Bonesetter Read online

  Pell came back to reality. Right now it was early spring when they depended on the hunt for all their food and Donte, being a woman, would only be a heavier burden for an inferior hunter such as himself. It didn’t occur to Pell that Donte might help with the hunt, the concept of women hunting wasn’t within the pale of his experience. “Oh Momma, we can’t form a tribe without any hunters. You’d just die with me.”

  “Better to die with you then. All my other children dead… so many years now... It’s no use going on if I lose you too.”

  Pell thought a moment, “No! You’ve got to stay with the tribe, at least for now. You might be able to sneak me a few supplies if I need them. You wouldn’t be able to steal anything for me if you were an exile too. Later this summer, if I’m still alive, you could join me and help me gather for the winter. We could try to form our own tribe then. Besides, what I’m really hoping is that Roley will change his mind and let me back in the tribe. If you stay, you would be able to beg him for mercy on my behalf. You won’t be able to influence him if you’re an outcast too.”

  Tears brimming in her eyes, Donte sat staring into the distance awhile, finally nodded, then said simply, “Wait.”

  She turned and walked back up the path to the cave. A few minutes later she came out with a bundle and walked back to where the forlorn Pell stood, somewhat out of sight behind several small trees.

  “Here,” she said handing him the bundle, “Two furs, one of Lenta’s old firepots with a couple of good coals, some flint, some sinew and thongs, a big piece of leather and a chunk of meat from yesterday’s kill. I’ve been thinking about where you should set up your camp. You need to be a day’s walk from here so you’ll be out of Roley’s regular hunting area. It would be good if it was towards the Aldans’ usual summer hunting areas so I would be able to find you when the gathering gets better.”

  They talked a while and Pell agreed to try to set up his camp in a ravine a day’s walk in the direction of the summer gathering place. The tribe normally summered at the edge of a large area of grassland about two and a half days walk toward the summer tribal gathering and trading area which was a few days beyond that even. Thus, he would be about half way between the tribe’s winter and summer areas but at a day’s walk, still outside the hunting areas for either. The ravine they agreed upon was easy enough to identify because it had a spring fed stream. The water of the stream was known for running ice cold, even in the heat of summer.

  Donte clasped Pell to her bosom. Realizing bemusedly that he had grown enough to be as tall as she was, Pell hugged her back a moment. Then he turned and trudged away.

  Initially Pell started out directly for the ravine with the cold springs. He hadn’t gone far when he realized he wouldn’t be passing too far from the brush choked gulch where he had wanted to lay in waiting, hoping that an animal would get stuck in his trap. He had intended to go there later that day anyway. On the one hand he didn’t want to go, because he needed to set up a shelter as soon as possible against the fear of the big night cats. On the other hand, he realized that the thicket of brush might be a safe refuge from the cats, which would have difficulty insinuating their bulk within. It didn’t look like rain that night anyway and the dead brush would provide material for a fire. And so, instead of passing by, he turned into the mouth of the little gulch.

  When he arrived at the brushy wall, he immediately smelled blood. Something had made a fresh kill nearby. He looked around but whatever it was it wasn’t on his side of the brush wall. Perhaps it was on the other side? Excitedly he crouched down and began to go through. A few paces into the mess of sticks and brush he saw some motion ahead. He realized that it was coming from the area he had worked on. There was a boar in there! And a wolf! He backed up warily holding his spear out in front of him to ward off the wolf if it came his way. His heart was throbbing but the wolf didn’t pursue him. In fact, it appeared that there were only a few abortive motions coming from the wolf. The boar lay still. Finally, holding his spear rigidly in front of himself he advanced again. When he got close again he saw that both animals had become thoroughly trapped in the little area between the sharpened stakes that he had set up the other day. He suspected that the pig had become trapped first. The wolf had probably come to investigate, hoping to make a meal of the pig.

  In any case, they had become wedged into the small area with one another and it appeared that although the wolf had eventually killed the boar, the boar had battered the wolf up against Pell’s stakes and caused some serious injuries of its own. The wolf lay weakly on its side, lapping at blood still dripping from the boar’s carcass. It looked up at Pell’s approach and he could see the fear in its eyes. The wolf was rather small but had a beautiful pelt of silvery brown fur. He braced himself to plunge his spear into the wolf’s chest, thinking that the pelt would be valuable. He slid the spear through the stakes that blocked the exit and put the tip on the wolf’s chest so that he couldn’t miss.

