Chapter 25

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

Once Father Sun had moved beyond the crest of the escarpment on Ureeblay's immediate right—a finger of time past midday—the young man found pulling the travel-drag was much cooler work; traveling in the shadow cast by the huge cliff face.

However, his enjoyment over the ease of their passage diminished over the last half-travel length, and the young wolf picked-up his mood and became very alert. They were moving through a section of trees that grew right up to edge of the wide, gravel path they followed. Thick underbrush among the trunks reduced his line of sight to less than a stride into the trees on both sides of the Way. The rock face of the palisades above the trees on his right contributed to his feeling of being boxed in and vulnerable.

Finally, ahead, Ureeblay saw the last of this copse of trees. A double hand of strides beyond that, Ureeblay saw the mysterious gravel track of the Way make a sharp right turn as the wide, weird trail disappeared around the abrupt corner where the towering rock face of the palisades seemed to end. Relief filled him, and the honey-colored wolf just ahead broke into a quick trot and was soon out of sight around the sharp bend.

The young man picked up his pace again and soon moved past the trees. The sweeping view that unfolded to his left and around in front of Ureeblay made him slow the travel-drag to a halt on the outer edge of the trail and just look.

What he was seeing made the young man forget he was supporting a weighted pole in each hand, and a plaited harness rope with a wide, leather pad distributing that load over his shoulders and the back of his neck. There in the shade cast by the escarpment, Ureeblay turned to his left as best as he could between the poles of the travel-drag.

From this elevated point on the Way, the young man could see clearly back beyond the trees he'd exited. The sparkling expanse of water that was the Toolie was less than a sling-stone cast below, flowing bright under the clear, late afternoon sky. He could hear the cawing and chatter of birds coming from the direction of the river.

Standing by the grass berm, the young man looked across the great river, toward the Morn. The forested foothills that climbed up from the far bank showed patches of vivid pale-, dark-, and almost blue-greens, depending on the type of trees that made up portions of the sweeping panorama on the other side of the blue water. Absentmindedly, he shifted his grip to the crossbar in front of his hips and shrugged his vest-covered shoulders under the harness.

Before him, a hand of strides across the grass- and low-brush-covered edge, the land abruptly dropped away. Ureeblay guessed he was standing at the height of a tall tree above the shoreline hidden below the rim. However, to his right, he could see a gravel beach and part of a wide spit of stones going perhaps a long spear-cast out into a great, sharp, snaking meander formed by the Toolie.

Ureeblay swept his gaze over two exposed sand bars sticking out into the water on the Cool, downriver side of the long spit of rocks and gravel the big river looped around here at this promontory formed at the sharp turn in the face of the escarpment. There was a flock of pure-white, sand-sifter birds feeding along the edges of the damp sand bars. From clumps of driftwood and debris caught among the rocks, he could see that perhaps half the spit of land had recently been underwater. The idea of the big river's flood waters being that deep sent wooly-worm feelings up his spine under his vest.

Raucous black and gray cutwings were finding food among the rocks of the spit near the water in the sand and gravel. However, as he watched the birds he could tell the flock was acting alert and slightly wary. In the air, there were gray gulls circling and hovering over the visible tongue of land, which he could see. The cawing gulls were on the lookout for any exposed morsel they might spy below them while staying out of contention with any of the cutwings. The gulls were smaller and quicker than the fat, black-and-gray birds the young man disliked, and they used their abilities to their advantage.

Ureeblay looked back to his left, downriver. He then swept his gaze from the Cool along the expansive half-circle of water formed by the rocky meander toward the Warm. His gaze continued to follow the wide, curving river until the towering edge of massive stone face ahead of him to his right blocked his line of sight and the rest of the mighty Toolie, upriver.

Here the gigantic, sweeping curve of the river rivaled the daunting width of the Toolie he'd first seen when he cleared the line of scrub far back on the heights, when he was both looking for a place to pee, and maybe getting a glimpse of a brilliantly colored woodpecker.

