Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: aka "Jake" 

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWELVE

"D-Diana Fowley?" Mulder asked in what he hoped was a neutral 
tone of voice. 

He remained frozen in place, kneeling on the sleeping skins 
and staring up at Scully as she rinsed the last traces of 
Dzeh's ejaculate from her thighs. His stomach rolled at the 
sight and he clenched his jaws against the sting of bile at 
the back of his throat. Damn it, didn't they have more 
important things to discuss than Diana? Like what Dzeh had 
done to Scully.

She set down the waterbag and stepped around the fireless 
hearth. Mulder's jacket hung loosely across her hunched 
shoulders, engulfing her small frame. She paused at the edge 
of the bed to take a swipe at her wet, bare thighs, trying to 
dry herself with one dangling sleeve.

"Do you know her?" she asked, pressing him for an answer.

He nervously rubbed his palms up and down his own naked 
thighs. His tongue felt as gritty as the cooling ash in the 
hearth. "Uh...in what context?"

"In any context," she said. "Do you know her or not?"

"Well, yes." His head bobbed. "But it was a long time ago."

"And...?"

"And...we worked together." He shrugged, hoping to end the 
conversation. This was not an appropriate time for true 
confessions about his failed marriage. He wanted to hear about 
Scully; he wanted to find out if she was all right after 
sleeping with Dzeh. 

"When you were in ISU?" she persisted. 

"No, on the X-Files." 

She must be purposely avoiding the topic of the mate-exchange, 
he decided, which meant the experience was worse than she'd 
anticipated.

Damn it, she'd seemed so calm back on the hill, touting 
logical arguments, urging him to go along.

It suddenly struck him that her composure must have been an 
act, deliberately feigned to save his life and safeguard his 
feelings.

The realization settled painfully into the pit of his stomach. 
It would be just like her to do whatever it took to protect 
him. He had no doubt she would put herself at risk for him, 
just as she was trained to do...as they were both trained to 
do. 

Shit, why hadn't he responded with equal valor? While she'd 
willingly sacrificed herself for him, he'd done nothing to 
protect her. He'd let himself be persuaded without thinking 
the situation through, without considering every possible 
alternative. 

Why had he been so quick to agree? 

To save her life? Or had he been overly eager to save his own 
sorry ass? 

His hands began to tremble and he felt swamped with regret and 
self-loathing. His negligence -- or worse, his damn egocentric 
instincts -- had clouded his judgment. As a result, he'd 
allowed this terrible thing to happen.

"Scully--"

"I didn't know you had another partner on the X-Files," she 
continued.

"Uh...yeah, for a couple of years. She left for a foreign 
terrorism assignment in Europe. But--" Mulder scrubbed his 
chin with his palm as he tried to figure out what he should 
say next. He wanted to ask about Dzeh, but was uncertain if 
Scully was trying to spare his feelings, the same way she'd 
done on the hill, or guard her own. It was possible she wasn't 
emotionally ready to talk about what happened. And if that 
were the case, he didn't want to push her. He'd already caused 
her enough hurt.

Then again, he wasn't ready to launch into the truth about 
Diana either. 

No doubt he should have mentioned her to Scully years ago, but 
the subject hadn't seemed relevant in the early years of their 
partnership. And now it was so far beyond relevant he didn't 
know the best way to approach it. 

How do you start a conversation with your lover about an ex-
wife anyway? How 'bout those Yankees, Scully, and by the way I 
was once married. That didn't sound quite right. 

He decided to dodge the issue for now by repeating, "It was a 
long time ago."

"So you said."

She knelt in front of him, her knees almost touching his. The 
hut was warm, yet Mulder shivered as if chilled to the bone. 
He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, to comfort 
her as well as himself. The urge to touch her was almost 
overwhelming, unbearable, but he fought it and kept his hands 
anchored to his thighs, guessing that she didn't need any more 
manhandling at the moment. 

Especially from him, the asshole who'd given Dzeh permission 
to have his way with her. Jesus, how could he have condoned 
such a repugnant act? 

Did Scully blame him for abandoning her to Dzeh, for putting 
her in danger, for bringing her here in the first place?

She should. He blamed himself. How could he not? He was 
responsible for all of it.

He desperately wanted to set things right, get them back home, 
away from the tribe's abhorrent customs, out of the damn Ice 
Age.

But he had no clue where to begin, other than Scully's 
visions, which he wasn't a hundred percent convinced were 
visions.

Although...she had learned about Diana from them.

"Was Dian -- Agent Fowley in your dream?"

"It was a vision, Mulder, not a dream."

"Fine. Was Agent Fowley in your vision?"

"Yes, indirectly."

"Indirectly...what does that mean?"

"The Gunmen mentioned her. They were wondering why you two 
broke up."

Don't tell her, do *not* tell, he thought. Not right now. Not 
while he was misreading her, missing important clues, messing 
up.

Scully tightened his jacket around her, hugging her arms 
across her chest. He pictured the carved idol hidden in its 
pocket. She had been holding it when she experienced her first 
revelation. And it was with her again during the second.

As much as he believed in magic and the supernatural, right 
now he felt torn about the idol's potential power. On the one 
hand, it could represent a way home. On the other, it seemed 
to be forecasting a future he found unlikely and undesirable. 

Sam's death at age fourteen. His supposed relief at learning 
about it. Scully's pregnancy, the birth of her baby, *his* 
baby. His willingness to participate in an IVF procedure. It 
was difficult to reconcile these improbable events. They ran 
contrary to some of his deepest wishes.

And yet Scully had learned about Diana somehow. She'd developed 
that new scar on her abdomen, physical proof that her vision 
was more than a figment of her imagination.   

He suddenly felt bone-tired. Days of hiking and going without 
food, yesterday's hunt and the events of last night had 
exhausted his strength. His worries about Scully and Dzeh and 
her visions were expending the last of his diminished energy. 
He could barely keep his head up.

"Scully...can we...do you mind if we lie down?"

She glanced suspiciously at the furs before searching his face. 
Whatever she was hoping to find in his expression must have 
been there, because she lowered herself onto the bed, facing 
him.

He settled beside her, careful not to touch her; he preferred 
to wait for her to take the lead and reach out to him.

When she did, putting her arms around him, he melted into her 
embrace, overwhelmed by her capacity to forgive him. Tears 
flooded his eyes and he hid them by pressing his face into the 
crease of her neck. He held his breath against crying, fearful 
his lack of restraint would disgust her even more than his 
earlier acts of cowardice.

He felt unremitting remorse for his failure to prevent Dzeh's 
sexual assault and knew he would never forgive himself for his 
role in it. 

Unlike him, Scully was bearing the brunt of his folly with her 
usual sangfroid.

He'd honestly expected to find her physically and emotionally 
altered by her experience: face red with grief, hair 
disheveled, bruises on her hands and arms where she'd tried to 
fight off Dzeh's unwelcome advances. Yet she appeared as self-
possessed as ever.

Her composure shouldn't come as a surprise, he realized. She'd 
been practicing it for years. Half a decade with the FBI's good 
ol' boys had hardened her until now, twelve thousand years from 
Bureau paradigms and the prying eyes of her colleagues and 
superiors, she was still clinging to her customary stoicism.

You don't have anything to prove, he wanted to tell her. You 
surpassed them all long ago. You surpassed me, too. 

He pulled back and looked at her with tear-filled eyes. 

"I know it's not our usual MO, Scully, but talk to me. 
Please."

She stroked his face, inspiring a painful lump in his throat.

"There's nothing to say, Mulder. Really." 

"Noth-- You just gave yourself to a caveman, for Christ's 
sake." 

"I didn't *give* anything," she said, bristling. "I 
participated in a tribal ritual. So did you."

No, actually he hadn't...and that little fact would be another 
of the many unspoken truths between them.

He tentatively ran a finger over her coat sleeve.

"It had to affect you," he whispered.  

"Why? Why did it have to affect me?"

"How could it not?" His eyes searched her face. "You made love 
to another man."

"I did not. I kept us alive." Color rose in her cheeks. "Are 
you saying your...encounter with Klizzie affected you?"

His hand stopped its rhythmic caress.

"No...I'm...It's different for me," he said, skirting the 
truth.

"Because you're a man?"

"Yes, because I'm a man."

"Tell me what difference that makes," she challenged.

"It's...it's less invasive for me."

"You think I was 'invaded'?"

"Don't you?"

Her focus fell away. "My body...maybe...yes," she murmured, 
sounding sad and momentarily vulnerable. She looked up and 
pinned him with a determined stare. "But not *me*."

There's a difference? he wanted to ask, but bit his lip 
against the words, trying instead to put himself in her place, 
to think the way she might be thinking...not as a victim of a 
sexual assault, but as Scully, his strong, logic-minded 
partner. 

"I don't buy it, Scully. You weren't given a choice--"

"We were backed into a corner, Mulder, *both* of us, but no 
one held a gun to our heads."

"The gun was metaphorical. We were forced...and that had to be 
worse for you."

"Mulder, I wasn't raped. I allowed it to happen."   
    
Clearly she believed she'd made the emotional leap from the 
mores of 1998 to the tribe's loathsome prehistoric customs, 
but she would have to face the truth eventually and when that 
happened, she'd feel the same turmoil he was feeling now. 

"Is Klizzie okay?" she suddenly asked.

"Is *Klizzie* okay? Shit, Scully." Why did she care what 
Klizzie was feeling? "Yes. Of course. She's fine."

"I just wondered if she was feeling 'invaded.'"

Now it was his turn to look away.

"No," he said, managing to keep his voice steady. "I don't 
think she's feeling... No."

"Then there's no reason for you to think I'm not okay, is 
there?"

Yes, there is, he thought. "That's not an apt comparison," he 
said, still not able to look her in the eye.

"Why not?"

"Because this is her culture, her rules."

"Rules by which we must abide as long as we're here."

He didn't want to argue with her. Not now. He wanted to hold 
her, feel her skin, taste her lips, convince himself she was 
okay. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, keep her safe. He 
wanted to make up for all the hurt he'd caused.

"Scully, are you sure--"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Drop it, please. Go to sleep. That's what I 
plan to do."

Her expression hardened; she was steeling herself, avoiding 
the full impact of her emotions by putting her back up against 
a wall of logic, the same way she'd done after her father's 
death and her sister's and Emily's, after her abduction and 
after her cancer. This was her way of coping; he'd seen it 
countless times.

She closed her eyes, effectively shutting him out.

He decided not to push; he would drop it for now, silently 
promising to be there when she finally did need him, vowing to 
do better than he'd done earlier. He would watch out for her 
best interests, not his. He would, he swore it. 

Reluctantly, he closed his eyes. Almost immediately he fell 
fast sleep.

*   *   *

Gini ran as hard as her legs could carry her. Tears blurred 
her vision as she raced through wet, waist-high grass, heading 
upland toward the summit of Crouching Cat Mountain. Morning 
mist, tinted silvery-gold by the rising sun, swirled in her 
wake like angry Spirits. Her heart pounded in her chest. She 
could hear nothing but her ragged breathing and the memory of 
Dzeh's dreadful words: "Of course you will have a mate. Do you 
expect me to take care of you forever?"

"No, no, no," she chanted through clenched teeth. More tears 
flooded her eyes. 

Three quarters of the way to the top of the hill, she felt the 
jab of spear points in her sides. Her thighs burned like hot 
coals. Out of breath, she threw herself to the ground to weep 
into the crook of her arm. 

Flower blossoms heavy with dew hid her from prying eyes and 
helped cool her overheated skin. Her body shook with outrage 
and dread as she cried. 

At this moment she hated Dzeh. He was cruel beyond belief. 
Couldn't he see she did not want to move away from her home 
and family? And what did he mean when he said *he* took care 
of *her*? It was the other way around! Did he not notice the 
way she was always helping Klizzie, cooking *his* meals and 
sewing *his* clothes and tending *his* hearth? If he would 
only open his eyes he would see how often she gathered food, 
scraped hides, dried meat, fetched wood, carried supplies from 
one camp to the next. The work was endless! 

He was not being fair. She had done everything he had ever 
asked and yet he still wanted to send her away to live with a 
stranger, a stupid boy who was rude and ugly and mean...almost 
as mean as Dzeh himself!

It would serve her brother right if she went away to live with 
another clan. Then he would see exactly how much he missed 
her. "Help me find my yea-go stick, Gini." "Fetch my tool 
kit." "Pour my tea." "Bring me another plate of meat." He 
would surely suffer if she were gone.

Right now she wished a saber-toothed cat would come and eat 
her up. That would solve all her problems. Dzeh would be rid 
of her and she would not have to go live with Chal. Then Dzeh 
would be sorry that he treated her so badly. When he found 
nothing but her bones and her bloody tunic, he would be the 
one crying. Then he would have to tell the entire Clan how sad 
he was to have lost his sister -- the girl who did everything 
for him, who loved him with all her heart even though he was 
mean, mean, mean.

One day he would regret the unfeeling things he had said. He 
would wish he'd never mentioned sending her away.

*   *   * 

"Klizzie?" Dzeh crouched beside the furs and gently tickled 
his mate's bare shoulder. "Wake up."

When she didn't stir, he leaned closer, putting his lips to 
her ear. He blew across the outer ridges, nibbled her lobe, 
then whispered, "It is after sunup, my mate."

She groaned with dissatisfaction, squeezed her eyes shut more 
tightly and curled onto her side in a ball. 

He slid beneath the blankets behind her.

"Did my Trading Partner tire you out?" He chuckled and nuzzled 
her neck.

Breathing her womanly scent, he felt himself growing hard. She 
smelled nice, like the perfumed oil she often wore. Overlaying 
her feminine fragrance Dzeh detected a more masculine odor, 
too, very faint along her shoulders, at the nape of her neck. 
He let his nose guide him down her spine, knowing this musky 
odor must be Muhl-dar's. 

Giving Klizzie to his Trading Partner had not been easy for 
Dzeh. Mate exchange required a leap of faith in the best of 
times and Dzeh's trust had been razed four summers ago when 
his former Trading Partner took Klizzie to his bed. 
Remembering those fiery days still caused coals to burn in his 
stomach. It was beyond reason that a man would mate with his 
own kin. Klesh's actions were reprehensible, the worst 
contravention imaginable.

All civilized men knew the Spirits imparted traditions and 
taboos for the good of the Clan. Only a fool would flout the 
rules, risking the fury of the Spirits and endangering the 
lives of his family. 

A reliable Trading Partner was intended to be a blessing. 
Partnerships turned the stone mountains that often divided 
clans into mists, allowing men to walk freely in hostile 
territories, help each other in times of need. This was the 
reason Dzeh was willing to take a gamble with Muhl-dar. There 
was much to gain if the stranger from Eel Clan was a man of 
honor and status. If he turned out to be as contemptible as 
Klesh, however, there was everything to lose.

Dzeh thought back to his dream about Muhl-dar, the vision he 
had recounted days ago to the elders in Tsa-ond Cave. In it, 
stormy skies calmed when an invisible female spirit 
transformed Snake Spirit's terrible lightning bolt into a fog 
of harmless cottonwood seed. The female Spirit blew the downy 
seeds away. Then she stole Muhl-dar away, too, and the people 
of Owl Clan had been very sad to see him go.

Parts of the dream had frightened him; Klizzie was missing and 
he could think of nothing more dreadful than that. And yet the 
vision was hopeful, too. Muhl-dar had saved the Clan from the 
vengeful snake-man.

Whether the vision turned out to be true or not, Dzeh's 
partnership with Muhl-dar was already made; the formality of 
the mate-exchange now bound them like brothers. And overall, 
Dzeh felt relieved by their relationship. He had gone too long 
without a partner. Thank the Spirits the last four years had 
not been too arduous; the Clan had needed to ask for 
assistance from neighboring clans only twice, when winter 
stores had run low and hunger squeezed their empty bellies. 
Thanks to the generosity of Lin's Trading Partner in Bear 
Clan, no one in Owl Clan had been lost. 

Dzeh took a deep breath, pressing his nose into the soft flesh 
of Klizzie's hip. Yes, he could smell his Trading Partner 
there; Muhl-dar must have taken her from behind. Thinking of 
the Eel stranger on his mate's back made Dzeh want to take her 
in that fashion, too. He became rock hard at the thought of 
Klizzie beneath Muhl-dar, her back arched, her braids swaying 
and her breasts jouncing with each of his thrusts.

She would still be wet inside from her earlier mating, slicked 
with a mixture of Muhl-dar's essence and her own juices. It 
pleased Dzeh to know she had pleasured his Trading Partner, 
strengthening their bond. 

He slid a hand around her waist, spreading his palm across the 
gentle swell of her abdomen. Her skin was smooth, warm. He 
dipped his hand lower, sliding a finger between her folds.      

She rolled toward him, eyes dark with passion.   

Withdrawing his caress, he whispered, "I want to take you from 
behind. Like a stallion with his mare."

Her eyes widened a little, but she complied, turning over to 
position herself on hands and knees in front of him.

She was beautiful. Her skin was as polished as a river stone 
and the color of ripe acorns. Her curves reminded him of the 
undulating hills around Small Wind Lake where they met at the 
Mastodon Feast four years ago. She had been a woman just out 
of girlhood, only fourteen Feasts old. She had crept into his 
heart the instant he cast eyes on her. And for the first time 
in many lonely seasons, he had no longer felt the awful ache 
left by the passing of his first mate.

Young Klizzie had reawakened the Spirits in him.   

Feeling the same rush of desire for her now as on that 
wonderful summer day four years ago, Dzeh moved behind her, 
nudging her knees apart with his own. His erection stood 
straight out, eager to plunge into her.

"Ready, my mate?" he whispered.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, setting her braids into 
motion. The clatter of her beads caused the hairs on his arms 
to rise. His legs went numb at the sight of her liquid eyes. 
Mother Earth, how he loved this woman. She was his delight, 
his companion, his hearth-mate. He could think of nothing he 
wanted more than to be here with her, inside her. 

Hands on her hips, he pressed slowly into her. She was pliant 
and snug, although not as slick as he had expected her to be. 
His head swam with pleasure as he pushed more deeply into her. 
A quiet growl hummed in the back of his throat.

Bowing over her, his chest pressing against her back, he 
balanced himself on one arm, so as not to burden her with his 
weight. With his free hand, he groped her right breast, 
tugging her hardened nipple and squeezing her soft flesh. 

He began to thrust, making her moan. Her soft cries excited 
him, urging him to quicken his pace. The smell of her sex 
prickled his nose. This felt wonderful; she felt wonderful.

Had Muhl-dar thought so, too, when he was inside her? Had he 
brought Klizzie to her moment of pleasure before hurrying to 
his own?

Releasing her breast, Dzeh slid his hand between her legs, his 
fingers searching for her ulh-ne-ih. She gasped when he found 
it. 

"No, Dzeh. Please. I cannot," she suddenly begged.

He halted his thrusts and removed his hand from between her 
legs. "What is the matter, Klizzie?" 

"I..."

She was trembling beneath him, so he withdrew from her and 
turned her around to face him. 

"You must tell me," he murmured.

She hid her eyes behind lowered lashes. "It is...bad. I have 
done something shameful."

"Shameful? What is it?"

"You will be angry." A tear slipped down her cheek. "You will 
no longer want me as your mate."

He doubted that. What could she possibly say that would steal 
away his love for her? He caressed her face, wiping her tears 
with his thumb. 

"Tell me," he urged.

Clinging to her totem, she drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I 
have lied to you," she whispered.

Shame crept up her neck and face, reddening her skin. Her 
hands trembled. She bit her lower lip to still its quivering.

