Birth of the Chosen One

by Roger Kenworthy

  The cold of the night was about to relinquish its hold on the lands. As the yellow orb of life greeted the shaman’s second day, he felt that this was the time for the wise ones to reappear before him. He looked forward to being with them again. His inner self searched the depths of the cave for any sign that they were near. Nothing. Yet, he was undeterred; he continued to chant the sacred words and to produce revered sounds from his rattle. He must persevere to save his clan from death and sadness. As he kept up his show of devotion for the spirits, his sweaty brow revealed his focus. But even the most trustful soul develops doubts when they expect to be handed solutions to their problems and aren’t.

  Doubt gripped his soul. Why had they abandoned him? Did the spirits turn their back upon him as his clan members did to the spirits? Were the spirits vengeful, and now had turned his request to right their wrongs into a game of retribution? He must not think like that; he must have faith that the spirits would revisit him at the cave and provide answers to his dilemma. They would come back on their terms, and not on his…no matter how much he wanted them to do so. He learned through many visits to the Otherworld that the sun and moon did not divide their day into night. The sun and moon had made a hallowed pact with his forefathers to define when to hunt and when to sleep. The spirits neither slept nor hunted.

  Doubt fled his soul as the birds are frightened by the beasts who wish to devour them. He was confident that the spirits would appear. They would silently enter the cave, unannounced, and reveal what he must do…what his clan members must do. The spirits had never been unresponsive to him even after many seasons had passed. They had always appeared to him. Always...He became frightened again. Had they found disfavor with him? With these thoughts in mind, he chanted louder, he rattled harder. He would not give up…he would keep on until they took him to the Otherworld, to another life with his ancestors.

  All during the day, he was searching for an answer; he never stopped his rattle from speaking nor his voice from chanting. It was to no avail…the wise ones had turned their back upon him. What would he tell the clan? How could he bring a message of hope to overcome the clan’s despair when none was presented to him in spite of his piety and veneration of the spirits? He believed that burning his hallowed herbs and plants were not enough; he must do more to capture the attention of the spirits. He knew what to do.

  Narizon prepared himself for the next act of respect for the spirits. He stopped chanting and rattling. He lovingly rubbed the sweat from his rattle and placed it in his pouch, and then collected another pile of bones to keep the fire alive until the sun met the lands again. The yellow-red flames would be the pathway to the spirits, so he had to have an ample supply of fuel at his fingertips…the fire must not be extinguished for any reason. This could displease the wise ones.

  The shaman was pleased; the flames jumped and danced about in the hearth as he desired. He removed his bone knife from his pouch with one hand and his sharpening stone with another. With a steady grasp on the stone, he drew his knife across the smooth surface. Again, and again, a bleached blade forged ahead on its intended journey…slowly at first, and with each passing moment the tempo increased until the shaman’s hand was a blur. His hand, knife, and stone appeared as one; two eyes were unable to discern one object from another. Then he stopped. After many passes he pressed his grimy finger against the blade. A trickle of red kissed the razor-sharp edge; he wiped it clean with a piece of fur…it was ready to initiate the most sacred of all traditions passed along from the spirits to the healers.

  He sat cross-legged, focused solely upon the flames that were born and then died before him. Each one announced their birth and death accompanied by a sharp crackle and dull ash. Eyes closed, he witnessed the future before him; he spoke without a word to the spirits…He would feel no physical pain; he would feel spiritual ecstasy in his present state of mind and body. It was time. An outstretched arm met a vertical blade and accepted it as a savior, a deliverer. A thin trail of blood ran down his arm, stopped at his wrist, and then dripped down upon the shimmering flames. A pungent smell wafted around him and throughout the cave. Could he be closer to the spirits without experiencing a journey to the Otherworld?

