Free BOOOM! by Alan MacDonald Page B

he was actually thinking of naming his successor. He had heard his dad talk about the Naming Ceremony. The only time it happened was when a chief had no obvious successor. Hammerhead had only one daughter, Umily, and no sons, so no one was certain what would happen when he died and went to join the Ancestors. Some claimed Iggy’s dad (as Hammerhead’s brother) would become Chief, while others put forward various other names. Either way, it was for Hammerhead to decide by means of the ancient Naming Ceremony.
    â€˜So who you reckon it’ll be?’ asked Snark.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Iggy. ‘What about Umily?’
    Snark snorted. ‘HER? She’s a girl!’
    â€˜But still, she’s a Chief’s daughter.’
    â€˜No,’ said Snark, dismissing the idea. ‘It’s got to be someone strong. Clever. Hairy. A proper Chief.’
    â€˜Like who?’ said Hubba. Snark leaned forward.
    â€˜Like my dad.’
    â€˜ Borg ?’ Hubba laughed out loud. ‘You think Hammerhead’s gonna choose him ?’
    â€˜Oh he will, you’ll see,’ said Snark sourly. ‘When the Chief’s gone, my dad takes over, mark my words. And when he does, I’d watch out if I was you.’
    He gave them a dark look and strode off, collecting his spear from the rocks. Hubba watched him climb the hill. ‘Slugface,’ he remarked.
    â€˜Don’t listen to ’im, Iggy.’
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ said Iggy. All the same he felt a little uneasy about the Naming Ceremony. He hoped that Hammerhead knew what he was doing.

Chapter 2
    Dribble Dobble, Dib Dab
    I t looked like the whole tribe had turned out for the Naming Ceremony. Most of them had never attended one before, as Hammerhead had been Chief for what seemed like for ever. As darkness fell, they gathered by the Standing Stone. A crackling fire lit the filthy, hairy faces on the front row, where many of the women had taken their place. Everyone was eager to find out who would be chosen as the next High Chief, the one who would eventually step into Hammerhead’s shoes (at least if he’d had any shoes).
    Iggy looked round the ragged circle, wondering which of them would be chosen. The six wrinkled elders were there, although Sedric had already dozed off, as usual. Iggy’s dad sat on the Chief’s left, wearing a worried expression. Hammerhead stepped into the firelight and raised his hand to command silence.
    â€˜Friends, brothers, sisters, Urks,’ he said, hoping that covered just about everyone. ‘As you know, I has been your Chief for a good many years. Some might say I been a good Chief, perhaps even a great one . . .’ He paused in case anyone wanted to cheer – they didn’t. ‘But no Chief lives for ever, not even me. The day will come when I can’t . . . um . . . do the things a Chief does.’
    The Urks looked blank. As far as they could tell a Chief slept till noon and helped himself to gigantic helpings of roast meat. It didn’t exactly seem like a heavy burden.
    Hammerhead pressed on regardless. ‘That is why I has decided to name the Chief who’ll come after me. One of you must lead the tribe of Urk into the new dawn.’
    Across the circle, Iggy caught sight of Snark wearing a confident smirk. Iggy remembered what he’d said by the river. If Borg, his father, ever became Chief they had better watch their backs.

    Iggy had wondered if the ceremony would include some trial of strength or hunting skills, but it turned out the Chief would be chosen in the traditional Urk way – with the aid of a blindfold and a pointy stick. Hammerhead had the stick in his hand now and was dipping it into a bowl of red gunk that looked like the innards of a pig. He held up the stick for everyone to see, dripping sticky red globs into the dust.
    â€˜Whoever is marked with the blood, he shall be Chief!’ he declared. Borg came forward