Please feel free to vote on which version you prefer more between the first person pov and the third person pov of parts of chapter 1, thank you!!
"Wake up boy," pa grumbles in his rough baritone voice, all while poking my gut with the flat end of his spear. "It's time we get a move on, we are to meet Milo and the rest at shore by half day."
I awake in my quaint little home. Though, it isn't much of a home anymore, since the tribe’s decided to leave. It more closely resembles a shelter quickly made for a one nights stay, not a place for comfort, but a hollow remnant of better days, when mother's laughter used to fill the hovel.
Once upon a time there was an ogre of an Elder who lived here, whose voice sounded like a thunderstorm with even the faintest of effort while talking. He's thought to be the greatest elder we have had to date. The man was able to calm a storm in our people with only his words, don't get me wrong, he was a fierce man, calm yes, but when the need arose he was always the first to thrust himself forward into danger. Because of his undying ferocity he was promoted to leader of the Dreadnoks while still in his teen birth years. He was a peerless hunter who brought the islands animals to the brink of extinction just before he had passed away. His name was Darthrack Exhulm, I am his grandson, Croix Exhulm.
Were nestled atop a hill that overlooks the rest of the tribe's homes. They're all lined up in assorted rows and columns creating a simple square village with the Elders house directly in the center for safety. I know, it would be much easier for the Elder to be up on our hill overlooking everyone to better watch the tribe. But this is the Exhulms house, the first of our tribe. My father's father's father's father, Rucknuck Exhulm, had been the first to convert from simple tents crafted from pelts to wooden houses.
I'm the 6th generation to live here and being the eldest son it would have been my family to live here next, while I raised the 7th generation of Exhulms. If we weren't leaving our island of Umbriax.
Thin branches stacked one on top of the other lean against four broad poles of a trunk with mud mashed inbetween chinks of wood, forming the only remaining solid wall of our home. My quilts and bear pelts are set to the opposite side where only the trunks are left of the wall and a larger pelt hangs in replacement separating us from the harsh winds outside. My spear and shield rest on the floor directly next to me in case I would ever need it here.
"Do we have to leave?" I ask dreading the answer. Pa draws a line with his mouth.
"Although I wish it weren't true you know we must," he replies, "we cannot stay on this island any longer, it's of great importance that we find a home that can feed us."
"But this is our home," I say petulantly.
"My boy, our home has betrayed us, the Great Aridity has kept rains from falling." He says flatly as we've been over this a handful of times.
Wishing it weren't true I know he is right, our lands used to birth us an abundance of crops to feed the tribe, but in the last five harvest seasons no rain has fallen and impregnated the seeds of crop deep within the soil, leaving us nothing to harvest, only a dried up cracking floor of a desert. We've been forced to focus all our attention on our hunting. Which wasn't a problem as hunting is our tribes oldest tradition. From birth boys are taught how to wield the smaragdine jade tipped spears and shield. Spending countless hours sparing with others from their birth year perfecting their craft and preparing for the Trial.
“lets say we did make land, will I be allowed to take my Trial, earn my tattoos? ” I ask about the markings that separates the men from the boys. “ This week was to be my turn to prove myself.”
“No, in the presence of uncharted land it would be imprudent to allow a boy to travel into the wild on his own.” Pa says. “ The Elder has made it clear, the Trials are to be resumed only when your uncle and the Hunters have mapped out the surrounding land.”
The Trial is when a boy has lived 16 Birth Years he is sent out on the western hill sides near the Ledge with a spear, shield, a dried out leather flask and the clothes on his back. Only when he has killed a boar or another animal higher ranked on the food chain may he return. They return not as a boy, but as a man who has proven his ability to contribute to the tribe and joins the ranks of the Dreadnoks, lead by my uncle Milo, and receive a unique shoulder to elbow tattoo given to us by the Dreadnoks leader. My best friend Shilo was the first of our Birth Year to receive his, I was going to be the last.
“It's unfair!” I lash out. “ Everyone from my birth year were presented with the test and received their markings.” It feels as if the adults conspire against me. “What will my friends think if I haven't earned my markings? Only cowards and shamed boys don't have their tattoos. I'll be looked at in the same way, shunned from my friends, save for Shilo.”
“Would you prefer to face an animal we've never seen before? Or fall victim to the inhabitants of our new home? Or is it that you wish to follow your ma and sisters path, putting yourself in a place you shouldn't be leading to your long painful death as you bleed the life out of you?”
I falter St the mention of ma and Lenai. The anger leaves me in one quick gust of wind. I see now. It's not that he doesn't trust my capabilities, the man can't bare to lose any more of his family. I can hear it in his voice and see it sketched onto his face.
