Jandell stood as still as he could behind the red-bark tree, which vaulted up from the forest floor higher than he could see and had a trunk larger across than twice the span of a man’s arms. He was a tall, slim young man of 17 winters, with green-grey eyes and long, reddish-brown hair tied back into a knot with a leather thong. His face, deeply tanned from a mostly outdoor life, sported the mere beginnings of a beard and moustache. He was clothed in deer hide with leather straps around his waist and shoulder, carrying a sheathed ivory knife, an obsidian axe, and a quiver of arrows. He held a bow made from the branch of a yew tree. Around his neck, suspended on a thin leather strap, was a magical ring that his mother had found of some mysterious, almost gold-colored metal. She said that it was a gift from the Machine God Markanova, and it would protect him on the hunt.
His arrow was knocked in the bow string, but pointed downward and only partially drawn as he listened carefully. He didn’t know what animal was rooting around in the bush 20 steps away. By the grunts and rooting noises, it could be a large boar or even a bear. He thankfully ruled out the long-tooth tiger or a cave lion because those beasts did not make such noises.
He had a decision to make: He could come out with his arrow drawn, prepared to kill the animal, which, if it was a boar or a bear, would feed the village for days and provide hide for warmth and bones for tools. The problem was that if his arrow missed its mark, either kind of animal could be extremely dangerous – especially a bear. His other choice was to wait until the animal went away, and then gather the rest of his hunting party to track it. He didn’t dare call out to his comrades, who had fanned out to look for game, lest he attract the beast’s attention and it would run or attack.
A high fog obscured the sun, but Jandell knew that the day was getting late because of the growing dimness. It would soon be time to reassemble with the rest of his hunting party and count the kill. Bringing down a large game animal would bestow him with much bravacho, and he was confident in his excellent marksmanship. If he didn't kill the beast, he was reasonably sure that he would injure it enough to give him time to knock and launch a second arrow, or at least to outrun it. He reached back to assure that a second arrow was ready to grab from his quiver, then he took a deep breath and sprang out from behind the tree with his arrow fully drawn and standing in shooting position.
The beast stopped its rooting and walked slowly out from behind the bush to consider him with a stupid, unconcerned look.
Jandell just relaxed, lowered his weapon, and laughed to himself. It was neither boar nor bear, but was instead one of those great lumbering armored animals that the Ren called a pondma – like a giant armadillo two spans tall, three spans wide, and four spans long. No arrow would pierce its armor – even with the metallic point that he had honed to razor sharpness – and besides, its flesh tasted terrible. They were neither aggressive nor fearful – having no predators – so the beast just went back to grazing for mushrooms and tender shoots to eat.
A short time later, he heard the call of the hollowed stag-horn, which indicated that it was time to reconvene with the other hunters. Jandell was a little embarrassed because he had taken only two rabbits, but at just 17 winters old, it was his first hunt, and the expectations were low.
He followed his blazes back to the meeting spot to find that most of his comrades were already there – busily removing hides and butchering and stowing the meat they had collected on a wheeled cart for the next day’s trek back to the village.
“Hey Jandell!” shouted Brak, laughing. “Where’s the Mastodon you promised us?”
Brak, Jandell’s best friend, was also on his first hunt. He was shorter and darker than Jandell, with curly, black hair and dark eyes, and his beard was already taking shape. He could not run as fast as Jandell, but he was much stronger at climbing and lifting.
“Well, I nearly felled a vicious pondma,” joked Jandell, “but the only thing edible I could find was these two rabbits. How was your luck?”
“Not much better,” admitted Brak, “three squirrels and a beaver. Drigga did the best, as usual, downing a large mule deer.
The group continued into the evening, preparing the meat and hides and burying the animal waste products. Some of the men gathered wood and started a large bonfire. Of the twenty-one hunters, five were chosen to take the first watch – spears and arrows at the ready to guard against night raiders. The biggest fears were the long-tooth cats, followed by much rarer cave lions, and then grizzly bears. Any of those predators and others, such as wolves or even giant direwolves, would be attracted by the scent of dead flesh, but they generally wouldn’t attack such a large group of humans at a bonfire. Nonetheless, even those sleeping on hides did so within reach of their weapons. Storytelling and dancing would wait until they returned to the village.
