Chapter Twenty Four
Glade couldn't recall a time when she'd ever felt more despair than when she was finally certain that she'd never be able sail back to her lover across the choppy waters of the billowing sea. Was there any point in even being alive without Demure?
It was only after many hours of weeping and cursing the spirits of her now extinct tribe that she at last returned her attention to the mundane but no less urgent task of staying alive. She was still adrift on a raft that was drifting aimlessly on waves that extended endlessly in all directions and where only the firmament was there to guide her way. There were two things she needed to do. First, she needed to fetch food from the unfamiliar waters. Second, she had to make sure that neither she nor her possessions slipped off the raft into the encircling sea, which she did by tying her ankles by rope to the raft's slatted logs and branches. She similarly secured the deer-hide sack in which she stored her fishing tools and sentimental souvenirs.
The task of finding food became no less difficult as each day passed and was succeeded by another. And then, having survived on the raw carcasses of the small fish she'd caught in her net (the only fishing tool she had of any actual use in these rough waters), that day was followed by yet another.
And there was still no sign of a shore or a beach or anywhere else towards which she should steer the raft.
Glade became ever more feeble and fatigued from having to survive on a small catch of fish and no fresh water. The days stretched ahead with nothing for her to do but scan the horizon for the elusive sign of land. She would dip her net again and again into the sea to catch fish that being raw and salty hardly at all assuaged her hunger and not at all her thirst. She tied herself to the raft at night to avoid being capsized and this made what little sleep she had fitful and uncomfortable.
Glade's woes worsened when the sea turned dark and forbidding under clouds that made day as gloomy as night and night dark and forbidding. Chill drops of water splattered on her naked skin that made her regret that she hadn't grabbed a fur to wear before she and Demure ran for the shore. When night came and the rain fell more steadily, Glade pulled tight the ropes that secured herself and her precious belongings to the security of the raft. She lay on one side away from the wind so that the hair that flowed over her shoulders and her left arm was soaked by water from the sky and her right arm and the rest of her hair was dampened by the sea-water that splashed through the slits between the raft's struts.
She squeezed her rain-drenched eyes together and prayed more than she ever had since she was a child for salvation from the woodland spirits in which she had once so fervently believed. All about her the raft swayed violently from side to side, up and down, back and forth, jerking her about and testing the tightness of her knots. She was so drained by fear, anxiety, hunger and cold that she soon lost all consciousness. Neither the fury of the open sea nor even the violence of the wind, rain and thunder could arouse her.
Glade survived, of course, as Ivory knew. And survived moreover in the Northern lands.
——————————
It was through her conversations with her older lover that Ivory possessed in her mind a more complete map of the world than anyone else born in her tribe. Somewhere to the south of the mountains where she and her tribe now lived was a stretch of water of greater extent than any lake. Further south still this body of water encompassed a land that was as warm, even hot, as the North was cold. This was a land in which pagans dwelt who wore no clothes and whose skin was dark as in the North it was pale. This was a land where even elephants and rhinoceroses weren't attired in thick fur.
Ivory understood that there were other still greater mysteries in the world and at the moment she was enchanted by reports of the great bounty in the hills above the Mountain Valley.
"There is so much more grazing land above the cliff edge," said Chief Cave Lion who was flanked on either side by his hunters and accompanied by the blithely uncomprehending stranger in well-stitched furs. "There is an abundance of horse, sheep, deer, aurochs and bison to hunt. There will be plenty of game during the snowy months. We shall shelter in the many caves in the hills, safe and secure against the evils of the winter demons."
It sounded very enticing, especially for hunters frustrated by the scarcity of sizeable game in the Mountain Valley. Large beasts, like mammoth, rhinoceros or even horse, would never venture into a relatively narrow wooded canyon of the kind Ivory and Ptarmigan had made their home. Yet, Ivory was wary. Although Chief Cave Lion was effusive and his huntsmen agreed fervently with his every word and vied with one another to show enthusiasm, she could see that this fervour wasn't shared by Glade. She was also distrustful of Ochre, the well-dressed stranger, whose eyes darted from side to side as he inspected what to him must have seemed a very ragged band of travellers. What did he think of the Mammoth Hunters?
