Tau Ceti (an Ell Donsaii story #6) (48 page)

Gontra jerked his hand out of the water and extended the white, trembling member to Pell.

Pell grasped the deformed part of the finger in his fist, bent it way back as he had his own finger and the rabbit’s leg, and pulled mightily.

Gontra bellowed and jerked his hand out of Pell’s grasp, rolling back onto his buttocks. He gripped the offended member in his other fist and curled over it in agony, though he didn’t seem as miserable as he had the night before during the healer’s attempts. Pell scrambled away fearfully, thinking that Gontra might strike him when he recovered. But then Gontra opened his good hand to look tremblingly at his injured digit. Pell could see, even from where he stood, that the finger was straight again! Massively swollen still, but by the Spirits, straight again! Exen let out a whoop of joy and knelt to throw his arms around Gontra. He and his father swayed about in each other’s grasp for almost a whole minute.

Gontra reached in his pouch and pulled out a flint knife that he tossed quickly to Pell. “Thanks,” he said, and with that, he and Exen started back up the trail with a bounce in their step.

Pell stood looking at the knife, wondering at the tumultuous emotions he felt. He was elated that he had reduced Gontra’s finger but somehow felt that the celebration was too short or that it hadn’t included him as he felt it should have. He recognized immediately that this was an old knife that Gontra didn’t use much anymore. It had several chips out of the blade and, though bigger, wasn’t really even as good as Pell’s primary knife. At first surprised that Gontra had given him anything for what he’d done; now he found himself disappointed at the shoddiness of the gift. Pont would have demanded, and received, a much better reward from Gontra if he had successfully reduced the finger—of course, Pont was a real healer and Pell wasn’t.

Pell contemplated what had happened for a while longer, then set out again on his interrupted hunt. As he traveled, his thoughts returned over and over to the incident just past. He was hurt that Exen and Gontra hadn’t invited him to hunt with them. He wished that he had insisted on some sort of public recognition from them. He wished that he had thought to accompany them back to the cave where they were probably celebrating—he could be the hero of the moment. Maybe there would be a hero’s welcome for him from the tribe anyway, when he got back later. The Aldans would surely recognize the value of having one in their midst who could perform bonesettings. While he was lost in these thoughts, he wandered back up to the same ravine he had been in earlier. When he got to the brush barrier, he remembered that he didn’t want to try to go through it again. Rather than go back down the ravine he resolved to climb up the side and thus go around the barrier. The side of the ravine was quite steep and difficult to climb but, shortly, pulling himself up on various bushes, he had scrambled up onto the rocks directly east of the brushy barrier. The afternoon sun had warmed the rocks somewhat and so he sat puffing at the top for a minute. His eye caught some motion on the north side of the barrier. A group of small pigs like the one Denit had killed snuffled in a small patch of rotting vegetation. He threw the spear in his hand but it clattered off the rocks three or four paces from the pig he had cast it at. His second spear bounced into the legs of a running pig and tangled in its feet a moment. It fell but then regained its feet, apparently unharmed. Pell scrambled down the side of the ravine but to his dismay the boars were scattering back up to the north. By the time he had gotten down to the ground on the north side of the brush pile, the pigs were far out of reach of any further spear throws.

He collected his spears and examined them. Sure enough, the point on his better spear had been crushed on the rock it had struck. Cursing, he sat down to resharpen it. He tried out the knife Gontra had given him. He noted that at least it had a better handle for such scraping than his old one. He was still working away when a small boar burst out of the tunnel in the brush and rocketed up the west side of the ravine to join its fellows. Startled Pell dropped the spear and the knife. He scrabbled around to get his second spear and launched another miserable throw, again missing widely. Cursing even more vehemently he walked over to pick up the spear, noted that its point was now ruined as well, then walked back to pick up the other spear and his new knife. The flint knife lay beside the spear, shattered into three large pieces and several smaller ones.

With hot tears running down his cheeks Pell sat, got out his other knife, and jerkily brought both spears to points.

