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Oola

Oola stared in wonder as the huts of the Yellow Valley people surrounded her. “There’s no cave.” She said, in wonder at their amazing abilities.

“My dad would have loved to see this.” Shara said, quietly. “They are gifted builders.”
There were at least ten, each big enough to fit a whole family. They sat in a circle around a great campfire as people young and old attended to their chores, or played near the fire. She could smell the savory aroma of their last meal, and her heart fluttered in desire.

“Ayeeta! Ayeeta!” Children called out shrilly, pointing at them as they passed between two of the great huts. “We are the strangers here.” She realized, with some discomfort.

Mokto beckoned them forwards, towards the grandest and largest of the huts, and lifted the flap, motioning them inside.

Barak hesitated, and glanced back at the others. “Stay alert.” He said quietly. And then he stepped forward into the darkness.

The hut was quite dim inside, and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. The first thing she noticed were the mammoth tusks that arched overhead, coming together at a small hole in the ceiling. A low fire burned directly beneath it, the smoke rising from the fire, up through the hole and out into the sky. Brilliant.

A hunched form next to the fire coughed quietly, while a strange grating noise proceeded rhythmically in the background.

Mokto spoke to it briefly, and it – she responded in a raspy voice. He bowed, and backed away, motioning for the Clan to move forwards.

The woman stood up, and pulled down her hood. Silver hair framed a heavily wrinkled face. She was the oldest person Oola had ever seen. But what really stood out were the eyes – milky white. Stifling a gasp, Oola realized that the old woman was blind.

The old woman said something, and the grating sound stopped. A younger man stood up, a little older than Armis, perhaps, bowing slightly to the Clan.

She said something to the young man, and he turned away, rummaging through the bags and skins that littered the floor of this cave.. Hut, Oola corrected herself. This is a hut.

The young man returned, and the old woman said something else. She sat down slowly, as the man placed pouches and bowls in front of her. Once seated, she motioned downwards with her hands. Barak looked at them, and then sat down himself. Oola and the others followed his lead.

Working quickly, the woman felt each pouch, and took bits and pieces from several of them, placing them in the bowl. She issued another command and young man held a skin of water out for her. Taking it, she carefully poured some water into the bowl, and stirred it carefully, using her finger. Holding the bowl up to her mouth, she sang a few words, and then spat in it. Stirring it again, she said something else, and the young man took it and presented it to Barak. He took the bowl, staring at it suspiciously.

The young man made spitting noises with his mouth, and brought his hand from his mouth to the bowl. Barak stared at him, and then looked at the others. “I think he wants you to spit in it too” said Shara. “Maybe its some sort of greeting.”

Grimacing, Barak spat into the bowl and handed it back to the young man. The man took it, stirred it again, and then brought it to his lips.

Yuck.

And then the man held it out to Barak.

Barak made a face, paused for a moment, and then took a sip of the liquid, shivering afterwards. “Bitter.” He muttered.

The man took the bowl, and handed it to the old woman, who also sipped briefly from it. “Bitter” she said, her voice old and whispery. And then she laughed softly, a dry, crackling sound that gave Oola chills.

The old woman said something to Barak. He jerked slightly, and then responded to her in gibberish.

Oola stared at him. “What did you say?” Lam asked.

He glanced back at them. “I can understand her now.”

“That is powerful magic.” Shara whispered, and Oola nodded slowly.

The old woman spoke at some length, and when she was done, Barak turned to them. “She says that this is the Speaking ‘Potion’.”

Potion? What an odd word.

“If you drink it, you will understand their language.” He said, pausing and glancing at the old woman. “It seems to work.”

He passed the bowl around, and everyone drank, cautiously. When it came to her turn, Reya paused. “Will it hurt the baby?”

“Ah.. yes, you are with child.” the old woman smiled. “No.. it will not hurt him.”

Him? Perhaps it was just a guess.

And then at the last it was Oola’s turn. She let a small amount of the liquid trickle into her mouth. It was spicy and foul, as bitter as it smelled, and it left a strange taste in her mouth afterwards. The young man took the bowl from her, and the old woman spoke again.

“Welcome to Yellow Valley. I am Oppa, the medicine woman of our tribe. Where are you from?”

Barak paused again, and spoke carefully. “We are from Red Cave Clan, across the mountains to the east. Our home was destroyed.”

“How many are you?”

“There are eight of us.”

“There are only eight in your Clan?” Oppa asked, gently.

Barak sighed. “There were more. Many died.”

Oola winced at the simplicity in that statement.

Oppa nodded. “Why have you come here?” She asked.

“We seek a new Clan – a new home.” Barak said, flatly.

Oppa smiled. “I think we can help you. What magic do you know?”

“Magic?” Barak frowned. “What is magic?”

“Do you have special powers – like making this Speaking Water.”

Shara leaned forwards. “We know the Song of Thanks. It makes food.”

