2

HAVEN’S CURSE

One mystery is why modern mankind, having emerged from Africa to Asia Minor circa 100,000 BPE, took so long to move on into Europe, as well as remained relatively primitive in technology. The answer is probably that southern Asia was far more inviting, being warmer and closer to the African climate in which the species had evolved. Europe was cold and forbidding, and was already occupied by a formidable competitive species, Neandertal man. So the advanced mainstream human culture proceeded eastward. (Another answer is discussed in the afternote.) But there were some contacts to the north.

The prior novels of this series followed one or more characters through history, their seeming reincarnations similar in description and relationships. This novel differs in one respect: while the relationships of five siblings to each other remain constant, their connections outside the family differ. They are not really the same people, but descendants many generations removed. They may make fundamentally different decisions at the critical turning points. It is as if reality is played over, so that alternate bypaths may be explored. Thus a person who marries in one chapter may not be married in another, depending on a key decision. Or one who is undecided in one chapter may, by this device, get to live through the consequences of each side of a decision. The differences, as time passes, may become formidable.

The setting is southern Anatolia. The time is circa 74,000 BPE, not long after a savage global winter decimated human and animal populations.

Haven drew her fur hood closer about her face and forged on into the increasingly chill terrain. Her companion did the same. After Hero’s journey south had failed to find good, unoccupied land, Haven had decided to try a trip of her own, to the north. Hero, discouraged, did not come; instead it was her younger brother Craft who accompanied her. Craft lacked the power and expertise of the hunter and warrior, but had other assets. Actually he knew more about tools and weapons than others were likely to realize, because he focused on learning how to make them. In order to make them well, he had to know how to use them. But he preferred to pretend that he was no warrior, and indeed he was not, emotionally.

They had been warned against coming here, and the warning seemed well taken. It had been cool at home in the fall; here in the northern mountains it was cold. They had found nothing worthwhile; all the good hunting and foraging ranges were already occupied. Their only hope was to get beyond human habitation and find open land beyond—perhaps on the other side of these mountains.

But crossing the mountains was not proving to be easy. There was already snow on them, and they were not properly prepared. The two of them had bundled up as much as they could, but remained cold, especially in the feet. They would have to find warm shelter for the night, or they would be in serious trouble. She was almost sorry she was traveling with Craft instead of with Keeper, because Keeper would have brought his tame wolves, and they liked to curl up and sleep next to her feet, keeping them warm. But out here in new country it was too dangerous for the wolves, because other hunters would not know they were tame. Wild wolves never came within a spear-throw of a person, but the tame ones did.

Then she saw smoke. That meant a house. Where there was one residence, there might be another. They should be able to make a deal for food and shelter this night. It was a great relief, because they had passed a number of ruined homesites, some with the bones of their former occupants scattered around. No mystery what had happened: they had starved to death in the terrible winter. Few people remained, and few animals. All had suffered horrendously.

They trudged toward the smoke. Sure enough, there was a stone and wooden structure, with a hearth in front. With luck, a friendly family lived there.

A man emerged as they approached. He was shrouded in furs, but looked tall and handsome.

“Hail!” Haven called. “Can we trade for shelter?”

The man didn’t answer. He just stood and gazed at them. He held a spear ready.

Haven realized that the man might think they were enemies coming to attack. Strangers were always a gamble, and not to be trusted until something was known about them. The best way to satisfy him that they weren’t dangerous was to reveal her gender. So she stopped, and drew open her fur cloak to show the mounds of her breasts under the skin vest. She inhaled. “I’m a woman. I mean no harm. My brother and I need shelter for the night.”

The man looked. He nodded. In the widely scattered enclaves of their species, young women were a universal currency. A man would gamble to obtain access to a woman in ways he would not for other purposes.

They resumed motion. They came to the hearth, where the radiating heat was wonderful. Haven put her hands out to it. “Thank you! We’re freezing.”

The man turned and opened the bound-sticks door of his house. They ducked their heads and entered. It was dark and close inside, but warm from the fire. What a relief!

The man followed them in. He dug into a crevice and brought out sections of smoked meat. He handed them across as Haven’s eyes adjusted to the wan light. She found a place to sit down, and Craft sat beside her. Then the man squatted opposite them.

They removed their packs, which were hide bags slung over their shoulders, containing their traveling belongings. That was one of the things Craft did: he made superior packs, facilitating transport of tools and food. “I am Haven,” she said by way of introduction. “This is my brother Craft. We are looking for land for our siblings to occupy.”

The man said something, but she couldn’t make it out. Craft caught on, though. “It’s a foreign dialect. He doesn’t speak our language.”

Oh. She should have realized. They were in the hinterlands, far from her tribe. But that was the point: they were looking for unoccupied land they could take over. Hunting and gathering required a wide range, so that the animals and edible plants did not become even scarcer. She had known that distant tribes did not speak the same language; she just hadn’t thought of it. Actually the tribes were largely defunct; this would be a surviving remnant.

She tried again, this time augmenting her words by gestures. “Me Haven.” She tapped her breast. “Me woman.” She tapped Craft on the shoulder. “Craft. Brother.”

The man tapped his chest. He repeated what he had said before. Haven still couldn’t make it out. So she repeated the closest word it might be. “Harbinger? Your name?”

He nodded. Whether his understanding was the same as hers was doubtful, but it would have to do. She would call him Harbinger, hoping that he was indeed the herald of good news.

She glanced at Craft. “We should pay for our lodging.”

He nodded, and dug into his pack. He brought out one of his carvings, three wood circles, linked, and proffered it to Harbinger. The man took it and studied it, curious in the way any person was who first encountered such a novelty. Then he shrugged and handed it back.

“But it is for you,” Craft said, gesturing.

The man shook his head. “Naa.”

“He doesn’t understand,” Haven said. “Maybe when we work out some mutual vocabulary.”

So Craft put it away. Haven tried to engage Harbinger in conversation, pointing to things, asking their names, saying the names she knew for them. But the man seemed not much interested. He abruptly got up and pushed outside.

Surprised, Haven got up to follow him, but he gestured her back, glancing at Craft. So Craft got up and went out. Harbinger picked up the last few sticks of dry wood and set them carefully on the fire. Then he set off briskly along a path toward a distant forest.

“More wood,” Haven said. “Help him fetch more wood.”

Craft nodded and followed the man. She stood just inside the doorway, peering out between the spaces between branches, until they were out of sight. Maybe Harbinger had understood, but wanted help with the wood rather than a novelty item. It was true that they needed heat, for the coming evening promised to be cruelly cold.

She took advantage of her time alone to go out to urinate. There was a path to a place not far behind the house that was plainly used for such functions. She opened her cloak, drew aside her loose loinskin, squatted, then scraped some dirt over the spot. There was no point in advertising her personal odor to the local animals, who could be as desperately hungry as the people. She returned to the house.

In due course the two men returned, bearing armfuls of gathered branches. The branches were of different sizes, ranging from twigs to substantial pieces. Some were firm, some dry-rotted. So they had had to forage for them, ranging across an area. A necessary chore for a night’s fire.

They dropped their loads next to the hearth. “I’ll get more,” Craft said, and walked back down the path. He had found a way to be truly useful.

Harbinger nodded, and built up the fire further. Then he entered the house, opening his fur cloak. Haven stepped back from the door and sat down so as to be out of his way. He closed the door behind him, and secured it firmly with a connected thong.

“But Craft will need to get in,” Haven said.

The man just shrugged, standing there.

He still didn’t understand her. So she tried it again, with gestures. “Brother. Craft. Door.”

Harbinger nodded. “Craft. Wood.”

“Yes. We wouldn’t want to lock him out.” She smiled, to indicate that this was humor, though she knew he would not follow the words.

Harbinger lurched forward, crashing into her. One hand pressed against her shoulder, bearing her back and down, while the other caught at her cloak, opening it. He must have fallen. She tried to help him get his support.

Then his face was on hers, for a rough kiss. His chest pressed against hers, pinning her. She felt a hand at her groin, pushing the material roughly aside.

Suddenly she realized what was happening. “No!” she cried. But it was already too late. She tried to push him back, and couldn’t; he had her locked in place. She turned her face away, but that was a useless gesture, as it was not his primary focus.

