On the High-Guide-Path of the Wind-Riders

Gary Devore

“It comes to this then: there always have been people like me and always will be.”  ― E.M. Forster

The eastern plains of what will eventually become the country of Colombia

12,000 BCE

Critter’s first memory was being carried as a boy. His head turned, dozing, face-skin pressed against the back of his mother-brother. He must have been in a hide-sling because his sleeping boy-arms would not have been able to keep a grip for the whole low-path across the grass-plains. Critter remembered security. He remembered calm. To not walk was a comfort only for the youngest.

When an older Critter finally asked the others in the clan what happened to his mother and father, he got many answers. Most were lies. He was told they left him behind because he cried too much. Or because his yips were like the pelt-beast, and that was why the clan called him Critter. He was told a cave-beast ate his parents up. He was even told he never had a mother but hopped up from the ground. But his mother-brother said what Critter thought must be the truth: his sister and her mate just laid down one night and never woke up. The clan put their bodies under stones and moved on. Freed, Critter’s mother and father would have flown up as wind-riders, spreading their wide, dark wings and leaping into the air. They would have joined the many others floating in slow circles, following the clan on the high-path as the clan walked the low-path from the grass-plains to the hills and back again. The wind-riders only landed to eat the meal-gifts left behind on the season-walk.

Whenever the clan reached the tall-rocks, they would rest before returning to the grass-plains, another winter survived. Sometimes they would trade with other walking-clans who knew the same place. It was the single time Critter saw strangers. To mark another cycle on the low-path, Critter’s mother-brother always painted on the huge white walls of the cliffs. He showed his sister-son how to make crushed red-powder from soil and beast-blood. He would make a large pile of paint, dip his fingers in, and smear the color to make pictures of beast-kills and clan-bonds and strange things seen on the low-path. This pleased the clan. When Critter became an adult, put on the snout-beast fur, and masked his face with soot from the special man-fire, his mother-brother drew him among the other figures, standing next to the boy-form he was to leave behind. He was of the clan now, and the clan was of him. To look at the wall of red shapes was to see the story of the clan. To remember. Critter’s mother-brother enjoyed showing these memories. To make sure they were true. Not lies. He often pointed to two wind-rider figures, Critter’s mother and father, then smiled at the clouds. If Critter ever was lost, he should look to their high-path and make it a guide.

While painting the shape of a shell-beast far up on the rocks, Critter’s mother-brother fell from a tree-tower. His body crunched against the ground and no longer moved. The clan placed him under a pile of stones near the wall he had painted many, many times. Critter was alone in the clan now. No one to protect him. As they left the tall-rocks and returned once more to the grass-plains, he looked up to see which new wind-rider following them might be his mother-brother. He could only see distant shapes with wide-wings. They all looked the same.

The clan took three more trips between grass-plains and tall-rocks before Critter fell. He did not fall from high like his mother-brother, but under the legs of tusk-beasts. Critter had never been a good hunter. The clan knew this, and told him again and again that he was useless. They often threw hard stones at him. None of the men wanted him on the hunt. They said he could not use a hunt-spear as good as them or run as fast as them. He would scare the beasts with his yips. But he went that morning with the men because they were hunting tusk-beasts and he loved watching the animals move through grass. But the hunt went bad. The tusk-beasts panicked. No hunt-spears could stop them. When they turned their gray bodies and raged, the hunters fled. Critter was caught between two. He fell and rolled, pushed by trunks and tusks. In the dust, he hit the ground. Strength bashed him. He could not breathe. He could not see the sky. If his mother-brother had been alive to draw him tumbling, his legs would point up as a red herd of tusk-beasts ran down on him.

The dark-sleep that came made him think that it was his time to fly away, to join the other wind-riders. But his eyes opened again. He was on the roughed ground. Raising his head, he saw no tusk-beasts or hunters. He was alone. In his nose was the smell of mud. In his chest was quivering fear. As the sun slid down into the far-sky, he could just make out the circle of wind-riders in a part of the sky. That was where his clan was now, walking again toward the tall-rocks. They had left him behind. Like they did not want him. Or did not care to check he still breathed. 

