by Dakota Chase
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
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Copyright
Mammoth!
By Dakota Chase
Repeating History: Book Three
In what might be their most dangerous adventure so far, Grant and Ash are sent back in time ten thousand years to recover a mammoth talisman for their teacher, Merlin. Life is a struggle in the Stone Age, and if they want to eat, they’ll have to learn to use spears, track animals, and build fires without the benefit of matches.
Most importantly, they must recover the artifact so they can get back to their own time, but it won’t be easy. They’ll need to reunite two warring tribes, help a boy around their age prove his worth, and demonstrate their own courage on a deadly mammoth hunt. In this harsh and unforgiving world, hate and suspicion are as prevalent as they are in modern times, but understanding and acceptance can also be found if they know where to look.
Chapter One
“I THINK it’s jewelry. Maybe a pendant.” I cocked my head and tried to look at the photo from a different angle. “There’s even a little hole to put a chain through. Sure, that’s what it is.”
Ash shook his head at me. “No, I don’t think so, Grant. Who would want to wear a rock around their neck. Maybe it’s a game piece, like a rook for chess or something.”
I remembered a trivia tidbit I’d picked up from somewhere, although I had no idea where. Jeopardy, maybe. Anyway, I didn’t hesitate to share it and managed to sound both snotty and snooty at the same time. “The earliest known board game was an Egyptian game called Senet. It dates to 3100 BC, and King Tut played the Royal Game of Ur, another old game.”
He shot me the side-eye. “Know-it-all. What’s that got to do with anything, anyway? How old it is doesn’t matter.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to figure out what this thing is.”
“No, you’re just trying to make me look stupid.”
“Don’t be so sensitive all the time.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Make me.” And we were back to bickering. We argued a lot—it was almost like a hobby we shared. I felt I had to play devil’s advocate to whatever Ash said, even when I secretly thought he might be right, and I knew he did the same. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d think we actually liked to butt heads. It was a form of entertainment, a contest to see who could piss the other off first or most. “Anyway, it’s too thick to be jewelry. The hole looks big enough for a piece of rope to pass through.” Hey, even a lame argument was better than no argument at all.
It was Friday afternoon. The last bell rang a half hour ago, and yet here Ash and I were, still in class, hunched over a desk. It wasn’t by choice, believe me. We’d much rather have been outside, either playing hoops or heading to our dorm room for a marathon Grand Theft Auto session. Unfortunately, Mr. Ambrosius, our history professor, had told us to stay after class, and when he orders the two of us to do something, we do it, no questions asked. We learned the hard way it was easier—and safer—to do exactly as he asked.
See, when Ash and I first got to Stanton’s School for Boys, it was after each of us had a run-in—or two or three—with the law. We were normal, typical teenagers back then. Well, maybe not typical, since most kids our age don’t jack cars for joyrides or break into their father’s office building for shits and giggles. What I mean is, we thought we knew everything about everything, and if we didn’t, we sure as hell weren’t going to admit it.
That was our first and biggest mistake at the school. It turned out we didn’t know jack squat about anything. We didn’t know Mr. Ambrosius’s first name was Merlin, or that he was the most powerful wizard to ever draw breath. We also didn’t know setting fire to his office, however accidental, and destroying his prized collection of historical artifacts would put our feet on a path to another time.
After the fire Mr. Ambrosius gave us a choice between being arrested and possibly sent to jail for arson or being sent back in time to retrieve each of the articles we’d destroyed. It seemed an obvious choice for us. We picked the option we both figured was bogus—nobody could go back in time, right? It was impossible. It was just a tactic he was using on us. Maybe he thought he could scare us straight. That, or he was off his rocker. Either way was a win for us, right?
Again, boy, were we wrong. Turns out Merlin can manipulate time. By using a spell, he’s been sending us back through the ages to find and return to him the same artifacts we’d destroyed in the fire.
Today he’d left a photograph for us, and we were trying to figure out what it depicted. Whatever it was, it was what we’d be going back in time to get next. At least that’s what the note next to the photo, written in Merlin’s distinctive, precise handwriting, told us—This is your next procurement; Saturday at 9:00 a.m. Do not be late.
Ash narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the photo. “You actually might be right. It does look like a piece of jewelry or something. Looks like it’s made of stone.”
I almost choked when he agreed with me. Ash usually went to great lengths to prove me wrong, no matter what the argument, just as I did. I briefly debated asking him if it was a sign of the apocalypse. Instead I cleared my throat and nodded. “It looks heavy.”
“Aren’t all precious gems stones? Emeralds, diamonds, pearls…. They’re not heavy, and people wear them in jewelry all the time. So, even if it’s a stone, heavy or not, it could still be worn on a chain or something. A whatchacallit—a pendant, maybe. There. Mystery solved.”
That was more like the Ash I knew—absolutely sure of himself even if he was completely wrong. I almost felt a little relieved. “I hate to disappoint you, but not all precious gems are stones. Diamonds are formed when carbon is compressed over a really long time, and pearls are oyster spit.”
