River of Blue Fire (3 page)

Surprised and a little frightened by the strength of her reaction, he had struggled to make her insight his own—struggled but ultimately failed. There
was
something beautiful about the illusion of emptiness, of possibility, but he had been a seven-year-old boy who did not feel, as his grandmother more or less did, that people had somehow ruined everything, and he was just baby enough to be made nervous by the thought of a world without familiar places and people, a world of clean, cold loneliness.

They had stood for a long time, staring at the uninhabited winter world, and when at last they turned back—Paul secretly relieved to be walking in their own reversed footprints, following the trail of bread crumbs out of the worrisome forest of adult regrets—his grandmother had been smiling fiercely to herself, singing a song he could not quite hear.

Paul had tried and failed to share her epiphany that day, so long ago. But now he seemed to be the one who had tumbled into the world she had wished for, a world—thousands of generations before even his grandmother's inconceivably ancient childhood—that she could only imagine.

Yes, if Grammer Jonas could have seen this
, he thought.
God, wouldn't she have loved it. It really is the beginning—a long time before the crooked politicians and the filthy shows on the net and people being so rude and vulgar, and all the foreign restaurants serving things she couldn't pronounce. She'd think she'd gone to heaven
.

Of course, he realized, she'd have trouble getting a good cup of tea.

The People were moving in deceptively ragged order along the edge of a hillside forest, heading down a long, snow-blanketed slope broken up by irregular limestone outcroppings. Slender tree-shadows stretched across their path like blueprints for an unbuilt staircase. The light was fading quickly, and the sky, which had been the soft gray of a dove's breast, was turning a colder, darker color. Paul suddenly wondered for the first time not when in the world he was, but where.

Had there been Neandertals everywhere, or just in Europe? He couldn't remember. The little he knew of prehistoric humankind was all in fragmented, trivia-card bits—cave-painting, mammoth-hunting, stone tools laboriously flaked by hand. It was frustrating not to remember more. People in science fiction flicks always seemed to know useful things about the places time travel took them. But what if the time traveler had been only an average history student? What then?

There were more limestone outcroppings now, great shelves that seemed to push sideways out of the ground, shadowy oblongs less luminous in the twilight than the ever-present snow. Runs Far slowed, letting the rest of the group jog past, until Paul at the end of the line had caught up with him. The bearded hunter fell into step beside him without a word, and Paul, who was quite breathless, was content to let him do so.

As they came around the corner of a large outcrop, Paul saw warm yellow light spilling out onto the snow. Strange, gnarled figures stood silhouetted in a wide gap in the cliff face, spears clutched in misshapen hands, and for a nervous moment Paul was reminded of folktales about troll bridges and fairy mounds. Runs Far took his elbow and pushed him forward; when he had reached the mouth of the cave, he could see that the guardians were only older members of the People, twisted by age, left behind to protect the communal hearth like Britain's wartime Home Guard.

The hunting party was quickly surrounded, not only by these aged guardians, but by an outspilling of fur-clad women and children as well, all talking and gesticulating. Will Not Cry received much sympathetic attention as his injuries were examined. Paul half-expected his own appearance to cause superstitious panic, but although all the People regarded him with interest that varied from fearful to fascinated, he was clearly less important than the meat and tales which the hunters brought. The group moved away from the lip of the cave, out of the cold winds and into the fire-flickering, smoky interior.

At first the People's home looked like nothing so much as an army encampment. A row of tents made from skins stood with their backs to the cave's entrance like a herd of animals huddled against the wind. Beyond these, sheltered by them, was a central area where a large fire burned in a depression in the floor, a natural limestone hall, low-roofed but wide. The few women who had remained there tending the flames now looked up, smiling and calling out at the hunters' return.