He would need to reach their rest-fires to keep the night-beasts away. He would need to follow the high-guide-path to the wind-riders or the dark would eat him.

He rose, in pain. His leg and ankle hurt but he hobbled forward. Every other step he whimpered. In agony, he tried to hurry. He wept. His face-skin soon burned but the rest of him felt cold. His bare arms stung. He had to reach the clan.

He limped until the sun deserted him too and he could not see. Sobbing, he bumped into a scrub-bush. Its briars cut his cheeks. He stumbled, falling. He crawled under the scrub-bush, next to its roots. He hoped the hungry night-beasts would not find him. Crying, he rubbed his sore leg and ankle. He was alone. He wondered if the families in the clan missed him. 

Critter dreamed of the white tall-rock wall. The red beasts drawn there by his mother-brother leapt down and began to stalk him through the grass-plains. He was scared.

In the new-day, Critter’s stomach hurt as much as his leg. He shuffled on, trying to find the circle of wind-riders in the sky again, but he could not see them. He worried that his clan would keep walking, leaving him further behind. On all sides, the green grass and red dirt spread. The plain gave nothing. His lips cracked. He was thirsty, lurching forward. He called out to the wind-rider of his mother-brother, wherever it was, begging it to come and pick him up. To come carry him again. It was his last thought when he stumbled, pitching to the ground. Falling, he bit his tongue. He tasted blood as he breathed dirt. Inside his mouth, he made the paint of his mother-brother, but was unable to reach the tall-rocks. He spit. Eyes closed. 

As he lay, the dark-sleep gripped him until he thought a large beast came and sniffed around his body. It snorted. Critter could smell the stink of rot-meat. Scared, he did not open his sight. The beast lost interest and Critter lost himself again. 

He half-waked again when he was turned over. He expected beast-teeth to sink into his now exposed belly. Sink in and rip out the pain. But no teeth attacked. Instead, hands lifted him. They did not shove him down a beast-throat. These hands smelled of man. They placed Critter over a man-shoulder. His empty stomach lurched at the movement. He was carried away. Critter could not open his eyes or speak. His throbbing leg pushed him back down into blackness.

He knew it was night when he next woke because he could hear the sing-bugs, but Critter was confused because he was not under the sky. He tried to calm his breathing. He only saw dancing light-shapes on stone. He was in a small space, maybe under the ground. Turning his head, he found a rest-fire near. A man, a stranger, was beside it, although Critter could only see his head in the glow. His egg-face had thick, curly, dark hair atop it and the same below. The beard hid his mouth. Large eyes sat under brows that stared at Critter.

Critter was afraid. He tried to speak, to tell him about the tusk-beasts and the accident and how he needed to follow the high-guide-path before his clan walked so far ahead, but he was shivering too much to draw in enough air. 

The man slid closer and Critter startled. He could see more details. The man had muscles, larger than Critter and larger than most men in his clan. There was more thick, curly hair on his chest that made Critter want to reach out and touch its strange softness if he had the strength. The man wore beast-skins below like those that covered Critter’s whole body.

With more movement, the man gathered water from somewhere, cupping it in his large hands. Careful, he poured it into Critter’s mouth as he lay. It tasted so good. Critter swallowed, trying not to choke. For as big as the man was, he seemed gentle. 

After the drink, the man picked up a broad-leaf holding a pile of jelly the color of sunlight. He smeared some on a finger and placed it just inside Critter’s lips. When the glob came in contact with his tongue, Critter found a strange sweetness. Flowers and root-herbs, sticky, heavy, and rich. Critter swallowed again and smiled, but kept shivering.

