Institute, point man for our partnership. Here’s my contact information.” He places the envelope on the podium. “The institute sends its greetings and gratitude.”
“Likewise from our side. Call me Greg, if you would.” He grins at Mark. “We aren’t too formal around here. Glad you could come for our party.” Greg puts Mark’s envelope under the note cards. “I’ll show you around the place before we get started. Hey, Ben,” he calls over Mark’s head, “text me when things are ready.”
Mark’s head jerks back slightly . Party? No one had mentioned a party. What kind of loosely run organization had the institute paired him with? As Greg heads for the door, Mark bolts after him.
“Wait a minute. I’m sorry,” Mark says. “As much as I’d like to, I really can’t stay long right now. Maybe just for a quick tour. This is only a touch-base kind of visit.”
Greg stops and turns so abruptly that Mark bumps into him. “You’ve got to stay. You’re our guest of honor. Look on the back wall.” Greg raises an arm, his fingers spread back toward the podium. “One of those is yours. We got your saliva sample in time to work it up, and man, do we have a surprise for you.”
Mark knows he’s frowning, but he can’t stop. A surprise isn’t necessarily a good thing. Earlier, he didn’t notice the clothesline stretched along the wall behind the podium. He focuses on what is hanging there, and the sight is so offbeat that his brow loosens, and he barely notices his fingers once again going through his beard.
Colorful plastic clothespins hold T-shirts all along the line. Gracing the front of every shirt is a Neanderthal man or woman, redheaded and wearing animal skins.
Western Asia, Late Pleistocene
T here had been signs—bruised grass here, a disturbed cluster of stones there. The men who’d come for Raven did not discuss such things with her. Their abrupt silences, whenever she approached to better hear them, made her isolation as the small group’s sole woman almost complete. But while she was breaking off rosemary stalks growing against a rock, several large footprints nearby caught her attention. She straightened so briskly her dark braid flew back over her shoulder. She waved the stalks overhead and let out an owl hoot. Bear, her sister’s mate and the journey leader, led them all over at a run, his wolverine hood flopping in agitation around his face.
Raven pointed out the prints. But instead of being grateful for an extra pair of eyes, Bear practically snarled at her.
“Stop wandering away over the steppe, woman, or you’ll be taken by a lion,” he said. The frown gave way to a sly smile, his lip curling over an eyetooth, white and sharp. “Or you could accidentally be left behind.” His tall, fur-draped bulk blocked the sun, and the cool spring day suddenly seemed colder.
She did not snap at him—choking back the impulse with a small cough—that if left behind, she would simply follow the group’s tracks until she caught up. Instead she said, “I need to replenish certain medicines before we reach the valley. Plants will be different there.” The strong rosemary smell was suffocating, so she stuffed the bunch into her herbal pouch.
“Forget that for now. If you don’t reach camp alive and well, I’ll have to put up with your sister’s sorrow. Understand me. I am fetching you only because she begged me to, so don’t burden us.”
His black eyes on her face, he motioned toward the other men, who, when she glanced at them, gawked back with curiosity from where they leaned on their spears. “Stay in our midst.” His wolfish smile glistened. “Unless what you actually seek is to join your dead mate.”
Although she kept her face calm and relaxed, his words made her taut inside, like sun-dried sinew. One full turn of the seasons had already passed since Reed had gone, yet her sorrow remained deep and wide. Her throat tightened, silencing her, and all she could do was
“Likewise from our side. Call me Greg, if you would.” He grins at Mark. “We aren’t too formal around here. Glad you could come for our party.” Greg puts Mark’s envelope under the note cards. “I’ll show you around the place before we get started. Hey, Ben,” he calls over Mark’s head, “text me when things are ready.”
Mark’s head jerks back slightly . Party? No one had mentioned a party. What kind of loosely run organization had the institute paired him with? As Greg heads for the door, Mark bolts after him.
“Wait a minute. I’m sorry,” Mark says. “As much as I’d like to, I really can’t stay long right now. Maybe just for a quick tour. This is only a touch-base kind of visit.”
Greg stops and turns so abruptly that Mark bumps into him. “You’ve got to stay. You’re our guest of honor. Look on the back wall.” Greg raises an arm, his fingers spread back toward the podium. “One of those is yours. We got your saliva sample in time to work it up, and man, do we have a surprise for you.”
Mark knows he’s frowning, but he can’t stop. A surprise isn’t necessarily a good thing. Earlier, he didn’t notice the clothesline stretched along the wall behind the podium. He focuses on what is hanging there, and the sight is so offbeat that his brow loosens, and he barely notices his fingers once again going through his beard.
Colorful plastic clothespins hold T-shirts all along the line. Gracing the front of every shirt is a Neanderthal man or woman, redheaded and wearing animal skins.
Western Asia, Late Pleistocene
T here had been signs—bruised grass here, a disturbed cluster of stones there. The men who’d come for Raven did not discuss such things with her. Their abrupt silences, whenever she approached to better hear them, made her isolation as the small group’s sole woman almost complete. But while she was breaking off rosemary stalks growing against a rock, several large footprints nearby caught her attention. She straightened so briskly her dark braid flew back over her shoulder. She waved the stalks overhead and let out an owl hoot. Bear, her sister’s mate and the journey leader, led them all over at a run, his wolverine hood flopping in agitation around his face.
Raven pointed out the prints. But instead of being grateful for an extra pair of eyes, Bear practically snarled at her.
“Stop wandering away over the steppe, woman, or you’ll be taken by a lion,” he said. The frown gave way to a sly smile, his lip curling over an eyetooth, white and sharp. “Or you could accidentally be left behind.” His tall, fur-draped bulk blocked the sun, and the cool spring day suddenly seemed colder.
She did not snap at him—choking back the impulse with a small cough—that if left behind, she would simply follow the group’s tracks until she caught up. Instead she said, “I need to replenish certain medicines before we reach the valley. Plants will be different there.” The strong rosemary smell was suffocating, so she stuffed the bunch into her herbal pouch.
“Forget that for now. If you don’t reach camp alive and well, I’ll have to put up with your sister’s sorrow. Understand me. I am fetching you only because she begged me to, so don’t burden us.”
His black eyes on her face, he motioned toward the other men, who, when she glanced at them, gawked back with curiosity from where they leaned on their spears. “Stay in our midst.” His wolfish smile glistened. “Unless what you actually seek is to join your dead mate.”
Although she kept her face calm and relaxed, his words made her taut inside, like sun-dried sinew. One full turn of the seasons had already passed since Reed had gone, yet her sorrow remained deep and wide. Her throat tightened, silencing her, and all she could do was
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