He looked up at me and snorted. “Oyster spit? Seriously?”
I shrugged. “It’s true, sort of. When something gets inside an oyster, like a grain of sand or whatever, the oyster secretes snot, for lack of a better word. Eventually, the object gets covered in layer upon layer of this gunk, and a pearl is formed. In any case, a pearl is considered semiprecious, not a precious gem.”
He blinked at me. “You know way too much weird stuff, dude.”
“Yeah, well, when your mom drags you to the Diamond District practically every weekend when you’re a kid, you can’t not learn a metric ton of useless crap along the way. Anyway, none of the jewels are usually heavy—it’s the metal they’re set in that can weigh a lot. I don’t think this thing is made of precious or semiprecious stone. I think it’s just a plain ol’ rock.”
Ash rolled his eyes, then arched his back. Even I could hear his spine crackling back into alignment. We’d been bending over staring at the photograph for a while. “And on that note, I’m hungry. Let’s go grab some dinner. I want to chill, and we have laundry and a ton of homework later.”
I nodded. “Yeah. You’d think Merlin would lay off the history assignments at leas
t, since we have to keep going back in time playing fetch for him. Just because we only lose a few minutes here no matter how long we stay in the past doesn’t mean I don’t suffer from super sleep deprivation.”
“Preaching to the choir, bud. Still, you know how he is. We’re lucky he doesn’t double our workload. We’re not exactly on his good side right now. Burning down a guy’s office tends to piss him off.”
“Yeah, I guess. Well, let’s go. Since it’s Friday, the cafeteria should have pizza, and I want to get some before they run out.”
AFTER STUFFING ourselves thoroughly with the doughy squares of canned tomato sauce and pseudo-cheese-product the cafeteria called pizza, we retrieved our laundry from our dorm room and hustled over to the laundry area.
It was a small, stuffy room located in the basement of the main building next to the furnace. The machines were reserved for boys who remained on campus year-round. The others took their laundry home on weekends, but guys like Ash and I, who lived at the school all the time, had to trundle dirty clothes and bedding across campus and down into the basement, and spend what felt like hours watching our school uniforms, underwear, socks, and towels swish around and around in the ancient washing machines. Then we had to wait for the equally aged dryers to do their work. It usually took the better part of an evening, and since it was against school rules to put your laundry in and leave, we usually brought our homework along with us to do while we waited.
We’d stopped at the commissary before dinner to get the laundry supplies and brought them with us. The school commissary worked almost like it did in prison. Our folks applied our allowance—however much that might be—on account, and each week the attendant gave us tiny boxes of detergent to do our laundry, along with a fistful of quarters for the machines. We could also get writing paper, pens and pencils, book covers, and whatever material we might need for school projects.
After we ate we went to our room and grabbed our books, laptops, and canvas laundry bags, then made our way to the main building. The stairs going down to the basement were never brightly lit, and there were so many creaks and groans from the furnace, it always felt like we were characters in a Stephen King story. Spooky.
I hated sitting in the laundry room, anyway. It was hot in there and always smelled like old socks. Still, there was usually no one around on a Friday night—everyone else had better things to do, I guess—so Ash and I had the place to ourselves and were free to talk about Merlin and our time-traveling exploits without worrying someone might overhear.
We had to keep our adventures a secret—that was obvious to us from the beginning, even though Merlin never specifically told us to keep our mouths shut. I guess he figured if we did blab, no one in their right mind would ever believe us anyway. And he was right. I wouldn’t believe me if I hadn’t been there. Besides, if we talked, word of it was sure to get to Mr. Meek, the dean, and he’d find some way to punish us for it. Mr. Meek wasn’t too fond of us either. He’d probably have us sent up to St. Claire’s, the psychiatric hospital, for testing. At the least he’d put us in detention for lying.
“So this thing in the photo, whatever it is….” Ash shoved an armful of laundry into the washer and added the contents of a small box of detergent. He shut the lid and fed eight quarters into the slots, then started it up. “What year to do you think it’s in?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know any more than you do. It has something painted on it. An animal of some kind. It has four legs.”
“Most animals do.”
“Ass.”
“You gonna start that again?” Ash grinned at me, and I knew he wasn’t angry. We called each other butts a lot, usually when we were pissed off at each other, but sometimes just when we were kidding around. It’d become sort of a pet name. “I was going to say, maybe if we figure out what type of animal it is, we’ll find a clue at least about where we’re going, if not what year.”
I lifted an eyebrow, surprised at his logic, and nodded. “You know, as much as I hate to admit it, you might have a point. What do you think it looked like?”
“An elephant. I’m pretty sure it had a trunk and tusks.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. So, Africa?”
“Maybe. Or India.”
He nodded. “Could be. Or it could be anywhere, really. What if the elephant was in a circus? Maybe the thing’s a souvenir. That would make it pretty recent.” Then he shook his head. “But ancient kings and emperors kept exotic animals too. I remember an old movie where people brought a sultan cheetahs and zebras in tribute. And lions and bears fought slaves in the Colosseum in Rome. I saw that on television too. Why not elephants?”
