Chapter 17

“A volcano can lie sleeping for many generations before spouting again. Your mountain may well stay sleeping for many generations to come, but you should be aware of this remote possibility. If it ever starts to make noises and begin shaking the ground, that is the sign to leave and go many days travel away from here, to get to a safe distance. Volcanoes can affect a huge distance. Expect to stay well away for a long time; perhaps a lifetime if the volcano continues to rumble frequently.

Enough about volcanoes. We were talking about Gomoro. His wife died, you said. What then?”

“He was shocked at her death, and that of the baby. It looked like he was shocked even more at himself, for not being able to stop her from dying. He blamed himself for not being able to save her. He withdrew into himself for many moons, and changed his life to concerning himself about plants rather than people.

Over time, he has become a little less isolated from the rest of the tribe, and has become friendly with several widows. It seems he and they are getting together to mourn the loss of their respective spouses. It is a sort of mutual help group. They support each other, and he and they are close from what I have seen, but there is no sign of him wanting to marry again. He still fears a repetition.”

“I knew about that, when I met him through my interest in his plants. He is indeed afraid of remarrying, in case his new wife dies in childbirth again.”

“Crazy man; All women know the risks of motherhood, just as all warriors know the risks of dying in battle. All life is risky, and women accept the risks they face. He doesn’t seem to see that.”

John pointed out, “Yours is the rational approach to life’s risks. Gomoro is different. He was badly affected by his great love’s death and as a result continues to be fearful of it repeating. It is not a rational outlook, but understandable if one gets such a terrible shock. The mind convinces you that the irrational is rational. In my capacity as a Shaman, I think I should speak with him about his mental fears. I may be able to help him.”

“I hope you can, Chief John. Will you give him a magic charm to ward off the fear?”

“No. No charms. Fear must be faced and conquered, like a terrible enemy. It is a brave thing to do, to conquer fear. I will give him something else that will help. When fear is conquered, you become powerful inside.

I cannot talk of what I will do, as a Shaman’s tools are his and his alone, as you will appreciate.”

“That is understood and accepted by all, Chief John and Shaman John. Do you need the assistance of our tribe’s Shaman?”

“I must speak with him at once, so that he realises I am not here to usurp his position within the tribe. My duty is to be an adviser, not one who applies power. We have enough Chiefs and Shamans doing that.”

“Uh, Chief? Our Shaman is not here to speak with you. He has left for a meeting somewhere, and we don’t know when he will return.”

“Oh? Then I shall have to talk with Gomoro on my own, and tell the Shaman afterwards. You can explain that there was no intention to go behind his back. I owe due respect to a tribal shaman.”

“Of course, Chief. We can do that. When do you think you will want to appoint a new Chief?”

“That depends on Gomoro. I have him in mind as a candidate for you to consider, if I find that he has enough strength of mind for the task. That may not be the case, so keep looking for another worthy person in case I fail to recruit him.”

“We will do that, Chief.”

“Then I will leave you to your deliberations for the good of the tribe. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

John found that he could not recall the route from the council hut to Gomoro’s place, so asked another man he met. The man looked surprised at anyone wanting to find Gomoro, but said nothing, just gave the directions.

John found the hut and approached it, enjoying the fresh air and the sound of birds in the background. As he got to the door, he heard new sounds; the sound of a man and woman having sex and enjoying it. He stopped to consider his actions, and gave them a few minutes until their noise level dropped, then pushed the leather curtain aside and stepped inside.

He found Gomoro still happily fucking away into a woman who was holding on to him tightly, clearly happy with the encounter. After a moment, the flash of light from outside when John entered, finally percolated into his mind, and he halted his thrusting to look over his shoulder. Seeing that someone stood there, he called out, “This is private, and in my hut!”

“I shall wait outside for you to finish, then,” said John softly, and left the hut. He stood outside for a while, listening to the birdsong and admiring the view over the crops. Eventually Gomoro came to the door, and was surprised to find John waiting patiently.

