Chapter 47 - Fatherline
Wilds of Na’im. SE Britain
Durran had been correct to be sceptical about the survival of the Ishi of Na’im, and Watalão had been too optimistic. For days they searched the woods east of Shurak, but found no survivors. The sounds of domestic cattle bellowing had replaced the laughter of Goshawk children.
He returns from a better hunt in the wilds. The carcass of a small roe deer is carried over his shoulders. His temporary joy is beaten back when he sees Gisella’s own face is saddened. Once the prize is hung from a bough, Gisella beckons him from the ears of their companion, and murmurs,
‘Watalão has little time left. Ghosts bother him with increased frequency, his breathing grows shallow’.
Infection by horrible spirits is a common hazard of our world. His deep wounds turned sour. The trio were forced by his deterioration to make camp away from threatened river valleys. Deserting an uncle is never an option for my own savage kind. Durran refuses to give in to despair, and stutters out,
‘M… maybe if…’
But Gisella puts her arms around, preventing completion, and compassionately demands,
‘No Durran. No maybe. This is Watalão’s time to cross’.
This private conference ends when Watalão, sheltered by an oak, cries for them to come. Two beautiful savages kneel by his side. Gisella wettens his lips. The ghosts have permitted him to talk freely, but he knows this time is brief, and demands to be heard,
‘Dear Durran, lovely Gisella, you must leave me here. I want you to leave these wilds for they've become a land of death. Please, go’.
Durran denies this last wish of Watalão, ‘No Uncle, we'll not leave until you're well’.
Durran denies this last wish of Watalão, ‘No Uncle, we'll not leave until you're well’. Watalão dismisses him, ‘tonight I shall hunt in the spirit forests. You two must follow the old ways. Travel far and wide, follow Bearded Bull. This is a dying man’s request’.
While Durran chokes on any response, Gisella submits to his will,
‘Tomorrow Uncle, I promise we'll do as you say’.
Once more, the dying man insists, ‘Go west, go north, follow his herds’.
Goshawk
Sun falls low and two beautiful savages Adam and Eve, fall soundly asleep. The feast on the gifts of a roe deer have induced their temporary deaths. Only Watalão remains awake and alert. It is he alone who hears the call of a raptor finding roost in the immediate perches of the oak. The amber eyes of the hawk reflect the light of their campfire. Watalão knows this bird has come to accompany him on a journey. He smiles in relief at that knowledge.
The Goshawk alights from its perch, and glides down to the floor of their temporary camp, landing at his useless feet. The noble bird climbs onto unfeeling legs, and walks up to sit on his belly. Though sharp talons of the raptor pierce flesh, Watalão is numb to any pain. He prepares to leave this world. Goshawk dips her head and uses her sharp hooked beak to rip away at his chest. No pain, only blissful release. Watalão smiles as Goshawk burrows into his chest to expose a fast beating heart. The joyful man releases words of gratitude,
‘Thank you Mother, please guard over the last of our children’.
She obliges his request and his spirit releases.
Camp of Oma, Leva soils. SE Britain
Ur’salla wakes up with a scream. She gazes around the dark hovel. It’s nighttime, and a few cinders glow on the smoky hearth. Ur’salla sees Amaia sitting by these cinders. Her dark eyes stare back. Ur’salla feels concern she has disturbed a night time ritual,
‘I’m sorry, I awoke from some nightmare of the dream place, I forgot its message’.
Amaia’s voice croaks with the damage of smoke. Within damaged tones, Ur’salla thinks she detects some sort of insight of the nature of her own nightmare,
‘How do you feel, having forgotten the vision?’
‘As though I’ve somehow lost a part of myself. I feel bereavement, for whom I don't know’.
‘Ur’salla, this is to be expected, for only recently you lost your mother, and tonight you've lost your father’. This incredible statement, Amaia delivered coldly as a matter of fact. Its content stuns poor Ur’salla.
‘My mother is dead? And a father?’ Ur’salla follows this exclamation by wailing.
The young witch persists to prod at her fireplace. Flames rise up from fresh fuel. She doesn't face Ur’salla when she verifies her obituary,
‘It was their time. They needed to make way for new life, for soon you shall be a mother. That is the natural law a savage should understand’.
Ur’salla grieves for her mother. She yearns to tell Ja’ankilla she loves her. All of their foolish disputes. If free, she would capture a dove, and send it to the spirit forests with this message. As for any father, she'd never been told his identity. In her Ishi, all older men had been her shared father, and the elders her grandparents. She sits with these thoughts, Amaia adds a further detail,
‘Release was welcomed by them both. You should be happy for them. A hawk of the forest accompanied your father to his afterlife’. The witch picks up a potion she has been brewing in a pot. This she carries to Ur’salla and hands it over,
‘Drink this and you'll return to sleep free of all pain. Tomorrow you'll be stronger for grief’.
The wilds of Na’im. SE Britain
The two young savages stirred from their nap, and rose up to a newborn sun. Both were deeply upset to find Watalão’s body now lifeless. No marks on his body other than foul marks of infection. A wide smile across his handsome face. Gisella pronounced,
‘Uncle’s passing was gentle and kind. This is a joyful thing for his journey. We should be glad’.
They buried his mortal remains with little ceremony, absent any midwife to say prayers. Placing his corpse into a shallow grave beneath the roots of a nearby oak. Gisella laid wild flowers onto the disturbed soil. The tree of life accepted his body as a gift.
Gisella fashioned two new backpacks of willow and bark, and they prepare to stride to their future. Both are dressed in hides and are keen for adventure. Adam and Eve have lost their innocence, and this they both mark with malignant scarring upon their faces. They judge animal trails, and consider which to follow. Gisella proposes,
‘We should avoid waterways for fear of encountering murderers. Watalão told us to travel to the north and the west. Durran, what do you know of such foreign parts?’
‘I know only that the Black Stork Children dwell in the wetlands of the west. Beyond them I know nothing of other worlds’.
Gisella confesses,
‘I’ve heard a storyteller speak of great rocky hills where the forests are evergreen. He told of blue seas where many rocky islands are scattered. Tales of fierce cannibals, and powerful sorcerers who do battle with monsters’.
Durran takes his woman’s hand and squeezes fondly,
‘We adventurers should go explore these strange wilds of others and enjoy what they offer’.
Cautiously, Gisella amends, ‘Perhaps we should avoid the fierce cannibals?’
‘No cannibals’. Hand in hand the beautiful couple step from lost paradise, cast out by degenerate barbarians. They disappear into green foliage.
They leave behind a shallow, lonely grave beneath an oak. A hen goshawk perches on one bough overstretching disturbed soil. Watalão is reabsorbed into the wilds.