  The wolf looked into his eyes piteously—in those eyes Pell saw a reflection of himself, begging for his life from Roley. He cursed and pulled the spear back. The wolf was no threat in its current condition. Harvesting its pelt while he was traveling would be a waste anyway, he wouldn’t be able to stretch or work it. He had more pig than he could eat before it rotted and in any case, wolf meat was tough and stringy.

  He started disengaging the stakes that blocked the passage. Once he had removed them all so that they no longer formed their one-way blockage of the passage, he reached in and grabbed the front limb of the dead boar. He heaved hard and began hauling it slowly back out of the narrow passage that been its deathtrap. The wolf lay unmoving. Pell pulled the boar back out to the end of the passage where he had left the bundle Donte had made for him.

  To his dismay he saw that the bundle had fallen over! In horror he untied the bundle and felt the little firepot inside. It was barely warm! Desperately, he got out his good flint knife and made some shavings from one of the dry pieces of wood. He broke off some small dry twigs and laid them close to hand. He opened the fire pot and put the shavings inside on the coal that lay within. He blew gently. It didn’t bring a glow! Frantic, he shook the little vessel, nudged the coals and then blew some more. Spirits! The coals were dead!

  He couldn’t possibly survive without the tribe, without a cave and without fire! He would have to go back and get another coal—but the hunters were probably already back! Perhaps he could trade the pelt of the wolf for a coal?

  He turned and looked back into the tunnel. The wolf stood swaying in the entrance, obviously barely able to stand. He took his knife and walked over to it, it should be easy to kill. He planned to grasp its snout and cut its throat but as Pell reached for its nose the wolf licked his hand. He jerked his hand back but then recognized it for the friendly gesture it was. Once again Pell found himself unable to look into its sorrowful eyes while killing it. He backed away and began cutting up the boar’s carcass—after a minute he threw the boar’s head to the wolf. The animal lay down and began gnawing on it. While Pell skinned and cut up the boar he worried about what to do.

  Done, he wrapped one haunch of the pig, with a chunk of the liver, which was all he estimated he could possibly eat before it rotted, in the large leather skin his mother had brought him. He carried this bundle back into the tunnel in the brush. He collected the downhill set of sharpened stakes that had trapped the two animals and worked his way past the uphill set. There he laid his bundle and the pig haunch in its leather. Then he used the sharpened stakes to make another one-way block facing uphill. Now the tunnel was again doubly blocked, but this time to keep animals away from his stuff rather than trapping them in a zone. He took his little firepot, made his way back out of the tunnel, wrapped as much of the pig meat in the pig’s own skin as he could carry and set off back to the Aldan’s cave.

  He got back just before sunset and stopped on the path below the cave where he called for his mother. A crowd gathered at the ledge outside the cave t
o gawk at the doomed young man. Donte hurried down the path to him.

  “Are you OK Pell? What’s all the blood?”

  “Yes, I’m OK. The blood is from a boar I killed, but my firepot tipped over and my coal went out.”

  “Oh no Pell! I don’t think they’ll let me get another coal. They’re in a foul mood. Pont hasn’t been able to do any good for Tando’s wrist and the hunting continued to go badly after you left. All of the last kill is gone, so they’re looking forward to a hungry night.”

  “I’ve brought most of my pig. I’ll trade it for the coal. I could even try to fix Tando’s wrist if he’d like.”

  “What? You have pig? Where did you get it?”

  “Remember, that’s why I’m bloody, I killed a pig.” Pell wondered a moment how bad this lie was but decided that, after all, he had built the trap that killed the boar and he couldn’t help the fact that she would assume that he had killed it in a hunt.

  Donte looked at him in stunned amazement. “What do you mean you could try to fix Tando’s wrist?” she asked in a near whisper.

  “I fixed my finger when Pont couldn’t.” He reflected that he had only let the healer try once on his own finger. “I also fixed Gontra’s finger. It wasn’t any ‘bush’ or ‘Boar Spirit’. I’ve found a trick for doing it. I tried to tell Pont about it once but he won’t even listen to me.”