“Chief John! If I had known it was you, I would not have spoken as I did. I apologise.”

John waved away his apology.

“Your house should not be invaded, even by the Chief, my friend Gomoro, and especially when you are entertaining a lady. Is she one of your regular close friends?”

“She is. It is her day to be with me, in all senses of the word. She is very accomodating to my desires.”

“Would she become a wife to you, if you asked?”

Gomoro frowned, but was quick to reply. “Yes, she would, but she knows my feelings on the matter.”

“Does the same apply to the other widows that you entertain?”

“Probably. They enjoy our encounters and would probably be amenable if I asked.”

“But you don’t ask. So it all comes down to your fear of losing a wife to death by childbirth?”

“It may sound trivial to you, Chief, but for me, it is like me killing a woman by making her pregnant. It is that serious.”

“Allow me to shake your hand, Gomoro, if I may?”

Frowning again, a puzzled Gomoro shook hands with John, and John gripped his hand tighter, nor letting him go.

“What are you doing, Chief?” Gomoro demanded to know.

“I am acting as Shaman, which I am in another tribe. Do you know what Shamans can do, Gomoro?”

“No. I presume some sort of magic, but I do not know any details.”

“Let me tell you that each Shaman has his own magic that he uses to perform actions to help the tribe. I am special in that my magic really works.”

“So you say. Most Shamans make that claim. I prefer to see you as my Chief.”

“One of my magical performances is to give medical help by touching people. By holding hands with you, I am passing special medical magic to you. It is contagious, in that you will pass it on in turn to others you choose, such as the women you have sex with.”

“And what do you claim your magic trick does to me and them?” said the unbelieving Gomoro.

“The best example I can give is that any ailment that you catch from other people, or from a cut or bruise, will not cause serious harm, and the cut or bruise will heal quickly.”

“I got a scratch on my arm yesterday. Are you telling me it will heal, all by itself, without me putting a herbal poultice on it?”

“Exactly. Leave it alone, and it will heal swiftly, as soon as the nanites I passed to you have assimilated into your body. That can take a few hours.”

John now released Gomoro’s hand, and he stared at his hand in disbelief, for it looked unchanged.

“What are these ‘nanites’? I have never heard the word.”

“It is my word for the magic I am giving you. Think of it as tiny warriors travelling around your body, attacking and killing any nasty illnesses that try to get inside your body.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Only terrible for your illness enemies. The other thing they can be helpful with is in helping to heal cuts that happen during childbirth. One of my wives had some nasty tears while she was birthing our son. She was bleeding quite badly, but another wife - the tribe’s Maker - closed the tears and sewed them up. The nanites did the rest, and she was fine after that. She might have died, otherwise.”

“Your wife almost died?”

“Yes, and I wasn’t there to offer any help. The combination of a clever woman and my nanites saved her; not me.”

“So if my wife had your nanites in her, she might not have died?”

“I cannot say that for certain, not knowing why she died, but possibly. Another birthing problem is when the baby is turned round the wrong way for birth and if no-one knows how to currect the problem, both mother and baby die because the birth cannot happen normally. The baby gets stuck, and both it and the mother die. My nanites can be a great help, but they cannot perform miracles; only what is possible.

Risks can never be entirely eliminated. If you trip and fall, and your head hits a sharp stone that goes through your skull, you will probably died very quickly. There is no way to have a risk-free life. All women know this; it gets passed down the generations.”

“You are saying my wife might have died anyway, even if she had been given your magic nanites?”

“I am. You and I have to live with the fact that accidents happen, and an accident is no-one’s fault. Your inability to save your wife and child is one of these risks of life. If a rock falls off a cliff and kills you, what should your family do about it? Spend their lives demolishing every cliff they can find, in the hopes of stopping such an event happening again, or accept that fate had caused you to die, and just live with it?”

Gomoro laughed, as he envisaged a family trying to turn every cliff into a gentle slope, then he sobered up and accused John.

“You are trying to make me forget about my wife’s death!”

John disabused him of that notion.

