Title: THE MASTODON DIARIES
Author: Jake

x-x-x-x-x-x

CHAPTER TWELVE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And...?"

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

"When you were in ISU?" she persisted.

"No, on the X-Files."

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

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

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

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

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

Why had he been so quick to agree?

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

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

"Scully--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you said."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fine. Was Agent Fowley in your vision?"

"Yes, indirectly."

"Indirectly...what does that mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tentatively ran a finger over her coat sleeve.

"It had to affect you," he whispered.

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

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

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

His hand stopped its rhythmic caress.

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

"Because you're a man?"

"Yes, because I'm a man."

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

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

"You think I was 'invaded'?"

"Don't you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is Klizzie okay?" she suddenly asked.

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

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

Now it was his turn to look away.

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

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

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

"Why not?"

"Because this is her culture, her rules."

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

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

"Scully, are you sure--"

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

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

She closed her eyes, effectively shutting him out.

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

He slid beneath the blankets behind her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She rolled toward him, eyes dark with passion.

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

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

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

Young Klizzie had reawakened the Spirits in him.

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

"Ready, my mate?" he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I..."

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

"You must tell me," he murmured.

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

"Shameful? What is it?"

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

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

"Tell me," he urged.

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

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

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

So why was she quaking like a startled hare now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her shoulders slumped and her chin fell to her chest.

"Klizzie, he is your cousin!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Had Mulder's performance been equally brief?

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

Unless...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This isn't about you, Daniel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Day-nuh?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully smiled at her exuberance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sam? Saaammmm!"

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

"Sam!"

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

He breaks into a jog.

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

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

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

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

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

"Was this your decision?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

"Muhl-dar?"

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

Or maybe they were mating.

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

"I have food," she announced loudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had to try to convince him to remain silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See-kret?"

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet he couldn't watch her die.

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

"Eagle," Scully gave Gini the English translation.

"Atsah, ee-guhl," Gini repeated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gini drew her shoulders up next to her ears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Owl?" Scully asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Again Gini drew a picture in the dirt.

"A worm? A snake?" Scully guessed.

Gini added a few wavy lines around the snake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder? What's going on?"

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

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

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

"And what are you doing? Thanking her?"

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

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

"Tehi," Klizzie said to Gini.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It wasn't like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shhh, don't, please."

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit, he was fucked.

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

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

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

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

Jesus fucking Christ, these guys were playing for keeps!

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

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

The Black and White defense turned on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THWACK! The ball ricocheted off the post.

Yes! They were tied up!

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

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

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

Dzeh limped across the field to stand beside him.

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

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

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

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

"Mulder, you're hurting me."

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

She arched an eyebrow. "No."

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

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

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

The honeymoon suite, he thought.

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

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

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

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

"Did I miss a spot?" he asked.

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

He returned his focus to the wedding party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mulder roared right back.

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

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

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

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

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

*   *   *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where was Klizzie?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

"Sc-scully!"

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

"Sculleee!"

Where had they taken her? Was Dzeh with her?

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

Find her, help her! his mind screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pleasestoppleasestoppleasestop, he chanted to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They've gone."

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

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

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

Was it the wind?

Maybe she wasn't really there.

No. No-no-no...

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

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

"Scully?"

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

Look out, Scully!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would he untie her if she agreed to drink some?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mulder?"

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

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

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

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

"Guess I ticked 'em off."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Leave it," she said.

"It might be our ticket home."

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

"Or more visions."

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

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

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

"Then what did?"

"I don't know, but--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gini returned her hug and sniffled against her neck.

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is she going?" Mulder asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scully nodded, hoping the girl was telling them the stream
would lead to hospitable te