“I am a man,” Kit blurted, even though he knew this would not be understood.
But he was wrong in this assumption.
Ma-an, echoed the disembodied voice in his head.
Clear as a bell and distinct from his own thought, with its own timbre and texture and cadence, the unspoken voice of the Ancient One took shape, and the unprecedented interview commenced.
Ma-an… Kit’s word for himself was then combined with the idea of being, or existing… is… then Kit got a sense of growing things, action, breathing, change… living… life inextricably entwined with something tangible, yet amorphous, an animating fire, present yet hidden within… living soul.
The question, as it entered Kit’s mind, was: Are you, Man, a living soul?
“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed. I am-I have a soul,” Kit assured him, speaking aloud. He suspected it was probably unnecessary, but it was just easier to vocalise his thoughts.
Goodness… the feeling of fullness and rightness… satisfaction, flowed from the Ancient One, along with an awareness of a soul’s unique value and place in the world. Kit’s instant interpretation of these interconnected conceptual traces came out as: That is good. Creatures with souls are rare.
“Rare, yes.”
The chief gave a grunt of satisfaction. The next thought that formed in Kit’s consciousness was the recognition of a long and varied experience allied with surprise at a sudden and startling uniqueness. The sense Kit made of it was: We have seen many things, but never one like you.
“I have not seen any like you,” Kit replied.
Next Kit received what he interpreted as a sort of formal introduction. Into his mind poured a complicated and much mingled concept, an association of metaphors: pure animal strength and courage allied with majestic dominance-a lion, perhaps?-and this was combined with a sense of longevity-like a yew tree or a mountain-and lastly, the concept of serenity as applied to a calm, deep, freshwater lake of immense size and limitless depths. All this, then, was somehow combined and united in an affirmation of individual personhood-the being standing right in front of him, in fact: the Ancient One.
Then, with a delicacy of gesture that Kit found endearing, the old chieftain placed a thick hand over his heart and said aloud, “En-Ul.”
There was no question but that this was the Ancient One’s name, and Kit repeated it at once, saying, “I am pleased to meet you, En-Ul.” He lowered his head in a little bow-an automatic response, but one Kit felt appropriate to the situation-and received a grunt of satisfaction in reply. The next question flowed into Kit’s mind already formed: Where is your home?
“My home is far from here,” was how Kit chose to answer. To say more would have been unnecessary, and probably impossible anyway.
The next two questions followed so quickly in succession they formed a single inquiry: Why are you alone? Are you cast out from your clan?
“No, no-I am not an outcast,” Kit hastened to assure him. “I am alone because I am… lost. I was travelling and became lost.” He did not know if the concept of travelling would translate. “My clan-my people do not know I am here.”
A feeling of sympathetic sorrow flowed in inundating waves to Kit-empathetic commiseration, mingled with a sense of the wrongness of such a state as Kit described: That is bad. You… possessive… fellow beings – your people, Kit decided… strong imperative.. . must… outpouring of grief and anxiety… mourn… an empty place… absence…
Your people must mourn your absence.
“Some of them do, I suppose,” admitted Kit lamely.
The Ancient One gave another grunt of satisfaction, and then, peering deep into Kit’s eyes, expressed a largess of generosity and inclusive fellowship Kit could only describe as a feeling of welcome to a long lost and much loved son; it felt as if he was being adopted into the clan. It felt as if he was coming home.
The intensity of the emotion so directly conveyed took his breath away. Kit could not speak for the sudden stirring of his own long-suppressed feelings. Tears welled in his eyes, and he began to weep. They were tears of grief for his own inadequacy, his frailty, his shrunken and limited intelligence, his woeful dependency.
He wept hot, miserable tears, and with the weeping came a kind of solace, a comfort like that of a friendly hand reached out to steady a tottering child. As if in response to his misery, he sensed an empathy and understanding. There was nothing superior in it, or condemning. Into his soul flowed, simply, acceptance.
When Kit found his voice again, all he could say was, “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 34
R iver City Clan remained encamped on the stone ledge as winter deepened across the valley. A few days after the arrival of the new clan members, Kit noticed that at daybreak each morning all the younger males left the warmth and shelter of the rock ledge and disappeared into the wood. They returned an hour or so before sunset, but try as he might, he received no answer to his admittedly clumsy attempts to find out what they were doing.
Very obviously, they were not hunting-Dardok and two of the women continued their hunting and scavenging forays on suitable days, as they had since coming to the winter shelter. Whatever they were up to, it was not about providing food for the tribe. Finally, when Kit had become absolutely eaten up with curiosity, he went to En-Ul, who since his arrival had hived himself up in robes and furs at the far side of the ledge, where he spent his days overlooking the fog-bound river far below.
“I am sorry to bother you, En-Ul,” Kit said, announcing his presence with a polite cough. He was learning, when speaking to clansmen, to try to make simple declarations while holding the images or concepts at issue forcefully in his mind.
The old one stirred and turned a bright eye on Kit. Be welcome here, Ghidt, came into Kit’s consciousness.
The response surprised Kit; not because it was unusual in itself, but because he had not given his name to the Clan elder, or heard anyone else speak it aloud in his presence. He must have picked it up from one of the others by way of the mental radio they all shared.
“I have come with a question,” Kit said, settling in beside the old chieftain. “The young men,” he continued, picturing the ones he meant as they had appeared that morning when he saw them leave the camp. “Where do they go? What do they do all day?”
Kit received back an image of the young males along with a sense of doing… of work… of dedicated labour- they make with purpose, was how he interpreted the concept; along with this came the notion of bestowal… of presentation… of offering allied to the personal designation- En – Ul.
Linking all this together, Kit tried out this interpretation: “They are making a gift for you?”
This received the standard grunt Kit associated with satisfaction-a yes. The old one held Kit’s gaze in his own, and with a slow, deliberate action, placed the flat of his palm on Kit’s forehead. The touch was rough and heavy, but warm. Instantly, into Kit’s mind came the image of a sort of house or shelter of extraordinary design-the most unusual dwelling Kit had ever seen: a house made all of bone.
“They are making a house of bones?” Kit said, half in surprise, half in question. “For you?”
Again, the grunt of satisfaction as En-Ul removed his hand.
They sat for a moment in silence, then Kit received the sensation he had come to associate with the interrogative-a question-and with it the concept of sight, or seeing. “Do I want to see it?” he said aloud. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I would see it.”
“E – li, ” the old one said, his voice low as a rumble of thunder, and into Kit’s mind came the image of sunlight flooding the horizon, allied with the concept of something unseen, yet present, along with expectation bordering on certainty… the future?
This kept him occupied for some little while. “Tomorrow?” Kit guessed, holding in his mind the image of a
