Norseman Chief

by Born, Jason

  Then Ahanu whispered, “Your face says that you have something on your mind, Halldorr.”

  I looked across to Hurit and then quickly back to my friend Ahanu when she caught my glance, “Perhaps, but shouldn’t we begin the trials now?”

  Without turning to look at me and with a nearly imperceptible move of his nose toward the crowd he whispered again, “Oh, I suppose you’re right, but I’d like to keep them all guessing.”

  So I took his bait, “Why does your daughter-in-law carry her anger so long?”

  He chewed on his cheek for just a moment, “Were you not angry when your Kenna died?”

  “I was.”

  “And what makes her different from you?” He poked me in the ribs with the butt of one of the spears he carried. “See? You have no answer, because you are no different from one another. You are both strong-willed, yet kind. You have both experienced great loss and hide anger beneath a thick skin.” Ahanu slapped his leg, “I believe that when your year of punishment is over I will have her wed to you.”

  I merely laughed at the man.

  “I do not joke with you. Do not try to pretend that you haven’t decided that you’d like her in your home.”

  “Friend, if you do not jest, then you are older than I thought, because you are more confused than ever. I know you are not the kind of man or chief who would knowingly be cruel to your people, so you must be addled. Hurit would be miserable with me as a husband.”

  Ahanu tutted me like a mother would soothe a baby who was weeping over a soggy bottom. “With time, even the rocks of the hills can be broken. I see no difference in the mountain between the two of you. See me after the trials begin. I have a thought on this.”

  “Ahanu . . .” I started but he cut me off, bringing the bundle of spears down with a thump.

  “Beiuthook,” he began his speech with the word that generally meant “people.” “The trials go back nearly to the time when Glooskap shot the first arrow into the Ash tree and created man.” The hushed chattering grew even quieter with reverence at the mentioning of their creator. “And so, too, we will create men from mere children in these next twenty suns. That will not be the end of their creation, however. They must become men who will grow in strength and wisdom, men who will forget the things of childhood, men who will listen as leaders of our people ought, and true warriors, protectors of our very lives.” He said this all in a smaller voice than he was capable of projecting, forcing his people to listen all the more closely. In his own way, his own manner, he was as captivating as my second father, Erik, had been when he spoke to a crowd.

  “Now mothers come forward and take the spear of your family.” While the mothers of the boys in the trial began stepping toward us, Ahanu untied a small cord near the spear heads, dropping it to the ground where Right Ear pounced on it for play, quickly shaking it about so that it slapped his face. The women came to their chief in turn, selecting the spear of their family, needing no instruction as they had seen this ritual through the eyes of their ancestors for countless generations.

  The mothers carried the spears and stood in front of their respective son so that the order was mother, followed by son, followed by the young warriors with the bowls. The women wore expressions of pride for they were taking part in ensuring the tribe had leaders of the future. Such a day as this would be a unique time for these women since for the remainder of the year and their lives, village rules generally forbade them from using the weapons of men. Today would also be the last time they helped decide the fates of their boys. With a nod from Nootau, who now stood off to the side of the line, the mothers whitened their grip on the small spears and simultaneously threw them with all their might into a clearing. There was no target at which to aim. Their aim was raw distance.

  When the spears had all smacked into the earth made damp by the last vestiges of pockets of melting snow, Etleloo sent two more junior warriors out to announce the results. They did not have to run far to reach the first cluster of three spears that had barely made it four fadmrs away. The mothers who tossed these spears and their sons behind them looked disappointed. There was a sense of dishonor at their weak performance because it was assumed that a weak-armed mother meant a coddled child. These boys would be given the easiest of the trials. It was a mark the boys could outlive as men, but a stain nonetheless. The same had happened to Hassun when his now dead mother had thrown the family spear. I could see that even now he was overlooked for the most rigorous or prestigious tasks of war. But he seemed to be doing well enough, I thought, for his father, Nootau, was busy molding him into the next shaman, itself a position more influential than even the chief – depending on who was asked.

