This week's exercise was to write a story about tribes. This seemed quite interesting to me -- something savage, something wild. So I worte and wrote and then realised: the plot ran away from me. Ooops. XD
Nevermind, though. This happens to any writer sometimes. Characters do what they have to do, right? So I decided to leave it as is. Prepare for a 4.3k words long story. Here it is:
2016/09/19
– write a story about tribes
On a remote corner of the Pacific Ocean there was an island which had
not been discovered yet. This island had no name; its lush vegetation
and white shores had not been touched by anyone but the tribes living
there since the beginning of humankind.
One of these tribes were the Patariki, an isolated community of about
forty people. They lived in stilt houses at the far eastern shore of
the island. Their huts were connected by wooden suspension bridges.
The Patariki were a community of fishermen, who never left their
offshore village. For generations the tribe had thrived, as the sea
provided them with everything they needed. With nets and spears they
hunted fish and crabs, and they dove for mussels and seaweed.
For a couple of moons, however, the fish had been biting less and
less. Nets stayed empty, as did the bellies of the Patariki. So the
chieftain turned to their shaman, who in turn tried to appease the
gods and prayed for the return of the fish. He did all sorts of rites
and prayed hard. When all else failed the shaman decided to offer a
sacrifice to the gods of the sea. The chieftain agreed begrudgingly,
despite the sacrifice being his only daughter Paora.
And while Paora accepted her fate, Tamati – the shaman's son –
did not. Tamati and Paora had been close friends for as long as they
could swim. They shared their every day lives, went fishing and
diving together, hung out and told each other stories. Tamati could
not imagine his life without her.
When the decision to sacrifice Paora was made public Tamati
exclaimed: “That's blowfish! Why don't we go ashore and see if we
can find food there? So none has to die.”
For an entirely pescevorous people this was an outrageous thought and
caused an uproar. The crowd became so angry with Tamati that the
chieftain had to stand and pound the ground with his spear until
everyone calmed down enough to listen to him. “We're going
nowhere”, the chieftain pointedly said and glared at Tamati. “Let's
wait until the new moon”, he followed the shaman's suggestion for
the right time to do the deed, “You have time to find another
solution until then. If you don't we'll follow through with the
sacrifice.”
Tamati bit his lip while Paora averted her gaze. The tribes people
murmured sullenly. “I will save you, Paora,” Tamati quietly swore
and bolted from the assembly hut to pack his things. He did not know
what he needed on land, but he opted for his spear and net, a food
bag, some medicine and a water pouch.
When he left his hut his father was there, worry marring his wrinkled
face. “Take care, my son,” the shaman mumbled, “the waters you
tread are deep and dangerous. None has ever left the village to go on
land, except for felling palm trees. And while I don't agree with
your choice I will pray for your safe return.”
Tamati nodded. He looked everywhere but his father in the eye as he
went past him towards the edge of the village which was closest to
the shore. His heart pounded hard in his chest; he didn't know if
this was the right choice but he had to try. For Paora's sake.
Whatever danger lay there on the island it was worth the risk. Tamati
took a deep breath, counted to three, then jumped into the sea and
swam towards the shore. Soon the waters became shallow, he could
stand and wade. Finally he emerged from the surge, felt its pull
around his ankles and looked back. The village seemed so small from
afar – small and small-minded. New moon was not far away; he had to
hurry.
So he turned his back on his tribe and trudged through the sand, felt
its hot grains between his toes for the first time. Walking on sand
was so very different than treading the wooden planks of the village.
Tamati stumbled and fell. He grunted and got back up. Then he noticed
a mouth of a river, approached it and decided to wade through the
river inland. He was more comfortable this way and progressed much
easier despite going against the current.
The river led Tamati into the jungle. Huge mangroves grew to either
side and the sunlight shining through the rich foliage tinted the
world in a million shades of green. Tamati noticed the smell was very
different here, as he had never really experienced anything other
than the salty sea breeze. He took a deep breath and smelled the
foreign scent of moist plants. Tamati also discovered that the land
sounded very different than the sea. The sounds of waves and surf
were missing, but the air was filled with all kinds of noise:
chirping, clittering, calling. Tamati was overwhelmed and nervously
palmed his spear. He expected an ambush of whatever lived out there
anytime.
