CRO-MAGNON (18 page)

This spring would be the last time she would wear a flower over her right ear, she knew. Averting her gaze, she walked to the nearest clump of cattails, adjusted her deerskin shoulder bag, and began to pick the light green shoots.

#

That afternoon, Leya stood on higher ground among a profusion of red tulips, pink-blossomed hawthorn, and ground-hugging white bearberry blooms. She was alone, Alys having grown short-winded during the steep climb. That was happening more often, and Leya was concerned. Once people of the tribe began to go downhill, they usually went fast. Unlike the Flatheads, the People were well fed, sheltered, and clothed. But the good life demanded strenuous effort during a portion of every day.

She tried to peer into the red-maple forest a hundred yards upslope, near where Mungo had posted himself this morning. Since eating her lunch of cattail shoots and smoked deer meat, she had not seen him. She stooped and continued snipping tulips with her obsidian knife, dropping the red-tipped stems into her nearly full bag of cattail shoots. All the females would have a cheerful decoration to lift their spirits while they ate, and to wear later if they wanted. Leya knew that some of the tribe, particularly among the men, did not appreciate pretty things. But beauty had always been high on her list. As had helping sick people, which was one reason she wanted Sugn to train her as a shaman. He knew things that had been passed down, secrets she might never learn by herself.

A scraping sound came from behind a yellow-flowered barberry shrub, and she turned and saw a man. It was Mungo. He had discarded his loincloth but not his spear, and his swollen member waggled as he rushed her. Shrugging out of her shoulder bag, she whirled and sprinted downhill, heedless of the sharp sedge and thorny herbs that sprouted between clumps of flowers.

She ran flat out, the little knife still in her hand. She could hear Mungo’s grunts, then his footfalls, then his explosive breathing. Fingers closed around her ankle and she went down, scraping her shoulder. Before she could squirm free, Mungo dropped the spear and slid on top.

Without thinking, she slashed at his face, the ultrasharp blade laying open his left cheek. His hand snapped out and sent the little black knife spinning. Perhaps a good thing, she thought, as the little blade could flay either of them to the bone. She wasn’t ready to give up her chastity, but it was better than losing her life. She lifted an arm to scratch at his eyes but his hand clamped her elbow.

He was stronger. Hopelessly stronger. His knees pried her thighs.

She knew that the taking of a woman by force was a tribal taboo, punishable by banishment, so Ronan must have authorized this assault. Mungo had developed into the tribe’s best hunter, and the chief probably he thought that mating with him was in Leya’s interest, as well as the tribe’s.

He didn’t understand her. None of them did.

She tried to buck Mungo off but he only clamped her tighter. His free hand slid under her leather skirt and groped her crotch. So it was to be face-to-face, she thought. Although it was not a subject for polite discussion, she had heard that face-to-face sex was a relatively recent development, perhaps taken up in contrast to the Flatheads who reportedly always entered from the rear and who the People considered to be half animal.

She also knew that some of the People, men and women alike, actually preferred their
tegu
that way, often while kissing. While the position precluded the man cradling the woman’s breasts from beneath, it seemed a more sensitive way to express affection.

But she didn’t love Mungo. Quite the opposite, she now realized. Having no way to resist further, she took Nola’s advice and forced herself to relax.

“
Otherwise you may be chafed or even torn,” her friend had told her.

Mungo did not bother to strip her loincloth but merely shoved it aside. She felt her outer lips part, felt his shaft ram into her cavity. Her mind whirled. She wished she had chosen someone else when she’d had the chance. Karth had asked her right after her once-every-moon bleeding had started, and she’d told him she wasn’t ready. Now he was mated to Weni and they already had a boy child.

Mungo’s hands were under her vest, his rough palms causing her nipples to tighten. She felt his member thrust and recede, thrust and recede while he held her eyes, triumph thickening his face around the bleeding wound.

So this was
tegu
, she thought. It hurt.

