Birth of the Chosen One

by Roger Kenworthy

  His one hand clutched a variety of green leafy plants; wrapped with a thin piece of brown hide from a beast and held tightly by long slender fingers. These were used by our shamans to cure the sick and injured; these were powerful medicine given only to the wisest of the wise. The spirits carefully choose who was the worthiest to receive such wisdom and power to have control over life and death. If used properly, the sick walked again, the injured hunted again. If used improperly, they could send all the family to the spirits long before their time was due.

  In the other hand was a skull with long white fangs; it was a saber tooth tiger that had roamed our territory. It was unusual; in death, it had shiny green stones placed where the eyes were in life. These circles of green, as bright as the water that reflected the sun in the warm season, always followed you wherever you were. I stepped to the left, they peered at me; I stepped to the right, they peered at me; I stood in front of it, they peered at me. At night, with the fires roaring, they seemed to open and close as if sending a silent message. Mother often made me stand in front of the shaman when I misbehaved for me to correct my ill ways and to receive wisdom from him and the skull.

  There were more totems spread around our home. On a long ledge below the wall paintings were more beasts…herds of bison, caribou, and wooly rhinoceros. Hunters and women with child. These weren’t colored pigments released from the earth and drawn skillfully on the walls; these were bones of all sizes carved in the shape of beasts and clan members alike. Each animal bone was chosen for its size and purpose. Shamans, present and future, received messages from the spirits that certain bones must be used for specific carvings, if not, the wrath of the unseen would be stirred up and then our family would suffer.

  It was told to us that the bones of the beast carried the spirit of the animal and that to benefit from such carvings, the spirit must be kept within and not allowed to escape to be born as another kind of beast. If a mammoth tusk was used to carve a lion, the sun would stop shining and cold would live within the land for many seasons. If an antler was used to create a mammoth, the snow would never stop during the cold season, and we would then be unable to find food for our ravenous mouths. If a cave bear bone was used to make a red deer figure, the rivers would dry up and we would not have water to drink. While the animal bones must be used to create the same beasts…hunters, children, women, and shaman could and should be carved from all types of bones. This ensured that the clan members were one with the various animals that gave us food, shelter, and clothing.

  As children, we played with the various carvings; we did this so that we could receive the spirit of the beast. We could feel the bone come alive in our hands, feel it breathe, feel the ways of the beast which would prepare us to hunt it for our clan after we lived many more seasons. My favorite was the statues created from mammoth tusks; figures of my ancestors, doing what we did to survive adorned the shelve.

  My friends and I often would place many hunters in a circle around a giant mammoth, twice as large as they were, and the men would attack and kill the beast. A fresh kill would feed the clan for days. Then we would surround a herd of red deer; next, a group of lions; after that, a single cave bear would receive the pointed spears of our hunters; finally, a wooly rhinoceros would die at our hands and its horn cut off to make a beautiful drinking vessel. It was play at the time, but this was preparing us for our ultimate responsibility of hunting for game to keep our wives, parents, and children alive.

  Our wise and obedient ancestors found our cave and made it home for endless suns and moons; it was a place where we could live and be safe from the many dangers we faced every season. We lived and died there. We created our stories there. We guarded our future there. Things were about to change.

  I walked our lands for five warm seasons, when the greatest of tragedies fell upon our clan. The spirits were unhappy with us. They kept the beasts from visiting the grasslands that surrounded our cave. The rivers dried up as blood that dripped from a wound on the dusty earth. The spirits appeared to be decided as to our fate; they then unleashed other terrible events upon us. They opened the skies and deep snow fell upon us which made hunting difficult for the hunters. They opened the skies and much rain showered down upon us which made gathering bones for our hungry fires dangerous for the children. We were hungry and cold. Our animal skins hung on our bones; we looked like the carcass of a beast picked clean by the wolves and long toothed tigers. No meat, just bone.

