Obviously mankind made it to the American continents; the question is how and when. An oddity is that there are indications of his presence in South America before there are in North America, though his only feasible access was via Asia, Siberia, Alaska, and North America. Could he have come by water? This was theorized in Volume III, Hope of Earth, but there are counterarguments, and the case is uncertain. For example, the same ice that blocked off Alaska extended to the western coast of North America. Boats would have had to slide along up to two thousand miles of ice to pass that barrier. Unless families could subsist solely from the sea for months, this seems impractical. So it seems more likely that they came overland, or along the coast at the same time as the glaciers retreated enough to leave the natural shore exposed.
During the last ice age, so much water was taken up by the ice sheets that the sea level dropped by as much as four hundred feet. This exposed land in many parts of the world, such as off southeast Asia as we have seen, and between Asia and America. Specifically, between Siberia and Alaska. What is now the shallow Bering Sea was then the broad arctic plain of Beringia. It was cool in summer and frigid in winter, covered with grasses, shrub birch and sedge. Herds of animals migrated across it seasonally, seeking better pastures beyond it. It was bounded gradually on the west by Siberia and abruptly on the east by mountainous ice. The ice was an effective barrier; there is no evidence that mankind or other creatures crossed it in either direction until it melted, ending the ice age.
It is an irony that the same time that Beringia was open so that it could be crossed, the ice was thickest, so that it could not be crossed. When the ice receded, the sea advanced. So for 50,000 years there was always a barrier, either of water or ice, except for one time, 11,000 years ago, when there was an avenue of opportunity that allowed mankind to pass through and colonize America. But that’s a later story. This one is about life on Beringia itself, 20,000 years ago. The setting is that part of Beringia that touched what are now the Aleutian Islands that trail off southwest of Alaska. The Cordilleran ice sheet covered the mountains of south Alaska, extending down the Aleutians, so that for a time that seeming wall of ice reached well beyond mainland Alaska, and became the border of Beringia itself. The land north was actually clear of ice all the way to the Arctic Ocean. This was not because it was warmer—it was cold enough—but because there was not enough moisture there to sustain a glacier. Thus there was the seeming anomaly of land to the north, and ice to the south. It was essentially an east-west barrier, not a north-south barrier. In the summer it might have melted back a little, forming fissures and drainage channels, and in winter it would have frozen again to its former extent. That marginal flow should have encouraged vegetation at the fringe, attracting grazing animals. There could have been an enduring human residence there, but for the purpose of this story it is assumed that there were only occasional explorations.
Keeper gazed at the wall of ice. It was huge and ugly, with patches of dirt and sand embedded, irregularly reaching toward the land. The edge was slushy, for the daylight sun melted it. But it froze again at night, as far as it could, and the war between sun and ice continued. Keeper was fascinated by the slow dynamic interaction.
“Ugh,” Crenelle said. “Now we’ve seen it; can we go?”
She did not share his interest. He knew he ought to seek a woman who was more compatibly inclined. But he adored Crenelle, and had to try to win her. She was beautiful and healthy and infinitely appealing, and she was close, because of a family connection. She had given him his first experience of sex, and of love, and even if it wasn’t returned, he was bound.
“But this is different,” he argued. “So much ice, extending so far beyond anything we know. Don’t you want to see the far side of it?”
“I don’t even want to see this side of it,” she retorted. “It’s the ugliest thing I’ve seen.”
He glanced at her. Perhaps it made sense that a woman as lovely as Crenelle should hate ugliness. Her appearance was a stark contrast to that of the ice. Even bundled in her bison hide shirt and pants, she was esthetic. The only match for her in beauty was his sister Rebel, the same age. But in other respects the two were quite different.
“If we found a way around it, there might be good land,” Keeper said.
“And there might not.” She turned her head. “What do you think, Hero?”
“I’m not smart enough to think,” Hero said affably. “My brothers do it better.”
Hero was a nice guy. He was powerful, but gentle with people. And despite his claim, not stupid. He knew that Keeper wanted the company of Crenelle—wanted, in fact, to marry her—so he had agreed to come on this day of exploration.
Because Crenelle’s interest was in Hero. In fact, Crenelle had met Hero first, and had sex with him, but then wouldn’t marry him because he wouldn’t announce that he had raped her. It was evident that she still would like to marry him, but Hero’s attitude hadn’t changed; he would neither rape her nor say he had. So though Keeper knew that Hero found the woman just as fascinating as Keeper did, Hero would not touch her. Instead he tried to facilitate things for his little brother. So he had come on this exploration, thus tacitly persuading Crenelle to come too, giving Keeper that extra chance.
“You never try to take anything from your brothers,” Crenelle complained. She was surely aware of the reason Hero had come, but she was caught in much the way Keeper was: If she wanted his company, it had to be on his terms.
“Or my sister,” Hero agreed affably.
“She got my brother.”
They laughed, but there was an edge to it. Their sister Rebel had indeed married Crenelle’s brother Harbinger, and the two seemed well satisfied. But that made it more evident that Crenelle herself had not married any of the brothers, despite coming close more than once. Yet that business about rape was a problem for all of them; they didn’t believe in it. If Crenelle had softened enough on that point, she could have had any of the three.
Meanwhile, Keeper was studying the edge of the ice. “Look at that,” he said.
“What, more ice?” Crenelle inquired disdainfully.
“A mammoth print!” he said, excited.
She frowned. “All I see is slush.”
Hero looked, his hunter’s eye quickly deciphering the obscure mark. “You’re right. In fact, there’s an occasional mammoth path here.”
“Yes. He must come here to chew the ice when he’s thirsty. A lone bull, big.”
“How can you tell?” Crenelle asked, her disdain fading. She knew that discovery of a mammoth was a significant event.
“By the size of the foot. Only a male could be this big.”
“And a bit lame,” Hero said. “Which is why he comes here instead of trekking to the water hole to the north.”
“He’s getting old,” Keeper agreed. “I think we can take him.”
Crenelle shook her head. “All this you know—from a single indistinct print?”
Both men turned looks of feigned surprise on her. “Of course,” Hero said. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Keeper saw her stiffen with anger, realizing that they were teasing her, but immediately stifle it. She was trying to entice Hero, not quarrel with him. If only she felt that way about Keeper!
They returned to the camp. The three dogs bounded out to meet them, tails wagging. They had been left behind, because it was hard to explore anything quietly with canine company. The other family members were there too, preparing for the evening meal. Haven had a big pot of boiling horse meat, while Rebel twisted tufts of waste sedge into knots for the fire. The main sedge stems made good baskets, and mats for sleeping on, but there was always dry refuse. There was so little of anything on this bare plain that they had to make do with whatever offered.
“We found a mammoth,” Crenelle said.
Craft raised an eyebrow. “Do you have it in your pack?” He was working on an arrow, shaping the split end to hold a stone point firmly.
“No, she must have eaten the whole thing already,” Harbinger said. “It’s a wonder she isn’t fatter than she is.”
“A print. By the ice,” Crenelle said. She was by no means fat, which was why they teased her about it.
Interest grew. “Mammoth meat would be good, after all the horse and bison we’ve been chewing,” Rebel said. She glanced at Keeper, knowing that he was the expert on this. “Is it huntable?”
“I think so,” Keeper said. “It is large and old and lame, and alone. Such a creature is never a sure hunt, but if we plan well, we may succeed.”
“What’s it doing by the ice?” Rebel asked.
“The grass grows better there, because of the water from the melt, and maybe the dirt it dumps down. But mainly for the ice it can chew for drinking. It’s as good as a water hole. So it has all it needs right there close by, and doesn’t have to travel much. He’s probably not far off, maybe in an alcove in the ice.”
“So we can locate it without much trouble,” Craft said. “And drive it against the ice, instead of having to entirely encircle him.”
Harbinger shook his head. “Mammoth aren’t like horses. It’ll retreat only so far. Then it’ll charge. That’s mischief.”
“We’ll have to organize carefully,” Craft said. “Select our terrain, drive him as far as we can, then use arrows, thrown spears, and finally stabbing spears. Better if we can prepare a covered pit, but he’s probably too wary for that.”
Haven looked up. “You speak as though we’ll hunt him just ourselves. Four men can’t kill a mammoth.”
“The main tribe is two days’ march distant,” Craft reminded her. “If we want that mammoth, we’ll have to take him ourselves. There’s a lot we could do with it. Meat for a month, tusks to carve, bones to build a house with. If Keeper thinks we can handle it—”
“I’m not sure,” Keeper said quickly. “A bull mammoth’s unpredictable. It might be too much for us by ourselves. Four men—”
“And three women,” Rebel reminded him.
