Callie's Catastrophe: Icehome Book 9

by Dixon, Ruby

  13

  CALLIE

  I look around the spacious cave that M'tok just led me into. Already it's better than being outside, since it's cold but the wind isn't ripping at us from every angle. Even so…it's dirty and there's an old, musty stink to it that's dreadful. Piles of debris are everywhere and it makes me want a bottle of hand sanitizer desperately. Even so, I nudge M'tok, unable to resist needling him. "Look at this place. You must be horrified."

  He shoots me a look that indicates I'm not so far off the mark. "It is dirty but it will be warm when we get a fire started."

  "Yeah, I can't wait to see what this place smells like when we heat it up," I joke, but I take a few steps deeper into the cave, admiring the walls. There's a few jewel-like stalactites that drip from distant corners of the cave, and they shimmer with a wet, opalescent look to them. It's not ice, which is unusual, and I point this out to M'tok. "Shouldn't that be frozen?"

  The big alien studies it, and then nods. "Perhaps there is a hot spring somewhere deep in the mountain. It does feel warmer in here, which could be why this cave has seen so many creatures." He kicks aside a dusty pile of…something. "For now, let us settle near the entrance. I will clean out an area for you."

  "I can help," I protest.

  M'tok ignores me and puts the pack down near the front, then sweeps one big booted foot across the floor repeatedly, clearing an area for a fire. He sets up a rock circle and works on the fire itself, laying out hunks of fuel in a pyramid shape and adding a bit of debris to act as tinder.

  I snatch the fire-starting sticks from him. "You clean. I know how to make a damn fire."

  "It is my job to take care of you," he retorts, holding his hand out for the sticks. "Let me tend to you."

  I mutter a few choice words in Spanish and deliberately show him my back. "You clean," I say after I'm done cussing at him and his entire family tree. "Let me make a fire. I'm not that helpless, cabron."

  "My name is M'tok." He sounds pissy, but he stalks away to the back of the cave and I can hear a bit of noise as he does…something.

  Good. I ignore him and get back to work on the fire. Or try to. The others make the whole stick-rubbing thing look really easy. I've done it once or twice, but as I peel off my gloves and do my best to get a coal started with endless working of the stick and bow that spins the other stick in place, it reminds me that I'm out of practice. No spark erupts no matter how long or hard I rub, and it aggravates me the longer I mess with it. It feels like hours pass and I still can't get anywhere. Frustrated, I toss the sticks down and get to my feet, only to see a dusty-looking M'tok watching me with amusement.

  "Shut up. I don't want to hear it." I raise a hand in the air. "Whatever smug thing you're going to say, keep it to yourself."

  "I wish only to offer a suggestion."

  "Oh boy. Let's hear it." I flick my fingers at him in a “come on” gesture, indicating he should spit it out.

  "It will go faster if you hold the bow closer. Make more loops on the stick and give it less slack." He gestures at the spot I've abandoned. "Sit. I will show you."

  I watch him warily, but since this doesn't seem supremely rude, I sit again and say nothing when he leans over me. His hands brush over mine as I reach for the sticks and he carefully loops the bow string around my other stick one more time.

  "Try now," he says. "The shorter length will make it go faster. It will spark sooner if you keep at it."

  "And if it doesn't?" I glance up at him with one eyebrow raised, trying not to notice just how near he is to me. It means nothing. Totally nothing.

  He flashes his teeth in a smile. "Then we will change places and you can try to clean this mess."

  I laugh, because he sounds so thoroughly disgusted. "You know, if you can find a broom of some kind, I imagine that will work faster than using your boot."

  "Show me."

  Since he's being reasonable, I do. We pull up one of the stumpy bushes from the lip of the cave, keep the root for drying out, and then tie it to the end of his spear. I demonstrate how to sweep with it and it moves the dirt and dried pine-needle-like leaves much faster than his efforts.

