Strawberries are not the only fruit. Part Three.
Part One | Part Two
He couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a problem that these paths were starting to become more familiar. He knew enough now that he could find his way back to the stream, the tree where he knew Pete would be waiting.
“You came.”
“I did.”
Pete’s form seemed more solid this time, like it was more confident about its purpose. It’s dark hair, so much like that of the clan was neat, straight, attractive.
Mikey watched the ghost of the water flowing along the streambed; even tiny spirit-trout flipped their tails lazily against the current. This was a mirror of the real world, in dreams.
“It’s water.” He said. Not a question, Pete was free to correct him.
“It’s life.” Pete replied. So much for that, now Mikey was only left with more questions.
“I came.” Mikey pushed, Pete had not offered any conversation since he arrived and he knew he could only sustain the vision for so long before it became unbearable. The time that he could stand it was getting longer however, and he had laid down this time, perhaps against his better judgement. If he concentrated he could taste the bitter paste on his tongue, numbing the gums around his teeth.
Pete seemed to draw in a breath in imitation, an addition to form it currently wore. Nothing breathed here; the trout’s gills were still.
“Your heart beats.” It said finally, “a rhythm.”
Mikey nodded, the sound echoed now around his consciousness, as though the mention of it brought the steady beat to his attention, interesting.
“The rhythm is missing.” Pete continued. “There is no more beat.”
Mikey thought for a moment, the spirit world was not physical but born of sensations and feeling. The spirits here would have no use for a heart, despite the sacrifices some tribes in the north were said to make. He’d seen a knife they used once, and thrown up. All the same, he needed confirmation that he wasn’t being asked to make that choice.
“You have no use for a heart.” He stated.
“No.” Pete replied, almost as if amused by the suggestion. “We need the rhythm.”
Gently Mikey became aware that Pete was tapping one ethereal finger against its thigh, in perfect time to his heartbeat. In a rush Mikey saw images of dancers around a fire, and others beating time on wide drums, grinning wildly at one another. His vision lurched sickeningly to the right and he saw Bob, cross legged on the floor, pounding the skin stretched across a bowl as large as he was. There were others, keeping time together. When the images faded Mikey realised his heartbeat had quickened and he reeled from the adrenaline. Pete was wearing its jackal-smile, and Mikey realised the adrenaline was coming not from the vision but from the spirit itself. Somehow, it was channelling the sensation directly into Mikey.
“We need the music.” Pete said.
“You need the music.” Mikey replied beginning to understand.
Pete reached out a hand as Mikey turned to leave, his time already growing short.
“There will be another.” It said, “another is coming.”
Mikey dared not ask whether it was a spirit or a person, he already felt too deep in this for comfort; he fled back to his body, heartbeat echoing around his mind.
~**~
“I kept the best for us!” Frank giggled. He turned out the sling and tumbled all kinds of berries onto the furs. “I trade the beets because I don’t like them much but these are just too good to give away.” He held out a strawberry to Bob and winked conspiratorially at him when he took it. “Now you know my secret you gotta swear to keep it!” He hissed.
Bob shrugged. “Whatever.”
He had seen men drunk with elation after a difficult or challenging hunt. He’d seen the quiet satisfaction his mother or Ray wore when they had completed a particularly fine example of their craft. He’d seen the children’s joy at discovering an ant’s nest with which to prank their parents, but nothing really compared to Frank eating strawberries.
Each strawberry was chosen based, as far as Bob could work out, on colour and plumpness. Every time Frank bit down on one he would screw up his face in pleasure and grin oafishly at Bob. It was fascinating; the only time Bob had been near someone that looked that ecstatic there had been much less clothing and more...touching. He realised that he desperately wanted to be the reason Frank was making those faces, and those noises.
It was possible that abstaining was going to send Bob mad, in which case he’d be cast out of the tribe anyway. He decided that really, it couldn’t hurt to at least broach the subject. It was a long moment before he summoned the courage however. Facing down a charging bison, no problem, talking about kissing his best friend was slightly more daunting.
“So, uh..” He began. Great start, he thought, what a hook. Frank looked at him quizzically and held out another strawberry. Bob took it, twirling it around in his fingers by the stalk. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”
“Mmmhmm?” Frank tried unsuccessfully to talk around his mouthful, making him chuckle.
“Yeah..” Bob replied. He was getting distracted by the way the berries had stained Frank’s lips pink. Uh, in my tribe, there are partnerships...” His grasp of the language was making his decisions about how he should phrase things shaky. His stomach was doing back flips as a result.
“Partnerships?” Frank said, picking through the last bits of the pile of fruit.
“Yeah, uh, the men and women of my tribe, they sometimes take more than one mate.” That was good, he could start there...
Frank looked up, interested. “You don’t have enough children?”
Bob shook his head, he had heard of tribes that boosted their numbers by allowing men more than one female partner and it was a good strategy. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean that sometimes a woman will take another woman or a man will take a woman, and another man, it’s all pretty flexible.” He’d said it, no way to hide now. He drew his knees up to his chest and waited for Frank’s reaction.
Frank licked his fingers clean of the sticky juice. “So people share their bed with anyone they find attractive?”
Bob nodded; it was as good a way to describe it as any. “I’ve not seen any one do it here, I wondered...”
“Have you?” Frank’s question cut him off.
Bob hadn’t been expecting the conversation to turn directly to him and it threw him slightly, he couldn’t judge Frank’s reaction and he was becoming sure he’d made a grave mistake, that the notion was taboo among this tribe.
“I have...” Bob didn’t know how to explain his relationship with Jepha, even to his own tribe, so he let the sentence trail off.
“Is it different?” Frank asked, his attention all on Bob.
There was no revulsion at least, Bob figured Frank’s curiosity had been piqued. If he was going to do this, now was the time. “Yes and no.” Bob answered. Masterful, bravo. He shook his head and tried again. “A woman’s touch can’t really be compared to a man’s; they’re different in ways I don’t have words to describe.”
In retrospect Bob realised he should never have been surprised at Frank’s reaction. Frank would stick his finger in a bee’s nest to see if it was occupied, there was little that could faze him, certainly not social impropriety. Before Bob had gathered his thoughts enough to continue the tiny hunter was crowded into his space, rubbing strawberry juice off his face and grinning. “Show me.” He demanded.
Bob could only agree. The smell of strawberries was thick and heavy in the air, on him, on the furs, on Frank. He wrapped his hands around Frank’s jaw line and kissed him deeply, tasting the sweet sticky fruit, relief and satisfaction washing through him.
~**~
It wasn’t a difficult job, but somehow the crowded tent was very different than painting in the silence of Ray’s deserted dwelling.
Lindsey had insisted that Gerard paint her family’s tent. It was a little daunting, having them watch him work but every time a little drip of dye landed on his upturned face one of the children laughed. Pretty soon he was working around them, ducking under baskets and dodging Lindsey’s younger siblings as they made a game of distracting him.
He repeated the patterns he had made in Ray’s tent, adding tiny figures inspired by the children along the edges of the border. Lindsey made him name them, pointing at each one in turn. Gerard began weaving stories around them as he worked, placing them in the roles of the myths and legends of their people.
He was rewarded finally with hot stew and beaming praise from the whole family, especially Lindsey’s mother. Although Gerard suspected they were just pleased to see him working again, news of his slump had not taken long to reach the ears of every clansman, and possibly beyond.
Lindsey joined him when he returned to the stream to wash the dye from his skin. She told him stories in return for those he’d given her. She laughed as he ducked his head under the clear water and shook himself like an animal. She insisted again that he let her take care of his hands and Gerard wondered if this was what it was like to fall upwards into the stars.
~**~
“There was an earthquake.” The old man explained. “Malik was only an apprentice then and Jude was too superstitious. By the time Jude had passed the mantle to Malik the arts were lost.”