  Despite her obvious overprotection of Kesegowaase, I was thankful to see that Hurit was not in this batch. Nor was she in the next cluster of spears. Her arm proved true, among the strongest that both men and women ever recalled seeing. Hurit’s family spear had sailed past all the others, down the center of the clearing before plunging a full half ell deep in the soft dirt. When the result was announced, Ahanu gave a slight smile and nod, though he was careful not to show favorites. The strong heaving of the spear was an honor to Hurit and Kesegowaase, but it meant that the boy would have the most difficult of the trials.

  “Now these boys will eat of the wysoccan and begin the journey away from childhood, through the spirit world, and into manhood,” called Nootau the medicine man for all to hear. The boys turned their backs to their mothers, a fitting representation to the events of the day, to face the young warriors carrying the bowls. With a nod, they took the bowls and began scooping the paste out and into their mouths. I did not know the taste of what they ate, but it must have been bitter. Each and every boy who ate of it winced with pursed lips as it went down. One of the smallest immediately threw up, but his warrior was ready with more of the paste and forced it down the boy’s mouth, holding the child’s jaw and nose closed so that he didn’t spew his stomach contents a second time. Kesegowaase swallowed his dose with as much pride as he could muster as he stood tall and proud, not looking toward Hurit who had taken her place back in the crowd along with the other boys’ mothers.

  Ahanu spread his arms wide so that the loose sleeves of his tunic slipped down to show the many tattoos covering his arms. “Young warriors, lead these boys on the journey you took not so long ago. See they are taken to the place designated by their mother’s arm. See they receive no assistance from anyone of the tribe for such assistance will bring nothing but shame to the boy and his family. Go.”

  The young men all started marching across the clearing. They each carried a small knapsack and a spear. The boys who followed them had nothing but the clothes on their backs. As the pairs reached the far end of the clearing they began peeling away from one another so that each warrior and his designated boy took a different path into the forest. I watched them go away and noted that Kesegowaase, who was normally light and swift of foot, walked with a heavier gait than usual as if he had been to the mead table that morning.

  The last of them were now gone and the crowd began to disperse. Etleloo passed me by and called, “Did you hear me use your words, Halldorr? I like that al gon kin very much for we all are relatives of the chief.”

  “I did. I heard, Etleloo. Your own word for your people is just as fine though – Beiuthook sounds noble. But, I am glad you like using some words from my people. I will gladly teach you more if you like.”

  Etleloo shrugged, saying, “Perhaps,” before slapping another friend on the shoulder and walking over to organize a fishing party.

  I began to step away with the others when Ahanu called out, “Hurit, you will come here now. I will have a word with both you and Halldorr.”

  When she came over I noticed that her eyes were red and swollen, however Hurit withheld the urge to openly weep. Kesegowaase would be ashamed if he saw his mother in such a state, but at least she didn’t cry like a newborn. If Ahanu noticed, he said nothing about it. “Halldorr has asked m
e permission to do something, but I must ask you first.”

  Hurit did not catch my sideways glance at my friend, and so I simply nodded when she looked at me, questioningly. She replied, “Of course, what would you like to know.”

  Ahanu smiled broadly, “Good. This is very good. Do you see Halldorr, you were worried and yet the woman sees the sense in your proposal.” He paused here, nodding while placing a hand on each of our shoulders. It was Hurit’s turn to give Ahanu a puzzled glance for I am sure she did not know she agreed to anything. Ahanu leaned in toward us whispering so that we could barely hear him, “Halldorr knows that you wish for nothing but honor for your family and yet you have great love for your son, my grandson. So he offered to go to act as an observer, not involving himself in any way, of Kesegowaase on his trial. This way you can be assured that he will be safe from death. After all, it was Halldorr who saved the boy from the Huntsman when snow covered the ground.”

