An Alex Hawk Time Travel Adventure | Book 3 | Return from Kragdon-Ah

by Inmon, Shawn

  He found he could move. It was so excruciatingly slow that someone watching would not have been able to see his progress, but bit by bit, he freed himself.

  When he freed his left arm, he glanced down at his mangled hand, and winced, then put it out of his mind. With one last surge of effort, he pulled himself the rest of the way out. He collapsed against Monda-ak, panting.

  “Don’t die on me now, we’ll get both of us fixed up.”

  Alex managed to get to his knees and examined the dog’s wounds. They were bad—deep gashes over his left shoulder, another deep slice down the side of his face—but he thought they wouldn’t be fatal. At least, he thought they wouldn’t be fatal if he could get him help.

  “You stay here. One more thing, then I’ll be right back.”

  He stumbled to his feet and weaved toward Lanta-eh. When he had gone twenty paces, he turned and saw the mountain of bear beside Monda-ak. He shook his head, unable to believe he had killed such a monster.

  When he limped to Lanta-eh, she paled at the sight of him. She found the strength to tear a few pieces of fabric from her shirt and made Alex kneel in front of her. With tears streaming down her face, she gently wrapped his hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

  Alex stood, said, “We paid a price to get you to the top of that hill. We’re not going to stop now.”

  Alex bent, ignoring the intensity of the pain that came from a dozen different places, and picked her up.

  “Monda-ak, I will be right back.”

  He placed one leaden foot in front of the other. It took him many times longer than a normal day, and he had to stop and rest three times, but he reached the crystal rocks.

  He placed Lanta-eh gently inside, then leaned against the rock for support. When he caught his breath, he helped her arrange herself. He moved her so that her back rested against the wall, then helped her cross her legs into the traditional pose.

  “I will be back for you. I have to go back to get help for Monda-ak. When I return, we are taking you away from this place.”

  He turned and limped away, but Lanta-eh called weakly after him. He turned and saw that her tears were gone and she was smiling at him.

  “Manta-ak, you have truly been my hero.”

  He raised a hand in acknowledgment, but was too far gone to say anything.

  As quickly as he was able, he went to his horse, retrieved his water bag, and went back to Monda-ak. He washed the wounds of the dirt, then dribbled the water on the ground in front of him, where he could lick a bit of it up.

  Alex nuzzled against the mighty neck, said, “You are the best friend I could have ever had. Don’t you leave me now.”

  He stumbled to his horse and found he couldn’t get up on it. His legs simply didn’t have enough spring. He led the horse a few paces, until he saw a fallen tree. He climbed on the tree, then onto the horse’s back.

  Alex leaned forward and closed his eyes, trusting the horse to know the way back to Winten-ah.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Good-bye

  Alex did his best to retain consciousness, but truth be told, he slipped in and out on the ride home. When he reached the first guard post, the guard called, “Gunta, Manta-ak.”

  That was the moment that Alex lapsed into full unconsciousness and slipped from the back of his horse. The guard did what he was explicitly forbidden to do. He abandoned his post and ran to help.

  The young guard was nearly a foot taller than Alex, finely muscled, lithe, and strong. He reached the horse at a full run, knelt, and did a quick examination. Alex had bled through the hasty wrapping on his left hand and the entire left side of his shirt was stuck to him by more blood. The guard took the reins of the horse, put Alex over his shoulder, and ran to the next guard. There, he handed Alex and the horse over and returned to his post.

  Alex was relayed to the cliffside. When the last guard reached the open space, he called ahead for help.

  Sekun-ak was the first to arrive. He picked Alex up and cradled him like a child. Alex’s eyes fluttered open.

  “We have to go back now. Monda-ak is there. He needs me.”

  Sekun-ak called for warriors, more horses, Niten-eh, and one of the carts they had used to haul rocks to Prata-eh. When he saw Niten-eh hobbling toward them, he dispatched a warrior to pick her up and carry her to Alex.

  Sekun-ak laid Alex in the grass so Niten-eh could examine him. She used Alex’s own knife to slit his shirt off, revealing the extent of the damage godat-ta had done there. Then, gently, she unwound the sticky fabric wrapped around Alex’s left hand. The thumb was completely gone. The index finger was lost to the first knuckle.