After the tears ran down, he gathered up the fragments of his new knife, put them in his pouch, and, dragging his spears behind him went back to the brush tunnel. Too dejected to consider climbing over, he crouched down and started through the tunnel. When he got to the area where he had been trapped the day before, he took it in with new eyes. During his struggle, he had broken off a couple of sticks and branches, which had then protruded into the tunnel on a slant. They were what had been poking into him when he tried to back out the other way. He noticed some blood on one of them, he couldn’t remember being stuck badly enough to start bleeding though. He smelled it—it was fresh boar’s blood! The little boar, which had just escaped him, must have been trapped here for a while too! He wondered if he could wait a while and some other animal would come along and get trapped? Well they wouldn’t come in here if he were here; his scent would keep them away. But, could he get back in here before they got free? If he did would he be able to take on a boar in such close quarters? Maybe if the sticks were sharper they would kill the boar for him? While contemplating it he began scraping the one that had blood on it, thinking to diminish the scent of blood. As he did so he realized that he was bringing it to a point like a spear and then he began to do so purposefully. It was made of a springy wood that made it easy to push aside but tended to hold it out in the center of the tunnel. He realized that it was easy to get by going one direction but not the other! Inspiration struck and he began finding similar branches, sharpening one end and wedging them into the surrounding branches so that they sloped into the center of the tunnel. He moved a few paces the other way and did the same thing, this time making the little spears so that they faced the opposite direction. This made a small section of the tunnel that was easy to get into by brushing the spears aside, but once within it the spears faced you from either direction. Pell would be able to get out by careful use of his hands, but he thought that a boar would be stuck for quite a while. He climbed out of the little tunnel, intending to sit up on the side of the ravine and wait for an animal to try to go through the tunnel. Then he would dash in to kill it before it could get loose. Unfortunately, the sun was getting low. He didn’t want to get caught out after dark with big cats and other night predators so he headed back to the Aldans’ cave. He resolved to come back out and sit by the ravine in the morning.

When Pell got back to the cave there was a celebration in progress. He trotted up to his mother, Donte and asked her what had happened.

“Another kill of a small boar, this time by Belk. Even better—Gontra popped his own finger back in!”

“
Gontra
popped his finger back in?!”

Donte didn’t notice Pell’s dismay at the news. “Yes, yes, isn’t it wonderful? He fell into a bush and when he pulled his hand back out the finger was straight! He was chasing one of the big boars at the time, you know one of the same kind that he was hunting when his finger was hurt to begin with. Pont says he had been praying to the spirit of the big boars all day today. So, the spirit must have heard the healer’s call and decided to give Gontra his finger back… Pell are you OK?”

Pell felt as if he’d been poleaxed. “Gontra, put—his own, finger back?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yes, yes, well actually the Boar Spirit did it. What’s the matter with you?”

Pell looked up and saw Gontra staring at him. Gontra looked nervously over at Pont who was all dressed up in his ceremonial finest. Gontra looked back at Pell and quickly shook his head. Then he lightly put his finger over his lips, shaking his head again. Pell sat down where he stood, feeling lightheaded. So much for his hopes of being recognized upon his return this evening! The most important thing he had done in his life—and all that he would get out of it would be one shoddy knife, already broken? Not even a real “thanks” from Gontra? No one was to even know that he had accomplished it? For a moment, Pell thought to announce to the camp what had really happened, but he realized in time, though with even more dismay, that any such claim, contradicted by both Gontra and Pont, would make him a laughingstock.

Getting no response to her query, Donte said, “Rest a moment Pell, I’ll get you some tea.” She scurried off toward the cookfire.

Before they ate dinner they sat through one of Pont’s interminable ceremonies, this one to “Thank the Spirit Boar for restoring Gontra’s finger.” Gontra even did the drumming, holding his new “knobby stick” in his poulticed hand. Pont danced about chanting monotonously while Lessa chanted a tune that wove through his monotone. The two together did sound haunting. Pell sat against the back wall of the cave covertly sipping the tea Donte had brought him and wondering whether the healer had
ever
actually made
anyone
better. Or did he just take the credit when they did get well? Pell realized with a start that Pont certainly spread the blame when people got worse under his ministrations. Someone
else
had always “angered the Spirits” when the healer failed to make one of his patients better.