Luckily, nothing very dangerous disrupted the group’s sleep, apart from a persistent raccoon that was eventually dispatched by an arrow from Brak on his watch, and by sunrise, the hunters were up and preparing for the day-long trek back to the village. Some of the hunters went ahead of the group to warn of predators and hunt for extra meat along the way.
For once, it was a clear day, and when the sun was more than halfway across the sky, the group crested a hill and could see the smoke from the village fires. They picked up the pace, and before sunset, they re-entered the village to the delighted shouts and hugs of children, mothers, wives, and friends.
As Jandell entered the village, he looked around, hoping to see Meenah welcome him, but she was not there. His heart sagged as he remembered that her parents did not think that he was worthy of her, with too little bravacho. She was just past fifteen winters and already had her flow, so they were hoping for one of the more decorated and proven hunters or more established tradesmen to woo her.
The hunters were weary from the trek, but they needed to complete it by delivering the meat and hides to the Markanovan temple, where the priests were ready to bless them. Followed by many happy villagers and dancing children, they wheeled the laden cart and carried their packs through the huts and up the narrow, winding path toward the temple, inside the Bowl of Markanova.
Jandell was always awed by the sight of the Bowl – it was obviously a very holy and magical place. His Ren ancestors had discovered it hundreds of winters ago and located the village in front of it to avail of its protective powers. The predatory animals instinctively stayed away from it. It consisted of a large cavern with an arch opening in the hillside, four spans tall at the center and thirty spans wide. With a flat, level floor of some very hard, brown material, the half-cone cavern tapered into the hill for about 40 spans, terminating in a smaller arch that was blocked by a smooth and completely flat, glossy black wall, like polished obsidian. This wall was a bit taller than the tallest Ren and about one span wide, and it was magically outlined with perfectly straight, rectangular lines. The material lining the cavern was dark brown like earth, but as hard as the hardest rock or metal.
Many generations of Ren before Jandell had attempted to chip or break the liner or the back wall, but nothing had even scratched them. His forefathers had also dug tunnels into the hillside in an attempt to discover the secrets behind the wall, but all they found was more of the brown liner substance, seeming to form a uniform, semi-cylindrical tunnel heading downward into the Earth. The Ren’s exploratory tunnel followed the liner for perhaps three hundred spans before they hit bedrock and gave up. Nonetheless, Jandell had enjoyed exploring this tunnel as a child, and even made a side passage under the hard liner to have his own secret hiding spot.
The Markanovan priests and priestesses were awaiting the hunting party at the mouth of the Bowl – wearing their ceremonial gowns – to bless and supervise the processing of the meat. The gowns always impressed Jandell. He and almost all of the other Ren wore clothing made from stitching together pieces of the hides of animals, complete with the fur for warmth in the winter; thus the villagers had to be careful not to shoot an arrow or throw a spear at a fellow Ren resembling an animal in the bush. The priests and priestesses, on the other hand, wore tightly fitting, very closely knit and colorful fabric. Their footwear was special deer hide that was hardened, died black and polished to a reflective shine. Each Priest wore a narrow swath of dark material that hung from his neck and terminated in an arrow-shaped point at his waists, apparently to draw attention to his masculinity below.
The priestesses wore no such hanging arrow, presumably because they did not have such an organ to emphasize, but instead wore a sort of gown of the same smooth material that did not wrap their legs separately and was open at the bottom. Both priests and priestesses wore another raiment over these, consisting of a pure white, knee-length cape with sleeves covering their arms.
As a young lad, Jandell had asked his mother about these strange outfits. She told him that, countless winters and generations earlier, the first priests had found an image, cast in metal, of humans wearing such outfits while worshipping a great machine-god. There was also a written inscription below the image, which former Ren scholars interpreted as the name of the god: Markanova.
“But how did they make those dresses mother? Is it magic?” He had asked.
