The Clan of Five Fingers Chapter 1

                                      The Clan of Five Fingers
                                              Chapter 1
                                              Blood Day


The rain poured down in an unending stream as though an invisible hand was drawing great watery curtains across the darkened sky. Rolling mounds of luscious green trees dominated the landscape in every direction. But today, as on every day, ominous sky and carpeted land strived for mastery. The sheets of rain fought in vain to deny the lands existence to the observing eye.

Ever so slightly the grayness began to lighten as the vast thunderheads continued their westward campaign. Eventually, as they always did, the clouds separated, revealing a brightening morning sky. The sunshine rebounded off billions of tiny droplets which danced among the trees, and turned the landscape into a myriad of prismatic colors.  In the distance a portion of the great Erin River shone silver and orange as it snaked its way through jungle valleys; pressing towards the Antion Sea.

As the clouds departed the green land began to awaken, revealing more of the roiling green which stretched to the horizon. Since the rain had ceased, the jungles inhabitants flooded the ear with a cacophony of sound. Multi-colored birds of all descriptions began flittering about from tree to tree, chirping and calling as they went. Some were hi pitched and earnest, wile others sounded long and mournful. This blended with the deep moaning wail and throaty calls of an occasional monkey. The insects provided a constant buzzing and clattering that made up an unending back drop of sound, bereft of individuality. 

A flock of parrots breached the canopy, painting the green landscape with a rainbow of color in their flight. One parrot split from the rest. Dropping towards the trees, it plunged through them like a pelican diving through waves. It glided through the jungle until it landed on a branch in a flurry of red and blue. Side stepping back and forth along the branch to find just the right spot, it ruffled its feathers and preened in the shower that still drained from the leaves above. Flinging water in every direction, it squawked in celebration.

Annoyed, a chameleon inched away slowly, hand over hesitant hand; his one eye lazily reprimanded the parrot for displacing him from his bath, while the other eye darted about, watching for any new invaders from above.

Satisfied with his small victory the parrot left the branch which rebounded at his departure. Gliding downward, apparently the parrot felt obligated to insure that everything else in the forest was just as awake and happy as he was since he made as much noise as possible along the way. He streaked by a curious construction for this part of the forest. It was a stairway that had been erected; beginning at the forest floor and winding its way round and round an immense grey barked Pinar tree.

A dark skinned barrel-chested man who was laboring up the stairs paused briefly at a landing to catch his breath and watch the noisy parrot swoop by. It was a familiar site to him since he had lived in the jungle his entire life, and yet he still marveled at the sight. The man had long, straight, jet black hair which he wore in a top knot bound by a leather cord. He wore a life-like wood carving of a snake around his neck and a well made leather skirt and matching sandals secured by straps around his ankles. His body was slicked from the rain and sweat from his ascent. His name was Alar, and he was the Spirit guide for his village. He was one of the tree dwellers; a people who called themselves the Han.

As the parrot disappeared, Alar inhaled deeply, and then silently cursed himself for building his home so high in the trees years ago, when his legs still had their spring. It was believed by some that Pinar trees, like the one he was ascending, were so gigantic that they must have been placed there to hold up the sky. As he had grown older, and a little wiser, Alar had simply concluded the trees were really just impractically tall.

“Anok! Anok!” He called as he continued his climb “Elom!” He shouted.

Where are those boys?

Anok and Elom were his twin sons who had turned seventeen on this very day, their Blood Day, and yet they were overdue for the ceremony. Catching his breath, he continued up the next section of stairs, and the one after, and the one after, with no sign of his sons.

As Alar finished his 200 span climb a sense of satisfaction swelled within him. He stood upon an expansive deck that served as the common area for the family. It ran completely around the main trunk of the tree and was supported by its many branches. A railing circled the deck with flower and vegetable bearing vines entwined around it. In the center of the deck stood an elaborately carved table which he had made with his own hands. Large enough to seat a dozen people, its legs were intricately carved to look like vines and jungle flowers. There were chairs to match, with jungle creatures carved into them that looked almost alive.

