Meanwhile it had fallen to him to watch the boys. So he produced stone knives, and found suitable sticks for carving. “We were doing birds,” he said. “Let’s make nice ones for your mother.”
They agreed with young enthusiasm. He knew that whatever they carved and presented, Crenelle would welcome as wonderful. But it was good practice regardless of its merit, for carving birds should help them develop skill that might later be employed to carve useful tools.
In due course Keeper and Crenelle returned, and while the woman set about doing what she could to make a palatable meal without fire, Keeper considered the boys’ carvings. “Very good,” he said. “I wonder if I could do as well?”
Keeper set about carving a stick, and it was clear that he knew what he was doing. But he pretended to be unsure. “What shall I make?” he inquired.
“A bird,” Dex said.
“A girl,” Sin said.
Keeper pretended perplexity. “What bird? What woman?”
They hadn’t thought of that. “A big hawk,” Dex decided.
“Mommy,” Sin said.
“All right.” He worked vigorously, shaping the image in the soft wood.
Craft and the boys watched, curious which it was actually to be: bird or woman. Either kind was acceptable, but obviously it had to be one or the other.
They saw the head of the bird form. So it was to be a bird. Dex smiled. But then the breast of a woman developed. And indeed, it became a hawk-headed woman. Now he was working on the hips and thighs, with the legs trailing into the wood, the feet not yet emerged. Keeper was indeed good at this. Evidently he considered a woman to be another type of animal, so he could render her well.
“It’s ready,” Crenelle said.
Keeper stood and presented her with the bird woman. “This is for you,” he said. “By order of your sons.”
She stared. Then she laughed. “That’s me, all right! Woman-breasted and birdbrained.”
The boys laughed, agreeing. It was no affront to have the wisdom of a bird; a bird goddess was very smart. And the breasts were indeed like hers.
The meal was far from perfect, but the mixture of things was edible, and even the boys did not complain. They all knew that she would have done much better if they had had their normal foraging range.
They settled down for the night. Crenelle lay down with a boy embraced on either side, and Craft gathered leaves and mounded them over all three for warmth. Then Craft and Keeper took turns standing guard, for the Green Feather were treacherous and might come upon them when they least expected it. Craft was first, and Keeper made his own pile of leaves beneath a tree and slept.
After an hour, Crenelle stirred. She opened her eyes and looked around. Craft went over to reassure her. “No enemy near.”
“Good. But what I had in mind was a friend.” She raised her hand, and he caught it and helped draw her neatly out of the leaf-bed, leaving the two boys sleeping undisturbed.
“I know it’s not fun out here,” he said as she came into his embrace. “You have coped very well.”
“As have you, my love.” She looked around. “But we should be quick, if you don’t mind.”
“And silent,” he agreed, understanding her. She was offering him fast one-sided sex, not seeking any pleasure for herself other than that of giving him pleasure. Some other time she would demand far more from him, and he would gladly oblige, but this was not the occasion. “When you distracted the Green Feather, I thought you were the most lovely creature I had ever seen.”
“I knew you were watching too,” she said. “I wished death for them, and passion for you.”
“Both occurred.”
They walked to a tree, and she stood against it and embraced it for support. He stood behind her and reached around to caress first her breasts inside her jacket, then her buttocks under her trousers. He drew the trousers down just enough, and brought his member up to her bottom until it lodged in her warm cleft. She pressed back and he pressed in, until they were perfectly merged. He wanted to hold back, to prolong the delight of her soft posterior, but she mischievously clenched on him, and he climaxed immediately. Yet even one-sided as it was, with no pretense of gratification on her part, he found it trans porting.
“Oh, Crenelle,” he breathed in her ear. “I love you so!” For answer, she tightened her buttocks, squeezing him lingeringly in her fashion.
Thereafter she returned to her bed, and he returned to his guard duty, much refreshed.
In due course he woke Keeper, and lay down to sleep in Keeper’s bed of leaves.
In the morning they knew they would have to go on, because thirst would not allow them to remain here another day. Fortunately the two dogs were relaxed, so it seemed safe.
They detoured from the direct route just enough to intercept a stream they knew of, and eagerly slaked their thirst. Then they moved on with greater strength.
They reached Hero without further event. He was holed up in a rocky fort with a number of men. They had balked the Green Feather to a degree, but had not been able to go out and fight openly because they were short of spears and arrows. Now that was changed. They organized for a counterattack to drive the Green Feather out.
Rebel was there, with Harbinger and Brownback. The dog greeted his siblings enthusiastically, and so did Rebel. “I made it here, but couldn’t go back,” she said. “They would have followed me, and you already had enough trouble.”
“We killed them, thanks to Crenelle’s distraction,” Craft said.
She drew back the jacket she had gotten, as if to show a breast, lifting an eyebrow. He nodded. She understood the nature of the distraction. She had surely used it on Harbinger, in the night, too.
