CLAN
Birth of the Chosen One
(Book I)
Roger Kenworthy
Copyright 2019 ©Authored by Roger Kenworthy
ISBN 13: 9781729211359
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any informational storage or retrieval system without express written, dated, and signed permission by the author.
Roger C. Kenworthy, PhD, 2019
I hope that you will enjoy reading about Ovark’s incredible tale of survival. There’s another chapter of his life coming soon.
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CLAN
Birth of the Chosen One
(Book I)
Contents:
Map of the Clans
PROLOGUE
1
2
3
4
5
List of Characters
Ovark, future leader of the Forest Clan
Tusik and Johar, Ovark’s father and mother
Tosak, Ovark’s paternal grandfather;
Narizon, Shaman; Dona, Medicine woman/Seeress
Aon, Fona, Zedor, and Relor; Forest Clan women
Bundan, Galan, Zedex, and Leor; Forest Clan men
Zandex, Moltar, and Andar, Rolling Valley Clan
The Shadow People, and Novar, leader of these nomadic, hunter-gatherers.
PROLOGUE
Dr. Amy McPherson methodically prepared for her day. A heavy glass door silently barricaded the modern era from entering an ancient one; it was more than a symbolic gesture - it was a prerequisite to begin her investigation. She had to be sure to leave every remnant of the present moment where it belonged, so it wouldn’t contaminate the remains left from the past.
Inside, a sterile environment emitted a deathly quiet, reverence for the remains of a man that lay scattered yet catalogued upon a stainless-steel table. Plastic entombed fingers reached out for the thick femur of an elderly man who had once existed within harsh wintry conditions for perhaps a mere five or so decades. Life was short in the period that reached back over forty-thousand years BP.
Amy’s mind found it difficult to comprehend what the man endured in his brief life; they were roughly the same age. A healed fracture probably left him with a severe limp, that is, if he was even mobile at all. He must have felt intense pain at every step he took over the frozen tundra that enveloped his lands. His left eye socket was smashed, his brow cracked, but healed. Were his kin compassionate? Did they care for this ‘elderly’ man who had to fight daily to sustain his life and not to the detriment of those within his clan? How did the end come?
“Doctor? Ms. McPherson?”
“Sorry Robert. My mind was swept away by what this Neanderthal man’s life must have been about. Look. That certainly was a nasty break, and those many gouges. Maybe a fight with a rival or the teeth of a wild beast? And his eye. A horrific wound. OK, you know what we need to do today. Prepare the drill and let’s get some of Number 3892’s DNA ready for analysis.”
Robert had an uncertain look written upon his brow, his deeply furrowed wrinkles couldn’t hide his thoughts.
“What?”
“Do you ever think that we’re desecrating our ancestors by what we do for science?”
Silence. Moments later, one gloved hand passed a gleaming steel instrument to another. It was the key to a locked door. However, would that door open to reveal what was hidden behind it?
A muted swirling sound announced today’s world had penetrated the forgotten realm of this man. A thin veil of white dust waited to be ceremoniously captured by a funnel shaped ampoule. Then it was up to science to unlock a treasure chest of information.
A skillfully defined eyebrow arched under her plastic face-shield. “Did he feel love? Was he loved? If these bones could only talk.”
“But they can Doctor…let’s be his voice and write his story!”
1
Father cradled me in his powerful arms and then lifted me high above his head while still attached to mother. The spirits, man, woman, and child were one. It was our clan’s custom to raise a son or daughter to the heavens as an act of reverence for the earth, sky, and water spirits to grant long life upon the newborn. Celebrations were fleeting. A life, albeit a short one, that was plagued with little joy and much sorrow faced all new-born children. A lack of food. A cruel environment. A carnivorous beast.
While danger and death were omnipresent, we still believed the spirits would save every child’s life. We never questioned why they accepted our gifts of reverence and still let our innocent ones die an early death.
Our cave became unusually quiet, most often there was chaos: the chanting stopped; the cries of other babies silent; the crackling from our open pit fires muted. All were in anticipation of what would occur next. Women huddled around mother and baby. Men stood back several spear lengths. Ears strained to catch every word spoken by their noble leader.
“Let us praise the wandering spirits that overlook us, protect us.” Two oval eyes, tucked within a deep eyebrow ridge, looked lovingly at his child. “You are Ovark, my first-born son, and the future of the Forest Clan. May the benevolent spirits of the lands, skies, and waters bestow upon you wisdom to rule our people; may the benevolent spirits bestow upon you long life and good health to guide our people for countless seasons; and may the benevolent spirits bestow upon you many sons and daughters to ensure our clan shall live forever.”
Father voiced his words and then a luminous bolt of lightning pierced the early morning fog while a solitary crack of thunder reverberated off the limestone cliffs that surrounded the deep fissure in the rock cliff that we called home. Even the cobalt sky appeared honored by its new son. On any other day, we would have interpreted this message from the spirits as ominous, foreboding, and our shaman would be called upon to make sacrifice to appease them. This day was different.
