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Undying Empire: B1 — 42. The Parting Ceremony
🕑 Added 2020-07-04 08:17:10 +0000 UTCPoV Swap: Chief Utren of the Lethix Clan.
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Chief Utren took a long breath, hands held behind his back as he walked among his people; the day had long since started, and the morning sun was shedding its beams across the valley, delivered by the Supreme Chief’s order.
They were supposed to be in the dry season, moving toward the wet, but last night’s storm had called many things into question. They were not prepared for such rapid rainfall, and for there to be mixed with the Ancestor’s Wrath put fear into his people; it should have been two weeks before they needed to start preparing the ditches.
This was supposed to be a season of peace, preparing for the critical negotiations with the Wixum, Flex, and Delthax Clans. Within fifty-two days, they should have been in a position to demand more from the Wixum, but they had lost much in this tragedy.
The Lethix Clan’s main village was located on the southeast banks of the Flaming River inside their land, staring at Clanless territory. It had gotten the name Flaming River from its source, running out of the fabled neigh-barren Quen’Talrat motherland, also known as the Deadlands.
Utren’s grandfather had taken part in the tail-end of the Fire Wars, and knew the land to the north was far lusher than the stories portrayed with its rolling hills, but no one wished to venture into those lands. Even the Clanless were shy of going beyond the mountains or braving the Northwestern Pass that had hosts of curses laid on its paths.
No, Utren enjoyed his Clan’s position, but for some reason, the Quel Runoff had been getting smaller every year, and they were beginning to show signs of needing to ration. Moral was dropping, and he did not want to be the Chief that resorts to the actions taken in the Erwick stories. His people would not eat each other; he would not allow it.
He watched the young Ri’bot running through the village, using the well-made mud and stone huts as platforms to play their games of tag, warrior and Quen’Talrat, hide and seek, and a variety of made up fun that would help them become active members of the community while allowing them to blow off steam. It put a smile to his lips as he surveyed his home.
They lived in a systematic village with a diverted stream that ran through the center of town; the water provided much-needed hydration while also giving them the ability to clean themselves to prevent diseases. Surprisingly, they’d learned several things from the Fire Wars that had aided in elevating their lives; the Quen’Talrat’s campaign had shown them how effective fire was, and what some of its purposes could be used for.
Ri’bot Forgemasters had come out of the decades after the wars, and several huts showed the tradesmen at their craft, pounding hammer against steel. Of course, most of their metal was reforged material or traded items from Clanless that needed help in crafting tools. It was a rough vocational trade, which required a nerve that many Ri’bot lacked, the ability to withstand heat for an extended period of time while working the elements.
His father had taken full advantage of that, which was at one time considered somewhat controversial among the other tribes, but more metal means more weapons, and more weapons means a stronger force. Soon, everyone was following the practice, causing some communication to pass between tribes through small Clanless groups.
Over the past three decades, with their added steel weapons and Flex Clan support, they’d finally gotten enough power to posture before the Xaltan and Wixum Clans. Both the Flex and Lethix didn’t have the same level of combat training as the Xaltan, and they also had Mysticism within their tribe that gave a distinct advantage since the Flex and Lethix did not.
Utren’s smile grew upon seeing a few warriors returning from a hunt, climbing the tree-covered hill that separated them from the Wixum. They owned a wide curve of the Flaming River, and a sizable valley leading up to the old Quen’Talrat fortress. Most of the Ri’bot in the clan had never seen it, much less left their territory, but his father had once brought him up the mountains along a trail to witness the massive structure.
He’d been awestruck that anything could be artificially constructed without the Ancestral Chiefs’ aid, and the pots of mud and toxic steaming waters with their brilliant colors mesmerized him, but his father was wise, warning him of the dangers.
Utren’s blue irises fell on his young son; brown-skinned with dull green spots, Henric was only a year of age, yet he showed promise as a warrior, perhaps even greater than Utren’s father. The boy was already fast enough to catch the two-year-old Ri’bot, giving him a lot of respect within the clan, and finding more than one thoughtful gaze from the girls. He’d soon be of age for Utren to carry on the tradition; his son would see the fortress that his ancestors overthrew, with the Supreme Chief’s aid, standing as a testament of their strength.
His long gray tongue slid over his lips, pausing against his two left teeth on the outside of his mouth as he surveyed the damage to the village. Groups of Ri’bot, warriors included, had been called back during the Ancestors’ Wrath; the fury from the heavens was an ill omen, which could be interpreted a few ways, but they were all bad.
