Once a Ing

Part 1: The Squad

My name is Pawel, of the Eagle Clan. I am having my story written for me by a skryba. His name is of no importance. At least he is not a cleric! A cleric would make disapproving noises too often for me to stomach. The skryba takes his payment, scribbles what I tell him, and remains silent. He may tell his woman my story at night to scandalize her...but what do I care if he needs my story to get his woman wet.

I do not know who my father is, but that is the way of my people, as I will explain later. It usually follows in such tales that one tells of the hardships of an abandoned woman left alone with a cowardly man's son. Again...that is not the way of my people. My people are raised by their coicie, a group of related females who care for the children of the group. No favoritism is shown. None of the children are given to know if the coicie are their mothers.

It is a good system. I was raised well. Taken care of, but never coddled. All the children ran in groups, male and female until the age of twelve...or as near as the coicie could discern. We played on the stypia, hid amongst the sunflowers, bathed in the ravines if there was water in season. We all became nut-brown and strong.

At twelve, like all the boys became I was sent off into the deep stypia. We had to track down the men's group. And join them. To others, those not of my people, this may sound cruel. But NOT to us; it was adventure...we were strong, we had energy, we were optimistic, and the gods protected us. No one is so invincible as a young male. I cannot speak for the girls. I assume they have their passage rite from child to adult, but I know nothing of such things.

Almost all the boys made it to the men's group. There were wolves on the stypia and some were just unlucky (Tolek was always unlucky). When we found the men, we were welcomed with stout blows. We were interlopers. Neophytes. Wet behind the ears. We had known nothing but the coicie until then. The coicie had not coddled us, but they rarely, if ever, hit us.

It was a rude surprise. The coicie spoke often of the rude manners of the men. And yet sometimes, when we all, us children, were supposed to be sleeping, I could hear the coicie giggling; the kind of giggling that implied the coicie were blushing as they giggled... When they giggled, they used words they did not use around the children: 'seks', 'pochwa', 'uklucie'. When one of the boldest of the coicie used the word 'pierdolić', the oldest hooted at her. This word was beyond acceptable. I did not then know what the words meant, so the next morning, I asked innocently what they meant...I was not hit...but I could tell that the coicie were not pleased. The cold verbal response was that when I was a man, I would know those words. I came away with the feeling that the coicie didn't always find the men rude, or if they did, this kind of rudeness pleased them.

After the first beating, the nowe as we were now called were all bruised...but no broken bones...a flattened nose, but no bones. The other men...for we were all men now, gathered the nowe around a huge bonfire. This was late at night; the moon was high. The oldest of the men unsheathed a flint knife (there was steel, but that was reserved for warriors and battle) and went round the circle of nowe and cut the leather cord that held up our breechcloths.

There is little modesty among our people, for all our lives so far, we had lived all season in these breechcloths, males and females that is all we wore, except for waterproof cloaks when we were out in the rain, and warm cloaks for the winter. Both sexes bathed together in the ravines...but the breechcloths were never removed.

To be freed of these garments for the first time in front of all the men was shocking... the nowe, Gustek, had a physical reaction that was novel to us--his buc stiffened and pointed at the moon. The nowe whose buc remained in its accustomed state, gazed wonderingly at Gustek's transformed buc. To the nowe this was a thing of witchcraft, but the older men seemed to take no notice, just ordering us to toss our useless breechcloths into the fire. The nowe were to stand in the night air, until all the breechcloths were consumed by the fire.

We then ran towards the nearest ravine to bathe. As we ran the other men ran with us, telling us the bath would remove the last hold the coicie had on us. All this time, we had not eaten since we left the camp of the coicie. We returned to the fire to dry and warm our shivering bodies. By this time, all the nowe, even Gustek, experienced a drastic shirking of their bucs. We 'new men' would wear breechcloths no more. Our garment for the rest of our days, was the antelope tunic...simple covering the body from neck to knees...arms bare.

Other protective gear would be added as weather and work required, but from the greatest to the least, all men wore the tunic.

The donning of the tunic signaled the end of the nowe fast...the older men gave us warmed, honeyed water to break our fast, a newly killed, skinned, and prepared wild goat was cooked over the same fire that had devoured our breechcloths.

Our group of six nowe was broken up: each nowe was now assigned to a hunting group as the most junior member. The groups had from three to six members. There was no effort to make the groups equal in number. The grouping seemed to be traditional, as much as the men's group had tradition. What worked was retained, what failed was discarded. My group, my 'squad' as I would call it now, although the Eagle clan did not use that term or any formal term, was the largest; I was made the seventh member. This was considered lucky, and my presence was appreciated by the others.

