Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Shadows on the Wall

The sun rose early in the morning, peaking into the entrance of their home. A modest little house built upon the burnt remains of her great grandfather’s hearth. The frost had receded, seemingly for the last time as they hid in their blessed land. Since they had last been here, trees had sprung forth as a thick mat of life over the once barren tundra that lay about them. She rose to her elbows, looking about briefly while the sound of her mother warming the stones for breakfast clacked about her. Her brother, Owun, was helping to cut the hides Tahda had brought them. Recently she’d started adding a strange white stone to her work. Cleaner, yet gave everything she made a ghastly white sheen. She supposed that was why they were the Whitehides to the locals. Wild people who lived in the icy reaches, hunting rhino and large cats.

Her mother called her over. She did not speak English, though she understood every word. She even responded in that same flowing language. Satisfied the fire had warmed the stones enough, her mother took a leather bag of water and suspended it over the fire. She then put the stones into the bag, boiling the water. Clara was firmly reminded to be back before sunset this time. The third time she’d overslept this week.

Sent to fetch her father from his work at the bonfire, she donned her furs and tied her toolkit around her waist. With a ruefully compliant expression, she stepped through the furs hanging over the entrance to their little stone house and stretched. The air carried the scent of summer, the white trunks all around them set with red leaves. She saw several of her settlement’s denizens peeling off the bark, writing upon it with charcoal sticks as they counted the new growth. When winter came, they would need every splinter to survive. Following the rough-hewn wooden street down the hill, she eventually came to the more recent hide tents and straw huts of traders. Some moved with the seasons still, she respected that. No sense in freezing without a flame or family to comfort you.

Her father was speaking to Faludaha, a respected man. He wore the bones and antlers of his finest hunts with pride and presently directed his squad to begin butchering the five strong elk they’d felled that night. Faludaha swore by night-hunts even as Yorwen had ordered the sowing of the river. At least they had the food to spare.

“Sulis!” Her father cried with relief as he presented her with a wrapped package of meat. She took it with a smile, punching his shoulder with some quip about him getting old and slow. She was awake to greet him this time. “Falu wanted us to hunt a rhino. I told him the skin alone would take a week to get through.” Her father grinned, teeth shining behind the thick beard he wore. Some men preferred to trim their beards, but the stone often wasn’t sharp enough. Tahda had to nap it for you.

“That is why you drive it off a cliff, Era.” The old hunter grunted with a hand pointed toward the white cliffs that poked out of the ground a few miles away. Her father scoffed, which seemed to offend the greybeard. “A girl of fourteen summers knows that a large beast cannot fall as far as us. I have seen mice fall from the sea cliffs and live!” He expounded with enthusiasm, attracting an incredulous arched eyebrow from her father. “Small creatures do not suffer from long falls. I have seen it. It follows, then, that big ones hurt more from lower falls.”

“Alright, you’ve convinced me. Tomorrow we’ll drive that herd of rhino off the cliff. If we can get the torches. And my daughter is sixteen summers. You’re just old.” Era acquiesced before motioning to Sulis to follow him. She did so earnestly, flints jangling as they left the fuming old hunter. They passed others of the community just waking up. They wove, pressed bark for pages, set off to gather food for the day or mixed their pigments to paint their colours on the palisade that had recently been finished. She remembered helping with that one as a little girl, tottering along with a bucket of clay behind her mother. Now she mostly sat on rooftops, redoing the rushes that thatched the houses. Olduh had chosen to dig his house into the ground for some reason and frequently needed her help waterproofing his absurd idea. How that man had become a chief was beyond her. Him and his idiot brother Gil. Three hundred souls in their settlement and they were the best and brightest, apparently.

They returned home for a shared breakfast of stewed vegetables and rare seared meat. Sulis ate quietly, contemplating the rest of her day. Without any recent fires or rains, nobody had noticed a leak. She had the rest of the day to herself, mostly. Her father would be asleep soon, preparing for that night’s hunt. Owun and her mother had to go help Tahda with her hides. She didn’t ask much in return for her duties, only that someone dress the hides for her in her old age. Her son was never very good at tanning.

After excusing herself with some blowback from her mother, Sulis made her way into the forest hoping to find some berries or nuts. The bushes were laden with them at this time of year. Some new trees had started appearing too which was always a good sign. She went deeper into the forest, tying one of her knives to a suitable stick she’d found in case a cougar or wolf tried anything. And this was how she spent a good while, eating the safe berries wherever she found them. There were a few she didn’t recognize, leaving them well alone. Her mother was far better with the plants than she was. Didn’t much like hunting either. Her father always said that she hadn’t found her place, that everyone did in the end. Her mother just assumed her daughter was a lovable fuck up.

