Chapter 24

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

Unwillingly coming awake, Ureeblay's second life evaporated—remaining as a hauntingly fragmented, quickly fading memory. Part of him, down in his chest and at the back of his mind, almost ached to retain the connection. It felt as if someone important had just walked away, leaving an empty space inside him. Then, as the feeling of abandonment faded, the young man's consciousness fully occupied the rest of his body.

His head rested on his folded kilt, clout, and his leather vest stacked on the woven sleeping mat as a headrest the night before. Ureeblay was aware that he was warm and comfortable curled up on his left side under his cured section of bison hide with his top sleeping mat over that. The young man yawned as he realized the hip and shoulder divots he'd hacked out of the gravel while making camp were about perfect for sleeping on his side.

His body felt so good he stretched out, reveling in the extension and play of his developing muscles. Ureeblay extended his bare feet and calves from the other end of the warm, pliant fur, his right ankle pushed along the woven texture of the mat that was barely long enough to cover his full length any more. He decided that tomorrow evening, he'd pull one of his utility mats over his sleeping fur; any of the utility mats would be big enough to cover him completely. He didn't need a mat cover for its warmth; but to protect him from the evening dew.

With one of the big utility mats over his bison hide, he would put this cover mat down underneath him along with his bottom sleeping-mat, that would certainly keep any sand and small stones off him, while giving him a bit more added cushion.

Yawning again, he turned his head and looked up at the dark shapes that were the two main poles of his travel-drag, tilted against the boulder that formed the back wall of camp. Ureeblay couldn't really see more detail in the light of false dawn and with his biggest utility mat covering over the top of the drag to keep off the dew. The mat protected the contents in the load bed not suspended from the tree branch on the other side of the huge stone block. Above his head, the mat hung slightly down on either side of the poles where he would stand if he were in the harness.

Ureeblay could hear a few birdcalls from the direction of the Toolie. He could detect a reassuring hint of wood smoke from the banked coals remaining from last night's sacred fire to his left; he enjoyed the smell of cured bison hide pulled up to his chin; and appreciated the odor of the uncured wolf where she was curled up warm against his back. Ureeblay realized she'd slept on top of the fur but under the covering mat again. What an animal, he thought, experiencing a thrill at the idea of her wanting to be his companion. In addition, she was much better off this morning compared to some of those wolves from last night.

Last night! The vibrant memories flooded back. Hearing the haunting, eerie chorus of the wolves coming out of the night; the towering, silvery escarpment and the woods to his left; the sparkling, wide waters of the Toolie across the Hurstmon Way to his right; the twinkling bowl of the blue-black sky with both nearly full moons above. Recalling his decision to take fortune in his hands and be the hunter, not the hunted, he felt a jolt of excitement. Ureeblay grinned as he remembered how he commanded his new sling as an extension of his will; and now he needed to get up and see if there were any carcasses to harvest.

However, that would happen after he relieved himself, and did other morning camp chores. Ureeblay rolled to his left, aware that the wolf was heading out from under the other side of the drag, looking for her own watering place. Father Sun was announcing he was waking up too. The young defender of the camp looked down over the dark, clumped shapes of the descending treetops on the other side of the flat he knew was the Hurstmon Way. Far over the wide darkness that was the Toolie, between the rising dark forests on the other side of the river and the dark sky above, there was just enough illumination to bring out the undulating crests of the foothills marking the horizon.

Looking across the great river in the pre-dawn, Ureeblay planned the first part of his day. He would make the morning offering of wood to the coals in the fire rectangle. While the sacred fire awoke and started to grow, he would move the travel drag around the rocks and boulders that surrounded the camp on three sides. Once he had the drag under their supplies suspended from the tree, he would lower them down onto the uncovered load bed. Then, with the drag back near the sacred fire, he would heat meat so he and the wolf could break their nightly fast, just as he did most mornings on their journey from the lake.