Ivory knelt beside Glade in the shadows of the fire while her other lover, Ptarmigan, sat by her husband behind the flames. The meat that roasted on the flickering light of the fire was nothing more filling than hare, partridge and a very small deer. As she waited for the meat to roast, Ivory carefully scrutinised the returning heroes.
Chief Cave Lion had been in some kind of a fight or quarrel though he didn't allude even in passing whether it had been with an animal or a human. In addition to his broken arm, a freshly acquired scar trailed from his cheek to just over his left eye.
Glade was unusually quiet and the darkness of her skin hid from most eyes just how dusty and dirty she was, but Ivory's vision was more sharply focused. She was covered in bruises: some just slightly blue and others rather more lurid.
There was a clear divide between those hunters who'd been in the original expedition and those who'd only later sought them out. Those in the latter expedition, like Grey Wolf and Cave Bear, were still fresh and alert. When they ascended the hillside, they'd followed a trail which to the eyes of an experienced hunter was no more difficult than following a long thread of rope. After no more than three days, they encountered Chief Cave Lion and his entourage as they were returning home. Grey Wolf excitedly recounted his great joy on discovering that his chief was safe and sound. And there was even greater celebration when he was told the good news about the Great Hunting Grounds the chief had found.
What had not yet been explained was why those in the original party including Chief Cave Lion appeared to have come off so much the worst from a fight. Or indeed why several were absent. The suggestion that the missing warriors had strode ahead of everyone else to survey the new territory was enough to reassure their wives and children.
Ivory could see that the tall stranger, Ochre, hadn't been in a fight or quarrel. He was very trim. Not only were his furs expertly stitched, his beard was short and didn't bush out like the beards of every other man Ivory had seen before. His hair was tied back in neat plaits secured by bands of unnaturally rich red cloth. His shoes were so crafted that they had a distinct sole of thick and durable leather. The tribe to which this man belonged to was evidently in many ways more advanced than the Mammoth Hunters. For the first time in her life, Ivory became aware that there might be tribes whose craft and artistry were of superior quality to that of her tribe.
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Glade had encountered many different tribes on her voyages, but even she had never before encountered people as strange as those who found her body washed up on a sandy beach of the Great Sea's northern shore.
She was still securely strapped to the raft and gripping tight the deer-hide sack that had been her only source of comfort as she was tossed to and fro by the unrelenting waves. The raft was easily visible to any hungry predator daring enough to cross the rain-soaked sand. And when Glade felt a nose sniff against the bare skin of her thigh and buttocks, her initial fear was that it belonged to a leopard or even a lion.
What she saw gathered around her through her aching eyes was a company of two men and three women. At first Glade was pleased. And then she became apprehensive. She knew only too well from her earliest exposure to people beyond the forest that it wasn't safe to assume that a strange tribe was friendly. And as she watched these people animatedly sign to each other and articulate in a language that was unusually throaty and nasal, she gradually became aware that these were probably the strangest people she had ever seen.
What initially astonished her was how pale their skin was. She'd seen many shades of skin colour from Demure's jet-black to shades slightly less brown than her own, but she'd never before seen skin that was almost totally free of pigment apart from peculiar flecks of red scattered about the shoulders and the face. These people were as naked as she was, so she could see that this paleness extended from their beetling forehead to the tips of their toes. Fine red hair covered their body. The long hair on their heads was thick and a rich russet red. It grew almost to the waist in thick tangled strands threaded with small bones and shells.
Also strange and unfamiliar was the cragginess of these people's features. Their noses were unusually long. Heavy brows sheltered their eyes from the sun but also rendered their faces dark and mysterious. Their jaws were thick but even under the men's thick red beards there was almost no chin at all. They had strong arms and huge hands. And Glade had never seen people with such powerful barrelled chests that suggested a strength normally possessed only by large apes. The women were shorter and less stocky than the men with no beards and pendulous sagging breasts.
What was also sure was that these were people, whether male or female, that Glade was never likely to find sexually attractive.
She at first wondered whether these people were human. Were they perhaps demons? They had some of the character of an ape with their forbidding brows and receding chins, but a look at their sturdy human feet and the intelligent curiosity of their eyes dispelled such thoughts. They were definitely people.
