Birth of the Chosen One

by Roger Kenworthy

  The men quickly navigated down and around the boulders that lay strewn below our cave, and once the men were on the flat land, father spoke.

  “Men, two of you search in each direction of the wind. Take great care…something may still be out there, and we don’t want to lose any more of our family to some hungry beast! Keep your ears sharp and yell out your location when you find the children.”

  Frantic legs set off in all directions dreading what they’d find, but still holding hope deep within their hearts for the best possible ending. After many steps, young voices…in the distance.

  “Where are they?” Father was frantic, he knew that every breath could be the last our children would take this day.

  “Near where the lands spit hot water and mud!”

  Soon, sixteen fur covered feet formed a hurried queue that led them to the terror filled voices. When the hunters arrived, they saw carnage but also hope.

  Three young children had climbed a tree and were safe; the fourth child was not so lucky. On the ground, with her stomach ripped wide open and hot organs spewed out upon the frozen ground was Galan’s youngest. Thankfully, he remained to guard the cave and not with the rescue party. Death had been painful, but quick. Murky tears ran down matted beards…This day, one father celebrated a new life and hence, new possibilities for the clan while the other mourned a death and the lost opportunities. She could have been a wonderful mate, a devoted mother, and a cherished elder. Gone…in a moment.

  How could father tell his friend that his first born was with the spirits…flying high overhead or blowing with the cool breeze from the mountaintop.

  The men gathered around Tusik as he effortlessly picked up her broken and bloodied body. He held her close, saddened by the extreme terror etched upon her innocent face. A hunter could count the number of years she lived on two hands…just a few seasons old. Her blood dripped down upon the black earth forming small pools that reflected the bright blue sky that hung high overhead.

  As the hunters helped the terrified few who had outsmarted the killing beast, Father asked: “Children, what happened here?”

  Still shivering from the terror that they had just witnessed; three trembling voices began at the same time.

  “We saw these bones and grabbed them in our arms. As we turned, the lion, with babies, stood locked upon our sister. We dropped our bones and ran to this tree.”

  “It surprised us; we couldn’t run fast as the wind!”

  “Yes, we scurried up the tree and as I reached down to help her, it grabbed sister and shook her in a big mouth. I saw the long teeth kill her. Red blood gushed out.” More tears followed as father hugged them.

  “Children, we are here now, and you’re safe. The beast shan’t hurt you. It’s gone and won’t come back, but we’ll find her and her young. Promise. Men, scatter to the winds and find this creature. Kill it, and with great zest as you do it. Have no mercy on her cubs either! Bring back its claws and be favored by the spirits. Go!”

  Several of the hunters grabbed their spears and followed a nearby path that had sprinklings of blood from Galan’s young daughter. An easy trail to follow. They wanted this saga to end the best way possible, death to the lion that had taken a mere child this day.

  “Tusik, we won’t return until we have avenged Galan with the death of the beast and its family; that’s our solemn promise to you and the spirits.”

  “May the land spirits give you good aim; may the sky spirits give you great strength, and may the water spirits give you fast legs. We’ll be back at the cave, and may you return safely, your deed done, and retribution handed out this day for brother Galan and his family.”

  The rest of the hunters and father formed a protective circle around the children and led them back to safety and their family. All the way back, father dreaded telling his friend what had happened to his youngest child.

  A gnawing doubt sapped the energy of Tusik as he instinctively set each foot in front of the other as they made their way back home. On the grasslands that led to the cave were the herds of reindeer and mammoth that were oblivious to his aching heart and lamenting soul. They scurried this way and that, creating undulating geometric patterns of fear…they would live to see the welcoming morning sky.

  His mind probed the depths of this reality; the world of the spirits that killed young children and broke mother’s and father’s hearts. Why? Do we create disfavor in the spirits that surround us and our families? We offer sacrifice and they still want more. Is it not enough that they receive our children’s blood; our sister’s blood; and our brother’s blood? What more can we serve to them? Our most treasured possession is our life and the lives of the present and future generations.

