CHAPTER EIGHT

THE PRODIGAL SON

Maki and Hidaig began the morning with a grog of fermented juices and marrow while Han and Dorald packed for the trip, Dorald grinning often and wriggling bushy eyebrows in memory of the rough delights he’d shared with the old female by the green pool the night before. Han, too, had a new treasure which he constantly carried in one hand: a long spear, tipped with a metal blade made from a Hinchai implement, and presented to him by one of Hidaig’s warriors after a spear throwing contest in which his heavy weapon had gone further than any other’s. Maki had never seen his two companions so happy, for it was the first time they had been totally accepted by anyone, Dorald because of his great strength and friendly grin, Han because of his skill with the spear. Now they scurried to and fro, preparing to leave, but knowing that soon they would all be together again.

“It is a good day for travel,” said Hidaig. “I will leave later in the day, and travel at night, because the way following the sun is now thick with Hinchai settlements.”

“I still think it’s a waste of time,” said Maki, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “How many Tenanken can you recruit from bands so far removed from our difficulties here? They will have no motivation for a fight in which lives will be lost, and if they know our plan, word may be sent to my father.”

Hidaig shook his head. “I expect no cooperation from their leadership; indeed, Meandre is now Keeper, and an old friend of your father’s. I will not approach him on the subject, but there are several warriors who have been privately sympathetic with my views. Up to now they have not left because their mates are bound closely to the band, but all can be persuaded if the rewards are right. The warriors I’m talking about despise the Hinchai and spend as much time as they can outside the caves. It’s a return to the old life they’re looking for, and our plans will promise it to them. There could be a betrayal, of course, but I’m always ready for that.” Hidaig grinned evilly at Maki. “When we return, I will post warriors along the three routes to the valley. Any Tenanken sent from the caves will be killed on the spot. In the end, Maki, all bands must be unified in this. Anyone who opposes us must die.”

“I agree,” said Maki firmly. “So how many warriors will you have when the time comes?”

“Perhaps forty,” Hidaig indicated, opening and closing his hands to count the number. “It is enough if we can achieve complete surprise. I will rely on you for the timing.”

“You shall have it. We need now to set a time for rendezvous. How long before you’ll be ready?”

Hidaig emptied his cup, and filled it again from a skin bag. “A few days, in both directions, perhaps a little more. I remember a deep hollow on the bluff at the near end of your canyon. We can meet there.”

“I will station Dorald and Han at that place the second full moon from now.”

“Why so long?”

“I need to convince my father all is well, and his plans can proceed in safety. He will be the easy one; it is Pegre I will have to work with carefully. He is neither naive or foolish, and sees deeply. He also has the favor of my father, and is revered by those who would live with the Hinchai. Consequently, I will work my persuasions when he is not present in the caverns, and remain silent, thinking of darkness, when he is nearby. Remember that when the attack begins Pegre must die, but it will be by my hand. I will have it no other way.”

“So it will be,” said Hidaig seriously, “and we will drink to the time.” He filled Maki’s cup, and they gestured to each other before drinking noisily. “To a Tenanken life in open air and sunlight, and to the new Keeper of The Memories,” said Hidaig.

“And to the Tenanken commander over all the bands.”

They toasted each other, and the sun was suddenly covered by a dark cloud. Hidaig frowned. “It is an omen,” he whispered anxiously.

Maki smiled. “It signifies the passage of a short, dark time in Tenanken history, a time of the caves. But the cloud moves on, and the bright light will soon reappear.” He lifted his cup to touch Hidaig’s. “There, see—we are the sun.”

The exit was a few feet from the top of the cliff face, the river below a shining snake hissing up at them. Hand and footholds were small but plentiful, and Maki danced up the rock to a field of tall grass and flowers. Dorald froze at first, staring at the miniscule boulders below. Even with Maki’s gentle directions and Han’s prodding of his buttocks with a spear it was several minutes before he dared to trust his life to the grip of fingers and rough toes on the rock. By the time he reached the top, the big Tenanken was hyperventilating so badly he had to lie down on the grass while Han scrambled up to join them. Both waited for Maki to begin shouting at them about their slowness, but today their leader seemed patient, even kind to both of them so that at least their journey was beginning as a happy adventure of three comrades-in-arms returning home.