As she approached the more central parts of the forest, she encountered a cliff face. She knew she shouldn’t. But as she turned to leave, she heard the fluttering of bird wings. Looking up, she saw the twigs of a nest and her mouth began to salivate. It had been so long since she’d had eggs. Without thinking, her hands found the cliff face and began to haul her up it. With a greedy grin, she followed her instincts until she sat a dangerous distance from the ground. She tried not to think how she was going to get down and began to rifle through the lips of stone the birds had made their nests on. It was quite a way to the top and quite sheer, so Sulis reasoned she’d make her way down afterward. With a shout of success, Sulis removed her hands from the miniature plateaus. Within her hands sat four decently sized eggs. She placed them in a pocket she’d had Tahda sew into her tunic, beginning her descent. The birds sensed her thievery and began to angrily caw. A few began to batter at her as she held firm to the cliff face. With irritation, she batted at the animals with her free hand. Sensing her grip was loosening, her muscles tiring from the exertion, she withdrew one of her flint knives and jammed it into the chest of a bird that had tried to dive on her. A lucky blow, but a telling one. The birds got their lucky shot soon after, one raking its claws over her hand as it gripped the cliff. She endured the pain, eyes closed tightly. She could already feel her head spinning, having caught a glimpse of the blood.

The birds squawked angrily as another of their member fell to the ground below. Then another and another. Finally, the birds gave up their defence of the eggs. Sulis struggled her way down the cliff, teeth locked at the pain. At the bottom, she pinned her hand under her arm to stem the blood and hide it from herself. Instead, she looked to see her saviour in dull brown hides looping her sling through her belt. She reached down to grab one of the birds she’d killed by the legs, indicating to the other two with a firm nod. Then she seemed to notice the hand injury and sat Sulis down beneath the cliff, pulling one of her bags free of her belt.

“Look at me. I have treated your kind before.” She instructed the dark-haired Whitehide. Reluctantly, Sulis opened her eyes a crack to meet eyes with her saviour.

She was about her own age, perhaps somewhat older. She had long brown hair plaited and strewn with pretty shells from the sea. Her eyes were an almost impossibly verdant green, compassionate as her hands worked between them. Sulis couldn’t help but smile even as the other girl cleaned her wound, sending shockwaves of pain up her arm. Strangely, she took honey and mixed it with water from her skin. She then applied the sticky mixture to a bandage which she wrapped around her hand. Looking down at the rough material, Sulis pointed to it with a curious eye.

“I’m Sulis. Thank you. What is this cloth?” She introduced herself with a sheepish expression as she forgot her manners. The other woman tied the bandage with confidence before nodding approvingly at her work.

“My name is Mora.” She smiled in return, standing with a hand held out to her patient. Sulis stood somewhat shakily, adrenaline still coursing through her. A few more moments and she’d probably have fallen. She wasn’t getting back on broken bones. “My people use sheep wool. We spin it into thread, weave those threads into cloth. It keeps us warm, see?” Mora pulled her tunic up, alarming Sulis briefly before she exposed a thick second layer of the same cloth that now bound her hand. “It’s itchy but it keeps you warm. Even in winter!” She explained with so much enthusiasm that her new friend smiled despite herself. A small laugh passed between them before Mora reigned it in. “My mother’s mother and her mother used to make the thread. We have to follow the sheep though.”

“My people live over there. We mostly just hunt.” Sulis offered with a finger extended toward where she’d come. “You have saved me today. Would you like to come to my house for food?” She asked with a hopeful air, one that her new friend seemed reluctant to return. She looked over toward the distant palisades with a conflicted expression, one that Sulis understood eventually. “It’s alright. Yorwen’s a grumpy goat. But everyone else is pretty good! My brother would love to learn about your cloth. He makes all our clothes.”

“Your brother makes clothes? I thought the Sky Father didn’t like that for men.” Mora questioned with a bewildered expression.

“Not all of us worship the Sky Father. Most of us do though.” Sulis said brightly before shrugging. “If you do not like my people, can I meet yours? I’ve never met the spirit speakers.” She admitted with a curious air, having been a child the last time the other tribes had arrived in these lands. They were like the traders, taking their flocks southward as the seasons turned. Yorwen’s father had been convinced that their destiny lay in this valley.

You are reading story The Cave at novel35.com

“They don’t like people who worship the Sky Father. So, keep quiet about it.” Mora advised as she began to guide the pair on the long journey around the cliff. Sulis was unaware what made such arresting vistas but as she looked down at her settlement, it seemed so tiny. As they ascended to the mountains flanking the valley, she looked about to see a world of ice and cold slowly giving way to life. The great glaciers which had held sway forever were fleeing the warmth of the south. Sulis smiled to herself as she looked on.

“One day, I’m going to go as far south as I can. Somewhere winter never comes.” She declared to Mora, who smirked at her and regaled her with stories from the far south. Her people had been to a place where the land was temperate all year, where the earth rumbled and quaked angrily every so often. She’d seen skull worshipers and great stone monuments other tribes had erected. Even further south on their exodus, near the sea, they’d seen people begin to create farms for plentiful food. To the starstruck young woman, it sounded like paradise.

“Of course, they all worship the Sky Father now. He has lots of names but he’s always a man in the sky.” Mora sighed with regret, taking her waterskin and swigging from it. She offered it to Sulis, who gratefully drank. Meltwater was always the best water. Not like the river water that tasted earthy. “Every time we return to the south places, there are less travellers. Less spirit speakers. People far south don’t even speak like us anymore. We had to get a translator. Grandfather says it wasn’t like that when his grandfather walked the trails.” She relayed with a heavy tone, one that Sulis could understand. Their way was dying.

