To Survive

Panting heavily from the exertion of dragging the heavy sledge, Trekker slowed his pace and glanced over his shoulder. Once he had gotten through the deep snow of the mountain pass, he had gained more speed. But looking back over the obvious trail his drag-sledge left in the slushy snow, he still worried. Trekker stopped and turned to study the pass he had come through. No sign of the wolves now.

Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his cloak tightly around his body and gasped several deep breaths of the frigid air. As he felt his racing heartbeat slowly return to normal, Trekker ground his teeth and nodded. This time he had not failed! He would not be returning to the village with an empty sledge. His arrow had flown true, killing the nearest attacking wolf.

Trekker lifted his lip in a sneer of disgust. The other wolves had set upon the downed wolf, devouring it. Now fed, perhaps they’d forgotten completely the fur-clad human with his sledge of animal carcasses. He inhaled sharply, thinking about the direction the tribe had recently taken. He spoke his thoughts aloud. Something he had been doing on treks ever since the cold had taken many, including his wife, leaving him only the ability to talk to her spirit.

“Fawn, know this. I am sad that you are gone. But I have found some gladness that you, always kind to all in the village, did not live to see some of our tribe becoming as vicious as wolves.” Trekker shook his head sadly. “They are, perhaps, fearful because the snows came again, too soon. The sun-season was not long and it followed a snow-melt season where there was very little melting of the snow. Now as the sky darkens, I fear this is my last hunt for the season.”

He surveyed the pass again but did not see any sign that wolves were following his trail. Lifting his left wrist to his mouth, Trekker bit into the rawhide thong wrapped around it. The teeth marks would remind him to craft another arrow to replace the one he could not retrieve from the dead wolf.

He again spoke to his wife’s spirit. “Fawn, know this; Charm, our daughter, quickly learned the secrets of the bow and arrows dowry gift you brought to our tribe as my bride. Some clans are still afraid to learn your way of hunting, especially from our girl child. But she is smart, Fawn, as were you. Now, inside our lodge where fearful ones cannot see, she straightens and feathers arrows, then heats and bends new bows. She discovered that wrapping the bows with sinews makes them stronger and more flexible without breaking. You would be so proud of her.”

Tossing back the fur-lined hood of his cloak, Trekker looked to the overcast sky, to estimate the position of the sun. He stood and pulled the hood back upon his head. Shifting the sledge’s towing-tether on his shoulders, he started, setting a pace that would allow him to reach the village before sundown.

Trudging along, he sighed, “Know this, Fawn, Carver’s family is of the several no longer afraid of the hunting gifts you brought us. Carver does not always agree with me, and rarely with the elders, but he never raises his voice or fists to argue. He listens, then thinks on his own. Remember also that Petal, Wife-of-Carver, is from your tribe of the far mountains. This I know; daughter Charm is safe in Carver’s lodge while I am away, hunting.”

By dusk, Trekker reached the village and in the fading light, unloaded the sledge and stored the field-dressed carcasses. As he restacked the rocks that protected his meat storage cache, his daughter Charm heard him. She rushed from Carver’s lodge, followed by Petal, who carried several bear-skin cloaks.

Petal nodded and greeted Trekker, “Praise Skill and Luck! Success was with you on the hunt, Trekker. Know this now, your daughter has created another new gift. Trekker, I am humbled. Your young child is already growing so smart.”

Trekker nodded and palmed his chest to accept the greeting, “Be well, Petal, Wife-of-Carver.” But he was too tired to discuss the gift his daughter must have crafted. “Charm, it is good to be home and see you again. But, come the morning, show me the gift.”

Her eyes bright with excitement, Charm hugged her father and giggled. She asked Petal, “Wife-of-Carver, may I take the cloaks now, to show to my father in the morning?” Petal handed over the cloaks and a small pouch, that rattled as Charm accepted it.

Entering their lodge ahead of her father, Charm knelt in front of the rock bowl watch-lamp crafted by her mother years ago. She touched a piece of greased and twisted cord to the tiny flame flickering on a wick set in the center of soft animal-fat tallow. When the cord flared, she quickly turned to slide it under the small stack of kindling in the center of the rock fire ring. Charm blew gently on the flaring kindling.

As the kindling began to burn brightly, she carefully laid three small logs in a triangle, set close around the kindling. They would burn long enough to take the chill out of the lodge. She and her father would quickly drop off to sleep under the bear skin robes draped over their sleeping mats. Rocking back on her heels, Charm turned to see that her father had already rolled into his bearskin robe and was sound asleep. Crawling onto her sleeping mat, Charm smiled to herself, come morning her father would be proud of her idea for improving his hunting cloak.