  We were weary of being pulled this way and that by the spirits. But, that was just the beginning of the displeasures shown by the spirits to our clan. They had yet one more to share with us, one that we still talk about at our clan meetings after many seasons passed. One that robbed us of those we cherished and loved the most.

  Father, being a concerned leader of the clan, became anxious as we faced one difficulty after another. He was unsettled as each new sun appeared. On an unusually bright morning, just as the yellow orb peeked over the mountains where it slept each night, father met with our shaman about our circumstances. He felt action was needed, however, he had to find out what that action should be. The only one who knew what the spirits thought or expected from us was our spiritual guide.

  “Shaman, I am deeply troubled by what we encounter every new sun we face. The reindeer don’t travel our lands; snow falls deep to stop us from gathering berries and hunting beasts; and the rains keep our children in the cave for days, unable to go out and find tusks and bones to keep the fires going. Why? Have we offended the spirits? Have they turned their backs upon us and you? Our clan members need answers, and they need them now so that they don’t starve. We can’t lose anyone before they have spent many seasons with their loved ones.”

  Narizon sat quietly, legs crossed, his eyes wide open in thought as he searched the blazing fire for answers to the many dilemmas we faced. He didn’t speak a word, rather, he focused intently upon the brightly colored embers surrounded by red licks of flame. He watched as the bleached bones of an animal melted into grey ash, consumed by an angry fire amongst billowy plumes of white smoke. Sparks of ash that died in midflight landed upon his matted hair; the occasional one, still alive and smoldering left a spherical blister on his arm…he took no notice. He was impervious to the pain that would have others screaming in agony. His purpose was singular… discover why the spirits acted as they did, and before the next time the moonlight changed to sunlight.

  He broke the silence. “Brave Tusik, we must be careful not to blame the land, water, or sky spirits before we find the roots of their displeasure, if indeed, they are unhappy with the clan. What we see is not what is, and what is may not be seen. I do agree that it is time for me to contact the spirits, enter into their sacred realm to communicate with the unseen and to discover the reason for the seen. I shall gather my strongest medicine and leave the cave for three moons; only then, the spirit’s wishes and wants can be shared with you, patriarch of our family.”

  “Leave the cave? Where shall you go shaman? Do you need hunters to keep you safe at night? A handful of sharpened spears can provide protection while you make your journey to the land of the spirits. There are many hungry beasts that would enjoy sharing you with their young. If you are taken, who shall be the intermediary between our family and the spirits? I, myself, can accompany you and watch your every move so that you have peace and safety when contacting the spirits.”

  “Wise and noble leader of our clan, your offer is most generous and thoughtful, however, I need no hunter to keep me safe. I have the spirits to guide me where I should go…this is out of my hands. I believe they and they alone shall show where to go and what to do to uncover the answers we seek.”

  He held up his sacred medicine bag to father with a look of rapture in his eyes. “I also have these from the spirits; these are more powerful than any four-legged beast, no matter how hungry or how cunning it might be. You see, I’m in their hands and shall not need hunters to watch over me and keep me safe. The spirits have already p
lanned what shall be and if my ending is part of their plan, so it is. We are powerless to change what they have woven into the fabric that is our life”

  “Let it be so medicine man. I believe I already know the answer to this question, but I’ll ask…do you require food while on your mission of discovery?”

  “Neither food nor water shall pass these lips until the spirits have spoken with me about our perils. I must leave sustenance behind me and look forward to the meeting with the spirits. When one has no food or drink, it makes the pathway to the spirits easier to find and travel along.”

  Father extended his hands to Narizon. “Shaman, may you be safe and find the answers you are seeking. We shall be waiting until your safe return, and wishing you success upon meeting the land, water, and sky spirits.”

  The shaman nodded his head without a word. He turned and left the cave, his mission ahead of him.

  “Bundan, let’s carry on with life until he returns. Bring the hunters together, we need to bring a beast back to celebrate when the shaman arrives back with the words of the spirits.”