  Wenta-eh came sprinting from the cave holding a basket of medical supplies.

  Alex objected, saying, “We need to leave right now. Monda-ak is badly hurt and vulnerable to any predator. We have to go now!”

  Sekun-ak gestured for the cart to be brought to them, then lifted first Alex, then Niten-eh inside. He took the basket of supplies and handed it to the healer. “You take care of him while we go. There are still two more out there who need us.”

  They started back to Prata-ah immediately—six armed warriors on horseback and Sekun-ak riding the horse that pulled the cart.

  They went as fast as they could, which was none too fast with the cart. Every bump, every rut sent a shiver of pain through Alex, but Niten-eh continued to work on him. Once she had cleaned and dropped powdered herbs over his mangled left hand, she called for someone to bring her a new water bag so she could clean the wound on his side.

  The wound was deep. She sprinkled water over it to wash the blood away, then probed with her fingers to see if there was internal damage. Satisfied that there was not, she helped Alex to sit so she could wrap fabric completely around him. As she did, she brushed against Alex’s ribs and he winced again.

  “Are you having a hard time breathing?”

  “Yes. It hurts when I breathe.”

  “You have broken these,” she said, drawing two fingers parallel to his lower ribcage.

  “Godat-ta fell on me when I killed him. I think that’s what did it.”

  Niten-eh reached a hand out and touched Alex’s forehead for fever. Finding none, she narrowed her eyes and said, “I thought you said that you killed godat-ta. I must have not understood. My ears are old and don’t work well.”

  Alex turned to meet her eyes.

  “I did kill godat-ta.”

  There was no answer for that. As old as Niten-eh was, she had no memory of anyone claiming to have killed one of the giants. It was impossible.

  Dusk had fallen by the time the caravan made it to the base of Prata-eh.

  When the warriors saw godat-ta, lying dead in a heap, the chatter started. The legend of Manta-ak grew once again.

  As soon as the wagon stopped, Alex tried to stand, but failed.

  “Sekun-ak. I need your help,” Alex said. “Take me to Monda-ak.”

  Alex’s heart hammered. He could not wait to be next to his faithful dog, but did not want to see him if he was dead.

  Sekun-ak lifted Alex out of the wagon and carried him to where he had left Monda-ak.

  Alex nearly couldn’t make himself look as he approached.

  He didn’t need to.

  As soon as Monda-ak heard Alex’s voice, the mighty tail beat a staccato rhythm against the ground.

  Sekun-ak eased Alex to the ground.

  “Thank you, Monda-ak. Thank you for not leaving me.”

  Wenta-eh helped Niten-eh down from the cart, then over to Monda-ak. As they passed the hulking corpse of godat-ta, Niten-eh stopped and craned her neck upward to take it in. Wenta-eh helped her to kneel by Monda-ak and Niten-eh quietly said, “I guess killing the godat-ta is not impossible, Manta-ak.”

  That was as close as she ever came to apologizing to anyone for anything.

  While she examined Monda-ak, Alex turned to Sekun-ak.

  “Lanta-eh is at the top of the hill. I am worried for her. Can you send someone to brin
g her down?”

  “No. I will not send anyone. I will go myself.”

  Alex watched Sekun-ak’s retreating back as he disappeared up the trail to the top of the hill. To Niten-eh, he said, “How bad is he?”

  “For having tangled with godat-ta, he is very good. Look here,” she said, pointing. “The claws went deep, but missed anything vital. He will need to stay down for a day or two, but soon will be his old self.”

  Alex smiled, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

  “I can’t believe we survived this.”

  One of the warriors—the man who had taken over the hunting when Sekun-ak became chief—took command of field dressing the bear. It was a cool day, but even so, they would have to work into the night to save the meat and get it back to the cave.

  “Careful,” the man said. “Save the hide. There will never be another godat-ta hide.”

  Alex did not care about the hide. He was glad that the meat would feed the tribe, but the only souvenir he had ever cared about was the broken stone half-circle he wore around his neck. A gift from Tokin-ak, the blind monk.

