by H. M. Clarke
Dearen shook her head as if she could shake herself out of a dream. She had been standing here since the last flame had flickered out on the funeral pyres. Dearen had left the Dymarki to grieve for their family members in peace. She felt uncomfortable being surrounded with their grief and loss - particularly their loss. It reminded Dearen too much of what she had lost. She envied the Dymarki their grief over their memories and emotions for their loved ones, for she had none; no personal history except for the last three months.
Now she was Cearc, a Queen of the Dymarki, but Dearen felt more like a cuckoo in a nest of wrens.
‘Dearen.’
Dearen cocked her head slightly as Hauga appeared from behind the finger stone and stood next to her. He stepped gingerly on the grass as if afraid that at any moment the grass would suddenly open up and swallow him whole. Despite her grim thoughts she smiled.
‘There’s no need to tip toe around me Hauga,’ she said. ‘I promise I will not turn you into a toad or anything else that is slimy.’
‘I see the young ones have been at you already,’ he replied.
‘Five cubs found me on the path here and asked me to turn them into carp because they wanted to see what it was like to breathe underwater, that is they wanted to until I told them that carp is my favorite eating fish and if I did that I would make them my dinner.’ Dearen chuckled in memory at look of horror on the faces of the cubs before changing to excitement as they realized she was just ‘pulling their tail.’
‘I know. I heard them talking to one of their parents on the way here. Cubs should know better than to accost the Cearc like that.’ Hauga’s tail swished about as he spoke and if possible, he managed to straighten himself even taller than his usual slouch.
‘Oh come now Hauga, they are only young. And news must have spread fast in the Clans that have arrived this morning about the happenings last night.’
During the night and all through the morning, members from all the Dymarki Clans had been arriving in response to Ghrista’s call to arms. Ghrista had asked for patrols but Clan crèches had arrived as well to be under the security and protection of the Cearc and the Elder Council. All had heard about the massacre of the Trisqa Denmeet and now it seemed that all would be coming to the perceived safety of Councilmeet. The news of the deaths of so many prominent Dymarki leaders had shocked the newcomers. Dearen had not the heart to tell them that the Arranians had used the power of a sentient to move unobserved onto the heart of Councilmeet itself - but she will have to tonight when the Elder Council meets. The last of the remaining seven Clan leaders arrived with his patrols late this morning as the flames of the funeral pyres were starting to die down.
‘Why are you tip toeing around?’ Dearen face crinkled into a frown as Hauga minced from foot to foot next to her. The Dymarki felt uneasy and it was not just because his father had just been killed.
As soon as she bought it to Hauga’s attention he immediately stopped his hopping but Dearen could see the muscles in his legs twitching at his now sturdily planted feet.
‘I am not tip toeing,’ he snapped at her. As soon as the words left his head Hauga waved a paw in apology.
‘I am sorry Dearen. It’s just…’ Hauga let his words trail off as he looked around the clearing, taking in the twelve She-Oaks, the slabs of the ancient Clan Stones embedded in the turf and the Claw of the West. ‘It’s just that I never expected to set foot on this ground until I at least had some grey on my muzzle. This is sacred ground and I have to keep reminding myself that I am allowed to be here.’
Dearen regarded her new brother with what she hoped was understanding eyes. ‘I never expected to be Cearc Hauga and here I am, thanks to you. And here you are thanks to the Northern Bareskins.’
At mention of the Northerners, Hauga’s muscle twitching stilled and his lips peeled back into a snarl revealing his razor sharp fangs. ‘I wish they were all dead and rotting in the ground. First they kill our children and then they kill our leaders. The Dymarki will demand vengeance for these atrocities. Raga of Clan Trisqa is already demanding a march to war on the Northern Bareskins.
‘What is your opinion Hauga? Do you think we should fight an open war like the Bareskins do?’
Hauga gave Dearen a nod. ‘Yes. I think we should. Our hit and run tactics are well and good but nothing strengthens a warriors spirit like open battle where a warrior can test their strength on another face to face.’
