Visitation
Thwack! Gwam chopped the last of the reddish fruits from the tree with his flat stone axe. His friend Reth caught the fruit and placed it into the wicker basket resting on the ground behind him.
“Axe!” Gwam shouted, and Reth below picked up the basket and gingerly stepped away from the tree.
Gwam gripped the axe lightly between two fingers, at the middle of the blade end, looked carefully, and let it fall to the ground below. Gwam preferred the climb down, with both his hands free.
When he was down on the ground, Reth handed him the basket, picked up the axe and stepped to the next tree to be harvested. Gwam gladly took the opportunity to stretch his tired limbs on the ground while his friend climbed.
Harvesting and gathering was usually women’s work, but the sweet Bajoog fruit was a special case. Growing only in the limbs of tall trees called for climbing, and requiring axe work to harvest turned it into a mans duty. Gwam could usually convince himself that he really was content to avoid running around all day in chase of game.
Gwam’s father died hunting at just the wrong time for him. It was tragic enough, but it left him a young boy, just shy of manhood, without his father to guide him there. A year earlier, and he would have had time to adjust to a new family, and surrogate father. A year later and he would have already completed his rites. But it was neither, and he became eternally stuck in the limbo between physical adulthood and true manhood, and often stuck with women’s work.
After repeating this cycle five or six times, the sun fell below one fist, and the pair decided to set out, back to the village. Gwam grasped one side of the basket, Reth the other, and they began their march.
It was a special time of year, the only part of the year that the Bajoog fruit ripened. The villagers used the Bajoog as a part of their annual ritual to appease the gods. The fickle fruit served as the tribute to Rina, the goddess of the harvest. It was her fruit that ripened at the time of the ritual, and only then, naturally.
The women were back in the village, preparing the various sundries needed for the coming week of dancing, singing, feasting and storytelling. The men were out hunting, much meat would be needed.
“Here is the fruit, mama,” Gwam announced, as he and Reth placed the heavy basket just inside the hut.
“Very good!” Drae replied. She put down the doll she was crafting, and trundled over to inspect the fruits. “Rina blesses us!” she continued. “These Bajoog are wonderful. This will be a good ritual.
“And keep your mitts off the grog!” Drae shouted at him.
Drat.
Without any alcohol to help him pass the time, the next two days shifted from restful to boring. Drae kept a close enough eye on Gwam that he couldn’t sneak a drop. Finally though, the ritual week was upon the village. From that point, no one could hold him back. The first night featured a telling of the island village’s history, by one of the most respected elders.
“Long, long ago, before the time even of our distant past, the world was water. All water and no more. Our island was born when the god Wexu created it for his own amusement. He created the wide land, so large that it would take a strong man three moons to walk from our beach to the other side. He put the beach on the edge with the water, and he put the hills and the plains in between, and he was happy.
“He showed his creation to his wife Rina, And she was pleased. She filled the plains with grasses, she created the forests and the flowers, and the wonderful fruits, and it was a good place. They showed this new place to their children, Tiro and Fria. They saw it, and were happy.
“Soon the daughter Fria was lonely, so she created the beasts, and the men and women. It is Fria to whom we owe the delicious meat of the plains animals, and the delicious joy of mating, for she created it all.
“This week, marked each year by the ripening of the Bajoog fruit, is the time to celebrate all their creations, and to assure that hey are pleased with us. Most especially, it is to appease the god Tiro, who is vengeful for his lack of his own creation of this world.
“It is Tiro who delivers the pests who eat our vegetables. It is Tiro who delivers the diseases that kill our game. It is Tiro who delivers the storms and the heat waves that shake our huts and burn our skins. Always we respect Tiro, but for this week we remind him of our reverence and obedience, and we thank all the gods for their wonderful creations.”
The audience cheered, and there as much dancing and celebration. Gwam, however, quietly snuck out the back.
With much maneuvering, Gwam had gained a role in the next night’s ceremony. He was to be but one of the many dancers supporting the shaman at the center of the proceedings, but he was still proud of himself for his involvement. Wanting to perform perfectly, he would spend most of his time until that ceremony practicing the steps.
Retreating to a secluded spot on the beach, where the fishing was poor due to the shallow water, Gwam prepared himself. Using a fallen branch, he marked a large circle in the sand, and stood in the middle of it. Crossing the circle would mean bumping into another dancer tomorrow night, so practice was necessary until he could perform the gyrations, steps, and leaps while remaining carefully within the ring.
He started with a short meditation, head bowed, facing the wide ocean. Dancing by no more than the light of a nearly full moon, he made quite a few mistakes. The circle required retracing a number of times. After his short meditation and frenzied dance routine repeated four cycles, he had finally completed the entire routine without mistake.
Looking up from the prone pose that the final flourishing leap left him in, Gwam was astonished to see a figure walking towards him. The figure was dressed in the most regal gown Gwam had ever seen, and was walking on the water! Gwam rubbed his eyes, believing his heavy exertion to be confusing his mind.
The figure, though, remained. Gwam stayed fixed where he sat on the sand, unable to believe his eyes. Unsure of the proper action, in the strange situation he found himself, he took none.
The strange figure’s gait matched his flattering dress, outdoing even the swagger of the village chieftain-ess. When the figure reached the sand, he came to stand three spans in front of Gwam, and looked deep into his eyes.
“That was a wonderful performance, Gwam,” the figure said, a royal twinge on his words that reminded Gwam of the shaman’s voice, when reciting holy words.
“Who, who are you? How do you know my name? How did you walk on the sea?”
“Stand up, Gwam. I am Tiro, your most under appreciated god. You do not recognize me?”
