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CHAPTER SEVEN

"It's not here," Mulder said, his fingers searching for the
old, familiar scar on his shoulder.

"Where did it go?" Scully sat up on the sleeping skins.

The fire had burned down to a few cherry-red coals, making it
difficult to see in the dark hut.

Mulder crawled from the bed, located his jacket, and dug into
the pocket for his flashlight. Light in hand, he aimed its beam
at his chest, high and to the left, where Scully's gunshot had
marked him -- presumably for life.

Not a trace of his scar remained.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he shined the light on his left thigh, where
Lucas Henry's bullet had pierced him four years ago. A quarter-
sized scar still puckered his skin. "That one's there." He
crooked his knee and inspected the exit wound. "Front and
back."

Scully crawled closer and ran her fingers over his now
unblemished shoulder. "This is impossible."

"Maybe not."

His paranormal radar was picking up a signal the way it always
did when they encountered an X-File. He reached around Scully
and probed the back of her neck, feeling for the telltale bump
of her implanted chip.

It was there. Strange. He'd expected it to be missing. Okay, so
maybe his radar was off today.

Then again...

"Turn around," he ordered.

"Why? What's the matter?" She did as he asked and presented him
with her bare back.

He lifted her hair and ran his light over the tiny scar on her
nape, then down her spine to her tattoo. "Um...Scully? Your
tattoo..."

"What about it?" She craned to see over her shoulder. "It's
there, isn't it?"

"It's there." He traced it with his finger. "Sort of."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It appears to be..."  -- he leaned in for a closer look --
"faded."

"Faded?"

"Mm hm."

She pivoted to face him and he found himself unexpectedly
spotlighting her bare breasts. He clicked off his light.

"Sorry."

She drew a sleeping skin over her lap to cover herself.
"Mulder, any number of factors can cause a tattoo to lose
pigment: substandard inking practices, improper follow-up care,
overexposure to the sun--"

"Have you been sunbathing in the nude, Scully?"

Her frown told him she was in no mood for jokes. "Skin types
vary. Some don't hold ink. The fact that my tattoo is fading
means nothing in and of itself. It certainly doesn't mean we
were physically altered by the...the...time travel thing."

"Thing?"

"Event, phenomenon, whatever."

"Then how do you explain the disappearance of my scar?"

"Scar tissue can lighten with age."

"Scully, it's completely gone!" He turned the flashlight on it
again. Satisfied it truly wasn't there, he said, "I've got a
theory, if you'd like to hear it."

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "I'm
listening."

"I think we're regressing."

"Regressing?"

"Growing younger." He held up a palm to stall her certain
objection. "My scar and your tattoo are the most recent marks
on us respectively. Now they're gone -- or almost gone in your
case -- suggesting a shift to an earlier version of ourselves."

She raised an eyebrow. "One missing scar and a faded tattoo are
your proof that we're growing younger?"

"Suppose time travel isn't like stepping through a door, where
you're either on one side or the other."

"Then where are we?"

"In the broadest sense, we may still be *in* the door. In
what's known as Flux Space."

"Flux...? Mulder, my undergrad work was in physics. Yet I've
never heard of Flux Space."

"It's a bit...mystical."

"Ahh." Her expression told him she was translating that to mean
"paranormal bunk."

"Flux Space isn't a portal, per se, but is thought to be an
inter-dimension that could serve as one. It doesn't conform to
conventional physics."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Believers in the phenomenon claim it can be reached by way of
technologically-created dimensional portals, or through
naturally occurring sub-space anomalies like worm holes."

"And what do these believers say is inside 'Flux Space'?"

"That's just it…nobody knows for sure. But proponents of the
theory hypothesize that it's not a physical 3-D space or even a
4-D space-time."

Her tongue skated across her lower lip as she considered such a
possibility. "Fifth dimensional."

"Exactly. But here's the 64-thousand dollar question: Is the
fifth dimension a spatial dimension or a time-related
dimension?"

"Time has only one dimension."

"Does it? A second dimension might explain how we could have
traveled here to the Pleistocene where we're moving forward in
time while concurrently experiencing a secondary physical
regression, which is out of sync with the first."

"You're saying we traveled backward 12,000 years...and are now
moving simultaneously forward and backward in time?"

"That's what I'm saying. We're traveling along two time
continuums at once."

Although she continued to frown, he could tell she was
evaluating his premise, picking through it for reasonable
details while casting aside those that would contradict logic.

"All right. Let's suppose for the sake of argument that Flux
Space exists and is responsible for putting us here in the
Pleistocene, where we are moving forward in time, interacting
with the locals, while also regressing, going back to younger
versions of ourselves..." She looked into his eyes.
"Regression? Really?"

"Kinda makes your head ache to think about it, huh?"

She didn't smile. If anything, her expression became more
serious. "Where will it stop, Mulder? Will we regress to
infancy? Conception? Past lives?"

He was certain there was a Shirley MacLaine joke in there
somewhere, but at the moment he was drawing a blank. "I don't
know. You shot me in '95. Lucas Henry shot me in '94. If we're
growing younger, the scar on my leg should be the next to go.
The amount of time it takes for that to happen should tell us
when to expect additional changes."

Like the disappearance of his fillings and his vaccination
scar, or the reappearance of his tonsils and his... He glanced
down between his legs at his circumcised penis.

"Hopefully, we'll find a way back home before the process goes
too far," he said.

He noticed Scully was staring at his penis, too, with an odd
expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"I was just thinking about my...um...infertility."

Now his eyes fell to her lap.

If his Flux Space theory proved correct, then at some point
she'd regain her ability to bear children.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Back in their own time, he'd have been happy for her --
especially after what had happened to Emily -- but here in the
Ice Age... Panic fluttered in his gut at the idea of getting
her pregnant. He didn't want to have children...anywhere. Here
it would be a mistake of gargantuan proportions. Giant snakes,
saber-toothed cats, killer cavemen -- danger seemed to be
lurking behind every damn Pleistocene tree. How the hell do you
keep a kid safe in a place like this?

Add to the mix the threat of regression...well, it would be
downright irresponsible to bring a child into this world.

They'd have to be careful. Watch for signs that Scully might be
regressing back to a time when she was still fertile. The chip
in her neck -- when it disappeared, then no more sex...it was
as simple as that.

Christ, who the hell was he kidding? No more sex? Fuck.

This had to be the cruelest cosmic joke of all time. Make love
once and God tosses a ticking time bomb into their laps.
Literally. Hope you're having yourself a mastodon-sized laugh
up there, Big Guy.

For the first time ever, Mulder began hoping Scully would prove
him wrong.

Noticing his stare, Scully hugged the sleeping skin to her
body. "Mulder, there's an aspect of your theory that doesn't
track."

Yes! Argue me down, Scully! "Only one?"

Her wry smile told him she believed his theory was in fact
riddled with holes but she was willing to limit herself to just
one for now. "My tattoo is only a little over a year old, much
more recent than the scar on your shoulder. Yet it's still
visible, whereas your scar has completely vanished."

Good point. "Maybe we're regressing at different rates. Some
people age faster than others. Doesn't it make sense we might
regress differently, too?"

"It doesn't make sense that we would regress at all." Her brow
furrowed. "Mulder, you do remember being shot by me, don't
you?"

"How could I forget?"

"If you're growing younger, shouldn't your mind be regressing
along with your body?"

"Losing memories at the same rate as years." Another good
point. "I dunno, Scully, but there's some relief in knowing we
won't be acting like children, even if we end up looking like
them."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay, so *you* won't," he said with a chuckle. "Maybe I'm
already there."

She reached across the furs to retrieve her clothes. "Let's
continue this conversation after we have something definitive
to go on. Right now, I'd like to clean up. You could use a
bath, too."

He looked down at himself, at his thighs, his penis, the
fingers on his right hand, all smeared with traces of her
menstrual blood. It made him feel marked by her and he almost
hated to wash off this tangible proof of their intimate act so
soon.

Patting the furs, he waggled his brows. "How 'bout a quickie
before we get dressed?"

"No, thank you." She was already pulling her camisole over her
head. "I'll make breakfast when we get back."

Food? Several days of unplanned fasting, followed by an equally
unplanned but considerably more appreciated sexual encounter,
had left him feeling famished. "You're going to cook?"

"Yes, I'm going to cook."

He scrambled to his knees and began rummaging through the furs
for his boxers. "Which way to the bath house?"

*   *   *

Pretending to busy herself with the knot on her fur skirt,
Scully surreptitiously watched Mulder dress. No two ways about
it, he was a good-looking man. Long-limbed and graceful, body
fleeced with a smattering of springy dark hair, muscles toned
from miles of running. Whether dressed in a suit or buck-naked
like now, he was tempting.

She remembered once describing him as "cute" to one of her
girlfriends. An understatement, to say the least. She'd ended
the conversation by bemoaning the fact that Mulder was
excessively devoted to his work and all his good looks were
going to waste.

In truth, she didn't know that they were wasted. She really had
no idea what Mulder did in his off hours. It was entirely
possible, even plausible, that some other woman, or several
women, enjoyed his company when he wasn't chasing mutants and
EBEs with her. Just because he didn't come on to her in any
serious way didn't mean he was living the life of a monk.

To assume he was having no sex because she was having no sex
was projecting. She was the one who had made a conscious
decision to devote her life to their work and ultimately to
him, not the other way around.

His love life -- past and present -- remained as mysterious as
Flux Space to her.

Not that she'd shared any intimate details of her past
romances. He knew only a little about Jack, and nothing at all
about Daniel. He'd made some assumptions about Ed Jerse.

The fact of the matter was she and Mulder rarely talked about
their personal lives.

She hoped that might change after this morning. Making love
with him had been wonderful, satisfying on both a physical and
emotional level. Lying beneath him, having him inside her, had
felt--

"Santa must be in town," Mulder said, nodding toward two
bulging backpacks that sat just inside the hut's closed
entrance.

His legs disappeared into his jeans. When he zipped his fly,
Scully found herself suppressing a sigh. God, he was clueless
about his effect on her.

Next to the two packs was an odd stack of fist-sized stones,
piled one on top of the other, looking like a small, granite
snowman.

Scully went to examine the packs while Mulder scrounged through
the furs for his shirt.

"Klizzie must have left these." She pulled a carved comb from
the first container and recognized it as the one Klizzie had
used two nights ago at the lake.

Mulder located and sniffed his shirt. Wrinkling his nose in
disgust, he discarded it and searched for his jacket instead.
"Did she leave any food?"

There was a basket of strawberries in the second pack. Scully
still associated their smell with Mulder's near-death
experience, so she gladly passed them on to him. "Help
yourself."

He showed no similar distaste and ate greedily while she
explored the contents of the packs.

As she removed each item, she held it up for him to see.
"Flint, presumably for starting fires. Several razor-like
tools..." These appeared very sharp. She touched a finger to
one, testing its edge. "You might be able to shave with it."

"I'm willing if you're willing," he said, talking around a
mouthful of berries.

The idea of unshaved legs and underarms didn't thrill her, but
these Pleistocene razors looked a little too risky. She set
them aside, deciding they must have some purpose other than
hair removal. "What do you suppose this is for?" She held up
what appeared to be the bladder of a rather large animal.

"Wine skin?"

"Or water bag." She set it aside. "Three bone hooks, two fur
blankets--"

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Mulder sang. When she frowned
at him, he shrugged and said, "We're opening presents."

She uncoiled a roll of stiff twine. "Catgut...I think." She dug
deeper. "A couple of spear points. And two soap roots--"

"Those things are soap?"

"Yep. Oh, look!" She held up a buttery- soft piece of deerskin.
"A change of clothes for you."

He inspected the garment through squinted eyes. "I'm supposed
to wear that?"

"It's the latest in Pleistocene fashion." She tossed him the
loincloth before unpacking a wad of cattails.

"What are those for?" Finished with the last of the berries, he
passed back the empty basket. "You didn't want any of those,
did you?"

"No, thank you." She took the basket and ignored his cattail
question. Sex partner or not, she didn't feel like discussing
the finer points of feminine hygiene with him. Instead she
listed the contents of the second pack: "Dried meat, nuts...and
four dead squirrels."

Using his best Homer Simpson impersonation, he hummed, "Mmmmm,
squirrel." Then he indicated the odd stack of stones with a
wave. "What do you suppose those are for? Pass the nuts,
please."

She slid the nuts his way and studied the stones. Their
presence was clearly no accident. Somebody -- most likely
Klizzie -- had placed them there on purpose. Although their
meaning was unclear, it was obvious Klizzie wanted to help
them, and her generosity was touching.

"Let's get cleaned up," she said, collecting the soap roots and
comb, planning to take with them with her to the lake. Almost
as an afterthought, she grabbed the water bag.

Mulder tossed one last nut into his mouth, wiped his hands on
his pants and rose to follow her out of the shelter.

Outside, they were surprised to find the village was completely
deserted. All that remained were half a dozen large semi-
circles of mastodon bones -- jawbones from the look of them,
interlocked and stacked to form the underlying supports for the
abandoned huts. Stripped of their hides, the shelters were now
roofless. Not a spear or basket or fur blanket remained in any
of them.

The campsite must be seasonal, she realized. Hunter-gatherers
were nomadic people who pursued migrating game. They followed
their food source, rather than staying put and raising their
own stock and crops. Agricultural societies wouldn't evolve
until much later in history.

She pivoted, wondering which direction the tribe had taken.
"How are we going to find them?"

"Who says we should?"

"Mulder, we need this group's help. They know how to survive
here; we don't."

