Outside of one of the Birthing Huts, there is a small cluster of men keeping watch over another — younger than those waiting with him. That man, turned nineteen in the past year, 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 in place 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 the hint of a path where 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 fretfully and nervously pace 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 wanted to tell you 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.»
The hunting of the past few years had been lean, with the migrating herds of gartane running sparse. The Elders taught, always, that few could be taken unless the herds were plentiful, to prevent over-hunting and killing off one of the several herds that cycled through the nearby areas.
«Excellent!» Keren says. While he is here as a concerned pater and grandpater-to-be, he is also the current Chief Elder of the Neradaka Tribe, who live in this village. Word of a successful hunt means the storehouses will finally be well-stocked for the colder season.
«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 from just donning a tunic. Most of the bones would be dried and be turned into tools — some for garments and cloth, such as needles, pins, or buttons, and others for scraping hides and punching holes, or for music. Those which were not dried to become tools were, of course, salted and stored for later use in crafting broths and soups.
Since the past few years had been difficult ones, the shared sense that tonight truly could be a celebration ran throughout the entire tribe. The domesticated lintak which were used to help in the fields would not need to be culled this year — something all agreed was a blessing. Lintak meat, while able to sustain life, all agreed was one of the most distasteful things which could be consumed. It was better than starvation, but even then, was always a last resort. The lintak would be safe this year.
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 to the festival, each proudly showing their skill and jovially boasting of how they had honed their craft far above the others. This contest of bragging was so regular it could have been scripted with many repeating the same lines for years. Occasionally, a younger man who had not yet chosen his path would bring forth a small jug or two of their own, asking for comments. Every few years, one of these men would be judged 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 be demolished and remade, being fired anew to seal it in preparation. Careful planning by the Elders ensured there were always sufficient ovens for all of the food for a festival.
Even while working hard to prepare and provide food, the unmarried females of age were dressed in their finest garments, with decorative stones and bright threadwork on display. The unmarried men of age, meanwhile, were usually clad only in their loincloths and engaged in playful contests of strength and dexterity with each other to the cheers of all onlookers. Many knew before the night was over, there would be several proposals of marriage union by both males and females followed by happy newly-formed couples venturing off to spend the rest of their first night together in private.
At the 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 several of the farmers who joined them. All were drinking in shared celebration of a successful hunt, what looked to be a good 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 in thought, 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 drink! The gartane run plentiful once again! Our fields overflow, ready to sustain us through the coming year! And my son joins the tribe! Drink with me to his health and his future! 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.
Life for the Neradaka was cyclical, with almost every day following the same pattern. Some of the details of any particular day might change, but the overall shape of every day remained the same.
A day would start just after the sun peaked over the edge of the horizon with the need to feed all of the domesticated animals, collect any newly-laid eggs from the britebils, milk the lintak who were producing. While these tasks were being accomplished, many of the females would be preparing food for whatever the first meal of the day would be. Some wanted to eat early, while others would wait until the sun was higher in the sky.
After that the tasks of the day would start. These would change seasonally, with field-work in the warmer seasons and indoors responsibilities in the colder times. Collecting wood for building or for fires continued year-round, as did lesser hunting and fishing. There was always some form of weaving occuring, be it vine and reeds for nets and traps and baskets, or spun threads for cloth. These were often performed as a shared responsibliity in the communal longhouses.
Evening meals tended to be shared among several families, each contributing a portion or a specific dish — a custom which matched well with families having small garden plots, different from the larger fields, for vegetables preferred by that family. Once the sun had again passed beyond the horizon, stories would be told to younger children, or those with some crafting hobby would take their leave to work their crafts — making brewed beverages, or preparing dyes, or practicing with a hand-made musical instrument.
Shortly after that, it was time to return to bedding and sleep until the sun announced a new day once more.
And through all the events of a day, the Elders would be joining in — to ensure tasks were performed correctly and traditions maintined. Of course, all Neradaka knew what to do and kept to the traditions. Their ways had been passed down through generations and holding to them was what led enabled the tribe to stay alive and healthy for future generations as well.