Dearen feared that this would be Hauga’s answer, that this would be the answer that the full Elder Council will give her. Deep down in her own heart Dearen felt the same way, the hatred she felt as she faced the Bareskins last night still throbbed deep in her soul yearning for vengeance. However, Dearen remembered Asnar’s words on the day her name was chosen.
‘Would you still feel the same way knowing what happened the last time the Dymarki were led into open battle under a Cearc called Dearen?’
‘Yes I would. Dearen Hardclaw fought for the honor of her people, fought to save their lives by giving them time to escape across the Grotto Sea,’ Hauga replied.
‘But this time there will be no escape for the people Hauga. The Dymarki came back to reclaim these mountains and we will have to fight to the last to keep them.’
‘The Clan Leaders know this Dearen. I know that the five of us that became leaders last night will back any call for open war. We will find out what the others want tonight.’
There, Dearen had done her best to talk herself and Hauga out of war though she knew it was useless to try. Her heart sang for the blood of her enemies and Ghrista’s soul called to his Clan to avenge him. Dearen had started Clan Mufista’s vengeance last night and the other Clans will demand the right to collect their own.
Dearen suddenly wanted to think about something else.
‘Hauga, can you tell me the story behind why this clearing is sacred? It is something I think I should know.’
‘It is a story that is taught to every Dymarki cub while they are still at the crèche. We will have to arrange to have a Mufista Lore master to teach you the tales of our people and our family.’ Hauga said. ‘Come, let us sit in the shade of the Mufista She-Oak as I talk.’
Dearen and Hauga moved from the sun drenched clearing to the cool shade of a towering She-Oak that stood on the edge of Councilmeet behind the flat shingle of stone that bore the device of Clan Mufista that was embedded closer to the center of the clearing. Spaced evenly around the center were stone shingles for the other eleven Clans with a space left open near the Claw of the West. The Claw itself was stone enough to symbolize the Cearc.
Dearen was given this brief explanation this morning by Otteren, the servant of the old Cearc as they headed to the funeral pyres in the early morning. Once Otteren has taken care of the remains of the old Cearc and disposed of them in the traditional manner, she would become Dearen’s to command. It was one of the things Dearen was dreading. What need had she of a servant?
‘The tale of this clearing is a long one which you will hear in full from the Lore master. Today I will give you the short story.’ Hauga stopped and drew a deep breath before continuing.
‘A terrible battle was waged here many centuries ago,’ Hauga said from beside her. ‘Many thousands of men died for no other reason that the generals, both brothers, hated each other.’
‘What happened to the brothers?’ Dearen asked as she watched the dappled effect of the leaf shadows on the lawn before them.
‘They realized the futility of hate when three quarters of both armies lay dead upon the field. The legend says that they killed themselves in shame.’
Hauga’s voice plainly showed doubt in this. ‘It is also said that the forest trees around us grew from the bodies of the fallen. Any new growth comes from those who have died in the Tunnaig since.’
‘So those who died last night will appear again as trees?’ Dearen asked, trying to keep the disbelief from her voice.
‘All who die within the shade of the Tunnaig will be born again
as trees.’
‘And what is the Tunnaig?’ She thought it was the name of this forest but this forest spread all over the mountains, surely the Dymarki do not think that every tree growing on these mountains were once living people.
‘The Tunnaig is the forest that grows outward from Councilmeet and covers most of the hills, valleys and mountains here on the Northern side of these Ranges.’ Hauga gestured broadly to the dark trees surrounding the She-Oaks.
‘But the forest here is exactly the same as the forest where our main camp is. I did not see any discernible change in the trees on the way here.’
‘I do not think you would have noticed anything on the way here except where you were placing your feet!’ Hauga said with smirk. ‘You were either asleep on someone’s back or running your guts out in an effort to prove yourself to no one.’
Dearen crossed her arms across her chest and humphed loudly.