After they ate Roley announced that they would have another big hunt in the morning. While the hunters were out, the women were to pack for the move to the summer hunting area. If the hunt was successful they should have enough meat to tide them through the move and so they would begin their transit the day after the hunt.

Pell had great difficulty sleeping that night. He lay awake thinking of how he should have made Gontra and Exen march past the cave with him to the upper stream before reducing the finger. He should have insisted on better payment than that old knife. He should have insisted on accompanying them back to the cave after he put Gontra’s finger back in place. He should have said
something
when he got back to the cave and found the celebration in progress—though he knew no one would believe him. But maybe Gontra would have admitted it. He should have… He should have…

The next morning Pell woke thinking of the brush tunnel. He had been going to go sit by it today. The more he thought about it, the more sure he felt that some passing animal would get stuck in there long enough for him to put a spear into it! He would have to go by himself so that he could claim to have killed it in a
real
hunt. He snorted—the way people had been turning against him, going hunting by himself wasn’t going to be a problem.

Roley was already organizing the big hunt though. As per Roley’s usual, this involved a lot of bellowing at other hunters, shouting at the women and children, stamping of his feet and cuffing the slow moving. When he got into this kind of mood it created a lot of anxiety among the other Aldans. Pell resigned himself to trying to visit the brush tunnel later in the day,
if
the big hunt was successful before it got too late. Roley soon had all the hunters out on the trail down toward the great river, most of them gnawing on a remnant of yesterday’s kill.

It was overcast but not particularly cold. Pell’s stomach was not growling as he had had a few remnants of last night’s feast before setting out. He had even gotten over some of his dismay at Gontra’s betrayal and was looking forward to an opportunity to prove himself in the day’s hunt. But, then Denit turned to Exen and said, “Don’t you think that Pell should have stayed back with the rest of the women to pack?”

Pell’s stomach lurched.

Exen looked over at Pell out of the corner of his eye and quickly glanced away. To Denit he said “Yeah, you should let your dad know that we’ve accidentally brought one of the girls with us on the hunt.”

Denit laughed. Then he shouted ahead, “Roley, one of the girls has come along on the hunt. Do you want to send her back?”

Roley turned in anger, scanning up and down the line. “Where is she?” he demanded.

Denit laughed and pointed at Pell, “Can’t throw, send her back, can’t throw, send her back.”

The rest of the hunters laughed as well. Pell’s face turned red. He saw that even Boro was laughing! Gontra stared off into the distance, seeming embarrassed but evidently not about to intercede.

Roley strode back to where the three boys were standing and stared at Denit until even his son’s insolent grin had faded. “Hunting is serious business, for
men
—not for
boys
who play games! Do I need to send you back to the cave to play with the children?”

Denit, stared down at the ground and scuffed his feet. “No Father.”

Roley turned on his heel and strode back to the front without another word. They started off again. Denit and Exen continued to put their heads together and giggle but no more loud taunts ensued. Pell wished that Roley had said something positive about Pell, instead of just coming down on Denit. The other time, when Roley had reminded Denit of Pell’s kill, Pell had felt a lot better.

Once they came out of the forest and onto the open flats near the great river, Roley spread them out in a wide, crescent shaped skirmish line as he had several days before. They moved forward at a steady walk and soon came on a pair of the large boars. Pell was at the left end of their line and began to surge ahead to swing their line around the boars into an encirclement. The boars didn’t seem to have noticed anything but then a great deal of shouting came from near the center of their line and the boars were spooked away. Pell thought surely someone must have been hurt and trotted toward the disturbance. So did the rest of the hunters but when they got close it was evident that Roley was trying to put them back out into their line again. No one seemed hurt. Pell asked Belk, who was next to him in the rearranged line, what had happened. Belk said that the healer claimed to have promised the Spirit Boar to spare the next boars they hunted in return for mending Gontra’s finger. Apparently it had been Pont who had shouted to spook them away. Roley had been angry at first but then had acknowledged that it was worth the loss of those two boars to have the spirits on their side.