“No, Jandell, not magic,” she replied. ”It takes the village garment makers many moon cycles to make one outfit. They must find just the right thin reed fibers and carefully weave them with thin needles very tightly. Then they must dye or bleach each garment to get the right hue. The hardest color to make is the pure white of the priests' capes. For that, the women must gather many spraying beetles and collect enough of their spray to soak the garment along with some urine, then they leave it in the sun daily for the full period of a moon-cycle before it is white enough.``
The hunters approached the Bowl in seniority order, Drigga in the lead and Jandell last, and laid the hides and meat before the High Priestess Bindri. Jandell could not guess her age, but it must be many, many winters because she had pure white hair flowing down to and matching her white cape so that it almost looked like a hood. Her face was covered with deep wrinkles, and her eyes were grey with some frost inside so that she could not see. Nonetheless, anyone looking at her face knew immediately that she was very holy and wise; and despite her blindness, she somehow knew exactly who and what was in front of her.
Amazingly, from her small body, Bindri could speak loudly enough for all two thousand villagers to hear her clearly, saying: “We rejoice at the return of our hunters after ten suns, and that no man among you was injured or lost!!”
How does she know that? Thought Jandell. She must be magic indeed!
“This bounty of meat will sustain us for two full moon cycles,” she continued. “Butchers: prepare enough meat for the feast tonight. Salters: Pack the remaining meat for our stores. Garment and Tool Makers – process the hides and bones as needed. Now let us all look upward!”
Everyone in the village looked skyward and held their hands palms-up and shoulder-high for prayer.
Bindri chanted up into the great red trees: “O beloved Markanova, please bless this bounty of food to sustain us, and accept our most reverent thanks for returning our fathers, brothers, and sons to us unscathed. We will continue to live within your precepts, atone for our sins, and pray for your return to dispel the ravages and suffering of our lives when you find us worthy again. Markanova, please return to us!”
The villagers repeated in unison: “MARKANOVA, PLEASE RETURN TO US!”
After the invocation, some of the villagers spread washed giant fern leaves on the clean, hard surface just inside the bowl. Other people entered with various tools and began pulling hides and flesh from the cart and the pile to proceed with butchering and other preparations of the harvest. The rest of the crowd was dispersing back into the village.
Jandell looked around for Meenah, but didn’t see her. Is she avoiding me? He wondered sadly. He was extremely weary from the day's trek, and decided that he should just go home and rest for the feast at moonrise. He wound down the path toward his home and was happy to see his mother out to greet him at the door.
“Jandell – welcome home!” she called. “I’m so glad to see you home safely – I was very worried about you. How was your first hunt?”
“Oh, mother – there was nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself, and my comrades were always watching out for each other. I didn’t kill too many animals, just a few rabbits. But I learned so much and had a lot of fun!”
“Your father’s working at his tool shop,” she explained. “We can’t wait to hear your adventures, but I know that you must be very tired and hungry now, and then there’s the feast. Come in! I’ve made you some squirrel and mushroom soup.”
____
Jandell awoke sometime later to the sound of drums beating, rising immediately with excitement from his bed of hides. His mother had lit a tallow lamp and laid out his ceremonial raiment, which, he was pleased to see, now included squirrel-tail epaulets, indicating that he was officially a hunter. He went to the mirror to admire himself – hoping that he would also impress Meenah. The mirror was a flat sheet of some unknown, magical metal that his grandfather had found buried and rusted long ago, and Jandell’s father had polished it for a clear reflection – re-polishing it after every winter. It was a valued family treasure.
Since the weather was fine, the feast was held in the outdoor arena in the center of the village. By the time Jandell and his parents arrived, most of the villagers were already there. The drummers were locked into a rhapsodic beat, and the other musicians were beginning to tune up and practice their stringed or blown hollow instruments. There was a roaring bonfire in the center of the arena, and off to the side were the cooking pits. The piquant smell of roasted meat and corn permeated the air. Causing Jandell to salivate with anticipation. People near Jandell were passing around a camelops-hump bladder full of blackberry wine. Jandell squirted a mouthful for himself and passed it on.
