Chapter 13: Of Torture Stories & Return To Camp

Martreen believed the hunting party had headed for the lower level of what they called MammothMountain, so taking a water skin, weapons and dried meat I headed out in the same direction.

From the campsite, I moved steeply up through the last of the tree-populated area, and arrived at the start of a ridge after about 30 minutes. A couple of hours later, I arrived at the ridge proper. This ridge section was especially spectacular, in some places its knife edge path had steep drops down to the plains some 400 feet below, and it was from this ridge that I got my first view of the MammothMountain summit.

I walked eastward following the ridge then across a wide glacial outwash plain and moraines to a steep wall. I climbed up about 60 feet to the top of the wall, and saw the spectacular view of the whole of that side of the mountain and the expanse of the Glacier above.

I descended another short ridge littered with large boulders, then after about an hour, I dropped down into a small valley which retreating ice had formed that merged with the foreshortened horizon. I stopped for a minute and let the view direct my gaze... that was when I spotted him.

He was on the far side of the valley moving toward me at a fast pace. Looking around I determined that the only logical place to ascend the valley was where I had come down so I positioned myself out of sight behind one of the boulders and waited.

As he rounded the boulder I was concealed behind, I was able to deal with the man very swiftly. I reached out quickly twisting his arm and ramming my free hand into the elbow joint. The pain must have been excruciating based on the scream that came out of his mouth. I pivoted my body to face him, then bringing my knee up, I drove it into his groin. Down he fell in agony.

I leaned down next to him then produced my knife and held it in front of his face. "Listen closely," I said, "You are going to tell me everything I want to know. If you fight, I will slit your throat, got it?"

The man was too scared to move, he watched the knife as if it was hypnotizing him.

"I asked you if you understood!" I yelled.

He nodded.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Iega... of the Threm clan. You... your clothing... you are the man that killed Threm!" His voice became even more frightened, hardly even coherent.

"I will be the man that killed Iega if you don't calm down!" I threatened.

He swallowed twice then nodded once again.

"Good," I said, "Now, what are you doing out here all alone?"

"I... I was in the camp when you killed Threm." He swallowed again before continuing, "We ran... to find Broc. What else could we do? A spear that kills without a man... and... and... sticks that fly with the quickness of thought bringing death from the sky. It was too much for us to understand, this flying death that leaped, invisible, upon us from a great distance. What else could we do? We went to find Broc."

"Did you find him?"

"Yes. But when we told him of Threm's death by the flying spear, and of sky stick death to the others, he called us cowards. Then in his anger he killed three of us with his bare hands. I only barely managed to slip away while he was busy beating the others."

"Where is Broc now?"

"About a days walk to the north. He is camped at a place we call Big Rocks, where there had been a great avalanche long before I was born."

"Is he heading this way?"

"I don't think he will break hunting camp until after the kill has been processed. The clan needs the meat."

"How long before he breaks camp then?"

"I'm not sure, but based on what I saw... I would guess sometime tomorrow."

"That means he will not arrive at your winter camp until sometime the day after tomorrow. Is that right?" I said more to myself than to Iega."

"Yes. The day after tomorrow." Iega confirmed then added, "But I can not go back to the winter camp. Broc will kill me if he finds me there. Threm was his only friend. And He feels we betrayed him."

"I'll take care of Broc," I told him confidently, "Besides, Martreen need's to look at that arm. I'm not sure, but it looks like it may be broken."

"You know Martreen?" He asked with interest.

"Yes. She is a friend." I told him.

"A friend?" He questioned.

"Yes. A good friend." I repeated, "Come on, get up. I'll help you climb to the top of the ridge."

I helped Iega to the top of the ridge and then the next, as we made our way back to the winter campIega talked to me about his clan. His story was similar to Martreen's with the exception that he felt a few of his clansmen had started to embrace the cruelty that Threm and Broc encouraged. He told me that these few themselves began to get some kind of perverse enjoyment out of inflecting pain and beating women. He also told me that these beatings customarily took place in private and any telltale marks were left only in places that would be covered by the woman's furs. The women that suffered this torture were informed that they would be killed slowly if they ever told anyone what had been done to them.