Concern creased his brow and she guessed he was thinking about
how close he'd come to dying a few days ago.

"Look at that." He pointed to another pile of fist-sized stones
on the far side of the clearing. "Someone left us a trail of
bread crumbs."

God bless Klizzie, she was showing them the way.

*   *   *

Hiking through a foggy, lowland swale, Klizzie and Gini
followed the Clan northeast toward the next range of hills. The
group moved slowly, every member laden with heavy packs. The
ground smelled pungent and peaty, and countless irises dotted
the surrounding marshland with bright, purple flowers.
Dragonflies the size of Klizzie's hand darted around the
travelers' heads. When the Clan passed too close to a flock of
nesting geese, the birds rose up from the reeds in a frenzy of
flapping wings and raucous calls.

Klizzie stopped to collect several fist-sized stones, which she
stacked one on top of the other. Then she placed three more in
a line upon the ground, pointing in the direction of Tabaha
Lodge.

Gini watched her arrange the stones. "Will Muhl-dar and Day-nuh
find us?"

"You have asked me that question more times than a goose hen
hides her eggs. My answer is still the same: I
do...not...know." Although Klizzie loved Gini like a daughter,
the girl's constant pestering was beginning to exhaust her
patience. "If Muhl-dar and Day-nuh are meant to find us, then
the Spirits will guide them."

"With the help of your stones." Gini grinned at her.

Klizzie returned the girl's smile. "Yes, with the help of my
stones."

Turkey Lake was several days hike from Toh-ta Lodge, and it
would be lucky indeed if the newcomers could find their way,
even with the help of Spirits and stone markers.

"They might return to their own clan, you know," Klizzie said.

Gini frowned at the idea, her young brow puckering with worry.
She looked so much like her brother Dzeh that Klizzie's
impatience melted at the sight of her.

"They will miss the Mastodon Feast," Gini said, clearly
disappointed.

"Perhaps Eel Clan has a Mastodon Feast of its own."

"With food and gifts and competitions?"

"Why not? Owl Clan is not the only clan to have feasts with
races and dances and--"

"Blanket toss!"

The girl's eyes shone with excitement. Blanket toss was the
highlight of most Mastodon Feasts. To play, thirty or more
Clan members took their places in a circle, grasping the
rolled edges of a large blanket made from the skins of
mastodons. The object of the game was to use the blanket to
toss a person as high into the air as possible, while the
player tried to keep his balance. Skilled players did flips
and, while in the air, they threw out trinkets of ivory,
tobacco and other gifts to the onlookers. As soon as a player
lost his footing, another would climb onto the blanket to take
his place until everyone -- men, women and all but the
youngest children -- had had a chance to participate.

Blanket toss was not the only fun to be had at a Feast. There
were cord pulling contests, spear-throwing competitions, long
distance races, sprints, betting games, storytelling, jokes,
songs...

And lots of food!

Last spring, Turtle Clan had hosted an impressive event. This
year, Klizzie's kin from Badger Clan were waiting at Turkey
Lake to host the Feast.

Klizzie felt enthusiasm blossoming in her breast at the thought
of the upcoming celebration. She was eager to see her Aunt Ho-
Ya and her many cousins. Oh, there would be hugs and happy-
crying and plenty of opportunities to talk.

She rose to her feet, retrieved her pack, and began walking
again.

Gini hurried after her. "Klizzie, what is it like to lay with a
man?" she asked.

Where in the Spirit World had *that* question come from?
Evidently, Gini was growing up faster than Klizzie realized;
she tended to think of her as the little four-year-old girl
she'd met soon after becoming Dzeh's mate. But in truth, the
child was nearly old enough to have a mate of her own. In just
two or three summers, Gini would be Joined and move away from
Owl Clan. Her going was sure to leave an aching emptiness in
Klizzie's chest. She had taken care of this small orphan ever
since Gini and Dzeh's mother had died. Saying goodbye to the
girl would bring many tears.

"If you love a man, there is nothing better than to lay with
him on his sleeping skins," Klizzie explained, giving Gini a
mother's advice. "He can fill you in a way that is hard to
imagine. It is very pleasant."

Gini didn't appear convinced. "You love my brother this way?"

Klizzie glanced ahead to where Dzeh was walking and joking with
several of his cousins. He carried an enormous pack on his back
and a long spear in his fist. He was muscular and confident. It
made Klizzie's heart feel light to look upon him. "Yes, Gini, I
love him. I love him very much."

*   *   *

Trailing Scully through the woods, Mulder suddenly burst into
song. "Who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with
all the chicks?"

"Shaft?" she asked, playing along but not going so far as to
actually sing. She picked her way between tree trunks and
giant ferns toward the lake, while he hung back and watched
her hips sway.

That cute ass is mine, he thought. "Can you dig it?"

"You're in a good mood."

Yes, he was in a good mood. Correction -- he was in a *great*
mood. Sex in general had a positive effect on his disposition,
but sex with Scully had turned out to be the ultimate attitude
adjuster. The memory of their joining displaced any and all
concerns about time travel, congested lungs or fading tattoos.

At the moment, the one and only question that nagged him was
"When are we gonna do it again?"

"So, Scully, when are we gonna do it again?" he asked, cutting
to the chase.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You might want to give
yourself a little time to recover, G-Man. Your respiratory
system is compromised. Having sex after an injury like
yours...well, you're lucky the parasympathetic and sympathetic
outpouring didn't kill you this morning."

*Kill* him? He tagged her shoulder. "Can you think of a better
way to die?"

She humored him with a tiny smile before continuing along the
path.

He smiled, too, as his eyes drifted once again to her curvy
backside. Her hips were wrapped in animal fur and her gun was
tucked into her skirt at the small of her back. On top she
wore her clingy, black camisole. Her legs and feet were bare
and, sweet Jesus, she looked sexy!

"They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother. Shut your mouth!
Talkin' 'bout Shaft."

Scully led them to the lake shore and stopped at a sun-
bleached log, spiky with long-armed branches, where she set
down her things -- two soap roots, Klizzie's comb, and the odd
water bag.

Mulder had brought his dirty turtleneck with him, intending to
soak it clean in the lake along with his other clothes while
he bathed. He also carried the loincloth Klizzie had left, to
wear while his clothes dried. Dropping his shirt on the
ground, he draped the loincloth over the tree, and then began
to strip out of his clothes. He hung his jacket and belt with
holster and gun on the branch next to the loincloth, then
added his pants and boxers to his pile of dirty clothes. He
decided to keep Dzeh's necklace on. It looked manly, he
thought, and made him want to beat his chest like a gorilla.

Must be the sex that had him so puffed with pride today.

"Shaft! Right on."

He turned to face the lake, naked, hands on hips, feeling like
the king of the jungle as he surveyed his territory.

Off to his left, a heron high-stepped cautiously along the
shore, eyes trained on the water as it hunted for fish. A
bullfrog hid in the nearby reeds, harrumphing the hollow notes
of a bass cello. Crickets whined and peepers chirped. Birds
squawked, cackled, and trilled from every tree branch.

To his right, an enormous beaver lodge created a spiky island
in the lake about thirty yards out. Lily pads clotted the cove
in front of it, where dragonflies the size of hummingbirds
hovered like helicopters. The sun was just beginning to peek
above the treetops.

The sky was clear, the air smelled sweet, and life was damn
good.

Particularly since Scully was undressing right in front of
him. His eyes slid to watch her carefully remove her clothes,
taking her good ol' sweet time like she was performing a slow
motion strip-tease.

She caught him looking. "Don't you have clothes to wash?"

Reluctantly, he gathered his laundry, palmed one of the soap
roots and strode to the water's edge, where he waded in up to
his ankles.

"Bomb's away!" he said, releasing the clothes. They landed
with a slap in the lake beside his feet, and then inch-by-inch
sank beneath the surface as air burbled through the fabric. He
gave the pile a quick swish with his left foot before
abandoning it and splashing into the water up to his thighs.

"Shee-it!" he hissed, surprised by the lake's cold
temperature. Goosebumps sprouted across his shoulders and
arms. Wasting no time, he dove headfirst beneath the surface.

He'd always loved swimming in the ocean off Martha's Vineyard.
He and Sam often spent entire afternoons in the water, there
or at Quonochontaug, practicing underwater handstands and
somersaults, competing in breath-holding contests, or just
letting the waves carry them along, their laughter lost in the
sound of surf. Their mom lovingly called them "my two sea
monsters" when they returned home, pruney and sun-kissed from
their day at the beach. By September their lean bodies were as
brown as pennies.

Mulder surfaced for air and rolled onto his back to float. His
muscles relaxed as the water buoyed him. The lake was chilly,
but felt silky smooth, and the morning sun beat down on him,
warming his face and chest.

Through half-closed eyes, he watched Scully bathe near the
shore. Sitting waist deep in the water, she soaped her hands
and then lathered her chest, neck and arms. Foam floated away
from her in lazy spirals as she rinsed, and her wet skin
gleamed in the early morning sun, confounding his eyes and
overwhelming his heart with its shimmery beauty.

Jesus. Just yesterday, she'd been Scully, his partner and
friend; today she was Scully, his lover...her body no longer
off limits.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

All too soon she was finished with her bath and rose from the
water, naked and dripping. The sight kindled a fire in his
veins and awakened his slumbering penis. As she waded from the
shore to the log, he let his legs sink below the lake's
surface to hide his growing erection. Treading water, he
watched while she combed her wet hair.

When are we gonna do it again, Scully?

"I'll fix breakfast while you soak," she called out to him. She
quickly put on and adjusted the odd belt Klizzie had given her
for her menstrual flow, and then wrapped her fur skirt around
her hips.

"More strawberries?" he asked, hopeful.

She pulled her camisole over her head. "Sure. More
strawberries," she said before tucking her gun at the small of
her back and leaving him to finish his bath.

*   *   *

"They are splitting up," Klesh said, watching Red Hair and her
companion from the far shore. Tse-e stood beside him in the
shadows of a shagbark tree. "You follow Li-chi Tse-Gah and
bring her back; I will take care of her mate."

"No, she is a Spirit, Klesh. I am not going after her." Tse-e
tucked his wounded hand beneath his arm. Fear burned as
brightly as fever in his eyes and he shivered like a frightened
rabbit at the sight of the red-haired woman.

"Then *I* will go after her. You take care of her chindi
companion," Klesh sneered. "Do you think you can handle him?"

"Y-yes." Tse-e nodded with uncertainty. "Do...do you want me to
kill him?"

"Yes!" Klesh hissed. "Of course I want you to kill him. Bring
his head to me. I want to see for myself that he is dead." A
nasty smile deepened the scar on his left cheek. "Then Li-chi
Tse-Gah will be my mate and tend my hearth."

*   *   *

Mulder's heart thrummed in his water-filled ears. He closed
his eyes and let himself drift in the lake, feeling much the
way he had earlier this morning after making love.
God, he had wanted to lay with Scully forever...

Basking.

He had never "basked" with anyone before, not even when he'd
been married to Diana. Their pre- and post-coital activities
had consisted primarily of rushing off to find the next
paranormal anomaly. Sex was a wham-bam-I-heard-there-was-a-UFO-
sighting-in-Phoenix-let's-go kind of activity. It was performed
in hotel rooms and rental cars, while they waited for lab
results, autopsy reports or returned phone calls. Who had time
to bask when there were cow mutilations or Bigfoot sightings to
investigate?

Not that the sex hadn't been passionate. It had. Sex with Diana
had relieved the stress of the job, and for a while, it
relieved Mulder's loneliness, too. She was warm and beautiful
and it was pleasant to have her in his bed, fending off his
insomnia and his nightmares. With Diana in his arms, he found
he could sleep without dreaming...for a while, at least.

He had believed he was in love at the time because he had
wanted to be in love.

As it turned out, she had loved the idea of love, too, albeit
for different reasons than his own. She was hoping for a normal
kind of life -- a house, kids, dog -- none of which meshed with
their endless pursuit of the truth. It took him a while to
figure out that their quest had actually been only his and not
hers. And although procreation topped her wish list, having
kids never made it onto his at all. He believed he possessed
neither the skill nor the fortitude to raise children. Not
after what had happened to Sam.

When Diana began pressing him to start a family, he balked,
which made her dig in her heels. At an impasse, she finally
left him.

THWACK! The slap of a beaver's tail startled him from his
reverie. He righted himself and glanced around. Nothing
appeared out of the ordinary...except the beaver, which was
about three times the size of its modern day descendants.
Fortunately, it was swimming away.

Deciding to wash up, Mulder headed to shallower water where he
stood knee deep and began rubbing the soap root between his
palms.

"Whaddaya know? This stuff actually works."

Lather overflowed his hands and he used it to slather his
chest, neck, and arms. It felt good to scrub away several days
worth of sweat and grime. Scully's blood vanished from the
creases of his knuckles as he dug black dirt from beneath his
caked fingernails. Jesus, how had she been able to stand him?
He must've smelled funkier than a three-day stakeout.

Wanting to remedy the situation, he went to work, scouring his
scalp, his face, his armpits. Lather corkscrewed down his
limbs, dripped into the water where it drifted in foamy
mountains around his knees. When he was finished sudsing, he
squatted and ducked his head beneath the surface to rinse his
hair.

He was underwater when the attack occurred. Out of nowhere, it
seemed, someone leapt onto his back and tightened a brawny arm
around his neck. Startled, he rose up, lifting his assailant
with him. He tried to dislodge the man by falling backward,
sinking them both to the bottom.