He couldn't imagine what would make her so afraid of him. He 
rarely became angry...at her or at anyone. Not once in four 
years had he struck her the way some men did to their mates. 
She'd never given him a reason to hit or scold her...ever. And 
even if she had, he doubted very much he would react with such 
ferocity.

So why was she quaking like a startled hare now?

"What lie, my mate?" he asked, uncertain he wanted to hear her 
answer.

Clearly she didn't want to tell him. She swallowed hard. Tears 
overflowed her lashes again, painting wet trails down both 
cheeks.

"He...he did not..." 

Her voice was so faint and meek, Dzeh needed to lean forward 
to hear her. 

"Who, Klizzie?" he asked. Did this have anything to do with 
Muhl-dar and the mate exchange? "Who did not do what?"

"Klesh. Klesh did not...force me."

A hive of bees awoke in Dzeh's stomach at the mention of 
Klesh's name. His hand dropped away from Klizzie's cheek. What 
did she mean he did not force her? 

"Force you to do what?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. 
The question scoured his throat like a breath of wood ash.

"He...he offered me a hair ornament in exchange for the night 
on his sleeping skins."

Dzeh could not believe his ears! "And you agreed?" he asked, 
incredulous. Please, deny it, he silently begged. Tell me you 
argued with him and you fought him. Tell me it was only 
because he overpowered you that you submitted. Please, 
Klizzie, please, don't tell me you allowed this to happen.

Her shoulders slumped and her chin fell to her chest.

"Klizzie, he is your cousin!"

It was an outrage...the most contemptible act imaginable. Even 
at age fourteen she would have known this.

"Dzeh, I am...so sorry." She was crying openly now, her hands 
twisting nervously in her lap.

The angry bees in Dzeh's stomach began to sting him and he 
thought he might throw up. Klizzie had done this loathsome 
thing of her own volition...for a silly hair ornament.

"Why did you not tell me this before?" he shouted, surprised 
by the roar of his voice across his tongue.

Klizzie jumped at his shout. She opened her mouth, but no 
words came out. The only sound in the hut was the rattle of 
her beads as she ducked her head, cringing as if she expected 
a rain of blows on her back. 

He rose to his feet, fists clenched in anger. His heart 
hammered inside his chest. Spinning on his heel, he lunged for 
the door.

"Dzeh? Where are you going? What will you do?" she asked, her 
voice watery with tears.

"I do not know," he growled and pushed through the door, 
leaving her to cry alone. 

*   *   *

As soon as Mulder fell asleep, Scully rose from the furs, 
intending to take a bath in the lake. She wanted to scour away 
all traces of Dzeh from her skin. 

Quietly, she located a soap root and her clothes: her jeans 
and turtleneck, not the garments Klizzie had given her. She 
didn't want anything that had belonged to the tribe touching 
her skin...not now, not yet. She preferred instead to wrap 
herself in the familiar, which was why she'd put on Mulder's 
jacket the moment Dzeh left her. She'd wanted to lose herself 
in Mulder's comforting scent. Cocooned in his coat she felt 
less alone, less afraid.

She hugged the coat around her now and looked down at Mulder, 
asleep in a tangle of furs. He was lying on his back, his face 
half-hidden beneath one upraised arm, his fingers curled into 
a loose fist. A soft snore whirred in his throat. She watched 
his chest rise and fall and silently she counted his steady 
breaths just as she'd done almost three weeks ago when he'd 
been so ill. She'd nearly lost him then. She might have lost 
him last night, too, when he challenged death again by 
refusing to cooperate with the tribe. 

Didn't he realize how much she needed him? Especially here. He 
had no right to risk himself for the sake of his irrelevant 
20th Century code of ethics. Their modern-day values were 
utterly meaningless in this Ice Age world. These people had no 
way to understand or appreciate their foreign concepts of 
honor, principles of morality that were tied to a time still 
thousands of years in the future. She and Mulder needed to 
play by a set of older, less familiar rules now, to stay 
alive, to get back to their real place in history, to the life 
she'd foreseen in her vision.

Reminded of her vision, she once again imagined the small 
weight of her infant son cradled in her arms, the milky feel 
of his skin beneath her lips, the downy softness of his hair 
as she ran a palm across the crown of his head. Closing her 
eyes, she could hear him suckle at her breast, feel the pull 
of his mouth on her nipple as he drew sustenance from her. He 
was a miracle and it didn't matter to her how or when he came 
into being; her love for him was already so strong it stole 
her breath away.

She opened her eyes and let her teary gaze settle on Mulder's 
bearded face. This man would one day be the father of her 
baby... "If I can keep you alive long enough to get you back 
home," she whispered.

Letting him sleep, she left the shelter with clothes in hand. 
She headed for the lake, but changed her direction when she 
saw how many tribespeople were already there. She didn't feel 
ready to mingle with them...not yet. 

Wanting to cleanse her spirit as much as her body, she decided 
to climb the hill that overlooked the lake; at the summit, she 
would pray to God for His guidance. He had allowed her to see 
an angel not too long ago, during the Kernoff case; maybe He 
would show her the right path to take here.

Limping through knee-high grass, she climbed slowly. The 
rising sun cast her shadow into her path like a blackened 
corpse. Her sprained ankle pained her. It was irresponsible to 
hike on it, she knew, but at the same time she was grateful 
for the way it distracted her from the raw ache between her 
legs. 

Scully hadn't been ready for Dzeh's invasive intimacy. As much 
as she'd tried to close off her mind and relax her body, she'd 
been tense and the act had been uncomfortable. Thankfully, it 
hadn't lasted long; he'd thrust only a few times, ejaculated 
and then quickly withdrew.

Had Mulder's performance been equally brief? 

Don't think about it, she told herself. It's over now. It 
doesn't matter what happened. 

Unless...

Klizzie became pregnant as a result of her union with Mulder. 

God, please, not that, she silently prayed. The consequences 
would be devastating. A baby would anchor Mulder to this 
prehistoric world. He would never agree to abandon his child 
to strangers...would he?  

Glancing over her shoulder to gauge the distance she'd come, 
she was momentarily blinded by the glare of the sun. She 
lifted an arm to shade her face and gaze down into the valley. 
The lake glittered like a shattered mirror between the ranges 
of bruise-colored mountains. A ghostly mist hovered over the 
water. Sounds from the village floated feebly up the hillside: 
the wail of a baby, a mother's concerned call, an 
unidentifiable hammering that reminded Scully of a too fast 
heartbeat. 

Overhead, a battalion of tin-colored clouds marched toward the 
rising sun, as if intending to ambush and capture it. Gray and 
menacing, they reminded her of a similar sky on a June day in 
Denver eight years ago...the last day she saw Daniel. 

She'd asked Daniel to meet her in the atrium outside UCH's 
cafeteria and had bought sandwiches from the vending machine 
for their lunch. He was late, as usual, but she hadn't been 
hungry anyway; her stomach was tied in knots because she was 
planning to tell him goodbye. She'd decided to leave her 
medical career, and him, to join the FBI. She doubted he would 
understand her desire to switch from medicine to law 
enforcement. No doubt he would infer her motives were fueled 
by the complications of their personal relationship. With 
Daniel, everything was about him.

"I'm late," he announced without apology when he appeared at 
her small table. Sliding into the seat opposite her, he didn't 
reach for her hand or lean in to kiss her. Too many people at 
the hospital knew his wife Barbara, who spearheaded several 
very successful fundraising projects for the auxiliary.

"I can't stay," he said. "This for me?" He pointed to one of 
the sandwiches.

She nodded and pushed the turkey club across the sunlit table. 
He unwrapped it and took a hearty bite. "What's up?" he asked, 
between mouthfuls.

"I'm leaving," she said without preamble.

He stopped chewing, but only for a moment. "What do you mean 
you're leaving?"

"I'm joining the FBI. I'm flying to Washington on Friday."

"The FBI?" A laugh chuffed from his nose and his eyes clouded 
with disapproval. "You're running away from me."

"This isn't about you, Daniel."

"No? You expect me to believe the FBI is more alluring than a 
career in medicine? It's an excuse, Dana."

To some degree, he was right. He scared her with his 
unyielding passion -- for medicine, for her, for his secretive 
double life. She admired his relentless dedication to his 
patients and to his profession; he was a brilliant doctor and 
she couldn't deny she was attracted to him. But Daniel 
Waterston required everything his way, and she saw little room 
for her in his already overcrowded life. He had a wife, a 
daughter. An affair with him would lead to nothing but 
heartache for them all.

"If you stay, Dana, I can help you with your career," he said. 
"There's an open--"

"No. Thank you. I can make my own way."

"The only thing you're making is a mistake." He rewrapped what 
was left of his sandwich. "You'll regret it."

"I might. But I would regret staying more." Already her heart 
was aching over the loss of him, yet she knew she mustn't show 
it. Any sign of waffling would launch him into an argument, 
one he was sure to win because she loved him, and he knew 
exactly how much. It would take so little for him to convince 
her to stay. She couldn't allow that to happen; she couldn't 
be responsible for the breakup of his family. Their needs 
outweighed hers.

He rose from his chair, dusted the crumbs from his trousers 
and leaned across the table. In front of the entire crowded 
dining room, he planted a passionate kiss on her lips. It was 
the first time he'd ever risked his position and reputation 
for her sake. When he finally pulled away, he said, "Stay, 
Dana. Forget this FBI nonsense."

Still feeling the press of his lips on hers, she blinked back 
tears and tried to find her voice. She shook her head. "I'm 
sorry, Daniel."

"So am I," he said, sounding sincere. 

She saw real pain in his eyes before he turned from the table 
and walked away.

She sat there for several minutes, blinking away tears, eyes 
turned toward the atrium's glass ceiling. The sky darkened as 
clouds overtook the sun, their surprise attack mirroring the 
swirl of emotion inside her chest.

Turning away from her memory of that day, Scully continued her 
uphill climb. She sought solace as she walked by reciting the 
23rd Psalm.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."

Her hand went automatically to her throat, searching for her 
cross and the comfort it brought her. She was seized with 
fresh anxiety when she remembered it was no longer there, that 
it was in the possession of the scarred man...or lost.

"He makes me lie down in green pastures," she continued. "He 
leads me beside still waters; He restores--"

Thinking she heard the sound of muffled crying, she paused and 
held her breath to listen. Sure enough, somewhere up ahead, 
hidden by tall grass, someone was weeping as if her heart 
would break. Scully aimed for the sad sound, hobbling as fast 
as she could and trying to ignore the pain in her ankle.

"Hello," she called as she hiked, still unable to see who was 
crying. "Are you all right?" Then she saw her, little Gini, 
stretched out on her belly in a well of trampled grass.

At the sound of Scully's voice, Gini stopped her hiccoughing 
sobs and lifted her head to mop tears from her eyes with her 
fists.

"Sweetie, what's the matter?" Scully asked. Setting the things 
she carried on the ground, she knelt beside the girl and 
gently rubbed her back, coaxing her to sit up. "Are you hurt?"

Gini launched into a long teary explanation, none of which 
Scully could understand, except for the word "Dzeh."

"Come here," she invited, indicating her lap.

Gini didn't hesitate. She slid into Scully's lap, her tears 
starting up all over again when Scully wrapped her in a hug.

"It can't be as bad as that, can it?" she asked, smoothing the 
girl's hair away from her fiery cheeks. She planted a kiss on 
the crown of her dark head. "Shhhh, it'll be fine."

They sat like that for several minutes while Gini cried 
herself out, her wet face pressed into Mulder's coat, her 
narrow shoulders shaking within the loose circle of Scully's 
arms. Scully rubbed her back, soothing the girl's nerves. 

Comforting Gini reminded her of William. She pictured him 
again, snug in her arms, blond and blue-eyed, with Mulder's 
pouty mouth and curious stare. She ached to hold him and 
satisfied her desire by rocking Gini instead. Closing her eyes 
against the Pleistocene landscape, she conjured up her most 
recent vision: her bedroom, William, Mulder walking toward 
them, his eyes glistening with pride and love.    

The image was so real she swore she could hear the sounds of 
traffic outside her window, smell the baby's powdery scent, 
even taste the flavor of decaf coffee from the cup on her 
nightstand.

"Day-nuh?"

Gini was no longer crying. She was patting Scully's arm to get 
her attention.

"You're a mess," Scully said, looking down at the girl's tear-
streaked face. She dug Mulder's handkerchief from his coat 
pocket, wiped Gini's cheeks, and then held the cloth to her 
nose. "Blow," she said, crinkling her nose and demonstrating a 
quick, gentle blow.

Gini understood and snuffled into the handkerchief, then 
watched with curiosity as Scully tucked it away again. When 
she withdrew Mulder's binoculars, the girl's eyes widened.

"Look through here," Scully said, holding the glasses to her 
face.

Gini peered through them at the lake and gasped. She turned to 
stare at Scully in wonder. "Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh," she said, 
breathless with excitement. "Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh!"

"Pretty interesting, huh?" She handed Gini the binoculars.

The girl leapt to her feet and, pivoting 360 degrees, she 
inspected the mountaintops, the faraway forest, the clouds, 
the village, the lake. She chattered nonstop as she looked, 
pointing a stubby finger and squealing at each new view. 
Spinning around twice more, she became so dizzy, she toppled 
and landed with a giggle on her backside in the grass.

Scully smiled at her exuberance. 

"Cha! Cha!" Gini said. She pointed to a large beaver lodge on 
the northeast shore of the lake and indicated she wanted 
Scully to look at it through the binoculars.

That began a back and forth game of looking and naming various 
objects, trading words for each. Scully found it fairly easy 
to remember most of Gini's words and phrases; she'd always had 
an aptitude for languages. The girl seemed to share her 
ability.    

When they'd finally exhausted the most obvious landmarks, 
Scully rose to her feet and gathered her things. 

"What do you say, you and I go down to the lake to get cleaned 
up, hmm?" she said. "You hang onto the binoculars for now."

"Bi-nok-a-lurs," Gini repeated, grinning. "Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh. 
Bi-nok-a-lurs."  

"Nih-tsa-goh-al-neh." Scully carefully pronounced each 
distinct syllable. She took hold of Gini's hand and together 
they headed down the hill.

*   *   *

"...Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here 
I come!" 

Fox uncovers his eyes and blinks against the bright afternoon 
sun. Finding Sam will be a piece of cake, he thinks; she 
always hides in the same half-dozen locations.

The first place he looks is the boathouse. Its shadowy 
interior is surprisingly cold on this hot summer day. 
Goosebumps stipple his arms and legs when he steps inside. He 
hopes Sam isn't here. The air smells of mildew. Cobwebs cling 
to the rafters. When he crouches to check beneath the upside 
down rowboat, his bathing suit, still damp from his morning 
swim, feels chilly against his backside. He grabs hold of the 
boat's gunwale to keep his balance, and the rotting wood is 
spongy beneath his fingers. The paint is peeling. He offered 
to scrape it and put on a fresh coat, but his dad said no. He 
doesn't want Fox out on the water in the boat. Not even if he 
promises to wear a life jacket.

"Sam? If you're in here, I'm gonna find you."

He listens for telltale noises: a giggle, a hitch of breath. 
He hears nothing but the scampering of a small animal. 
Probably a red squirrel.

Returning to the outdoors, Fox checks behind the prickly, 
waist-high shrubs that line his mother's flower bed. He 
circles a few trees, looks beneath his dad's car, which is 
parked in the driveway near the house. He squats beside the 
foundation and peers between slats of wood that are meant to 
keep raccoons out from under the porch, but don't because 
several boards are missing and the hole is big enough for his 
sister to crawl through.

"Sam?" The sound of his voice falls flat in the dead, damp 
space.

She's not in any of her favorite hiding spots, so he stands 
and heads down the shore path to the beach because the rule is 
"no hiding in the house." Mom doesn't want them underfoot, 
tracking sand and pine needles across her clean floors. 

"Sam? Saaammmm!"

The sound of breakers drowns out his cry. He pivots, looking 
up and down the beach, seeing nothing but a knot of seagulls 
in front of the Norwood's house. The birds are bickering over 
a dead squid, washed ashore, black with sand fleas and 
blowflies.

"Sam!" 

He spots her small footprints in the sand and begins to follow 
them. Another set of prints soon appears alongside hers, 
larger than hers. Larger than his. There is a toe missing on 
the left foot. Oh God, oh God, he knows these prints. 

He breaks into a jog.

"Sam? Saaam!" His voice becomes a shriek. Shit, she's gone! 
He's got to find her, save her, protect her from that 
Neanderthal monster. 

Suddenly he is no longer a boy on the beach. He's a grown man 
in his apartment with his father.

"You let this man take your sister," Bill Mulder accuses him. 
"Isn't that what you're trying to tell me?"

Mulder turns his back, unable to look his father in the eye.

"I-I can't explain it to you," he stammers. "But, um...I 
believed I was doing the right thing, Dad."

"Was this your decision?" 

His father's blame knocks the wind from his lungs.

"Yes," he admits, wanting to shirk the responsibility, but 
knowing he should admit to it. "I'll tell Mom."

"Do you realize what losing her again is going to do to your 
mother?"

He turns to look at his father, whose disappointment and anger 
bring tears to his eyes.

"Do you?" Bill Mulder hurls the words at him.

His voice fails him. Shame, guilt and sorrow push rational 
thought out of reach. He stares at the floor and starts to 
cry, feeling like a boy again, repentant and overwhelmed with 
regret.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry. I'm...I'm sorry." 

It's all he can say. A wave of nausea threatens to empty his 
stomach.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Agent Mulder."

He's no longer standing with his father. He's in A.D. 
Skinner's office and Skinner is sitting behind his desk, 
shoulders squared, jaw clenched. Annoyance seeps from every 
pore.  

Mulder slouches in the chair opposite the AD. It's his usual 
seat. Scully's chair is empty beside him. Misery blurs his 
vision. Fear constricts his lungs. "I lost her."

"You lost her? Is that all you can say?"

They aren't talking about Sam. They're talking about Scully.

"I couldn't...I couldn't protect her. I tried." His hands 
twist in his lap. He loathes everything about himself. "I 
think...I think she's dead."

Skinner's focus drops to his desk as he considers this news. 
"Agent Scully was a fine officer," he finally says. "More than 
that, I liked her. I respected her." He lifts his eyes to 
glare at Mulder. Mulder recognizes his words from years ago, 
when Scully was abducted. Skinner continues to speak. "We all 
know the field we play on and we all know what can happen in 
the course of a game. If you were unprepared for all the 
potentials, then you shouldn't step on the field."

"What if I...I knew the potential consequences but I...I never 
told her?" He's made one bad choice after the next. "I lost 
her," he repeats, knowing the fault is his. "I didn't tell her 
the truth and now I've lost her. I've lost everything." 

*   *   *

"Muhl-dar? Day-nuh?" Klizzie called through the closed door of 
their hut. "Excuse me, are you awake?" She held a tray of 
food, which was laden with roasted mastodon, fresh mushrooms, 
gooseberries sweetened with honey, two raw goose eggs and an 
assortment of greens. Tucked between the bowls and plates were 
several mint twigs for cleaning their teeth when they were 
finished eating.

"Muhl-dar?" 

There was no answer. They were either sleeping or had left the 
hut.

Or maybe they were mating.

Not wishing to disturb them, Klizzie considered leaving the 
tray on the ground outside the door. But to do so would draw 
insects and scavenging animals. It would be better to set the 
tray inside.

"I have food," she announced loudly. 

She had prepared the tray soon after Dzeh stormed out of their 
hut. Providing his new partner with breakfast was part of the 
exchange, and Klizzie didn't wish to further anger her mate, 
so she dried her tears and set about gathering the finest food 
in the camp.

