He didn’t know how long his people had lived in this valley; he only knew that a great earth-shake had destroyed his community before he was born. He liked this place though, it was home. All he knew was here, and all he ever wanted was here. He couldn’t imagine ever leaving this place, at least not leaving his tribe. The tribe always stayed together. If they moved, everyone moved. That’s the way it was, and Jarin wouldn’t have it any other way.
The tribe worked for the welfare of everyone, and everyone had their place there. No one shirked any responsibilities and everyone helped each other in times of crisis. This always gave Jarin a warming sense of security, even though there had been very few times his security had been threatened. He had been too young to fight in the Great War, or even in the tribal disputes that had flared up from time to time with the tribes to the West and North. He wished he could be a great warrior like his father, Kurock, but he knew someday when he reached the age of maturity he would be called to his place among the warriors as his father had been, and then he would prove himself to be a great leader.
Standing outside the entrance of the community, Jarin bathed in the sunlight. He didn’t mind living in the caves that were his home, even though they were dark and somewhat cold. He came outside whenever he could just to feel the warmth of the day. He knew the caves were necessary to protect his tribe from the elements which could be quite unfriendly at times. Winter snows, and the season of rain could be deadly if you weren’t protected. He marveled at the great system of tunnels the engineers had built that connected every area of the great complex. Surely there were no other tribes around that had the intelligence to accomplish such a feat as this. He was proud to be a Nojeva, the most powerful tribe on the Earth. Jarin’s chest swelled as he thought of his great tribe, and of his father, the greatest warrior in the land. He could not be any happier he thought as he started towards the meeting place. He could hardly wait to sit in the big circle with the other young ones and listen to Brachaw, the wise one.
Brachaw was the oldest and the wisest of all the Nojeva, “Probably of anyone on Earth,” Jarin thought as he wandered down the trail towards the group of young ones who were playing near the meeting place. Jarin didn’t really like playing with the other young ones anymore. That, to him was a sign that he was approaching maturity. His father had told him that was the first sign. He didn’t mind because the other young ones looked up to him. This made him feel important as well as uneasy. He knew that he would be a leader someday, and he wanted to be a good one, so he tried very hard to be tolerant of the younger ones who tried to tease him into chasing them for fun.
Soon Jarin saw Brachaw coming down the trail. “He’s here!” he shouted as he ran to the meeting place and got the best seat. The other young ones crowded around, all pushing and nudging each other to try and get a good view. Everyone loved listening to Brachaw’s stories, mainly because they were all true. He told of the history of the Nojeva, which had been passed from generation to generation. “Brachaw knows everything,” Jarin thought as he sat waiting for the stories to begin. He knew that Brachaw was once a warrior like his father. He had also helped make the great complex in which everyone lived. In fact, it was Brachaw who had scouted this valley after the great earth-shake and brought the Nojeva to live here. Brachaw was kind; he spoke with a musical quality that kept his listeners entranced. “It was a long time ago when the Great War came to an end.” he said as he gazed out into the faces of the young ones. “It was a day almost like today. The sky was clear and the sun was hot. I was sitting right here when one of our scouts came running up to me.”
The young ones were already enthralled in the story. Jarin was too, he loved the wise one’s stories about the Great War. Brachaw had been telling them in weeks past about the many battles of the war, and he knew that this story would be the best because it involved his father, and how the war ended. Brachaw continued, “The scout was out of breath, he was babbling something that I could not even understand. I grabbed the young scout and told him to slow down, take deep breaths, and speak slowly.” The wise ones voice was slow and deep. It had a mesmerizing quality as if he where hypnotizing his audience with the very tone of his voice. He said, “The scout tried to calm down but was terrified. Finally he was able to say one word: 'JETTOO!'”
Jarin looked around and saw the eyes of the other young ones grow bigger. The Jettoo were a war-like tribe that lived to the South. They were a mean tribe who had completely destroyed one of the villages to the West. It seemed they needed no reason to fight. It was like they would all wake up one morning and decide it was a good day to obliterate everything in sight. Brachaw’s voice was deep and toneless, “My blood ran cold when I heard the scout say that word, for I knew the Jettoo were on their way here, and that death would visit our village this day.” His speech began to quicken and he spoke in a staccato voice, “I hurried into the caves and began to sound the warning, “JETTO ARE COMING! JETTO ARE COMING! It didn’t take long for our fighters to gather outside and prepare for battle. I could tell a lot of them were scared, they knew the Jettoo were fierce in battle and only fought to win, or die.”
You could almost feel the tension in the air as the young ones stared at Brachaw, hanging on every word he said. Brachaw held his breath for a few seconds, letting his story linger. “Then we heard them.” He spoke in an even deeper tone that was sinister; “They came over the southern hills, thousands of them, a never ending stream of soldiers. You could feel the ground starting to shake as they drew closer. Our soldiers had all gathered and were prepared for battle. Even though we knew we were out-numbered, the Nojeva are a proud people and we were prepared to fight to the death just as the Jettoo were.”
Brachaw slowly scanned his audience; the young ones were completely under the spell of his story. “ATTACK!” he yelled and everyone jumped in surprise. “The two armies plowed into each other, the cries of battle and death filled the air. Hundreds died. THOUSANDS died. It was a great sea of death and destruction.” He paused for just a second to change his voice to one of fear. “We were losing. As bravely as we fought our army was outnumbered and demoralized by the viciousness of the Jettoo. We slowly fell back, and it seemed that soon it would be over and our tribe would be exterminated."
