by David Drake
Almost automatically he swung to look at the cave’s entrance. Under no conditions must the enemy learn of this disaster. If they knew, or found it out, they could get both Hawk and Willow with no risk at all to themselves. It would be necessary only to wait until thirst drove the two mad, and kill them when they came out. He must get more water before their situation became desperate, but the only water near the cave lay in the spring across the valley.
Hawk’s throat and tongue were dry, and already he felt thirsty. Having water, he had used it sparingly. Now, lacking anything with which to quench his thirst, he had a sudden strong desire for something to drink.
Willow’s eyes were haunted, desperate, and she licked her lips. She, too, was suddenly thirsty. Her eyes were riveted on the damp floor of the cave, as the dog scratched inquisitively at the place where the water had spilled.
Dirt and small stones continued to patter into the cave, a monotonous dribble like rain, as the diggers on top strove to enlarge their hole.
Hawk went to the entrance, carefully choosing his way over the tumbled dirt and stones, and looked out. As usual, excepting for those who were trying to dig through the top of the cave, the hunters were merely sitting well out of dart range. Their only purpose seemed to be to prevent the escape of the people trapped in the cave. They apparently had no wish to attack again, or to make any more, until there was all possible chance for success. The digging went on.
Again Hawk licked dry lips. It was cool inside the cave, but outside the hot sun beat mercilessly down and even the birds were not moving. Instead they had sought the forest’s shade, and were lingering in it until such time as the sun started to sink so they could move about comfortably.
The panting dog came to sit beside Hawk. In his own way the dog considered the situation, too, although he did not see the complete picture. The people outside the cave were enemies and must be regarded as such, but the siege had become an accepted thing and nothing special was happening. The besiegers had not broken in, and until they did those inside the cave were in no danger. Therefore there was no use in remaining constantly excited. The dog returned to the cool cave, and lay down facing the entrance. The monotonous thud of the diggers’ tools still sounded on top of the cave but that, too, had become a customary thing, almost an accepted part of living.
Suddenly the dog leaped backward. A large crack had opened in the roof, just behind the doorway, and stones and dirt poured in a steady stream through it. The dislodged earth piled unevenly on the cave’s floor, so that there were two narrow alleys running to the entrance and a pile of debris in the center. The dog scurried toward an overhanging ledge at one side of the cave, and hovered uncertainly near it.
The two humans looked worriedly at the disturbance. Hawk listened intently to the sound of the diggers, while he tried to think of something he might do. The falling earth had left a thin cloud of dust behind it, so that breathing was difficult. Dust gritted between his teeth, and when he swallowed it added to the torment of thirst.
When the digging finally ceased, so accustomed had they grown to it, both looked questioningly up. Now that the sounds had stopped, they missed them. The fire leaped higher and brighter, painting the inside of the cave with its yellow glow, and they realized that twilight had come again. The diggers had to leave and return to their fire because of the dangers night brought with it. They would be easy prey for any prowling beast if they remained on top of the cave.
Hawk dug thoughtfully in the cave’s floor with his bare toes. Tomorrow would be another hot day, from all signs, and already thirst was hard to bear. Before the night ended it would be harder, and by tomorrow it would be torture.
Hawk went again to the mouth of the cave, careful not to stir up any of the piled earth, and peered out. The sun had gone down, and with it the day’s heat had gone too. In the valley, the besieging tribesmen were dark shadows beside their leaping fire. There was no smell of roasting meat; evidently the hunters had failed to get any. Tomorrow the enemy camp would be a hungry one.
Dim light still lingered, and familiar things had become night-haunted shadows. Like such a shadow, the same saber-tooth that had been at the enemy camp last night drifted within thirty feet of the cave’s entrance. Ordinarily Hawk would have thrown a dart at it, and tried to kill the tiger, but now he welcomed it. It would keep the enemy from attacking at night. There was a chance that one of the hunters would stray from the fire, and that the tiger would kill him. In that happy event, Hawk would have one less to deal with.
