I heard a horn in the distance from the direction of the mountains.

  “Can you hand me back my special glasses so I can see what’s over there?”

  “There’s no need,” Skarl said. “It is the outpost alerting us.”

  I squinted into the distance. I saw a smudge out there. Thinking of the distance…the smudge had to be bigger than a person.

  I pointed. “What am I seeing out there?”

  “A mammoth and rider,” Skarl said.

  I stared at him. There was obviously more going on here than I’d been given to understand.

  As we marched nearer, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. What new secrets would this place reveal? How would it affect my journey in this mysterious world?

  There was so much more to learn, and I was eager to uncover the truth behind it all.

  -18-

  The mammoth riders met us half an hour later. There were two of them. The woolly mammoths were just as I’d seen in various magazines about the Ice Age on Earth. Upon each sat a stocky Neanderthal, dressed much as Skarl, Zog and the others. They had stout spears with chiseled flint tips.

  One of them hailed us and raised his spear. The other then did likewise.

  Skarl jogged up heavily to them and spoke with both.

  The Neanderthal on the lead mammoth, a great beast with magnificent curled tusks, was not as tall as I would have imagined. It was built in the robust and shaggy manner.

  From what I’d read, the woolly mammoth was closest to the Indian elephant back on Earth. It wasn’t as big as a huge African bull elephant. This beast was big enough and could easily have trampled all of us.

  We marched past the woolly mammoths and riders, heading for the mountains, which had patches of snow and open or bare areas. I saw scrub, not trees, but bushes and grasses. There were a few birds flying in the air.

  It was definitely not as windy or snowy here. I no longer had to shade my eyes from snow glare.

  “What happened to my Eskimo sunglasses?” I asked, but no one responded.

  In time, we threaded up a trail, having reached the mountains. The trail steepened quickly as we marched relentlessly. There was no outpost anywhere.

  Once again, I hurried up to Skarl, harder to do here.

  “You said there was an outpost.”

  “We passed it,” Skarl replied.

  “The two mammoth riders were the outpost?”

  “We didn’t go to the outpost.”

  “I thought we were going to speak to the Wise One there.”

  “We are going to speak to him,” Skarl said. “He’s not at the outpost. He’s in the valley.”

  “Over these mountains?” I asked.

  Skarl nodded.

  “Who was at the outpost?” I asked. “Why didn’t we stop there?”

  “You’re too inquisitive. You’ll have to wait. We will have to see what the Wise One says regarding you.”

  I frowned. The implications of all this… “Does this mean there’s a bigger organization behind all of you?”

  “Enough,” Skarl said. “I’ve told you all I will. We still don’t know who you are and what allegiances you hold. I’ve begun to believe much of your tale, but the decision about you isn’t mine to make. Now back in line. It is unseemly for you to run up like this and pester me with questions. I lead the group. I give the orders. Thus, there will be no more questions until we come to the camp of the Old One. Is that clear?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, “no problem.”

  Thus, I went back to my spot in line and endured the trek.

  We took breaks and threaded back and forth up a switchback trail. I noticed the trail was mostly hidden under brush and wouldn’t be easily visible to a flying saucer. The reason for that seemed obvious. Did the First Folk come in their flying saucers and attack? Was the outpost we’d passed hidden underground or in a cave? These were cavemen after a fashion. Wouldn’t it be something if the free Neanderthals lived in caves?

  What kind of life would it be like without any women or children? Just an escaped slave here and there adding to the numbers. The new escaped slaves could possibly be spies, too. How badly or much did the First Folk care about the escaped slaves? According to Krull, who it would seem had told me some accurate information, the First Folk occasionally sent out slave-raiding parties, apparently to recapture those who’d escaped from the mines. How many Neanderthals lived in the mines? How many women did the First Folk hold? Did the Yellow Knives really exist? If they did, surely they existed far from here, maybe hundreds or even a thousand miles or more. That was what I’d do if I wanted an independent civilization from the First Folk slavers.