‘When next we travel out of the Tunnaig, I will show you, though the Lore masters can explain it better than I.’
‘I’ll hold you to that Hauga,’ Dearen said with a smile.
Hauga looked up to the blue sky that opened out about the clearing of Councilmeet, his round honey colored eyes suddenly filled with pain and grief. ‘My father’s pyre should be cool enough now to handle the ashes,’ he said softly. ‘We had best both return and gather them with the Clan and scatter him to the Winds.’
Chapter Seven
Council of war
‘I say that we should attack the Bareskins in the same manner as they did us. We should give them the same pain as they gave us!’
Raga of Clan Trisqa had stepped forward into the center of the Clan markers as he spoke and swept an angry gaze over the other Clan leaders. His gaze lingered on Hauga and Dearen the longest.
Dearen stood straight and silent in front of the Claw of the West as she listened to the discussion of the Elder Council before her. Large braziers had been set around the clearing at dusk to provide light and warmth for the Council. The braziers painted everyone in an orange glow and there were enough braziers to not cast a hint of shadow amongst the council members.
Everyone was shouting to have his say in response to Raga’s statement. Everyone wanted his opinion heard by the new Cearc. For in the end it will be her decision whether they should go to open war with the Northern Bareskins. They had been ‘discussing’ this for hours, always repeating the same opinions over and over again but Dearen could now see the two separate divisions within the Clan Leaders.
The smaller of the two groups, headed by Raga wanted to attack the cities and towns of the Northerners and repay on them the same butchery that had been metered out to Clan Trisqa. The larger group was directed by a fellow called Ulsta of Clan Metra, they too wanted to fight the Northerners but in a fair and open battle. Hauga formed a part of this group and argued vehemently with speakers from the other side, even talking two of the newer Clan Leaders from the ranks of Raga’s group.
Around the outskirts of the clearing and far back into the surrounding forest stood the rest of the Dymarki who were currently in Councilmeet as silent witnesses to these proceedings. Dearen could feel their presence, could felt their eyes watching everything that occurred, could even feel their thoughts on the matters being discussed. Clan loyalty was strong among the Dymarki so their Clan Leaders would decide the bulk of the onlooker’s feelings and choices on which direction this war should take.
The discussion on whether to go to war was not even mentioned, it was taken as a given and Dearen did not fault them that. After all she herself had decided to back a call for war herself after her talk with Hauga this afternoon. This Council is concerned with what kind of war will be waged against their enemies.
During dinner, Hauga and Otteren instructed her in the protocols of the Cearc at these meetings. The Cearc herself has the final say in all decisions made by the Council, but only after listening to the opinions and debates of the Clan Leaders. She must stand silently as the Council members argue amongst themselves and can only pronounce her decision once the entire Council was satisfied that she had listened to all of their reasons and arguments. The Cearc herself had no direct say during the Council debate as her Clan (Mufista) already was represented by a Clan Leader, she could only back a position that had been put forward within the Council discussions.
‘And what good will that do us?’ Ulsta stepped over his Clan stone and stood nose to nose with Raga in the centre of their circle. Raga stood a moment in hesitation before stepping back behind his Clan stone. Dearen did not blame him. Metra’s Clan leader was short and stocky with his stripy coating holding more grey than black. He also knew the art of command; every speaker gave away his right to speak whenever Ulsta opened his mind to talk. Otteren had told her that he was the oldest of the Council members and had fought many Mushta’s and Honor Battles. He had earned the respect of his peers through his honor and his strength. Through the discussion Dearen realized that he also had a sound intellect to boot.
As Raga stepped back, Ulsta rushed on with his words before his opponent could reply. ‘Let me tell you. It will do nothing; it will just make the Bareskins hate us more. It will cause the same reaction in them as it is causing in you now.’
Ulsta circled around as he spoke, a fore claw stretched and pointing at each individual making sure that everyone clearly heard his words. ‘If it is revenge on those that have killed your kin that you are after then I say that our new Cearc has already claimed it for you.’
