When it rains it pours.

Introduction to the main character, Roku, in his last night in his jungle home before his adventure begins.

Chapter 1: When it rains it pours

*****

 

In the great Tal-Gathee, which means “Red Jungle,” where the fabled giant Red Oaks have stood in an undisturbed slumber for thousands of years, a young boy’s thoughts strayed far away from the sanctuary of these mighty trees.

 

Roku rested in the fork of a thick oak branch, his self-made spear held loosely in his right hand and his legs dangling down towards the ground far below him. He held no fear of falling, he had been raised by these trees, and never felt safer than when shrouded by their leaves, but tonight his mind was restless.

 

Tomorrow marked the turn of his thirteenth cycle, and for as long as he could remember his mother had promised that on this day, his father would return for him. but he had known nothing other than this jungle his entire life. As he lowered himself gracefully back down to the lower branches, and then leapt from the tree, landing softly on the ground beneath him with the agility and stealth of a predator. 

 

Making his way back to his family camp after a lacklustre hunt, He passed through the underbrush like a gentle breeze. His footfalls silent, his lean body weaved under and around branches and leaves, He brushed wait-a-while vines aside smoothly. Any noise he did make was so subtle, it blended seamlessly with the natural jungle sounds. To move so effortlessly through an everchanging jungle without falter could only be achieved by centuries of adaptation. In a jungle full of predators, it was their only option to become the deadliest of all. So, they did.

 

 

As the jungle thinned slightly as he neared his camp, the dank undergrowth changed to a vibrant grass, the lush green grass at his feet, contrasted against the Red trunks and leaves always amazed him, the Tal-Gathee truly had to be seen to be believed. He could hear small creatures rustling about in the leaves above him, and birds sang out for their mates. He stared back up once again, marvelling at the sleeping giants, the trunks were tall and straight that they seemed to spear into the sky. A silly musing his mother told him once sprang to mind.

 

 

 

 

 

“Tal’Gathee provide,

Tal’Gathee protect,

Be wary,

she demands respect”

 

 

 

 

As he came towards the small clearing where he and his mother, and a handful of Tal- Gathee peoples resided, he welcomed the smell of burning wood and plump hare’s roasting on a spit above the fire. The rest of his family was already there, sitting on logs positioned around the fire in a triangle. Today’s hunt had been a successful one despite his lack of contribution and his small family would eat well tonight.

 

 This is the way of Roku’s people, they live in small groups of six to ten, claim a small section of the jungle for themselves and stay there, the small numbers allow them to live off the natural resources of the jungle for many cycles without depleting the jungle, there are hundreds of small families like this within Tal-Gathee.

 

There are three predominant tribes within the Tal’Gathee, though the tribes had no contempt for one another, neither did they mingle with one another.

 

First there is Roku’s tribe, known throughout as the Black Claw. The Leaf Lalkers, who build nest like homes high in the reaches of the jungle canopy, Roku was rather sceptical of their existence, none of his family that he’d questioned had ever seen them. One of his brothers had even tried to tell him that they crush the bark from the oaks into a powder and mix it with water and then smear it on themselves to blend in with the red leaves. He scoffed at the notion. Lastly, there smallest tribe, the White Water tribe, who dwell at the highest point of the Tal’Gathee, where the great river begins as it crashes downward and carves its way towards the sea.

 

Rokus tribe is known as the Black Claw due to their constant battle with Sabres, an enormous wild cat that stands as high as a soldier’s horse. With a coat of fur as black as a moonless night, Claws sharper than any Tal-Gathee spear, a pair of bone spikes, sticking forwards out of each shoulder and a mouth full of horrifyingly sharp teeth. But perhaps the most haunting thing about these remarkable beasts was their eyes, The Sabres had blood red eyes that shone like rubies in the sunlight. Nearly as big as the palm of a grown man. On a dark night, when the great red oaks thick canopy cast large shadows over the jungle floor, it was impossible to see a sabre with its eyes closed. Sabres didn’t need their eyes in the dark, they could track you to within a few paces on scent and noise alone, and the last thing their victims ever see are those huge glowing red orbs.  

 

 

 

The Tal’Gathee men and women are the most skilled hunters and are a formidable warrior race in their own right. The complexion of the Tal-Gathee ranges from a deep brown, to an almost charcoal black, rivalling even the coats of the sabres, making them terribly effective assassins by the cloak of night.  Some men grow to be almost 7 feet tall, with large powerful hands for climbing trees and wielding long spears, and long legs for running down agile prey when hunting.  