Hero was pleased to learn that the enemy force had been depleted by four men. That definitely gave the home force an advantage. Craft knew that they should be able to kill many enemy, and drive them well away from the homeland. It was an uplifting prospect, for they owed the Green Feather many bad turns.
Mal’ta represents the easternmost range of the “Venus” figurines that were known across Asia and Europe. The Mal’ta figures were not obese in the way of western images, but were definitely female. They also did birds, and some bird-women, as described. The figures that survived were in ivory and stone, but surely there were many others in perishable material.
Craft’s revelation about the importance of tools to make tools was a true one. Only mankind does this to any significant extent, and it has led to considerable technological sophistication, as modern radios, submarines, and CAT scans show. The breakthrough of human specialization facilitated this, so that individuals like Craft could, through the ages, develop ever more intricate variations.
The evidence is that bad as warfare is in the present, it was worse in prehistoric times, being more brutal and with fewer ameliorating conventions or means to save the wounded from infection and malaise. Chronic warfare probably served as a significant limiting factor for population. Only in relatively recent times has population increase become phenomenal, so that mankind is displacing other species all around the globe.
After this time, there was a series of significant climatic changes that affected all the world, and this region. Steppe alternated with woodlands, until the end of the glacial period about 10,000 years ago. Then it changed rapidly and drastically. Rising sea levels swallowed Beringia and much of the northeast Siberian coast. With the warming came more diverse animals: cattle, ibex, sheep, red deer, roe deer, moose, reindeer, wolf, red fox, brown bear, wolverine, and arctic hare. The mam moth, bison, and horse disappeared in that region.
The people survived. But eventually they moved or were driven west, emerging to history perhaps as the Ira ni an peoples. One of these was the Sarmatians, and one of three Sarmatian tribes became known as the Alani, or Alans. It is the Alani we shall be following.
8
REVELATION
The development of what we call civilization proceeded at a different pace in the New
World. When the hunter/gatherers got past the ice barrier and colonized North and South America, perhaps twelve thousand years ago, they continued this lifestyle in most of the continents until historic times. Where they did change, it occurred only gradually, without any abrupt shift to the settled life.
The first domesticated plant seems to have been squash, dating back to ten thousand years ago. This did not lead to settling. Maybe they cultivated it in selected fields paralleling their migratory routes, and let the fields lie fallow when too distant to attend. Maybe they planted the seeds, then visited the fields at harvest time. There might have been considerable losses to the weather and animals, but enough might have survived to feed them when they arrived.
Beans were cultivated in the South American Andes, and potatoes, but these did not move to central America for some time. Teosinte would later be adapted into maize (corn) and became a major crop staple. But in Central America in early times it was squash, and maguey—otherwise known as agave, or the century plant—whose thick leaves were roasted slowly, then chewed. It was harvested at the time it went to seed, so that human use did not interfere with its reproductive cycle or diminish its numbers. Acorns were leeched to remove the tannic acid, making them less bitter, so that they could be ground into flour. But by 5,000 years ago, there seem to have been no regular settlements.
The setting is the mountains of Central America, southwest of the Yucatan peninsula, about a hundred miles north of the narrow waist of southern Mexico. The time is 5,000 years ago, or about 3,000 before the Christian era.
The three of them set out on foot, as no river went the way they were going. Brownback, the most adventurous dog, was well satisfied to be along to guide and protect them. Keeper was ill at ease, and so was Haven; neither of them liked the mission they were on. But neither seemed to have much of a choice.
They made their way down the mountain path, headed for the distant sea. The journey would take them five days, and be wearing on their bare feet. They carried some supplies in their packs, but would forage along the way for most of their food.
The first day they concentrated on conserving their strength and making good progress down the sometimes steep slopes. When they crossed a stream, they drank deeply, so as to conserve their waterskins. It was a nuisance carrying water they did not drink, but if they got caught away from a stream or lake, that would make a difference. Close to home the terrain was familiar, but that would change.
As evening came, Keeper guided them to a protected copse he knew of, where a spring flowed from a small cave. The cave had been the lair of a panther, but recently the big cat had died. The smell of it remained in the cave, keeping most other creatures away, so the hole was empty. That made it safe for savvy visitors to use.
Haven settled in, foraging for wood while Keeper and Brownback went to check a nearby slope where maguey grew. He was in luck; the largest was sprouting, sending up its seed stalk. “This one we can harvest,” he said to the dog. “After they go to seed, they die anyway, so we are not taking anything away from this natural garden.”
Brownback wagged his tail in agreement, though he didn’t much like maguey.
Keeper drew his knife and used it to cut off two of the large tentacular leaves. Brownback’s ears perked, and he sniffed.
“I hear it too,” he said. “A good-sized rat. If you can catch it, you can have it. Go!”
The dog was off immediately, pursuing the rat. There was a scurrying sound in the brush, then a crashing, followed by a squeak. Soon Brownback returned, carrying the rat in his mouth. He had his supper.