The huge hands gave him more jelly then felt his cheeks where the flesh burned. As Critter inhaled, the man slid down next to him. Solid arms encircled him. The man tried to make him not cold with the heat from his body. They both lay, facing, but Critter’s head only came up to the man’s middle. Trembling from the chill, Critter folded his fingers under his chin. He rested his face-skin against the warm chest-fur. Inside the strong grip, Critter stopped shaking.

Clasped, Critter felt safe. The clan was far away. Getting farther. He needed to find the high-guide-path again, but it was night. And he could not walk fast. He needed rest. He needed to not feel cold and pain. He licked the remaining sweetness from his lips and soon more empty dreams hopped up from the ground.

The man gave very light snores. Critter woke, warm, still pressed against the chest-fur. He was not shivering but had grown hot. At his front, his stiff-tail was full hard alongside the man’s. He could tell some life-milk had leaked out, and this thought made more drip.

Critter had slept next to only a few people. Some women in the clan slid to him when he lay near the rest-fire, but they never caused a stiff-tail. Even when they sent hands down there looking for his life-milk. They also threw stones at him.

Critter realized the man was awake when he stopped snoring. They lay still together, not moving but throbbing. The man tightened his grip a little bit. Critter burrowed deeper into the chest-nest. The man seemed to understand this. He parted his legs and took Critter’s stiff-tail between his thighs. Eager, Critter reached down and grabbed the man’s stiff-tail. Squeezing, they nudged their hips. Critter moved his hands along the man’s stiff-tail the way he would knead his own. Their movements and rubbing drew forth moans and then, quickly, life-milk from both, into a tangle of pressed limbs and hair. The man grunted, and pulled Critter against him, almost into his skin. Panting breath whispered across the top of Critter’s head. Critter smiled.

Ignoring dampness, the man turned Critter to hold him from behind. Their bodies slid into a natural pose. He gave a low growl near Critter’s ear, a cave-beast-mother grumble to her cub. Telling him to sleep. Soon, it fell upon them again like water closing above.

They could make each other understand only some thoughts. Many words that came from their throats were similar but their tongues gave them strange ear-shapes. But they could speak simple things, like babies. Critter tried to explain the tusk-beast hunt and that he needed to follow his clan. He shot up, but wobbled on his leg and the stranger-man had to help him back down. Critter wept again. He could not let his clan get so far ahead. The man said when it was a new-day, he would help Critter find them. He would help Critter walk, and together they would look for his wind-riders. Critter’s mouth fell open, happy. He folded his hands over those of the man. It was how his clan showed thanks.

The man awakened the rest-fire in the cave and cooked a bush-beast for them both. They ate, and the food pushed most of the worry from Critter. The man said he would help him walk. He had a voice that sounded of stone, like his house. When asked, he told Critter he had left his birth-clan long ago. He left to live in one place, and stop walking, with one other man. They were a clan of two. He told of this man with some words Critter did not know, but he understood when he said the other man had laid down and not woken up. This was many winters ago in this place, and he had lived here in this cave since. He was out searching for the jelly, what he called hive-treasure, when he saw Critter in the grass. He brought him back and gave him some of the sweet hive-treasure to make him feel better. And kept him warm until he stopped shivering.

Critter wanted to ask about the exchange of life-milk, and if they could do it again, but instead asked how the man was called by his tribe before he left. “Uku,” he answered.

Critter knew his clan was walking to the tall-rocks. If he and Uku could find the high-guide-path of the wind-riders, they could follow it there. Because of his leg, they must slow-walk at the start of the new-day. Leaving Uku’s cave in the ground, they scanned the far-sky for signs of the wind-riders. Critter stumbled. He leaned on Uku’s strong arm that was holding his hunt-spear.

The grass-plains buzzed around them. All that moved was alive. Blue-beaks hopped in the bushes and sang songs to their friends. Bite-bugs hung in spinning black clouds. Far off, herds of the horn-beasts ate from the waving grass. Sometimes, they heard a musk-beast squeal as it rubbed its coarse fur against a stone. But Critter saw no wind-riders in the sky. He and Uku walked through pain and the worry in Critter’s belly grew.

