Rite of Passage

About a young boy, Dorag, born during the Upper Paleolithic, when initiations into manhood was most revered, but a mysterious force at work in his life intervened with their own brand of initiation.

~Toumai (a novel & saga)~

  book 1

    Atalant   

Chapter 2

     Rite of Passage

No sooner had the coals gasped out their last dying light when another took its place. The rays were weak, barely percolating behind a wall of mist over  the horizon, and so the boys drew close to inspect their work.  On each of their bodies painted symbols in hues of yellow, brown and red ochre proudly told of various exploits.  Every inch of skin was painted, masking their faces so completely, that only one remained recognizable.

They were the same age, each having survived two winters beyond the average life expectancy of a Clan male, and this more than anything had marked them as special, but the scars bore by one told a tale that along with his slight frame set him apart from the others.

Of all the predators that roamed the the great plains and nearby forest, it was the bahr that clan members feared most, the largest and most fearsome of bears that was as ugly as it was mean. The fur of the bahr was a perfect camouflage, turning white during winter and then because each strand was hollow and transparent, they served as a micro green houses for algae to flourish and resulting in the bahr's coat turning a mottled green, a perfect camouflage against the backdrop of their summer hunting grounds. Unlike the smaller species of bear that were mostly vegetarian and hibernating in dens beneath the sod during winter, the Bahr were for the most part carnivorous, with hibernation occurring in intervals, waking occasionally to raid the dens of fox, wolves and even smaller bears.

There were many reasons why Dorag’s clan chose to hunt such a formidable foe, but competition was at the forefront: both hunted the reindeer and both sought caves as dens. The hunters were successful due to strategy and large expeditions. If ever a person venturing alone had the misfortune of confronting a bahr, it always ended with a dead clan member. The bahr on the other hand didn’t go out of their way to hunt clans people, preferring to avoid them instead, but if by chance they came across a lone individual, they would not turn away from the opportunity of killing an enemy.

A full day passed before the boys returned to the same sacred ground, their breath tortured and eyes focussed on the now setting sun, each paid silent tribute to their deity, offering up humble gratitude for the many times that Ayah intervened to keep them alive in their blood soaked lands. Dorag was among them, and during the moment of silence his mind drifted back to a time when he had just turned 11winters and his mother had gifted him with an extraordinary gift, his fathers spear.  

So happy had Dorag been with the gift, that even his mother couldn't pry it from her small son's grip as he slept that night.   The air was brisk and frost heavy on the ground when Dorag awoke, and even though he knew the teaming schools of fish would be gone, there were always some that lingered.  He also knew that it was the safest time because the reindeer were gone, and even though the bahr then turned to fishing, it was only when the schools of spawning salmon were abundant.  Dorag also knew that the bahr's fur at this time was newly white, making them exposed and vulnerable, and so further ensuring that all were nestled in caves.   

Only a select few of the clan enjoyed the taste of fish, most preferring the meat of reindeer, and even though the great herds were gone, it had been a good year and their caches deep within the permafrost were filled with reindeer meat.  Dorag enjoyed the taste of fish as did many of his family and close relatives, all of whom appreciated his contributions.  

He strapped the small harpoon to the back of his satchel and slung it over his shoulder leaving his hands free to cary his fathers spear, and then crept silently from the hut, careful not to wake his mother who would insist that he not venture out on his own.  When fishing, Dorag preferred being alone.

There was no other reason to bring the spear except to admire it and pretend that he was a great hunter like his father.  Dorag knew everything about his father's hunting prowess from the stories reenacted by hunters around their campf fires, and he loved all of them, except for the one where his father dies.  As Dorag's mind drifted to the stories, he stopped paying attention to his surroundings, a grave mistake that a seasoned hunter would never make, but he was just a boy pretending.  It wasn't until he heard the bone chilling sound that he stopped.  As he slowly turned around, the hair at the back of his neck stood on end, he already knew what it was.
 
The bahr stood upright, an indication that it was about to charge, and its lip was curled back in a vicious snarl so that Dorag could see fangs longer than his hand.  The bahr was a mass of white that 
towered 15 feet, it's black eyes darted and its nose sniffed, trying to assess the situation.  Convinced that no one else was around the bahr saw Dorag as prey and so made its move.  

As with all others caught unaware, Dorag's instinct was to turn and run, but then fate intervened, a loose rock beneath his foot gave way causing him to stumble backwards.  The young boy would have fallen to the ground except for the butt of his fathers spear wedging between two boulders.  Dorag's fear turned to despair at the thought of leaving the spear, and as he looked into the bahr's eyes, everything including the despair drained from him and was replaced with an anger so intense that every fibre of his being vibrated.  The beast transformed in his mind so that it became every bully that had tormented him, and it occurred to Dorag in that instant, that running had never done him any good, and now with death seemingly imminent, he simply refused to obey his instinct, choosing instead to face the enemy as though he were a hunter among hunters, his father standing protectively behind him.  

As the bahr fell back on all fours and about to begin its charge, clarity filled every dark corridor of Dorag's mind and the spear wedged in the boulders became an opportunity that would be lost if he turned to run and the bahr veered in pursuit.

The bahr hesitated, momentarily confused by Dorag's defiant stance and eyes that showed no fear.  The great white beast cautiously sniffed the air again, and having detected no others, charged, fully expecting it's prey to turn and run at any moment, but Dorag stood his ground.  The bahr wasn't worried, it's heavily clawed paw would be enough to dislodge both boy and spear with a single swipe.

The Bahr had no way of knowing the twist of fate.  Dorag waited for the right moment, and as he loosened his hold and began to fall backward, he felt a searing pain as claws raked his flesh. Thudding to the ground and before unconsciousness spared him the gory details, Dorag managed to roll.  It wasn't possible for the bahr to veer in midair, and so the spear securely poised between the boulders had greeted the beast head on.

When Dorag came to, a crushing weight on his chest made it difficult for him to breath.  Pushing off the massive paw, he then stood to face the grizzly scene-- his fathers spear had entered the bahr's gaping mouth and pierce through its brain and out through the back of its skull. 

It was dusk when the search party came across the boy who had already skinned the bahr and was in the process of removing its fangs.  All were in awe with Dorag's tale and even though he berated himself  for not paying attention to his surroundings, the elders recognized that Dorag had the presence of mind to take advantage of an opportunity that in the end had saved his life.  Killing a bahr single handedly by a clans member was a first, and that it was by a mere child resulted in the elders attributing it to the will of Ayah, their deity who chose to bestow favour on the boy.   

Now, 4 years later and as the group of boys witnessed the last of the sun bleed into a far off land across a great shimmering sea, and as rivulets of sweat rendered the painted ochre into sagging strips, they stood there no longer as boys, but men ... hunters of the bahr, and the slightest among them, the one with scars now visible through the remnants of ochre, took his place as their leader.   

Author's Note

I think not just outside the box, but way, way outside, and that is where I intend to take you if you are willing, ... and not faint of heart.