Na'Thal
The
Beginning
I
remember the first time I saw him. We had been on a great hunt and
secured enough food for the next month or so. As we returned to
the village we saw before us a mighty apparition. It was robed in
magnificent finery, and it took me a moment to recognise one of
the local Gods. He bore a child, and bade us look after him. Of
course, one does not refuse the requests of a God. Our blacksmith
- a good and honest man - volunteered to take in the child and treat
him as his own. Even then I knew this child was destined for great
things…
A
river is a living thing. Many people do not think about this, but
a river is not the static, stationary thing most people see when
they look at a river. Rivers change. The river that provides fresh
water and easy bathing at one time of year can easily become the
flood that washes away houses and cattle at another.
Gods are tied to things. The God of War changes
as the nature of war changes. And similarly, the God of a river
changes as that river changes. My river is very different to what
it was – and so am I – but yet I still remember the
events surrounding Him clearly.
As the God of the River I was worshipped by the
tribes all along the Maruto. In return for any excess food they
had and the occasional enemy sacrifice I would help prevent people
drowning and minimise flood damage to those in good favour.
I typically spread my essence throughout the entire river length
to better appreciate everything that happened to the river, and
to more rapidly spot people drowning or sacrifices being made. Thus
it was one day when I realised a human had fallen into the water.
This was not an unusual happening, but was made
strange by the age of the human. He felt to be about 2 months old,
certainly not old enough to throw himself into the river. Becoming
curious I began to gather myself in the place he fell in and caught
him. Ensuring the child could breathe, I took a look towards the
bank.
I saw a couple facing off against several horsemen. The man was
stockily built and looked as if he had seen a lifetime of hard labour,
though he only appeared to be about thirty years old. There was
a sense of weariness in his stance and the way he held his old sword.
His hair was black, beginning to be tinged with grey and he wore
labourers clothes that had seen heavy wear.
His partner was a rather beautiful – by
human standards – blonde in riding gear, appearing delicate
and fragile next to the man. She held a pack defensively in front
of her. She too looked as if she had been through a lot, although
she didn’t appear to have given up quite so completely as
the man.
There were three horsemen. They had a symmetry to their motion that
made me think they were used to working together, and well trained.
Each was equipped with leather armour and a longsword, and they
look like they knew what they were doing with them. There was only
one possible outcome, unless I intervened.
I did not intervene.
The battle was short and ugly. The horsemen cut
them down like wheat in a field. They searched the area for a while,
but as I had not taken on material form they could not see me. They
looked in the river, and I heard them talking. They had seen the
baby thrown into the water but could not find it (I had hidden him).
They figured it for dead and left. I find it strange that they did
not take any of the belongings of the couple – they seemed
happy to be sure they were dead, and wanted nothing else.
In all the years that have followed, I never did
find out why they wanted to kill the couple and the child, and I
never found out who sent them.
I
took the child upriver a ways, and manifested near a local tribe
who worshipped me. There were a band of hunters returning from what
must have been – judging from their lack of burden and multiple
wounds – a rather unsuccessful foray.
I beckoned the chieftain to come unto me and told him that his tribe
would take in the child. He refused, claiming that his tribe was
short of food as it was, and didn’t have enough for an extra
mouth. We argued about this for a while, and he conceeded that if
I could provide them with extra food, his blacksmith (who had just
lost a child) could take on this child.
I am still unsure why I agreed. The child was
nothing to do with me, and was not one of my worshippers, but having
done nothing to save his parents I found myself feeling slightly
responsible for him.
I told the chieftain that his tribe should take
up fishing, but only when they were genuinely short of food. They
should not try any less to feed themselves, but I would assist when
their efforts failed. He readily agreed.
And so I handed the child over.
~*~
He
was the strongest among us, capable of defeating even the grown
men by the age of twelve. His training as a blacksmith was successful
beyond our imaginings and he routinely turned out masterpieces.
We dared not risk him in our raids, just in case anything went wrong,
but we knew that if our settlement was attacked while our warriors
were raiding, he would defend it for us. He became a legend among
the tribes, but still I suspected greater things were before him.
I
am Gre’lor. Assistant to the tribal shaman of the Ner-Maruto
tribe. I was his friend.
Lerr, our blacksmith, and his wife Torrol had
lost a child, and were still grieving when asked to take care of
him, and while they looked after him and ensured he was fed, they
did not love him as they would have their own child – and
I think NaThal knew this.
He felt alienated, and outcast. The other boys
would tease him and play cruel pranks because our chief would not
let him join the hunts. As an outsider he was never considered as
good as any of us, even though he worked and worked, and even though
he was better at most things. I alone was his friend.
Both of us were denied the hunts – he because
he was outcast, and I because I was to be our next shaman (and you
do not risk a shaman unless you want to deal with the Gods yourself).
While the other boys played at war, we talked of our crafts and
practised brawling together. He was a natural and for the fight
to be fair we would tie his legs together or one hand behind his
back – still it was good practise, in case we were called
upon to fight.
When the other boys were old enough to join the
hunt and spent their spare time wooing the local girls, we were
laughed at if we so much as said hello. We spent our times working
or together, conversing with the local Gods. The God of the Maruto
was particularly friendly, and I think NaThal spoke with him when
I was not present, as they seemed slightly uncomfortable talking
with me there. I would have felt slighted at this – after
all I was the trainee shaman – if not for the fact that with
all of the other Gods, NaThal left all of the talking to me.
Our masters worked us hard, and we had less and
less free time as we got older, so I saw him less and less. What
I did see of him seemed driven. He was always willing to give anyone
a fair hearing, but once they made themselves an enemy of him, it
would take a lot of persuasion to get them a second chance.
I heard about one occasion when we were fourteen
when one of the larger boys – regarded as a bully by most
and sometimes ridiculed because he was eighteen and not yet married
– decided to have NaThal make him a sword. NaThal refused,
saying he had more important things to make for the tribe.
I do not know the truth of it, but the older boy
was very put out at the public refusal and is said to have sought
him out later with some friends. The next day, the older boy was
found to have three broken ribs and two of his friends were limping.
NaThal had a broken arm but carried himself proudly, and he was
not picked on again as far as I know.
He sometimes claimed to have strange dreams that
he could not remember in the light of day, but he could recall that
there was a girl’s face, beautiful beyond belief.
All of our lives changed one day, when a woman
arrived and asked for him. But then I guess you know that story…
(story
by Corlandashiva, a.k.a. Na'Thal)
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