[These are just the first two scenes of the first chapter. There’s more to come…]
Outside of one of the Birthing Huts, there is a small cluster of men standing watch over the youngest of them. That man stands apart, pacing back and forth in front of the hut. His red hair has grown long and the singular braid loops around his front, over his shoulders, held by the cord it is woven around. Just behind the huts, a stream gurgles in the crisp air of early autumn.
Eight measured steps in one direction, pause, then turn, followed by another eight paces back. There is just the hint of a path in how he treads, but he has not been here long enough to have beaten down the dirt to this extent. He is far from the first to pace along here and will certainly not be the last to do so.
«Relax, Rubin,» says his pater, standing nearby with the other men. «Every husband and father-to-be has been here. I know there is nothing I can say that will ease your mind or your concern for Ulin’ka, but you know she is in good hands. She is healthy and the waters of the birthing pool will make this easy. The midwives inside have delivered every child of this tribe, including yourself, and they know what they are doing. Just wait, and your child will claim their first breath soon.»
Rubin’ku tum’Keren pauses part-way through his stride and looks at his pater, Keren’ku tum’Lendar. He sighs. «Knowing that does not ease the burden on my heart. Is it not the responsibility of a husband and pater to worry? Even more so as your son, since I know that my children will, one day, join you and I on the Council?»
Keren’ku walks over, places his hands on his son’s shoulders, and smiles. «Then you should be even more aware that there is no cause for concern.»
Just then, a young boy, braided hair barely below his shoulders rushes up from the other side of the village. «Chel’! Elders… Men…» He is gasping for breath from his effort.
Keren turns to the boy and smiles. «Breathe, Brilen’ku. I know you perform your duties as a runner, but you cannot convey your message if you are out of breath. I will wait for your message.»
The boy nods, and forcibly takes several deep breaths to calm himself and regain his composure.
«Chel, the first of the hunters has returned. They wished me to tell you that the gartane are plentiful and many have been downed. They bid me say they wished they’d brought more spears and arrows, although they smiled as they did.»
«Excellent!» Keren says. While he is here as a concerned pater and grandpater-to-be, he is also the Chief Elder of the Neradaka Tribe, who live in this village. Word of a successful hunt means the storehouses will be will stocked for the colder seasons.
«See, Rubin! This is clearly a sign that all will be well!»
Even as he makes this proclamation, the clear sound of a baby’s cry comes from the interior of the Birthing Hut they all stand next to. A moment later, a woman peeks her head out around the woven fibers of the door covering. «Rubin’ku! It is a boy!»
Keren clasps his arm around his son’s shoulder. «Tonight we feast! Brilen! Take this message back to the hunters! The heart of the first beast brought in is reserved! The new pater and mater will dine together on it as part of tonight’s meal!»
The boy, Brilen’ku, crosses his arms across his chest in acknowledgement of the order. «I hear and obey, Chel!» before dashing off back in the direction he came from.
That evening, all of the members of the Neradaka Tribe gathered in the center square of the village. The roaring bonfire in the middle of the square illuminated all and chased away the barest hint of oncoming colder weather. Over the next days and weeks, the hunted gartane would be butchered, their hides taken for tanning. The meat would be run through the smokehouses for preservation, leaving nothing untouched by the smell of smoke or smoked gartane and causing mouths to water just from donning a tunic. Most of the bones would be dried and then some would be turned into tools for garments and cloth, such as needles, pins, or buttons. The bones which were not dried were, of course, salted and stored to be used for crafting broths and soups.
To one side of the square, roasting pits had been set up, allowing the smell of cooked gartane meat to pervade the entire area — a sample of what would be coming from the smokehouses. The brewers in the tribe brought forth their jugs to contribute towards the festival, each proudly showing their skill and jovially boasting of how they were honing their craft above the others. This contest of bragging was so regular that it could have been scripted with many repeating the same things they had said for years. Occasionally, a younger man who had not yet chosen a path would bring forth a small jug or two of their own, asking for comments. Every now and then, one of these men would be found to have talent and there would be yet another brewer bragging of their skill for years to come.
Next to the pits were rows of clay ovens for tribal use. As faults in these ovens developed over time, one or another would need to be demolished and remade, being fired anew to seal it in preparation. But there were always enough ovens for all of the food for a festival.
Even while working to prepare and provide food, all of the unmarried females of age were dressed in their finest garments, with decorative stones and bright threadwork on display. The umarried men of age, meanwhile, were usually clad only in their loincloths and engaged in playful contests of strength and dexterity. Many knew, before the night was over, there would be several proposals of marriage union followed by happy newly-formed couples venturing off to spend the rest of their first night together in private.
At center of the table closest to the Elders Council Hall, Rubin’ku, Ulin’ka and their newborn son sat. The child, swaddled in cloth and skins, was held close to Ulin’ka chest, sleeping for the moment, but both parents stared at him as if they had never before seen a baby.
«Finally he sleeps. He has been hungry all day,» Ulin said. « He has your eyes, dearest. He can barely keep them open now, but I can tell. They are sharp and knowing, just as yours are.»
The group of men who had been keeping watch over Rubin at the Birthing Huts had grown with the return of the hunters and some of the farmers who joined them. All were drinking in shared celebration of the successful hunt, what looked to be a successful harvest, and, of course, Rubin’s new son.
«A name!» someone shouted out. «Rubin’ku! Tell us the boy’s name, that we may toast him with our next drink!»
Rubin looked at his wife and she cast her eyes once more upon their child. «It is for you to decide, as all paters must do for their sons, and maters for their daughters.»
After a moment spent thinking about it, he climbed onto the table. Reaching down, he grabbed a wooden mug filled with liquid that someone handed him, and stood tall.
«Neradaka!!!» His voice rang out, loud and clear, through the square. The crowd around them hushed in anticipation. «Join me in toasting my son! May he grow to be as wise as my own pater, Keren’ku tum’Lendar, smart enough to recognize a beautiful wife when he finds her, and stronger than the strongest lintak in our herds! I present to you…» Ulin’ka stood and held the wrapped baby for all to see. «Talen’ku tum’Rubin!»
Shouts of cheering and congratulations rang out throughout the square as all, including Rubin, raised their mugs to drink.