She went to Aunt Ho-Ya for fresh goose eggs. The kind woman 
didn't seem to notice she'd been crying; she was too 
distracted by last minute preparations for Jeha's Joining 
Ceremony, which was scheduled to take place after the 
afternoon yea-go match.

"I have so much to do." Ho-Ya complained without any real 
irritation in her voice; a broad grin lightened her words. 
"Extra food is needed for Turtle Clan when they arrive. My 
sister Tkin and her family will be staying here with me until 
a new lodge can be set up for them. I do not mind the extra 
company, really. We have the bed space. Oh, Klizzie, Jeha 
looks so pretty in her new Joining dress! So grown up!"

Klizzie barely listened as Ho-Ya described the embroidered 
tunic; her mind was on Dzeh instead. She feared what he might 
do now that he knew the truth about her and Klesh. Would he 
beat her? Cast her out of the Clan?

She wished she hadn't told him; it would have been better to 
take her secret to the Spirit World. But the second lie about 
Muhl-dar had piled upon the first about Klesh, and the two 
together were too great a burden to carry. When Dzeh began 
making love to her, she felt overwhelmed with guilt. The words 
came out as if on their own.

Her confession brought both relief and regret. Admitting the 
truth had felt good, like having a heavy load of firewood 
lifted from her aching arms, and yet, she wished she had told 
someone other than Dzeh.

She'd deceived him and lost his love as a result. And she had 
no one to blame but herself.  

Klizzie hoped beyond hope that he could forgive her. Silently 
she promised the Spirits she would break no more rules and she 
would tell no more lies from this moment on if Dzeh would 
pardon her offenses.   

Ho-Ya finally handed her the goose eggs and asked, "How did it 
go with Dzeh's new Trading Partner last night?"

The question stole her breath away. She and Muhl-dar had not 
completed the ritual, which meant the partnership was invalid.

Would Dzeh find out? Muhl-dar might spill the truth, putting 
her in worse trouble. 

She had to try to convince him to remain silent.

"It is over," she lied to Ho-Ya. "Dzeh and Muhl-dar are 
Partners now."

Ho-Ya nodded with serious approval. "That is good."

Klizzie thanked her for the eggs and hurried away to prepare 
Muhl-dar's breakfast.

Her stomach was buzzing with bees as she pushed through Muhl-
dar's door, carrying her tray of food. 

She paused just inside the entrance, allowing her eyes to 
adjust to the dark. The fire had burned out. She could see a 
shadowy mound beneath the furs and heard a quiet masculine 
snore.

"I have food," she said again, more quietly this time. "Muhl-
dar?" 

He stirred, lifted his head, and blinked sleepily at her. 
"Scully?" he asked.

"No, it is me...Klizzie." She held out the tray. "I brought 
food."

"Oh." Sitting up, he glanced around the hut. "Where's 
Scully...uh...I mean, where's Dana?"

She shook her head, unsure what he was asking. She carried the 
tray to the bed and set it on the ground. "Are you hungry?" 
she asked. Kneeling beside him, she lifted a plate of meat for 
him to see.

It was impolite to remain here with him; custom demanded she 
bring the food and then leave him on his own. But first she 
needed to find out if he intended to tell anyone the truth 
about last night. Maybe he'd already spoken of it and she was 
too late to dissuade him. Or maybe he had said nothing yet, 
but planned to complain to Dzeh later on. She had to find out, 
to help her predict Dzeh's next actions.

"Muhl-dar, I must ask you something but I do not know how," 
she said, trying to keep her voice steady. 

On the inside she was quaking like an aspen tree in a 
windstorm. She worried that Day-nuh might suddenly return and 
interrupt her questions, or that Muhl-dar might think her 
inquiries rude and become angry with her for her impudence. It 
was possible, too, that he was embarrassed about the 
incomplete ritual. She didn't really know why he had not 
finished the rite. She'd assumed he was dissatisfied with her 
in some way, but it was possible he had not been physically 
capable of carrying out his duty. His male part was marked by 
a strange scar; perhaps it no longer worked the way it was 
supposed to.

Their lack of common language and the delicate nature of the 
conversation made asking questions almost impossible.

"Muhl-dar, last night we did not conclude our obligation," she 
said, pointing first to his lap and then to hers. "This is a 
breach of custom." She looked up at his face to see if he 
understood any of what she was saying.

His jaw clenched and worry shadowed his eyes. Again she 
gestured toward their laps. When he nodded, she continued, 
"You will be cast out of the Clan if Dzeh discovers the truth. 
I may be exiled, too. I am afraid for both of us."

She could no longer control the quaver of her voice. Tears 
filled her eyes.

He reached out and put a finger to her trembling lips. 
"Shhhhh," he said. He continued to talk, his tone sincere, 
gentle and urgent. He shook his head several times, repeating 
her gesture at their laps. Several times, he held his finger 
to his lips and to hers, making his hushing sound. It seemed 
he was eager to keep their secret, too, although his reasons 
eluded her.

"Did you tell Day-nuh?" she asked. She used the hand signal 
for "making talk." Several repetitions, combined with more 
pointing at their laps seemed to convey her question.

He shook his head. "No one knows," he said. "It'll be our 
secret."

"See-kret?" 

Again he held his finger to his lips and nodded. "Have you 
told Dzeh?"

"Dzeh? No, no. Dzeh must not find out. He is very angry with 
me...about something else...something awful. Knowledge of an 
additional deceit will cause more trouble. He must never learn 
of it. Never."  

In this halting way they made a pact to remain silent. Thank 
the Spirits, she had not been too late. Relief surged through 
her and on an impulse she embraced Mulder for his willingness 
to keep quiet. He returned her embrace, as if equally 
satisfied by their arrangement.   

*   *   *

Tormented with worry, Dzeh brought his yea-go stick and tool 
kit to the butternut tree at the edge of the village. He did 
his best thinking while working with his hands, so he decided 
to repair the stick's worn leather basket while giving careful 
consideration to Klizzie's shocking confession. 

Setting down his tools, he sat cross-legged beneath the tree's 
broad limbs. This spot gave him an unobstructed view of the 
camp, and he wanted to keep an eye out for Klizzie. No doubt 
she would soon be joining the group of women who were cutting 
meat beside the smoke house a stone's throw away.     

Dzeh upended his tool kit, allowing its contents to spill into 
his lap. Two unfinished carvings fell from the leather pouch: 
fertility idols, intended as offerings to Hare Spirit in hope 
of getting Klizzie pregnant. Dzeh pushed them aside, too 
distressed to look at them. Klizzie's transgressions were like 
knives in his flesh. 

She had broken the strictest Clan law and then lied to cover 
it up, remaining silent while her cousin and brother were 
exiled. Dzeh had no doubt Klesh deserved to be banished; he 
was an unrelenting bully and a known thief. He frequently 
cheated at gambling games and refused to observe the necessary 
rituals or give prayers. He was an angry man who had made many 
enemies. Only Tse-e had stuck by him, leaving the Clan along 
with his exiled cousin. 

Both men were probably dead, he supposed. Two alone without 
the help of kin were doomed.

Their blood was on Klizzie's hands. No wonder the Spirits had 
denied her a child all these years. Dzeh had been a fool to 
beg for a baby on her behalf.  

Hands shaking, he took a small strip of leather from his pile 
of supplies and trimmed it to fit the loop on his yea-go 
stick. He then searched for lashing material and a stout 
needle. 

He kept an eye on the women by the smokehouse while he unwound 
a length of rawhide cord. Klizzie would arrive shortly, he was 
certain, to help them with their chore of cutting and 
preserving the meat from yesterday's hunt. He wasn't sure what 
he would say or do when she appeared. He had no plan. He only 
hoped that seeing her would help him decide the right course 
of action. 

About twenty women of various ages hunkered beside the 
smokehouse, chatting amicably while they cut chunks of fat 
from meat.  Dzeh was too far away to overhear their 
conversation, but he caught their excited, happy tones. No 
doubt they were discussing Turtle Clan's anticipated arrival 
later today, as well as other details of the upcoming Feast. 

He watched them pile fat into gourds to render later. For now 
they concentrated on slicing the meat into thin, even strips, 
which would dry quickly over the fires in the smokehouse. 

His previous mate had been very adept at preparing meat in 
this fashion. She'd taken great care to carve all trace of fat 
from the meat before drying it, thus preventing it from going 
rancid. Mixing the rendered fat with pulverized dried meat, 
she made the smoothest pemmican he had ever eaten. She often 
flavored it with tasty herbs, too...a welcome change of pace 
from an otherwise bland winter diet. 

It had been a long while since he had thought of Chuo's 
cooking skills, perhaps because Klizzie was equally proficient 
at preserving and cooking food. 

Chuo had been a beautiful woman, several years older than Dzeh 
and already the mother of one young son and pregnant with her 
second when she agreed to become his mate. The father of 
Chuo's children had been killed in a winter hunting accident. 
He'd been an elder from Moose Clan, a skilled toolmaker and a 
knowledgeable tracker. His loss was keenly felt by his mate 
and his clan.

Five springs after Chuo became Dzeh's mate she announced she 
was pregnant again. It was the happiest day of Dzeh's life. He 
looked forward to the birth of his first child and he walked 
around camp puffed with pride. Although he loved Chuo's sons 
very much, he was thrilled at the prospect of giving her a 
child from his body.

His joy was short-lived, however. Two moons later when the 
Clan was on its way to summer camp at So-a-la-ih Lodge at Star 
Lake, summer rains brought floods. Dzeh lost his beloved Chuo 
and his unborn child when they tried to cross Toh-ni-lih 
River. Chuo slipped while wading through the swift rapids and 
was quickly swept away in the fast-moving current. Dzeh and 
Lin had plunged into the icy water to try to save her. Several 
of the other men had run along the bank, hoping to grab her as 
she passed by. But by the time she was pulled from the white 
water, she had drowned.

After Chuo's death, her sons were given to Moose Clan to live 
with their uncle. Dzeh missed them. They'd been clever, well-
behaved boys. But they were not of Owl Clan; they rightly 
belonged with their kin. He saw them only once after they 
left, at a Winter Feast two years ago. The youngest no longer 
recognized him. 
 
Dzeh sighed and knotted the lashing on his stick. The basket 
was repaired, but Klizzie had not arrived at the smokehouse. 

He felt caught in a pit of indecision. He couldn't ignore her 
confession; it was too serious to let pass. The proper thing 
would be to bring her misdeeds to the attention of the elders 
because her punishment was not his alone to make. 

Her offense was not a minor one. It wasn't as if she'd refused 
to cook his dinner or share his sleeping skins. These sorts of 
misbehaviors were his responsibility to handle however he saw 
fit. But mating with her cousin was an abomination that 
concerned the entire Clan. 

He knew what they would do to her when they found out. They 
would bind her to a tree and stone her to death. His 
beautiful, loving Klizzie. It made his stomach clench to think 
of it, and for a moment he thought he might vomit.

Damn the Spirits, what should he do? Keeping her secret would 
certainly anger the Spirits, bringing hardship, maybe death, 
to the entire Clan. 

And yet he couldn't watch her die.

Confused and afraid, he packed up his tools. The last items to 
go into his kit were the two unfinished fertility idols. He 
held the small carvings for a moment in his palm. Looking at 
them, he felt hope drain from his heart like blood from a 
mortal wound.

*   *   *

Scully and Gini walked from the lake through the village. The 
girl still clung to the binoculars. She tested them on 
everything she passed, obviously impressed by their power to 
make objects appear only an arm's length away. Over and over 
again she put out a hand to touch something that was well 
beyond her short reach.

Scully felt better after her bath. The word games with Gini 
had gone a long way to lift her spirits, pushing her 
experience with Dzeh to the back of her mind.

"Atsah," Gini said, binoculars aimed straight up at the 
overcast sky. An eagle flew in circles a hundred feet above 
their heads.

"Eagle," Scully gave Gini the English translation. 

"Atsah, ee-guhl," Gini repeated.

The girl's wet hair dripped down her back, sticking in ropey 
tendrils to her narrow shoulders. Gini had insisted Scully 
remove her braids after she had finished combing out her own. 
They then shampooed and bathed before hurrying from the lake 
feeling chilled but clean.

Scully paused when they arrived at her own hut. On the far 
side of the campground an excited cry drew her attention. A 
group of women who had been cutting meat were leaping to their 
feet. 

"Chay-da-gahi Din-neh-ih!" they shouted, waving their arms and 
rushing to the expanse of open grassland to the south.

Men and women throughout the camp abandoned various chores to 
hurry to the field where a group of about thirty travel-weary 
tribesmen were hiking toward the village.

"What's going on?" she asked. "Who're they?" 

"Chay-da-gahi Din-neh-ih," Gini replied.  
 
"Chay-da-gahi?"

Gini drew her shoulders up next to her ears. 

"I don't understand," Scully said. "What is this?" She 
mimicked the girl's strange posture.

Gini dropped to her knees and began to sketch a simple outline 
of a turtle in the dirt with her finger. "Chay-da-gahi," she 
said when she was finished.

"Turtle? Those people are turtles?" That didn't make any 
sense.

"Lahn. Yes," Gini said. She pointed back and forth between the 
approaching strangers and her sketch. "Chay-da-gahi Din-neh-
ih."

"Well, if those people are Chay-da-gahi, what are you?" Scully 
used pointing gestures to clarify her question.

"Ne-ahs-jah Din-neh-ih," Gini said with pride in her voice. 
"Woo-woo." She reproduced the sound of an owl perfectly.

"Owl?" Scully asked.

"Ouwwhull." Gini tried to wrap her tongue around the foreign 
word.

Scully guessed that each tribe must be named for a species of 
animal, most likely as a way to differentiate familial 
lineages.

"If they are Chay-da-gahi and you are Ne-ahs-jah, then what am 
I?" Scully pointed a finger at herself.

"Tkoh-klesh," Gini said, looking up at Scully with a big grin.

"Tkoh-klesh? What is Tkoh-klesh?"

Again Gini drew a picture in the dirt.

"A worm? A snake?" Scully guessed.

Gini added a few wavy lines around the snake.

"A water snake?" Scully shook her head. "I don't understand." 

Gini jumped to her feet and stroked Scully's leather jacket 
with her palm. "Tkoh-klesh," she repeated. 

A black leather water snake? Scully's knowledge of various 
snake species was limited to the symptoms and treatment of 
their bites. She gave Gini a confused look.

Using hand signals, Gini tried again to make herself 
understood. She held her right hand palm down and waggled it 
to indicate water. She plunged her left hand below it.

An underwater snake? Suddenly it came to her -- the girl was 
describing an eel! Evidently her and Mulder's black leather 
coats reminded her of eel skin.

"Tkoh-klesh means eel," she said, satisfied she had guessed 
the girl's meaning.

"Eee-ul." Gini tried out the new word several times before 
turning her attention back to the distant field. Lifting the 
binoculars to her eyes for a closer look, she watched as the 
people from Owl Clan embraced those from Turtle Clan.

"Coming inside?" Scully asked, corralling her with one arm and 
nodding toward her hut.

"Lahn. Yes," she said, lowering the glasses and letting Scully 
steer her through the door.

Inside Scully found Mulder sitting on the bed embracing 
Klizzie. A lightning bolt of surprise and jealousy sizzled 
beneath her breastbone before she could find her voice.

"Mulder? What's going on?"

"Scully!" He released his hold and backed away.

Klizzie's eyes rounded. She scrambled to her feet. 

"She made breakfast," Mulder blurted, pointing at a tray of 
food beside the bed.

"And what are you doing? Thanking her?"

"No, I-- We-- Are you hungry?"

Tears stung her eyes, surprising her almost as much as finding 
Klizzie in his arms.

"Tehi," Klizzie said to Gini. 

Gini began to protest, but Klizzie took hold of her arm and 
quickly ushered her from the shelter.

As soon as they were gone, Scully asked, "What was that all 
about?"

"Uh...dunno." He gave her an innocent shrug before plucking a 
gooseberry from the platter and popping it into his mouth.

She wasn't in the mood for his evasiveness. On the other hand, 
she wasn't prepared for the truth either. Her experience with 
Dzeh had left her nerves too raw to deal with Mulder's obvious 
betrayal or her own budding jealousy. She wished she were back 
at the lake, trading words with Gini, or for that matter, she 
wished she were back home.

"Scully, I... It was nothing," he said, his expression serious 
and sad.

Feeling dizzy, self-control ebbing, she sank to her knees just 
inside the door. She let her tears flow and her show of grief 
seemed to shock Mulder. 

He went to her and took her gently in his arms.

"Scully, please...I'm sorry."

Misery engulfed her. She crumpled against him, her arms 
hanging heavily at her sides. Wounded by his apparent 
indiscretion, she refused to cling to him. He was her best 
friend, her lover, which was why his infidelity hurt so damn 
much.

The urge to retaliate was strong. "Didn't you get enough last 
night?" she asked, giving in to her animosity. 

"It wasn't like that." 

His steady, reassuring tone increased her indignation. He was 
patronizing her, God damn it.     

"For a man who claims to be searching for the truth, you seem 
pretty adept at sidestepping it when you need to."

His arms dropped away and he blinked against an onrush of 
tears. She knew she'd wounded him, deeply, but he remained 
silent, apparently unwilling to let her goad him with hurtful 
accusations.

Was she being unfair? Maybe the error in judgment was hers, 
not his.

"You... It's just..." she stammered, unsure where she wanted 
to take this conversation. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Whatever you want," he said, not a trace of rancor in his 
voice.

She closed her eyes against his tender, pleading stare. 
"Mulder, I'm --"

"It's okay." He reached for her again.

This time, she wrapped her arms around him, too, and buried 
her face in his neck, muffling her next words. "No, Mulder, I 
shouldn't have --"

"Shhh, don't, please."

He tightened his hold on her and she concentrated on his 
fierce grip and thundering pulse and the urgent tenor of his 
voice. Reducing her focus to these three things, she was able 
to push aside her suspicions about him and Klizzie, crowding 
them into that part of her mind where she buried all the 
unpleasant aspects of life. 

*   *   *

Blustery and overcast, it wasn't the best day for a yea-go 
match, but at least the rain was holding off. 

A flat expanse of grassland between the village and the 
southern woodlands provided a serviceable playing field. The 
view from the sloping meadow at the base of Crouching Cat 
Mountain was perfect for spectators. Already several families 
were toting food and blankets to the choicest locations 
overlooking center field. They also brought items for 
wagering. Hide scrapers and hair ornaments for the women, 
knives, hand axes and earrings for the men. Services, such as 
sewing or tattooing, would be gambled here today, too.  

Prizes for the winning players were laid out on the grass at 
the foot of the hill for all to see. Mastodon blankets, fox 
furs, unworked chert, jerky, tanned hides, embroidered tunics, 
jewelry, and spearpoints were among the goods that would be 
distributed to the kin of the winning team. Players who scored 
goals during the game would take home the most valuable 
prizes. Several days of trading would ensue, with items going 
round and round the camp. Some might even make it back to 
their original owners.

Clans took great pride in donating the most sought after 
goods. Skillfully crafted tools were particularly popular. But 
the most prized item of all was the large gourd of honey, 
brought by Owl Clan. It contained enough pure, sweet honey to 
make a winter's worth of wo-chi...if the children could be 
kept out of it.

At the northern and southern ends of the playing field, 
several men were wrestling stout goal posts into the ground. 
Each post was as big around as a woman's waist and stood as 
tall as the shoulder of a bull mastodon. Cutting the posts had 
been no easy feat. Badger Clan dulled several stone axes while 
felling the two requisite trees before the arrival of the 
other clans. 