The darkness deepened, and as it did the fire across the valley became very bright. Back in the forest a dire wolf sounded its lonesome wait, and at a distant point another wolf replied. They must have fed recently; wolves never gave away their positions by making noise when they were hungry.
The tiger, again on its regular patrol around the camp fire, came back, and when it passed the cave it stopped to look searchingly at the entrance. It did not come any nearer because the tiger had already investigated the cave thoroughly. It knew there was fire within, and fire it dared not approach. The tiger went on its way around the enemy camp.
Hawk timed its beat, and it was a regular one. The saber-tooth appeared in the same places at about the same time. After a while it failed to pass the cave and Hawk knew it had become discouraged and gone to seek other game.
A night breeze stirred, blowing from the hunter’s camp to the cave, and Hawk tested the scents it carried. There were none save those of the usual timid creatures which had found what they hoped were safe places for the night and were staying in them.
Willow was roasting meat, but Hawk had no appetite for it. His lips were dry, his tongue a twisted piece of grass in his mouth, and he felt very warm. His need was for water, not food, and he must drink before he could eat. Hawk walked back to the fire.
Willow’s lips were cracked and dry, and her eyes seemed abnormally bright as she looked up at him. Suffering more than he, she wanted nothing to eat either. Hawk came to a sudden decision.
“I am going to get water,” he said.
Willow’s eyes filled with fear. “It is night.”
“We must have water, and I cannot get it by day. I think the saber-tooth has gone, and that I can be back before it returns.”
Willow offered no further protest, as Hawk picked up the water basket and a spear and went to the mouth of the cave. When the dog would have followed him, he told Willow to restrain it. For a few moments he remained quietly in the cave’s mouth.
It was an unheard of thing that he was about to do. Night was a time of terror both real and imagined. The darkness was always alive with fierce creatures that did exist and fantastic things that lived only in the mind. No sane person ever voluntarily left the fire’s safety at night, but Hawk was desperate. Spear in one hand, water basket in the other, he slipped quietly into the darkness.
He walked fast and erect, making no attempt to hide, but he was careful to stay on soft grass where his padding feet would make no noise. Away from the cave, he broke into a trot. The spring was a long way off, and though the tiger was gone there was no guarantee that it would not return.
When he neared the enemy fire, Hawk slowed to a walk. The hunters were lying about, sleeping, but Hawk knew how lightly they slept. If they suspected his presence, they could tell as easily as he had that there were no tigers or other dangerous beasts close by, and would be after him.
Past the camp, Hawk breathed more easily. He reached the spring, faintly illumined by glowing fox fire, and dipped his basket. Hastily he yanked the half-filled basket out, while cold fright made his heart pound. The camp was alert!
He himself had made no noise, but he had forgotten that water gurgled when it poured into the empty basket. Now, every hunter was on his feet, spear and club ready. All were staring toward the spring. They knew that there was plenty of water all around, and no reason to suppose that any beast would drink so close to a camp. Besides, drinking beasts did not make that kind of a noise.
The half-filled basket in one hand, and his spear in the other, Hawk remained rooted in his tracks while he sought some plan of escape. He could not stay here, but the alerted camp was between him and the cave. Pursing his lips, he brought the growl of an angry tiger from the very depths of his chest. Then he started circling away from the fire on a course that would take him back toward the cave.
For a moment the watching hunters were silent. Then the wind veered sharply from Hawk to the fire, and at once the hunters began their insane leaping and their weird, animal screaming. Following their noses, they rushed toward the place where they knew their enemy, and not a saber-tooth, waited.
Clinging to the basket of water, Hawk ran desperately. He had been discovered, and there was no more need of subterfuge. Even as he ran he made ready to hurl his spear, for the enemy was between him and the cave. He would have to fight, but he would do it in his own way. As soon as he could see the first hunter outlined against the glow of the fire, Hawk stopped suddenly and hurled his spear.
He missed; in the dim light he had been unable to see the man clearly. Then, as he turned to run again, there was a sudden interruption.