“I don’t want you getting trampled by an elephant!” Harbinger said.
“Oh, pooh! We’re not going to run under its feet, you know.”
“But when it charges—”
“Maybe Keeper should study it some more,” Haven said. “To make sure it’s not too much for us. We don’t want to lose any people.”
“Good idea,” Craft agreed. “Meanwhile I can prepare heavy arrows.”
“And a heavy bow,” Hero said. “The farther we can stand from that creature, the better off we’ll be.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Craft said. He glanced at Keeper. “So why don’t you same three go out tomorrow and track the mammoth, and we’ll prepare for the hunt here.”
Keeper appreciated that. Craft had had his turn at Crenelle, and lost her, just as Hero had. He still liked her, just as Hero did. But he regarded it as Keeper’s turn. If Keeper failed, then the matter would be open for reconsideration.
“I feel as if I am being herded,” Crenelle muttered.
“You don’t have to go,” Keeper told her.
She flashed him a smile. “I am my own woman. I will go. It isn’t as if you are inferior. Just young for me.”
He was eighteen and she was nineteen. He couldn’t change that. She was the only woman he would ever want. He would accept her company on whatever basis she allowed.
So it was decided. They settled down to their meal of horse meat, and to their sod shelters for sleep. Harbinger and Rebel shared a shelter, and Haven and Crenelle were together, and the three brothers had the third. The dogs curled up together wherever they chose. When one of the brothers finally married Crenelle, they would make another shelter for two.
When one married her. Keeper thought about that every night, wishing he could be the one. Had she married either of his elder brothers, he would have had no such dreams, for the three of them did not impinge on the privileges of the others. But neither relationship had worked out, so now she was his for the taking—if only he could take her. Theoretically she would be his if he raped her, but he could no more do that than his brothers could. There had to be some other way. If only he could think of it.
As if tuning into his thoughts, she appeared, or rather her voice did, in the dusk that passed for night. In the summer the sun never quite set; it just hovered above the horizon as if reluctant to depart. So Crenelle had no trouble walking across. It was a nightly ritual. “I don’t suppose any of you men have changed your mind?”
How he wanted to answer! But he couldn’t. It was Hero who did: “Nobody’s going to rape you, Crenelle.”
“Not even token?”
“Not even token,” Craft said.
“Are you sure?”
It was Keeper’s turn. “Yes,” he said, wishing it were otherwise.
“Think of the joy your sister is giving my brother at this moment. I could give similar joy to you, if you just had the gumption to take it.”
“I know it,” Keeper agreed. How he longed to have that joy of her!
She departed silently. Keeper wondered if his brothers were as regretful as he was. He thought they were.
Next day the three of them packed cuts of horse meat and tools and set out for the ice. Keeper was glad Crenelle was coming, though he knew it was still for Hero rather than for him. But if he could somehow win her, he knew she would be true to him thereafter. She was a good woman, perfect for a wife. Just with that one thing about how a marriage should be made. She wanted to be taken, violently. She seemed less certain than she had been, but still she hadn’t softened enough to yield on that matter. Otherwise there would have been a marriage long ago.
It was a fair trek across the tundra, and a dull one. The ground was almost level, with sections of shallow swamp with tussocks. No plant rose above knee height. The seven of them were able to survive here only by hunting the large animals that trekked across in quest of better grazing elsewhere. Now and then they started a rabbit or a bird. Meanwhile clouds of black flies accompanied them. All of them wore a tonic Keeper had squeezed from certain herbs, that discouraged flies and mosquitoes. Otherwise life here would have been unbearable.
“Let’s play a game,” Crenelle suggested. She was clearly bored, and she did not take boredom lightly, any more than Rebel did. “A contest, and a prize. Whoever spies the first sure sign of the mammoth being close by—what would that be?”
“Fresh dung,” Keeper said.
“Fresh dung. Whoever spies that wins a kiss from me. Agreed?”
She was trying to get Hero to kiss her. But Keeper would have an equal chance. “Agreed,” he said for both of them.
“And whoever first spies the mammoth itself, wins me for the night. One night only, no obligation.” She paused. “Agreed?”
And she wanted to have sex with Hero, hoping to persuade him to marry her, her way. She was very good with sex, as they both knew. Such a night would be persuasive indeed. But again, Keeper had an even chance. “Agreed.”
Hero was silent. “That binds you both?” she asked, making sure of the bargain. She didn’t want a contest only Keeper could win.
“Agreed,” Hero finally mumbled.
“And you will really look?” she persisted.
There was a pause, but an answer had to be made. “Yes.”
“One would think the prize was not worthwhile,” she said, affecting dismay. She well understood the reason for Hero’s reluctance: that he wanted to be fair to his brother. The real contest was between her need to be raped, once, and their need never to treat any woman that way. Her need to have it bruited about, and their need never to be accused of any such thing. Eventually one side or the other would break down and give way to a sufficient extent. But at this point, none of them knew which side that would be. Rebel had found a way around it, with Harbinger, but Crenelle evidently didn’t care for that.
She must have been pondering the same question, for she came up with an answer. “And whoever kills the mammoth can demand any favor of any of the others, and the other must agree. Any favor at all.”
This was especially interesting. Did she mean that the winner could require that she marry him without rape? Or was that something other than a favor, by her definition? And why did she say “any of the others,” rather than just her?
Keeper had to ask. “You are the prize for the first two. Do you mean that someone else might be the prize for the third?”
“There is something I could not openly agree to,” she said, “so I won’t say it. So I make it more general. Maybe there is something you really want your brother to do.”
Now Hero spoke. “Suppose I won—and asked you to marry my brother?”
She was silent for a time. Keeper could appreciate why. Hero, not known for cleverness, had nevertheless come up with the hole in her offer. She was hoping to get Hero, by having him win her without rape, but she might wind up with Keeper regardless of who won.
Finally she spoke. “I was thinking of a favor for the winner, not a favor done for someone else. I think it would have to be direct.”
And she had found a repair for the hole. Her reasoning seemed fair enough. And of course if Hero won, he would not have to require her to marry him. He might simply ask for another kiss. So it wasn’t tight. But if Hero won, it might indeed seem that he had a right to take her. Ultimately, she had to go to the man she wanted to go to. Anything else would be like another form of rape. So while Keeper desperately wanted to win her, he saw that this was not the way. Which meant that if he won, he would have to ask some other favor.
“Agreed?” she prompted.
“Agreed,” Keeper said.
Then, after a pause, Hero agreed also.
They reached the mottled wall of ice. Once again Keeper marveled that such a thing existed. How huge it was! Where was the end of it? Was this the end of the world? Where it got too cold for land, and turned to ice? So there might be nothing beyond it. Yet there was the sea, and it went on past the ice. How he longed to explore that!
“I just thought of something,” Crenelle said. “Suppose I spy the turd, or the beast? What prize do I get?”
“Then you get to keep what you have found,” Hero said.
Keeper bit his tongue to keep from laughing. His brother had scored again.
“Thank you so much for your generosity,” the woman said, making a noise as if spitting out something distasteful. “There’s nothing I’d rather have than a fresh mammoth turd.”
“It would grow some very rich plants,” Keeper offered.
Meanwhile they were tracking the huge creature. Its trail was not hard to decipher, as it had been grazing as it went, tearing up whole sedge plants to chew on. The ground near the ice was damp and a bit mushy, and there were a number of plain prints. At one point there was a clear ice slick, where the animal had stood against the wall and gouged out clean ice to slake its thirst.
“Good idea,” Hero said, and broke off a sliver of ice for himself. The others did the same. Water was not necessarily easy to come by, in this dry level land.
Hero, first to resume travel, paused. “I see it,” he murmured.
They joined him. Sure enough, there was a fresh pile of manure that could only be from the elephant. He had won the first contest.
“Here is your prize,” Crenelle said, pleased. She stood close to him, took his face in her hands, angled it to suit her, and gave him a firm and lingering kiss.
Keeper looked away. It wasn’t just jealousy, though that was a component. It was that they did make an appealing couple, and Hero surely was more deserving of her favor than Keeper was. He was older, and larger, and stronger, and better in hunting and combat. And she plainly desired him. Keeper was simply in the way.
But he couldn’t let go. Crenelle was too appealing a woman. He would probably lose her, but he would do it by failing, not by giving up.
They moved on, carefully, for it was their mission to spy the mammoth, not to spook it. They needed to learn its habits and trails, so as to know how to hunt it effectively.
