The sun wasn't quite up yet, but its preliminary rays were casting long, faint shadows across the camp. A spear arched over one of the tents and stuck, quivering in the ground directly in Logan's path. He snatched it up, then began looking for Serensaa. She wasn't visible and he started to panic.
She popped out of a nearby tent, dragging two more spears and carrying a throwing-stick. There hadn't been any weapons in her tent last night.
Logan hadn't remarked on that fact, but he'd noticed. It seemed to be the custom for only the men to have weapons. The women now were either carrying rocks or sticks, along with flint knives, some little more than sharp stones.
Serensaa gave her load to Logan, and he gratefully placed a spear against the throwing stick. Then, carrying the other two in his left hand, he ran forward through the camp until he could see what was going on.
The eastern edge of the camp was a battlefield. There were several men scattered on the ground, either dead or dealing with spears that had struck them.
The attackers had come out of the sunrise, hoping that the light at their backs would make them more difficult to see. There were still some men running toward the camp through the trees. Logan picked one out, and threw his spear in a trajectory that he hoped would end where the man would be in a moment. The spear arched down, unseen by the oncoming man, and struck him in the torso.
Logan was gratified, but didn't waste any time. He reloaded and threw his second spear at a fighter on the edge of the melee. The attackers looked exactly like members of Serensaa's tribe, but his target had identified himself by attacking the elder man with the bad breath. Logan saw the old guy was making a good attempt to defend himself, jabbing with a spear.
Logan had fond feelings for the old man who had given him Serensaa and a place in the tribe. His spear struck the attacker in the leg, dropping him as he lunged forward at the old man. The elder warrior finished his opponent off with a spear stab to the side of the neck, then glanced at Logan and nodded in approval.
Logan switched the spear thrower to his left hand, moving the last spear to his right. He could use the throwing-stick to parry with, although it wasn't heavy enough to be a useful club. He moved forward, cautiously, seeking to engage another enemy.
A man came running through the fighters, heading for the tents, then, catching sight of Logan, he veered in his direction with a loud scream.
Logan wasn't intimidated by the noise. He answered with his best martial arts yell; a chest deep “Hyah”, and sidestepped the man's thrust. He moved sideways, spinning in a full circle to club the warrior on the back of the neck with his spear. The man staggered forward with the blow.
Logan hesitated. The last vestiges of his civilized being clung to him for a moment, then expediency and survival took over. He thrust his spear deep into the warrior's back. The man screamed and fell forward.
Logan whirled, barely in time to slap his spear thrower down to block a knife thrust from a second warrior. He jumped away from the man to give him time to ready his spear.
A fist-sized rock flew by Logan's head and struck the knife wielder on the chest making a hollow “thunk”. The man staggered back, gasping. Logan jumped forward and stabbed him in the abdomen, drawing his spear back instantly as the man tried to grasp it. The wounded warrior plopped down into a sitting position, then bent over, holding his middle. Blood was pouring from the wound, running over the stricken man's legs and making a red pool in the sand.
Logan recognized it as a fatal wound. , he thought, as he moved forward looking for another opponent. Probably hit the aorta
The battling warriors suddenly resolved from a confused, screaming tangle, into numerous smaller groups. Now it could be seen that the attackers outnumbered the defenders. Logan saw Ulfa, recognizable by his long black hair and muscular body, grab a man's arm, simultaneously slashing his throat with a stone knife.
An enemy came up from behind, with a club, and swung it at Ulfa's head. Logan hastily threw his last spear, striking the club swinger's arm neatly in the biceps. The club bounced off Ulfa's head in a glancing blow that had no force.
The black-haired warrior spun with a yell, and stabbed the offending man in the stomach. Entrails spilled out on the ground as the man went down.
Ulfa followed the spear's path and saw Logan. His eyes lit up with hatred and he charged, crossing the yards between them in a breath's time.
Logan dropped into a front stance, yelled, and launched a sidekick. It was, perhaps, not the ideal counter for a rapidly charging opponent. It struck Ulfa in the middle, knocking the wind out of him, but Logan was knocked backwards by the impact.
He scrambled to his feet barely in time to sidestep Ulfa's continued charge. The man was still gasping for breath, but not wasting a moment in his attack. Logan could see he had murder in his eyes. All thought of a simple fight vanished.
Ulfa spun and grabbed Logan's right arm, moving to stab him in the side. Logan slapped him in the face with the throwing-stick and twisted away, trying to avoid the thrust.
The knife glanced across his ribs, leaving a deep slash that felt like someone had struck him with a red-hot piece of steel. Blood instantly poured down his side, feeling hot and wet.
Yelling in anger, Logan spun on his right foot and delivered a hard back- sidekick to Ulfa's thigh, knocking him off balance. He followed up with a left-handed strike at Ulfa's knife hand. The throwing-stick went flying as their wrists met. Ulfa grabbed at Logan's wrist, preventing him from distancing himself.