What did we do? This sign likely struck every Ri’bot clan in the valley … perhaps all the clans, and even the other races. Omens like this rarely happen so violently, so what’s the purpose? It cannot be just for us, but the loss in resources within the river certainly is a terrible hit to the tribe, and now this…
The jungle had shielded much of the winds, but more than one hut had fallen, killing or maiming the residents seeking shelter inside. It was for events like this that the structures were constructed, to quell the elemental attacks, much as the Quen’Talrat had done. However, something so violent had never happened to them within their oral history.
Is it our use of Quen’Talrat methods? Why bring down such wrath upon us without previous signs? We have doubled our monthly tithe to the ancestors, sending one-tenth of our total food downriver to pass into the great river in the heavens. What more can we do?
No, this is not because of sacrifices that this warning was given, but something bigger. Is one of the other clans doing something to upset our ancestors, and we are being punished since we are not looking for answers to stop it? Perhaps. It will be a subject of discussion at the next Trade Conference.
The bodies had already been laid out along the river, showing slumped over figures of wives, husbands, and children as they mourned their temporary separation while also celebrating their ascension to the Great Jungle in the heavens.
His heart was heavy yet filled with a peace that they’d returned to their families. He prepared for his speech as the Chief, taking in the rubble that would be used to help repair the damaged shelters and dams.
Two buildings collapsed from flooding, taking out the foundation … we needed better levees for diverting the water. Even during the wet season, it’s never been this bad; the river’s risen nearly to the closest huts, washing away our gathering tools.
Across the town’s expanded center stream sat groups of Ri’bot craftsmen and craftswomen, working at replacing their lost items. The forges were running full heat to restock their spearheads that were now gone.
His tongue slid back into his mouth, and another sad sigh left his lips. We lost weeks of progress from the Ancestors’ storm that we’ll have to use in repairs, and the trip to the Burial Pits must happen by tomorrow. In any case, I must address this omen.
Utren flexed his feet against the sticky mud that he stood upon, swallowing as he closed his eyes to feel the soft breeze that passed through the jungle. He listened, trying to filter out the sounds of mourning, playing, and rebuilding to catch a glimpse of the Ancestors’ voices, but nothing came to him.
He opened his eyes, pressing his teeth against his lips with slight uncertainty. It was not uncommon to not hear the gentle whispers of their voices. He was not a Speaker; in fact, there had not been a true Speaker since Ghelm had moved on to his paradise two decades past. Still, every so often, he swore he heard their loving words on the wind, which was not unusual for a Chief.
His focus moved to the gentle stream, much larger than the day previous, looking similar to the beginning of the wet season; however, it was the paintings of serenity that he longed for, and the drawings and figures made in the mud that the teens had constructed in tribute to the fallen clan members were heartwarming, putting a sorrowful smile on his face.
Blinking a few times, he shifted his feet to look at the edges of the jungle across the village; men and women gathered sticks, bark, rocks, and vines from the wilderness to help in the reconstruction. There was no malice inside the hearts of his clan, but solemn acceptance of life’s cycle. Time moves on. Our spirits move on while our bodies feed the life-blood of the land. It’s time.
Utren reached up to grip the glowing brown pendant passed down from Chief to Chief, feeling the intricate metal work that went into the frame, crafted by one of the most prolific Forgemasters in their history, Master Craftsman Felor, which created a similar piece for every clan’s Chief in the valley.
He turned as his father placed a hand on his left shoulder, grip still firm in his old age. Elder Chief Dren’s lips hadn’t lifted all morning as they made a note of the damages. A former Chief may not be in charge of making decisions for the clan, but their opinion was highly regarded, and in most cases, they held a high degree of authority, even after leaving the office.
“What’s on your mind, Chief Utren?”
Turning his hips back to his fallen people, Utren placed his hand on Dren’s, fingers tightening. “I’m just uneasy, father; something feels off, and I wish to give our people answers, but I fear I do not have them.”
A low hum rumbled in his father’s throat, glancing around at the Ri’bot in sight; none were within earshot as they stood in the center of town. “Be honest with them; you may not have answers now, but you will continue to seek for them, and with the Ancestors’ blessing, you will receive it when they are ready.”
“When they are ready…” Utren repeated in a soft whisper, eyes downcast. “Your right, father. We do all we can, and believe our works to be enough to gain their favor.”
Utren walked toward the nearest group of warriors, helping the craftsmen transport sticks for fashioning. “Inora,” she quickly moved away from the group to join him, leaving her sticks for the other warriors to grab.
“Yes, Chief?” She asked with a tone that made it clear she wanted to be helpful; Inora was a relatively young warrior that was still an Initiate seeking to gain acceptance into the higher ranks.
