The Alps: 3362 BC
Albere was old. Older than anyone he knew. He would carve a 38th notch in his life tree when he reached the river in the spring. When he was a small boy his father had shown it to him, marking the spot where he was born. His mother was young and strong. Being born when food was abundant again, after such a hard winter, ensured that he would survive. Albere more than survived his birth, he thrived. When Albere was seven notches, his father had shown him how to carve the notches with a flint blade, and Albere had done it himself every spring since then. He was always drawn back there. It was a source of life for him. Now Albere felt his age and the arrowhead in his back. His muscles ached more and more with every step. The fever grew and blurred his mind. Snow had been falling since early afternoon. Albere trudged on into it. It was too late to head back and too dangerous. Before dusk, he would make it to one of the many shelters he knew on the mountain.
The years had taught Albere well. He was provisioned with dried fruit of sloe and nuts. He carried all his tools with him. He had a long bow of yew, arrows made straight from the wood of the wayfaring tree, a dagger with ash handle, a rabbit skin bag for water--chewed soft by the women--fire making flints, moss tinder, bone hooks for fishing, and various strings and cords woven from skin, hair, and reeds. His medicine bag contained medicines and the hair of his family. Most importantly, his copper ax, which was mounted on a yew handle, had been built with his own hands with the help of the people who lived close to the fiery river. And his great coat, sewn of many skins, lined with grass that had the fur turned in to keep him warm. His head was topped with a bearskin cap. In his white birch pack, nestled in wet leaves, he carried firewood and the morning fire's embers. Albere traveled alone.
Albere had a lot of time to think on the mountain. He drifted often into thought at times like this to ease the pain of his wound and aching muscles. He had many memories to think about. He wondered why life was so cruel. Why everyone he ever cared about was dead, and why he was still alive. What was the purpose in it? This life? The world was beautiful. Filled with sights and sounds and smells for youth to enjoy. But it was dangerous too; a place of darkness and cold, hunger and thirst and men so cruel they would kill you for anything you had. That was why he was alone and wounded.
In Albere's youth, he and his extended family had traveled from the valley of the sunny slopes where they spent the winter to the wooded highlands in the spring--a journey of twenty suns walking in the tradition of the elders. The ritual afforded the family ample game and fish and the berries, roots and nuts to survive in their time honored way. Albere had spent his younger years with the women, gathering and preparing food and medicine, and with the elders, where he had learned the old ways. Each wood had a purpose and could be found and carved to that purpose. Every part of every animal could be used. Blood, fat, intestines, meat, bone, skin, scales, feathers and hair were eaten, made into medicines, or used as tools.
In the family, Albere prospered. He grew strong faster than the other children and amazed the elders with his mastery of the old ways. But, the urge to hunt in him was strong, so he led the other children in hunting games until he, too, was allowed to hunt with his father and the other men. Albere remembered seeing his first great bear killed when he was just eight notches. He remembered watching as the men used an array of spears to kill it in its den while it slept. The bear was fat and provided food for many cold suns. The two babies inside were seen as a good omen by the elders and were sacrificed to the gods. The elders told of many bears like this, but they were few now. By the time Albere was fifteen notches, he was the best hunter. With bow or spear, Albere’s eye was true , and he could bring down a deer with a single arrow. With the others, he caught fish, snared birds and small animals, ran down the wild pig and challenged the great bear. The elders prized bear claws and teeth, and Albere became the one to find bears for the kill.
The family traded with other families. Albere joined his father on journeys of many suns to trade. Most prized was the shiny stone of pure color like the autumn leaves. When rubbed, Albere could see his face in it, like on the surface of calm water. But the stone would turn dull and green if it weren't rubbed. Albere rubbed his ax daily so that it shone like the sun it reflected. The elders said the stone was magic. He wondered about that and how it could be. With all of his knowledge of the world around him, Albere had never seen anything like the stone. Still, he did not believe it was magic. He knew the secret of the people by the fiery river.
