CRO-MAGNON (40 page)

#

At sight of Mungo’s scowling face and stiff body, Leya’s heart lurched. Her former rejected suitor was here to make trouble. At least he wasn’t armed, the brandishing of weapons being taboo inside the longhouses.

Mungo stepped into the tent. Ignoring Gar, he sidled past Alys and halted in front of Leya, who instinctively shielded Brann. She hated herself for cowering, but Brann’s safety was more important than a show of bravado.

Gar rose to his feet in his usual single motion and put out a hand to restrain Fel, who was sitting bolt upright with ears pricked. Mungo topped Gar by at least a head, but Gar’s mass of lean muscle made him the bigger man. He turned toward the intruder, pale blue eyes glinting like chips of ice under his brow ridge.

Leya motioned him back, and was relieved to see him go still. All she needed was a brawl on her first night back. Moving with slow dignity, she rose to her feet, glad for once that she was nearly as tall as Mungo.

Alys also stood. Towering over the others, she started to speak, but Leya waved her to silence. If she was to live with the Tribe of the Twin Rivers, she needed to handle her own problems. Choking back her fear, she faced her tormentor.

“
You’re not welcome here, Mungo.”

“
That’s right,” Alys said. “This is my tent. I say who is allowed.”

“
I go where I want.” Mungo said, his swarthy face darkening around the pale scar on his cheek. “I take what I want.”

Leya straightened her shoulders. “Ronan has said I may live here with Alys.”

“
You will visit my tent.”

“
I will not.”

“
Then I will take you right here.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Leya shrank back, clutching Brann to her breast, not sure the glowering Mungo might not grab the child and injure or even kill him. Fel must have felt the same, because he bared his teeth and lunged at the intruder.

“
Huh!”
Gar clamped the wolf’s neck, immobilizing him. Setting his thick legs, he placed his other hand against the intruder’s chest and shoved, chucking the rangy Mungo backward like a child’s s wood toy. The hunter hurtled through the tent’s entrance and thudded onto the packed dirt of the longhouse.

“
Man make trouble,” Gar said. “Hold Fel.” Before the flap could fall, he was through the opening.

Leya grabbed Fel’s ruff, her mind awhirl with fear and dismay. What if Mungo’s intent was to get her friend killed? Gar might deal with one man, but not the whole tribe. Restraining Fell, she scrambled to the entrance.

What she saw made her heart lurch. Mungo was climbing to his feet, and four of the tribe faced Gar in a semicircle: Mungo’s younger
brator,
the deadpan but rowdy Hodr. The tall Drem who, though a few years older, often followed Mungo’s lead. And two other young hunters, Font and Krol.

So Mungo had planned this, Leya thought, to lure Gar into a fight. To her relief, she saw that the men were honoring the weapons taboo. Still, they were five and Gar was one. What if they took him down and killed or crippled him?

As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. Gar stood calmly, seeming to accept his role as the evening’s entertainment. When Hodr charged, Fel strained against Leya’s hand but she scolded him and held fast.

Gar snatched the stocky youth and upended him. Leya could see that he held back as he body-slammed his assailant into the soft earth. Had he not, she knew, Hodr would have suffered broken bones.

When Font and Krol surged forward, Gar grabbed one in each hand, whirled his upper body, and let go. Arms and legs akimbo, the two men flew through the air and pitched down.

Drem had held back. Now he started forward, jockeying for position. Leya knew the quiet man was formidable, perhaps more so than Mungo if need be.

“
Drem,” she said, and the lanky man glanced at her and Brann, halted and stepped back. Not through fear, she knew, because Drem was one of the tribe’s most courageous hunters. But because he had a family of his own and knew that what they were doing was wrong.

Leya heard a commotion and saw a flurry at the far end of the longhouse. Mungo, now on his feet, looked at the hulking Gar and hesitated. He had felt the power of those muscles and did not look anxious to try them again. Font and Krol climbed to their feet and stood by, apparently realizing they were no match for this Flathead in unarmed combat.

“
Hold!” Ronan rushed forward, his grizzled face twisted. Behind him came Jarv and other hunters, two of them carrying javelins.

Ronan halted among the combatants. “What happened?”

“
Mungo ordered me to his tent,” Leya said. She glanced at the assailants now standing rather shamefacedly. “He really just wanted to start trouble.”

Ronan faced the hunter. “And so you did, Mungo.” He indicated Gar. “This man is our guest.”

“
He’s a Flathead,” Mungo said. “No fit guest.”

“
He tried to kill us,” Font put in.

Leya started to protest, but Ronan waved her silent. “Quees and others witnessed the clash. The man held back.”

Quees was Ronan’s mate, a woman not to be disputed.

The men who had taken part in the assault shuffled their feet, glancing around under their brows. They were chagrined, Leya knew, because their victim had bested them without half trying. Nola’s mate Jarv stood beside Ronan, a faint grin on his normally dour face. Leya, glancing around, saw the same reaction on other faces. Mungo was a rambunctious man, and many of the tribe looked pleased to see him get his comeuppance.

The would-be assailants turned and walked away, Mungo in the lead trying to look dignified.

Ronan smiled at Gar. “You comported yourself well.”

“
Not want hurt men,” Gar managed to say in the People’s tongue, his guttural voice stumbling over the words but his eloquent gestures clarifying the meaning.

“
I know. I apologize for the trouble.” The chief glanced at Leya, his lined features grave. “You see why your friend must leave on the morrow.”

Leya saw. She glanced at Brann and Fel—her family now, together with Alys—and wondered what fate would befall them now that Gar had brought her back to her people. She feared that things would not go well.

But what else was there?