“Have the Initiates gather everyone in the village by the Flaming River, and report to Welix that the warriors are to keep their eyes sharp. If there’s any strange movement in the jungle, then report it immediately.”
She slapped her fist across her chest, light blue eyes sparkling. “Right away, Chief!” She dashed off at a sprint to spread the word to the Initiates.
Dren chuckled as she left, showing his first smile since the event. “She’s a fiery one, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Utren sighed, running his hands against the back of his neck as the stress of the address hit him, sending slight chills through his body. “I recall her being a lot more timid when a child.”
“Kids grow up,” his father mused.
His focus moved back to his son as he evaded two other children trying to tag him, laughing while egging them on. “That, they do.”
Dren’s smile fell a bit before he licked his teeth. “It’s good that they’re being exposed to this world’s mortality this early; it will steel them for the possible conflicts that are to come.”
“If the Delthax refuses our proposal.”
A smirk touched his father’s cheeks as he turned to stare at him. “Do you honestly think that sly Elder Chief will give up a part of his clan’s trade resources without a significant show of force?”
“Who can say?” Utren mumbled. “As you said, he’s sly, and their Chief is young; he may not have the stomach for war. There would be many casualties on both sides.”
Dren folded his arms, expression making it clear he expected there to be more than a little conflict. “We’ll see; I expect Elder Chief Valdar to do something sly that his young grandson won’t have the wit to achieve.”
“We’ll discuss it tonight; let’s move to the river to prepare.”
His father didn’t comment as they shifted locations, but he didn’t have to for Utren to know the Elder Chief’s opinion and his fallout with the former Delthax Chief. There had been a conflict that didn’t end in war but left many Lethix and Delthax warriors dead, more were lost on their side than the blue-skinned Ri’bot, but among their fallen was Valdar’s son, their current Chief.
Valdar had been the only reason why the Delthax Clan didn’t burst into a murderous rage, falling upon the Lethix for their loss, and thereby, preventing most of the valley from descending into war. In any case, the skirmish had more than left a bitter taste in each clan’s mouths; each one blamed the other for the conflict, and in truth, it was a combination of events on both sides that led to the massacre.
However, Utren didn’t share the same bitterness as the previous generation and could empathize with both sides of the conflict. Wars were bloody, and sometimes necessary, but if possible, he’d like to prevent it. He was running out of options, though, and the Flex Clan was making it hard to avoid future bloodshed.
The craftsmen were just putting the finishing touches on the temporary platform, stringing together vines and wood to fashion the object. He waited silently, deep in thought while the crowd gathered, and once it had finished, he stepped up the tower of wooden blocks to address the assembly.
Dren stood at the bottom, tilting his body to look up at his son with sad eyes; he’d given speeches like this many times in his own life.
Clearing his throat, Utren took a deep breath as the crowd quieted. “The winds blow, whispering the Ancestors’ words down the mountain passes and through the jungle. The rivers fall to those soft commands, and call them back with their great authority.
“Tomorrow, we carry the bodies of our fallen loved ones to the Great Black Pits to rejoin with the earth to be formed anew into the life-blood of this land while their spirits rise with the gentle hand of the Ancestors’ call, carried along the breeze to join them in the Great Jungle above.
“We pray that the Ancient Chiefs met them along the River in the Heavens; they’ve crossed the stream before us, and though they do not return to smile again, their presence is felt in the sunshine and moonlight as they watch us from above.
“The songs of old are echoing across the glen,” the minstrels began playing their soft flutes in the back, “while we sigh with broken hearts, feeling lowly as our loved ones will not return again. So, if they’ve died and swum through the Great Heavenly River to their exaltation, and look down upon us with fondness, then we must listen to their gentle implores for us to live so we may see their smiling faces once more.
“We kneel, honoring how they lived in life; rest in peace with the Supreme Chief … we will meet again in the life to come.”
Utren fell to his knees atop the pedestal with the assembly, chest burning as silent tears dripping down his face. He opened his eyes, noticing even the children had fallen solemn with the atmosphere, following the example of the adults around them. How many times must I do this in the days to come?
The only sound came from the jungle as birds, small insects, and critters moved about their own business.
His lower lip tuck under slightly as his teeth pressed against his mouth, causing slight discomfort. If it is your will, Supreme Chief, then I accept the fall of my Clan, that we may join our ancestors in glorious happiness, but please, don’t make the children deal with this world alone. Please, send me a sign to understand your will. If you are not happy with us, make it known what we must do to regain your favor.
A lump dropped down Utren’s dry lips, and he sniffed back snot as he rose with the crowd, walking down the steps to join them by the river to drink the water, in place of the fallen.