With eyes of wonder he waded on. As he watched strange birds flutter
through the sky and little animals jump from branch to branch he
noticed they ate some fruit which they found in the treetops. Tamati
wondered if these fruit were edible for humans, too. But he could not
reach them; the mangroves were too high. When one of the animals
dropped a fruit and it fell into the river Tamati approached and
reached out to grab it. He sniffed and examined it, found its flesh
was soft around a hard core. Tamati hesitated. Should he try it?
He was pretty hungry; he had barely eaten in a few days. Finally his
stomach decided for him and so he bit down on the fruit, tasted its
foreign flavour and swallowed. The fruit was juicy and sweet. So he
ate all of it. As he could not bite the core in two he spat it out.
Now he was even more hungry. Tamati peered at the treetops and
wondered how to get up there. He couldn't just wait for the fruit to
fall down on their own lest he starved. So he grabbed his spear and
tried to reach the branches with it. He stretched and stood on his
toes, but still he was too short and the treetops too high. With a
sigh he lost balance and flopped into the river. Then he tried to
climb the tree. He struggled and fell back down three times before he
realised this wouldn't work. He couldn't reach the fruit.
Disappointed Tamati hefted his spear and wanted to wade on. Yet
suddenly the blade of a spear was pointed at his chest.
“Don't move,” he was ordered. Cautiously he
looked the stranger in the eye. He didn't think he would meet other
humans out here, but here they were. Tamati slowly rose his hands to
show he meant no harm. But the stranger misunderstood, beat the spear
out of Tamati's grip and pointed her weapon at his throat.
“I said, don't move,” the petite woman hissed,
then gestured for him to turn around. So he did. She quickly
approached and tied him up with some kind of rope then urged him
onwards into the jungle. Tamati stumbled forward through the
undergrowth as the tip of her spear nudged him then and there to
guide him on a path he did not know. After a sheer endless time of
stumbling through the thicket they reached a clearing. And there he
saw them: huts in the trees, similar yet different to his own
village.
“Holy shark!” Tamati exclaimed, stunned, as he
admired the huts and the people inhabiting them. They watched him
from their verandas and suspension bridges as the woman urged him on
and up some kind of stairs. Their looks were wary, and he felt
slightly uncomfortable beneath their stares. But his heart beat like
a drum, excited. There were really other people out there! People who
didn't live on water, people who still looked like his own tribe.
Tamati was brought to a big hut at the centre of the village. He
perceived this was the assembly hut or something akin of that. “Who
is this?” a tall man wanted to know as he stood and scrutinized
Tamati.
“I found him roaming the jungle just by the
river,” the woman said. “He could be a scout of the Manaia,
though I didn't see any tribe markings on him.”
The man nodded. “You did well to bring him here,” he acknowledged
then circled Tamati like a lurking shark. “Who are you? And why do
you trespass our territory?” he demanded.
Tamati stood straight and swallowed hard, he tried not to move lest
the predator attacked him. “I'm Tamati of the Patariki,” he
proudly answered, yet his heart beat loudly in his chest. “I'm in
search of food. I didn't know I was trespassing.”
He feared the man might hear his heartbeat, hence he stared at him so
cruelly. “Patariki? Never heard of them,” the hulking man
growled, “you could be lying. Maybe you're a spy of the Manaia.”
Tamati shook his head. “I'm not lying. I didn't even know there
were other people on this island. Please, the fish are gone and my
tribe is starving. They depend on me to return with food,” he
blurted and bit his lip.
The man kept staring at him hard. “We'll look into that first. You
might still be lying.” He turned to the woman who had brought
Tamati here. “Nikora, put him into the cage,” he ordered.
She nodded. “Yes, father,” she answered and ushered Tamati out of
the assembly hut. She brought him to an isolated hut on a lone tree,
where she untied him and locked him in a wooden cage.
Tamati sighed and turned to her as she was about to leave. “I'm not
a liar. My people are out there starving. They need help, I need
help,” he tried to tell her.
But Nikora just shook her head. “You heard what our chieftain said.
You're not going anywhere until we know the truth,” she said and
climbed down the ladder, then removed it from the hut. Tamati sighed
and hung his head. How was he supposed to save Paora when he was
trapped in a cage on a tree? There were still a few days left until
the new moon. Yet he couldn't do anything in his current situation.
