Kitanda turned thirteen today. Were it any other child in the village, a big celebration would be in order. However, the Tanuri village was quiet. There was no roaring bonfire or chants, and the ceremonial masks gathered dust in the storage. The only thing out of the ordinary in Kitanda’s hut was the slightly-less-miserable-than-usual dinner.

He brought the tasteless gruel to his open mouth and swallowed, making sure to suck at his fingers to not waste any of it. His back straight and proud chest made him look no different than any other young hunter around. He was surprisingly well-built for a child that had been feeding on something worse than that gruel his whole life.

After properly thanking Chakula for the meal, he sat there and watched his mother put aside the clay bowls while his father took out a pipe and smoked. No words were said, but tension filled the unassuming hut.

His father got up and crouched behind him. With practiced movements, he lifted him up like one would a baby or a particularly important sack of potatoes, and carefully set him down on the bed. Laid down, the contrast between his upper and lower half was evident. After his abdomen, the strong body gave way to unnaturally thin legs. The chicken-like appendages were bent at uncomfortable angles, but Kitanda didn’t care—or, rather, he didn’t feel them.

He had been this way since the day he was born. The way his mother told it, as soon as he was born the air turned cold and all the water in the village froze over. Thick black clouds covered the sky and a flurry of snow struck the huts, leaving them stranded for two whole weeks. When the cold blew over his legs had shriveled. The shaman, who like everyone else had never seen snow or felt such cold, deemed it a divine punishment and had his family ostracized. They were lucky they weren’t expelled from the village altogether.

But, although they had long grown used to such treatment, today felt especially bleak. Thirteen was a special milestone for all Tanuri children. Every child older than thirteen would have to undergo initiation.

Tanuri initiation was not a simple ritual or ceremony. It was an arduous task in which survival was not guaranteed, and not even all who survived passed. Failures were exiled, which for Kitanda would mean the same as death. The very real possibility hovering over him, he closed his eyes and slept.

“What are we going to do about Kitanda?” His mother Towe finally broke the silence.

“What is there to do? We knew it would happen eventually.” He was resigned but sad.

“I know that, Ilem! I just don’t want to let go of my little boy just yet. It’s not his fault he’s like that!”

Ilem held up a hand. “He won’t be initiated just yet. There is still half a year until the Day of Nuru, and who knows what could happen until then.”

“The gods know nothing will happen until then! If they wanted him to heal it would have happened already. We have to do something ourselves.”

Ilem rolled his eyes and started on a well-practiced argument. “What do you suggest, then? Neither you nor I know anything about the healing arts, and the shaman won’t get anywhere near the boy.”

They both sat staring at each other, the smoldering fire casting wavy red lights on the walls.

Ilem got up and walked the length of the room over and over again. He wasn’t happy.

“I might know of something.”

Morning came with the cries of playing children and the banter of women. The men had left to hunt.

Kitanda cracked open his eyes and looked out the window. The children noticed him and started shouting. “It’s Kitanda the chicken!” They started mimicking the cries of chickens while jumping around.

A few of the children seemed scared. “Hey, my ma says to never go near Kitanda. The gods don’t like him and if they see us with him they won’t like us either.”

Kitanda just chuckled to himself and looked around inside. “Is pa gone? He usually only leaves after noon.”

“I don’t know what got into him this morning,” Towa said after taking a break from tanning a wild dog hide. “He took a sack with pots and food and said he would be gone for a week. No explanation.”

His family provided most of the village with leather, since wild game was, well, wild. It didn’t belong in the village and neither did they.

His mother awkwardly struggled to carry him to the tanning racks. She wasn’t used to it. Kitanda got to work scraping fur off the hide and smearing oil on already dried leather. Any men of the village would find this type of work disgraceful, but he took pride in it. He liked being useful.

* * *

Ilem arrived at his destination two nights after that, after two full days of leisurely travel. He was in a rush, but he didn’t want to overexert himself. The place he was going to was dangerous, and he wanted to be in perfect shape for it.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The spiked wooden wall stood tall before him. This was his hometown, Jino. It was roughly the same size as Tanuri, but that’s about all the two villages had in common.

Tanuri was a hunting village—that is to say, it depended on hunting for its survival. They were servants of goddess Chakula, who oversaw meals. Their hunters were only allowed to bring back as much as Chakula gave them, and they didn’t wish for more. Jino, on the other hand, revered death. The purpose of their life was to take life, as if in doing so they absorbed the life of their enemies and grew stronger.

Ilem had left the village because he had never been as strong as his fellow men. In Jino, not being strong meant not being useful.

However, leaving the village was no small matter. In Jino, things that were not in the village were things to be killed.

Steeling himself, Ilem hugged the wall until he came to a gate. No one was posted there. After all, anything in the village was much more dangerous than anything outside.

Uproarious laughter and singing were heard from inside. Life in the village was mostly reduced to hunting and celebrating, and today was no exception.

Ilem comforted himself with the thought that no self-respecting warrior from that village would miss out on the meat and the drinking and hurried inside.

