War in an age of innocence: 1

[This serial preview of my first novel will run for ten episodes (two weeks). Each episode will consist of a complete chapter of about 2,000 words. There are 43 chapters in the complete book. The novel will be available for purchase as an ebook, hopefully before the serial ends or shortly thereafter. I am planning to charge $3.99 for it. More details to come. 

It is a "coming of age" fantasy set in the Neolithic and written along Jungian mythological lines. I wrote it when I needed a break from researching the Gundestrup cauldron a few years ago, and had become annoyed by the popularity of one novel that was just a "new age" pastiche of mythological themes without real connection. I am doing a little final editing on it and I hope you like the story.

For the next two weeks I will be devoting more time to the research for a new series on the personality of T. E. Lawrence which will start with the first publication of a document by one of his friends about the then, T.E. Shaw's service in the Royal Air Force in India.]

The sea was their father. Kiri tired easily with the games of the other boys and on this clear morning he sat alone on a clump of coarse grass at the top of the stony beach and gazed at the waves. The waves crashed on the pebbles and then hissed as the sea pulled the water back. He matched his breathing to them and mimicked the sound: exhaling hard when the wave hit the beach, and then inhaling slowly as the water withdrew. Further down the beach a woman with three children were gathering mussels. The woman was working intently, the children mostly chasing each other. They might have been laughing, but the sound of the sea was all that Kiri heard. In the distance he saw a sail, and he watched carefully as the boat drew nearer, trying to see what sort of boat it was. Everyone was happy when a boat arrived. Those who were lucky enough to see it first made sure that they quickly gathered what things they could spare and then hurried to the beach, eager to see what the visitors had brought to trade, and hopefully to get the first choice of their cargo.

Some of the boats had distinctive sails and everyone would soon learn what it was that the visitors wanted, and what they had brought in exchange. It was always exciting when the sail was strange. No one knew what those visitors were looking for, nor what they had with them. It was a game. Sometimes a family would eagerly rush down with a basket full of something only to find that the visitors had brought the same sort of thing. Everyone would laugh. Mostly, though, the visitors were not strangers and as soon as you saw their sail, you would know what was wanted, and what you might get for it. There was always a surprise for the children, though. Among the usual cargo there would be a few strange and wonderful items from some other edge of that vast sea. Food and drink was always brought to the visitors and there would be the music of flute and drum, dancing, and, if you could understand each other’s words, there were stories. Kiri loved the stories best.

The land was their mother. Kiri jumped up from his clump of grass and started running toward home. The long, coarse grass near the sea gave way to shorter, soft green grass made shorter still by the endless grazing of the sheep. Wattle fences kept the sheep away from the fields of grain and vegetables. There were few trees where they lived and the wind from the sea constantly made waves that ran across the fields. All that could be seen of the houses were the thatched roofs and the smoke rising from them. In the distance were the dark forest-covered hills where wolves and the wild boar dwelt. Few would go past the edge of these hills where they could find wood, or hunt for deer. The forest was impenetrable, dangerous and mysterious. Some who ventured too far never returned. The houses were dug into the ground for warmth and shelter from the ever-present wind. The stone slab walls and floors kept the damp out and even most of the furniture was made of that stone. There were stone tables and benches, and stone cupboards and shelves lined the walls. Even the beds were of stone. Comfort was provided by sheepskin covered cushions, wool blankets and rugs. Peat fires gave heat and the rooms glowed with the light from tallow candles. Several families shared the large and often rambling houses. They all shared one large kitchen where all the food was prepared and the families would socialize around the central fire every evening. One by one, or in pairs, they would retreat at the close of the day to their cozy small bedrooms off the kitchen, or down dark stone hallways.

Kiri was careful to stop running before he got too close to home and he slowed to a fast walk instead. He did not want to attract attention from the other families and any person, or creature, that ran into the village would soon be joined by barking sheepdogs that loved to chase anything that moved faster than a grazing sheep. He was pleased to see that it was only his mother, father and his Aunt Vara who occupied the kitchen that morning. It was customary to announce the news to whoever was present. Mara stopped stirring the stew, wiped her brow and looked up at her son.

“I’m glad you’re home Kiri, I need you to go outside and get some more peat for the fire.”

“A Danai boat is coming!”

“Well that’s a bit of good news!” Kiri’s father exclaimed. “They usually have a good supply of that hard green stone. It’s hard to work, but an axe of that stuff is never going to break. Most don’t have the right sort of grit to polish it properly and the effort I will have to put into making a few axes should get us some good fruit from the southerners next month”.

