Nanowrimo Day 4
Nov. 5th, 2019 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unknownfateReread what I've written so far and decided to add this. Wee bit smutty and not too important to the plot, but oh well.
Elk-Marked had waited as patiently as he was able. He wasn’t considered a warrior, even though the initiation trials he had gone through were as severe as theirs had been. The mark on his face, like a hoof print, had set him apart as soon as he had been born. He didn’t get to play the same games or learn the same things as the other boys. He knew things they didn’t and saw things they couldn’t, and none of it had helped when Summer-Born had gone mad.
The spirits hadn’t warned him. He had been as shocked and frightened as the rest of them when she had run screaming into the village and killed her husband. He had taken part in her new naming ritual and had tried not to let his hands shake when he painted protection symbols on Rivers-Son. He hadn’t wanted to make a mistake, but more than that, he hadn’t wanted Rivers-Son to go. He had asked permission to go with the warriors tracking Summer-born, now She-Who-Awoke, but his masters had said no.
He was taller than Rivers-Son, taller than many of the men in the village. He was strong too, strong enough to climb the rocks above the river with no rope. He had borne the cold of the frozen river in his trial by ice without flinching. He had taken the ritual burns in his trial by coals without a sound. He had fasted and starved for prayers and visions and recovered. He could use a knife and a bow and wouldn’t slow the trackers down. Still, they said no.
Be glad, they had said. Be proud. Your man is brave, a warrior, and worthy of you. You are the next shaman and must stay with the tribe. Elk-Marked wasn’t able to summon up either of those things. He was worried sick. He cast bones over and over, looking for meaning, hoping for answers. He had to hide it from the elders or they would lecture him again on why shaman didn’t take wives or have children so they wouldn’t be able to favor any one in the tribe over another.
They had tried to forbid him Rivers-Son, but then there had been a flood and they had changed their minds to appease Mother River. If she was willing to wash a village away to give her son a shaman husband, they would not argue. She had drowned the warrior’s birth mother long ago, but spared the child, and he had been happiest playing in the water ever since. Now, he was happiest with Elk-Marked in his furs and that would have to be enough for the elders as well.
Days went by. She-Who-Awoke’s former husband was cleaned up and buried. They had been afraid to touch him at first, in case there was still some madness lurking in him. It wasn’t until the dogs showed interest in the pieces that they knew they had to do something.
It was the women who cleaned up the mess. Maybe She-Who-Awoke’s madness only hurt men as her husband had hurt her, they reasoned. They gathered him up in a skin bag and buried him with his flints and his club. Elk-Marked painted a symbol on the bag to pull the pieces together so he would be whole in the afterlife, but didn’t know if it would work. Hopefully the pieces the dogs had gotten weren’t important ones. The spirits liked the idea.
He also sang the songs over the grave to keep the curse safe in the ground with the bones. With Summer-Born dead and She-Who-Awoke gone away, there was no one to grieve over the grave. If she had just poisoned him long ago, none of this would’ve happened, Elk-Marked thought unhappily.
He would have killed her for trying, the spirits said. He would’ve killed you for trying to stop him. But even then, you’re right. None of this would’ve happened.
Elk-Marked had to content himself keeping an eye on the dogs for any sign of madness since he didn’t know which ones had eaten a part of the body. The spirits weren’t help with that either. The Sleeper was too powerful for them, they said. It hurt to look too closely, they said, so they were careful not to.
Finally, a cheer from the edge of the village and the warriors were in sight, coming home. A quick headcount said all five of them were back safe. There was no sign of She-Who-Awoke. Most were happy about that too. None of them seemed injured and they were all walking freely. No one called for healers. Friends and family and dogs all went running to meet them.
Elk-Marked didn’t go. Even if he did have a favorite, he shouldn’t be so obvious about it. One advantage to being kept away from the others was that a young shaman in training had his own hut. He let Rivers-Son come to him. The paint on his face and chest had sweated to trickles of color, but he hadn’t washed any of it off, which pleased his husband no end. Especially knowing how much Rivers-Son loved the water.