  As he cleans, I eventually get the fire started. I hate to admit it, but he was right. Damn him. I add more bits to the fire to get it blazing, and when it’s strong enough, set up the tripod for boiling water. We have a few sips left in our skins, and normally we’d refill with snow and let it melt while held against your body. Looking at how dirty this cave is, though, I’m not a fan of that idea. So I add a bit more fuel to the fire to keep it burning, then get to my feet and head deeper to look for M’tok.

  I find him in an antechamber of the cavern that feels warmer and slightly more humid than the big room above. It also smells a hell of a lot stronger, and he coughs under his breath as I approach. “You do not have to be back here,” he tells me.

  “Neither do you. Jesus, what died back here?” I pinch my nose shut.

  “One of those things,” he tells me, gesturing at something atop the heap of trash that M’tok’s made in the center of the room.

  I creep forward to look, and then bile rises in my throat. There’s an old, dead carcass of one of the goat-like creatures that were bounding around the hills outside. Pieces of the legs and stomach look like they’re missing, and the entire corpse stinks to high heaven. I press my hand to my mouth and back away. “Where’s some sage to burn when you need it?”

  “Eh?”

  I shake my head, grimacing. “My abuelita—my mother’s mother—would burn sage to get rid of bad things that linger. That definitely qualifies.” I wave a hand at the pile of trash.

  M’tok moves to my side and puts his hands on my shoulders, then gently steers me away. “I will take care of all of it. I promise.”

  That’s nice of him, but I’ll feel weirdly guilty if I just sit around the fire with nothing to do. “I came back here to look for water. Any ideas?”

  “Yes, actually.” His expression brightens and he puts a hand to the small of my back and gestures at the far end of the room.

  I don’t even think about it, just follow him. It’s not until I get to the antechamber that I realize he’s leading me forward like I’m his girlfriend or something. It bothers me that I didn’t even notice it, either. I just let him put his hand there and…it felt natural.

  This next room seems to be small, almost like a closet with no door. But it feels warmer than the last chamber, as if this is where the steamy heat is generating. As he points at the rock wall, I see it. It’s a trickle of water that traces down the rock in a half-dozen snaky little rivulets. When I reach out to touch one, M’tok makes a sound of warning a moment too late, and I burn my finger.

  “Ay, dios mios,” I mutter, putting my burning fingers into my mouth. “It’s hot.”

  He takes my hand and examines my fingers closely. I want to jerk away from him, but the gentle brush of his hand against mine is making all kinds of things ratchet up in my body. I bite back a whimper as he blows gently on my fingertips to cool them. “I tried to warn you.”

  “Yeah, I’m the type of girl that touches first, asks questions later.” And then I’m glad it’s dark in here, because why am I talking about touching things to him? It’s a terrible choice of words. It makes my mind spin to dirty, dirty places.

  It sure doesn’t help that he’s blowing on my fingertips, his lips slightly pursed. I keep imagining other things those lips can blow on.

  I force myself to pull out of his grasp and try—TRY—to focus on the trickle of water. “I guess that answers why it’s warmer down here. Do you think it’s safe to drink?”

  “Judging by how much this cave was used by others?” He gestures at the mess of debris, “I would say yes, but I will drink it first. I do not want you getting sick.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to protest, but one of us has to drink it, right? So I watch as he fills his waterskin carefully from one of the trickles, and then sniffs the mouth of the skin before takin
g a sip.

  “Hot but seems normal. No strange tastes.” He shrugs. “We should give it time, just in case.”

  “So if you keel over in the night, I know I shouldn’t drink it?” I joke.

  M’tok doesn’t laugh at my joke. He looks concerned. “If I get sick, go back to the cave at the base of the mountain. Do you remember where it is?”

  It was only a joke, but I don’t like how grave his expression is. I also don’t like the thought of venturing back down the mountain alone, because I’m not entirely sure I’d be able to find the cave again. One snowy bit of rock looks the same as another as far as I’m concerned. “Just do me a favor and don’t fucking die, okay?”

  A slow smile curves his mouth. “I shall do my best not to.”

  I fight back a surge of irritation—and the temptation to laugh. I can’t believe I just told M’tok not to die on me, when I’ve been wishing he would disappear off the face of this planet for weeks now. “How’d you figure this was here?” I ask, eyeing the streams of water.