As the sun set the ladder was leaned against the platform on which
the hut sat. Tamati watched Nikora climb up and place a basket close
to his confinement. Inside were strange smelling things, some of the
fruit he had tried to reach, some roots and what looked like roasted
fish but smelled different. “Eat,” she invited him, “don't
worry. We gain nothing by poisoning you.”
Reluctantly he reached inside the basket and examined the food before
he tried it. The flavours were foreign, but his stomach growled on
cue; it wanted the food. Before long he was digging in hungrily.
“We sent some of our hunters to investigate.
Soon we'll find out if what you're saying is true,” she told him as
she sat by the cage and watched him eat.
Tamati nodded, his hands and cheeks full of fruit and meat. “We
found some strange powders and liquids among your things. What are
they? Poison?” Nikora inquired.
“Medicine,” Tamati answered after swallowing,
then continued to stuff his face.
Nikora blinked and scooted closer to the cage. “So you're a shaman
then?” she wanted to know, interested.
“Yes...no,” Tamati sighed. “My father is our
tribe's shaman. I'm still learning,” he confessed and rubbed the
back of his head, embarrassed. He wished he was more proficient, so
he could help his people more.
“Aha,” Nikora nodded. She seemed as if she was
in deep thought. Then she stood and dusted off her skirt. “Well, I
have to go. See you later.” She didn't explain herself any further,
she just climbed down the ladder and was gone.
Tamati finished his dinner alone. As the sky turned darker in the
shades of night he pondered. He had found out that there were edibles
on this island, that his people didn't have to rely on fish only –
if only they overcame their stubbornness. So there was hope. Hope
that the Patariki wouldn't starve; hope that Paora wouldn't have to
die. And there were other people on this island. They might become
friends and help each other out, he mused. But right now these people
were very wary of him and kept him imprisoned. If only he could
persuade them to let him out!
Eventually, Tamati fell asleep.
The next morning he was awakened by a few tribes men who stood
outside his cage making some noise. “Wake up!” they yelled.
Tamati started and sat up. At first he didn't know where he was, but
when he saw their grim faces – especially the one of the chieftain
– he remembered. “Our hunters checked and found a village far off
on the eastern shore. We didn't make contact, so we don't know for
sure this is the tribe you spoke of. But this village surely doesn't
belong to the Manaia,” the chieftain grunted. “So let's assume
you spoke the truth...” He beckoned for Tamati to approach, and he
did as far as the cage let him. “Let's make a deal, Tamati of the
Patariki,” the chieftain stated gravely and looked Tamati in the
eye, “as you claim to be a shaman you get to prove it. Our shaman
just died. You might not have noticed it yet, but my daughter is very
sick. If you can heal her – and only if – we'll agree to help
your people. But if you fail, they'll die along with you; we'll kill
every single one of them – men, women and children. Their fate lies
on your shoulders.”
Tamati gulped audibly. “And what if I don't want this deal?”
The chieftain grinned evilly: “Then we'll kill them anyway.”
Tamati hung his head. There was a slim chance he could save his
tribe, and he would take it. But if he failed they all would die –
Paora, his family, his friends, his whole tribe would just die by
these guys' hands. Tears burned in his eyes, but he didn't dare shed
them. He was not a full-fledged shaman yet; he couldn't possibly
achieve what his father could. And yet he had to succeed. He had no
choice but to agree. “Alright,” he rasped, “let's make this
deal.” He looked the chieftain in the eye.
The tall man nodded. “You have five days.” They shook hands, the
deal was sealed. Tamati was released from the cage and brought to
another hut. He didn't know what he could do in five days, but he had
to try.
In that hut there Nikora lay on a cot of fur. She seemed asleep. But
when Tamati approached her she opened her eyes and stared at him
warily. “What are you doing here?” she whispered and sat,
alerted.
Tamati made a calming gesture. “The chieftain said you were ill.
He… asked me to heal you,” he explained and cautiously knelt by
her side.
“I know how my father 'asks' people,” Nikora
frowned, “he probably threatened you. Now, what can you possibly
do?”
He sighed and lowered his gaze. “I don't know. But I will try,
really try,” he told her and reached for her hand. “Tell me about
your illness, please,” Tamati prompted her.
“How do I know? You're the shaman here,” she
replied, confused.
“I mean, how do you know you're ill? Are you in
pain? Do you feel hot or nauseous?” he asked.
Nikora sighed and reluctantly murmured: “I'm... weak. I often feel
dizzy, and sometimes I faint. It has happened a few times during the
cycle of the moon.”