They went to each other with no words, but smiles. Rivers-Son’s nose was cold when he pressed it under Elk-Marked’s jaw. His warrior was tired, he realized, tired and grieved. She-Who-Awoke’s fate must’ve been a sad one. He wrapped scarred and tattooed arms around Rivers-Son and held him close.
“I didn’t see what happened,” Rivers-Son mumbled into his neck. “They sent me for water and then came after me and said she had died.”
“That may have been a kindness,” Elk-Marked said. “To both of you.” He unfastened Rivers-Son’s clothes and gently pulled him to lie down. He wiped all the paint away, singing soft songs of healing and peace. It wasn’t a bath in the river, but it was just as soothing to be touched and kissed clean after a long journey. The flick of Elk-Marked’s tongue from his lips to his manhood was as powerful as any of his songs.
Rivers-Son had withstood pain in his warrior’s trails too, but pleasure always broke him. He arched and cried, arms and legs trying to swim against unseen currents. When Elk-Marked had swallowed him down and left him trembling, he rolled Rivers-Son over to clean and cherish his other side as well. He also brushed out Rivers-Son hair until it was straight and shining and braided it up properly.
Outside, he could hear a welcome feast being prepared and Rivers-Son would need to take his place there. It wouldn’t be a celebration really, just an event of relief. The Sleeper slept on. They were a warrior short, yes, but his killer was gone as well, so again, not a cause for joy, but one of satisfaction. Whatever it meant, it was over for the moment. They would eat and sing and pray and hopefully, things would go back to normal.
For now, the spirit in his ear said. Your man hasn’t told you what he found yet. That will change quite a few things.
You didn’t tell me either! Elk-Marked thought. He knew better than to be hurt or angry. He was supposed to be lucky that a spirit had attached to him. They were supposed to be elusive, fickle things you had to court with prayer and offerings and maybe one of them would send you a vision. The one that had attached to him was just a voice though, smooth and dry and too often mocking. It had come to him after his spirit quest with the smell of burning leaves and the flutter of moth wings.
It would not tell its name and every time it did take a form in a vision, it looked a little different. That was rare though, only three times that he could remember. The last time it had appeared to him it had been a shadow with stars for eyes and a long cloak that dragged the ground behind it, all made of rustling things, snake skins, dried grass, feathers, insect wings, live mice, dead leaves, and loosely strung beads. They had all been black too, only visible in the light from its eyes. Most of the time, he only heard its voice.
The masters had been amazed at how frequently it spoke to him. One had accused him of lying to earn himself more status as a shaman. The spirit had helped him then, told him what to say to convince them, told him secrets that no one could’ve known. Elk-Marked had shook as he said them out loud, half afraid it would scorch his tongue to say such audacious things to the elders. He had thought that old Knife-fingers would stand up and fling something at him. The others had been more intrigued than outraged and calmed him down.
You have some praises to sing later, the spirit said. He would be helping sweet Summer-born dig her way back down to the Sleeper if they hadn’t stopped him from touching her.
I will, Elk-Marked promised. He couldn’t help but shiver, and Rivers-Son noticed. He rolled over again and held out his arms. Elk-Marked sank into them.
“You worried about me,” Rivers-Son said. It wasn’t smug or teasing. Release had left him tender, but his eyes were solemn.
“I still am, “Elk-Marked said. “This isn’t over.” Rivers-Son winced at that and Elk-Marked knew this was what they spirit was talking about.
“Do you know?” Rivers-Son asked. “What it is, underneath us? Have you seen it?”
“No,” Elk-Marked shook his head until his ornaments clacked. “Summer-Born saw it and we all got to see what it did to her. I wouldn’t have been any better. I would’ve attacked you, the way she did her husband. There wouldn’t have been anything left of either of us.”
“I wouldn’t have let you go down to the Sleeper alone,” Rivers-Son said. “It would have taken us both.”
“I won’t let it take you,” Elk-Marked said, but then shuddered again. “If I can help it.”
