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POWERS THAT HEAL
Wendy Hughes
CHAPTER ONE
The young man's bare foot stubbed against a newly fallen branch from one of the sacred oaks that were supposed to protect him and sent him sprawling. 'Dula!' He did not bother to curse; just jumped up and ran towards the tent. Breathless, he grabbed the door flap of the flimsy tent and, heart pounding with fear, stared into the smoky interior.
The limp figure on the bracken mattress turned her head towards the flame-headed youth. He could almost smell the silence - the putrescence of sweat and fear - mingled with the smell of the paints Kurn used to daub the skin walls with lurid symbols.
‘Hori,’ she whispered. ‘Make me well. Take this pain from my arm and make me strong again.’ Hori knelt down and, before anyone could stop him, he gripped the young girl's hand tight, stroking the back with his thumb. The small group around Dula drew in their breath and released a shocked gasp.
‘You should not have touched her,’ shouted Wise One, the Chief of the Cetti tribe, stabbing his bony finger accusingly towards the fifteen year-old.
‘She is filled with evil spirits.’ Kurn, the medicine man spat out the words in disgust. He wiped his hand across his face as though trying to rid himself of the bitterness of his words. ‘Now stamp your foot,’ he ordered Hori. ‘Hold your left wrist and turn on the spot three times as you repeat the forgiveness chant, or you too will be possessed with the evil spirits. They will not let you escape.’
Hori reluctantly did as he was told, although he knew these absurd gestures meant nothing, but he could not risk angering Kurn or Wise One.
The Wise One was his only ally in the tribe these days. He was the only one Hori could talk to, the only one willing to listen to his strange ideas and visions.
Dula's thin limbs jerked and twisted awkwardly. Her head rocked from side to side and she moaned quietly. Warm salty tears stung Hori’s eyes, and a feeling of helplessness engulfed him. Green eyes, vehement with compassion, looked down at Dula now delirious with fever. Incoherent words tumbled from her lips.
For her thirteenth year, she was small, but her love for life was obvious, even now that she was in great pain, and it was this determination for life that made her fight so hard.
‘I’m as useless as the wounded animals that lie on the stony ridge of Cefn Bryn,’ he muttered between clenched teeth, and in a way he did feel like a wounded animal surrounded by a hungry wild pack ready to pounce. He was trapped, and he could see no way out. He knew that unless someone attended to Dula’s broken arm bone soon, the poison that was taking over her body would kill her. Surely Kurn and the rest of the tribe could see that the open wound needed attention. Why couldn't Kurn accept it too? How could Hori make the elders of the tribe understand? The evil spirits were not responsible for her fever. Why could they not see this?
He gazed at Dula. Tears pricked at his eyes once more before trickling unashamedly down his face. A strange sensation rose within his belly. It had happened before and Hori could not understand it. It was not a sick feeling, like an ailment, but a tingling that fluttered within him and then burst forth like a strange fire glow reaching all corners of his body. It was a feeling that made him feel good.
Dula, now awake and alert, tried to smile, but her face contorted and her head jerked from side to side. Her eyes closed again and saliva dribbled from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes opened and widened with fear, as she pressed her head into the bracken pillow. Her heavy dark fringe clung to her forehead, and beads of sweat collected before trickling down her pale face. The stench of sweat and sickness from her coarse woven tunic hit Hori's nostrils. He gulped in air and swallowed hard to prevent him vomiting.
‘Evil spirits will not rest.’ said Kurn, his dark penetrating eyes glistening with anticipation.
‘The evil spirits are fighting to claim our sister. Look, can you see them fighting to claim her?’ exclaimed Kurn stabbing a finger at the frightened girl. ‘They are pulling her this way, and that way, but not allowing her to rest’ All present, except Hori, nodded in agreement.
‘We must perform tomorrow night. The stone circle indicates the time is right. We must not delay. It will soon be too late. We must save our sister. My magic will not work if we delay, and our sister will be lost.’
‘Please,’ begged Hori, ‘Let me try my powers.’