  Donte’s eyes narrowed. Pell thought with dismay that even his own mother didn’t believe him. She said, “Give me some of the boar and the firepot. I’ll see whether they’ll trade... I don’t think I’d better bring up Tando’s wrist.”

  Pell gave her the haunch from the boar. “I’ll give them the rest of the boar that I brought if they let you bring me a coal. All I’m keeping is one haunch.” He handed her the little firepot and she started up the hill.

  More of the tribe had crowded out onto the ledge to stare and Pell felt quite self-conscious. He shifted from foot to foot and looked away at the horizon. He worried that dark would fall before he’d be able to get back to the brush choked ravine that he now thought of as his safe haven.

  There was some shouting from up at the cave. Pell recognized Roley, Pont, and Donte’s voices but couldn’t understand what was said. After a bit, Donte came back down the hill. With mixed feelings he saw that she was carrying the little firepot carefully. So it must have a coal in it, meaning he’d won his deal. Why did he feel so disappointed?

  He realized he’d been hoping that somehow, in view of his kill, Roley would change his mind and allow him to come back.

  Donte stopped in front of him with a sad look in her eyes. “I asked them to let you stay. I think Roley was feeling guilty about exiling you but Pont reminded him about Tando’s wrist. Pont even tried to claim that you’ve been bringing bad luck to the tribe. Pont told Roley to just have the hunters come down here and take your meat, ‘because you were going to die anyway.’ Pont is so evil sometimes! Anyhow, the best I could get them to agree to was to let you have some coals.”

  “’Let me have some coals?’ This meat is worth a lot more than a few lousy coals!” Then Pell thought of Tando’s wrist... actually, probably Tando’s life. “Oh well, you did what you could, thanks, Here’s the rest of the meat.” Pell loaded her down with the remainder of the boar, gave her another hug and hurried off with his firepot. “I’ve got to go before it gets dark,” he said over his shoulder.

  The sun had set and it was nearly dark by the time he got back to the little brush-choked gulch. He quickly found the little pile of shavings he had made earlier and this time successfully started them on fire with the little firepot. With twigs he soon had a little fire going. To his surprise he saw that the young wolf was still there. It lay on its side gnawing on the skull of the boar. He had been sure that the wolf would drag itself away by now if it hadn’t already died. He again thought about killing it for its fur—then he looked the wolf in the eye once again—he decided it wasn’t going to happen.

  Using a brand from the fire for light, he relocated up into the little tunnel in the brush. He moved into the area he had blocked off. He enlarged that little area by tearing out branches and limbs, chiefly to make the roof higher, piling the wood in the uphill part of the tunnel. Once he was sure that a small fire wouldn’t catch the entire brush pile he started a little fire from his brand. He unrolled his bundle and laid out his sleeping furs on the downhill side of the fire. He wanted to be able to make an escape if the brush pile did catch on fire.

  Finally he sliced some strips off the pig haunch that he had kept. He roasted them over the little fire. For some reason this meal tasted better than any meal he had had before in his life. However, as he gorged on the pig his fear and dread, dread of a life alone, returned. Finally, after stoking his fire, he lay down to sleep. He tossed and turned a while, torn between feelings that he didn’t deserve to live after what he had done to Tando, and his burning hatred for Denit. He also felt sick betrayal over his lack of support from Boro, Gontra and Exen. Over and over he wondered how it would ever be possible for him to feed himself. Maybe he would gain his coordination soon and get better at throwing?

  He briefly pictured himself returning to the Aldans triumphant, having become a mighty hunter, a hunter whom they desperately needed. Eventually he drifted into a sleep tormented by visions of Tando and his deformed arm. These shifted seamlessly into visions of Durr’s not too different deformity then of Tando/Durr lying broken at the bottom of the Cliff. He awakened repeatedly in cold sweats, often imagining that he could see the eyes of enormous night cats at the periphery of the light from his fire. He built up his little fire after each run of nightmares and then struggled to get back to sleep.

  The next day dawned clear and cold again. Pell woke exhausted but was relieved to see no evidence of impending rain. Bad weather would make his journey to ravine of the cold springs much more difficult.