Gwam, on his feet for only moments, fell to the sand at these words. On his knees, forehead to the ground, he shook as he shouted, “Great one, it is you! Why have you blessed me with your presence?”
“I said stand up boy!” This remark further convinced Gwam of the figure’s identity. Only a god would know to call Gwam a boy, though he had now passed his twenty-first winter. “I have a special mission for you. As you well know, I am jealous of the joy of creation that my sister and parents have enjoyed. I have created my own land, and I have decided to offer it to the people of your land.
“You will gather the trunks of twenty trees, and use them to construct a boat to carry you to there.”
“I am very sorry Tiro, your greatness. What is a boat?”
The god explained to Gwam the entire theory of sailing and boat making. He instructed Gwam in the construction of a simple but serviceable raft, capable of carrying men, and sailing on the wind with a sail of animal pelts. This Gwam accepted as his god given duty.
“You will complete this boat before the second moon. When the second moon shines, you will ride the boat towards the morning sun. It will take at least three days, so bring food, and you will strike the wonderful land that I have created! Bring all the village folk that the boat can carry.”
“Yes Tiro! I will do it!”
Gwam forgot all about the dance he was to perform the next day. He noticed how far the moon had moved in the sky and decided to return home. When he got there everyone else was asleep, so he joined them in slumber, his dreams filled with boats and sailing.
Gwam arose late in the morning, after his tiring experience last night. He ran to his mother and explained, “Mama! Under the moon last night, I performed a ritual dance, and I summoned the god Tiro! He told me to build a boat, and to use it to sail to another island!”
“Boat? Sail? Did you have too much grog last night?”
“No, mama! The god, Tiro! He visited me, on the beach! He has charged me with a solemn task. Will you sail with me to his island?”
“Tiro? An island? You are sick Gwam.”
“I am not! I will build his boat, and I will find his island! You just wait and see!”
Gwam soon found that Drae’s reaction was shared by the entire village. Not a soul believed that Tiro had visited him, and each person Gwam told thought him insane for the idea of traveling on water. Nobody would help him build the strange boat he spoke of, all thinking that it was simply the product of drunkenness or derangement.
Finding himself alone in his task, Gwam set out immediately. He skipped the ceremonial dance, giving up his once coveted role for his much more important one. With no one to help, the boat Tiro described would be a very difficult project, within the time allotted.
Gwam began with the rope. Tiro had described a long thin weed that grew in the marshy area near the village. For five days, Gwam gathered and dried clumps of this weed, and wove it into ropes.
With the rope in hand, Gwam formed a harness. After using his small hand axe, meant for harvesting Bajoog fruit, to fell a small tree, he would hack off the branches, twine the trunk up in the harness, and drag it back to the beach where Tiro had appeared.
The animal pelts were the most difficult part to obtain. Gwam started by collecting every winter garment of his together, everything he owned that came close to Tiro’s description. This covered only half of what he needed. He bargained for a few more, and resorted to stealing the rest. One here, one there. Few people even noticed their belongings missing.
With all the materials gathered, Gwam had used over half of his allotted time. He began sleeping less, and at the beach instead of in his hut. Construction was difficult with no other people to hold or lift the heavy logs or help sew the pelts into a sail.
Progress was good, however. In Gwam’s mind, Tiro was smiling down on him from above the clouds, speeding his progress along. By the fifth morning, Gwam had the large logs all bound together, forming a passable raft. The sail game him trouble, however. Gwam had no experience with the pelts, having always received complete clothing, helping the tribe in other tasks to pull his weight.
For this task, Gwam chose to return to the village. He would speak to his mother, or anyone in earshot, of his mission. He would beg for assistance, and offer a share in the riches to be found on Tiro’s island, just for helping and joining him on his sea journey. Some listened politely. None offered assistance.
Gwam worked hard to make his sail. He continued well into the night by firelight. Some time past midnight, company arrived.
“Can I help?”
Gwam spins into a low hunter stance instinctively at the unexpected sound, and turns. “Liee!” he exclaims.
When Gwam was young, Liee was his promised. Due to Gwam’s failure to complete the manhood ceremonies, they were never married. Nonetheless, a bond remained between them.
“I could not let anyone see me, but I want to help you Gwam.”
“Of course, I need all the help I can get!”
They talked as they worked, late into the night. When the sky began to grow bright, they both realized how long they had been at work. Liee rushed home, before anyone might notice her absence.
Liee joined Gwam again for the next four nights. With her assistance, Gwam finished the sail in that week. This left one week to complete construction, and thankfully little to do. Gwam attached the sail to the mast, and the mast to the boat.
With the next, second, full moon just two days away, Gwam wanted to rest. His shoulders ached, his head swam from such little sleep, but on a quest from the gods he could not pause. With his extra time, he preached to any villager that would listen; occasionally he would talk even to those who did not listen. In secret, he attempted to convince Liee to join him on his journey. Despite his best efforts, he remained the only passenger on this great voyage.
So, on the night of the new moon, Gwam struggled with his boat, and launched it into the sea all on his own. He had managed to beg enough food from his old friends and family to feed himself for the trip. Gwam was sad to be leaving his home, but could not deny a charge from the gods.
Gwam woke on the third morning from his launch with high spirits. In only hours, he would complete the third day of his voyage. As Tiro proclaimed to him, this would be when he would locate the new island. Sailing was more difficult than Tiro explained. Gwam could not rest and let the wind carry him, he needed always to shift his position to catch the wind, a tiring process. When the sun had reached its highest point though, Gwam shaded his eyes to look ahead, and saw something green on the horizon.
Prompt: ACWClub #62.