The chore of digging postholes was assigned to the last clan 
to arrive at the summer camp. No one enjoyed this laborious 
task, chiseling into rocky soil and backfilling with gravel, 
which had to be carried by the sack-full from the lake. The 
men of Turtle Clan endured good-natured jibes from the other 
clans as they lugged stones across the field.

While the posts were being set, Dzeh practiced lobbing a ball 
to his teammates. Using his favorite stick, he tossed the ball 
high into the air, relishing the way it felt when it slid from 
its basket. A smooth stone the size of a duck egg was at the 
core of the ball. This was wrapped in leather and laced with a 
rawhide cord. When tossed with force, it could fly far and 
fast, drawing blood if it impacted a player's unprotected 
flesh.

Dzeh's yea-go stick was the finest he'd ever owned. He'd made 
it three seasons ago out of a straight, young hickory tree, 
free of knots. He'd stripped the bark and smoothed the wood 
with a draw-knife, thinning one end until it was flexible 
enough to be doubled back on itself, producing a loop as long 
and broad as his hand. He used bark strips to secure the loop 
in place. Then he lashed a piece of rawhide across it to 
create a basket that was large enough to hold the ball. The 
process took several days, but was worth it. This particular 
stick had proven lucky for him, winning many matches.

"Hey, Dzeh! Na-e-lahi!" his cousin Wol-la-chee shouted, 
tossing the ball.

Gauging the trajectory, Dzeh jogged a few steps to position 
himself in its path. Then he thrust out his stick, catching it 
neatly in the basket. Without pause, he spun and hurled it 
further up the court to the next player. It soothed his temper 
to be gripping the familiar stick. A strenuous game of yea-go 
would be just what he needed to distract himself from the 
sting of bees in his stomach and the growing ache in his 
chest. Dodging, tackling, blocking shots would occupy his mind 
and help burn off his anger. 

He glanced up at the crowd of spectators and was saddened when 
he couldn't find Klizzie among them. He hadn't seen her since 
their argument and knew he wouldn't come to a proper decision 
without talking to her first. She was the hearth-fire of his 
spirit and the prospect of losing her was making his thoughts 
howl like wind in winter. He promised himself to seek her out 
as soon as the game was over. Maybe together they could come 
to some sort of acceptable solution.

This afternoon's match was the first of several and it pitted 
Owl Clan against Badger Clan. Members of both teams were 
stripped down to their loincloths, their bodies painted in the 
designs of their clans. There would be no mistaking one player 
for another. Badger Clan's bold black and white patterns and 
tall spiky hair set them apart from the reddish-brown circular 
designs and braided hair of Owl Clan. 

Wol-la-chee jogged to Dzeh and hooked a friendly arm around 
his cousin's shoulders. "Where is your new Trading Partner?" 
he asked with a grin. "Is he playing today or did Klizzie tire 
him out?"

Dzeh shook off the younger man's arm. "I have not seen him."

"Ooohhh-ho! He is not still with her, is he?" Wol-la-chee 
scanned the horizon as if hunting for the wayward couple.

"Stop it, Wol-la-chee." Dzeh felt a knot of annoyance squeeze 
his throat. "The business of my Trading Partner is of no 
concern to--"

"There he is..." -- Wol-la-chee nodded his head toward the 
village -- "with his own mate and your sister."

Sure enough, young Gini was leading the newcomers by the hand 
toward the ball field. Dzeh cursed under his breath; Muhl-
dar's presence would be like a thorn in the sole of his foot, 
a constant reminder of the problems that came with Trading 
Partners. Dzeh knew it was unfair to compare him to Klesh, but 
his worries about Klizzie prevented him from separating the 
two in his mind.

"Are you going to invite him to play?" Wol-la-chee asked. "We 
could use another swift runner."

"He does not look like a swift runner to me," Dzeh said, 
hoping to discourage his cousin.

"What are you talking about? He is tall and lean. Surely he 
can run."

"I think maybe he is *too* lean. A hummingbird could knock him 
on his ass."

Wol-la-chee chuckled and shook his head. "He has got to be 
more skilled than Ghaw-jih."

Both men turned to look at Wol-la-chee's undersized nephew. 
The boy had gotten himself trampled in last year's game, which 
led to a loss during the final match...to the chindis from Ant 
Clan. A year later, the defeat still rankled.

"Fine. I will ask Muhl-dar to play," Dzeh said. "*You* tell 
your nephew he is out until someone is injured."

Wol-la-chee seemed satisfied with this arrangement. He loped 
off to give his nephew the news while Dzeh called to Muhl-dar.

Gini and Day-nuh glanced in his direction, then moved uphill 
to join the crowd of onlookers. Muhl-dar squared his shoulders 
and came forward to meet him halfway.

"The game is about to start," he said. "We need a runner to 
play third attack. What do you say?" 

Muhl-dar's eyes fell to his stick. "Lacrosse?" he asked.

Dzeh didn't know the word. "Yea-go," he said, holding out the 
stick.

Muhl-dar hesitated before taking it, his body tense. He wore a 
storm-cloud expression and his eyes burned with animosity. But 
as soon as the stick lay in his hands, his taut muscles 
appeared to relax a little and his expression softened. He 
tested the stick's weight and balance, gave it a practice 
swing, and then offered it back.

"Keep it," Dzeh said, determined to put his anger aside, at 
least for the afternoon. A victory today would bring tools and 
goods to the Clan. He needed to do whatever was necessary to 
ensure a win. "Let's get you ready," he said, pointing to the 
sidelines where the rest of his team was getting marked with 
paint.

*   *   *

The last thing Mulder felt like doing was playing lacrosse 
with Dzeh and his Neanderthal buddies. If he'd had his way, he 
and Scully would still be in their hut. But Gini had arrived 
and convinced Scully to attend the afternoon game.

"We can't hide in here forever, Mulder," Scully had said in 
her commonsensical way.

"Why not?" 

"That would negate our reasons for going along with the...the 
exchange."

*Your* reasons, he thought, but rose from the sleeping furs to 
follow her outside.

He'd intended to join the spectators, not play the game. But 
holding Dzeh's stick made him rethink the idea. A quarter or 
two of lacrosse might burn off some of his excess anger. And 
if it didn't, he could always use the crosse to beat in a 
Neanderthal skull or two.

Dzeh led him to the sidelines where he was instructed to strip 
out of his clothes. He was handed a red loincloth that matched 
Dzeh's. Too pissed to feel self-conscious, he undressed right 
there in front of seventy or eighty curious onlookers and 
donned the teams' uniform. Then he held out his arms while two 
men slathered him with cold, red and brown paint.

It had been a long time since he'd last played lacrosse. He 
doubted these cave people went by the same rules as his Oxford 
squad, but he assumed any version of the game would require 
approximately the same skills. Dzeh's crosse resembled a 
modern one in size and shape. It was heavier, but not 
unwieldy. 

Mulder had played second attack for the Blues when he was an 
undergrad, and remembered feeling beaten and winded after four 
quarters against squads from Hillcroft and Birmingham. 
Although the Blues took possession on almost every face-off, 
their opponents had high-class shooters and long-reaching 
defensemen. Mulder recalled his final match with disgust; in 
truth the game had been over after the first half, but the 
Blue's agonizing defeat stretched on for two more humiliating 
quarters and eight unanswered Hillcroft goals.

Looking across the field at the goal posts, he wondered where 
the boundaries were. No center or end lines marked the field 
or the goal creases. Worse than that, none of the players were 
wearing helmets or pads. This could get rough, he realized.

Dzeh rattled through the rules as he steered Mulder onto the 
field, which he referred to as the "clo-dih." Mulder grasped 
the meaning of several other words, like "tsa-zhin" for "ball" 
and "bi-ne-yei" for "goal." He tried to get Dzeh to explain 
some of the technical fouls, but after a few confused looks 
and a shake of the head, he came to the uneasy conclusion 
there might not be any technical fouls in this version of the 
game.

He sized up the brawny men who were gathering at mid-field. 
Every one had muscled arms the size of Mulder's thighs. Their 
painted chests looked as solid as beer kegs. 

Shit, he was fucked.  

Twenty-four players, twelve per team, arranged themselves in 
two facing lines. Each man carried a crosse. Mulder stood to 
Dzeh's right, while the squads' apparent leaders extended 
their crosses toward one another, keeping them vertical and 
touching, with the ball caught between them. 

"Das-teh-do," shouted a man on the sidelines, signaling the 
start. 

A violent struggle ensued with each of the two leaders 
exerting all his strength to overcome the pressure of his 
opponent's crosse. Owl Clan prevailed and sent the ball 
hurtling toward the goal.

That's when all hell broke loose. The man facing Mulder 
bulldozed forward, knocking the wind from his lungs. Mulder 
tumbled backward and hit the ground hard. Gasping for air, he 
wondered how long each quarter was going to last. Then he 
ducked just in time to avoid a blow to the head from Tractor 
Man's swinging crosse.

Jesus fucking Christ, these guys were playing for keeps!

The whole troop then turned to pursue the ball, whooping and 
running at top speed. They darted down field, bounding after 
the ball, sweeping it up in their crosses, tossing it off 
before being tackled. Despite several bone-crunching hits, the 
men kept their tempers. As a matter of fact, they seemed to 
relish the hard-hitting play. 

Mulder scrambled to his feet and hurried to join the melee. He 
nearly tripped over a prostrate player in the non-existent 
goal crease, but managed to get his crosse into position and 
catch the ball.

The Black and White defense turned on him.

"Muhl-dar!" Dzeh shouted, crosse held high. 

Mulder lobbed the ball in Dzeh's direction just before he was 
plowed over by an onrush of charging Cro-Magnons. He hoped his 
throw was accurate; he couldn't see a thing, buried as he was 
beneath a pile of pounding fists and flailing sticks.

A loud thwack brought the players to their feet. Evidently 
Dzeh had hit the goal post. Jesus, the noise echoed like a 
lightning strike against the surrounding hills. Mulder blinked 
in surprise as his teammates raced toward the goal where the 
goalie was struggling for an outlet to clear the ball. He 
found a slot and the game resumed. 

Mulder soon learned there were no fouls, substitutions or 
breaks in Caveman Lacrosse. Only when a man was seriously 
injured was a new player brought in to take his place.

Fast-paced play continued throughout the afternoon, going back 
and forth between zones. The Black and White Team answered Red 
Teams' score almost immediately. Red Team one-upped them just 
minutes later. A hard-fought half hour passed before the next 
goal was made. Two-one, Red. Their lead didn't last. Black and 
White scored three consecutive points. 

By late afternoon, Mulder felt like he'd been hit by a car. 
His ribs ached and he was covered with welts on his shins and 
thighs. One well-placed wallop to his left biceps had sliced 
open a nasty wound that was bleeding buckets. So far he'd 
managed to protect his head, but he wasn't certain how long he 
could hold out.

He hoped this show of his athletic fortitude was turning 
Scully on, if nothing else.

Play became more intense, not less, as the afternoon wore on. 
Mulder hoped this meant the game was nearing an end, not that 
tempers were running short. Red Team was down by one and his 
teammates began to play as if their lives depended on it. 
Maybe they did, he realized. Could be the winners killed and 
ate the losers.

"Nahl-kihd!" shouted the Red Team leader. He signaled with his 
crosse, positioning the men for offense.

This was the first bit of strategy that Mulder recognized. The 
rest of the game had seemed a goddamn free-for-all. But then 
maybe he'd been too busy getting steamrolled to notice the 
subtler aspects of the game.

The ball was lobbed into play and Mulder caught it in his 
crosse. The Red Team leader barked at him, "Yo-lailh! Yo-
lailh!" 

Too bad he didn't know what the fuck that meant. 

Half a dozen Black and White brutes headed straight at him. He 
decided to run with the ball.

He covered more than sixty yards before a defenseman took his 
legs out from under him. The ball bounced from his crosse. He 
scrambled for it, but missed. Dzeh appeared out of nowhere, 
scooped it up, and pitched it at the goal.

THWACK! The ball ricocheted off the post.

Yes! They were tied up! 

Mulder staggered to his feet, prepared to launch into the next 
play, only to find Dzeh wasn't celebrating. As a matter of 
fact, the entire Red Team looked pissed while the Black and 
White Team were clapping themselves on the backs, laughing and 
hollering. Shit, the game was over. It must have ended 
*before* Dzeh made his shot. The Black and White Team had won 
the match.

Damn it...after all that work...it was like Hillcroft all over 
again. 

Mulder's strength gave out and he collapsed to his knees. He 
let go of his crosse and, with effort, unfolded his fingers 
enough to place his palm over his bleeding left arm. 

Dzeh limped across the field to stand beside him.

The caveman looked beat. A large bruise shadowed his right 
cheek. Blood and dirt streaked his chest. He was crisscrossed 
with cuts and scrapes.

"Ut-zah," he said, breathing hard. He leaned down and offered 
Mulder a hand. "Tehi."

Mulder stared at Dzeh's outstretched hand. This was a chance 
to set aside their differences, to make peace. Life would be 
so much easier if he would just accept Dzeh's generosity.

"No thanks," he said, rising on unsteady legs. He could never 
forgive this man for what he'd done to Scully. "I don't need 
your help."

Mulder turned and walked off the field, leaving Dzeh's yea-go 
stick lying where he'd dropped it on the ground.   

*   *   *

Shortly after sunset, the men, women and children of four 
clans gathered to watch Jeha become joined with Moasi. Mulder 
and Scully watched, too, from a respectable distance. Neither 
felt comfortable standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the crowd. 
Dressed in their 20th Century clothes, they received plenty of 
stares. Some of the tribesmen seemed only mildly curious, 
others suspicious, a few downright hostile.

Mulder glared right back at them and held on tight to Scully's 
hand, wanting everyone in the camp -- especially Dzeh -- to 
see that she was with him. 

Speaking of Dzeh, where the hell was the bastard anyway? 
Mulder wondered. He scanned the crowd, but didn't find him 
among the dozens of bearded faces.

"Mulder, you're hurting me."

"Sorry." He loosened his grip on her hand, but drew her 
closer. Putting his lips to her ear he asked, "You don't 
usually cry at weddings, do you, Scully?"

She arched an eyebrow. "No."

"Good, 'cause I do and we have only one handkerchief between 
us." He patted the pocket of his leather jacket. Inside he 
could feel the hard lump of the carved idol. Instinctively he 
closed his hand around it and wondered again about its 
possible powers.

Could he get it to work for him the way it seemed to work for 
Scully?

The tribespeople were standing in front of a small domed hut, 
which was situated at the outer edge of the village away from 
the other huts, presumably for privacy. Its roof had been 
decorated with pleasant smelling mint leaves and flower 
blossoms. Fresh pine boughs covered the threshold like a 
welcome mat. The skin door was fastened open with a rawhide 
cord. Inside, Mulder could see a fire burning in a small 
hearth. A bed of furs waited beyond the fire and trays of 
sumptuous-looking food had been arranged around the bed.

The honeymoon suite, he thought. 

A stocky man with a broad, friendly grin waited beside the 
groom just outside the hut's door. Mulder recognized him from 
the communal "apres lacrosse" bath he and the other men had 
taken in the lake following the match. This guy had been on 
the Black and White Team, a fast runner who'd played hard. No 
longer covered with paint, he was impressively dressed in a 
beaded robe, decorated on the hem and sleeves with striking, 
colorful feathers. His ears were studded with bone ornaments 
and his hair had been oiled and combed straight up from his 
brow, giving him the appearance of a surprised porcupine. 
Pride and pleasure radiated from his round, tattooed face.    

A gangly, big-nosed woman stood beside him with tears in her 
eyes and a smile on her elongated face. She was dressed to the 
nines in a spotted fur cape, arms banded by dozens of rattling 
bracelets, and hair done up with beads, bangles, feathers and 
flowers. Mulder guessed she was the groom's mother.

Looking down at his own unwashed jeans and muddy boots, he 
whispered into Scully's ear, "I feel a tad underdressed. Do 
you?"

She licked her thumb and gently scrubbed something from his 
cheek, before giving him a "be quiet" look.

"Did I miss a spot?" he asked.

"You missed a lot of spots. Now shhhh."

He returned his focus to the wedding party.      

The groom -- a kid who'd also played in the afternoon's match 
-- seemed far too young to be tying the knot. Mulder pegged 
him to be only about fifteen or sixteen. Despite his youth, 
the boy had shown real grit in the game; he'd played with the 
enthusiasm of a seasoned athlete and had received a fresh 
black eye for his commendable efforts. He was a long-limbed, 
muscular kid with a proud stance and, at this moment, a 
nervous, albeit eager, expression. 

The groom's oiled, black hair hung in waist-length braids down 
the center of his back. Closer cropped on the crown, it stood 
on end like his father's. An array of striped feathers added 
height and color. Half a dozen heavy bear claws dangled from 
each of his pierced ears. The upper half of his face was 
painted with white pigment in angular patterns. His chin was 
shadowed by a patchy short beard. He rocked from foot to foot, 
evidently anxious to finish the formalities.

Mulder thought back to his own wedding day, a blustery, wet 
Wednesday in late November. He hadn't had time to feel 
nervous. He and Diana had raced over to City Hall on their 
lunch hour, taking a cab and talking the whole way about 
thought transference and extra sensory perception because they 
were knee deep in an investigation about hospitalized 
psychiatric patients who claimed be misdiagnosed psychics. 

Ten minutes with a dour JP made it all legal; they returned to 
the office as husband and wife, presumably for life, although 
they hadn't exchanged any long-winded vows. They hadn't felt 
the need. They'd signed the necessary paperwork, donned 
matching wedding bands, and presumed their signatures and 
rings were testament enough. Neither of them truly believed in 
undying love anyway. They were both children of divorced 
parents; Diana's mom had been married three times. 

At the time, Mulder thought he knew everything Diana was 
thinking; whether the subject was parascience or romance; 
words were seldom necessary between them. They were so alike 
back then, agreeing on everything, reading each other's minds 
as easily as the clairvoyants they were testing. He believed 
they were soul mates, destined to be together.

Diana had proposed to him, not the other way around. A dare, 
almost, after a breathless bout of lovemaking in her apartment 
on another lunch hour several weeks prior to their wedding 
day. She had looked gorgeous...tousled and flushed from their 
intimacy, a mischievous smile in her dark, sparkling eyes. He 
loved her so much at that moment it was only a small surprise 
when he heard himself answer yes.

She told him she didn't want an overblown, traditional lace-
and-flowers type wedding, which suited him fine. She also said 
she didn't care about going away on a honeymoon; it would take 
too much time away from their work and they could celebrate 
their newly wedded status at home. He agreed, promising to 
take her somewhere romantic, like Groom Lake, on their tenth 
anniversary.

"Fox, everyone goes to Groom Lake on their anniversary," she 
teased. "How about something more out of the mainstream, like 
the Oregon Vortex or Spook Hill in Lake Wales."

"I hear the Wonder Spot in Wisconsin is a paranormal Poconos."

Of course, they never did travel to the Wonder Spot, or remain 
married long enough to celebrate their tenth anniversary; as a 
matter of fact, they split after only eighteen months. But on 
that November day when he signed his name below hers on the 
marriage license, he had truly hoped they might beat the odds.

Mulder squeezed Scully's hand now. If he were ever to get 
married again, he would do it up right. Traditional wedding, 
proper honeymoon, the whole nine yards. And he would pop the 
question this time. Get down on bended knee in the most 
romantic setting he could find.

The sound of drummers brought him out of his musings. Several 
men began chanting, and a group of women joined them, singing 
in high-pitched voices, weaving their meandering rhythm into 
that of the men's. The music served as a signal for the bride 
to step forward, flanked by her kin. Mother, cousins, uncles, 
and siblings marched together like a phalanx of solemn 
soldiers. Nearly lost in their midst was young Jeha, dressed 
in a snow white deer-hide tunic, smiling shyly and trembling a 
little as she walked to her future husband.

