A Glibertarians Exclusive:  Setting Suns, Part III

 

The plain – 28,000 years ago

Eba was amazed at the vastness of ‘above.’

She had been up the trail from the beach-side cave to ‘above’, of course, many times, to gather wood and forage.  But she had always stayed close to the trail that led to the beach in front of the cave, having had no need to go any farther.  Now, after moving for half a day at the slow trot the men set, the small group was farther from the cave than Eba had been since they clan had crossed the mountains.  They had passed through a small band of trees a short time ago, and now were moving up a long, gentle slope covered in knee-high grass that waved gently in a mild breeze.  Hoo kept their progress oriented by watching the sun, moving them northwest, a direction in which he hadn’t explored with any thoroughness.  “If we are to find any other of the People,” he explained, “this is the best direction to look.”

As they neared the crest of the slope, Eba detected some movement in the grass a few paces to her left.  Drawing a flint blade, she pounced, struck several times with the blade, and came up laughing, a fat marmot in each hand.  Hoo clapped his hands together.  “We will eat well today,” he said.  “Let’s get over this ridge.  We will find a good place to start a fire and have fresh meat.”  Hoo carried an auroch horn filled with ashes mixed with mammoth dung, in the middle of which were some live coals from the clan’s communal fire.  Not only did this allow him to start cooking and warming fires quickly, but it was important to carry that coal from the clan’s communal fire, to have that piece of home with them.  Bad luck would surely befall them were Hoo to allow it to go out.

Eba smiled at her father.  Working quickly, she used her flint blade to eviscerate the rodents, then put the blade back in her pouch.  She took a long leather thong, tied the marmots’ back feet together, then tied a loop in the end and slung the rodents over her shoulder.  The four travelers moved on.  But when they reached the top of the slope, Hoo, in the lead, held up a hand.  “Hold,” he said.  He raised his head and held up a hand.

“Come up,” he said.  “Let them see you all.”

Eba walked to the crest.  Gula and Tep were already there, looking down the other side of the slope.  Eba followed their gaze to a narrow band of trees along a creek bottom, and saw them:  Runners.

How many of them there are, Eba thought.  She could, with difficulty, count to ten.  Quantities above that faded into “many,” and that described the flock of Runners below.  One of the Runners let out a shout, having seen the People.  That one motioned to the flock, then trotted up the rise towards the People, moving swiftly on his long legs.  Surprisingly, he could talk, after a fashion.

“Greet you,” the tall, gangly Runner said, grinning disarmingly.  Eba saw that it was a man; above his high, straight forehead, his hair, black as a crow’s wing, had some gray streaks in it, as did his scruffy black beard.  His skin was different, darker than the People’s, almost the color of the bare earth around the cave, and his face, as Eba had heard, was different:  Flat, almost like a child’s, with small eyes and a ridiculously small nose.  “You hungry are?” the Runner asked.

Hoo looked at the others.  The Runner was polite, at least.  “We have food,” Hoo told the Runner, indicating the marmots Eba carried.  “We will make fire, cook our meat there.”  Knowing the Runner didn’t talk very well, Hoo tried to keep his statements simple.

“Use our fire,” the Runner said.  He motioned down the slope to the narrow band of trees, where a small column of wood-smoke rose.  The Runners were all gathered, loosely, around the fire.  “All good.  Friendly,” the Runner slapped his chest.  “All friendly.”

Hoo nodded.  “We will come to your fire.”

They went to the fire.  The Runner man who had invited them proved to be the only one who could speak.  Hoo, Gula and Tep squatted at the fire while Eba skinned the marmots and spitted them to cook.  The other Runners gathered and chattered like squirrels while Hoo sought to engage the first male in conversation.

“We seek more of the People,” Hoo told the man.  When the Runner looked confused, Hoo touched his brow ridges, then slapped his chest.  “The People,” he said again.

The Runner frowned again.  He touched his forehead, then looked keenly at Hoo, then at Gula and Tep, then finally at Eba.  He touched his forehead again, then suddenly smiled, revealing small, yellow teeth.  He held up one finger in an unmistakable gesture:  Wait here.  Then he stalked off to confer with the other Runners.

