Five Fingered Lizard

3/29/2024 11:49:39 AM
Followers: 0
Following: 0
Scribe from Oregon. I enjoy mythology, folklore, ancient and medieval literature, and human prehistory.
 6
 2740
 1
 0

 

A boy squinted at the sun through his scraggly black hair. Wearing moccasins, hide trousers, and a fur vest, a thin wooden boomerang was in his poised hand. He had carved it himself, some weeks ago. He let it loose, and it flew, rotating rapidly. It flew up, far, far away, and over the crest of a nearby hill.

The youth set off toward the hill to retrieve his boomerang. He still had yet to throw it right to get it to swing back, much less catch it. “Perhaps it’s my arm… or perhaps it’s just not made right.” he said.

This gully between red and brown rocks, hills, and caves, was an empty, spacious flat of land. It was a regular spot for the locals to practice their archery, and the throwing of tomahawks, and slinging spears and stones. 

“Buma!” cried a small, high pitched voice. “Mother wishes us home!” It was the boy’s sister, Nimya, a few years younger than he.

“Go along- I’ll catch up! I need to fetch my boomerang, then I’ll head straight home.”

So Nimya turned around, taking a safe path home, and Buma began to climb the steep hill face, which seemed now nothing but a pile of dry, dusty gravel. More and more dust was kicked up, as he climbed and slid simultaneously. He made the final stretch of the climb with nimbility, onto the elevated rocky ground. He looked down into the gully, as the dust dispersed, and he felt powerful in his heart.

He saw his boomerang, some thirty feet up, caught in a crag of a protruding rock formation, whereby there was no solid ground. Realizing that he must climb the vertical face, he scanned over the rock wall, trying to scope out a spot where his hands might find purchase. Carefully, slowly, he began his ascent. Sweat was dripping from every pore, even though the sun was now on its downward arc.

At last, after much strain, his boomerang was in reach! He stretched his arm forward to pull it out from the crevice it had become lodged in. Yet even as he reached upward, his foot slipped downward, where the foothold had crumbled off, loosening a chunk of rock to fall beneath him. He tumbled down the cliff face. After a sudden, brutal impact, his eyes were blinded, and much of his flesh was penetrated by shards of gravel. Buma’s mind went black.

When he awoke, some minutes later, he found that he was in a cavern that had an open ceiling; the fading sunlight shone down the pit Buma had fallen into. He stood up, and walked around for a few moments. 

After finding his balance again, he noticed hammers of stone scattered around the chamber. One of the walls was chipped into, obviously having been struck with the stones. Flakes were scattered across the stone floor. Buma’s tribemates had crafted this material, he remembered; this was a Flint deposit. It looked as though it had been set up to be mined at one point, and the miners had left, hoping to come back. It seemed to have closed off naturally over many decades.

Buma took a chunk of flint and put it in a pocket in his fur vest. He climbed along a rising path, the slope flanked by loose gravel. He could see light coming through a very small, horizontal gap; he concluded it must lead outside. He laid down, peering through the crevice, discovering that it wasn’t far to the outside; his exit merely seemed to be blocked by a thin layer of compacted rock. He lay flat to the floor, and shimmied under the rock covering, hoping that it would not fall, to crush and suffocate him. He was a lean boy, able to manage his way through such a tight space at ease. At last, he had escaped the enclosed rock chamber.

He passed through the gulley, back to the wooded area where his tribe had made their encampment. Buma showed the chunk of flint to his father, who was the tribe’s lead hunter. He brought forth Buma to the Chief to present his find. The youth informed the Chief of the hidden, walled-off cavern he had fallen into.

“Tomorrow, at sunrise, you will show a group of our gatherers and scouts where this cave is,” pronounced the Chief. Afterward, Buma and his father retired to their tent for the night. His mother and sister were still awake, and immediately embraced Buma with a cradling hug, having been worried about his absence. 

“Where’s your boomerang?”asked Nimya.

Buma laughed at himself. “I had forgotten all about it. I’ll retrieve it tomorrow.” Then the family lay down for a good night’s rest. 

On the next morning, Buma and his father met with the Chief and three other men. “The entrance to the mine is found atop a rocky hillside on the far side of the gulley,” said Buma. “We should bring rope, bear walking sticks, and wear leather boots. Digging tools will also be called for.” The men agreed, and they prepared so for their outing. Buma’s excitement mounted; he, at only fourteen years old, had not been permitted to go on any serious hunting or exploring endeavours before, and now it felt like he was the leader of his own expedition. 

The group approached the steep, gravelly hillside; Buma went first, climbing with relative ease. From his satchel he took a stake and a rope; he hammered the stake in with a stone tool, to secure the rope at the top of the hill. It consisted of long strips of hide knotted and woven together. The other end was thrown down, to aid the Chief in his climb. Another man went after the old man as he surmounted the hillside, ready to catch him should he fall or lose balance on the shaky ascent. Through careful deliberation, all reached the top of the hill without injury.

Buma led the group through a hint of a walkway between the dried rock. “Down there,” he said, “is where I escaped from,” pointing to the small crevice that came only to a shin’s height. “Up there is where I fell in.” He pointed to the top of the rock formation, where his boomerang was still lodged. “From up there, you can see inside the mine from above,” he said.

“Only a child could slip through that gap,” said the Chief, impressed. “Only a skilled climber could have found it from above.”

Buma took his stone hammer, and struck the stone at the gap’s lip. Pieces of the brittle red rock crumbled off. “We can get in there easily by breaking through this barrier.”

The group took turns digging over the next several hours, and through their toiling an opening was made, large enough for a man to walk through.

“This is a wonderful find, Buma,” said the Chief, as they inspected the wealthful flint mine. “We have visited this vicinity many times over the years, yet never had anyone else discovered this chamber. Harvesting this flint will bring great prosperity to our people. We will be able to craft useful goods, even earning us greater rewards through trading.

“Buma! I give you a new name for today’s exploit. You shall be known among this tribe as the Five Fingered Lizard, after the sneaky reptile that scuttles amidst the rocky crags.”

“Thank you, Chief. I will take this name as my own.” said Buma, his head bowing, eyes closed in quiet acceptance. The group then descended back into the gully, and returned to camp. 

“You still didn’t get your boomerang?” asked Nimya that night. 

“It just didn’t seem important at the time,” he replied, with a smile. “I think I’ll just leave it there.” Other things were on his mind; he planned to make a knife from the chunk of flint he had kept from the cave. He would then carve with that knife a new boomerang, one that would perhaps suit his grip and perform better. To mark it as his own, this one was to be engraved with depictions of the Five Fingered Lizard.