  Alex kept one eye on Monda-ak, soothing him with comforting words as Niten-eh worked on him. The rest of his attention was at the base of the trail, waiting for Sekun-ak and Lanta-eh to come back down.

  It had been a long, difficult process from the first day Lanta-eh had asked him to go for a walk until now, but Alex was so relieved it was over. All he wanted now was to get back to Winten-ah, retrieve Sanda-eh, and take as much time as necessary to nurse himself, Monda-ak, and Lanta-eh back to health.

  A moment later, Sekun-ak appeared on the path. He did not hurry. He did not have Lanta-eh with him.

  He came to Alex, didn’t say a word, but instead picked him up.

  Carried like a child, Alex could not bring himself to speak.

  He shook his head. He knew. He knew, but would not accept it.

  At the top of the hill, Alex saw the crystal walls through blurry eyes.

  Sekun-ak carried him inside and put him down beside Lanta-eh.

  She was in the same position Alex had left her in—back against the stones, legs crossed, head tilted toward the sky.

  Her eyes were open, but unseeing.

  She was smiling.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Arrival

  Alex, Monda-ak, and the corpse of Lanta-eh rode in the cart on the trip back to the cliffside. Alex sat with his back to Sekun-ak, his legs—one of the few parts of him that wasn’t injured—stretched in front of him. Monda-ak laid on his left side, his right front leg and paw resting on Alex for comfort. Alex cradled the body of the girl who had given her life to the tribe.

  Alex had never understood what the whole chosen one business was about. Now that Lanta-eh had completed her journey and died, he had even less of a clue.

  Sekun-ak took the cart back without escort. All the other warriors stayed behind, and would work through the evening, trying to process as much of the meat of godat-ta as was humanly possible. As soon as Sekun-ak returned to Winten-ah, he would send both of their heavy carts to carry the meat and hide home.

  Niten-eh stayed behind as well, harvesting some parts of godat-ta for her own mysterious uses.

  “When will I ever have another chance to harvest the eyes and organs of the giant of Kragdon-ah?” she had asked before setting to work.

  The guards greeted them in turn, as expected.

  It was fully dark by the time they turned onto the path into the field. Torches were everywhere as the community waited for the story of what happened.

  Alex expected the revelation of Lanta-eh’s death to be devastating to the community. She was their perfect child. Their hope for the future. Their chosen one.

  He was surprised, then, when the first person to meet the cart clasped her hands to her breast, look to the heavens and started to sing. It was a haunting, wordless song. Sekun-ak joined in, as did everyone who ran from the caves to see Lanta-eh’s body.

  Alex was disgusted with his brothers and sisters.

  This beautiful young girl, so intelligent, kind, and unique, had somehow sacrificed herself, and a small Stone Age party was breaking out in Winten-ah. Alex could not even meet the eyes of the singers, the revelers.

  Sekun-ak pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the caves. Hundreds of Winten-ah poured from the cliffside. Dozens of hands reached into the cart—not to touch Alex, but to lift Lanta-eh into the air. Her body was passed from hand to hand, round and round, all while the sound of the eerie death song echoed everywhere.

  Alex cradled his injured left arm and climbed down from the cart. He called to Sekun-ak over the song. “Can you have someone help Monda-ak to my hut?”

  Sekun-ak, as caught up in the spectacle of the death of The Chosen One as everyone else, only waved at Alex, but said he would.

  Alex saw Sanda-eh at the edge of the crowd, moving her lips as she sang the song that must be in the DNA of every Winten-ah.

  Alex called to her and she ran to him.

  “Oh, Dadda! You are hurt! Where is Monda-ak? I missed you so.”

  Alex swept her up in his right arm, but paid the price in pain. “Monda-ak will be along soon. Can you help me to our home?”

  “Of course!” she said in English. She slid to the ground, took Alex’s right hand in hers and led up the path to their little hut. She threw the door open and pointed to the bed.

  “You need to lay down, Dadda.”

  “You are right. I do. But I will wait for Monda-ak to get here.”

  Sanda-eh stood just outside the door, watching the ceremony below and humming along with the music. Finally, she said, “Here he comes!”