By first light Charm was awake. Gathering up the cloaks and the small pouch, she elbowed her way out through the animal-pelt door flap. After spreading out the cloaks in front of the cooking-fire ring she opened the small pouch to retrieve a bone awl, rawhide laces, and several bits of carved deer horn. Before re-entering the lodge, Charm turned and reached up to touch the central figure hand-carved into the wood above the door flap. Smiling, she chanted, "Praise skill and luck," the mantra of Clan Trekker.

Charm awakened her father and explaining how her new gift worked, she led him outside. Taking a deep breath, she stood proudly as she presented the work area of spread-out cloaks, tools, and supplies. Re-entering the lodge, Charm began to shred dried rabbit and fern shoots to prepare a morning stew.

Trekker sat in front of the lodge to experiment with the new gift. He was hard at work with the awl when he heard the crunching of snow underfoot. Looking up he saw Flint and his son Snares, returning on the trail into the village. Their spear-throwers were tucked into their belts and each had two spears strapped to his back. Between them, they were dragging a killed deer. Seeing Trekker, Flint, like an animal, bared his teeth.

Trekker stared back with a calm face. Flint’s hatred stemmed from the time Snare’s leg had been ripped by a Saber Cat. When Snares was brought back to the village, Wren, Wife-of-Roper, had rushed over and stopped the bleeding by placing burning pine needles on the wound. Flint hadn’t understood her Other-tribe medicine ways. He always saw the scars on Snare’s leg as mutilation, not life-saving treatment. Later when Roper was at the far end of the village, helping to lash together a new lodge, Flint had attacked “Bird-woman” as he called Wren. Trekker and Carver had rescued her, earning Flint’s anger forever.

As Flint and Snares dragged the carcass toward the newly fortified shelter of their clan, Flint sneered, “Trekker, ya poke holes in ta cloaks? Ya now becomed snow-crazy?”

Trekker ignored the sneer, quietly answering, “My daughter, Charm, carved deer-horn toggles that attach with rawhide laces to the sides of the cloaks. The toggles will push through these holes that I am making. Then our cloaks will not billow open in cold-season winds. She showed me how they work. Yet but a child, Charm asked why our tribe cannot become smart enough to survive in the ice-times.”

Flint scoffed, “Tet daughter, new-borned among ta first Stealers of Sun-seasons? All bad-luck bringers. Bah! I wonder wit no son ta help in hunt, tet ya still alive!” With a derisive snort, Flint hoisted the deer carcass to his shoulder and trudged on. Snares shuffled behind his father. As usual, the young man did not look directly at Trekker, but beneath his bear-skin hood, he wore an unmistakable smirk on his face.

While he worked, Trekker began to calculate back through the seasons. In eleven snow-melts, this was the seventh time there had been no sun-season, just continually overcast skies. The snow had lingered, most still frozen and some turning to slush. The tribe was worried, unable to understand why this change had come.
Trouble was brewing when neither the Elders’ Council nor the Shaman could give a reason. Some clans had recently moved into caves. Others, some of whom, like Flint’s clan, spoke oddly and seemed slow of thought, had fearfully decided they should horde food until proper seasons returned.

The first troubling challenge to the Elders’ Council had come from Flint. On behalf of his clan, he had demanded that the council end the hunters’ bad luck by sending away the children born during the first year there had been no sun-season. The Shaman had stood and turned in a full circle shaking his gourd-rattle, but had sat back down, making no comment.

Immediately, a hunter in Flint’s clan had stood, pointed to Trekker and Carver and snarled, “Em two taked five hunters ta far mountains. Ta snow-season come early, not one come back. All should becomed dead. After snow-melt start, all walk back. An’ two more in tet hunting party, haved Carver make animal-sign lodge poles for trade, an’ be like ‘em two leaders. Come back wit Odder-tribe womans as brides. Remember?”

Many in the tribe had nodded. Flint, who must have helped plan this challenge, had jumped up. “I remember,” he had shouted, “tet is ta last time haved normal snow-melt. ‘Em hunters bringed back brides tet borned childrens tet bringed bad luck to all trob hunters. Next snowmelt come; clouds cover ta whole sky. No warm sun-season. My clon say make go away Odder-tribe womans too. Tay borned strange childrens. Childrens tet talk too early. Ask always questions at adults. ‘Em sing ta Shaman’s songs, too. Tet not good. Send ‘em away wit Odder-tribe mothers. Send all away. End bad luck for trob!”