Hero had been leading the way, but now he slowed. He bent over, reached inside his legging, and scratched. Itches were chronic; bugs got inside clothing, seeking whatever section of flesh was not protected by the repellent juice. Keeper went on ahead, not waiting, rounding the bend of the ice wall.
There was the mammoth. “I see it,” he breathed, awed by the grandeur of the beast. It was feeding on a richer patch of brush, not paying attention. Mammoths had few if any natural enemies, apart from man, so tended to be careless. This one was huge and shaggy, twice the height of a man, with enormous twisting white tusks and a trunk that reached down to touch the ground. Its feet were massive stumps, while its eyes were relatively tiny. What a creature!
“So you do,” Crenelle said, coming to stand beside him. “You will have me for the night.”
So he would. He had forgotten that for the moment. But now he realized something: Hero had paused at a most propitious time. But for that stray itch, Hero would have been the first to round this bend and spy the quarry. Hero, seasoned hunter that he was, must have known, and deliberately given the first sight to Keeper. Giving him Crenelle, for the night.
He hoped she didn’t realize that. But he feared that she did. Should he tell her to give the night to his brother? Keeper wanted her so much, but it was complicated.
“No, I’ll do it,” she murmured, reading the doubt on his face. “He wants you to have it.”
“Sorry,” he said, his emotions uncomfortably mixed.
They studied the mammoth, and spied out its paths. By evening Keeper had an excellent notion of the creature’s habits, and concluded that they could indeed take it.
That night Haven came to share lodging with her brothers, yielding her place to Keeper. He joined Crenelle, still mixed in emotion. This night was a gift of Hero, with whom Crenelle would rather have been; how could he reconcile that with his own presence here?
“Let me make one thing clear,” she told him as she got them both naked under piled blanket skins, and got Whitepaw comfortably settled by their feet. “It’s not that I think you are inferior. You’re not. Your way with animals is wonderful. I just always thought of marrying someone older than I, rather than younger. So I don’t take you as seriously as perhaps I should. I know it’s your turn. If I hadn’t been so insistent on a rape, I could have married one of your brothers long ago. So I am obliged to give you a fair chance, not just because your brothers want it, but because you deserve it in your own right. So here it is: fight me, rape me now, and you will win me.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, ashamed.
“I won’t even resist. I will just lie here unmoving, telling you no, that I brought you here for nothing, making you angry.”
She was making it so easy! But he was still unable. “I can’t.”
“You can’t,” she agreed. “Any more than your brothers could. And I don’t care to do what Rebel did with my brother. Very well; we’ll do it the easy way. For this night only.” She rolled into him, and put one leg over his, pressing against him. “Come into me, you hesitant suitor.”
He did. But he wished he could have made even the semblance of a rape, and won her, her way. He felt so inadequate, even in the throes of the delight she gave him.
They slept, sated yet not satisfied. Being with her like this was sheer joy, yet hollow because it was so much less than it should have been. He wondered whether he would dream of performing the rape she demanded, and wake to know it wasn’t true.
He woke at night, and found her sleeping curled, facing away from him. Desire sprang anew: he could still do it. He could grab her as she slept, and penetrate her cleft before she could react or resist, and it would be rape. She would wake to find it accomplished. He would never have a better chance.
He put a hand on her hip and moved in close. She continued to sleep, not responding to his touch. Her flesh was soft and evocative. He knew exactly where to go. His hard member was right there at the aperture, ready for the thrust. In a moment he would be inside her, and it would be done.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t take a woman without her consent, even if she had given her consent for her nonconsent. He just couldn’t.
“Damn!” he muttered.
“Damn,” she echoed.
“You knew!” he said, chagrined.
“Of course I knew. How long do you think I have been here like this, waiting for you to wake?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, go on in, so it’s not a total waste.”
He did so, and it was phenomenal. But he had forfeited his chance for the real accomplishment.
“You’re a decent man,” she said. “I respect that, really, Keeper. It’s just that . . .” She shrugged, and he felt the motion all the way inside. “But if you catch me asleep again, don’t hesitate. Because after tonight I’ll be back after Hero. You know that.”
“I know it,” he agreed.
They finished and slept again. He hoped he really would wake to find her truly asleep, and have the courage to take her, but he knew it wouldn’t happen.
He dreamed she was bestriding him, in the manner they had seen Rebel do with Harbinger. He woke to find that she was, but she did not take it the last step. “I can’t do it either,” she said, disgusted.
He laughed, without much humor. “Do it anyway, so it’s not a total waste.”
She set him in her, and lay on him, squirming, forcing him to spend. “This is ridiculous.”
“I think we really would be good for each other, if we could find a way to marry.”
“It would be good with any of the three of you,” she said seriously. “And I mean to have one of you, some way.”
“Some way,” he agreed.
They slept again. This time neither woke. Keeper was disappointed to discover that dawn had arrived, and the camp was stirring. Crenelle had given him several chances, and he had squandered them all. As he had perhaps known he would.
They got up and dressed. It was time for the hunt. Maybe, he thought despairingly, he would be the one to make the fatal thrust, and win a complete favor from her. Yet even then, he knew, he would not be able to ask her to set aside her requirement.
Craft approached him. “I have made a new bow that I think will work well for you. It’s larger than usual, and requires a longer arrow, but has more power. For this hunt, we need power.”
“Yes,” Keeper agreed somewhat tightly. He was excited by the prospect of the hunt, but apprehensive too, because he knew how dangerous those huge beasts could be. “But shouldn’t you or Hero be the one to use it?”
“Hero will use the spear-thrower, which gives a harder thrust than any arrow. Haven will keep him supplied. I will make sure of all the weapons. You will do better with the arrows, knowing exactly where to put them.”
“In the eye,” Keeper said. “That mammoth is so big and fleshy that we’d have trouble reaching its heart even if it stood still and let us try for an hour at close range.”
Craft laughed. “And it won’t do that!” he agreed. “So you try this bow, and see if you can hit an eye.”
Keeper tried. He set up a hide target thirty paces distant and drew the first long arrow. The feel was strange, but the draw was smooth and strong. He had to exert more power than he was used to, but seemed better able to do that, with this powerful bow. Craft knew what he was doing, as usual.
He sighted along the arrow and loosed it. He scored on the target. It was almost as if he had thrust the arrow there with his hand, from up close. It had gone right where he aimed it.
He tried again, and scored again. This was indeed a fine instrument, and these were fine arrows. But could he score on a moving monster’s tiny eye? He doubted it. Not with one arrow, or two.
But Craft had made ten arrows. That might be enough. That had to be enough.
They moved out. Keeper called the dogs, and they bounded along ahead of him, happy to be participating. Crenelle fell into step beside him. “I’m your spear carrier,” she said.
He was thrilled, but doubtful. “I thought you’d prefer to help your brother, or—”
“Rebel’s helping Harbinger. Haven’s helping Hero. I’m helping you. Craft made the assignments. He knows what he’s doing. This is serious business.”
Keeper nodded, gratified. They were still arranging things so that he could be close to Crenelle, and she wasn’t objecting. He might be the least of the brothers, but they kept peace in the family by being fair to each other. It was still his turn, it seemed.
But if he failed to kill the mammoth with a shot through the eye, his turn would be finished. Then Crenelle would go to one of his brothers.
They reached the wall of ice and spread out. They did not try to go silently, for the mammoth would soon enough be aware of them. They would harry it and try to drive it into the sea, where it would be much easier prey.
They spied it, foraging against the wall. They spread out, barring its escape to the plain. Whichever way it ran, it would have to pass a man. If it didn’t run, they would close in, but leave a channel along the wall.
Hero and Haven, at the northern side, started hooting. The mammoth lifted its head, gazing at them. It didn’t understand small creatures that acted as if they were dangerous. It backed away, then turned and strode along the wall toward the south. Exactly as they wanted.
Harbinger and Rebel paced it, not making noise as long as it was going the right way. Craft followed them, carrying a bundle of spears.
Keeper waited. He was south of the mammoth, and would let it pass, because the sea was not far beyond. The ice and the sea: that was the trap.
But the beast was too canny to be herded far. It suddenly turned and charged Harbinger. Now Rebel sounded off, ululating. The mammoth, surprised by this new sound, turned its head to look at her.
Harbinger hurled his spear. He had grown proficient with the spear-thrower, and the shot was good. The spear struck the beast’s shaggy shoulder and lodged.