Im as ready as anyone from the 196th birth year. I can match anyone up to three birth years older then I, except for Shilo, a titan of a boy compared to me, he stands 3 heads taller then I, with arms the size of my legs. Which isn't quite saying much as I could probably be compared to an imp in frame. Though, much larger then I am I would almost stand a chance against him if it weren't for his rage. A tsunami of the sorts that floods through his body washing out all other emotion until all he's left with is pure unfaltering anger. He has the unmovable strength of a mountain, while I am the force of a stream slowly but surely wearing away the obstacles in my way until I've dug a revine deeper than the tallest of mountains.
This upcoming week is my turn to prove myself to the Dreadnoks. At least it would have been. If it werent for the Great Aridity. Hunting being our only source of food wasn't an issue at first, but after a decade facing against the grim efficiency of the Dreadnoks, ending entire species with the throw of a spear, the wildlife numbers are diminishing faster than nature allows them to reproduce.
The boars and bears of the west were the first to go. For we were now in competition with them for food. With them gone we were able to hunt and have all the deer, bunnies and others to ourselves, which we went through like a freshly chiseled spear head piercing the back of a fleeing fish. Leaving us with scarce amounts to eat. The Elder predicts that by the next start of harvest season our lands will be equally dry from wildlife as it is rain if our ways continue, turning our island into a remote desolate desert waiting to eat us up as its final meal.
To stop hunting was an impossible feat for our tribe as there was no other source of food minus the fish but there's not nearly enough fish to feed our tribe of almost 400 strong. We needed a source of food or we would start dropping like coconuts at the end of a harvest season, one by one until we're all splayed on the ground decaying into dust to be swept away by the seas breeze, forgotten in time.
Left with no other choice the Elder decided that we must leave the island and find haven else where on the distant mega isle of Irrocieo. It's mountain peaks, which can't be much larger than the hills in our backyard,tower as far as the eye can reach, offering the chances of a new beginning. Today is the day we pack everything we have ever known pick up our anchors and sail for uncharted land. "What if we don't make it," I ask. "None before have ever traveled to Irrocieo, now were supposed to leave like it's the most sensible choice we have?"
"the only choice we have," he corrects. The wrinkles and lines of time are distinctly apparent on his face today. His hair is usually left untouched and curtaining over his face, to hide the shame he's felt since ma and sisters passing, but today it's pulled back into a black mane of a ponytail leaving his face uncovered for the first time since that rueful day. His spirit seeming awoken again by the opportunities that await us.
"And if the water-travelers fail us mid way?" I ask scathingly. "I'm as fine a swimmer as any Falconer, but swimming that distance would be like attempting to swim up stream with stones tied to each limb and a rope around the waist anchored to a tree trunk." No one has ever made it to the other land across the massive Fairrage. Not Elruke on the 104B.Y, not Krasmick on the 112B.Y, not even the great Belhum on the 140th B.Y, quite possibly the best inventor our tribe has ever seen, could fashion a water-traveler well enough to make the journey.
Thanks to the Great Aridity killing the marshes around the island our water-travelers were contrived from the very branches that used to be our roof and walls and formed into our water-travelers. "It's inconceivable," I say.
His face sours at that, "I believe you meant impossible," he sighs, " and the only impossible feats in life are those we tell ourselves we can't accomplish...with exceptions that you'll never fly like a bird one day or become pregnant like a women, unless there's something you want to tell me." He smirks.
"It's impossible," I state, keeping the poison I feel from my tone. Ma always said, "The only way to not be heard by those around you is to let anger and emotions show in your voice, people are more likely to ignore what you're saying the moment hate and anger spew into it," whenever I lashed out and threw tantrums as a young child.
"I'll have no more of this, boy," he retorts angrily. "We are leaving today and that's final, the Heldfelts, the Righnkums, your uncles family, the Kromarts, the Luvianx, the Roybals, the Ancronies, even the cowardice Korkas will be sailing south, and all the other smaller families of our tribe are leaving, and as the remaining two Exhulms it's our duty to be by our fellow Falks side when anchors are lifted and the Elder leads us on the expedition." Ending the conversation at that we finished rolling our few belongings in our bear pelts and strapped them over our backs with rope made from vines and left what was formally our shelter.
I take one last look back knowing I'll never see my home again. Reminiscing all passed days. Like the front patch where grass used to be that I learned how to walk on. Or the ditch on the right side of the shelter that I fell and broke my arm in when Shilo and I sparred as boys, feeling the weight of a spear and shield for the first time. Or over on the left when two boars straying from their sounder made moves toward Lenai(len-ay), as she was playing. Shilo and I came to the aid, fighting down the larger of the black beasts until shilo eventually pierced its side through the lung dropping the boar like waves on the coastline. At the sight of his fallen brother the other boar scrambled to safety. And I will never forget the brisk nights when Lenai and I would sit within our home curled up in our pelts listening to ma weave a web of stories from the dark ages, before we had scribes.