She felt fluid flood her membranes, and the pain eased. Still she refused to join in, sensing that once she accepted him he would consider her his property. And she did not want Mungo. She didn’t know who or what she wanted. But whatever it was, it wasn’t Mungo. If only she had chosen earlier, she thought, as his fingers squeezed her breasts.

Forward . . . back . . . forward . . . With some other man, some other time, she might have enjoyed it. But not with Mungo.

She tried to shrink away, but his pace was relentless and the springy sedge set her buttocks to bouncing with the rhythm. Thrust . . . recoil . . .

She felt him stiffen. Was it over? Had she received his seed? He withdrew and she saw him snatch his spear. In one motion he was on his feet. She peered at his wilting member, saw no whitish fluid, and felt a surge of relief.

A snarl sounded, and she rolled over and scrambled to her feet. Mungo stood bent-kneed, his spear extended. A half-score of body-lengths up slope crouched a knife-toothed tiger, its sleek head thrust forward. Its yellow eyes stared at Mungo, saliva dripping from its curved fangs.

The sight of the muscular animal mesmerized Leya. She saw Mungo’s free hand go to his mouth, heard his piercing whistle. Below on either side of the forest the other two guards emerged. On the right Leya recognized the tall form of Drem who, though two summers older, usually followed Mungo’s lead. On the left the stocky Hodr, Mungo’s younger half-
brator
, was already on the run.

Without shifting his gaze, Mungo said: “Step backward down the hill. Don’t turn your back, and don’t run.”

Leya did as she was told. Above her, the tiger snarled again and padded forward. Mungo shouted and shook his spear. The big cat pulled up short, and man and beast glared at each other. Leya continued to back downhill. Mungo might be overbearing, she thought, but he didn’t lack courage. Probably some day he would succeed Ronan as chief.

The lanky Drem bounded uphill past her. “You can turn now, but don’t run yet.”

Turning down slope, she walked faster. She looked for Alys but didn’t see her. Below, the bog was empty of women. Behind her she heard a feral snarl, and two wordless shouts.

Hodr puffed past her, his short legs pumping. “You can run now.”

Below, Alys’s tall form stepped from behind a buckthorn bush and beckoned. Leya began to lope downhill, taking care not to turn an ankle on the tufted sedge lest she trigger the animal’s wounded-prey instinct. From above came more snarls and shouts. Ahead, a partridge exploded from a yellow-blossomed pea shrub and careened past her face. Drawing huge breaths, she bounded toward her
mator.

#

Leya chewed slowly, savoring the piquant taste of the blackened fish. The first flat-nose of the year, and Jarv and his helpers had pit-baked it to perfection, then blackened it over the campfire. Even better, she thought, was the roe, sprinkled with salt from the inland sea and served on succulent young mustard leaves.

“
The women all appreciated the tulips you picked,” Alys said, fingering the tiny red bulb over her ear. She wore the flower on the left-hand side, signifying she was not available for mating.

At her age, she could get away with that, Leya thought. She herself had reluctantly pinned the stem above her right ear.

“
Mungo came within a pinch of planting his seed,” she said.

Alys gave her a hooded look. “Did he enter you?”

“
Yes.” Leya’s free hand fumbled in a pocket and she caressed the ivory figurine of the earth-
mator.
“Thank Ki for the bringing the tiger. By the time Mungo and the others drove it away, I was safe with you and the others.”

Alys took a nibble of salted roe, mashed it with her tongue, and swallowed. From where Leya sat, she could not see the campfire, but she could hear men chanting. Probably Ronan was outlining tomorrow’s hunt for the red deer that had been spotted in the maple forest.

“
Ronan must have given him the go-ahead,” Alys said.

“
I’m sure.” Leya used her thumb and three fingers to pick up a mound of cattail shoots and steamed fiddleheads, popping it into her mouth in the accepted manner. She noted that the fiddleheads tasted slightly of rawhide. Soon it would be time to replace the birch bark that lined the leather-bottomed steaming pit.