The five Red Haired People carefully inspected Glade. They were just as bemused by her physical appearance as she was of theirs. They stroked her bare skin and were particularly appreciative of its dark colour which they contrasted with the paleness of their own. They ran their fingers through Glade's relatively fine brown hair and let the strands drop from the tips of their large stubby fingers. And all the while they conversed with one another in their extraordinary language.
Glade knew that the Red Haired People couldn't understand a word she said. She had travelled far and wide and no one knew a word of her language beyond her tribe. However, she had to demonstrate to these strange people that she was more than just a mere plaything.
"Where am I?" she asked.
One of the women who had been pawing Glade's bosom smiled at her with a grin broader than it was surely possible for any lips to stretch shadowed by a nose thicker, broader and longer than a nose should be. And then she uttered words that were not in the same language she'd used before but were still meaningless to Glade.
She shook her head. "I don't understand," she said, knowing that these words were also incomprehensible.
The effort of leaning her head forward off the raft was exhausting. Glade was overcome by the soreness of her arms and legs after the battering she'd endured on the stormy sea.
"Please help me," she said as plaintively as she could in the hope that the meaning of her words might be understood.
And then she fainted.
Glade had recounted many tales to Ivory of the strange people she'd encountered in the Southern and the Northern lands. She'd met tall people. Short people. Some with dark hair. Some with blond hair. Some with white skin and some with black. But the Red Haired People were the most bizarre of all.
——————————
It was the first time that Ivory had spent the night in her shelter since Glade had left and now they were snuggled together under fur while Ptarmigan was reunited with her husband in the marital bed. If Glade suspected that Ivory now enjoyed a more intimate relationship with the Chief's wife she made no mention, just as Ivory discreetly made no reference to her belief that Glade and Chief Cave Lion had been intimate while they'd been roaming across the mountains. What Ivory needed to know from her older lover was about the tribe to which Ochre belonged.
"He belongs to the tribe of Cave Painters who live in the mountains," said Glade. "I'd met people from their tribe many years ago before I became a shaman."
"Were they the same Cave Dwellers you lived with when you were a wife and mother?" Ivory asked.
"It's true that my husband's tribe lived in caves," said Glade. "There are many tribes in the Northern lands who live in or by caves. My husband's tribe know about the stars, about herbs and how to make stone tools of great sophistication. They worship similar spirits to the Cave Painters, but their language is different and they are very differently attired. If you met Flint you would never mistake him for one of Ochre's tribe. The Cave Painters are far more accustomed to the presence of tribes other than their own. And the Cave Dwellers' caves are as far to the South and West of here as your tribe's Summer hunting grounds are to the North."
"But you speak the stranger's language and you know about his culture?"
"I wasn't accompanied by armed hunters when I last met the Cave Painters. The circumstances were very different. These Cave Painters didn't live anywhere near here and their dialect was as different as yours is from the Reindeer Herders. I was as surprised as anyone to discover that the Cave Painters had a settlement in these mountain ranges. But, yes, I do know the tribe and their language. They are a sophisticated people. They know the subtleties of the seasons. They hunt with skill and cunning. They live around caves which in the Summer months keep them cool and in the Winter keep them warm. And they don't migrate when the first flakes of snow fall."
"And are these Cave Painters much like those you met so many years ago?"
"They're almost identical, but recall the different circumstances. Before, I was vulnerable and no threat. As long as I let them fuck me when they wanted and was no burden on their village, my presence was tolerated by most and welcomed by some. However, I'm afraid the Chief and his huntsmen didn't make such a favourable impression when they first encountered the Cave Painters."
"They didn't?"
"Not at all. In fact, if I'd not been able to speak their language they would have killed us all."
"Killed you?"
"Well, they disposed of three of the Mammoth Hunters with ruthless efficiency, so I don't think they would have spared the rest of us."
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There was no hostility shown by the small band of Red Haired People who'd discovered Glade on the beach. When a day or so later, she regained full consciousness after a sleep interspersed by fitful spasms of wakefulness she could barely remember, she was laid down in the shade of an elk-hide that had been pulled taut over her and her naked body was shrouded in a woolly rhinoceros skin.