One last look, one last rememberence, one last spark of nostalgia, and it was gone, lost beyond the rolling hills we've traversed.
Others walk along side us, abandoning our little village in hopes of a better tomorrow. We follow the runnel that flows through the village and empties out into the Fairrage. What used to flow with purpose and an undaunting power is now nothing more then a thin stream just too wide to jump across snailing along. Trees used to line the way but now there's nothing but dirt andvstumps, so we saw the shore far before we reached it. Crimson and cobalt streaks dance across the morning sky as clouds move in and the sun rises above Irrocieos distant peaks. The curling waves and transparent water mimic the neon shades of the sky from coastline to shore. Where 40 water-travelers rest at bay anchored to rocks on land. Each craft large enough for ten bodies and storage space along the center. A large upside down cross is in the center with sails on each side and a falcons nest st the very top for scouting. The sails were painted with the symbol of the Falconers, a red and black falcon with arms outstretched and claws reaching for pray all outlined in yellow, with two black spears crossing above and a shield directly in between the cross they form. There had only been enough wood for four oars a water-traveler, but with the wind picking up our sails should carry us all the way across.
A crowd builds around the village Elder and my uncle as we approach. Pa and I fall into place next to Shilo and his family. "How much do you want to bet the hag drawls on about destiny and honor, like we have a choice in the matter," Shilo grumbles when I'm closer.
His father smacks him on the back of the head," tongue," he sneers," especially while addressing the Elder."
"Yes father, sorry father," Shilo almost whispers while lowering his head to avoid eye contact.
I lean in close to him and whisper, "loser rows there and sets up both families tents."
"Deal," he replies with a grin.
Though uncle is the leader of the Dreadnoks, the Elder is the head of the tribe. To be Elder is simple, all you need to do is to live and out live all your friends until you're the oldest living soul in the tribe. Only when the standing Elder has died does the second oldest get promoted to Elder. We believe that age has the utmost authority. Having lived long enough to become Elder means that you have withered the years refusing the grips of death making you wise and strong enough to be in charge.
Our current Elder, Fausina, stands at the head of the crowd on top a stool so she can be seen by all. Gripping her bone cane with her left hand, crafted from the femur of a large beast she slayed in her youth, she raises her right hand clear in the air. The noise and clatter of the crowd quickly turns into hushed voices as parents silence their younglings while we await instruction.
"Today, we embark on our unavoidable campaign south, not as trees rooted to a singular location," she pauses for added effect," but as pioneers to a new frontier, where unknown opportunity awaits. Today, we are blacksmiths of our future, forging a path of jade and obsidian towards our awaiting destiny."
I lift my head sneaking Shilo a grin and he coughs out his squealing laugh. His dad smacks the back of Shilos head hard enough for the tribe to hear, "you'll respect the Elder or you'll rue it," he whispers flatly and Shilo hangs his head in shame once more.
"We are a people of wonder, who will overcome the Fairrage and sail towards new lands. Today, I applaud you as a people, despite all the meak efforts of past attempts, who have given us nothing but washing back ashore in the wreckage of their failure, you were quick to tearing down the very roof over you head to build your water-travelers. There was no hesitation, just the willingness to do what needed to be done for the survival of us. Today, we do not wonder past the far reaches of the coastline for ourselves, but for the prosperity and survival of the Falks and our sons sons sons. Today, we make future generations proud, as they will look back on this moment nd remember the ones who dared the sea and came out on top." She steps off the stool and makes her way to her water-travelers.
"Now board your water-travelers my people of the future, and sail. Sail to new beginnings and better tomorrows. The Earth god, Mizu, may take away our waters, our crops, and our wild life until they're dwindling to nothing but we shall show her she may not take us. Season after season of the Great Aridity and we still prosper, may we prosper for many more Birth Years to come. Do you hear me Mizu, you've sent us your worst and here we are, stronger then ever, continue your evil ways all you'd like, for the god of strength and bravery, Drezzo, has been behind us this whole time." She states in sudden wave of arrogance. You never berate the gods. Ever. Let alone tempt them into doing worse. The gods answer, always with wrath and vengeance. Always. It's rumored that the Great Aridity started the day our last Elder cursed Mizu for the fire that almost claimed his life, Mizu replied by turning our vitamin rich soil into desert dirt. You don't blame the gods.
"Sail my people, for the honor of this day is already yours, we will secure a new home for our younglings, now pick up your anchors and sail!" She exclaims at last releasing the rope that anchored her water-traveler to shore and slowly starts to drift apart.
We're all still preparing our water-travelees when she sets sail, she will lead and all will follow. Shilo pushes the oar into my hand, "best get a move on it before she's whisked away." We undo our sails, the symbol of the Falconers shines vibrant against the suns rays, and sail.