While he ate, Ureeblay would put his second batch of dried black raspberries into his third woven sack with the first dried batch. He knew he'd have to wait for the sacred fire to consume enough of its morning meal of wood before there would be sufficient coals to rake under the belly plate and start drying the remaining berries from the first bag he'd picked yesterday. However, once he fed himself, the wolf, and the sacred fire, Father Sun would be high enough to provide light for his search for any wolf carcasses there might be from last night.

Last night he didn't know the number of wolves in the pack that tried his defenses—well, his offenses. After targeting four stones through the silvery night air, receiving satisfying thumps and yelps with each missile and the sound of retreating whines in two cases, all movement toward the camp had ceased. Very soon after that, the wolves stopped their calls. However, only three, not four, animals' voices finished the howling song.

After the intruders melted back into the dual shadows, both he and the wolf were in no hurry to move any further out from the leaping sacred fire. The firelight coming from the inside of the boulder and rock cove protecting their camp added even more moving shadows to the nearby silvered terrain. Besides, cracking four of the slinking Achinay-wolves, as he'd imagined them at the time, with sling stones was enough for Ureeblay. It wasn't as if he was looking for vengeance last night, he only wanted the pack to leave them alone so he and the wolf could continue upriver on the mysterious the Hurstmon Way. Well, that is, once he'd dried both of his bags of ripe berries.

Last night he had used his new sling, blooding the new weapon, he was certain. The spirit wolf had pointed out each threat about the same time his new, amazing sixth sense made him aware of each one of the beasts. What an eye-opening evening, the young man thought, remembering the amazing sensations and still slightly awed at what he'd experienced. He was beginning to understand some of the things his sire introduced him to as ideas he vaguely comprehended at the time. However, now Ureeblay recalled infrequently hearing one or another of the hunters, including his sire while recounting a hunt around the evening campfire saying, "I cast forward my senses..." or, "at the very limit of my hunt awareness."

Now the young hunter had real-life knowledge of his spirit heart, as well as how it felt when his sixth sense encountered the ... and Ureeblay struggled to put last night's biggest revelation into words. He had felt the spark, the wolfness of each one of those animals—feeling separate, but distinct sparks of wolfness out in the silvery shadows before he even saw movement or caught their scent on the air he'd brought in over his wet tongue.

Ureeblay knew what had happened had to be one of the manhood secrets held by the hunters and only explained to a new young man after he had successfully completed his test of manhood, and became worthy of learning this mystery. He turned from the pre-dawn darkness of the river and carefully walked around the boulders he and the wolf stood behind before advancing to face the approaching wolves.

"I am now a man and a hunter..." Ureeblay murmured in pride as he began to grasp that being a man of the Welow Swongli was much more than he'd ever imagined as a boy. He wondered what other mysteries were in store for him to learn and experience once he went through the proper rites on returning home.

Ureeblay aimed his man part at the side of the huge rock that marked the Cool end of the half circle of stones and boulders protecting their camp that he knew had broken off from the towering palisades long ago. This was the second stone corral he and the wolf had found to make their camp in, he told himself. Then, with a sigh of relaxation, he started sweeping his stream of scent back and forth on the dark granite, his bare feet telling him of the thick, cold dew on the grass beneath him. Ureeblay was surprised at how much pressure he was feeling until he remembered that in all the excitement he'd not emptied his bladder before going to sleep.

Thinking about the events of last night as he continued to pee, Ureeblay was certain he needed to give the spirit wolf a naming. The wolf; those wolves; that first slinking wolf—how would he tell of last night's adventure without confusing the listeners concerning which wolf he was talking about? His trusted companion was not an ordinary animal; she was a—no, she was his spirit wolf; he was certain. How exactly that came to be, or how this all worked on the spiritual plane, he didn't know. He was not a shaman.

However, now that he thought about it as he relieved some of his bladder pressure, Ureeblay felt the spirits had placed her in his path. It was almost as if finding her caught in the vines-of-passing next to the bog-apple bushes was a test of sorts to see what his heart would guide him to do. After killing the widow-snare so he could harvest the bog apples, by not taking her life and her honey-colored hide as a trophy, Ureeblay hoped he had shown the spirits that greed wasn't in his heart.

