by Kevin Ashman
‘Speak!’ ordered Tan surprisingly abrupt, realizing they had important news.
Ceffyl, the senior hunter stepped forward.
‘Tan Long-tooth,’ he said, ‘we travelled hard and found the body of the auroch on the plain as Golau has told. We found the stones covering Bran’s body, but as we approached the cairn we could see that it had been opened and the body disturbed.’
‘It was always possible,’ replied Tan, ‘what manner of beast defiled our brother?’
Ceffyl glanced quickly at his colleagues before replying.
‘Tan, this was no beast; the head has been removed with flint.’
Murmurs passed around the fire. Golau spoke.
‘Did you see a sign?’ he asked.
Again, Ceffyl hesitated.
‘Yes, but....’ he paused.
‘Continue!’ ordered Tan.
‘It was the print of a child!’ replied Ceffyl.
Scornful voices were raised around the fire.
‘You must be mistaken,’ shouted Mon-du. ‘What child takes the head of a corpse?’
Golau interrupted the growing turmoil.
‘Silence!’ he ordered.
The group fell quiet and Golau continued.
‘Was the print barefoot?’ he asked.
Ceffyl confirmed that it was.
‘I know of such things,’ said Golau, and continuing in a quieter tone, he recounted his own experience when he found the small print in the forest and the subsequent advice in the Shaman’s lodge. Slowly, everyone sat back down arguing quietly amongst themselves about the disturbing news.
‘There is more,’ interrupted Ceffyl loudly.
Everyone’s eyes returned to the hunter.
‘As we returned, we found Bran’s head in the forest.’ He paused for the last time.
‘It lay in the remains of a fire and it was empty!’
Mon-du stood and walked from the fire in silence. After a pause, Golau spoke up.
‘You have spoken well, Ceffyl,’ he said, ‘take meat and drink for your men. We will talk more when you are rested.’ He followed Mon-du into the darkness.
Ceffyl’s group helped themselves to food as discussion continued around the fire. There would be no sleep for the hunters that night.
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Chapter 10
The cool sea breeze gently caressed Golau’s weather worn face, a welcome relief from the heat of the late autumn sun that had beaten down on him over the last few miles. The clan had dismantled their lodges over a month ago, travelling south-west through the open woodland toward the coast. In normal circumstances, they would have stayed longer in the forest camp, but Bran’s death had had a profound effect on all of them so Tan had decided to leave for the winter camp early. The clan foraged and hunted during the day as they travelled and slept in the open around the campfires at night, wrapped in furs with the hunters for protection. The lodges lay strapped to the sleds and the people were impatient to reach their shore-side campsite before the winter snows came to the hills.
For two days, his keen sense of smell had made him well aware of the nearness of the big water long before the frightening expanse of the sea unfolded before his experienced and knowledgeable gaze. Dropping to one knee and balancing his weight against his hunting spear, he scooped water up from the brackish pond with one huge hand and drank quickly, his gaze scanning his surroundings. He was well aware that predators staked out watering holes for potential prey slaking their thirst.
Over his back, Golau Lion-heart wore his winter cape, the hide of his namesake, complete with head and mane. The eyes had been replaced with shiny, black river stones and sewn into position giving the Lion scalp a surreal stare when worn on his head. Golau loosened the claw fastening at his chest and dropped the prized cape from his shoulders to the floor enjoying the brief coolness of the breeze. He had spent many cold nights and finally shed much blood to kill the magnificent beast that had given him his adult name. The angry purple scars raking across his chest and face paid testament to the beast’s reluctance to submit his hide peacefully. Along with his spear it was Golau’s prize possession.
He untied the gut twine around the neck of the water pouch and dipped it into the pond to refill it. Retying it around his waist, Golau picked up his fur from the ground and despite the warmth of the late autumn sun, refastened it around his neck and upper chest. He lifted the worn Lion scalp over his head, and after tucking his long black hair into the hood and hefting his spear, he strode down from the rocky outcrop toward the sprawling clan mass spread out over the open valley floor below.
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It was a good time for the clan, and the young boys of the tribe sped excitedly hundreds of yards to the front of the sprawl, eager to be the first to spy the big water they had heard about countless times around the campfires.
Next, the women came pulling the sleds piled high with the skins and poles that made up their huts, and the smoked meat wrapped in broad palm leaves that they had managed to store from their summer hunting camp. The wooden runners of the sleds dug into the soft soil of the coastal plains, weighed down by the accumulated forage of the summer. Baskets of acorns, sun dried fruits and clay pots containing the more delicate moist foods like honey, congealed blood, and live frogs, were stacked high on the sleds. The foraging had been good during the walk-time and they had managed to store enough food to keep them going for a few more weeks while they established the winter camp.
The weaker members of the clan, the young girls, the elderly, the frail, pregnant, and injured also played an important part in the trek, foraging in the bushes and woodland edges as they walked, looking for the autumn fruits and edible tubers that were abundant at this time of year.
