The early sunlight flickered as the wind gently shook the fronds which shaded Rueel’s eyes. He opened them.
The world greeted his sight: the roof of his hut, a fragment of blue in his skylight, more light streaming in from his door. He rolled and got up. Reyea lay on the mat next to his. Beside her lay Gungdo, his brother. The empty mat by the door indicated that his father, Rentra, was already up.
Rueel pulled on his loincloth, took a drink from the water jug, and stepped outside. Already, his tribemates were setting about the day’s work. The smell of meat cooking over open fires brought a smile to his face. Rueel went to relieve himself and when he came back, Reyea was up and out in the clearing. She smiled at him and handed him a guava. It was morning. It was good to be alive.
Life was pleasant in the valley where the tribe lived. They had plenty of game. Their camp was easily defended and, but for the Repai tribe on the other end of the ravine, they had the valley to themselves. Their terraces produced bountiful harvests and the skies brought just the right amount of rain. Their gods must be good, thought Rueel.
Rueel had lived for nearly twenty summers. Five summers ago, he’d been initiated into full adult membership. He still relished the memory of the hunt, the brutal ordeal, the kill, the satisfaction of knowing he hadn’t failed and was now a warrior. Tattoos on his arms and a brand on his shoulder marked his transition to manhood. They reminded him every day that he’d measured up. When the wisemen had pronounced him a man, a warrior, that honor had come with responsibilities. Ever after, he’d have to hunt for the tribe and fight for the tribe. But he could vote and speak at the meetings. He could claim a first portion of a kill. And ever since that night of dancing and feasting and smoking – that night of celebration – his tribemates had treated him differently.
He'd grown comfortable in the role. He could run with the fastest warriors in the tribe and he could throw a spear farther than anyone except his father. The tribe expected much from him, but he enjoyed that. While he remembered childhood – running about the camp, pretending to hunt and fight, learning woodcraft and how to string a bow – he felt a strange separation from the child he’d been, as though his memories had happened to a different person. He didn’t think about boyhood much now.
Yes, life in the tribe came with its rigors and expectations. But the valley was good to them, and the gods were good to them, and Rueel knew that his brothers and sisters loved him, as he them. His tribe was at peace with the Repai, but if that changed, they were stronger than the Repai anyway. There were more of them and Rueel knew they could slaughter the Repai men and take their women with ease.
But the women of Rueel’s tribe were better anyway, especially Reyea. Rueel and Reyea hadn’t mated yet. But they likely would. Rueel was beginning to think about wanting a son.
“Do you remember what day it is?” asked Reyea as she bit into her own guava.
“Indeed. Reydon. No hunt today.”
“Indeed. And no working in the fields. Your father’s been saying we’re due for something to change. He said it’s been a while since we’ve honored the gods fully and we’re lucky life has been as good as it has.”
“My father always thinks another flood is around the corner.”
“Eventually, he’ll be right.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not if the gods continue to favor us.”
Today was the summer solstice. The wisemen of the tribe and the elders would go to the smoking hut. They would smoke for a long while and confer together in the heat. In time, the gods would send their messengers. They would reveal to the tribe what needed to be done. Some of the warriors were saying an atonement was due. There’d been too much of loose living for too long. Perhaps they were just nervous, in the way that all people grow nervous when good luck has held for a little too long. Fortune needed appeasement.
Rueel didn’t think all that much about the gods. Nor did he worry about the revelations. His only role today was to wait around for the elders and the wisemen to deliver their divine inspiration. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the spirit-deities, but he knew that the wisemen knew what they were doing. Four years ago, it hadn’t rained for a long time and the elders had sacrificed a monkey and there had been a week of rain. Two years before that, there’d been too much rain and the elders had told the tribe to beat themselves with whips and lament their impiety and after a day of lamentation, the rain had stopped. When Rueel was barely old enough to remember, there had been a war with another tribe and the wisemen had prayed for victory and sacrificed a virgin and the gods had granted them victory.
So Rueel was sure that whatever the gods decreed today would be good for the tribe.
Several of the women began heating stones for use in the smoking hut in the fire. When the stones were nearly hot enough to burst, they used tongs to carry them to the smoking hut, where they placed them in buckets of water to create steam. At midday, the elders and the wisemen all filed solemnly inside while the entire tribe gathered to pray and chant and exult the spirit-deities. Yarrow, the lead shaman, head of the wisemen, carried the smoking pouch and the ceremonial pipes. He was the last inside and he shut the door behind him.
