When we were many paces distant, Pretty Face hit the target four times out of six, but I hit the target all six throws. This made him very angry. When the others laughed at him I realized I should have let him win. But this was not my way, to let someone win, and now I was learning a lesson.
“You should have let Pretty Face win,” Bright Eyes said to me that night in our shelter. “Some times you must let the other person best you, even if you can best him, because it does not matter to you but matters very much to him. Now you must be careful. Pretty Face is now your enemy.”
On the sixth day we packed. I thanked Thrower for teaching me how to throw.
“I did little,” he said. When Thrower smiled I forgot about his big ears.
Most of us spent that morning by the canoe. We gathered and folded the robes, packed the bone tools, finished weaving the cedar sail. Pretty Face was on watch to the left, furthest from us, and Thrower to the right.
“Take this to Pretty Face.” Long Braid said to me. She had some dried meat, still warm from the smoke. “Offer this meat to him. This will ease the sting of his loss.”
I took the meat and walked across the meadow. Pretty Face was leaning on a long staff, watching the forest. His thrower was on the ground, some distance away. I knew this was not what Thin Hair wanted but I knew enough not to say anything to Pretty Face.
“I bring this if you are hungry,” I said, doing my best to smile and act friendly.
He would not turn to face me. He remained facing the forest. I walked around and stood in front of him, my back to the trees.
“I bring you some meat,” I said again. I stood there, holding the meat.
Pretty Face would not look me in the eye. He was looking beyond me. Then he saw something. High above me, an eagle cried, twice. At the same time I heard something behind me. It was not loud, and I might not have noticed among the many small sounds around us, but this sound was different, a quick slithering sliding sound. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Thrower move fast.
Pretty Face lunged for his thrower, but his thrower was on the ground and too far away. As he lunged for his weapon he dropped his staff, which I grabbed. A shadow fell across me. I heard a thump behind me.
Thrower screamed. “Cat.” He had his thrower up and aimed as I spun to face huge yellow eyes and the dark, clotted fur of an enormous, approaching cat. I realized Pretty Face had seen this animal before he reacted and had not warned me. I also knew he was too far from his thrower. The cat crouched, legs outstretched, claws unsheathed. The mouth was open and the great teeth glistened.
I braced the end of the pole behind my feet to the left and thrust it forward with my right hand high on the staff. My left hand, by my waist, also braced the pole. The cat leapt. It only had to swing its paws together to crush my skull. From somewhere to my side I heard a swishing sound and I knew Thrower had thrown a dart. My right hand was high, holding the pole. Pretty Face was behind me, hopefully now with his thrower up and aimed, but I was between him and the cat.
Thrower’s dart thudded into the cat’s chest just behind the left shoulder, burying itself deep. The cat screamed. Before Thrower’s dart struck, Pretty Face threw. His dart struck my right hand at the fourth finger, was deflected off the pole, and struck the cat’s throat. I felt a pinch in the finger. At the same moment I dropped to the earth and rolled aside. I was certain that here I would die.
The cat struck the earth hard, limbs extended, one claw scraping my forehead in a great blow. Almost blind with blood, I saw Pretty Face’s heels as he sprinted from the cat. The cat lay next to me on the ground, eyes open and blank. The huge cat was dead. I wiped the blood from my face. Thrower was standing by my side. The other people were all rushing our way. Pretty Face stood, confused.
I felt many things. I knew that now I had an enemy for life in Pretty Face. Besting him in a target game was one thing, but now he had revealed himself a coward before everyone. I felt pain in my hand and through the blood I saw that half my fourth finger was missing. If Pretty Face had not hit my hand and the pole, his dart would have missed the cat. I was surprised to see tears in Thrower’s eyes as he observed me. My hand now started to hurt.
“That is a big cat, Strong Heart,” Thin Hair said. “Thrower, that was a good throw.”
“Pretty Face’s throw is what saved her,” Thrower said, speaking to Pretty Face.