His firm member found its lodging and pressed hard. She tried to kick her legs, to get out from under, but all that did was spread them wider, opening the access. Her struggles were only facilitating the dread process. The member shoved on into her, stage by stage as her struggles shifted her posture, painfully distending the channel, until the thing seemed impossibly deep. Almost instantly she felt it pulsing in the center of her body, filling her with its hot fluid. She could do nothing to prevent it. The deed was already done. She had known that this sort of thing happened, but never imagined that it could be so fast.

She relaxed, realizing the futility of further resistance. She had been raped, and that could not be undone. She waited while he faded and subsided and diminished, like a storm abating. She neither moved nor spoke.

Harbinger rolled off her and lay there, breathing heavily, not even trying to cover up his spent groin.

Stunned by the suddenness and force of it, she couldn’t even cry. Instead she asked a stupid question: “Why? Why did you do this to me?” But the answer was obvious: because she was there. He had caught her alone, so he had indulged his desire.

She knew from her brothers that men were always yearning for sex. She had seen them get erections, even as children. They didn’t care what she saw, because she was only their sister, and they were candid about their fascination with the subject. They let her see them masturbate, spurting onto the ground, but said that wasn’t enough. Usually they tried to persuade the better-looking young women of other families to provide sex for them, and sometimes one did encounter an amenable young female.

Haven had watched once when Hero won a youthful game of penalties with a bored neighbor girl, and she had simply hoisted her cloak clear and gotten down on hands and knees, her nascent breasts assuming greater volume, her buttocks thinning and spreading apart. She had let him wedge his stiff member into her cleft from behind, teasing him all the while about his supposed inability to satisfy her. “Can’t you get in any deeper that that, little stick?” It was clear that the maneuver was far more meaningful to him than to the girl, who had done it with others before. Indeed, she was happy to have the other youths watch, so they could see how little it mattered. She said she didn’t see the point in it, because as soon as a boy got hard enough to get into her, he got soft again.

She was right; in moments Hero had to pull out, his member diminished. He looked embarrassed. The girl accepted it when she lost a game, because she could get good things when she won. Boys were foolish enough to bet good possessions against this brief silly indulgence, so to the girl the games were worth it. And, Haven suspected, she liked showing off her ability to do an adult act, awing her audience, male and female. To prove her superiority over any boy, by letting him do his utmost and seeing it leave her indifferent. By taking in the whole of his proudest aspect, in effect making it hers, leaving it spent and limp. Haven was indeed awed, never having realized that it was possible for a boy’s big stiffened member to get all the way inside that small opening. But there was no doubt of it now.

Nevertheless Haven, though intrigued by what she saw, refused to make bets of that nature, because she didn’t want to have to bare her bottom to anyone. The girl assured her that it didn’t hurt, except for the first time, and sometimes felt slightly good, though she wouldn’t tell a boy that. There was a sense of power in outlasting a boy, draining his potency from him.

So that was voluntary, but Haven knew that on occasion a man just took it, when he had the chance. She had been a fool not to anticipate something like this. At least she had known that it didn’t last long, so the unpleasantness was brief.

Harbinger surprised her again. He propped himself on an elbow, reached out, and took her near hand. He brought it to his mouth and kissed it.

“You pretend this was an act of love?” she demanded, appalled.

His gaze met hers. Her outrage surely showed. He let go of her hand and looked away.

He had gotten what he wanted, and now he was sorry? That was hardly sufficient. But what could she do? If she made too much of a fuss, he might simply beat her up. That would hurt her a lot more than this had.

There was a sound outside. Craft was returning with more wood. Haven hastily pulled her loinskin back into place and sat up, wrapping the cloak about her. Harbinger watched her, then did the same. If she wanted to keep it secret, he was amenable. He got up and went to unwind the tendon, opening the door. He stepped outside.

Haven had a moment to herself. She reached down to check her cleft. She was raw, but not actually bleeding. She was wet, from his essence. She wiped that out as well as she could with the hem of her robe, then wiped the hem on the ground. She was in reasonably good repair.

Harbinger and Craft entered the house and settled into their places. Haven wanted to say something, to tell her brother what had happened, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure how he would react. He was sixteen, and desired women, but would not countenance rape. But he was of slender build, no fighter; if he attacked Harbinger, he could get killed. Unless he paused to consider, and used one of his special weapons; then he might kill the other, and be sickened by it. So it was better to leave him out of it.

They settled down to sleep. The men were soon snoring, but Haven remained tense. How had this happened, and what was she to do now? Had she invited it by her foolishness? She had showed Harbinger her breasts, masked by the vest, making clear her gender. Could he have thought she was offering sex for lodging? But he hadn’t asked, he had attacked.

Yet why hadn’t she screamed? She could at least have done that. But she hadn’t. He might have stopped, if she had screamed. She should have. But she hadn’t thought of it in time. Her silence suggested that she wanted it, like the girl who liked the feel of a member in her, but pretended it was nothing. Was Haven a similar tease? Maybe the man had been led on by her seeming acquiescence, and been overcome by desire, and just had to do it.

Hero had said that sex had been like a great thunderclap of joy coming from his penis and spreading to the rest of him. He thought there was something inside the girl that filled him to bursting with pleasure. Maybe she didn’t like it because she felt the pleasure being taken away from her body.

Certainly Haven had had no joy of this union, while Harbinger obviously had. The woman gave it to the man. If she hadn’t wanted to, why hadn’t she screamed? She shouldn’t have had to think of it; she should have done it automatically. Why had she spread her legs instead of pulling them together? Had she really been making mistakes, or only pretending to? She wished she could talk with her sister Rebel, who was two years younger, but surprisingly knowledgeable about certain things.

She gazed in Harbinger’s direction, though it was now too dark to see him. He had acted as if he liked her. He had kissed her hand. He thought she had given sex to him as a gift for the lodging. Could he be blamed? Maybe she had given it. Maybe she had pretended to herself that she didn’t want it, but had really offered it to him, by showing her breasts and getting alone with him and not screaming. Because she knew how much pleasure she could give him, to make him glad they were here, so he wouldn’t send them back out into the cold night. All she had to do was flip up her cloak and bare her bottom, as it were. Not much trouble at all, very soon over. So it was her fault.

Settled on that, at last, she relaxed again. Now the tears came, silently, copiously. She had crossed a boundary, and could never cross back, even if she never saw Harbinger again. Would it have been better to play the game with neighbor boys, and let them go into her, so she knew how it felt, so that she had nothing remaining to lose? What had she lost, really? She didn’t know. But still she cried. Maybe she had done it on purpose, but now she felt the burgeoning grief of it. She had done wrong; she knew it, even if there was no rationale. The guilt of it suffused her, and overflowed from her eyes.

She woke several times in the night, her face wet. But by morning she had run out of tears. She had done what she had done, and it was done, and she and Craft would go on, hoping to find land for the family. For the two of them, and Hero, Rebel, and Keeper. That would be the end of this significant night.

Then she woke to full daylight, and both men were gone. She had finally slept soundly. But they had to get moving, so as to be somewhere good before the next night, for this region was inhospitable.

She got up, and felt the ache in her cleft. But that would heal. She went out, and the air was much colder. She went to the refuse place and squatted, checking herself more carefully. There was no doubt she had been raped; she had not dreamed it. But she wanted to get well away from here, so as to be able to bury the memory and her guilt.

She returned to the fire, which was blazing well. The warmth was wonderful. Soon the men returned, with more wood. Harbinger brought out the last of his stored meat and shared it with them, to eat at the flame.

“He doesn’t have much,” Craft said. “After this he’ll go hungry. There’s no game here at this season.”

“He told you this?”

“No. I observed. It won’t be good for us out there, either. I think we should stay and help him. We know some things he doesn’t, about making a house secure. Together maybe we can get through the storm.”

“Storm?”

“He signaled a storm. I believe him. The signs are there.”

“But we can’t stay!”

“Why not?”

She couldn’t answer. Not without giving away her secret. Yet if they remained here, for even a few days, she would have to give Harbinger more sex. That was the price of shelter. She had done it once; he would expect it again. Boys did. It was a natural belief, on his part.

It was soon evident that the storm was indeed coming. It was looming from the northwest, over the range of mountains.

“We need more wood,” Craft said, turning back to the forest. “You had better help.”