 

Roku was no different, hunting for the better part of his young life, despite his age, he had already grown to almost 6 feet tall, his body had become lean and strong from years of climbing and running through the jungle. His dark curls hung ever closer to his shoulders, which were already as broad as some of the warriors in his family. He had almond skin, rather light in comparison to the other Tal-Gathee and was absent of any scaring.

 

 Scars were tokens of greatness to his people, they reflected the triumphs of the warrior. Tribesmen could often be heard telling exaggerated tales of how they earned their greatest scars. A Tal-Gathee man, for all his domineering qualities, has one trait that personifies him best. His hair, the hair of a Jungle warrior is never cut, from the day he is born, until the day that he dies. Once his hair grows past his elbows, it is plaited into a tight braid, when he dies, his hair is shaved from him and hung in the jungle, so that others may see what powerful men have lived here. and he is buried hairless into the earth to be reborn again, that is what the Tal-Gathee believe. 

 

As Roku reached the fire at the centre of the clearing, he took a seat on the log next to his mother, Alyona, she was not born in the jungle, and not a Tal-Gathee, Roku was told that his parents had met far from the jungle, in a range of frozen mountains and wailing blizzards as his father had ventured across Val-Roha. He knew precious little of the story of his parents, only that when it was learned that Alyona was to bear a child, Rokus father had taken her back to Tal-Gathee to have the protection of his brothers, and raise his child as a true Tal-Gathee warrior.

 

 Alyona Stood out like a beacon in the dark jungle, her skin was so pale she almost gleamed in sunlight, her long white-blonde hair was dead straight along her back. She had ice blue eyes, a small nose that turned up slightly at the tip, her ears were adorned with gold rings she had acquired in her childhood. Her jaw was strong and pronounced against her long slim neck, right down to her cleft chin.  She was far shorter than the Tal-Gathee women, but for a woman she was quite broad in the shoulders, her body tapered off into a small waist, but her short legs where thick and wrapped in powerful muscle, her calves were almost as mighty as her thighs, strapped in corded muscle from a lifetime of trudging through thick snow.

 

Alyona came from a different part of the world, but for the most part the Tal-Gathee had welcomed her as family, and she learned the ways of life in the jungle quickly from the other women. And so, Roku was raised by the jungle as his father had wished.

 

“Where have you been child?” Alyona questioned

“With the trees… I am afraid mother,” Roku whispered.

 

She looked on him with the softness only a mother can, silently cajoling him into telling of his feelings. Which is often what must be done for boys his age, and even more so for grown men.

 

“I don’t want to leave the jungle..” His Voice trailed off.

 

“Embrace change my son, for there will come a time when you beg for it,” Alyona Promised.

 

For the most part, Alyona was not the type for philosophical chatter, and even when she did bare her wisdom it often flew over Roku’s young head. But what she did speak of, were stories. Such; incredible stories.

 

Stories far beyond the jungles leaves, tales of gods who fought so fiercely it shaped our world, tales of wars fought over one woman’s arm, tales of warlords felled by a stable boys hand, Of a queen so wicked that not a plant within half a mile of her palace grew. Tales Of sorcerers who would bend the very world around them to their will. Tales Of vile Orcs bred for violence alone, and tales of the Annari, so close to gods, they were granted a home in the clouds.

 

Roku lived for his mother’s stories and longed for stories of his own. He was not sure of much, but he knew with unshakeable confidence that the world could never have enough stories.  

 

One of the hunters approached them, he held out skewered pieces of meat in offering, Roku and his mother accepted, He savagely bit into the searing flesh, and it was perhaps the most delicious hare he had ever tasted, or perhaps it was that he may never eat another Tal-Gathee wild hair again.

 

The Eldest of their family, Borgak, stood before the members, with his arms spread out by his side and his mighty palms to the sky.

 

He spoke from deep within his chest, and boomed his voice into the night, so that his voice would carry far through the trees.

 

“Children! Rain will fall on the jungle tonight!” Borgak exclaimed

 

Borgak closed his eyes and loudly drew in a deep breath through his nose, tilted his head back and released the air from his great lungs. It was as if Borgak had breathed life into the very sky. It boomed, lightning tore through the cloudy night, illuminating their camp in a fierce flash of white. Roku felt the first beads of water on his shoulders, he looked across the fire and saw great smiles on his brothers and sister’s faces. The men began to beat upon their thick chests, the rhythmical thumps steadily increasing in speed to a rapid crescendo. Lightning whipped at the tree tops once more and the sky opened, and the water rushed down upon them. The fire was doused almost instantly, and a thick purple smoke rose up from the burning red wood and slither away toward the clouds.