  It didn’t seem as if the First Folk were on Garm in large numbers. Only a few flying saucers had attacked. I had all these questions and so little data.

  I endured, accepted the water jug when it passed and ate hardtack.

  This was interesting. The hardtack indicated dough, which would indicate some kind of wheat, spelt, or something to make the flour.

  “Where do you grow this?” I raised my piece of hardtack.

  Skarl scowled.

  Zog said, “He told you, no more questions. It is best to obey the raid leader.”

  “Raid leader,” I said. “So this is a raid? This is more than just the nine of you who are not a tribe but group of fellow warriors?”

  They remained stoically silent.

  “You’re here doing something for a greater purpose, for a greater group. Isn’t that so?” I asked.

  Zog scowled.

  The woman-dreamer was getting on my nerves. “Hey, you want me to tell you some stories about women?”

  Zog glared at me and touched his bone talisman that hung from his throat. The grab had the feeling of a pre-attack gesture. If Zog jumped me, others would likely join in. I wouldn’t mind one on one, but not a mob against me.

  I decided to drop the inquiry for now.

  We continued to climb the steep trail. It proved harder for me than I’d anticipated. I needed some sleep or a good long rest. I got neither.

  After hours of trekking, we reached the top and soon started down. I could see into a deep, narrow valley. There were strips of green and blue down there. Even though the wind had picked up and the snow around us swirled in our eyes, after a long winding descent, we left the howling wind and snow and came into warmer terrain.

  As we continued down, I saw a herd of animals, perhaps great shaggy bison or the ancient auroch cattle that used to roam on Earth.

  Garm and Earth had much in common. All the animals I’d seen so far had lived in prehistoric times. Besides, the Garm Neanderthals were related to us genetically, also indicating closeness.

  Had the Ophidians been an invasive race on Saddoth? Were Neanderthals a much more prevalent species on the various planets? I had questions, questions, questions.

  We threaded toward the valley. I didn’t see any houses or huts, though I did see a tilled field. I didn’t see any plants, but the field definitely had been worked. There was no evidence of farmers, huts, granaries or anything.

  I did see more animals and birds. It was considerably warmer down here, too. I kept my hood off, and after a while, I unzipped my parka. It had almost gotten hot after the Antarctica-like tundra. Were the lakes hot springs, adding to the heat?

  Interestingly, we marched along the mountain range, not in the middle of the valley. I suspected that was for a reason, likely flying saucers that would suddenly appear. I did notice that Skarl and the others examined the sky from time to time. Did they have better eyesight than humans, or was their eyesight more short-ranged?

  “So where’s this Old One?” I shouted to Skarl. “Is he in this valley or a different one?”

  Skarl stared back at me and I thought he was going to give an angry retort. “We’re almost to the caves,” he said instead.

  “Aha, caves! So you are cavemen.”

  Skarl finally scowled and I shut up.

  We continued.

  I listened for horns, looked for signs of woolly mammoths or people. There was nothing.

  We trudged for mile after mile after mile. I was beginning to wonder what Skarl meant by near.

  We actually began to climb again as we reached the farther end of the long, narrow valley.

  “Are there old mines here?” I asked Zog. “Is that what the caves are?”

  “Why do you ask so many questions?” Zog said. “Why can’t you be silent, as People are? We endure. We do not chatter like apes would in a forest. You are more like the First Folk than we are. You are a strange, over-talkative person who cannot shut up ever. It is unhinging.”

  Others muttered agreement, as they’d all ceased humming.

  “I can’t help it,” I said. “I have questions. This is all new to me. I’m tired, and when you’re tired, at least when I’m tired, I talk more. So excuse me for wanting to know. You guys are very closed-mouthed.”

  “Yes,” Skarl said. “That is the way of a warrior. We do not chatter endlessly. We let our actions speak for us.”