Immediately, there was silence. All of the tribespeople threw themselves prostrate on the ground, including Rueel. They lay facedown with their arms spread out towards the smoking hut. They were to remain like this until the elders came out.
Rueel knew it might be some time before they did come out. The herb that the elders and wisemen smoked took a little while to have its effect. Supposedly, it made one see things, but he’d never been allowed the privilege of trying it. When the ceremonial pipes were used, the gods themselves appeared. At least that was what Rueel had been told. He wasn’t allowed to smoke the ceremonial pipes, which were reserved for the elders and the tribal shamans.
It was uncomfortable, lying on the ground for several hours. They weren’t allowed to speak. But Rueel knew it was all for the best. All for the good of the tribe. If this was what they had to do to get a good harvest and kill more game, it was the least they could do.
Eventually, the door to the smoking hut opened and each of the elders emerged. There were nine of them, each of whom had seen more than sixty summers. The wisemen would be next. There were only four of them, and they were strange. But Rueel knew he wasn’t supposed to think that, so he tried to avoid thinking that there was anything strange about them. He was just glad when they did emerge and he could stand up and wipe the dirt off his body.
When Yarrow – the last to emerge from the hut – came out, he motioned for the tribe to all stand. Then he chanted words in the shaman tongue. This was the sign for everyone to begin chanting in unison. They swayed and put their arms in the air and sang. The song grew to a crescendo. Then Yarrow motioned for silence.
“The gods are good,” he shouted.
Everyone cheered.
“They have given us a decree.”
Everyone cheered.
“They ask for a small sacrifice. It is a small sacrifice, but if we make it, we will have good rains and plentiful game for six years. Our harvests will grow larger every autumn.”
Everyone cheered.
“We have been neglectful of our duties. But the gods are merciful. They will spare us their wrath. They ask only in return one tribute. Nothing more.”
Everyone cheered.
“We will have peace for five years. We will have new boys and girls. We will have no pestilences like we had last winter. The Repai will flee the valley and the entire valley will be ours.”
Everyone cheered.
“All they ask is one life. We sacrifice one of our own so that the tribe may prosper.”
The crowd grew more somber. People looked around. Yarrow raised his arm into the air to point towards the heavens.
“The gods have chosen the sacrifice. They have spoken.”
And he dropped his arm dramatically to point directly at Rueel. “They have chosen Rueel for this honor.”
Everyone cheered. A few people slapped Rueel on the back. He felt dazed and his voice caught in his throat when he went to cheer. He didn’t feel sure anymore.
“You’re a lucky man,” said Gungdo, coming and putting his arms around Rueel. “There is no higher honor. You will be rewarded in the spirit realm.”
Rueel had never really settled on how he felt about that spirit realm. The elders only talked about it occasionally, and he hadn’t decided whether he believed in it. What he did know was that when a person died, they no longer existed in the world, and would never again see their children, or hold a guava, or swim in the river, or feel the rain upon their head. Rueel felt a sudden hesitation. He wasn’t sure he was ready to come to terms with the spirit realm, and find out for himself whether it existed, yet.
The other men around him were congratulating him. Rueel knew that he was supposed to feel glad, that his sacrifice was the greatest honor, but he didn’t feel glad at all. He’d often dreamed of laying down his life for his tribe – in battle, or in a hunt – but never like this and never… so soon. He was prepared to die. Just not quite yet.
“The ceremony will take place tomorrow,” called Yarrow, “At the moment when the sun reaches its zenith. The gods are good.”
Everyone cried out, “the gods are good.” But when Rueel said it, the words stuck in his throat. He didn’t know why.
The rest of that day was spent in feasting. Rueel was congratulated by every member of the tribe, including the children. His father blessed him and told him he couldn’t be prouder. Only Reyea seemed sad. She said the words of congratulations, but her eyes looked sad and confused, as though she were trying to reckon with something she couldn’t understand.
Rueel knew he was trying to reckon with something he couldn’t understand. As nightfall came on, he grew somber. He would spend the next morning in preparation, so this night would be his last bit of time to himself and his thoughts. And his last moments with Reyea. They made love that night, but she cried the whole time. Silently, so as not to be heard by the others. The two of them were given a little privacy this time, as though they had earned it. After she fell asleep and Gungdo and Reentra and Daro had come back into the hut and fallen asleep, Rueel lay there. He could not sleep. He knew he wouldn’t need the rest – not ever again. He would have no more need of anything. The last water he drank in the morning, the last guava he ate, would be the last he would ever taste.