  As if he wore such inner turmoil on his face, a caring voice spoke out. “Brother, I know you are greatly saddened by the death of this mere child; we all are. There was not a dry eye from the brave group of hunters who were at your side. Still, we must believe that our shaman obeys what the spirits ask of him. Narizon is the bravest and wisest of the clan; he risks his life every time he visits the spirit world. When we are sick, he takes our sickness inside him. When we are frightened, he takes our fright away. When we are hopeless, he makes our hopelessness flee.”

  “Brother, your words are filled with wisdom, and I agree that our shaman is the bravest of the brave. He is entrusted with our future and I believe he can do what is needed to sway the wrath the spirits feel towards our family members. Still, it hurts when such a young one dies…a hole is left within our hearts the size of a large spear point. Just as that wound must heal over time, so must the hole in our hearts that we feel after a child’s death must also be healed by time.”

  The entrance to home was in sight. “Now, I must tell Galan that his daughter is with the spirits this day.”

  With the limp body of the young child in his arms, the sad news quickly rippled throughout the cave. A throng of moist eyes stared at the body. They began to wail.

  Galan ran to father, grabbed the child and fell to the darkened earth. “No, my youngest!” Tears flooded deep set eyes.

  Through quick breaths he asked. “What happened brother?’

  “A rogue lioness did this, but we have a handful of our best hunters after the beast. She has cubs, so they’ll be easy to track, and shall pay for this horrible deed with their lives. Once a beast tastes our blood, they can never stop until we stop them. And the time to end this is now! Not another of our family shall meet the spirits because of her taste for our blood.”

  The warmth of the day was gone; one dead child, and we had to celebrate a new life.

  Father’s next decision wasn’t surprising. He gathered everyone together and made an announcement that echoed from the depths of his soul. “Members of the Forest Clan, today we have lost a piece of our family; a child, a daughter, one day a mother…taken by a beast as the sun watched over her. How can I ask you, my family, our family, to celebrate the life of my child after Galan has lost his child? Let us not celebrate our new heir…let us celebrate the short life of our kind daughter who now has taken her place with the spirits. As she walks across the lands, moves amongst the winds, and travels down the rivers, we know she’ll be with us for all the seasons we shall face.”

  Galan spoke between his tears. “Brother Tusik, thank you for your kind words and even nobler heart, but we can’t turn our backs upon your son, the future leader and heir of our clan. We must do what the spirits want us to do, and I believe that they want us to celebrate the life of your son and not the death of my daughter.”

  “Brother, your light shines upon the darkest tunnels in our cave; it is if the yellow sun lives within our home. Darkness lives today, but your words brighten up our lands. You put others first when you feel such pain. No…I cannot go through a ceremony for Ovark today; maybe when a new sun arises or….”

  But, before father could finish what he thought was the most appropriate course to take at the time, he was interrupted by Galan’s sage comme
nt. “We cannot agree. Let’s ask the one and only person in our family who knows what’ll keep the spirits happy and in our favor. Narizon, he’ll connect with the spirits and then make that decision. Will you go along with what our spiritual leader discovers today?”

  “Spoken as a true wise one, Galan. I must agree with you and let our shaman decide how we should act this day. Find him, and let us explain what we should ask of our benevolent spirits.”

  The jagged shadows of the stalactites had barely moved when Narizon appeared from out of the throngs of family members gathered around the young child’s body. He looked right through Tusik and Galan and muttered these barely audible words. There was no need to ask any question to this wise one.

  “Death is life…life is death. They are one and cannot be separated, torn apart by man or by beast. Today we celebrate death and today we celebrate life. The cycles of the seasons continue with us or without us; it is only our land, water, and sky spirits that live forever…until the sun is no more, the rivers are no more, and the skies are no more.”