“No, Gomoro. What I am doing is making you accept and live with the fact that death is part of life. You still have to accept that death has happened, but your life should not be ruined by constantly worrying about such a death.

People die somewhere every day, for all sorts of reasons and none. If we all spent our lives fretting about the deaths, we would never be able to get on with living. We can honour our dead, and be grateful for the joy they brought into our lives, but we should not dishonour that joy by grieving for ever. There comes a time when you have to embrace life, with all its accompanying risks, and look for new joys. I suspect that four widows are seeking new joys with you, but can only have a tiny part of your love, because you live in a fog of fear. You must step out of that fog into the daylight, and dispense with fear.”

Gomoro’s face crumpled and he burst into tears. John put an arm round his shoulders and just held him tight as the man sobbed his grief; a lover’s grief that he had held within himself for several years.

Hearing the noise, the woman who had been making love with Gomoro poked her head out of the hut to see what was happening. She saw Gomoro in tears, sobbing uncontrollably, and looked at John questioningly. John held up a hand to indicate that she should wait for a bit, but also smiled at her to let her know all was well.

Gomoro’s sobbing ran its course, and then realised he was being comforted by his Chief. He jerked back and stammered, “Sorry, Chief! I didn’t know what I was doing.”

John told him, “I knew what you were doing, Gomoro. You were lamenting for a lost love and a child you never had the joy of bringing into the world. Your outburst of grief is an honour you were giving them, not something to be ashamed of.

Would you like to be held by your lady love behind you, and tell her of the wonderful wife you lost, the high esteem you had for your lost love? I am sure she would like to know what a great man you are, to devote yourself to a woman you love. Shall I ask her to come and hold you?”

“Yes, Chief. Thank you for putting up with me. I think I will live, now.”

John gave a ‘come here’ signal to the woman at the doorway, and she rushed over. John turned Gomoro round and into her arms. She wrapped him in her arms and held his head to her comforting bosom. Gomoro burst into tears again, and she allowed him to grieve some more, adding some of her own tears to the mix, for she knew what it was like to lose a spouse.

John spoke to her. “Gomoro needed to accept that his wife was indeed dead, but remained secure in his heart for ever. He needs to let her go, then he might be able to open his heart to new love, or new loves, depending on how you and the other ladies view him. I view him as a brave man who loves well and probably for life. I will come back and see him when he is settled again.”

He turned and left the pair standing there, holding each other in a tender embrace, she murmuring tender words of comfort.

Getting back to the Chief’s hut, he found that Travana and Bravura were sleeping cuddled together, lying in the pile of furs. He smiled to himself. This was how hoped they would be, seeing themselves as sister-wives and feeling secure with it.

He pulled up another large fur, and settled himself for a snooze nearby. Today had been busy, mentally tiring.

He was woken up when two women crawled in beside him, one on each side.

Bravura whispered, “We didn’t know you were back, husband. We are sorry that we were asleep and not there to welcome you properly.”

Travana tremulously added her own whisper. “You can punish us if you must; we deserve it.”

“Ladies, please take this to heart. I don’t punish you for normal activities such as falling asleep when you are tired. My wives are not required to do anything they don’t want to do, and being welcomed by you is an honour in my eyes, not a duty for you to obey.”

This got him additional hugs and kisses, and he reciprocated by running his hands over their smooth backs and fondling their delectable bums.

“Hmmm ... nice,” he murmured.

“Do you want to make love to me again, John?” asked Bravura.

“If that would please you, Bravura, then yes.”

Travana intruded, “That includes me as well, if possible, John darling.”

“Then I will make love to you both, whatever way you want me; individually or both together.”

That elicited a gasp from both of them, and Travana went on, “You could make love to us both at the same time?”

“If it interests you. I could be using my fingers or tongue on one twat while I was happily fucking the other.”

“Oh ... that sounds exciting,” said Bravura. “I’d like to experience that sometime, but can you do us seperately now? I want to hold you within my arms while you plunge into my hole with your big dong. Is that okay with you, Travana?”