It was colder now, and the wind was picking up. His world was obscured by white, blinding snow and his fever. Still, Albere pushed on. He knew the way so well, he could follow it without seeing. The agony between his shoulder blades and in his joints was relentless. He had to stop every few steps, leaning into the wind to recover his strength. This always happened to him on the high mountains, but as he grew older it became more pronounced. All his tattoos, meant to ease the pain, failed him now. Albere blocked it out with thoughts of her.
Albere remembered the first time he saw her. In the valley where the grapes grew, there was a family with hair as white as snow and eyes of piercing blue. They had a secret for making the grapes into a powerful potion that made you lose your senses when you drank it. Albere liked the potion's sour taste, but he didn't like how it made him act foolish and get sleepy. Always on their guard on the trading journeys, he and his father couldn't afford to lose their senses, or someone would rob them. The white haired people were happy and prosperous because they could trade their potion for the things they needed.
Nona had been playing with the other children. Nona stood out because she seemed to be the happiest and loudest—and, because she was so beautiful. It was summer and hot, even at night. Like the other children, Nona wore only a doeskin loincloth. Her fair skin was a golden brown from the sun, except for her lips, turned pink from the same sun, and the tips of her budding breasts, so pink against her brownness. Albere was excited by the sound and sight of her, like when he waited for a magnificent animal to come within kill range. But this was different. He felt a swelling in his loincloth that he had never felt before. Albere had seen the other men with it and had observed them in sex with the women, but he had not experienced it himself, before. Albere knew it was a sign that he was no longer a child, but he did not want his father and the others to see. That first hot night with the white haired people, he could not sleep. He dreamed of Nona and his peeing tool, once again, grew large and painful. Albere had to loosen his loincloth to free it. He kept thinking of her laughing and playing. Albere liked his sisters and admired the beauty and manner of some of the women in his family, and those he had seen on his journeys, but Nona was different. Albere wanted to make her his mate.
This fact was not lost on the elders of the white hairs. The old women, with flat breasts, scraggly, gray white hair, deeply wrinkled and toothless from chewing skins, knew right away. Before long, so did his father. For a prize copper stone and a copper knife, his father traded with the elders for the girl. For the next few suns, Albere was allowed to take her with him on hunts. They fished on the river and bathed with each other. They were allowed to sleep together, apart from the others.
Their languages were so similar, it was easy to talk. Albere soon learned that Nona had noticed him too, the first day he arrived, and that her chest had pounded with excitement at what she perceived as a strange but most handsome hunter. Nona admitted that she had, in her own way, tried to get his attention, so that Albere would notice her. Nona was amused at how his peeing tool got big in her presence. The first hot night Albere and Nona slept together; she began to play with it. Albere still remembered how soft Nona was to his touch.
After the moon changed, they had to leave. It was hard for Nona to leave the only family she'd ever known. For two suns, Nona cried and wouldn't eat. Finally, she helped Albere with his cooking fires, and settled into the routine of the journey. After two moons, they arrived in Albere’s valley. The elders there were pleased and held a great celebration. They saw Nona as a strong addition to the family. The young hunters without mates were envious of Albere's find. But they knew not to challenge him for her. His sisters and the younger women were both envious and enamored by her beauty. Nona was not only beautiful, but also wise in the ways of family living and soon became a valued member. Still, she often longed to see her own family again. Albere promised to take her to them again on a trading journey. The fates ruled that that was not to happen.
Albere knew the rocky outcropping was just ahead, further up the mountain. It was exposed, but would block the north wind enough to allow him the burrow into the snow and escape the savage cold the wind brought with it. Maybe he could make a fire? With each step, Albere sank knee deep in soft, new snow, and more was coming down all the time. His pain was unbearable. Albere summoned strength deep within him, the strength of his youth, to overcome the pain and cold and move on. If he could only just move forward, he could make it.
