Gnak had returned to the shaman later that first night and had his arm wound cared for along with a few more minor injuries, but that had been a full day ago. Now the preparations had been completed and, as the sun shrank slowly over the horizon, Gnak could not help the anxiety building within him. He wanted to know his task. He needed to know it. The Catunga ceremony tasks were what really made a difference. Such tasks required intelligence, cunning, strength, and endurance. All of which Gnak had, but he still could not wait to know the details. Pacing inside his tent, not wanting the others to see his impatience and mistake it for weakness, he waited for darkness to come.
When it did come, it was announced by the pounding of great war drums, a sign that the ceremony was starting. Kneeling before the bone shrine within his tent he prayed to Gogoc, the god of battle, Burliq, the god of hate and rage, and Keeka, the goddess of health and endurance. The gods had never seen fit to answer his call, but even so, Gnak knew that not praying to them was taking a chance he would rather not. A rare few of his kind were blessed by the gods, receiving gifts of strength, speed, and power. He wanted such gifts for himself.
Rising once again, he dipped his fingers in a bowl of blood collected from the ancient bear’s head and delivered to him the day before, and splashed it upon the shrine respectfully. Then turning, he ducked through the flaps of his home, adorned with his tooth necklace that now held the six tusks of his traitorous clan-mates. Striding across the camp towards the constant booming of the drums, he watched ahead as his clan gathered for the ceremony.
Though the ceremony would last the whole of the night, he wore every bit of armor he owned. It was mostly oiled leather, but the joints contained bits of chain armor made by the humans who had wandered into their lands a few years previous, and he even owned steel bracers, though steel here was rare and usually used only for weapons. He imagined himself an impressive sight, and making his way to the center of the camp he was assured of his conclusion. Most of his peers, similarly prepared, wore only leather and bone. Gnak grunted at his success. The elders would surely take note that he was worthy to win the proud title of captain.
Approaching the huge fire pit that marked the center of camp, he located his peers who joined him in Catunga. Finding himself a seat among the ring of his peers, he kicked at them, making them create a wider space for him. Of course there had already been suitably sized spots for him, just not where he wanted. Within moments the remaining stragglers arrived and Gnak noted that their number had already dropped by nearly a quarter. The elders filled in behind the ring of those to do Catunga, and six females of their tribe took up positions between those seated at the fire.
He watched as the females began to sway to the thrumming of the drum, and the shaman dumped some strange leaves in the fire as blue smoke began to roil out of it. The females then started discarding their clothing, retrieving large woven fans to spread the smoke into the gathered ring of those facing Catunga. The nude females danced, an entrancing, sexual collection of movements that seemed altogether a natural part of their fanning of the smoke. The women swayed in the firelight, their dark flesh a medley of dancing yellow and red light as their dark shadows crept across the surface of those who sat surrounding them. Gnak could feel the effects of the smoke almost instantly. Breathing it, he could feel his body calm, the tension dissipating with every breath. He felt his mind opening, the many what ifs and questions fleeing him to make room for the words that were surely to come soon.
The motions of the swaying and dancing women seemed to become blurred, as if behind a haze of smoke, as the shaman added yet more leaves to the fire. The smoke changed color and still the nude women danced, their bodies enticing the crowd around them. Gnak tried to focus, but the haze would not let him. He turned his head to see if any of his peers were unaffected, but the motion nearly made him topple over, his balance all but lost. It were as if the world around him had become a dream, but still he tried to remain alert, to concentrate as the voice of their clan chief began to boom over the thunderous drums.
“We proud. Tribe of Gathos. We proud cause we strong,” the chief began.
Gnak tried to focus on his words and follow their sound to the source with his eyes, but now he swayed with the drums and dancers, and could not seem to stop. Closing his eyes he found some relief, but now the chief’s words punctuated by drums were all that seemed to exist. So he clung to them as the leader of his clan continued.
“We strong cause Catunga. Begin Catunga, make clan proud. Watch you go. Make proud you return. Make clan stronger still. No finish Catunga, no return camp. Weak make clan weak. Gathos have no weak. Gathos strong. Hear my words. You task three. First go find enemies. War coming. Great chief say it. Capture enemy and return,” the chief began to explain.
Gnak understood the chief’s meaning even with his head swirling. He did not hear the words so much as see them within his head. He saw the Gathos tribe, proud and strong, and watched as they struck down their old and infirm. He envisioned himself leaving the camp with few provisions, his sword and spear at the ready. Then as the vision swirled again he saw the visage of a great black castle before him. He had never seen the thing, only been told of it by elders when he was young. It lay to the north in the lands of the humans. It was his destiny. It was his Catunga. Proud, he listened as still the chief spoke.
Again his dream-like vision changed and he saw the great chief standing before the chiefs of all the Orc tribes. The great chief was blessed by the gods and stood double the size of his kin, commanding them into battle. Shaking his head, Gnak struggled to listen on.
“Three part is sacrifice enemy to god you choose. Ask god give power. Win power. Make Gathos more strong. More proud.”
The chief’s voice was lost, the drums beating louder and louder, faster and faster as Gnak’s heart began to race with the beat. The new smoke smelled spicy, burning his nostrils, but the fog began to clear. Before he could open his eyes, he again pictured the massive black castle. He had his task. Capture an enemy and bring it back for sacrifice to the gods. Most would likely visit the goblins and trolls, their nearest neighbors who they fought most often. But Gnak knew that was not where he was supposed to go. No, he would venture north, across the mountains into the land of the humans where he had never ventured before.
With sweat beading upon his forehead he opened his eyes, his heart racing as if he fought the ancient bear once again. The fog abated and with it the dizziness, and he rose as the dancing women ceased their rhythmic movements.
Looking up to the stars, Gnak calculated that more than half of the night had passed in what felt to him was only minutes. Shaking his head once more, he felt somewhat lethargic as his heart began to slow. His tribe began gathering around the spits of roasting meat, hacking and pulling hunks off the carcasses before biting into the fistfuls of flesh. He hoped a belly full of good meat would chase away the odd feeling inside him, and as such sought out the great bear he had killed. Many surrounded the spit, pulling and slicing, but at his approach they cleared a path for him. It was his kill. He could take what he wanted.
Pulling his sword, still stained from Orc and bear alike, he carved a strip of meat from the beast’s back, close to the spine. Taking a huge bite he gnashed his teeth loudly, grunting his approval as he waved to allow the others to begin anew. Most would stuff themselves in preparation for the journey to the lands of their enemies, but Gnak had a different approach entirely. Heading back to his tent, he gathered up what few supplies he could muster. Tossing the bone spook and knife into a leather hide, he gathered up bits of dried meat he kept for days where the hunt was scarce. It was meager, but would sustain him for a few days. Beyond that he would have to rely on game for food.
Bundling the small hide with a leather cord, he tied it to his belt before again kneeling before the shrine of the Orc gods. A few mumbled thoughts and a splash of blood later, and Gnak strode from his tent into the path that would lead him out of camp. Without veering he struck out on a comfortabl
e jog, straight east out of town towards the nearest goblin neighbors. If any watched him go, let them think he was taking an easy route. Gnak grinned into the night. Cunning and intelligence would win him the title of captain.