‘No Hori, you are the Evil One,’ roared the medicine man. ‘She is mine, mine, MINE,’ he yelled as his voice reached a frightening tone.
‘I am the chosen Healing One. Never forget that Hori,’ he said fixing him a stare with his penetrating dark eyes. ‘Your magic is evil and it frightens our tribe. Roots of trees, crushed leaves and strange potions do not heal. It is my chanting and prayers to the spirit world that heal.’
Hori looked towards Wise One hoping he would speak up for him, but he knelt down beside him and whispered, ‘Go back to the hut and rest Hori. Soon you will need your strength. We will keep watch here.’ Touching his arm, he whispered, ‘No harm will come to Dula. I will see to that my son. She is safe, whilst I am here.’
There were times when Hori wondered who was really Chief of the Cetti tribe. Wise One was nearly forty years and frail, his bones as crooked as the knotted branches of the ageing oaks that circled Green valley. The old man was allowing Kurn more power, and it worried him. What would happen when the old Chief died? Would Hori be banished from the tribe by the medicine-man? Even worse would he be chosen as the next sacrifice to the gods?
Kurn had been chosen as the Shaman, their Healing One. It was customary for the medicine man to take over the tribe when he had gained all his wisdom, but Kurn had become ruthless and greedy. Healing no longer interested him. He had no thought for his kinsmen. Only bony discs extracted from their skulls interested him. The people of the Cetti tribe lived in fear that their skulls would be opened for no reason, but everyone was so afraid to speak out. Hori wanted to care for the tribe, to make them all well again. Instinctively he knew exactly what was wrong with a kinsman, and some unexplained inner voice would always guide him to what root or bark would cure their ills. At first this strange knowledge frightened him, but now Hori had learned to accept it, sometimes even grateful for its power, especially when a herb or tree that he had difficulty finding, seemed to appear from nowhere. Deeply concerned for Dula, but fearing Kurn's wrath, he made his way silently back to the communal hut.
Two harvests had passed since, at the age of thirteen, he had left the safety of his parent's tent to join five other youths in the youth hut. All six had won their ceremonial spears and prized daggers at the great fight on Cefn Bryn. Hori remembered with pride how, as part of his initiation into the Cetti Tribe, he had stalked a young bison, finally overpowering it on the long ridge that overshadowed the valley. There was much celebration that night and, for the first time in his life, Hori felt part of the tribe. But the thrill had soon worn away and now he felt so alone again, a stranger in a crowd, a blade of grass in a field of barley.
Hori lay down on his bed and tried to clear his mind. The hollowed stone beneath the mattress of dried bracken, dug into his aching back making his flesh feel raw and sore. He pulled the animal skin covering around himself, but its coarseness irritated him. He tried to find a more comfortable position, but sleep evaded him. He knew he could not prevent the ritual from taking place tomorrow without upsetting Wise One, and it worried him. He lay awake thinking of ways to prevent it from happening, until eventually, the Sleepgoddess visited him, but not for long.
Darkness turned to light, and Hori watched as Sungod raised his head slowly above the timberland. The air was heavy with the dank smell of hunting and of fear. Birds squawked in the trees and, in the distance, a pack of wolves snarled as they fought over a recently killed carcass. This is such a cruel world of survival he thought, and for a moment he tried to imagine the scene on the ridge, and what the poor newly killed animal must have felt before it finally died. Did it feel pain or had fear killed it before the hunters’ teeth ripped the flesh apart? With these thoughts racing through his mind he fell into an unnatural sleep.
He woke suddenly aware of the quiet and listened. An eerie silence blanketed the settlement, especially around the healing area and he felt relieved. If Dula was quiet then she was not tormented with pain. What if she had been taken by Deathgood? He began to panic and jumped to his feet then, in the distance, he heard the mutterings of Kurn as he moved around jangling his necklace of bony discs to keep away the evil spirits. The sound that usually annoyed him made him feel at ease. She had not been taken, and he closed hs eyes and breathed deeply.