Tamati nodded and pressed his thumb to her wrist, but couldn't feel a
pulse. “May I?” he warned before he lay his hand on her chest.
Finally he could feel her heartbeat, and it quickened beneath his
touch. “When do you feel dizzy? Maybe in the morning or when you
stand up really quickly? When you dive very deep and come back to the
surface?” he asked.
“Yes...no. I don't know.” Nikora blinked,
confused. “I've never dove before.”
“Really? Never?” Tamati couldn't believe it.
Diving was like breathing to him. He had lived his whole life by the
sea, he dove and swam everyday. “I have to take you swimming then.
It can't be that you've never glimpsed the bottom of the sea. It's so
beautiful under the sea. There are fish and anemones and corals and
crabs and...you've really never been there?” he all but forgot
about his dire situation.
Nikora shook her head. “We usually don't leave the jungle,” she
explained. “But what does that have to do with my illness?”
“Oh, sorry,” Tamati scratched the back of his
head. “What I was trying to find out is, if what you have is
something my father calls 'slow blood'. Which isn't an illness,
really. It is troublesome because of the dizziness and sluggishness,
but it isn't dangerous at all.”
“But I faint sometimes. And I'm...weak,”
Nikora pointed out and pulled a face. “How is that not an illness?”
Tamati nodded. “These things can happen when you have 'slow blood'.
But don't worry. All you have to do is slow down: stand up more
slowly, move more carefully, when you rest lay your feet higher than
your head. And you can 'train' your blood to be faster. Go swim in
the sea when it's still cool, do knee bends...something like that,”
he advised her.
Nikora eyed him warily. “You're rattlesnaking me,” she
deadpanned.
“What? No. I'm serious,” Tamati adjured. “Your
condition is not serious at all. Besides, my father says, those with
'slow blood' live longer than those with 'fast blood'.” He smiled
encouragingly at her. But he could see that she was still doubtful.
“Trust me,” he therefore gently said, “You have nothing to
worry about.”
Slowly she nodded. When Nikora abruptly stood, Tamati had to catch
her. “Slowly...” he reminded her, “Don't act so fast. Wait for
the darkness to fade away, then proceed.”
She lowered her gaze and pushed herself out of Tamati's arms as she
felt more comfortable to stand on her own. “Alright. I'll try your
suggestions,” she murmured then looked him in the eye. “But if it
doesn't work you'll probably be in trouble.”
Tamati smiled. “I'm pretty sure I'm right,” he said more
confidently that he felt. He wasn't unsure about his diagnosis. But
the survival of the Patariki weighed on his shoulders, and he had
only five days to show results.
Nikora left the hut and Tamati accompanied her to her father's hut,
where he explained his findings anew. However the chieftain became
angry; he didn't believe it was such a simple matter. “I should
slay you this instant!” he exclaimed, outraged.
But Nikora came to Tamati's defence. “Father, please. Give him a
few more days to show if he's right. He's a shaman, not a god. Don't
expect miracles from him,” she pleaded. After a while the chieftain
begrudgingly agreed. Tamati was sent back to the cage. In the evening
he was given a meal similar to what he got yesterday. Tamati felt bad
for receiving such a feast while his people hungered. As he ate the
foreign food, he prayed for the fish's return so his tribe wouldn't
have to famish anymore. With a full stomach and anxious thoughts he
fell asleep that night.
The next morning he was brought to Nikora's hut again. “What do I
do now?” she asked as she slowly sat on her cot. “I still feel so
dizzy.”
Tamati thought for a moment, then he decided: “We're going
swimming. The cold water will help speed up your blood.” He helped
her up and buttressed her towards the river; two hunters accompanied
them as the chieftain was too wary to let Tamati be alone with his
daughter. Tamati waded into the water and gestured for Nikora to
follow him. “Come on. This will do you good,” he smiled and waved
at her as he dabbled. Reluctantly she dipped her feet into the cold
water and yelped, but soon she was brave enough to wade deeper into
the river. They swashed and swam, and for a while Tamati forgot all
of his worries. In the waters he felt comfortable. Once he splashed
Nikora and she retaliated with a splash of her own it actually was
fun. Her laughter was contagious.
Finally, when they returned to the village wet and refreshed, Nikora
admitted: “I do feel better now.”