  His crimson offering to the spirits trickled upon the fire, and as each drop met its master, an unpleasant odor manifested a deep feeling of empowerment, within and without. The dripping stopped; he licked the blade clean of his blood; it would be of no benefit to let it coagulate upon its sharp edge. His world began to spin, and bright colors of red, yellow, blue, and green mixed together before his closed eyes. A sudden feeling of weightlessness struck him; he felt his body untethered from the cave floor…he was free of the earth, released from the bindings that kept others of his kind from flying above the lands as the proud eagle.

  Far below, a blue ribbon of water meandered through a series of green hills. Stunted bushes clung to jagged rocks, sanctuaries for them from the rains and winds of the cold season. The lands below him passed quickly; he realized that he was following the same path that he had travelled from the cave. Familiar sounds. Familiar smells. He had returned home. High above the clan’s cave he hovered, massaged by the cool winds.

  He looked down upon his family home; he watched with great interest. The children were playing their usual games; boys playing fierce hunters of the mighty beasts while the girls working with the food taken by the hunters. Women sat around sewing, preparing food, and attending to the sick and old. The hunters met before the fire and discussed the journey of their shaman. They spoke of him, even in his absence, with reverence and the upmost respect. A tear ran down his cheek…he was responsible for the future of his clan, yet, he had no answer to provide them with. The colors about began to fade; his body felt heavy once again…he was met with the overpowering smell of burnt blood; he opened his eyes and felt the warmth of the fire. His journey had ended as quickly as it began.

  It appeared that the first cutting was unsuccessful; the spirits had not visited him; they had only allowed him to be a voyeur of his clan. To be a witness of their everyday routines in his absence. They teased him like a lioness would tease a squirrel she had captured; let it run, bring it back; let it taste freedom, and then bring it back to meet an unhappy ending. Was his end near? He must demonstrate his humility for the spirits and receive an answer to his question that would enable the survival for his family. He clutched his knife in hand and began flaying his arm with cut after cut. The blood squirted in all directions; most fell to the waiting flames while some created small crimson pools in the dark earth of the cave. The rhythm of his heartbeat accompanied the showering of hot blood. Dizziness grabbed at his deprived body.

  “Narizon, we have tasted your blood; we have smelt your sacrifice, and we have felt your devotion. Stop your cutting…take our gift and rub it over the many wounds that shed your life-force. The life within the soil shall give life back to you. We shall return, soon. Keep your soul alert to our presence; let your closed eyes see us, and your closed mouth speak our names…the names of the ones who guard the skies, lands, and waters.”

  Silence.

  When the last words rang throughout his being, the shaman grabbed a handful of dirt that lay before him, and vigorously spread it across his wounds. Beads of blood appeared as small hills that dotted the landscape near his home cave. He felt a huge weight, similar to the dead carcass of a cave bear upon his bent shoulders, had been lifted from him. His act accomplished its goal…the attention of the spirits had returned, and he need only wait a short time before they returned.

  Success! Still, he was wary of their return before the morning sun; he collected more bones, heaped them on the smoldering ashes, and then added several handfuls of his sacred plants. The fire awoke …heat and smoke merged as one to announce a sacred resurrection. The heat stung his face as the smoke pierced his lungs; he entered a meditative state once more. Creatures ran through the cave, hunters thrust sharp spears into their flesh while in pursuit. Birds flew about his head
, swooped down upon him, and pecked at his skull.

  As the yellow beams of light were chased from his liar, he continued to chant and rattle a message of hope and peace to his guardians. His message rang throughout the lands the entire night and did not stop. Ghosts of the day chased the night away until the warmth of a morning sun touched the shaman. His cold bones felt relief. His warm heart felt joy.

  On the third day of his journey, waiting for a message from the wise ones, Narizon finally received an answer. A silent whirlwind announced their return as wispy waves of cold mist reentered the cave. A chilling wind made his body shiver from his marrow to his soul. Without pause, he heard a voice.

  “We have convened and have made our decision.”

  The spirits told their tale, and when their message was complete, they dispersed and vanished to return to their domains of the skies, lands, and waters.