For a moment, Hori stood listening to the rhythmic breathing of the other youths in the tent. His mind centred on his future within the Cetti tribe. When Wise One left to join the other world, what would happen to him? He felt he did not belong, a stranger amongst his own people, and it frightened him. Without Wise One around to speak for him he could be cast out to fend for himself. The ways of the tribe were becoming too distant from his way of thinking and it worried him. So many of the Cetti tribe rules were alien to him now.
Who made the laws and what would happen if he tried to break them?
Why did they think of illness as punishment coming from the gods. He did not understand.
Why did they believe that pain was a natural process of life that everyone had to endure?
Why did pain have to be suffered in order to live? Why did they always have to sacrifice a life so that the crops were able to grow each year?
Why? Why? Why?
There were so many unanswered questions and it hurt his head to think.
As he grappled with his thoughts his mind turned once more to Dula and her plight. The shadow from the stone circle had indicated that the time had come, and the ritual must take place when Sungod closed his eyes tonight. If only he had some way of making Sungod stay awake.
No one, not even Wise One would dare to risk annoying Sungod. Hori knew that he would never be able to control Sungod's waking and sleeping, but for a moment he wondered about the power that he would gain if only he could control the sun. Perhaps then, and only then, would they tribe believe in his healing magic? If only he could do something to make them realise that he was different from the rest of the tribe.
Just before last year's Spring Equinox his mother had been taken by Deathgod, and he still grieved for her. Maybe if Kurn had not knocked the herbal brew out of his hand, then perhaps his mother would have lived.
His thoughts journeyed back to the night she was taken to the Otherworld and he tried once more to make sense of all she had told him.
Hori had sat with her all day. She was failing fast and Deathgod was approaching. Wise One knew it too, and had granted him leave from his duties to spend the last hours with her. As darkness descended across the valley, she seemed to recover for a while. For one moment Hori thought she had won her battle with Deathgod, but then she began to drift again. Alone with his mother, and knowing she was approaching the Otherworld, Hori told her of his fears. She smiled, and then mustering all her ebbing strength confided in him.
‘You will never feel like one of the tribe my son. I am about to enter the Otherworld, hopefully a happier place for me, and it is time I told you my story. Soon it will be too late. I must tell you why your ways are so different from the rest of the tribe.’
‘I always knew I was different mother,’ he said sadly.
‘You and your father do not belong to the Cetti tribe. They accepted you both and, as you know, your father even became one of the respected elders of the tribe before he died. He was granted the honour of being placed in the tribal grave. A great honour my son, as he was not born of a Cetti kinsman.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Hori puzzled.
‘Your father's parents belonged to a tribe who lived across the distant waters, in a different land from the Oak groves of Green Valley. They left their homeland with a group of others in search of new lands to plant their crops. Your father was in his fourth year at the time and excited to see new places. In the beginning, there were six boats, but they rode into a terrible storm, which lasted for many days. Many lives were lost.’
Hori wanted to hear more, but he knew his mother was tired. She paused for a moment, and he let her hand slip from his. She closed her eyes and Hori sat in silence thinking of the ancestors he never knew. After a while she opened her eyes and continued her story.
‘Three boats broke up on the rocks and your father watched helplessly. Somehow he and his kinsmen became separated, and finally their boat overturned.’
Hori took his mother's hand again, and wiped the perspiration from her face. ‘Please go on, if you can.’
She smiled at Hori. ‘The next your father remembered was being cared for by the Cetti people. His father had drowned, but your grandmother was taken from the sea alive. For many months she floated between this world and the next. Deathgod fought hard, but your grandmother won in the end, although she was never strong.’
Hori smiled at his mother and offered her water. She waved him away with her hand, and he placed the stone bowl on the floor. She continued, ‘Trying to win his ceremonial dagger, the eldest son of the then Chief of the Cetti tribe had been savagely attacked and killed by a wild beast up there on Cefn Bryn. He was so upset at losing his son to the evil spirits that the Chief asked the goddess of fertility to provide him with a fine strong son he could love. From the wet mud the tribe made a large goddess and sat her on the rocks overlooking the sea. They chanted and danced to her all night hoping that she might send their Chief another son.’
Hori's odd ways were beginning to make sense, and he nodded approvingly.
