Ember of a New World

by Watson, Tom

  No, that was another women screaming, she thought. Ember looked up worried for her friends before she saw that source of the scream was a very large man, also on his knees in front of her. Rosif was holding himself with tears in his eyes and blood running down his leg from a freshly opened wound. The scream sounded much like the woman's scream she had thought she had heard the night she escaped Rosif the first time...

  Ember quickly stood and started to back away when Rosif's whimpers suddenly turned to laughing; crazed laughing. Both of the other hunters looked upon him with fearful expressions as he slowly stood and turned towards Ember. Blood rolled down his legs as he smiled at her. His manic expression told Ember all she needed to know. He had been pushed too far for mere pain and now would conclude this encounter without the need to take her anywhere. He would kill her here and now. Rosif wasted no words pulling free the obsidian dagger, her dagger, and came at her. Ember shrieked and fell backwards, tripping in her quick motion to back away from the massive man. He was on her in an instant, arm plunging downward with the dagger. The next moment he collapsed on top of Ember with the dagger in his hand and a scream from his mouth... and stopped moving. The wind was blown out of Ember's lungs and blackness and stars filled her vision as Rosif landed upon her with all of his weight.

  A few moments later, Ember opened her eyes and looked into his. He was dead and with a bewildered look on his face. His eyes looked at Ember with confused hate as his pupils slowly dilated. Ember rolled the large man off of her, a difficult task as he had nearly crushed her with his massive form, and crawled away grasping at her obsidian dagger more confused than ever. As she stood, the culprit became clear for Rosif had an arrow shaft protruding from the base of his skull. It had severed his spine and instantly killed him. Ember looked up to see the youngest hunter standing with a pained look in his eyes. In his hands, a loosed bow waited for a new arrow. He had killed his leader.

  Through the woods, the sound of men from the camp could be heard. They were coming to hear what had befallen their women. The younger man looked at Ember, and she could see the pain in his eyes. This man had clearly lost his mind and the young hunter had done what needed to be done, but at what cost? She knew not of his relation with the old man, but the shocked look on Calpano's face told her of the enormity of this event. She had been right when she had first guessed that he was not in agreement with her capture. As the men were heard coming off in the distance, she touched her chest.

  “Ember,” she said. He gave her a weak nod.

  “Pak,” he replied. With that, he and Calpano turned and moved off into the deep woods disappearing quickly. Pak turned only once more to regard those deep green eyes. He would remember those eyes for the rest of his life.

  Perhaps we will meet again Ember, he thought.

  Chapter 12: Traders

  Ember had made some interesting changes, becoming more like a hunter and warrior in some respects. The idea of a female warrior or hunter is not actually a new concept. Female warriors have existed throughout time and are documented within recorded history. Many cultures have featured proud female warriors, such as the Scythians, Picts, Iranians, general Celtic Peoples, and a host of other groups. Sometimes these women were special people who rose above the standard roles of women, and sometimes their respective cultures allowed for women to generally attain such posts.

  In the early Neolithic period of Europe, warriors were probably not very common given the overall lack of fortified dwellings early in the period; though it is likely some warriors did exist. The role of tribal defense was probably the job of hunters, mostly men. It is possible that some women may have attained the social rank of hunter or even warrior in some special cases. Though no body of evidence of this exists, the possibility may be inferred by the general existence of such practices within the descendants of the same Neolithic peoples, in later times.

  That night, the attack on Ember was the talk of the dinner. No one addressed Ember directly as speaking to her about it before she had indicated she was ready to speak was improper to these people. They spoke in their own language, amongst themselves. Ember couldn't understand them, but she knew what they spoke of by their tones. Kis’tra assured her that it wasn't as much as she thought, but all she could feel were eyes watching her.