The maneuver worked and the other man released his hold.
Mulder turned on him and grabbed his wrist. The man struggled
to get free, thrashing his arms and legs, churning the weeds.
Bubbles jetted from his nose as he managed to loosen himself
from Mulder's grip. He surged to the surface. Mulder popped up
beside him. Both men filled their lungs with air.

Mulder recognized the small man. He was one of the two
Neanderthals who had abducted Scully back in the ravine.

"Son of a b--" Mulder's fist shot out and connected with
Little Big Man's jaw.

The caveman's teeth clacked together and blood spurted from
his lips. Mulder struck again, this time a left that clipped
the Neanderthal's nose.

More blood darkened the lake. Little Big Man howled, then
torpedoed into Mulder, ramming the top of his skull at
Mulder's throat. Mulder gasped for air and sank. He back-
peddled underwater, fighting his way toward the shallows,
where he managed to get his feet under him and stand. Little
Big Man bulldozed him again and caught him in a crushing bear
hug. Both men grappled for an advantage. Unable to free
himself, Mulder rolled to his left, dragging the cave man down
with him.

In retaliation, the determined Cro-Magnon sank his teeth into
Mulder's right shoulder.

A well-placed elbow dislodged him, but not without a price.
Mulder's skin tore painfully from the bite. "Motherfucker!" he
shouted. He seized the caveman by the wrist, twisted his arm
into a hammerlock, and pressed his thumb hard into the gunshot
wound in his palm.

Little Big Man shrieked and his knees buckled. Mulder pressed
harder, hauling him out of the water and up the beach. He kept
the man's arm twisted behind his back and continued to squeeze
his injured hand until they reached the driftwood log. Blood
poured from the Neanderthal's open mouth as he yammered and
bawled.

Mulder dug his handcuffs from his jacket pocket and hooked one
of the bracelets around Little Big Man's wrist. Then he hauled
him to a nearby tree, where he twisted his arms behind the
trunk and locked him in place with the other half of the
cuffs.

"Where's your fucking buddy?" Mulder growled, not really
expecting an answer and already guessing Conan had gone after
Scully.

The small man spat a mouthful of blood at him.

"Suit yourself." Mulder quickly gathered his gun and abandoned
the blubbering caveman to find Scully.

*   *   *

The strawberry field stretched from the lake and its fringe of
forest all the way up to the top of the western hills where
Scully and Mulder had spent the night of the fire. The slope
was long and gradual and dotted with stone outcroppings that
rose like islands from a sea of windblown grass. Sweet-smelling
clover perfumed the air, while butterflies fought the breeze in
search of nectar, their wings winking shut whenever they
managed to grab hold of a bobbing flower blossom.

About a third of the way up the slope, a herd of fifty or more
mastodons were gathered around a brand new baby. They formed a
living bastion as solid as any stone fortress, their brawn
belying their familial instincts and gentle sense of community.

One enormous female watched over them. Ten feet tall from
shoulder to ground, she appeared insuperable. It seemed beyond
possibility that a human hunter could bring down such a beast
with little more than a stone spear and his cunning.

Only the leader seemed interested as Scully stepped cautiously
out from under the trees into the field. It kept an eye turned
her way, but didn't stray from the herd.

Watching to be sure the mastodons remained undisturbed, Scully
hiked slowly uphill until she came to a patch of strawberries,
where she knelt and began to fill her pack. After several
minutes, she relaxed a little. Bees buzzed lazily around her.
Plump, ripe berries stained her fingers as she picked. The
mastodons seemed unconcerned by her presence and her mind soon
wandered to other concerns.

Like her tattoo.

Although she wasn't ready yet to concede to Mulder's theory of
Flux Space, she did find the disappearance of her tattoo
apropos, since her reason for getting it in the first place was
fading, too. She no longer saw herself as the same person she'd
once been -- the rebellious woman, trying to assert her
autonomy...to the point of foolhardiness.

Ironic she'd been so eager to defy Mulder back then, given the
current state of their relationship. Only a year ago, she'd
felt stifled by him, and fearful she might lose her direction
while blinded by his passion for the truth. Resistance had
seemed the only option at the time.

The Ourobourus once symbolized her desire to move forward with
her life. Now, the image struck her as absurdly self-absorbed,
arrogant in its overt exclusiveness. What she once perceived as
a representation of continual progression, now gave her the
impression of being unattached to anything or anyone, self-
contained and intersecting with nothing but itself.

Fingers blood-red and her pack weighted with fresh fruit, she
turned her efforts to picking greens. The only type she could
identify as safely edible were dandelions. The others didn't
look a thing like the variety Klizzie had brought to them while
Mulder was recovering.

Scully missed Klizzie's expertise. The tribe obviously
possessed extensive knowledge about their environment: food,
medicinal herbs, predators...both animal and human. She and
Mulder would need the group's collective wisdom if they were to
survive for any length of time here. Without their generosity
and the medicine man's competence, Mulder would surely be dead.

The memory of Mulder's near-death brought a lump to Scully's
throat and tears to her eyes. Finding Klizzie and the others
had been a godsend and it was paramount she and Mulder rejoin
them as soon as he was strong enough to travel.

A sudden trumpet from one of the mastodons startled her and she
looked up to see the females closing ranks around the baby. The
leader tossed her enormous head and delivered a second loud
warning.

Scully reached behind her back for her gun, in case they headed
her way. She was stopped by the grip of strong fingers on her
wrist and a menacing growl in her ear.

"Li-chi Tse-Gah," a man's voice rasped, before he yanked her to
her feet. He twisted her arm and forced her to face him.

It was the scarred man.

She glared up at him. Had his weasely companion gone after
Mulder?

He wrestled the gun from her hand. She responded by punching
him hard in the groin.

When he howled and doubled over, she struck him again, this
time in the face. The blow knocked him sideways and sent her
gun spinning from his fist. It landed with a thud several yards
away in the weeds.

She lunged for it, but found herself falling when he latched
onto her leg. His grip held and she hit the ground hard. The
gun remained just beyond her reach. She kicked at him, inched
closer to the gun and managed to snag it with outstretched
fingers.

Scarface crawled on top of her and pinned her in place. His
giant hand clamped over hers and tore the gun from her grasp.
He sat up, straddling her and weighting her to the ground. She
lashed out, caught hold of the gun, struggled to pull it from
his hands.

The gun discharged, firing at the sky and missing his right ear
by millimeters. He jumped, astonished. Still holding the gun,
he stared at it in disbelief. His expression transformed into
one of panic. Eyes bulging, he hurled the weapon into the
woods.

"Dammit!" she shouted, watching the gun vanish into the nearby
trees.

She was trapped beneath him, pinned by his muscular thighs. He
was panting; unconstrained fury darkened his face.

"Chindi!" he barked at her, then grabbed her by the hair. He
bent over her until their noses almost touched. "Chindiiiii!!"
he roared, spraying her with his spit.

Struggling to free herself, she felt the ground start to
vibrate beneath her. Scarface sat bolt upright, evidently
feeling it, too. Silence hung in the air for one empty second
before the thunderous crash of stampeding mastodons brought
them both scrambling to their feet.

The enormous female was charging straight at them. Several more
followed, heads bowed, tusks thrust forward. Their speed was
astonishing.

Scully's legs went numb at the sight. Should she run? Stand
still? Every instinct urged her to get out of their way, but
her feet seemed to have rooted themselves to the ground.

Scarface bolted for the woods. The mastodons kept on coming.
The ground shook, rattling Scully's teeth. God, she was going
to be trampled.

She began to recite the Lord's Prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven..."

The air churned with dust and panic.

"Hallowed be thy name."

She could smell them, musty and fierce and hell-bent on
protecting their own.

"Thy kingdom come..."

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, they were right on her, around her, a
thundering wall of reddish-brown, broken only by a blur of
polished ivory and the ferocious glares of a dozen protective
mothers. Their running jolted her spine, quaked the ground,
shook her faith...

"Thy will be done..." Thy will... Thy will be...

The noise was deafening! Warning trumpets, pounding feet, the
crash of underbrush as mastodons bulldozed around her, heading
into the forest. Vegetation exploded, branches cracked, whole
trees fell. The animals razed an alley several yards wide as
they continued their forward charge.

Scully stood staring after them for several minutes, too
astonished to move, even after they were no longer in sight.

"Thy will be done..."

She looked behind her, upland across the field. The herd and
the baby were gone. Only zigzagging trails and the tart smell
of trampled grass remained.

"Sculleee!" It was Mulder, calling to her from the woods.

She turned toward his voice, but couldn't find her own to cry
out to him.

It didn't matter. He was walking out of the forest, completely
naked, one muscled arm hooked around the scarred man's neck.

Scully's legs finally gave way and she dropped to her knees.

*   *   *

"I say we leave them right where they are." Mulder picked a
hunk of squirrel meat from between his teeth before grabbing
another diminutive drumstick. The food tasted good, but four
itsy-bitsy squirrels were not going to fill him. He sucked the
tiny bone clean.

Conan and Little Big Man sat sullen and silent a few yards
away. They were handcuffed to an enormous mastodon skull and to
each other. Mulder had looped the cuffs through one of its eye
sockets, using the skull as a sort of Pleistocene ball and
chain.

Conan sported a nasty looking shiner where Mulder had walloped
him "just because." Little Big Man was in worse shape, although
his mouth was no longer bleeding. Mulder was pretty sure he'd
broken the bastard's nose, as well as his teeth, since both his
eyes were swelling shut and he whistled whenever he inhaled.

Scully removed the last squirrel from its spit, trying not to
singe her fingers. "They could die if we leave them like that."

"So? What do you think they intended to do to us?" He tossed a
bone into the fire and reached for a third helping of
strawberries. "Besides, if they work at it, they can break
free...eventually."

"That could take them days. They'll need food and water."

"Awww. Let 'em drag their sorry asses down to the lake when
they get thirsty. Any greens left?"

She passed him the pack.

"Mulder, I just don't think--"

"Scully, a few days ago they tried to rape you," he reminded
her. The memory made him want to blacken Conan's other eye.
"They've tried to kill me twice."

"So...we should do the same? We're living by the law of the
jungle now, is that it? Kill or be killed? Since when did we
turn into them?"

"When they held you to the ground and--" He stopped himself.
His anger was meant for them, not her. He lowered his tone.
"There's no due process here. What do you want to do?"

"If you're well enough, I'd like to go after Klizzie and the
others."

"I'm good to go right now. And unless you let me kill these
two, I have no intention of staying another day here." Seeing
her shocked expression, he added, "That was a joke. Sort of."

She split the last squirrel in two and gave him the bigger
half. "You really think they can free themselves?"

"If they're resourceful. It'll take them some time, but that'll
give us a head start." He could tell she didn't like the idea.
Finished with his meal, he wiped his hands on his bare thighs.
"It's not like we have a lot of options."

"No, I guess not."

"Come on then. I'll help you pack."

"Where are your clothes?"

"Still in the lake. I have to go back to fill the water bag
anyway."

Mulder rose stiffly and walked over to the two prisoners.

He bent low enough to smell Conan's sour breath. Keeping his
voice dead calm, he whispered, "If you ever touch her again," -
- he paused to stare directly into the scarred man's eyes --
"I'll rip your fuckin' head off."

*   *   *

Klizzie settled beside Dzeh on the sleeping skins. They were
camped in the open under a clear, starry sky. She loved this
time of night, hearing the sounds of the Clan all around her,
some already snoring, others talking in low voices or singing
lullabies to their children. She felt safe when surrounded by
her family, especially with Dzeh by her side.

He was lying on his back, his muscled arm pillowing her head.

"The stars are bright tonight," he said, studying the sky.

She looked up, too, content to watch the stars as he lightly
stroked her bare shoulder.

"Gini asked me earlier today what it is like to lay with a
man," she said.

Dzeh turned to look at her with surprise. "She did?"

"Mm hm."

"What did you tell her?"

Klizzie laughed. "My answer was for women's ears only," she
teased.

"Women? Gini is only eight Mastodon Feasts old. She is no
woman. Not yet."

"She will be soon, Dzeh. Some girls begin their Moon Time as
early as nine."

He grunted, pretending to be offended. "I do not want to hear
such talk. That is for 'women's ears only.'"

Again Klizzie laughed and then poked him gently in the ribs.
"Seriously, it is time for you to start inquiries about a mate
for her."

"No, my sister is still a little girl...a baby."

"She is not. Not if she is asking questions about laying with
men."

Now he chuckled, a gravelly sound deep within his chest that
loosened the muscles in Klizzie's legs and filled her abdomen
with fire.

"Fine," he said, "I will make inquiries at the Feast. I think
your Aunt 'A-Chin' might have a son about Gini's age."

She slapped his arm. "My Aunt's name is not 'Nose.' It is 'Ho-
Ya' -- 'Smart.'"

He shrugged. "Well, she has a big nose. And she is not so very
smart, as I recall."

It was true. Ho-Ya seemed to have no common sense whatsoever.
She could get turned around in her own lodge. And she had made
Badger Clan ill on more than one occasion when she added bad
mushrooms to the evening meal. But she did have a good spirit
and several sons with more sense than their mother. Perhaps one
of them would be suitable for Gini.

Klizzie scanned the starry sky, as if she might find a mate for
Gini there. "Tell me the story of Ant Clan," she asked, never
tired of hearing about the Spirits and their heavenly world.

"Ant Clan? Klizzie, I have told you that story more times than
I can count."

"Please, Dzeh? The Mastodon's Eye is visible tonight."

The Mastodon's hazy eye was little more than a faint smudge in
the sky, visible only on the clearest nights.

"So it is."

"Tell the story," she urged.

Keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the others, he
began. "Long before the days of Owl Clan, Badger Clan, Beaver
Clan and all the other clans we know today, there was only one
clan and it had no name because its people did not worship
animal spirits. They killed and ate whichever beasts they
desired without asking permission or sending up prayers of
thanks. One day they speared and butchered a baby mastodon, and
after eating their fill, these wasteful people fell asleep,
leaving the remainder of the carcass for the buzzards." Dzeh
traced a lazy circle around Klizzie's right breast, bringing
her nipple to a point. He whispered into her ear, "I can think
of better ways to pass this night than the telling of old
tales."

"Finish the story," she said, her voice made faint by his
caress.

He drew a second circle around her left breast. "The Mastodon
Spirit became angry at the clan for their carelessness. So,
first taking the form of a mortal man, he sneaked into their
camp while they slept and lay with the mate of the clan's
leader. After planting a child in her womb, he returned to his
place in the heavens. Nine moons later, the woman gave birth to
a son who eventually grew up to be a powerful shaman." Dzeh
tickled her inner thigh. "Are you sure you want me to continue
the story?"

"Yes."

He edged his hand up under her skirt. "One night, the powerful
shaman had a dream, and in his dream his real father, the
Mastodon Spirit, took him up to heaven and showed him the world
of Spirits. He told his earthly son, 'Teach the clan to respect
the Spirits. If not, they will be forever cursed.' So the
shaman did as he was told and returned to the clan the next
morning to tell them they must pray and give thanks to the
spirits. The clan was lazy and refused to do as they were
asked. Again they killed a mastodon and left its carcass for
the buzzards, making the Mastodon Spirit angry. Sssoooo..."
Dzeh's thumb brushed the curls at her groin.

She felt wetness flow from her womanhood. "Dzeehhh..."

"The Mastodon Spirit turned the people of the clan into ants
and his son, the shaman, into a giant armadillo and he put them
all in the sky where he could keep his eye on them."

Much to Klizzie's disappointment, Dzeh removed his hand from
between her thighs and pointed at the sky.

"And there they are still," he said, "in the northeastern sky.
To the east of the Steadfast Star, the Mastodon Spirit waits
for the clearest nights to open his eye and watch the cursed
Ant Clan crawl like a white river across the heavens while his
armadillo son waits to devour them."

The legend was a warning. The ways of the Spirits must be
followed or there would be a price to pay.

Klizzie had heard gossips in Owl Clan say that she was barren
because angry Spirits willed it. They claimed her childlessness
was a reprisal for her role in Dzeh and Klesh's falling out
four summers ago.

In the years before Klizzie became Dzeh's mate, Dzeh had been
Trading Partners with her cousin Klesh. The men's partnership
created a necessary alliance between Owl Clan and Badger Clan,
which had been enemies for many generations.

Unlike Hunting Partners, who were almost always kin, and Joking
Partners, who were usually cross-cousins, Trading Partners were
not related by blood. The purpose of their partnership was to
create a bond between two clans that had no family ties,
ensuring inter-clan cooperation during periods of peace, and
tempering the amount of killing in times of war. A clan's
survival often depended on the benevolence of its non-kin
partners.

To reinforce such affiliations, Trading Partners exchanged
protection, food, goods and even their mates. Everybody agreed
the tradition of exchange -- mate-exchange in particular --
was essential to the alliance, ensuring an intimate bond
nearly as strong as blood between partners, their co-mates,
and their respective clans. Ritual mate-exchange and the
security it offered to clans benefited everyone.

The waters had been muddied, however, when Klizzie and Dzeh
became mates because she was Klesh's first cousin. Yes, it was
custom for Trading Partners to exchange mates, but it was also
taboo for Klizzie to be co-mate to her own kin. So of course
Dzeh had to insist his partnership with Klesh be dissolved.
 
Klesh had become angry and refused to recognize the breaking of
the partnership. He went so far as to demand Klizzie lay as his
co-mate during the Mastodon Feast, ignoring the fact that she
was his cousin.

She had been only fourteen at the time, but that was no excuse.
She knew she shared responsibility for what happened. Shame
burned her cheeks at the memory of her transgressions against
Owl and Badger Clans, against Dzeh.

Lying beside Dzeh now, looking up at the stars, Klizzie
reminded herself it was pointless to relive those old days in
her head. They were "fish down the river," as the elders would
say. Klesh had been banished and his partnership with Dzeh
ended. All Klizzie could do now was pray to the Spirits for the
same forgiveness she had received from Dzeh and Owl Clan.

"Were you marking our trail today, Klizzie?" Dzeh asked,
returning his hand to her leg.

She nodded. "Yes."

"For Muhl-dar and Day-nuh?"

Would he chastise her for her actions? Her eyes went to the
strange bracelet he wore on his wrist, Muhl-dar's bracelet. She
wanted to touch it, but kept her hands still for now.

"Yes, I left the markers for them."

"Klizzie..." He leaned over to kiss her nose. "You are a kind
woman and I am hopeful the Spirits will reward you for it with
a child this season. Then perhaps you will no longer feel the
need to take care of orphans."

His words stung her, despite his good intentions. One of the
orphans he was referring to was his own sister. "I pray every
day," she said.

"Good." He cupped her cheek in his palm. "Maybe tonight the
Spirits will listen," he said, before lowering his lips to her
mouth.

He rolled on top of her and she accepted his kiss. Parting her
knees, she offered a silent prayer to the Spirits: Please keep
Owl Clan safe; help the newcomers, Day-nuh and Muhl-dar, find
their way to Turkey Lake; and please, please, bless me with a
child.

*   *   *

Somewhere in the distance a mastodon trumpeted, waking Mulder
from a nightmare about Scully and a four-toed Cro-Magnon. He
cocked an ear to listen. Crickets. Frogs. Owls. Nothing
treacherous, yet he curled protectively around Scully, who was
lying beside him on a fur blanket under the open sky.

They were camped on a grassy hill next to one of Klizzie's
stone markers. This was the fifth such marker they'd found
before he had become too tired to go further. He'd fallen
asleep almost immediately after finishing their evening meal
and had slept soundly until just moments ago.

"Scully. Scully, are you awake?" he whispered into her ear.

"M'now. Whassamatter?"

"I heard a noise."

This roused her. "What noise?"

"A voice. It said, 'Wake Scully up.'"

Laughter chuffed from her nose. "And why would this voice tell
you a crazy thing like that?"

"Musta been feelin' lonely." He gave her hip an inviting
caress.

She rolled onto her back within the circle of his arms and
kissed him tenderly on the lips.

He wanted to make love to her again. Oh, God, how he wanted to
make love to her.

She disappointed him by breaking their kiss to stare up at the
midnight sky. "The stars are beautiful here."

"Mmm. No city lights to spoil the view."

"Look, you can see the Andromeda Nebula." She pointed to a hazy
spot east of the Pole Star.

It was true. The faint smudge that marked Andromeda's knee was
visible tonight. "That galaxy is the most distant object that
can be seen by the unaided human eye," he said, rolling onto
his back, too. He kept one arm tucked beneath her, cushioning
her head. "It contains more than one hundred billion stars that
are more than two million light years away from here. Did you
know that?"

"I did."

"You did?"

"Don't sound so surprised." A smile quirked her lips. "I
studied astronomy as an undergrad, you know."

"Astronomy, anthropology, physics...wow. Frohike was right --
you are hot."

Her tiny smile widened into an all-out grin. "I know Greek,
too."

"Then you know the myth?"

"Of Andromeda? Sure. Cassiopeia and Cepheus had a daughter--"

"See them there? Cassiopeia and Cepheus? Between Andromeda and
the Little Dipper?"

"I see them. Cassiopeia boasted about Andromeda's beauty, so
much so, she angered the sea nymphs who prevailed upon the god
Poseidon to dispatch a sea monster--"

"A whale."

"Right, a whale, to ravage the coast of Ethiopia. To appease
the whale, Cepheus chained Andromeda to a rock to be devoured
by the monster."

Awful thing to do to your own daughter, Mulder thought. An
image of Sam and his dad intruded on his thoughts, making him
wince. Back-peddling from the unwelcome association, he focused
instead on Scully's voice.

"Fortunately Perseus happened by and killed the whale," Scully
continued. "He liberated and married Andromeda, and the two of
them rode off on Perseus' winged horse, Pegasus."

"To live happily ever after?"

"Presumably."

God, did life ever actually turn out that way?

His eyes scoured the heavens while his imagination fleshed out
the constellations. Pegasus, Hercules, Ophiuchus holding the
two ends of the Serpent. That image seemed more representative
of life than Andromeda and Perseus riding off into the sunset.
It also reminded Mulder in a free association sort of way of
the mark Scully wore on her back.

"Scully, why the Ourobourus?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your tattoo."

"Oh, Mulder, I don't... Why is that important now?"

"Wasn't it always important? I mean, a tattoo is forever...at
least, it's supposed to be. It must have meant something to
you when you chose it."

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can explain it. I was in a different
frame of mind at the time."

"Different how?" He honestly wanted to know.

"I was feeling like my life was at a standstill. I guess I saw
the Ourobourus as a symbol of movement."

And what about Ed Jerse? What had he symbolized?

Mulder flushed with unexpected jealousy at the thought of that
man's hands on Scully. Inappropriate and irrational, he knew.
He and Scully hadn't been romantically involved at the time,
although, admittedly, he'd always felt a tad territorial about
her, long before her sojourn in Philadelphia. Truth be told,
he'd assumed an air of proprietorship the day she walked into
his office, considering her part and parcel of the X-Files,
and therefore "his."

God, he could be such an ass sometimes.

"Did you sleep with Jerse?" he asked, surprising himself. It
was none of his damn business and he hadn't meant to say the
words out loud, despite the fact that he'd been wondering if
she had or hadn't ever since he'd been called to St. John's
Hospital to bring her back from Philadelphia. Christ, it had
scared the hell out of him to discover she'd exposed herself
to both ergot and a homicidal maniac. Seeing her in that
hospital room, pale as the bed linens...fear and jealousy had
sucker-punched him. Then when she couldn't even look him in
the eye, he'd been convinced she'd done it, gone to bed with
the cold-blooded killer.

It had taken every ounce of his strength to hide his fury.
Hell, he was having a hard time controlling it right now.

Scully frowned. "Is it relevant anymore?"

"No. I just wondered what it was about him that you found so
alluring."

She didn't even hesitate before replying. "He listened to me,
Mulder. Never underestimate the charm of a man who truly
listens."

"I don't listen?"

Of course he knew he didn't, not always anyway. Shit, if
anyone was to blame for Scully's rebellious romp in
Philadelphia, he was. He'd practically pushed her into Jerse's
tattooed arms.

"Mulder, I got my tattoo as a reminder to move forward with my
life."

He took a deep breath, trying to cool his unwarranted pique.
It was water under the bridge and shouldn't bother him like
this. "Have you?" he asked, his voice calm, belying his true
resentment. "Since then, I mean? Moved forward with your
life?"

"I think so." Her gentle smile helped mollify his jealousy.
She snaked her arms around his neck.

He tightened his hold on her. "So..." He murmured into her
ear, "when are we gonna, you know, do it again?"

She surprised him by rolling on top of him. "Right now,
Mulder," she said, her voice muddled with longing.
"Right...now."

x-x-x-x-x-x
 
CHAPTER EIGHT

Mulder keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the silky warmth of
Scully beside him on the furs. They are spooned together, her
naked back against his bare chest, his bent knees fitted
behind hers, his nose buried in her hair. He inhales, deeply,
fully, and feels himself grow hard from the unadulterated
scent of her. Wanting to make love, he tries to wake her with
a gentle brush of his fingers along her bare arm.

She stirs, sighs with contentment, nestles more firmly into
his lap, which causes a delightful friction there.

"Sculleeee...," he groans. His lips caress the curve of her
ear; his tongue searches for the lobe, finds it, sucks. She
moans, too, and the sound flows molten in his veins, making
him desperate to be inside her. They've made love only twice,
yet he has already become addicted to the act, to her. Now he
wants to make love to her everyday for the rest of his life.

He positions himself so he can enter her from behind. They
haven't tried it this way and he's eager. He nudges between
her thighs.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice almost nonexistent.

In response, she grinds against him. Oh, God, she feels good.
His hands grope her in the dark. Hip, waist...

His exploration stops when his fingers encounter the swollen
expanse of her belly. She is...

Enormously pregnant.

No, this can't be. What the hell is going on?

"Scully?" Explain this. We never agreed to it.

He sits up, rolls her onto her back only to find she isn't
Scully. She is Diana.

His erection goes soft.

Smiling, Diana sweeps her dark hair away from her face, which
is flushed with satisfaction. She reaches up to cup Mulder's
cheek with her palm. "It's wonderful, isn't it? We're having a
baby. You're going to be a father."

"No, Diana, I don't want this."

"Of course you do."

"No, I--"

"Mulder, don't question it. It's a miracle."

Diana transforms back into Scully, who is still pregnant.

Oh, shit...shit...that son-of-a-bitch caveman is lying on the
other side of her, his scarred hand placed on her distended
abdomen. He sneers at Mulder, arrogant, seemingly victorious.
In his free hand he grasps a long snake and the snake's tail
rattles, sounding like laughter.

Jealousy, anger, and confusion swirl through Mulder in equal
measure. Is the caveman the father of Scully's baby?

This isn't a miracle. It's a fucking nightmare--

*   *   *

"Mulder, wake up. You're having a bad dream." Scully stroked
Mulder's cheek, trying to bring him out of his nightmare as
gently as possible.

