LEANORE By "Heck" Comments to heck@beadyeye.net CHAPTER TWO "I DON'T WANT to be a hunter!" Leanore sat on a low stool while Usan, her mother, attended to her wounds. The initial bleeding had been staunched by the application of a coagulant balm in the field. The older woman was tall and majestic, carrying herself with a regal bearing befitting the headwoman of the Eople. Her strong fingers worked the healing paste, made from finely ground roots and herbs that had an antiseptic and astringent effect, deep into the eight long gouges in her daughter's back. She was satisfied that the wounds would heal without any lasting effects. They would leave scars, but that was no problem. They would be the honourable marks of a huntress who had proved herself against the greatest predator of the plains. "Hush, now", Usan told her daughter. "It is your destiny. Both your father and I were hunters, and he would have wanted you to carry on the tradition. I would still be a hunter myself, if not for my responsibilities as headwoman". "Yes, but you don't understand". Leanore's voice held just a trace of childish petulance, even though she was on the verge of becoming a woman. "I want to work with the metal. I always wanted to". "Well, that's all right. You can do that too. You know that the hunters mostly have other interests; they don't hunt every day. Most of our meat comes from the cattle, these days, and meat from the hunt is just a supplement, for variety. But as my daughter you have to hunt. You will be expected to lead the hunt one day. But that doesn't mean you can't work with the metal as well. Lift your arm so I can get to this one under your shoulder". Leanore did as she was bidden, and Usan could not help but admire the smooth play of well-developed muscle under her daughter's skin. She's turning out to be a beautiful woman, she thought. She's much stronger than I was, at her age, and so muscular. Yet she's completely womanly, and so lovely. She will turn some heads, when she turns out for her ritual. The headwoman worked the last of the paste into the gash. The ointment stung like a dozen wasps but, apart from an occasional hiss of indrawn breath, Leanore bore it with patient stoicism. Usan was proud of Leanore's bravery, but the worst was yet to come. "Time to close up the wounds", she explained. "I'll put some datura ointment on your skin first, but it's still going to hurt like hell. Do you want something to bite on?" Leanore shook her head. "Just be quick, Mother, and I'll be all right". Usan applied the numbing ointment liberally around each wound, leaving the preparation to take effect for a few minutes. While she was waiting, she took out a slender needle, made from a splinter of gazelle leg bone, and a length of sinew pounded until it formed thin but quite stiff strands. "Are you looking forward to your womanhood ritual?" Usan made light conversation to distract the young woman from what was coming. "Yes, I suppose I am". Leanore's brows gathered as she looked at her mother. "But I'm not really sure what's expected of me. I've been to the rituals of other girls, but only to join in the singing and dancing". Usan smoothed Leanore's brow with a tender hand. "Don't worry", she smiled. "It'll be wonderful. The Shaman will explain everything well beforehand, but never forget it's your night and, with luck, a night you'll always remember. Good memories. And, who knows, you might even find a husband. All the young men will be lining up to be chosen". "I don't want a husband. Not for a long time" "You don't have to choose one", Usan said, threading a length of sinew through the eye of the needle. "But you must choose one young man. For your opening". "I don't know if I like the sound of that!" "You'll be fine. If you choose carefully, and select a man that will be considerate, it'll be wonderful. The most wonderful thing you can imagine. Now, are you ready?" Leanore nodded. "As I'll ever be. Let's get it over with". Usan pinched up the skin at each side of the longest wound, and firmly drove the needle right through, drawing the sinew behind it. Almost before Leanore had time to clench her teeth to stifle the cry of pain that rose unbidden to her lips, the headwoman tied off the thread, drawing the edges of the wound together. Working quickly and efficiently, Usan kept on going to get the job finished with as rapidly as she culd, minimising the pain she inflicted on the young flesh. She applied about a dozen stitches to each wound, leaving neat lines which she dressed with linen bandages. At the end of the operation Leanore was sweating and panting heavily, feeling quite dizzy from the pain but quite proud of the fact that she had avoided crying out. Usan took her in her strong arms and embraced her gently. "Well done", she said quietly. "I'm proud of you. Go to bed, now, and rest up. You have five days until your ritual; you may still be a little stiff, but there will be hardly any pain. "Tomorrow, you will go see the Shaman, and she'll take you through the ceremony. Then you'll stay with her until your night. You won't be able to see anyone, so if there's anything you need to say to anyone, think about it and see them before you go into seclusion". "I will". Leanore rose stiffly to her feet and made her sore way over to the low pallet that was her bed. "Goodnight, Mother". * Out on the darkening plain, an agile serval cat hunted through the long grass. His beautifully spotted coat made him almost invisible among