Jesus, the girl looked too damn young to be a bride, Mulder 
thought. Twelve or thirteen maybe, if that? No wonder she was 
shaking. She was just a little girl. If she were living in the 
20th Century, she would be years away from mature 
responsibilities like marriage. Here, however, she'd probably 
be a mother in a year's time.

A petulant cry from the outer edges of the crowd turned 
everyone's attention away from the wedding party. Mulder rose 
up on his toes to look over their heads to see what was going 
on.

"What is it?" Scully asked, too short to see over the crowd.

"It's Gini and Dzeh," Mulder said when he spotted them.

Dzeh was strong-arming the little girl toward the gathering 
and she was none too pleased about it. The more she argued, 
the fiercer he frowned and the tighter he gripped her wrist. 

Mulder didn't like the way he was dragging her against her 
will. Stepping forward, he felt the tug of Scully's hand on 
his arm.

"Mulder, don't," she murmured. "It's none of our business."

By now everyone was watching Gini's tantrum. Mulder couldn't 
understand her words, but clearly she didn't want to be here. 
Dzeh remained silent but insistent. He looked embarrassed as 
he held the girl in place and tried to ignore her outrage. 

Mulder wondered where Klizzie was and why she didn't come 
forward to intervene on Gini's behalf.

"Scully, I don't like this." He took another step in Dzeh's 
direction.

Gini yelled something that brought gasps from the onlookers. 
Dzeh's face darkened. He spoke harshly to her, but she paid no 
attention and continued her tearful shouts, tugging against 
his grip. When she couldn't break free she screamed, bringing 
disapproving frowns from all the bystanders. Dzeh raised his 
hand and struck her across the cheek, silencing her and 
drawing grunts of appreciation from the crowd.

Mulder's temper flared. He pictured Dzeh hustling Scully into 
her hut last night, hand planted firmly on the small of her 
back...the same goddamn hand that was holding Gini against her 
will right now. He regretted allowing Dzeh to take Scully, 
regretted it with every fiber of his being, and he was 
goddamned if he'd let the motherfucker bully this little girl, 
too.

"That's it," he said, shaking loose from Scully. 

He walked straight to Dzeh. When they stood toe-to-toe, he 
growled through clenched teeth, "Let her go."

Dzeh's eyes narrowed. He didn't release Gini. Leaning forward, 
he sternly rebuked Mulder for interfering.

Mulder balled his fists and straightened to his full height. 
"I said, let...her...go."

Dzeh was not intimidated. Glaring at Mulder, he shoved Gini 
out of the way, pushing her with such force he sent her 
sprawling into the dirt.

That was all the excuse Mulder needed. His fist shot out and 
caught Dzeh square on the chin. Dzeh grunted from the impact, 
then threw a jarring uppercut that cracked Mulder's teeth 
together and sent him stumbling backward.

Regaining his balance, Mulder plowed head first into Dzeh's 
stomach. The two men toppled and rolled. The spectators backed 
away, giving them more room.

Mulder found himself straddling Dzeh. He didn't waste the 
advantage. Fury escalating, he pummeled his head with a rain 
of blows. He'd been wanting to do this all day and it felt 
damn good to be pounding the shit out of this mother-fucker. 
Dzeh tried to block the blows with his arms. Twisting his 
body, he rolled out from under Mulder, knocking him sideways 
as he went. 

Dzeh staggered to his feet. Without pause, he grabbed Mulder 
by the front of his coat and lifted him into a standing 
position. He roared something unintelligible. 

Mulder roared right back.

"This is for Gini!" He drove his fist into Dzeh's nose. "And 
this..." -- he struck Dzeh again, using his left -- "is for 
fucking *my* partner!" 

Blood exploded from Dzeh's nose, spraying them both. He 
howled. Mulder pressed forward, but before he could pull 
another punch, Dzeh locked him in a crushing bear hug and 
wrestled him backward toward the newlywed's hut. Mulder 
crashed against the covering, stopped short by the bony 
supports inside.

Backhanding Mulder in the head, Dzeh sent him spinning. He 
landed face down on the ground, the wind knocked from him. 
Unable to catch his breath, he covered his head in 
anticipation of Dzeh's next blow. When it didn't come, he 
cautiously lifted his head to look back at Dzeh.

Dzeh remained frozen in place, eyes targeting something to 
Mulder's right. His expression had changed from rage to 
disbelief and horror. The crowd surged closer, their mouths 
gaping in similar shock. Mulder followed their stares to the 
small, carved idol he'd taken from the cave. It must have 
fallen out of his pocket onto the ground during the fight.

And evidently he was in a shit-load of trouble for having it.

*   *   *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A fearsome storm was moving into the valley from the north. 
Purple-black clouds clotted the night sky and the frigid 
breath of angered Spirits gusted across Turkey Lake, buffeting 
the hide-covered shelters and raising gooseflesh on Dzeh's 
arms. 

Staring at the idol on the ground, he could not believe his 
eyes. The sacred statue, offered to Hare Spirit on Klizzie's 
behalf, lay beside Muhl-dar's outstretched hand. It had been 
intended as a gift to the gods, sanctified by prayers in Tsa-
ond Cave. To see it in the newcomer's possession turned his 
blood to ice.

Only a dishonorable, Spiritless man would dare steal a prayer 
offering and risk the wrath of the gods. Muhl-dar was clearly 
such a man; the proof was there on the ground for all to see. 
Dzeh wished he'd never agreed to become Trading Partners with 
this chindi from Eel Clan. He wished he had never set eyes on 
Muhl-dar. 

Gasps arose from the onlookers when they realized what had 
spilled from the stranger's odd cloak. Even those who were not 
from Owl Clan, those who hadn't witnessed Dzeh's heartfelt 
prayers to Hare Spirit, recognized the revered fertility 
symbol for what it was. To steal such an idol was sacrilege. 

Dzeh looked into his fellow clansmen's startled faces and saw 
his own disgust etched in their furrowed brows. Vengeance 
smoldered in their eyes as they waited to see how he would 
respond to this insult.

The punishment for stealing a spiritual offering was death, 
befitting the crime. Exiling the offender was not an option. 
Muhl-dar's outrageous actions had proven him too untrustworthy 
to be released; if allowed his freedom, he might return to 
Tsa-ond Cave and defile it again. There was only one way to 
prevent another desecration...kill the offender.

Thunder rolled across Crouching Cat Mountain as rain began to 
fall in sleety drops, drumming the ground with a frenzied 
rhythm that matched the beat of Dzeh's turbulent heart. The 
events of the day -- Klizzie's betrayal and now Muhl-dar's -- 
had razed his trust. His fingers trembled as he picked up the 
tiny idol. Squeezing it in his palm, he straightened his back 
and turned away from the stranger from Eel Clan.

"This man is no longer my Trading Partner," he announced to 
the onlookers.

Lin and Wol-la-chee understood the importance of his 
proclamation and stepped forward to haul the stranger to his 
feet. Muhl-dar tried to shake them off, but they gripped his 
arms tightly, holding him captive. When Day-nuh tried to come 
to his aid, two men from Badger Clan moved in to block her 
way. She objected with a shout and tried to dodge around them, 
but they latched onto her arms and held her firmly in place. 

"Sculleee!" Muhl-dar roared, trying to free himself.

Lin wrapped an arm around Muhl-dar's throat, preventing him 
from going to her.  

Gini ran to her brother and cried, "They're hurting him! 
Please, stop them!" 

He ignored her pleading. She was a child who didn't understand 
the seriousness of the situation. Turning to face Lin and Wol-
la-chee, he said, "Do what must be done." 

They pulled Muhl-dar away from the crowd and he protested with 
angry-sounding words. Day-nuh shouted again, too, in the 
foreign language that meant nothing to the clansmen.   

"Nooo!" Gini screamed. She threw herself at her brother's 
feet, bowing low out of respect and fear. "Please, please do 
not hurt him! I will do whatever you ask. I will take a mate 
and move away, if that is what you want. I am sorry I called 
you a chindi, honest I am. Please do not be angry any more. Do 
not hurt Muhl-dar and Day-nuh!" 

Her supplication affected Dzeh more than he dared let on. He 
loved his little sister and felt like a brute for striking her 
earlier and disregarding her cries now. Yet he knew what was 
required of him as a clansman and as head of his own hearth. 
He was obliged to follow certain rules and the situation with 
Muhl-dar was intolerable. Dzeh had no choice but to order his 
execution. Gini might not understand it now, but someday, when 
she was grown, with a family of her own, she would recognize 
the reasoning behind his decision and the necessity of the 
Clan's strict customs.    

Looking again to Lin and Wol-la-chee, Dzeh said, "Take him to 
the ball field. Bind him to one of the goal posts..." The next 
words stuck in his throat like sharp fish bones. He swallowed, 
trying to wet his dry mouth and coax the necessary orders from 
his tongue. It was without pleasure that he finally said, 
"Stone him." 

As Muhl-dar was dragged away, Day-nuh's shouts grew more 
frantic. Dzeh signaled the Badger clansmen to remove her, too. 
Gini shrieked and ran to help Day-nuh battle against her 
larger captors.

The two females were no match against the brawny men and Day-
nuh was hauled to the Shaman's hut.

Gini turned and faced Dzeh with balled fists. Tears streamed 
from her eyes. "I *hate* you!" she screamed. "I wish they 
would stone *you*!" 

Lightning flashed in the distance. Two heartbeats later a 
rumble of thunder galloped down the mountainside like a 
stampede of panicked bison. Dzeh said nothing to his sister. 
Her words stung, even though he knew she didn't truly mean 
what she said. It was with a heavy heart that he shouldered 
his way through the gawking crowd to follow his uncle and 
cousin and their struggling captive to the ball field. 

The onlookers fell into step behind him. Impatient to punish 
the stranger for his wrongdoing, they became more agitated as 
they neared the field.

Muhl-dar continued to protest, elbowing his captors, shouting 
to Dzeh at the top of his lungs, "Stop this, Dzeh! Let Scully 
go! Dzeh...! Let her go, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!"

His words were meaningless, but his tone brought an unexpected 
pang of guilt. Dzeh felt the weight of Muhl-dar's bracelet 
around his wrist and his thoughts flew to Klizzie. She had 
convinced him to accept this ornament, initiating the 
partnership. What would she say when she found out what was 
happening now? He looked over his shoulder, past the incensed 
mob, beyond the wind-battered huts and spitting bonfires, to 
where the mountain loomed pitch-black and empty on the western 
horizon. 

Where was Klizzie? 

The crowd surged forward. They grew more excited at each of 
Muhl-dar's shouts and collected rocks as they marched toward 
the northernmost end of the ball field, arming themselves for 
the execution, their eyes glowing with fiery anticipation.

Dzeh did not share their enthusiasm. He walked with hunched 
shoulders, squinting against the sting of rain. The wind 
harangued him; he heard the Spirits' rage in each icy blast. 
Was this the storm he had foreseen in his nightmare? Klizzie 
was missing, just as he had dreamt she would be. His heart was 
pounding in the same dreadful fashion. Would the mysterious 
female Spirit be arriving soon to take Muhl-dar away? Another 
roll of thunder rattled the dark hills. Dzeh glanced at the 
sky, expecting to see the fiery eyes of Snake Spirit staring 
back at him.

But no angry eyes gazed out of the swirl of clouds; only the 
rain, needle sharp against his upturned face, spewed from the 
purple-black sky. 

Unlike his fellow clansmen, he didn't stoop to gather stones 
as he walked. He clung to the carved idol while he pictured 
Klizzie, not Muhl-dar, being punished for her misdeeds, for 
mating with her cousin and then lying about it. The image of 
her lashed to the post while the Clan hurled stones at her set 
his arms shaking.

Dzeh had witnessed a stoning once. He had been a boy of just 
eight years at the time, the same age as little Gini, yet he 
could still remember the way the strangers cried pitifully for 
leniency and the sickening thud of stone hitting flesh and 
bone. The offenders had been two strangers who deserved their 
fate, caught stealing food from Owl Clan's winter cache during 
a season when supplies were extremely scarce. Their deaths had 
been lingering and horribly painful.

The same would be true for Muhl-dar now, and for Klizzie, 
too...if he exposed her awful secret.         

Up ahead Lin and Wol-la-chee stood beside the goal post with 
Muhl-dar held firmly between them.

Dzeh walked up to them. "Strip him of his clothes," he 
ordered.

Two men from Badger Clan stepped forward, eager to help Lin 
and Wol-la-chee remove the stranger's foreign garments. Muhl-
dar became enraged when they laid their hands on him. He 
struggled with formidable strength as they wrestled him to the 
ground. Lin and Wol-la-chee pinned him in place while the 
others tugged at his clothes. They yanked his sleek, black 
cloak from his thrashing arms and tossed it aside. His heavy 
footwear and tight leggings were more difficult to remove; he 
kicked and bucked, but the men finally managed to take those 
off as well. They let the clothes lie in the mud while they 
stripped him of his inner garments. 

When the stranger was naked the men positioned him in front of 
the post and forced him to sit. He continued to battle like a 
wounded bear until the men twisted his arms behind his back 
and lashed his wrists to the goal post with rawhide lacings.

Dzeh walked up to him and held out his left hand, palm up. 
Cradled in the well of his palm was the small idol. He showed 
it to Muhl-dar.

"A man shapes his own future," he said. He let the figurine 
drop from his hand. It landed on the ground between Muhl-dar's 
bent legs. "Your misdeeds have determined yours."

Muhl-dar ceased his struggling to stare down at the idol. 
Uncertainty crossed his face. He lifted worried eyes to meet 
Dzeh's stare. Rain and mud slicked his naked body. The wind 
whipped his hair and raised gooseflesh on his arms and chest. 
"Where's Scully?" he demanded, his voice sounding ragged and 
afraid.

Dzeh didn't understand his words and interpreted them as a 
curse. Backing away, he told the others, "You may begin."

The first stone clipped Muhl-dar's left shoulder. His eyes 
darted from person to person; his breathing quickened. When 
the next stone flew at him, he ducked his head and drew his 
legs together, trying to protect his face and genitals. The 
second rock struck his right knee, splitting the skin and 
drawing blood. An anguished cry burst from his throat.

Dzeh closed his eyes, unable to watch, unwilling to join the 
others as they tossed more stones. 

This will be Klizzie's fate, he thought with revulsion, if I 
expose the truth. 

Muhl-dar howled again and Dzeh shivered at the sound. Spirits 
be damned, he did not want to lose Klizzie and he could not 
listen to her die this way. He would not reveal her secret, 
even if it meant angering the Spirits and bringing disaster to 
them all. 

*  *  *

Klizzie knelt on a rocky outcropping at the top of Crouching 
Cat Mountain. Hands held flat atop her bare thighs, she turned 
her face to the sky. The bitter northerly wind rattled the 
beads in her hair. Closing her eyes against the prick of 
sleet, she began to pray to Owl Spirit for guidance.

"Owl Spirit, I hear your voice in the wind. Please, hear 
mine." She reached for the small, doeskin pouch that hung from 
her neck. Grasping it in her right fist, she felt for the 
totems inside. She pictured the items in her mind: a brassy 
nodule of pyrite, a spotted snail shell, an owl feather, the 
razor-sharp tooth of a badger, a bit of mastodon bone, carved 
by Dzeh with the tiny smiling faces of their future children.
  
Her voice trembled, yet she spoke with conviction. "Owl 
Spirit, I seek your patience to help me remain calm in the 
face of what is coming. I seek your wisdom to learn the 
lessons of the world, hidden in every leaf and stone and drop 
of rain. I seek your strength to fight my greatest enemy -- 
myself."

There was no doubt in Klizzie's mind that she was to blame for 
her troubles. She had caused Dzeh's anguish, invited her own 
punishment, and she wasn't looking to give excuses for her 
misdeeds. Mating with a kinsman was an unpardonable sin, 
everyone knew it; she knew it, too, even at age fourteen. She 
could offer no justification for what she had done.      

"Help me act with humility and purity. Prepare me so that I 
may come to you with clean hands and an honest heart, so that 
when my life ends, my spirit can fly without shame." 

Klizzie's lies distressed her as much as her original 
wrongdoing. And now she was burdened with a new secret about 
Muhl-dar. Dzeh must be told of it, she knew, but her fear of 
his reaction held the truth prisoner in her lungs. She would 
need the power of Owl Spirit to help her release her unspoken 
truth.

The wind whistled over the rocky summit, pummeling her, 
tugging at her hair, howling past her ears. She braced against 
it. Determined to do what was right, she repeated her prayer, 
and was prepared to continue repeating it until she received 
divine guidance. 

"Owl Spirit, I hear your voice in the wind. Please, hear 
mine."

The sky released a torrent of chilling rain. Lightning sizzled 
in the east and was followed only moments later by a crack of 
thunder. 

"I seek your patience to help me remain calm in the face of 
what is coming toward me. I seek your wisdom to learn the 
lessons of the world, hidden in every leaf and stone and drop 
of rain..."

*  *  *

Mulder struggled against his bonds. The rawhide strips, 
painfully tight, bit into his wrists and cut off the flow of 
blood to his fingers. He shivered uncontrollably in the frigid 
downpour. His teeth chattered from cold and fear. 

"Sc-scully!" 

Blood streamed from a wound on his forehead and swamped his 
eyes. He tried to blink it away. The tribesmen flickered in 
and out of view, a blood-red blur of shifting legs, writhing 
arms, and gaping mouths. Their shouts reverberated in his 
ears, as if he sat at the bottom of a deep, black well.

"Sculleee!"

Where had they taken her? Was Dzeh with her?

Twisting as far as his restraints would allow, he tried to 
locate her. Was she in the village behind him, lost in the 
deluge and dark? Where was Dzeh? Mulder's panic escalated.

Find her, help her! his mind screamed. 

More stones sailed at him. They struck him hard, one a direct 
hit to his chest, surprisingly painful, bruising his 
breastbone and forcing the air from his lungs.

Another quickly followed, hitting his jaw and knocking his 
teeth together. Blood spurted from his lip and the taste made 
his stomach roll. 

The next stone slammed into his right cheekbone, just missing 
his eye. The impact hurt like hell. He tried to duck, but was 
held fast by the restraints. Being tied this way, helpless 
against his assailants, he was reminded of his recent 
confinement in Calumet Mercy Hospital, waiting for that awful 
insect creature...Pincus...to attack him in his bed. Scully 
had arrived in the nick of time. She'd saved him. But who 
would save him now? And who would save her if he died? 

He had no doubt the tribesmen intended to kill him. Leaning 
forward as far as he could, he screamed at them, "Goddamn 
mother-fuckers! Let me go! Goddamn you!"

A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the mob. 
Mulder used the brief flash to search again for Scully. He 
found nothing but outraged faces, upraised fists and more 
stones.

The world blackened in the bolt's aftermath, seemingly darker 
than before. A luminescent image of the tribe floated like a 
ghostly chimera in his memory. Thunder shook the valley, 
setting the muscles in his legs quaking. 

His dread soared when another stone careened into his neck, 
momentarily cutting off his breath. It was followed by a 
wallop to his shoulder. Then a glancing blow to his upraised 
shin.

Pleasestoppleasestoppleasestop, he chanted to himself. 

Were they stoning Scully, too? Or was Dzeh raping her first?

"Nooooooooo!" he bellowed, inviting a hailstorm of stones. 
Another flash of lightning exposed his enemies, hideous 
brutes, mouths twisted with hate. Thunder vibrated the earth. 
"I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you if you hurt her!"