“As long as he keeps some of his man stuff for me. He has promised me a baby and says I will not hurt too much with birthing it.”

“Oh, I already hope I have made a start on my own baby, but the more times he tries, the more chance I have of getting a baby started.”

“Ladies, life is not all about making babies, but we certainly can’t get another generation to follow us without having babies first of all. I think our family is going to be covered in babies before long, so there is no rush for you to add to the pack of children unless you want to.”

His admonition had no effect; they wanted their babies. Once both girls got their dose of sperm inside them, and were happy with it, John told them about his discussion with Gomoro and his woman. They were quick to pick up on the relevant facts as they pertained to themselves.

“John, does this mean that every time you have sex with us, we get some more of your magic nanites; the stuff you told us would help with pain?” asked Travana.

“Yes, though it is not an effect that increases with repetition. Once you have a suitable dose inside you, they grow their numbers until there are just the right amount to work on your body for your benefit. They are clever little machines ... I mean beasties.”

They wouldn’t have an inkling of what a ‘machine’ was, John thought to himself. In ancient times in his world line, a machine was any implement that enable you to do things you could not manage with simple muscle power. In that era, a lever was a machine, for it multiplied your effort in moving a rock.

John and his wives had fun for the rest of the day, simply being with each other and enjoying the company of each other. When they finally went to bed for the night, they demanded another session of loving each, claiming it was purely to assist with starting a baby. Yeah, of course.

Next morning, the teenagers prepared breakfast for their man and were delighted when he ran his hands over their breasts and the rest of their bodies, making them shiver. It was another sign of loving, and they took it into their hearts. After they had all eaten, the girls told John they had to go and wash themselves from all the sweat and the sex smell that was on and around them. John laughed and sent them on their way.

He was surprised when Gomoro later appeared at the door with another woman in tow, but welcomed them inside.

“Hello again, Gomoro. Is this another of your lovers? She looks too young and beautiful to be your mother!”

Gomoro blushed. “Yes, Hana is another of my close friends ... okay lovers. Are you fine with being called my lover, Hana?”

“Yes, Gomoro; if I can’t be called your wife, which I would prefer.”

John saw a chance and jumped in with both feet.

“Now that you mention it, Hana, I do believe that Gomoro should marry all of his lovers and make them his wives. Of course, that would also mean bearing his children. Does that appeal to you, or do you think it too risky to contemplate? ... having children, that is, not just being his wife.”

Gomoro looked shocked at the way the conversation was going. “Umm...”

John did not give him a chance to speak. “No need for you to say anything, Gomoro. This is a question for Hana to make a judgement on. Am I right, my dear?”

“I know what Gomoro has been afraid of, ever since his wife died, but I would love to have the chance to give him a son.”

“Or a daughter, Hana,” John interjected. “Daughters are just as good as sons, if they are given the same opportunities.”

She blinked in surprise, but nodded.

“Yes, I suppose that there is just as much chance of me having a daughter. Do you mean what you are saying about women, Chief John?”

“I do. When I became Chief of this tribe, I demanded that the council make moves towards equality of opportunity for females as well as males. That includes the upbringing of children. All children should be taught together, and choose their own interests for further learning. For example, a girl might want to learn how to be a hunter or a maker, or a warrior, as well as becoming proficient in skills that a wife requires to be a good homemaker. Men are not much good when it comes to birthing babies and rearing them, but a good husband needs to know how to love his children and cuddle them when they need a cuddle, and be able to play with them at their level. I am looking forward to playing children’s games with my own children.”

She looked shocked and pleased at the same time.

John switched topics. “Now, I don’t know if Gomoro mentioned it to you, but he has been given a dose of my Shaman healing magic.”

Hana was aware and said so, “He told me you said that when we fucked, he would be passing on your healing magic to me, to make me able to birth a baby with less risk of dying. I wanted to come and ask you if it is true, or if it was Gomoro’s imagination running away with him.”