Well, he'd been greedy for the riches of the bog apples hidden under the peat. He would admit to that. However, he thought as he continued to pee, an unfeeling man thinking only of his personal glory would have killed the helpless animal and claimed her wondrous hide to show off to others. The same type of man would most likely fabricate some tale of an amazingly long, accurate spear cast that brought down the prize. For it wouldn't enhance a man's reputation for both his courage and his hunting skills if it were known that he came upon the young wolf after it had been wrapped-up by the vines of a widow's snare and was completely helpless when he found the animal.

By freeing the wolf and then feeding her, Ureeblay hoped he had demonstrated mercy to the helpless and needy, which was a trait the Welow Swongli held in high regard. Because of those things, he felt that the young wolf had decided to become his companion. Since the spirits had placed her in his path, she must be a spirit wolf. In addition, she was helping protect him on this journey—and not just because he gave her food—because she enjoyed being with him and now considered she was part of his pack. Ureeblay was sure she would help him on his spirit journeys also; he just wasn't certain how she would do so, or when that might start.

As he sprayed loops of the last of his morning water on the face of the boulder, Ureeblay suddenly became aware that he wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings. Embarrassed, the naked, young man realized he was standing there bare of any clothing or weapons—well, he'd heard men of Sweet Water camp call what he aimed with his right hand their weapon before. Not that it would do any good against a threat to the camp right now. Even Tanjeara of his second life would giggle unless he stroked it into a spear that she might find threatening.

Ureeblay felt himself blush at that thought as he gave his man part a shake. At least there was a lot of dew on the grass around him. Off behind him, the tall young man was aware of a morning mist that he knew was thicker toward the Toolie. Feeling much better, he stepped further into the cool, wet blades and crouched to wipe his hands in the moisture.

Ureeblay was certain no other Welow Swongli had ever had a real, live, spirit animal as a companion before. Ureeblay was certain because there would be a foundation legend about such a thing told by the shaman if that were the case, storytellers would have well known stories about such a thing, and he would have made a point to remember a foundation legend or campfire stories as exciting as that.

Standing up and looking around him as the dawn slowly made its way upon the dark landscape, Ureeblay knew every shaman had responsibilities to each new man-in-body in his camp. The first was revealing what each new man's specific type of spirit animal was according to the shaman's visions about the subject.

That particular spirit animal would be the new man's guide in his spirit life and assist him in picking his path here in the first life—a path with heart, as the Welow Swongli called. A path that, when followed and kept to, would lead the man in the steps of goodness and away from the temptations of the great, striped serpent, Quazalot, and on to his third life and beyond.

Different types of spirit animals offered new men differing ranges of spiritual abilities as well as different levels of spiritual tests. Ureeblay knew once a shaman revealed to a new man-in-body what his spirit animal was, it was up to the new man to explore the relationship with the help of the shaman. Ureeblay also knew by observation that some men in his camp were less than persistent in maintaining a close relationship with their spirit animal, other than inscribing their weapons and other tools with an image of their guide along with other images of power that had special meaning to each individual.

Ureeblay slowly turned in a circle in the light mist rising from the surrounding ground as a feeling of peaceful awareness settled on him as he pondered. He knew a man's spirit animal was one of the foundations of Welow Swongli culture. One of the foundation legends that Sweet Water camp's shaman told concerned the Great Spirit setting forth the spirit guides. These were to help protect each new, young man of the people from the evil influences of Quazalot, who would try to guide each new man's spirit steps away from the path of true heart and away from his safe entry into the third life.

The young man was able to see a bit farther through the gloom and wondered what the wolf was doing. Ureeblay understood the foundation legends were the responsibility of the camp shaman to transmit to the people of the camp, but those legends were many, and from his experiences at congregation, Ureeblay thought each shaman seemed to have favorites. While the shaman of Sweet Water camp was one of the best, it was only at congregations that Ureeblay had heard some of the foundation stories for the first time, and from other shaman.