Suddenly, from around the shaded, sharp corner of the palisades ahead on his right, where the wide trail and outside berm of grass and brush vanished behind the edge of soaring stone, Ureeblay saw the young wolf appear. She trotted along the Hurstmon Way toward Ureeblay, her tail straight behind her rump. Her behavior was not a retreat from some threat, but the young man knew it was not her natural rambunctiousness. Her ears were up, and she seemed eager, yet completely alert and determined as she focused on him.

Once the honey-colored wolf saw she had his attention, she turned off the gravel trail onto the short, grass berm at the apex of the turn. Half way to a group of four, stomach-high, leafy bushes—the young man recognized them as young, red buckeye—that grew near the edge of the drop, the wolf stopped and looked back at Ureeblay.

Something had gotten her attention and Ureeblay wondered what it was; certainly something more than the loud flocks of cutwings and gulls. He started pulling the loaded travel-drag up the trail toward the sharp corner to see what stirred up the spirit wolf. Seeing he was coming, the honey-colored wolf crouched and stalked across the remaining berm keeping the red buckeye clump between her and the cliff edge. Reaching the cover, she stuck her head and front shoulders into a gap between two of the full shrubs, dropping to her belly.

Now the young man was excited. Had his companion found some near-at-hand prey? They could use the fresh meat. Whatever it was, Ureeblay rehearsed in his mind how to quickly get out of the drag harness and grab his caster and two spears beside him along with his hickory staff that were all racked on the top of the pull pole. However, seeing a few wide, knee-high rocks just off the inside of the trail near the base of the towering cliff, the young man decided to rest the front of the drag on one of the handy stones. He turned back across the trail and headed for the closest, large rock. Once out of the drag, he would take two spears and sneak over to see what was causing the wolf to act this way.

By the time he was out of the drag, the young wolf had crept further in between the red buckeyes. Now her head and front shoulders were crouched closer to the rim of the drop off with her rump sticking out of the leaves and her tail slowly moving back and forth through the grass. Ureeblay stepped carefully away from the base of the palisades with a new spear nocked in his caster and a second spear shaft held in his left hand. Through the foliage, he could see the wolf was intently watching something below her. Whatever it was, Ureeblay figured, it was down on the unseen part of the large spit created by the curve of the great river below them.

The young man hunched over as he crossed the wide Way. The vista to the Warm on his right opened as he crept to the outside of the turn. At that point, the sharp corner of towering stone no longer blocked his view further upriver. Suddenly, as he moved onto the grassy berm, Ureeblay caught sight of movement in the sky over the Toolie further out over the river to his right. His feet stopped a few steps behind the honey-colored animal crouched in red buckeye bushes near the rim of the drop. The young man sucked in a deep lungful of air feeling that two spears and his caster might not be much help.

Shocked at the sight, Ureeblay quickly craned his head back and looked straight up. Turning in a quick circle to check the sky behind him over the crest of the high cliffs, he saw that the group of sunagles he'd seen soaring in the sky above this spot all morning were gone.

He gazed back over the Toolie to his right and saw two of the sunagles were in fast glides heading away from him toward the Warm and easily a hand of long spears casts away. Ureeblay gauged that the magnificent russet, sun-gold, and silvery sunagles were just a bit higher above the river than he was here on this elevated portion of the Hurstmon Way. He could see the shadows of both of the magnificent birds moving over the choppy surface of the river below and to the Eve of their lines of flight.

Then the two huge birds flying a few wingspans apart banked sharply to the Morn. They continued coming back around until the birds of prey were heading back downstream. Flying toward the spit of land extending out from the promontory as they swept lower over the expanse of water, Ureeblay watched in wonder as the pair of birds dropped even closer to the small wave crests moving on the blue river. To continue to see their flight, Ureeblay moved next to the young wolf, going to his knees. Careful of his spears and caster and using them to separate the branches before him, the young man slowly pushed his head and shoulders into the red buckeye foliage near his traveling companion.

Now he could see both of the supreme hunters flying even closer to the waves in the center of the great Toolie. Extending their silver-colored legs below their feathered bodies suspended on extended wings, the two mighty birds each positioned one clawed foot in front of their other.