  Four strong warriors carried Monda-ak as gently as a newborn. They placed him on his own bed and backed away. One warrior said, “Manta-ak, they say you killed godat-ta. Is that true?”

  “It is,” Alex said, collapsing back on the bed.

  Sanda-eh laid carefully beside him. “I’m sorry you are so hurt, Dadda. You don’t worry about anything. I will take care of you.”

  And she did. Sanda-eh grew and matured over the next days and weeks, as people often do when thrust into difficult situations. Alex’s tribal brothers and sisters brought broths, easy-to-digest foods, and fresh kills for Monda-ak to their small cabin. Sanda-eh always directed them to put it on their table, then carried it to her two charges herself.

  The first few days, Niten-eh visited three times a day, changing their bandages, adding more foul-smelling ground herbs to their wounds, and keeping a watchful eye out for infection. When she changed the wraps on Alex’s left hand, she noticed that he always averted his eyes, not wanting to see what the true damage was.

  On the fourth day, she removed the bandages from his hand and cleaned around the edges of the healing wounds. “Much of the swelling is down now. I am going to make a stiff bandage for it to protect it.”

  “Fine. Thank you,” Alex said, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Before I put those stiff bandages on, I want you to look at it.”

  “Why? Seeing it will not change what it is.”

  “Because you need to know, so your mind can adjust to how you will live with it like this. How many warriors in Winten-ah are scarred by their battle wounds?”

  The truth was, most of the people in Winten-ah carried some scar or disfigurement of one kind or another. Kragdon-ah is a brutal world.

  Alex turned his head and looked down at his left hand. It was worse, even, than he had thought. There had been nerve damage, so not only was he missing his thumb and index finger, but the other three fingers were completely inflexible. The wounds were horrific, but Niten-eh had kept any infection at bay. He stared at the damage for long seconds, then looked back at the ceiling.

  “Good,” Niten-eh said. “That is a beginning.”

  Monda-ak recovered more quickly than Alex. He had an almost supernatural ability to heal. Though his wounds healed quickly, he showed little interest in leaving his bed, or Alex
. He either slept, or kept a watchful eye on Alex and Sanda-eh.

  When two weeks had passed, Niten-eh said, “It is time to move about. Your injured ribs will take more time to heal, and so it will hurt to take a deep breath for a time, but laying here is not making you better.”

  Alex recognized what she said as truth. When he had broken his arm as a pre-teen, he had been out climbing and exploring again the next day, much to the chagrin of his mother.

  But that young Alex had not absorbed the series of losses that this older Alex had.

  His first friend, Doken-ak, killed on the scouting mission to Denta-ah. Then Janta-ak, who Alex had saved from wolves on his first day in Kragdon-ah, killed at the battle of Denta-ah itself.

  Werda-ak, they young boy Alex had grown to love, just when Alex had believed they had escaped from Lasta-ah.

  Most devastating, his beloved wife, Senta-eh.

  But, most fresh in his mind—Lanta-eh, The Chosen One.

  Together, these losses formed a black cloud around Alex that he could not dissipate.

  “You are right, Niten-eh. Laying here feeling sorry for myself does not accomplish anything.”

  “There is nothing at all you need to accomplish. But, moving around, getting the blood moving, spending time with your worried little girl, will only do you good.”

  Niten-eh left and Alex swung his legs over the bed. Monda-ak lifted his head as if to say, Is this it? Are we going to start living again?

  Alex felt weak, but his wounds were healing nicely. The crude cast on his left hand protected him from banging it into something accidentally. The gash godat-ta had taken out of his left side had scabbed over. Even his broken ribs were healing.

  The slowest to recover was his spirit, but Alex Hawk had never been one to shrink away from any challenge, even when it came from within.

  Alex opened the door and sunshine poured in. For the first time in weeks, he stepped outside. Life in Winten-ah had continued to spin on without him, just as it had before he had arrived. Children—older children mostly, as the curse of death limited the number of babies born—played in the field. A group of eight men walked toward the forest to relieve the guards on duty there. They laughed, pushed each other, and talked as they walked.