PART ONE: THE BUSHLAND

Chapter Ten- The Omen

Wiseherder rose, even before the sun. He kissed his sleeping companion, gathered his things and headed out. As he made his way through the courtyard, he ran into Ruk and his raiders. They were dressed to kill; armed with spears and clubs, clad in crude armor and goblin masks. Ruk’s horned headdress now had the mask pulled down over his face. He was the embodiment of Marxuss.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I am on an urgent mission.”

“Come with me. I want to show you something, quickly.” Ruk and his troops were blocking the way, “This won’t take long. Then you can be on your way…” he spoke through the mouthless mask, “I insist.” Wiseherder had no choice, but to follow.

He was led to the cliff that oversaw the valley. Mt. Demon ominously loomed in the distance. The trails of scorched earth were still barren in streams of dried up rivers of fire. At the base of the valley, there was a bald spot in the middle of a sprawling field of grasses, where a lake of fire once devastated the land.

“Look down there.” Ruk pointed to the tribe. They were feeding on the raw grass heads, alongside the grazing Ari. “Just look at them! They eat like mindless animals. They do not cook or prepare their food. The Ari do not even budge. They fear them not. These people worship the god, Ram. Well, guess where he is now.” Ruk pointed to his horned headdress. “I killed their god and gave them a new god to fear: man.” He smiled, “They are just another grazing animal. They have no knowledge of the magical properties of the grasses and herbs. My people need those crops to produce our breads and draught, medicines and pipe fillings. These Valley dwellers just live day to day. They will soon scatter in the wilderness when we chase them. They are too foolish to relocate, even though they live under a mountain that belches fire!” He scoffed.

“The people of the Highland once dwelled in the Valley, ages ago… but we developed the wisdom to avoid the inevitable catastrophes of that evil mount. We know there is some kind of devil or dragon that hides deep down in the bowls of its melting rock, and it’s only a matter of time before he brings his hell to earth again. That’s why we live in these harsh hills. The fire cannot reach us here. And we can always harvest the goods of the Valley. That is where our people come from. It belongs to us; not those grass eating fools… you understand.”

Wiseherder absently nodded, “I must be off.”

“Take care, old man.” Ruk patted Wiseherder’s shoulder, looked back his men, raised his spear and shouted, “CHARGE!!!”

Ruk and his men sprinted down the cliffside into the Valley Beyond. The shaman made his way out of the courtyard and headed back towards the long path to the Bushland, with his birthing potion, sacrificial knife, and a daunting task ahead of him. It was no easy job to be the shaman.

Back at Bounty, Baubo was laying in pain on a bed of straw. She was surrounded by her aunts and the other priestesses of the tribe. She was no longer able to walk. The pain had become so unbearable that her Aunt Tante had rifled through the shaman’s herbs and given her some dried Pop Flower sap to chew on. Still, the girl was suffering; twisting and turning in a cold sweat.

It was not soon enough when Wiseherder arrived. He was scolded by the angry caregivers. He handed Tante the birthing potion and she helped the expecting mother gulp it down. It was a disgustingly bitter brew, but she swallowed it eagerly, with a grimace.

Behind the tent, Osiris and the remaining hunters paced with anxiety. They could not bare to leave for a hunt until the child was born and Baubo was out of danger. Their ranks were so few, they had initiated Ricci, the eldest son of Tante into the Rites of the Hunter’s Circle. The young boy had cried hard and screamed when they scarred his chest with Osiris’s spear. But, Ricci was now a man.

Osiris could wait no longer. He pushed the men aside and entered the tent. “What is happening?” He crammed his way past the priestesses, toward Baubo. The potion was taking affect, but it did not look good. Her eyes were rolled back into her head and her mouth was foaming, as she jerked from side to side, moaning. “I said, WHAT IS HAPPENING???” He shouted.

Wiseherder was holding her hands and murmuring to her. He turned to Tante and motioned his head towards the doorway, “Get him out of here!”

She walked over and began shoving him back through the entrance, “The girl needs space, young chief.” He stumbled back, but the braced his heels into the ground. He would not be moved. The other women crowded him and pushed and pulled him outside, but he darted back in and made his way right to his sister. He brushed the shaman aside with a single swipe.