  Hurit’s strong face weakened. A thin-lipped smile formed and several of the tears which she held at bay, at last fought their way free to stream down her cheeks. “Yes. I did not know it possible or allowable by our traditions, but yes. Thank you.”

  Ahanu whispered again, “It is allowable, but we don’t have to alert the entire village. We will tell them that Halldorr is on an errand for me. That will suffice.”

  He tapped our shoulders then marched off toward his mamateek. Over his shoulder he called, “Right Ear, come. They have some business to discuss. Leave them be.” I was surprised to see the dog obeyed Ahanu and trotted off after him, nipping at his left heel as they walked.

  When we were finally left alone, Hurit gave a great sniff of her nose while wiping her tears dry with a sleeve. “Thank you Enkoodabooaoo. Though I don’t often understand you, you are a kind man.” I opened my mouth to protest, but the woman wrapped her arms around my chest. They were short and my chest was still well-muscled from youth, so her hands did not touch one another at my back. Her nose, snot and all, buried into my jerkin. She sucked in another great pull of air to clear her nose, stepped back, wiped her hands across her face, then stepped away to take on her daily tasks which knew no end.

  Like so many times in my life, I was left standing alone, trying to understand what had just happened to me.

  . . .

  Kesegowaase lay flat on his back on the forest floor in a crudely constructed cage that looked like it was built recently. The ends of the small logs that were used to make it were still the light color of fresh timber with no darkening from age. They were lashed together with thin cord made from the inner bark of nearby trees. When observed from one end, the cage itself was in the shape of the Roman letter “A,” just barely long enough for the boy to fit his lanky frame inside.

  He had been laying thus for fifteen consecutive days and nights, alone except for my watching eyes from the brush and his guard who came by twice per day to give him water and more of the paste they called wysoccan. The paste clearly made the boy as if he were drunk, but with symptoms worse than I had ever seen. Each day I approached his prison when I was sure the young warrior had moved on. I had to lean close to see if he yet lived. Kesegowaase’s skin was flushed to a red color from his head to his feet. There was a dried white crust around his nostrils and mouth while his lips smacked as if they were parched. The boy’s breathing was rapid. I reached my hand through the wooden bars and felt that his heart beat rapidly like the feet of a skittering rabbit. Through his buckskin shirt, and despite the chill in the air, I could feel tremendous heat pouring out from his body. My hand moved to pry open one of his eyes. Despite the full sun of the day, his pupil was large, taking up nearly the full extent of the deep brown colored portion.

  At first I wondered about the cage. In the state in which he spent these last fifteen days, there was no risk to him escaping. At his most lucid moments when he was only able to scream out about the frightening hallucinations he saw before him, Kesegowaase would have been lucky to claw his way one or two fadmrs across the ground. But during the second night of his captivity while I watched half-asleep under a briar, a bear came to sniff at the bars. The bear’s great, black nose breathed the stench of the boy in and out – Kesegowaase had soiled himself many times already in his drunken state. The beast rose up on his hind legs, bringing his forepaws down with the force of a longboat’s keel in the waves on the frame nearly a dozen times. My father’s saex was drawn, gripped tightly in my hand, but the walls held and after a time the bear ambled away for easier prey.

  On the morning of the sixteenth day, after a full night of a cold, driving rain, his guard came back. This time however, the young man left a large skin filled with water next to a nearby tree after giving Hurit’s boy the paste. The rest of this day passed like the rest, with me leaving for a short time to gather some roots or snare a rodent for a meal. When the sun was descending to the west at the time the guard normally came back, the woods was noticeably silent. I thought he had been delayed but when the night fell around us, it was clear that a new phase of the trials had begun.

  During the night Kesegowaase began to leave the drunken spirit world and emerged, in fits and starts, from the stupor. His body writhed in awkward contortions as he shouted, mumbled, and drooled. He rolled over onto his stomach and jammed his face into the dirt, wet from the rainstorm, took mouthfuls, gnawed on pebbles and even swallowed much of it. It was an awful spectacle.