‘When your father was found, the next morning, washed up on the beach watched over by their goddess, the Chief said that he was a gift child and claimed him as his own. The tribe brought him up as one of their own and cared for his mother. I was chosen, like Dula has been chosen for you Hori, to be your father's bride when I was very small.’
She closed her eyes again and Hori let her rest. Soon she gathered her strength and raised herself on one elbow.
‘Rest,’ Hori whispered to his mother but he could see she was determined to continue her story.
‘When you Hori, our seventh child, was born your grandmother was delighted. Although the tribe looked after her they forbade her to stay with your father. He was a Cetti child, or so they believed. It must have been very hard for her not to bring up her own child, but she was grateful that they took care of them both, and she did see you father whenever they both could sneak away from duties. One night, she crept into our tent. She told us that you were destined to be great, even greater than any Wise One. You had been blessed with the power to see into the past, present and the future. You my dear child must understand that great wisdom from far lands have been bestowed on you Hori. It had been proclaimed that the power and wisdom to heal would be placed upon the shoulders of the seventh child of a seventh child born in a seventh generation. You, my dear Hori were that seventh child.’
Me?’ asked Hori perplexed. ‘Who proclaimed this?’
‘I can’t remember Hori, but a long forgotten ancestor of your father's I believe, but the claim has been handed down through the family, and will go on being handed down. You must always remember that Hori. I think it was some god of health from a distant land, but I am not sure. Does it matter Hori? What is important is that you know about these powers.’
Hori smiled at his mother. If only she knew how different he felt.
‘On your seventh birthday Hori, at about the seventh hour of the evening, we were all standing around the black cauldron. It was the first time you were allowed to take part in the Tribe’s toasting ceremony, and when a few spots of the liquid accidentally bubbled over and splashed on your arm, you licked your arm clean. You stood there, your eyes taking in the whole of the surroundings and said you felt strange. Your grandmother was delighted, especially when you said you felt as though you were floating above everyone. You said you could look down and see our tribe in years to come. Of course the elders laughed at you, said you had drunk too much of the brew, but we knew you hadn’t. You told us that everyone looked much older, and people were worshipping you as their leader. The whole tribe laughed at your childish stories, but your grandmother knew you were speaking the truth.’
‘I see,’ said Hori.
Now he was beginning to understand why the tribe thought he was mysterious, and why he had strange visions.
‘Your grandmother was so happy to know that she had lived to see her prophecy come true. This was all she had waited for. I wanted to ask her more, but the following morning they found that Deathgod had taken her to the Otherworld. She looked so contended Hori. I almost cried for her.’
‘It was as though she was waiting for me to reach my seven years?’
‘Yes Hori, I do believe she was, and she must have entered the Otherworld happy. One day you will be the greatest man ever to grace the great Tribe of Cetti. You have to believe that Hori. Your name will live on, as future tribes will talk of your prowess as they sit around the flickering embers of many campfires. In a thousand tomorrows, they will wonder about you Hori.’
Hori laughed. ‘I cannot see people listening to me or even remembering me.’
‘Yes Hori they will, you must believe me Hori,’ said his mother excitedly. ‘And even when your greatness is long forgotten, people will stand in awe at your memory stone and wonder about you.’
‘Memory stone?
‘Yes Hori, a memory stone will be put up after you move into the Otherworld, but your power will be handed down to your children and your children’s children.’
Hori had always wondered why his grandmother had not been buried in the communal grave with the rest of the Cetti tribe. Now he understood. They had cared for her, but never accepted her like they did his father. He had spoken to Wise One about it, and also about his own feelings towards the tribe, but the Chief always refused to talk. ‘Time will reveal all,’ is all he would say.
‘One day my son,’ Wise One had said, ‘You will take your rightful place and help your people, but until that time comes you must remain silent. Accept your gifts with gratitude, and never question your ability. Do what you feel is right for our people. Watch and observe and trust no one. Always be alert to Healing god's calling. One day he will smile upon you and show you when to take full command. Be ready for that day Hori. But until that day dawns you must listen and learn. Always be prepared for your destiny.’