Rueel had never had any trouble in his role before. When he had been a child, he had been dutiful and obedient. When it came time to be initiated into manhood, he took to the trials with gladness and excitement, wanting nothing more than to prove himself worthy. As a warrior in the tribe, he’d taken pleasure in enduring the heat and the cold, the deprivation during the hunts, the danger. He’d felt proud when he carried game on his back or his shoulders on the return journey – he’d volunteered to bear the load. Every burden endured for the tribe was yet another honor.
But the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to die. He chided himself for his selfishness. If it was for the good of his tribe, that was what mattered. After he had done so much for the tribe, and the tribe had been so good to him, how could he turn back now? How could he refuse to bear this final burden? The tribe was all he had ever known, and he had never desired any other life.
For the first time ever, Rueel contemplated leaving the tribe. He knew he could slip past the guards and slip away into the night. He could cross the mountains and head out into the unknown lands beyond. He had the skills to survive on his own – at least for a while, until he found another tribe that would take him in.
The prospect of forging through those unknown lands by himself frightened him. But in that wilderness there was possibility, and in this valley there was only the certainty of the end to all possibility forever.
Rueel had never contemplated leaving before. He knew it was weak. He knew it meant putting himself before his tribe. He did not want to be weak. He did not want to be selfish. The only thing that he could do was to prove worthy for this final sacrifice.
The morning came. Rueel had dreaded it, but when the sunlight appeared in the skylight and the wind rustled the fronds, he thought he had never seen sky so blue before, and the fronds had never been so fresh and in bloom as they were now. When he walked out into the day, he was struck by how beautiful the weather was. Perhaps it had never been so pleasant. The guava that Reyea handed him looked like it was the ripest he had ever seen. He wished it didn’t have to be his last.
“No!” called a voice. It was Yarrow. “He cannot eat,” he said. “The tribute must fast until the sacrifice. It is customary.”
Rueel felt bitterness. The food he had eaten last night had been his last, and he hadn’t known it. He wished maybe he had. But he couldn’t go back now, not to last night, not to his first hunt, not to the first time he had made love to Reyea, not to any time when he’d had more time.
“Can he have water?” asked Reyea, who was crestfallen.
“Yes.”
“I’ll go and get you some,” she said.
“Come,” said Yarrow. “You will spend the morning preparing.”
Rueel’s lack of enthusiasm must have shown on his face, for Yarrow asked him whether he was ready. “You must be ready,” he added. “You have to be.”
“I… I… I’m not sure that I want to die,” admitted Rueel.
“What are you saying?” asked Yarrow. “You cannot be impious. The gods will not have it.”
“I just… I’m-”
“You? You don’t matter. What does it matter if you want to die or not? Do you think I consult my own thoughts every day about my duties? Do you think I think about whether I want to be high priest? What does it matter what I want? What does it matter what you want? The gods matter and the tribe matters. The tribe must go on. If you do not die, there will be drought and pestilence and famine. The gods will punish us for our insolence. You will be the cause of much agony and suffering on the part of your family, your kin.”
“I will go through with it,” said Rueel. “I just meant that I wasn’t sure I was ready. That’s all.”
“Come. That is why we will spend the morning in preparation. We will get you ready.”
Reyea came and found them and handed a jug of water to Rueel, but Yarrow wouldn’t let her stay. When the time came and the sun was near its peak, the tribe gathered in the center of the camp. An altar of wood had been prepared by the warriors, and Rueel was led to it by two of the priests. There was chanting from the tribe, but he couldn’t hear it. He didn’t hear what Yarrow said. He lay down on the altar.
Yarrow held his hands over Rueel, who tried not to look at them. He gazed up at the sky – so clear and vibrant. Suddenly, he felt the urge to cry. He had never realized just how beautiful the sky was, just how lucky he was to look at it every day. Yarrow chanted the ceremonial rites. The sun moved higher.
The moment came. Yarrow raised the knife high above his head. Rueel opened his eyes wide and tried not to blink. He didn’t want to lose sight of that sky for one second. Every second he had left was all he had. The knife came down. Rueel felt a sharp pain.
And the world ended.
Reyea couldn’t hide the tears this time. She knew she shouldn’t be crying, but she couldn’t help it. She knew she was bringing dishonor on herself, but when the knife had plunged into Rueel’s neck, she had begun weeping. Some of those around her were looking at her, urging her to be quiet, urging her to stop. She was ruining the ceremony and dishonoring the tribe. The gods would be upset. How could she think of herself at a time like this? If she needed to cry, she could go out into the jungle in the evening and cry where nobody could see her, until she had vented her emotion and could come back ready to perform her duties. But it was all she could do not to rush to the altar and put her arms around Rueel’s body.