Finally, bringing up the rear were the hunters, each wearing the fur of the predator they had killed to prove their manhood and win their name. They were proud and strong, yet aloof young men, always alert to any sign of danger from man or beast alike, and though they kept their distance from the crowd, all were willing to leap headlong into conflict at the slightest sign of danger.
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Despite the heavy burdens, the speed of their trek had increased as they had descended through the foothills, and the whole tribe looked forward to the winter’s camp at the water’s edge, a reliable and constant source of food for the harsh cold months ahead when meat would be scarce and forage even scarcer. The last of the summer sun still burnt their faces, and experience told them that this warm time would change quickly, so they needed to reach the cave of the Long-tooth as soon as possible. Those who had used the cave before knew it was near enough to reach the food-rich water edge, yet far enough away from the winter storms blowing in from the sea that could take the lives of anyone foolish enough to venture out from the smoke filled comfort of the clans winter refuge.
At the front of the caravan of human pulled sleds, was the most important man of the group. As a chief, Tan would normally walk proudly at the front, his spear haft striking the ground rhythmically to his front as he marched his people forward, but lately his ageing legs had failed him and he sat self-consciously on a sled pulled by four of the younger hunters. Despite his blank aloofness, his pride hurt and he gazed steadfastly forward above the heads of his people, rocking slightly with the movement of the litter.
Tan realised this would be his last winter, but the thought of his encroaching death did not worry him. On the contrary, he was tired, and he looked forward to the final journey to the Sun-god. His body ached and the old women of the tribe had chewed his meat for him for far too long.
Forty summers had been notched on his warrior spear, since he had earned his name by killing his beast. He fondly felt the two giant teeth hanging from the cape’s head, framing his temples, remembering the fight in the Sabre-tooth’s den. In clan terms, at fifty five years old, the chief was very, very old, and it was almost his time to die.
Tan’s thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Golau descending from a nearby hill. H
e had sent the hunter forward of the clan to scout the winter campsite for beasts or other dangers before the clan reached the cave site. The narrow gorge lay between two craggy cliffs that opened out to a wide grassy valley containing a small forest of windswept trees. In turn, the forest gave way to banks of sand dunes that bordered the rocky shore line, and a freshwater river meandered down through the valley, eventually feeding into a wide salty estuary, a valuable source of fish for the hunter’s spears.
Deep in the gorge, a small cave entrance peered over the secluded valley from halfway up the cliff wall, protected from the worst of the winter weather by its doglegged location, and with the river providing fresh water; it was a perfect location for the clan’s winter camp. Only the lack of plain’s beasts nearby forced the clan to leave this secure environment each spring to return to their hunting grounds and the ample supply of meat they offered.
The two men exchanged formalities before Golau reported to the chief.
‘The way is clear, Tan,’ he reported. ‘There is no one at the winter site and I see no fresh spoor of bear or lion.’
Tan nodded his approval.
‘Let the clan rest while Night-owl goes forward to say her words,’ he ordered.
Golau passed on the command to everyone in earshot.
The women gratefully dropped the sleds to the ground and they took the opportunity to see to the children or pass around water filled gourds. The handmaiden scurried away to the nearby forest edge to convey the instruction to the Shaman travelling in the shadows of the forest undergrowth, snarling a warning as she passed to a child who threw a small stone at her dirty dishevelled figure.
Several hunters sat or squatted near to the clan chief, each dipping into a belt pouch to retrieve strips of smoke cured reindeer meat to chew on while they waited.
‘The snows will soon be here,’ one said to no one in particular.
Tan looked at the skies, and grunted his agreement.
‘We will need shelter in the cave this winter,’ he said. The clan preferred their warmth and comfort of their huts, but during the worst winters they often congregated in the caves until the weather was kinder.
‘The cold will be long,’ another agreed.
The other men had joined the small group and Tan looked around the gathered clan hunters. It was a good group and they were very successful in keeping the clan fed and warm. There was plenty of dried meat in the food baskets this autumn and the fish and shells caught along the shore during the snows would ensure most should survive to attend the gathering of tribes when the warm days came again many moons from now.
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Several hours later, Golau, Afon and Gafr, three of the elder hunters stood at the cave entrance. Below them, the rest of the clan were arriving in the small valley, glad to be stopping at the familiar destination and at last dropping, tired but happy to the grass covered clearing between the river edge and the bottom of a moss covered rock-fall that spilled from the slope of the crag leading up to the cave entrance.
The cave had been populated before by the clan, the last time being several winters earlier. They often used different sites, and many years could pass before a site was revisited, depending on the availability of food in the area. Each time they used one of their cave sites it had to be checked for beasts. Cats, hyena, bear or even baboons were known to occupy caves, so the hunters would clear any inhabitants with fire and flint.
Gafr blew into a rough clay pot, one of many carried by the clan containing carefully nurtured embers of the previous night’s fire. As the flames briefly flared from the neck of the pot, one of the torches were held over the small fire and burst into flames, quickly spreading around the fat soaked tinder ball. As soon as the torch had caught, Gafr bent low and entered the cave entrance holding torch and spear forward into the darkness, closely followed by his two fellow hunters with spears levelled and unlit torches carried by their sides.
