Chapter 18

On the wrong side of the river on an unknown planet.

Following along the beach, the closer Ureeblay got to the Morn end of the lake the more he smelled the odor of rot and decay in the still, sun-warmed, early afternoon air. There was definitely something dead ahead.

With his intention on scouting this end of the lake, he and the growing, young wolf were moving toward the small cove he'd seen from his high perch on the ridge. The cove was located between the shore he was following and a spit of land sticking out into the lake over to his left. The boy noticed there were just a few paces of sand between the lake and the underbrush on the land spit, topped by a tree-covered knoll. Beyond the tip of the sandy spit, Ureeblay could see the beginning of the channel where the steady moving water emptied through the eroded high embankment at this end of the lake.

Down here on the beach, Ureeblay could tell the bank at this end of the lake, near the cove, was higher than he'd realized when he looked down from the summit of the boulder ridge. Now he could see that in places the rise appeared to be higher than his head. From the vantage point of the heights, he'd seen that his traveling companion, the creek, became a small river at the outflow of the lake as it headed in the intermediate direction of the Cool-Morn.

Ureeblay put those thoughts aside as he and the wolf continued following the sandy shore back into the cove. Ahead, the beach that was only about five strides from the water to the embankment curved sharply around to his left, toward the overgrown spit of land a spear-cast away across the water of the cove. All along that curve, from the point the sand ended, up to the beginning of the brush- and tree-line atop the tall embankment, there was a deep, shoulder-high reef of storm-deposited driftwood.

Ureeblay recognized in the tangled mat of broken limbs, twigs, branches, saplings, parts of trunks, and a few uprooted snags, that he was seeing enough firewood to last his Sweet Water camp the entire year. At the same time, his nose told Ureeblay that somewhere in the surprising mass of logs, broken limbs, sticks, and twigs was the source of the strong odor of rotting flesh.

The height of the debris made Ureeblay shiver at how deep the floodwater that washed it here had been. If he stayed at the lake much longer, he would need to find or make a shelter to keep his growing collection of supplies out of any rain that fell. There were other piles of driftwood he'd found along the beach, all signs of high floodwater—he would have to keep an eye on the weather. While he easily could flee his camp to climb to higher ground up the boulder ridge, he didn't want to have to abandon anything if he needed to save himself quickly should a flood occur. He knew the young wolf could take care of herself. However, his bison and pork products did not have the ability to move to safety by themselves anymore.

As he and the wolf got closer, a hand of small, black carrion birds that the Welow Swongli called black-winged rats took flight from the sand near the center of the long pile of debris. The skinny, honey-colored wolf padded across the beach in front of Ureeblay with her nose down. The growing boy could hear her sniffing as he followed behind her wagging tail.

Under the jumbled pile of wood, in a small gap below one of the bottom logs, he could see just part of the sand-encrusted rim of a turtle shell. From the smell alone, Ureeblay could tell that was what had attracted the small, black-winged rats. The part of the shell he could see measured from his fingertip to his elbow.

The young wolf approached the pile and she stirred up several hands of buzzing flies from the nearly buried carcass. Ureeblay now could see the rotting remains of what had once been a thick, clawed, rear foot sticking out of a partially sand-covered leg hole of the turtle shell. Ureeblay now had an idea of just how big this turtle had been, well—still was, just dead and stinking.

Through patches in the caked-on sand, Ureeblay was able to recognize the type of turtle he was looking at—and just how huge the green shell must be. This must have been the great-great-great-grandsire of all the crested-back snapping turtles along this whole, huge river valley, the boy told himself as he felt his excitement growing at this find. The largest example of crested-back snapping turtle he had ever seen before was perhaps a little over half the size of what this dead behemoth must have been in its prime.

Ureeblay knew, as did everyone in the clans from small children up to the oldest grandmothers, that crested-back snapping turtles were vicious predators. The turtles would strike out at anything that ventured close to their crushing sharp jaws. The turtles would eat fish, snakes and frogs, other kinds of turtles, shellfish, water birds, and dead carcasses. Crested-backs were known to eat any land animal they could drag into water deep enough to drown the prey captured in their powerful jaws. The turtles would also feed on water tubers, foxen-tail roots, and other edible plants.