The Shaman had stood and started to shake his rattle. In alarm Trekker had jumped up, followed quickly by Carver and several other hunters who also had children with their wives brought from the far mountains. “Stop,” Trekker had shouted at the Shaman, Desperately he had appealed to the elders, “Know this, these children are not strange! They are being taught by mothers who brought so many skills to us. Skills unknown before, teaching us better ways of cooking and drying meat and fish." The gathered crowd murmured about the truth of this. So, Trekker continued.

"They also showed us how to line the walls of our lodges using layers of hides, with the fur side inward, to hold in the warmth during cold times. They taught us to make rock-bowl lamps filled with animal fat and cord wicks to light our lodges and the cave dwellings. How can any of this be bad luck for us?”

Again there had been a murmur of agreement and Trekker continued pleading, “Know this, our Shaman prides himself on the songs he has created on the bird-bone flute. A flute not known to us until these women lived among us. Would the Shaman have created the songs these children love to sing if he believed that would bring us bad luck?”

The Shaman had turned, then seeing the large crowd standing in support of Trekker and others of the tribe who had married Other-tribe women, he’d quickly sat back down. But a voice rang out, “Elders decide!” Immediately Flint’s clan had begun chanting, “Elders decide, elders decide.” Flint had sneered at Trekker, then lifted his hand to silence his clan.

That was when one of the tribe’s elders had called out, asking of Flint if the hunting luck of his clan had improved recently. Flint had looked puzzled then shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The elder had then called for a decision. While the elders conferred, several had looked toward Flint, as nervous murmurs swept through those standing in support of Trekker and the other hunters.

Trekker and much of the tribe had been heartened when the elders had each stood and refused to banish the women and children. Then an elder had stood and asked about the two boys of Flint’s clan, born in that first no-sun season. They had been assigned to carry the spears during the last hunt, but had not returned. Flint’s whole clan had stood up, outraged, and stomped off. The father of one of the boys had turned back to snarl, “Did no ting wrong. Ta snows taked ‘em!”

The Shaman had closed his eyes, shaken his rattle, and long and low, had chanted one word, “Truth.” There were murmurs among those gathered at the fire, questioning if this was either a challenge or an acceptance. The Shaman had only opened his eyes and stared sadly into the fire, saying nothing more.

Later, at their own council fire, the Flint clan had decided that there was no reason to share food with others in the village. Especially those having Other-tribe wives, or hunters still lucky enough to find the steadily vanishing animal herds.

Now hoarding had already created splits in loyalty among tribal families. Flint had argued at the next inter-clan council, “Tay just be seasons! Seasons always be change when tay want to. We can’t control seasons. So, each clon must learn hunt… by itself.”

Trekker had noted some elders nodding in agreement. But the hollow-eyed stares of others showed there was great worry among them. At that moment, Trekker had decided to begin working on any new skills and crafts that, hopefully, would reunite the divided clans into one tribe again, ready to survive many no-sun seasons.

Trekker had thought long over the latest return of an early snow-season. During his travels, he had observed the crusting of the snow into thick ice. Now building in every crevasse, in every shadow in the hills, and on the, now totally white, mountains. Much of the ice hadn’t melted during this short sun-season. It hadn’t made sense to him to just shrug this off, and not prepare for unusual seasonal changes in whatever way the tribe was able.

Last night at the fire circle he had shown the elders, and others of the gathered tribe, his daughter’s idea of using toggles to close up cloaks against the winds. Next, he had shown the hunting footwear created by Petal, who had used netting crafted by Wren, Wife-of-Corder. The footwear had bearskin soles, with a netting of twisted cords stretched over rabbit fur. the fur was stuffed with dried grasses and crushed tree moss. He explained how the cord netting dug into the frozen snow crust, allowing him to run without slipping, and the fur and grass had kept his feet warm when hunting in the ice-covered hills.

As usual, Flint had mocked him. “Oh! Ta ground so cold! Trekker, ya dress ya foots like new-borned babies? Pah! Who still call ya a man?” Several gathered around the fire had snickered. Even the Shaman had rattled a gourd, perhaps approving of the mockery.

Failing to control his anger, Trekker had held the footwear high, illuminated by the firelight, and demanded, “Tell me, Shaman, why should we not change to warmer footwear for hunting? How much steamy smoke and how many shakes of a rattle will bring back the sun-seasons?”