They marched until nightfall, keeping to the trees and traversing hillsides rather than climbing up and down, since Hidaig had sketched for them the direct route his little army would follow to reach the caverns of Anka’s band. The route was far from Hinchai machines, but as darkness came they saw occasional lights on distant hillsides, reminding them they were not alone and were still vulnerable to observation during the day. Han collected fir boughs, and made beds for the three of them under tall trees. They relaxed, ate dried meat, and got a little drunk while emptying the skin of grog Hidaig had sent along with them. Their sleep was deep and peaceful, whatever dreams they experienced forgotten by the time sunlight awoke them totally refreshed and anxious to march again.

Ahead of them lay a vast expanse of pure wilderness: clean air, fresh springs, and game. Antlered creatures watched them carefully from thick stands of trees and brush in hollows between rolling hills, and birds flew near their heads when they passed by a nest placed on a tree-limb within easy reach from the ground. Without the Hinchai, it could all be like this again, thought Maki, and his resolve increased with each step. His father would be spared to see it happen; he could not be punished for the frailties of old-age, and would perhaps be useful as spiritual advisor in his last years. Pegre was another matter, and all his accomplices in the caverns. To begin anew it would be necessary to purify the race, but in keeping with The Memories it would be done mercifully. In ancient Memories the Hanken-featured newborns had been dispatched with a single blow to the head. Was this merciful? Did pain have a chance to register in a child’s tiny brain? Surely they were not spiritual in any sense, for they lacked The Memories. But they were self-aware. How does one kill such a being mercifully? Maki pondered these things moodily to himself as Dorald and Han frolicked ahead of him.

When the sun was high they stopped to drink from a stream cascading down the hillside. Below them was another streambed cut deep into the ground, a wash of pebbles left over from the rush of some ancient current. Maki walked down to the wash, looked around and found a polished chunk of driftwood which he placed on top of a large rock before stepping back along the stream bed many paces and unslinging the pointing weapon from around his shoulders. Han and Dorald jumped gleefully to their feet from under a tree where they’d been resting, Dorald clamping his hands over both ears and grinning broadly. They rushed to stand at the edge of the wash, looking down at Maki as he tentatively fingered the weapon.

“It makes much noise,” said Han nervously. “We’ll be found.”

“Not here,” said Maki, “and it’s time I learned how to use this.” He searched The Memories, and found an observation to imitate while he explored the thing in his hands, pushing and prodding and finally pulling down a lever carefully to reveal the projectile inside. He pulled the lever up, watching the projectile disappear inside the weapon, then pressed the butt to his shoulder and looked along wood and metal towards his driftwood target. One finger curled around a lever on the underside of the weapon. He was looking at two blades, one at the end and a shorter one with a groove in it towards the rear. He wiggled the weapon up and down until the blades were nearly superimposed, and the target just visible above them.

He pulled back on the lever, and felt something give inside the weapon.

Sharp pain knifed through his head as the weapon exploded in his hands. Han and Dorald screamed simultaneously. It was like the time he’d run blindly into someone in a darkened tunnel, the weapon slamming horribly into his shoulder, breath leaving him with a grunt, and he felt a burning sensation throughout his entire body. When he looked, the target was still there, but somehow different. Han jumped down into the wash, and inspected it, pointing to a place near the top.

“See, you hit it! A piece has been removed at this point.”

“It is high,” said Maki calmly. Using The Memories, he levered a spent projectile case from the weapon, chambered a new one, then aimed again as a startled, frightened Han scrambled frantically out of the wash. This time he lowered the front blade until it filled the groove in the second, and the center of the target was sitting right on top of the combination. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, struggling to control his fear of the impending explosion, and forcing all attention on the sighting picture so that the weapon seemed to go off by itself.

