Becoming
He had invited and begged for death but the fire inside his belly, though only fed with the one meager meal a day, kept his legs moving, his heart beating as he fought his way across the snowy terrain. He would show them, show them all that he too was worthy of wearing the honored tattoo of his people. It ate at him, goaded him, forcing his feet to take one more step, and then another. What he would have forsaken to stop the tortuous journey.
The Shield of the White Bear Clan was enshrined in a cave on the Mountain of the Sky God. How would any be able to deny him when he alone returned with such a prize. For would not possessing the shield of the most honored and feared warrior clan show more bravery and cunning than dragging in the hide of their sacred white bear?
This was now the season when the ancestor ruled the world and one stayed close to hearth and family. For howling crying winds and the bitter cold could steal a man’s heart and will to live. No, better to let the ancestors have their time of untendered grief, regret, and rage. They did not discriminate, even with this orphan and his quest. And so he trudged on, falling, floundering, clawing his way across the great white expanse. This was a silence broken only by the howling breath of the ancestors which he now felt as his own.
So many had laughed at him, again and again, pulling his hair, miming his lumbering gait. The hair on his head was not like that of any of his people. He had heard the whispers, of his barren mother making offerings to the Wolf Moon and asking for a child. That the Wolf Moon had given her his own. That he bore the head hair of wolf and man and his gait was because the moon did not have legs to walk.
He made his way to the smoke rising from the hollow and found an underground cave with a hot spring. The water was golden, such as he had never seen. Though refreshing to the skin it’s taste was like a bitter herb. But he had been without drink for two days and his body cried out so he drank his fill. There were green tendrils covered in ripe blue berries hanging down from the earth ceiling.
He had set out when all was covered in snow. Now to see green and vibrant berries brought tears to his eyes and his heart, and then an anger, a blind rage overtook him as he stuffed berry after berry into his mouth. His tears came fast and flooding. The berries tasted sweet, coating and soothing his parched mouth and throat. He thought back to the honey gathering celebrations of his people.
For three days he relished in the berries and warmth of the spring, time enough for his belly to feel full and warmth to return to his bones. Lichen and moss that covered the floor and walls of the small cave clung to his body and he realized it could help insulate him from the biting cold. He rolled naked, looking in wonder at his palms, the place it would not stay.
He reached the cave of the White Bear Clan. Ignoring the sacred signs and totems he entered and took possession of the shield. Choosing to sleep in this place offering some comfort and protection he awoke during the night. Instinctively he grabbed the shield and stood in the cave entrance. The full Wolf Moon above had called to him. But he did not feel fear or gratitude, only rage. He accosted and cursed the Moon as he claimed the White Bear Shield and its power as his own.
As he sought to leave the mountain he found his way blocked, again and again. The only clear path led to a land he did not recognize. Where before there had been snow as far as the eye could see, now there were only steaming bogs of decaying matter. The stench of bad eggs permeated the air, clinging to one’s nostrils and burning the eyes. But he had come so far, the shield was in hand and he knew there would be no return up the mountain. He entered this land of no land. Never knowing if the next step met earth or sent him face first into the stinking putrid black water.
The shield offered protection from the rains and blazing sun but never from the biting winged bugs. Days or weeks, he knew not time and of mind he knew not. No mortal, not even one bearing the White Bear Clan shield could leave the bog as a thinking man. Like an animal one must become to see that journey through.
The scent of green grasses called to him like a bee to nectar. He stumbled and fell to reach the green oasis but once amongst the grasses and firm land that which he had been was no more. In place was a wild man-beast of nature who carried the night spirit wanderers, animals of hunt and prey, the madness of the bog and biting things.
He drew ever nearer from whence he had come, not with thought or intent but as if a memory imprint. He waded then swam the river boundary of his homeland. But when he emerged to the land of his birth the lichen and moss of the spring now clung to him as fur upon his skin and the stench of the bog had become his smell. He could not bring himself to the people as he no longer recognized them as his own. To shadow them as look out crows or ever watchful owls, to avoid them like one hunted. Such was to be his destiny.
The scent of a woman would call to him as his primordial scent called to her. She would take on his ways and bear him children, of man but not, of nature but not true. Sons and daughters who could not of man’s speech speak or think. Destined to live a shadowy life between two worlds, furred, matted, and stinking of that long ago bog. Some of his lineage still wander, scavenging and thriving in the dwindling woods, seeking nothing, in need of nothing except to remain hidden from his brother-man. His brother-man, his now feared hunter.