  After the men had arrived, led by Ven'Gar, Ember had convinced them not to follow the hunters. They found her holding her dagger and standing over the body of a man. The men were taken aback the by the scene. A woman, a single young woman had apparently defeated or driven off three hunters. Their leader was dead at Ember's feet, and none of the group had been harmed, aside from Ember. She had tried to explain that Pak had killed the man, but Ven'Gar and the other men were obviously impressed by her calm explanations and escape. The scene had confirmed her earlier story of her daring escape from the men, which she had eventually told after she had become more comfortable with the people of Tornhemal. Vengeance was her right alone, and she had forfeited this right, asking Ven'Gar to let the other men go.

  What had amazed the men even more was Ember's insistence that she take a moment to sing a death song for the fallen man. Ember did not like him, but she was not sure she was comfortable with his violent death. Singing the death song would assure her that his spirit might find some sort of calm in the skies. Ember wondered if she was performing the ritual for the older dead hunter or out of some respect for the young hunter, Pak. After she finished the long mournful song, the men had carried away the body.

  Before the men buried Rosif's body, they had severed the hands and feet to render the spirit less deadly if it came calling after death. Spirits of the dead were a troubling thought, especially if that spirit belonged to the nameless brute that had attacked their women.

  The attack was not the only thing which troubled Ember. After three ten-days with the people of Tornhemal, she knew it was time to decide what she would do. Ember had come to a hard but necessary decision as she sat by the fire eating. The camp had already begun preparations to leave for the south and would soon depart. More importantly, the boat was ready and had already proven river-worthy when Ember had used it two days before in the shallows of the river as a test.

  Well, I guess I might as well get this over with, she thought.

  Ember stood and waited for everyone to notice and become silent, observing the customs of the group. Even Kis’tra was curious at the abrupt interlude. Most immediately expected her to present a short “good-bye” speech if such could be had with her small shared vocabulary. Ember looked at each member, avoiding Aya's icy looks, and settled her gaze on Nor'Gar. She smiled and began.

  “Ember, go-west, when no-snow. It soon, cold. Ember, go with, Tornhemal-people, south? Ember, go-North, go-West when warm”. She had asked to journey with the group all of the way to the south where they traded and remain during the cold season, and why not? The weather might hold out, but what would she find when she arrived? The entire journey was based upon a “sign”, for whatever that was worth, and Ember truly didn't know what to expect. Most likely, she would find some other tribe and be forced to join them out of necessity. In truth, she was starting to consider remaining with the people of Tornhemal instead of finishing her journey. Perhaps the cold seasons would give her time to come to terms with these thoughts. Ember stared at Nor'Gar, but her mind was elsewhere and Nor'Gar could see it in her young eyes.

  He once had a younger brother, much like Ember in many ways, who had moved on to another tribe to the south east of Tornhemal near the Great River. That was ten and another ten or more harvests before.

  You are so much like him, I knew you were the one, Ember, from the start, he thought, I remember my vision even now all of these seasons past. You are just as you were then.

  Nor'Gar let his mind flow back to when he had been young and had undergone a vision seeking trip at night into the woods north of Tornhemal. He remembered that experience as he looked into Ember's bright green eyes. He had walked onto a frozen lake in t
he dark without realizing it and had fallen in. Nor'Gar was young and inexperienced, but he was also strong and brave. Seeing only icy blackness, he found the surface by the light of the moon. He had pulled himself from the water and quickly stripped from his clothing to get dry. Wet clothing was worse than no clothing as the air, cold as it was, would dry you more quickly. He was found curled into a ball by the lake not long after by another hunter group and brought back to the village, remarkably alive.

  During the time he laid on the ice slowly freezing to death, he had a vision. A young woman with bright green eyes and long red hair came down from the moon and danced before him. She was nude but for her long fiery red hair, which touched the ground. After a short moment, she had come forward and gently kissed him. As their lips met, he had felt warmth all over.

  “I will return,” she had said, as she made her way back to the moon with a long flowing dance.