This appreciation was not universal. Some squads seemed to resent their nowe as unlucky, useless, or a hindrance. Sometimes, this was a ploy to challenge the nowe; sometimes, it was just the negative attitude that infected certain groups. Gustek was accepted into his group with some sly smiles and backslapping and what were lewd remarks...but we, nowe, did not understand those words yet.

I was fortunate to be seen as lucky. And I was lucky that our squad's first hunts were easy and successful. No injuries to anyone in the squad, and meat was obtained. No weapons lost or damaged. Just a blood stain on my tunic, and that was seen as a good omen.

Our weapons were flint tipped for the hunt, a thrusting spear for the finish, a short bow for longer work, and a knife for skinning.

We had much game close to camp, so we spared our horses and hunted on foot.

My skryba is scowling at me. I am breaking a rule of storytelling. I have not introduced the men of my squad.

The Eagle clan had no formal hierarchy, no clan leader. Depending on the task at hand, there were situational leaders. A leader good in the foot hunt, a leader to organize the camp, a leader to care for horses.

The squad ran the same way. My squad had three younger men, the nowe of last year or three years back, Godek, Hirek, and Jacus. All were small statured, even for our people. A male two meters in height would be a giant amongst us. All were lean, all were injured in some way...cuts, bruises from the hunt and from fighting with the older men.

Godek has had two front teeth missing and scratches on his skinny calves. His tunic was foul but would not be replaced until it rotted off his body...nudity was not tolerated or practical. Godek was not clever or quick, he was in fact somewhat stupid and that got on the nerves of the older men, and they would correct him when he made a mistake. Godek's mistakes were his bad hunting discipline...he would cough just in time to scare game about to be killed by others in the squad. If the kill was to belong to one of the older men, Godek would get a beating.

When I say the kill belongs to a man, he by clan's rules can divide the meat as he pleases. However, it would be unusual and a fatal mistake, if the vast majority of the meat was not shared out. The man who claimed the kill, can dry select cuts of the meat for later use by himself, or he may bring it to one of the coicie he was 'sweet on'. More on that later.

Godek bore all this stoically, his talent was a talent thought by some to belong to the coicie, the gathering of edible seeds, herbs, nuts and fruits. Some squads despised this talent, but our squad, despite all of our ailments, was the healthiest of the clan, and we silently acknowledged that it was due to Godek's talents in gathering.

Godek had no woman. For the nowe, like me, this was not a problem, we were still young, we had no hair surrounding our buc, unlike Gustek, we had not known the transformation of the buc. But Godek had the hair...one sees these things because we were not modest and the tunic, especially Godek's tunic, was short.

Unlike the breechcloth, the tunic was removed for bathing. For the hunt, bathing was important. We, the squad, bathed together before the hunt. The wisdom of this was that our man-scent was reduced, and we could close with the game better.

The other reason for this, was that the older men can gauge the maturation of the younger men. When enough of the younger men have hair around their buc and kulki, they would organize a sorm uprowadzenie. My skryba was confused...I must explain this last phrase. ``Raptum vaginae"! Ah the old empire language he understands!

Ha ha...I had never disconcerted my skryba so much! He would have had a good time with his woman that night. His buc stiffened at the thought of that kind of expedition.

As much as my skryba would love to have heard more about the sorm prowadzenie, I saw you skryba, you pretend...but you did want that part of the tale!! Ha ha. In due course. I had not finished describing my squad...and the squad was important. It was the most important part of my life, until it was not and that was the golden tale, the prize that is worth all I was paying this lecherous skryba. You sat on your ass too much, you blood pooled in your buc filling your mind with happy thoughts. Ha ha!!

Where was I? Ah, the squad...Hirek was another of the young men, a nowe three years ago, I would guess. Physically, he looked like most of us, short in stature, and wiry. His body was remarkable in that it bore the fewest scars of the young men...he injured himself rarely and healed quickly. His competence in the hunt earned him respect with the older men so he was not beaten.

Hirek was swift of foot...not a runner, but a tireless trekker. He was quiet on the trail of the game and naturally stealthy. He was not a killer, he was the worst shot with a bow of all of us and didn't have a blood instinct to finish off a kill with his lance. His value was that he would find game, where even the most experienced of our squad would say there is none. What witchcraft protected him, we could not guess, but no matter how the wind blew, the game never sensed him. He also had remarkable vision and could spot a hare far away on the stypia even at dusk.

Even though he was one of the oldest of the young men, he was not ready for the sorm uprowadzenie. In fact, the eldest of the men I heard whispered that it would be best if he did not know women at all, guessing that his state of maturity, or lack of it, was the cause of him being the most successful scout in the clan.

