“Root make strong, not weak!” Kag Ati insisted.
A few others joined the Cleft Mountain Clan Father in voicing similar sentiments until Mahu held up his hands for silence. “Mahu now strong at thirty and nine,” he said. “I throw away Gift of Many Summers and am strong. I hear of Jatka’s juice to rub away aches. Maybe I try that. No more stingroot.” He copied Gordon’s gesture of ten rigid fingers thrust up into the air. “Think,” he encouraged them. “Try. Then decide.”
The men who had dumped their root pouches went to their huts and tents to await the miracle, while some of those who did not dump their pouches noted the location of the discarded roots for later retrieval out of Mahu’s sight. The young men, not enough summers to have tasted the root, absorbed what they had heard and seen. They returned to their huts to think and to enjoy the miracle they had not yet lost. Those who were too young and who used the root nevertheless listened in horror and went their separate ways to decide upon priorities. Kag Ati turned his massive head and glared at Gordon for a long moment. Abruptly he pivoted and walked west to where his horses were tethered. Soon he and his men rode across the frozen river into the hills.
By noon the next day the snowfall had stopped and Ekav filled the sky with glorious light. Pela and Bonsha went down to the river’s edge to watch the fishers stone-drop holes in the ice. Others in the village were sweeping their paths, still others brought in wood, while others went to Mahu’s wives to learn of the benefits of abstinence from stingroot.
While Gordon observed the village activity, he felt hungry and reached for his pack as he walked through the cedars along the riverbank to join Pela watching the fishers. As he passed a large tree, his attention on the inside of his pack, something smacked the right side of his head, the universe shattered, and he fell into mind shadows.
Three things moved into Gordon’s awareness. First, he was securely bound, hands behind his back, his fingers numb and cold from diminished circulation. Second, his upper torso was propped up against something rough, the knob of a broken branch poked uncomfortably in his back. Third, he had a headache that could flatten Black Mountain all by itself. Blood was crusted beneath his right ear, as he opened his eyes to a smear of light and dark, fuzzy silhouettes around a fire, some moving, some not. It was night. Men and women in a circle around a fire in a clearing, horses tethered just beyond, their backs warmed by furs, the frozen vapor of their breaths filling the line with mist. Also beyond the circle of people were their skin shelters looking like teepees.
Gordon lifted his head and looked. Perhaps eighty men and women with a few children around the fire. The men nearby wore heavy furs with untrimmed seams and carried toothed clubs and spears tipped with long, symmetrical flint points. Only one familiar face: Kag Ati, Cleft Mountain Clan Father. He was on a raised dais seated upon a bench covered with furs. Next to Gordon was another man who was tied and guarded. Gordon could see his face but didn’t recognize him. Aside from Kag Ati, there was no one he knew. Gordon felt a moment of relief. Pela and Jatka were safe.
Kag Ati was going through the things in Gordon’s pack. A huge black dog sat at his side next to three young females, presumably Kag Ati’s new wives. They were before a leather shelter that looked like a teepee with a rounded top. The youngest wife, not even in her teens, was wearing Gordon’s spare briefs on her head. The middle wife, no older than eighteen, was wearing his socks on her hands like mittens.
One of Kag Ati’s hunters squatted in front of Gordon and smacked the back of his hand against Gordon’s chest. “Chayma Azi,” said the hunter. He was a young man, barely twenty.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Gordon. “I am the captive.”
“He is awake, Clan Father,” called Chayma to the fire. The clan leader looked up from the pack.
Kag Ati stood. Holding Gordon’s pack by its straps, he walked through the path created as his people made room for him to pass. He stood over Gordon. “God’n of the Red Cliff,” said Kag Ati. “Strong at thirty and eight.”
Gordon moistened his lips and said, “Kag Ati of Cleft Mountain: Clan Father and thief.”
Kag Ati’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Tied like an animal, you insult me?”
“If you are going to kill me, I have no reason to be polite.”
“What about less pain? Is that a good reason?” shouted Chayma Azi.
“A good reason,” said Gordon, “but not reason enough.”
Kag Ati shook his head at Chayma and motioned for the guard to return to the fire, which he did. The Clan Father held out the pack with one hand and tapped the side of his head with the other. “I know.” He let the pack hang from its straps at his side.
The clan leader squatted before Gordon, the pack between them. Gordon could see the shockcomb was on top. “I know God’n’s secret.” He pulled a stone knife from his belt and held it in front of Gordon’s eyes. “You make Kag Ati strong.” The Cleft Mountain Clan Father leaned close to Gordon. “With root, ah? Kag Ati stay with Gift of Many Summers and you make strong.”
“How do I make you strong, Kag Ati? If you keep using the root you stay weak. Ask Mahu.”
Kag Ati held up the pack. “This!”
“What of it?”
“Think Kag Ati fool, God’n? Before you went to Pela’s bed, ah?” Kag Ati’s heavy eyebrows went up. “At feast? I see you. I see Mahu.” He held the pack in his lap. “You hold pack here. Pela sings. Mahu hold pack here. Mahu’s wives sing.”
Gordon looked at the pack, vaguely remembering that at the Temptations he had held the pack between his knees while he reset the shockcomb. Mahu had held the pack in his lap while he examined the bag’s stitching. Kag Ati had been there and had witnessed both events.
Kag Ati smashed the back of his hand angrily into Gordon’s face. “Make strong!” he demanded. “With root! With pack! Now!” The clan leader held his knife and drew the needle point down Gordon’s left cheek, leaving the blood to bead up from the razor cut. He then held the point at Gordon’s throat. “I kill you, God’n,” he warned.
“I must see in pack,” he said to Kag Ati. If he could get his hands on the shockcomb, he could vanish or bury Kag Ati beneath a ton of rock. “I need to see in pack. Untie me.”
Kag Ati frowned suspiciously. “You clever, God’n. I hear about Coyote. Trickster, ah? Maybe God’n trickster.” He held out the bag in front of Gordon’s face. “See what you see, then you make Kag Ati strong.”
Gordon looked into the bag. Eleven minutes left on the shockcomb reset. The face of the locater was flashing which could mean anything from the locator’s charge running low to Harith managing to find a replacement vehicle and being in the area looking for him.
“Now you make Kag Ati strong?” The clan leader held up his blade, let the needle sharp point dance dangerously close to Gordon’s eyes. “I keep root.” He brought his lips close to Gordon’s left ear. “I not get strong, God’n, I bring my people to Red Cliff and kill them all. You think on Pela, now. You think on your new son.”
Gordon closed his eyes and nodded. “You see the way Mahu held the bag? The way I held the bag?”
“Yes.”
“Hold the bag that way, Kag Ati. Hold it and wait.”
The Clan Father stood, holding the bag in both hand. “Everything in here I need?”
“Everything you need.”
“Kag Ati not get strong, God’n, I fill Red Cliff with blood, ghosts, fire, and shattered bones,” he warned. “Believe me.”