A simple hapkido move broke the warrior's grip, allowing Logan to step back. Ulfa paused, re-evaluating his foe. Logan quickly drew the tanto.
The black-haired man's eyes widened. He knew from experience how deadly that knife was.
Struggling men suddenly surrounded the two adversaries. The battle had rolled over their position. Logan was struck from behind by a body crashing against his knees. He went down and Ulfa jumped on him.
The two rolled back and forth, each trying to stab the other. Logan's knife arm was forced down against his side, out of action, while he desperately tried to control Ulfa's knife hand.
Logan's blood-covered side provided unexpected assistance. The blood slicked his wrist. With a massive effort, he wrenched his arm free, and stabbed Ulfa under his jaw. The tanto penetrated up and through the man's skull with a loud crunch, remaining embedded there.
Ulfa continued to glare at his foe, still straining to kill him. As Logan held him off, the life leaked slowly from the man's hate-filled eyes. They faded, turning to the dull opacity of death.
Ulfa collapsed. Logan heaved the body off of his torso, and began to rise, in a rush to regain his knife. He tugged at it, trying to pull it free.
Some feet came into his vision, he looked up to see the bearded man that had pursued Serensaa. The man grinned in triumph as he struck at Logan's neck with his spear shaft.
Logan dodged, wrenched at the tanto, and yanked it free. His attacker twisted his spear, presenting the point for a thrust. Logan brushed the shaft aside, straightened, stepping close, while slashing upwards with the blade.
A thin trail of red appeared across the warrior's chest. The man yelled in anger, then lifted the spear again. As he did, the slice opened to reveal the ends of severed ribs. The bearded man wheezed, then faltered with the spear held high. His severed chest muscles refused to pull it down in a fatal strike. He thrust downward weakly.
Logan blocked the thrust, sweeping his left arm across, and grabbing the spear as he did. They tugged back and forth for a moment, the bearded man trying to regain control of the spear with the remainder of his strength. His breath made a whistling sound through the deep cut.
Logan struck again, this time planting the tanto in the center of his antagonist's chest. The man dropped instantly, pulling Logan slightly forward.
He broke free to stand there, panting. As he did, he was struck on the back of the head. There was a flash and all went dark.
Chapter 21: ALONE, AGAIN
Logan opened his eyes painfully, but could see little. It was dark. His head throbbed. Then he remembered the battle. He tried to sit up, groaned involuntarily, and looked around, moving his upper torso so that he wouldn't have to twist his neck. That seemed to be the source of the pain he felt.
It was quiet. His heart beat faster as he searched for the attackers. He'd lost his knife somewhere. He groped for it in the darkness. Everywhere he felt there was grass. He paused, confused. The camp had been used for such a long time that the surrounding area was mostly barren and pressed flat by the constant coming and going of the tribe's people.
Logan sat still, trying to understand. He'd been in a battle, been triumphant over both of his primary enemies, but now he was somewhere else. He wondered if he had been killed. This didn't seem like the afterlife. He wasn't quite sure what that would be like, but sitting in a dark, grassy area didn't match any account that he'd ever heard.
He looked up. There were stars overhead. His head spun, and then everything clicked. He was sitting on the ground, in a grass-covered clearing, and it was night.
He – he paused as the conclusion struck his conscious mind. He'd moved in time once again.
A cry of grief came from his mouth. Serensaa! Where was she? Had he lost her forever?
A distant roar came from somewhere to the north. It came again, faintly through the encircling trees. The saber-tooth roared a third time, making Logan's heart leap with hope. He was still in the past. Perhaps he hadn't moved far. Serensaa might be close. He had to find her.
The pain in his skull washed up again, making him feel dizzy. The world seemed to spin, and he fell sideways into a fetal position.
It was daylight. Logan had been lying there, barely conscious, thinking or dreaming of Serensaa.
Heavy wing beats and a squawk made his eyes snap open. There were three vultures inspecting him from a close distance. He moved his arm weakly.
“I'm not dead yet, you vermin. Shoo!” he said. His mouth felt dry. He moistened his lips with his tongue, and repeated, “Shoo!” The vultures hopped away a little.
He sat up. The birds evidently decided that he wasn't yet ready to be breakfast and took flight, landing in the spreading branches of a nearby oak.
Logan shakily got to his feet. He had to find Serensaa.
He looked around. The camp had disappeared. The entire area was covered by grass and low scrub. It looked as if it might have been used, but long ago. He walked to where the fire had been.
There were some disarranged stones scattered around. He kicked through the grass. There was a piece of burned wood, its end charred to a black stub.
The conclusion was inevitable. He had moved in time to a point where the tribe no longer used the area. He looked around hopelessly, searching for something, anything that would link him to Serensaa.