It had been an unusually hot day and Sungod had smiled all day, beating his rays on the backs of the tribal members as they went about their daily tasks. With his thoughts on Dula, Hori had gone about his tasks as best he could. Now dark ominous clouds hovered over the valley as darkness descended, and it seemed that Thundercloud had met the warm breeze for yet another fight above the Cetti tribe.
The tribe, wearing their ceremonial ornaments, reached out their hands and formed a circle, a symbol of wholeness, vital to their culture. All was quiet. Then hairy bodies began to sway rhythmically, slowly at first then gathering momentum gradually until the volume of voices reached for the sky. The circle enlarged and contracted around the leaping flames of the ceremonial fire. Patches of shadow and bright fire darkened and lit up faces distorted by the flames. Sweat poured down the weather beaten leathery bodies and, in the frenzy, unkempt hair swung wildly about their shoulders.
Within the circle twelve men, the elders of the tribe, sat crossed legged forming yet another ring. On the right, sitting on the Counsel Rock, sat Wise One, alone, his eyes closed in deep thought. Hori's eyes focused on the old man, whose back was bent with the burden of time. He was bare to the waist, but his chest glistened in the fire glow, a deathly white with the many bony fragments threaded on a leather thong around his scraggy neck. It was he, and only he, thought Hori, who had the power to stop this revolting rite from taking place. The forthcoming ritual, and the pain etched upon Dula's face haunted Hori. He wished that Wise One was stronger in mind to stop this. He had witnessed and helped with the ceremony of cleansing evil spirits a number of times, but this one was different. It involved Dula, his chosen bride.
For a while he had felt there was something different about Dula. She had been chosen for him, but she was exceptional He couldn't explain it, but whenever he was with her he felt that strange fire in his belly, and whenever they walked together he felt a lightness in his step, and the world seemed a much brighter, happier place. He had asked Wise One about this strange feeling, but he had laughed and said it was the mating feeling, but he didn't understand. The other youths did not speak of such a feeling. Perhaps it was a message from Healing god? All he knew was that this feeling was important to him and somehow it was going to play a part in his life with Dula.
Suddenly he felt that his purpose in life had became a little clearer and he vowed that one-day he would show his people that the Spirits of the Dead were not in charge. Man's defiance over his own destiny was greater than any ivory or stone deity. Man could make things happen if he really wanted them to, and Hori would prove to his tribe that he would do so.
The circle widened once more to allow Kurn, a hefty man, wearing a crude head-dress of whitened bones to enter the circle. Within the circle of elders lay Dula, convulsed in pain, reeling on the ground. Hori looked at the terrified girl and wanted to take her up in his arms, comfort her and carry her away from this place to somewhere safe and warm.
Indicating with his hand, Wise One motioned to Kurn.
‘Medicine-man begin your good work.’
Kurn stepped forward, greed glistened in his eyes, and a toothless grin spread across his thick lips as he stared at Hori. Lifting the screaming Dula high above his shoulders, he made his way through the crowd followed by Wise One, now wearing his ceremonially Chief’s cloak.
Thankfully unconsciousness came quickly for Dula. The crowd, in solemn procession and muttering incoherent chantings, left the bright flickering firelight of the ceremonial ring and trod along an earthen track, across the wooden roadway, through the clearing to the settlement gateway. Here the procession paused for a moment near the bartering stone for the elders to cast down their ceremonial spears before turning left onto the bridge over the river and walking towards Wise One's cave set high in the rock overlooking the settlement.
A row of prized animal skulls, set on wooden stakes, lined the steep pathway to the mouth of the cave. Huge mammoth tusks, a relic from another age, formed the entrance, and wedged between the tusks sat an ivory fertility goddess who cast half-closed eyes down on a now silent crowd.
Kurn paused allowing the old man to make his way to the cave before he threw Dula onto the mattress of dried branches spread upon the boggy ground below. She let out a scream and Hori bit hard on his lip, feeling the pain stab through his own body.
