Human (57 page)

If Kyah hadn’t been there
… Ivy shuddered at the thought.

Gihn, Shahn and the others were filtering into the cave. They looked wretched. Ivy’s belongings were all destroyed with the exception of her journal. She’d fallen asleep writing by firelight and had shoved it down her shirt as she raced through the burning cave at Kyah’s alarm, her protective instincts in full flight. Kyah was the first she sought out, screaming for the bonobo to retreat to the forest. She didn't, of course. At least not until Shahn, who happened to be lying awake and restless due to her aching belly, grabbed Trahg from his bedroll and practically threw the child from the cave mouth and into the bonobo's strong arms. Kyah disappeared with him into the darkness immediately.

They had lost seven. Seven members of their beloved family dead. In a tribe of less than one hundred, already mourning the Swift Death, it was nothing short of devastating. Ivy stifled a sob.

Shimma had lost both her devoted mate, Raspik, and her elderly mother, Bosxoi, to the flames. Raspik had pushed Shimma away from the crumbling stalactites, only to be crushed in her place. Ivy had tried to help him, but he was dead before the flames took him. She left him where he fell. Bosxoi had become lost in the thick smoke, clutching newborn Api to her breast after her daughter had fallen in the dark. She was small, even for a hobbit, and her aging body had failed her. Her lungs were too weak to withstand the suffocating air and although Ivy had found her in the end, she was already gone. Ivy had rescued the baby from Bosxoi’s arms and left her body for the flames, delivering Api to his hysterical mother in her place.

The cave that had been their home was now cold and desolate. Remnants of their tranquillity littered the floor. Cracked stone tools and bits and pieces of cooking bowls were scattered around the central hearth.

Another man had died, called Hushik. Although he was old, his fishing and regular catch of turtles and river snakes were a staple food for the cave, especially when larger game hunts were unsuccessful. Hushik had rarely talked to Ivy and seemed to follow Krue’s distrust of her. Still, he was family and his death was as much a loss to her as the others. Another elder, Garun, his daughter Kinut and her mate Ranu, whose hearth was at the very back wall of the cave, all died too. In the chaos and terror of the flames, no one had realized they were missing. Now they would be missed forever.

Ivy looked around for Kyah, and saw that she was sitting by the cave entrance, comforting Trahg in her lap. The bonobo's soft, long fingers gently groomed him as he cried silently, clinging to her belly. The final fatality of the fire broke Ivy’s heart. She slid to the floor where only a scrap of burnt hide remained of her sleeping mat.

Turi, the glowing and perfect dusty haired little boy that was cousin to Trahg, was dead. Since Ivy had arrived, he had been rarely a step behind Trahg's shadow and more often than not, on Kyah's back as well. Ivy stared into her empty hands, tears now falling unheeded. They'd searched for him. Ivy had screamed for him amongst the flames, but hadn't noticed him curled, hiding from the barrage of feet. The smoke had been too much, and Ivy had found him too late. He was barely past toddler-hood. There was no sense to his loss. No justification. For the past two days, Ivy had fought her heart through fury and despair and back again so many times she was almost too exhausted to move. Turi’s mother, Floni, had become a shell of life. There was nothing left in her but grief. She had already lost her mate to the Swift Death, and now her only child, her sun and life and breath, had been stolen from her too.

Ivy shuddered out a cry. She had a single possession left in the world – her battered journal and the flint-sharpened pencil that lived in it. She opened the book across her lap and gently flipped through the pages. Thousands of words stared back at her. There were busy years written in this journal, and sad years, hopeful years and happy years. The loss of her first love, then her mother, were buried in words as well. The slow estrangement of her father followed and loneliness underscored it all.

She’d thought she was numb to it, all of that loss, but she’d been living a lie. Because now, in these last few days, it all came rushing back. The pain she had tried to protect herself from for so long, had found her yet again. The terrible ache left by Turi’s death was the most desperate.
I could have saved him. I should have saved them all.

Orrin’s note fluttered out and landed on her dirty toes. She picked it up.

7pm - 25 Beach Street, Port Melbourne.
And
those
three words.
Please trust me.

Ivy ran her finger over the little O at the end of the note. Her eyes were red-rimmed but now dry and her expression was bitter.
Another loss for the pages.
She dropped her head back against the cave wall and closed her eyes. If she tried hard enough, she could still see him there. His shining eyes and dark curls that had made butterflies in her stomach. The way he pushed his finger and thumb under his reading glasses when he was nervous. The false bravado. Ivy understood now. Orrin had been just as vulnerable as she; he was just better at hiding it.

The futility of pushing him away for the sake of never losing him stung. She’d lost him anyway.
Now I’d trade a million lost days for a single day together.
Another day with Orrin, another chance to see Turi riding imperiously on Kyah’s back and giggling in a swirl of fallen leaves.

They were under her skin, all of them. And she knew they always would be.

The bodies had been left exposed upon the limestone cliffs where she and Gihn had left Emiri.

All except for Turi. Ivy had been the one to suggest he be buried. Against the back wall of the massive cave, where no one would rebuild the hearth belonging to Garun and his family, the hobbits had their first true burial. It was an epiphany of symbolic meaning. Instead of being left to the elements and predators of the cliffs, Turi would always be protected. They left his tiny ochre handprint on the rock wall above his grave. Although Ivy played no small part in the ritual, she felt no remorse for her actions. She had given Floni a new way to express the grief and love that was drowning her heart, cultural-interference be damned.

The tribe had slept in the forest the following night, too afraid to return to the cave. Winter wasn’t far away and the night air was cold. Light clouds of ash had begun drifting across the sky leaving a dusty film on the ground. Somewhere close, a volcano was stirring.