Mikey nodded; there were dances at the summer meets with the clans that were dotted along the river from the delta below. All the tribes knew how to dance, but it seemed odd that no one had questioned why they never did it as a clan any more.
Things were due to change, Mikey could feel Pete’s hand in it, but he was still not sure how best to begin. Bob was the key, but Mikey didn’t know if the vision Pete had instigated was truth, past or future. The other question still hanging over the issue is why. There were all flavours of why. Why him, why now, why here...they were all questions he had no way of asking, not unless he wanted to sell his soul to the spirits entirely. A Shaman owned by anything other than himself was an abomination; he couldn’t let his curiosity rule him.
He knew that dancing, making music wasn’t bad, or there would have been catastrophes at the summer clan meets, so Mikey had almost come to the decision to help Pete, but he felt adrift without knowing why the spirit needed it, why he had been contacted in the first place, why Pete was so desperate.
Mikey thanked the old hunter and rose respectfully. He would see Pete, then Bob. Hopefully he would be rid of the entire issue soon, and his dreams could once again meander through nonsensical landscapes where no one wanted anything of him at all.
As it happened it was Bob who found him first. Catching him lost in thought on his way back to the cave. He was deep in conversation with Frank, but he seemed excited. It was the most animated Mikey had ever seen him.
Their greeting was cheerful, and Mikey was tempted to stay in the sun with them, but it was likely they were discussing hunting tactics or victories and Mikey had always felt out of place in that world. Instead he stopped by them for a moment and asked Bob about his tribe.
“Have you ever drummed?” Mikey asked. At Bob’s confused expression Frank beat a brief rhythm on his thighs with his palms. Bob’s face lit up.
“I used to do that every night for my tribe!” He said, excited. “I wasn’t ever much good at dancing so my father taught me how.”
Mikey sighed with relief. “Could you teach others? Can you make drums?”
Bob nodded. “Yes, to both, if you can point me in the direction of a fallen tree I can make one whenever you like.”
“There’s one up by the meadow, on the edge of the trees before the path that leads up to the waterfall. They were going to make a canoe from it but it’s not long enough.” Frank said.
“Sounds perfect.” Bob replied.
Mikey returned their farewells, surprised at how easily the request had fallen into place. It wasn’t until a few moments later that Mikey realised that Frank had slipped his hand into Bob’s as they took off. Frank tugging him up the path.
~**~
The traveller watched a flock of geese flap their way overhead, honking their cries at each other until they disappeared over the line of the trees. He was certain Bob had come this way. Any further west and he’d have been in the mountains and he was sure Bob would not have crossed the great river without help. So far there had been few tribes along this stretch of the plains unless they were nomads.
He decided to continue his current course; the tribe he had weathered the storm with had remembered Bob from before the winter. He had come this way originally.
Ahead there was a rising line of hills, they looked a likely place for a permanent camp and there were apparently tribes dotted throughout them, if he had understood the gestures and drawings the hunters of the last clan had pressed on him. He hoped fervently that he would be able to stop soon; that he would find Bob and it would all be over.
~**~
“I can feel your curiosity rolling off you.” Pete said. Its teeth were white and sharp in the odd blue tinted light of the dream world.
Mikey remained silent, thinking perhaps the spirit would rush to fill the void. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Your newcomer has agreed to help you.” Pete said. “I can feel it coming, like the rain.”
Mikey nodded, he hoped he wasn’t putting Bob in danger with this folly. It seemed unlikely though, it wasn’t as though Bob would be walking the spirit paths as he was.
“Let me show you what we need.” Pete said suddenly, Mikey could sense a strange needy mischievousness coming from the spirit, it made him painfully curious. Mikey felt Pete’s focus shift, it was no longer absent minded and distracted by whatever it saw outside the dream world. It was entirely focused on Mikey and the realisation was terrible. Suddenly the Shaman was filled with the same feeling he had been experiencing from the beginning, when Pete first began to call to him. Only this time, so near the spirit and in its own world it was magnified beyond all imagining. He was delirious with desire to be near the spirit, to feel its power.
“You have been here enough to cope with this.” Pete said, as though it were considering an experiment. It allowed Mikey to touch him, to feel the life force flowing over its form.
Mikey couldn’t catch his breath, Pete’s attention; its energy flowed into every fibre of his body, every nerve ending and cell. He was awash with sensation and emotion. He felt sure he was glowing. He could feel every aspect of his body through the link into the spirit world. Never before had he been so aware of himself.
Gradually Pete began to pulse a rhythm through Mikey’s form, the spirit version of himself. If Mikey concentrated he could feel the vibrations in his worldly body, in his private cave. Gradually his heartbeat began to mimic the beat Pete dictated and Mikey gasped. He could feel his blood pumping, pushed by his heart in a mirror of the beat and he could feel himself growing hard under the furs.
Pete seemed to notice after a few moments. “Ah,” it breathed, “you finally understand.”
Pete guided his attention through Mikey’s body, until his spirit form was as prone as his earthly one, and helpless in ecstasy under the spirit’s care. Pete steered the awareness from Mikey’s extremities to where his arousal beat most intense. There the spirit concentrated sensation around his cock and it throbbed with his heartbeat. Everywhere was Pete.
Gradually the spirit increased the tempo, pushing sensations and images through Mikey’s body and mind and Mikey could feel reality slipping away from him as he climbed towards a climax. Along with the pulsing grip around him Pete was relaxing and contracting the sensations until Mikey could feel his earthly body stuttering his hips upwards, into nothing. Pete bent his head towards Mikey’s face and adrenaline and fear seeped into Mikey’s awareness along with almost unbearable pleasure as Pete’s lips met his in a misty, hazy mirror of a kiss.
“Our heartbeat...” Pete murmured into Mikey’s kiss, “Our heartbeat is the rhythm of the world.”
Visions flashed through Mikey’s mind, dancers whirling in rapturous abandon, pounding the floor with their feet. He saw intimate couples of all kinds matching their own heated frantic rhythm with that of the drums and dancer’s hands reaching towards the sky, towards the spirits as they moved in time.
Pete drove them ever onwards towards a crescendo, and Mikey could feel his body gasping for air as his mind went blank, processing only the white heat of Pete’s touch and the thumping of his heart. Mikey came against the furs panting and awake in his own body, his hands balled up fists.
He had pulled a muscle in his neck and everywhere ached. For long moments he lay silent in his cave, coming down from the intensity of the orgasm.
With a start he realised that although he was utterly in the world of the waking he could still feel Pete’s presence like a white line of fire. The revelation was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
~**~
The tree was admittedly perfect. It lay across its own foundation where a storm some years ago had ripped it from the ground. Almost the entire trunk was intact, although beetles had been gnawing at the soft wood in the cracks the wood inside was likely to be as strong as it ever was.
Frank and Ray looked at it appraisingly, at Bob’s signal they placed a shoulder against the trunk and shoved as hard as the three of them could, knocking it over onto the ground. The length of the shaft shuddered as it hit the ground and insects scuttled for the cover of the undergrowth, but the test had shown the wood was not rotten all the way through.
Ray had come with some of the others the year before, to see if it was suitable for a canoe, but the vessel would only have been useable by a child and not worth so many people’s effort. It had disintegrated somewhat since then, probably thanks to the snow and the ground was thick with chips of bark and yellowed wood.
Bob laid his head against the trunk and knocked sharply with his knuckles. “It’ll be good.” He called, “we just need to split it.”
Ray had hauled his pack of heavier tools from the camp, including Brendon’s axe, which he had promised he would replace if it broke. The apprentice had made it larger and heavier than usual to be used during a competition of strength at the summer meet. As an experiment it had been quite successful and he’d been proud to see Brendon surrounded by other, more experienced knappers later, all asking about the tool.
It would be perfect for this, its larger size and weight meant that it was almost ideal for Bob, who had looked somewhat disparaged at the smaller, lighter axes Ray was used to making. Normally they were only used for taking down small birch saplings for frames.