Keeper carried the maguey leaves back to the cave. Haven had a little fire going. The dog settled down by it, satisfied to consume his rat and then snooze. They cut the leaves into segments, poked sharp sticks through them, and roasted them over the fire. This took time, as it had to be done slowly, cooking without burning.
“Are you satisfied?” Keeper inquired of Haven as they sat there holding and turning their segments.
“You know I’m not.”
He nodded. “Is there something else to do?”
“I don’t think you would care for it.”
He knew what she meant, but preferred to have her tell him. “What would that be?”
She shook her head. “That’s not for me to say.”
“Can you say why she wants this?”
“I know, but can’t say.”
He had an idea. “Tell me a story.”
“A story?”
“Of. . . of Brownback, and his sister Whitepaw, and his wife, whose name I don’t know.”
Haven smiled. “I don’t know either, so I will simply call her the bitch.”
Keeper hoped his wince didn’t show in the darkness. “Yes.”
His sister was contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
“No, sometimes I agree with you.”
“I’ll call her Fairtail.”
He shrugged. They both knew that the name did not change the reality.
“Many years ago, when the spirits were new and the world was fresh,” Haven began, in the standard manner for a story, “there was a dog named Brownback. He was one of a litter of three males and two females. They all got along reasonably well, until they met two other dogs, Blackeye and Fairtail. Brownback’s sister Whitepaw got raped by Blackeye, and lost her litter, so left him. Then Brownback mated with Fairtail, and she had a female pup. But maybe she liked his brother Toughtail better.”
There was the ugly suspicion. Keeper had married Crenelle, and their daughter Allele was two years old. That much was fine. But his wife seemed to be too interested in both his brothers, with whom she had had affairs before marrying Keeper. He remained very glad to have gotten her for his wife, but that continuing flirtation bothered him. He had never spoken of it, but if Haven has seen the same thing, that was confirmation.
“And what of Whitepaw?” he asked her. Whitepaw was Haven, in this story, though in real life the dog preferred Crenelle.
“She came to like Blackeye well enough, and would have stayed with him, had their puppy survived. But the spirits showed the curse of the commencement of their union by destroying the baby, and Whitepaw had to go. Blackeye then married her sister, Leanbelly.”
Keeper choked. What a name! For Rebel had never gotten herself with child, and remained lean in the belly.
“Blackeye thought they might adopt a pup, but they didn’t find any they liked well enough. He began to look at Whitepaw again, knowing that her belly would not remain lean. However, she would neither risk another cursed baby nor make mischief for her sister. Still, Fairtail noticed, and concluded that her brother would be better off if Whitepaw were gone. Since the wife of a married dog has authority over the husband’s unmarried sisters, she told Brownback to take her to a far place and leave her there.”
“And he could not tell her no,” Keeper concluded. “Because he loved her, and because it was her right. But he did not relish it.”
“She knew that.”
The maguey was done. They took their hot pieces and began chewing on them. They were quite fibrous, but there was nourishment between the fibers, and patient chewing worked it out. It wasn’t the most delightful meal, but it would do.
They had covered the territory. Except for one thing. “What else could they do?”
Haven considered. “There might be a larger consideration. Black-eye might in time give up on Leanbelly and seek another bitch anyway. Perhaps one outside the family group. Then Whitepaw would be exonerated, and not need to be elsewhere.”
“So it would be all right not to take her away,” he said.
“Or so it might seem, later,” she said. “Though it would perhaps annoy Fairtail at the time, and make things more difficult.”
This led into the other ugly aspect. “Yet if Fairtail had interest in one of Brownback’s brothers—”
“It might merely make her stray sooner rather than later.”
Surely so. But whe
re would that leave him? He did love Crenelle, and couldn’t stand to lose her any sooner than he could avoid.
Haven understood. “It is only a story,” she said. “What do dogs have to do with people?”
All too much. But he let it go gratefully, not wanting to pursue the painful alternatives further.
They finished chewing their maguey, drank some water, banked the fire, and retired to the cave to sleep.
Next day they resumed travel, descending into a winding valley, pacing a stream for a time. But the stream meandered in the wrong direction, and they had to leave it and the valley and climb over another mountain.
On the fifth day they reached the village that was said to be looking for wives. The first thing Keeper noticed was the smell. The whole village stank. Even Brownback seemed to wrinkle his nose. The second thing was the barbaric accent of the people here; it was hard to understand their speech.
But they made their way to the head matriarch, the woman who had the authority to put women with men. She gazed intently at Haven, saw the fullness of her breasts and thighs, and nodded. At age twenty-four she was no young bride, but she would do. “I will bring three men to feel her,” she told Keeper. “You may turn down one, or two, or three, but I will not bring more.” Haven, of course, was not consulted; she was an unmarried woman, without rights.
“I will consider them,” Keeper agreed.
“In a quarter day,” she said, making a signal with her arms to indicate the portion of the day that would pass as she located the men.
Keeper nodded. It was noon now; that would put it in the afternoon.
“Go to the shore,” the matriarch suggested. “They will give you fish there.”