Digging through his memories, he managed to guide himself to the tent that looked the best inside the walls. Best-looking didn’t mean objectively good-looking. Not by a long shot.

The leather curtains on the doorway still had tufts of fur hanging here and there, and they were obviously not tanned. However, it was the only tent with a whole ceiling, and it wasn’t surrounded by a scattering of bones from past meals.

He pushed aside the curtains, retching at the smell of rot, and walked in cautiously.

A woman was sleeping naked on the floor. She was old and somewhat fat, and she was sprawled on a patch of lush grass that had no business being around all that decay.

Ilem shook her awake. “Ma. Ma, it’s me! Ma!”

She mumbled something about meat as she sat up.

“Who in the hells would—Ilem! What are you doing here, boy? You’re not allowed in the village!” She sounded angry, but she had a smile on her face that betrayed her. “It has been too long, son! How is your child doing?”

“How do you—?” Ilem stopped himself before asking a stupid question.

“Can’t a mother check on his son every now and then? You can’t come to visit, so I look at you through the grass.

Mama Nyasi—Ilem’s mother, was a chanter. They were extremely rare, but wherever a chanter was born was sure to become prosperous. They could communicate with the spirits of the world.

Mama Nyasi was friends with the grass spirits. They told her everything the grass saw—which was pretty much everything. That’s why her tent was the best in the village, and why she wouldn’t get in trouble for sleeping instead of partying with the rest.

Ilem offered her some hides and ceramic bowls. “Here. Please make sure to replace the curtains. Even I have better curtains than those, and I have the worst tent in the village.”

Mama Nyasi took them and looked at them before turning back to his son.

“So why are you here, then? I know you didn’t come just to see your mother.”

“It’s Kitanda, my son. He turned thirteen yesterday.”

“O-ho-ho… Initiation, huh?” Mama Nyasi looked somewhat amused.

“Yes. I don’t know what I will do. He can’t participate in the initiation as is, and the way things are going that’s not likely to change. He will die, ma.”

“And you want me to…?” She sounded confused.

The Tanuri tribe might not have warriors as strong as the Jino, but they were ahead in pretty much every aspect. If Kitanda couldn’t find help there, he sure as hell wouldn’t find it here.

“Ask the grass. Look for something that will cure him. I don’t care what. I see him every day, ma. He looks out the window while he works. He longs for the outside. I must heal him.”

Mama Nyasi gave an understanding nod and closed her eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, she opened them up again.

“I have seen a raven fly about three days south of here.” She said nothing more.

“A raven? How is that supposed to help?”

“Ravens don’t fly south of here.”

* * *

His father came back a full week later, as promised. He seemed unaltered except for his eyes. They looked wild.

“I did it!” He didn’t even say hello. “Kitanda! We must leave now!”

“What is the meaning of this, Ilem? What did you do?” Towa looked confused.

“There’s no time to explain! We’re going to see the Raven!” He crouched in front of Kitanda and motioned for him to hold onto him.

“The Raven? You’re crazy! Gone! I will not allow this!” Towa raised her voice. “Kitanda, you stay here!”

Kitanda hesitated.

Of course, he knew about the Raven. Everyone did. Every child was told that they had better not wander off or the Raven would take them. They even made a game and song:

Stand in a circle and look around

Look to the front and look to the sides

Every kid here likes to play and run

One goes, gets lost, gets hurt and cries

Beware the black bird out on a hunt

The Raven will heal their teary eyes

Pick them up and take to the skies!

It was nothing but a tale to scare children into being obedient. At Kitanda’s age, you would have to be some kind of stupid to believe in it. At least that’s what Kitanda thought.

His father must have gone crazy in the week he was away.

Ilem urged him on while dismissing his wife. “No, I’m telling you it’s alright! I went out to see Mama Nyasi in the next village over. I offered her our hides and bowls and she used her divination powers to tell me where the Raven was.”

“But the Raven isn’t real! It’s an old wives’ tale!” Towe wasn’t convinced.

“If the Raven is not real then it won’t matter anyway! Let’s give this a try. We’ve got nothing to lose and I’ll go mad waiting for the initiation doing nothing!”

Kitanda caved and grabbed onto him. Even if he thought this was a fool’s errand, his father was betting it all to try to save him. It would be rude not to go.

His mother looked reluctant but decided to send them off with some food. “You had better not hurt my little boy, or I’ll never forgive you, you hear me?”

They set out in the dark without waking any of their neighbors. They walked for two-hour intervals with twenty-minute breaks in between. As time went on, however, Kitanda saw his father’s breathing turn rugged and forceful. He was a hunter, but not even he was used to carrying such weight over long distances. He felt bad.

“Pa, isn’t the Raven bad?” He asked while they were walking. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but a fear of the individual was gnawing at him ever since they set out.

“We don’t know that. He takes kids away, but that is all. What we do know is that the Raven is a master of the healing arts. No illness or wound escape him.” Ilem trudged on. “And, in any case, I would prefer it if he took you away and let you live. The heavens know you would not survive the initiation.”

Kitanda agreed in his head. He knew his hope of surviving lay away from the village.

They both looked forward as the sun rose to their left. They had a long way to go.