Barak glared at her. “Shut up.” he mouthed.

Oppa smiled at this. “Will you show me, child?”

She glanced at Barak, who threw up his hands and shrugged. “Go ahead.”

And so Shara took some blackberries from her pocket, placed them in Oppa’s hands, and began to sing the Song. Soon the old woman’s hands were overflowing with fruit, and they spilled out across the ground..

Oppa took one of the berries, and sniffed at it cautiously. And then popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Oppa smiled again. “This is good magic.” She said. “You will be welcome here.”

A shiver of hope shot through Oola. “Could this be it? Could this become our home?”

Oppa stood up, unsteadily. The young man was at her side, holding her arm. She smiled at the Clan. “You must speak to our chief, Zar, of course.” And then she smiled, exposing her toothless gums. “But I will speak on your behalf. If you speak the truth, I am sure that you will be accepted.”

She stepped past them, outside into the bright sunlight. Oola blinked and squinted as the light streamed into the cave. No… Hut. Motioning with a brown, wrinkled hand, Oppa beckoned them to follow. “Come. We must go to the village fire, and wait for Chief Zar. She limped away across the dirt, as children peered around every corner,whispering loudly.

“Do you think they have magic?” One asked. “Those red clothes are silly.” “Do you think these people will stay?” “Those two aren’t any older than we are!”

Oppa turned, sharply. “Children, be off.” The little ones scattered.

Barak carefully came up to each of the others, and whispered in their ears. “Do not mention the Spear.” Oola studied him for a moment, and nodded.

“Come. Sit.” Oppa motioned at some large, flat rocks that had been placed around the central fire pit.

“Barak, what about you-know-who?” Mika asked, nodding her head towards the mountain.

“No.. not yet.” He said. “Soon.”

They waited away the afternoon, a crowd of villagers growing around them. Maybe they were just cautious around strangers, but these people did not seem friendly at all. No one came up to them; no one really even acknowledged them, other than the children. Oola stared around, looking for a smile, or a wave, but only the children seemed to respond.

“They don’t… they don’t seem very happy to see us.” She volunteered.

They all looked at each other. “Maybe it’s not their way.” Mika offered.

Oola shrugged, and stared at the fire. She grew restless as the sun sank further in the sky. She climbed to her feet, and began to pace back and forth across the clearing, rubbing her shoulders uncomfortably. When is this Chief Zar coming?

“Ah.” Oppa cried, standing up. “He comes.”

Oola looked around, wondering what the old lady had heard. But she was right – a hunting party forded the river, carrying several caribou between them. The water must not be very deep, she observed – it never came up past their knees.

One man stood out, at the center of the group. He was unburdened, carrying nothing but his spear. He was a little taller than the others, but the most striking thing about him was his rolls of fat, that bulged and jiggled across his whole body. How does he chase the deer when he is so heavy?

“Look, Reya.. He’s bigger than you.” Mika whispered. Oola shrieked with laughter, and then covered her mouth, giggling silently.

Leaving the hunters, the big man approached the campfire, as the women converged on the slaughtered animals. This must be Zar, then.

Oppa bowed low as the man approached. “Chief Zar, these are the people of Red Cave Clan. Their home is destroyed, and they ask to live with us. They have powerful magic.”

Zar studied them. “Do you understand me?” Barak nodded.

“Show me your magic.”

Shara pulled a handful of nuts and berries out of another pocket, and placed them in a bowl.

“Shara…” Barak said. “Let Mika sing this time.”

She backed away, and glanced at Oola for a moment, who could only shrug in response.

Mika stepped forward, and sat down on the ground with the bowl, and started singing the Song. Just as before, the bowl quickly filled with berries and nuts.

Reaching down, Zar took a handful out of the bowl, and ate them slowly, his eyes closed. And then he opened them, and smiled. “This is very good magic. If we had had this magic when the great winter came, we would not have struggled as we did.”

“Chief Zar,” Oppa interjected, “ as is our custom, we must discuss this in private.”

Zar nodded. “Of course, of course.” He pointed at the benches. “Stay here. We’ll be back soon.”

Oola watched the two of them disappear into the big hut. “Barak…” Oola said, “I don’t like this… Something seems wrong.”

“Shut up. No one asked you.” Barak answered.

“Could it be worse than him?” Mika whispered in her ear. Oola had no answer for that.

Children rushed up, carrying sticks and logs, dumping them into the fire, and it blazed up in response. Women carrying slabs of bloody caribou brought them over to the fire as well, staking the meat all around.

They’re not all that different, after all.

“He’s back.” Lam hissed. They all turned, and watched the chief approach.

Zar smiled pleasantly as he waddled towards them. “We have discussed.” He paused for a moment, and Oola’s heart stopped, waiting for him to speak again. “We welcome you to join Yellow Valley Tribe.”

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Saturday, July 1st, 2006 at 8:05 pm.
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