When the sun stood high in the sky, the two arrived at a sheltered ravine hung with leather and woollen drapes, dyed and woven with various family signs. The scouts had already reported Mora and her new friend animatedly talking across the moors and hills of the plateau. They knew what the white skins meant as she made her way toward the settlement. There to greet them, a grim-faced old woman with grey hair and a long dress of tanned hides stood. She had many strange stick figures tied to her belt, a few odd stones or bones hanging from a necklace. Her brow was adorned with the antlers of an elk, signifying authority. Yorwen wore them on his shoulder, complaining that they weighed too much for him. Sulis smirked as she watched this old woman walk toward them with impressive strength. She did carry a staff, though more as a symbol of authority given the confidence of her stride. It clattered and rattled with shells and beads.

“Mora, what did I tell you about the Whitehides?” The old woman reprimanded, her face falling the second her eyes met Sulis’. The young woman returned her look with a mumbled apology, turning to leave. Mora reached out, taking a firm grip of her companion’s arm. The crone stowed her disapproving expression, a look of concern taking over. “I’d hoped my daughter would be the one to teach you. The spirits play their tricks on me yet again.” She griped, waving them inside the settlement. Two young men holding spears relented with her, marching like the puffed-up birds they were to their stations. Sulis had to ask what had changed the old woman’s mind so quickly.

“Grandmother is our chief. She sees the future. Or was it souls? She must have foreseen that you’re a good person.” Mora beamed as she tugged the reluctant Sulis along with her. The dark-haired girl had some serious reservations about anyone who saw the future. Her mother had always warned her against women who talked to the spirits. That they were dangerous, able to hurt people without touching them. They didn’t even need a sling.

As they walked behind the older woman, who was not shy about batting the youngsters out of the way with her staff, Sulis took in their settlement. Ordinarily, tents would have been erected. Instead, the hides had been stretched over improvised lean-tos. The tightness of the ravine left families toe-to-toe as they chatted about various things from the weather to stories of their travels. What fascinated Sulis the most was their tattoos. Every adult wore markings that told their life story. Some wore their hunts on their arms, others had tattooed pots onto their chest. Some of the tribe had the merest linework while some of the older faces were bedecked entirely in the dark ink. As the outsider took all this in, she noticed Mora’s tattoo. A small needle and thread on the back of her palm.

Mora’s grandmother eventually guided them to a natural cave that sank into the ravine’s wall. A mass of hides split up the middle protected them from the wind. Within, the artisans and butchers were at work preparing all the things the tribe needed to sustain itself during its stay.

“Dendra, your daughter’s found another stray.” She eventually shouted to a younger woman who looked strikingly like Mora, with the same eyes. She’d been braiding the hair of a middle-aged man with a braided beard, who waved to the pair of them with a big smile. Sulis liked him almost instantly. She appreciated those who wore their joy on their face. “Tell her to stop while I deal with it.” Mora’s grandmother added as she crooked a finger at Sulis. The Whitehide woman followed their chief into what seemed to be a tent pitched in the cave itself.

Within, a great many hides had been lain out with that characteristic musty scent they had before Tahda’s method had purged it. The older woman lay herself down with a grunt of pain, dipping her hand into a clay bowl of berries as she looked Sulis over with a critical eye. As she sat down opposite the chief, she was delighted to smell the scent of cooking meat. She was worried the travelling people didn’t eat meat. Another lie Yorwen had been spreading.

“You are welcome here. I will never force you to leave.” The chief began, slipping a berry into her mouth as she contemplated her words. The tone worried Sulis. She looked toward the exit of the tent, licking her dry lips in vain. “There will come a time when it will be better for you to leave us. But you will not want to go. The spirits have decided that I shall be your teacher. Your guide to the world beyond and all the power it promises.” She warned with a stern expression, one that Sulis felt both alarmed and captivated by.

“What power?” Sulis asked with a sceptical tone.

“That will depend entirely upon the spirits you command. To command them, you must offer something in return. Mora offers her spirit sweets. Dendra shares stories.” The older woman answered with a growing consternation. She seemed unsure of her own course, to Sulis’ eye. “I offer my spirits the knowledge I accrue. I offer them the lives of our livestock. But you will command fearsome spirits indeed. And I do not know what price they will ask of you. Knowing this, would you consent to be my student?” She asked almost as if discouraging the young woman.

Sulis thought for a while, the chief refusing to interrupt her. She thought of her lack of place, her strangeness. Her resentment. But her parents would not condone this. She would lead a double life. But something deep within her, a broiling rage born of teenage angst, made her consider Yorwen. He and his stuffy rules, his regulations, his insistence on faith. She wanted to mould her own fate. If the spirits could offer that, she would gladly pay their tithe.

“I do not know why you offer this so quickly. But I will hear you and the spirits out, at least.” She answered with a firm stare. The chief looked pensively into her berries, spitting a pip after a while.

“I knew you would.” She said ruefully.

You can find story with these keywords: The Cave, Read The Cave, The Cave novel, The Cave book, The Cave story, The Cave full, The Cave Latest Chapter