Osiris grabbed her hands and shook them, “Baubo, look at me.” She turned her head. Her eyes refocused. She saw him and smiled, then the pain and urgency flushed through her. She screamed and whipped her head backwards.

“The baby is coming!” The Shaman exclaimed, “Boy, move out of the way. This is the time of deliverance.” Surprisingly, the chief yielded and stepped back, allowing Wiseherder and Tante access to Baubo. The top of the baby’s head was now exposed. “Push, girl, push!” The shaman instructed, “Breathe! Deep breaths!” His voice quieted, “Almost there, now… keeps breathing… one more big push. You can do it.”

Tante had her hands under Baubo, ready to receive the child. Blood and fluids ran all over her steady arms and trickled down into the pale, dead straw; staining it with the colors of life and birth. She grabbed the baby and gently tugged as Baubo pushed and shrilled. Then she gave a gutteral shout and the baby started to come out. Tante pulled and lifted the infant into the air. The child's cry soared through the tent and into the world.

Wiseherder pulled out the sacrificial knife and grabbed the cord that tied the child to his mother. He cut the tie. Then, he raised the blade again. Tante placed the baby onto Baubo’s breast and the mother looked, lovingly into the newborn’s eyes. She saw the eyes were a strange, cloudy pale blue. The next thing she saw was the blur of the shaman’s slashing hand. But the slice never came upon the child. Wiseherder was tackled by the father: the chief, Osiris.

The shaman fell to the ground and rolled into the edges of the tent. The two men wrestled on the floor and slammed into the tent-poles. Their momentum pulled down the entire structure. The tent collapsed on top of everyone inside, including the mother and child. The priestesses struggled and quickly pulled the skin of the tent of of the mother. They threw off the cover and pushed it past the bed of straw. The structure tumbled down a nearby slope and the exposed the birth scene to the hunters who waited outside.

Wiseherder and Osiris laid upon the ground, continuing to wrestle with the sacrificial knife. “I will destroy you, you old fiend!” Osiris grabbed the knife from Wiseherder and raised it in his two hands above his head. “I WILL NOT LET YOU KILL MY SON!!!” Everyone gasped in shock at the statement. The Chief plunged the blade down to stab the shaman in his heart with a fatal blow. Before he could, he was struck in the head with a huge, sharp flying rock. The side of his head burst in a cloud of blood, as he fell sideways off of Wiseherder. He collapsed, unconscious and dropped the knife into the dirt. The rock was thrown by Big Moja.

Meanwhile, the women scrambled to help Baubo and the baby to a new shelter. The baby screamed in Baubo’s arms as the mother limped off, with the help of her aunts to a new tent. He was tiny and shivering; still covered in blood and goo. Once settled into Tante’s tent, the priestesses found oils and water to wash the baby and mother. They covered them with cloth and furs.

Once the baby was cleaned, everyone began to notice that there was something odd… he was grotesque: pale, with stringy, colorless hair... his eyes were not brown, but a cold, faded blue. His skin was almost white or clear. They could see his purple veins right through his flesh. His nose was narrow with long, slender nostrils. He looked like he was already… dead.

Tante gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She was horrified, as were all the women, but she tried to comfort Baubo. She was clearly disturbed, with her jaw gaping as she stared at her son. Tante rubbed her arm, “Girl, he looks a bit odd for sure, but all babies look strange when they are first born.” This was true, to an extent, but no one had ever seen a child born that looked like this before, “Just wait till he get his blood flowing and his real hair starts to grow in. He’ll be fine!” But sadly, she wasn’t so sure. He honestly didn’t look like he would even make is through the night.

Also, there was the burning question in everyone’s minds. Did Osiris actually say he was the father? What did this mean? Was this why the shaman was attempting to sacrifice the child? What was going on? There was a terrible feeling in the tent. On a day that should have been a great celebration, there was no feast. The men and women never rejoined each other. The girls all remained in the tent in silence, as the children slept alone in their tents. Moja and the other men pulled Osiris and Wiseherder into the shaman’s quarters to treat their injuries and administered some sleeping herbs. The two slept upon the floor of his giant tent. The men then left the camp, shorthanded, on a much needed hunt.

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