[50024 Years Ago/ The Next Day/ The Lake]
Heba sat beside Mike in his yurt. He lay on a bed of dry grass. He was hot with fever and reaching out his hands and flexing his fingers in his delirium. The movements were dynamic.
The shaman had said these motions were those made by a man who was nearing his end, but as Heba watched, she saw the movements were not chaotic. They held a pattern of some kind, though she didn't know what it was.
She wiped the sweat from Mike's brow and said a prayer to the gods. She asked them to let Mike wake from his fever just for a few minutes so she could speak to him.
A rumbling came from deep within the ground. It was softer than it had been the last several times it had occurred, but it was still easily heard and felt.
It had caused great concern in the tribe at first, but when the sounds had led to nothing disastrous and each time when they faded, they would return with lesser strength, all agreed it was simply the way of this part of the world and to pay it no mind.
Mike's hands continued to move, and his fingers continued to flex and curl in the air throughout the rumbling. When it ended, he dropped his arms.
"What's that sound?" he said.
"No one knows," Heba said, pressing on the ground to feel the last of the vibrations. "It started when the moon came up. It was very loud then, but it's quieting down." She came forward and brushed the wet hair from Mike's eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"Not great," Mike said. "I'm achy all over, especially my leg. And I'm having trouble thinking. My mind's in a fog."
"You're still feverish," Heba said. "Your leg isn't healing right."
"I thought I set it pretty well."
"You did. The shaman said so, but it was the walk back that did it."
Mike nodded slowly to this but said nothing.
"Do you remember what happened?" Heba said. "With the lion?"
"Yes," Mike said. "It happened as Pult has told it."
"But you didn't hear what Pult said."
"But I still know. It was my fault things went the way they did."
"That's what he claims."
Mike focused on Heba, using his remaining strength to raise himself up. "It's what happened."
Heba nodded and said, "Yes, Mike, I know."
Mike lay back down. "Did the shaman say I would die?"
"He said we'd have to wait and see."
Mike chuckled. "You don't lie very well."
Heba tried to smile as a tear streamed down her cheek. "The shaman is wrong, Mike. You will live."
"No. My mother died of a fever as well. The gods want it this way. Who am I to argue with the gods?"
Heba looked at the shell of a gourd in her hands. It was filled with lake water.
When she'd gone to the Lake, she'd noted the western side was sparkling more than it should in the sun, and the water held a slight purple glow—or so it seemed to her—though the other people on the shore didn't see that color. Heba had gone to this part of the Lake for water. She had no other reason to do this than she felt she should.
She held out the gourd and said, "Drink this."
Mike tried to speak but then collapsed on his bed.
"No!" Heba put her hand on Mike's chest. "Mike, wake up!"
Mike spasmed to these words and found himself in a seated position. He looked around wide-eyed. "What happened?"
"Drink," Heba said.
"I'm not thirsty. And it's better not to drink. It will finish me faster."
"Don't talk like that." Heba put the open end of the gourd to Mike's lips. He parted his lips and reluctantly drank. Then after a few mouthfuls, he drank deeper, and soon he drank all the water.
Heba watched as Mike lay back on his bed. He seemed to have fallen asleep. She sighed and turned toward the opening of the yurt.
"Can you get more water?" Mike said.
Heba turned back and smiled and lifted one of three more gourds. "I already have."
Mike drank all the water Heba gave him, then she felt his brow and smiled. "Your fever has broken."
"Good," Mike said, then closed his eyes. His hands began to make the patterns in the air as before.
"Why do you do that with your hands?" Heba said.
Mike smiled but didn't open his eyes. "My mother went deaf when I was a child. It was how I talked with her. We created the language of the hands to speak to each other. I was making the signs that I would make when she was sick."
"What do they mean?"
Mike began the pattern again and said, "Dear Mother, I hope you get better soon. You mean the world to me and I would have you well and dancing by the river again." Mike pressed his hand to his forehead, then to his heart. "I love you." He sighed, then fell asleep.
Heba watched him for some time, then she pressed her hand to her forehead and then to her heart and smiled.