Brachaw’s head was hung low, and everyone felt the defeat with him. Then he slowly lifted his head and a glimmer of hope shown in his eyes. “Suddenly over the great hill of the community there came a young warrior, Kurock.” Jarin could feel everyone looking at him now. He tried not to look embarrassed, and instead held his head high and stuck out his chest. “The young Kurock had only been in battle once before,” Brachaw said, “but his spirit was great, his will unrelenting, and his inner power unstoppable.” Jarin could feel his pride swelling inside as the wise one boasted of his father. “Kurock came down from the hill, ‘TO BATTLE!’ he yelled as he waded past our retreating army. The Jettoo were shocked to see this young soldier charging them all alone. Kurock met the Jettoo head on, fighting with the power of a hundred soldiers. The Jettoo attacked him over and over but he killed each offender.”
Brachaw’s voice filled the air as he got louder and louder. “The rest of our army saw this bravery and knew that it was time to fight, or die. ‘TO BATTLE!’ went up the cry from our soldiers, ‘TO BATTLE!’ they shouted as they reversed their retreat and plunged head-long into the fray.” No one took their eyes off of Brachaw, especially Jarin. His father never told him this story before; he only knew that his father had a large part in winning the war. Kurock would never speak of it. He was very humble, and let his actions speak for themselves, he never bragged on himself. Brachaw continued, “The battle went on and it seemed it would never end. But soon the Jettoo’s advance stopped. Then slowly, very slowly our soldiers began to push them back. They pushed them over the southern hills, and finally at daybreak the next day the word came back that the battle was over and the Jettoo had been defeated!”
The young ones were on their feet shouting “Hurray!” Brachaw continued. “A mighty cheer came from the village as our army returned victorious, carrying Kurock high. He had led our soldiers out of defeat and into victory; our tribe owes him a great debt. Kurock is, and will always be hailed the greatest warrior in history.” Brachaw was looking right at Jarin now. Jarin felt as if he were going to explode with pride. “And you too, Jarin, will now join the ranks of our warriors.” “Now?” Jarin said confused. He had been so caught-up in the story that he hadn’t noticed the elders walking up behind him. Realizing there was someone there he turned around. “Father!” he said looking up. Kurock stood there with four other elders. The young ones sitting around Brachaw began to whisper to each other “It’s Kurock”; “It’s the Great Warrior.”
Kurock began to speak, “Jarin, you have reached the age of maturity. You have grown-up to be a strong and true Nojeva. It is time to take your place by my side and learn the ways of adulthood.” Jarin was speechless. For so long he had wanted to be a warrior like his father, and now his time had come. His life would now change forever; there would be no more games, or stories. He was now mature. The other young ones cheered for Jarin as he and his father and the other elders left the circle to begin his training. “Much will change for him,” Brachaw told the young ones as they watched Jarin and the others leave. “There is much for him to learn, and someday all of you will reach the age of maturity. Then you will take your place in the tribe as well.”
Brachaw sat down and started to tell another story when he felt it. The earth trembled. Softly at first but then it began to grow stronger. “Another earth-shake?” he said under his breath. Darkness suddenly fell over the land and the wise one couldn’t understand how this could be, since there were no clouds in the sky. Sensing great danger Brachaw stood and pointed to the village. “Quickly young ones, to the caves!” They scrambled over each other as Brachaw saw Kurock and Jarin running back towards him. “What is it?” Kurock asked the wise one. “Have the Jettoo come back?” Kurock’s concern was not without warrant. He remembered the Great War and something he had never told anyone. Just before he had killed the last Jettoo soldier, his enemy said something he would never forget; “We shall return here someday with a force that not even you can stop, great warrior.” Kurock thought it was just the last boast of a dying soldier, but now he was starting to wonder.
Then suddenly the water came. Kurock and the others ran for the caves. The water began to come faster and faster. “How can there be so much water when there are no clouds in the sky?” Kurock thought as they dodged debris washing around them. Just as they entered the caves a wall of water came crashing into the village. It flowed in like an ocean with a force that knocked everyone off their feet and sent them hurtling into the tunnels. Jarin was screaming for his father when suddenly Kurock was swept into another tunnel. He would never see him again.
Kurock was grabbing at the sides of the tunnel, digging with all his might to slow himself down, but the force of the flood was to strong. Farther and farther Kurock was swept through the tunnels until he was suddenly thrown out of the main tunnel into an empty room. He quickly regained his balance and stood up. The room was filling with water and Kurock knew he wouldn’t be able to get out of the room against the surge of water rushing in. He knew he was about to die and he couldn’t believe that after the long ago earth-shake, the Great War, and all that his tribe had endured that it would all be destroyed by an enemy he couldn’t fight. Kurock was now underwater with no way out, and as death gripped him he couldn’t help but be in awe of the power of the flood. He thought, “Whoever has learned to control such a great power as this, will surely rule the Earth.”
Darkness.
The sun was bright, and Jenny had to stop for a few seconds to let her eyes adjust as she walked out under the afternoon sky. The smell of spring was in the air and a cool breeze blew through the valley making the trees rustle and leaves spiral up to heaven. In the distance she could hear birds chirping, and their songs made her feel good all over. Jenny loved the summertime. It had to be her most favorite time of the year. Feeling the warmth of the sun on her face made her feel like singing along with the birds
She looked down her long backyard and saw her father, Kirk working at the far end. She skipped through the grass up to him. “Daddy, will you come push me on the swing?” she asked in the cutest voice she could muster. Kirk looked down at her and said, “In a little while darlin', I have to finish here first.” Jenny scowled a little, but didn’t object. He said “Go over to the swing-set and I’ll be there is few minutes.” “Awwlriiight,” Jenny said with a slight bit of rejection in her voice just to hurry him up. She skipped away towards the swing-set and Kirk smiled as he watched her.
His smile faded as he looked back down at his work. “Alright you little pests, it’s time for you to go” he said as he placed his thumb over the end of the water hose… aimed it… and shot another burst of water into the anthill below.
-end
© 1995 J. Bret Lamb, all rights reserved.
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