Climate of Change

  “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—”

  “You raped me.”

  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.”