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Pretty Face.”
“You are growing up,” Long Braid said to me later, as she covered my finger with paste after sealing the wound with fire.
“I am still not a woman.”
Long Braid’s eyes crinkled. “You will become a woman, Strong Heart. Of this I have no doubt. When we reach home you will be the one who goes to the Marking Place. This I think.”
My hand hurt. My head hurt. Anger and Watcher were skinning the cat and Weeps a Lot and Weeps a Lot More were staring at me.
The sun was bright but then the sun went away, as if a great cloud had come across the sky.
Then I knew nothing.
After four days they reached the trailhead and parking lot. The deciduous trees were bright with new leaf. William had lost so much weight his pants were falling off. Tom never mentioned the lost spear thrower the whole trip out. Nobody did. William knew Tom was very worried about Sarah’s state of mind.
At Tom’s, Sarah went to bed early. She was weak. They unpacked their gear, spread everything out in the sun, did laundry. They showered. Then they lingered on Tom’s porch.
“You still have a job, Tom?” Myra asked. Tom had been on the phone for an hour.
“I’m not sure, Myra. We have a commission meeting tomorrow; the big push by Buckhorn for their pier lease.”
“I’ll be there,” Myra said. “The Chair of the Fish Commission’s going to attend, plus some fishermen. They want to show by their silent presence how important that pier is for our fleet.”
“On my phone call, once Fletcher finished shaming me for losing my granddaughter, he made things clear: I toe the party line. It’s going to be a long damn meeting.”
William had planned to mow his tiny lawn the next day. Now he decided to go to the meeting himself as moral support for Tom.
“Will Sarah be all right?” asked Myra, looking back toward the house. “She believes what she told us really happened. She had a head injury, maybe a concussion, and she lost a finger. Some small animal must have bitten her, badly, wherever she was, maybe after she fell. I’m worried.”
“She has an amazing imagination.” Tom leaned a hand on a porch post.
“Who’d believe her?” Myra asked. “Do we believe her? Exactly, Tom. The less said, the better, all around.”
“I believe her,” William said. “She had a great adventure.” Myra was shaking her head. Tom studied William. “But I agree, the less said, the better.”
With Sarah still asleep, Myra left for home.
Tom walked William to his car. “I think Roger and his goons took the tube, ‘Eye. All I have left is that little sliver. At least we got up there to fix Bob-Bob’s grave. And I guess in the end the words you spoke at his grave worked. Something worked. Sarah lived. But I don’t think I’m done, not yet, not until I either get that tube back or confirm what I held and carried all these years. I want to date that spear thrower, just for my own information. Seems the least I can do if the thing’s otherwise lost.”
“So take the sliver over to the university.”
“Are you kidding? This archeological community is damn small, especially because of this conference coming up. If I took that sliver to the university, word might get out they were dating something from the inner park. One hint, just a hint, that something very old came out of that valley, and Buckhorn’s goons would be all over me. Not to mention all the gods in the archeological community, whose standings might be threatened by something that old being fou
nd that far in the park. Most of those experts believe the park was empty in ancient times. That sliver would just disappear like the atlatl did. I want your help on this one, if you agree. This is personal.”
“Now I’m confused. I’m just a merchant sailor, Tom.”
“You’re the best naturalist I’ve ever known, ‘Eye. Myra told me she thinks that atlatl was fossilized bone. She also confirmed that your friend over in Russia, the guy you mentioned at the start of this trip, does more than collect mammoth tusks.”
“He has a lot of tusks, Tom.”
“Myra said he’s pretty well known.”
“In Russia, sure. But he told me Russian ice age experts aren’t very well respected over here.”
“Exactly. He’s not in the network. But he is an expert.”
“Alec tells me his bear hunting stories. He’s a hobbyist. His son is the expert.”
Tom reached in his pants pocket, pulled out a two-inch by one-inch plastic case with a hard lid. “Here’s the sliver. Will you ask your friend to identify what bone it is; date it?”