  He finished his words, abruptly turned away, and walked back to the shadows of the cave.

  “It’s been decided then; we shall not turn our backs upon the death that has saddened our cave today, and we shall not turn our faces away from the life that was given to us this day by the spirits.”

  Galan grabbed father’s arm, looked him in the eye, and uttered these words. “The wise Narizon has spoken and I’m glad that the spirits have smiled down upon us with such joy and such sadness. We can only be one when we suffer with the same feelings.”

  Father smiled between tears.

  It was settled; the celebration of life and death would unite the clan on this day…these were the wishes of the spirits and they had to be obeyed.

  We settled back in our cave, secure that the latest dilemma was behind us; now, it was time for Narizon to begin his purification rites, accompanied with the sacred words to inspire the spirits to keep me safe and out of harm. He would also provide the pathway to the spirits for our daughter, taken so young. Narizon’s words and actions would awaken the spirits this morning, and she would be safe, without pain for the endless seasons.

  It would be a long journey until I experienced enough of life to replace the wisdom of father and assume the leadership of the Forest Clan. I had to learn to hunt the beasts that would feed us. I had to learn to fight our enemies that wanted to steal our lands, take our women and children as slaves. I had to learn to be a wise leader so that my clan would respect me and follow me through the good and bad seasons that were in front of us. That pathway to my ascension was about to unfurl.

  Everyone sat in a large circle around our main fire pit; there needed to be room for each of us to behold such a spectacle and provide a large enough area for our shaman to orchestrate his dance moves about the cave, in his quest to summon the spirits that traveled our lands, skies, and waters. All eyes were upon Narizon, this wise soul who could talk with the spirits and negotiate good health, obtain plentiful game, and receive fair weather for our kind. He was a legend since he most often received what he asked for from the spirits. If we required more food for our growing family, we received it. If we required fair weather to hunt game for the family, we received it. He held strong medicine in the eyes of the many spirits living amongst us.

  Narizon, our strong and brave shaman, was unlike the hunters of the clan. He was shorter and thinner; smaller arms and skinnier legs; and a sunken chest emphasized by his narrow ribs. Strange…he appeared not to be of this world. He walked within it but lived without it as well. He never spoke much since most times he was walking with the spirits throughout their sacred lands; if it rained, his eyes were shut, and if it snowed, his hands were opened to the falling flakes. He seldom wore furs even in the middle of our cold season; he seemed to enjoy the ice and snow as it clung to his silver beard and long white hair.

  His gaunt neck was encircled with many shell necklaces of pink and white that rattled a sweet sound when he walked or danced. Ebony tattoos ran up and down his emaciated frame, front and back. A circle for wisdom; a straight line for courage; a three-sided shape for protection. His prized possession, his leather pouch made from black bear hide with a thin ribbon of dried red berries sewed into the edges. They sparkled as the reddest sunset when he walked through a snowfall.

  Aged hands clung to a white skull atop his crooked wooden walking stick and a sea shell rattle decorated with brightly colored flowers and feathers. The skull from his first kill; a message from the past told us that he sent the beast to the spirits with his bare hands. His rattle belonged to his father, and it is said it belonged to his father’s father…it travelled many seasons and conjured up the sleeping spirits uncounted times…his feet bare, rough and oft times bloodied from many nights of dancing. Once he communicated with the spirits, he could dance and make offerings for days on end. As we slept, he danced; as he slept, we guarded him.

  While we were riveted to his every move, he calmly sat down on a white bear fur and assembled the talismans needed to summon the spirits, to awaken them from their compliancy and have them to act as he wished them to this day. He slowly untied his leather pouch, methodically searching for a dried leaf or roasted seed; each item possessed special magic. The wisdom to select the correct leaf or berry was passed down along Narizon’s ancestors; an incorrect decision could summon the evil spirits and along with them they would bring sadness and death.