  “I accidentally touched the rock and it was hot and wet.” He shrugs. “It is a good place to stay for now if we can drink the water. We have a safe place to sleep, fresh water, and we can hunt for meat.”

  That sounds like we’re setting up a more permanent camp. “What about getting back to the tribe?”

  He meets my accusing gaze. “The weather will turn overnight. Mark my words. We do not want to be caught in it.”

  He might not be wrong. It’s been looking a little bleak all day. Outside of the cave entrance, the wind howls as if angry we’ve found shelter. I think about this for a moment, then nod. “Another day or two won’t hurt, as long as we’re safe.” I put a hand out and nod at the dead goat-dvisti thing. “Gimme that broom. I’ll sweep if you dump our friend over the side of the cliff.”

  * * *

  We work together to clean up the first three rooms of the cave and toss any dead things down the side of the mountain. Once that’s done, I check the plants on the outside ledge while M’tok chucks the heaps of debris down the path and away from the cave. There’s one I haven’t seen before, the needles a pale greenish blue with pink tips. When I touch it, a strong, citrusy scent that reminds me of clean, pure things, covers my hand. I gather a handful of the needles, wrap them in a bit of leather, and smoke the tips, then ‘sage’ the cave like my abuelita would.

  It’s not quite the same, but it makes me feel better.

  It’s while I’m saging that I lift the little bundle higher, and I notice patterns on the cave walls. At first I think it’s a trick of the eyes, but I when I see another reddish streak on the stone that looks a little too solid to be natural, I go to the main area of the cave and get M’tok.

  “Come take a look at this,” I tell him. “And bring a torch.”

  He does so without question—which is nice—and joins me a few moments later with a small, smoky torch that drips sparks on the floor. “What is it?” His hand goes to his knife, and his pose is all wariness. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing scary.” I indicate he should follow me and lead the way back into the dark tunnel of the cave. When I get back to the area with the red streaks on the walls, I gesture at it. “Can you hold the torch? I thought I saw a drawing here.”

  “A drawing?” M’tok sounds openly skeptical but he lifts the torch, and when he does, we both make a sound of surprise.

  The torchlight illuminates the wall in flickering light, and that light reveals an absolute wealth of drawings. They’re above my head, but they’re about the right height for someone of M’tok’s size, and they crawl along the rock in faint reddish, brown and black lines. There’s pictures—or pictographs—of what must be the mountain goats, of snow cats and dvisti, and even one that looks like a skyclaw. There are artful, decorative swirls mixed in with the pictures, and along the ceiling, higher than either of us can reach, I see colorful handprints, as if the ancestors of this place pushed their palms into a full plate of paint and then pressed them onto the rock to record their existence. There’s handprint after handprint, some small, some large, and all of them have three fingers and a thumb. “Did…did you see this before? When you came in here?”

  “I did not,” he admits, studying the ancient art. “But I have seen pictures like this in the past.”

  “You have?”

  He nods, his eyes shining intensely in the torchlight. He stares at the paintings and won’t look at me. “In my homeland…on the island. We lived in the ancestors’ huts.” He reaches up and touches the lines of one drawing, and then the next, moving farther down the cave. “Ours had carvings, but they looked very similar to this. Shadow Cat clan lived in a cave in the belly of the Great Smoking Mountain, as did Long Tail on the far side of the island. And both of their caves had drawings.” His gaze moves down the cave wall, as if searching for something specific, and then he points. “There.”

  I step forward, straining to see. Sure enough, at the edge of the wall, there are crude depictions of people in the midst of the swirls. Each of the people has huge horns and a tail, and carries a spear. Each one also has four arms. “Oh. These are your ancestors?”

  M’tok is silent for so long that I wonder if I offended him. When I glance back, though, there’s only a sad, yearning expression on his face. “There was one carving,” he murmurs, his gaze distant. “In the hut I grew up in. My mother used to point at it and tell me that he had the biggest horns amongst all his people and that made him a great hunter. She said it reminded her of me.”