One time, Uku stopped their walk with a fast-pull. His hunt-spear pointed at the ground in front of them, where their steps would go. Critter thought at first the dirt was moving, black soil running. But then he saw the pinch-bugs going, and further on, their mud-hills. Many, many of them. Uku warned they were fighting. Not a clan of two but two clans of pinch-bugs. A frenzy of bite-kills, and very dangerous. And if Critter and Uku were not careful, they would be bitten too. Critter put his hand on Uku’s broad shoulder and they stepped back. They let the pinch-bugs fight for whatever reason pinch-bugs fight. Critter heard the clicking of their bug-war until Uku led them around, through some sweet-bush, and away.

At night, Uku found them a place to rest, sometimes on a rock or small hill. He lit a rest-fire with spark-stones, made Critter comfortable near it, and left to find food. He always returned, with a bush-beast or horn-beast if lucky with his hunt-spear, with only berries and chew-roots if they had walked too long that day. As they ate, Critter made patterns in the sky-lights above. 

With full bellies, they always drew close, letting the rest-fire lower. Critter asked on the first night if they could touch their stiff-tails together again. Uku agreed. They laid together and used their thighs and hands to give rub-joy to the other. Uku also showed how to use his mouth, and Critter’s stiff-tail was swallowed into the black beard. Fire-joy!  Panting and milk-weak, Critter slept like a whelp of a pelt-beast, curled against a warm body.

He asked Uku if the friend he had lived with in the cave also rubbed stiff-tails. Uku said yes. He explained in a simple story that was why they had left their clan and lived together as a clan of two. Critter tried to make sense of all of Uku’s strange words, but Uku seemed to say that no other men in their clan wanted to rub stiff-tails together. Critter could not understand why. This was like water to him now. He had that thirst. It felt good. He wanted to rub Uku’s stiff-tail, and Uku to rub his. Why did not all the men want this? The animals too? Maybe they did. Maybe that is what the bush-beasts and horn-beasts and musk-beasts did at night. Maybe that was the noises they heard. He tried to tell this to Uku. The bearded man gave a laugh deep in his throat and squeezed Critter tight.

The rains fell for three days. Critter’s leg and ankle were feeling better, but the sky became shadow-smoke. He and Uku walked through red mud, searching always for the wind-riders to show them where Critter’s clan was on their low-path. River-water broke above sand-banks, licking their feet, and threatened to pull them into the quick-foam. Long-mouth-beasts prowled. Sometimes, Critter’s sad tears fed the rain, but Uku remained beside him. Next to the soggy rest-fire, Uku held him.

Critter shouted when he finally spotted the wind-riders far away. He pointed. When Uku saw them too, he gave what sounded like a victory-cheer. They now had a high-guide-path that would lead them to Critter’s clan. He hugged Uku and told him again about the tall-rocks and all the pictures his mother-brother made there. That was where his clan would wait. Uku said they would follow the path together.

As they walked, Critter thrilled at ideas in his head. He wanted to show his clan to Uku and Uku to his clan. To see the man who saved him, who found him after the tusk-beasts hurt him, and walked with him many days to find the high-guide-path. Uku could walk with a whole clan again. When they set up the clan rest-fire, he and Uku lying together would keep both happy. And, thought Critter, if anyone tried to throw stones at him, Uku would protect him.

They followed the high-guide-path through the grass-plains for four days, matching the route of their steps to the circle in the sky. Every night, a happy Critter laid with Uku. They pressed lips and tongue-made through the beard and Critter was cloud-high. Sharing breath, the two men let every beast hear each joy-shout.

They lost sight of the wind-riders when they reached the tree-wall, but Critter knew this was part of the low-path the clan always followed. If he and Uku could find where the river-waters met beneath the vine-trees, Critter thought he might locate the tall-rocks, and his clan. As they crossed the thick tree-wall, they could no longer see the sky. Uku, in his strange words, warned Critter to beware of fang-beasts and sting-beasts crawling through leaves on the ground.