The rest of the People were much like the men with whom he had traveled, sturdy and small, with features that but for the pronounced brows and heavy jaws were nothing like the caveman caricatures he had seen in cartoons. They dressed in rough furs; many wore bits of bone or stone hung on cords of sinew, but there was nothing like the jewelry that bedecked even the least modernized tribes of Paul's era. Most of the younger children were naked, bodies rubbed with fat that gleamed in the firelight as they peered from the tent doorways, shiny little creatures that reminded him of Victorian illustrations of gnomes and brownies.

There was surprisingly little ceremony over the hunters' return, although Runs Far had told him they had been out for days. The men greeted their families and loved ones, touching them with probing fingers as though making certain that they were real, and occasionally someone rubbed his face against someone else's, but there was no kissing as Paul knew it, no hand clasps or hugging. Paul himself was clearly mentioned several times—he saw some of the hunters gesturing at him, as though to illustrate what a strange adventure it had been—but he was not introduced to anyone, nor was there any clear hierarchy that he could see. About two dozen adults seemed to make the cave their home, and not quite half that many children.

Even as some of the People exclaimed over the elk meat, others began preparing it in an extremely businesslike manner. Two of the women picked up long sticks and swept a portion of the firepit clear, pushing the burning logs to one side and exposing a floor of flat stones. They then spread several portions of the meat across these heated stones; within moments, the smell of cooking flesh began to fill the cavern.

Paul found himself a spot in the corner, out of the way. It was much warmer here in the cave, but still cold, and he sat with his skins pulled tight around him, watching the quick return of normal life; within a few moments after the hunting party's arrival, only the hunters themselves were not busy with something. Paul guessed that on other nights, they, too, would be at work, making new weapons and repairing the old ones, but tonight they had returned from a long, successful trip and could wait for the victors' rewards, the first portions of the kill.

One of the women lifted a sizable chunk of flesh from the fire with a stick, placed it on a piece of bark, and carried it like an offering to Runs Far. He lifted it to his mouth and took a bite and grinned his approval, but instead of finishing his meal he sawed the meat in half with his knife, then rose and carried the bark platter away from the fire toward one of the tents. No one else seemed to pay any attention but Paul was intrigued. Was he taking food to a sick wife or child? An aged parent?

Runs Far stayed inside the tent for long moments; when he came out, he was putting the last of the meat into his own mouth, chewing vigorously with his broad jaws. It was impossible to guess what had just happened.

A presence at Paul's elbow suddenly caught his attention. A little girl stood beside him, staring expectantly. At least, he thought it was a girl, although the boys were just as shaggy-haired, and positive identification was made difficult by the kirtle of fur around the child's waist. “What's your name?” he asked.

She shrieked with gleeful terror and ran away. Several other children pulled free of the general hubbub to chase her, laughing and calling in high voices like marsh birds. Moments later, another, larger shadow fell across him.

“Do not speak to the child.” Birdcatcher looked angry, but Paul thought he saw something like naked panic just beneath the man's scowl. “She is not for you.”

Paul shook his head, not understanding, but the other only turned and walked away.

Does he think I'm interested in her sexually? Or is it this Land of the Dead thing
? Perhaps Birdcatcher thought he meant to take the girl away, back to some death-realm beyond the frozen river.

That's me, the Grim Reaper of the Pleistocene
. Paul lowered his head and closed his eyes, suddenly as tired as he had ever been.

There had been a woman in his dream, and flowering plants, and sun streaming through a dusty window, but it was all disappearing now, pouring away like water down the plughole. Paul shook his head and his eyes fluttered. Runs Far was standing over him, saying something he could not at first understand.

The hunter prodded him again, gently. “Riverghost. Riverghost, you must come.”

“Come where?”

“Dark Moon says you must come and talk.” The hunt leader seemed excited in a way Paul had not seen before, almost childlike. “Come now.”

Paul allowed himself to be coaxed to his feet, then followed Runs Far toward the tent where the hunter had taken the first cooked meat of the slaughtered elk. Paul thought he would be led inside, but Runs Far gestured for him to wait. The hunter ducked through the flap, then reappeared a few moments later, leading a tiny shape wrapped in a thick fur robe out into the firelight.