The young man noticed by the tilt of their beaked heads that the birds were focusing on something down in the water ahead of them. For a moment, as the sunagles dropped lower, he could better see their russet-colored backs and parts of the tops of their outstretched wings. Then, in the water ahead of the sunagles, Ureeblay glimpsed the first of many quickly moving dorsal fins, breaking the surface of the blue river. For three of his rapid heartbeats, he watched as groups of good-sized fins splashed to the surface before slipping below the small waves.

Suddenly swooping even lower, both sunagles started pumping their tremendous wings. At the same time, their powerful talons struck down into the river amid the rising fins, breaking the blue surface into an eruption of sparkling white spray. Flapping their huge, arching wings to lift them away from the splashing water, each magnificent bird snatched up a big, strange-looking fish from the river.

Ureeblay watched in fascination as the huge raptors rose up into the air, holding their struggling prey below them—the heads of the fish pointing forward. It seemed to Ureeblay as if the big, flapping side and tail fins of the captured fish were trying to help lift their combined weight higher above the water.

Still staying low over the Toolie, the two birds banked in his direction, their huge shadows moved quickly over the river in the afternoon sunlight. Ureeblay watched in awe as sparkling water streamed back behind each bird's line of flight. The river water glittered off the big fish trying to thrash free from the deadly talons holding the flexing, scaled bodies aligned below the birds.

Ureeblay realized the two sunagles were coming in to land on the upriver shore along the spit. Filled with excitement at the astounding fishing demonstration he'd just witnessed, the young man wanted to see more. Ureeblay crept nearer to the cliff edge, up beside the young wolf, hunkering down in the clumps of red buckeye that shielded her from anything down on the spit.

A profusion of gulls and cutwings erupted from the stones, clumps of driftwood, and gravel of the long spit sticking out into the river almost directly below Ureeblay to his left. The retreating flocks fled toward the Cool as the approaching hunters came in to land on the upstream side of the wide crop of rocks the Toolie curved around. To the awe-struck young man, the raptors with their dangling catches were looking brilliant in the rays of Father Sun. Both birds began to back wing to land on the gravel bank of the stony spit with their fresh meals.

Surprised, the young man suddenly noticed that closer to the edge of the cliff below them, there were three other sunagles already on the upriver shore of the spit, tearing into fish of their own. Part of him wondered if either of the two smaller birds might be the hunter, Szar Petak, who had swept in through the morning mist over Ureeblay's head and grabbed the trailing giant babbit right out of the air back at the lake. However, Ureeblay couldn't see the color on the underside of smallest sunagles' tail feathers either. Looking down from above, the younger birds appeared strikingly similar to the young man.

By now, the last two hunters were on the gravel of the shore and attacking the big, flopping fish with their deadly sharp beaks. Ureeblay was amazed; those fish seemed to be as long as from his hips to his toes, but at this distance he could be wrong—they could be larger. In addition, he couldn't make out any distinguishing features on any of the sunagles either, other than their relative size to each other.

Taking his attention away from the huge birds below, Ureeblay looked through the red buckeye foliage all around in the sky and up and down the length of the river. There were no other sunagles to be seen anywhere, or anything else that stood out as a threat. Downriver, however, all the flocks of gulls and cutwings were circling up in the air. Only the sand-sifters remained, hunting for food on the sand bars with their long, thin, orange-colored beaks. It seemed to Ureeblay that it was almost as if they were unaware of the huge raptors feasting across the wide expanse of stone-rubble, gravel, and scattered driftwood piles making up the impressive length of the spit.

Returning his attention to the sight below, he gazed at the five sunagles as each huge bird continued to tear into a big fish on the upstream shore and gobble down their meal. The young man marveled, as he looked down on the russet feathers of the sunagle's back and slightly spreading wings—he marveled that the closest bird was just a short sling-stone cast away.

As he watched the huge birds feed, it was hard for Ureeblay to decide which sunagle to keep his eyes on. All five of the magnificent birds were tearing into similar-looking fish. The young man settled on the closest sunagle, which was one of the smallest. Watching that bird ripping into the fish it held down in the talons of one foot, Ureeblay knew the fish was a type he'd never heard about, let alone seen before.

