SPIRIT WALKER

Chapter 3: Homecoming

Four days later, the Neanderthals sailed through serene waters up a long narrow fjord. The smell of land came strong. Redwood trees clung to gray cliffs, covering the hills like a ragged tapestry. Where a gentle valley met the water's edge, the city of Smilodon Bay perched--a collection of expansive manors in the human part of town, with homes built from fitted stones and roofs tiled in copper, green with age. Flower boxes under the windows brightened the homes, while barns and dovecotes backed the properties like attentive servants.

But the outskirts of town served as a stark contrast. There in "Pwi Town" squatted the poor huts of the Neanderthals-crafted of rough-hewn lumber and covered in tar. The smoke of smithies and cook fires shrouded the homes in in a grimy haze.

Two wide-hulled trading ships had dropped anchor in the deepest part of the harbor, but the small Neanderthal vessel skirted past them, dropping sail and rowing up to the weathered docks.

Several Neanderthal women were washing clothes on the rocks at the water's edge; they raised a shout as the boat neared. A crowd of Neanderthal women and children rushed down to greet the boys, eager for news of their adventure. Their early arrival hinted at a good haul.

But faces fell in dismay when one smiling mother rushed from her shack, and noted her missing son. No one had to tell her what had happened. The boys' lowered heads, the empty seat in the boat-all told the tale.

Denni's mother let out a terrible wail, then collapsed, overcome with grief. Her husband had been taken by slavers many years ago, and the woman lived with the hope that someday he would escape and return home. With no other children, she lived with an aging sister.

As she wailed and her eyes became stricken, Tull worried that Denni's mother might die from this. Another young woman grabbed her as she fell, and the Neanderthal children began to wail also. They covered their heads with their hands, and the sound of sobbing and shouts of astonishment spread like the gush of wind that ripples over a field of wheat.

Tull watched the incident unfold helplessly. He'd hoped that the news could have been relayed quietly, intimately. The Pwi had a saying: "Only the best of friends should bear sad news."

Among the Neanderthals, with their rich emotional lives, grief was a ravaging thing. It could strike like a plague, bringing entire families low. All too often, those who mourned gave up eating, gave up drinking, and gave up life.

To avert disaster, now was the time to celebrate Denni's life, to speak soft words to the mother, praising what he had been. The proper way to break the news would have been to hug the mother and whisper the news to her, leaving a gift of tears on her shoulder.

But Tull was not close to her, so he only squeezed her hand and peered into her stricken eyes. "Your son has a fine, strong spirit," he said. "Denni walks among us still."

It was a stock sentiment among the Pwi, but Tull knew that his words did not help. She peered out at him from the depths of her sorrow like a wounded mouse from its burrow. There was no understanding or comfort in those dark eyes, only pain.

Even to Tull, his words sounded hollow. It would take a more skillful speaker than he to paint a peaceful face on Denni's death.

The only hope for his mother would be if those close to her could rescue her from her grief. So the Neanderthals gathered around her in a tight knot, touching her, whispering words of comfort.

Tull felt helpless, and the sentiment weighed him down like a stone. As a halfbreed, he was an outsider among the Pwi, tolerated more than welcomed, like a beggar who perpetually haunts a city. He let others carry the grim news to Tchar's family, wishing that he could do more.