Bob heaved the axe over his shoulder and gestured for Frank to step back. As he took his first swing he stumbled, crashing suddenly and painfully sideways into the trunk, embedding the axe’s sharpest edge where it bit deeply into the wood.
Frank was at his side in an instant, and Ray not far behind, but Bob seemed unscathed. He shook his head muggily and allowed Frank to haul him upright.
“Must have been my bad leg,” he said thickly, “help me get this out.”
It took Frank wiggling a smaller blade against the axe and Ray and Bob tugging sharply on the handle for it to come loose. They tumbled backwards into a heap and scrambled back even further when the trunk began to creak. Where the axe had buried itself in the softened wood a tear had appeared, gradually the trunk cracked and split like stone, until it fell apart into two perfect halves.
“Well...” Ray said after a moment. Frank’s shocked expression was a mirror of Bob’s.
Bob looked fitfully from one half to the other. “Did you see...?” He muttered, reaching out tentatively to touch the nearest half. His expression grew fearful. “Spirits.” He said, and looked at the axe where it lay on the ground.
“It looks like you could make two drums from this.” Ray said, running a palm along the near perfect edge.
Frank looked from Bob’s terrified face to the trunk. “I think that’s the point.” He said quietly.
~**~
The camp was beginning to press in on Bob, making him claustrophobic. The incident with the tree made him edgy and nervous and he was snappish and irritable, even with Ray. Eventually he decided it was sensible to indulge in a time away from the rest of the clan.
“To watch the migration of the bison.” He explained patiently to Frank, who was not over keen on letting Bob out of his sight for a few days.
“We know how they migrate, we’ve told you.” Bob shrugged, indifferent. “Take me with you then.” Frank pressed, his tone unyielding and insistent. Bob nodded; he figured it would give them a chance to spend time together away from the inquisitive stares of the clan. Although no one had been unwelcoming towards their open affection for each other, they were a curiosity, a subject of much discussion and rumour. Bob despised being the centre of so much attention.
Ray helped them pack a few essentials, since they would only be travelling a day or so away from the camp, and pressed a new spearhead into Frank’s hand as they approached the edge of the tent line. “You never know your luck,” he said with a wide grin, “bring us back another elk if you can!”
The sun was warm on Bob’s back as they made their way down the wide slope towards the plains. Already, with Frank walking lightly beside him, he could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. As the day wore on there was almost a little bounce in his step.
At sunset they halted some distance from the river’s banks where the grassland levelled out somewhat. While Bob wrestled with the travelling tent, cursing, Frank coaxed a fire into life. The sun’s heat was fading by the time they had set up the little lean-to camp and they were both glad of the warmth the blaze brought.
Outside the circle of flickering light the fire spilled around them there was utter darkness. There was a certain tranquillity in the solitude that brought to Bob; he had always enjoyed settling down for the night in the same way while travelling and sitting out here in the puddle of firelight with Frank made him feel cocooned, safe.
Tentatively he reached out to put an arm around Frank’s shoulders. Even after the last few days, where Frank had been content to curl up with him in the evenings or walk hand in hand, Bob was still afraid that Frank would reject his advances. His fears were abated however, when Frank leaned closer into his side and closed his eyes.
“Maybe we should have camped nearer the river.” He said sleepily.
“Why?”
“I can’t hear the water.” Frank replied, yawning.
“That only ever makes me want to pee.” Bob said, his tone flat. Frank chuckled anyway.
Bob could feel Frank’s pulse where his neck rested against his arm, it was strange thing to notice, he reached up to stroke the smooth skin of Frank’s collarbone and felt him jump beneath his touch.
“Sorry.” Bob said. He withdrew his hand and plucked at the grass, a little embarrassed. He hated how he felt constantly like a sapling child, a virgin. Frank wriggled away from him and Bob’s heart sank, sure he was to be berated for indecency or crossing a line. Frank’s expression was not one of irritation however, but something far more mischievous. He caught Bob’s hand in his own and tugged him upright, leading him towards the tent.
They both had to crawl inside the cramped space, it was only a small frame with a specially sewn hide draped over the top to keep in warmth, not exactly on a par with their roomy and luxurious tent at the main camp. Bob found himself looming over Frank, who had squirmed onto his back, and he dipped his head to catch Frank in a deep kiss, their tongues dragging over each other’s lips. Suddenly every sense of impropriety vanished. In the darkness of the tent Bob’s hands travelled roughly and a little desperately over Frank’s body, while Frank slung his arms around his neck, keeping him close, their kisses persistent.
Tugging off furs Bob finally pressed his naked form to Frank’s and heard him gasp as his erection pressed into Frank’s thigh. Murmuring reassurances into his ear Bob slid his hand across Frank’s soft belly and rubbed small circles on his palm with his free hand. Achingly slowly he lowered his hand to where Frank’s own hard cock rested gently against his belly. With a flood of arousal and relief Bob closed his fingers around the shaft and kissed Frank’s earlobe, listening to his breath hitch quietly as he began to stroke the length softly.
He pressed in close to Frank’s body and increased his pace, letting Frank tip his head back and moan. Without a word, Bob shifted his position and folded up, letting the warm head of Frank’s cock pass over his lips and drag over his tongue. The noise it elicited from Frank turned Bob to jelly, his attentions turned a little frantic, pulling Frank into his mouth and sucking enough to cause resistance as he withdrew. Frank was panting roughly, and it took only a few minutes before he was tangling himself in Bob’s limbs, arching his back off the furs and flooding Bob’s mouth with salty stickiness. Bob skin was prickling with his own need for release, but he didn’t intrude on Frank’s need to rest, for a while nothing was spoken between them until Bob, almost drifting off to sleep felt Frank’s hand moving shy across his thighs.
Quietly, without moving too much Bob watched Frank explore his body. Frank seemed to want to take his time, paying attention to every crease in Bob’s skin, every blemish and every scar. Eventually he traced his fingers up the shaft of Bob’s cock, making it twitch. He seemed reluctant to commit to anything intense so after as much gentle teasing as Bob could take he reached down to twine their fingers together. Gradually he helped Frank build up a rhythm that he could press his hips up into, and Frank kept it up when Bob let his hand slip from his grip. Like a wave Bob felt his climax hit him, and he grunted as Frank swiped his thumb over the head of his cock. He came apart into Frank’s hand, gasping for air.
~**~
The dew soaked grasses of the plains were lush and green in the morning light. Behind him Bob could hear Frank snoring softly under his furs.
Coaxing the small fire into spluttering life brought a measure of satisfaction. He blew gently on the wood sending a few sparks into the breeze. The smoke rose gently curling upwards, carried eastwards, towards the river.
At first he thought the figure in the distance was a horse or a bison but as he watched it move across the plain and turn towards them he realised it was human. Whoever they were they were coming from the wrong direction to be from the clan. Bob slid his spear out from the strappings of his pack and used it to pull the entrance flap of the lean-to travelling tent aside.
"Frank!" He called. "Someone's coming, wake up."
Frank's sleep-addled expression made Bob want nothing more than to curl back up in the warm furs with Frank but he pointed instead to the approaching stranger. Frank's expression grew concerned; evidently he had drawn the same conclusions as Bob. Wordlessly he tugged on his clothes and joined Bob by the fire. They waited for the stranger to come to them, whoever it was had clearly seen the fire.
They did not have long to wait.
Slowly the stranger drew closer and the hunters could see he was wrapped in furs, a hood drawn over his head. It was only when he stopped a few paces away and held out empty hands that they began to relax. The newcomer spoke in a language only basically familiar to Frank but Bob’s face lit up, he leapt to his feet and enveloped the traveller in an enormous bear hug.
He turned to Frank, who was eyeing the stranger warily.
“This is Spencer!” Bob said, as the tall stranger pulled back his hood, revealing long scruffy blonde hair not so different from his own. “He is from my tribe, back along the river!”