 

Borgak, the families elder began to heavily beat on a handmade drum, soon many brothers joined him. More families would be drawn to the clearing by the smoke and the sounds of jubilation. Coming together to celebrate the skies great blessing. Tal-Gathee people were passionate at the worst of times, but when blessed by the skies, their spirit elevated to another level. They would cry out in sheer joy. Unable to contain their emotions a moment longer. Men and women would come together, as the rain pounded their bare skin, they would dance and drum their feet into the earth. Until their passions fell unto each other, they would succumb their primal desire, there soaked bodies would be inseparable until long after the rain ceased.

 

Already dozens of men and women had emerged from all edges of the clearing and begun to dance and cheer.

 

Borgak approached Roku, who still sat on the log, now drenched. His wet hair clinging to his face, his head hung solemnly. Roku saw Borgak’s feet in the mud in front of him, suddenly shaken from his trance of self-pity “Look at me boy,” Borgak ordered.

 

Roku craned his neck to look upon the great elder who towered over him.

 

“I sense you that you are fearful of your father and the journey that lay before you, am I wrong boy?” He questioned

 

Roku said nothing, but nodded his head slowly, still in shock. For as long as he had been alive and a part of this Tal-Gathee family, Borgak had never acknowledged him, let alone spoken directly to him. He had always assumed that this was because he was not a true Tal-Gathee, due to his mother not being from the jungle, but on his last night with the family, he stood before him.

 

“Stand boy! So that we may speak as equals.” He commanded.

 

Roku stood, though he still had to tilt his head back to look into the eyes of his elder. Roku’s mother had told him that Borgak was very old, and that he was already an elder when Roku’s father was a boy. If this were true, his body showed no sign of it. His dark eyes still burned with the fires of life, he stood tall like the great oaks and his muscle ridden arms rippled like a body of water in fierce wind every time he flexed his hands. His shoulders were wide like castle doors and he walked with a lightness that defied his enormity. The only trace of his true age was his long silver hair, which was braided and weaved, and knotted around two sticks to keep it from dragging on the earth behind him. A necklace of animal fangs hung from his dense neck. His loin cloth was far more decorated than the other men, imbued with deep rich colours of purple and red.

 

Borgak placed his spread palm in the centre of Roku’s chest and said,

 

“Listen to me boy, your father comes tomorrow regardless of how you may feel. Carry this knowledge with you wherever he may take you. Your father is one of the greatest men that has ever hunted this jungle, and he will carve a terrifying path for you. But know that whatever you may face, power of the jungle is in you”

 

With that, Borgak turned away and retired to his large tent at the edge of the clearing, moments later, several of the women who had been dancing in the rain followed him inside. Roku stood wide eyed and in deep thought at the words of his elder.

 

Alyona appeared at Roku’s side and ushered him swiftly into their small tent and pointed to his bed, a cot of large leaves and woven reed blanket.

 

“Your eyes will see many things when you go with your father, you shall be innocent for one last night,” Alyona laughed as she left the tent

 

She stood facing the now closed tent, on her shoulders she felt the weight of a thousand worlds, with her chin dipped deeply to her chest, she quietly sobbed a final phrase.

 

“Sleep well my child, tomorrow brings a new life, for you”

 

Roku lay awake within the tent, unable to settle himself, He was far to anxious meeting his father, everything would change tomorrow. As he tossed and turned, he caught a glimpse of a huntress from another family through the narrow slit of the tent. Suddenly his woes were coaxed out of him.

 

Her jet-black hair was slicked down the back of her neck from being drenched by the rain, when the sun rose the next day it would no doubt return to its playful, frizzy and bouncy state. Her chest was bare, droplets of water traced their way over her ample breasts. Her thin grass skirt did little to conceal her curved hips and lithe thighs. Every rhythmic move of her body in perfect cohesion with the jungle drums, seemed to call to him on a primal level, he yearned for the next flash of lightning, so that he may steal another glance of her in the white light. His heart pounded in his chest and he longed to be outside, dancing in the storm of lust. But the fear in his stomach kept him trapped in the tent. Soon she danced out of his view, and in time his breathing steadied, and he drifted into a restless sleep.