There were three categories of noteable exceptions to those who joined the tasks — the Chief Elder, the small Elder Council who supported and advised the Chief, and a collection of children, able to remember messages and fleet of foot, who acted as runners. Some runners would go with the larger groups to allow messages to be conveyed back to the Chief, while others would linger in the village, ready to be dispatched with a message to the fields or elsewhere.
It was the responsibility of the Chief to make choices whenever some sort of immediate decision was required. Perhaps due to fallen trees that were blocking a path that was used, or the breakage of some of the farming equipment. Such decision-making was passed ot the Chief to respolve and dispatch runners or tribe members to handle the issue and set matters right. The Council, as a whole, acted to plan for the near-term future and advise the Chief, preserving historical knowledge spread amongst all of the Elders.
To prevent an undue burden on any individual person, the position of Chief was also held cyclically — for only a year — and then passed to another. It was not impossible for a Chief to return, years later, to resume the position. Every year, after the Council and re-formed, also rotating members among all of the various families of the Elders, one of the Council would be selected as Chief for the oncoming year. Unlike the Chief, the Council rotated much more slowly, with only one or two of their members stepping aside in any given year, although, similarly, still with members potentially returning in the future.
Aside from occasional festivals for the end of harvest time, or smaller celebrations for births, there was one other type of significant deviation from the standard of day-to-day life, and that was any interactions with outsiders — those not of the Neradaka tribe. These were incredibly uncommon events, rarely happening more than once a year or even less frequently.
Such interactions occurred when one of the nomadic tribes would come close to the Neradaka village and the Elders of the nomads would send runners of their own, often accompanied by one of the Elders themselves. No tribe spoke a common language with the other, although all Elders shared a common tongue which was only used amongst themselves either in heated discussion in the Council or, on these occasions, as a way to discuss matters between the tribes. These visitations were never hostile as all tribes learned to live at peace and in harmony with the planet and with whatever they encountered. Yes, an animal might be territorial and hostile, but other people … so long as they had sufficient, it was to be shared, and all knew that following the teachings of the Elders ensured there was always sufficient.
Whenever foreigners might come upon a Neradaka member, they would speak a memorized phrase in the tongue of the Elders. To almost all Neradaka, this sounded as gibberish, but the presence of the foreigners and their reciting this would be relayed back to the Chief Elder via a runner. It was explained to the incoming runner that this phrase stated simply, «We are at peace.»
Either the same runner or a different one would be dispatched with a return message, also in the language of the Elders. The returned message said «Be welcome, travelers.» Once this message was delivered, any who were traveling would happily enter the village. Whenever members of the tribe saw a foreign tribe entering the village, all knew there would be a shared meal that evening — typically with both sides contributing food as well as entertainment.
The lack of a shared language was no obstacle for sharing food and drink. Similarly, once any rules could be confirmed by Elders on both sides, some games or contests between the tribes was a joyous event, with onlookers cheering either for their partner, or their tribe members, or even just for a well-played action. Children, regardless of their age, have never had reason to think language would prevent them from playing together, as children always do.
The passing tribe usually would spend the night, staying in the longhouses, or camped out around the area. Sometimes, of course, there were beds shared, in both directions, and the morning would see discussions held with Elders of both tribes regarding tribe members who wished to stay in the village, or those who wished to travel with the nomads. So long as whoever would need to learn a new language and new way of life understood the commitment they were making, these decisions were always approved on both sides. Additionally, given the way the nomadic tribes moved, all knew that it would likely be years and years before they would see each other again.
The other sort of such interaction was a singular Elder who, for reasons of their own, had decided to travel — leaving their homes and their tribes behind. The same formalities were always observed when they were in sight of a Neradaka member, though — the greeting, waiting for a response, and then entering the village. A single traveller would usually have nothing more than a pack upon their back and the skins or cloth they wore. These travelers were welcomed before the Council, and then shortly would be allowed to continue on their journey once more. Aside from the momentary disruption, such travelers were not particularly remarkable.