  I remember you young dancer. I knew one day I would again meet you, though you do not know it. When that bright orb flew through the sky not long ago, I knew it would be soon. You have the spirit of the moon, the heart of a warrior, and luck about you, he thought wistfully. That is why I have made my decision. Nor'Gar knew that his vision might easily have been the result of the cold slowly taking his life and that coincidence was a part of life, but he couldn't help but wonder if this truly was fate.

  “Ember, work hard. Ember defend Tornhemal-people. Ember-have heart-of-Warrior. Yes, you-come, Warrior Ember.” The wording was terrible, given the language barrier, but Nor'Gar said it with what might have been almost an affectionate look in his eyes. There were general gasps among the people. No woman had ever been called a hunter, let alone a warrior! Ember felt her emotions roaring up at being so accepted by these people, but she held her eyes firm with a deep breath. She didn't know what to make of being called a warrior. Was he joking? Ember was a woman and couldn't be a warrior, at least amongst her people, or any other people she had heard of or met. The mood was interrupted when Aya, having seen the way Nor'Gar was so attached to Ember, stood suddenly and walked away to her hut.

  Nor'Gar closed his eyes as she left and hoped he might be able to do something about that problem.

  Ah to be so young and so stupid, he thought with true envy and a chuckle.

  “What-of, boat?” Ember asked, almost apologetically, to Nor'Gar.

  “Boat fine!” butted in Sv'en, “Birds, squirrels, no use.” His ability to tell a joke, even with a fifty word vocabulary of a foreign language was quite impressive as the laughter around the fire told. Then it was settled, Ember the Warrior, would journey south and return in the warm season by this same route, so she wouldn't become lost. Traveling on land was too dangerous alone, another reason she would return with this group. She would then continue her journey via boat. That night there was much food and dancing as each person mentally prepared for the journey. Ember sat with Kis’tra by the fire thinking and watching people dance.

  Am I, Ember the woman, now Ember the warrior? she thought. A warrior? Was he joking? He didn't perform any rituals. Ember created a mental image of herself wearing full warrior regalia of colorful body paints, feathers, and sporting a massive spear. The thought made her giggle until the images of Rosif returned. Ember thought again of Rosif's hand-less and footless body being pulled away, to a nearby valley, stripped, and quickly painted with ash. He was buried that same day in a very shallow grave without any weapons or tools of his trade, whatever that had been. To do so worried Ember greatly as spirits wouldn't look favorably on people who sent them off with nothing. Sv'en and Tor'kal had insisted that this be done with dishonorable enemies.

  Enemies..., which must make me a warrior. Only a warrior would walk around with “enemies” doing battle, she thought. She felt a little bad, even for Rosif, but she was relieved by the end of that affair. That night, Ember thought of Pak, the only one of the hunters she knew for sure by name, and how “evil” he really was. In reality, Ember was starting to see that evil was less defined and more a point of view. Pak could just as easily have killed her. Pushing her thoughts aside she threw her hands into the air and danced around the fire with the rest of the group.

  The next morning, the group pulled down their huts and prepared to leave. Disposable wares, such as the reed mats, were being dispersed on the growing plots to aid them as they decomposed. Poles and specially shaped rocks, too heavy to carry, were placed in stock piles as sheltered as possible to wait until they next returned. Not much pottery was left, for the people of Tornhemal were not very skilled or advanced with pottery. Ember would soon need to teach them a thing or two about pot making. Her people and most of the other tribes to the east created beautiful pottery with rich vivid details. Her tribe created clayware with black lines, which zigzagged and circles around the rim, much like the circles she applied to her face with soot. Ember had recently taken to using oily soot to apply color to her face as the other women of the group did. The people of Tornhemal didn't wear much body coloring, but Ember had recently coated herself in a rich red color made from berries, with zigzagging lines. With thoughts of painting, colors, and pottery, Ember went about her chores helping prepare for the trip south.