"Scully!" he gasped. His eyes flew open; a look of panic paled
his face. Sitting up, he groped the air between them. His hand
stopped dead on her stomach, his fingers clutching the fabric
of her shirt. "You're dressed."

"Yes, so are you. We wore our clothes to bed, remember? It was
cold last night."

He appeared confused and not entirely awake. "You're not
pregnant?"

Where the hell had that come from? "No, I'm not pregnant."

He released his hold on her shirt, collapsed onto his back and
wiped sweat from his face. "Thank God. Wow...that was a *hell*
of a night--"

His mouth clamped shut so quickly she heard his teeth clack.

"You dreamt I was pregnant?"

"Uh...the details are kinda fuzzy..." His voice petered out
and his eyes looked everywhere but at her.

"Which parts do you remember?"

"It was just a dream, Scully. It didn't mean anything." He
closed his eyes and drew the furs up to his chin as if
intending to go back to sleep.

She remained sitting up. The pre-dawn sky was crimson above
the mountain peaks. They were camped next to one of Klizzie's
markers on a hill overlooking a marsh, where weed-choked
waters reflected the bloody glow of daybreak.

"Mulder, you were the one who once told me a dream is an
answer to a question we haven't learned how to ask. What
question do you think you need answered?"

His eyes opened reluctantly, filled with worry. "I..." Again
he stopped.

"You what?"

He took a breath and made a face that looked as if he were
preparing to go sewer diving for flukemen. "I don't think it
would be a good idea for you to get pregnant right now."

A flare of annoyance heated her cheeks. "I shouldn't have to
remind you, Mulder, I can't get pregnant."

She threw back the animal skins, intending to rise from the
bed.

He stopped her with a tug on her shirtsleeve. "We don't know
that."

"Yes, we do. I don't believe in your regression theory. Your
missing scar and my fading tattoo are not proof of anything.
We aren't growing younger. Even if we were, it wouldn't
necessarily mean I'd become fertile again."

Wanting to forego any further discussion about her defunct
reproductive system, she rose from the bed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sounding conciliatory and a
little nervous.

"To the marsh. I want to wash up," she said, tugging her boots
on.

She located her jacket, then his, in the semi-dark and
searched his pockets for the flashlight. Her hand closed
around his jackknife. Better take it, too, since she no longer
had her gun.

The loss of the gun still rankled. They'd spent nearly two
hours searching for it, leaving Scarface and his sidekick
handcuffed to the mastodon skull while they combed the woods.

"Are you *sure* he threw it this way?" Mulder had asked at
least half a dozen times.

She grew increasingly irritated each time she answered him.
"Yes, I'm sure."

They both understood the importance of finding the weapon --
for protection and food -- but it had seemingly vanished in
the mastodons' chaotic wake as if into Mulder's alleged Flux
Space. Downed trees, shredded vegetation and muddy prints
stymied their efforts, and eventually forced them to abandon
their search.

There was some small consolation in the fact that it had been
her gun and not his that was lost, since she'd been down three
rounds, while his clip remained full.

"Take my gun," he suggested when she tucked his knife into her
pocket. "Please."

She flicked on his flashlight. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe I should come with you." He started to get up.

"Mulder, I'd prefer a little privacy, if you don't mind."

That stopped him, as she knew it would. With a hesitant nod he
lay back down on the skins. "Yell if you need me."

"I'll only be a few minutes."

The marsh was located approximately 600 yards downhill from
their camp, where the land formed a shallow V between two
sparsely treed slopes. The depression served as a catch basin
for rainwater and snowmelt. Cattails and duckweed clogged its
outer rim, making access to the water a challenge.

Scully picked her way down-slope through thigh-high weeds.
Mulder's waking words continued to nag at her as she tried to
find solid footing in the spongy soil. It seemed muddier this
morning than last night when she'd come down to fill the
waterbag. She began to wonder if she'd taken the wrong path.

Mulder was right -- this wouldn't be the most opportune time
for her to get pregnant. But if a miracle occurred and it
happened, she would embrace the prospect of becoming a mother.
Wouldn't he be equally pleased? He knew she wanted children;
he'd helped her petition for the adoption of Emily. And
although he'd never said anything outright about wanting kids
himself, he'd been so supportive throughout Emily's illness,
Scully had just assumed he wanted children...someday...not
necessarily with her, but in a general sense. Had she misread
him?

She'd also assumed their personal relationship was moving to a
more serious level now that they'd slept together. To her,
making love meant...well...she wasn't sure exactly what it
meant...but it was more than being friends.

In light of his behavior this morning, however, she could see
they had opposing views about their intimate act. Apparently
Mulder wasn't imagining 2.3 kids, a white picket fence, and
"happily ever after."

It figured her dream-come-true would be his worst nightmare.
They disagreed on so many things, why should this be
different?

Two ducks squabbled for territory several yards to her left.
The less dominant flew off, wings thumping the air,
indignation nattering from its throat. She panned the reeds
with her light. A snake slithered away from her beam.
 
She took a few careful steps forward, inching closer to the
water.

Maybe she was jumping to conclusions. Mulder had never said
that getting her pregnant was his worst nightmare. He'd said
now was not a good time.

It was possible he'd been having second thoughts about his
regression theory. If that were the case, he might be trying
to spare her feelings, knowing her fertility was not going to
return. Perhaps he was worried he'd gotten her hopes up over
nothing. He'd seen her dreams dashed once already, when she
lost Emily.

Leaping onto a slippery stone at the water's edge, she nearly
skidded off. Arms flailing, she caught her balance and
steadied herself.

Mulder had stood by her when Emily lay dying, until she pushed
him away herself, preferring to go through her heartache
alone. She'd been afraid to accept his support at the time,
fearful his strength would invite her own weakness. And she
felt certain if she let herself lose control, she would never,
ever recover.

In the months following Emily's death, she shrank from the
truth, unwilling to confront the fact that she'd lost her one
and only child and could never have another. She found it
increasingly painful to be around Mulder, knowing he had
accepted her infertility a long time ago. Then she noticed she
was starting to resent him because he still retained the
ability to have children, whereas she no longer had the
option, and she felt ashamed of her resentment.

Hunkering down on the stone, she blinked away tears, surprised
at how angry the inequity still made her feel. She didn't
blame Mulder, either directly or indirectly, then or now, for
the things that had been done to her. The theft of her ova,
her inability to conceive and bear children, Emily's death --
none of these had been his fault.

He'd been a victim, too, his family whittled down to almost
nothing.

Bending forward for a drink, she sank her fingers into the
mud. For just a second, she felt as if she were going to be
pulled in. She sat up quickly, withdrawing her hands. Murky
water quickly filled the indentations she left behind.

Sometimes she worried that no man would want her, a barren
woman. Ridiculous, she knew. An old-fashioned idea. She could
name dozens of women without children who lived happy,
satisfied lives, who accomplished remarkable things and
bettered the world.

But the desire to reproduce was strong. And without the hope
of having a family of her own, she often felt incomplete.

The sunrise shone upside-down in the water, tinting it copper.
An iris floated just beyond her reach, broken from its stem. A
frantic insect ran round and round its sodden petals,
searching for an escape. The blossom would eventually become
waterlogged and sink, brown with rot. The insect would drown.

Hugging her knees, watching the dawn break, Scully felt
isolated, cut off from creation the same way the lost insect
was cut off from shore. Bullfrogs hummed on all sides,
ballyhooing their territories. Ducks quacked, protecting their
nests. The water smelled fecund, milky with fish eggs, teeming
with the promise of life. Scully didn't share their future.

She was a genetic dead end.

She turned off Mulder's flashlight. The sun had risen high
enough to see the silhouette of the surrounding hills, the
ducks on the pond, the fluttering rushes. Somewhere up the
slope, still in shadow, Mulder waited for her. She had no
doubt he was awake, alert, listening intently in the event she
cried out for his help.

As always, he was watching her back.

They had made love twice since coming to this place. She
wanted desperately to make love again, but now she didn't know
if it was reasonable to encourage him. She loved him with all
her heart, and yet in so many ways she hardly knew him. She
was unsure how he felt about her, if he had any hope for a
future with her, or what his real feelings were on the subject
of children.

One thing was certain: if he wanted children, the two of them
had no future together. He deserved an opportunity to become a
father. He deserved a woman who could give him sons and
daughters. She would never ask him to forgo a family because
of her defect.

She ran a finger through the water, causing a ripple. They
never should have made love in the first place, not until
they'd talked all this out. She'd been caught in a selfish
moment, overwhelmed to have him back after coming so close to
losing him.

And now there was no undoing it.

*   *   *

Mulder hefted Conan's spear while gauging the distance to his
target. Approximately 100 feet across the weedy meadow,
Klizzie's stone marker mocked him. Three throws, three misses.
To be fair, he was closing in; his last attempt had sailed
mere inches over the top.

"Any last words?" he asked the pile of rocks. "No? Then
prepare to be annihilated."

Three long strides...he hurled the spear, lobbing it like a
baseball, high and straight, and with every ounce of power he
could put behind it. The shaft wobbled only a little this
time. His aim was true. The point made contact, crashed
through the stones and toppled the pile with a satisfying
clatter.

"Yes!" Mulder's fist jabbed the air.

"Nice shot, Tarzan." Scully approached carrying a small basket
and two skewered, roasted lizards. Big lizards. Two-foot-long
lizards, if you counted their charred tails.

"Where'd you get those?" he asked, relieved to see her with or
without food. When she left their bed this morning, she'd said
she needed a few minutes to herself. A "few minutes" had
stretched into an hour -- as far as he could tell without his
watch -- and he'd become worried.

Wanting to go look for her, but not wanting to invade her
privacy -- or answer any more questions about his nightmare --
he decided to burn off his nervous energy by practicing with
the spear.

Scully set the basket on the ground beside her feet and
extended one of the skewered lizards like an olive branch. He
accepted it, feeling unworthy after this morning's foul up.
She was wearing her "I'm fine" expression, but he knew she
must have been dissecting and analyzing what he'd said -- and
not said. Concern showed in the tightness of her mouth, in the
gloss of her eyes.

As much as he hated to see her worried, he couldn't tell her
the truth: he didn't want children, not now, not ever. Not
even with her. Or maybe especially with her. Any kid of his
was doomed and he'd be dooming her, too, to a lifetime of
disappointment and heartache if she became pregnant by him.

He was simply not father material, any more than he was big
brother or husband material.

For that matter, most of the time he wasn't even good FBI
partner material.

Best case scenario, their kid would be in therapy for the rest
of its life, assuming it wasn't abducted or killed first. And
Scully would grow to hate him, assuming she wasn't
abducted...again...or killed, too.

Then she'd leave him, just as Diana had.

Scully was holding her lizard like an ear of corn and nibbling
daintily on a hind leg. Humidity from the marsh had curled her
hair today and the morning sun was shining through the frizz,
giving it the appearance of a coppery halo. A scrap of meat
clung to the corner of her mouth. She looked so beautiful he
could barely breathe.

He reached over to wipe the food from her lips. When she
didn't duck away from his hand, he decided to kiss her,
wanting...*needing*...the intimacy. Bowing his head, he leaned
in and gently pressed his lips to hers. Was it fair to
encourage this, knowing she wanted kids and he didn't? Her
fertility would return...probably soon. Wouldn't it be better
to end things now before that happened?

Otherwise, he would end up hurting her...hurting them both.

She was responding to his kiss with such tenderness. He hated
himself for it. He was leading her on, giving her false hope.

He pulled back, uncertain what to do. The idea of losing her
scared the hell out of him.

Then again, so did fathering a child.

"You were going to tell me where you found breakfast," he
said, knowing this wasn't the subject they needed to discuss.

She waved the lizard. The tension seemed to lessen around her
mouth and eyes. "There were dozens of these sunning themselves
on the rocks by the marsh."

"How'd you catch them?"

Digging into her pocket, she produced his jackknife. "With
this."

"The lizards just sat there while you sliced and diced?"

"Hardly." She handed him her half-eaten lizard and then opened
his knife to demonstrate. Pointing its blade at an orangey
toadstool growing in the damp soil about ten feet away, she
said, "See that mushroom?"

"Uh-huh."

"Watch."

The knife pinwheeled through the air and landed dead center in
the cap of the toadstool, halving it.

"That's pretty fancy knife-throwing, Jane of the Jungle."

"You're no slouch with that spear of yours either, Tarzan."

"Are you speaking metaphorically?" He let himself smile.

She smiled, too, which pleased him even more than usual
because it wasn't one of her typical barely-there smiles, but
a rare teeth-and-gums grin that made up for all of his failed
attempts to make her laugh. Especially now, given the way
their morning had started.

"Metaphors aside, Mulder, keep practicing. Without my gun, we
need all the survival skills we can muster."

It was true. Three days of traveling had exhausted their food
supply. And although the snapping turtle they'd managed to
catch and stone to death last night had filled their stomachs,
there'd been no leftovers for breakfast.

Procuring food in the Ice Age was evidently going to be a
constant struggle since they didn't know which plants were
edible and which were lethal. With no way to safely supplement
their paltry meat diet, Mulder was finding himself
persistently hungry; he'd already lost an inch or two around
his waist, enough to make him cinch his belt a couple of
holes.

Scully walked away to retrieve the knife. He felt a flutter of
panic as he watched her retreating back.

"Where'd you learn to throw like that?" he asked, needing to
connect with her, if only by the sound of her voice.

"My dad. He taught Bill, Charlie and me after giving us Swiss
Army knives for Christmas one year." She returned with the
knife, wiping bits of toadstool from the blade and folding it
closed. She traded it to him for her breakfast.