He wondered how many he'd not heard and realized some of them might deal with part of the mysteries he should have learned from the camp shaman on becoming a man-in-body. At least he had some idea about what help he could generally expect from his spirit animal; however, he wanted to know everything he could.

It seemed to Ureeblay that some of the men in Sweet Water camp almost never seemed to receive help from their spirit animal. His sire once told him that gaining knowledge for the sake of knowledge was satisfying in its own way, and this adventure had opened his eyes to the value of all kinds of knowledge he'd taken for granted before.

What he wasn't satisfied with was the fact that storytellers who visited Sweet Water camp rarely spoke of the foundation legends, although they told many learning tales and shared news from far and wide. On the other hand, the shaman of Sweet Water camp only recited some of the foundation legends occasionally around the campfire. Ureeblay wondered what he did not know that might help him now and was contained in legends he'd not heard.

As the young man turned and looked up at the massive darkness of the looming face of the escarpment that seemed to rear up over his head, he did feel that Sweet Water camp was fortunate to have a storyteller as a member of the camp who was older now and didn't travel as much. Tontou was the storyteller, and he had a received a young apprentice right before Ureeblay left camp at the start of his adventure.

When he returned the people, Ureeblay decided he would talk to both the camp shaman and to Tontou about the foundation legends. Until then, he'd have to try and remember all he could about them, but right now Ureeblay decided his first task was giving the spirit wolf a naming. With a name, she might begin taking a more active part in his spiritual life—whatever and however that might be.

By not telling his mother when he became a man-in-body, Ureeblay admitted as he stood in the gloom, that he had lost an opportunity to begin having meetings with the shaman before he started this unplanned adventure. Because of his silence, he missed out on the start of his education concerning the spiritual mysteries to come during his manhood trial and the rites that would follow his successful completion of the trial during this cycle's congregation. While thinking about that, he absentmindedly kicked at the dew-wet grass with his bare right foot.

Because he'd not told his mother when he became a man-in-body, Ureeblay didn't know the specific steps he needed to take to further his spiritual development while he was on this side of the Toolie. He didn't even have any teachings from the shaman to use as a general framework of the deeper spiritual mysteries of manhood to measure and judge those experiences he might encounter on this side of the Toolie. Ureeblay reminded himself again that the specific spiritual animal picked for each emerging man could limit or expand the spiritual prospects of a boy-become-man-in-body.

Around him, Ureeblay heard more birdcalls breaking the gloom as waking Father Sun, still abed somewhere to the Morn but starting to stir, brought on the dawn of a new day. Somewhere to the Morn, Ureeblay knew his mother was waking up and life was starting to stir in Sweet Water camp; then his mind went back to thinking about his spirit animal. In some camps, according to his mother and her friend the healer, it seemed the spirits blessed boys of prominent families and camp leaders with the more powerful spirit animals, while the same spirits decided boys of less distinguished means needed less potent symbols for the base of their power totem.

He had overheard the camp healer saying to his mother that she thought it might have something to do with the size of the tribute offering a mother gave to the shaman of those camps when the mother went to inform the shaman her son was now a man-in-body. His mother had laughed and said she thought it had something to do with how some of those mothers spread out their tribute offering on the conversation mat in the shaman's shelter when telling the shaman of a son becoming a man-in-body.

Ureeblay felt himself blush as he realized what his mother must have meant now that he'd experienced the World Mother's pleasures with Tanjeara in his second life. Was it possible that women, being able to bring new life into the world inside their bodies, didn't see the spiritual realm and walking the spirit trail in the same way that the men of the Welow Swongli did?

Whenever Ureeblay asked his sire about specific spiritual matters concerning his spirit trail, his sire had been quite vague sometimes with any answers he'd given after their night sky lessons. Although she had yet to visit him in his second life, with a naming, the wolf might begin to show him how to walk the spirit trail in his second life.