I rolled my eyes, annoyed because he was probably right again. “You watch too much TV.”
“Shut up. You’re just pissed because I’m right.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Look, the point is, even if it is an elephant painted on whatever the thing is in the photo, we still can’t tell what time we’re going to, or even what continent it’s on.”
“No, but we’ll find out soon enough, I guess.”
Our miniargument ended without bloodshed, and we filled the time by working on homework and discussing the finer points of Xbox versus PlayStation game systems until a harsh buzzing sound signaled my load of laundry was done. I sighed and pulled my wet clothes out of the washer and transferred them into the dryer. I slipped eight quarters into the slot and pressed the start button.
Tomorrow morning at nine sharp was going to come a lot sooner than I’d like. I just hoped wherever Merlin sent us this time, they at least would have indoor plumbing.
Chapter Two
THUNDER RUMBLED and rain pelted us in sheets as we ran from our dorm building to the main school. By the time we got there, Grant and I were drenched to the skin. I pulled open the door and followed Grant inside. We stood there in the hallway, a large puddle forming at our feet.
“Damn. I’m soaked.” I picked up the bottom edge of my T-shirt and wrung it out, adding water to the growing puddle. “I’m going to catch pneumonia. Can we sue if we get sick because our teacher is making us come to class on a Saturday?”
Grant smirked at me. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Merlin?”
“Because I’m not stupid. If I complain about being wet, he’ll probably turn me into a goldfish or something.”
“Well, you wouldn’t care about being wet anymore.”
“No, but it would still suck.”
“True enough. Come on. He’s probably waiting for us already.”
We went upstairs to the second floor, to where Merlin’s history classroom was located. Our sneakers made squidgy sounds on the polished linoleum floors. We carried nothing with us—Merlin would never allow us to bring anything back in time for fear we’d forget it there and some confused future anthropologist would have to explain how they dug up a Bic pen or flashlight from their ancient Greek or Egyptian or whatever dig.
He was seated at his desk when we walked in, looking irritated as usual and as dry as a bone. One bushy white eyebrow arched as he looked us over. “Why are you leaking all over my classroom, Mr. Uh?”
Mr. Uh was a nickname he’d given me on my first day in his class. He’d asked me a question, and I’d stammered “uh.” I was Mr. Uh ever since, especially when he was annoyed with me, which was pretty much all the time.
“Sorry, Mr. Ambrosius. It’s pouring.” As if he couldn’t see the storm raging right outside the classroom window.
He sniffed and waggled a finger in our direction. In a blink our clothing was dry. I was halfway impressed. That was a nifty little trick. Then again, Merlin was full of surprises, although we were never sure whether we’d like them or not, and he never asked us first in any case.
“Did you peruse this photograph I left for you?” He tapped it with the same finger he’d waved at us.
Grant nodded. I noticed his hair was still damp, as was mine. We looked like we’d just gotten out of the shower. Seri
ously, Merlin could’ve dried us up all the way if he’d wanted to—he left us just damp enough to be uncomfortable. “We weren’t sure what it is, though.”
His beard twitched as if he were smirking at us and not surprised at all that we couldn’t figure it out. “What do you think it is?”
I shrugged. “I thought it might be a piece of jewelry, but Grant thought it was a game piece.”
“Hmph.” Merlin’s electric blue gaze darted from me to Grant and back again. “For once, Mr. Uh, you are correct. To a point, anyway. It was meant to be worn around the neck.”
I grunted and tried to bite back a grin. I managed to keep it to a small, crooked smile, at least, and jabbed an elbow into Grant’s side. “Hear that? I was right.”
Merlin growled low in his throat, and I swallowed my smile instantly. “I said, to a point. It’s not a mere adornment. It’s a hunting talisman, and it isn’t going to be easy for you to get. Unlike the other pieces you’ve procured for me, this one is going to take quite a personal effort on your part to obtain. You can’t steal it. You must earn it.”
“Are we going on a safari? My folks went on one a few years ago in South Africa.” Grant gestured toward the photo. “It was a photographic safari. They all had cameras and went out with their guides. When they took a picture of an animal, say a giraffe or a zebra, it was counted as a kill. Whoever bagged the most animals at the end got a trophy. My dad won.”
I snorted. “That’s stupid. Who goes on a safari and doesn’t shoot anything?”
Grant tilted his chin and glared at me. “No, it’s stupid to kill something if you’re not going to eat it.”
“Hunting is a sport.”
“So is baseball, but I don’t see you playing for the Yankees.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”
“Bite me!”
Merlin’s hand slammed down on his desktop, startling us both into silence. “Enough! If you plan to continue acting so puerilely, I harbor serious doubts whether I should send you back in time again. Perhaps the world at large would be better served if you were remanded to the authorities instead. A few years in a correctional facility on a charge of arson might mature you.”