Mulder's knife had once belonged to his father. Bill Mulder
had acquired it while in the military soon after Mulder was
born and had carried it for years. The grip was worn smooth by
constant handling. Whether pacing the shore at Quonochontaug
or the floor of his study in Chilmark, Bill Mulder kept a hand
thrust into his pocket, turning the knife round and round. He
occasionally drew it out to slice an apple or open a letter,
but most of the time it remained hidden away...like so much of
his life.

A few months after his father had been killed Mulder was
packing his belongings in West Tisbury when he found the knife
in a packet from the funeral home. He decided to keep it,
hoping the weight of it in his pocket and the feel of it
against his palm might somehow bring his dad closer, even if
posthumously. While holding it, Mulder could almost believe
that under different circumstances he and his father might
have been Indian Guides for real.

"Melissa didn't get a knife, too?" he asked.

"Yes, but as a self-proclaimed pacifist, she declined to use
it."

Scully's brows pinched together and Mulder guessed she was
thinking about the violent way Melissa had died.

He quickly steered the subject in what he hoped would be a
less painful direction. "Didn't your mom object to giving you
kids knives as Christmas gifts?"

"Not at all. Mom's a practical woman. And in the days before
cell phones, a Swiss Army knife was probably the most
practical thing we could carry. She did insist Dad instruct us
on proper handling. Besides, we weren't *that* young. And
Swiss Army knives were an improvement over the BB guns."

Her mention of the BB guns brought to mind that unspeakable
afternoon when he'd accompanied her mother to the monument
shop to pick up Scully's headstone...which reminded him of
Duane Barry and Scully's abduction...which reminded him--

"You were gone a long time this morning," he said. "I thought
we decided you weren't going to go off on your own."

She stopped chewing. Downcast eyes hid her emotions. "I wasn't
very far."

"I called to you." The fear he'd felt at that moment returned
to him now full force. Could he demand she never leave his
sight? "You didn't answer."

"Mulder, nothing happened. I'm fine."

He nodded, not wanting to argue. Right now all he wanted to do
was get back to the way things had been the day they first
made love, when he'd felt on top of the world. He didn't want
to lose the closeness they'd had at that moment, the happiness
he'd felt.

He pointed to the basket she'd set on the ground earlier.
"What's in your basket, Little Red?"

His question brought a smug grin to her face. She picked up
the container and lifted the lid so he could see inside.
"Fresh duck eggs."

Three large eggs sat nestled in the bottom of the basket. His
mouth began to water.

"Scully, I love you."

The words just popped out -- heartfelt and meaning so much
more than "thanks for bringing eggs."

She seemed to miss his greater meaning, however. Or was
purposely ignoring it. "Hope you don't mind eating them raw."

"Not at all."

He fished an egg from the basket. Using his knife, he chiseled
a dime-sized a hole into the top of the shell. He handed her
the knife and raised the egg to his lips. "Down the hatch."

He sucked out the contents as if drinking from a cup. Yolk and
white slid into his mouth and he bit down on it, breaking the
yolk with his tongue. God, it tasted wonderful--

"Oh..." Scully's gasp drew his attention.

She was staring at the egg she held, a look of revulsion on
her face. Tears suddenly swamped her eyes, overflowed her
lashes and plummeted in two straight lines past the lowered
corners of her mouth.

"What is it, Scully?"

She handed him the egg. Curled inside was the gray, sticky
embryo of an unhatched baby duck. The bird was dead.

*   *   *

Tsa-ond was a sacred place, a mountain cave where men had come
for generations to express their devotion to the Spirits, to
make offerings, and to pray for good hunting, good health, and
peace among the clans.

This afternoon a central fire warmed the cave with a
flickering golden glow. Dzeh crouched in front of the Prayer
Wall, his hands cupping a small bone idol, an offering to Hare
Spirit. Behind him, the men of Owl Clan chanted individual
prayers. Group prayers would come later, after the Shaman led
them in a Telling Ceremony, an exchange of stories about
personal spiritual encounters. Each man's supernatural
experience would be held up for scrutiny by the group,
evaluated and accepted or rejected as a true spiritual sign.

Today Dzeh had a story to tell -- a dream vision he'd had
three nights ago. He was not eager to tell his dream; it was
full of mystery and foreboding.

Dzeh reverently placed his offering, a small fertility idol,
on the ground in front of the Prayer Wall. He'd carved the
figurine from the jawbone of a hare hoping the dead rabbit
would speak to Hare Spirit on his behalf. Because rabbits
mated year-round, producing many offspring, Dzeh was appealing
to Hare, hoping the Spirit would bless Klizzie with a child
this season.

The bone idol had been meticulously crafted. Smaller than
Dzeh's thumb, it represented a woman ripe with child, her
breasts swollen with milk. She had wide hips, to ensure an
easy birth. Too many women were lost during their labor --
like Dzeh's mother and his oldest sister, Ne-zhoni. He did not
want to lose Klizzie this way, too. He would rather she had no
child at all than to see her fly off with the Spirits as she
struggled to give birth.

The idea of losing Klizzie made Dzeh feel panicked and queasy.
He loved her so much. Too much perhaps. Whenever he looked at
her, lay with her, even talked with her about trivial matters,
such as the gathering of pine nuts or the cleaning of deer
skins, his heart beat like skull drummers at a Mastodon Feast.
He had been very fond of his previous mate, but his affection
for Klizzie outshone that older love as the sun to the moon.

Dzeh's tiny idol had a nearly blank face, as was custom; only
a few shallow notches hinted at features. Its hair, however,
was crosshatched to represent braids similar to Klizzie's.
Dzeh had spent many winter evenings incising each precise
line. The hands and feet were simple points with no toes or
fingers; the fertility Spirits cared little for these parts of
the body, attentive only to the reproductive aspects of the
offering, which were exaggerated and detailed. Dzeh had
polished the entire figure by rubbing it with sand and then
bear fat until its breasts and belly glistened.

He murmured placating words to Hare Spirit before leaving the
idol and rising to his feet to add a picture to the Prayer
Wall.

Several other men stood at the Wall painting images. Small
bowls of pigment and binder dotted the cave floor. The binder
had been made from a mix of albumen and pinyon gum. The
pigments ranged in color from black to blue to red to white.
Charcoal, azurite, hematite, and white clay had been ground
into powders. Brushes had been prepared by chewing the tips of
twigs to remove the pulp, leaving fibers for painting small
solid areas, clear lines and fine details. Dots were applied
with fingertips.

Dzeh selected a tortoiseshell bowl filled with binder. He
added a pinch of charcoal to it and, using his brush, mixed
the materials together, creating a viscous black paint. He
wasn't much of an artist -- not nearly as accomplished as his
Uncle Lin -- but it was the act of painting itself, not the
quality of the image, that mattered. Painting a picture on a
Prayer Wall was akin to singing a song to the Spirits during
Feast Days or wearing a totem all year round. It was an act of
respect, faith, and obedience. It focused a man's thoughts,
opening a path of communication to the Spirit World.

The Wall already held countless drawings made over many
generations. Finding an unmarked area wasn't easy. If a man
wanted to paint a large picture, he must draw atop an older
one. Feeling humbled by his communication with Hare Spirit,
Dzeh decided to paint only a small picture this year. He found
a blank space the size of a newborn's palm between the tusks
of a bull mastodon and the outstretched arm of Serpent Holder,
a Spirit who held a large snake.

The image of the Serpent Holder was intimidating, almost life-
size, and reminded Dzeh of his dream vision. He wondered again
if the elders would deem his vision a true spiritual
encounter.

In many respects, he hoped not.

Using careful strokes, he sketched the delicate outline of a
jackrabbit. Additional paint was needed to color the rabbit
reddish-brown and give him white eyes that could see their way
between this world and the Spirit World.

When Dzeh was satisfied with his picture, he put down his
brushes and paints, and joined the other men in a circle
around the fire pit.

Fifteen men and nine boys waited eagerly, yet quietly, for the
Shaman to lead them in the Telling Ceremony. Only the smallest
children and infants were excluded from this ritual. And
women, too, of course, who were busy taking care of the young
ones and preparing tonight's Spirit Feast.

The Shaman walked a circle around the men. He wore a helmet
made from the skullcap of a musk ox, its great horns curled
low over his ears. White clay painted his face in hopes the
Spirits would mistake him for a ghost and allow him access to
their world. A silvery wolf-skin cape, trimmed with owl
feathers and bone beads, hung from his broad shoulders, open
at the front to expose his Owl Clan tattoos -­ circular
designs that represented owl's eyes and superior vision.
Bracelets of snail shells jangled at his wrists and ankles.
Around his neck he wore an impressive amulet made from
iridescent heron feathers, clattering muscle shells and the
gleaming tusks of a saber-toothed cat.

A fog of burning sage, tangy and pleasant smelling, filled the
cave as the Shaman paced, holding a smudge-stick aloft in his
outstretched hand. In his other hand he carried a
tortoiseshell rattle, which he shook to the cadence of his
deep-throated chant. The men joined his chant, lifting their
collective voices to the Spirit World. Dzeh's heart began to
beat faster as the chanting progressed. He felt as if the
Spirits sat with him at the hearth fire. This both frightened
and made him glad.

When the Shaman had gone four times around the circle,
cleansing the cave with his trail of smoke and calling to the
Spirits with his singing, he took his place among the men,
sitting to the right of Lin, the eldest.

Now it was time for the Telling Ceremony.

Foreboding caused Dzeh's hands to quake and he stilled them by
grasping the pouch he wore around his neck. The future held
many secrets. Was his dream a premonition or just a simple
nightmare?

The men proceeded to tell their stories, going in the order of
their ages, starting with Lin. Dzeh listened and waited his
turn. Several of the stories were deemed true visions, their
ramifications were discussed and appropriate prayers were
offered.

The moment finally came for Dzeh to begin telling his story.

"Three nights ago, I had a sleeping vision," he said before
dread seized his throat and stole the force from his voice.
The men nodded, encouraging him to go on. He squeezed his
totem pouch. Took a full breath. Speaking in a hushed tone,
like a mourning dove separated from its mate, he continued,
"In my dream, the newcomer named Muhl-dar captured a snake,
which he placed in a bone cage. When Snake Spirit discovered
the caged snake, he became angry. Snake Spirit released the
snake and turned it into a man, then sent this snake-man to
seek revenge. After much searching, the snake-man found Muhl-
dar living with his red-haired mate at the camp of Owl Clan."

This brought nervous looks to the other men's faces. He knew
they were thinking it had been risky to welcome the strangers
in the first place.

"Muhl-dar fought with snake-man," he continued, "and defeated
him by breaking him into two halves."

Dzeh glanced over at the Prayer Wall with its enormous
painting of the Serpent Holder. For a heartbeat, it looked as
if the snake might be severed in two. A spear of panic slashed
into Dzeh's belly.

"Snake Spirit became enraged by the death of snake-man, so he
disguised himself as a lightning bolt and traveled to earth in
the belly of a giant storm, intending to kill Muhl-dar. The
night sky was turned inside out. The stars and the moon were
moved from their customary positions as the lightning bolt
grew to an enormous size. Cottonwood seeds fell like snow,
even though it was not the season for them. Clansmen ran in
every direction, afraid for their lives." Dzeh closed his
eyes, recalling the fear he felt when he discovered Klizzie
was not by his side. "Those who remained behind heard the
chirping of a bird." Dzeh opened his eyes. "It was followed by
the voice of a far-off female Spirit, who spoke to Muhl-dar,
and although we could not understand her words, he was able to
speak to her in her own strange language, and he became quite
excited and happy to talk with her. She took a deep breath and
blew the cottonwood seeds back to the Spirit World. Then she
swallowed up Muhl-dar and his mate. The people of Owl Clan
were sad to see them go."

That was the end of the dream. He hoped the elders would
decide it was not a prophecy, but only a silly nightmare.

Several moments passed while the men considered what they'd
heard. Finally Dzeh's Uncle Lin spoke.

"I accept Dzeh's vision as a true spiritual sign."

"I agree," said his cousin Wol-la-chee, "but what does it
mean?"

"It is clearly a bad omen," said another man. "Clan members
were lost and the man named Muhl-dar was at fault for their
hardship."

"If that is true, then why does the female Spirit help Muhl-
dar and why is the Clan sad to see him go?" Lin asked.

"It makes no sense," said Wol-la-chee.

"Who is this female Spirit?"

"Who is the snake-man?" asked another.

"Prophecies are often unclear when they are first revealed,"
said the Shaman. "Interpreting them is like hunting in fog.
Sometimes we must wait until events reveal themselves before
we can know whether it is best to charge or run."

"But it is never desirable to lose Clan members," argued a man
who had recently lost his son to dysentery and fever.

"Maybe someone should return to Toh-ta Lodge to kill Muhl-dar
before he cages the snake," suggested a boy barely into his
thirteenth year.

"It might already be too late for that," said Uncle Lin.

"Then we should send Muhl-dar away when he comes," said the
boy's father.

"No." Dzeh shook his head. The dream frightened him,
particularly the part about Klizzie. Even so, he was left with
the feeling that Muhl-dar was the Clan's only hope against the
vengeful Snake Spirit. Dzeh believed the snake-man intended to
cause trouble for all of Owl Clan. He couldn't explain how he
knew such a thing, only that he felt it like the chill of
winter across his back. "Muhl-dar is my Trading Partner. He is
Clan now and has given us no reason to either banish or kill
him." Dzeh glared at the 13-year-old.

The boy lowered his eyes, looking ashamed.