The mammoth squealed in pain and rage. It whirled and started north, the spear bobbing. The wound had to be painful, but not critical.
Hero flung his spear. This struck the animal on the head, between the eyes—and bounced off the heavy bone there. That was the problem with an animal this massive. Flesh wounds didn’t stop it, and neither did bone wounds.
But it did cause the mammoth to change direction again. It ran south, while the women gave Harbinger and Hero second spears. They pursued the creature, spear-throwers lifted, ready to throw again when there was a suitable target.
“Here it comes,” Crenelle said. There was a catch in her voice; she was nervous, if not frightened. But she remained beside him, holding his spare arrows.
“I’ll try a shot,” Keeper decided. Herding the animal was fine, but if he could take it down as it passed, that was better.
He waited until the mammoth was between them and the wall. Then he drew and loosed. The arrow struck the animal’s wrinkled ear. He had not allowed sufficiently for its motion.
Crenelle handed him another arrow. He nocked it and drew—as the mammoth suddenly turned toward him, pausing. It started toward him.
He loosed another, but this time hadn’t allowed for the turning head. The arrow broke against a tusk.
Now the mammoth decided that he was the enemy. It trumpeted and started toward him.
Crenelle gave him another arrow. Then she stood, setting down the arrows. “It’s going to get by us, and escape onto the plain. I’ll drive it back.”
“Don’t get close to it!” Keeper cried.
But she was already in motion. “Go, go, go!” she screamed, waving her arms.
But this time the beast did not spook away from the noise. It had been injured several times, and was in a frenzy. It oriented on her and charged.
Keeper’s vision became preternaturally clear. There was the woman. There was the mammoth, twice her height and enormously more massive. Its whitish tusks were coming at her like twin twisted spears.
He loosed. The arrow struck just below the right eye and lodged in loose flesh. The mammoth tossed its head as if flinging the nuisance away, and continued its charge.
Keeper snatched up another arrow. He had time for only one more shot before the monster trampled the woman.
He drew and aimed, but the target wasn’t right; even a perfect shot would glance off the bone of the eye ridge. He held his fire, cursing.
Crenelle, realizing that it wasn’t working, stopped. She tried to turn to flee, but wasn’t going to make it in time.
Then the head turned slightly, bringing the eye into line. Keeper loosed the arrow before he knew it.
Suddenly the arrow was in the mammoth’s eye, embedded deeply, penetrating to the brain. The creature’s knees buckled and it tumbled to the ground, just short of the woman. It struggled a moment, its tusks tearing up turf. Then it relaxed.
“It’s dead!” Crenelle cried. “You got it!”
“Great shot, brother!” Hero called as he ran up.
Keeper felt weak and shuddery. It was the best shot he had ever made, and he doubted that he could have done it again. Superior skill had come to him in his moment of most desperate need. Because otherwise the woman he loved would have been killed.
Crenelle came to him. She embraced him and kissed him. “You saved me,” she said. “And you have won whatever you wish from me. You killed the mammoth.”
Keeper remained in a numb state. He knew she would marry him, without rape, if he asked her now. But he knew that wouldn’t be perfect. So he went for his second ambition. “Come with me, to explore the ice,” he said. “To go to the other side.”
She looked at him. “I thought you would say something else.”
“I don’t think you want something else.”
“But to demand of me what I don’t want to give—that’s rape.”
He saw her rationale. “But I’m not a rapist.”
She sighed. “Indeed you are not. Then I will go exploring with you.”
“We’ll all go,” Hero said. “As soon as we butcher this animal and store the meat. We won’t need to hunt again for months. We can take time to explore.”
Crenelle hesitated. “I think he wanted to travel alone with me.”
Craft arrived. “You can’t go into the ice alone. You’d die. It has to be an organized excursion.”
She nodded. “He’s right, Keeper. But if you want to ask something else—”
Keeper found his voice. “No, that’s good. I’m glad to have us all go. It will be safer and better.”
She shrugged. “Maybe something good will come of it.”
All of them were now standing around the fallen mammoth. Craft began organizing the butchery, which was no simple task.
Several days later they set out on the exploration. All seven of them were going, using three boats. Hero and Crenelle shared Keeper’s boat, while Harbinger and Rebel were in another, and Craft and Haven in the third. Each craft carried a ballast of supplies: piled fur cloaks, sections of roasted mammoth meat, spare spears and arrows, and enough dry sedge twists to start a fire. Just in case they didn’t get beyond the ice. Because they knew this could be as much of a challenge as killing a mammoth.
There was also one dog riding in each boat. The dogs had been nervous about this at first, but when they realized that all the people were going, they didn’t want to be left behind. Whitepaw was hunched by Crenelle’s feet, in the center.
Keeper was thrilled to have their support, and to be undertaking the exploration at last. He wanted desperately to marry Crenelle, but this was his second desire, and to have her participating made it almost as good. And perhaps he would still find a way to win her.
They paddled along the wall of ice as it descended into the sea. The ice did not like yielding to the water, but the sea was so deep that there was no alternative. There were gouges in the wall where the waves had eaten it out.
When the ice submerged, they paddled on into its territory, following the wintry shoreline east. The ice rose up in a shining cliff that leveled off high above. So they had not gotten around the wall; they had merely followed it around a turn. They still didn’t know what was behind it.
There was a commotion in the water. Keeper watched closely, and was able to see what it was: seals. Seals were swimming near the wall, catching fish. There were also gulls flying low, inspecting the waves for something worth catching. Whitepaw was interested; she was losing her concern about the deep water and was sniffing the breeze.
The ice wall was interminable, seeming to have no end. But then it curved north. It was, however, no end; another wall came in from the east. The walls did not meet; they moved north parallel to each other.
“A river!” Keeper exclaimed. “This is a river, flowing into the sea. The ice walls follow its shore.”
“It must flow from land,” Crenelle said. “Maybe we should follow it to find that land.”
Keeper was pleased to agree. The ice seemed determined to wall off the entire sea, but the river might rise above it, and they might reach the land beyond by following it.
They paddled up the river. Soon it narrowed, with the walls of ice closing in. There was more of a current, so they had to paddle harder to make progress.
The walls on either side came closer, until there seemed hardly to be room for the river. They leaned out over the water. Then they touched, forming a tall cave with the river in the bottom. Keeper was not the only one who stared, finding this fascinating. Ice covering over a river, not by freezing its surface, but by arching above it.
Still, the river had to flow from somewhere. So they continued to follow it, entering its huge cave. The wind died down, and the surface of the water became calm. This, too, was strange; the sea was always restless, with waves constantly going somewhere. This river was relaxed.
The arched ceiling thickened, cutting off more of the light from above. But some still came through, making the ceiling seem to glow. They had reed torches, but those were for emergency use. If it got too dark, they would have to turn back. That would be too bad; Keeper was enchanted, and wanted to follow this quiet river to its source.
Whitepaw woofed. They looked where she was looking, and saw a seal swimming past the boat. It went to the edge, where the ice wall rose, and climbed out onto land.
Land?
They steered the boat there. Sure enough, there was a sliver of land. The ice had retreated just enough to expose some of the river’s natural bank. This was the first actual land they had seen since rounding the sea corner.
The seal was gone, but it had done them its favor by showing them the land. They paddled up along it, and saw an opening in the ice. A trickle of water flowed from it. A tributary stream, making its own cave in the monstrous mass of ice.
Whitepaw sniffed the air, then scrambled to get out of the boat. “No!” Keeper said sharply, and the dog paused.
“Don’t be silly,” Crenelle said. “Do you want her to poop in the boat?”
Oh. “But she might get lost,” Hero said.
“Then I’ll go with her. I have to poop too.”
This was a detail Keeper hadn’t thought of. How could they spend days in the boats, caught between ice and water, without any trench to bury their dung? So he kept his mouth shut as dog and woman climbed from the boat and disappeared into the tributary cave.
Soon Crenelle returned. “This is interesting,” she said. “You’ll want to see, Keeper.”
So he climbed out, leaving the boat to Hero, and followed her into the little cave. “This winds around like a regular cave,” Crenelle said. “Only it’s all ice. And Whitepaw smells a breeze.”
“That means it connects to the surface,” Keeper said.
“Yes. So maybe we don’t have to follow the big river all the way up. Maybe this little one will take us to the other side of the wall.” She followed the dog into the farther reaches of the cave.
Keeper, excited, returned to let Hero know. “Maybe it leads out,” he said. “We’ll check.”
Hero nodded. The other two boats were pulling up to join him. They could all uncramp here for a while.
