding land with glass, and built Black Mountain. He told her of the age of ice and of the great glaciers on Black Mountain and its flanks, more ice covering the highlands and the plateau to the mountain's south. He told her of the meteor to come, that it would shatter the mountain, the blast immediately killing everything within a straight walk of at least twenty suns’ distance. He told her of the great heat that would melt the ice and snow on and around the mountain as well as the frozen ground beneath, and of the great flow of mud, rocks, and trees that would fill Avina's Valley almost to the men's ledge. All the peoples of the Black Mountain would die. More floods and ice, then drought and sandstorms would come, filling the valley almost to the top of the cliff, burying all evidence of Red Cliff's people and all they ever were.

  The naticha remained still for a long time, her face a mask as she studied upon the things Gordon had told her. She looked startled as she glanced away from the space to Gordon's left. He turned and could see nothing there. Looking back, he saw her staring at him. “Then do I believe what I say?” he asked.

  "What you say, you believe, God'n,” She said in a quiet voice. Her expression was eerie as she said, “Two ghosts, God'n. Two ghosts you have. They believe what you say. A third ghost, in you..."

  He looked again then saw the distorted light patterns, one on either side of him. For a split second he caught a glimpse of a shimmer just above his own hands. Tonton leaned forward and pointed a finger at him. “Tell me why they believe this!” Her eyes narrowed. “And if you believe this, God'n, why you not run!"

  Time travel, parallel dimensions, one hundred and thirty-nine thousands of summers of human evolution, accomplishment, destruction, and the dangers inherent in turning a single grain of sand. “Ibrahim Taleghani, one of the spirits who believe, told me before he died that turning that grain of sand—placing all the human history we know at risk—was unthinkable. If he were alive, he would not run. He would stand here and die with your people."

  He couldn't read Tonton's expression as she went to her shelves of herbs and bent to her potions and powders. Tonton took a blackish substance, placed it in a ceramic bowl, added a pale yellow liquid, mixed it with a wooden spoon, poured a bit of it into her left hand, rubbed it into her palm, and turned to Gordon. “I would talk with your ghosts."

  Gordon almost began a sarcastic comment that ended abruptly as the naticha's left palm suddenly opened facing him. An orange mist filled his vision and the universe twisted on its end and went dark.

  * * * *

  "God'n? God'n?" He felt a hand shaking his right shoulder. He opened his eyes and Tonton Annajaka's rock ceiling wowed in and out, orange mists at the edge of his vision. He had a headache that could chase down, kill, and eat Running Mountain single-handed.

  "Drink this, God'n."

  He turned his head to the right. He was on the earthen floor of the room. Jatka's face was looking down at him. The young man was holding out a wooden cup. “Drink this. Chase head pain."

  Gordon pushed himself up until he was sitting, took the cup and sniffed at its contents. It smelled like mint. He drank down the warm brew. As he lowered the cup, his headache diminished. Gordon handed back the cup to Jatka. “Where is Tonton?"

  "She cross river."

  Gordon frowned. “What did she say?"

  "Tonton say for me to take you to Ghaf's tent for Temptations. You take long time to open eyes. I get you tea for head pain. Almost dark now."

  "Nothing about why she crossed the river?"

  "Ghosts talk to her."

  Gordon waited until the headache was almost gone, then floundered around for a bit trying to stand. With Jatka's aid, he made it. Once the room became steady, Gordon looked at the boy and asked, “Temptations?"

  * * * *

  XIIII

  That night Gordon, the gifted, relatives, and well-wishers assembled in what functioned as Ghaf's town house, a large tent of oiled leathers lined inside by bearskins. The edges of the recently expanded floor space were crowded by cedar-bough beds covered with leathers and furs, also added recently in preparation for guests attending the Temptations who might be staying over. In the center of the space beneath the smoke hole was a fire pit at which Lolna and some of the other women prepared food.

  After making his greetings, Ghaf led Gordon before the guest of honor, Mahu, Clan Father. He was a strong-looking fellow who looked to be in his early forties. His brown beard had twin gray streaks down from the corners of his mouth. Fierce dark brown eyes peered over an aquiline nose.