  “I’ll bring the men together immediately Tusik, and may the spirits look upon us favorably while our wise one seeks them out. They shan’t turn their backs upon us when we have hungry mouths to feed.”

  Father nodded in approval. He wondered if the spirits would deliver or hold back the much-needed nourishment for the family. Would his family be abandoned? Only after the movement of the sun and moon would the answer be revealed to the clan.

  Bundan led the hunters out of the cave; he planned to make their way to the rolling lands where the sun slept at night. Most times, food was abundant there, although lately, the beasts walked the hills but in fewer numbers than the past.

  Meanwhile, as the family went about their normal routines to keep them alive, Narizon was being led by the spirits to a sacred location to receive their message. He left the cave when the sun had just shown itself and his shadow was long, and still walked as it was directly overhead when his shadow was short.

  After many steps, he walked from an infertile plain, a barren landscape devoid of trees and shrubs, and into a wooded area that would take many steps to leave behind him. As the ancient trees surrounded him, a cacophony of sounds reverberated off the leviathans of the lands, touched his soul, and wounded his being. They took him to the highest clouds and to the lowest valleys. The sounds would have usurped the soothing melodies of his drum and rattle. It was everywhere…heard but unseen. The cackling of the black ravens; the screeching of the white owls; the screaming of the brown vultures. Did they warn him of danger…or did they announce his success? He would soon know.

  As he approached every closer to a sacred spot, unknown to him but assigned to him by the spirits, he had been without food or water for hours and was beginning to feel a sudden closeness to his mentors. A body without water and food is forged by the spirits, channeled to the spirits. They were present, at hand, watching and guiding him. He heard whispers coming from the trees, words moving on the wind, and entering his mind and soul. His spine tingled, his knees shook, and arms trembled…there, to the left, a transparent cloud. The spirits!

  They silently entered a small crevice in the rocks a few steps away from where he stood, mouth opened. He bent low to the ground, clutching his worldly goods…his skull, staff, and pouch. He entered their sacred domain with great anticipation. His eyes fought to pierce the darkness that enveloped him. The sound of breaking bones greeted him as he dove deeper into the darkness. His arm hair reached for the cave’s floor…were these the last remains of his brothers and sisters? Would this be his fate? Inside, the temperature chilled his bones. The sound of the spirits hurt his ears. His lips dry, his hands numb. Without warning, stillness surrounded him. Without words, he understood that he should spread his fur over the earth and sit amongst the creators. As he prepared the site, a herd of ghostly mammoths ran past him and out of the mouth of the cave, six malnourished lionesses in pursuit. Such visions were not uncommon to him.

  A dusty hand sought out his most sacred herbs; these were the pathway to the Otherworld. The unseen world became the seen once he ate them. Narizon found his opened mouth and began to chew the spirit’s hallowed plants. Slowly, he bit down on the dried plants, coarse to the tongue and sweet to the taste, but still strong medicine. Once ingested, he sat quietly and waited for those to reveal themselves from the darkened corners of the cave. More beasts…cave bears pursuing red deer, long-tooth tigers chasing wooly bison, and a pale soul walking past with his head in his hand.

  In the midst of this chaos, he felt unity, as one with the wise ones from past seasons and future seasons. He felt the physical presence of the spirits; the mental stimulation initiated by them; and the emotional sensations of being united with them. Colors swirled around him; they had come.

  “Shaman…”

  Words without an open mouth. “Spirits…thank you for your kindness towards me. May I obey what you desire and do what is best for my clan in your eyes. There are many wrongs in our lands. Many of us are suffering from these wrongs. I am here to do what is necessary to save my clan from starvation and to correct any ill will they may have been planted with our creators. Will you hear me out?”

  “We welcome you, and we know why you are here amongst us.”

  “I wish to only do what is asked of me by my creators for my creators.”