One of the Red Haired Women noticed that Glade was awake and pulled open a disconcertingly wide grin while she spoke in her throaty nasal language. The woman was delighted when Glade, as was her practice whenever she came across yet another new language, repeated the woman's words with as fair a copy of the strange nasal sounds as she could. However, the stream of bizarre sounds the woman followed with was too rapid and too difficult to pronounce for Glade to respond in any meaningful way.
Glade didn't learn very much of the Red Haired People's language in the month of her recovery. It wasn't simply an oral language. It was accompanied by a very complex interaction of signs and gestures. There was a subtlety to the interplay between gesticulations and spoken words that appeared to encompass concepts of conditionality, duty and edibility.
The entire group of Red Haired People was composed of no more than just two men and three women along with three children. That was all. Glade had never encountered a tribe that lived in such a small community before. She supposed they might be more vulnerable to predators, but Glade soon discovered that they had a shrewd and comprehensive knowledge of the natural world that came to amaze her.
The two men and the three women made love with each other in a peculiar fivesome, but none of the men or women betrayed even a glimmer of lust for Glade. Their attitude towards her was more like that towards a quite clever pet. This was a comfort in some ways, but it wasn't what Glade was accustomed to.
The small clan had an extraordinarily intimate knowledge of a northern landscape that seemed increasingly alien to Glade the better she got to know it. Not only were the Red Haired People unusual, so too was the fruit that grew on the trees and the beasts that ran about in the dense forest. The animals were recognisable in some ways, but were often hairier, bigger and less intimidated by her. There were rhinoceroses and elephants with wool-covered skins. There were aurochs and elk rather than eland and giraffe. The wolves, bears and lions, even the leopards, cheetahs and hyenas, were all larger, furrier and stockier than those in the Southern lands.
Glade's recovery took longer than she thought it should. She didn't know how many days she'd floated by raft across the Great Sea, but she'd been starved and dehydrated. Despite her hunger, it was several days until she could swallow meat again. The Red Haired People could cook their meat but often ate it so raw that blood dripped down the chin. The clan consumed a lot of meat. Even though there were so few of them, they had no difficulty in hunting down and killing animals much larger than themselves.
In most tribes, a hunting party in pursuit of an animal as large as a horse or rhinoceros would consist of at least five hunters and usually many more. Even the chase of deer or antelope was typically a team effort. Amongst these people, just a single man was able to bag at least an elk or a megaloceros. Even a rhinoceros or an aurochs could fall victim to a single man possessed of a spear, a set of stone missiles and considerable sympathetic insight.
These hunters were astonishingly strong: much more so than hunters from any other tribe Glade had ever met. The rocks they piled up around their settlement to fend off predators were far too heavy for Glade to lift, yet the Red Haired People could toss them about with just one hand.
Glade speculated whether the Red Haired People even needed spears or stones to kill their prey. She witnessed one of the men kill a young aurochs that had wandered too close to their tiny settlement. After luring the animal to come forward by a peculiar pantomime of gestures, he jumped onto the beast's back, twisted its neck by its long sharp horns and effectively killed it in his bare hands. When the aurochs choked its last, the man undertook a peculiar ritual of reverence whereby he sat beside the beast and tenderly stroked its twitching haunches.
These people were capable of both brute violence and extraordinary kindness, with barely a heartbeat between the two. They might catch a hare and tenderly set it free. Or they might simply snap its neck with a sudden jerk of their huge hands.
Glade had no idea what these people's spiritual views, but she could see that they were held both deeply and profoundly. She didn't know whether they worshipped the spirits of the forest or the spirits of their ancestors. Did they worship deities much more diverse as did Demure's tribe? There was no physical representation of what they worshipped. Perhaps it was something immanent, omnipresent and mystical. But whatever it was, they expressed their spiritual faith by meditation and contemplation.
Initially what Glade thought was most characteristic of her saviours was their pale skin, but later she discovered that virtually everyone in the North had a similarly anaemic complexion. What was truly distinct about the Red Haired People was their spiritual calm. And it was the associated virtues of patience, forbearance and contemplation that Glade remembered so fondly in these people but practiced so poorly herself that Chief Cave Lion would have benefited from when he and his hunters first stumbled across the Cave Painters.
Had he done so then subsequent events might well have gone rather better.
