Subterranean

"So you stole the memory of my grandfather to represent yourself."

"Not me. You did. It was your mind that pulled up your grandfather's image to represent a heri'huti."

Ben pictured his grandfather's stern sober face. "And just what the devil is a heri'huti?"

"I am. As are you. Someone with the ability to co

"But why me?"

"I can read the history of your blood. A strong heri'huti glides in your bloodline from the distant past. Very strong. You are still unlearned, but with time your skill might even surpass mine. A skill that my village needs in order to survive."

"What do you mean, survive?"

"I am the last of my people with this ability," Mo'amba said, his expression suddenly pained. "With the passing of time, I have seen the other heri'hutis depart this world until only I was left. Now even I can't lead the hunters to feed our people and protect the boundaries from the crak'an anymore. The hunters go out alone. Blind. Without the guidance of a heri'huti to see beyond the next bend, it is very dangerous, and we have lost many hunters. Widows wail every night. We ca

"Me?"

"I have been calling for many years seeking to draw others like me here to our village. But you were the only one to answer."

"Bloody hell, there must be others. Others like… well, like you. Maybe another village would share their heri'huti with this village."

Mo'amba shook his head. "After the Scattering, the other villages were lost to us. In deep dreams, I sometimes hear inklings of the Lost Ones, but it may just be wishful dreaming rather than true dreaming."

"Still, you can't expect me to-"

Mo'amba's form drifted back into the image of his grandfather, anger lines deep around his eyes. "Blood runs true! You are one of us!"

Ben opened his mouth to protest when Ashley's voice suddenly intruded. "Ben, you must see this!"

With her words, the images around him faded, the face of his grandfather swallowed by blackness. He opened his eyes and shook his head, clearing the clinging cobwebs of his dream.

Ashley stared at him with a crinkled brow. "Jesus, how could you sleep at a time like this?"

"What?" Dazed, he rubbed his temples, a vague throbbing still there.

"Come see this," Ashley said, oblivious to what had just transpired. She crossed a few yards and knelt by a painting, waving him over.

He glanced across the clearing to the old man. He still sat staring.

With a shiver, Ben pushed up to his feet and slid over to Ashley, unsure what to tell her. "What did you find, Ash?"

"Look at this painted petroglyph. It's a triptych."

"A trip… what?"

"Three pictures. See the last one." Ashley crouched before three painted red circles and pointed at the third one.

Ben knelt closer, not quite believing what he was seeing. The third circle held a crude map of landmasses of the southern hemisphere. "My god, that's Australia."

"I know. It's crude but fairly accurate. Now look at the other two."

Ben studied the other two circles. The first showed the Australian continent co

"It's the co

"I still don't get it."

Ashley sighed as if she had already adequately explained. "Mille

He shrugged. "So you think…?"

"Yes! Look at the first map." She pointed to the link between the continents. "That's the land bridge. The second picture shows the breakup of the bridge. The third picture shows how the continents eventually became isolated."

"But how could these people know about this? Map this?"

Ashley sat back on her haunches. "They obviously lived through it. And mapped it, like the American Indians did their coastlines. And through either an oral or pictorial history, they kept the memory alive." She pointed to both Australia and Antarctica on the third map. "They were once co

Ben studied the images, imagining a people forced to flee to the icy continent across a bridge of rock. He placed a finger on Antarctica. Two tribes separated. "My god… the Scattering," he mumbled. "Maybe this was what Mo'amba was talking about."

"Who?" Ashley asked, turning her nose from the middle picture.

"Ash, you better sit down for this one." He watched as she gave him her full attention, her eyebrows knitted tightly together. As he explained what had just occurred between him and the old man, her eyebrows drew apart and climbed high on her forehead.

"You mean he can speak to you!" she exclaimed when he had finished. "They do use some rudimentary telepathy." She glanced toward the creature seated cross-legged across from them. "Is he listening to us right now? Reading our minds?"

"I don't think so. We both have to be in a trancelike state. Like the Aborigines do with their dreaming pools when they communicate."

"And he's the last of his people with this ability?"

Ben nodded. "Besides me."

Ashley's expression became thoughtful. "From the standpoint of population genetics, the loss of this trait among the tribe makes sense. This community has been isolated for thousands of generations. The amount of inbreeding in this closed group without the infusion of fresh genetic stock would weaken the complex string of genes that creates this ability, eventually wiping it out." She turned to him, her eyes wide and glassy. "I could spend a lifetime just studying this single trait's effect on a population. It will turn the field of anthropology on its ear. I mean-"

Ben held up a hand. "Ash, that's all just fine and dandy, but we still need to get out of here. Or at least retrieve Michaelson and the others."

Ashley's expression sobered with his words. "You're right," she said, nodding. "There's plenty of time to start investigating after we get back to Alpha Base." She pointed at the sitting figure. "Did you ask Mo'amba how to get out of here?"

"No. And I don't think he'll be too cooperative. He wants me to stay. Take his place in the tribe."

"That could be a problem." Ashley started tapping the tip of her finger on her chin. "Something doesn't make sense. If you're so damned important to the tribe, why did they try to kill you?"

"I don't know."

"Apparently not everybody shares Mo'amba's view. That young buck with the ruby staff, possibly the village leader, sure as hell didn't seem to want us around. Perhaps we could-"

A sudden commotion erupted behind them. Ben turned to see a familiar figure limping toward them from between the shrouded columns. A small group of armed creatures followed, spears knocking the red mushrooms to swinging.

Ashley sprang up. "It's Michaelson!"

Ben's eyes drifted across the legion of spears that followed the major. He studied the score of armed warriors. While most of the warriors held their spears casually across their shoulders, some kept wary hands on scabbarded knives.

Stepping up to Michaelson, Ben clapped him on the shoulder. He noticed the smears of blood on his face. "What happened?" he asked. "It looks like you've been through the bloody wringer."