Nona was fertile, and bore him five children. The first one came too soon, and was born dead. The elders cast their spells and incantations, but to no avail. Albere did not know if it was a boy or a girl. The second was a son, born in the spring like Albere had been, and strong. Jan had the white hair and bright blue eyes of his mother, but the strength and savvy of his father. Albere looked to him to carry on the rituals of the elders for the family. Another boy was born dead, and a girl, born in winter, caught the fever and died in Nona's arms while only four cold suns old. Nila, the youngest, was also born in winter, but showed the strength to live that reminded Albere of her mother, Nona. Life was hard. The same fever that took his first daughter also took his mother and half the family. The medicine of the elders did nothing as Albere helplessly watched the fever kill everyone sick around him. His father was never the same. By nineteen notches, Albere had become leader of the family. He enjoyed evenings by the fire, watching Nona play with the braids in Nila's hair, and Jan playing hunting games at the edge of the camp.
It was a good hunt. After two suns of stalking, they had run down and killed two pigs. The five of them were joyous as they carried the heavy animals back to the family. Before they got there, Albere could smell smoke and the stench of death. First, he found Nona, her head cut off and her body mutilated with knives and spears, and then Jan, with his little head bashed in and one arm cut off. Albere’s father, no longer able to hunt, had stayed behind and fought to his death, too, a spear broke off in his back as he lay face down.
The bodies of two of the invaders, heavily armed and protected by deerskin, but emaciated men, lay by him. Thals--the name given to outcast males who banded together and raided families for food and items they could trade. No one survived the attack. All of the copper his father had traded for was gone. Everything else was burned. They hung the two invaders from the trees so that the ravens would pluck their eyes out. Albere gathered all the sacred potions he could find in the destruction. After incantations were said and he had gathered locks of hair from Nona and Jan, they burned the dead together in a funeral pyre so that wild animals wouldn't violate their bones. A great rage rose up in Albere. He challenged the others to help him take revenge for their loss. They followed him to a man. They ate the pigs to find strength for the fight, and then, with Albere in the lead, they set off.
It wasn't hard to follow the track of the Thals. They left a path of destruction and death. After five suns walking, Albere and his hunters caught up. They waited until the sun was long in the trees, and the Thals were drunk from the grape potion they'd stolen a sun's walk away. The Thals were asleep. It was only then that they struck. Albere carefully slipped up to a large man with red hair, his mouth open and snoring and slit his throat with a flint knife from ear-to-ear. The man woke up wide-eyed, and tried to rise and yell, but blood shot from his neck like from a pig and he only blubbered as his yell drowned in his own blood. The others were stirring as his comrades woke them up trying to kill. A small skinny man laying not a foot's reach away opened his eyes and started to get up. Albere thrust his copper tipped spear with both hands into the man's neck just above his deerskin shirt. The spearhead glanced off the man's collarbone and stunned him for a moment. It was just enough time for Albere to jerk the spear from the ground where it stopped and a ram it squarely into the man's midsection, through his deerskin shirt, skin and bone and guts, skewering him to the ground while dark red blood welled up from his wound. The skinny man, still full of life, squealed and struggled to free himself from this outrageous bond, while Albere took his flint knife to the guy's neck, severing the carotid artery without near as much blood as the big one.
There were grunts and cries of pain and yelling all around, the din of war. But Albere did not hear it. The adrenaline in his bloodstream was too strong. Albere felt a sharp pain in his back and spun around with his flint knife in his right hand. The blade caught his attacker in the left arm and cut a deep slice of muscle. The man, another big one, recoiled in pain, and, having lost his spear in Albere's back was defenseless. As he backed up and Albere threatened with his knife, his balance weak from the heavy spear in his back, Seth hit the man hard in the back of the head with his copper ax and brought the man down so that Albere could slit his throat too. Seth quickly pulled the spear from Albere's back and they both joined in the fight to the death. It was close and now, man-to-man, cutting and stabbing until blades broke off in bone and Albere found himself strangling a man who was also trying to strangle him. Fortunately, Albere won. But, exhausted and bleeding, he crawled away. He fell asleep. When Albere awoke, the yelling had finally stopped and all that could be heard were the moans of the wounded dying.