His home was made up of several buildings which spread out among the limbs of the Pinar tree. These buildings were connected by stairs and plank walkways which converged where he now stood. He had built many structures, planning for a large family like the others, but as fate would have it he had only had two sons. There were dozens of similar family dwellings nearby, making up one of the larger Han villages.

Turning left he headed for what could best be described as a kitchen. He ran his hand down one of the smooth awning supports as he ducked beneath it. The support was carved to look like a snake wrapped around a limb. This had been the first building he had made all those years ago, and at one time where he and his wife had slept. As he entered now it looked nothing like it had before. A clay lined brick hearth dominated one wall where a fire could be built to heat the Kettles hanging on their steel frame. But there was no fire there now as he had expected. The opposite wall had been removed entirely and replaced by a water wheel fed by rain water from a cistern which could be opened and closed according to need. There was a stone lined oven for baking and a simpler table in the center for preparing meals. Shelves lined another wall with various spices and food stuffs. Much of the thatch covered roof could be lifted with the use of poles and pulleys to ventilate some of the heat from cooking. His sons were not here eating their breakfast as he had expected.

Agitated now, he left the kitchen and stood outside with his hands on his hips.

“Anok! Elom!” He shouted.

A clattering on the deck drew his attention. A wrinkled Callop nut was spinning to a stop at his feet and then another nut bounced off the deck to his left. Puzzled, he looked up thinking it strange that a Callop nut would fall from above when the shrubs they grew on were far below on the forest floor.

Then one struck him in the back of the head, and not softly. Laughter erupted behind him. He cursed loudly as he spun around to see his twin sons Anok and Elom standing on a limb above the kitchen. They were near mirror images of each other. Each stood six feet tall and had skin and hair to match their father, even to the top knot that each of them wore. Elom (Younger of the two) was tossing a nut up and down in his hand with a big white toothed smile on his face.

Elom elbowed his brother playfully. “What’s happened to the eyes in the back of his head?” Elom asked, just as Alar was about to protest.

“I wonder if he’s finally gone blind.” Anok replied, feigning concern.

“You dare to speak of me as though I can’t hear?” Alar yelled.

“Oh no Father. We know you can hear just fine. It’s your sight that has us worried.” Elom rebutted.

Anok laughed in approval. “Careful brother, we don’t want to make him angry.”

“Oh you’re too late for that boy.” Alar said as he picked up a staff where it leaned against the central trunk of the tree.

“How fitting that it is your Blood Day. Today I shall give you your last beating as boys, and when you return I shall be pleased to give you your first beating as men!” He waved the staff threateningly.

The brothers laughed together. Tossing the nut at his father to distract him, Elom jumped from the limb to an overhead vine. He swung above Alar to a nearby deck where he picked up a bow. Anok took a more direct approach. He whirled his staff in front of him in a show of force and did a front flip in the air. He landed lightly on his feet and fell into a summersault below his fathers poorly timed swing. Continuing at a run he lunged down the stairs four at a time with his father not far behind. Anok swung under the handrail out onto a supporting branch. Just before he made it though, he got a crack on the top of his head from his father’s staff.

“Run brother! “ Elom called from above, laughing.

Anok balanced easily on the limb that was more than a foot wide. This was a commonly seen maneuver among the Han who were just as adept at fighting in the trees as they were on the ground. Naturally the younger Han who had not yet discovered mortality were a bit more daring in their stunts. Anok was the most reckless among them.

Running along the branches length and rubbing his wounded head along the way, Anok launched himself into the air. He caught a vine with one hand, which swung forward with his momentum. He wrapped his legs around it and spiraled down to another landing nearly 100 spans below. At the bottom, he still retained his staff in the other hand. He waved up at Alar insolently.

Cursing, and shaking his head in disbelief, Alar maneuvered down the stairs which ran around the base of the tree twice before he reached the landing where Anok had landed. A plank and rope bridge extended from there to a neighboring dwelling in a tree about a stones throw away. The bridge allowed two men to walk comfortably side by side. The Han village was full of such bridges which kept people connected not only on the ground but also in the canopies above.

Anok stood in the center of the bridge with his staff held horizontally before him. He was trying to hide a smile which grated on Alar’s nerves. Alar had taught him everything he knew, but Anok possessed skill beyond his years which gave him an insufferable ego; an ego that could only be diminished by his brother’s merciless humor.