The cool liquid dropped down his parched throat, and he could hear the broken sighs of those around him as their memories returned, recalling the happy times they had with those that had left them. Utren knew every face, and his mind played through dozens of memories, the emotion causing his chest to convulse slightly as he fought more tears.
Rising with everyone else, they all moved to circle the bodies, and in one voice, they whispered, “‘Tis you must go, and I must bide. We come before the place where you left, and say, an Ave there for thee, and your grace shall be warmer, sweeter be.”
The Ri’bot closed their eyes, hushed as they respected the memory of their comrades. After three minutes, they solemnly rose to begin their assigned tasks; the Parting Ceremony concluded until the following morning when they’d carry the bodies by boat to the Great Black Pits to return the bodies to the earth.
Utren took a heavy breath as he observed his community, working together to build the rafts they’d be using tomorrow. The children were still loitering around the bodies, eyes downcast as one of the older kids whispered something, likely explaining the event and the messages held within it.
A few of the younger ones broke into tears, realizing that their loved ones and family members wouldn’t be returning. The teens helped comfort them as the adults worked, each knowing everyone’s time came, and the guiding hands of the Ancestors touched all Ri’bot in the end.
“What are you thinking?” Dren whispered, watching the adults ease their grief by focusing on the task in front of them; closure came in the morning.
“I’m not … not really; it’s more of a heavy heart than any specific thought. I know the future looks far grimmer than this, and the others know it, but still … it hurts, watching the people I’m supposed to protect and guide cry.”
Dren reached around his son’s shoulders, pulling him in with a sharp sniff. “It won’t get easier,” he mumbled.
A lump dropped down Utren’s throat, causing him to blink, and a tear fell down his cheek, mixing with the river water, still wetting his face. “As it shouldn’t.” Sniffing back snot himself, he cleared his throat. “Could you get me a current report on our borders?”
His father’s lips pursed, body lowering slightly as he realized what he really wanted. “Yeah, I’ll get as many details as I can before returning.”
Utren didn’t respond as he was left alone, and he turned to stare across the great divide that separated them from the Clanless, taking slow and even breaths. No thoughts entered his mind as he watched nature pass, and the choppy river captured his blue eyes. The bustle of the village was lost in the soft sound of the running water. He stood still, hands held behind his back.
He was unsure how much time had really passed, but eventually, Dren returned, breaking his seclusion; he didn’t speak right away, standing beside him to stare at the blue waters himself. However, he broke the tranquil atmosphere after a respectable silence. “There’s a serious problem that should be addressed immediately.”
Taking a final breath of sought after serenity, Utren stepped back into his role as Chief, features steeling. “Continue.”
“We’ve found traces of Delthax on our land, warriors … bodies to be exact, and not whole. There was a fight last night.”
Utren’s eyes narrowed. “A Ranglar attack? We have tracked a few expanding their territory beyond the Clanless zone.”
“No, this is too … brutal to be a Ranglar.”
“A wild Torlim that swam downriver?”
“Even more savage than a Torlim attack would be; this is something new, and the tracks we’ve been able to discover after the storm … there was a massive group moving through the jungle. We’ve never seen tracks like these, Welix put the warriors on war-time alert, night and day patrols.”
Teeth pressing against his lips, Utren hummed darkly. “Isn’t that strange?”
His father glanced at him from the corner of his eyes before his vision returned to the river. “What’s that?”
“Unknown creatures enter our land, during a storm carrying the Ancestors’ Wrath, and we discover traces of slaughtered Delthax warriors.”
“To be fair,” Dren muttered, “the corpses … pieces of corpses were likely pulled into our land by the flash-flooding, but the Delthax did pass through the northern tip of our territory before entering the scuffle.”
Utren worked around his jaw, gut tightening at the information. “What can you tell about the corpses? What kind of weapons were used?”
Dren was silent for a moment, lips tightening, and he rubbed his nose with agitation. “Honestly, it looks similar to the stories my father told me of the Quen’Talrat Elite Hunters. The Yellow Queen, he called this particular Quen’Talrat; she used massive hammers that turned Ri’bot to paste before eating them.”
“Paste?”
“Yes, we discovered half the lower body of one, and guts, organs, skin … should I go on? We don’t know how many were crushed like that … there could be hundreds dead for all we know.”
Utren’s nose twitched, and he swallowed, forcing his eyes to close momentarily. “So, the Dalthex and Wixum Clans could have already fallen to this enemy?”
“We’re not seeing any patrols along the Wixum border; it certainly is possible.”
His tongue slid out, wetting his lips as he pondered what actions he should take. “You’ve already sent word to the Flex Clan?”
“It’s in our agreement to inform one another of threats,” Dren confirmed.