the variegated vegetation, and he moved smoothly on long, well sprung legs. Huge ears radared, seeking out small prey by the tiny sounds they made. He pounced, and the life of some small rodent ended with a brief squeak. Nighttime on the savannah was deeply dark, but never quiet. Chirping cicadas zithered in the scrub and the darkness was disrupted by the low rumblings of grazing elephant, the maniacal laughter of hyenas, or the log-sawing crescendo of a roaring lion. Inside the thorn boma that surrounded the village, young boys listened to the cacophony of night-sounds while they watched over the cattle, alert to any threat to their bovine charges. They were feeling frustrated, tonight, because by reason of their young age, they were excluded from the coming celebrations. The huts were arranged in a semicircle around a central area. In the very middle, casting a ring of orange light, a fire blazed, illuminating the circle of dancers. Young men and women moved up and down, back and forth, in unison, stiff torcs bouncing at their throats. The women were dressed in plain sarongs, their hair and faces undecorated. The men were resplendent in multicoloured outfits, tied back to reveal their genitals for inspection. Red ochre had been rubbed into their hair and their facial tattoos were highlighted with white paint. It was their night too, in a way, and each vied with the others to present himself as favourably as possible, all hoping to catch the eye of the headwoman's beautiful daughter. At the widest part of the arc, a row of musicians played a wide variety of drums, gourds, and flutes, keeping a steady rhythm for the dance. Alongside them, the village elders sat together, and in their centre Usan sat on a low bench, just sufficiently high to raise her above her peers so that all could see and recognise her status. The dancers chanted in time to the music, now, many of them entering a trance-like state as a result of too many calabashes of beer, brewed by fermenting milk and grains together. The undulating torcs moved in a mesmerising rhythm, their colourful beading flashing as they caught the firelight. The drums grew louder and more urgent, and the dancing more frantic, rising to a staccato climax, driving the dancers to greater and greater efforts, leaping high in the air, pogoing forward and back as their chants grew louder. With a suddenness that was almost shocking, the musicians fell silent and the dancers came to an abrupt halt. It was as if they had all reacted to a hidden signal, and the sudden silence was nearly deafening. As one, the Eople turned to face their headwoman. Usan rose elegantly to her feet, her lovely face blessing them with a radiant smile. She made a striking figure in her lion skin robe, tall and strong, highlighted by the glow from the fire. Wordlessly, she extended an arm, directing their attention to the hut next to hers, the second largest of the buildings. Like a single entity, all eyes followed her pointing finger. A vividly striped zebra hide hung across the doorway. The skin of the striped equine was held to have great spiritual power and no other hut had such a screen at its door. This could only be the home of the Shaman. With immaculate timing, just enough to let anticipation develop but before impatience set in, the hide was dramatically flung aside and the Shaman stepped forth. N'Drea was an old, old woman. Nobody knew how old she was, or could remember a time when she hadn't been the Shaman. To the young, she seemed as old as the sky, older than the very savannah itself. Yet she carried herself with grace and poise, rock-steady on her feet and as nimble and sprightly as a woman a third of her age. Spraddle-legged, she danced toward the crowd, shaking a bead-covered gourd whose rattle banished evil spirits from the village. She was clad in leopard skin and wore a large shield shaped mask that covered her entire head. It was a fabulous creation made of stiff leather, painted with a daemonic expression, decorated with monkey hair and fringed with wildebeest mane. She shook her rattle in the faces of the watchers, blessing each of them in turn, before turning to the headwoman and elders. She bent low from the waist, chanting an abjuration to the spirits and sprinkling salt, a valuable commodity, at their feet. An ululating cry escaped her throat as she spun on a heel, flinging out her hands toward her own hut. An expectant hush fell on the crowd. Backlit by the bright oil lamps within the hut, a figure appeared in the doorway. Tall and proud, it paused long enough to intrigue before stepping forward into the circle of firelight. Leanore wore a short skirt of woven rushes ornamented by cunning designs of interwoven coloured beads. She was naked from the waist up, her firm young breasts exposed to the night air and highlighted by the red glow of the fire. A heavy cape of ostrich feathers hung from her wide shoulders and a circle of lion's mane, taken from the lion she had killed, encircled her beautiful face. The triple row of newly tattooed dots above her right eye had been picked out in white, and even N'Drea had to admit she was a stunning sight. Collective gasps and murmurs issued from the young men as the lovely vision was paraded before them, N'Drea inviting their scrutiny and approval with silent gestures. At last, Leanore came to a stop, facing her mother and the council of elders, with the Shaman by her side. "Eople!" N'Drea's voice was slightly muffled by the mask