Well, it was something to do. She followed them along the path. It gave her more time to make a decision, assuming she had some sort of choice. But her choices seemed to be to give Harbinger sex voluntarily, or to get repeatedly raped. Craft would try to defend her, and get himself killed. Unless she warned him, and he armed himself and did what he thought he had to do. She couldn’t have that. So, until they had a chance to get away, it was voluntary sex. Voluntary in the sense that it was the best of bad alternatives.

That meant in turn that she would have to tell Craft. She hated the necessity, but could not avoid it.

They reached the forest region. The trees were mostly bare, with some scattered fallen branches. Haven took hold of the largest one she thought she could handle, and dragged it along toward the house.

The men took more time to gather choice pieces, so Haven led them back. In fact she reached the house, panting with the effort, before they came in sight of it.

“Ho.”

Haven jumped. There was a person there by the hearth. She had been concentrating on her dragging and hadn’t looked. Who was this?

“Wo-man,” the other said, surprised. The voice was high. It was another woman! In fact, Haven recognized her.

“Crenelle,” she said, amazed.

The woman stared. “Haven!”

They came together and embraced. They had met about a year ago, when Hero had made his unsuccessful trip south to find land. Haven and Hero had stayed the night with Crenelle, and the woman had been fairly taken with Hero, and he with her, but he had to see to his mission first, so nothing came of it. Haven had chided him on their way back: “You should have bedded her. She would have welcomed it.” Actually he had had a night of sex with the girl, but she had insisted that he say he had done something, and he wouldn’t, because he hadn’t, he said. Haven had been confused.

“But she would have considered it marriage,” he had replied. “I couldn’t do that.” He had been unable to compromise, though plainly much interested.

“She’s young, but supple. Marriage to her wouldn’t have been bad.”

He nodded, reconsidering. “Maybe if we meet again.”

So it had not happened. But Haven had come to know Crenelle somewhat in that night, adapting to her dialect, liking her. The woman was two years her junior, actually the same age as Rebel, but competent and sensible. But what was she doing here in the north?

“I live here with my brother,” Crenelle answered. Her dialect made her hard to understand in detail, but Haven got the gist of it, because of her prior experience. “We moved north, looking for better land. But this doesn’t seem to be it.”

“Your brother,” Haven said, amazed. “Harbinger?” But now she remembered: Crenelle had mentioned her absent brother, before.

“Yes. I had to go trade for supplies for the winter. I hurried back to beat the storm.” She glanced at the looming cloudbank. “But why did you come here?”

“Looking for land,” Haven echoed. Then she gripped her nerve and said it: “Your brother raped me.”

Crenelle’s response amazed her. “So you married him! That’s wonderful. I wish your brother had raped me.”

“Raped you! But—”

“This is how we marry. The man abducts the girl he likes and rapes her, and they are married.”

More memory returned. Crenelle had wanted Hero to rape her, and he had demurred. Haven had mostly expunged that aspect from her mind. “But that’s no basis for marriage!”

“Yes it is. He never rapes her again, of course; he devotes his life to making her secure. But your brother didn’t like me enough to do it.”

Haven had much to say, but now the men were coming up the path, bearing huge loads of wood. Still, she had learned a great deal, and her understanding was growing. Having Crenelle here would make things much better. But what a turn this was. Harbinger thought he had married her?

Harbinger spied Crenelle, dropped his load of wood, and hugged her. Then he turned to introduce her to the others, but Crenelle intercepted that. “I know Haven. Her brother almost married me.”

Harbinger turned to look at Craft, surprised.

“Craft,” Haven said. “My younger brother.”

Crenelle nodded. “I met her older brother. I know he liked me, but he had to see to his family first. So I lost him.”

That had been only part of it. Crenelle had agreed to join Hero’s family. It had been the rape he couldn’t countenance.

Harbinger turned toward Haven.

“She told me,” Crenelle said. “You married her.”

Craft picked up enough of this to drop his jaw. “What?”

Haven made a sudden decision. “It’s true. We. . . married.”

“But that’s not possible! There have been no—”

“It happened very quickly.” She hoped he would settle for that.

“He raped her,” Crenelle said proudly.

Craft stared at Haven. “He what?”

There was no avoiding it. “In their culture, a man wins a woman by raping her. It’s the way they do it. She expects it. I. . . didn’t realize.”

“When I was gathering wood alone,” he said, putting it together.

“Yes. Now . . .” She shrugged. “I’ll make the best of it.”

He reflected. She knew he was assessing his chances of killing Harbinger in a challenge of honor. His eyes flicked to his pack, where he had a half-length spear with a very solid and sharp stone head. Harbinger could well misjudge the deadliness of that weapon in close quarters, or suppose the youth did not know how to use it. That would be a fatal error.

Crenelle, realizing that there was more here than showed, stepped in. “It is our way. Take me similarly, if you want.” She opened her cloak to Craft, in clear invitation. She wore a skin vest beneath it, but the outline of her breasts showed clearly. She had a good figure.

“It is their way,” Haven agreed. “Please, Craft. We can’t undo what happened. We can only make the best of it.”

“By having me rape his sister?” he demanded.

“She’s trying to make up for it, knowing it’s not our way.” Haven appreciated Crenelle’s effort, surprising as it was. But maybe the woman was used to sex. What had she used to trade for supplies? “With the storm coming, we have to be together. This is a way to manage.”

“I’m not raping anybody!”

“No need to marry,” Crenelle said. “Make it a passing liaison. No fighting. No grudges.”

Craft looked again at Haven. “This is the way you want it?”

She sighed inwardly. “Yes.” Maybe Crenelle, having had sex with Hero without persuading him to marry her, was ready to tackle his little brother. What did she have to lose?

“You two make the meal,” Crenelle said. “I brought supplies. I’ll see to this.” She took Craft’s hand and led him inside the house.

Craft looked back once more. “You’re sure, Haven?”

“Yes.”

He turned and followed Crenelle inside. He knew she was buying off his outrage, but it was nevertheless a good price.

Harbinger glanced after them, then at Haven. He spread his hands. “Sorry,” he said, becoming more intelligible because of her attuning to the words of Crenelle.

“You rape me—and you’re sorry?” Haven flared.

“Thought you knew. Wanted.”

And he had no doubt persuaded himself of that. That she really had wanted it. Haven’s memory was sharpening as she remembered her prior meeting with Crenelle. Things the girl had said then now made more sense. She had spoken of rape, and said she would like to be raped. Haven had assumed it was just a clumsy word for marriage, but now she knew it had been literal. Crenelle had wanted Hero to take her by force, thus signaling his commitment to marry her. Harbinger had done just that with Haven. So it was a misunderstanding.

Yet her own unparalleled foolishness in making herself vulnerable to such an attack—didn’t that suggest that she deserved it? That she had asked for it? She couldn’t be sure. At any rate she was stuck for it. She could aggravate the damage, but could not undo it. Harbinger did not seem to be a bad man, overall. Maybe it would work out.

So she smiled at him. “Maybe.”

He gazed at her, still uncertain. So she went up to him and kissed him.

His arms came around her. He kissed her back, hungrily, but not violently. Then one hand slid down to her bottom, outside the cloak.

“Yes,” she said, willing her body not to flinch. “After they are done.”

He nodded, clearly well satisfied. She was surprised to see a tear in his eye. Maybe he did have more than sex on his mind. He and his sister were, after all, regular people, with a different culture—at least in this one significant respect.

They dug out Crenelle’s supplies and spread them on the ground. There were dried sections of meat and tubers, which would expand when cooked. At least they would not go hungry for a while.

Harbinger set up a woven pot that was caulked by clay outside, and filled it with water from the nearby spring. Haven put both meat and tubers in. Harbinger used sticks to fish a hot stone from the hearth, and dropped it into the pot. There was a hiss as it struck the water; then it sank down to the bottom. He fished for another stone.

“Salt,” she said.

He glanced at the house. Oh—it was in there. “It can wait,” she said.

They were working well together, she realized. He was doing the brutework, and she the careful work. They were getting the meal prepared. Probably he was used to doing this with his sister, but Haven knew the womanly arts as well as anyone. She had always cooked for her siblings.

When the first rocks cooled, she reached in with her hand and drew them out, and Harbinger put them back in the fire. When the water in the pot became too hot for her hand, she left the rocks there; they were doing their job.