Alar advanced across the bridge until only a few paces separated them.  He matched his son’s formal stance, but Anok’s suppressed smile was infectious. Alar grinned.  He cartweeled his staff almost lazily in front of him as if testing it.

“A good day is it not?” Alar said, as he looked at his son expectantly.

“It is Father.” Anok said as he matched the movement and returned the smile.

Alar bowed his head and said “Begin.”

The two combatants instantly crouched into a sparring stance, but just as they stepped towards each other, an arrow struck a plank where Alar was about to place his foot. An instant later another arrow missed the toe of Anok’s forward foot by a hair. Both men leapt back reflexively; eyes searching for their attackers.  The all too familiar laugh of Elom, whom they had forgotten, eased any fear of an attack. Together they looked up and there was Elom, standing on a platform high above them. He already had another arrow knocked in his bow, but it was not drawn.

“You son of a Drennen dirt digger!” Alar Bellowed. “You almost skewered my foot!”

“My apologies.” Elom bowed. “But I didn’t want Anok to whip you before I had a good spot to watch!” He chuckled.

“Ha! When I finish your brother here, you had better be too far away for me to catch boy!” Alar yelled.

Elom shouldered his bow, bowed theatrically and then swung on a vine to a deck closer to the match.

Inwardly Alar wondered how Elom had loosed two arrows so impossibly fast. “And even knocked a third!” he thought. “The first shot might have been luck, but not the second...” That kind of skill, he knew, could not be taught. Elom practically slept with that bow.

Chuckling to himself and shaking his head Alar turned back to face Anok who had picked that exact moment for an attack. Alar ducked instinctively, narrowly avoiding a swing at his head that would have left him seeing stars. He angled his staff in time to deflect another blow to his midsection with a loud “clack” where the two staves met. They paused momentarily, with their staves centered and pressed together. Neither man giving way.

“I wasn’t ready boy!” Alar scolded.

“Not so, Father. You said ‘Begin’.” Anok laughed as he shoved himself away and stepped back a few paces. Elom clapped and whistled his approval nearby.

Alar went on the attack. This time backing Anok on his heals with a series of blurring moves that kept his son guessing. At first Anok could only duck and weave, occasionally deflecting a blow here and there. Alar hoped to overwhelm Anok for a quick win, but his hopes were soon dashed as Anok managed to settle into their usual rhythm. The forest began to echo with the steady “clack clack” of staves as the two matched each other stroke and thrust, neither yielding to the other. Time seemed to lose itself in the minds of the two men.

Father and son dodged and fainted, cracked a knuckle or bruised a rib, and all the while they laughed encouragingly whenever a clever move left a mark upon the other. Their blows were not deadly of course, but they would certainly feel them in the coming days. Their bodies shone with sweat as the heat of the jungle settled upon them like a sodden blanket. As the morning wore on a crowd of villagers gathered. Attracted by the sounds of battle, they watched from neighboring decks, the branches of trees, and the forest floor. Young and old alike came out to enjoy the show.

Soon there were cheers for the two showmen as if the bridge they occupied had become a stage. True to form, Elom began working the crowd, swinging from tree to tree, whipping the audience into a frenzy. The villagers slapped Elom on the back companionably, and congratulated him as if he had orchestrated the show. The residents of the village loved the twins. Anok and Elom had been adopted by a hundred mothers since the throws of child birth had taken theirs. The men admired their skill and pointed to them as examples for their boys to follow. Elom was watched with more scrutiny by the mothers however, as he was shameless prankster and trouble maker.

There was a lull in the fighting and the two performers paused to catch their breath. Sweat pored from their bodies, and their hair laid slick against their neck and back.

“Oh come on Alar, you’re not going to let the youngster beat you on his Blood Day are you?” A man called from above.

“It’s against tradition.” Scolded another.

Alar’s chest was heaving and a slight wheeze could be detected as he dropped his staff and bent over with his hands on his hips. He glanced at his detractors covertly. Anok stole the moment to suck discretely on his bleeding knuckles which his father had deliberately targeted.

“What’s the matter Alar? You’re not winded already are you?” A huge villager named Ornik laughed from the end of the bridge.