  First he worked on the bundle his mother had given him. Using some of the thongs and leather straps within, he fashioned a shoulder sling so that he could carry it easily. He spent time putting some good coals from the fire into his little firepot. Then he picked up his spear and made his way out of the little tunnel.

  To his amazement the young wolf was still there. She was sitting up and appeared to be waiting for Pell’s next move. When he set out on his journey she laboriously got to her feet and then limped along behind him. The wolf was almost carrying one hind paw but, after they’d been traveling a while, the wolf seemed to warm up. After a bit more she seemed to have little difficulty keeping up with Pell. By late morning, limping less, she occasionally ranged ahead a bit. When Pell’s direction turned out to be different than that of the wolf, she would swing around and follow behind him a little ways. Then, once sure of his direction, she would take the lead again. Pell thought it seemed to as if the wolf had become confused and thought that she and Pell were a small wolf pack.

  The day passed slowly as Pell followed a route that he and the tribe had followed every spring and fall since before he could remember. He recognized that he was making better time than the Aldans did in their semiannual treks. After some thought he realized that, having few possessions, he wasn’t burdened like Aldans normally were when they made the trip. This thought again led him to worry about how he could possibly survive without the equipment and tools that the tribe had built up over the years. This was to say nothing of all the skills that different members of the tribe had that he did not. He wished that he had paid more attention to how the women cooked the Aldan’s meals. But at least he had vague ideas of how they cooked from being present while it was done. He hadn’t gone on gathering trips with the women since he was a toddler so his knowledge of the gathering of plants and roots was abysmal. When the plants began to green up later in the spring he would have virtually no idea which ones were edible and which ones weren’t. Of course, he would be able to recognize berries and some of the grains. How to separate the grains from their stalks and hulls and how to recognize the plants
which had tubers underground—now that was another matter indeed.

  He remembered the other hunters taunting him about “women’s work.” If only he actually did know how to do a woman’s work! Why hadn’t he let his mother join him in exile? To augment his despair, his thoughts returned to just how poorly he performed at the “man’s work” of hunting!

  He trudged on, head down, heart heavy, nearly oblivious to his surroundings. Suddenly he heard the wolf growling in a menacing tone from somewhere behind him. What? Was the wolf going to attack him now?! For the Spirit’s sake, Pell wondered, why didn’t I kill it when I had the chance? He turned, swinging his spear about, to confront the wolf but the wolf was staring fixedly off to the north. She was snarling viciously now, lips wrinkled up, tail low. Pell glanced in the direction that the wolf was glaring. He saw a flicker of a tail and then a rippling, tawny body bounded into view. It was a lion that had been laying in ambush. Now, its ambush ruined it was accelerating his way! Pell’s bundle fell unnoticed as he vaulted into a nearby small tree, grasping its lower branches and swinging up. He scrambled up until the branches became too dense to make any more progress, then looked down. The lion stood on its hind paws at the base of the tree reaching up with outstretched claws. Shuddering, Pell realized that without the wolf’s warning he would already be crushed in those slavering jaws!

  He looked about and saw to his amazement that the wolf was fifteen paces back, hackles up, her hair raised on end. She continued snarling, lips still curled back to show all of her teeth. Even more unbelievably, she was making little dashing movements toward the lion as if contemplating attack. Pell couldn’t believe his eyes. That wolf couldn’t possibly think that she could kill the lion, could she?

  Suddenly, to Pell’s dismay he realized that the lion was trying to climb the tree. Cook fire discussions back at the cave had taught Pell that the smaller cats could climb trees after prey but there had been arguments about whether the big cats could. It looked like Pell might discover just who’d been right in those arguments—the hard way. The lion pulled up a little and looked like it was about to reach for a higher grip with its front paws! Then the wolf dashed in and snapped at its hindquarters! Snarling and snapping, the lion dropped out of the tree, knocking the wolf end over end. The big cat twisted after the wolf but the wolf skittered out of its path. The lion pursued halfheartedly, seemingly recognizing a futile chase. Moments later it returned to the base of the tree. Pell looked frantically about, considering his chances of leaping from this tree to a neighboring one.