By the time Craft and Crenelle emerged, the water was boiling and the things were cooking. Haven glanced up at Craft. He looked somewhat awed. He had never before done it with a woman. With a girl, maybe, but not a woman. Crenelle obviously knew her business, whichever man she entertained.

Haven stood. “Take over here,” she said. Then she glanced at Harbinger and stepped into the house.

Inside she did what she had imagined, opening her cloak and removing her vest and loinskin. Harbinger seemed oddly hesitant, in complete contrast to the prior night. So it really was true: after the rape, it was to be voluntary. She appreciated that.

She took his hand and drew him down beside her. She opened his cloak for him, and helped him get out of his underthings. Then she kissed him and embraced him.

He entered her slowly, gently, savoring her body. She kissed him and wrapped her legs around him. This time there was only trace pain as he completed his thrust. She was healing, more than physically.

She let him finish, then held him close, kissing him again. “This way is good,” she murmured.

“Good,” he agreed gratefully. “You are good.” He stroked her hair.

The odd thing was, now that she was acting loving, she was feeling it. She had control of the situation, and she did like being with a gentle man. She might not have chosen this one, had she had a choice, but he was handsome, and the fact that Crenelle was his sister spoke well for him. Probably it would work out. Certainly she could have done worse for a marriage. Maybe she really had invited it.

In any event, once the storm passed, she could leave, if that seemed best. He might consider rape the basis for marriage, but she did not.

They put their clothing back on, for the chill was coming in, and went back outside for the meal. Craft and Crenelle had it ready. They fished out morsels from the pot and chewed hurriedly, for the cloudbank was almost upon them. Haven could see the distant trees bending in the wind, and leaves were flying up.

Then the storm arrived and it was dark despite being full day, with hailstones pelting down. The wind rose, tearing at their clothing, blowing the smoke of the fire sideways across the land. They piled inside and lay jammed together, for there was barely space for four to stretch out. The two men lay on the outsides, the two women inside, sharing warmth. Haven would have liked to talk with her brother, to compare notes, if he wanted to, but this was not the occasion. There were several extra cloaks, and they spread these over the group of them for additional warmth.

“I’m glad it was you he chose,” Crenelle whispered. “I knew you were good, like your big brother.”

Haven didn’t answer, because she wasn’t sure how to react. At the moment she was more concerned about whether the wind would tear the roof off the house and leave them cruelly exposed. But the house did seem to be well made.

The howling of the storm prevented further dialogue. All they could do was huddle, trying to escape it. Their grouped bodies under the blanket skins kept them warm, but it seemed precarious.

They slept. There was nothing else to do. From time to time Haven was aware of Harbinger getting up to go out and tend the fire. That helped, for otherwise the snow would have put it out. At least there was now plenty of wood. The storm raged on, sending cold gusts of air in through the crevices. Snow filtered down onto the blanket skins. Haven knew that she and Craft never would have survived this weather out in the field.

She did not know the time of day, for her bearings had been blown away by the storm, but judging by the times she had slept and awakened, she judged it to be afternoon. Now she was awake and bored in her prison of slight warmth. She had had a reasonable night’s sleep, and was caught up. But there was nothing else to do.

Crenelle moved beside her, turning over to lie on her side, facing Haven. Then she nudged slightly back, bringing her knees up and clasping them. What was she doing? Haven peered at her, and saw the face of her brother beyond the girl’s neck. He was moving in close to Crenelle’s back, apparently at her invitation, cupping her for additional warmth.

Then the woman began jerking, as if banging into something. Was she sick? Alarmed, Haven reached out to take her hand in a silent query. But Crenelle merely smiled, drawing Haven’s hand down to touch her groin. Then up to touch her breast, where there was already a hand.

Suddenly Haven caught on. They were having sex! Like the girl on hands and knees, only Crenelle was on her side, giving Craft similar access from behind. His hand was on her breast, and his pounding entry was making Crenelle’s whole body bounce.

Haven blushed, ashamed to have intruded on something private. But why were they doing it now, when they had done it just this morning?

Then that too fell into place. They were as bored as she was. And one ready way to alleviate boredom for a time was sex. So Crenelle had offered, and Craft had accepted, and they were doing it without shame. Crenelle did not seem to be concerned about getting pleasure herself; this was just a diversion, something more interesting or amusing than lying there doing nothing. She was not belittling the man’s effort, but cooperating to make him feel good.

Haven considered. Well, why not? It might be hours more before the storm abated. Sex was not her idea of entertainment, but in a situation of nothing at all, it might be an improvement. There was also much to be said for keeping the man satisfied; it forestalled any other inconvenient notions he might develop. So she turned to Harbinger, and touched his groin. Yes, he had caught on too; he was already hard. She turned away from him, drew up her knees, and nudged back, as Crenelle had done. She felt much like the girl who had given it to Hero, more to show off her indifference than from any desire. In a moment his hand came to cup her breast, and his member was sliding into her. She knew she was taking it all in, for his groin bone came up against her tailbone. So she was competent that way, too. There was a certain gratification in being appreciated. In another moment, he was pulsing in the depth of her, and subsiding.

It was too fast. He had had his fun; now she would have hers. So Haven withdrew, then rolled over to face him. She pushed him onto his back, and climbed on top of him, pressing her breasts against him. He offered no resistance, not knowing her intention; as far as he was concerned, it was over. But she had something to teach him.

She kissed him, and ran her tongue into his mouth. She stroked his hair, and massaged his neck. When she tired of that, she slid off him and reached down to play with his penis, massaging it similarly. He let her do what she wished, satisfied with this novel form of play, lacking erotic ambition at this stage. She was in control, and she liked the feeling. The problem with rape was that she lacked all control.

After a while his member hardened in her hand, signaling her power to restore him to life when she chose. She got on him again, setting it carefully in her and easing down around it. She had him lie still while she moved, taking her time, wringing increasing pleasure from it. She tightened on it, and withdrew part way, and rode slowly back down to the base. She set the depth and the pace, thrusting and withdrawing, being the man. She kissed him, when she chose, and withheld her mouth when she chose. Glorious! And in due course she got her own wash of joy, jamming hard down on him, clenching, taking his fluid from him. This was the way it should be!

But eventually even sex lost its diversionary power. They had done it, and done it again, and it seemed that Craft and Crenelle had indulged similarly, and were similarly sated. Old sex lost the appeal of new sex; both desire and novelty were gone. Their bodies had to recuperate. And she needed to go out to the toilet region.

She got up, wrapped her cloak tightly around her, and went out. The storm caught her, shoving her back. She recovered her balance, hunched down, and plowed through the snow to the back. She could not tell exactly where the place was; everything was blowing whiteness. So when she judged it was right, she squatted inside her cloak and did it there.

When she returned, Crenelle went out. Then Harbinger, and Craft. That, too, was a diversion, in its fashion. But more was needed.

Crenelle came to the rescue. She brought out her little bone flute. She began to play a lovely melody.

Harbinger set up his drum, then joined in by singing the same melody. He had a good voice, and he knew words to it. Haven could not decipher all of them, but the combined effect of voice, drumbeat, and flute was lovely.

“That’s wonderful,” Haven said when they finished the song. She was trying to be positive, making the best of their situation, but it was also true: they were making beauty.

Harbinger and Crenelle knew many songs, and Haven and Craft encouraged them all. Soon they were joining in, learning some of the tunes and words. It made their confinement much less burdensome.

The storm continued through the day. They kept the fire going, and remained under the blankets, alternating between shallow sleep, pleasant music, and languid sex. Three days ago, Haven would never have imagined herself doing anything like this. But if she had known it was coming, would she have avoided it? She realized that her life had already become somewhat dull, and this was a significant change. So maybe she would have accepted it anyway.

In the evening Harbinger and Craft got the fire blazing high and dropped more hot rocks in the pot, so they could eat again. Then they settled for the night.

Haven thought of something else. “We must learn to speak better to each other,” she said. “We can learn words.” She took Harbinger’s hand and put it on her breast. “Breast,” she said. “What’s your word?”

“Oh, this will be fun,” Crenelle said, laughing. She took Haven’s hand and put it on her own breast, which had filled out since the prior year, repeating the word. Haven had to laugh at that. The funny thing was, she found Crenelle’s breast interesting, and could almost imagine the stimulation it would give a man.