  A pang of hurt, like a spear point pressed into his ribs, touched him deep within…this was not the message he had hoped to receive from the wise ones. However, he must do his duty, and inform the clan what was passed along to him. Upon hearing what the spirits had decided, the shaman gathered his earthly belongings and began the trek back to the cave. It was a sad journey that he had to make.

  Three moons had passed overhead, and on the third day, father waited with tempered hope of our shaman’s arrival. He paced back and forth at the entrance of our home since the darkness fled from our lands. His eyes scanned the lands, looking for our deliverer. In the distance, he saw a speck moving slowly towards him.

  “Here he comes!”

  Father couldn’t wait…he ran out to meet Narizon to find out what the spirits had spoken about. He needed to know and the sooner the better.

  “Do you have good words to share from the spirits, Narizon?”

  Their eyes met, but it was difficult to know if there was doubt or gratitude emblazoned upon them.

  “I have words.”

  Father was immediately on edge since the shaman didn’t include ‘good’ in his answer. This was not what father was expecting. His brow wrinkled in anxiety.

  “Can you share with me what they wish our clan to do to resolve the bad omens that linger about the lands?”

  A silent nod answered the question.

  “I know you shall be deeply saddened by what you are about to hear. Tusik…we must leave our home. We must return to the home we have ever seen before. We must remove our past to live our future. These are the words of the spirits…they are not mine.”

  Father was shocked, his breath momentarily stolen away from him. He sat down and looked at Narizon. “Leave the only home the clan had known for many, many seasons? Our fathers have lived here; our father’s fathers have lived here; and our father’s father’s fathers have lived here. Has your heart received the correct answer?”

  “Yes, I received their message when I crossed over to their world; the message is from the mouths of the spirits. They have told me that we are in danger if we stay here. We must find a new cave before the next full moon appears in the sky. To stay any longer will surely bring sorrow and tears to those who remain. They must be appeased for the wrongs we have committed. The wrath of the spirits surrounds us; just waiting to descend from the skies, raise up from the rivers, and roll in from the plains.”

  “Narizon, what you ask of the Forest Clan is against our ways. We have always lived and shared our cave, our home, with those who lived before we walked the plains and the mountains. I cannot and would not make this decision for the entire clan. We must have a council and hear what every member of the family thinks before we do such a thing. It will be a sad day to leave our home, the home that many of our ancestors have lived and died in. What shall we do with their spirits? Of those who have traveled across the pathway to the Otherworld? They cannot move with us; they shall remain and without their family around them.”

  “I know that this is bad news from the spirits, but I shall explain everything that they spoke to me about when we have our clan meeting. Can you call each member of the family together? It must be before the sun is overhead; to meet when it shines over our shoulders is too late.”

  “Of course, but a few of the hunters left the cave just as the yellow disk awoke this morning. We must send others out to bring them back; they must be part of the decision we make here today.”

  Father left the depressed Narizon alone…on his own to gather his thoughts and try to explain as simply as possible why the spirits have requested the clan to move on, to leave what had been their families’ home for many seasons. It would be a difficult task, still, it must be completed since the wise ones advised the shaman what the alternative would be if they disobeyed and remained in this cave. Before the meeting, he must find the hunters and bring them back to the cave…everyone must have a word in the decision for what the spirits asked the Forest Clan to do.

  “Bundan, can you go and find our hunters and have them return before the sun meets the rolling green hills? We must convene quickly; all members should have their words heard, and we must abide by the words of the spirits. I fear the future my friend.”

  “I’m on my way, and we’ll return with the men and with a beast to celebrate the words we’ve received from the wise ones.”

  “Go, and may you have the quickness of the winds behind you and the wisdom of the ancients with you.” Although sounding optimistic on the outside, Tusik was not feeling so well on the inside. He knew that Bundan’s ‘celebration’ may indeed not be a celebration, or at least what the clan wanted or expected.

