Ivory and Bone(5)

We move in silence. The mammoths do not appear wary—perhaps the wind didn’t carry our scent to them after all. When we have come up alongside them on the edge of the meadow, my father squats down, but he signals for us to continue on beyond the herd. An animal with the speed of a mammoth cannot be run down—it has to run to you. My father will get them moving. The rest of us will be ready to cut them off.

Now they are extremely close, maybe just fifty paces away. I can hear the water splash from their trunks and see it spray across their backs.

Stay in the present, I tell myself. Let the past go.

My father raises his spear, and we all turn our eyes toward him. Then he stands and his arm comes down swiftly, signaling that the hunt is on. He plunges forward, racing across the meadow as fast as his feet will move.

The herd sees him, and like one body, they turn and run toward the south, toward the wide edge of the meadow that descends into a river valley. Once they are in motion the rest of us emerge, cutting across the open to intercept them. Maybe it’s because you and your brother and sister are here, maybe it’s because I have something to prove to myself and to Pek, but I run faster than I’ve ever run. The wind is at my back. I imagine it sweeping away the memories that haunt me. I outrun your sister; I outrun Pek. Only your brother, Chev, is ahead of me. My legs pump, my heels dig, and finally, I am moving stride for stride with Chev. I exchange a glance with him before pulling ahead. Twenty paces more and I will intercept the mammoth at the front of the herd.

I close my mind, raise my arm, and ready my spear. I tune to the rhythm of the mammoth’s steps. The ground shakes like the skin of a giant drum. Boom . . . boom . . . boom . . . I feel the percussion of his pace roll through me with each step. When I know I can run no closer without risking being trampled, I let the spear fly.

But my angle is too wide. The razor-sharp point of my spear grazes across a thick mat of hair on the animal’s side and falls away.

I slow my steps—I need to retrieve my spear from where it fell. I turn, ready to dodge out of the way of the others in the hunting party, to yield my position to Pek or to your sister or brother, but instead I find that you have all dropped back far behind. You are running hard with your spears ready, but you are not chasing the mammoths.

You are chasing the thing that is chasing me.





TWO


In the space between us, a saber-toothed cat runs hard, his huge claws tearing at the ground. His head is lowered, but I don’t need to see his eyes to know he is coming for me.

Glancing right, I spot my spear in the tall grass. Retrieving it means running back a few paces in the direction of the cat, and my thoughts crash together as my feet crash over the ground. My hand grasps the spear; he is still a distance away but closing fast. I don’t dare take the time to raise my eyes to see if any of you are close enough to take the shot.

Inwardly, I call on the Divine to help me. My thoughts go to my mother; I think of all the times she counseled me to ask the Divine for help in the hunt, and all the times I’ve ignored her counsel.

Yet even if all the power of the Divine were suddenly supporting my every move, I doubt that I could bring down this cat with one hurried shot. Only the perfect strike will stop him, and I know I will need stealth and surprise to make that strike. I am almost certainly doomed to miss from my current position, and he would be on me in moments.

I cannot stand my ground. My only choice is to run.

Before the thought has fully formed in my mind I am flying over the grass, back toward the shade of the ridge. As I reach the trail, I spot a narrow track up out of the valley into the foothills, and I head for it with all the speed the Divine will grant me.

Jagged rocks and sharply angled boulders form the floor of the path, but I move over them with surprising ease. Apparently fear reveals a grace and poise in my movements that have never manifested before. In just moments, I reach the top of a rise where the path turns right and heads more steeply up the rough wall of rock. I allow myself the luxury of one quick glance over my shoulder and gasp.

Nothing is behind me on the path—neither cat nor human.

The temptation to hesitate lasts no longer than a heartbeat. The crack of rock falling on rock comes from my left and I spin around, my spear ready, but still, I see no one . . . nothing.

Spooked, I turn slowly in place. My own feet send a few pebbles sliding downhill. Wind whistles past my ears. Otherwise, there is only silence.

Despite the urge to retrace my steps, to slide slowly down the path the way I came in hopes that the cat chose not to pursue me, I know I need to keep climbing. Cats, after all, are not restricted to paths. He could be overhead, I realize, as I raise my spear again and rake my eyes over the rock ledges above me. I navigate a tight turn that takes me out of sight of the valley below and wait, listening.

The faint sound of a skittering pebble reaches my ears from a spot on the trail just below the place where I stand. Then another . . .

Then another.

Steady steps are advancing toward me.

I squat against the rock wall, planting my feet wide so I won’t lose my balance. I roll the shaft of my spear in my hand until it feels just right—or at least as right as it could ever feel in my damp and shaking hand—and rest it lightly on my shoulder. Unblinking, I stare at the spot on the trail where the cat will appear as he rounds the turn.

One more moment . . . One more moment . . .

A shadow breaks across my line of sight, and I spring to my feet and raise my spear. Energy ripples from my shoulder to my fingers as my whole body flinches forward, every muscle tensed.