  As Narizon spoke his words, he began to see a collage of events happening before him, at the same time, but at different speeds. One series of images was overlaid upon the other…spinning, twirling, pulsating. A hunter who returned to the cave without food… cursed the spirits for having him make a poor throw of his spear at a large beast. A woman who gave birth to a dead child…cursed the spirits for taking her first born without giving him a chance to feel the warm sun or the cool rain on his cheeks. An elderly man who was chilled to the bone…cursed the spirits as thick black clouds hid the sun from the lands for days. The images faded.

  “Do you see why we are malevolent to those who you call family?”

  “Benevolent spirits of the lands, skies, and waters…they mean no harm to you or your wisdom. I ask for your patience with the men and women of my clan. They are as children who suffer from their decisions but know not why. But as a child, they can learn to repent for their ill words and actions, to be seen with favor in the eyes of their creators once again.”

  “Why has your clan forsaken us? There can be no good or harmony between us and your kind in a land where the men and women turn their backs to us.”

  The shaman had never heard such poisoned words aimed at his family before. He knew that he would have to do his best to win favor with the spirits. It would be difficult, but his reputation as the spiritual savior of his clan depended upon his appeasing the spirits by correcting what was wrong.

  “Fathers, forgive my children…I shall wash away all the wrongs they have committed as the rain cleans the lands during the warm season.”

  Silence. The spirits had spoken and now they left the shaman on his own. As he peered out of the cave entrance, he saw that darkness had swept over the lands, the moon would soon appear, and the cold of the night would invade his cave as the hunters did from other clans. He must prepare for the long darkness he would face.

  His hands fumbled across the piles of bones that lined the cave floor as he searched for the ones that would best suit his purpose. Thick ones burned longer than thin ones. He had several handfuls of what he wanted and made a small pile in the center of his new sanctuary. Two crooked sticks retrieved from his pouch were vigorously rubbed together until a thin wisp of smoke appeared. The flames grew taller, the smoke disappeared. He was ready for the next step in his journey to rectify the ills that his family had unwisely bestowed upon the spirits.

  Within the dimness of the cave, he searched through his pouch for a small rattle made from a sea shell; small stones inside it created a soothing sound. In his earlier days, he had accompanied the hunters
on a raid to another village and as the enemy’s shaman died in a pool of evaporating blood, Narizon found the rattle clutched tightly by withered hands. The power of the talisman was his, his alone to be used to make reparations to the spirits…his spirits. It had accompanied him for many seasons as the clan’s shaman.

  The treasured pouch reluctantly surrendered the rattle, and in moist hands it began to speak in a language only known to him and the spirits. As his hand moved quickly, multi-syllabic words echoed off the rough walls of the cave; a slowly moving hand created singular, muted syllables. As the rattle spoke, he chanted. Perfect harmony manifested from his chanting and its rattling; his inner being alive, his inner being connected by sounds and motion. Sounds to open the ears of the spirits; movement to alert the spirits to his presence and reverence for their wise ways. He was humbled before them.

  As the fire danced lazily before him, he scattered upon it a handful of sacred herbs and plants. Before they turned to grey ash, smoke rose in several columns, releasing a sweet smell that brought joy to the shaman’s soul. A smell that connected his inner self to the oneness of the spirits. He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes; a feeling of peace surrounded him, cut him off from the reality of the cruel world that he existed within. He was safe within the stone womb, protected from any predators that roamed the lands.

  It was the end of the first day, and neither food nor water passed his lips. His feeling of oneness with the spirits intensified as a pale moon moved overhead outside of the cave. Sleep never came; Narizon kept up his chanting and rattling throughout the night. The creators’ ears were closed; they never returned despite his incessant chanting and rattling. The only sounds he heard were those of the nocturnal beasts playing out their nightly rituals of survival and death; one animal lived while another died. One provided sustenance and would not witness another sun while one gained sustenance and would witness another sun. The cycle of life continued, unabated.