Keeper turned and went back after Crenelle. There was no question of losing track of her; there was only the one winding cave.
He walked along it, setting his feet on the narrow banks beside the trickle flow. At spots the cave became tight, as the sculptured ice closed in from the sides, but then it opened out again. He was exhilarated; this was exactly the kind of exploration he had craved, without knowing the precise form it would take. A cave of ice!
He squeezed through another bind, and came to Crenelle and the dog. “This is as far as I can go,” the woman said. “Whitepaw can go farther, but I’m afraid to let her. If she fell in a freezing hole, how could we rescue her?”
Keeper nodded. “I love this, but we mustn’t take bad risks.”
She didn’t move. She just stood there, leaning against the ice, gazing at him.
Oh. She could not get out until he did, clearing the way. The passage was now too narrow for anything but single file. He began to back out.
“You could ravish me here, and I would not be able to escape,” she remarked. “No one would hear my screams.”
He paused, startled by her thought. “Whitepaw would protect you.”
“Not from you.”
He wasn’t entirely sure of that; she had befriended the dog with the same energy she befriended men. But it didn’t matter, for he would never attack her. “You will never be in danger from me.”
“You could pin me against the ice and wedge my legs apart.”
She was so suggestive! Merely arguing the case got him sexually excited. “I couldn’t get past your thick clothing.” For she wore stout fur leggings under her cloak, as they all did, and a warm loinskin. It was all protection from the cold, as were her gloves, hood, and foot bindings, but effective against other kinds of intrusions too.
Bemused, he reversed course again and approached her. There was just room for them, both standing, their fronts touching, with the dog in the smaller continuation of the cave.
She opened his cloak, and her own. She adjusted her loinskin. “Bring it out.”
She really was ready to do it! The air was cold, but their merging cloaks provided warmth between them. He drew his own loinskin aside, freeing his erect member.
She took it and guided it. Sure enough, she had made an access there. He felt the warmth of her groin.
“Are you sure you don’t want to do this by force?” she inquired.
“I wish I could.”
She guided him farther, and adjusted her body to accommodate him. “One day I will lead you to this point, then deny you. Then you will be unable to stop yourself.”
“But don’t you see,” he said, frantic with desire for her. “To make me do that would be to violate my belief. I would be—be less of a man.”
“I do see,” she said. “That’s why I haven’t made you do it. But maybe someday, maybe as a seeming game, you will be able to.” Then she moved onto him, taking him inside her.
“Oh, Crenelle,” he breathed as his body plunged deep into that ecstatic warmth. “I love you.”
“All three of you love me. But I can marry only one, unfortunately.”
And that one could be him—if only he could make himself take her by force, one time. And he could not.
He realized that he had told her that he loved her, but she had not spoken love in return. She had expressed interest in all three brothers. She was honest about that: she would marry the one who raped her, and surely be true to him thereafter. Within that framework, she was taking turns with them, trying to achieve that rape. She had given him several chances, and he had failed each time.
It was such a stupid thing to bar his prospective lifetime of happiness with her. All he had to do was take her without her given permission, one time.
“Why do I suspect that your mind is elsewhere?” she inquired.
It was time to disengage. “I want so much to do. . . what you want. I wish I had done it this time.”
“When this trip ends, and we return to the plain, your turn will be over.”
“I know it,” he said, ashamed.
She kissed him. “I do like you, Keeper. You saved me from getting trampled by the mammoth. But you must win me.” She drew back, and they came apart, that small necessary amount.
They put themselves back together, and then made their way back through the winding tunnel to the main river. Whitepaw scrambled past them and went ahead to let the others know.
“It narrowed until we could go no farther,” Keeper reported when they arrived. “Maybe a larger river will take us all the way through.”
“It is getting late,” Hero said. “We need to camp.”
“We can anchor the boats here,” Haven said. “And use the cave for refuge.”
They did so. There were several small tributary caves, and what they deposited there quickly froze. Craft hammered a wood spike into hard ice, and tied a fiber rope to it to anchor the lead boat. The second boat was tied to the first, and the third to the second, so that none could become separated. Haven made a small fire in a stone bowl set on top of a section of mammoth meat, and the heat from that bowl thawed and cooked the meat below it. They ate well.
They slept stretched out in the boats, with blanket furs below and above them. Crenelle slept between Keeper and Hero, drawing heat from their bodies but favoring neither. That was one reason she had given him sex in the tunnel, Keeper realized: so that there would be no question of it at night in the boat, where there was no possibility of rape. She was very practical about her imperatives.
He dreamed of following a tunnel through the ice until it emerged on the far side of the wall, where there was a beautiful, warm bright land. Crenelle stepped out of her furs and ran naked in the sunlight. “Catch me!” she cried invitingly. So he stepped out of his own clothing and ran after her, and caught her. This time he knew he could do it! But as he turned her around to face him, he saw her face. It was Rebel.
He woke, appalled. He had no hankering for his sister! Yet the two women were the same age, and similar in form. It would be easy to mistake one for the other, from behind, even naked. He wondered whether his brothers suffered similar confusion. Rebel, in her quest to prove her fertility, had seduced every man she found except her brothers, and sometimes, playfully, she had seemed almost to want to try it with them. Maybe she was just practicing her technique, assuming provocative exposures, asking them whether this was more tempting than that, sometimes shielding her face so that her body became nameless. Sometimes he had wondered just how far such a game might go, if followed up. But they had known it was forbidden, and Keeper had been ashamed of the reaction such sights and conjectures had stirred in him. Just as they knew rape was forbidden. Maybe that was the connection: the equation between the forbidden sister and the forbidden act. Barred not because the woman objected, but because it was simply wrong.
The dream shook him, but perhaps it had brought him to a better understanding of his problem. Still, he saw no solution. Unless—this might be nonsensical, but maybe not—Rebel herself would have an answer. He resolved to tell her about the dream, when he had a chance to talk to her alone.
But as it happened, he had no chance to talk to his sister alone. She was in a different boat, and had different chores to do. He was unable to find a pretext. Frustrated, he realized he would just have to wait.
They paddled upstream. Keeper had the front paddle, and Hero the rear one. Crenelle, in the middle, was idle, so she brought out her little bone flute and played. The sound echoed around the huge ice cave, amplifying and modifying itself before fading. The effect was weird and alluring.
They came to another offshoot cave, this one larger. There was a fair flow of water from it, confirming a larger stream, though tiny compared to the main flow. Maybe this one would lead them to the other side of the wall.
They stopped, and Keeper, Crenelle, and Whitepaw set out to follow it. The stream coursed along the base, uncovering sand and rock, while the ice formed a twisting niche beside and above it. Whitepaw was thrilled; she definitely smelled a trail.
The trail was rising, at times steeply. That was the way they needed to go, to get out of it. The stream twisted back and forth, as if seeking a better route, and sometimes formed small rapids or even waterfalls.
As they went, the wan light from above gradually brightened. They were definitely approaching the surface, and the size of the tunnel remained large enough so that it seemed unlikely to close.
Crenelle paused, and turned back to face him. “I think this is going to make it through,” she said. “I wonder if we should tell the others, so they can come too?”
He realized that she was right. If this led out of the ice, it might still take long enough to be a long trip. It would be better to tell the others now, instead of going all the way and having to come all the way back. “Yes. But you don’t have to go; you can go ahead with Whitepaw, and I will go back.”
“No, this is your exploration. You must be first through. I can go back.”
“We can both go back,” he said. “I—I may have something to say to you.” Actually it was Rebel he wanted to talk to, but it concerned Crenelle.
She opened her cloak partway. “You do have me alone here, and helpless. Are you finally ready?”
He averted his gaze. “Not exactly. Actually I wanted to talk to my sister about it.”
“Rebel? She can’t do anything for you I can’t.”
“I—I think she might. This time.”
She made a decision. “We will both go back, and you can tell me what Rebel can do that I can’t.” It was a challenge.
He hesitated to agree, but she and Whitepaw squeezed by him and started down the winding passage. He had to follow, speaking to her back. “It—she—I wanted to tell her my dream.”
“You dreamed of her?”
“Not exactly.”
“I—I don’t know whether that would be smart.”
“Now I definitely want to hear it.”
“But it might make you embarrassed, or angry.”
She glanced back at him. “Not as much so as denying it to me.”
He was in for it now. He should have kept his mouth shut. He would alienate her either way. “I suppose—if you insist.”
There was a pause. “I promise I won’t be angry,” she said.