  As Bundan left to find the hunters, Tusik approached Johar, and as he grabbed her hand he began to speak from the heart. “My darling wife; I’m greatly disturbed by what our clan shall face when the moon shows its entire face. We’ve only known this cave as home, but we also must obey the spirits. What if our family won’t listen to Narizon and the sacred message he received from the spirits? What is our fate?”

  Johar squeezed his hand; “Tusik, leader of the Forest Clan; father of my children; husband of many seasons…you must have faith that the best shall happen when we meet. Our family is wise, and surely, they shall understand that the spirits must be appeased if we have offended them. Our slight of the wise ones must be made right. We must enjoy the journey of life, and perhaps we shall leave no traces of our lives many seasons from now. Still, that is not our decision to make, is it?”

  “I believe the wisdom of your words Johar, and in my heart, I must believe that our family are able to do what is right. The pain shall be great, but the pain from disobeying the spirits shall be greater.”

  The day was as slow as the river in the dry season and the sun refused to move across the sky. How much longer would it be before the hunters returned and their meeting took place? It seemed he had been part of a handful of mornings on this sad day. But, he had to be brave and face-up to the fact that the clan must make a decision…would it be the one that saved tears or one that caused them to shed tears?

  The sun grew tired and was about to sleep for the night when Bundan and the hunters appeared from out of the vast plain that stretched before the cave. Tusik was glad, but also sad…a huge cave bear dangled between two thick poles, carried by four of the strongest men from the family. A food for a feast, still it was a feast that would impact the lives of the living and the dead for generations to come.

  As the women accepted the offering that would soon nourish the clan, Tusik made an announcement to all ears.

  “My family; can you open your ears to my words, please?”

  All movement stopped as voices hushed; the women laid down their scrapers, the children put down their animal figures, and the men set aside their spears.

  “Our wise one, Narizon, has returned this day to our home after traveling with the spirits. He has told me that the land, air, and water spirits have a sacred message for us, and we must meet to hear the words they shared with our shaman. Can we all gather around the fire and hear his words?”

&n
bsp; The family put down their tools, carvings, spears and silently made their way around the huge fire pit that blazed crimson red…it was a day to remember in song and dance.

  “Forest Clan members, family members, brothers, sisters…it is time we sat together as one to hear what our benevolent spirits shared with Narizon as they journeyed as one throughout the Otherworld. I ask for your silence until we have listened to the entire message. We must let our shaman tell the entire conversation, with all the information, before we interrupt, ask questions or show our pleasure or dismay in what we are about to hear. These are the words of the spirits, from the spirits, and to our ears. Please, gather around the fire pit to hear the message.”

  When Tusik spoke of dismay or pleasure, everyone suddenly became silent. Most believed they would not or could not hear any displeasing message from the spirits.

  “Narizon, please, can you share the sacred words of the spirits with the members of the Forest Clan?”

  Up to this point Narizon sat quietly, drinking in the energy of the family, observing the smiling faces knowing that a life can change without a notice, that the end can appear on the lands without a sign, and that once a life is expired, it moves down a new, yet old path to the Otherworld to be with the spirits and their ancestors. He held his rattle tight. All was quiet as he cleared his throat to speak. Unworldly sounds spewed forth from his soul.

  “Brothers, sisters, children; let us give thanks that we have lived a life that makes our ancestors proud; a life that follows the words of our spirits; a life that now needs to be examined. A life that will change as the sun meets the lands, skies, and waters.”

  Eyebrows raised to the sky as many questioned what ‘change’ they would face.

  His rattle began to speak, slowly and then quickly. His hand searched for something from his ornate pouch. Once captured in his hand, he threw its contents on the fire; a plume of white smoke erupted before the members. The theatrics began. Narizon, eyes bulging, jumped through the smoke as nimbly as a red deer. In a crouched position, he scanned the assemblage with wide opened eyes. He spoke.