The cave entrance was a natural jagged fissure in the rock, slightly smaller than a man in height and just a little wider. It stretched a dozen gloomy paces into the rock face, before shrinking to half the height, and after taking a right turn, it sloped gently downwards to a low dark cavern, just over the height of two tall men. The cavern stretched back further than an arrows flight, and twenty large paces wide. A natural ledge of rock was on the right, which met the cavern wall at right angles, whilst the rest of the cavern floor was a mixture of stones, dirt and old animal bones.
Gafr straightened his crouching body and held the flaring torch up, squinting into the flame lit darkness, alert for the red reflection of predatory eyes that may have already staked their claim to this secure place. Despite the animal smell, Gafr’s flaring nose picked up no fresh scent of beast in the cave, though his eyes still searched for movement, and his ears strained for snarl or pant. As each of his fellow hunters emerged into the flickering gloom, they also stood poised, spears hefted ready to launch, and waited in silence, watching and listening for the slightest sign of danger.
The flare of the torch reached over half way into the depths of the cave, and satisfied that the first half was clear, the group advanced slowly side by side with Gafr leading the way. The other two hunters walked closely behind, spears aloft and ready to launch instantly at anything that may present itself into the circle of light.
Slowly and systematically, the group checked that the cavern was clear, and when satisfied, they returned to the outside where the rest waited patiently to spear any fleeing beasts that might emerge. Within an hour, the cleared cave was a hive of activity. A large fire roared in the centre and the smoke swirled in rocky cavities of the cave ceiling before disappearing through unseen fissures to seek passage through tiny cracks up and through the mountain above.
The women unpacked the furs from sleds, and areas were claimed around the entire cavern for different families. Each built a smaller hearth for local warmth and cooking. The giant reindeer skins that were normally used for covering the hunting lodges now became thick comfortable ground sheets on which the families ate and slept. The natural rock shelf was packed with all the clan’s accumulated food baskets from the autumn forage and children eagerly contributed to the clan by gathering deadwood from the tree line, and they darted in and out of their exciting new home, arms filled with rotting branches.
A party of men crossed the narrow gorge to assemble the Shaman’s hut in a grassy cleft in the rock face opposite, while the senior hunters and the clan elders sat on boulders at the front of the cave, aloof from the domestic activity and discussing the hunting potential of their new locality. Sky emerged from the cave and spoke to the chief.
‘Tan, there is something you should see.’
‘Speak, girl,’ answered Tan.
‘There is another cave.’
Tan considered her reply. He knew this cave from previous winters and there was only one cavern. He looked at Golau and with a silent flick of his head indicated an unspoken instruction for him to investigate. Golau crouched and followed Sky into the cave. They passed the fire and walked the sixty or so paces to the very furthest point where a group of excited children gathered on their hands and knees. He could see no other cavern, but with a point of her hand, Sky indicated a hole in the floor at the base of the rear wall. Golau sent Sky for a torch, and after the initial flare of light, held the burning torch down into the hole.
The glow illuminated an uneven, rubble strewn floor, more than a spear’s length below and wide enough for two or three men to stand side by side. The smaller cavern floor sloped away into the shadows, forming another passage, which disappeared into the darkness. Golau’s first thought was that there could be beasts there and ordered the hole to be covered with sled poles and weighted down with rocks. He returned to the hunters and addressed them, subconsciously disappointed that the brief period with Sky had ended so soon.
‘There is a hole that leads to a smaller cave,’ he said. ‘It was not there the last time we sheltered here.’
‘I have seen such things before,’ responded Tan, ‘if the Sun-god is angry, he shakes the very earth and breaks rocks as easily as a Fox breaks eggs. The land has been shaken and broken the cave.’
‘I will check the new cave at first light,’ stated Golau glancing up at the encroaching dark night sky.
‘No, Golau,’ Tan responded, ‘we will wait until the sun rises, and we will take the clan to the water. The new cave will wait.’
Golau nodded his acceptance and rose to gather rocks to form a fire circle at the front of the cave entrance. Two others helped him, while the rest of the men left to find suitable logs along the forest edge. The hunters would sleep in turns outside the cave for a few nights, and would need their own fire for warmth and protection.
Inside the cave, the women had draped a large reindeer skin across the entrance as a curtain against the draft of the night air and the clan settled into their first night at their winter camp. Golau and Gafr took the first watch outside the entrance. They had to be careful over the first few days because they didn’t know what predators roamed in this unknown area and didn’t want any unwelcome visitors trying to enter the cave during the night.
As the day ended, the various sounds of the clan murmured quietly in the cave. Some snored, children whimpered in their sleep, whilst others talked quietly, all surrounded with the gentle crackles and sputters of the dying campfire.
Sky sat at her father’s hearth and thought of Bran, her dead brother. She missed him dreadfully and cried quietly as she weaved the tree bark strips into a basket. Her mother looked over, and after putting her own weaving down, shuffled over to put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, her own silent tears falling to Sky’s hair in her own grief.