The moment a new life is brought into our world, the circumstances changed. The spirits had just signed a pact with father and sent an omen of their pleasure for their future choice to rule our clan. In a matter of moments, the air cleared, the sun shone down upon our home, and the unseen spirits were giddy-even the mostly staid shaman, Narizon, appeared to be joyous of the unexpected outburst of support from the spirits. A crooked smile etched upon his face as he nervously clutched his sacred medicine bag, full of precious gifts, at the ready if needed. Seasons of observing and interacting with the various spirits that existed around him made him weary most of the time and overburdened the rest. He would perform his rites upon me shortly.
The quick swipe of a razor-sharp obsidian blade held in a powerful hand separated me from the woman who gave me life; the compassionate one who would risk her own future to sustain mine. A warm breast provided refuge from the cold that gripped my still mucus-covered body. Warm salty tears ran down mother’s cheeks, mixed with her tepid milk. Grandmother replaced the blood-soaked furs that had witnessed my birth with dry ones. A damp, cold environment can end a child’s life quickly in our frozen world. Much to my sadness, in my later days, I learned that four of my eight siblings were called back to the spirit world within one or two seasons. All girls. Our many hopes for the future, our future, were often altered by s
udden illness and disease. Death was a way of life for us.
“Beloved clan members, gather around Johar, Ovark, and me, Tusik, your leader, to give praise to the spirits as they have delivered a healthy, complete boy. Ovark, is heir to our group and shall be wise as the wolf, as strong as a mammoth, and patient as the sun who waits to join his wife each night.”
Each member approached us and extended a handful of brightly colored flowers to mother. She received white ones as a symbol of her future fertility to produce additional children. They pulled the petals from the yellow ones and laid them upon my soft blanket of fur as a symbol of wisdom and good health. They showered father with red petals; this was a sign of continued virility and potency between mother and him.
This was a common practice to honor every new member at birth. Although we attempted to appease the many land, sky, and water spirits, they seldom listened since many of our young died at such a young age. Innocent children taken to make life cruel and unkind. Why?
“Brothers, sisters…let us feast upon what the spirits have provided for us today. Our hunters were granted a sacred kill this morning just as the sun divided the night from the day. We shall eat many meals from the body of this beast alone.”
Slumped next to our largest fire pit was the bloodied carcass of a mature cave bear. Its blood still dripped from the spot where Bundan had made the solitary kill thrust with his spear, right below the heart. A shiny piece of black obsidian was barely visible amongst the blood and red fur of the beast.
With those spoken words, the women grabbed their scrapping tools and began to cut the creature into sizeable portions to cook on the blazing fires. They stripped down to the waist so that the blood of the bear wouldn’t cling to their clothes and weigh them down.
Although Johar had just given birth to her first child, she, nevertheless, joined the other women to prepare the beast for their celebratory feast. The bear was turned over on its back to reveal a soft underbelly; flint tools easily navigated their way through several inches of white fat; the beast had feasted well during its life. A quick slice from the tail to the head spilled the warm viscera out on the cave floor; the youngest moved quickly to get their share of the protein rich liver, stomach, and kidneys. It was a free-for-all; bloodied to their elbows, the youngsters enjoyed these delicacies. Raw.
While the children feasted on the warm entrails, one woman seized the right ear of the beast and made numerous skilled passes with her scraper to sever the head from its body. Its neck was the girth of our bravest hunter. Blood dripped over the dark earth of the cave floor creating a sticky glue of clay and red bodily fluid. It stank. It made work more difficult since the concoction was slippery as ice on Emerald Lake in the cold season. Then it happened, an older woman tripped and fell over upon her flint blade.
“Ahhh!” Bloodied hands grabbed a gaping wound; she collapsed onto the dirt floor. Tears welled up in her dark eyes as she gushed warm blood like the beast when its body was pierced by our brave hunter, Bundan. Fona ordered her daughter to hasten and retrieve a handful of dried grass and several strands of animal sinew. In her skilled hands, she dressed the wound.
“Sister, come here! Let me stop the bleeding before you lose more and leave us here today.” A compassionate but rough hand, calloused by years of hard work, gingerly wrapped the wound and tied it off.
“Fona, thank you. I’ll be fine. I know my wound will leave a scar as a sacred reminder of this glorious day, one that gave us our future. I’m the past and shall not live to see our new heir rule us wisely and with a benevolent heart, but my spirit shall travel with the clan until it is no more.”
“Well-spoken sister. But don’t fret, you have many more seasons of toil before the spirits of these lands call you home. When your body has decayed and only your bones are left with us, you’ll still be remembered in our songs and dance. You shall never die.”
She would be remembered long after her earthly remains lost its skin and hair. We buried our dead and then dug up the bones to line our cave with their mementoes. This ritual ensured we carried the lasting memories of our treasured ancestors. We proudly displayed the remains of those members who fled the days and nights of our lands with the spirits. At the far end of our cave, in a sacred corner, were the leg and arm bones; the skulls were elevated above these; and the most precious items placed conspicuously above the white remnants of bone. These included bear-tooth necklaces, spears, and scrappers of the deceased…items cherished and used by our ancestors. At all times, they looked over our shoulders; in work, play, and sorrow they accompanied us in this life. When it was our turn to pass, we would assume our place next to them, to rejoin them in a joyous ceremony.
