JAWBONE
Slowly, I become aware that yellow light paints my closed eyelids.
Is it dawn already? My arms and legs still ache from yesterday’s climb. I don’t want to get up. I roll to my side, pull the bison hide tight against my throat, and listen to the sounds of the cold morning.
Down along the coast, right below me, condors hiss and snort.
I almost fall back asleep, but Wind Mother shifts and fills the air with the happy bleating of bison calves. Makes me smile. They only bleat like that when they’re kicking up their heels and tossing their heads in utter joy. I suspect they’re flying across the ice in a game of chase.
“Have to rise.”
Groaning, I sit up with the hide around my shoulders and yawn.
The zyme light has faded enough that the distant streaks of falling rain are dark purple. Like long-legged creatures, the streaks walk across the horizon, heading south. Doesn’t look like the storm is pushing inland, but once Wind Mother starts gusting, there’s no telling which way the Thunderbirds will carry the storm.
My fire has burned down to a bed of gray ash.
Tugging a piece of driftwood from the woodpile, I start sorting out the biggest coals and piling them in the center of the hearth. Then I gather the smallest sticks and add them. Faint heat touches my face as I bend over and blow until the coals redden and start to smolder. When tiny flames lick up around the new wood, I remain huddled in my warm hide, adding more driftwood until my fire really crackles, then I roll my boiling stones into the coals and heave a tired breath. The morning smells of smoke and the pungency of zyme.
I’m sad the Flame Bird didn’t return. I waited for her half the night, which means I’m tired, but I’m sure she probably had to hunt more food. A single hare couldn’t possibly have filled her stomach. She’s a big bird.
Turning, I look at the food bags stored in the rear of the cave for hungry children. Should I have fed her a bag of jerky? Have other children fed her? Was I supposed to? I’ve never heard any child mention feeding Flame Birds while on their quest, but it worries me that my ignorance may have offended her.
“I’m sorry,” I call out, hoping she can hear me. “I didn’t know any better!”
Hopefully, I’ll see her gliding by today as I climb, and I can apologize in person, but for now . . .
I walk away to empty my night water over the edge of the cliff. This is the place where the Flame Bird perched, but I don’t see any tracks. Of course I wouldn’t. A dusting of snow blew in last night and coats everything. I kick at the spot where the Flame Bird tore up the snowshoe hare. The ice is clear and blue. There isn’t even a drop of blood or tuft of fur.
“It was a spirit creature,” I whisper in awe as my heart seems to expand. “That’s why there’s no trace. Spirit creatures don’t eat live animals, so it must have been a spirit hare.”
Amazement fills me. I so long to see the Flame Bird again that’s it’s a physical ache in my chest.
On the shore, a woolly rhinoceros lumbers along at the water’s edge with his long tusk shining in the morning gleam. Maybe twenty-five hand-lengths long and thirteen tall, I guess he weighs as much as fifty or sixty grown men put together. Hopefully one of the hunters from Sky Ice Village will see him. He would nourish our people for the entire summer. We’d just have to find a good hole in the ice to store the meat and then protect our stash from hungry lions, bears, and wolves.
Just thinking about food makes my stomach growl. I was so worn out last night, I wasn’t hungry, but I’m suddenly starving.
Trotting to the rear of the cave, I retrieve a jerky bag and walk back to sit down before the fire.
As I loosen the ties and reach in for a strip, the rhinoceros bellows. The lonely cry carries on the wind.
I rip off a hunk of jerky and chew it, saying, “I know how you feel.”
I’ve heard the other boys tell stories about climbing the quest wall, and one of the worst things for them was the loneliness. Children are never allowed to walk away from the village alone for fear that they’ll be caught and killed by predators or attacked by mammoths or bison protecting new calves. Bison are extremely fast. No boy could outrun a bison or a mammoth. And they’re very strong. If they see you crawl into a hole to hide, they can dig you out with their horns or tusks and kill you just for spite.
I prod my boiling stones with a piece of wood. I’m sure they’re just barely warm, but I need something to wash down the jerky. Using two driftwood sticks, I pull one rock out of the fire and drop it into the tea bag hanging from the tripod. It clunks on the ice in the bottom, then steam hisses as the stone melts down.
Before I drop in the other stone, I stuff the rest of the jerky stick in my mouth and chew it up, while I listen to the Thunderbirds rumble in the distance. Is that rainstorm pushing inland or trailing southward out over the zyme? I can’t tell. Seems to be going both directions at once.
“Have to get movin’.” I dip my cup into the bag and pull it out dripping. Warm, it tastes earthy. “Father says I have to make it to the second children’s camp by noon.”
Gulping the entire cup of water in five swallows, I stand up and carry the bison hide back to the rear, where I carefully fold it up for the next child to use on his or her quest. Then I tilt the boiling bag over the fire and dump the contents on top of the flames. Finally, I carry the tripod, bag, and wooden cup to their former places beside the hide. Everything is now exactly as I found it. The next exhausted child will be thankful to find them.
When I walk over to the edge of the crack and peer at the trail chopped into the cliff, my shoulder muscles go tight. Blessed Jemen, it’s steep. Just for good measure, I pull the stone ax from my belt and chop out the thin rime of ice that glitters in the first handholds and footholds. After tying the ax back to my belt, I reach into my pocket for my leather gloves and put them on. They’re warm because they’ve been close to my body, and they feel good against my icy fingers.
Bravely, I lean out over the sheer precipice to dig my fingers into the handholds. That grip will have to support my weight while I swing out and catch the footholds.
“Gods!” I blurt as I let my body slide over the edge and scramble for the footholds.
Panting in terror, I hold tight to the cliff and look up.
High above me, Mother and Father stand on the edge, waving.
They’re still there.
Tears blur my eyes. Blinking them away, I work up the courage to let go of one handhold to wave back, then I swiftly grab for it again.
The second children’s camp is about three hundred hand-lengths above me. From here, it looks like ten thousand.
Climb.
Just climb.