“Come quickly, so we can get you painted,” the Chief said.
“Why the paint?” Grakumashi asked slightly offended by the idea.
“Remember when we taught you how to hide in the forest?”
“Of course!”
“The paint adds to the camouflage. We don’t have time to show you right now. Just trust that it does. At least you don’t have tooth white bellies any longer,” Chief Paaku laughed.
The men suddenly had lines and dots of various colors covering their skins. They agreed to go without clothing to keep their clothes from becoming ensnared in the foliage, giving away their positions.
“We must hurry,” shouted a warrior from a group of Kapotonok who had arrived from farther to the north than those on the thin band of land that connected the two large landmasses.
All gathered and a man of great height stood solemn before them. “I am Chief Aton from the far north Kapotonok. Thank you for your support. There is a large group of warriors from the Alitukit. They are furious because they are missing animals they penned. They accuse the Kapotonok of taking them or setting them free. The Kapotonok did neither. They have forty warriors. They are well skilled and fight furiously, but they do not know the forests and jungles. They lose interest quickly when they encounter snakes in trees or wild boar or other forest animals. They lose sense of direction in the jungles, and in forests they cannot tell the source of sounds. They don’t know how to track in the forests. Remember what you’ve been taught. We will meet them near the low land and lure them into the woods. Here we can beat them easily. They will think we are few when we are about double their number. For those of you new to war, if you see a friend killed, you have to grieve later. You cannot stop to grieve or vomit or you will join your friend. Are there questions?”
No one replied.
“Follow me.”
Chief Aton led them through a mountain pass onto the small hills that led to a land the People had never seen. The People and some of the Kapotonok were halted in the forest in various locations. Right outside the lovely forested area was dry land, not as dry as a desert, but when walking across it they raised dust. Below them they could see the Alitukit warriors bunched up, noticing them. They were shaking spears and clubs, making horribly frightening noises. They suddenly sprang forth rushing up the hill beyond which the forest concealed more than half the Kapotonok and their support warriors. The best of the runners were in this forward section.
They waited until the Alitukit warriors who had just raced up a hill almost reached them and they turned and ran, fresh from their waiting, up the remainder of the hill into the forest. The Alitukit, winded and tired, pursued them with vengeance, breathing so hard it affected their hearing in the forest. Zamimolo was fascinated at how well the paint helped the men fade into the foliage. He could see the others, but if he hadn’t known where they were, he would have had difficulty. He saw some of the men nearer the edge of the woods fighting and he had the urge to run to join them. He knew what his job was and he followed the directions carefully. He began to understand as he saw opposing warriors pass those who were fighting, running into the forest blindly looking for opponents they could have touched if they saw them. He realized the camouflage made it possible for him, undetected, to kill an opponent before the opponent ever knew he was there. The Alitukit clearly had no forest sense. It was a revelation to him with respect to life in the forest. He was grateful the Kapotonok had taught them to know forest life.
At one point Grakumashi stepped back, cracking a dry branch and giving away his location. Quickly he was in a fight with one of the Alitukit. Zamimolo was horrified. The man killed Grakumashi and cut the hair off the center top of his head, sticking it into his waistband. The man then walked carelessly under the tree where Zamimolo was perched. Zamimolo dropped to the man and cut his throat with his flint knife. The only sound the man made was his drop to the ground in death. Zamimolo had never seen a person killed or killed one, and he wanted to vomit, but he realized that this was war, and he didn’t have time for that. He climbed back up into the tree, knife between his teeth, despite the human blood on it.
The forest war went on for quite some time, but in the end the Kapotonok were successful. Two men from the Alitukit escaped the forest and ran fast back to the dry land from which they had come. The Kapotonok dragged first all the bodies of the Alitukit to the top of the hill where the Alitukit could see them. If they wanted to bury their dead, they would make it easy for them. Zamimolo found the man who killed Grakumashi and carefully gathered the piece of scalp the man had removed from Grakumashi’s head. He attached it to the waistband of his friend’s leather waistband. Then, they took their own dead and carried them to the Kapotonok village. There they buried them with great solemnity, worthy of warriors who had fallen in battle.
The People remained with the Kapotonok for seven days to be sure the Alitukit didn’t return. Zamimolo was not injured. Grakumashi would remain buried in the land of the Kapotonok. Jup had a fairly deep cut on his leg that was healing well. Obi and Numing had bruises and scrapes but nothing serious. They considered, having seen the war, that they had done well. They learned well from the experience. The Kapotonok intentionally hadn’t put them in the front of the fighting, because they were unseasoned. They ached for Grakumashi.
When it was time for the People to return home, Chief Paaku and Chief Aton went to Zamimolo with two wrapped packages.
“Give this to your People for the valor of Grakumashi. He gave all he had for us and we are grateful,” Chief Paaku said, handing a package to Zamimolo. The package contained a flat disk of gold hammered by a wooden hammer. “This is a representation of our Maker,” he said. We form it from the gold we find. “It will bring your People good fortune.”
Zamimolo was astounded. “For Grakumashi’s valor,” he said.
“Yes,” Chief Paaku replied.
