The young guard was nearly a foot taller than Alex, finely muscled, lithe, and strong. He reached the horse at a full run, knelt, and did a quick examination. Alex had bled through the hasty wrapping on his left hand and the entire left side of his shirt was stuck to him by more blood. The guard took the reins of the horse, put Alex over his shoulder, and ran to the next guard. There, he handed Alex and the horse over and returned to his post.
Alex was relayed to the cliffside. When the last guard reached the open space, he called ahead for help.
Sekun-ak was the first to arrive. He picked Alex up and cradled him like a child. Alex’s eyes fluttered open.
“We have to go back now. Monda-ak is there. He needs me.”
Sekun-ak called for warriors, more horses, Niten-eh, and one of the carts they had used to haul rocks to Prata-eh. When he saw Niten-eh hobbling toward them, he dispatched a warrior to pick her up and carry her to Alex.
Sekun-ak laid Alex in the grass so Niten-eh could examine him. She used Alex’s own knife to slit his shirt off, revealing the extent of the damage godat-ta had done there. Then, gently, she unwound the sticky fabric wrapped around Alex’s left hand. The thumb was completely gone. The index finger was lost to the first knuckle.
Wenta-eh came sprinting from the cave holding a basket of medical supplies.
Alex objected, saying, “We need to leave right now. Monda-ak is badly hurt and vulnerable to any predator. We have to go now!”
Sekun-ak gestured for the cart to be brought to them, then lifted first Alex, then Niten-eh inside. He took the basket of supplies and handed it to the healer. “You take care of him while we go. There are still two more out there who need us.”
They started back to Prata-ah immediately—six armed warriors on horseback and Sekun-ak riding the horse that pulled the cart.
They went as fast as they could, which was none too fast with the cart. Every bump, every rut sent a shiver of pain through Alex, but Niten-eh continued to work on him. Once she had cleaned and dropped powdered herbs over his mangled left hand, she called for someone to bring her a new water bag so she could clean the wound on his side.
The wound was deep. She sprinkled water over it to wash the blood away, then probed with her fingers to see if there was internal damage. Satisfied that there was not, she helped Alex to sit so she could wrap fabric completely around him. As she did, she brushed against Alex’s ribs and he winced again.
“Are you having a hard time breathing?”
“Yes. It hurts when I breathe.”
“You have broken these,” she said, drawing two fingers parallel to his lower ribcage.
“Godat-ta fell on me when I killed him. I think that’s what did it.”
Niten-eh reached a hand out and touched Alex’s forehead for fever. Finding none, she narrowed her eyes and said, “I thought you said that you killed godat-ta. I must have not understood. My ears are old and don’t work well.”
Alex turned to meet her eyes.
“I did kill godat-ta.”
There was no answer for that. As old as Niten-eh was, she had no memory of anyone claiming to have killed one of the giants. It was impossible.
Dusk had fallen by the time the caravan made it to the base of Prata-eh.
When the warriors saw godat-ta, lying dead in a heap, the chatter started. The legend of Manta-ak grew once again.
As soon as the wagon stopped, Alex tried to stand, but failed.
“Sekun-ak. I need your help,” Alex said. “Take me to Monda-ak.”
Alex’s heart hammered. He could not wait to be next to his faithful dog, but did not want to see him if he was dead.
Sekun-ak lifted Alex out of the wagon and carried him to where he had left Monda-ak.
Alex nearly couldn’t make himself look as he approached.
He didn’t need to.
As soon as Monda-ak heard Alex’s voice, the mighty tail beat a staccato rhythm against the ground.
Sekun-ak eased Alex to the ground.
“Thank you, Monda-ak. Thank you for not leaving me.”
Wenta-eh helped Niten-eh down from the cart, then over to Monda-ak. As they passed the hulking corpse of godat-ta, Niten-eh stopped and craned her neck upward to take it in. Wenta-eh helped her to kneel by Monda-ak and Niten-eh quietly said, “I guess killing the godat-ta is not impossible, Manta-ak.”
That was as close as she ever came to apologizing to anyone for anything.
While she examined Monda-ak, Alex turned to Sekun-ak.
“Lanta-eh is at the top of the hill. I am worried for her. Can you send someone to bring her down?”
“No. I will not send anyone. I will go myself.”
Alex watched Sekun-ak’s retreating back as he disappeared up the trail to the top of the hill. To Niten-eh, he said, “How bad is he?”
“For having tangled with godat-ta, he is very good. Look here,” she said, pointing. “The claws went deep, but missed anything vital. He will need to stay down for a day or two, but soon will be his old self.”
Alex smiled, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.
“I can’t believe we survived this.”
One of the warriors—the man who had taken over the hunting when Sekun-ak became chief—took command of field dressing the bear. It was a cool day, but even so, they would have to work into the night to save the meat and get it back to the cave.
“Careful,” the man said. “Save the hide. There will never be another godat-ta hide.”
Alex did not care about the hide. He was glad that the meat would feed the tribe, but the only souvenir he had ever cared about was the broken stone half-circle he wore around his neck. A gift from Tokin-ak, the blind monk.
Alex kept one eye