Glade couldn't recall a time when she'd ever felt more despair than when she was finally certain that she'd never be able sail back to her lover across the choppy waters of the billowing sea. Was there any point in even being alive without Demure?
It was only after many hours of weeping and cursing the spirits of her now extinct tribe that she at last returned her attention to the mundane but no less urgent task of staying alive. She was still adrift on a raft that was drifting aimlessly on waves that extended endlessly in all directions and where only the firmament was there to guide her way. There were two things she needed to do. First, she needed to fetch food from the unfamiliar waters. Second, she had to make sure that neither she nor her possessions slipped off the raft into the encircling sea, which she did by tying her ankles by rope to the raft's slatted logs and branches. She similarly secured the deer-hide sack in which she stored her fishing tools and sentimental souvenirs.
The task of finding food became no less difficult as each day passed and was succeeded by another. And then, having survived on the raw carcasses of the small fish she'd caught in her net (the only fishing tool she had of any actual use in these rough waters), that day was followed by yet another.
And there was still no sign of a shore or a beach or anywhere else towards which she should steer the raft.
Glade became ever more feeble and fatigued from having to survive on a small catch of fish and no fresh water. The days stretched ahead with nothing for her to do but scan the horizon for the elusive sign of land. She would dip her net again and again into the sea to catch fish that being raw and salty hardly at all assuaged her hunger and not at all her thirst. She tied herself to the raft at night to avoid being capsized and this made what little sleep she had fitful and uncomfortable.
Glade's woes worsened when the sea turned dark and forbidding under clouds that made day as gloomy as night and night dark and forbidding. Chill drops of water splattered on her naked skin that made her regret that she hadn't grabbed a fur to wear before she and Demure ran for the shore. When night came and the rain fell more steadily, Glade pulled tight the ropes that secured herself and her precious belongings to the security of the raft. She lay on one side away from the wind so that the hair that flowed over her shoulders and her left arm was soaked by water from the sky and her right arm and the rest of her hair was dampened by the sea-water that splashed through the slits between the raft's struts.
She squeezed her rain-drenched eyes together and prayed more than she ever had since she was a child for salvation from the woodland spirits in which she had once so fervently believed. All about her the raft swayed violently from side to side, up and down, back and forth, jerking her about and testing the tightness of her knots. She was so drained by fear, anxiety, hunger and cold that she soon lost all consciousness. Neither the fury of the open sea nor even the violence of the wind, rain and thunder could arouse her.
Glade survived, of course, as Ivory knew. And survived moreover in the Northern lands.
——————————
It was through her conversations with her older lover that Ivory possessed in her mind a more complete map of the world than anyone else born in her tribe. Somewhere to the south of the mountains where she and her tribe now lived was a stretch of water of greater extent than any lake. Further south still this body of water encompassed a land that was as warm, even hot, as the North was cold. This was a land in which pagans dwelt who wore no clothes and whose skin was dark as in the North it was pale. This was a land where even elephants and rhinoceroses weren't attired in thick fur.
Ivory understood that there were other still greater mysteries in the world and at the moment she was enchanted by reports of the great bounty in the hills above the Mountain Valley.
"There is so much more grazing land above the cliff edge," said Chief Cave Lion who was flanked on either side by his hunters and accompanied by the blithely uncomprehending stranger in well-stitched furs. "There is an abundance of horse, sheep, deer, aurochs and bison to hunt. There will be plenty of game during the snowy months. We shall shelter in the many caves in the hills, safe and secure against the evils of the winter demons."
It sounded very enticing, especially for hunters frustrated by the scarcity of sizeable game in the Mountain Valley. Large beasts, like mammoth, rhinoceros or even horse, would never venture into a relatively narrow wooded canyon of the kind Ivory and Ptarmigan had made their home. Yet, Ivory was wary. Although Chief Cave Lion was effusive and his huntsmen agreed fervently with his every word and vied with one another to show enthusiasm, she could see that this fervour wasn't shared by Glade. She was also distrustful of Ochre, the well-dressed stranger, whose eyes darted from side to side as he inspected what to him must have seemed a very ragged band of travellers. What did he think of the Mammoth Hunters?