Elk-Marked had waited as patiently as he was able. He wasn’t considered a warrior, even though the initiation trials he had gone through were as severe as theirs had been. The mark on his face, like a hoof print, had set him apart as soon as he had been born. He didn’t get to play the same games or learn the same things as the other boys. He knew things they didn’t and saw things they couldn’t, and none of it had helped when Summer-Born had gone mad.
The spirits hadn’t warned him. He had been as shocked and frightened as the rest of them when she had run screaming into the village and killed her husband. He had taken part in her new naming ritual and had tried not to let his hands shake when he painted protection symbols on Rivers-Son. He hadn’t wanted to make a mistake, but more than that, he hadn’t wanted Rivers-Son to go. He had asked permission to go with the warriors tracking Summer-born, now She-Who-Awoke, but his masters had said no.
He was taller than Rivers-Son, taller than many of the men in the village. He was strong too, strong enough to climb the rocks above the river with no rope. He had borne the cold of the frozen river in his trial by ice without flinching. He had taken the ritual burns in his trial by coals without a sound. He had fasted and starved for prayers and visions and recovered. He could use a knife and a bow and wouldn’t slow the trackers down. Still, they said no.
Be glad, they had said. Be proud. Your man is brave, a warrior, and worthy of you. You are the next shaman and must stay with the tribe. Elk-Marked wasn’t able to summon up either of those things. He was worried sick. He cast bones over and over, looking for meaning, hoping for answers. He had to hide it from the elders or they would lecture him again on why shaman didn’t take wives or have children so they wouldn’t be able to favor any one in the tribe over another.
They had tried to forbid him Rivers-Son, but then there had been a flood and they had changed their minds to appease Mother River. If she was willing to wash a village away to give her son a shaman husband, they would not argue. She had drowned the warrior’s birth mother long ago, but spared the child, and he had been happiest playing in the water ever since. Now, he was happiest with Elk-Marked in his furs and that would have to be enough for the elders as well.
Days went by. She-Who-Awoke’s former husband was cleaned up and buried. They had been afraid to touch him at first, in case there was still some madness lurking in him. It wasn’t until the dogs showed interest in the pieces that they knew they had to do something.
It was the women who cleaned up the mess. Maybe She-Who-Awoke’s madness only hurt men as her husband had hurt her, they reasoned. They gathered him up in a skin bag and buried him with his flints and his club. Elk-Marked painted a symbol on the bag to pull the pieces together so he would be whole in the afterlife, but didn’t know if it would work. Hopefully the pieces the dogs had gotten weren’t important ones. The spirits liked the idea.
He also sang the songs over the grave to keep the curse safe in the ground with the bones. With Summer-Born dead and She-Who-Awoke gone away, there was no one to grieve over the grave. If she had just poisoned him long ago, none of this would’ve happened, Elk-Marked thought unhappily.
He would have killed her for trying, the spirits said. He would’ve killed you for trying to stop him. But even then, you’re right. None of this would’ve happened.
Elk-Marked had to content himself keeping an eye on the dogs for any sign of madness since he didn’t know which ones had eaten a part of the body. The spirits weren’t help with that either. The Sleeper was too powerful for them, they said. It hurt to look too closely, they said, so they were careful not to.
Finally, a cheer from the edge of the village and the warriors were in sight, coming home. A quick headcount said all five of them were back safe. There was no sign of She-Who-Awoke. Most were happy about that too. None of them seemed injured and they were all walking freely. No one called for healers. Friends and family and dogs all went running to meet them.
Elk-Marked didn’t go. Even if he did have a favorite, he shouldn’t be so obvious about it. One advantage to being kept away from the others was that a young shaman in training had his own hut. He let Rivers-Son come to him. The paint on his face and chest had sweated to trickles of color, but he hadn’t washed any of it off, which pleased his husband no end. Especially knowing how much Rivers-Son loved the water.