“Vara and I have dried that venison you got. They like that. We will be able to gets lots of the stone for you Boro, and then we will divide up the fruit you get for it. Two shares for us for your effort. Is that alright Vara?”

“Sounds fine to me”

“Oh, and Boro, I would like some of that amber they usually bring – for a necklace”

“You’re beautiful enough without it. They always want too much for that stuff,” Boro said gruffly.

Kiri sat down, wrapped his arms around his knees, and smiling, waited for the show. He knew what was coming next.

“Come on, Boro, don’t be mean”. She walked over to him and rested her hand gently on his chest. “It will make me happy”. Mara was the most beautiful woman in their village and it was said that she could charm the birds out of the sky.

“ Well, perhaps a small amount, you did a lot of work drying that venison”

Kiri giggled and Boro got red in the face.

“Don’t laugh Kiri. It will happen to you soon enough!”

Vara laughed too. It always pleased her to see her usually stern brother reduced to such an emotional puddle by the beautiful Mara. She liked Mara a lot. Vara was much older, even than Boro. She was not particularly attractive and shared something of her brother’s gruffness, but she was a kind person at heart and Mara treated her with much respect, often seeking the wisdom of her years. It seemed to Vara that Mara thought of herself as beautiful only to her husband and this was the natural way of things. Vara had never married. She knew much of nature. She knew the times for things; she understood the journeys of the constellations. She was one with the world.

By the time they had gathered everything together and made it down to the boat a few others were already there and had started trading with the Danai. They had the amber, and the green stone, but no one had taken any of either. Boro knew that he was the only one that could properly work that stone, and Mara knew that few of the women would be able to afford much of the amber. It was only Boro’s idea of trading the axes he would make with the southerners that enabled them to afford such costly items. None of the other villagers minded this. Boro had worked hard on his skill, and the fruit that he would bring to the village would benefit all. Other people had their own skills and needed other supplies. Each skill would bring the greatest rewards to those that had it, but there was always enough for everyone else. All around the great sea, other villages had access to different things, and their populations had developed their own skills.

The trading continued at a leisurely pace until evening. Although Boro’s attention was fixed mainly on the green stone and the amber, the wood that the Danai had brought excited most of the villagers. There were long poles of the right size for masts for their boats. It was a kind of wood that could not be found there: strong enough to withstand even the toughest winds. The Danai were pleased with the dried venison. It was tastier than their own venison because the deer fed on different plants and this changed the taste of the meat. Also, Vara had her own special seasonings that made the meat even more delicious. The last grain harvest had been good, and the Danai had heard of this. Their own supply was getting low, as their own harvest was very small that last year.

The Danai had always fascinated Kiri. They looked very different from his own people: the Danai were tall and fair-haired, his people were much shorter with jet-black hair, and both peoples had very pale skin and mostly blue eyes. Their language was about the same, but the Danai had a strange accent and some of the sounds in their words were different. He laughed when the Danai visited their homes; they often had to crawl from room to room, as the ceilings were far too low for them. Everyone had to stoop a bit to get from room to room, that was just the way they built their passages. Vara had told him a story about why this was, but he didn't remember the details. He thought it had something to do with being born, but he wasn't sure. The Danai had told him that they lived in huge houses all made of wood, and all above the ground and that they had floors above other floors. He couldn’t imagine such a thing and wondered if he would ever travel to their part of the great sea. They told him that it was a long way off and that they even sailed at night.

As the earth swallowed the sun and the first bright stars started, shyly, to appear in the opposite direction, the outside fires were lit and the village began to entertain their visitors. Samo was Mara’s grandfather and was the oldest man in their village. He had played the flute since he was a child, and as he started to play with some of the other flautists; one by one they stopped and just listened to him. The drummers also stopped, partly in awe, and partly because they could not understand the variable rhythms that Samo brought to the music. Kiri was nestled up next to his aunt; his parents were nowhere to be seen. The music of Samo’s flute swelled and then shrank in a steady rhythm, while other faster and more complex rhythms coloured it. Kiri thought of the waves of the dark sea with the white birds wheeling over them. He began breathing to the slower rhythm. Vara smiled at him.

“Yes, little one, you are beginning to understand”

Across the crackling fire from them, one of the Danai sailors wiped a tear from his eye. The music rose and fell. The sea came in and went out again. Kiri’s breathing became lighter as he drifted off to sleep.

© John Hooker 2016

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