Ivory knelt beside Glade in the shadows of the fire while her other lover, Ptarmigan, sat by her husband behind the flames. The meat that roasted on the flickering light of the fire was nothing more filling than hare, partridge and a very small deer. As she waited for the meat to roast, Ivory carefully scrutinised the returning heroes.
Chief Cave Lion had been in some kind of a fight or quarrel though he didn't allude even in passing whether it had been with an animal or a human. In addition to his broken arm, a freshly acquired scar trailed from his cheek to just over his left eye.
Glade was unusually quiet and the darkness of her skin hid from most eyes just how dusty and dirty she was, but Ivory's vision was more sharply focused. She was covered in bruises: some just slightly blue and others rather more lurid.
There was a clear divide between those hunters who'd been in the original expedition and those who'd only later sought them out. Those in the latter expedition, like Grey Wolf and Cave Bear, were still fresh and alert. When they ascended the hillside, they'd followed a trail which to the eyes of an experienced hunter was no more difficult than following a long thread of rope. After no more than three days, they encountered Chief Cave Lion and his entourage as they were returning home. Grey Wolf excitedly recounted his great joy on discovering that his chief was safe and sound. And there was even greater celebration when he was told the good news about the Great Hunting Grounds the chief had found.
What had not yet been explained was why those in the original party including Chief Cave Lion appeared to have come off so much the worst from a fight. Or indeed why several were absent. The suggestion that the missing warriors had strode ahead of everyone else to survey the new territory was enough to reassure their wives and children.
Ivory could see that the tall stranger, Ochre, hadn't been in a fight or quarrel. He was very trim. Not only were his furs expertly stitched, his beard was short and didn't bush out like the beards of every other man Ivory had seen before. His hair was tied back in neat plaits secured by bands of unnaturally rich red cloth. His shoes were so crafted that they had a distinct sole of thick and durable leather. The tribe to which this man belonged to was evidently in many ways more advanced than the Mammoth Hunters. For the first time in her life, Ivory became aware that there might be tribes whose craft and artistry were of superior quality to that of her tribe.
——————————
Glade had encountered many different tribes on her voyages, but even she had never before encountered people as strange as those who found her body washed up on a sandy beach of the Great Sea's northern shore.
She was still securely strapped to the raft and gripping tight the deer-hide sack that had been her only source of comfort as she was tossed to and fro by the unrelenting waves. The raft was easily visible to any hungry predator daring enough to cross the rain-soaked sand. And when Glade felt a nose sniff against the bare skin of her thigh and buttocks, her initial fear was that it belonged to a leopard or even a lion.
What she saw gathered around her through her aching eyes was a company of two men and three women. At first Glade was pleased. And then she became apprehensive. She knew only too well from her earliest exposure to people beyond the forest that it wasn't safe to assume that a strange tribe was friendly. And as she watched these people animatedly sign to each other and articulate in a language that was unusually throaty and nasal, she gradually became aware that these were probably the strangest people she had ever seen.
What initially astonished her was how pale their skin was. She'd seen many shades of skin colour from Demure's jet-black to shades slightly less brown than her own, but she'd never before seen skin that was almost totally free of pigment apart from peculiar flecks of red scattered about the shoulders and the face. These people were as naked as she was, so she could see that this paleness extended from their beetling forehead to the tips of their toes. Fine red hair covered their body. The long hair on their heads was thick and a rich russet red. It grew almost to the waist in thick tangled strands threaded with small bones and shells.
Also strange and unfamiliar was the cragginess of these people's features. Their noses were unusually long. Heavy brows sheltered their eyes from the sun but also rendered their faces dark and mysterious. Their jaws were thick but even under the men's thick red beards there was almost no chin at all. They had strong arms and huge hands. And Glade had never seen people with such powerful barrelled chests that suggested a strength normally possessed only by large apes. The women were shorter and less stocky than the men with no beards and pendulous sagging breasts.
What was also sure was that these were people, whether male or female, that Glade was never likely to find sexually attractive.
She at first wondered whether these people were human. Were they perhaps demons? They had some of the character of an ape with their forbidding brows and receding chins, but a look at their sturdy human feet and the intelligent curiosity of their eyes dispelled such thoughts. They were definitely people.