Another snarl, a real one, sounded in the night, and was followed by a wild shriek. The hunters scrambled desperately to return to their fire and Hawk ran faster. The tiger had come back, and just in time. There was no immediate danger because the tiger had its victim, and would not leave it. Hawk sprinted into the cave, still clutching the basket with its precious contents.
When he and Willow had satisfied their thirst, Hawk lay down to sleep. It was a peaceful sleep; tomorrow would bring its problems but he had solved the most immediate one.
During the night he awakened, and went to the mouth of the cave to test the winds and to listen. The hunters apparently remained about their fire, and anyway the dog was lying close to the cave’s entrance. Hawk looked gratefully at him. More and more he was coming to rely on the dog. The animal always alerted him when anything was about, and never gave a false warning. He would be sure to create some disturbance if the hunters were foolish enough to leave their fire and try to attack the cave by night.
It was most unlikely that they would. They had already gone out once and learned that night was no time to venture away from their fire. But another day was soon to come, and sooner or later the diggers on the roof would find a way to break through. When they did, and if they came through the entrance at the same time, he could not repel them. Even if the dog and Willow helped, there were too many to beat back.
Hawk came back to throw more wood on the fire, and the flames leaped halfway to the cave’s roof. Hawk fretfully paced about.
He must do something, but what could it be? The hostile hunters knew how far he could shoot his darts; they would not again come within range. If he went out to meet them he would certainly be killed. Hawk looked at his darts, particularly the special one whose tip carried the mysterious power of the serpent’s deadly ability to kill. If he could reach his enemies with it, if he could enlist the serpent’s magic in his defense, he might yet win this battle.
The dog got up to sit expectantly beside him, as though he thought something was about to happen. Hawk paid no attention. The dog was valuable in his own way, but Hawk could see no use for him in the present problem.
Hawk looked up at the roof of the cave, where the firelight made dancing shadows. The diggers had tried to break through in half a dozen places, and had as yet succeeded nowhere. But sooner or later they were sure to find a soft place, one that would yield to their efforts. Hawk paced about, looking from the roof to the fire, and back again. If he knew where the enemy would finally enter, and had a great fire underneath that place, the flame might drive them back.
But where was his fire to be built? The cave was rooted with dirt, broken here and there by a layer of stone. Looking at the roof from the inside, there was no way to tell exactly where those digging from the outside might finally gain an entrance. It took time to build up a roaring fire, and if it was even a few feet away from the right spot, the hunters could attack anyway.
His eyes on the roof, Hawk stepped backward, and trod on something that snapped against his foot. He looked down, and saw that he had thrust his foot between the sinew on one of Willow’s drying sticks and the stick itself. With an annoyed grunt, he bent down to free himself, but the stick caught on his toe and only bent when he tugged at the sinew. The sinew slipped from his hand and snapped against his foot as the stick tried to straighten itself. Hawk squatted down, looking more closely.
As a spear-maker, he had always been intrigued by the magic life in a supple green stick. That magic was still evident in the drying stick, but now it seemed to be controlled in some way by the sinew tied to it. Fascinated, Hawk carefully disengaged his foot and picked the stick up. Experimentally he pulled at the sinew, and when he did the stick bent. As soon as he released it, the stick straightened. The quivering sinew seemed to sing softly to him.
Hawk forgot everything else. He took the drying stick in his left hand and, with his right, pulled back the sinew. The stick bent, but when he released the sinew, the stick immediately straightened and the sinew became taut. Again it sang its humming song.
A green stick itself had great power, a mysterious force that belonged to things that grew, but did not move freely by themselves. And animal sinew, Hawk reasoned, so useful to both beasts and men, who could move as they pleased, must contain some magical elements of its own. Combined, the two seemed to possess a power greater than either alone. Hawk drew the sinew again, and again, and let the stick snap itself back to its former shape.