Much chattering later, the man returned.  “North,” he said.  “One day run.  White cliff, cave at bottom.  Two…”  He struggled for a word, then failed.  Finally he reached out and tapped Hoo’s brow ridges.  “Two.”

“Two of the People,” Hoo said.  “I thank you,” he told the Runner man, who grinned again in reply.  Hoo turned to the others.  “He said one day’s run.  That will probably be two days for us.  We will eat, then leave.”

When the marmots were barely cooked, the four People ate, tearing at the tough meat with strong teeth.  Then, after wiping their hands with bunches of grass, they nodded politely to the runners and left, bound north.

***

As the four wanderers walked away into the grass, the man Hoo had spoken to stood and watched them go.  A tall woman, black-haired, slim, and strong, came up to him and took his hand.  “Are the Old Ones going, Wolf?”

“They are, Raven, my dear.  They seek their own kind, it seems.  It is sad.  Every year there are fewer of the Old Ones about.  Father says there used to be families of them in almost every valley, but now, one rarely sees them, even west of the mountains.  He always said they were a gentle people.  Good neighbors.”

“I hope they find what they are looking for,” the woman said.

Wolf nodded.  “They should be glad the Diggers haven’t yet come this far.  At least they don’t have that worry.”

The Runner couple stood, holding hands, and watched the short, stocky forms disappear into the tall grass.

***

Hoo’s guess as to the distance proved accurate.  Towards evening on their second day of walking, they came within sight of a low, white cliff, protruding from a small cove of birch and maple trees.  Faintly, they heard the throbbing of a drum, and a faint voice raised in song.

“Someone speaks to the spirits,” Gula said.

“One of the People,” Eba agreed.

“Let’s find them,” Hoo urged the others on.

It was growing dark when they found the cave, drawn there by the faint light of a fire.  Seated on a flat stone by the fire, still tapping on a wooden drum, was a man of the People – an old, old man.  On a bed of furs nearby lay an old, old woman, her eyes closed.  Neither of the elders had noticed the four People approaching.  Eba knew that, in the very old, the vision and hearing would begin to fail.  So as not to startle the old People, the four travelers began to sing as they approached, matching the old man’s song – it was a song of sadness and grieving, one the People had sang in bad times since before living memory.  The song was meant to rise on the wind, to carry the troubles away, but something in the old man’s tone added hopelessness to the dirge.

“Grandfather,” Hoo said as they finally walked up to the fire.  The old man stopped drumming and looked up.  “Are you and Grandmother here alone?”

The old man let his leather wrap fall open, to reveal his skinny chest.  Ribs protruded.  “We are alone,” he said.  “The young ones were taken by sickness.  The bad spirits somehow left us old ones alone and took only the young.  I am too old to hunt.  We have been living on leaves and rats.  We starve.”

“No longer,” Hoo said.  He went to the old man and laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Eba, see to Grandmother.  Tomorrow, we will hunt.  We will bring meat for you and Grandmother.  You will have hot soup, rich with fat from the belly of the kill.  Then we will talk about you returning home with us.”

“I am Podo,” the old man said.  “She is Gra.  We cannot walk far.”

“Grandfather,” Tep said, tears running down his face, “we will carry you.”

Eba felt ashamed at her thought:  No mate for me here.  Maybe no mate for me anywhere.  I think the sun will never rise on the day when I will have children.  But she knelt by the old woman and gently stroked her brow ridges.  The old woman’s eyes opened, rheumy and yellow.  “Oda,” she whispered.  “You came back.  Or have I finally walked the Star-Path to find you?”

Eba could only think of one reply.  “Yes, Grandmother.  I am here.”

***

He hums.

There are drums.

Four winds,

Rising suns,

We are singing and playing.

I hear what he’s saying.

Note:  This one isn’t a Bob Dylan creation but was in fact written by The Grateful Dead’s Donna Jean Godchaux.  You can hear the original here.