  A few short breaths, a few quick hand motions, and his precious fur captured the right ingredients from the pouch. The aroma from an assortment of dried berries, leaves, and herbs hung sweetly on the silent air of the cave. Just that smell would surely awaken any spirit that was within our lands or skies. The wily shaman appeared to be content, perhaps, even gloating at his wise choice…long years of experience connecting with the spirits gave him the wisdom required to fulfill his sacred duties on this sad, yet jubilant day.

  The next part of the ritual we witnessed many times before. To transcend the physical world and enter the spiritual realm, he needed to be at one with the spirits; Narizon ate sacred berries and herbs, mixed with the most sacred and powerful elixir of life…blood. He made separate piles of equal size; daintily placed between the two was a yellow gourd filled with curdled blood of the beast killed earlier in the day. The blood appeared brighter; the berries seemed more alive; and the herbs more potent as they created a colorful feast to the eyes for those who looked on with great interest.

  A revered hand first clutched some herbs; a humming sound with unintelligible words followed. He placed the entire handful in his mouth. He slowly ate them. A drink of crimson blood. A second handful of berries with more humming accompanied by incoherent words. He quickly ate them. A drink of crimson blood. A greasy hand took a swipe at his mouth and left a smear of red across his matted beard. Then eyes closed. Legs crossed. Body swayed.

  Silence…no sounds or movement from the shaman. All eyes were opened wide and waited for his next move. Red eyes popped open…he bounced up from his snowy white fur like a lioness set upon her quarry. He stooped down low to the cave floor, crooked staff in hand, his skull staff moving left and right as it mesmerized the onlookers. He gyrated wildly, arms spread wide as if an eagle in flight caught in an updraft. He pounded his feet upon the earthen floor without mercy…blood started to ooze from the bottom of each one. Dust swirled in small clouds around him…it appeared at times that he had shed an arm, then a leg, then a foot. This display captivated the family.

  He stopped, threw down his staff…its duty fulfilled. He picked up his drum. Two skilled hands rhythmically pounded his skin covered instrument quickly and then slowly, lulling each of us into a state of calmness before pushing us into a state of euphoria. Our emotions swelled like the waves on the green sea, rolling up and down, up and down. Hearts beat quickly and then slowly…we were one heart beating, one set of lungs breathing. One universal state of bliss. Women moved this way and that as the tall g
rass that lined the green valley near our cave; children bent forward and backward as a young tree in the winter season; and hunters convulsed to their right and then the left as a dying beast in its last moment.

  His drumming stopped. Silence. He spoke.

  “Oh, mighty and just spirits; we are here to ask you for two blessings. I call on you this day to ask you to bestow your blessings of long life and wisdom to our new son, Ovark. It was many seasons ago that I summoned the wise spirits to bless the life of Tusik, son of Tosak, father of Ovark, and now it is the time to take Ovark into your quiver of spears and keep him safe from the jaws of the beasts that roam this land. Have him kept safe from the cold snows and thick ice that keeps us in our cave in the short season of our life.”

  Father proudly looked at my eyes and vowed deep within his muscular body to do his part and answer all that the spirits asked of him. He would not go against their will; he would obey their words, visons, and omens set before him. He would die before he let me go to the spirits.

  “I ask your blessings for the young female child of brother Galan’s who has left this life to be with you today. Many seasons have passed since I stood over Galan at his birth and asked the noble spirits to give him a long life and create many children. He has been granted both; he is strong and has four children. We cry tears since we have lost another of our family. And so, she has travelled to you today, and we only ask that you keep her safe and out of harm’s way so that she never has to feel pain in her present journey.”

  Galan stared into the closed eyes of his daughter and vowed to the spirits that he would not feel remorse that they had taken her this day. Rather, he thanked the spirits to have her travel with them in his life. He knew she had ended her long journey of suffering that most of our kind went through in this life. She would not feel hunger. She would not feel the cold. She would not feel the pain of losing her own son or daughter.