From a man that used a pulley system to hoist his blubberous body into the trees, whose barrel chest had turned to flab long ago, this challenge seemed a bit hypocritical. Although Ornik was a senior member on the inter village council, Alar was about to put him in his place with a carefully crafted insult but Anok interrupted his thoughts.

“Maybe you should rest a little Father. I wouldn’t want to injure you.” Anok said seriously.

Tired but amused, Alar stood up straight, rolled his shoulders a few times and cracked his back. Hekicked his staff into his outstretched hand and growled. “I can keep this up for hours.”

Anok looked surprised and a little disheartened that he had not worn the stubborn man out. He was about to advance when the rope railing of the bridge they were standing on suddenly collapsed on either side. The bridge became very unstable with the loss of the railing and its vertical supports. Each man had to crouch and spread their legs wide as the bridge began to twist and flex. Looking back Anok saw his brother holding a small hatchet with a big grin on his face with several companions similarly armed. Alar noticed them at about the same time and tried to shuffle past Anok to get to them, but he was too late. Elom laughed, waved goodbye, and buried his hatchet into a rope supporting the walkway portion of the bridge. His companions matched him on the other support. A few more quick chops, and Anok and Alar suddenly found them selves with nothing to stand on.

As luck would have it, this particular bridge spanned a deep pool of water that was fed by one of the many streams that crept through the forest in search of the Erin River. They barely had time to yelp before they hit the water. Alar reached the surface first. Actually it was his outstretched and shaking fist that came up first, followed by a spluttering bellow.

“When I catch you, I’ll have your skin!” He struggled to get his wet hair out of his face so he could see where Elom was.

“Elom if you don’t get down here now I’m going to skin you alive!” He finally yelled in frustration.

Anok who had come up beside him glanced oddly at his father.

“Sounds like he is skinned either way.” He chuckled.

Alar smiled at his own stupidity, splashed at Anok and started swimming towards shore. Anok followed. Even though they had landed in water, their fall had been from quite a height. Each of them had felt the stinging impact of the water as they hit. They didn’t swim quickly.

People were running to the banks of the pool from every direction. Some of them looked concerned, thinking that maybe Elom had taken things a bit too far this time, but most of the village was in hysterics. People were slapping each other on the back and hooting and pointing at the two combatants turned swimmers. Surely this event would be told and retold for many years to come at village gatherings. Elom and his coconspirators must have double-timed it, for they had shoved their way to the front of the crowd by the time their victims reached the shore. The looks on their faces said they were indifferent to the dangers of their prank, and extremely proud of themselves. There was no sign of remorse, or their axes.

Friendly villagers reached out to the men and pulled them to dry ground. Elom tried to melt backward into the crowd, looking back and forth at his father and brother, attempting to gauge their reactions. A look passed between Anok and Alar, and Elom turned and tried to press through the crowd, but the wall of villagers pressed together and he didn’t get far. Without a word they both lunged at Elom. Anok caught Elom by the legs as he Alar bear hugged him off the ground. Elom’s protests were ignored as they carried him the short distance to the water. The villager’s cheers drowned out something Elom yelled about the bow strings he carried not being properly waxed. It was of no consequence. Elom found himself sailing through the air and landing with a splash.

When he surfaced, a bunch of youngsters joined him. Soon Elom found himself swimming with half the village. All of them splashing and shouting at him in playful banter. Even in defeat, Elom maintained his popularity.

The Han were a happy people filled with a sense of community and industry. They had dwelled in small roving communities throughout the jungle for centuries. Initially they had been isolated and separated from more civilized nations by an endless jungle. Eventually they had settled into more permanent villages like this one, which they built in the trees. Their livelihood had gradually improved with the domestication of animals and the export of their artistic woodcraft to more advanced peoples up and down river. In turn they had imported many of the products and skills, including the common tongue that had previously been unknown to them, thus allowing them a more efficient and prosperous quality of life.