The old woman paused and looked Paul up and down, then extended her arm, the invitation—although it was more like a command—very clear. Paul stepped forward and let her clutch his forearm with hard, skinny fingers, then the three of them moved slowly toward the cookfire. As they led the woman to a rounded stone near the warmest part of the blaze, Paul saw Birdcatcher staring at him, holding the arm of the little girl who had approached Paul earlier. His grip was so tight she was squirming in pain.

“Bring water to me,” the old woman told Runs Far as she slowly settled herself on the rock. When he had gone, she turned to Paul. “What is your name?”

Paul was not sure what kind of answer she wanted. “The men of the People call me Riverghost.”

She nodded her satisfaction, as though he had passed an examination. Dirt lay in the wrinkles of her seamed face, and her white hair was so thin the shape of her head could be clearly seen, but the forcefulness of her personality and the respect in which the People held her was quite clear. She raised a clawlike hand and carefully touched his.

“I am called Dark Moon. That is the name they call me.”

Paul nodded, although he was not quite clear why she seemed to attach so much importance to this exchange of information.
This isn't my world
, he reminded himself.
To primitive people, there's magic in names
.

“Are you from the Land of the Dead?” she asked. “Tell me your true story.”

“I . . . I am from a place very far away. The People—the hunters—saved me when I was in the river and was drowning.” He hesitated, then fell silent. He did not think that he could make her understand his true story since he did not understand it himself, even the parts he remembered clearly.

She pursed her lips. “And what do you mean for us? What do you bring to the People? What will you take away?”

“I hope I will take nothing from you, except the food and shelter you give to me.” It was hard to talk simply without sounding like an Indian chief in a bad American Western. “I came from the river with nothing, so I have no gifts.”

Dark Moon looked at him again, and this time the appraisal went on for some time. Runs Far returned with a cup made from what looked like a section of animal horn; the old woman drank enthusiastically, then turned her gaze back to Paul. “I must think,” she said at last. “I do not understand what you do in the world.” She turned and patted Runs Far on his shoulder, then abruptly raised her voice to address the People at large. “Hunters have returned. They have brought back food.”

The others, who had been pretending with almost civilized discretion not to be listening to her conversation with Paul, now raised a few ragged shouts of approval, although most were busy chewing.

“Tonight is a good night.” Dark Moon slowly spread her arms. The weight of the fur robe seemed too great for her tiny frame to support. “Tonight I will tell a story, and the one called Riverghost will think kindly of the People, who have given him food.”

The tribesfolk came closer, those nearest arranging themselves near Dark Moon's feet. Many took the chance to study Paul carefully. He saw fear and concern in most faces, but it was only Birdcatcher in whom it seemed to have an edge that might become violent. The rest of the People looked at him as civilized shoppers might watch a street crazy who had happened through the store's front door, but as yet had shown no signs of screaming or knocking things about.

Some of the smaller children had already fallen asleep, worn out by excitement and bellies full of cooked flesh, but their parents and guardians simply carried them to the gathering, unwilling to miss something so clearly important. Birdcatcher, his distrust not sufficient to keep him away, stood on the outside of the circle, and though he still glared at Paul, he was listening, too.

“
I will tell you of the days that are gone
.” Dark Moon's voice took on a kind of singsong cadence, and even Paul could feel the satisfaction of a familiar ritual beginning. “
These are days before your fathers' fathers and their fathers walked in the world
.”

As she paused, he felt an unexpected thrill. Despite his reservations, his skepticism, it was hard to huddle in this cold cave and not to feel that he was close to one of the sourcepools of story—that he was about to be the privileged auditor of one of the oldest of all tales.

“
Then, in those days
,” Dark Moon began, “
everything was dark
.”

There was no light, and there was no warmth. The cold was everywhere, and First Man and First Woman suffered. They went to the other First People, all the Animal People, and asked them how to keep warm.