  “Yeah, okay, wonderful. You’re all Mr. Stoic. Well, all right, go ahead. Let’s finish this. Let’s talk to this Old One. I’m tired of this endless marching in silence and listening to you guys hum.”

  “You dare to speak against the hum?” Skarl said in outrage.

  “No, I was just kidding. It was a joke. I love the hum. Why don’t you guys teach me? I’d love to hum along with you.”

  “No,” Zog said. “You will not hum with us. You are an outlander, perhaps a spy. The Wise One will tell us what to do with you.”

  “Sure,” I said. “That’s great.”

  We continued to march, and finally, as we rose to where the snow started again, I saw a cave mouth. We headed for it. As we approached, two Neanderthals in quite different garments from fur stepped out. They didn’t look anything like cavemen. They wore manufactured garments with regular boots rather than the sandals these nine wore.

  One of the guards aimed a long brass tube at me. It was a little over five-feet long. He had one good eye, the other a ruined socket. That side of his face had been messed over. Otherwise, he looked as tough as any of them. It would seem Neanderthals didn’t believe in eye patches.

  The long brass tube, did they have better weapons than just these spears? If so, why were the others walking around with spears? It didn’t make sense.

  “Who are you?” the one-eyed guard demanded. His voice was strong and clear, not like the grunts I’d heard earlier.

  “I’m just a Traveler,” I replied. “I’m here with these guys.” I gestured at Skarl and the others.

  The two guards exchanged glances.

  “He’s the one the Wise One has spoken about, Brakka,” the other guard told the one-eyed bruiser.

  One-eyed Brakka lowered his brass tube. After scowling about it, he motioned for me to enter the cave.

  I hesitated, but Skarl nudged me forward. “This is what you wanted. Do not fear now.”

  “No,” I said. “Let’s do this.”

  -19-

  Skarl and I went with the two guards. I was disheartened seeing torches with sconces lining the cave walls. I’d hoped to see lamps.

  We went several hundred feet before reaching a winding stone staircase heading into the subterranean depths. There were torches here, although spaced farther apart.

  I couldn’t see any trigger on the long brass tube Brakka held. What was it supposed to be? Why had Brakka aimed it at me then? It didn’t seem like much of a weapon. Maybe it indicated some kind of status or authority. It gleamed and wasn’t rusty in the least.

  I didn’t see any sign of machines as we descended.

  We came to a lower level and once again continued to walk. After three hundred feet, we reached a larger cavernous area. There were glow balls in the middle and someone out there in the center.

  I heard the rumble of a machine and something working by the loner.

  “What does that thing do?” I asked Skarl.

  He looked at me.

  Brakka tapped me on the shoulder with the brass tube harder than was necessary. “Silence,” he said. “You’re in the domain of the Old One. If you have any questions and he allows it, he will answer. Until then, do not speak until you are spoken to.”

  We entered, and I noticed that Skarl held a sack of various things.

  We approached what looked like a modern sofa. On it sat a withered old Neanderthal. He had skinny shanks, a white beard and wrinkled skin with rheumy eyes. He wore what I’d call a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. His legs were not strong and muscular like the other Neanderthals but showed his age, perhaps great age.

  Where in the world had he gotten Hawaiian garments? They weren’t exactly like from Hawaii but they sure looked like it. The oddest thing was half spectacles perched on his extremely broad nose. He’d been reading from a computer slate.

  He set it down.

  The other guard brought folding chairs, similar to those you’d see in any store. He opened them up, set them down, and Skarl took a seat. Brakka and I also sat.

  I saw that the machine produced, among other things, heat and a flow of air. Perhaps it was an air purifier as well as heater. A cord snaked from the central machine to one of the illuminating globes.

  There were several other pieces of furniture, including a large king-size bed in back. It was neatly made, though not as good as a Marine would have done it.

  “You have yourself nice quarters here, Old One,” I said.

  Brakka struck me on the shoulder harder than he had last time with his damned tube.