That might be worth something. “I dreamed last night that we followed a tunnel, as we are doing now. You were leading. It came to the end of the ice, which stopped, just as the wall stops on the near side, suddenly, and there was a wonderful open land, with trees growing.”
“I like this dream so far.”
“You got out of your clothes, because it was so warm, and you ran out across the land. I saw your bare bottom, and I wanted you. You called ‘Catch me!’ to me.”
“I definitely like this dream. Was my bottom pretty?”
“Oh, yes!” He looked at Crenelle’s real backside as he spoke, trying to picture it bare. “I got out of my clothes, and wasn’t cold at all, and I chased after you. You ran fast, but I ran faster, catching up.”
“I was letting you catch up.”
“Yes. I knew that this time I could. . . could. . .”
“If you can’t say it, how can you do it?”
He forced himself. “Rape you. Because I knew you wanted it. And you were so beautiful. I was. . . my. . .”
“Your penis was hard.”
“Yes. But when I caught you, and turned you around, you. . . I. . .” He couldn’t say it.
“You still couldn’t do it?”
“Not exactly. You. . . you weren’t—”
“I was willing. You know that. But of course I said I wasn’t.”
“You weren’t Crenelle,” he said doggedly.
She stopped abruptly. “What?”
“You were Rebel.”
“Suddenly I don’t like your dream.”
“I know,” he said, dejected. “I think I know what it meant. I wanted to talk to Rebel, and get her. . . her advice.”
She resumed walking. “What do you think it meant?”
“That you were forbidden.”
“How could I be forbidden?”
“Because I have to rape you to take you, and rape is forbidden.”
“Why should I turn into Rebel?”
“That’s complicated.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He explained about Rebel’s sexuality, and his occasional interest in it, especially when she bared her body and hid her face. And his shame in being so tempted, when he knew that she was his sister, and therefore forbidden.
“Now I see!” Crenelle said. “Sex with Rebel would be like rape, even if she wanted it.”
“Yes.” It was a relief to have her understand.
“So raping me would be like sex with her.”
“Yes. Like raping her, and she would slit my belly open and cut out my penis and throw it in the fire.”
Crenelle laughed without humor. “I begin to understand your reticence better. It’s not just decency; it’s fear. But how could you not recognize her before you caught up? Maybe I ran behind a tree, and she ran out instead, playing a game.”
“No, I saw you all the time. You became her. From behind I couldn’t tell.”
“We looked that similar?”
“Yes, when I couldn’t see your face.”
She paused again, but this time didn’t turn. “You couldn’t tell me from Rebel, if you didn’t see my face or hear my voice?”
“If you wore her clothing. . . or were naked, I think.”
“You think?”
“I haven’t ever seen you naked.”
“But we have had sex!”
“In clothing, or under covers in darkness. I have never seen you naked in the open, as you were in my dream.”
“Have you seen Rebel that way?”
“Yes. Mostly when we were children. But she didn’t always cover up when she got breasts.”
“I think you filled in her body for mine, in your dream, because you had seen hers and not mine.”
Keeper’s mouth dropped open. “That must be what I did.”
“It’s too cold here, or I would show you my body. We’re not the same.”
“You look very similar in clothes.”
“Similar, yes. But she is leaner and firmer than I am. In fact she has a better figure, if you like the athletic type. I am softer, with more on my bottom. My breasts are lower.”
“I wish I could see,” he said sadly.
“I wish you could too. Then you would know that we are not the same, and that you could rape me without raping her. But why would you have told this dream to her?”
“So she could tell me how to get around it. She is very practical about sex.”
Crenelle considered. She reached back to catch her loose brown hair and tuck it inside her cloak so it didn’t show. When she spoke again, her voice was different, more like Rebel’s. “Pretend I am she,” she said. “Look at me from behind and think of me as her. Say to me what you would say to her. After you have told her of your dream, and interpretation.”
“But—”
“I think I know how she would answer you. We have become close, not just in age and outline.”
“I—I’ll try.” This was strange, almost like the dream. There Crenelle had become Rebel; now she was doing it awake. The absence of hair helped; Rebel’s was wild and fair, and it was easier to picture it when Crenelle’s hair didn’t show.
“Do it.” She resumed walking.
He followed, and she did strongly resemble his sister, especially with her voice masked. She said that her bare body would be different, and perhaps she was right, but her clothed body with her hair covered left only the very similar outline. “Rebel, I know Crenelle isn’t the same as you. But you are so similar that I—in my dream I saw you as the same. I think that’s what stops me from taking her by force, even when she invites me to. It would be like attacking you. But she won’t marry me otherwise. What can I do?”
“You need to realize that we are different women,” she replied. “Age and size are but two aspects of more complicated creatures. We don’t think alike, and we don’t look alike in the faces.”
“I know that. And usually I don’t confuse you. But in my dream—”
“You fitted my bare body to her image, and soon it brought in my face too. You must not do that. Focus on her face. Don’t avert your gaze when you approach her.”
“Do I do that?” he asked, bemused.
“Yes you do. Especially when you want sex. You go with her in the dark, or from behind, and in daylight you look away.”
“How could you know that?”
“She has told me. We share secrets. She knows about Harbinger’s sexual faults too.”
He considered that, and it seemed true. His shame about the association, the effort of rape, made him unable to meet Crenelle’s gaze when there was a question of closeness or sex. But could he reverse that? Could he actually peer into her face when having sex? When trying to have forced sex?
“Your silence says you are in doubt,” she said.
“I am. I think you’re right. I should look into her face. But I still don’t know if I could rape her.”
“All you have to do is have sex with her when she hasn’t agreed to it. She won’t resist you the way I would.”
“I wouldn’t ever try that with you!” he exclaimed, appalled.
“Next time you get her alone, stare into her face and do it.”
“I will!” he said with sudden resolve. “The next time! In fact, right now! Let me see your face.”
“Too late,” she said, drawing her hair back into view. “We are there.” Indeed, they had just come into sight of the boats. Whitepaw was bounding ahead to greet them.
And would he be able to do it some other time? Once again he had messed up his chance. He should have decided earlier, and stopped her before they completed their trip back. Instead he had been so absorbed in the dialogue that he had been unaware of their approach to the camp. Now he had lost his chance. Again.
“We think this goes through to the other side,” Crenelle said to the others. “So we came back to fetch you before going all the way.”
Keeper found this strange, and realized it was because he had not quite stopped picturing her as Rebel. She had indeed responded much as his sister would have, which showed how close they could be. But she had also given him the key, and now he thought he could do what he had to do, when he had the chance.
“We’re resting,” Rebel said, sounding almost like Crenelle’s imitation of her voice. “Hero can go with you.”
Hero heaved himself up. It was a matter of pride with him not to need rest, even after a half day of hard paddling. “Yes, I’ll go.”
They reversed course again. Crenelle fell in between them, as she was in the boat. Whitepaw ran ahead.
This time the trip seemed faster, because it was more familiar. They knew where to put their feet, to avoid splashing in the stream, and knew where the ground was solid. Soon they were back to the point where they had turned around.
The passage around the stream continued to narrow, but never got really tight. It was as if someone had used it before, though this seemed impossible. They were the only people to have entered the wall of ice. They would have seen the leavings of any others.
One place was awkward, where the water cascaded down so steeply as to be a virtual waterfall. They would have to get wet to go up the center, so they chipped carefully around the edges to make footholds they could use to brace against and straddle the stream of water without touching it. It was an awkward maneuver, but effective, and soon they were all above the drop. Hero, the last to ascend, handed Whitepaw up to Crenelle; the dog thought this a great adventure. She moved ahead again, eagerly sniffing the way.
The stream moved up through a series of bubble-like caves in the ice. Keeper wondered how they had formed. He liked to understand all the mysteries of nature, and pondered them wherever he found them. His best guess was that sometimes there was more water flowing, and it backed up and spread out, carving out round channels. Then when there was a smaller flow, the water swirled around in its chambers and drained on down, leaving beautifully carved ice. This meant that this was not always a safe path, and might not be safe at the base either. There could be a torrent of water washing out everything.
The light above brightened, indicating their approach to the surface. At last they emerged, and stood on a great mountain slope, a valley of ice. The sun beat down from above, brighter than Keeper had seen it before. In fact it was painful.
Crenelle stood beside him, blinking. “We must be standing closer to the sun,” she said.
“I think its brightness is because of all the ice,” he said.
“It hurts my eyes.”
“Maybe we can shield them.” He drew his hood close around his face, so that it was like peering out through a tunnel. Crenelle did the same. It was awkward, but did relieve some of the strain. Hero, the strong one, merely squinted.