Called “River Step”, Alar’s village took its name from its location. It was situated at the base of a series of treacherous water falls and cliffs. A millennia ago a mighty earthquake had caused a thousand league segment of the continent to sink, leaving a 2000 span high cliff which ran North and South. Over millions of years, the Erin River had carved its way down through that cliff in a series of steps. The “Step Falls” had extended far out onto the upper plain above and made their way down by means of landslides and erosion from the high plains, through the great continental shelf to the jungle valleys far below. Although the cliff had eroded and rivers and streams cut through it in many places, the Step Fall route was the only known access, at least for caravans and tradesman from the plateaus above, unless one wished to walk to the North or South of this huge natural obstacle; a delay that would cause even the most inexperienced merchant to shudder.

Han villages were scattered throughout the jungle valleys, but “River Step” was the more prosperous among them. It was the last village accessible by water craft from the ocean, as well as a meeting point for the traders from the high plateaus who made their way down the winding roads along the “Step Falls” to access the water trade routes going east to the sea. Topography had made the villagers of River Step into middle men, adapt at trading and deal making which added to the prosperity already afforded them by their woodcraft and industry. They acted as River guides going West to the Sea, or as foreman for less experienced caravaniers who wished to negotiate the dangerous paths along the Step Falls rising East. River Step provided last minute supplies and repairs for caravans and ferriers. From time to time they even provided escorts to repel Drennen raiders who came down from caves in the cliffs.

“Over here Anok!” a familiar voice called.

Turning around Anok saw Mina trotting towards him through the dispersing crowd. She was a little younger than him, with the slender body and graceful run of an antelope. As she got closer Anok could see her penetrating amber eyes as she smiled up at him through a wisp of black hair. She slapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh, you’re all wet.” She said, wrinkling her nose at him.

Anok chuckled. “Well of course. Didn’t you see the fall?” He gestured back to the  bridge.

“No, I was trying to get a better view when it happened. I saw most of the fight though. It was spectacular!” she gushed. “Who won?”

“Elom cut the bridge, so I guess he did.”

“That was a bit risky.” She said, as she scanned where the bridge had been.

“Well that would be Elom wouldn’t it?

She grinned. “Yes, I guess it would. He probably planned the whole thing.”

“I’m sure he did.”

They both turned then to the pool where Elom stood. He was still accepting congratulations and pats on the back from villagers returning to their labors. He saw them looking at him and gave them his ridiculous white toothed grin and a thumbs up over the shoulders of one of his countless mother’s that was giving him a hug and trying to towel him off at the same time..

“You would think he’d been the one doing the fighting all morning, the way everyone is pawing at him.” Anok mused. “You can’t help but love him for it though.”

As the mother departed, a troop of younger girls surrounded Elom on all sides. Suddenly the expert showman looked very out of place. He gave Anok a help me look as he tried to squeeze between them, and at the same time, keep the girls from petting him. But the girls formed a tight circle around him. Finally he shrugged, rolled his eyes and suddenly started tickling them all at once. They squealed and scattered as he chased them around a tree out of site laughing as he went. A few villagers glanced in the direction of the noise and pointed. More of them chuckled, and moved on to resume the day’s preparations.

Anok and Mina both laughed and walked over to a massive, shoulder high root of a Pinar tree to sit. Anok placed his hands beneath her arms and lifted her up so she could sit comfortably. It was a familiar ritual; one that they had practiced almost their entire lives, even when Anok was hardly bigger than she was. Back then it had been difficult, but now Anok was well muscled and stood head and shoulders above his petite companion. He boosted himself up by his hands and spun so that he was sitting beside her. They sat there in silence for a moment, dangling their feet. Aside from Elom, she was Anok’s closest friend and they were always together.

They would go on long walks in the jungle hand in hand, but most of the time Mina insisted that they run. She ran swift and silent through the jungle, her black hair streamed behind her like a banner, and she could outpace almost anyone. Sometimes she would go hunting with him, but preferred to pick flowers and fruits rather than kill an animal. On one occasion he had attempted to teach her the staff, but she kept asking him what the use would be when she could simply run away. He told her she could never kill an enemy by running. But the sad look she gave him pained him, and he never tried to steal her innocence again after that.

There had never been a romance between them but now as they got older; it had crossed their minds, though neither had ever mentioned it. For Anok, he thought of it whenever she looked at him. Most of his people had deep chocolate brown eyes. To look at Mina’s Amber eyes was like seeing a rare gem, and he had learned that they had a way of revealing what he was thinking.