Wise One positioned himself crossed legged outside the cave, and from his elevated position surveyed his kingdom and people before crossing his arms and fixing a trance-like gaze on the sad figure below. For several minutes the crowd shuffled, then settled into a circle around the medicine man. The only sounds were the low moans of the girl and a wild bison howling for a mate in the distance. Then an eerie silence engulfed the valley.
The Chief stood up and raised his hands before offering up words of comfort, then he turned to Kurn, ‘Medicine man you may begin weaving your magic. Rid our sister of this terrible affliction. Release the evil spirits and make her well.’
The crowd shifted in silence and Hori tried to prepare himself for the ceremony that was to follow. He and two other youths stood up and made their way up the pathway and stood before the Chief.
‘Be strong for Dula,’ Wise One whispered to Hori.
‘I will try,’ said Hori.
Wise One, in turn, placed his hands on each youth in blessing; all three turned, and with heads bowed made their way back to the sick girl. The two positioned themselves either side of Dula whilst Hori laid out the stone instruments on a flat boulder that had been covered with the skin of a freshly killed ram.
With head bowed and arms outstretched, Kurn raised his voice. The crowd muttered responses to his words, quietly at first, then rising with each reply until they were at fever pitch. Kurn carefully folded the four corners of the skin holding the implements and held them towards the cave. The old man stood up and with hands outstretched and waving his staff towards the bundle blessed the implements, asking them to be sharp and to do the task well.
Silence fell upon the gathering once more. Hori's stomach churned and he felt vomit collect in his throat, he swallowed hard and shuddered at the vile taste. Sweat moistened his palms and his instincts told him to run away from this shocking scene like some frightened animal in danger of its life, but he couldn't. Dula needed him and he could not desert her. Whatever happened he would be at her side to comfort her. He would remain strong for Dula.
The two young men knelt down and spontaneously seized the head of the demented girl and held it steady. Kurn knelt down and held his upturned hand towards Hori and gave him a lewd grin. Two sets of eyes met and, for a moment, hatred darted between them.
‘Begin. Begin,’ snapped an impatient Kurn. ‘We are all waiting.’
Hori hesitated at first, then handed the medicine man a sharp thin stone, and whispered, ‘Sorry,’ to Dula. Half conscious she recognised his voice and tried to smile at Hori. He felt that glow deep within the pit of his stomach again and wanted to cry.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she mumbled. ‘You are here besides me. That is all that matters. Protect me Hori from these people, and make it more bearable for me.’
Kurn grasped a chunk of Dula's hair in one hand and hacked it off mercilessly with the sharp thin stone. Dula let out a shriek and Hori flinched as though it was his own hair that was being wrenched from his scalp. A patch of skin, about the size of a small fist, was bared. Above the silence could be heard the uncanny rhythm of medicine man's rattling head-dress. Skilfully Kurn scratched off the flesh with yet another polished tool. Hori mopped the sticky red trickle with a pad of dry moss and held it in place for a second. Unknown to Kurn, Hori had crushed the root of the sallow tree into the moss to dull Dula's pain. He felt relieved that at least Kurn was skilled at his work. Now the bone of the skull was exposed. Kurn offered up a prayer to the spirits, asking for forgiveness and to rid Dula of her wicked deeds. As each proceeding blow of the stone struck home Hori winced. Gradually the circular groove became deeper until at last the sharp stone gnawed through the bone and a disc of the skull was loosened. With the aid of a knife of polished stone Kurn prised out the piece of skull. A roar of appreciation rose from the crowd.
Dula's convulsions weakened until they finally stopped and her head flopped motionless to one side. It was only then that the helpers felt able to release their grip.
Kurn jumped up and skipped through and around the crowd, weaving his way back to the sad figure, before dancing out again into the crowd as he performed his distinctive dance of thanksgiving and held the bony disc high above his head. A roar of approval rose from the crowd once more and echoed through the valley.
Dula, deathly pale, lay motionless on the bracken
‘Look she is at peace,’ beamed Kurn as he pointed to the girl. ‘Your great medicine-man has woven his special magic, again. Evil Spirits have left her body. Evil Spirits are at rest,’ chanted the medicine-man to the jubilant crowd.
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