Tamati nodded. “If we do this every day you'll feel dizzy less and
less,” he was sure. They spent the day together. Tamati supervised
Nikora's condition and helped her when she was vertiginous, and in
turn he learnt about the food this jungle had to offer and about
Nikora's tribe, the Rangi, and their way of life. They were a tribe
of warriors and hunters, who had an ongoing rivalry with another
tribe, the Manaia. Tamati was surprised to learn there were even more
people on this island. The Rangi hunted birds and apes and snakes,
that lived out there in the jungle, but they also harvested fruit,
herbs and roots. From Nikora Tamati learnt which parts were edible
and how to cook them.
All the while Tamati was still under surveillance. There were moments
when he forgot he was a prisoner but the hunters' presence often
reminded him of the dire situation. In the evening he was put under
lock and key again.
“Three more days,” Tamati told himself, “three
more days until it is decided whether my people live or die.” He
hoped, really hoped the chieftain would acknowledge his efforts and
the Rangi would help the Patariki instead of slaughtering them. He
couldn't be sure, but he had to trust that Nikora's father stood true
to his words. The moon waned.
He spent the next day tending to Nikora again. In the morning Nikora
was still dizzy and sluggish, but after following Tamati's
instructions she was lively and eager to be useful again. They went
swimming and hunting. Tamati watched her progress and felt a bit more
confident that he could save his people from certain death. He also
thought he had grown closer to the chieftain's daughter; it even
crossed his mind that they might become friends.
The day after that other tribe members started to approach him as
they saw how natural he and Nikora interacted and how she seemed to
recuperate. Tamati became sanguine. He could do it! In the evening
Nikora sat with him as he ate, and he told her about his tribe, about
his friends and family. She listened intently and told stories of her
own. The cage didn't feel as confining when she was around. Nikora
left way after sundown and Tamati went to sleep.
The next morning Tamati was eager to see Nikora. “One more day,”
he thought as he approached her hut. They greeted each other with a
smile and went swimming first thing in the morning. Then they
searched the jungle for edible fruit and roots. Tamati recognised
some of them already and remembered how to get them so he could show
his tribe.
But on the next day when they were about to go hunting it happened:
suddenly Nikora's knees went wobbly and before Tamati realised what
was happening she lay in his arms unconscious. Instantly there was an
uproar and Nikora was brought to her hut while Tamati was dragged
before the chieftain. “You're nothing but a sham!” the tall man
roared angrily. “My daughter is just as ill as she was before. You
have done nothing but rattlesnaking us!” The man was raging.
Tamati understood he could say nothing to prove him otherwise. So he
pushed one of the hunters, wrestled a spear from his hands, thrust it
at the chieftain and bolted from the hut. The men were after him. But
Tamati jumped from the platform, fell to the ground. He hit hard, his
whole body hurt, but he was alive. He heard the Rangi's warcries as
they grabbed their weapons and climbed down the trees. Tamati bobbed
up and ran as fast as he could into the jungle. He heard the Rangi
closing in; this was their territory. They were hunters and he was
the prey. For a while he rounded trees left and right at random, but
then he found the river, jumped right in and dove. The water was his
turf, his only chance. He stayed under water and swam downstream.
Tamati had to reach the shore, had to reach his village and warn
everyone. He didn't know if the Rangi found him or guessed what he
was doing; he just swam for his dear life. Only when his trained
lungs were burning for air he dared surface and breathe, then dove
again immediately.
He followed the river to the sea, dragged his body out of the water
and ran towards the shore. The sun was on the horizon, setting the
sea aflame or so it seemed. Then he saw the flames dance on the
water. Tamati dove into the surge and swam towards his village as
fast as he could. When after a while he looked back he could see the
Rangi reach the shore and stop short before the waves. They didn't
dare go into the sea yet. Tamati had a bit of a headway. But when he
reached the village and climbed the stilt houses it was too late. The
ritual fire was already burning, the stench of burnt flesh hung in
the air.
“Paora, no!” Tamati exclaimed. Tears welled up
in his eyes as he saw her burning corpse, his hopes – shattered.
Instantly all eyes were on him, haunted and haggard with hunger, but
Tamati only glared back hatefully and gritted his teeth. No, he would
not warn them of the Rangi. Instead he jumped back into the sea and
dove, away from his tribe. Before long fire arrows rained from the
sky.
It was the evening of the new moon, heralding the last night of the
Patariki.