Critter walked beside Uku, not leaning. His leg had healed. They were now twin-men, going together. They stepped over logs and rocks covered with green fur-grass. The noise beneath the vine-trees ate them. It hurt their ears until there was nothing to do but listen. Uku raised his head to sniff the heat-air. He smelled the track to the river.

Near the first day-end, they were still under the vine-trees. They found a circle of rocks that Critter believed he remembered. They were still on the guide-path. The ground was dry so Uku suggested they sleep there for the night. If this meant more stiff-tail touching with Uku, Critter agreed. Uku lit a rest-camp, found them a musk-beast to cook, and laid down with Critter between the stones. They took off their beast-skins and saw their whole man-forms. All Uku’s muscles and chest-fur as thick as his beard. What Critter saw gave him joy. When he looked, he felt sing-bugs inside, their songs tickling. Uku’s smile said he also had sing-bugs. Critter wanted to please him, share with him his joy. He gave lip-taps over his whole form.

Milk-weak, Critter told him many words about his clan, about the families and their names, and the beast-hunts that he was not good at, and also about his mother-brother and the tall-wall. So many words. He was not sure Uku understood all of them, and the man closed his eyes, but more joy sat inside Critter. He was held by Uku. He would soon see his clan, and the tall-wall. They would be surprised to see him so long after the tusk-beast hunt, and with a stranger no-clan man! This season-walk was almost over. He gave his breath and was soon in the dark-sleep.

Growls woke them. In the light-shapes of the dying rest-fire, they both saw a spotted-beast still, not moving, but staring. Ready to pounce. Its tongue hung out a red mouth between fang-teeth. Its small ears held back, alert. Round-eyes forward.

Slow, Uku closed his fingers around his hunt-spear. His other arm stretched out to shield Critter. The spotted-beast growled again, panting. Long muzzle-twigs twitched.

Deep in his man-throat, Uku gave an answer-growl. The spotted-beast leapt. Critter yelled. As quick as storm-wind, Uku batted away the claw-paw with the side of the hunt-spear. The animal roared.

Critter crawled back against the rock as Uku rushed to stand, both naked. The spotted-beast raised its strong claw-paw again to strike, mouth open, fang-teeth clear. To eat them. Uku screamed against it. He jabbed his hunt-spear at its head. It batted the point, and then again with growls. Critter stood too. Behind Uku, he shook.

The point hit fur. It drew beast-blood. The animal yelped. Uku screamed again, mouth open inside the beard. Critter yelled too, joining his voice. The night around them held no other sounds. Uku shook his hunt-spear point, slicing air.

The spotted-beast cowered, round-eyes always forward, panting tongue out. Then it turned and ran into the vine-trees. Claws left cuts on the fur-grass covered stones.

They let it go. Uku placed a warm hand on Critter’s face-skin to check his life. Critter folded his hands over Uku’s, still gasping. He had yelled too.

They put on their beast-skins. Uku built the rest-fire again, making it high to keep the night-beasts away. He gave Critter the last of the hive-treasure he had brought and told him to sleep, but neither could. They held each other until new-day, when the sun returned to a sky still hidden above the vine-trees.

The next day, they found where the river-waters met. The pink-fish jumped from that place, as if to welcome back Critter. He began to remember the land here. His clan would be near, at the tall-rocks. He would soon show them Uku. And tell them of surviving the tusk-beasts, nights in Uku’s cave, and how Uku scared away the hungry fang-teeth of the spotted-beast. He would draw Uku and his hunt-spear in red-powder paint next to the figures of his mother-brother. They must believe his truth.

Critter was almost running in joy, Uku beside. Away from the rivers, one fallen gray-tree was familiar and Critter showed Uku the ax-wounds on its trunk from the last making of hunt-spears for the clan. They were close.