All of the hunters, Seth and the rest of his family, were dead or dying. Albere rose to his feet in pain, found a bloody spear, and made sure that all the Thals were dead, too. Dragging himself off to the woods, where Albere had left the medicines in his bag with his long bow in the woods before the battle, Albere treated his wounds. Somehow, he managed to pull his dead companions together into a funeral pyre. It took him two suns, but Albere said the incantations and burned them. The rest, Albere left to the wolves, circling and getting bolder as he struggled to send the last of his family to the afterlife. Albere could hear the wolves snapping and growling over the dead as he dragged himself up, over the ridge to the next valley beyond.
With his numb hands, Albere could feel the bare rock of the overhang only from his elbows. He couldn't feel anything below his knees in his grass filled doeskin boots. It was dark now, Albere couldn't remember how long, as he'd willed himself to that spot. The wind was howling and the snow had already filled the place he'd hoped to shelter in. Albere pushed and burrowed, and managed to get as much out of the wind as he could, and the snow came in over him in layers, gradually covering him up.
The embers on his basket were probably out. Even with his flints and tinder, he couldn't make a fire. Albere just sat there, rubbing his ax blade with his right hand and holding the bag with his family's hair with his left, listening to the wind. No feeling was a good feeling. As the snow filled in around him, Albere felt warm. On those warm nights, Albere would lay on some ridge or high ground and dream of Nona, so long dead. The sky would be heavy with light, a multitude of points of light that closed the sky down on him like overhanging trees or the roof of a cave. In those times Albere imagined that each one was a spirit of those who had died, countless in their number. Albere loved this land with its incredible beauty and peace. But why, too, the cruelty and harshness? The elders with their rituals, incantations, tattoos and medicines couldn't cure what was wrong with the world. And then, there was this one time, as he crossed a frozen lake in the middle of the night trying to reach the safety of shore, when Albere stopped, looked up, and realized that he was utterly alone. This great hunter, warrior, and medicine man was merely a snowflake compared to the vastness before him. Albere knew there was something beyond this cruel life. He just didn't know what it was.
Albere remembered the secret of the shiny copper stone. Though he traded with many families, and was welcome in the white haired family of his Nona, the sight of children playing brought back dark thoughts. Albere preferred to live alone. He traveled the seasons in the ways of his ancestors and became known for his skills in medicine and potions.
Seeking the secret of the shining stone, Albere lived for a while with the people by the fiery river. His legend had preceded him, so they welcomed him as a great warrior and medicine man. After Albere treated their open sores with a tree bark and moss potion he'd learned from the elders, they let him see the secret. When green stones that were common in the area were heated on special fires that were very hot, the shiny copper melted and flowed from the stone. It could then be pounded with hard stones into many shapes. There were no elders in the fiery river family. The women lived to an old age and died after losing their teeth. The men who melted the copper died at an early age when they still had their teeth and dark hair. Before they died, they would lose their senses, and complain of great pain in their hands and feet. Albere tried his medicines on some of the sufferers to no avail. Legend said that early death was the price they paid for knowing the secret of making copper. Albere wondered if he would suffer the same fate for knowing it?
When Albere polished his ax with a rough leaf that brought out the metal's luster, he marveled at the metal's strange properties. How it reflected his image. How it could be pounded very thin, or into many shapes. How it held a smooth, sharp edge for cutting. Even how it curved. Albere wondered how many other properties it had. Was it a bridge to a life without pain and suffering? Why had they done this? Why had they shot him in the back before he could escape to higher altitude and the storm? Albere didn't know and he wouldn't find out. He suffered his old wounds no more. Albere was entombed in the snow.