Once they got a hold of something in their jaws, crested-back snapping turtles would not release the object until they swallowed it, or until they were good and ready to let go. Not even death would free their crushing grip. Only cutting and sawing the jaws apart would liberate the turtle's catch. That catch could be a hardwood stick, the ankle of a flats-pig, or the remains of a man's finger or even wrist.

Everyone agreed, it was the blessing of the World Mother that these snapping turtles were ponderous on land, and that they were cunning but slow hunters in the water. Fortunately, crested-back snapping turtles only inhabited the clear water of lakes, creeks, and rivers, so vigilant individuals could steer clear of them for the most part.

His people much prized the top shell of the crested-back. The sacred fire would not burn through the thick, indestructible covering. Lucky women of the clans, who might possess one, used the shell for cooking. The shaman and healers of the clans who might have a shell used it in their rituals or during healings. Other than where the top and bottom shells joined—with lots of hard work–the shells were also impervious to flint or bone spear points and knife tips, making the turtles even more difficult to kill. It took a well-aimed spear cast or a strong thrust into one of the leg openings before the limb retracted into the shell to wound or kill one of the beasts.

Ureeblay knew another ploy of turtle hunters was to get the turtle to clamp down on a thick hardwood pole. Then the hunters tried to chop off the head before the demon had the chance to pull its neck back under the front of its shell.

In spite of the stench coming from under the woodpile, Ureeblay was determined to have this massive turtle shell as his own. He already knew the best way to clean out the rotting remains of the former owner. He would stake the carcass in the lake shallows by his sheaves of weaving grass and let the smaller fish pick the inside of the thing clean. Once he accomplished that, he could take his time in separating the top shell from the bottom and remove any remaining bone and cartilage. Ureeblay knew how to deal with snapping turtles because they were very good eating—when they were fresh. The boy loved the flavor of the flesh—fried, or as soup with meadow onions, wild parsnips, mush-tubers, and a mix of herbs.

Thinking of his favorite turtle recipe, Ureeblay decided he needed to find some vegetables at some point during his stay here at the lake; he had not been eating a large enough variety of greens. He could hear his mother lecture him about it now. That caused the boy to grin as he watched his honey-colored traveling companion sniff around the exposed section of the dead turtle under the jumbled woodpile in the light from Father Sun. Fortunately from time to time there was a small, cleansing breeze wafting the fresh smell of the lake up the beach.

The young wolf nosed around the dead turtle a bit longer and then she started to dig out the sand at the right corner of the massive shell. Amazed, Ureeblay watched the little wolf work. After she exposed a few more hand-widths of the shell, she got a grip on the slight upturned flange of the shell over the place where the stubby tail should have been. She pulled backward with her whole body, all four legs and back straining, her paws digging into the beach. She growled and tried jerking sideways on the shell, back and forth. She didn't move it, even a tiny bit; however, her efforts knocked off some the crusted sand.

Since the little wolf could not get the dead turtle free of the woodpile, the young animal went back to digging at the right edge of the shell. She worked just beyond the rotting rear leg but still got gore on her honey-colored coat along with flying sand.

"Allow me to help you, girl," Ureeblay said to her, surprised at the deep sound of his own voice. He cleared his throat, feeling pleased for some reason. The wolf continued to dig but gave the growing boy a little ruff! Then he walked over, taking his quiver from around his neck and shoulder. As he got to his knees, the boy put the quiver holding his best spear along with his caster and second-best shaft down to his left on the sand as far from the wolf's flying sand as possible.

Ureeblay started digging at the packed sand near the left side of the huge shell. He could feel the leather sleeve holding his sliver of frozen lightning swinging down from the leather plait around his neck. He could also feel bits of sand flung up by the young wolf as she worked at her digging. The boy hoped there wasn't any rotten turtle gore mixed in with the flying beach sand.