#

At the top of the pass, Gar stepped ahead of Leya and Fel and stooped to take up the spear he had left there the previous afternoon. He turned to bid farewell, but the tall woman came into his arms with a rush.

“
I wish you could stay,” she said.

Gar, smelling the musk of her hair, wished he could too. Certainly he could carry his weight as a hunter. And despite the tribe’s advanced technology, he felt there were things he could show them. Although their slim javelins were intended to kill from a distance, there must be times when a charging animal breached their defense, and he knew from the men’s ineptitude in yesterday’s little brawl that he could show them a thing or two about close combat.

“
They not want Flathead,” he said, using the Shortface term for a clansman. “Some hate Gar. Others fear him.”

“
That’s because you’re different.” Leya’s chin pressed his ear, her fur-clad arms barely encircling his barrel torso. “If they knew you like I do . . .”

“
No chance. Mungo want you for mate. Think Gar stand in way.”

“
He may be right,” Leya’s said, her voice muffled by his hair.

What could she mean?

Gar knew that his thick body, big ugly face, and blond mane must look grotesque to the swarthy Shortfaces with their long limbs, high foreheads, and sharp chins. In his ragged furs, he must seem to them like a bear from the forest.

“
Mungo want take Leya,” he said. “Show others he win.”

“
Yes. That’s what he wants.”

“
Gar worry about you and Brann and Fel.”

“
Don’t.” Her arms tightened, her nose nuzzling him. “I’ll handle Mungo.”

As if sensing what was being said, Fel whined, and Gar reached down to stroke his head. From what he had seen of Mungo, he was not so sure Leya could “handle” him. What did “handle” mean? Sleeping with the man, if necessary? Anger gripped him.

Or was it jealousy, an emotion he knew was not—could never be—appropriate?

He shifted self-consciously, aware of Leya’s full breasts pressing against his chest. He felt himself harden. Easing out of her grip, he stepped back, afraid she would be revolted by the display of animal lust. She liked him as a friend, he knew.

But deep down, she must, like others of her kind, regard him as a savage from a lost world. He wanted to leave her with a pleasant memory of their time together, if trekking with a
tot
over frozen passes and battling a knife-tooth tiger could be called pleasant.

“
Your people watch,” he said. Letting his spear drop, he eased her arms apart. “Gar go now. Not want them think kid your fault.”

“
When you pulled me from the river, I hoped only for a quick death.” Her gaze slanted down, misty brown eyes searching his own. “Now I wish . . .”

He waited. When she did not speak, he said, “Wish what?”

“
I don’t know. I . . .” Her jaw firmed. “Brann is the important one, now. He must know the People’s world.”

“
Ay.”

Fel whined again. Gar stroked his ruff and forced himself to say, “You both need your people.”

“
Yes.” Her dark eyes brimmed as she broke contact and stepped toward the hillside. “I’ll never forget you, Gar.”

“
Me either. Not forget you. Not Fel. Not Brann.” He could see Leya’s people bunched below, watching them, some with stiff postures. She needed them. Brann needed them.

He bent to pick up his spear. Stepping back, he sketched a farewell salute and turned away.

Chapter 17

Standing beside Calder by the floating dock, Blaine said, “I haven’t been entirely straight with you, Ian.”

Surprise, surprise.
Calder wondered what new brainchild Caitlin was about to spring.

He wondered if she had sensed his attraction to her, had been using it to string him along, and now was about to impose another outrageous demand. He knew she was waiting for him to take the bait.

Probably he should just leave her hanging and not encourage more casuistry. He focused on Zinchenko, who was bent over the still-balky outboard engine.

“
How’s it going, Fedor?”

The Russian waggled a hand. “Old motor, bad fuel, thin air.”

Blaine muttered under her breath, but Calder refused to look at her. He was being led at a tangent to the expedition’s purpose his, he knew. Of course, he was here to investigate the world of 30,000 years ago; while his partner, she had made clear, had a more contemporary goal.

He sensed her watching him, waiting for his response. Well, let her wait. He was finished letting her take advantage of his feelings.

The outboard engine sputtered, revved, and died, and Zinchenko muttered a curse. Across the wind-ruffled water, the gray sky of a winter morning hung above the glacier-choked pass.

Calder wondered when the next tremor would rock the underwater tunnel, already weakened by the geologist’s test blast. Under the increasing threat posed by Salomon and Teague, his initial enthusiasm over the original diver’s discovery had waned. Now, he just wanted to complete the project and get himself and Caitlin out of here. If they could just get through this final day . . .

“
I’ve been searching for another gene.” Caitlin’s voice sounded impatient. “It’s called FOXP2. Last night the sniffer found it in the woman and boy but not in the Neanderthal.”

Calder felt relieved and let down at the same time. He’d anticipated some radical overture, but this was another case of her preoccupation with genes.

“
And?”

“
It facilitates the ability to pronounce complex words.”

“
Fine. After we get back, you can write it up.”

Her neoprene boot stamped the snowy ground. Calder didn’t think she was trying to warm her feet.

“
I need to compare the working of brains that have the FOXP2 gene with some from the same period that are missing it,” she said.

What was she getting at? He refrained from turning his head.

“
Don’t you have mathematical models for that sort of thing, like the null hypothesis significance test?”

“
For single genes, yes,” she said. “But there are probably other genes involved, so I need to work with actual brains.”

“
I’ve already agreed to help smuggle the boy’s brain. You can compare it with other brains if you can find some to scan.”

“
I need brains from the same period, or the results will be invalidated by thirty thousand years of genetic adaptation and drift.”

Uh-oh!
Where was this leading? He hoped it wasn’t where he thought.

To make time, he said, “That sounds like a case of ‘You can’t get there from here.
’
”