journey, and teach you the ways of the warrior, but the journey is yours to travel, and so you must do it alone.”
It wasn’t the answer that Hunter was waiting to hear. “No, I can’t,” he protested. “There is danger, Alistair said. I don’t know how to fight it.”
“We will teach you.”
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Then your father will perish.”
The words jolted Hunter like a slap in the face. “Please,” he said, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. “I don’t know how.”
“First, you must become a man.”
Oh, ho, ho, hey, ya, ya, ho, ho, yo, yo…
Hunter wasn’t sure if the ritual had started yet or not. There were already dancers around the campfire, chanting, but he was not yet prepared. He still wasn’t sure what all of the preparations would entail, but so far he’d stripped off his clothes to don a loincloth. Short as it was, he had feathers tied in his hair, and now was being painted. Not just face paint, either. His entire body was being covered. He wasn’t sure, but he’d swear at one point he heard the words “war paint” from Mikey, but then he disappeared and left Hunter alone with his new ‘friends’ again.
Bright blue, red, green, and yellow stripes now adorned his arms, legs, chest, back, and face. He was attended to by four large, scary-looking men similarly painted. He barely recognized the elders from their meeting in the teepee earlier. They were now covered in paint, as well. Their faces showed no emotion whatsoever, their expressions solemn, stoic, and hard. Two men held Hunter’s arms out straight inside the teepee, while the other two chanted in circles, painting his body as they moved. Twirling around, arms outstretched like giant birds, the two dancers alternately hopped from foot to foot, crouching then rising as they spun. With each turn, they would swipe another color. When they finished, the chanting and painting stopped. The four stood tall, admiring their handiwork. The teepee was crowded with all five of them.
“Are we done?” Hunter asked.
“Almost,” the elder of the group said. Hunter heard Mikey call him Raging Bull. Stepping out of the teepee, followed by the other three, he returned a moment later with a large animal skull. It was the head of a very large deer, antlers and all. The elder Indian reached forward to place it on Hunter’s head.
“Oh, whoa! No, no, no,” he protested.
“Must,” Raging Bull said. “The Rite of Manhood will not be complete without it.”
“But why do I need to wear it?”
“You must become one with nature… one with the animal. Must learn to see good from evil. Must see what the animal sees. See how evil sees.” Raging Bull approached again and lifted the huge head over the top of Hunter’s.
And smell what the animal smells, too , he thought, holding back his gag reflex. And I thought Mikey stank.
Raging Bull and the others stepped back to admire their handiwork. Nodding their approval, they turned to step out of the teepee and into the camp with their tribesmen.
Hunter followed. He felt like a complete idiot but, if this would help him find his father, then he would do it.
Chapter 8: Victory
vic·to·ry noun \ˈvik-t (ə -)rē\ plural vic·to·ries
achievement of mastery or success in a struggle or endeavor against odds or difficulties
Hunter emerged from the teepee, antlers and all, into the bright mid-afternoon light. The giant buck head shielded his eyes from the sun, but also blocked his view. He could see a lot of people around, but couldn’t tell how many or who they were. The only sound he recognized was the giggling from the girls. From the view that he caught through the droopy eye sockets in the skull he was wearing, it seemed as though the entire tribe was here. Hunter wasn’t sure if it was to support him or to condemn him, but he had no choice. He had to move on. Young girls giggled on all sides of him. He felt his skin turn red inside the
It wasn’t the answer that Hunter was waiting to hear. “No, I can’t,” he protested. “There is danger, Alistair said. I don’t know how to fight it.”
“We will teach you.”
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
“Then your father will perish.”
The words jolted Hunter like a slap in the face. “Please,” he said, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. “I don’t know how.”
“First, you must become a man.”
Oh, ho, ho, hey, ya, ya, ho, ho, yo, yo…
Hunter wasn’t sure if the ritual had started yet or not. There were already dancers around the campfire, chanting, but he was not yet prepared. He still wasn’t sure what all of the preparations would entail, but so far he’d stripped off his clothes to don a loincloth. Short as it was, he had feathers tied in his hair, and now was being painted. Not just face paint, either. His entire body was being covered. He wasn’t sure, but he’d swear at one point he heard the words “war paint” from Mikey, but then he disappeared and left Hunter alone with his new ‘friends’ again.
Bright blue, red, green, and yellow stripes now adorned his arms, legs, chest, back, and face. He was attended to by four large, scary-looking men similarly painted. He barely recognized the elders from their meeting in the teepee earlier. They were now covered in paint, as well. Their faces showed no emotion whatsoever, their expressions solemn, stoic, and hard. Two men held Hunter’s arms out straight inside the teepee, while the other two chanted in circles, painting his body as they moved. Twirling around, arms outstretched like giant birds, the two dancers alternately hopped from foot to foot, crouching then rising as they spun. With each turn, they would swipe another color. When they finished, the chanting and painting stopped. The four stood tall, admiring their handiwork. The teepee was crowded with all five of them.
“Are we done?” Hunter asked.
“Almost,” the elder of the group said. Hunter heard Mikey call him Raging Bull. Stepping out of the teepee, followed by the other three, he returned a moment later with a large animal skull. It was the head of a very large deer, antlers and all. The elder Indian reached forward to place it on Hunter’s head.
“Oh, whoa! No, no, no,” he protested.
“Must,” Raging Bull said. “The Rite of Manhood will not be complete without it.”
“But why do I need to wear it?”
“You must become one with nature… one with the animal. Must learn to see good from evil. Must see what the animal sees. See how evil sees.” Raging Bull approached again and lifted the huge head over the top of Hunter’s.
And smell what the animal smells, too , he thought, holding back his gag reflex. And I thought Mikey stank.
Raging Bull and the others stepped back to admire their handiwork. Nodding their approval, they turned to step out of the teepee and into the camp with their tribesmen.
Hunter followed. He felt like a complete idiot but, if this would help him find his father, then he would do it.
Chapter 8: Victory
vic·to·ry noun \ˈvik-t (ə -)rē\ plural vic·to·ries
achievement of mastery or success in a struggle or endeavor against odds or difficulties
Hunter emerged from the teepee, antlers and all, into the bright mid-afternoon light. The giant buck head shielded his eyes from the sun, but also blocked his view. He could see a lot of people around, but couldn’t tell how many or who they were. The only sound he recognized was the giggling from the girls. From the view that he caught through the droopy eye sockets in the skull he was wearing, it seemed as though the entire tribe was here. Hunter wasn’t sure if it was to support him or to condemn him, but he had no choice. He had to move on. Young girls giggled on all sides of him. He felt his skin turn red inside the
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