“It is true, Hana. It is my sneaky way of getting him to marry you and the other ladies; a culmination that has been in abeyance for too long. There are four of you widows that have been comforting this poor fool; am I right?”

“Yes, Chief. I think all of us would be delighted to become his wives ... and bear his children, too. He is a lovely man.”

“I thought so. Activity towards that end has been held back by his concern for your lives possibly being lost in childbirth. That is an admirable worry, but not a good reason to prevent you from having happiness for however long you might be together.

You are aware that a tribe’s Chief is expected to have several wives and a number of children?”

“Yes, Chief. That is well known, but what has it got to do with me, with us?”

John looked back and forward between Hana and Gomoro before answering.

“I am looking for a local man to take over as Chief of the Mountain tribe, and the most eligible candidate for the job is a man named Gomoro.”

Gomoro jerked in shock. “Eh?”

“I have spoken with the council of elders and determined what qualities they would seek in a new Chief. You have all these qualities, Gomoro.”

“Eh? But...” he did not know what to say, and his voice died away.

“I have told them that you were my first choice, but if you failed to meet expectations, they should think of another possible choice. So far, I have heard nothing from them on alternatives.”

Gomoro was still at a loss for words, but Hana was not.

“I agree. He has eminent good qualities to be a Chief. He is clever, caring, inventive, and decisive when he has to be. That is my opinion, anyway.” She paused as the concept hit her, put a hand to her mouth and exclaimed excitedly, “Oh, by the Earth Mother! I could be a wife of the Chief! Wow!”

She looked into Gomoro’s eyes.

“My love, will you make me your wife when you become Chief? Me and the other ladies, for we all love you as you ought to know by now. We all want to have your children too. Please say yes.”

Gomoro looked like an animal caught by headlights in the dark, John observed.

“Gomoro, I think you should surrender to this female army and do as they order. It is the best offer you have ever had, my friend.”

Gomoro stammered, “But, Chief?”

“I want you to take over from me, Gomoro, for I decided that I cannot be the Chief here in the long term. It needs a local man with deep knowledge of the tribe, and with your other abilities and talents and loves, you fit the job perfectly. Tell me you will do it, for me and for your ladies. As and when you have a baby due, feel free to ask for my assistance, though I expect these women will not need my help with pushing out your children.”

He lost his terrified look, and sighed as he accepted the inevitable.

“Please don’t thrust me into the post immediately, Chief John!” he begged.

“There is no rush, Gomoro. I do have to go back to my old tribe to deal with a task that I left to come here and resume my other duties. I can leave you as a Chief-in-training for several days or however long I am away, and see how you cope with it.”

As John turned away in a show of indifference, Hana implored her man, “You would make a great Chief, Gomoro. You know about people, and what they like from a Chief. They want a man of power who knows how little he should use it; a man who knows how to care for people without seeming to do so; a man of decision who wields his position so cleverly that no-one feels offended. You can be all of these: I know it. You know it too.”

Gomoro yielded to her blandishments.

“All right, Chief John. I’ll have a try, and find out if it will work for me, provided I have your backing and the support of my women.”

John turned back to him and thrust out his hand for shaking on the deal.

“Agreed. Now I have to get the council to go along with me, and you have to get all your ladies on side as well. We are not where we want to be yet, but I think we can get there soon. We need to get you married, as a Chief needs several wives, you will agree?”

Hana gripped Gomoro’s arm.

“We should go and speak with your other women, darling, and see if they would like to become the wives of the next Chief of the tribe.”

Gomoro gave his apologies to Chief John for leaving so quickly, but John assured him that consulting all his ladies was the main priority for him.

John said goodbye, then set off for the council hut, hoping they were in session again. He had the impression that the council was a good excuse for the men to sit and have a natter; men could gossip just like women, though they pretended not to. He was right. They were all there, smoking something in cigar-shaped pipes, and chatting. John stepped inside.

“Good day, gentleman. How goes things with you?”

They all gave him a few words of welcome, but without smiles. They seemed to feel that being elders they should exhibit gravitas. John sat down beside them on the floor and crossed his legs like them.