The pain in his head was even sharper the second time, though Han and Dorald didn’t scream, having clamped hands tightly over their ears. The target seemed unchanged, and Maki felt a surge of disappointment, but when he walked over to inspect it he found a finger-sized hole in the very center, and a larger hole in the back where the projectile had exited. “See what this does to hard wood,” he said proudly, “and imagine what it will do to bone, long past the range of a spear. We must obtain more of these before the battle begins, and a good supply of projectiles. Their pointing is easy to learn.” Enthusiastic, he quickly levered a new projectile into the weapon, with a snap, and reslung it over his shoulders while Han and Dorald looked at him fearfully. It occurred to him that these two, with their simple minds, would never dare to fire such a weapon. Perhaps he could teach Hidaig, or one of his warriors, so they could fight the Hinchai with their own weapons, and insure a quick victory.

Maki left the empty projectile cases where they had fallen, and climbed out of the streambed. Dorald had stretched out again under a tree, but Han was squinting towards a distant hillside, a hand shading his eyes.

“There it is again,” said Han.

Maki turned to look over his shoulder.

“A bright flash—on the hillside where the trees come down to a point. That’s twice I’ve seen it since you made the loud noises—there it is!”

Maki saw it this time, a bright flash of light from a far distance, near the ribbon of crushed rock where the Hinchai traveled. He dismissed it as unimportant. “Light reflected from something on a Hinchai traveler. Move on, so we sleep near water tonight. We have little to drink.” He walked away jauntily, happily unaware of a serious error in judgment, an error he would regret in the days to come. Han’s concern evaporated with Maki’s, and Dorald had no concern to begin with, the two of them following their leader like obedient children.

The remainder of the day was the beginning of a nightmare from which there was no awakening.

Their route kept them in the trees, traversing hillsides into a long, brush-choked gully leading to a shallow valley filled with grass and scattered boulders. A small stream meandered through the valley, and they camped by it, a circle of three boulders sheltering them from wind and hiding them from Hinchai who might pass by on the distant road. They filled themselves with water, and ate the last of the dried meat, knowing they would reach the caverns the following morning. Appetites satisfied, and feeling secure, they lay down in the grass for a carefree nap, but each sleeping with his weapon in the custom of a Tenanken warrior. The air was cool, and they slept deeply at first before moving into dreams unremembered, and a shallow sleep near consciousness.

Maki awoke with a start. He kept his eyes closed, willing stillness, sensing the alien presence at a level he did not understand, a subtle presence, quiet, watchful and vaguely hostile. Nearby. All senses heightened, he felt for movement in the ground, sniffed the air, and listened for the slightest sound, hearing at first only Dorald’s quiet snoring next to him. The first sign was a sweet odor, which he recognized as the smell of Hinchai flesh, and then a scratching sound. Maki dared to open his eyes to a slit, remaining absolutely still despite his pounding heart. He closed them again, willing calmness, but feeling the sudden beads of sweat beginning to evaporate from his face.

A Hinchai male was with them: large, dressed in earth colors, lounging on a boulder and watching them sleep, and on a hip was strapped one of the smaller pointing weapons Maki had seen fired with one hand. Maki visualized his position, and the weapon near his hand. With a distraction he could—

“Okay, Boys, sleepy time is over. Time to get up.”

Maki groaned softly, as if bothered in sleep, but Dorald’s snoring cut off sharply and he grumbled.

“Jeezus, God, if you aren’t a sight. I thought all the injuns had cleared out, if that’s what you are. COME ON, GET UP!”

Dorald and Han awoke with a start while Maki opened his eyes to stare balefully at the stranger and roll slightly to one side to cover his weapon lying in the grass. There was no reaction; the Hinchai hadn’t seen it. Now Maki’s companions were on their feet, grasping weapons, and the Hinchai’s hand moved in a blur, appearing with a black weapon leveled at all of them.

“Don’t do anything stupid, fellas, or Mister Colt here will give you a terrible bite.”

Maki spoke harshly in the Tenanken tongue. “Relax your weapons before he kills us all, and move apart from each other. My weapon is hidden beneath me, and when I move to shoot it is a signal for you to strike!”

“Shut up! White renegades actin’ like injuns, Christ, those people take baths. Your stink is enough to knock a man out! Tattered rags and spears and—hey, big guy, where did you get that nice, shiny axe? Seems to me I got a report about that, along with a missing rifle. Any of you see a nice, new rifle around here? Henry, I believe it was—lever action. What about you, yellow eyes; seen anything?” The Hinchai looked straight at Maki, and slid down from the boulder he’d been sitting on, weapon level and steady.