From time to time, Ureeblay would stop shifting packed sand and look all about the small cove around him. It was a beautiful sunny day on the lakeshore with a few puffy white clouds up in the blue sky that was the color of the wolf's eyes, he realized. While the boy didn't see any threats, he knew the smell of rotting turtle would easily mask the scent of danger on the slight lake breeze.

The two traveling companions dug for a while. They moved damp, packed sand from their sides of the shell, yet could not get the huge, dead turtle free from under the log. Ureeblay got used to the stink. However, the flies drawn to the carcass were bothersome. He found they would bite if he didn't brush them off his bare skin soon after he felt them land. As he worked, the boy figured that the way the packed sand surrounded the carcass it must have washed up against the turtle during the last high water.

He realized to get the carcass free he needed to dig the sand out from under the turtle. However, Ureeblay would not even consider using either of his short spears or his spearcaster as a digging stick. There was, he reminded himself, an extensive pile of wood to choose from right here. The growing boy stood up next to the pile of driftwood and picked up his caster and his second-best spear from the sand. He would start looking for the most appropriate digging stick this driftwood pile had to offer.

The small wolf saw him get up. Turning from her digging, she trotted down the beach to the edge of the cove. Taking two steps into the clear lake, she lapped at the water. Stopping, she looked around over the surface to her right and then to her left before she lapped up more water with her long pink tongue. Satisfied with her drink she trotted back toward the boy. Ureeblay slowly walked along the heaped pile of logs, limbs, sticks, and twigs, studying the contents as he moved to the Warm along the curve of sand and driftwood. He saw plenty of sticks that would do the work, but he continued looking. The turtle wasn't going anywhere.

Near the end of the long pile of driftwood, the once high embankment dropped below the tangle and returned to the knee-high, eroded sand berm that was the usual boundary between the beach and the undergrowth. Back in the grasses beyond the crest of the low rise, he saw the ivory-brown of antler tines sticking up through the thick, calf-high clumps of grass. His pace became determined as another burst of excitement stirred him up.

Getting closer, he realized the antler was from a Red Deer! The antler was a big one. Then he noticed bones strewn throughout the grass and back into the underbrush. Ureeblay saw much of the scavenger-scattered skeleton had clumps of grass and some thin creeper vines growing up around the bones. The boy figured this was the site of a fall, or a wintertime kill by some big predator and the prey had been a prime Red Deer buck.

All the possible uses of the magnificent antler rolled through his mind's eye, as well as uses for some of the rib bones as he looked around for the other antler. Then he saw one of the shoulder blades and the wide, flat splay of bone at one end. With that bone, Ureeblay envisioned, he could better shovel away the sand from under the dead turtle carcass. Neither the other antler, nor even the skull and lower jaw seemed to be anywhere about so he couldn't gather any of the teeth.

With the young wolf sniffing around the site of the bones, Ureeblay collected the antler. Pulling it out of the grass, he discovered it was as tall as his hip when he stood it on end. Other than a quick look, he didn't want to study it for fear this was a second life dream and he might wake up. Lifting the substantial curved antler back over his shoulder, two of the longest of the three beams of the antler and their tines somewhat conformed to his back as he lowered it onto his bare skin.

The length of the main beam from the circular, flat pedicle where the antler joined the skull, to the first tine, sometimes called the brow tine, was amazingly long and straight. The branch of the brow tine fit over the front of his shoulder. That tine came down his chest and ended a hand-length below his left nipple. With the antler over his shoulder, he would be able to carry the impressive rack without using his hands to hold it. Once in place, the base of the antler protruded up in the air beside his head.

With the antler settled, he managed to find and collect three flat ribs he wanted and the shoulder bone. He held those under his left arm as he stood back up. He was certainly glad animals and then bugs had picked all the deer bones clean a full season ago.