Then further, the berry-grove. The clan had left some on the bushes. The juice ran down Critter and Uku’s face-skin as they ate, laughing. Critter asked Uku why he saved him so many times. He needed to know, so he could tell the clan and paint it on the wall. It took three tries for Uku to understand what Critter was asking, but when he did, he answered that when he found Critter, Critter needed help. Then when he wanted to rub stiff-tails, Uku said he wanted to be with Critter. They could walk together. He had joy in helping Critter find his tribe. This kept Critter happy.

They rushed on. Critter kept eyes on the sky when he could peek it, but saw no wind-riders. He hoped they were on the ground with the clan next to the tall-rocks, waiting for him.

A pond where a clan-hunter fell in stink-mud and all laughed. The lonely-tree to touch for luck. Where Critter saw the blue-beak that sang to him as a boy. Not far now. He ran. Ahead, the curve that led to the tall-rocks under the thick vine-trees. He burst through the scrub-bush, calling. He had found his guide-path back to them! He had survived! And he brought Uku!

No wind-riders took to the air, scared by his voice. No heads turned, to spot him. Below the decorated tall-rocks was only roughed ground. Dead rest-fires. Broken sticks. No clan.

Critter stopped. He stared up at his mother-brother’s figures on the wall, but they were cold. Red shadows. None new. The clan had been here, but not made any new drawings. Not of Critter falling to the tusk-beasts, or them leaving him behind. Then they went on. They did not wait for Critter.

Alone before the tall-rocks, tears came from his eyes. When he heard Uku arrive behind, he wept more. There was no one here to meet. No one to see who had saved Critter, and hear the stories. No place for either of them at the clan rest-fire. He tried to explain this, but could only cry. He pointed at the empty ground, and sank down.

Uku stood beside. He put his strong hand on Critter’s head, and then made a kneel. Critter wrapped his arms around Uku. His wet-eyes stung. His chest shook. The clan did not wait for him. He did not know where they had gone now. The high-guide-path was not true.

They sat together for many breaths until Critter had no more tears. Still he clutched Uku. When he calmed, he heard a leaf-dance. He looked up past Uku’s shoulder. In a tall vine-tree, Critter saw a wind-rider almost as large as him. Strong claw-feet grasped a high branch. Its black feathers ruffled, shaking air-dust from them. It turned its gray head atop a long white neck and its eyes found Critter. He thought it could be his mother-brother, come back to finally carry him. As he had hoped all those many days ago, stumbling in the grass-plains. But the wind-rider did not lift him up. It spread its wings, showing white feathers underneath, and with hard-force, beat its way into the air. It flew up through the leaves of the vine-trees and was away, silent, leaving Critter behind.

If it had been his mother-brother, it was a message. He was not of the clan now. The clan was not of him.

He did his best to explain this to Uku. He placed his hands over Uku’s once more in thanks and said he need not come back to the tall-rocks again. Uku seemed to understand him, more familiar with his words now. He told Critter that they could go anywhere. Uku’s clan knew of a place beyond the vine-trees, beyond mountains, beyond another grass-plain where there was the shore of a river with no other shore. It tasted of salt and there were many birds there, not just wind-riders. Uku had wanted to see it. They could go together.

Critter would like traveling with Uku more. Walks, but without a guide-path. Every night, wherever they went, they would lay together and make joy with their stiff-tails, and hold each other close. And they would protect. Critter needed no guide-path if he walked with Uku.

Critter looked up at the wall. He saw the red memories of the clan. They were not his memories. They never were.

He would leave one.

It was easy to find a red-powder pile left by his mother-brother. Critter used his spit to make it wet and called over Uku. Critter smeared the powder on his hand, and then pressed his hand against Uku’s. Then he turned both to the wall. Below the clan memories, at the bottom, they made two symbols on the white surface of the tall-rock. Each of their hands. Near shapes of the wind-riders. Critter smiled and rested his head against Uku’s. In a clear, proud voice that echoed down from the highest points of the wall, Critter said, “Now we are a clan of two.”