"All aspects of the partnership have not been fulfilled," the
boy's father reminded Dzeh. "You have made only a single
trade."

"We will make more," Dzeh said.

"You will exchange mates with the stranger?"

"Yes, of course," Dzeh said, knowing the ritual would earn the
Clan's trust. Mate-exchange was the ultimate demonstration of
a man's loyalty -- to the Trading Partner and to the Clan.

"Until Dzeh or Muhl-dar choose to sever their partnership, or
Muhl-dar breaks a Clan custom, the newcomer and his mate will
be treated as members of Owl Clan," Lin said. He looked at
each man in turn. "We have accepted Dzeh's vision. We will
watch for additional omens."

Before moving on to the next man's vision, the Shaman urged,
"We must continue to offer prayers to the Spirits for the
protection of Owl Clan. I fear difficult times ahead."

Dzeh silently agreed. Again he glanced at the painting of the
Serpent Holder on the Prayer Wall and again he felt the chill
of winter run down his spine.

*   *   *

While the men were praying in the cave and the women were
preparing the evening's ceremonial meal, Gini and her best
friend Jeha hiked down a gravely trail to the stream to fill
waterbags for tomorrow's journey. Twins Do and Ehdo followed
several paces behind, more interested in playing with their
dolls than in fetching water. The twins were a couple of years
younger than Gini. Jeha was older -- two Mastodon Feasts older
-- and was full of talk about this year's Feast and her
imminent Joining Ceremony. Jeha had been promised by an uncle
to Moasi, a young man in Badger Clan, one of several clans
that would be participating in this year's Feast. Although
Jeha had never met Moasi, she'd heard from a cousin that her
future mate was a good hunter and very handsome.

"Moasi has already killed his first bear, you know," Jeha
bragged.

"So you have told me."

Moasi, Moasi, Moasi. Could Jeha think of nothing else? All
this talk about mates and Joining Ceremonies was making Gini's
stomach hurt. She had learned from Dzeh only this morning that
he was going to inquire about a mate for her at the upcoming
Feast.

"You are growing up, Gini," he had said after finishing his
breakfast. "It is time for you to be mated. I will make
arrangements."

And that was that; he said nothing more and walked away
leaving her too stunned to speak. Which was just as well; it
would have been inappropriate for her to object in any case.

Gini had gone immediately to find Klizzie, hoping to talk to
her about Dzeh's decision, and the bumblebees it had put in
her stomach, but Klizzie was too busy preparing the day's
Spirit Feast to answer her questions.

"We can talk tomorrow. On our way to Turkey Lake." Klizzie
kissed her on the head and hurried away to add pine nuts to
the Offerings.

Gini was as nervous as a trapped goose about the idea of
taking a mate, moving away to a strange clan, leaving the only
family she had ever known. It seemed so unfair. Why did girls
have to leave their clans to be mated and not boys?

"My mother is sewing ivory beads and blue jay feathers to my
Joining Skirt," Jeha prattled as they neared the stream. The
woods thinned here and the twins ran ahead, wanting to be
first to the water. "Ma-ma made the skirt from doe skins as
white as new-fallen snow. And soft! You have never felt such
soft hides."

Jeha would look pretty in her Joining Day skins, Gini had to
admit. Long hair done up in braids with beads and feathers and
a crown of flower blossoms, her perfect skin oiled and
perfumed. Jeha stood half a head taller than Gini. Her waist
curved in and her hips curved out, and her breasts had begun
to swell. Gini's chest remained as flat as any boy's and her
narrow hips led straight down into her skinny legs, knobby
knees and big feet. Sometimes she felt as ugly as a
grasshopper next to her older friend.

It struck her this might be a good thing. Maybe Dzeh would not
be able to find a boy who would want an ugly girl like her.
Then she could stay with Owl Clan and Klizzie.
 
It was sad losing her best friend. Gini and Jeha had been like
sisters all their lives. Now they would never again have the
opportunity to play string games or dolls or Find Me. Jeha
would become a member of Badger Clan. She would be expected to
tend her mate's hearth, raise lots of children. She would
leave Turkey Lake in the autumn and it would be many seasons
before Gini would see her again.

If ever.

The twins stripped out of their fur skirts and waded into the
shallow brook, while Jeha and Gini settled side-by-side on a
low moss-covered rock where they could dangle their feet in
the cold, clear water. They sat near one of Klizzie's stone
markers, set out for the newcomers to follow.

Gini wondered if Muhl-dar and Day-nuh had left Toh-ta Lodge
yet and if they were following Klizzie's trail. Or had they
decided to return to Eel Clan instead? Gini liked the
strangers, especially Muhl-dar, and hoped to see them both
again soon.

Maybe Dzeh could find her a mate like Muhl-dar. Gini guessed
he was a good hunter and she knew he was handsome -- in a
foreign sort of way. Although she had never met Jeha's future
mate, she was quite sure the boy from Badger Clan could not be
as good looking as Muhl-dar.

"Does it not scare you a little?" Gini asked, watching the
twins splash and chase each other in circles. They looked so
much alike, it was easy to lose track of who was who.

"What are you talking about?" Jeha asked.

"Being mated to a man you have not met." Gini could not
imagine it. Klizzie had told her that laying with a man was a
pleasant thing, and Gini believed her, but she also wondered
why women sometimes cried out in the night as if in pain when
they laid with their mates.

Klizzie herself had cried out just last night.

Jeha put on the expression of a grownup. "It is the Clan way.
There is no point in being frightened."

Gini was not so sure. Last fall she had seen a stallion mount
a mare. He had climbed onto her back while she whinnied, the
whites of her eyes showing all around. Clearly, she didn't
like it. When the stallion finally got off her, his male part
hung long and wet-looking.

Did that happen to men?

"Besides," Jeha said, while drawing shapes in the water with
her toe, "it is a worse life to have no mate at all."

That was true. A woman without a mate had no status and was
always last to get her share of meat or skins. If there was
not enough to go around, she went without. A woman alone must
rely on the charity of the Clan for all things.

"And don't forget, you must lie with a man if you want
babies," Jeha said matter-of-factly. "You want babies, don't
you?"

She supposed she did. "What does laying with a man have to do
with getting babies?"

Jeha laughed. "You are still a baby yourself if you do not
know the answer to that."

Gini flushed with embarrassment, although she was uncertain
what it was that made Jeha laugh at her. Klizzie prayed to the
Spirits to bring her babies; she had never mentioned any other
way of getting them. "If you are so smart, tell me where
babies come from."

Do and Ehdo had stopped their running and now sat in the brook
playing a clapping game.  Jeha watched them while she
explained. "You know that a man puts his be-zonz inside a
woman when they lay together, don't you?"

"Yes. Of course." Again she pictured the stallion.

"Well, the baby crawls through the man's be-zonz into the
woman. Ma-ma told me so."

Was that true? It didn't seem possible. It didn't even make
sense.

"Where does the man keep the baby before he puts it in the
woman and how does it fit through his be-zonz?"

"The baby is very small, silly. It grows to normal size
*after* it gets inside the woman."

Well, that made sense at least. Pregnant women were not large,
not at first. They grew bigger only as their time drew near.
Animals were like that, too. The horses mated in the autumn.
By spring, the mares were heavy with foals.

A man's be-zonz might grow large during mating to allow for
the baby's passage, Gini supposed.

Still, why did people pray to Spirits for babies if they came
from men?

Jeha turned away from the twins and lowered her voice to a
whisper. "Watch them sometime. See for yourself."

"Watch what?"

"Our aunts and uncles when they are in their sleeping skins."

"Jeha, that is not polite!" Gini said, wanting suddenly to be
playing games with Do and Ehdo rather than continuing this
conversation. Jeha's talk was making her stomach hurt worse
than before. "Let's swim."

"If you want." Jeha laughed again. She stood to remove her fur
skirt. "But one day you will see I am telling you the truth."

Again Gini pictured the stallion's enormous male part and the
bumblebees in her stomach began to buzz more violently than
ever.

*   *   *

Mulder carried the larger pack and the spears, occasionally
using one of the spears as a walking stick. Scully lugged the
waterbag and the smaller pack, which was intended for storing
food but was currently empty. It was late afternoon and they
were climbing yet another forested hill. They'd been following
Klizzie's markers and traveling northeast for seven days.
Mulder guessed they were covering fifteen to twenty miles a
day now that he was feeling stronger.

"There." Mulder pointed to a stack of fist-sized stones
balanced atop a mossy boulder twenty yards upstream.

"Camp now?" Scully asked. She had begun talking
epigrammatically around mid-morning and had said almost
nothing at all since noon.

Mulder assumed her terseness was the result of fatigue and
hunger. Or a reaction to his own irritability. He felt
snappier than A.D. Skinner at an OPR meeting.

"We still have several hours of daylight left. Let's keep
going. Maybe we can crest the next ridge before dark."

They couldn't stop now -- they had nothing to eat.

"Fine." Scully switched the waterbag to her other hand and
continued hiking.

The path was steep here, zigzagging uphill between ghostly
aspens and sparse evergreens, following a channel carved by the
stream. Loose stones lined the trail. Granite cobbles and tree
roots served as irregular steps. Aspens shivered in the chilly
breeze, their papery leaves chattering like teeth.

The air smelled like pinesap and last year's fermenting
chokecherries.  The skies were overcast again today. Last
night had been downright frigid. He and Scully had huddled
together for warmth, fully dressed beneath the sleeping skins.

Their all-night embrace had been for practical purposes only.

They'd made love only once since Mulder's nightmare, and it
had not been particularly satisfying for either one of them.
They couldn't seem to get out of each other's way, fumbling
with their clothes, bumping noses, elbowing and pinching. It
was all over in less than ten minutes, which was probably for
the best.

Mulder was still embarrassed to think about the welt he'd
raised on Scully's chin when he accidentally clipped her with
his knuckles. He'd meant to caress her, but was distracted by
a biting deerfly and wound up walloping her instead.

They'd both been in sour moods ever since.

Although unwilling to take the lead in their intimate life --
at least for the time being -- Mulder did volunteer to occupy
the forward position on the trail. He set a strenuous pace,
hoping to burn off some of his unrequited sexual energy. He
wanted to be bone-tired before falling into bed with Scully at
the end of each day. That way, he was sure to keep his hands
off her and avoid making an ass of himself...again.

Something moved in the woods up ahead, just beyond Klizzie's
marker. Mulder caught a glimpse of shaggy, reddish-brown fur
between the tree trunks. He stopped and held up a cautionary
finger to Scully.

She came to a standstill a step or two behind him.

"See it?" he whispered, never taking his eyes off the animal.
It was shuffling slowly downhill, partially obscured by
vegetation as it grazed on leaves. Was it a bear? A gorilla?

"Megalonyx," Scully whispered, when it came into full view.

"Megalo-what?"

"Giant Ground Sloth."

Jesus, it looked like some sort of mutant hamster. A ten-foot-
tall mutant hamster.

The bizarre animal rose up on its hind legs, reaching a long-
clawed paw into the upper limbs of an aspen. It tore off a
leafy branch and stuffed it into its mouth. Its arms were
massive. Each paw sported six-inch curved claws. Its head was
undersized for its brawny body, with a wide face, a flat
snout, short, rounded ears, and pig-like eyes set far back on
its skull.

"Carnivorous?" Mulder asked.

"No, but dangerous from the look of those claws."

The sloth hooked another branch and brought it crashing to the
ground. It turned an inquisitive eye toward Mulder and Scully
and sniffed the air. Seemingly unconcerned, it continued to
lazily munch leaves.

God, the thing must weigh three tons.

Three tons of fresh meat.

Thick flank steaks. Tenderloins the size of a man's arm. T-
bones to die for. Mulder's empty stomach rumbled. He quickly
set everything he carried down on the ground...except his most
durable spear.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"

"I'm gonna bag us dinner, Scully."

He hefted the spear, gauged the distance.

"Mulder, use your gun," Scully urged through clenched teeth.

And waste a bullet? Nnnaaah, the sloth was moving very slowly.

"Mulder--"

Ignoring her warning, he charged the beast, spear raised
shoulder high. The sloth stopped eating when it heard him
stampeding up the hill. It turned to face him. Rearing up on
its hind legs, it honked a warning that sounded like a cross
between a grizzly bear and a Mack Truck.

Mulder bellowed right back at him, racing forward, sending a
mini avalanche of gravel downhill behind him. He targeted the
animal's heart, gripped the spear, and prepared for impact.

Twenty feet...fifteen...ten...

The sloth swiped the air with an enormous paw as the spear
punctured its chest. A thick, curving claw raked Mulder's face
and pain exploded along his left cheek. Blood spurted from the
wound.

Ignoring his injury, Mulder thrust the spear more deeply into
the animal's breast.

The sloth roared and pivoted, lifting Mulder to his toes. He
clung to the weapon, while the beast flailed an enormous arm,
trying to bat him off. He dodged the blow, released the spear
and dropped to his knees. Quickly, he scrambled back a step or
two.

The injured sloth attempted a charge but staggered sideways
instead. It lashed out again and missed Mulder by mere inches
before it lost its balance, tottered, and finally collapsed
onto its back.
 
Mulder wasted no time. He clambered up onto the giant's
mountainous belly. Using all his weight, he drove the spear as
deep into the animal as it would go.

The sloth gasped, its head lolled, and its limbs went limp.

Balanced on its chest, Mulder let out a victorious whoop.

"Mulder!" Scully rushed forward, fear in her eyes. "You're
hurt!"

"I'm okay." He jumped to the ground and circled the sloth,
practically dancing with excitement. "Do you prefer your
steaks medium or well done?"