The five Red Haired People carefully inspected Glade. They were just as bemused by her physical appearance as she was of theirs. They stroked her bare skin and were particularly appreciative of its dark colour which they contrasted with the paleness of their own. They ran their fingers through Glade's relatively fine brown hair and let the strands drop from the tips of their large stubby fingers. And all the while they conversed with one another in their extraordinary language.
Glade knew that the Red Haired People couldn't understand a word she said. She had travelled far and wide and no one knew a word of her language beyond her tribe. However, she had to demonstrate to these strange people that she was more than just a mere plaything.
"Where am I?" she asked.
One of the women who had been pawing Glade's bosom smiled at her with a grin broader than it was surely possible for any lips to stretch shadowed by a nose thicker, broader and longer than a nose should be. And then she uttered words that were not in the same language she'd used before but were still meaningless to Glade.
She shook her head. "I don't understand," she said, knowing that these words were also incomprehensible.
The effort of leaning her head forward off the raft was exhausting. Glade was overcome by the soreness of her arms and legs after the battering she'd endured on the stormy sea.
"Please help me," she said as plaintively as she could in the hope that the meaning of her words might be understood.
And then she fainted.
Glade had recounted many tales to Ivory of the strange people she'd encountered in the Southern and the Northern lands. She'd met tall people. Short people. Some with dark hair. Some with blond hair. Some with white skin and some with black. But the Red Haired People were the most bizarre of all.
——————————
It was the first time that Ivory had spent the night in her shelter since Glade had left and now they were snuggled together under fur while Ptarmigan was reunited with her husband in the marital bed. If Glade suspected that Ivory now enjoyed a more intimate relationship with the Chief's wife she made no mention, just as Ivory discreetly made no reference to her belief that Glade and Chief Cave Lion had been intimate while they'd been roaming across the mountains. What Ivory needed to know from her older lover was about the tribe to which Ochre belonged.
"He belongs to the tribe of Cave Painters who live in the mountains," said Glade. "I'd met people from their tribe many years ago before I became a shaman."
"Were they the same Cave Dwellers you lived with when you were a wife and mother?" Ivory asked.
"It's true that my husband's tribe lived in caves," said Glade. "There are many tribes in the Northern lands who live in or by caves. My husband's tribe know about the stars, about herbs and how to make stone tools of great sophistication. They worship similar spirits to the Cave Painters, but their language is different and they are very differently attired. If you met Flint you would never mistake him for one of Ochre's tribe. The Cave Painters are far more accustomed to the presence of tribes other than their own. And the Cave Dwellers' caves are as far to the South and West of here as your tribe's Summer hunting grounds are to the North."
"But you speak the stranger's language and you know about his culture?"
"I wasn't accompanied by armed hunters when I last met the Cave Painters. The circumstances were very different. These Cave Painters didn't live anywhere near here and their dialect was as different as yours is from the Reindeer Herders. I was as surprised as anyone to discover that the Cave Painters had a settlement in these mountain ranges. But, yes, I do know the tribe and their language. They are a sophisticated people. They know the subtleties of the seasons. They hunt with skill and cunning. They live around caves which in the Summer months keep them cool and in the Winter keep them warm. And they don't migrate when the first flakes of snow fall."
"And are these Cave Painters much like those you met so many years ago?"
"They're almost identical, but recall the different circumstances. Before, I was vulnerable and no threat. As long as I let them fuck me when they wanted and was no burden on their village, my presence was tolerated by most and welcomed by some. However, I'm afraid the Chief and his huntsmen didn't make such a favourable impression when they first encountered the Cave Painters."
"They didn't?"
"Not at all. In fact, if I'd not been able to speak their language they would have killed us all."
"Killed you?"
"Well, they disposed of three of the Mammoth Hunters with ruthless efficiency, so I don't think they would have spared the rest of us."
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There was no hostility shown by the small band of Red Haired People who'd discovered Glade on the beach. When a day or so later, she regained full consciousness after a sleep interspersed by fitful spasms of wakefulness she could barely remember, she was laid down in the shade of an elk-hide that had been pulled taut over her and her naked body was shrouded in a woolly rhinoceros skin.