Well, Ureeblay admitted, she might have visited last night after he got to sleep, Tanjeara might have visited him, too. He just didn't remember his second life from last night, sleeping as soundly as he did once he calmed down from experiencing his spirit heart, his expanding sixth sense, and the exhilaration of facing down a pack of wolves out in the silvery night.

However, with no mess to clean up on waking, he doubted that he'd had the pleasure of spending time with Tanjeara.

Off to his left, in the dawn darkness toward the other end of the stone barrier to the Warm, Ureeblay heard a suddenly commotion in dry leaves and what must be a wolf body crashing though brush. There was the squeal of a hare, and it squealed again, then silence.

Looking in the direction of the commotion, he saw the shape of the wolf appear in the murkiness around the far end of the boulder jumble. He could make out the dangling shape of a large hare held in her jaws. Ureeblay could hear more birdcalls resume from around the camp as Father Sun threw off more of his covers of night and the sky to the Morn took on a thin band of lighter-blue low on the horizon.

The wolf almost pranced up to Ureeblay in the faint dawn. She sat back on her rear haunches, holding her head up with the long ears and head of the big, lifeless hare sticking out of her right jaw and the rest of the plump body swinging down from the left side of her mouth. Ureeblay would swear the wolf was exceedingly proud of herself. As she looked into his eyes, he gave the wolf his undivided attention. Then she got to her feet and turning, she headed toward the stones of the fire rectangle encompassing the bed of ash-covered coals at the Morn end and at the other end, the raised belly plate covered with the yellowing, woven-grass mat protecting the berries that he'd left to dry overnight.

She dropped the hare next to the stones and looked back at Ureeblay. He realized she'd provided them with their midday meal. Well, he hoped she didn't want cooked hare to break her fast. He was getting anxious to go see if there were any dead wolves out in the tall grass or along the edge of the woods to the Cool. He knew if there were, the carcasses wouldn't go anywhere. Last night as his sixth sense receded, he hadn't been aware of or heard any scavengers before he went to sleep, and the wolf didn't seem alert to anything surrounding their camp before she bedded down against his back.

Since he was going to be encamped here until he'd dried the berries, having to cure a wolf pelt or two, along with collecting their teeth, wouldn't be a problem he decided as he headed back around the big stones and into camp. He could imagine his mother's smile if he brought a few, cured wolf pelts home from his adventure. He was certain she would give him ideas on how to better cure the next wolf hides he harvested, too. The idea of having that knowledge was as appealing as his mother's praise, Ureeblay discovered.

For breaking their fast or not, he did need to gut the hare at least. If the wolf hadn't chewed up the pelt too badly, he might consider tanning it while they were here as well. He had woven several different sizes of grass envelops as one of his campfire crafts on this journey, so Ureeblay decided he'd use one of the small ones to save the guts of the hare for fish bait. At some point today, he'd try his luck in the Toolie and fill his smaller water bag while he was at it. He'd emptied and refilled his large, pig-stomach water carrier two days before, so the water in it would be good.

The Morn sky started coloring up with the rays of the awaking Father Sun, showing the far edges of a few, low, bluish-white clouds just above the foothills across the river. Ureeblay reached the angled, mat-covered travel-drag to put on at least his clout, kilt, belt, and knife before he straighten his sleeping area. While he was here drying berries, Ureeblay thought, he might start work on his improved spirit hammer harness, too; if he got other more important chores accomplished first.

Ureeblay knelt down on his right knee in the thick, dewy grass on the left side of the Hurstmon Way. Father Sun was just above the foothills across the Toolie. The young hunter gripped his trusty hickory staff in his right hand, grounded near his right moccasin. Ureeblay was mindful of his angled quiver and the fletched ends of the four spears it held along with his caster near his raised left thigh. The bottom end of the quiver stuck out behind his left hip, almost in the grass, and the two black-and-gray and two gray-fletched spear butts went out beyond his raised left knee.

His babbit-stomach water bag was against his right hip where his sling stone pouch used to be. Ureeblay also had the small, woven envelope with some hare guts in his travel pouch. At some point this morning, he planned on going down to the Toolie to fill his water bag and to try his luck at fishing. If he didn't find any wolf carcasses, his plan was to continue down to the river.