Ulsta flung his finger out like a spear pointing directly at the Claw of the West and Dearen, but his eyes flowed over that of the Council. ‘I say that we meet our enemies in open battle on Hatens Field and know that we have kept our honor and our traditions intact.’
A loud murmur from the Clan Leaders greeted Ulsta’s words. Raga stood silently, his arms crossed in front of him while he heard the rest of his supporters take up the mental chant.
All present suddenly opened their mouths and let forth a piercing cry that cut sharply through Dearen’s hearing and it took all of her willpower to keep from clamping her hands to her ears to block the sound. All faces were suddenly staring at her.
The Council had decided that they had talked enough; it now turned to her to choose which course of action they and the Dymarki as a whole were to take.
Dearen moved forward until she stood in the open end of the Council circle as Ulsta stepped back to his position behind his Clan Stone. Dearen was proud of the calm exterior that she portrayed as inside her nerves were running riot. All the while she felt Hauga’s comforting presence across their link, he knew that she was dreading this moment.
Dearen felt all the eyes of the Council fastened upon her, could feel them willing her to decide in whatever favor they backed. But within the first five minutes after the start of the Council, Dearen had already decided her choice. All of the discussion and eloquent arguing since did nothing to persuade her from her initial choice. She stood tall and drew a deep breath as much to steady her nerves as to speak.
‘Elder Council, I have listened carefully to all you have said and I have come to a decision.’
Dearen paused, unsure about how to proceed. She also used the pause to rally her jangled nerves. She gave a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity was listening that the Dymarki did not speak aloud otherwise those gathered would have heard her fear and nerves cracking her voice. Gathering her nerves together, Dearen continued.
‘Before I tell you my decision there is one thing that I would like to set straight for I can hear this thought drifting through nearly everyone present. I am sure you have all heard of what happened here last night. I killed over two hundred men last night in cold blood and I will not do it again.’
As Dearen spoke, the memory of her hatred and the pain and terror it caused in consequence of it rose up within her. Dearen found herself convulsively swallowing the bile that abruptly rose in her throat and felt sure that her body shook with the hatred and p
ain that had coursed through her the night before.
‘The Dymarki are a honorable people, with traditions that extend back to the moment this land was made and were strong enough to survive during the time of the Great Exile – away from the nurturing of our true spiritual heart.’
Dearen trod the last few steps to the center of the ring of Clan stones and she tried hard not to look any Council member in the eye in case her composure be shattered by a queer look. Instead, Dearen kept her eyes strictly ahead and concentrated on focusing her thoughts to reach all who stood to witness this council.
‘WE Dymarki are not of the same stock as those that haunt the Northern plains. WE are not barbarians to make innocents suffer for the sake of our anger and vengeance. WE should not imitate the actions of our enemy or we will become that which we hate most – A barbarian and a Bareskin.’
Everything around Councilmeet was suddenly still and complete silence met her words. Even the whispering of the wind in the trees had stopped. It felt as if everything in the forest was now waiting silently to hear her next words.
Now Dearen looked steadily at each of the Clan Leaders standing around her. All of them (including Hauga) stood silently watching her, their faces unreadable in the orange glow of the braziers. She looked back at the Claw and saw the pearl like glow of the moon beginning its creep above the forest to start its journey into the night sky.
This night was promising to be a beautiful night with clear starry skies, and a comfortable autumn evening warmth, and the smell of the forest permeated the atmosphere all around them. Dearen knew she was making the right decision.
‘I have decided that we will meet the Northern Bareskins in an open battle on Hatens Field. We will muster all our warriors and send out an invitation to the Northern Bareskins to meet us there. If they meet us then our honor will be met and we can hold our heads up high. If they do not then they have forfeited their right to even breathe on what is ours. Cowards are not treated with honor as they hold none for themselves, and by killing innocents they have showed that they are capable of doing cowardly acts and will be cursed by the Gods because of it.’