So they continued, and made rapid progress, because it was their only diversion between sleeps. And by morning they had a fair basic mutual vocabulary, so that they would have far less trouble communicating essential thoughts.

The storm carried through the day, but was easing as the snow piled high. The cold was intense, but the snow mounded around the house protected them from the wind, so they were more comfortable. They were riding it out.

But Craft wasn’t satisfied. He was a maker of tools and a builder. He got to work chinking the cracks with mud he made from dirt and hot water. He buttressed the mud with twigs, giving it stability. This house was going to be much tighter than before.

Harbinger and Crenelle watched. It was evident that they had never thought of this, but as the leaking drafts cut down, they were appreciative.

The supplies Crenelle had brought were diminishing. She had not anticipated four people. They would have to get more—and how could they do that? The snow covered everything; there was nothing to forage. There was also no sign of game.

She stood by the fire and gazed across the landscape. And spied smoke. They had neighbors!

But Harbinger shook his head. “Other,” he grunted.

“Who?”

“The Others,” Crenelle clarified. “The beast men. We stay away from them.”

“Surely if they make fires, they are our kind,” Haven said. “Maybe we can trade with them, for food.”

Harbinger shook his head. “Beast men dangerous.”

But Haven would not let go of it. “We’re in a desperate situation. We’ll starve without help. Can these strangers be worse than that?”

Crenelle tried to explain. “They are ugly and brutish and very strong. We can’t fight them. Their women are as strong as our men, and their children are like our women. They speak a different language, not like any of our dialects. They mostly leave us alone if we don’t get in their way, and we try to stay out of their way. They are good hunters and deadly fighters. If we bothered them, they would kill us.”

Haven looked south. “Can we trek south, until we reach one of our own settlements?” It was what she had thought of doing, once the storm abated, but now she was doubtful. The landscape was so frighteningly bleak.

“It’s a long way. The ones I traded with don’t have any more food, and I don’t think any others do. No one is doing well here, except the Others. They like this kind of weather.”

Haven looked at Craft. “What do you think?”

“I think we should try to approach the Others, in peace. Maybe they will trade.”

“No!” Harbinger and Crenelle said together.

“But if we have no other way—” Haven protested.

“They kill any of our men they meet,” Crenelle said. “They don’t like anyone else hunting in their lands. That’s why we’re short of game: we can’t cross into their territory, but they can cross into ours and take what they want. So our game is scarce.”

Her words rang with conviction. But Haven’s life had changed so much recently that she was reckless. “You say they kill men. But not women?”

“Not women, usually.”

“What do they do with our women?” Haven feared she knew the answer. But would getting raped by a beast man be any worse than a rape by an ordinary man?

“Sometimes they feed them,” Crenelle said reluctantly. “Sometimes they try to adopt them, but their lifestyle is so rough, an ordinary woman can’t survive it. Mostly they just ignore them.”

“Adopt them?” Haven asked, amazed. “Why?”

“I think it’s because they see us as children. So thin and weak. But we can’t live their life. No, it’s best when they ignore us.”

“They don’t. . . rape?”

Crenelle laughed. “They don’t find us sexually attractive. Maybe they don’t mistreat children.”

“Then it might be safe for a woman to go to them, to trade.”

“They wouldn’t trade. They would adopt her or ignore her. Or maybe kill her, if she made a nuisance of herself.”

“I will try it,” Haven said. “I will take Craft’s toys and hope they appeal.”

Crenelle’s face blanched. “So soon married, and you want to risk your life like this?”

“If I do nothing, we starve!” Haven flared. “If I succeed, we eat.”

Crenelle swallowed. Then her jaw firmed. “I’ll go with you.”

They looked at the men. Both looked uncomfortable, but did not protest. It was a gamble, but things were desperate.

“Give me all your toys,” Haven said to Craft.

He dug in his pack and came up with four carved links. He did not have many, because it took time and concentration to carve each one.

“You’re the one who makes those!” Crenelle exclaimed. “Haven gave me one before. I still have it.” She went to her own pack and brought it out. “It’s fascinating. I could get to like you.”

Craft shrugged, embarrassed by the compliment.

Haven had to smile. They had just indulged in repeated sex, and now they thought they could like each other? But she had done the same with Harbinger. Sex was an act; liking was a feeling. They were different.

They made a plan to go to the other camp early the next day. The two women had to go alone, because the Others would know if the men were near, and that would prejudice their case. It was a dangerous mission, they knew, for they would be in the power of the Others. But if they were successful, it meant survival.

They had been sated of sex, but the prospect of danger restored interest, and they retreated to the house for another bout. This time, mischievously, the two women assumed exactly similar positions, lying on their bellies, spread out, letting the men lie on them and do their business from behind. When the men were done, the women turned over and demanded immediate repeat performances, knowing the men could not. “Then you must do it our way,” they said, and made the men go to work with their tongues, exactly where and how directed. Haven wasn’t sure whether it was the delicate physical stimulation or the marvelous feeling of control, but she derived enormous pleasure.

In the morning the two women set off for the Others’ camp, guided by the smoke. The day was calm, fortunately. They talked as they went, making no attempt at concealment, so that there could be no misunderstanding of their innocent purpose. They carried no weapons.

The Other camp was a crude collection of lean-tos and smoldering fires. They walked right up to it without attracting much attention. But they knew the Others were aware of them.

The Others were not tall, but were extremely solid. Their foreheads sloped back from massive brow ridges, and their noses were amazingly broad. Their breath steamed out in the manner of large animals. Their hands looked strong enough to crush rocks. They were indeed brutish in appearance, and Haven was frightened.

The two of them approached an Other man who squatted by his fire, roasting meat. But he bared his huge teeth and growled. Clear enough. They retreated.

They approached another man, but he too growled. He had a pile of stone tools he must have chipped recently. He picked one up, and the women quickly backed away. It was as if they were being taken for bothersome neighboring children, tolerated but not catered to.

Then Haven saw an Other woman, at a fire with a child who would have been about ten had he been human. He was probably younger; Haven understood that the Others grew faster. “If they take us for children, maybe a child will help,” she murmured, and approached.

This time Crenelle held back, not wanting to complicate the effort. “Grunge will trust two of us half as much as one,” she said.

Grunge? Well, it was a descriptive, if unkind name. Haven continued her motion, keeping it slow.

The woman stared at her without speaking, but did not make a threatening gesture. Haven smiled at her, hoping the expression meant the same in Other culture as in human culture. Then she oriented on the little boy. She brought out a wood link and held it out toward the boy. “Toy,” she said. “For you.” She shook the carving, so that the links shifted.

The boy was interested, but hesitant. He looked at the woman, but she gave no sign. Haven held it closer. Suddenly he snatched it away from her, so quickly she didn’t see his arm move. He held it up, peering at the links, trying to figure it out. It was clear that he knew it was from a single piece of wood, but couldn’t figure out how it got that way.

Haven waited, studying him. She saw that though the child was husky in the Other way, his cloak did not fit well. It was big enough, with holes cut for the arms and neck, but hung in such a way that it was drafty, letting air in through the holes. It would not be good protection in a wind. The boy surely got cold at night.

This was something she could do something about. “Let me help,” she said, though she knew the boy would not comprehend her words. She did not look at Grunge, but was acutely aware of her.

Haven reached back into her pack and brought out her bone awl. She moved very slowly, for alarm at this point could get her killed. She took hold of the boy’s cloak and put the awl point to it, near the edge of an armhole. He ignored her, still fascinated by the toy. The woman watched, but made no move. She surely could and would move rapidly and effectively if she perceived a threat to her child.

Haven applied pressure, pushing the awl point through the leather, making a small hole. Then she made another hole near it, and another, until she had worked her way entirely around the armhole.

Now she brought out a thin thong, and threaded it through the holes, outside, inside, outside, inside. She completed the circle, then drew the thong tight and knotted it. Now the cloak was snug around the arm.

Still no reaction from the woman. So Haven did the other armhole, and then the neck-hole, getting them all firm, but not tight, around their extremities. “Now show your mother,” she said to the boy, giving him a gentle shove in that direction.

Obediently, he walked across to Grunge. She inspected the cloak. Would she realize the significance of the change in it?