  There’s a funny knot in my throat. I shouldn’t care that M’tok is clearly missing his family. He’s a dick that’s kidnapped me…but I know what it’s like to ache for those you left behind. It’s obvious his mother met an untimely death, because there were no women other than Mari and Lauren with the island tribes. Poor M’tok. I clear my throat. “Well, you might have the biggest horns in your tribe, but you also have the biggest ego.”

  He snorts, amused. “My mother would say one goes with the other.”

  “Wise woman.” He stares so long and so hard at the paintings that I can practically feel his longing in the cave and it makes me feel guilty for even showing them to him. “Come on. Let’s go boil up some of our cave water. It’s been long enough. You’re not puking your guts out so I’ll roll the dice and drink some myself. We’ll have some hot tea and dinner. Sound good?”

  M’tok shrugs, turning back to me. “If you wish it.”

  “I do,” I say in a gentle voice. I prefer a scheming M’tok and not a melancholy one. It’s hard to hate a man that misses his dead family. At least mine is alive. “Can you…tell me about your ancestors? I haven’t heard the story.”

  The sad, tense vibe in M’tok seems to ease a little as we head back toward our fire in the front of the cave. “Have you not?”

  “If they’ve told it around the fire back at camp, it was on one of those nights I was in a ‘mood’ and didn’t feel like talking,” I joke. “You know how it goes.”

  To my surprise, he chuckles. “I do. There have been many nights in the last month that I have found myself in the same mood.”

  Well, at least he’s admitting it. “Why don’t you get the water and I’ll prep the meat?”

  We work in companionable silence for a while. There's plenty of hot water, so the tea practically steeps within moments, and it's nice to not have to wait for water to heat up. One of the biggest luxuries that I've missed out on is simply running water, or the ability to have hot water at a touch. It feels almost decadent to have hot water in this cave, and I immediately start thinking about all the ways I can use it—hair washing, clothes washing, a nice hot foot soak…a bath.

  God, a bath. I'd love a soak, but I'll settle for just hot steamy water to clean myself with.

  While I daydream about water, I soak some of the dried meat for a few moments to soften it, then rub it with spices and a bit of saved fat. I spit it onto a stick and let it crisp up over the flames, and it does a l
ot for our travel rations. M'tok seems impressed at the taste, and nods at me as he takes a bite. He still pushes the lion's share towards me, and I bristle a little, but I know now that it's because he's all chest-beating alpha male trying to provide for his woman—not that I'm his woman—and not a crack at my weight.

  And then I blush when I remember what he said about eating things.

  "Are you sure you wish to hear this story?"

  "What?" I blurt out, far too loudly.

  M'tok's mouth pulls down at the corners. "The story. You wished to hear of my ancestors?"

  "Oh. Yes, please." My face burns. I widen my eyes and fake interest as I crisp a few more pieces of meat over the fire. "I'd love to hear it, actually."

  "This is the version my people have told for many generations. I do not know if it will be the same as the one the sa-khui tribe will tell." He shrugs. "But it is our version."

  “I’d love to hear it.”

  He begins to speak, reciting in a way that suggests to me it’s been told the same way for generation after generation. It’s a long story, too—which makes sense considering there’s no television or books or anything to distract people. All they’ve got are stories and songs.

  He tells me of “the People” who always lived in this world, born with a khui in their breast, with four strong arms and skin that changed colors, long tails that slithered on the ground, and a fine coating of fur on their limbs, in the way that Shadow Cat has. He tells me of a plentiful people that live in a warm, green land, but that one day the ice comes and never leaves, and the game disappears. Many people die. One tribe retreated from the cold shores, seeking their way across the great salty water, and found the island where things remained warm and wet and hospitable. They lived there for a long time, and then one day, blue-skinned women with borrowed khuis and big horns on their brows showed up. The People resonated to these women, and a new tribe of people were born, some with four arms, some with the large horns, and some with the long tail and the furry limbs. Eventually over time there were enough people to make four tribes, and one of those was Tall Horn—the proudest and strongest of all, according to this particular Tall Horn.