The cave, the dog, the hostile hunters, even Willow, who had awakened and was quietly watching him, faded into insignificance. For years he had tried to master the strength and life in the green wood, and now he knew that he was on the verge of finding what he had been seeking. Wood alone was not the answer. He must pair wood with sinew; the strength of trees with agility of animals.
Sitting beside the fire, he drew the sinew taut and flexed his fingers across it. It sang pleasantly to him, a happy song of triumph, a promise of great strength. With fingers that trembled from excitement, Hawk took one of the darts from its quiver. He fitted it against the sinew, pushed against the bent stick with his feet, and let the sinew go. The dart wobbled weakly across the cave, and bounced against the far wall with scarcely enough force to make a mark.
Hawk looked down at the stick, baffled. He almost had the answer he had been seeking; it was almost in his grasp. But something was lacking; what was it? A moment later he knew what that was. In three great bounds Hawk sprang across the cave.
A spear shaft! It had been a supple spear shaft that had first awakened him to the life in wood! Feverishly he sought among his bundle of shafts, and plucked out the greenest and most limber. He grasped it by both hands and bent it. A happy smile lighted his face.
This was what he needed! Sinew-drying sticks were green, and as such they had strength, but they were not strong enough to propel a dart. The spear shaft was stronger, thicker, and had the needed power. Hawk tied a length of sinew to one end of the shaft, braced that end against the cave’s floor, and bowed the shaft. Making a loop in the free end of the sinew, he tied it over the other end of the shaft. Very carefully, a little awed, knowing he held magic in his grasp, he pulled the sinew and bent the shaft more. He released the string and the shaft snapped back.
The breaking sinew snapped with a sharp report, and Hawk winced as one end struck him smartly across the cheek. Unmindful of the sinew’s sting, he looked in bewilderment at his handiwork. The shaft was powerful enough, but the sinew lacked strength to control it.
“Twist several long sinews together,” said Willow.
She was on her feet now, gathering lengths of sinew from her longest drying sticks. Tying the ends together, Willow looped three lengths over a stick and swiftly twisted them into one smooth, compact cord. Then she handed the triple-strength sinew to Hawk.
Eagerly Hawk bowed the shaft again and tied the sinew to either end. He drew it back slowly, a little afraid that it might break again when he let it snap forward. But it merely sang to him, a humming, stronger vibration than before. Hawk rested the butt of a dart against the sinew, drew it back, and shot.
The dart struck the cave’s wall so hard that its stone head shattered, and the wooden shaft bounced halfway back to him. Exultantly Hawk swooped to pick it up, and shot again, and again. When the wooden shaft itself was broken, he chose another dart.
Dawn was breaking when he knew that, finally, he had made and mastered a satisfactory bow. He could shoot the length of the cave and hit what he aimed at. Hawk looked grimly at the eight darts remaining in his quiver. The rest were shattered, but he had these left, and if that mysterious power in the animal sinew did not betray him, he might yet win this unequal battle. Hawk went to the mouth of the cave and looked out.
Only four hunters remained to guard the prisoners in the cave. The rest had evidently gone hunting. Soon they straggled back, empty-handed, and stood disconsolately around the fire.
For a moment Hawk stood tensely, then forced himself to relax. Sitting in the mouth of the cave, he fitted a dart into the bow, braced it against his feet, drew the sinew, and took careful aim. As well as he could he calculated the wind, the distance, and what last night had taught him about the bow’s strength. When he shot, the dart flew straight and fast, but dug itself into the earth several feet short of the hunters and quivered there.
The hunters stared uncertainly, muttering their astonishment, not sure whether this dart had come from the cave or from some other source. Most of them had paid no attention when Hawk first shot, but now they stood in a close group by the fire, watching his every move.
Now, Hawk decided, was the time to see if the serpent’s deadly power would come to his aid. Picking up the dart with the venom-dipped head, he fitted it against the sinew, and drew with both hands. Slowly, letting no muscle quiver, he drew the sinew as far back as he could, and again took careful note of the wind, the distance, and the trajectory which he thought the dart would assume. He moved the bow very slightly to one side and shot.