“
You cannot go against the customs of the tribe,” Alys said. “Soon you will have to have to accept a mate, or have one forced on you.”

“
I don’t want Mungo. He’s bossy and violent.”

“
I’m sure Ronan does not care whom you choose,” Alys said. “Perhaps if you approached one of the other single men yourself . . .”

“
Like who?”

Alys lifted her skull-cup and eyed her daughter over the steaming pine-needle tea. “Whom would you prefer?”

Hearing the finely-tuned syntax, Leya smiled. Her
mator
had long ago established herself as the tribe’s expert on language. But that was her only area of authority.

“
No one,” she said. “I want to learn to commune with the spirits of the animals, perform the mating ritual, and minister to the sick.”

“
For that, you would need instruction by Sugn. And he has already chosen his acolytes.”

Another word from Alys’s home tribe, Leya noted. “I already know much about healing,” she said. “I can bring down fever, cure infections, and splint bones.”

“
Sugn has told you that only a man can be a shaman, and Ronan has confirmed it.”

“
I don’t care. I won’t become some man’s possession.”

“
I never felt that way with Perth.”

“
There aren’t many like him,” Leya said.

“
That is true. Lunn was more like Mungo, so I know how you feel.” She took another bite of roe, mashed it, and swallowed delicately. “I think you should offer yourself to the gentlest of the single young men.”

“
There isn’t time. By tomorrow, Mungo will—”

“
I mean now. Right this minute.”

“
What if he refused me?”

“
No young man in his right mind would turn you down.” Alys took a sip of tea. “Not unless he’s . . .”

Leya sensed movement outside the tent. She glanced out the entrance and saw Nola walking toward them. Her friend wasn’t carrying Vonn. Probably Jarv was watching him. No, Jarv would be at the campfire. Nola must have left Vonn with Yali.

What would cause her to leave her children at mealtime? She felt a pang of apprehension. “Nola’s coming.”

“
Good. Maybe she’ll talk some sense—”

“
She doesn’t look happy.”

“
Is she coming from her hut?”

“
No. From the direction of the fire.”

Alys frowned but held her tongue.

Nola stooped to enter the hut, nodded to Alys, and peered at Leya. “Ronan has called for you. He asked Jarv to tell you but Jarv thought I would be better.”

“
What does he want?”

“
He has consulted with the other men. A decision has been reached.”

Leya’s spine tingled. She rose and stepped out of the hut. The moment was at hand. What should she do?

I could flee.

Although they would come after her, she could run with the best of the men. But how would she survive, alone in the wilderness? Even men knew that banishment was a judgment of death.

Beyond a row of peaked tents she could make out the glow of the campfire and could hear men chanting, Sugn’s querulous voice rising in counterpoint. Her mind went numb. As if in a trance, she walked toward the reddish light.

The men of the tribe totaled the better part of a score. Most of them were sitting cross-legged around the birch-log fire, holding their spears upright and chanting in unison. Beyond the flames Sugn, draped in the bloody carcass of the slender roe deer that one of the scouts had managed to kill yesterday, danced and crooned. Two men stood aside, obviously waiting for Leya. The grizzled one was Ronan. The younger, Mungo, stared as she approached. She suppressed a smile as she saw the now-dressed wound swelling his left cheek.

Ronan said, “Leya, I have given you every chance to choose a mate.” His voice, while characteristically subdued, left no doubt that he was about to exercise his authority as chief of the Tribe of the Twin Rivers.

Leya dipped her head in the approved manner. “That is so, Chief Ronan.”

“
Why have you not chosen?”

“
I wanted to be a—”

He waved dismissively. “That is against the custom of this and every other tribe.”

“
Yes, Chief.”

“
Our customs have a purpose, child.” The chief’s voice turned solicitous. “They help maintain order. Without order, we would all die.”