From where he crouched, the young man now judged the fish to be from his stomach to his feet in length, and quite thick looking across the bottom. The silvery, pale-green bellies of each fish were quite wide—almost flat—and their sides angled up to iridescent, dark-blue scales along the crest of their narrow, long backs. The cross section of the fish formed a rounded triangular form, one of the sacred shapes Welow Swongli.

There was a big, silver-colored fin coming out of each side of the fish, low down near the wide underside just behind the massive gill slits. Those fins had looked like flapping wings as the fish were struggling below the two flying sunagles. The young man saw the closed mouth of each fish was wide as well, located along the bottom of the blunt snout. From the low mouth, the bridge of the snout angled up between the bulbous eyes on each side of the head to the large, blue-tinted top fin partially folded down along the fish's back as if for protection.

These are strange-looking fish, Ureeblay thought, watching the sunagles feed. Their fins fascinated him—especially the tail fins. Ureeblay had never seen or heard of a fish with a horizontal tail fin. These fish the sunagles pulled up out of the Toolie had a fin sticking straight out on each side of the tapered tail, and each was about the length of Ureeblay's lower leg, from his knee to his foot. Each horizontal fin was almost the same width as length, and the young man thought they looked almost translucent silvery-blue in the afternoon sun.

As the young man and wolf watched the sunagles tearing hunks of firm, white flesh from the backs, sides, or bellies of their kills—two of the fish were still flopping around—he wondered what the meat might taste like roasted over his sacred fire. Then, Ureeblay wondered if there would be any left after the huge hunters finished feeding. Three of the sunagles had gutted their prey with the deadly curves of their forearm-long beaks and their sharp talons before they started eating. The other two huge birds were either hungrier than the other three, or preferred eating wriggling, live fish.

As if they both had seen enough, Ureeblay and the wolf eased away from the low red buckeye shrubs near the edge of the drop at the same time. Standing up in the grass and the shadows of the towering rock face, the young man turned around. He studied the Hurstmon Way. The trail made the sharp turn around the prominent corner of the soaring stone cliff. From the turn, the entire escarpment curved away from the river for a double-double hand of paces back toward the Eve.

Beyond that point, although he couldn't see further along the face of the cliff, he knew the escarpment must extend almost straight away toward the Eve. He could see further along the trail where the shadows from the heights ended. From that point, the mysterious path continued, bathed in the direct afternoon sunshine. A short way beyond that, the track turned left, going down a gently sloping, grassy hillside scattered with clumps of tall, leafy honeysuckle bushes and soft-looking, lone dwarf cedars.

The young man's gaze followed the progress of the wide, gravel track down the easy hill grade to an expanse of flat river bottom—a deep and wide meadow with more of the shoulder- and head-high cedar trees. On the slight breeze from the Warm, Ureeblay could smell the faint fragrance of the evergreens. He could make out a wide, rocky creek on the far side of the long meadowland. A mix of broad-leaf trees lined the entire far bank. The creek and the edge of the forest beyond that stream ran down from the rising land to the Eve all the way to the low bank of the Toolie. The Way disappeared into that forest, and Ureeblay could see the progress of the trail marked by a gap in green canopy. The forest continued along rising terrain beside the great river as it headed both uphill and upstream to the Warm.

"Let us go," Ureeblay spoke to the wolf in his deep voice that still surprised him whenever he heard it, "and find a campsite in the edge of the trees just across that creek. We will come back along the river bank and see if those hungry gluttons are going to leave anything worth having."

The spirit wolf still needed a naming, Ureeblay thought as the honey-colored animal picked up her ears at his words. As he turned, she followed him back toward the travel-drag resting on the big rock near the base of the towering escarpment.

Twilight was coming on as Ureeblay and the young wolf padded along through the grass and soft soil where the meadow ended at the calf-high bank of the Toolie. They were heading back toward the promontory, both keeping an eye on the short shingle of gravel going into the amazingly wide river on their right.