A blow to his temple rocked his head backward and caused an 
explosion of light behind his eyes. It was followed 
immediately by a lightning strike so close he could smell its 
fiery ozone, feel its pull of static. His hair bristled; his 
skin tingled. Thunder cracked and the concussion hammered his 
chest. He thought he heard screams, saw feet running.

Gulping for air, swallowing blood and rain, he waited for the 
next stone...waited...waited...

Rain, only rain beat against his bruised, torn skin, so cold 
it numbed his pain.

He tried to shout, but managed only a whisper. 
"Scully...please, please..."

Then he thought he saw her walking toward him, silvery white 
in the dark. Her wet hair, flailing in the wind, appeared 
blood-red around her pale face. Even at this distance he could 
see she was crying. She held out her arms to him. Oh, God, how 
he wanted to bury himself in her embrace.

When she was only a step away, she knelt at his feet and 
stroked his swollen face. Her touch was a reprieve from the 
pain. Tender. Healing.

"Wh-where are they?" he asked, meaning the angry tribesmen.

"They've gone." 

The sound of her voice released fresh tears. He didn't try to 
hold them back. 

"I'm c-cold," he told her through chattering teeth.

"I know," she answered. Her words hummed like the wind. 

Was it the wind? 

Maybe she wasn't really there.

No. No-no-no...

Panting, shivering, he desperately wanted to reach out and 
touch her, to prove to himself that she was real, that this 
wasn't a hallucination, but the restraints held him back, 
reminding him again of Calumet Hospital and Pincus. 

Scully had believed him...saved him...

"Scully?"

Behind her a shadow crossed the field, coming toward them. Was 
it Pincus? Shit, shit, shit. Mulder was trembling 
uncontrollably now. He hurt all over and he couldn't see out 
of his swollen right eye. His lips felt numb, his wrists raw. 
He thought he saw Pincus' red insect eyes.

Look out, Scully!

He mouthed the words, trying to warn her, but no sound came 
from his raw throat. Scully remained kneeling in front of him, 
silvery as a specter, her back to the threat. Tears glossed 
her sympathetic eyes.

The approaching shadow took form. Not Pincus. Not an insect 
creature with red eyes. It was a man.

Oh, Christ it was Dzeh. He was coming back. He was coming for 
her!

Dzeh strode with confidence through the rain, stopping when he 
stood directly behind her. He sneered at Mulder, then bent to 
kiss her shoulder. A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, 
sounding like distant thunder. He dragged his lips from her 
shoulder to her neck. 

Don't trust him! Mulder wanted to shout but his breath was 
caught in his throat.

Scully held herself perfectly still, allowing Dzeh to kiss 
her. Only her teary eyes revealed her revulsion.

Get away from her! Leave her alone! Mulder struggled to free 
himself, hell-bent on stopping Dzeh. He couldn't let him hurt 
her. Not again. He'd been a coward before. He'd let Scully 
down. Oh, God, if she knew the truth she'd leave him. Panic 
overtook him at the thought of losing her. He squeezed his 
eyes shut.

I'm sorry, Scully, he told her silently, sincerely. I'm so 
sorry...

When he opened his eyes again, she and Dzeh had vanished. 
Nothing but darkness remained. 

Mulder swallowed another mouthful of blood and imagined he was 
drowning. He'd lost her. He'd lost Scully...and his heart was 
disintegrating beneath the crushing weight of his own guilt.

*  *  *

Scully sat on a bed of sleeping furs with her knees drawn up 
and her hands bound behind her back. She was being held 
captive in the medicine man's hut. He sat opposite her on the 
far side of the hearth, alternately sipping tea and smoking a 
foot-long pipe. The herbs in his pipe put out a pungent odor. 
Or maybe it was his tea that smelled bad. Whichever, he 
appeared very relaxed. From the odd smile on his face she 
suspected his pharmacopoeia included mood altering substances.

Drying plants hung upside-down in bunches from the shelter's 
rafters. The walls were lined with rows of tortoiseshell bowls 
that contained colorful powders and dark liquids. Several 
painted masks hung from a bone support toward the back of the 
hut. Two live hens preened in a reed cage near the door.

The medicine man was an elderly man, the oldest she'd seen in 
the camp, with snow-white hair and no beard. She wondered if 
he shaved it or if he simply didn't grow hair on his face. 
Either way, his lack of whiskers emphasized the swirling, 
black tattoos that decorated his face. Curvilinear designs 
circled his eyes and striped his cheeks and chin, giving the 
impression of claw marks.

He wore a spotted cape, trimmed with shaggy fur like the mane 
of a horse. A green amulet carved into the likeness of a frog 
hung from his neck on a beaded cord. A large ivory fang 
dangled from his right ear, adding to his ferocious 
appearance.     

For two hours he'd been watching her through half-closed eyes, 
saying nothing while she railed at him. She'd demanded to be 
released, called out repeatedly for Mulder and swore a blue 
streak.

"Where's Mulder? Mul-der," she shouted, her voice growing 
raspy. "I know you know what I'm asking. Where...is...Mulder?"

Was the tribe hurting him? Clearly they'd been angry about the 
carving, but how angry? Enough to kill him?

The medicine man remained silent, smoking his pipe and 
watching her with glittery, black eyes. 

She struggled against her bonds, but the rawhide lacings were 
as tight as ever. She needed something to cut them. The 
medicine man was wearing a knife on his belt. If he fell 
asleep -- or passed out -- she might be able to get to it and 
cut her restraints without waking him.

A gust of wind shook the hut. Scully could hear rain beating 
against its hide roof. An occasional crack of thunder startled 
her with its intensity.

"Is Mulder out in that? He better be alive, you son-of-a-
bitch."

She had to believe he was. The alternative was too dreadful to 
bear. 

The medicine man held up his small drinking bowl, offering her 
tea.

Would he untie her if she agreed to drink some?

Better not take the chance, she thought. The tea might contain 
herbs that would make her sleepy. Or worse, he might be trying 
to poison her.

"No thanks," she said, shaking her head.

He shrugged and prepared another bowl for himself. After 
settling cross-legged on his bed, he sipped his drink and 
continued to watch her.

The storm was growing more intense. Thunder vibrated the 
ground and the medicine man paused mid-sip to gaze skyward. 
His herbs swayed from the quaking rafters.

The next hour passed with excruciating slowness. The medicine 
man finally dozed off. As soon as his eyes were closed, she 
tried searching her coat pockets, hoping to find something to 
sever her restraints. Unable to reach inside far enough to 
grab hold of anything, she decided to try to steal the 
medicine man's knife instead. She was half way to him when 
Gini startled her by pushing through the hut's door flap.

The girl sidestepped around the sleeping man and hurried to 
Scully's side. Crouching behind her, she sawed through the 
bindings with a stone knife.

Scully massaged her wrists and rose to her feet. Damn, her 
ankle still hurt. Trying her best to ignore the pain, she 
limped after Gini, around the medicine man and out of the hut.

"Where's Mulder?" she asked as soon as they were outside.

Gini signaled for her to be quiet, then beckoned her to follow 
as she led them toward the ball field. Rain flattened the 
girl's hair and soaked her tunic. She seemed not to notice as 
she hurried through the village.

Smoke rose like phantoms from the blackened remains of rain-
drenched communal fires. A crooked finger of lightning sizzled 
in the western sky, touching down somewhere behind the 
mountains. It revealed low clouds roiling overhead. Torrents 
of rain continued to fall. Not a soul was about; the violent 
weather was evidently keeping the tribesmen huddled around 
their hearths.

Gini stopped when she reached a long, low structure at the 
southernmost edge of the camp. She motioned for Scully to wait 
while she went in. Not a minute later, she emerged with a 
bulging sack slung over one shoulder. With another wave of her 
arm, she led them south, sneaking like a shadow beneath the 
flailing limbs of a butternut tree and out onto the field.

A flare of lightning revealed the nearest goal post and Scully 
spotted a slumped figure at its base. She recognized  him 
immediately... Mulder, stripped of his clothes, head lolling 
to one side. Blood glistened darkly on his pale skin.

Panting with fear, she disregarded her injured ankle and ran 
to him.    

Oh, God, was he dead? Contusions mottled his skin. Blood 
striped his chest, limbs and face. His right eye was so 
swollen the lashes all but disappeared in its reddened crease, 
and the split on his lower lip was caked with blood. The 
ground around him was littered with fist-sized stones. It was 
easy to guess what had happened here and the image prompted a 
flare of anger and stinging tears. She knelt in front of him 
and stroked his battered cheek.

"Mulder?" 

Air stuttered from his lungs and he stirred. "Scully?"

The rasp of his voice unraveled her, sending tears spiraling 
down her cheeks. She kissed the crown of his bent head.

"Oh, Mulder." She drew back, restless to examine him. The 
doctor in her wanted to assess the damage, plot a course for 
his treatment and recovery. 

He opened his one good eye to look up at her.

"Guess I ticked 'em off."

She chuffed at his understatement. "Can't take you anywhere."

His grim half-smile cracked his bloodied lips. "Untie me."

Gini set down her pack to crouch behind him. She used her 
knife to cut the rawhide at his wrists. Freed from his bonds, 
he brought his arms stiffly to his sides.

Blinking back tears, Scully tucked away her emotions and began 
to skim her palms gently over his head, arms and ribs, 
exploring every inch. Miraculously he appeared to have no 
broken bones.

His bluish skin felt ice cold beneath her hands. He was still 
bleeding from a cut on his knee and another at his hairline. It 
was likely he had suffered a concussion. And she had no doubt 
he was in shock. 

"Let's get you dressed," she murmured, reaching for his jacket.

His leather coat was sodden with mud. It would do little to 
keep him warm.

"Gini, get his other things, please." Scully pointed to his 
boots and pants, tossed carelessly to one side. 

The girl hurried to gather the clothes while Scully eased 
Mulder away from the post. He paled and gasped when she moved 
him.

"T-take it easy," he said, teeth chattering.

"Sorry." She draped the jacket over his shoulders and 
carefully snaked one of his hands into a sleeve. "We have to 
get you out of here. Can you walk?"

"I-I think so." With a hiss of pain, he inched his other arm 
into its coat sleeve.

Gini brought his other clothes. She stood by his feet, 
nervously glancing back at the camp as she offered him his 
undershorts.

"Sk-skip those," he said. "N-not worth the effort. Sk-sk-skip 
the sh-shirt, too. J-just give me my p-pants."

Getting him into his jeans wasn't an easy task. The pants were 
wet and his chilled, bloody legs refused to cooperate. Scully 
and Gini worked together to guide his feet into the leg holes. 
Mulder grunted with discomfort when they tugged the jeans up 
to his thighs.

"You're going to have to stand for the last part," Scully 
warned him.

He nodded, looking as if he might vomit. Using the goal post 
and Scully's shoulder for support, he managed to rise to his 
feet. She pulled his pants up, noticing as she fastened them 
that his hips and waist had thinned from their month in the 
Pleistocene. And it wasn't likely he would be putting on 
weight anytime soon, not wherever they were headed now.

As if reading her mind, he asked, "Where t-to?"

She pivoted to study each direction. Going west, back the way 
they'd come, meant climbing the mountain. Another range hemmed 
them in to the east. Heading north meant hiking back through 
the camp. That left only one choice...south.

"That way." She nodded toward the woods flanking the ball 
field's southern end. "Let's get your boots on." 

She signaled Gini to set the boots on the ground near his 
feet. That's when she noticed the small, carved idol half 
buried in the mud. 

Mulder saw it, too, and with effort, he tried to bend down to 
pick it up.

"Leave it," she said.

"It might be our ticket home."

"It'll bring us nothing but more trouble."

"Or more visions."

"So now you're saying you believe my visions really were 
visions?"

Doubt clouded his one good eye. "I-I don't know, but we--"

"Mulder, that figure did not cause my visions."

"Then what did?"

"I don't know, but--"

Gini interrupted their argument by tugging on Scully's sleeve, 
whispering urgently and pointing away from the camp. Her 
message was obvious: get moving!

"Come on. We need to go." Scully positioned herself beside 
Mulder.

Apparently too exhausted to argue...or maybe too 
disoriented...he allowed her to drape his arm around her so 
that she was shouldering his weight while they hobbled toward 
the woods. Gini trailed them, carrying her pack and Mulder's 
extra clothes.

When they reached the edge of the field and it became obvious 
that Gini intended to follow them into the trees, Scully 
turned to her and said, "You can't come with us. You have to 
go back." She used gestures to reinforce her words, shaking 
her head at the woods and then nodding enthusiastically while 
pointing to the village.

Gini's brows drew together. She rattled off a lengthy 
argument, keeping her tone insistent while taking care not to 
speak too loudly. 

Scully stood firm. "No, sweetie, we can't take you. You have 
to stay here."

The girl looked to Mulder, clearly hoping for his support. 
When he shook his head, too, her shoulders sagged and her eyes 
pooled with tears. Obviously crestfallen, she stuffed Mulder's 
clothes and her knife into her pack and then offered them to 
Scully. 

Moved by her generosity, Scully knelt to give her a heartfelt 
hug.

"Thank you," she whispered into her ear, embracing her. Rain 
continued to pour over them. "For everything."

Gini returned her hug and sniffled against her neck.

Scully's heart ached at the thought of leaving this child. 
She'd been helpful, attentive and kind to them since the day 
they first met, sitting beside Mulder's sick bed during his 
entire illness and welcoming them with obvious delight when 
they found the tribe the second time. It saddened her to think 
this was going to be the last time she would ever see the 
girl. 

"No tears, okay?" She pulled away and looked into Gini's sad 
eyes. 

The girl snuffled. "Han-ker-cheef?" 

Scully looked back at Mulder with raised brows. He fumbled 
through his pocket, withdrew his handkerchief, and held it out 
to Gini, who took it and used it to blow her running nose.

"Tahn-kew," she said, returning it. Then her expression 
changed from sad to stern. She began jabbering in an insistent 
voice and signaled for them to wait.

"Where is she going?" Mulder asked.

"She seems to be looking for something," Scully said. 

They watched as she ran along the edge of the field, peering 
intently into the woods.

"We shouldn't be hanging around." Mulder glanced back at the 
village. 

His legs were trembling so badly Scully worried he would 
collapse. She took hold of his arm to steady him. "Give her a 
minute," she said.  

Apparently finding what she'd been looking for, Gini waved 
them forward.

Scully helped Mulder to her. She heard the sound of rushing 
water before she spotted the stream. It skirted the ball 
field, running from the lake to the woods, and was perfect for 
their escape. Hiking in the water would conceal their tracks, 
as well as provide them with plenty to drink. 

Gini must've had the same idea. She was urging them into the 
stream and whispering earnest instructions. 

"Ye-tsan Ne-ahs-jeh Din-neh-ih. Ye-tsan Dzeh," she said.

Scully nodded, hoping the girl was telling them the stream 
would lead to hospitable territory where they weren't likely 
to encounter any more unfriendly natives.

Before she could thank her one last time, Gini rushed forward 
and wrapped her small arms around her waist. Scully returned 
her tight embrace.

"Nih-hi-cho," Gini said before pulling away and turning to 
Mulder. She hugged him hard, too, then looked up into his eyes 
and repeated, "Nih-hi-cho."    

Mulder bent to kiss her forehead. "Take care of yourself, 
pipsqueak," he murmured.

She nodded as if she understood, then rose up on her toes and 
pressed a kiss to his bearded, bruised cheek.

The girl's show of affection brought a lump to Scully's 
throat, and it was a moment or two before she could say, "Come 
on, Mulder. Let's go."

Together they waded into the stream and turned south, leaving 
Gini standing on the bank. 

*   *   *

As soon as Muhl-dar and Day-nuh were out of sight, Gini 
hurried back to the goal post and picked up the fertility idol 
from the muddy ground. She wiped it clean on her wet tunic and 
then rolled it in her palm, trying to feel its hidden life 
force. 

Nothing out of the ordinary emanated from the tiny figurine. 
It felt like any old bit of bone. 

The discovery disappointed and confused her. She knew Dzeh had 
taken the idol to Tsa-ond Cave to be blessed by Hare Spirit, 
the fertility god, so she expected it to be warm with the life 
force of a new baby.
 
Prodding the idol's hard, swollen belly, she whispered, "Are 
you in there, little baby?"

Wind howled past her and rain splashed in puddles around her 
bare feet. The idol remained silent. Even when she held it up 
to her ear, she could hear no heartbeat or tiny cry.  

Could the baby be inside Dzeh already? Klizzie had told her 
that babies crawled through a man's be-zonz during mating. 
Maybe Hare Spirit put the baby into the idol and then it 
somehow got from there into Dzeh during his prayers in Tsa-ond 
Cave.

This seemed like a very crazy way to make babies! If Hare 
Spirit was powerful enough to put a baby into a statue, why 
didn't he just put it directly into Dzeh?

For that matter, why not put babies into their mothers instead 
of statues or fathers? Then there would be no reason for women 
to mate at all. No need to move away from family, no need to 
share sleeping skins with strangers, no need to let boys put 
their big be-zonz--

Ugh! Gini didn't want to think about it. She was remembering 
that awful stallion with his mare again, the mare's eyes 
rounded with fear as the stallion pushed his enormous be-zonz 
into her. Gini was *not* going to let that happen to her. She 
didn't want to share sleeping skins with a man; she didn't 
want him to put his be-zonz between her legs. She especially 
didn't want that mean, ugly boy Chal touching her!

If Dzeh was expecting her to willingly live with Chal and 
Badger Clan, he was in for a surprise. She wasn't going to 
join with any boy *ever*. 

She was going to run away...tonight. 

She'd been planning it all day, intending to sneak off during 
Jeha's Joining Ceremony, knowing the long celebration would 
keep everyone too busy to notice she wasn't there. But then 
Dzeh ruined everything by dragging her to the stupid ceremony. 
She'd tried to get away, even insulted him in front of all the 
clansmen by calling him a chindi. But instead of being 
embarrassed and releasing her, he hit her! And then the fight 
started with Muhl-dar and the idol fell onto the ground...

Well, it was fish down the river now, and things had actually 
turned out for the better. Now she could follow Muhl-dar and 
Day-nuh instead of traveling on her own. 

She fervently wished they'd invited her to come along with 
them. She wasn't sure why they didn't want her, because she 
was good at finding and preparing food. And she was strong; 
she could carry almost as much as Klizzie. She knew how to 
fish and scrape hides and smoke meat. She could even make 
pemmican.

They would see for themselves soon enough. She would prove to 
them how helpful she could be. All she needed to do was remain 
out of sight for a few days while she followed them, then when 
they were too far from Turkey Lake to bring her back, she 
could show herself and everything would be fine. 

Squeezing Dzeh's idol in her fist, she started across the wet 
field, heading for the base of Crouching Cat Mountain where 
the clans had piled the prizes for the winners of the ball 
games. She would gather supplies from these rich stores before 
starting after Muhl-dar and Day-nuh.

She found the goods covered with a tarp of heavy mastodon hide 
to protect them from the weather. Rain continued to pelt her 
as she rolled back the fur. Her tunic flapped wetly in the 
wind. Water ran in numbing streams down her body and she 
clenched her teeth to stop their chattering. 

Not all the prizes had been left beneath the tarp. Fragile 
items had been put elsewhere for the night. But she wasn't 
interested in those pretty but useless things anyway; she 
would have no need for embroidered tunics, feathered hats or 
fancy baskets while traveling. A sturdy pack and some basic 
gear was all she would need or want to carry. Wiping rain from 
her eyes, she quickly located a suitable travel pack.

She began filling it with only the most essential items: 
fishing line and hooks, flints, a spare knife, a couple of 
scrapers. 