 

 

 

In the late hours of the night, Alyona was wide awake, ill to her bones with worry. It was easy to let your thoughts get the better of you in the silence and solitude of a silent night. The darkest whisperings of your mind become bold when the rest of the world seems to sleep.  She rubbed her tired eyes and exhaled, the sun would rise soon. There was no point trying to sleep now, she condemned herself to a day of exhaustion as she rose from her cot of reeds and slipped silently into her son’s tent.

 

Most mother’s may weep in times like this, but not Alyona, the princess of war from the far north, No. There would be no tears from her. Just like her son, her time in the jungle was at an end.  She knelt down beside him and brushed a mess of hair away from his face gently. He stirred a little but did not wake. She leant over and pressed her lips against his forehead tenderly.

 

“Nahalis protect you,” She breathed.

 

With that she was gone.

Author's Note

I know it was a little long but thanks for sticking with me, have i been overly descriptive? i try to paint a picture of key characters the first time you meet them but it might be too much..

Let me hear your feedback good or bad :)

Reviews

[JayG]

Well, you did ask…

This one is simple, given that you’ve read several of my other critiques. In general, apply them to your own writing.

As I often say, it’s not a matter of good or bad writing, talent, potential, or the story. In fact, from what I can see, your scene visualization and wordsmith skills are excellent.

The problem lies in that you are telling the reader a story. Specifically, you’re transcribing yourself telling it aloud. But storytelling is a performance art. And in that performance, your changes in tone, cadence, intensity; your gesture, expression, and body-language provide the vast majority of the emotional content of the story. And without that it’s a history lesson on a fictional character. Instead of entertaining, you’re explaining. But how much of your performance makes it to the page? Zero. Have the computer read it aloud and you’ll hear the problem.

Problem is, added to that, unlike life and the various performance methods our medium is serial, and everything a viewer learns about a scene in an eyeblink’s time—ambience, action, byplay, soundscape—must be spelled out one item at a time on the page. So obviously, there is, and must be, a very different approach to story presentation methodology in our medium.

But in our schooldays, because the focus is providing a general set of skills that our future employer expect us to know, those differences aren’t mentioned. Why? For the same reason we’re not taught the professional skills of medicine, accounting, etc. They, like fiction writing skills, are professional knowledge, and of use primarily to those practicing the profession.

In ours, for example, one critical point is that since we can’t make the reader “see” the picture we visualize as we write, we narrow the focus to what matters to the protagonist in the moment they call, “now.” We don’t give history lessons, or explain the meaning of events. Instead, we place the reader into the story, as-the-protagonist. We involve them so tightly that should the protagonist scrape a knee in a fall the reader winces. We don’t tell the reader our protagonist is in love, we make that reader fall in love, vicariously. A byproduct of keeping the reader in the protagonist’s now is that for the reader it feels as if time is flowing for us at the same rate as for the protagonist—which is the key to reader involvement. A history lesson can be put aside at any time, but life must be responded to in the moment.

To show how much that matters, I suggest this article on viewpoint:
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/2011/09/22/the-grumpy-writing-coach-8/

In fact, you might want to dig around in the other writing articles, which will give you a feel for the areas you want to look into.

My personal suggestion is to pick up a copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer for the nuts-and-bolts issues of creating a scene and story that sings to the reader. It won’t make a published writer of you. That’s your job. But it will give you the tools with which to do that. And I think on reading it you’ll spend a lot of time saying, “That’s so obvious. Why didn’t I see that for myself?”

Not great news, I know after all the work you’ve put into this. But you are doing better then most, while using the tools we’re all given. So with the proper tools…

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[Cherrie Palmer]

Your opening chapter holds your reader's attention. You missed a typo here and there but a quick edit will fix most issues.

[Javier RB]

I really liked it! I liked the world, the people, the mystic ambience. I'd really like to read more of this story.
I don't think it's too descriptive, except on the part of the mother's introduction. I think it was a bit too out of the blue. I mean, the change from seeing Roku walking to reading his mother's past was a bit abrupt.
I had only two doubts while reading the first two paragraphs (though it was clear a bit later): is it day or night? Is Roku human-like or animal?
Because of the mystic way of describing the surroundings I thought it was night time, but I think I shouldn't have had any doubt about it. And maybe it was your profile pic of a wolf, but I wasn't sure if Roku was a wolf or a human-like creature.
I'm no expert in English spelling, but I think there were a couple of faults here and there.
But other than that, I liked the story! (I only intended to write an honest and constructive review. I hope it's not taken the wrong way!)

[Mitchell Dean]

Cool world building early on. I like the picture you paint of these people of the jungle and their traditions. I'd be interested to learn more about the history and customs of these people as their story is woven through future chapters!