"You're not okay. You're bleeding." She slowed his restless
pacing by grabbing his sleeve. "Hold still. Let me see." She
reached out to probe the wound on his cheek.

"Ow!" He ducked away from her hand, but she was as tenacious
as a fat-sucking mutant and was on him again in an instant.
"It's nothing," he protested, arm extended to keep her at a
distance. "We have meat to cut up. Sirloins to grill."

"You need stitches."

"Too bad we're twelve thousand *years* from the nearest
hospital." He tried again to get around her, but she body-
blocked him. He settled for inspecting the carcass over the
top of her head.

"Look at those drumsticks, Scully. And that rump roast." He
pictured a couple of super-sized sloth-burgers, with a side
order of onion rings and a large frosty milkshake.

"I have needle and thread."

"Hm?" Mulder glanced down. Scully was holding one of those
cheapo hotel sewing kits in her hand.

Oh. Crap. He'd forgotten she had that.

She steered him to the boulder that held Klizzie's marker and,
with the point of a finger, ordered him to sit. Then she laid
out her needle, thread and a pair of miniature scissors that
came with the kit. "I'm going to wash and stitch that wound.
Give me your handkerchief."

He obliged her with the handkerchief but refused to sit. "I
killed it, Scully," he said, grinning. "Did you see me?"

"Yes, I saw." She washed her hands and soaked the handkerchief
in the stream. The minute her attention left him, he returned
to the sloth.

"Mulder, I told you to sit." She went to him and guided him by
the arm back to the rock. "What you did was foolhardy."

Foolhardy? He shook his arm loose. "Tell that to the sloth."
He was hoping she'd be impressed by his success. Not to
mention the gazillion pounds of fresh meat. "Still got all my
bullets," he bragged.

"And one nasty cut."

"How sanitary is that needle?" he asked when she cornered him
beside the boulder. "Won't I get an infection?"

"That'd be preferable to bleeding to death. *Sit*."

He did as she asked and eyeballed her needle, while she
inspected his wound. Gently, she swabbed his bloody cheek with
the wet handkerchief.

"This would be easier without all the whiskers."

It had been a week and a half since he'd last shaved and he
guessed he must look pretty scruffy.

Scully used the waterbag to rinse his cheek.

"Hey, you're getting my clothes wet."

She continued to pour.

"That hurts!" He winced more for effect than from pain.

She raised an eyebrow and handed him the waterbag and the
blood-soaked handkerchief. "Hold these."

"Shouldn't you use some of that soap root or something?"

"It isn't antibacterial, Mulder. Your own blood will do a
better job of cleansing the wound than that root." She
threaded her needle.

"Can't you just kiss it and make it better?"

"I'm a doctor, Mulder, not your mother."

"You're a pathologist." Her needle stung when it pierced his
skin. "Ow! Don't forget, I'm not a corpse."

"Shhh."

"Do I get a reward if I don't cry?"

"We'll see."

She worked fast, quickly closing his wound with careful
stitches. The cut was just below his eye. An inch or two
higher--

He didn't want to think about it. He also didn't want to watch
her needle popping in and out of his skin, so he avoided
looking at her hands and focused on her eyes instead.

In them he saw determination, self-control and compassion.

She leaned close to tie off the final knots. "Almost finished,"
she murmured, and tears filled his eyes -- not from the pain
she was causing, but from the devotion in her voice.

He held perfectly still, waiting...

"There," she said at last. "How does that feel?"

He pouted. "It hurts."

She tucked the scissors and needle back into her kit, and gave
him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry."

"I didn't cry. You owe me a reward."

She gave him a quick kiss on the nose, then took the bloody
handkerchief from his hand. "How about we cut up that carcass
now? I'm pretty handy with a knife."

"That wasn't much of a kiss." Taking a chance, he wrapped his
arms around her. Still seated, he had to look up to give her
his best puppy-eyed stare. He knew she was more apt to indulge
him after he was recently injured. "Kiss me and make me better,
Doctor Scully."

She smiled, and he felt the tide of tension between them ebb a
bit. An apology hung on his lips, but he was afraid to speak of
their recent rift for fear he might reopen the gulf between
them.

"Close your eyes," she said.

"I can't watch?" His tone turned petulant but he did as he was
told.

From behind closed lids he felt her place a feather-light kiss
on the lashes of his left eye, just above the wound on his
cheek.

He tightened his arms around her and mumbled into her neck,
"What do you know, it worked."

She kissed the crown of his head. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you. Much."

*   *   *

Klizzie shivered as she looked up through the evergreen boughs
at the overcast sky. Clouds marched like mastodons overhead
and a bitter wind was blowing in from the north. The air
smelled like snow, which wasn't unusual at these altitudes,
even in mid-summer. She followed the Clan up the southwestern
slopes of Sleeping Wolf Mountain. Spruce and white pine grew
tall here. A dense layer of rust-colored needles blanketed the
ground, muting their footfalls.

"Are we almost there?" Gini asked, whining like a mosquito.
She dragged her feet with exaggerated exhaustion.

"We will make camp soon. Tomorrow we will be at Turkey Lake,"
Klizzie said, trying to cheer the girl. Gini had been in a
somber mood for the past two days, ever since the Clan had
left Tsa-ond Cave.

Dzeh had been subdued, too. When Klizzie asked him to share
his troubles, he refused to discuss them, saying his head was
full of men's business and she was not to worry, which made
her worry even more.

"I'm hungry," Gini complained.

"You are welcome to the pine nuts in my pouch." Klizzie nodded
her chin at the bag tied to the belt of her skirt.

"I do not want pine nuts."

"Well, that is all there is."

That wasn't true; Klizzie carried an assortment of berries,
burdock root and dried meat, but they were packed away and she
didn't feel like stopping to dig them out.

"Uncle Lin has a honeycomb," Gini said, looking hopeful.

"That is for the Mastodon Feast and you know it."

The Clan had brought many gifts for the celebration. Furs,
spear points, bone beads, but the most prized was the large
comb of honey, stored in a hollowed gourd and wrapped tightly
with fresh cattail leaves to keep out insects...and hungry
children.

"Ask Jeha if she has any more spruce gum," Klizzie suggested.

Looking ahead to where Jeha walked with her mother and aunt,
Gini frowned. "She is busy."

"She is just talking."

"Yeah, about Moasi. I have heard enough about him."

"You will have a mate of your own soon enough. Then you will
talk about nothing but him, too, just as Jeha talks about
Moasi."

"I will not." Gini's frown deepened.

Klizzie was about to ask her to explain her angry face, but
the Clan was stopping. The men and boys were circling around
something in the path up ahead.

"Are we camping here?" Gini asked, curiosity replacing her
storm-cloud expression.

It was too early to set camp. Something else was going on.

"Let's go see," Klizzie said, and she and Gini broke into a
trot.

They found everyone had gone as quiet as stone while they
gaped at something on the ground. Klizzie shouldered her way
through the circle to see what it was they were looking at.

Mother Earth, it was a baby owl and it mewled pitifully, its
wings too underdeveloped to fly.

"It must have fallen from up there," Uncle Lin said, his
finger aimed skyward.

Klizzie lifted her eyes to a notch high in the hemlock that
towered over the trail. The mother owl was nowhere to be seen.
The baby would not last long. A predator would take it as soon
as the Clan moved on.

This was a bad omen. The owl was the symbol of the Clan. Its
fall from the nest portended a tragedy.

Klizzie felt Gini take her hand. "Can we put it back?" the
girl asked.

"Its mother will not accept it."

"Maybe we can take it with us."

"It would die just as surely, Gini."

"But if we care for it and feed--"

The Shaman glared at Gini, silencing her. Turning his
attention to the owl, he knelt and spoke loud enough for all
the Clan to hear. "The Spirits have thrown this bird here for
us to see, and only they can save it."

Klizzie glanced at Dzeh, who had gone pale. The young owl
squealed and Klizzie felt the soft tread of Spirits passing
across her flesh.

*   *   *

"We should start cutting up that carcass, Tarzan," Scully
said, still locked in his embrace.

He was looking past her at something on the hill. Saying
nothing, his arms dropped away and he rose to his feet.

She turned and tried to make out what it was that caught his
attention. " Another sloth?"

"Uh-uh. A cave." He walked away from her, heading uphill.

She hurried after him, following him between trees and around
boulders. He moved faster the higher he climbed and she
scrambled to keep pace.

Sure enough, a cave came into view. She was amazed he'd been
able to spot it from below. Camouflaged by shadows, the
entrance was nearly invisible.

When they reached it, they found the opening was actually
quite large, approximately six feet across and equally tall.
It had a wide stone landing, which was flat and offered a
spectacular view of the valley below.

Mulder paused at the entrance to dig his flashlight from his
pocket.

"Don't wanna trip on any bears," he said, aiming the beam into
the dark.

He stepped inside and she followed. His roving flashlight
spotlighted bats the size of lab rats hanging by the dozens in
clumps overhead. Annoyed by the unexpected visitors, they
squeaked and wriggled, but stayed put.

The cave was too deep for the flash light to penetrate all the
way to the back. "Anybody home?" he yelled, his voice
ricocheting off the rock. "What's that smell?"

The tangy aroma of burnt herbs and woodsmoke blended with the
syrupy odor of the bats.

"Sage, I think," Scully said. "Somebody must have been in here
recently."

"Klizzie's people?" Mulder moved further into the cave.

"Probably. Her marker is just down the hill."

Mulder's beam revealed a large fire pit in the middle of the
rock floor. Scully walked over to it and crouched.

"Still a little warm," she announced, fingers testing the ash.

Mulder swiveled, painting the cave with his light as he
explored their surroundings.

"What's that?" she asked when his beam reflected off a small
white object lying on the ground by the far wall.

She crossed the cave and picked it up.

"It's female," Mulder stated the obvious, spotlighting her
palm. "Looks like a fertility idol -- like the Venus of
Willendorf, found in Austria. Pendulous breasts, pregnant
belly, no facial features to speak of. Similar figurines have
been found all over the world."

"They date as far back as 30,000 years."

She turned it over in her hand, impressed by its smoothness.
It felt strangely warm, almost alive, as if imbued with the
faith of its careful carver. She stroked its roundness with
her thumb. For just a moment, she thought she detected a
heartbeat there.

"Powerful magic." Mulder turned away, taking his light with
him, his attention already focused elsewhere.

"Why do you say that?"

"The 20th Century is full of people, isn't it?"

She gripped the idol and was startled when she felt what she
could only describe as hope tickle her palm. Damn it, she was
being foolish, letting this place get to her. The carving was
nothing more than a lucky charm, like a four-leaf clover or a
rabbit's foot.

"Wow, look at this, Scully."

Mulder was examining a painting on the rock wall. He stepped
back, broadening the circle of his beam, revealing a stone
canvas covered with pictograms.

"Jesus, there're hundreds of them," he said, as his light
crawled across the wall. Mastodons, bison, men with spears,
horses, rabbits, owls...lots of owls. He stopped when he came
to a nearly life-size image of a man holding a snake.

"Ophiuchus."

"Who?" She joined him at the wall for a closer look.

"The Serpent Holder." He ran the light along the length of the
snake. "You know, in the sky. The constellation."

Of course. He'd pointed it out only a few nights ago when they
were admiring the Andromeda Nebula.

Ophiuchus had been a Healer who was struck dead by a
thunderbolt from Zeus at the request of Hades, God of the Dead,
because he had brought Orion back to life. Gods' work.

"The myth of Ophiuchus is years in the future, Mulder," she
reminded him.

He nodded absently. "Yeah. Maybe." He was using his I'm-
agreeing-with-you-without-really-agreeing-with-you tone, which
meant that he was formulating some new theory he wasn't yet
ready to share.

The Serpent Holder loomed over them, staring out of blank eyes.
It was unnerving. The way Mulder's light played across the rock
made the snake look as if it were undulating in the Serpent
Holder's hands. A tiny reddish-brown jackrabbit with frightened
white eyes huddled next to the snake, looking powerless and
vulnerable.

The carved idol seemed to throb in Scully's palm. She felt
suddenly lightheaded, queasy. Doubling over, she cried out as a
slash of pain seared her abdomen.

"Scully?" Mulder was instantly by her side, arms thrown around
her to keep her from falling. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"I don't...I don't know..." Oh God, the pain was awful. "It
hurts..."

"Where?" Mulder's expression was frantic.

"Here...ooohhhh!" She clutched her stomach, just above her
navel.

He aimed his light at her, tugged her shirt up to reveal her
bare skin.

"I don't see anything. What is it?"

She gasped for breath. "I feel...I think...ooohhhh, Mulderrr."
Sinking to her knees, she tried to breathe through the pain.

"Talk to me, Scully. What can I...how can I help?"

"I feel like...I think I've been...shot." But there had been no
gun, no bullet. There was no blood. Just pain, terrible pain,
burning a straight line through her stomach and out her back.

She reached for Mulder, grabbed him around the neck. Oh God, oh
God. The idol slipped from her fingers and fell soundlessly to
the ground.

*   *   *

CHAPTER NINE

Scully closes her eyes against the pain that is slicing
through her abdomen. Searing white light flashes behind her
closed lids. The cave disappears; Mulder's embrace
disintegrates.

A vast Pleistocene plateau separates them. He is almost
indiscernible on the distant horizon, but only for an instant.
Just as suddenly, he is back with her...in their basement
office.

Splashes of light and dark mottle the wall. Mulder is showing
slides, crime scene photos of baby killers, murderers posing
as Santa Claus and insurance salesmen. Image after image fills
Scul