Scoga and The Island In The Waters of Time: Part 3

Scoga and The Island In The Waters Of Time

Part 3: The Medieval Life

When we awoke, it was daytime. My stomach growled. “I'm hungry,” I said, “where is some food?”

My mind conjured up images of muffins, granola, pancakes, crepes... Scoga interrupted my thoughts. “Here!” he said, smiling, “I'll grab my flint and steel and make a fire to roast these nuts. They didn't make a platform here for nothing, you know. And I would loves some roasted crickets, if we can catch some.” My stomach stopped its grumbling and turned a somersault. I managed a weak smile. “I'll pass on the crickets.” Scoga looked disappointed. “Everyone likes crickets. You must have strange customs.”

After the meager breakfast, We continued on, and in within an hour we reached the village. Chickens scurried out of the way as we trod the cobblestone streets. People began peeping out of their doors and looking at me rather oddly. I supposed they had never seen someone with the clothes I wore and my hair color. All their hair was brown or black. Mine was red. Scoga beckoned. “Come in the chief's house and we will see what he thinks of you.” As we entered the smell of herbs and roasted meat filled the hut. It had wood walls, plastered with whitish mud. There were three people sitting around a fire. One wore a headdress, and the other two wore wolf skins over their heads.

Scoga bowed to the one with the headdress, and nodded to the other two. “May I introduce you to our almighty chief Chakunga. May he live long in happiness.” then he stepped into the shadows.

I stood alone. Chakunga rose. “You may leave us, elders.” The elders bowed and left.

The chief began. “Where do you come from, lad?” I answered, “Well, your chiefness sir, to be specific, I come from the United States of America. In that country I live in the north.” The chief looked interested. “We have heard tales of your place from across the winds. No one knows where they came from. Where is this 'United States' in relation to out place?” I tried to answer as best I could. “Your almighty sir, I am not entirely sure. No one has ever spotted your island before.” I hesitated. “We have a more advanced society than yours. We can cross miles in just minutes, and we can even fly in the sky.” The chief interjected. “Would those be those giant birds we see every so often?” “Yes, I believe so. And in answer to your earlier question, I was sailing near this island called Newfoundland and then the great boat sunk. I was the only one to survive, I think. So we are not too close, for Newfoundland is in a different country, called Canada. But it is in the same area.”

The chief nodded wisely. “You are brave to be so far from the sacred bones of your fathers. And you survived a shipwreck. So you shall be an honored guest.” He then called up Scoga. “Scoga, you shall be his caretaker. Show him where he wants to go and where he shall sleep.” He then called in the elders. They consulted for a few seconds, and then an elder spoke. “We dub you 'Fire Hair' in honor of your fiery hair.” Then they left.

Scoga looked relieved. “Sometimes his elders are a bit nasty, but Chakunga himself is a nice guy. In his rein there has never been a single attack. Not at all like his father the old chief, who died a few years ago.” He looked around, and then whispered: “Some say he was a traitor, for there were three attacks for every year he was chief, my papa says. He was an ornery old man, and went on witch hunts every so often. Some say his elders were the traitors, some say he was. No one knows what to believe.” I myself theorized that, if there was a traitor, it must have been an elder, for Chakunga would certainly have followed in his father's footsteps, and he didn't seem to be doing that.

We then went down the road a ways to Scoga's house at the edge of town.