The woman uttered a guttural sound. Another woman responded, coming to study the cloak. Then a third, and a fourth. They tugged at it, trying to understand the new mechanism much as the boy was trying to understand the mechanism of the toy.

Then they turned as one and looked at Haven. This was the crux. Did they understand? Would they deal?

She put her hand to her mouth, then rubbed her belly. She wanted food.

Grunge considered. Then she went into her house, and emerged with a huge frozen haunch. She dropped it before Haven and returned to her fire. She did understand!

But now there was another problem. The haunch would provide them with meat for a long time, but it was too heavy for Haven to carry. She tried to pick it up, but could not. Could she drag it? That would take a long time, even if it slid across the snow.

Grunge watched for a moment, then got up again. She bent down, heaved up the haunch, and started walking out of the camp. The boy followed.

Haven exchanged a glance with Crenelle, who shrugged. Where was the Other woman going? Did she think they had rejected the food?

Helplessly, they followed. Grunge was walking straight toward their house, though it was far out of sight. She wasn’t following their trail, which had been largely covered by blowing snow. She knew where it was.

Haven realized that the woman was not stupid at all. She had known their origin throughout. She had waited to see what they had to offer, then acted when it was time. All of the Others must have known where the two women came from, and perhaps also what they wanted. They had let the women make their case.

Soon they approached the house. But when Grunge saw the two men beside it, she threw down the haunch and went back the way she had come, her child following. “Thank you!” Haven called belatedly after her.

Then the men came out to join them. Harbinger bent to pick up the haunch. He strained, then got it to his shoulder. He trod with heavy steps, feeling the mass of the burden. Yet Grunge had carried it without seeming effort.

“It really is true,” Haven murmured, awed. “One of their women is stronger than one of our men.”

“She could have killed us,” Crenelle agreed. “Did you see how fast that boy took the toy? He could have killed us too.”

“Maybe that’s why he wasn’t afraid of me,” Haven said. “He let me punch holes all around his arms and neck.”

“He will be warmer tonight.”

“Yes.”

The haunch lasted them for many days. All they had to do was gather enough wood to keep the fire going. The trading mission had proved worthwhile beyond their dreams.

Craft found suitable wood, and carved more toys. Harbinger studied his technique, and learned to carve similarly. Now he knew the potential value of such items.

As they used the last of the meat, and had to consider another trading mission, they were surprised again. A figure approached the house, bearing a burden. It was Grunge, with her boy in tow. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the boy looked better. Warmer clothing could do that. Haven went out to meet them, knowing that the woman would not stay if the men came out.

This time she had brought not only another huge haunch, but a pile of used cloaks. “Do,” she said.

Haven realized that the Others wanted more tightening done. They lacked the technology of awl and thong, but appreciated the improvement it made. She nodded. “Yes.”

Grunge turned to her son. She lifted the toy, which he now wore on a thong around his neck. “Do.”

They wanted more toys too. “Yes.” Haven turned to face the house. “Crenelle! Bring out the toys.”

Soon Crenelle came, carrying a basket of the little carvings. There were ten of them. Haven took the basket and gave it to Grunge. “We’ll do the cloaks as fast as we can. Three days.” She gestured at the sun, three times.

The woman nodded, turned, and marched away, her child following. Then the men came out to fetch in the haunch and cloaks. They would be busy, but it was well worth it.

Craft had to use one of their own cloaks to cut into strips for thongs, but the trade was well worth it, because they had no problem of hunger. He used his stone carving knife to cut slowly and carefully, so as not to ruin a thong by a miscut. Harbinger wielded his awl, making holes. Crenelle threaded the thongs through and tied them in loose knots. Haven carved and cooked sections of the haunch. They actually got the job done in two days, and resumed working on toys.

On the third day Grunge reappeared, her boy in tow. Now Haven was sure he looked better. Haven and Crenelle hauled out the refurbished cloaks. “You tie them this way,” Haven said, demonstrating on one. “Put it on, pull the thong tight, knot it.”

The woman nodded. She clearly wasn’t much for speech, though she understood it. Then she picked up the heavy pile as if it were light and trudged away.

Thus simply was trade with the Others established. The weather was terrible; more storms came, burying their house in snowdrifts. But whenever their meat ran low, Grunge appeared with another haunch, and more cloaks. Sometimes there were edible tubers too, tough but amenable to cooking. Somehow Grunge knew their situation, which spoke disturbingly well for the Others’ awareness of them. Haven gave Grunge the toys they had crafted, and reworked the cloaks to make them tight. She was sure that the Other children were happier, and that many of their adults were warmer. It was a fair trade: skill for food.

Between times they foraged for wood, and chinked the crevices of the house against the wind, and diverted themselves with further novelties of sex. Haven was amazed by the way she acted, but it was the only significant entertainment available. Crenelle was a constant font of ideas, coming up with ways to tease the men, to make it a challenge. Such as hooking the women’s feet to lock their legs together and lying straight, so that it was difficult to get between their thighs. Or standing, and requiring the men to touch no other part of their bodies. Or having the man achieve entry, then having to assume every other possible position, front and rear, without ever losing that entry. It could be done when the women cooperated athletically; it was harder when they did not. Sometimes they had the men lie absolutely still, letting the women do whatever they wished to them, discovering just how far they could tease them without quite making them spurt. Or they demanded that the men bring them to orgasm first; that could be a real challenge to men eager for completion, especially when the women did not help them with guidance. The men went along with it, being as bored of the confinement as were the women. Sex the men’s natural way was over rapidly; this way it stretched out to fill whole days.

The winter months passed slowly. The weather didn’t seem to bother the Others, whose squat bodies were solidly clothed in muscle and fat. Only the children, sometimes. On the worst day Grunge’s boy was shivering despite being well bundled.

When Grunge turned to go, having dumped down the haunch and cloaks, the child started to follow, then fell. Grunge glanced back, and grunted. The boy got up and took a step in snow that was thigh deep on him, and fell again.

“That child is ill,” Haven said, going to him. She reached out to help lift him back to his feet, and saw his face. It was red and wet. She touched his forehead. It was burning hot.

Haven made a sudden decision. “We must help this child. He needs rest and warmth.”

“Grunge won’t stay,” Crenelle warned.

“But she can return for him in a few days.”

“She wouldn’t understand.”

“Let me try,” Haven said. “He’ll die, otherwise.”

Crenelle nodded. “I’ll tell the men.” She set off for the house.

Haven slowly embraced the child. He accepted it, perhaps appreciating her physical warmth, or the additional support. “Will you trust me?” she murmured. Of course he did not understand her words, but he responded to her mood, hesitantly smiling.

She faced Grunge. “He is sick. He can’t walk home. Let him stay here for a few days.” She pointed to the distant house, where the smoke rose from the constant hearth fire. “Warm.” She embraced the child again. “I care.”

Grunge just stood there. That did not necessarily mean she didn’t understand, just that she hadn’t decided.

Haven turned the boy around to face the house. “There. Warm. Good.” Still the Other woman stood.

Haven opened her cloak, despite the bitter cold. “I am a woman,” she said, showing the mounds of her breasts under the skin vest. She inhaled, and cupped them, making her femaleness as obvious as she could. The action gave her discomfort; the vest was too tight. “I will take care of a child.” She turned to hug the boy once more.

Grunge abruptly turned and strode away. She had agreed!

“We go to house,” Haven said. She drew her cloak back together, and took his hand.

But the moment he tried to take a step, he fell again. She would have to carry him. She put one arm under his shoulders, and the other at his knees, and tried to lift him, but he was remarkably solid. She couldn’t lift him.

Then the others emerged from the house and walked toward them. Would the boy trust the men? Haven wasn’t sure, so she turned him back toward her, kneeled, and hugged him close. His face rested against her bosom, and he stood quietly.

Harbinger approached. Crenelle must have prepared him. Without a word he put his arms around the boy and picked him up. Haven took hold of the child’s hand, and spoke reassuringly to him as they walked toward the house.

Craft picked up the pile of cloaks. Harbinger would return for the haunch.

A place had been made in the warmest part of the house, closest to the fire. Harbinger set the boy down, carefully, and stepped back. He went back for the meat.

“You are safe now,” Haven said to the child. “Warm and safe. Now you can sleep.”