~**~
For most of his life Gerard had been described as a dreamer. When he and Mikey were children they would often be found shirking chores or lessons by the river, feet paddling in the shallows. He had always struggled to keep his concentration in check and he would often imagine distant adventures and spirit battles, wearing a far-off expression while one of the elders lectured him.
Even so, it was hard for Gerard to miss the steady stream of excited clanfolk that hurried past him in twos and threes, talking excitedly. They were headed in the opposite direction to him, and after a moment of irritation battling against the flow he gave up and followed them.
Brendon joined him a few paces along the path but Gerard could only meet his raised eyebrows with a shrug, no one seemed to know what was going on.
Their question was soon answered, as the crowd spread out and the two of them elbowed and jostled their way to the front, straining to see what the commotion was about. Bob was standing with Mikey, Frank a little way behind him, looking mildly pissed off. Beside them Mikey was talking with a stranger, a tall man with pale chestnut hair, who was dressed almost exactly how Bob had been when they found him. Every so often Bob said something to one of them, Mikey nodding as Bob spoke, after a moment it became clear that Bob was translating for the newcomer.
“Who is he?” Brendon whispered, as if Gerard would know. He put on an exaggerated expression of patience and spread his hands wide. “He is clearly an acquaintance of our northern friend.” He said, imitating their late shaman so well that Brendon giggled; trying to move closer to hear what was being said.
Gerard sighed and grabbed Brendon’s elbow as he tugged him towards the small knot of people standing apart from the crowd. There were definitely benefits of being the Shaman’s brother. He tried to make himself unobtrusive as they squeezed into the circle but Brendon was too excited. Mikey looked irritated at Brendon’s too-loud greeting but Gerard didn’t think the newcomer would mind, it was hard not to notice that while Bob made the introductions to Spencer for everyone in the group the stranger’s eyes did not leave Brendon.
~**~
Ray cursed as yet another flat nodule of flint broke apart in his hands. He could feel that his idea would work, but he couldn’t quite get the hang of striking the stone at exactly the right point to make the chisel he was imagining. When Bob had explained how he was going to make the drums, Spencer looking over his shoulder chatting excitedly in their tongue, with sporadic translations, Ray had gotten the idea for the chisel to gouge out the finer points of the wood. The axes had already done most of the work of hollowing out the trunk halves in much the same way as they made canoes, but Bob had explained that the sound of the drum would be better the smoother the inside.
Brendon was sitting a little ways away from him, Spencer was beside him carving pegs to use in the drum’s construction since he and Bob were working on them together. There was a deeply unsettling sense of the supernatural about the whole thing, Ray had been extra careful to leave offerings for the spirits, especially after witnessing the cracking of the trunk into two perfect halves just days before Spencer arrived. There was little out of the ordinary about Bob’s clansman however, except for maybe his infatuation with Brendon.
The two of them were chatting fairly ineffectually with each other, without understanding much of what the other was saying. Every so often a word would emerge in the other’s language and they would both grin oafishly at each other. For the most part however, they seemed to be developing their own strange systems of gestures and eyebrow waggling that meant a lot more was being said than it appeared. Brendon was showing him the basic techniques of tool cutting as they worked; Bob had once explained that as far as he knew there was quite a bit of difference between the techniques of the tribes. Spencer was a craftsman, not a hunter and he was taking much more of an interest in their work than Bob had ever done. Earlier that day he had watched Ray cut a basic knife for a child and gestured excitedly when Ray had make his first strikes in the flint. With Bob nowhere in sight however, the cause of the excitement was something of a mystery. Ray had been interested to watch him chip out a similar knife a little later, he had used a faster technique, but the resulting blade was heavier and thicker than his, it was an interesting approach and there were so many questions Ray wanted to ask. It would wait he knew, Spencer would be able to learn the language, just as Bob had.
~**~
The moon was bright, its light was clear and cool over the hillside where the tribe had begun to gather. Bob had spent the morning dragging the drums to the correct place, without the help of Spencer who had conveniently disappeared. They now stood, painted with decorations by Gerard, the treated elkskin taught across the bowls. The area in front of the cave had been cleared and swept and the big bonfire lit hours before. The people of the tribe had been cooking in anticipation of the ceremony and had prepared a feast. The smells wafting across the encampment were making Bob’s stomach growl. He was looking forward to the ceremony if only for the food.
Gradually, members of the clan began to gather, sitting in groups on the ground. Ray and Frank, with Gerard in tow came to join Bob beside the drums, their chatter reminding him just how at home he was here with the hillside tribe. He even got a wave from Spencer when Brendon pulled him up to the bonfire, the two of them talking excitedly together only understanding snippets of what the other was saying. Eventually Spencer came to join them, looking sheepishly back at Brendon and grinning.
It was well into the evening when Mikey eventually made his appearance, dressed head to toe in brightly beaded ceremonial robes. The tribe fell silent, awaiting his address. Mikey’s voice, never loud, was easily picked out in the hush.
“We have had amazing luck this season,” he began. “Thanks to Bob,” the tribe looked towards him as one, making Bob shy away, curling a little behind Frank, who shouldered him back into the fore. Mikey smiled and continued. “And now his friend too.” He gestured towards Spencer, who caught on that he was being referred to and blushed.
“I have been walking the world of the spirits.” Mikey said. “I have been looking for their blessing on the tribe and I have had visions that suggest an art the spirits once loved has been neglected.” The tribe whispered back and forth, clearly not sure what to make of this news. “We dance at the summer meets,” Mikey explained, “but some time in our clan’s past the practice was lost, stopped. We will tonight bright it back to the hillside, with Bob and Spencer, who have agreed to drum for us.”
Bob practically dived behind his drum, eager to put something between himself and the attention of the crowd. Mikey chuckled, and turned back to the tribe. “We will pass on the luck the hunters have had so far by honouring the spirits tonight. We will honour the hunts made so far and bring luck for all those to come.”
At his signal bob and Spencer began a steady beat on the skins. It had been a while since they had played together but starting slowly helped them build other patterns into their song. It came back as naturally as swimming to them both and it wasn’t long before they were following familiar tempos and interweaving beats that had them both sweating and grinning at one another.
Gradually the tribe began to stand and dance, almost one at a time they rose and moved in time to the drumming, clapping and stomping as they got the hang of a repeated phrase. Eventually every tribe member around the fire was joining in, grinning and swinging each other around.
~**~
Gerard was struck first by how familiar the beats seemed although he knew he had never heard them before. He watched his tribe succumb to the desire to dance and the abandon with which they took to it. They had never danced together as a tribe before and he knew it was something they had been sorely missing.
Lindsey met his stares from across the flames of the bonfire, she had been dancing and was taking a rest, her hair was plastered to her face but her eyes were bright and fierce, and the look she gave Gerard was half defiance, half delight. She held his gaze as she panted, catching her breath. She reminded him very much of his grandmother, and was warmed a little by the realisation. Elena would have liked the woman Lindsey had grown into very much. He sidled around the edges of the bonfire until he reached her. She was waiting for him; before he could say a word she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the mass of bodies, laughing.
~**~
Mikey didn’t need to look to know Pete was with him. As surely as he could feel the earth beneath his feet he could sense the presence of the spirit behind him. It should have been a cause for concern that the bond between them had grown so strong that Pete could make his presence felt so strongly in the living domain, but Mikey drew only satisfaction and relief from it. They could only become closer this way.
As Spencer and Bob played Mikey became aware of a third beat, weaving in and out of the pattern the two drummers were creating. After a few moments he realised it was mirroring the dancing of his tribe, but coming from Pete.
He turned back towards the cave, he felt Pete receding slightly, but no fear of abandonment rose in Mikey, he knew exactly where to find the spirit. Just as Pete disappeared entirely a single phrase reached the shaman’s mind.