Mina looked up at him now and smiled.

“You look worried.” She said.

He new it was pointless to lie. Those eyes would see the truth eventually. He would end up telling her everything.

“Yes, I suppose I am… a little.”

“Why Anok? You have prepared for your Blood Day for many years. You’ve trained for it. What’s there to fear?”

“The unknown.”

“Isn’t that the point? Blood Day rituals are so mysterious I don’t know why you wouldn’t be a bit afraid of them.”

“Yes, but my Father hasn’t said a word to me about it. He just tells me I’m ready and that I won’t disappoint him.”

“Ah, so that’s it.”

“What?”

“You’re afraid of failing and bringing shame to your father.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“I have never seen a prouder Father. He loves you and Elom. Besides, with your skill, how can you possibly fail?”

“Well that’s just it. Maybe he loves us so much because we never fail him.”

“Now you’re just talking nonsense. You fail all the time; you’re just too arrogant to see it.”

That stung a bit coming from her. But he knew she was right. He smiled and took her hand.

“You always know just what to say don’t you?” He smiled.

“Of course you fool. That’s what friends do.”

He hesitated a moment.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Well, I had hoped when I got back that maybe…”

“There you are!” The familiar voice of Ornik interrupted. Anok removed his hand from Mina’s self consciously, which caused a hurt look to cross her face. The immense man lumbered up to them, and slapped Anok on the knee.

“You’d best be getting ready there boy.” His emphasis on the word boy was marked. “The ceremony was already running behind before your stunt this morning.” He continued. “If we don’t start soon, you and Elom are going to miss your shot at manhood. He boomed a laugh at his own joke.

Anok jumped down warily and turned to help Mina down. She held his hand briefly, stood on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek.

“May the trees smile down upon you.” She whispered formally.

He saw a mischievous flash from her amber eyes as she turned and trotted off. Anok was stunned. That phrase was reserved for those who had formally joined wrists in preparation for marriage. She had never said anything like that before, or given him any indication that she thought of him in that way. His heart raced as he watched her lope away, and he was about to go after her, when he saw from the corner of his eye, that Ornik was watching him carefully.

“Humph. It seems you and my daughter, have grown closer of late.” Ornik said.

He stepped towards Anok and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, face looking grave. He was so close he could hear the mans heavy breathing from his short walk. The man truly was huge, and Anok felt uncomfortable under that fatherly gaze, but he didn’t show it. He knew he was being weighed and he did not look away.

“We care for each other.” Anok said cautiously.

“Then we have things to talk about boy.” There was that emphasis again. “Come see me when you get back.” He released him without another. His heavy steps seemed to burden the earth as he walked away.

Anok finally breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he thought the man would crush him, but felt sure that what he had just experienced was just fatherly bluster, more than any real objection to his daughter’s show of affection. He looked forward to that meeting with a little fear but mostly excitement.

“Well that was entertaining.” Elom said from behind.

Anok snorted as Elom stepped up beside him. “How long have you been there?” He asked.

“Long enough to hear you nearly confess your love to Mina.” Elom said with his usual smile.

Anok sighed and looked at his brother. “Do you think I shouldn’t have?”

“Oh no, she’s right for you. It’s been obvious for years. You could not do much better than Mina brother.”

Anok was about to thank him…

“Of course I could do better.”

Anok made a fist.

Elom placed an affectionate hand on Anok’s shoulder. “Hey, I wasn’t serious. Mina is wonderful. .” 

“Uhuh. Alright brother, well what about you? Who has your heart?” Anok asked.

“Oh I am sure I’ll have several waiting for me when we get back. I could never settle on just one woman. Better to sample them all.”

“You’re shameless” Anok scoffed.

Elom bowed his same theatrical bow as before. “Would you have me any other way?”

They both stood smiling at one another. A lifetime together passed before their minds eye which had brought them to this moment. At last Anok placed an arm around his brother’s shoulder and spoke with a bit of uncharacteristic emotion.

“No, I guess I wouldn’t.” Placing his arm around him. “ Let’s get going brother. Today we become men.”

                               ***************************