Maki shook his head, leaning on one elbow, the weapon hard against his side.

“No? Sure ain’t talkative, are you? None of you? Well, we can get into the details back at the jail, if you’ll just follow me, gentlemen. My wagon is waiting, and thank God you can ride in back and not up with me. Whew! We’ve just got to get you boys into a tub and scrub you up. I keep a clean jail.”

Han had moved away from Maki a couple of steps, and Dorald a few steps beyond him, the axe hanging limply in one hand. His teeth were showing in a kind of death-grin, and the dangerous glint had returned to his eyes, telling Maki the big Tenanken had reached the limit of self-control. Dorald took two tentative steps towards the Hinchai, and the blue-black hand weapon swung around to point directly at his stomach.

“Now don’t get stupid, man! This here’s a forty-four, and your size won’t do you a bit of good. One shot, and you are a dead person. Now you all quit your movin’ around, and get together again.” The Hinchai’s voice was low and ominous as he motioned them together with the hand weapon. “It suddenly occurs to me I’m lookin’ at Jake’s critters, and damned if’n he wasn’t pretty accurate. All the thievin’s been goin’ on around here, and it turns out to be white folk; I think you have a lot to answer for, so let’s get on with it. Over here, now, all of you.” The Hinchai turned slightly away from Maki, motioning them to one side.

Maki slid his weapon out from under him in the tall grass, grasping it in one hand and sitting up as if to stand.

Han’s hand slid down the shaft of his standing spear, grasping it lightly with two fingers.

The muscles in Dorald’s right arm suddenly knotted as he gripped the axe tightly. He took another step towards the Hinchai, staring into the black maw of the hand weapon.

“I’d rather take you in alive, but I’m not particular in your case, mister,” said the Hinchai.

Han’s arm moved in a blur, straight up, then over in an arc, the spear appearing as if by magic in the chest of the Hinchai. The man grunted, surprised, turning to face Han as Maki pulled his weapon to his shoulder and fired in one motion, gratified when the man’s body slammed back into a boulder and blood exploded from his mouth in a bright gush splattering his clothing in red. Dorald moved in for the kill, swinging the axe high over the wide-eyed Hinchai who looked up at him and gurgled, “Who the hell are you people?”

The axe descended, the impact a sickening crunch simultaneous with the explosion of the Hinchai’s hand weapon.

Dorald leaped backwards, leaving his axe embedded in the shattered remains of the Hinchai’s skull, turning slowly to face Han and Maki, clutching at his stomach with one hand, eyes sad. He held out a hand to them, saying nothing, taking one staggering step, and then Maki saw the blood oozing out between his fingers. Another half step, then Dorald groaned, and sank to his knees, grabbing his stomach now with both hands. Tears trickled from his eyes and down his face as Han and Maki knelt before him, helpless in the sight of a horrible wound, putting their hands on his shoulders. Before their eyes, his skin was suddenly ashen and turned cold to the touch.

“I’m sorry,” said Maki. “You fought well, and killed our enemy. This is committed to The Memories, and the Tenanken will remember your deed in the Visions. Forever.”

Dorald grinned weakly, eyes glazing over as he whispered his answer. “I crush Hinchai skull good,” he said, and then his eyes rolled upwards, a belch of black blood issuing forth from his mouth as he toppled forward so quickly they could not hold him up. His face hit the ground with a thud, and it was only then that Maki saw the fist-sized hole in Dorald’s back, streaming blood past a shattered array of bone and nerve fibers that had once been a spine. Maki turned his face from the sight as Han moaned softly.

“The Hinchai has killed him. My friend is gone.” Han’s voice was filled with grief, and Maki felt sudden guilt at the times he had wanted to be rid of the big Tenanken. He put an arm around Han’s shoulders, and they sat by the body for a moment. “He was my friend, too,” said Maki, partially believing it. “He wanted to be a warrior, Han, and at the end he was, with us at his side. Now he is in a better place. We will grieve for him, then do what we must do. Whatever happens, Anka or anyone else in the caverns must not know about this. We must bury the bodies quickly out of sight, with no evidence of digging.”