  As she worked, Ember thought about the predicament the women had been in when confronted by men with bows. The women had merely carried simple rounded knives, good for cutting plants. While ready to cut even the mightiest plant, none of the women had any real defensive tools. They had been totally at the mercy of the men. If Ember was truly a warrior, should she not learn how to use a bow? She had fired a bow before. Most of the women had used a bow to shoot fish or very small game. A small light game bow was much different from the heavy bows men used to kill deer, and on occasion, each other. Ember grimaced at the thought, but the world was as it was and she had to either learn to defend herself or fall. Ember decided at that moment to ask one of the men of Tornhemal to instruct her in archery. As the thought occurred, she caught sight of Tor'kal carrying furs towards a larger pile of trade wares, to be packed. Ember took a deep breath and approached the hunter...

  Before the mid-day meal, the entire camp, now twenty-two “traders”, were ready to move. Ember was impressed by how fast these semi-nomadic people could become ready to leave. Each person now made their way around the camp site looking for anything unfinished or potentially left behind. Leaving something behind was a common human trait and always a pain. Most people owned few personal possessions and those who did kept them, generally, in their huts. Borjk had assured Ember that back at Tornhemal, a village larger than Ember's, each person had left their best possessions.

  Mid-meal was the last meal to be eaten around the dowsed central fire. Immediately afterward, the group stood and lifted their belongings for the trip. The meal had been eaten much earlier than normal so walking could be more fruitful the first day. Each person carried their possessions, their clothing, building materials, and trade wares. Ember stood wearing her knee-length leather skirt and the tough leather boots Kis’tra had given her, along with her doe skin shirt. Around her waist, a woven leather thong belt was tied, courtesy of Ena, to which she had affixed her dagger and her pouch. Around her neck, she now wore Blossom's Goddess pendant on a leather thong. On her back, she held a leather bag with a single strap going over her left shoulder and down to her right hip. The bag contained several bundles of dried meat and enough beans, tuber leaves, and tubers to last several people a ten-day. Attached to the side of the bag were a dozen wooden poles, used for setting up racks and spits, as well as about ten roles of leather thong. Most importantly, attached to the large bag were a small bow and a quiver of twelve arrows, given to her by Sv'en and Tor'kal. They had found her sudden need to learn to fight both amusing and a little inspiring.

  “Ember warrior need-weapon,” Tor'kal had said with Sv'en nodding profusely. She could never tell if they were serious. Ember was not skilled with a bow, a man's weapon, but she would need to know how to use one when she again journeyed alone. B
efore the morning meal, Tor'kal and Sv'en had handed Ember the bow, one of Tor'kal's, and prompted her to try it. She had found stringing it, the act of fastening the bowstring, the hardest part. A bow left strung would soon lose its reflexive ability and tilling a new bow, the act of making a bow, was a long and involved process. Ember had been barely able to flex the bow enough to place the string loop around the string nock of the bow, the name of the end piece.

  After finally stringing the bow, Ember found drawing the bow much easier. Tor'kal had explained that her bow was lighter than most bows. This meant it was less powerful, but Ember would be able to use it without her arms shaking with strain. Ember then attempted to fire a few arrows at a pile of used mats to be left behind. Sv'en stood behind her and carefully helped Ember hold and fire the bow correctly. Ember found that the bow came very quickly to her. Her aim was a little off and she was very new, having fired only a few arrows from the bow, but somehow the weapon felt good in her hands.

  “Ember is-natural,” Sv'en had said using some of his own words as well as the trade tongue. Ember had accepted the compliment and even decided not to complain about her overly heavy traveling bag.

  The troop left with a song on their tongues and a light step. Ember's boat was flipped upside down and left covered with brush to prevent anyone finding it. With any luck, animals would not get into the boat and it would remain there until she returned, though it would require some drying in the sun before use. Ember hoped that she would finally know what she wanted for herself by the time she next returned to see the boat. Until then, Ember would need to become acquainted with trading and archery.