heartbeats.
One was old, like his own father, the other younger, like him. But they were both shorter and thicker than his own kind and their beards were redder and longer. The younger one had a heavy growth, not a wispy one like his own. The older one looked like he had never trimmed his beard with flint as was the custom of the Bison Clan. They carried spears but they were heavy thick ones, good for direct strikes, useless for throwing. Their clothes were rough and fur-bound, bear-skin by the looks of it, uncomfortable in this kind of heat.
And then, after exchanging the briefest of mutual glances, no more than a tacit acknowledgement of Tal’s presence, they were gone.
Nago’s last night was turbulent.
There was no doubt that Tal’s poultice had done some good – the wound stayed clean and fresh-smelling and the blood flow had slowed to an ooze. But he had lost so much blood after the goring that no remedy or chant could reverse the outcome.
In his last hours his body grew swollen and the flow of urine stopped. Drops of water spooned into his mouth from a creased leaf just spilled out. As the dawn came, his breathing slowed then stopped.
The moment the women began to howl, the sky opened and a warm rain fell, a sign their ancestors had welcomed the head man’s son to their realm. Their camps were burning bright in the night sky but they were too far away for the Bison Clan to hear their songs.
Tal’s father laid his hands upon his shoulders and spoke to him in front of all the people. Tal would be the next head man. The old man wearily declared his time would come soon. Once Nago’s mourning ritual was done, Tal would need to go to the highest point of the earth to be close enough to their ancestors to hear their chants.
The rain kept falling and soon his mother’s limestone bowl, half-filled with unused poultice, was overflowing with rain water.
Tal was not afraid to climb.
He was sure-footed and even though the cliffs were wet from the rain he was able to make good progress. He had learned an old climbing trick from an elder years ago and had wrapped his loose hide boots with thongs of leather to keep them snugly on his feet.
Hours of daylight remained before he had to reach the top so his pace was unrushed. He carried two pouches on his belt, one with strips of dried reindeer meat and one with kindling and fire-making tools. When it was dark, he would build a campfire, chant and listen for the responsive song from the heavenly campfires far in the distance. Maybe, if he were pure enough of heart he would even hear a song from the campfire of his mother.
He didn’t burden himself with a water skin. He knew there was a waterfall flowing over the cliffs and he would reach it in time to slake his thirst.
Halfway up the cliff he stopped on a safe ledge and turned towards the mighty river. From this great height it did not look so powerful. The earth stretched as far as he could see, an endless sea of grasses. In the distance, two brown shapes were moving through the savannah, a pair of shaggy mammoths. Tal laughed at the sight. He knew they were the largest beasts in the earth but from high on the cliff, it seemed he could pluck them up with his fingers and pop them into his mouth.
At the waterfall, he drank and washed the sweat away.
He looked for a good way to the top and traced a path with his eyes.
He made his way to another safe ledge and when he pulled himself up, he stopped and stared.
A sign!
There could be no doubt!
In front of his eyes was a cleft of blackness in the face of the rock.
A cave! He had never seen it before.
He approached it slowly. There were creatures to fear. Bears. The Shadow People.
He cautiously stepped into the cool blackness and inspected the mouth of the cave to the point where the light of the sun stopped.
The floor was pristine. The walls were smooth. He was the first to enter. He was jubilant.
This is Tal’s cave!
I was meant to be the head man!
When it is my time I will bring my clan here!
The next day when the sun was high, Tal returned to his camp.
He shouted to his people that he had heard their ancestors chanting and that he had found a new cave in the cliffs. He could not understand why they seemed preoccupied with something else, all of them pointing at the ground by the camp fire. The women were crying.
Uboas ran to Tal and pulled him by his sleeve.
Her brother, Gos, was lying on the ground, spouting mad, nonsensical things, sporadically flailing his limbs about, trying to strike whoever drew closest.
Tal demanded to know what had happened and Uboas told him.
His mother’s limestone bowl had been sitting by the fire and the hot sun and warmth of the fire had made the contents hiss and bubble. Gos had wandered by that morning and with his usual curiosity he dipped a finger in and tasted the red liquid. He liked it well enough to taste more, and more, until his chin was red.
Then he became possessed, screaming words that did not fit together. He thrashed and fought, but now was becoming quieter.
Tal sat beside him, put the boy’s head on his lap and touched his cheek. The touch calmed him and his little eyes opened.
Tal asked how he felt and told him not to be afraid. He would stay with him until he got well.
The little boy wet his lips with his tongue and asked for water. In time he sat up and pointed at the bowl.
Tal wanted to know what he wanted and the boy’s answer shocked those who had witnessed his spell.
He wanted more red liquid.
EIGHTEEN
Saturday Night
General Gatinois’s mistress was almost at orgasm or at the very least she was announcing in her own way that it was all right for him to think about finishing things up and rolling off.
He got the message and redoubled his efforts. His sweat beaded up and wicked down the fine white hairs of his chest where it mingled with her own dampness.
She was saying, ‘Ah, ah, ah, ah,’ and suddenly his mobile phone pitched in with a ring tone and cadence remarkably similar to hers.
He reached for the phone which made her angry so she pushed him away and padded off to the lavatory, pink, naked and swearing under her breath.
‘General, am I disturbing you?’ Marolles asked.
‘No, what is it?’ Gatinois asked. He really didn’t care he hadn’t climaxed. It was all too predictable and boring anyway.
‘We’ve been able to hack into the server at PlantaGenetics and obtain the report Dr Prentice intends to deliver to Professor Simard and Professor Mallory on Monday.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s quite alarming. It’s preliminary, of course, but he’s made some profound observations. He is clearly on the right track to discover more, should he so choose.’
‘Send it to my email. I’m presently not at home but I will be shortly.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘But Marolles, time is short. Don’t wait for my review. Let our people know they may proceed.’
Marolles sounded uncomfortable. ‘Are you certain, General?’
‘Yes, I’m certain!’ Gatinois was annoyed by the question. ‘And I’m also certain I don’t intend to be summoned