William opened the case. There, in smooth cloth packing, rested a dark sliver, like a slice from a thick wooden match. “Jesus, Tom. I could lose this.”
“You never lose anything, ‘Eye. Just take that with you, ask him to get an age, if he can. The end of this summer, I’ll take the sliver back up in the park, place it near Bob-Bob. Then I’ll have done all I can.”
William held the sliver. It felt like a piece of old bone. “I’ll see what I can do. You going to be okay with Sarah, Tom?”
“This won’t be easy. She’s subdued. Quiet. It’s going to be day to day, with her.”
“Long time each day, you working and her home.”
“Myra said she’d keep Sarah busy over at the tribal offices. She said she needs help catching up. You’ve got a fine daughter, ‘Eye.”
“She was a big help, this trip.”
“That was a stupid damn thing you suggested, ‘Eye, taking Sarah up there. And I was a fool to agree. Unconscionable. Sarah could have died. Should have died.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No, but she seems changed. Probably be scarred forever.”
“Sarah is the most fearless human being I’ve ever known, Tom. I don’t know what happened to her up there, none of us do. Of course she’s not the same.”
“We nearly killed her.”
“Tom, you put your grandfather to rest. His great-great granddaughter was there and whatever else happens, her life from now on holds that memory. You took the spear thrower back up there, and that thrower may be there still. I didn’t collapse. You weren’t hurt. Sarah survived, well enough to come out under her own steam. Myra has the satisfaction of knowing she kept us old geezers going. Sarah experienced some extraordinary visions.”
“Do you really believe her story, ‘Eye, like you told Myra?”
“She believes it was true, Tom. I respect her belief.”
“Still, ‘Eye, that was irresponsible of me. Us.”
“Tom, 45 years ago when you went up there and your grandfather died and you buried him, you were what, 21? Now your granddaughter went up there at age 13 with her grandfather. She went missing for eight days, alone, in the cold, the rain, the forest. It’s no wonder she’s subdued. Have a little faith, Tom. She has a strong heart. A strong heart.”
“I hate it when you go all shaman on me, ‘Eye.” Tom was smiling.
“In my blood, Tom. In your blood, too, I now know. “
“Not as much, by a long shot.”
“What do they call you down at the maintenance shop? Nuts ‘n Bolts? That’s a perfect name for you.”
“When are you sailing again?”
“Friday. They won’t recognize my new thin self when I come up the gangway.”
“Get some new pants, those things are so loose it looks like you’re wearing Depends beneath them.”
The next day William attended the commission meeting to support Tom, but he arrived late. By the time he drove into the parking lot, Myra and her tribal delegation were outside, standing aimlessly.
The sun was out, the air balmy.
Myra walked over. “Tom was just fired, dad. Nastily and publicly. Lynch brought a motion which carried two to one. Tom’s up in his office getting his stuff. Lynch wanted him gone. And now they’re going to vote for the Buckhorn deal, the pier lease, close out the tribal fishermen, build Lynch’s center.”
William wasn’t surprised. “Fletcher Lynch gets what he wants, Myra. Always has.”
“More amazing, they went through all that and nobody seems to know yet this mining operation will be up in the park.”
“I’ll bet few people know Lynch is up to his elbows in this, either. He’s Buckhorn’s partner using Tom’s family’s old claim, Myra.”
“Small town politics, dad. You know.”
Tom emerged from a side door, carrying a box. Some of the people inside the commission meeting turned to look out the windows as Tom left. Beyond them, on the dais, William caught a glint from Lynch’s glasses. He was watching Tom, too.
Tom approached Myra and William. “It was clear as soon as executive session started Lynch and the attorney had something cooked up.”
“Tom,” Myra said, “Fletcher Lynch is a vengeful, spiteful, small man. Most people in this town loathe him. He thinks that vote for Buckhorn will get him re-elected but what he just did to you, people won’t like that. You’re well respected here, Tom, no matter what Fletcher Lynch says. What an asshole.” Myra gave Tom a hug.