“Our heartbeat.”
He couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a problem that these paths were starting to become more familiar. He knew enough now that he could find his way back to the stream, the tree where he knew Pete would be waiting.
“You came.”
“I did.”
Pete’s form seemed more solid this time, like it was more confident about its purpose. It’s dark hair, so much like that of the clan was neat, straight, attractive.
Mikey watched the ghost of the water flowing along the streambed; even tiny spirit-trout flipped their tails lazily against the current. This was a mirror of the real world, in dreams.
“It’s water.” He said. Not a question, Pete was free to correct him.
“It’s life.” Pete replied. So much for that, now Mikey was only left with more questions.
“I came.” Mikey pushed, Pete had not offered any conversation since he arrived and he knew he could only sustain the vision for so long before it became unbearable. The time that he could stand it was getting longer however, and he had laid down this time, perhaps against his better judgement. If he concentrated he could taste the bitter paste on his tongue, numbing the gums around his teeth.
Pete seemed to draw in a breath in imitation, an addition to form it currently wore. Nothing breathed here; the trout’s gills were still.
“Your heart beats.” It said finally, “a rhythm.”
Mikey nodded, the sound echoed now around his consciousness, as though the mention of it brought the steady beat to his attention, interesting.
“The rhythm is missing.” Pete continued. “There is no more beat.”
Mikey thought for a moment, the spirit world was not physical but born of sensations and feeling. The spirits here would have no use for a heart, despite the sacrifices some tribes in the north were said to make. He’d seen a knife they used once, and thrown up. All the same, he needed confirmation that he wasn’t being asked to make that choice.
“You have no use for a heart.” He stated.
“No.” Pete replied, almost as if amused by the suggestion. “We need the rhythm.”
Gently Mikey became aware that Pete was tapping one ethereal finger against its thigh, in perfect time to his heartbeat. In a rush Mikey saw images of dancers around a fire, and others beating time on wide drums, grinning wildly at one another. His vision lurched sickeningly to the right and he saw Bob, cross legged on the floor, pounding the skin stretched across a bowl as large as he was. There were others, keeping time together. When the images faded Mikey realised his heartbeat had quickened and he reeled from the adrenaline. Pete was wearing its jackal-smile, and Mikey realised the adrenaline was coming not from the vision but from the spirit itself. Somehow, it was channelling the sensation directly into Mikey.
“We need the music.” Pete said.
“You need the music.” Mikey replied beginning to understand.
Pete reached out a hand as Mikey turned to leave, his time already growing short.
“There will be another.” It said, “another is coming.”
Mikey dared not ask whether it was a spirit or a person, he already felt too deep in this for comfort; he fled back to his body, heartbeat echoing around his mind.
~**~
“I kept the best for us!” Frank giggled. He turned out the sling and tumbled all kinds of berries onto the furs. “I trade the beets because I don’t like them much but these are just too good to give away.” He held out a strawberry to Bob and winked conspiratorially at him when he took it. “Now you know my secret you gotta swear to keep it!” He hissed.
Bob shrugged. “Whatever.”
He had seen men drunk with elation after a difficult or challenging hunt. He’d seen the quiet satisfaction his mother or Ray wore when they had completed a particularly fine example of their craft. He’d seen the children’s joy at discovering an ant’s nest with which to prank their parents, but nothing really compared to Frank eating strawberries.
Each strawberry was chosen based, as far as Bob could work out, on colour and plumpness. Every time Frank bit down on one he would screw up his face in pleasure and grin oafishly at Bob. It was fascinating; the only time Bob had been near someone that looked that ecstatic there had been much less clothing and more...touching. He realised that he desperately wanted to be the reason Frank was making those faces, and those noises.
It was possible that abstaining was going to send Bob mad, in which case he’d be cast out of the tribe anyway. He decided that really, it couldn’t hurt to at least broach the subject. It was a long moment before he summoned the courage however. Facing down a charging bison, no problem, talking about kissing his best friend was slightly more daunting.
“So, uh..” He began. Great start, he thought, what a hook. Frank looked at him quizzically and held out another strawberry. Bob took it, twirling it around in his fingers by the stalk. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about.”
“Mmmhmm?” Frank tried unsuccessfully to talk around his mouthful, making him chuckle.
“Yeah..” Bob replied. He was getting distracted by the way the berries had stained Frank’s lips pink. Uh, in my tribe, there are partnerships...” His grasp of the language was making his decisions about how he should phrase things shaky. His stomach was doing back flips as a result.
“Partnerships?” Frank said, picking through the last bits of the pile of fruit.
“Yeah, uh, the men and women of my tribe, they sometimes take more than one mate.” That was good, he could start there...
Frank looked up, interested. “You don’t have enough children?”
Bob shook his head, he had heard of tribes that boosted their numbers by allowing men more than one female partner and it was a good strategy. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean that sometimes a woman will take another woman or a man will take a woman, and another man, it’s all pretty flexible.” He’d said it, no way to hide now. He drew his knees up to his chest and waited for Frank’s reaction.
Frank licked his fingers clean of the sticky juice. “So people share their bed with anyone they find attractive?”
Bob nodded; it was as good a way to describe it as any. “I’ve not seen any one do it here, I wondered...”
“Have you?” Frank’s question cut him off.
Bob hadn’t been expecting the conversation to turn directly to him and it threw him slightly, he couldn’t judge Frank’s reaction and he was becoming sure he’d made a grave mistake, that the notion was taboo among this tribe.
“I have...” Bob didn’t know how to explain his relationship with Jepha, even to his own tribe, so he let the sentence trail off.
“Is it different?” Frank asked, his attention all on Bob.
There was no revulsion at least, Bob figured Frank’s curiosity had been piqued. If he was going to do this, now was the time. “Yes and no.” Bob answered. Masterful, bravo. He shook his head and tried again. “A woman’s touch can’t really be compared to a man’s; they’re different in ways I don’t have words to describe.”
In retrospect Bob realised he should never have been surprised at Frank’s reaction. Frank would stick his finger in a bee’s nest to see if it was occupied, there was little that could faze him, certainly not social impropriety. Before Bob had gathered his thoughts enough to continue the tiny hunter was crowded into his space, rubbing strawberry juice off his face and grinning. “Show me.” He demanded.
Bob could only agree. The smell of strawberries was thick and heavy in the air, on him, on the furs, on Frank. He wrapped his hands around Frank’s jaw line and kissed him deeply, tasting the sweet sticky fruit, relief and satisfaction washing through him.
~**~
It wasn’t a difficult job, but somehow the crowded tent was very different than painting in the silence of Ray’s deserted dwelling.
Lindsey had insisted that Gerard paint her family’s tent. It was a little daunting, having them watch him work but every time a little drip of dye landed on his upturned face one of the children laughed. Pretty soon he was working around them, ducking under baskets and dodging Lindsey’s younger siblings as they made a game of distracting him.
He repeated the patterns he had made in Ray’s tent, adding tiny figures inspired by the children along the edges of the border. Lindsey made him name them, pointing at each one in turn. Gerard began weaving stories around them as he worked, placing them in the roles of the myths and legends of their people.
He was rewarded finally with hot stew and beaming praise from the whole family, especially Lindsey’s mother. Although Gerard suspected they were just pleased to see him working again, news of his slump had not taken long to reach the ears of every clansman, and possibly beyond.
Lindsey joined him when he returned to the stream to wash the dye from his skin. She told him stories in return for those he’d given her. She laughed as he ducked his head under the clear water and shook himself like an animal. She insisted again that he let her take care of his hands and Gerard wondered if this was what it was like to fall upwards into the stars.
~**~
“There was an earthquake.” The old man explained. “Malik was only an apprentice then and Jude was too superstitious. By the time Jude had passed the mantle to Malik the arts were lost.”
