Spirit Walker Read Free

camp. Ayuvah and the others were throwing on their war gear.
    “Slavers have attacked Denni and Tchar,” Fava said.
    “How many?” Ayuvah asked, pulling on a leather helmet with brass studs.
    “I saw only ten or twelve,” Tull said. “But there could be more.”
    Ayuvah faltered. He looked at the boys. At nineteen and twenty, Tull and Ayuvah were the oldest in their group. The others were mere boys, none over fifteen, yet they were pulling out their war shields, strapping on leg guards with pale faces.
    The slavers were grown men with years of experience with the sword, and the Neanderthals could be walking into a trap. Besides Tull, Ayuvah, and Fava, there were only six boys in the camp. They stared at Tull and Ayuvah in disbelief, eyes wide from terror.
    Tull wondered, Is it better to lose all eleven of us, or only two?
    Ayuvah was the best fighter and hunter from their hometown of Smilodon Bay, and the boys would follow if he chose to fight. But surely if it came to a pitched battle, the boys would lose.
    It would be better to die, than to live our lives knowing that we had run from such a fight, Tull realized. He’d seen how shame could destroy a Neanderthal, sapping him of strength, of the very will to live. They were far more prone to such emotions than were humans. We have no choice but to fight, even if we are all killed or carried into slavery.

    An hour later, just as the sun rose in a pink ball on the horizon, Ayuvah and his party made their way through the dew-soaked fields to the leatherwood forest.
    They’d prepared for an ambush as they marched, but saw no sign of the slavers on the plain. Yet Tull was sure the slavers were watching. By now, they knew they would be fighting only nine Neanderthals. At a distance, would they know that six were only boys and one was a woman? Fava had come only to help distill the honey, yet she carried a shield and spear like any male warrior.
    The Neanderthals spread out in a fan formation as they crept to the honey tree, climbing over fallen logs, watching for rocks that could turn an ankle.
    At the tree line, five tan-and-silver iguanodons hunched among the leatherwood, feeding on flowery branches. The Pwi circled downwind of the tree.
    As they neared, Ayuvah stopped the younger boys with the wave of his hand. He sniffed the air, testing the scent. His nose was broader than a human’s, and his sense of smell was strong.
    “The slavers are gone,” Ayuvah said with certainty, and began stalking through the trees again. A moment later, someone cried out, “Denni, Tchar!”
    They found the two Neanderthals tied to the tree in the morning sunlight, naked and unmoving. Tull could only see Tchar well, and the boy’s right hand lay on the ground a dozen feet in front of him. The slavers had beaten him black and blue, and then torn the tree open. The angry bees had stung him many times, and Tchar’s face was so swollen that his eyes were closed. Tull circled the tree just enough to see Denni, and then wished that he hadn’t.
    The slavers had slit Denni’s belly open, then inserted a forked stick and twisted it, unrolling his intestines, pulling them out inch by inch and stringing them over bushes like sausages.
    The amount of blood dripping down Denni’s legs showed that he had been alive while the slavers did their work. Yet Tull had heard no screams. Perhaps he’d been too far away. Or perhaps Denni had suffered in silence, refusing to show weakness.
    Tull felt the veins in his neck throb, and for a moment the world went red as he fought rage and grief.
    Ayuvah rushed forward to cut the boys loose. He dragged them away from the tree and brushed the dead bees off Tchar.
    More than angry, Ayuvah seemed forlorn.
    “They’re dead,” Ayuvah said. For an instant Tull had dared hope that the boys clung to life.
    The younger Pwi watched the brush, fearful of an ambush. One boy began crying in fear while another made gagging sounds.
    Ayuvah searched the camp for a moment,