Maybe the people had moved closer to the seashore. He started to walk in that direction, but then a feeling of being watched made a sudden shiver run up his back. He looked around, searching for the source of the feeling.
A gray fox was sitting at the edge of the clearing, its eyes focused on him. He gasped in astonishment. Was it his fox? The one that had followed him before? But, no, it couldn't be. That was probably years ago. Foxes don't live very long.
The fox stood and yipped at him.
He smiled. Silly little thing. He turned back towards the shore.
The fox yipped again.
Logan turned back. The fox stopped yipping and looked at him expectantly.
He walked toward the creature. After four steps, he stumbled over something in the deep grass. He recovered, and bent down to see what it was. There were some rib bones there. Closer inspection showed him that it was a human skeleton scattered about. Animals had chewed on some of the bones. They were splintered and showed teeth marks.
His eye caught a glint. There, buried in the grass roots, was his tanto. He worked it out, and held it up to inspect it.
There were stains on the blade and the rubberized grip was filthy, but other than that, it was almost as it had been. The skeleton must be that of the bearded man.
Without a further thought, Logan replaced the knife in the sheath that was still belted to his waist. When he looked up, the fox was gone. The event seemed otherworldly to Logan. It almost seemed that the fox had known about the location of his knife. He had a warm feeling for the furry animal. Even though it couldn't be the same one, it had proven helpful.
He looked for it again, scanning the bushes, but it was definitely gone. After a final look, he started back towards the shore, walking across the grassy area, and pushing through a screen of brush.
There were some palms that he walked through, then some low dunes covered with sea oats. At the base of the dunes, there was a large stone that someone had stood on end.
It had been buried partway in the ground and was firmly planted. It seemed familiar. He moved closer. It was the stele stone. He'd seen it farther inland, under the chikee hut at the archaeological park.
Logan checked both sides. There was no carving. That was strange. It must have been carved later in time.
Leaving the stele behind, he climbed the dunes. There was the Gulf, stretching out in both directions. There was no sign of humans anywhere. He sighed in disappointment.
Logan camped near the old campsite. He'd constructed a small shelter with palm-fronds at the base of the large oak.
He'd climbed the oak once to avoid a saber-tooth. It had hung around for nearly a day. Logan had become so thirsty, he was deliriously considering trying to kill it with just his knife.
The cat eventually grew tired and left. Logan waited for an hour or so, and then climbed down to drink from the river. Later, he walked along the beach, finding and eating some clams.
He'd searched the entire area, both up and down the shore, and inland. There were no people to be found. There were some signs that they had been here once, but they had gone.
His hope of finding Serensaa had slowly faded. It had taken a long time to go, but now there was only a faint shred left.
Logan believed that the people might come back to the area. If he left, searching for her, he might miss her if she returned with them. Finally a solution occurred to him.
He spent two days carving her likeness in the stele, tapping at the limestone with the butt of his knife and some pieces of flint he'd found.
If she came back, she'd recognize herself. It was irrational – he knew that. His carving only vaguely resembled her. The main likeness was the long hair. An impartial viewer would have known that the figure on the stone was female, but that was all.
To Logan's grieving mind it was a work of art, painstakingly carved to resemble his lost love. He hoped she'd see it and wait, understanding that he'd return.
Some days after finishing, he set out, eastward along the fast-flowing river. Maybe he'd meet some people farther inland.
Days passed as he searched the area around the head of the Crystal River. He didn't want to go too far from the stele.
Logan had salvaged a few spear points from the old campsite. He knew enough now to understand how to make his own spears and spear thrower. With those implements, he made a slim living, hunting when the opportunity presented itself. He was careful, avoiding any run-ins with predators, sleeping in trees for security.
He was walking through a clearing in the trees with hunger gnawing at his stomach. He'd killed nothing for days. There had been nothing to kill. All of the game had apparently moved out of the area.
He noticed that there were some mushrooms growing in the clearing. He paused, considering. He didn't know much about mushrooms, only that some were deadly, and some were edible.
A wave of despair washed over him. He'd been wandering in a gray fog of depression, searching for any sign of his beloved, but now the fog darkened to almost pitch black.
What did it matter if he lived or died? If he lived, he'd have to live with her memory and the knowledge th
at he'd lost her irrevocably. If he were dead, perhaps it wouldn't hurt so badly.
He plucked a handful of the small mushrooms. Their caps were a pleasing golden-brown and the larger ones were almost completely golden. They were round in shape with a prominent nipple in the center.
He gathered five of them, selecting the most perfect, and rejecting any that showed signs of having been nibbled by insects.
As he plucked the last one, he noticed that the stems were turning blue. The ones he'd picked first were the bluest.
Paradox: On the Sharp Edge of the Blade Page 23