Now with his spear nocked in his caster again, and held down in his right hand with the shaft resting over the crook of his arm, he felt like strutting. Calling to the young wolf as she had moved further into the brush, Ureeblay turned his bare feet on the cool, shady grass and started back toward the driftwood reef. He said a silent thank-you to the spirit of the Red Deer buck for his sacrifice and to the spirits watching over his adventure for their continued guidance and gifts.

Now, Ureeblay told himself as he made the small jump down the embankment onto the sun-heated beach sand, it was time to claim the huge turtle carcass.

Ureeblay was sitting naked in the cove with the cool, clear water lapping up to his bellybutton. Water dripped down his chest from the leather sheath holding his splinter of frozen lightning. With his butt resting on the sand of the lake bottom, the boy was using a handful of the grains under the surface to scrub the rotten turtle dreck off his submerged left forearm. He had even had to wash his hair, and in submerging his head, the leather lightning holder had gotten wet. He at least thought to take off his clout before putrid turtle parts fouled the fur.

He and the young wolf had finally freed the huge, dead beast from under the driftwood pack where it must have crawled in to die sometime in the last double moon. He now had collected the huge turtle shell with the remaining stinking carcass inside, as well as his Red Deer antler, shoulder bone, and the three ribs, and along with a good supply of firewood, the entire load was all lashed on a makeshift two-pole drag.

Actually, the travel-drag wasn't all that makeshift. He chuckled, digging his left fingers into the lake bottom for a palm full of wet sand. He'd fashioned the device after he had located and worked free two nearly matched, straight, strong hardwood poles from the pile. He used some of the tough, thin creeper vines he'd gone back and harvested at the site of the Red Deer kill to bind the travel-pull together. It had taken almost as long to build his travel-drag as it had taken to free the huge turtle carcass. Now, he was feeling relaxed and happy with his afternoon of work.

Unconsciously, Ureeblay lifted the left cheek of his butt and broke wind under the water. Bubbles rose to the surface. To his right the young wolf waiting on her rear haunches in the afternoon sun a stride back on the shore turned her head to look at him. Her ears went up and she tilted her head to the side. She had already splashed around in the lake before she waded out and shook her body several times, spraying water droplets and sand grit everywhere.

Rubbing wet sand on his submerged right arm now, Ureeblay was thankful for Kalcut's mentoring during the hike to the Toolie before this whole adventure began. Not only had the experienced hunter told him of packframe making, different kinds of saplings to use for different tasks, and the best lashing techniques and knots to use, the man had also told him how to build a two-pole travel-drag that would not flex too much. Kalcut had shared with Ureeblay how to place the load bed to assure the boy could pull the drag over any obstacle he could step over and not accidentally dump the load if he had to haul a burden over rough, uneven ground. The big hunter shared tips on traveling for long distances, as well as some of his personal views concerning living a good life.

Rubbing his right thigh with sand under the water, Ureeblay found himself thinking of Kalcut's youngest daughter who had wanted to come along on the hunting trip as the camp-keeper and cook. The boy had tasted her fish soup after the camp held his sire's passing ceremony a short time after the man was killed hunting. Since the growing boy called up that memory of the soup, divorced from the sorrow and heartache caused by his sire's untimely death, Ureeblay remembered the fish soup was quite hearty and flavorful. The selection of fish cuts Kalcut's youngest daughter used in the soup were nicely firm and not all cooked to mush.

Ureeblay knew that Tanjeara was Kalcut's youngest daughter's name. She was one of the fastest runners in camp and had endurance, and she could climb trees quicker than any boy could climb. In addition, as several loud-mouthed boys from the Whistling Buck camp had learned at the last congregation, Tanjeara could throw a mean rock—and with great accuracy. Now, she would be an asset on an adventure such as this, he found himself thinking.

Her image strolled into his mind's eye. She was almost his height, even being younger than Ureeblay—and he was tall for his age now. She always looked him in the eyes whenever they met and he knew she spoke her mind, which was almost unheard of in a girl approaching young womanhood, at least in Ureeblay's experience—unless that girl was complaining or criticizing. Tanjeara was not afraid to approach adults and speak her mind either.