  The Clan Father stood and gripped Gordon's wrist and gestured toward a place next to his in the ring. They sat. Mahu was on Gordon's left and Ghaf seated himself on Gordon's right. Ghaf said to Gordon, “How many suns you know Pela?"

  "Six,” Gordon answered.

  "Not long,” said Mahu shaking his head.

  "Is that time enough,” asked Ghaf, “to know another?"

  "Not time enough,” answered Gordon. “That will take a lifetime."

  The hunter nodded approvingly at the answer. Mahu leaned more closely to Gordon and said, “Pela good woman.” Then Mahu shrugged and shook his head. “Pela no afutebbe."

  Gordon mentally searched though the vocabulary he had pieced together, his head still clouded from Tonton's little hypno preparation. The “afu” sound was a fertility prefix. “Tebbe” was apartness, unjoining. Together they meant virginity. Pela was not a virgin.

  "Then Pela is truthful,” he said.

  Mahu touched his thumb to his tongue, and nodded to his left where sat a woman in furs. She had dark hair, a pleasant enough face, and a big smile. “This Shantonna."

  Gordon nodded at her. “Shantonna, I greet you."

  Shantonna turned to her left and pushed a young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen around in front of Mahu facing Gordon. “Anista,” introduced Mahu. The child wore white furs and had an angelic face with a tiny nose and large brown eyes framed by black hair woven with yellow dried flowers. “Anista afutebbe!" declared the Clan Father.

  Gordon looked at the girl, unsure what he was supposed to do next. Anista grinned shyly, turned, and hid her face behind her mother. Shantonna pulled the girl out from behind and grinned widely as she held her in Gordon's view, turning her around like a prized pumpkin. “Anista,” said Gordon, “how many summers have you?"

  The girl looked up at him with huge brown eyes and held up ten fingers, then three.

  Gordon rubbed his chin and studied her. “My summers,” he said, then held out all ten of his fingers once, twice, then three
times followed by all but two of his fingers. The girl's eyebrows climbed for the sky.

  "Your face is a boy's,” she protested.

  "I am old and can never have a beard unless I cut off your hair and use that,” he said. “I am honored to meet you and I wish you a long healthy life, a strong young handsome husband, and many children and grandchildren. I am thinking for Pela now and have no thoughts to spare for others.” He looked at the girl's mother. “Save your daughter, Shantonna, for one more worthy."

  Relief showed on the girl's face. Shantonna's, as well.

  Mahu scratched at his beard and faced Gordon. “Thirty and eight summers?"

  "Yes."

  "No beard?"

  "No."

  The clan leader studied Gordon, concentrating on his face. The inspection complete, Mahu held a hand against his own chest and said quietly, “Thirty and nine.” He then made a yoni sign with his right hand and a phallic sign with his left. Upon a rather graphic joining, the clan leader looked up at Gordon, a question on his face.

  Gordon grinned. “Yes, I do."

  Mahu looked around, gesturing with his hands to include the known universe. “Who?"

  The most recent who was the artist in Port Elizabeth, but that was two wars and several years ago. “No one,” Gordon admitted. “For long time. No one."

  Mahu's eyebrows descended in an instant of disappointment, then he smiled sympathetically, nodded, and patted Gordon's back. “Mahu, just so. Many summers. Just so.” He wiggled a finger at Gordon, ending the gesture with a droopy finger.

  Gordon frowned. “That doesn't mean I can't."

  Mahu humored Gordon with a nod and another pat on the back.

  A man seated behind Mahu leaned forward and said to Gordon, “Shagiv. I make tent.” Gordon nodded at him. “Once I saw Pela speak angrily to her first husband, Iveleh,” he confessed.

  Another man behind Gordon said, “Pahit, thread maker. Twice I hear Pela curse Ekav.” He pointed up. “The first time she cursed the god was when Iveleh's ashes were brought back from Yellow Claw country. The second time was when Iveleh's brother, Jidah, died of the blacksore."