  “All right,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. “Sorry, old man. I’ll wait till you ask questions.”

  “Forgive me the intrusion, Old One, Wise One,” Skarl said. “He claims to be a Traveler from a different world.”

  At this, the Wise One took off the half-glasses, folding them and setting them on the computer slate. He raised one of his scrawny legs, perching it over the other and put his gnarled hands around his perched knee.

  “You will call me Gruum, as that is my name. I’ve grown weary of this Old-One talk. Is that understood?” He had a good strong voice, with fewer guttural accents than Skarl and the others had. The voice struck me as belonging to an educated fellow.

  I nodded.”

  Old Gruum glanced at Skarl.

  “Yes…Gruum,” Skarl said.

  “Good,” Gruum said.

  Skarl described the incident with the dire wolves, Smilodons and me. He told how the last two cats had escaped. Then Skarl added something interesting. The two beasts had likely watched our group from a distance, observing, no doubt sending the images back to the First Folk.

  That was interesting and telling, and it made all this more like The Island of Doctor Moreau in the sense of the First Folk giving greater intelligence than seemed wise to the great cats. Would that come to bite the First Folk in the butt later?

  Skarl took out each of my items, the special glasses, the rations and Colt .45, which he’d carefully unloaded, perhaps having observed it or looked at it as we marched. Finally, he took out the phasor.

  Gruum sat forward. “Let me see that.”

  Skarl handed him the phasor.

  Gruum turned the phasor about, pressing buttons. I thought he was going to beam one part of the cave.

  Gruum weighed the phasor in his hand as if it was some kind of treasure. He nodded and looked at Skarl. Then he looked at me.

  “You are not one of the People,” Gruum said.

  “No,” I said.

  “You are not one of the First Folk either.”

  “I am not.”

  “What are you?”

  “A Homo sapiens,” I said. “Once, they called us Cro-Magnon man until we became modern.”

  Gruum eyed me with intelligence and thoughtfulness.

  Skarl told Gruum what I’d said about the time in Antarctica.

  I interrupted a few times to explain, learning that the Neanderthal memory for a story was quite keen. Anything Skarl got wrong was because I hadn’t quite told it the way it was exactly.

  Gruum listened keenly.

  I glanced at the unit he used. What powered it? It was an individual unit and the cords I saw all led away from it. I didn’t see any outlets it could be plugged into.

  Gruum raised a withered hand.

  Skarl stopped talking.

  “You are not of the People,” Gruum said.

  “No,” I said, “but I think we’re close in genetic heritage.”

  Gruum cocked his head. “Explain that.”

  “There used to be Neanderthals on our planet,” I said. “Some humans, according to the geneticists, have Neanderthal DNA.”

  “Geneticists,” he said, with a clear indication that he didn’t like the word. “You experiment with genetics as the First Folk do?”

  “Not like the First Folk, but we are and have scientists.”

  He nodded.

  “May I ask you a few questions, Gruum?”

  He considered that. “Ask,” he said.

  “Is this an old mine of the First Folk?”

  “Of course,” he said. “They abandoned it ages ago.”

  “You’re all bachelors, right?”

  “Is that what Skarl told you?” Gruum asked.

  “It is.”

  “Skarl is correct. We are all bachelors. I’m the oldest and have lived away from the mines the longest.”

  “So you were once a slave of the First Folk?”

  “Indeed,” he said.

  “Look, you’ve got my automatic, we call it a Colt .45 on Earth, and you have the phasor. By the looks of it, you’ve seen a phasor before and I imagine you have a few other weapons. You should allow me to help you attack the mines of the First Folk and free the women so that all of you will have a mate. We can free the rest of the slaves and perhaps drive the First Folk off Garm.”

  Gruum raised the phasor. “How many of these do you think we have?”

  “I don’t know. How many do you have?”

  His rheumy eyes narrowed.

  I felt a stirring behind me. Would Brakka whack me again with his annoying brass tube?