A vision filled him, a vision of the way her developing bottom had twitched under her buckskin skirt. He had seen that happen when she had marched away from her meeting with Godsu and Pealar with her head held high. That memory of her undulating bottom came from right after the two hunt leaders told Tanjeara she was too young to accompany the hunting expedition that brought Ureeblay to the Toolie—and from the Toolie, here. That memory of her wiggle did something to him, and suddenly his traitorous young man part stiffened up, causing the swollen tip to break the lapping surface of the lake.

Feeling embarrassed for some reason, the boy looked all around the lakeshore to make sure no threats were about. For the moment, Ureeblay was glad no one else was here on this adventure after all. His man part had started doing that more and more often on this unplanned trip. It was becoming... awkward. At least being here alone his traitorous young man part was easier to ignore when that happened.

Feeling clean again, Ureeblay got up off his butt and splashed the bottom sand off his skin as he crouched in the shallows. A slight breeze started up from the Cool-Eve, giving him goose bumps as it began evaporating the moisture on his skin. The same breeze made the lake surface around him dance with little, sparkling waves.

Standing up, the boy watched the brush-covered spit of land and saw nothing out of place and no threats. A few fisher birds circled farther back up the lake, looking down from their lazy circuit of flight for small fish they might swoop down upon and claim as a meal.

Ureeblay stretched, naked and dripping, the lake water now only halfway up his calves. He was eager to move the remains of the great-great-great-grandsire of all the crested-back snapping turtles. He wanted to stake down the carcass in the lake by his soaking bundles of weaving grass to let the scavenger fish do their work. The growing boy had to admit that one of the reasons the turtle had been so hard to retrieve was the weight of the beast. Once he got the sand shoveled away and then the turtle levered out from under the woodpile, he realized the top shell would extend from just below his throat down to just beyond his traitorous manly parts.

Standing there in the lake, he was seriously considering building a fire on the beach and cooking the carcass in the shell before staking it out. Cooking the carcass should make the fishes work that much easier, the boy figured, and it would not hurt the top or bottom shell. He didn't want to add any more days to his stay here waiting for the fish to clean out the shell slowly. Although the time spent in his lakeside camp had been very profitable so far.

However, all of the signs of high water he had seen on the floor of the woods, around the pool at the bottom of the falls, and here around this lake made him wary. He knew during this time of the season that big thunderstorms could build up and blow in from out of the Eve, bringing rain from over the mountains that might last several days at a time. He had already experienced one such storm on this adventure of his.

As he turned and made his way ashore, Ureeblay figured he still had one more load of bison meat to finish smoking. He really must start converting his hanks of bison hair into cordage to construct a sling, he reminded himself, and to do that he needed something to use as a spindle stone or spindle weight. In addition, he would do justice to the two sections of hide the bison cow had given him back on the boulder pile that had sheltered his life from the stampede.

The young wolf watched Ureeblay from her spot on the beach as he came out of the water. Now that the stinking turtle carcass was out from under the long reef of driftwood, the juvenile animal showed little interest in the thing. He watched her as she trotted off along the reef of wood toward the sand embankment, looking over her right shoulder at him for a moment. Beyond the driftwood pile, reaching the edge of the beach, she easily jumped the low embankment where he knew the bones of the Red Deer were, scattered about in the deep grasses and creeper vines.

Now the boy placed his second best spear and his spearcaster across the two end poles in front of his pulling position. The right pole stuck out farther than the left by two hand lengths, but other than that, the thickness of the two poles was almost a perfect match as both increased in diameter down to the drag ends.

Looking forward, he knelt between the main poles of his drag as it rested on the sand. Using creeper vines, he had lashed his load to the bed of the travel-drag. He was particularly happy with how that part of the drag turned out. Ureeblay had placed two stout crosspieces of hardwood across the angled main poles to form the front and back of the load bed. The back bed pole was far enough from the two drag ends to clear any knee-high obstruction he might encounter with the poles lifted just above his hips while pulling the drag—that trick was one of the things Kalcut had talked to him about on the hunting party's trip to the Toolie. The front crosspiece for the load bed was an arm length behind him with the draw poles lifted up at his hips. Those two placements created a load bed just about the length of his body.