  He survived through the morning without the guard’s return. Kesegowaase was quietly sleeping until the sun was quite high, then as if out of nothing, he was reborn. From my hiding place I could tell his eyes were scanning his surroundings as he lay sinking into the shit-filled muck. “Is anyone there?” he called out. He sounded tired, but there was, quite astonishingly, a new strength in the voice. Once again he summoned to the forest, “Is anyone there?”

  Kesegowaase’s head began to stir around, studying his prison. When he moved the rest of his body the first time, it looked painful for he winced, but then I realized he made a face at his own sickly smell, wrinkling his nose, dry heaving. He gained his composure, blinking.

  The cage was too low to stand or even sit up so he grasped one of the bars and pulled himself through the sucking mud to the end nearest his head. That portion of the “A” framed structure was the door he had been shoved through. He would certainly not remember it since he was already fully intoxicated by the time his young warrior brought him to the clearing. So much so, the man had carried him the last seven or eight English miles and then thrust the boy in using his shoulder.

  Four tightly lashed cords held the cage door closed. Kesegowaase fumbled with them as if relearning how to use his fingers, methodically working them loose until the door tipped down, splashing into the water-logged ground outside the prison. He wormed his way out, steadying himself on all fours for a long moment before using his home of the past sixteen days as a crutch to pull up to his full height.

  The boy, for I guess he was still a boy since the full twenty days had not passed, leaned against the structure, blinking, and doing his best to focus his vision on his surroundings. Slowly he scanned the entire clearing, pausing for a short time on the bulging water skin next to the tree. He licked his lips at the sight, but demonstrated restraint, caution. Kesegowaase had learned something while his mind was away. He no longer took the welcome sight of what might be water at face value. He did not show the unblemished trust of a child. I could see his mind turning over the events of the past days. Did he recall any of them? Did he even know how long it had been since he was truly conscious? Unlikely.

  He eventually completed his scan with his squinting and blinking eyes. I found that he paused again looking directly at where I lay hidden. I was confident he could not see me, but still he squinted toward me. I was frozen in place, controlling my breathing as if I were stalking prey for my evening meal. At last the boy closed his eyes, cupping his hands to his ears, tilting his head like Right Ear so often did to hear something a little clearer. No
w I held my breath. Still the boy leaned there with his eyes closed, now moving his hands from his ears and waving them to and from his nose, sniffing the air not unlike an animal of the wild. Could he smell me? Certainly not, I told myself. Yet his actions caused me pause.

  Shaking his head now Kesegowaase said, “Your head does not feel right, boy. Did I just smell . . . color?”

  His first step was broad and sure, but ended in failure as his leg crumpled beneath him. Kesegowaase toppled into the muck, cracking his right knee on a great, gnarled root which snaked its way across his path. “Oshkiniigikwe Glooskap!” An odd, yet humorous curse, I thought, since he just called the god Glooskap an adolescent girl.

  The rest of the day was more of the same as the boy’s mind recovered from his stupor. After sniffing the water, he eventually sipped some from the skin. Yet weakness from starvation was setting in by the time dusk settled upon us. He was much thinner than when he came out from the village just over two weeks ago. His cheek bones looked like they jutted from his drawn face. The boy needed food or he may be dead by morning, I thought as he wearily leaned against a great tree with deeply ridged bark. The snows had left only days earlier so there were no wild fruits or berries to be had – nothing that he could easily lay his hands on. This was a trial to be sure! I wondered how the other boys were doing and what made the tests of those whose mothers made the weak spear throws easier.

  Is this why Ahanu wanted me here? Of course, this is one of the reasons Hurit was so happy I would come. I could secretly gather something for the boy to eat. But the chief was clear when he told Hurit that I would watch over Kesegowaase that I would not interfere. She had agreed to his terms.

  Was I being dense? Did my old friend truly want me to involve myself without using the words?