Then she became aware of something else. There was a smell.

She looked up. “Crenelle—” she began. But the woman was already busy with the pot, dipping a bundle of soft dry plants in the water. She had smelled it too.

Harbinger returned with the haunch. He set it in the snow beside the house; it would keep.

The smell intensified.

Harbinger and Craft decided that this was the time to forage for more wood. They set off for the forest.

The two women opened the child’s cloak and worked it off his body. It was warm enough here so that he did not have to be completely bundled. Then they drew off his loinskin. Sure enough, he had soiled himself. The stuff was watery and very smelly. But Haven had seen similar symptoms before; the fever cleaned out the system, and then recovery began. She knew what to do.

They used the plant bundle to wipe the region off, pouring warm water on it to rinse it out repeatedly. The boy’s torso and limbs were thick with muscle and fat; he weighed perhaps twice as much as a human boy of that height might. They progressed to his packed groin, getting the voluminous refuse clear. Then they paused, staring.

“He’s a girl,” Crenelle said.

“He’s so solid, I just assumed . . .” But obviously she had been mistaken. She might have guessed, because Grunge was as solid as any human man.

“What’s her name?” Crenelle asked.

“I don’t know. I never thought to ask.”

“Let’s call her Cute,” Crenelle decided, glancing at the girl’s thick waist.

Haven laughed at the irony. A young human woman had a narrow waist that opened out into broad hips below and projecting breasts above. This torso was more like a tree trunk with massive branches. But maybe when the girl matured, she would be attractive to Other men. She could be cute, by the standard of her species.

They got her into a clean loinskin, and cleaned off her cloak. Cute, comforted by the warmth and perhaps the attention, had relaxed into sleep. Her body remained sweatingly hot, but the fever would run its course if they kept her otherwise comfortable.

The men returned with loads of wood. “This is Cute,” Haven said, indicating the sleeping child. “She is female.”

“She’s solid like a man,” Harbinger said.

“So is her mother.” Haven paused, then addressed another matter. “We will need clean clothing, and more cleaning leaves. She may poop again. It’s the sickness.”

“We’ll fetch more,” the men said almost together.

Cute did poop more, but a diminished amount. There was only so much a body could contain. They kept her clean and warm, and she slept.

Night came. The work of the house went on around the sleeping patient. Haven stayed with her throughout. But in the evening she glanced across at Harbinger, lifting an eyebrow: Sex? He shook his head. He preferred that she keep Cute clean, than to take time off to entertain him. So she lay down beside the child, bracing her against the intensifying chill of the night and diminished fire. She gave her some water to sip when she woke, knowing that it was too soon for food.

In the morning, Cute’s fever was down. Haven had to go out to the latrine area. When she returned, Craft was with the child, tempting her with a wooden toy of a new design: a ball in a cage. Cute smiled, liking it, but didn’t actually take it.

Haven was relieved. The child was mending. She didn’t know what they would have done had she died. She dipped out a small piece of cooked meat and proffered it. Cute took it and gnawed, her massive jaw crunching it more readily than a human jaw could have managed.

Then Cute frowned—and vomited it back out. It was, after all, too soon for solid food.

Cute stared at the vomit, and began to cry.

Haven sat beside the child and stroked her head. “It’s all right,” she murmured as Crenelle cleaned up the mess. “You’re ill. Not your fault.”

Later in the day, Cute was able to eat without losing it. Her fever came up again, but not as bad as before.

Harbinger settled down beside her with his drum. He beat out a rhythm with his hands, and sang a song. The child’s eyes opened wide, staring at him; then she smiled and relaxed. She liked the music.

Later Crenelle settled down with her flute, and Cute reacted similarly, enjoying the melodies. They seemed to be helping her to recover. Haven was very pleased to see it. Had the child worsened or died, it would have been her fault, for she was the one who had brought Cute here.

By evening, Cute’s strength was returning. The two women steadied her as she got up and went out to the place for urination. She was continent again.

This night Harbinger accepted Haven’s silent proffer of sex. She went to the back of the house chamber, spread her clothing clear, and sat on his lap in a precise and special manner. His hands came up inside her loosened cloak and vest to find her breasts. By mutual consent they did not make what they were doing obvious in the presence of the child. Their winter’s experience had made them proficient in almost any position, and they could do it with no seeming motion, efficiently and silently. This, too, was an interesting variant, because it was the first time they were trying to conceal it from another person.

“Thank you for singing to Cute,” she murmured. She wanted him to know that she wasn’t doing this just to satisfy him, but because she was pleased with him.

Crenelle, knowing the situation, sat by Cute, who was now fascinated by the new toy. She kept poking her finger into it to touch the ball, trying to figure out how it had gotten into the cage.

Cute continued to mend. She watched them working on the cloaks, and Craft showed her how to punch the holes. Even weak in her illness, she had as much arm power as he did. She liked the work, and did several cloaks for them. On the third day she helped put wood on the fire. Harbinger smiled at her, and she smiled back. She had lost her fear of alien men.

Then Grunge returned. Cute was aware of it before the others were; she had very sharp senses. She got up and ran out to join her mother. The others followed, with the cloaks they had altered.

The mother and daughter were embracing. It was the first time they had seen Grunge express emotion. Then she picked up the pile of cloaks and started back, and Cute followed. It was over.

But the next time Grunge came, there was an Other man with her. The four of them watched nervously; if he came to the house, they would have to flee. He carried a huge bundle, twice the load any human man could have handled. He dumped it down and departed, and Grunge followed him after dumping her load of cloaks. Only Cute remained, dallying by the pile.

Haven went out and hugged her. Then the chunky child ran back to join her family.

Now they looked at the bundle. It was not just meat and tubers. It was an assortment of useful things, including several nice flint-stones, small animal furs, a collection of good thongs, and a skin of fermented berry juice. That last was precious, in winter.

These were gifts. The Others were expressing their appreciation for the help rendered to their child. Grunge must have had something to say about it.

Meanwhile, Haven was in increasing distress for a different reason. Her breasts had swollen and become tender, and her digestion was queasy. Was she coming down with the illness? She confided her concern to Crenelle.

The woman laughed. “You had no blood.”

Haven stared at her. Crenelle was right! She saw what Haven should have. She had not bled on her usual schedule, but that happened on occasion. Now her breasts were growing. That explained it. She had a baby inside her.

She told Harbinger. He was pleased and very solicitous. Their association had started with a rape, but Haven had long since come to terms with that. It was clear that the relationship Crenelle had with Craft, though similar sexually, was different socially, for there had been no rape. They were not married. When spring came, they would separate. Harbinger and Haven would not.

Spring did come. The snow melted in the increasing sunlight. And Grunge and Cute stopped coming.

They went to the Other camp. It was empty. The Others had gone. Apparently it was getting too warm for them.

With the departure of the Others, the game returned. Now the men could resume hunting, both because there was something to hunt, and because they would not be subject to killing if the Others caught them at it.

But it was clear that this was not a region they could live in year round. They had survived the winter only because of the considerable help of the Others. True, they had traded for it, but not all Other bands might be amenable to trading. In any event, they would not care to be dependent on the Others. They would have to return south to report that this region was uninhabitable. It was too bad.

Yet Haven was satisfied. This excursion had gotten her a decent husband, a decent woman friend, and considerable experience. She had been a relative innocent; now she was a competent adult. And she would be a mother.

Then something went wrong. She began to have pains in her swelling belly, and suffered spells of dizziness. She got short of breath, and experienced awful sieges of tightness.

“Something’s wrong with the baby!” Crenelle said.

“It’s just indigestion,” Haven said. But she knew it was more than that.

The others made her rest and stay mostly off her feet, but the dizziness and contractions continued. Haven knew that Crenelle was right: the baby was trying to come out, and it was way too soon. She sank into depression. What would she do if the baby died?

In the course of a largely sleepless night, she came to an answer: the baby was the child of rape. If it died, it would be because the spirits knew rape to be an abomination, and destroyed its issue. Therefore the marriage based on rape was also evil, and would have to be destroyed too. She had come to love Harbinger, who was a good man despite his differences, but he had done wrong.

If the baby died, and Haven lived, she would leave Harbinger and return to her family. Then there would be nothing left of the rape. That was the only way to make it right.

