Lucifer Rising (Andy Lane and Jim Mortimore) by Lucifer Rising (by Andy Lane) (html)

Author:Lucifer Rising (by Andy Lane) (html)
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter Eleven

Miles Engado faced west along the bay and watched the sun sinking past the village into a golden haze of spray. Soon it would be time for the ceremony to begin: for him to walk into the darkened woods and connect his mind to that of the Whale. To pray for the great creature’s cooperation in tomorrow’s activity.

The season of the hunt had come again to the people of the North Water.

He walked along the beach, past rows of low cedar huts, his bare feet kicking at the surf which swept in from the north, enjoying the cool water and the tickling sensation of sand being swept between his toes and around his ankles. Other men of the village were beaching their canoes even as he watched, pulling ashore the dead seals which would ultimately become floats to slow the Whale in the hunt. Children combed the shoreline for strong shells which the women would sharpen and affix to spears twice the height of a man. The spears would serve to fish and hunt with, as well as defend the village against competing tribes.

Miles offered up a silent prayer as he walked. He was lucky to have been born in this particular tribe. The ocean provided a bountiful supply of fresh food and, together with the forests inland, provided all the raw materials necessary to reap the harvest, as well as jealously guard it.

Miles thought back to his first season as a hunter. He remembered the heat of the sun on his back, and the way the cold water cleaved at the touch of the canoe, as it was propelled forward in search of prey by the hunters. He remembered squinting eagerly to catch sight of the basking seals, content and sleepy in the afternoon sunshine, and pointing with excitement when he did. The other men in the canoe had laughed at his impatience and berated him for pointing. Everyone knew that to point at the seals was taboo. Miles had hung his head in shame. He’d had no wish to wake the seals and drive them away. His friend Okawi had signalled to the other canoes by gently shaking his thumb in the direction of the sleeping animals. Paddles had dipped silently into the water; the canoes sped closer, but the seals had awoken suddenly, and swum away.

Just three seals had been killed that day, when more than twenty were needed; and only one cleanly, by a single spear‐​thrust from Okawi. Later, Miles had carved the dead seals’ faces on the two killing clubs to honour the animals’ sacrifice. He had never shown impatience or eagerness again.

Miles smiled. He had been little more than a boy then. Now he was a man, Chief of his village. It was his responsibility to convince the Whale to cooperate in the hunt, so the people of the village might be fed and clothed for another season. He watched as the women of the village – his new wife, Beruna, among them – rushed down to the waterline in their reed skirts.

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