but strong and quite clear as she addressed the council with words that were for all to hear. "I present Leanore, Daughter of Usan, Slayer of the Lion. She has studied well this last sevenday, and has proved herself in the hunt. She is ready to face her womanhood, and I commend her to you. Is it your wish that the ritual should proceed?" As tradition demanded, Usan and the council bent their heads together, superficially debating the Shaman's request. Any one of the Eople could object to Leanore's admission to adulthood, and there was always a moment of tension just in case. Leanore struggled to keep her face serene, determined not to allow her nervousness to show. No one would object. Would they? No one did. Usan rose to her feet, a commanding figure in the flickering light. She paused for a long moment before speaking. "There is no objection". Her bell-like voice carried to every part of the settlement. Even the boys tending the cattle could hear. "Let it be known that Leanore, Daughter of Usan, Slayer of the Lion, may be admitted to the society of women. As headwoman, I am proud to welcome such a brave hunter to the Eople". Her voice softened a little. "And as a mother, I am proud to have such a fine and beautiful woman as my daughter". A huge cheer rose from the throats of the assembly, turning into high, warbling cries as the Eople expressed their approval. Usan's lips curved in a wide smile, showing strong and even white teeth as she held out her arms to her daughter. Relaxing visibly, Leanore stepped into the embrace and the two women hugged each other fiercely. They were a heart-warming sight. Two tall and strong women, the daughter already the taller and stronger, clasped in each others arms, the older woman full of love and pride, the younger overwhelmed by excitement and happiness. They remained locked together for a long minute. Then Usan gently pushed her daughter away and held her at arm's length. "It's time". She would have whispered for privacy, but there was no need. Her voice could not be heard over the exultation of the audience. "Make your choice, and choose well. Remember, this is for your opening, and you're not looking for a husband, unless you want to. But you should choose a man who matches your ideal as closely as possible. He doesn't have to be of high status, but he should be a brave and honourable man". She smiled. "I will accept nothing less. Now go". Leanore nodded and turned away. The crowd fell silent, knowing that her time had come. The young men, all having achieved manhood in their own right, lined up for her inspection. Some were shy and nervous, while others held their heads proudly high, smiling and openly flirtatious. Some adopted a posture with hips thrust forward, emphasising their manhood. Leanore thought these were frankly just silly. "Your womanhood ritual only comes once", N'Drea had told her, during that long week in her hut. "You only have one First Time. Enjoy it. But you would be doing everyone a favour if you made a bit of a show of it. Give it a sense of occasion. Everybody likes to see a show". The old woman's words came back to her now, as she took off her feathered cloak and handed it to her mother before approaching the expectant line-up. The butterflies were doing acrobatics in her stomach as she came near, and she swallowed hard. Make a show of it, indeed! Well, she would try. Leanore walked up and down the line like a general inspecting his troops. Some of the youths actually pulled themselves up straight as she passed, and she could not suppress a wry smile as a ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. Oh, well. Why not? She began to play the role in earnest, now. She prodded some men, testing their muscle tone, and made a big show of inspecting the testicles of some others. She took the head of one in her large hands and peeled back his lips, examining his teeth and peering at the clarity of his eye. She felt the biceps of another, making a sympathetic face as she flexed her own iron- hard and round muscle. She felt it and, finding it to be much harder than that of the young man, shook her head wryly. The crowd loved it, and laughed openly as she hammed it up for their entertainment. There was one young man. He had been on the lion hunt, and Leanore had noticed him about the village. His name was Tanley, a lithe and muscular youth who had killed a leopard on his own hunt, and who was widely admired by the women. He had taken special care with his costume and face paint, and Leanore had noticed him on her first pass down the line. He met her gaze boldly, and there was electricity in the intensity of his stare. Having played to the crowd as much as she needed, or wanted, to, Leanore stood back and bowed to them all, giving the traditional thanks for their efforts and patience. Then she walked right up to Tanley and took his hand, drawing him forward a pace or two. "Let it be known that Leanore chooses Tanley for her opening!", N'Drea announced, leading them forth to stand before the headwoman. Usan smiled warmly as she laid a hand on each of their heads, signalling her approval. The crowed roared their approval, and relaxed into a steady, low chant and began to dance as she led him away. The drummers joined in and, as the pair disappeared hand in hand from the ring of light, they set up a rhythmic accompaniment to the feasting and celebration that would last throughout the night as a backdrop to the joyous experience the two would share.