There was one item she knew she would need but couldn't find 
here: a waterbag. She considered sneaking back into camp to 
get one, but decided it wasn't worth the risk of getting 
caught. Spotting the Clan's large gourd of honey, she decided 
to dump it and take the container.

The gourd was sealed with pine pitch, which Gini scraped off 
with her knife before upending the container. Thick honey 
poured out onto the ground, and she scooped up fingers-full to 
eat. It tasted sweet and wonderful and she wished there was 
some way to take it with her. But it was too heavy to carry 
and she needed the gourd for water in any case.

She cleaned her sticky fingers on a deer hide, then turned her 
attention back to her travel pack. Only the fertility idol 
remained to be placed inside. 

It was wrong to take it, she knew, but Muhl-dar seemed to want 
it so badly. He'd risked his life for it. It would make him 
happy if she brought it to him. Maybe he would give her a big 
hug and forget any thoughts about sending her back to the 
Clan.  

"Don't worry, little baby," she said, gently tucking the 
figurine into the pack and covering it with a soft, sleeping 
blanket. "You will be with your new mother and father soon. 
Until then, I will watch over you." 

She stood and shouldered the pack. It was reasonably light. 
Grabbing the gourd, she headed south after the others. 

In no time she spotted them. They were moving very slowly, 
most likely due to Muhl-dar's terrible injuries. They waded 
through A-Chi Stream, dodging boulders and downed trees. They 
carried a mysterious light-stick that projected a fiery beam 
onto their path, making them easy to track even from a 
distance. 

A-Chi Stream ran from Turkey Lake to Tacheene far to the 
south, where the soil was so red it was said to have been 
painted by the blood of warring Spirits. Gini had been there 
last year for an autumn feast with Ant Clan. The territory was 
dry, she remembered, with few trees and many enormous 
anthills. Strange creatures called armadillos roamed the 
blood-red countryside, ravaging the mounds and gorging on 
insects.

The people of Ant Clan had been generous hosts, but they 
practiced many peculiar habits. They bound the heads of their 
babies with tight strips of animal hide, causing the infants' 
skulls to become pointed. Men and women alike shaved their own 
pointed heads and painted their bald skulls with the red 
pigment of their land. When boys became men, they pierced 
their lower lips and plugged the holes with large, circular 
bones. Women tattooed their chins with striped designs. The 
oddest thing these people did to themselves was to file their 
two front teeth into sharp points! They were the ugliest 
people Gini had ever seen.  

To the south of Ant Clan Territory lay a body of water called 
Endless Lake, rumored to be so vast it was impossible to 
glimpse its opposite shore even on a clear day. No one had 
actually ever gone there to see it for themselves because it 
was located beyond Ye-tsan Basin, a mysterious valley that was 
said to be the home of massive serpents, creatures bigger than 
the largest bull mastodon and meaner than a wounded she-bear. 
Only a desperate person would enter such a place. 

It scared Gini to think of going to Ye-tsan Basin and meeting 
up with giant serpents, but it seemed a better choice than 
returning to Turkey Lake where Dzeh would surely kill Muhl-dar 
and send her to live with Badger Clan. She would rather face 
countless giant lizards than be forced to share a sleeping 
skin with Chal.

If Muhl-dar and Day-nuh decided to go to the Basin, she would 
go, too.   

*   *   *

"Want me to carry the pack?" Mulder asked. He trailed Scully 
by a step or two, trying to keep up as they waded downstream. 
He ached all over. Standing was excruciating; walking was 
worse. He felt like dying.

"I've got it," she said. Flicking on her flashlight, she aimed 
its beam to guide him around a boulder. 

"How long have we been walking?"

"Three hours and twenty-three minutes. That's nine minutes 
longer than the last time you asked." 

It took Mulder a moment to make sense of her answer. His mind 
wanted to float off to a warmer, drier place, preferably in 
the 20th Century, where his head didn't throb and he could see 
clearly out of both eyes. His right eye was swollen completely 
shut, wreaking havoc with his depth perception. He couldn't 
walk a straight line if his life depended on it. And he 
couldn't feel his legs from the knees down, they were so 
numbed by the stream's frigid water. He repeatedly lurched to 
the left, tripping over his own feet, no matter how hard he 
tried to focus his one good eye on the beam of Scully's light.

"Why is it so cold?" he asked.

"It's the Ice Age." She glanced over her shoulder to give him 
a concerned look.

"But it's June...isn't it? Do we have to walk in the water?"

She turned her attention back to the stream. "Yes, if we want 
to hide our tracks."

"Oh." 

He wanted to ask why they needed to hide their tracks, but he 
was pretty sure he should know that already.

Instead he asked, "Where are we going?"

"You asked that nine minutes ago, too."

Had he? "Well, what did you say?"

"South, as far as I can tell." 

South. He pictured sunny beaches. Maybe it would be warm there 
instead of raining icy pellets. Sleet pinged off his soaked 
clothes, stung his exposed skin. He drew his collar up around 
his neck when he realized he was shivering uncontrollably. 

The world was pitch black beyond the narrow beam of Scully's 
light. From the patter of rain overhead, Mulder guessed they 
were walking beneath a low canopy of leafy tree branches. The 
stream seemed to twist and turn, although that might just be 
an illusion. He felt dizzy, disoriented. And whenever he 
looked away from Scully's light, he saw stones flying at him. 
They appeared so real he flinched every time.

Angry faces hovered like specters behind the onslaught of 
imaginary stones. He thought he heard them shouting. When 
another stone suddenly hurtled toward him, he lifted his arm 
to protect his head. The motion hurt like hell. Pain zigzagged 
across his ribs. 

"Scullee!" he shouted, and then lost sight of her behind the 
steam of his own breath. His legs gave out and he sank to his 
knees.

Cold enveloped him to his waist, cutting him in half. He felt 
the sickening sensation of spiraling down into a bottomless 
pit.      

"Stay with me, Mulder." Scully's voice sliced through the fog 
in his head, stopping his dizzying freefall. "You're going to 
be okay."

She was kneeling beside him, holding him. Her flashlight 
bobbled as she tried to maneuver beneath his left arm, 
disorienting him further. He felt his stomach roll and grabbed 
onto her. "Scully!" he pleaded, wanting her to stop the 
world's awful spinning.

"I'm right here. I've got you."

She hooked his left arm around her neck and shouldered him 
into a semi-standing position. He cried out in pain when she 
pushed him toward shore, making his legs move, dragging them 
both from the stream.

They collapsed on the rocky bank, a few feet from the water's 
edge.

"Mulder? Can you hear me?"   

He nodded, too exhausted to speak.

Her arms embraced him. He let his head drop to her 
shoulder...tried to catch his breath...stay awake. 

She rocked him. Kissed his hair. Was she 
murmuring...something...? He couldn't make out her words.

Curling into a ball, he rolled into her lap...grateful for the 
warmth of her body...and the gentle timbre of her voice. 
Trying to listen, he sank into blackness. 

*   *   *

An hour later Scully still cradled Mulder's head in her lap. 
He was sleeping on his side, knees drawn up and hands tucked 
into his armpits. Even in the dark she could see the bruises 
that mottled his face, the dried blood caking his brow and his 
swollen right eye. 

The severity of the tribe's assault frightened her. She'd 
assumed the mate exchange would ensure their safety, but 
apparently they'd participated in the loathsome custom for 
nothing. Compliance hadn't earned them the tribe's trust or 
protection. She'd been naive to believe it could.

A strip of pale daylight was beginning to emerge from behind 
the hilltops. Although the rain had stopped, she shivered from 
fatigue and exposure. The frigid air reminded her more of 
December than mid-June. Jesus, if it was this cold in summer, 
what must it be like in winter? She hoped they would be home 
long before they ever had to find out.  

Caressing Mulder's cheek, she tried to coax him awake. The 
tribe would soon discover they were gone. They should keep 
moving, put as much distance between themselves and the 
village as possible, in case Dzeh decided to come after them.

"Mulder?" His skin felt ice-cold. "Wake up, sweetheart."

The endearment slipped easily off her tongue, surprising her 
with how natural it felt. Had he heard it? She blushed at her 
presumptuousness. Mulder didn't share her feelings, at least 
not yet; he hadn't seen their son in a vision the way she had. 
But for her, the unexpected foresight had caused a fundamental 
shift in her view of their relationship. 

Funny, two weeks ago she'd been agonizing over their future 
together, wondering how she could reconcile her love for him 
with her inability to give him children. It seemed wrong to 
encourage his advances...until she'd cradled their son in her 
arms. Then everything changed.

Learning she would bear a child -- Mulder's child -- eased her 
worries about a fruitless and lonely life. The future was 
suddenly full of promise. And it included Mulder in a way 
she'd been hoping all along, yet hadn't realized how much 
until this very moment.

Devotion welled up in her so earnest and strong it swept her 
old uncertainties away. Mulder was not a perfect man, but he 
was perfect for her, and she hoped their child would grow to 
be just like him, searching for the truth and railing against 
the lies of men, even if it meant he also believed in Bigfoot, 
witchcraft and aliens from outer space. There was no doubt he 
would make her proud...make them both proud. How could he not? 
His conception, his birth, his entire being would be nothing 
short of a miracle.

Mulder shifted fretfully in his sleep, interrupting her 
thoughts. She tried to soothe him by stroking his face. 

He moaned when she touched him. "Klizzie?" he murmured.

Her hand froze mid-stroke. She glanced at his lap, checking to 
see if he was aroused, and then immediately chided herself for 
her presumption. He didn't have an erection and even if he did, 
it wouldn't necessarily mean anything. He was only dreaming.

The possibility that he may have impregnated Klizzie during the 
exchange arose again in her mind. She tried to push her worry 
away. Maybe he'd withdrawn before ejaculating. Had he thought 
to do that?

Even if he had, withdrawal was a notoriously unreliable method 
of birth control. She could only hope that Klizzie wasn't at a 
fertile point in her cycle. 

At least her own current infertility removed any concern about 
becoming pregnant by Dzeh. 

Contracting a sexually transmitted disease was unlikely, too, 
given that Europeans introduced most venereal diseases to the 
New World. Dzeh and Klizzie should be free of gonorrhea, 
syphilis and other known STDs, including AIDs, which was too 
recent to be a consideration.

She and Mulder were both clean, she knew, so there would be no 
transmission the other way. 

Unless...

It was possible Dzeh and Klizzie carried diseases that were 
extinct in modern times, to which she and Mulder had no 
immunity. It was even more likely that she or Mulder could 
infect the others with a modern day contagion. The 
introduction of a communicable disease like measles or small 
pox to a prehistoric population could alter history in any 
number of catastrophic ways. 

Jesus, yesterday the decision to participate in the exchange 
had seemed a personal choice. Now she realized their actions 
carried consequences beyond themselves. Everything they did 
here could inevitably impact the future. 

Why hadn't they considered this sooner? 

Mulder moaned again. "Scully?" he mumbled, sounding confused.

"It's okay. I'm right here." 

He rolled his head until he was looking up at her with his one 
good eye. "I was having a nightmare." 

"So I gathered," she said, helping him sit up.

"I dreamt I was playing the worst dodge ball game of my life." 
He tentatively touched his swollen eye. "Guess it wasn't a 
dream. How long have I been out?"

"Only an hour. Feeling better?"

"No, but let's get going anyway." With a deep groan he lurched 
to his feet. Wobbling on unsteady legs, he offered her a hand 
up.

She took it and pulled herself to a standing position. Then she 
grabbed their pack from the ground.

"Any food in there?" he asked, licking his swollen lower lip. 

She opened it and discovered beneath Mulder's boxers, it was 
full of dried meat. She pulled out two stiff strips, gave one 
to him and took a bite of the other herself. "S'good," she 
said, shouldering the pack.

He eyed the meat suspiciously. "Did I see my dirty underwear in 
there?"

"Yes, but this is no time to be picky. Eat it. It's all we have 
and you're going to need your strength."

He sniffed the meat. Then took a small bite. "Not bad," he 
admitted. "Where'd you get it?" He took a larger bite.

"Gini." They began hiking south, Scully in the lead. "She freed 
me from the medicine man and brought me to you." 

Mulder was quiet for few minutes.

"We're never going to see her again," he finally said.

"I know." She thought once more about the threat of contagion 
and the potential consequences of their contact with the tribe. 
"It's for the best."  

*   *   *

Daylight crept across the pre-dawn sky like a slinking cat. 
The rising sun, obscured by a low-slung overcast, brought no 
warmth. Klizzie slept curled on her side on the summit of 
Crouching Cat Mountain. The ground around her bristled with 
frost and she shivered in her sleep. She was wearing only her 
short fur skirt and a lightweight summer cloak made of thin 
doeskin. A dusting of snowflakes dotted her shoulders and 
hair.

Dreaming of soft sleeping skins, a warm hearth fire and Dzeh's 
breath on the back of her neck, she didn't see the pale Snowy 
Owl that circled overhead. It spiraled lower. Only when it 
flapped its broad wings to settle on a nearby boulder did 
Klizzie awaken from her comforting dream.

She gasped when she saw the bird. The arrival of the owl -- 
her Clan's totem -- was an undeniable omen. It was possible 
the bird carried a message from Owl Spirit. But was its news 
good or bad? The owl ruffled its white feathers, turned its 
head and winked at her with one golden-green eye.

Trying to control her panting breaths, Klizzie rose slowly to 
her knees to face the heavenly messenger. It met her surprised 
stare with a tranquil gaze. 

Emotions churned inside her heaving chest: fear, hope, 
reverence, wonder. She had prayed to Owl Spirit for guidance 
and there he was! 

She supposed she should say something, maybe repeat her 
prayer, but her voice was hiding deep within her throat and 
her words refused to come out. She found she could not even 
whisper an apology for her reticence.

Maybe the bird could hear her thoughts! Quieting her mind as 
best as she could, she allowed her prayer to take shape inside 
her head: Help my spirit fly without shame...help my spirit 
fly without shame...help my spirit fly--

The owl turned its head and fastened its gaze upon the 
village. A heartbeat later it rose from its stone perch and 
flapped skyward, where it rode a current into the valley. 
Klizzie watched it hover above the huts like wood ash caught 
in an updraft.

She finally found her voice and yelled, "Help my spirit fly 
without shame!"

Suddenly the bird dove, spiraling into the center of the 
village as if hunting mice. She felt her stomach lurch as the 
owl plummeted. Its talons raked the ground before it flew up 
again, with a writhing snake dangling beneath its belly. The 
bird headed south across the ball field toward the forest. The 
sight of it -- swift, graceful, beautiful -- filled Klizzie 
with optimism and awe. When it disappeared over the trees, it 
seemed to take her troubles with it.

Rising to her feet, Klizzie felt buoyed by the morning's 
extraordinary beginning. A Spiritual visitation was a rare 
occurrence and a great honor. She was eager to tell Dzeh of it 
so he could ask the Shaman to interpret its meaning. She must 
try to remember every detail: the owl's actions, the wind's 
direction, the sun's position. Anything and everything might 
be important.

Not wanting to let a single memory slip away before she could 
share it, she broke into a run and hurried toward the village.

When she arrived at the bottom of the hill, her heart was 
pounding and her chest aching. At the outermost edge of the 
village she slowed to a trot and headed for Lin's hut, 
believing she would find Dzeh there. Up on the mountain she 
had been certain he would welcome the news of her spiritual 
encounter, maybe even believe it meant the Spirits had 
forgiven her for her misdeeds. And surely if the gods could 
forgive her, he could, too. But the closer she drew to Lin's 
hut, the more she felt seized by doubt. She began to worry she 
might have misinterpreted the meaning of the owl and Dzeh 
would not be as forgiving as she'd hoped. 

No one was up yet, so Klizzie passed between the huts 
unnoticed. The communal hearth fires remained cold and black, 
extinguished by last night's downpour. They dotted the village 
like bruises and the sight of them made her feel strangely 
alone. It looked as if the Clan had abandoned the camp in the 
night and no one had come to tell her. 

Outside Lin's hut, she paused to catch her breath and gather 
her courage. She knew she had disappointed Dzeh and could not 
fault him if he no longer wanted her as his mate, but she also 
wondered how she could bear to live without him. 

Perhaps his anger toward her would thaw once he heard her 
account of the owl's visit.

She pushed aside the hide door and entered the shelter. 

A fire blazed in the hearth, casting a warm glow on the 
sleeping occupants. Their bodies formed hills beneath their 
furs. Dzeh's sleeping skins, however, were empty. 

Uncle Lin raised his head when a cold draft, let in by 
Klizzie, ruffled his gray hair.

"Where have you been, my Niece?" he asked, keeping his voice 
low.

She came to him and dropped to her knees, bowing out of 
respect. "I have been praying, Uncle, on the mountaintop."

Lin propped himself on one elbow. He looked at her with kind 
eyes. "Did the Spirits answer your prayers?"

She felt joy swelling inside her at the memory of the owl. 
"Yes, Owl Spirit appeared to me," she said, breathless with 
the wonder of it.

Lin sat up. "Did he speak to you?" His startled tone caused 
several of the others to stir and waken.

"No. He flew from the mountain to the village, where he 
plucked a snake from the ground and carried it away."

"A snake in the village?" Lin's gray eyebrows drew together. 
"Where did Owl Spirit take this snake?"

"South, into the woods. What do you think it means?"

By now most of the hut's occupants were awake and listening. 

"The elders must hear your story and discuss its meaning." Lin 
rose from his bed. His eyes fell on Dzeh's sleeping skins. 
"Where is your mate?"

Klizzie shook her head. It was possible Dzeh had gone to the 
hut where she had slept with Muhl-dar yesterday morning. 
Perhaps he wanted privacy to think about the things she had 
told him. 

She was about to mention this when she noticed Gini's bed was 
also empty. A spear of worry struck her heart.

"Where is Gini?" she asked. 

Lin glanced around the hut, a look of indifference on his 
face. No doubt he assumed she was sleeping at the hearth of a 
cousin or friend. It wasn't unusual for a child to spend the 
night in a bed other than her own. The entire Clan watched out 
for every child, treating each like a son or daughter. They 
were all kin, after all.

But Klizzie remained fearful, remembering last night's storm. 
Had Gini been out in it? She couldn't recall the last time 
she'd seen the girl. Yesterday she'd been so intent on her own 
problems she'd paid little attention to Gini.

At that moment Dzeh's cousin Wol-la-chee pushed his way 
through the hide door into the hut. He was breathing hard and 
his face was flushed as if he'd been running.

"The strangers have escaped," he announced. 

Lin's eyes rounded. He rose and shouldered past Wol-la-chee, 
out of the hut. 

Wol-la-chee glanced at Klizzie. "Are you coming?" he asked, 
and then followed after Lin.

Klizzie remained frozen in place. The strangers have escaped? 
What had he meant by that? What happened last night while she 
was on Crouching Cat Mountain?

*   *   *

Needing to empty her bladder, Gini shouldered her pack and 
climbed out of the broad-limbed hackberry tree where she'd 
spent the night. It was too bad the tree's berries weren't 
ripe, she thought as she hopped to the ground. They would make 
a convenient breakfast.  

After relieving herself, she headed to the stream, picking her 
way carefully through dense greenbriers. Thorns pricked her 
feet and scratched her legs, but she ignored them, intent on 
locating Muhl-dar and Day-nuh. 

She had last seen them beside the stream where they stopped to 
rest. Not wanting to get too close, and preferring the safety 
of a tree for sleeping, she'd hiked a short distance into the 
woods where she located the hackberry. She intended to wake 
and return to the stream at dawn, but sleep had hung onto her 
until the sun was halfway up in the sky.