Mikey nodded; there were dances at the summer meets with the clans that were dotted along the river from the delta below. All the tribes knew how to dance, but it seemed odd that no one had questioned why they never did it as a clan any more.
Things were due to change, Mikey could feel Pete’s hand in it, but he was still not sure how best to begin. Bob was the key, but Mikey didn’t know if the vision Pete had instigated was truth, past or future. The other question still hanging over the issue is why. There were all flavours of why. Why him, why now, why here...they were all questions he had no way of asking, not unless he wanted to sell his soul to the spirits entirely. A Shaman owned by anything other than himself was an abomination; he couldn’t let his curiosity rule him.
He knew that dancing, making music wasn’t bad, or there would have been catastrophes at the summer clan meets, so Mikey had almost come to the decision to help Pete, but he felt adrift without knowing why the spirit needed it, why he had been contacted in the first place, why Pete was so desperate.
Mikey thanked the old hunter and rose respectfully. He would see Pete, then Bob. Hopefully he would be rid of the entire issue soon, and his dreams could once again meander through nonsensical landscapes where no one wanted anything of him at all.
As it happened it was Bob who found him first. Catching him lost in thought on his way back to the cave. He was deep in conversation with Frank, but he seemed excited. It was the most animated Mikey had ever seen him.
Their greeting was cheerful, and Mikey was tempted to stay in the sun with them, but it was likely they were discussing hunting tactics or victories and Mikey had always felt out of place in that world. Instead he stopped by them for a moment and asked Bob about his tribe.
“Have you ever drummed?” Mikey asked. At Bob’s confused expression Frank beat a brief rhythm on his thighs with his palms. Bob’s face lit up.
“I used to do that every night for my tribe!” He said, excited. “I wasn’t ever much good at dancing so my father taught me how.”
Mikey sighed with relief. “Could you teach others? Can you make drums?”
Bob nodded. “Yes, to both, if you can point me in the direction of a fallen tree I can make one whenever you like.”
“There’s one up by the meadow, on the edge of the trees before the path that leads up to the waterfall. They were going to make a canoe from it but it’s not long enough.” Frank said.
“Sounds perfect.” Bob replied.
Mikey returned their farewells, surprised at how easily the request had fallen into place. It wasn’t until a few moments later that Mikey realised that Frank had slipped his hand into Bob’s as they took off. Frank tugging him up the path.
~**~
The traveller watched a flock of geese flap their way overhead, honking their cries at each other until they disappeared over the line of the trees. He was certain Bob had come this way. Any further west and he’d have been in the mountains and he was sure Bob would not have crossed the great river without help. So far there had been few tribes along this stretch of the plains unless they were nomads.
He decided to continue his current course; the tribe he had weathered the storm with had remembered Bob from before the winter. He had come this way originally.
Ahead there was a rising line of hills, they looked a likely place for a permanent camp and there were apparently tribes dotted throughout them, if he had understood the gestures and drawings the hunters of the last clan had pressed on him. He hoped fervently that he would be able to stop soon; that he would find Bob and it would all be over.
~**~
“I can feel your curiosity rolling off you.” Pete said. Its teeth were white and sharp in the odd blue tinted light of the dream world.
Mikey remained silent, thinking perhaps the spirit would rush to fill the void. He wasn’t disappointed.
“Your newcomer has agreed to help you.” Pete said. “I can feel it coming, like the rain.”
Mikey nodded, he hoped he wasn’t putting Bob in danger with this folly. It seemed unlikely though, it wasn’t as though Bob would be walking the spirit paths as he was.
“Let me show you what we need.” Pete said suddenly, Mikey could sense a strange needy mischievousness coming from the spirit, it made him painfully curious. Mikey felt Pete’s focus shift, it was no longer absent minded and distracted by whatever it saw outside the dream world. It was entirely focused on Mikey and the realisation was terrible. Suddenly the Shaman was filled with the same feeling he had been experiencing from the beginning, when Pete first began to call to him. Only this time, so near the spirit and in its own world it was magnified beyond all imagining. He was delirious with desire to be near the spirit, to feel its power.
“You have been here enough to cope with this.” Pete said, as though it were considering an experiment. It allowed Mikey to touch him, to feel the life force flowing over its form.
Mikey couldn’t catch his breath, Pete’s attention; its energy flowed into every fibre of his body, every nerve ending and cell. He was awash with sensation and emotion. He felt sure he was glowing. He could feel every aspect of his body through the link into the spirit world. Never before had he been so aware of himself.
Gradually Pete began to pulse a rhythm through Mikey’s form, the spirit version of himself. If Mikey concentrated he could feel the vibrations in his worldly body, in his private cave. Gradually his heartbeat began to mimic the beat Pete dictated and Mikey gasped. He could feel his blood pumping, pushed by his heart in a mirror of the beat and he could feel himself growing hard under the furs.
Pete seemed to notice after a few moments. “Ah,” it breathed, “you finally understand.”
Pete guided his attention through Mikey’s body, until his spirit form was as prone as his earthly one, and helpless in ecstasy under the spirit’s care. Pete steered the awareness from Mikey’s extremities to where his arousal beat most intense. There the spirit concentrated sensation around his cock and it throbbed with his heartbeat. Everywhere was Pete.
Gradually the spirit increased the tempo, pushing sensations and images through Mikey’s body and mind and Mikey could feel reality slipping away from him as he climbed towards a climax. Along with the pulsing grip around him Pete was relaxing and contracting the sensations until Mikey could feel his earthly body stuttering his hips upwards, into nothing. Pete bent his head towards Mikey’s face and adrenaline and fear seeped into Mikey’s awareness along with almost unbearable pleasure as Pete’s lips met his in a misty, hazy mirror of a kiss.
“Our heartbeat...” Pete murmured into Mikey’s kiss, “Our heartbeat is the rhythm of the world.”
Visions flashed through Mikey’s mind, dancers whirling in rapturous abandon, pounding the floor with their feet. He saw intimate couples of all kinds matching their own heated frantic rhythm with that of the drums and dancer’s hands reaching towards the sky, towards the spirits as they moved in time.
Pete drove them ever onwards towards a crescendo, and Mikey could feel his body gasping for air as his mind went blank, processing only the white heat of Pete’s touch and the thumping of his heart. Mikey came against the furs panting and awake in his own body, his hands balled up fists.
He had pulled a muscle in his neck and everywhere ached. For long moments he lay silent in his cave, coming down from the intensity of the orgasm.
With a start he realised that although he was utterly in the world of the waking he could still feel Pete’s presence like a white line of fire. The revelation was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
~**~
The tree was admittedly perfect. It lay across its own foundation where a storm some years ago had ripped it from the ground. Almost the entire trunk was intact, although beetles had been gnawing at the soft wood in the cracks the wood inside was likely to be as strong as it ever was.
Frank and Ray looked at it appraisingly, at Bob’s signal they placed a shoulder against the trunk and shoved as hard as the three of them could, knocking it over onto the ground. The length of the shaft shuddered as it hit the ground and insects scuttled for the cover of the undergrowth, but the test had shown the wood was not rotten all the way through.
Ray had come with some of the others the year before, to see if it was suitable for a canoe, but the vessel would only have been useable by a child and not worth so many people’s effort. It had disintegrated somewhat since then, probably thanks to the snow and the ground was thick with chips of bark and yellowed wood.
Bob laid his head against the trunk and knocked sharply with his knuckles. “It’ll be good.” He called, “we just need to split it.”
Ray had hauled his pack of heavier tools from the camp, including Brendon’s axe, which he had promised he would replace if it broke. The apprentice had made it larger and heavier than usual to be used during a competition of strength at the summer meet. As an experiment it had been quite successful and he’d been proud to see Brendon surrounded by other, more experienced knappers later, all asking about the tool.
It would be perfect for this, its larger size and weight meant that it was almost ideal for Bob, who had looked somewhat disparaged at the smaller, lighter axes Ray was used to making. Normally they were only used for taking down small birch saplings for frames.