That decision satisfied her, though it brought tears. She sank into sleep.

Europe during the ice age was simply too cold for modern man to handle, when there were better territories to occupy. So mankind expanded east rather than north, for several tens of thousands of years. Only when a combination of circumstances changed did he take over Europe. First, the climate: when the ice age eased for a time, giving the advantage to the species acclimatized to warmer weather. Second, population: when other convenient regions had been filled, and land was running out, and numbers were still growing. Third, technology: the assumption of this volume is that Africa was the source not only of all the original stocks of mankind, but also of the most advanced culture, though the final fruition of this culture occurred in Asia. More on that in Chapter 4. So Homo erectus spread across Eurasia perhaps two million years ago, evolving into regional types, of which Neandertal—here called the Others—was one, and modern mankind spread perhaps 100,000 years ago, displacing the prior variants because he was smarter and had better technology and cultural devices for survival, such as the arts and superior language ability. This spread occurred in successive waves, noted not by the skeletal remains, which were almost identical, but by the level of technology. When the moderns had significantly better stonecraft, woodcraft, and other technologies, and the ferocious ice-age climate eased for a time, they were finally able to tackle the Neandertals in their home territory and prevail. That occurred about 35,000 years ago, and in only a few thousand years thereafter the Neandertals were gone, as were all the other Erectus variants who had the misfortune to occupy territory the moderns wanted. Though the climate may have eased for a time, it nevertheless remained the ice age, so the Neandertals were taken out from the situation for which they were best adapted. They were demolished during their strength, not their weakness. That suggests the power of the new order.

Yet if modern man was as smart then as he is now, and expanded into Eurasia 100,000 years ago with an increasing population, how could he have waited more than 50,000 years before developing his arts and technology and moving into Europe? In other times, in other regions, he has shown the capacity to expand explosively, filling an entire continent within one or two thousand years. Indeed, in the past two thousand years human population has jumped from a few million to six billion. Could something have happened to set him back? As it happens, this is more than possible: human population seems to have fluctuated considerably throughout its existence. Two hundred thousand years ago there may have been 100,000 people; but 100,000 years ago there may have been only 10,000 people. So at the time mankind began to spread into Eurasia, his population may have been sparse. It surely increased rapidly thereafter, in the great new territory.

Then, a quarter of the way around the world, Mt. Toba erupted in Sumatra 74,000 years ago. This was one of the worst volcanic events in several hundred million years, spewing enormous amounts of dust into the atmosphere. It would have dropped summer temperatures by as much as twenty degrees Fahrenheit, making a volcanic winter several years long. The modern humans, adapted to warm conditions in Africa, would have been ill-prepared for this. Plant and animal life would have declined precipitously, adding hunger to the rigors of cold weather. Population would have crashed, perhaps as much as 99 percent, leaving isolated, widely spaced families or groups scattered across Asia, the survivors scratching for survival. Established trade routes would have been lined by the bones of those who had once prospered.

In fact mankind may have become an insignificant part of the landscape, extinct through much of it, as repeated severe climate fluctuations made mini-ice ages and beat them back. Similarly horrendous volcanic events occurred in America, encouraging the ice age. We have seen nothing of this magnitude in recorded history; Mt. Pinatubo dropped global temperature by only one degree, mitigating a record heating trend. The European Neandertals, however, were cold adapted; this was their kind of weather, and they expanded after taking a similar hit at the time of the Toba eruption. Until new waves emerged from Africa to assimilate the fragments and reunify the species. One of these may have been the Cro-Magnons, 50,000 years ago. Only then did the moderns resume their progress and take Europe.

This chapter shows an earlier and unsuccessful effort to penetrate Neandertal land. The more advanced folk were moving out to the fringes, encountering the physiologically identical but socially primitive prior occupants, and their impact was insufficient to transform that society sufficiently. So the tougher Neandertals prevailed, being physically better adapted to the rigorous climate of Europe. There does seem to have been some trade between the two peoples, but no interbreeding; they were different species who surely were capable of crossbreed sex, and would have tried it by raping captive women. But not of reproduction, as recent DNA typing has established. The last common ancestor of Neandertal and modern mankind seems to have been about 600,000 years ago; thereafter they went their own ways, genetically.

Why didn’t the Neandertals advance their technology when they saw it in trade items, such as the tighter clothing the moderns made? For this we must understand Neandertal psychology, which is both unknown and perhaps self-evident. We resemble them in many ways. They may have been the original conservative “If it was good enough for my grandfather, it’s good enough for me” folk, resistant to change, as their stone artifacts demonstrate. We do the same in certain respects. Consider the typewriter keyboard: I, being a progressive thinker, use the superior Dvorak layout. Most others refuse to change from the designed-to-be-inefficient QWERTY layout. It would pay the rest of the world to follow my example and change to the clearly better keyboard, but like the Neandertals, it simply does not. It is a similar story in weights and measures, as much of the English-speaking world clings to confusing archaic systems instead of converting to the efficient metric system. So we are not so different. Had the Neandertals been open to change, they would have been formidable indeed. But they thought they didn’t need to.

Yet it may be more than that. The brain of Neandertal was as large as that of mankind, but differently configured. He did not think the same way we did. One conjecture is that he was short in the reasoning section and long in the memory section. He may have had a virtually eidetic memory for the relevant things of his landscape, with a specific name and location for every tree with edible fruit, every patch of ground where edible tubers grew, every bend in the river where fish were plentiful, and every mountain slope where berries ripened in season. So where we would say, “I found ripe apples on a tree beside the river’s second tributary, an hour’s walk northeast,” he might say, “TreeZilch ready,” and others would know exactly where to go for what, and would get there first.

He had a huge mental data base, and hardly needed the flexibility of language and thought that our kind requires. Indeed, he may not have needed the cooperation of others of his kind, so could be pretty much a loner in his territory. He seems not to have been social in the way we were; family units may have been more typical than the larger campsite shown here. He hunted, killed, and ate much more meat than we did, eating the small kills in the field. The ultimate individualist.

His tools were similar to ours, but the proportions were different; he made, used, and threw away hunting equipment at ten times the rate our ancestors did. So just as a memorized thing does not need description or figuring out—after all, you know where your house is, and what use it is to you, and so do your family members, so the directive “Come home” needs no further definition—Neandertal needed no clarification. But this also meant that Neandertal had little need of imagination or reasoning, and was extremely set in his ways. When he established a camp, he stayed there year round, until he had hunted it out and had to move on.

Our kind, in contrast, moved around more, having summer camps and winter camps, giving the wild creatures less time to become wary. Neandertal: we out-hunted him, in the end, and marginalized him, and he probably slowly starved to extinction. He was well off for a very long time, and would probably still be in Europe if he hadn’t been displaced by a cousin species with a way that turned out to be better in the end. But the advantage of our reasoning ability took some time to manifest. Not until we learned how to use the enormous potential of our changing brain did we actually prevail against Neandertal or Erectus. It was as if we had a powerful new software program and didn’t fully realize what it could do. So we were using our computer brain mainly to play games, as it were, instead of to design jet planes. Some things become obvious only in retrospect.

There is also a question about sex. Modern mankind is virtually the sexiest creature on Earth. The only other is our closest relative, the Bonobo chimpanzee, where sex is an ongoing social event. They really do make love, not war. But the Bonobos do not have sexual literature, pictures, movies, pornography, and legal complications. They just do it without much consideration. So I think we are the ones who are most obsessed with sex. Why? Because it is to a fair degree a basic socializing mechanism. When conditions are difficult and creatures are confined without other entertainment, sex becomes paramount. It is seen in zoo animals, and it works, so long as certain rules are followed, such as not indulging with the partner of another person, or hurting your own partner. So it is a way to get through a long cold winter without sacrificing sanity. Our ancestors did not have the diversions of books or television. Thus sex evolved not merely for reproduction, but for diversion in otherwise dull times. The fact that broad power failures lead to increased births nine months later indicates that sex remains effective.

So was rape a way to start a marriage? Yes, in certain cultures, and it still is, as discussed in Chapter 1. We of a more enlightened culture prefer equality and consensual sex, but as with other aspects, often brutal power is the decisive factor. Discrimination against women is perhaps the most common social element today, as men seek and exercise power over them. So we are still not that far ahead of the Neandertals, socially, in some respects.