They went to each other with no words, but smiles. Rivers-Son’s nose was cold when he pressed it under Elk-Marked’s jaw. His warrior was tired, he realized, tired and grieved. She-Who-Awoke’s fate must’ve been a sad one. He wrapped scarred and tattooed arms around Rivers-Son and held him close.
“I didn’t see what happened,” Rivers-Son mumbled into his neck. “They sent me for water and then came after me and said she had died.”
“That may have been a kindness,” Elk-Marked said. “To both of you.” He unfastened Rivers-Son’s clothes and gently pulled him to lie down. He wiped all the paint away, singing soft songs of healing and peace. It wasn’t a bath in the river, but it was just as soothing to be touched and kissed clean after a long journey. The flick of Elk-Marked’s tongue from his lips to his manhood was as powerful as any of his songs.
Rivers-Son had withstood pain in his warrior’s trails too, but pleasure always broke him. He arched and cried, arms and legs trying to swim against unseen currents. When Elk-Marked had swallowed him down and left him trembling, he rolled Rivers-Son over to clean and cherish his other side as well. He also brushed out Rivers-Son hair until it was straight and shining and braided it up properly.
Outside, he could hear a welcome feast being prepared and Rivers-Son would need to take his place there. It wouldn’t be a celebration really, just an event of relief. The Sleeper slept on. They were a warrior short, yes, but his killer was gone as well, so again, not a cause for joy, but one of satisfaction. Whatever it meant, it was over for the moment. They would eat and sing and pray and hopefully, things would go back to normal.
For now, the spirit in his ear said. Your man hasn’t told you what he found yet. That will change quite a few things.
You didn’t tell me either! Elk-Marked thought. He knew better than to be hurt or angry. He was supposed to be lucky that a spirit had attached to him. They were supposed to be elusive, fickle things you had to court with prayer and offerings and maybe one of them would send you a vision. The one that had attached to him was just a voice though, smooth and dry and too often mocking. It had come to him after his spirit quest with the smell of burning leaves and the flutter of moth wings.
It would not tell its name and every time it did take a form in a vision, it looked a little different. That was rare though, only three times that he could remember. The last time it had appeared to him it had been a shadow with stars for eyes and a long cloak that dragged the ground behind it, all made of rustling things, snake skins, dried grass, feathers, insect wings, live mice, dead leaves, and loosely strung beads. They had all been black too, only visible in the light from its eyes. Most of the time, he only heard its voice.
The masters had been amazed at how frequently it spoke to him. One had accused him of lying to earn himself more status as a shaman. The spirit had helped him then, told him what to say to convince them, told him secrets that no one could’ve known. Elk-Marked had shook as he said them out loud, half afraid it would scorch his tongue to say such audacious things to the elders. He had thought that old Knife-fingers would stand up and fling something at him. The others had been more intrigued than outraged and calmed him down.
You have some praises to sing later, the spirit said. He would be helping sweet Summer-born dig her way back down to the Sleeper if they hadn’t stopped him from touching her.
I will, Elk-Marked promised. He couldn’t help but shiver, and Rivers-Son noticed. He rolled over again and held out his arms. Elk-Marked sank into them.
“You worried about me,” Rivers-Son said. It wasn’t smug or teasing. Release had left him tender, but his eyes were solemn.
“I still am, “Elk-Marked said. “This isn’t over.” Rivers-Son winced at that and Elk-Marked knew this was what they spirit was talking about.
“Do you know?” Rivers-Son asked. “What it is, underneath us? Have you seen it?”
“No,” Elk-Marked shook his head until his ornaments clacked. “Summer-Born saw it and we all got to see what it did to her. I wouldn’t have been any better. I would’ve attacked you, the way she did her husband. There wouldn’t have been anything left of either of us.”
“I wouldn’t have let you go down to the Sleeper alone,” Rivers-Son said. “It would have taken us both.”
“I won’t let it take you,” Elk-Marked said, but then shuddered again. “If I can help it.”
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Date: 2019-11-06 01:48 am (UTC)and Hopefully the pieces the dogs had gotten weren’t important ones. — HILARIOUS XD