And finally of the younger men there was Jacus. A clown, the only one in the clan with red hair. Jacus endeared himself to everyone in the squad with his silly ways and his unflappable optimism and good humor. Well, Nik found Jacus' jollity tiresome at times, but as the wiseman of the group saw the value of him, for what I was later to learn was called 'group morale'.

Unlike the rest of us, Jacus was taller than anyone else in the squad...his pale skin burnt red by the unforgiving sytpian sun. Alone among our group, he was allowed the sacred grease to protect his skin. This animal fat really was not used widely because its scent alerted the game. But Jacus was our cook, so it mattered less...he hunted with us, but was always in the rear of the hunt. His buc and kulki were surrounded by a flaming bush, as Nik our wiseman said was a religious omen from a distant tribe.

Jurek...our youngest older man. He was the scariest of the lot, or at least I thought so for the first few seasons. In the many seasons that have passed since I joined the squad, I have seen him in many places. He was the warrior, the hunter, the navigator. Not Jurek, the individual; Jurek, the type.

Most men would kill if they must, animals for food, men in fights where there was no choice. Few wanted to kill in war if they could get away without killing. Men would die to save the group; they would fight with the group. In close combat, often you have no choice. Jurek was one of the few that could kill accurately and calmly at a distance. For animals, this was a good thing...a clean shot before they could get excited and perhaps foul the meat in a long chase.

Jurek was our best shot with the bow; so good, the other men deferred to him whenever the bow was needed. He excelled at the spear also...the flint tips of his spears reached the vitals of the prey EVERY time...it was uncanny...no matter what the angle, Jurek could drive the spear in deep for a quick kill. He was by far, the strongest of the men in the Eagle Clan...not just of the squad, but the clan.

Part of clan property were captured, looted and stolen; foreign weapons, things the clan could not craft. There was in that cache of weapons, a foreign war bow...so powerful, Jurek was the only one who could string it...when he drew it, the steel-tipped arrows flew far and with great force...much greater force than was needed for our hunting. It was speculated that the foreigner who built such a bow, built it to reach great distances to kill massed enemies. Later, we found there were other reasons to want a bow so powerful.

Jurek was the only man of the clan to shave all the hair from his head and pluck his beard. Although he was certainly an adult, he had no hair around his buc and kulki. Many seasons later, in a place far from the stypi, I found that there were women who preferred their men thus...so, perhaps, that is why Jurek plucked the hairs from his face and body.

Ludek was the oldest man of our squad. He was the only gray beard. He was also one of the hairiest men I have ever known. Not as strong as Jurek, but then who was. Ludek had a powerful looking physique, with a broad muscular chest; round, hard buttocks; sinewy thighs; and bulging calves. His chest was covered with a curly tangle of gray and black hair, his buc and kulki nearly lost in a tangle of rank pubic hair, with only a peculiar, extended foreskin protruding.

He was the most scarred warrior/hunter of the clan, a bright scar crossed his nose diagonally, deep ruts of the claws of a stypian tiger on his legs. He was fearless and he reveled in closing with danger; he killed with knife and an ancient short sword of the old empire. He was the only man to carry steel on the hunt.

Despite what one would imagine were frightening features, he was reputed to be a favorite of the coicie. This, I only learned later because the older men never shared what transpired when they visited the coicie.

Lastly, but truly not least, was Nik. If one did not know that Ludek was the eldest of the group, you would say that Nik was. It was his dignity, the natural confidence that Nik exuded. Not THE leader of the squad, as I have said depending on the squad's mission anyone one of us...in theory, at least, could lead. I certainly was far too junior and had not presented any special skills that would recommend me to lead on a given task. I was still learning and Nik, at least, thought showed promise as a leader on the hunt.

There was no name for it among our people; we had wise women, there was no counterpart among the men; if there was a definition, that would be Nik. He, alone, had been out of the stypia; he, alone, could speak the tongue of our neighbors and of our neighbor's neighbors.

He shaved the top of head, leaving only a top knot. Otherwise, he wore his beard short. Physically, he was well built, lean like all of us, but possessing exceptional endurance and insensitivity to fatigue. His mind was strong, and difficult to discourage. He was our planner, our thinker. He could get us through a tough winter, a surprise storm on the stypi, explain the ways of the animals without talking witchcraft. He was the one to talk to strangers, reassure them we meant no harm...even if we did rob them in the end.

He appeared to have no traffic with the coicie, although he would mysteriously disappear for days on end when we were resting in camp, returning with no explanation. He endured some ribald kidding from the other older men, to which he responded with a sly smile.

I have not described myself, but that can be left for another time. My skrypa has run out of ink and I desperately need a piss. Ha ha!