“Good…” He trailed off, fingers closing into fists as he folded his arms across his chest. “If this is a resurgence of the Quen’Talrat … we’ll need more help than just the Flex if we want to survive, but before we grovel before the other clans and races, let’s be damn sure that’s what it is.”
“Scouts sent into the Clanless territory?”
“Not just that, send warriors to the Wixum Clan to confirm they’re still alive. Don’t agitate, but just gain information, and if they’re there and demand we retreat, then retreat. We need to establish a foundation about what happened last night in their land. Request we meet; we have serious questions.”
Dren left without a word, leaving Utren alone with his thoughts. However, not eight minutes later, he returned at a sprint with a young Ri’bot warrior he knew, Yeppa; he’d just recently passed his initiation trials, and his light brown skin color showed the shock he was in. The young Ri’bot was quivering as if he’d seen a Quen’Talrat in the flesh.
“What is it, father?” Utren demanded, fearing the worst.
His father shrugged, eldelry face creasing further with question. “He’s not making any sense, but demanding to see you.”
Yeppa stumbled through his words. “T-The Supreme—Supreme Chief … s-she’s here—she’s here!”
“She?” Both Utren and Dren asked, glancing at one another.
“Speak sense, boy!” Dren demanded, slapping Yeppa across the face, causing him to stumble to the side as a few craftsmen and children gathered to see the peculiar sight; Yeppa was clearly acting crazy and in front of the Chief. “Where’s the stone in your belly?”
Yeppa gagged for a moment, seemingly swallowing his tongue, which was a rare defect that he shouldn’t have; he held his hands against his face, eyes wide with horror and awe. “It’s the—the Supreme Chief … Empress Elinor—Supreme Chief Elinor … she’s returned to judge us! She’s coming—she told me to tell you, she’s coming!”
Utren held up his hand as Dren lifted his fist to punch the boy. “Hold on, father.” He stepped forward, grasping the fidgeting Ri’bot’s shoulders to calm him and force his eyes, but he still refused to make eye contact. “Yeppa, what happened?”
After a few unintelligible words, he took a calming breath before trying to articulate himself. “I—umm, I was on patrol, and—and the Supreme Chief Elinor, she—she appeared, and told us to—to kneel. When we didn’t—she sent…” He trailed off, and Utren’s brow furrowed with concern, knowing the unit he’d been assigned.
“What happened to Jalia, Ramia, Gronta, and Kessin?”
“She—sent them to The Pits … they serve her now.”
A lump dropped down Dren’s throat, blinking with the action. “You’re saying … a Ri’bot claiming to be a Supreme Chief appeared before you, sent your unit to The Pits, and now they serve her?”
“No, no!” Yeppa violently protested, pulling away from Utren’s grip. “She is the Supreme Chief; she doesn’t claim to be, she—she is!”
“Alright, alright,” Utren soothed. “Supreme Chief Elinor is coming here, right now … why?”
Yeppa looked at them as if they were crazy. “Why? To make herself known! We failed her, and now—now we must serve faithfully! You’ll see! You’ll see!” He mumbled, stepping back before tripping and falling to the ground.
Utren glanced at his father, jaw tight before saying, “Gather all the warriors and place the rest of our people behind them. If this Elinor really is a Supreme Chief, then … I don’t know what to expect. Have you heard anything like this happening?”
“A Supreme Chief coming down to speak to us personally? No. So, be prepared for anything, then … I’ll get on it,” he sighed, running back toward the jungle to give the order.
Utren watched Yeppa mumble to himself on the ground, and he listened with growing dread. “P-Please forgive—forgive me, Empress—Empress f-forgive me…”
How could this Elinor do this to a warrior in such a short time? Could it actually be true … the signs, could it be her arrival … her wrath?
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Comments
SME
Okay, just updated it with your corrections. TY as always, and sorry it took me so long to get to such simple changes T_T
SME
TY, I'll get to that in a bit!
Denis Dube
Best part of this chapter: when Yeppa's name comes up. Then it all falls into place and you know the fire is lit! Suggestions: * "and more weapons mean a stronger force", means * "but the loss in our river supply of resources", supply of resources from the river? * "Two buildings collapsed from water", flooding? * "we needed better irrigation for diverting the water", AFAIK irrigation is strictly a farming tech. From context, protecting buildings, a levee makes more sense. * "their opinion was highly regarded", I feel a but is missing before this
Katherine
To be fair, they've dreaded her sense she first crossed over with a skeleton. She's now revived a literal legendary existence from their most legendary war.....
Martynas Samsonas
thanks for chapter :D. And im so looking forward to the ammount of dread Elinor is gona put into those ribots.