Ureeblay had one of his new spears nocked in his caster, held down in his right hand, the spear shaft resting back up in the crook of his arm. Part of him was well aware of his filled quiver against his left hip and thigh. He'd even put his hickory staff in there, just in case. The length of hardwood angled out in front of his left hip a good forearm longer than his slender spears. However, the hunter figured that once he and the wolf reached the spit of rocks and gravel he would take his sling from around his head and use it to drive off any scavengers.

He was more curious about examining the remains of the strange fish the sunagles snatched from the river than hoping to scavenge any edible meat. Ureeblay swept his gaze across the wide Toolie on his right. Father Sun carried the last of the day with him on his journey to his bed below the horizon under the purpling Eve sky. There was enough light for the young man to see the trees along the far bank as just clumps of darkest green and shadows. The golden time of Father Sun's rays was earlier and magnificent.

Ureeblay swept his focus back over the expanse of troughs and low wave crests ruffling the moving surface of the river as a breeze from the Cool-Eve kicked up. He reminded himself that he still had to find a way across the river. He put that to the back of his mind as he and the wolf moved through the meadow smells and the river odors and closer to the treetop-high cliff that separated the escarpment from the spit. From down here right next to the river, Ureeblay could see no sign of the Hurstmon Way at the base of the soaring expanse of the dark-shadowed cliff face.

Ahead to their right, Ureeblay could see cutwings and gulls fighting on the shore of the spit. At different places along the spit below the fluttering mix of gray wings and black-and-gray wings, and hopping feathered bodies, he could make out at least three tattered heads and scattered fins along the gravel near the water. Carefully putting his spear and caster into his quiver, Ureeblay reached up for the sling wrapped around his head. With cutwings fighting over the remains, he decided immediately that he would not be sampling any remaining meat he might find.

A jolt of eagerness rushed through him, hoping to kill a few of the fat, winged thieves. It wasn't that he needed any more feathers; he had more than enough to fletch many, many more spears. Any extra feathers he collected he would take home for his mother to use as she would. Ureeblay admitted there was just something about cutwings that annoyed him greatly. Reaching into the sling stone pouch above his quiver with his left hand, he decided that it was going to be bad time for cutwings trying to feed here on the spit.

Ureeblay armed his sling with one of the three stones in his left hand as he walked along the grassy bank. The shrill cries of cutwings and gulls coming from his right increased. Before he reached the base of the tree-high cliff going up to the Hurstmon Way, the young man stepped carefully down onto the short gravel shingle. The sharp-eyed young wolf kept her attention on the closest cutwings and milling gulls out along gravel beach extending far out from the promontory. The first raucous, mixed-cloud of scavengers were hovering on pumping wings low to the shore, or fighting for fish scraps on the gravel and less than a stone cast away.

The wolf was a few paces ahead of him; Ureeblay could tell by her alert ears and her slight crouch as she moved quietly near the water line that she was ready to attack the birds. He could sense her vibrant excitement; however, she held herself in check. Every few steps the honey-colored wolf quickly glanced back over her right shoulder and focused for a moment on his sling.

Ureeblay carried the weapon across his body between his right casting hand and his left, which was holding the two extra stones and keeping the third in the sling net. Since Ureeblay didn't have the sling up and ready, the young wolf snapped her head back around, focusing again on her prey. His confidence in his hunting companion grew as he knew she was just waiting for the signal to go after the cutwings and gulls with the cast of his first stone.

A few of the closest gulls took wing as the wolf and young man followed the curved gravel shore and started out along the beginning of the huge stony spit. Those gray gulls simply flew over the other birds fighting with cutwings for scraps off the meager remains of the first fish carcass and headed for the next feeding spot. Each staggered clump of loud, fighting birds hopping around on the shore and hovering in the air easily marked where a sunagle had feasted earlier.

And earlier, while those mighty birds had continued to feast on their fresh caught fish, the spirit wolf, followed by Ureeblay pulling the travel-drag, had departed the shadow of the escarpment, gone down the gentle hill, and crossed the surprisingly wide meadow on the Hurstmon Way with the faint hint of cedar and grasses in the air along with occasional, fresh whiffs of the Toolie. After moving across the width of the broad meadowland, Ureeblay and the wolf found the expected ford where the weird track entered the wide, shallow creek. The young man had stopped and followed the trail with his eyes as it went into the mixed, broad-leaf forest that began along the other bank.