Ureeblay's spirit hammer had flexed more than usual when he knelt down to his knee, bringing resolve to his intention of starting on a new harness. It would hold not only his spirit weapon, but also be a belt for his knife, have a pouch for sling stones on his left side, and have a place that he could attach his travel pouch to the belt on the right side. He needed to start work on that project as soon as possible, he thought. In front of him, the wolf sniffed the sprinkles of darkened blood visible on the blades of grass. He noticed the sling stone he'd used to hit his target a step away to his left in the grass. He could see where the retreating wolf had hurried off through bunches of calf-high grass after he'd clobbered the animal with his sling stone.

Earlier, following his dressing in clout, kilt, and vest, Ureeblay managed to tie his woven belt on with his sheathed knife, which he'd used to gut the fine, fat hare. He put aside the guts for later, hoping to have fish for their evening meal. Then, after checking the hare liver for parasites, as his mother and the camp healer had shown him, he gave the hunter the small heart. The wolf chewed only once before swallowing the morsel, her tail wagging.

Ureeblay brought the travel-drag around behind the jumble of boulders and stones protecting their campsite to retrieve their supplies from the airy safety of the tree limb. The wolf silently moved off to scout around the camp, search for wolf carcasses on her own, or look for another fat hare. Now, with the drag leaning back over his sleeping area next to the long boulder wall and the dorsal shell of the great-great-great-grandsire out of the vine net and near the sacred fire, he started arranging the load of supplies and his equipment on the drag for the day in camp. Part of his mind decided he would leave the piles of sling stones and his skyvine torches where he put them last night while they were in camp.

Soon, Ureeblay had two cuts of smoked babbit on a skewer resting on the forked uprights over the low, reviving sacred fire. Ureeblay had put on his sling stone pouch—to his left side this time—adjusted his spear and caster quiver, and his tied-down spirit hammer strap without putting the heavy tool on his back yet. With his small sling around his forehead as a head band and trailing down behind his right ear and onto the leather of his vest, Ureeblay made sure the plaited cord holding his sliver of frozen lightning was free of any other straps. The scent of the sacred fire was on the slight Warm-bound breeze and the aroma of the heating meat made his stomach growl.

The wolf padded back into camp from around the Warm end of boulders with her moist, black nose up, sniffing the air. She came up to Ureeblay and rubbed against the front of his legs before she continued around the travel-drag and plopped down in her usual place near the fire rectangle, eyeing the meat on the spit over the fire. Taking her hint and feeling needful of food to break his fast, Ureeblay picked up his second pair of hunting moccasins and the babbit-stomach water bag from the drag and proceeded to the fire rectangle.

Now looking down at the splatters of dark, coagulated blood on the blades of grass as he retrieved the sling stone, Ureeblay figured he'd hit the wolf at this location somewhere on the head. He'd killed enough small animals with his previous sling as a boy to know about sling wounds. Last night was the first time he'd ever had any animal the size of a wolf as his target. He knew a sufficiently hard-flung stone to a body the size of a wolf could damage bones along the ribs, the shoulders, or below the knee joints, but wouldn't necessarily break the skin in any of those areas unless bone was near the skin surface.

A sling shot to the head, with the bones of the skull, the bridge of the nose, and the animal's jaws just under the fur could easily break the skin. With the force his new sling delivered missiles, a stone to the head could easily cause damage that would not only cut the skin, but also result in blood coming out of the wolf's nose or mouth—and he was hoping, kill.

He saw there were several tufts of spiky, grayish-black hair between the point where the stone ended up and the blood on the grass. He watched the spirit wolf, with her nose down, start a head-swinging course back toward the clump of brush off to the left of the Hurstmon Way where he'd first seen the shadowy wolf last night. Ureeblay felt certain the wolf he'd hit here had gotten away or the spirit wolf would have alerted him to the carcass already; but how badly he'd injured his target, he couldn't say.