And then, there was the threat of more karathah attacks. Ivy had expected them to return, but so far, they hadn’t.
Planning their next attack, no doubt.
By the nature of the ambush, Ivy had no doubt that they had intended more fatalities and if it weren’t for Kyah, they would have had them.

The tribe needed protection. They needed their home.

Ivy finally convinced them to return and had already volunteered to sit up all night guarding the entrance. Xiou beckoned her to the remnants of the central hearth where the others were already gathered.

“Why did they do this to us?” asked Kipi, the dead fisherman’s youngest daughter. The question had been asked many times since the attack. “They already punished Emiri for taking their baby, why set fire to our cave as well?”

“It must be retribution, pure and simple,” an old woman said. “They continue to punish us for Emiri’s mistake.”

Krue shook his head. “You are all fools if you can’t see this for what it is. They did it because of her, your
Hiranah
.” The venom in his voice matched that in his eyes. “The karathah know she is here. Even if she doesn’t work with them, her presence must enflame their hate for us. The woman is bringing death upon us faster and faster!”

Ivy drew herself tall, towering over Krue. She was sick and tired of his accusations.

“I saved your life at the waterhole!” Ivy growled. “You think that karathah hunter would have been content to cut off a few more of your fingers? You’re nothing to him! A pest! I stopped the Swift Death and I’ve done everything I can to prove my loyalty since then!”

“But even if they do know Hiranah is here,” Kipi said, “what difference does it make to them? She means them no harm.”

Ivy wasn’t sure if that sentiment was entirely true. Not directly perhaps, but if the Flores hobbits survived, sapien lives would be affected, for better or worse.

Ivy sighed. “I’m different, Kipi. They fear me.” Racial intolerance, or in this case,
species intolerance
, was a benchmark for most Homo sapiens. And deny it though she might, Ivy was still more a part of that family tree, than this one.

“So because you’re different, they will kill us all?” Kipi’s voice was shaking.

“This isn’t just my fault,” Ivy shot a scathing look to Krue, despite her own misgivings. “They were killing you before this with the Swift Death, I’ve just – given them a reason to try harder. You’re different too.” The grief in Ivy’s chest was solidifying into fury. “They’re threatened by you, and I think, perhaps, there’s something else as well. Getting rid of you isn’t that easy, but they keep trying. They must want something that you have.”

Shahn looked up, confused. “We have nothing they need.”

Standing beside his mate, Xiou looked less sceptical. “Of course we do, Shahn. We have this cave. We have the oleos grove and the tourak trees and everything else we trade with them. We have the digging pit for the best weapon stones. Hiranah is right; there are plenty of reasons to kill us.”

At Xiou’s words, Krue looked at Ivy, narrowing his eyes slightly. He nodded his head slowly in consideration and Ivy felt a small rush of victory.

“Xiou is right,” Ivy said. “They have plenty of reasons to tear you apart. The karathah fear what they don’t know and they want what is yours. They’re not going to stop trying.”

Ivy looked away, past the cave entrance and over the forest ceiling below. Her bare toes scuffed the ash underfoot and she scraped the loose red curls away from her face in disgust. She felt ugly.
Of course they want to kill me. They fear me. Fear always begets murder.

The ignorance behind their motive infuriated Ivy almost more than the attack on her own life. She felt different. Isolated again.
Maybe I’m not human after all.
At the memory of Turi’s ashen little body, a tremor of anger shattered her introspection to bits.
So we fight.
She turned back to the group.

“The karathah will kill you if you let them,” Ivy said, earnestly. “Eventually, they’ll dominate every part of this earth. I’ve lived it.” There was a muttering of fear and shock. Krue though, looked at her in silent appraisal, and for the first time, she thought she saw a glint of respect in his eye. A few voices rose above the others in concern.

“Surely they aren’t all bad?” someone asked.

“Of course not,” Ivy replied. “But this isn’t just going to be a fight against the minority that want you dead. The real fight is against the others, good people that choose to do nothing against it. It is up to
you
to ensure your own survival.”

“But how can we survive their strength?” Kipi asked.

“We can’t win,” said another.

Ivy knew in her heart, that if it came to combat, they stood little chance. They were devastatingly outnumbered. She held her arm up to quiet them.

“There are better ways to fight the karathah than with spears and arrows,” she said. “I refuse to let them pick you off one by one.”

Ivy’s heart was racing. Another flame prickled under her skin now. The one that carried her own fear, as hot and strong as any of those plotting her death.
I don’t want to die. I refuse to let the karathah take me too.

“Hiranah,” Gihn interjected, with quiet authority. “Perhaps, this is a discussion for another time.” He addressed the group. “We have no food left and winter is close. Our supplies are burnt to nothing. We need meat and new weapons to hunt for it.”

Xiou stepped forward. “There are some old spears that were not burnt,” he said. “Most have cracked points and will need reworking.” A handful of young men standing nearby volunteered and Setian began to issue instructions to them.

“Kora,” Xiou continued, “You and Guntah should organise new shafts. We need as many as possible.” The woman and her mate nodded.

“We’ll need a lot of food to replace our winter stores as well as feed ourselves now,” Kora said. “When will we leave?”

“Within two days,” said Xiou. “Krue and I have already discussed it. We will hunt the probech.”

Stegodon.
A strange sense of foreboding filled Ivy’s heart.

Hot, rhythmic drumming pushed the hunters from the cave. The mood was tense. There were three less hunters since the fire, and those leaving were terrified for the safety of those staying behind.

Ten had volunteered to guard the cave; older hunters whose agility was leaving them. Still, their new responsibility was perhaps more dangerous and none liked the necessary separation. Families rubbed brows lovingly in farewell. The hunters turned away from the expectant faces of their children and the anxious frowns of elders and nursing women.