Bob heaved the axe over his shoulder and gestured for Frank to step back. As he took his first swing he stumbled, crashing suddenly and painfully sideways into the trunk, embedding the axe’s sharpest edge where it bit deeply into the wood.
Frank was at his side in an instant, and Ray not far behind, but Bob seemed unscathed. He shook his head muggily and allowed Frank to haul him upright.
“Must have been my bad leg,” he said thickly, “help me get this out.”
It took Frank wiggling a smaller blade against the axe and Ray and Bob tugging sharply on the handle for it to come loose. They tumbled backwards into a heap and scrambled back even further when the trunk began to creak. Where the axe had buried itself in the softened wood a tear had appeared, gradually the trunk cracked and split like stone, until it fell apart into two perfect halves.
“Well...” Ray said after a moment. Frank’s shocked expression was a mirror of Bob’s.
Bob looked fitfully from one half to the other. “Did you see...?” He muttered, reaching out tentatively to touch the nearest half. His expression grew fearful. “Spirits.” He said, and looked at the axe where it lay on the ground.
“It looks like you could make two drums from this.” Ray said, running a palm along the near perfect edge.
Frank looked from Bob’s terrified face to the trunk. “I think that’s the point.” He said quietly.
~**~
The camp was beginning to press in on Bob, making him claustrophobic. The incident with the tree made him edgy and nervous and he was snappish and irritable, even with Ray. Eventually he decided it was sensible to indulge in a time away from the rest of the clan.
“To watch the migration of the bison.” He explained patiently to Frank, who was not over keen on letting Bob out of his sight for a few days.
“We know how they migrate, we’ve told you.” Bob shrugged, indifferent. “Take me with you then.” Frank pressed, his tone unyielding and insistent. Bob nodded; he figured it would give them a chance to spend time together away from the inquisitive stares of the clan. Although no one had been unwelcoming towards their open affection for each other, they were a curiosity, a subject of much discussion and rumour. Bob despised being the centre of so much attention.
Ray helped them pack a few essentials, since they would only be travelling a day or so away from the camp, and pressed a new spearhead into Frank’s hand as they approached the edge of the tent line. “You never know your luck,” he said with a wide grin, “bring us back another elk if you can!”
The sun was warm on Bob’s back as they made their way down the wide slope towards the plains. Already, with Frank walking lightly beside him, he could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. As the day wore on there was almost a little bounce in his step.
At sunset they halted some distance from the river’s banks where the grassland levelled out somewhat. While Bob wrestled with the travelling tent, cursing, Frank coaxed a fire into life. The sun’s heat was fading by the time they had set up the little lean-to camp and they were both glad of the warmth the blaze brought.
Outside the circle of flickering light the fire spilled around them there was utter darkness. There was a certain tranquillity in the solitude that brought to Bob; he had always enjoyed settling down for the night in the same way while travelling and sitting out here in the puddle of firelight with Frank made him feel cocooned, safe.
Tentatively he reached out to put an arm around Frank’s shoulders. Even after the last few days, where Frank had been content to curl up with him in the evenings or walk hand in hand, Bob was still afraid that Frank would reject his advances. His fears were abated however, when Frank leaned closer into his side and closed his eyes.
“Maybe we should have camped nearer the river.” He said sleepily.
“Why?”
“I can’t hear the water.” Frank replied, yawning.
“That only ever makes me want to pee.” Bob said, his tone flat. Frank chuckled anyway.
Bob could feel Frank’s pulse where his neck rested against his arm, it was strange thing to notice, he reached up to stroke the smooth skin of Frank’s collarbone and felt him jump beneath his touch.
“Sorry.” Bob said. He withdrew his hand and plucked at the grass, a little embarrassed. He hated how he felt constantly like a sapling child, a virgin. Frank wriggled away from him and Bob’s heart sank, sure he was to be berated for indecency or crossing a line. Frank’s expression was not one of irritation however, but something far more mischievous. He caught Bob’s hand in his own and tugged him upright, leading him towards the tent.
They both had to crawl inside the cramped space, it was only a small frame with a specially sewn hide draped over the top to keep in warmth, not exactly on a par with their roomy and luxurious tent at the main camp. Bob found himself looming over Frank, who had squirmed onto his back, and he dipped his head to catch Frank in a deep kiss, their tongues dragging over each other’s lips. Suddenly every sense of impropriety vanished. In the darkness of the tent Bob’s hands travelled roughly and a little desperately over Frank’s body, while Frank slung his arms around his neck, keeping him close, their kisses persistent.
Tugging off furs Bob finally pressed his naked form to Frank’s and heard him gasp as his erection pressed into Frank’s thigh. Murmuring reassurances into his ear Bob slid his hand across Frank’s soft belly and rubbed small circles on his palm with his free hand. Achingly slowly he lowered his hand to where Frank’s own hard cock rested gently against his belly. With a flood of arousal and relief Bob closed his fingers around the shaft and kissed Frank’s earlobe, listening to his breath hitch quietly as he began to stroke the length softly.
He pressed in close to Frank’s body and increased his pace, letting Frank tip his head back and moan. Without a word, Bob shifted his position and folded up, letting the warm head of Frank’s cock pass over his lips and drag over his tongue. The noise it elicited from Frank turned Bob to jelly, his attentions turned a little frantic, pulling Frank into his mouth and sucking enough to cause resistance as he withdrew. Frank was panting roughly, and it took only a few minutes before he was tangling himself in Bob’s limbs, arching his back off the furs and flooding Bob’s mouth with salty stickiness. Bob skin was prickling with his own need for release, but he didn’t intrude on Frank’s need to rest, for a while nothing was spoken between them until Bob, almost drifting off to sleep felt Frank’s hand moving shy across his thighs.
Quietly, without moving too much Bob watched Frank explore his body. Frank seemed to want to take his time, paying attention to every crease in Bob’s skin, every blemish and every scar. Eventually he traced his fingers up the shaft of Bob’s cock, making it twitch. He seemed reluctant to commit to anything intense so after as much gentle teasing as Bob could take he reached down to twine their fingers together. Gradually he helped Frank build up a rhythm that he could press his hips up into, and Frank kept it up when Bob let his hand slip from his grip. Like a wave Bob felt his climax hit him, and he grunted as Frank swiped his thumb over the head of his cock. He came apart into Frank’s hand, gasping for air.
~**~
The dew soaked grasses of the plains were lush and green in the morning light. Behind him Bob could hear Frank snoring softly under his furs.
Coaxing the small fire into spluttering life brought a measure of satisfaction. He blew gently on the wood sending a few sparks into the breeze. The smoke rose gently curling upwards, carried eastwards, towards the river.
At first he thought the figure in the distance was a horse or a bison but as he watched it move across the plain and turn towards them he realised it was human. Whoever they were they were coming from the wrong direction to be from the clan. Bob slid his spear out from the strappings of his pack and used it to pull the entrance flap of the lean-to travelling tent aside.
"Frank!" He called. "Someone's coming, wake up."
Frank's sleep-addled expression made Bob want nothing more than to curl back up in the warm furs with Frank but he pointed instead to the approaching stranger. Frank's expression grew concerned; evidently he had drawn the same conclusions as Bob. Wordlessly he tugged on his clothes and joined Bob by the fire. They waited for the stranger to come to them, whoever it was had clearly seen the fire.
They did not have long to wait.
Slowly the stranger drew closer and the hunters could see he was wrapped in furs, a hood drawn over his head. It was only when he stopped a few paces away and held out empty hands that they began to relax. The newcomer spoke in a language only basically familiar to Frank but Bob’s face lit up, he leapt to his feet and enveloped the traveller in an enormous bear hug.
He turned to Frank, who was eyeing the stranger warily.
“This is Spencer!” Bob said, as the tall stranger pulled back his hood, revealing long scruffy blonde hair not so different from his own. “He is from my tribe, back along the river!”
