The Five Caves were ably defended by nature as well as by their inhabitants. None of them opened at ground level. High up, they cut back from two ledges with a straight drop below. There were tree-trunk ladders rigged to give access to the ledges. But these could be hauled up, to lie along ledge edge, another barrier to attack. Twice the caves had been besieged by packs of Barkers. Both times their defenses had been unbreakable, and the attackers had lost more pack members then they had slain in return. It was during the last such attack that Furtig’s father had fallen.
Within, the caves cut deeply, and one of them had a way down to where water flowed in the ever-dark. Thus the besieged did not suffer from thirst, and they kept always a store of dried meat handy.
Furtig’s people were not naturally gregarious. Younglings and their mothers made close family units, of course. But the males, except in the Months of Mating, were not very welcome in the innermost caves. Unmated males roved widely and made up the scouts and the outer defenses. They had, through the years, increased in numbers. But seldom, save at the Trials of Skill, were they ever assembled together.
They had a truce with another tribe-clan to the west, and met for trials with them that they might exchange bloodlines by intermating. But normally they had no contact with any but their own five families, one based in each of the caves.
Furtig’s cave was at the top and north, and he swung up to-it quickly, his nose already sorting and classifying odors. Fresh meat—ribs of wild cow. Also duck. His hunger increased with every sniff.
But as he entered the cave, he did not hurry to where the females were portioning out the food but slipped along the wall to that niche where the senior member of the clan sat sharpening his hunting claws with the satisfaction of one who had recently put them to good use. So apparent was that satisfaction, Furtig knew Fal-Kan had been responsible for the cow ribs.
Though his people’s sight adjusted well to partial darkness, there was light in the cave, a dull glow from a small box which was another of Gammage’s gifts. It did not need any tending. When the first daylight struck into the mouth of the cave it vanished, coming alive again in the dusk of evening.
Gammage’s bounty, too, were the squares of woven stuff that padded the sleeping ledges along the walls. In summer these were stowed away, and the females brought in sweet-scented grasses in their places. But in the cold, when one curled up on them, a gentle heat was generated to keep one warm through the worst of winter storms.
“Fal-Kan has hunted well.” Furtig squatted several paces away from his mother’s eldest brother, now sit-ting on his own sleep ledge. Thus Furtig was the pre-scribed respectful distance below him.
“A fat cow,” Fal-Kan replied as one who brings home such riches each morning before the full heat of the sun. “But you came in haste, wearing trail destroyer—“ He sniffed heavily. “So what danger have your eyes fastened on?”
Furtig spoke—first of the Barkers and then of the strange boundary sign. With a gesture Fal-Kan dismissed the Barkers, They were what one could expect from time to time, and scouts would be sent to make sure the Barkers were not pack forerunners. But at the story of the slash marks Fal-Kan set aside his claws and listened intently. When Furtig told of his counter-marking, the Elder nodded.
“That was well done. And you say that these slashes were not deep. Perhaps no more deeply set than these could do?” He held out his hand, extending his natural claws.
“So it looked.” Furtig had long ago learned that caution was the best tone to take with Elders. They were apt to consider the opinions of the young as misled and misleading.
“Then this one did not know Gammage.”
Furtig’s open astonishment brought him to the discourtesy of actually interrupting an Elder.
“Know Gammage! But he is a stranger—not of the Five Caves—or of the western People. Gammage would not know him.”
Fal-Kan growled softly, and Furtig, in confusion, recognized his error. But his surprise remained.
“It is time,” Fal-Kan said in the throat-rumbling voice used for pronouncements against offenders of cave custom, “that one speak clearly about the Ancestor. Have you not wondered why we have not been favored by his attention lately, during this time of your growing—though it would seem by your actions that you have not in truth progressed far beyond a youngling?” Fal-Kan waited for no answer but continued with-out a pause.
“The fact is that our Ancestor”—and he did not say Honored Ancestor or use any title of respect—“is so engrossed by this fear of returning Demons which has settled in his head that he raises voice to unite all People—as if they were of one family or clan! All People brought together!” Fal-Kan’s whiskers bristled.
“All warriors know that the Demons are gone. That they slew each other, and that they could not make their kind any more, so they became fewer and fewer and finally there were none. Whence then would any come? Do old bones put on flesh and fur and come alive again? But the Ancestor has this fear, and it leads him in ways no prudent one would travel. It was learned the last time his messenger came that he was giving other People the same things he had sent here to the caves.
“And—with greater folly—he even spoke of trying to make truce with the Barkers for a plan of common defense, lest when the Demons returned we be too scattered and weak to stand against them. When this was known, the Elders refused the gifts of Gammage and told his messenger not to come again, for we no longer held them clan brothers.”
Furtig swallowed. That Gammage would do this!
There must be some other part of the story not known. For none of the People would be so sunk in folly as to share with enemies the weapons they had. Yet neither would Fal-Kan say this if he did not believe it the truth.
“And Gammage must have heard our words and understood.” Fal-Kan’s tail twitched. “We have not seen his messengers since. But we have heard from our truce mates in the west that there were truce flags set before the lairs in the north and strangers gathered there. Though we do not know who those were,” Fal-Kan was fair enough to add. “But it may well be that, having turned his face from his own kin when they would not support his madness, Gammage now gives to others the fruits of his hunting. And this is a shameful thing, so we do not speak of it, even among ourselves, unless there is great need.
“But of the hunting sign on the tree, that we must speak of—all warriors together. For we are not so rich in game that we can allow others to take our country for their own. And we shall also tell this to the west-ern kin. They come soon for the Trials. Go and eat, warrior. I shall take your words to the other cave Elders.”
The visitors had been in sight of the cave scouts since mid-afternoon, but their party did not file into their usual campsite until after nightfall. This was the al-ternate season when the western clans came to the caves. Next season Furtig’s people would cross country for the Trials.
All the young unmated warriors who were to take part in the coming contests scattered along the in-road (unless their Elders managed to restrain them with other duties). Though it was ill mannered to stare openly at their guests, there was naught to pre-vent their watching the travelers from cover, making comparisons between their champions and those marching in the protect circle about the females and younglings, or, better still, catching glimpses of their Choosers.
But to Furtig none of those were as attractive as Fas-Tan of the cave of Former. And his interest was more for probable rivals than for the prizes of battle the other tribe could display. Not, he reflected .ruefully, that he had much chance of aspiring to Fas-Tan.
Through some trick of heredity which ran in her family, she had odd fur coloring which was esteemed, along with the length of that fur, as beauty. The soft fur about her head and shoulders was nearly three times the length of that sprouting from Furtig’s own tougher hide, and it was of two colors—not spotted or patched as was often the case but a dark brown shading evenly to cream. Her tail, always groomed to a silken flow, was also dark. Many were the fish-bone combs patiently wrought and laid at the message rock to the fore of Former’s cave, intended by the hopeful to catch the eye of Fas-Tan. And to know that she used the work of one’s clumsy hands was enough to make a warrior strut for a day.