One of the Red Haired Women noticed that Glade was awake and pulled open a disconcertingly wide grin while she spoke in her throaty nasal language. The woman was delighted when Glade, as was her practice whenever she came across yet another new language, repeated the woman's words with as fair a copy of the strange nasal sounds as she could. However, the stream of bizarre sounds the woman followed with was too rapid and too difficult to pronounce for Glade to respond in any meaningful way.
Glade didn't learn very much of the Red Haired People's language in the month of her recovery. It wasn't simply an oral language. It was accompanied by a very complex interaction of signs and gestures. There was a subtlety to the interplay between gesticulations and spoken words that appeared to encompass concepts of conditionality, duty and edibility.
The entire group of Red Haired People was composed of no more than just two men and three women along with three children. That was all. Glade had never encountered a tribe that lived in such a small community before. She supposed they might be more vulnerable to predators, but Glade soon discovered that they had a shrewd and comprehensive knowledge of the natural world that came to amaze her.
The two men and the three women made love with each other in a peculiar fivesome, but none of the men or women betrayed even a glimmer of lust for Glade. Their attitude towards her was more like that towards a quite clever pet. This was a comfort in some ways, but it wasn't what Glade was accustomed to.
The small clan had an extraordinarily intimate knowledge of a northern landscape that seemed increasingly alien to Glade the better she got to know it. Not only were the Red Haired People unusual, so too was the fruit that grew on the trees and the beasts that ran about in the dense forest. The animals were recognisable in some ways, but were often hairier, bigger and less intimidated by her. There were rhinoceroses and elephants with wool-covered skins. There were aurochs and elk rather than eland and giraffe. The wolves, bears and lions, even the leopards, cheetahs and hyenas, were all larger, furrier and stockier than those in the Southern lands.
Glade's recovery took longer than she thought it should. She didn't know how many days she'd floated by raft across the Great Sea, but she'd been starved and dehydrated. Despite her hunger, it was several days until she could swallow meat again. The Red Haired People could cook their meat but often ate it so raw that blood dripped down the chin. The clan consumed a lot of meat. Even though there were so few of them, they had no difficulty in hunting down and killing animals much larger than themselves.
In most tribes, a hunting party in pursuit of an animal as large as a horse or rhinoceros would consist of at least five hunters and usually many more. Even the chase of deer or antelope was typically a team effort. Amongst these people, just a single man was able to bag at least an elk or a megaloceros. Even a rhinoceros or an aurochs could fall victim to a single man possessed of a spear, a set of stone missiles and considerable sympathetic insight.
These hunters were astonishingly strong: much more so than hunters from any other tribe Glade had ever met. The rocks they piled up around their settlement to fend off predators were far too heavy for Glade to lift, yet the Red Haired People could toss them about with just one hand.
Glade speculated whether the Red Haired People even needed spears or stones to kill their prey. She witnessed one of the men kill a young aurochs that had wandered too close to their tiny settlement. After luring the animal to come forward by a peculiar pantomime of gestures, he jumped onto the beast's back, twisted its neck by its long sharp horns and effectively killed it in his bare hands. When the aurochs choked its last, the man undertook a peculiar ritual of reverence whereby he sat beside the beast and tenderly stroked its twitching haunches.
These people were capable of both brute violence and extraordinary kindness, with barely a heartbeat between the two. They might catch a hare and tenderly set it free. Or they might simply snap its neck with a sudden jerk of their huge hands.
Glade had no idea what these people's spiritual views, but she could see that they were held both deeply and profoundly. She didn't know whether they worshipped the spirits of the forest or the spirits of their ancestors. Did they worship deities much more diverse as did Demure's tribe? There was no physical representation of what they worshipped. Perhaps it was something immanent, omnipresent and mystical. But whatever it was, they expressed their spiritual faith by meditation and contemplation.
Initially what Glade thought was most characteristic of her saviours was their pale skin, but later she discovered that virtually everyone in the North had a similarly anaemic complexion. What was truly distinct about the Red Haired People was their spiritual calm. And it was the associated virtues of patience, forbearance and contemplation that Glade remembered so fondly in these people but practiced so poorly herself that Chief Cave Lion would have benefited from when he and his hunters first stumbled across the Cave Painters.
Had he done so then subsequent events might well have gone rather better.