“Is the Council in session?” he asked.

The lead elder replied, “Currently we have stopped for a break, before discussion got too serious. Our lady member went out for a walk rather than put up with us smoking our pipes.”

“Ah. Smoking, eh? What do you you smoke? A hallucinogenic plant?”

“We call it Koheebe. The shamans used it first, to help them go into a trance, but we found it has a pleasant effect on the senses. That is why we smoke it.”

John commented, “By the smell of the smoke, it is what I knew by the name of tobacco in my homeland. I presume it grows locally?”

“It does. The plant has broad leaves that have to be dried to preserve them, before they can be used for smoking. Our herbalists mix the leaves with a few other herbs that make the stuff burn slowly with a lot of smoke instead of fire. The pipe keeps the heat in, so that your fingers don’t get burned. The length of the pipe allows the smoke to cool a little before it come into your mouth. Do you want to try some?”

“I have tried it in the past, thank you. I decided not to bother with it, as it becomes addictive over time, I have been told.”

“What is this term, addictive?”

“It simply means that once your body gets use to having it, your body demands it again and again, but with less of the good effects.”

“Oh? Is that a problem?”

“Not often. It depends on the person smoking. Some have problems as a result, others have few problems. Apparently you end up with a dark coating inside your lungs that you breathe with, and you can get ill and die from it.”

“How long does this take, Chief?”

“Many years, commonly.”

“I think we can take that risk, Chief. At our age, we would much rather enjoy our lives than worry about a slight shortening.”

“That is entirely up to you, my friend.”

“Anyway, there is a tribe that collects and dries the koheebe leaves and uses them as a trade item for shamans and others that want them. Anything that some people want to have, soon becomes a trade item.”

“Yes, like the cacao beans for a drink.”

“Exactly. You are not going to tell us that cacao drinks are bad for our health as well, are you?”

“No. Certainly not. Cacao has some beneficial properties. I am not here to put you off certain herbs and plants; far from it.”

“Then what is the reason for your visit, Chief? You seldom call on us just to chat.”

John laughed at this characterisation of him, for he saw the truth of it.

“You elders are clever men. You know people and have got to know me very quickly. You will have seen that I am an outsider and not familiar with the people of this tribe. True?”

“True.”

“That is why I talked about handing over the Chief’s job to a local man, and I have been looking into the possibilities. My preferred candidate is the man you regard as a loner, the widower named Gomoro.”

“Gomoro? But he seems an unlikely man for the post of Chief.”

“That is the past. I am looking at the future. Let me explain.”

The chief elder spread his hands in an encouraging way, to indicate, ‘tell me’.

“You know that in addition to being a Chief, I am also a Shaman, right?”

“Right.”

“One special ability I have is healing. I can pass on a healing ability to a few chosen others, and in some cases they will be able to pass it on to certain others within their family group. I have offered this skill to Gomoro, on certain conditions that will make him more suited to become Chief.

The first condition is that he has to accept my healing magic as a means of reducing the chances of a future wife dying in childbirth. You will recall this was the basis for his being almost a recluse; fear of causing the death of another woman by marrying her and making her pregnant. I found it endearing that his love was so strong for his late wife, and that suggested to me that this love could be harnessed to become a love for the well-being of the whole tribe. You would appreciate that, in a future Chief.”

“That is so. It is not easy to be sure of that in a Chief.”

“I agree, but a man with the capacity for great love can be shown that his empathy can be harnessed in a wider group than his family, and give him the impetus to protect his tribe. Talking about family, I harnessed his lady friends; the widows who make love with him and use herbal remedies to avoid getting pregnant. In case any of you were unaware, such herbal knowledge is common among the women of every tribe, and is shared widely.

I have spoken with two of these widows, and the consensus is that all four would gladly become his wives if he dared to ask them. Now that I have almost – almost – guaranteed them surviving childbirth, he and they are happy with the probability of having children to him. Once he decides to accept them in marriage, I will perform the ceremony of marriage for them.