Chief Aton walked over to Zamimolo and handed him the other package. “This,” he said, “is for the wife of Grakumashi. It is a crystal from a mountain far, far away to the north. It grows near the red striped mountains in the north. You can see that it is flat and is formed of many, many crystals packed tight together like leaves, one atop the other. See, you can peel them apart and each alone is flimsy. Together—very strong. It shows what happened here. When many stand together, there is far greater strength than a single one or just a few could ever be.”
Zamimolo ran his fingertip over the smooth crystal. It was a strange object and like the disk, it was something to treasure. He rewrapped it carefully and placed both of the objects into the backpack. He and the others left for home.
As they walked home, Zamimolo remembered the old Wise One’s warning, “Do no evil or you will be overwhelmed with regret.” It had to do with Olomaru-mia. He thought again about using the drums to locate her, but he wondered whether that was wise at all. He had his life, and she had hers. It might be best to leave it all alone. If they met somehow later on, then that would be something he hadn’t pushed to make happen. That might be best. He also knew that Ba was insecure about his feelings for the girl.
Days later, there was much excitement when the men emerged from the path in the forest. They were obviously short a man, and it wasn’t long before Dimutenka realized her husband was missing and Rustumarin and Uilo realized their son was gone. Their grief began before they even heard what happened. A council meeting formed immediately. Zamimolo brought both packages.
He held out the disk so everyone could see it. “This was given to the People by the Kapotonok to revere Grakumashi’s valor. It is made of gold hammered with a wooden hammer to represent the Maker, their equivalent of Wisdom. I suggest that Pikotek keep it for the People. Maybe he could display it somewhere. This second package is for Dimutenka. It is a crystal made of many, many crystals. It shows that many together are always much stronger than one alone. It comes from far away to the north beyond where the narrow land goes to the large landmass. The crystals grow near
the red striped mountains.” He handed the crystals and the wrapper to Dimutenka.
Dimutenka looked at him with a blank stare. She didn’t know what to do with the crystal and didn’t want to be responsible for it. “Perhaps Pikotek could display this with the disk,” she suggested. Pikotek took it and laid it beside the other gift.
The council broke up after each person had his or her words to say about Grakumashi, and, then, Pikotek told the graveside story.
The People somberly went to their evening meal and then to sleep fully realizing that war exacted painful losses. It was good to stand together, but it had to be done knowing some would not return. It was an awful thing— sometimes needed—but truly awful. The death of one of the People, like the crystal showed, didn’t affect one person but all of the People as pulling one of the slivers of the crystal out of its midst would affect the whole crystal. It would take time for them to realize that if they and others had failed to come to the Kapotonok’s assistance, the Northern Kapotonoks as a whole people might no longer exist. They would continue to help their friends but with much greater understanding.
Chapter 5
Mechalu and Olomaru-mia’s oldest children, twins, Pipto and Token, and their cousin, Ghumotu, along with two other students of the Alitukit, Hoft and Kit, were studying for the examinations that would soon try their knowledge from three years of study. Their success on the examinations determined whether they continued their education at the school for another year. They sat on a bluff overlooking the sea where the wind played lightly with their hair as they worked to hone their skills.
Token, his thin body showing the strains of fatigue, said plaintively, “I just struggle with the drums. I can understand them much better than I can play them.”
“That’s because the way you learn to hear and the way you learn to drum are two different things. I think you keep trying to learn the things the same way,” Hoft, an Alitukit, said gently. “You want people to tell you what you need to learn, and then that amazing memory of yours stores it forever. But, you don’t listen to your own body or spend time exploring in your thoughts how things are—learning for yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Token asked, surprised at the thought.
“Well,” Hoft replied, squinting his eyes to reduce the amount of sunlight entering them, “When you listen to the drums, you hear the rhythm of songs we’ve been singing, you hear the patterns of thought that carry meaning. Think of the ways of calling to friends over long distances in a field. You’d know what they were saying, even if you didn’t get every word. Sometimes you get the meaning from the way it’s said. You learn this through sound without hearing each word. Then, when you drum, you have to get the rhythm right. The meaning can change by the length of a pause between drum strikes, the place where you strike the drum—either the high tone or the low tone. And, if you don’t know the fixed expressions that are a huge part of the communication process, you’re in trouble. But, Token, you know the fixed expressions perfectly. Where you need work is on the part you learn through moving your body, not listening to others with your ears. Use your right knee for the low tones, your left knee for the high ones, your hands as the drum sticks, and let’s work with this.”
Token sat up straight. Pipto was fascinated because he had the same trouble Token did, though it was not as obvious.
Hoft said, “Drum the message that the Nola Nola of your geographic area are having a celebration for the birth of twins in two days.”
Token thought it through. There was a fixed drum expression for each of the Nola Nola, one for celebration, one for birth, one for day, and the pauses expressed the numbers in this communication. He tapped out: Tap-tap (high tone)-tap-tap—pause—tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)-tap—pause—tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—pause—tap-tap-tap-tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)—pause—tap.
