SABIS the SURVIVOR

Chapter 2: Hall of the Ancients

Chapter 2: Hall of the Ancients

Claris' Mother Maris had been out with the other women gathering stones and passing them along to the collectors, who sort them out and eventually relay the more solid ones to the forgers. The softer stones that tend to break apart under pressure take another path in their utility for the UnderStrata. These more malleable stones are combined with water and other commonly-found minerals. Then this mixture is heated and molded to shape it into weapon handles for blades or spears. As well, this blend of muddy soft stone is often formed into pots for cooking soups or stews and conduits that transport water to and from family units for drinking or washing.

When Maris returned to her family unit, she embraced Claris with a warm hug.

"Claris, you received a bundle today so I placed it under your bedding. Did you find it?"

"Yes Mamya, thank you. It was from the Elders. They want an audience with me at the Hall of the Ancients."

"Oh, Claris. That usually means that they have a plan for you. When a warrior boy turns sixteen and a girl turns eighteen, the Elders have the option of sending that warrior on a mission for the tribe. What do you think their plans for you could be?"

"Well, they gave me an armour vest. So that most likely means that they want to send me on a mission that involves some risk of injury."

Claris then showed Maris the vest and the note.

"Claris, is this what you want to do? Go away on a dangerous mission?"

"I'm not sure Mamya. If I leave the caves then I could study the plants, flowers, and trees in more detail. I'm also curious to know if I'm made of the "right stones". Also, with the plague that has seen our warriors passing into the stone, there is no time to dither when it comes to the health of our tribe. I would rather save our tribe from this mysterious illness instead of relaxing in a steam bath or basking in the heat of the fire caves. Those luxuries can wait until after we secure a cure for our tribe or at least find a new and perhaps safer and affliction-free community shelter with a viable heat source so that our tribe can live comfortably."

Claris' speech made Maris' insides quiver─her heart raced with anxiety and her smile beamed with enormous pride for her warrior daughter's tribal allegiance. Restoring her usual reserved demeanour, she calmed herself with a slow and deep breath while bringing her two palms to her mouth and nose then exhaled into her cupped palms. More relaxed, she let her palms fall naturally to her sides then circled them in opposite directions while meditating on letting go of anxiety.

"Claris, please be careful. If the Elders send you on a mission that involves risking your life, then promise me that you will protect yourself with all of your skills and stones."

"I will Mamya. You have my word as a stone thrower and as your daughter."

"Here Claris, wear this hairpin that I was able to recover from one of the forgers who had traded it to a collector."

"Thank you Mamya. I love you and by all the goodness of Mother Earth, I will return to you as soon as I can."

Claris walked past the carving on the outside of her home cave, 'Yalom' which translated into English meant diamond. Her Father had descended from a long line of Tungus tribe members named Diamond. But beyond that fact, she knew little of her family history─who her ancestors and their descendants were, where they lived before they made the caves their homes and the stories, legends, and myths that were associated with them.

Silence disturbed Claris. She preferred to hear the clink of the forgers as they chiseled gemstones into useful tools and honed obsidian stones into sharp blades. She also preferred to hear Mother Earth's raw and candid emanations like the wind howling at her when she ventured out of the caves on her botanical-finding expeditions. Along the path to the ritual hunting grounds, she would imagine the wind carrying Mother Earth's voice to her ears and penetrating her warrior shield to find a home in her heart. Then she would softly mutter, "From your loving embrace, I am ready to trace a path from your origins in the fire to the last ashes of your bones found in my pyre. Let it be."