Quickening her pace, she arrived at the bank to find Muhl-dar 
and Day-nuh were gone. That was good, she thought. They needed 
as much of a head start as possible to outdistance Dzeh's 
search party. As long as they stayed their course, following 
the stream, she could find them easily enough. They were 
traveling slowly, both suffering from injuries. If she jogged, 
she could easily overtake them by mid-afternoon.

There was no doubt Dzeh would come after them. Muhl-dar's 
crime had been serious and Dzeh was very angry. Even so, it 
was unlikely he would lead his search party any farther south 
than Ant Clan territory. Ye-tsan Basin lay beyond that and no 
one would willingly travel there.

Gini began scrounging the wooded bank for breakfast. Juneberry 
plants were plentiful, but their small fruits wouldn't be ripe 
for another moon yet, so she passed them over and collected 
greens instead: chickweed, sorrel and violets. She 
particularly enjoyed the sweet flavor of the violet blossoms 
and popped one flower after the next into her mouth as she 
gathered enough food to satisfy her empty belly. 

She carried the greens to the edge of the stream where she sat 
to eat. The chickweed tasted a little bitter, but the tart 
flavor of the sorrel washed her tongue clean. Watching the 
shallow brook churn southward, she kept an eye out for frogs 
or turtles. Their meat would make a fine meal later in the 
day.

A gentle breeze was blowing from the west. Gini was thankful 
it no longer carried the smell of snow or rain. She hoped the 
clouds would clear soon, allowing the sun to shine. Traveling 
would be so much more comfortable with dry hair and clothes.

Finished eating her greens, she bent to drink from the stream. 
The water tasted cold and sweet. She took long, satisfying 
gulps before standing and lifting her pack to her shoulder. 
Hunger sated and thirst slaked, she began jogging downstream 
in search of Muhl-dar and Day-nuh.

*   *   *

The entire village was in turmoil. People circulated from 
hearth to hearth, speculating about the strangers' motives and 
the location of the missing girl.

Rumors spread quickly that the chindi from Eel Clan had used 
powerful magic to conjure up last night's storm and free 
himself from the goal post. He then cast a spell on the 
Shaman, rendering him unconscious, and released the red-haired 
woman. It was soon discovered that several items were missing 
from the pile of goods intended as prizes for the winners of 
the ball games. Already considered a thief, Muhl-dar was 
blamed for stealing the goods. He was also accused of 
kidnapping little Gini. Only the Spirits could know his evil 
intentions, but there was conjecture that he would make a 
slave of her. Or worse, cook and eat her for his supper. After 
all, Eel Clan men were cannibals, capable of any atrocity.

Many people were helping to search for the strangers and Gini. 
Klizzie checked and double-checked every hut in the village, 
hoping to find the girl. Wol-la-chee led a party of men up 
Crouching Cat Mountain to comb the fields and explore the 
stony summit. Uncle Lin headed east into the hills, taking 
four skilled trackers from Badger Clan with him. A group of 
boys hiked around Turkey Lake, calling Gini's name and looking 
for signs that she and the strangers might have gone north. 
Dzeh scoured the woods to the south, accompanied by three 
experienced hunters from Turtle and Owl Clans.

By mid-afternoon, the disappointed search parties returned to 
the village. Last night's rain had obliterated any prints, 
making it impossible to track the runaways. Dzeh sat with a 
group of eight or nine men around Uncle Lin's hearth, 
discussing what they should do next. Klizzie was present, too, 
although she remained respectably separate from the men, 
sitting half-hidden in shadows by the wall. Her eyes were red 
and swollen from crying and she occasionally sniffled.

"Of course they took her!" Dzeh pounded his fist against the 
ground. "Where else would she be?"

"A saber-toothed cat or--" young Chal began.

Dzeh cut off the boy's ominous speculation. "No. She is *not* 
dead." 

"Being eaten by a cat might be preferable to--" Wol-la-chee 
let the remainder of his thought go unspoken when Dzeh aimed a 
storm cloud expression his way.

"The most logical direction for them to go is south," Lin 
said.

"Maybe they are hiding on the mountain to come back and kill 
us in our sleep," said Wol-la-chee's nephew Ghaw-jih.

"If they intended to kill us in our sleep, they would have 
done so already," Lin said.

"They are running away like thieving cowards," said a pale-
eyed tracker from Otter Clan. 

"And the most likely direction is south. There are mountains 
to the east and west. And the Tkin Glacier lies to the north."

"But the glacier is six days hike away."

"That is true, but heading toward an ice sheet is a useless 
journey. Following A-Chi Stream will lead them into Ant Clan 
Territory."

"And Ye-tsan Basin beyond that. Who would go there? It is full 
of giant serpents," said Ghaw-jih.

"They will probably veer east or west before they reach the 
Basin," Dzeh said, concurring with his uncle.

"They could just as easily veer east or west before Tkin 
Glacier, too," Wol-la-chee pointed out. 

Lin combed his fingers thoughtfully through his long gray 
beard. "Klizzie saw an owl visit our village this morning."

Everyone turned to stare at Klizzie. Dzeh wondered why she had 
kept such important news from him, but then remembered Klesh 
and her inclination to keep secrets.

Lin continued, "She said the owl caught a snake and carried it 
into the woods to the south."

The Shaman, who had been listening without speaking until now, 
pulled his pipe from his mouth and said, "It is a sign. The 
strangers went in that direction."

"They might be following A-Chi Stream," Lin said. "It would 
cover their tracks and provide fresh drinking water."  

"Then we will follow the stream, too," Dzeh said. "When we 
find the strangers, we will kill them and bring Gini back."

"We must be careful. Muhl-dar is a powerful man if he can 
conjure up a storm like the one last night," Lin said. 

All the men nodded in agreement.

"I am not afraid," Dzeh said, rising to his feet. "The longer 
we sit here talking, the further away he gets. Already he has 
a full day's start. My sister is with him and I will not wait 
a heartbeat longer." He looked intently at the others. "I need 
two men to come with me."

Wol-la-chee jumped to his feet. "I will go."

"So will I," Lin said, standing.

Chal stood, too. "May I come, Uncle?"

Dzeh studied the boy's earnest expression and nodded his 
consent.

"I want to go," Klizzie said from her place by the wall.

"Absolutely not." Dzeh's face blazed at the thought of 
traveling with her. They hadn't had an opportunity to talk out 
their differences and a personal discussion would be 
impossible on the trail. The others would be at their sides 
every step of the way and Dzeh did not want them to know 
Klizzie's terrible secret. 

"But--"

"No! You will stay here." Having given his final word, he went 
to collect his travel pack. With the Spirits' help, Gini would 
soon be back in her own bed and Muhl-dar and Day-nuh would be 
dead. 

*   *   *

"Scully, what was your favorite penny candy when you were a 
kid?" 

Mulder trailed her by a step or two. It was late afternoon and 
the sun was finally shining. They'd been traveling non-stop 
since dawn, with only short breaks for drinking or relieving 
themselves.     

"Twizzlers."

"Red or black?" 

Still heading south, they were following the stream but no 
longer wading in it. The current was swift here, the banks 
steep and rocky, sloping downhill, winding through a forested 
gorge of evergreen trees and giant boulders. The clamor of 
rushing water ricocheted off every tree trunk and stony 
outcropping. The air smelled like fermenting fruit. Moss and 
damp earth softened their footfalls.

"Red." Scully stepped carefully over a tangle of tree roots, 
each one the size of Mulder's arm. Her limp was becoming more 
pronounced, but she pressed onward without complaint. "What 
about you? What was your favorite?"

Mulder limped, too. His head throbbed where he'd been struck 
above his right eye. Every muscle in his body protested the 
endless downward trek. He pushed a drooping tree branch out of 
his path and continued on. "I liked those wax lips."

"You did not." She glanced over her shoulder to give him a 
disbelieving scowl.

"No, really, I did. Sam used to buy the Dracula teeth and I'd 
get the lips, then we'd put them on and try to scare Mom."

"Bet it worked." Scully returned her attention to the uneven 
ground. 

"Why Twizzlers?" he asked, trying to concentrate on anything 
but the pain in his ribs or his godawful exhaustion. When a 
bird shrieked overhead, calling "Thief! Thief!" he hunted for 
it in the foliage. He glimpsed a blur of feathers before the 
jay disappeared into the branches.   

"I liked the flavor and they lasted a long time," she said.

"Fire balls and Sugar Daddies last a long time, too."

She shrugged. "Fireballs were okay, but Sugar Daddies stuck to 
my braces."

He tried to picture her as a girl with braces, but had trouble 
filling in all the details. Had she worn her hair long or 
short? Was she skinny? Chunky? Something in between? No doubt 
she had freckles. He could imagine her surrounded by a bunch 
of giggling girlfriends. He guessed she'd become a loner only 
later on...after meeting him. "Bet you were cute with your 
mouth full of wires."

"I wasn't, believe me. Bill called me 'tinsel teeth.' It was a 
very traumatic time," she said, not sounding traumatized at 
all.

"Well, your smile turned out pretty."

She grunted and he wasn't sure if it was in response to his 
comment or the sudden dip in the trail. She held her arms out 
for balance and teetered from one moss-covered stone to the 
next. He waited until she was on even ground before attempting 
to descend the embankment after her.

Thankfully the path flattened out at the bottom of the 
incline. Mulder didn't think his calves and thighs could hold 
out much longer against the inexorable pull of gravity. 

They walked without talking. Every twenty or thirty feet, 
sunlight spilled through the canopy, spotlighting the ground. 
Mulder concentrated on each whitewashed pool, challenging 
himself to overtake the next one without asking Scully to 
please stop and rest. One more, one more, he chanted in his 
head. 

"We don't really talk much, do we?" Scully suddenly asked.

"I just told you about my wax lips; what else do you want to 
know?"

She stopped beneath the next sunbeam and turned to face him, 
skin luminescent, hair glowing like fire. "Mulder, is there 
any chance...?" Her face flushed and she glanced away. Her 
discomfort was obvious. She seemed to be trying to gather her 
courage. 

"Chance of...?"

Either unable or unwilling to look him in the eye, she focused 
on a point somewhere in the middle of his chest. "Did you..." 
She paused to clear her throat. "Did you withdraw from Klizzie 
before you...?"

It was his turn to blush, although not from embarrassment. His 
discomfort was borne of guilt. He'd been hoping this subject 
would never, ever come up. There was no way he was going to 
tell her the truth. Explaining how he'd copped out while she 
surrendered herself would heap insult onto injury. Especially 
now, knowing that her sacrifice had been for nothing.

He must have paused too long before answering because she 
hurried to explain, "I-I'm asking because a pregnancy 
would...could have...far-reaching consequences...catastrophic 
even...what I mean is...your actions...*our* actions could, 
uh, change the course of history...couldn't they? Shouldn't we 
be worried?"

So it was the future of mankind, not his night with Klizzie 
specifically that was bothering her. Feeling both relieved and 
disappointed, he shouldered past her to take the lead. "Ever 
hear of the 'Cosmic Censor'?" he asked.

"No. What does it have to do with us inadvertently changing 
history?" Her voice joggled as she hurried after him. She 
sounded irritated.

"Plenty. It's Stephen Hawking's solution to the Grandfather 
Paradox."

"The Grandfather Paradox: 'Can a man travel back in time, 
father a child who turns out to be his father, making him his 
own grandfather?'"

"That's the one." He realized the conversation was U-turning 
back to his night with Klizzie, so he quickly went on to say, 
"Hawking claims the Cosmic Censor -- an omnipotent entity who 
watches over time travelers -- intervenes to prevent the 
occurrence of such paradoxes. The Censor operates something 
like this: if a man goes back in time and attempts to alter 
his personal history, for example by trying to prevent his 
lover from being killed in a car accident, then the Cosmic 
Censor arranges things so that the woman is killed some other 
way. No matter how many times the traveler attempts to prevent 
his lover's death, she will always die." 

"So you're saying this Cosmic Censor won't allow us to change 
history even by accident."

"According to Hawking."

"You believe that?"

"Scully, you said it yourself. 'Although multidimensionality 
suggests infinite outcomes in an infinite number of universes, 
each universe can produce only one outcome.'"

"I didn't have the Cosmic Censor in mind when I wrote that."

"Maybe not, but I take it you meant that the future can't be 
altered." 

The wet ground was becoming spongier as they approached a 
lowland area clogged with cedars, fallen trees and spiky, 
yellow bog plants. Feeling hemmed in by the broadening stream 
and the thickets of prickly vegetation, Mulder slowed his pace 
to sidestep the increasing number of puddles. A paw print in 
the mud caught his eye. It obviously belonged to a large cat, 
reminding him of the saber-toothed tiger that had chased them 
into a tree their first night in the Ice Age. He glanced 
around for more tracks. Without their guns or even a spear, 
they were sitting ducks for a saber-tooth, or any of the 
massive carnivores that roamed the Pleistocene landscape.

"Let's keep going."
Mulder slogged through a sea of knee-high weeds, vivid with 
yellow blossoms, each one speckled with crimson dots. The 
flowers poked at the sky like bloodied swords.

"Scully, right after we arrived you mentioned something about 
a megafaunal extinction."

"That's right. A major extinction took place around 11,400 
B.P., killing off the megafauna: the mastodons, 
mammoths...saber-toothed cats. Why?"

Unable to find solid footing, Mulder decided to change his 
course. He veered away from the stream and headed out of the 
marshy lowland toward higher ground to the west. "Any chance 
it could have been caused by a couple of time travelers?"

"That's not funny." 

"Hawking could be wrong."

Zigzagging around downed trees that bristled with dead 
branches, Mulder found firmer ground. He tried to gauge their 
direction by the position of the setting sun, but the dense 
canopy made it difficult to be accurate. Not that he was an 
accomplished navigator even when out in the open...or with a 
map, for that matter. He decided to follow the upward slope of 
the ground and worry about reconnecting with the stream later, 
after he was sure they'd circumvented the swamp.

"Mulder, according to Hawking's theory, Jason Nichols must 
have failed when he tried to kill himself at the Biomedical 
Research Facility."

Mulder had thought that very thing at the time. Although he'd 
watched both young and old Nichols burn to death, the 
paramedics had recovered only one body from the fire. "That 
might explain how we got here."

"Jason Nichols continued his experiments."

"Or Lisa did. Nichols' compound -- and time travel -- were 
eventually discovered by someone. I think he might have been 
at Hill Air Force Base with Lisa the day we ended up here."

"Then he might be able to get us back, too." She sounded 
hopeful.

He hated to disappoint her, but it was unlikely that Jason 
Nichols or anyone else would be helping them. "Only if he 
knows we're missing, Scully. Chances are, no one saw us on the 
Base in the first place." 

*   *   *

OFFICE OF COLONEL R. BECK
HILL AIR FORCE BASE
MAY 14, 1998
6:22 AM

"Airman Greenwood found it, sir, during his 0600 perimeter 
check." Captain Linden stood at attention while Colonel Beck 
sat behind his desk and examined the faded ball cap. 

The "Black Sox" insignia was unfamiliar to him. "Where?" he 
asked, turning the cap over in his hands. 

"Approximately 700 meters southwest from Hangar 19, sir, just 
off the tarmac." Linden kept his eyes aimed at a point 
somewhere above Beck's head. "Greenwood followed two sets of 
tracks to the fence, where he discovered a breach and a pair 
of wire cutters. Footprints led only one way, sir...in." 

"The intruders are still on Base?" Beck asked, incredulous. He 
resisted the urge to pound his fist against his desk. Keeping 
Nichols' experiments classified was crucial. General Kaback 
would shit bricks when he heard about this.

"We're searching for them now, sir." 

Beck gave the Captain an intimidating stare. "Find them. 
Quickly and quietly."

"Yes, sir." 

Linden saluted and Beck returned the gesture. 

As soon as the Captain was out the door, Colonel Beck picked 
up the phone and dialed General Kaback's number.

*   *   *

A-CHI STREAM
SEASON OF THE MASTODON FEAST
SUNSET

Shadows engulfed the lowland bog as the sun slipped below the 
horizon. Gini navigated the gloom by following a swath of 
yellow loosestrife. The pale blossoms highlighted the course 
of the stream like tongues of fire, guiding her through the 
murky swamp. She knew she should have stopped long before 
sunset to locate a proper tree to sleep in, but she'd wanted 
to put the wetlands behind her before bedding down, especially 
after spotting cat tracks alongside those of Muhl-dar and Day-
nuh.

Now she was caught in the dark, halfway across the swamp. She 
listened for the growl of cats and the hiss of snakes, but all 
she could hear were shrieking crickets and harrumphing frogs, 
seemingly unconcerned by the splash of her hurrying steps.

Nervously humming a song to allay her fears, Gini waded as 
fast as she could through the ankle-deep water, black as eel 
skin and just as alive. She knew the swamp was filled with 
crawling creatures, some of which would be good to eat if she 
could see them. But now, in the blinding dark, each slithering 
fish and tickling spider felt like the tap of dead spirits 
against her skin.  

Nothing was quite so scary as a night spent alone. Gini had 
always bedded down by firelight, surrounded by aunts, uncles, 
cousins and siblings. She was accustomed to the rustle of 
sleeping skins, soft snores, and occasional coughs. People 
moved about during the night, men returned late from the 
Prayer Lodge, women rose to nurse their babies, children 
scurried outside to relieve themselves. Mothers sang songs to 
coax their little ones to sleep. Fathers told tales. The 
hearth fire crackled. The lodge was safe and pleasant.

Gini missed Klizzie and wished she'd had a chance to say 
goodbye. Thinking of Dzeh, however, renewed her resolve to 
never go back. She would have a new family; she would live 
with Muhl-dar and Day-nuh, and maybe visit their kin in Eel 
Clan. She would help tend their hearth and care for their 
children. They would be happy to have her stay with them and 
would never, ever send her away to live with a boy she did not 
like.

It worried her that she hadn't seen Muhl-dar and Day-nuh since 
mid-afternoon. She had fallen behind when she stopped to hunt 
for food. The three fat frogs she'd caught had tasted good, 
but searching for them meant losing sight of the others.

She plowed forward through reeds and mud. Fireflies blinked on 
and off, hovering over the loosestrife like winking eyes. Were 
the Spirits watching her?

At long last she reached the far side of the swamp and higher 
ground. A sigh of relief shuddered from her chest when she 
located a sturdy shagbark. She scaled its rough limbs and 
quickly settled into a notch that held her like a giant hand.

Satisfied she would not fall, she slid the pack from her 
shoulder and opened it. She rooted through its contents until 
she found the tiny, bone figurine.

"We will sleep here tonight," she told it. She hung on to it 
tightly, careful not to drop it while she stowed her pack in 
the crook of an upper branch.

Pack secured, she leaned against the tree trunk and examined 
the idol. It glowed silvery-white in her palm, lit by the 
rising moon. She stroked its swollen belly.

"Would you like to hear a story or a song, Little Baby?"

She listened for an answer, but heard only the whisper of 
leaves and the faint howl of a distant wolf.

"Don't be scared."

She kissed the tiny figurine and then began to sing. Her high-
pitched voice wavered in the thin night air. 
 
"The red deer sleeps in a bowl of tall grass;
"The wolf pup sleeps in a rocky den;
"The eagle chick sleeps in a nest of twigs atop a loblolly 
pine;
"But you, my Little One, sleep in my arms, close to my heart, 
until you wake again."

She thought of Muhl-dar and Day-nuh camped somewhere 
downstream. Did they sleep holding onto one another? If she 
shouted their names, would they hear her?

"There is no need to worry, Baby," she told the figurine. "As 
long as they follow the stream, we can find them."