Several elders had hissed in warning at such sacrilege and the hissing had spread through several clans. The Shaman and many in the crowd had remained silent, so Trekker had sat back down, making no eye contact with elders or the vocal critics.

Later, when the crowd around the fire circle had dwindled, several still gathered there had obviously stayed to examine Trekker’s cloak and footwear. Trekker felt his heart warm when his daughter, who’d ducked into the shadows during the snickering, had eyed him with a bit of pride. At least with as much as a daughter dared, when among adults.

The next morning Trekker flipped open the animal-pelt door flap of his lodge to discover two very long hardwood shafts, tipped with spear-points of flint, thrust into the ground in front of his cooking-fire ring. Each had an animal sign carved into the shaft. Warily, wondering at the meaning of this, Trekker eyed two villagers sitting across from him at Carver’s lodge.

Seeing Trekker, they waved. One called over his shoulder for Carver to come out. Carver stepped out of his lodge, his eyes bright, a huge grin on his face. When he called to his young son, Crafter to join him, several lodges sent their hunters over.

Carver explained, “Last night Crafter asked why we couldn’t use the grass-stuffed foot-furs to track the big Antler-Stags through the snow. He says we would not have to turn back so soon because our feet would stay warm. I worried that we might lose our spears in the snow if we missed our targets and I said so.”

Carver chuckled, “Crafter suggested we could make new spears with longer shafts so we would see them in the snow. Look at those two we were able to craft. Ha! Young Crafter wasn’t big enough to handle even one. And I could not throw them far because of their weight. But Crafter asked, ‘What if you just thrust, instead of throw? The shaft is long enough that a charging Antler Stag will not reach you before you jab it right through the hide! Like lancing a blister with a splinter!’ Trekker, I know your strange bow-shot arrows can’t take down the Antler Stags, so I practiced thrusting!”

In excitement, Carver rushed forward, grabbed up a shaft and thrust it in the air, chest-high. Trekker! Everybody! Look! Any hunter can use these as piercing lances! Not just on stags, but bears. Shaggy Ox. Any big creature wading through snow! No need for the whole village to throw rocks, trying to chase the big beasts over a cliff! We can hunt in the snow! Small parties of hunters wearing your daughter’s toggle cloaks against the cold winds. Also wearing my wife’s crafted foot-furs to save our feet from freezing. A few hunters, Trekker! Some with bows, some with lances to take bigger animals! Bringing back enough meat to share with the whole village!”

Carver motioned his son over and thumped him on the back, “My son Crafter says you’ve been the only one insisting that the tribe needs to think of new ways to survive the ice-times! He listened, and then he thought up these lances! He shocked me! So smart. Maybe you should be Shaman, Trekker!”

The shake of a rattle was heard from the shadows alongside the lodges. The Shaman stepped forward into the daylight. Lifting a notched walking stick high, he stared in turn at each suddenly shocked hunter. His calm face surprised them, but what he said surprised them even more. “Know this. You cannot choose the Shaman. The times always decide the next Shaman.” Running his thumb down the notches on the stick, he warned, “I have counted too many sun-seasons, each growing shorter and shorter. My time in this life has grown short. I fear I shall not live through the long Ice-time now coming. The young ones like Crafter, Charm, and others have been wise to listen to Trekker’s counsel.”

Closing his eyes the Shaman sang out “Truth! Let all gather at the first full-moon council fire after I am no more. The Elders will accept counsel only from the wisest.”

Stepping forward, the Shaman pressed his palm to Trekker’s chest, saying sadly, “I must go now to talk with the Elders. Trekker, speak to the people, you have much wisdom to share.” The Shaman turned to walk away, and the crowd parted, each hunter palming their chest in homage to the old man.

Trekker called out, “True!, Now is not the time to challenge the Shaman or the Elders. That would only further split our tribe. Instead, we can learn to work together to survive.” Trekker voiced his long-held observation, an observation that Trekker could not know would later make him the tribe's greatest Shaman when snow-melt seasons no longer came. Most of the tribe would accept Trekker’s counsel and survive; future generations would venerate his words as The Prophesy.

Placing his palm over his heart, where the Shaman had touched him, Trekker said, “Know this; the world is ever-changing. But we do not have to just sit by, believing we cannot cope. Do not accept that we can do nothing! We can change from our old ways and learn what we must do to survive. Many of our children are now being born smarter. Why, we cannot know. But we must not shun them as some clans demanded. We must listen to these new children, for perhaps they have been given to us to teach new ways. Our people must listen and accept change. Know then, our people will be prepared to survive the ice.”