They climbed the slope, trudging through slush, to reach the nearest crest. As they came to it, and got a broader view, it became awe inspiring.
They had actually emerged in a high valley, a catch in the slope. To the east the mountain of ice rose up majestically high; to the west and north it rose less. To the south it fell away toward the sea, where they knew it abruptly dropped down to the water. A small cleft showed in the distance: the river opening they had paddled up.
This was not a wall of ice. It was an entire landscape of ice. There were no trees, no rocks. Just ridges and furrows of ice, and some huge crevices, big enough to swallow a man.
“We’ll never get beyond this,” Keeper said, dismayed. “The world is ice.”
“At least now we know,” she agreed. “We have come to the end of the world we can live in. Beyond is just endless ice.”
He turned to gaze back into the minor valley. “The sun melts the ice, a little on the surface, and it flows down through its channel. It must re-freeze at night, or when there is a storm. This river may exist only in summer, when there is enough melt.”
“You really understand such things.”
“I try to. But there’s so much I don’t understand, I’m not sure I’ll ever catch up. Such as why the world ends in ice.”
“It has to end in something. We wouldn’t want all that ice on the plain.”
“I wonder whether it’s the melt from this ice that makes the sea. So the warmer center of the world draws from the cold edge of it.”
“It must.”
They stared out across the amazing edge of the world. Keeper saw that it was smooth in some sections, while rent with large fissures in others. It would not be good to fall into one of those.
“Ho!” Hero called. He and Whitepaw had gone exploring over the ridge, just out of sight.
They ran to join him, fearing some mischief. But he was merely calling their attention to what he had discovered: a huge white bear.
The beast stood at bay, staring at them. Hero had his spear and bow, of course, but Keeper and Crenelle had only their knives. Even the more deadly weapons would not guarantee victory over a bear this size; they were deadly antagonists. They didn’t need it for meat; they had plenty of mammoth meat. So there was no point in fighting it unless they had to. But what was it doing here atop the ice?
“The river path!” Crenelle exclaimed. “The bear uses it. To get to the seals and fish.”
That was surely it. Something had made that path, and it must have been the bear. So they had been following its trail—as Whitepaw had known. Now they had caught up to the bear, and the bear didn’t like the intrusion.
The bear took a step toward Hero. Hero took his bow off his shoulder and nocked an arrow.
“No need to fight it,” Keeper called. “We’re on its path.”
Hero paused. “Path?”
“The stream path,” Keeper explained. “Its way to food. It must have a den in the ice, then go below to fish.”
Hero smiled. “That must be it! Bears have their paths. We’re lucky we didn’t meet it in the cave!”
“Yes. And maybe we should leave it alone now, so it won’t attack.”
“That may not work,” Hero said seriously. “We’ll have to go back down its path to join the others, and it won’t like that. It may come after us.”
“Bad place to try to fight it,” Keeper said. “No room to maneuver or escape.”
“Best not to chance it.” Hero paused, then came up with a heroic solution, as was his nature. “You and Crenelle go back now. I’ll hold the bear off, giving you time to get clear and warn the others.”
“But that will put you in danger!” Keeper protested.
“Danger is my business. I’ll kill or disable the bear if I have to, but I think I can distract it, or lead it a chase elsewhere. Then, when I know you are clear, I’ll come down.”
“With the bear chasing you?” Crenelle asked. She was not trying to be funny; her face inside the hood was drawn.
“I’ve had experience. I won’t start down if it’s too close.”
Keeper exchanged a glance with Crenelle. “He does have experience,” he said doubtfully.
“And we do have to get back,” she said, as dubiously. “I don’t like this, but maybe we have to.”
“Yes,” Hero agreed. “Tell the others to have the boats ready, in case we have to leave the ledge quickly.” Then he faced the bear and waved his arms. “Grrrr! Back off, snowhide!”
The bear actually did back off slightly. But it was obvious that it would not be balked long. They certainly did not want it to precede them down the stream.
“We’ll go,” Keeper said. “But take care.”
“Take care,” Crenelle echoed. Keeper knew this was as hard for her as for him. Hero was his brother, and the man she would like to marry. What would they do if he did not return?
They waited briefly, while Hero baited the bear, leading it to the side, away from the stream. When man and bear disappeared beyond the ridge, they moved toward the stream.
“Whitepaw!” Crenelle said suddenly. “Where is she?”
“With Hero.”
“Maybe that’s best. She’ll know to be careful. They will help each other.” But it was clear that she didn’t like risking the dog either.
They reached the stream hole. Crenelle slid down into it first, then called back to him when she was clear of the opening. He went down. It seemed dark, but that was because of the extreme brightness outside. His eyes would soon adjust.
They moved as rapidly as they could, walking where it was close to level, and sliding where it was steep. They got splashed a bit, but not soaked, and it was worth the gain in speed. Should Hero come after them in a hurry, they did not want to hinder his passage.
They reached the waterfall. “That bear must just slide down it,” Crenelle said. “Its fur sheds the water.”
“Yes. And when it climbs up, it can let the water bounce off its head. It’s fat enough to handle cold water, as the seals do.”
“This is a bear’s world.”
They did not try to emulate the bear. They stepped carefully down, using the footholds. “I hope Hero has time to do it carefully,” Keeper said.
“And to lift Whitepaw down.”
They resumed speed below the waterfall. The light seemed to be fading, but that might be imagination as they got farther from the surface. In any event, they would have been able to move mostly by feel.
They reached the juncture with the larger river. “We’re back,” Crenelle called.
There was no answer.
Surprised, they saw that the others were gone. Only their own boat remained anchored.
“They wouldn’t leave us,” Crenelle said, a trace of uncertainty in her voice.
“They must have decided to do some exploring on their own,” Keeper said. “They thought we would be away longer, so there was no reason to wait here. They should be returning soon.”
She brightened. “Yes. Nothing happened to them, because they carefully untied the other two boats. Maybe they looked for a better place to fish, or to camp for the night.”
“Yes.” But he shared her slight nervousness. It wasn’t comfortable to be this much alone as night approached, especially with Hero in danger.
“I’ll get some meat from the boat,” she said. She took hold of the cord, drawing the boat in toward her, and raised one foot to step into it. The boat rocked, pushing away, disturbing her balance.
Suddenly her other foot slipped out from under her. She screamed as she fell, unable to catch herself. Keeper lurched forward, but it happened too fast. She dropped into the water before he got there.
He was there immediately, catching her arm, pulling her out as she scrambled to help herself. In a moment she was out of the water and lying on the bank.
“You’ll freeze!” he said. “We must get you into dry clothing.”
Crenelle did not respond. Alarmed, he tried to lift her to her feet, but she was limp. She was unconscious.
Half panicked, he tried to bring her to. He shook her, but she just sagged. Her face was turning blue. Maybe she had choked on the water. He laid her down, turned her over, and slapped at her back, trying to get the water out. “Oh, Crenelle, it’s my fault,” he said. “I should have been holding the boat steady.”
She just lay there. She seemed to be breathing, but she was too cold.
“Clothing,” he said. “In the boat. Anything. To get you dry and warm. Quickly.”
He went to the boat, pulled it in, and reached across to get hold of one of the hide blankets. He tossed that on the ledge and grabbed another, and another, until he had them all in a clumsy pile. Then he set to work changing her. He turned her over again and opened her sodden cloak, stripping it partway off her body. He half lifted and half turned her, getting the cloak the rest of the way off. Then he tackled her leggings, and her undergarments. The job seemed interminable, with every piece hanging up on every part of her. But finally he had her naked.
He spread out a blanket, then lifted her up clumsily and put her on it. He got another and put it over her. He piled the others on, making a mound over her. But she still seemed too cold, and she didn’t wake.
“What am I going to do?” he asked the air. “You need warmth, quickly. There’s not time to make a fire.”
The question brought its answer. Body heat, as it was at night. He lay down beside her, but the piled blankets got in the way; he knew that none of his heat was reaching her. He had to get right against her, his warm skin against her cold skin. So he stripped away his own clothing, then got under the covers with her, naked.
He embraced her. Her skin was icy. He pressed against her, trying to warm her, but she seemed to be cooling him faster. Yet what else could he do?
“I know how to get hot,” he said. “For a little while. Maybe that will be enough.”
He kissed her cold lips, then her cold breasts. Even like this, she was attractive. He worked up his sexual desire for her. “I will heat you from outside and inside,” he said as his groin responded.