But before the eating and the dancing and the story singing could commence, everyone was waiting for the summer season announcement of pairing and birthing permissions. Finally, the high priest Mazgar walked up to the small podium in front of the bonfire. The drummers suddenly stopped their hypnotic rhythm and beat ten very loud beats together, and stopped, the sign for silence.
Although very old, Mazgar looked powerful and formidable with his grey hair and great grey beard flowing in front of his white cape. He held his hands palms-up in the air and began to bellow so that all could hear him: “Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, daughters and sons of the Ren – hear me now. In the last few suns, we have taken the census and we have found that our numbers are twenty-one hundred and eighty-eight. As you are aware, we have lost seven villagers over the last winter: Kada and Migda succumbed to the ravages of age, the boy Pelan fell from a tall tree and broke his neck, Ferla and her infant son Lob were attacked while gathering firewood and carried off by direwolves, Krall was killed by a long-tooth cat in the previous hunting trip, and the pregnancy of Jeera resulted in a stillborn infant.
“Our Machine Lord Markanova has dictated that we limit our numbers to twenty-two hundred, so that leaves room for seven births in the next few seasons to bring our numbers to twenty-one hundred ninety-five. We know that many of you desire a child, but remember that whenever we have grown above the number of our Lord’s edict, we have always suffered a disastrous season; so we must keep a count under the maximum to account for possible multiple births or accidental pregnancies.
“Jeera has appealed for a second chance, which we will grant her, and Leeba is pregnant. So heavy, in fact, that our healers are half- expecting twins.” A laugh boiled up from the crowd.
Mazgar continued: “For the other four, we will now draw lots. To remind you, each hopeful couple adds one lot to the basket. If their lot is not drawn, then they may add another lot to the next season’s drawing – and so forth until the woman reaches the age of thirty-six winters, at which time she is disqualified due to the increasing chances of an unhealthy birth. Thus, the couples waiting the longest have the greatest chance of winning a legal pregnancy. Bindri?”
Mazgar looked around for the high priestess. She emerged from the crowd carrying a woven reed basket in the shape of a sphere, half a span in diameter, with a round hole on top as big as a man’s outstretched hand. She placed it between herself and Mazgar, and he motioned for her to draw a lot. Bindri made a show of stirring the pile of wood chips with her hand, and then pulled it out, holding a chip, which she handed to Mazgar.
Mazgar pulled something out of his pouch and held it to his right eye, appearing to look right through it to the chip. The object appeared to Jandell to be a clear, transparent sphere, the diameter of his thumb. He couldn’t imagine by what magic it rendered the chip readable.
Mazgar announced, “The first lot belongs to Handar and Sholla!”
A whoop came from the crowd twenty spans away as the lucky couple jumped out, gleefully smiling and hugging. As the crowd parted for them, Jandell caught a glimpse of Meenah and her parents. She seemed to be weeping and averted his eyes and smile. Jandell began to frown with concern, and he didn’t pay attention to the announcements of the other lucky couples. I have to find her when the feast begins and find out what’s wrong, he thought.
He didn’t have to wait that long. After the last birthing permit was proclaimed, Mazgar said, “And now for the pairings. We have five marriages to announce. First, Gleb has asked for the hand of Meenah, and her father has agreed …”
Jandell’s jaw dropped open, his head went numb, and he heard no more of the announcements. His mother saw his consternation and came to put her arm around him, saying into his ear, “Oh, I’m sorry, Jandell. I know you fancied Meenah, but don’t worry, there are many other handsome and capable girls approaching their flow. Your turn will come.”
But Jandell just shook off her arm and worked his way back through the crowd and out into the trees – his head bent in sorrow and tears streaming from his eyes. Gleb must be twice her age – and a mere farmer with no bravacho, he thought. How could Meenah’s father agree to … him?
He went to his secret spot in the giant red-bark trees – a small hole or cave in the hillside he had discovered behind some berry bushes – where he could cry in private. The moon was almost full, so that he could see reasonably well. He sat in there, his head resting on his knees, and wept while he listened to the music, laughter, and dancing in the distant feast. The aroma of roasted venison and corn made him hungry, but he was too broken-hearted to show his face and eat.