He also used another idea Kalcut had told him. Before he lashed down the front and back bed crosspieces, he'd placed a sturdy limb running from each corner of the frame to the center of the bed. Each limb, Kalcut had told him, needed at least two opposed strong branches. It took Ureeblay a little while to find the four he needed. After he did, the growing boy carefully entwined the branches and then used the tough, flexible vine to lash everything together. Now he had a somewhat flexible load bed without using a big section of hide, which he didn't have.

Satisfied as he could be with the placement of his weapons on the travel-drag, and ready to head back to his camp, he got a good grip on each of the front poles. Lifting up with his back straight and knees levering, he brought his end of the load off the sun-drenched beach. As his spear-caster and the fletched shaft rolled back against his gripping hands, he used his thumbs to help hold the two pieces of his weapon in place. Ureeblay looked up the beach and began pulling his drag back toward his camp and away from the little cove.

Using the travel-drag was comfortable and easy going as he transported the weight of the dead crested-back snapping turtle as well as his collection of Red Deer bones and antler and the firewood. He liked the way the load tested his growing muscles. Ureeblay was already considering using his travel-drag to carry his increasing supplies of meat and other gear away from this lake. If he did use the drag, he knew he would have to find a way to use his spear-caster quickly and accurately. Having the two parts of his primary weapon tenuously resting against his hands over the pole ends would not do.

As he moved his load up the beach, the breeze in his face moved the stink of the dead turtle away from his line of travel. The beach sand was quite warm under his bare feet and gave way under his footing as he hiked along pulling his load. He thought that perhaps he could devise a shoulder harness for the two poles. Looking down at his hands gripping the thick poles and the spear shaft and caster, Ureeblay could envision a cross member of wood as thick as his wrist sticking out on both sides of the two poles he was holding onto. Using wet rawhide, when he could get some, he would lash the cross-member between the spread tips, but back two-hand lengths from the end of the left pole, four from the right pole tip.

He would braid a thick plait of hide a bit longer than the length of his outstretched arms from fingertip to fingertip. One end of that leather cordage he'd tie around the left main pole and the crosspiece, and the other end he would secure around the crosspiece and the right drag pole. He could then use that strap to go over his shoulders and hold the weight of the poles and his load for long enough to use his spearcaster in an emergency without having to drop the travel-drag first.

That would work, but not well, as long as the threat did not come from behind him, the boy told himself as he visualized the arrangement. He pulled his load along, swiveling his head around to check the sunny lake, the shore up to the low embankment and the tree line, and part of the beach behind him. There in the sand, on either side of his deeper footprints, the growing boy saw two continuous marks created by the drag ends pushed down by the combined weight of the dead turtle carcass, the bones and antler, and his load of firewood. Well, Ureeblay thought as he reconsidered his plan, a harness arrangement would let him rest is hands and arms while still pulling the drag, he decided. Well, he hoped anyway.

He would use a thick, wide leather band under the braided plait where it crossed his shoulders and the back of his neck, as he had done with the straps on his packframe. The crosspiece between the front poles would let him push his hips against that part of the travel-drag when he needed to apply more force to move his load. With the crosspiece sticking out a ways from both long poles, he would have another place to grip with his hands, too.

Using the travel-drag would slow his progress a good deal. However, he asked himself, what would he leave behind if he didn't use it to transport his growing gear and riches? Should he leave behind the largest crested-back snapping turtle shell any of the Welow Swongli would ever see? How could he abandon the bison hides that were his gift from the spirits watching over his adventure? He was not going to throw away any of the meat he had been working so hard to preserve.

He wasn't going to leave anything behind, he realized. Ureeblay hoped his determination to return to his mother and his sister with all the fruits of his adventure so he could share his fortune with them really wasn't greed in disguise.