It was a requirement. Every able bodied person from the ages of 12 to 50 had to put in five hours of practice a week.
It was common for most of the men to get together with the younger boys to practice on Saturday afternoons, just after ceremony.
The women had their own arrangement. Mysterious and secretive, as is their way. The men did not begrudge this, nor was the division strict. If a girl wanted to practice with the boys she was welcome and vice versa. The choice of where to practice was often indicative of a certain mindset, or sexual preference.
No one judged.
That said, the boys tended to stick with the boys and the girls followed suit. The goal was the same.
Proficiency.
I remember the first time I went to practice. I was 11. My father said no one would mind if I started a little early. Besides, I had quick and clever fingers, he said, you’ll take right to it.
We hurried back to our modest home to retrieve our weapons after ceremony. No one would think of showing up to ceremony armed. I am proud to say this is still the observed custom.
I was excited. I had been practicing stringing my own bow for half a year. It was very hard and I had to use all my scant weight and boyish strength to do so. Fortunately, I was not required to be able to string my own bow until I was 13. Father said I was always an overachiever. Walked before I was a year old and was running almost immediately after, to the consternation of my mother.
As we were walking to the practice field, I noticed my father scowling. This was always hard to miss. He was a world class scowler. His scowls could wither plant life. If we could weaponize his scowl, the community would not need to practice the bow.
The best way to banish my father’s scowl was to inquire as to its source. He was a hard man to anger and easy to appease, but he was a cogitator – he could not shut his mind off when it found a bone it could not chew. And his jaws were massive.
Rather than let the scowl build to the point where it was a public hazard, I decided to pull the keystone from the dam and then run as fast and as far away as I could get. Not far.
“What’s wrong dad?”
He looked at me with that side eyed glance he would use when deciding if I was old enough to hear what was troubling him. He kept that glance much longer than he needed to as I got older.
“It’s the southeasterners.” Uh oh. This was a prickly subject in our modest home as of late. My mother did not like what my father had to say about southeasterners.
“They’re talking about breaking off again. Damn fools.”
I still didn’t quite understand what the argument was about. I was 11. So I asked him.
“Why are the northwesterners and the southeasterners so mad at each other?”
My father once again gave me that side eyed glance. He was silent for another 30 paces or so. Then he stopped and said to me, “Give me your bow.” I of course handed it to him immediately.
He held it up. “This is a tool. It is used for defense. It is used to obtain food. It is used as a means to show our skill and proficiency. As long as it is maintained, it is a good tool in the hands that know how to use one.”
He pointed to the top end of the bow. “This is the northwesterners.” He pointed to the bottom end of the bow. “This is the southeasterners.” He indicated the string. “This is our politics. The thing that connects northwesterners and southeasterners.”
He took out his knife. It was very sharp. He started to slowly move the edge over the middle part of the bowstring. “There are people who are working on those in the middle. Eroding the string.” Strands of bowstring began to pop. “See this? As the middle is worn away, the tension draws the slack to the opposite ends. What was once in the middle is now forced to choose a side.”
He did not stop moving the knife edge. “As the middle section gets weaker and weaker…” The string gave way with great force and both ends sprang away from the other.
“You are left with a stick.” He tossed it to me. I caught it.
“It doesn’t matter what end of the stick is up if it isn’t a bow any longer. It is just a stick that two sides can each grab the end of and have a good game of tug of war.” He spat.
“That’s why I think the southeasterners are damn fools. They got short term gain by sawing at the middle. I know you’re too young to understand this. But remember the bow. It isn’t any use if the string is busted.”
I never forgot this talk from my father.
That is why I lead the clans now.