Work continued amongst the new spilt blood. Four women each grabbed a muscular leg and began to dismember the delicacies granted by the spirits. First, the four paws were cut-off, the most prized of all bear parts for its taste and symbolic nature. A paw was created by the spirits as a well-earned reward for the wise and brave hunter who had the strength, courage, and cunning to end the life of such a formidable adversary. A mighty bear held the life of a hunter in its paws; one wrong move and a man was ripped apart as he met the ancestors of the bear clan.
A hushed whisper held a secret. “Here, take this and hide it child, behind that rock over there.” Aon, the crafty one was up to her tricks again.
This attempt at deceit was not unnoticed. “Old woman…have meadow grasses formed in your head? Does your mind forget who deserves the paws? Hunters…not children! Don’t you try to go against tradition; you’ll regret your ill-intentioned foible. Give it here or you’ll have no food this day or several more!”
Aon laughed at her own playfulness and for being caught. “Bundan…here; you get the prize for your prowess and bravery.” A quick flip of the wrist and a big smile crossed the brave hunter’s shaggy face.
He examined the paw closely; repeatedly, he turned it around and upside down, and gloated. Pride that he had killed this mighty animal; his prowess to finish the bear and that would provide food for the clan. The claws were at least six inches long and sharp as a piece of flint. The black as obsidian claws would make an impressive necklace; one that all who viewed it would understand the bravery and prowess of the neck it adorned. Surely, the rattling sound of the claws as he pursued new game would alert the spirits to his bravery and ultimately, bring success in the hunt. Overcome by hunger, his mouth watered at the thought of what the fire spirits would give him. Only the fire spirits and the mightiest of all hunters knew the joy such a delicacy brought to the one who ate this most treasured part of the beast.
Next, the thighs, and finally the back parts were stripped off and thrown in a pile. As each body part was cut from its primeval host, the murky bile that surrounded the internal organs spilled out on the ground. Rancid. Viscous.
“We’ll scrape the hide for our warm clothes tomorrow. Today is for feasting and rejoicing.” Mother and the other women felt exhausted and didn’t have the energy to work anymore upon the beast. A hungry group must be fed. Our matriarchs wouldn’t neglect their duties. They just had to wait until the new day dawned to continue preparing the beast.
They prepared portions of food according to a strict hierarchy of needs followed by all members. The hunters and the wounded received the most; hunters needed to be strong and the injured needed to recover as quickly as possible…every spear was needed to feed an ever-expanding family. A mother’s portion was less than the hunters, but they required enough food to produce milk for infant children; no milk and the child’s life would be lost. Children received less than their mother, however, they needed enough meat to grow strong and fight the many diseases that faced them in their early years. The elderly received smaller portions than the rest of us; it was more about being practical than being cruel. With little to do, the elderly needed less to sustain life than growing children, nursing mothers, or prowling hunters.
Father took control and directed the daily workings of the Fores
t Clan. “Children, go outside and collect dried bones and be sure your arms are full. There is much meat to cook. Adolescents, help your younger brothers and sisters to ensure they find and bring back every suitable piece they can get their hands on. We have to cook this beast and keep the cave warm on this cold day and evening.” Fur-covered feet scurried out into the cold morning.
As the cave emptied of its youngest, Tosak, the eldest living member of our clan and my grandfather sat and smiled as everyone did their part for our betterment and survival. He was old, infirmed, and required help just to walk around the cave. We venerated the old…not many of us could or would last as many seasons as grandfather did. Each gave respect the best way they could with daily acts of compassion for their revered elder. An ill-behaving child would fetch water. A nursing mother would bring a portion of meat. A caring hunter would cover grandfather with furs to keep him warm on the coldest nights.
He looked noble even as his emaciated body was concealed by a layer of thick animal skins. Silver hair glistened in stark contrast to the darkness of our cave. As the dancing tongues of fire cast long shadows across his deeply crevassed face, his thoughts drifted back to a time when he was young and strong; the strongest of all the hunters, and the most cunning. He ate many bear paws in earlier seasons, and many times in the past he enjoyed the sweet taste of victory as he stalked and killed a cave bear as large and ferocious as Bundan’s.
A withered hand scared in battle, crisscrossed by numerous blue veins, feebly clutched his bear claw necklace. He slowly moved his hand as the numerous claws gave-up their sweet sound to his failing ears. Oh, the sound. The black claws were nicked and chipped from seasons of wear; seasons of leading the hunters to fight the beasts that fed the clan and led them down their pathway to the future. Times when he led brave warriors against other tribes who wanted to destroy his family. By the compassion of the spirits, his beloved clan lived as others died; doomed in battle, taken by wild animals, or harsh seasons.
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