Kit said, “It’s the rhythm. Your taps are unequal, and you missed the pauses. You drummed: Nola Nola, celebration, one birth, one day, when what you wanted to communicate was Nola Nola, celebration, two births, two days. It should have been this way, now listen to the beats for the pauses. Tap-tap (high tone)-tap-tap—pause—tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)-tap—pause + pause—tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap—pause + pause—tap-tap-tap-tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)-tap (high tone)—pause—tap. Each tap in the expression gets the same length until you come to the pauses.”
“It’s helpful to think of a heartbeat when you want to learn rhythm. The heartbeat’s the natural rhythm we’re born with. It’s hard to hear your heartbeat unless you’ve been running, so let’s think about walking. I have an idea. Try walking and walk as if you’re trekking. Keep the time the same for each footfall. Now shout out ‘tap’ with a high voice for the high tones and shout out ‘tap’ with a low voice for the low tones. Say pause for the pause and where you need two pauses, say pause … pause. Get the feel of the rhythm. Come on boys, let’s do this with him.” Kit was aware that Pipto had the same difficulty. He knew that for himself, it was easier to learn a song, if he sang and danced together. It helped him with the rhythm. He hoped this would help his friends.
For a long time the boys walked in a large circle using their voices and footfalls to sound out the drumbeats and their silences and footfalls to display the pauses. Little by little they began to make it part of themselves. They increased the twins to triplets and two days to five. Ghumotu found it easier than the other two boys did. Token realized that for the first time rhythm made sense to him. Up to that point, it had been something he didn’t understand and didn’t know what about it he didn’t understand. To realize there was rhythm to his heartbeat and walking gave him something he could connect with the needed learning. It involved precise timing, something he’d never understood clearly. The circling and giving voice to the beats helped immeasurably with the skill that had escaped him.
The Nola Nola boys thanked the Alitukits after the lesson. The Nola Nolas felt that they had enough time to practice for improvement before the Masters examined them. They decided they’d retest themselves in two days.
“Token,” Ghumotu said, “Will you stay a little longer and help me with math?”
“Of course,” Token replied. “How can I help?”
“I’m doing well enough with multiplication, but dividing is bothering me, especially when we have to divide long numbers. I don’t want to have to discontinue learning here, but I am really slow on that area of knowledge.”
Token took a piece of charred wood and went with Ghumotu to a place where the rock was smooth. They talked long enough for Token to discover that where Ghumotu had trouble was when the number didn’t divide evenly. He talked about the need to include the number obtained from dividing with either the lower number or higher number. They were expected to round up or down, not have a remainder. Their lesson was completed a lot quicker, because with Ghumotu, he simply didn’t understand what the masters had told him about the reasoning to arrive at the correct rounding up or down answer.
Where many young people would have time for recreation, the students of the Alitukit were not provided time to play. They had responsibilities whether it was gathering driftwood from the sea down below, going to the deep hole for water, or running errands down the mountain to the villagers, there was always a chore that needed to be done. They worked hard. Once chores were finished, there was always a need to practice spear throwing and slingshot, running quickly, creating a song they’d sing to the whole group when they left the school. Sometimes they’d be assigned to accompany a hunting party. Any time not assigned was to be used to study to perfect skills.
Ghumotu, walking back to the school with Token, asked, “Have the Alitukit asked you probing questions about our people?”
“Yes. I know that my father said we don’t do the drums because the Alitukit want to know more about us and share nothing, so I have been guarded in what I tell them.”
“I’ve done the same. They seem curious
about your mother. They’ve heard her called the golden girl and they ask where she came from, who are her people, what is the color of her skin, what is the color of her hair, whether she’s fertile, and who is her god? I don’t know the answers to all those questions, so I tell them they’re asking the wrong person,” Ghumotu said, adding, “Sometimes, I lie.”
“They’ve asked me a little, but not that much. When one of them questioned me, he seemed to want to know who the Chief was, what his strengths were, whether he was a good hunter and warrior, and who would be the next Chief.” Token scratched his elbow and upper arm. A bug had bitten him and the area of the bite was swelling a little.
“They definitely want to know a lot.”
“Yes. I feel uncomfortable when they start asking those questions,” Token admitted.
“I think you need to make yourself relax and answer as you can and when you don’t know, just say you don’t know.”
“That’s what I’ve done, except I try to think what use they might make of the information. When they wanted to know about the next Chief, I overemphasized what a great hunter and warrior my father is. He is, but I thought that if they thought he was very strong, they’d be less likely to attack us.”
“Or,” Ghumotu said, “More likely to try to get rid of us as a threat to themselves.”
“I never thought of that,” Token said. “That’s a little scary.”
“Well, they realized you were talking about your father.”
“True.” Token said feeling a small sense of relief.
As they arrived at the school’s entryway that led to the underground caves, Master Gu called Token.
Token went to him and stood silently before him with his head bowed.
“Token, you have become too thin. I suspect that worry over the examinations has affected your appetite. For a time, I expect you to eat more than you normally would eat. I want to see some fat return to your bones. To become too thin leaves your body nothing with which to fight, if a sickness comes upon you. Remedy it.”
Zamimolo’s Story, 50,000 BC: Book Three of Winds of Change, a Prehistoric Fiction Series on the Peopling of the Americas (Winds of Change series 3) Page 21