He found the place and pushed into her. It wasn’t completely comfortable, but it was feasible. She wasn’t as cold inside as outside. He squeezed against her and kissed her, feeling new warmth coming to his skin, going to hers. He drew back his face to stare at her face. “I know exactly who you are,” he said. “And I love you, Crenelle. I can’t let you die of cold.”
Then his eruption came, forging into her belly like boiling water. “I give you my heat,” he panted. “Wake, and be warm, beloved!”
She stirred. Her eyes opened. “You did it,” she said.
“I got you warm!” he agreed happily. “Oh, Crenelle, I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake.”
“You raped me.”
He tried to draw back, horrified. “I—”
“I never told you yes. I was unconscious.”
“But I wanted only to get you warm. I—”
He started to protest. Then he realized what she meant. He had had sex with her without her permission or cooperation. That was rape. That meant they were married. At last.
“I raped you,” he agreed.
Now she kissed him. “Warm me some more, my husband. I’m still very cold.”
He was glad to oblige.
When she felt warm enough, they separated, and she donned skins and furs as new clothing. He got dressed in his own clothing. Her color had returned, and she seemed to be feeling better.
Then the two other boats returned. Haven spied the scattered wet clothes. “What happened here?” she called.
“Keeper raped me,” Crenelle said.
Haven gazed at the scene. She well understood the significance. “It must have been quite an occasion.”
“It was. We are married now.”
“Where is Hero?”
They had forgotten him! “We went to the top,” Keeper said. “There was a big white bear. Hero distracted it so we could get back safely. Then—”
“And he’s not back?” Haven tied the boat behind the other, and drew it to the bank.
“He was giving us time,” Crenelle said. “He should return soon.” But she was looking nervous again. “This passage—it’s the bear’s trail.”
“Then we had better go elsewhere,” Rebel said from the third boat. “After we make sure Hero is all right.”
Craft and Harbinger were already stepping from the boats and checking their spears.
“I don’t know how well spears will work,” Keeper said. “The passage winds around, and there’s not much room at the sides.”
“Better than arrows, I think,” Craft said.
There did not seem to be a better course of action. Keeper fetched his own spear. “Whitepaw is with him. He hoped to lead the bear astray, then follow us back. I know the way; I’ll lead.”
They let him. He felt guilty for leaving Hero there, though it was what seemed best. He forged along the winding passage, his hands against the walls for guidance in the gloom, wishing it could have been done some other way. Had he been having sex with Crenelle while his brother died?
Then Whitepaw came bounding up. He knew her by her sound. That meant that Hero was close behind. “Hero!” Keeper called. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure,” his brother’s voice came back.
“The bear—is it after you?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t hear it.”
It was fairly dark now, which would make it hard to see, apart from the twists of the passage. “You aren’t injured?”
“I think I can’t see.”
Keeper didn’t like the sound of that. “You are hurt in the eyes?”
“No. Maybe it’s just too dark.”
“I have a torch,” Craft said, coming up behind. He had lit one, and its light flared brightly.
Soon Hero stood in the illumination. “Can you see this?” Craft asked.
“By the smell, you have a torch. I don’t see it.”
Hero was looking in the wrong direction. He was indeed blind. What had happened?
“Was it bright out there?” Harbinger asked from farther back.
“Brilliant,” Keeper said. “Crenelle and I had to shade our eyes from it.”
“I heard of a man who spent too much time in the sun in winter,” Harbinger said. “The brightness got in his eyes, and he couldn’t see for several days.”
“That must be it,” Hero said. “I looked all over, leading that bear, to be sure I didn’t step in a crevasse or off a cliff. I tried to squint, but the brightness hurt. I ignored it and led the bear away from the tunnel. Then I circled around and returned to the tunnel, but I couldn’t see it. Whitepaw led me to it. Then I was all right, because I could feel the sides.”
“We must get you home,” Craft said.
“I’m not injured. I just can’t see.”
“You won’t be much good in combat or on a hunt if we don’t get you home where you can get better,” Craft pointed out.
They reversed course and led Hero the rest of the way back. The women had the boats packed and ready. They got in and shoved off. There was no point in waiting for the bear to arrive.
The trip by torchlight was relatively swift, because they were going downstream. Keeper wasn’t easy about the prospect of entering the sea at night, but it did seem best to get Hero home as soon as possible, so he could rest and recover in safety.
But as they reached the open water of the river, they were buffeted by strong winds, and the water got rough. “There’s a storm!” Harbinger said.
They wanted no part of that! They turned the boats and paddled back upstream, getting away from the storm. They would have to spend another night under the ice after all.
“We don’t need to go home because of me,” Hero said. “I can paddle well enough, and do other things, as long as someone tells me where. It’s easy, here in the boat.” Indeed, he was doing most of the moving of the boat, while Keeper guided it by paddling on one side or the other.
“You’re right,” Crenelle said reassuringly.
Maybe it was better this way. Hero back home would have to be largely idle, and he wouldn’t like that. Here in the boat or in the gloom of a tunnel, he was at less of a disadvantage. If Harbinger was right, the blindness would last only a few days.
“We can make camp at another ice cave,” Keeper said. “Now we know how the ice protects us from a storm. It’s better than a lean-to. We can fish, extending our supply of meat. It should not be difficult.”
“It should not be difficult,” Crenelle agreed. She smiled at him, and he realized that she was thinking of more than camping. They were, after all, married now.
Mankind did not make it to North America 20,000 years ago. The ice was impassable, considering the technology of the time. The melt described would have been a fringe effect limited to summer. As it was, human penetration to North America proper may have been a fairly close call, as mentioned in the forenote, because as the ice age ended and the continental ice shelves retreated, the melt from them returned to the sea, raising it to its present level and covering Beringia with water. Perhaps only the easternmost fringe of mankind’s population remained in Alaska as the sea rose year by year to inundate the plain. That fringe probably followed an extending ice-free corridor between the Laurentide ice sheet that covered most of Canada and the Cordilleran ice sheet that covered the western fringe of Canada and the southern fringe of Alaska. This corridor was just east of the Rocky Mountain range, and may have been ten to fifty miles wide and a thousand miles long.
The evidence of human passage is scant; in fact, were it not for the incontrovertible indication that human beings did make it to North America, the balance of evidence would have indicated that no such passage was made. As it was, it must have been swift, with perhaps a small band moving through in as little as a year, leaving no traces. It was no easy passage; they might have followed the Yukon River east, then had to cross the Mackenzie Mountains to reach the lee side, then bear south between the endless glaciers. It could have been a migration of desperation, through a channel providing little sustenance. Perhaps enemy tribes cut off their return to the more fertile lowlands of central Alaska, so they had to go forward into the unknown, or starve. So they gambled that the corridor did not lead to oblivion. Until that tribe emerged below, and discovered a world more wonderful than any imagined. It was surely one of the more remarkable breakthroughs of human existence. The rest is prehistory.
But there are mysteries beyond this. There is growing evidence of human occupation of South America dating from before the ice sheets retreated, and some evidence of scattered North American sites. Where did these people come from, if not from Beringia? The obstacles to passage before the ice-free corridor opened are so formidable that it is difficult to believe that any human colonization could have occurred. A boat culture might have done it, staying to the shoreline and not penetrating to the continental interior. Maybe a bad storm blew those boats far enough south to find the end of the ice, and they were unable to return to tell their fellows. Or perhaps the ice-free corridor opened at prior times, briefly, allowing a trace leakage of human beings. Neither of these prospects seems likely. Yet if the evidence of earlier settlement holds up, some such explanation will be necessary. At present it is a mystery that archaeologists would dearly like to resolve. The best present lead is from cores drilled in the continental shelf off the Queen Charlotte Islands along the west coast of Canada. These cores show that this area, which is now more than 450 feet below sea level, was above water 14,600 years ago. There was a wide flat corridor leading south, with herbs and pine trees. So this made human passage much easier. This could account for the presence of people along the coasts of America more than a thousand years before conventional dates. But the evidence is that there was ice across Alaska throughout this period, as shown in the story. How was that passed? Perhaps there were a few islands off the lowered coast that the ice could not reach, so that at certain times boats could hop from one to another, until they reached the Pacific corridor. The southward progress of such boat people might have been a mere intermittent trickle, compared to the later land corridor trek, but it might have happened. The key is surely associated with Beringia in some manner, for the immensity of the Pacific Ocean makes a more southern crossing even less probable. Like the fabled Atlantis, Beringia existed long ago, and sank beneath the sea, a victim of climate change. Unlike Atlantis, it was real.