~**~
For most of his life Gerard had been described as a dreamer. When he and Mikey were children they would often be found shirking chores or lessons by the river, feet paddling in the shallows. He had always struggled to keep his concentration in check and he would often imagine distant adventures and spirit battles, wearing a far-off expression while one of the elders lectured him.
Even so, it was hard for Gerard to miss the steady stream of excited clanfolk that hurried past him in twos and threes, talking excitedly. They were headed in the opposite direction to him, and after a moment of irritation battling against the flow he gave up and followed them.
Brendon joined him a few paces along the path but Gerard could only meet his raised eyebrows with a shrug, no one seemed to know what was going on.
Their question was soon answered, as the crowd spread out and the two of them elbowed and jostled their way to the front, straining to see what the commotion was about. Bob was standing with Mikey, Frank a little way behind him, looking mildly pissed off. Beside them Mikey was talking with a stranger, a tall man with pale chestnut hair, who was dressed almost exactly how Bob had been when they found him. Every so often Bob said something to one of them, Mikey nodding as Bob spoke, after a moment it became clear that Bob was translating for the newcomer.
“Who is he?” Brendon whispered, as if Gerard would know. He put on an exaggerated expression of patience and spread his hands wide. “He is clearly an acquaintance of our northern friend.” He said, imitating their late shaman so well that Brendon giggled; trying to move closer to hear what was being said.
Gerard sighed and grabbed Brendon’s elbow as he tugged him towards the small knot of people standing apart from the crowd. There were definitely benefits of being the Shaman’s brother. He tried to make himself unobtrusive as they squeezed into the circle but Brendon was too excited. Mikey looked irritated at Brendon’s too-loud greeting but Gerard didn’t think the newcomer would mind, it was hard not to notice that while Bob made the introductions to Spencer for everyone in the group the stranger’s eyes did not leave Brendon.
~**~
Ray cursed as yet another flat nodule of flint broke apart in his hands. He could feel that his idea would work, but he couldn’t quite get the hang of striking the stone at exactly the right point to make the chisel he was imagining. When Bob had explained how he was going to make the drums, Spencer looking over his shoulder chatting excitedly in their tongue, with sporadic translations, Ray had gotten the idea for the chisel to gouge out the finer points of the wood. The axes had already done most of the work of hollowing out the trunk halves in much the same way as they made canoes, but Bob had explained that the sound of the drum would be better the smoother the inside.
Brendon was sitting a little ways away from him, Spencer was beside him carving pegs to use in the drum’s construction since he and Bob were working on them together. There was a deeply unsettling sense of the supernatural about the whole thing, Ray had been extra careful to leave offerings for the spirits, especially after witnessing the cracking of the trunk into two perfect halves just days before Spencer arrived. There was little out of the ordinary about Bob’s clansman however, except for maybe his infatuation with Brendon.
The two of them were chatting fairly ineffectually with each other, without understanding much of what the other was saying. Every so often a word would emerge in the other’s language and they would both grin oafishly at each other. For the most part however, they seemed to be developing their own strange systems of gestures and eyebrow waggling that meant a lot more was being said than it appeared. Brendon was showing him the basic techniques of tool cutting as they worked; Bob had once explained that as far as he knew there was quite a bit of difference between the techniques of the tribes. Spencer was a craftsman, not a hunter and he was taking much more of an interest in their work than Bob had ever done. Earlier that day he had watched Ray cut a basic knife for a child and gestured excitedly when Ray had make his first strikes in the flint. With Bob nowhere in sight however, the cause of the excitement was something of a mystery. Ray had been interested to watch him chip out a similar knife a little later, he had used a faster technique, but the resulting blade was heavier and thicker than his, it was an interesting approach and there were so many questions Ray wanted to ask. It would wait he knew, Spencer would be able to learn the language, just as Bob had.
~**~
The moon was bright, its light was clear and cool over the hillside where the tribe had begun to gather. Bob had spent the morning dragging the drums to the correct place, without the help of Spencer who had conveniently disappeared. They now stood, painted with decorations by Gerard, the treated elkskin taught across the bowls. The area in front of the cave had been cleared and swept and the big bonfire lit hours before. The people of the tribe had been cooking in anticipation of the ceremony and had prepared a feast. The smells wafting across the encampment were making Bob’s stomach growl. He was looking forward to the ceremony if only for the food.
Gradually, members of the clan began to gather, sitting in groups on the ground. Ray and Frank, with Gerard in tow came to join Bob beside the drums, their chatter reminding him just how at home he was here with the hillside tribe. He even got a wave from Spencer when Brendon pulled him up to the bonfire, the two of them talking excitedly together only understanding snippets of what the other was saying. Eventually Spencer came to join them, looking sheepishly back at Brendon and grinning.
It was well into the evening when Mikey eventually made his appearance, dressed head to toe in brightly beaded ceremonial robes. The tribe fell silent, awaiting his address. Mikey’s voice, never loud, was easily picked out in the hush.
“We have had amazing luck this season,” he began. “Thanks to Bob,” the tribe looked towards him as one, making Bob shy away, curling a little behind Frank, who shouldered him back into the fore. Mikey smiled and continued. “And now his friend too.” He gestured towards Spencer, who caught on that he was being referred to and blushed.
“I have been walking the world of the spirits.” Mikey said. “I have been looking for their blessing on the tribe and I have had visions that suggest an art the spirits once loved has been neglected.” The tribe whispered back and forth, clearly not sure what to make of this news. “We dance at the summer meets,” Mikey explained, “but some time in our clan’s past the practice was lost, stopped. We will tonight bright it back to the hillside, with Bob and Spencer, who have agreed to drum for us.”
Bob practically dived behind his drum, eager to put something between himself and the attention of the crowd. Mikey chuckled, and turned back to the tribe. “We will pass on the luck the hunters have had so far by honouring the spirits tonight. We will honour the hunts made so far and bring luck for all those to come.”
At his signal bob and Spencer began a steady beat on the skins. It had been a while since they had played together but starting slowly helped them build other patterns into their song. It came back as naturally as swimming to them both and it wasn’t long before they were following familiar tempos and interweaving beats that had them both sweating and grinning at one another.
Gradually the tribe began to stand and dance, almost one at a time they rose and moved in time to the drumming, clapping and stomping as they got the hang of a repeated phrase. Eventually every tribe member around the fire was joining in, grinning and swinging each other around.
~**~
Gerard was struck first by how familiar the beats seemed although he knew he had never heard them before. He watched his tribe succumb to the desire to dance and the abandon with which they took to it. They had never danced together as a tribe before and he knew it was something they had been sorely missing.
Lindsey met his stares from across the flames of the bonfire, she had been dancing and was taking a rest, her hair was plastered to her face but her eyes were bright and fierce, and the look she gave Gerard was half defiance, half delight. She held his gaze as she panted, catching her breath. She reminded him very much of his grandmother, and was warmed a little by the realisation. Elena would have liked the woman Lindsey had grown into very much. He sidled around the edges of the bonfire until he reached her. She was waiting for him; before he could say a word she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the mass of bodies, laughing.
~**~
Mikey didn’t need to look to know Pete was with him. As surely as he could feel the earth beneath his feet he could sense the presence of the spirit behind him. It should have been a cause for concern that the bond between them had grown so strong that Pete could make his presence felt so strongly in the living domain, but Mikey drew only satisfaction and relief from it. They could only become closer this way.
As Spencer and Bob played Mikey became aware of a third beat, weaving in and out of the pattern the two drummers were creating. After a few moments he realised it was mirroring the dancing of his tribe, but coming from Pete.
He turned back towards the cave, he felt Pete receding slightly, but no fear of abandonment rose in Mikey, he knew exactly where to find the spirit. Just as Pete disappeared entirely a single phrase reached the shaman’s mind.
“Our heartbeat.”