“I have no ochre,” said Han.

“There’s red clay near the canyon rim, and flowers. I have a little food left.”

“We’ll have to move him there.”

And the Hinchai. We dare not leave anything here.”

Han jerked the axe from Hinchai bone, then his spear. “I will cut the branches.” He scurried away towards the trees.

Maki surveyed the disaster site. The big Hinchai was sprawled over a boulder, the contents of his skull splattered over the rock, eyes open and staring at the sky. Maki twisted the hand weapon from his fingers, fiddling with it until he understood recent Memories, then removed the belt and holster from the body, replaced the weapon protectively and buckled the assembly around his own waist. He dragged the Hinchai from the boulder, and used a bunch of grass to wipe away the trail of goo left behind, while Han chopped furiously to bring down four, small trees.

It was late afternoon before they had finished making a simple travois for each body out of limbs and soft roots covered with fir boughs. Han insisted on pulling his friend, and started out before Maki was even ready. Maki dragged the Hinchai unceremoniously to the travois, flopped him on it, chambered a new projectile into his pointing weapon and began the long pull back to the canyon.

There will be consequences, thought Maki. The Hinchai will be missed, and then a search party. They must not find the body; Pegre will relay the story directly to Anka, and a connection can be made to the return of his son. There must be no suspicion before Hidaig’s arrival. Put the bodies in different places, under rock where they can never be found. The Hinchai has simply disappeared, gone away for a while to another settlement. By the time they look for him, it will be too late.

Maki felt assured by his analysis, but there was an important flaw in the logic, for he had neglected to ask himself how the Hinchai had found and then intercepted them in their camp. Back near that camp, the Hinchai’s wagon and two horses still waited on the road, a telescope pulled out to full length across the driver’s seat.

* * * * * * *

They reached the edge of the canyon near dusk, panting from the uphill pull, and near exhaustion. A spine of rock ran up the hillside like the dorsal of some great, buried fish, rotted and falling down in places, the ground around it covered with debris. They dumped the Hinchai body into a wide crevice, and threw rocks in after it until the crevice was filled. But Dorald was special, and they searched carefully for a place until Han called out, “Over here, and I can see the canyon. Maki, it’s perfect for him.”

Maki climbed the hill. Near the end of the rock spine was a deep depression shaped like a tub, bottom covered with a thin layer of soft earth washed in by rains. He studied it, then said, “We can build a roofed cairn over him, then cover it with rocks. We’ll lay him thus, so he faces the rising sun and his spirit can meet it for the last journey. See, those flat rocks there for the roof of the cairn.”

Han nodded solemnly. There were no tears, now, as he helped to prepare his friend for a transition to the everlasting life of a spiritual world without earthly pain and suffering. He struggled with Maki to pull the travois up the final hill, and unloaded the big Tenanken gently into the rocky depression. Using red clay and saliva, he decorated Dorald with the marks of a warrior, and crossed his arms over his chest with the fingers of both hands curled around the big axe. Into the depression they put two small bags of food within easy reach, then covered their companion with flowers picked from the hillside. The cairn went up quickly, rectangular-shaped with a flat roof nearly touching the thick chest, a miniature tomb for one warrior, and then they piled rocks in random fashion until the depression was filled to the brim, as one with the entire outcropping.

The sun was setting when they finished, and they went to bed hungry and sorrowful.

When they awoke in the morning, it was with sudden knowledge that the spirit of Dorald had flown into the sun. Han wept. Maki stood with him a while by the rock-covered tomb, and then they packed, the Hinchai weapons going into Maki’s long pack. They made the short walk to the caverns along the bluff and down steep shelves past the place where Baela perched in a tree, watching them. The sky was dark blue, a gentle breeze cooling them along the canyon. A day Dorald would have loved.

When they neared the entrance, Anka suddenly appeared and hurried to meet them, opening his arms and emotionally embracing his son. “You’ve come home,” he said, choking back tears. “I thought I’d lost you, but you’ve come home. Let me get you something to eat, and then there is much to talk about.”

As they went inside, scavenger birds had begun to circle above the bluff at the end of the canyon.