Yarrow looked at her and shook his head, but he did not disrupt the ceremony. When he lit the altar with a torch, and Rueel’s body went up in flames, she brought her weeping under control. Silent tears rolled down her face now, and she kept her eyes on the flames.
Later, after the ceremony had ended, her mother chided her for her interruption. “Why draw attention to yourself?” she asked. “It isn’t about you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Reyea. “I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t trying to make it about me.”
“It was your duty to help it. You may not have been trying to make it about you but you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. Your actions brought dishonor on our family and if the gods take note of your insolence they may yet bring disaster on our tribe.”
This worried Reyea, for she feared that even if the gods did not express their displeasure, she would be blamed for any misfortune that came in the next year. That evening, Rueel’s father confronted her.
“Do you think you are the only one who will miss Rueel?” he asked.
“No, I… I….”
“You don’t care. You care only about your own feelings.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
But he would hear no more from her. Most of the rest of the tribe was avoiding her. Some gave her looks of displeasure. Others turned their heads and gave her a cold shoulder when she passed. No order had gone out. No spoken agreement. No conference. Merely the implicit understanding on the part of every member of the tribe that one of their own had done wrong and was not to be dealt kindly with. By temporarily cutting her off, they reminded her that she was nothing without them.
That night, Reyea lay awake thinking. She cried softly so as not to wake the others. She wished she could stop. She knew it was wrong of her. She hoped that her tribemates would excuse this nighttime crying as a necessary bit of self-indulgence, that this at least would be permitted her. She knew it was only silly sentiment on her part and that what mattered was the tribe, and that in the morning she would need to be up and about the serious business of her tribal duties whether she felt like it or not, but somehow this sorrow and this longing that she felt would not leave her, as though she had lost something real which could never be recovered.
Eventually, she stopped crying. She wasn’t sure why she had stopped crying when she missed Rueel so terribly, until she realized that she had been unsure of something and no longer felt unsure. Her eyes were beginning to open, she felt, and she no longer believed that what she had done was wrong.
In the morning, she confronted Yarrow. Some of the other shamans were there. Rueel’s father as well. Good. She wanted them to be there.
“You did not show altogether proper reverence at the sacrifice yesterday,” said Yarrow disapprovingly.
“Reverence?” responded Reyea. “How can you stand there and speak of yesterday as though this tribe did not lose one of its very own yesterday? How can you stand there and speak as though you did not kill him with your own hand? And you,” she pointed to Rueel’s father, “how can you stand there as though it were just another day?”
“Do you think we have a say in the matter?” asked Yarrow. “It was my duty.”
“Do you think I consult my own feelings when it comes to matters of the survival of the tribe?” asked Rueel’s father. “You have a role to play as well as I.”
“You took him,” Reyea cried, pointing at Yarrow. “You took Rueel. And you stood there and watched.” She turned to point to Rueel’s father. “You talk about duty. But you speak only of Rueel’s duty to the tribe, of my duty to the tribe, of your own duty to the tribe. What about the tribe’s duty to him?
“The tribe will go on. The sun went down. The sun comes up. One life is gone, but the world is still here and the tribe will be just as strong in a year as it was today – stronger if the gods do not take out their displeasure upon us for your outburst yesterday. I have been spending all morning making prayers of intercession on your behalf.”
“One life? One life is gone? His life. His life is gone. Rueel’s life.”
“His life mattered insofar as he served his tribe. He mattered insofar as he served his tribe. Just as I matter only insofar as I serve the tribe in my prayers to the gods and you matter only so far as you serve the tribe. The value of his life lay in what he could do for his tribe. His tribe needed his death.”
“And where would my son have been without this tribe?” asked Rueel’s father. He spread his hands around. “This valley, this world does not care about anyone’s life. Rueel’s life did not matter to the world. It only mattered to us. To his tribe. We gave his life meaning and purpose and if we take his life away that we may continue then his death had greater meaning and purpose than his life.”
“You say that his life only mattered to the tribe,” said Reyea. Tears rolled down her face but she stared each man in the eye in turn and then turned to look at all the others who had gathered to look on at them.
“You say that his life only mattered to us. But that isn’t true. That isn’t true at all. It mattered to him. And now he is gone and he can never return.”