He decided not to cross the creek, looking for a campsite. He found something better on this side of the ford. There beside the creek, the young man hauled the drag back into a small clearing formed where five expansive clumps of high honeysuckle and brush joined, just short of the clear water flowing along the gravel and stones in the creek bed on the edge of the meadowland.

Inside the thicket, Ureeblay was able to turn the travel-drag around and got it off to the Warm-Eve side of the corral, away from the opening to the Cool. He crouched, lowering the poles to the turf in the clearing and careful of the curved trencher of oak lashed near the very end of his main poles. With his load on the ground, Ureeblay took the leather-strapped drag harness from around his shoulders and then over his head, clearing his long braid of black hair. He could feel the comforting weight of the spirit hammer against his left shoulder and going down across his back to near his upper right hip.

Looking around at the overhanging honey-suckle boughs, he decided this would be a good camp for the night. He was happy that the surrounding thicket was dense enough to keep out most big animals and it would provide some shielding in hiding his campfire from the surrounding terrain. There was more than enough room for a sacred fire in the center, and he could sleep against the drag with space for the wolf at his back. There was plenty of room on the Morn side to sit and do some craftwork before he went to sleep.

He certainly had enough projects he was working on during this trip. The young man smiled, knowing his sire would be proud of what he'd accomplished by himself so far. He was particularly happy with the bow drill he finished the night before. He'd worked on making everything he needed to construct that tool a bit at a time.

Now he had the flint bit he'd knapped securely attached to the end of a straight, finger-thick oak stick. He could wrap the leather strap of the small bow around the center of the forearm-length of oak. Using a piece of cupped bone in one hand he would push down against the rounded end of the stick while moving the bow back and forth to rotate the stick in the wrap of leather and spin his flint bit. Using the drill, he would be able to bore holes in wood, antler, shell, or bone.

He planned on making several flint bits of different sizes for boring various widths of holes. His sire made a very fine bit his mother used to drill the holes in the beads she made. The bow drill, without a stone bit in a hardwood shaft, was what his people used to create fire. He'd started many a fire using that labor-intensive method. Now, once he had his tinder and sticks prepared, he could have fire going using the sliver of frozen lightning so much faster, it seemed like shaman magic.

With his bow drill completed, he planned on drilling a hole through the base of each of the two biggest giant babbit claws from his first substantial kill. Ureeblay intended to attach the trophies to a plaited leather torque he'd wear around his neck as a talisman of his first successful hunt.

The young man knew his mother would approve of some of the campfire work he'd done, too. More importantly, she would give him helpful hints at how he could improve the final product of some of his projects the next time he did them. His sister, on the other hand, would want to know where the person was that he'd traveled with, and how he got them to do so much work for him.

He chuckled at that thought as he moved about the new campsite.

Using the end of his hickory staff, Ureeblay scraped out a circle in the turf at the center of the clearing in the ring of thick, intertwined honeysuckle, saplings, and low ground cover. He brought stones from the creek and formed a fire-ring. The young man discovered there was a deep pile of limbs and sticks against the upstream side of the thicket that had been deposited by floodwater washing down the creek. In spite of help from the wolf, he gathered three armloads of fuel and stacked the firewood away from the stone circle at the back, or Warm side of the clearing near the drag. Ureeblay could see that this would be a cozy campsite, with everything almost at hand.

In a short time, Ureeblay brought forth the sacred fire in the middle of the stone circle using a tinder teepee, the sliver of frozen lightning, his old nodule of flint, and his own breath. He built up the fire until the flames were happily eating into a hand of arm-thick limb sections he'd broken using his wonderful spirit hammer. The young man placed several more pieces of the sized firewood atop the fuel inside the ring of protective stones. As he watched the sacred fire feed, it struck Ureeblay that he could have created a bow drill from the rawhide in his travel pouch soon after landing on this side of the Toolie.