“Thank you honey; but you’re both gems.” He turns. “I will tell you students,” Bering starts. “The tale involves sacred, stone tablets and black magic. Each stone was to give direction through the Bering Strait, to new land. Each, was to direct people to Kantishna Hills at Denali—to a lake and beyond to new lands.”
“Wonder Lake? Here? Is that what you mean?” Lucky blinks.
“Yes. I think so,” Bering continues.
“That’s exciting,” Ricky blurts.
Stanley takes a deep breath. He yawns and then folds hands.
Bering goes on. “You see students, at the new, established site, kind of a fort,” he says, “the early settlers, so long ago, played, fished, hunted, and enjoyed life. I’m sure they had struggles. No doubt, there were many difficult, as well as happy times. But, the chief had five sons. On his death-bed, records indicate he made and gave each of these children the gift his father gave him: a stone tablet, a compass of sorts.”
“A means to find their way around,” Rupa says following along. “Yes. I see. It’s like Stanley carrying his compass.”
“I have mine,” Stanley says and he shakes. He pats, his shirt-pocket where he keeps the navigation piece and then reaches and yanks. “See, dad?” Dangling on a silver chain, the glitzy device shines.
“Yes, Rupa. Yes, Stanley. Very good,” says Sasha.
“Let daddy finish, Stanley,” sister Natasha speaks up.
Stanley quiets down.
“Ahom,” Bering mumbles. He goes on. “Now, furthermore young folk, we’ve learned the elder chief gave instructions to five sons. When grown, they were to leave, explore, and settle in new territory. They were told to take twenty members of the tribe—men, women, and children—and they were to find new lands. Asked to learn mysteries of new places, they were to return at the end of the full moon, one year later, when they would celebrate, together.”
Students listen. Several eat oat, honey, peanut, and chocolate-mix, snack bars.
“Well,” Bering continues, “we’re not sure what happened. But, apparently, at one point, three of five sons returned. Sons set their stones at the original site, here.”
“Yes. We have the three tablets, no more,” Esky interjects.
The Inuit’s dark hair and tanned skin, gleam, the Eskimo-characteristics typical of all people in a land with so much snow and ice. Genetics have weaned more than hair color. Genes brought additional favored traits to the forefront over years, such as the Inuit body’s ability to metabolize fats. Helpful, successful, despite eating plenty of blubber, fatty fish, the beneficial genes passed to generations after years of surviving frigid ice.
“Augh,” Mike mumbles. Rocking side to side Mike’s lips pooch and cheeks puff. He shrugs. “Sir, I…”
“Don’t you understand?” Bering asks. Gazing to students who blink and rub chins, he continues. “My ancestors might have made way for thousands of people. This area is the leading site for a magnificent trek across North American lands. We have evidence of a written record of Paleo-Indian people, that is, Clovis people, my people. What’s more, I now know there are two more books, or tablets. Through the years, the Inuit tell a tale of a young boy named Ice-cup separated from his family. He survived, somehow. I’m excited. I’ll contact many colleagues Sasha and I have throughout North America. We need to make them aware of our find and ask them to search, to look for two important artifacts and…”
“Then an ice-cup; and two books of stone, sir.” Mike interrupts and he leaps, up. He pumps fists. “I understand. It’s, wild, sir, it is. I love the awesome tale; and I’m ready to jump in, to explore, and find your family,” he blabs and continues.
“Two books of stone
Ice cups rest
In stones, some messed
Threw their spears
Killed their deer
He’s far from home.”
“Ha, ha, Michael. He truly was,” says Bering. The noted paleontologist smiles and shakes his head. Bering goes on, “Yes, there once was a little boy, students. He became separated and lost from those who loved him. Once, a chief gave his sons a gift; and he told his boys to go and explore new territory.”
Quiet, each student appears to sense serious words.
“Ooh,” Kimme whispers to Testy. “Dr. Husky might be related to 10,000-year-old men and women. Wow.”
Friends nod and remain quiet. Perhaps, they think of words a great chieftain said in this same place nearer the time when ice was so great. Reflection, at peace, some might think and dream. Dr. Bering Yovok Husky dreams. He has dreamed thoughts of ancestors, often, Sasha noted. Paleontologist Bering Husky seems to dream now, and perhaps recollects tales.