Tom seemed fine. In fact he seemed relieved.
“Can they really fire you like that?” William asked.
“In that job, I’m an at-will employee, ‘Eye. They can fire me as soon as two of the three commissioners vote.” Tom turned away from the port offices. “I’ll run down to the maintenance shop, say my goodbyes. Those are the guys I know, anyway. I think Ruth and Fletcher are going to try to take Sarah back, too; he made that clear to me. According to him and a lot of other people, I’m irresponsible, careless, and show serious lack of judgment.”
“I’d take her, if she’s willing,” Myra said. “I like her. Maybe some of her orneriness will rub off on me.”
Before Tom walked to his car he pressed William’s shoulder. “Don’t forget, ‘Eye, that favor in Petropavlosk.”
A day later, before returning to Seattle to rejoin the ship, William went to see Sarah. She was sitting on Tom’s front porch, drinking lemonade. It was the first hot day of spring. She had a new brass pin in her nose.
“You doing all right, Sarah?”
“Hi, William. I read the paper. That’s shitty, what my step-grandfather did.”
“Yep. Are you going to go to school for the rest of the year?”
“I start next week.”
“You don’t seem too unhappy about it.”
“Whatever.”
“How’s your finger? Your bruised head?”
“Better.”
William sat in the chair next to Sarah. She had her feet up on the porch railing. “Sarah, I’m going to the ship. I’ll be back in about two months, before the summer’s over. You take care of your grandfather.”
“Myra said I could stay with her, sometimes.”
“Anything but Fletcher and Ruth, right?”
“I won’t say anything, William, about the trip.”
“Sarah, we know there’s more you didn’t tell us. Right?” Sarah’s chin rose and fell. “I hope someday you do tell us, but for now, the less said to anyone – anyone – the better. You’ll have trouble enough, fitting in here, without people hearing stories about your adventures.”
Sarah handed William a manila folder from beneath her chair. Inside were copies of her sketches: Myra, the spider web, William, the bear, and the two sides of the atla
tl. “Tom made copies. These are for you, on the ship.”
“Thank you. These are a great gift, Sarah.”
“William?” Sarah turned to William. She seemed 10 years old. “Am I crazy? What I told you guys?”
“I wish I could have a vision like that.”
“It was real, William. It felt real.”
“Do you feel crazy?” Sarah shook her head. “You sure don’t look crazy to me, Sarah.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Thanks, Sarah. Tom and Myra and I are considered irresponsible already. Your story gets out, we’ll all of us be in real trouble.”
“They’ll lock me up, maybe.”
“You’d escape.”
“Easy.”
“Take care, Sarah.”
“William? One more thing, I didn’t tell you.”
“I know. Maybe someday we’ll hear the rest of what happened, how you found your way to our camp. When you’re ready.”
“No, I mean something else.” William had been rising to leave. He sat down. “I know where the spear thrower is, William. When I walked back to the camp from Bob-Bob’s grave I was pissed at all of you. I grabbed the case. I had it when I fell. I don’t remember having it with me, down there, but I know it’s there. Somewhere down there. I think I could find it again.” Sarah’s gaze was direct, unblinking. William realized she was perfectly capable of returning to the place where she had been trapped.
Where did this girl find such courage?
William drove to Seattle, via the Edmonds ferry, and joined the ship, Seattle Express.
They had a busy trip. They were carrying a lot of stuff north, containers on deck, machinery, frozen food, supplies, lumber for St. Paul and the NOAA weather base, plus fish for Petropavlosk. When they got to Petro, William was able to get off the ship for a few hours to see Alec. He had the sliver and planned to ask Alec for help dating it.
He’d emailed Alec from the ship’s system to tell him he was coming. When he got through the port gate, he was surprised to see Alec’s son, Sergei, standing there, not Alec.
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