“No, it is just how it has always been,” answered E’ranale. “We simply thought of it as home.”
“So be it, then,” approved Moc’Tor. “Once the council has disbanded, I will inform my people of the change. Dochrohan, I will need help from you and your guards to move the females across.”
“They are not going to like this,” said E’ranale.
“You must make them understand,” Moc’Tor responded. “They are asking much of us males. Whether we are to blame for it or not, it is difficult to swallow. It is fitting that they give something in return.”
“You are wise, Moc’Tor. I am blessed to be your mate.”
“Do not speak too soon, female. After all this has passed, tell me if you still feel that way.”
By late afternoon of the next day, Moc’Tor was in his quarters preparing to reconvene the group. He knew that while the members of the newly merged workgroups were putting their ideas and plans together, those not involved had been speaking among themselves.
“How are you feeling?” asked E’ranale.
“How am I feeling? It does not matter. All that matters is that we keep moving forward, regardless of how difficult it is to do so.”
“You are expecting trouble this afternoon?”
“Expecting it? I welcome it. All their objections must be aired here where they can be addressed, not carried back with them and nursed in dark corners to brew and fester, creating more conflict and dissent. If it appears I am dismissing or underestimating their concerns, then I must change my message.” He paused. “And how are you doing?”
“I am pleased with the progress the group is making. Like you, I am prepared for a backlash from those who have not joined in.”
“There are many reasons for them to have held back,” Moc’Tor pointed out. “Only one of these may be disagreement with our approach. Some have more critical minds and need to be convinced of the feasibility before they will support an idea as radical as this one.”
“If we can pull it off, I believe it will work. Though we will have to see how much influence the Others’ seed has over the new offspring.”
“Speaking of which, how exactly do you plan on making this work? Or is it too early to ask the details? And how do you know it will work.”
“Oh, you already know some of the details.” E’ranale gave him a conspiratorial glance.
“I do?”
“Well, yes. If you were paying attention, I think I demonstrated the basic concept for you a couple of nights ago.”
“What—?”
“What the females taught me. As I remember, you did not seem to mind what I practiced.” She was toying with him now but could see his confusion was turning to anger.
“Practiced? No E’ranale. I forbid you to participate. The fact that you would even consider it—”
“I am not going to participate, Moc’Tor. I have no need or desire to do so. I want only you and our offling. I did what I did just so you would have a frame of reference. And to please you.”
“But they are repulsive. Pale, small, with no covering. And what you did is so—”
“Personal? Oh, yes, it is. And as far as repulsive goes? Norcab was repulsive. As others were and are. And yes, it is unbearably personal. But do you think it any less personal to accept a male’s shaft into your most intimate center, a male whose touch makes your skin crawl? Panting and straining while he slams himself into you as you grit your teeth, wishing to be anywhere else? It has taken years to learn how to put up with it, to block it out.”
“The Others will not cooperate.”
“They will not be awake to know. They cannot be. It would frighten them to death. As we have it planned, they will awake feeling very satisfied, with a story they can tell no one,” E’ranale explained.
“How do you know they will not awake during— Va!” Moc’Tor swore at not having the words to talk about this.
“You did not, the other night.”
Moc’Tor narrowed his eyes at his mate. “E’ranale. You had better not have been toying with me, female. I may be your mate, but I am still the Adik’Tar!”
E’ranale chuckled. “Relax, Moc’Tor. I am only teasing. I did not experiment on you in that way. But some of the females have experimented on their mates. It is just a matter of administering enough tincture to knock them out long enough to collect what we need. With the Others, it will be different. At the chosen time, we will send them into a dream state. Once they are more or less asleep, let us say we will come to them in the Dream World. Except that they will see us as a maiden of the Others. It will be as real as if it were happening while they were awake, and the results will be as if they were having the real experience.”
“But some Others may hear or see you. How will you handle that?”
“Simple. We do not just send those we want into the dream state; we send them all.”
Moc’Tor sighed heavily. Those they want. It had not occurred to him that they might be selective, even with the Others. “One last question, and then I am done with this disturbing topic for now. After you have what you need, how will you keep them from talking about their dreams afterward?”
“This extraction process is not exactly established practice among the Others. Or us. You, yourself, were taken aback. They will have a very pleasurable and unusual dream about the attentions of an exotic maiden, and they will be too ashamed to discuss it. They are not supposed to spill their seed without procreation; it goes against all their prohibitions.”
“And if you are wondering what we do once we have what we need—” E’ranale got up and came back with a little bowl of water and a small piece of clean moss, which she held up, then wadded and placed in the palm of her hand. She took a sip of water and then spat it out, soaking the little green wad and holding it up between her fingers. Then she smiled.
Moc’Tor held up his hand and walked away. “Remind me never to get on your bad side, E’ranale. You females are far too clever for me; I would never stand a chance against your inventiveness.”
The Guardian left the room but stopped in the corridor just outside their quarters. He leaned his head against the wall. Was he a monster? Was this how he would be remembered—as the Leader who had brought unrest and division to his people? The Leader who had sanctioned an attack on their wards, the Others—an assault so shameful in nature that it could never be spoken about outside of closed walls? We pride ourselves on our harmonious relationship with all the Great Spirit’s creatures. What would the Others think if they knew what we plan to do without their consent? And how could he condemn Trestle while approving a violation just as great though more shameful? What Trestle had nearly done was out of ignorance. What they were intending would be with full awareness of their wrongdoing.
E’ranale came up behind him. “Moc’Tor.”
He was still braced against the cold stone wall, his head now cradled in his arms, and he did not look at her.
“Forgive me. I had no right to make light of it,” she said. “I know that what we are about to do is a serious transgression. But in a way, they will have given their consent if they accept the maiden in the dream,” she offered.
“That is true, as far as it goes, but they will not have given their consent to have their essences used to seed our females.” Moc’Tor’s voice was muffled against the wall.
“They are gentle and kind. They would help us if we asked.”
“Yes, but we cannot ask. We have no shared language, and we virtually never make contact with them.” He paused before continuing. “If I cannot convince the leadership waiting back in the meeting room that this is the right course, the only course, then how am I to convince the males of the general population?”
“You have said, so many times, Moc’Tor, that you are the Leader. You do not need to convince the general population. Nor do you need their permission. They do not have to know the details, and it is best that way.
“As for the leadership, they need to join with y
ou and put their personal reservations aside. If we are to avoid extinction, we have two paths only, and we will have to go down both of them simultaneously in order to survive,” she added.
Moc’Tor finally turned and met her gaze. “It is time. Walk with me.”
As before, guards stood near the entrance to the meeting room, ensuring that passers-by could not be within earshot of the proceedings. As it was, curiosity, concern, and tension were at an all-time high.
Moc’Tor began speaking without waiting for the conversation to die down, and immediately the room fell silent.
“We are here tonight to finalize our plans for moving forward. The groups who volunteered to work out the initial details of the two possible approaches have joined to create one collective effort. I ask the original two Leaders to join me now.” He signaled for Lor Onida and his brother, Straf’Tor, to join him.
“Before we give you our report, are there any lingering objections that we need to air?” asked Straf’Tor.
E’ranale looked at him as he stood next to his brother, her mate. Straf’Tor had a dark coat, but they were almost identical in build and structure. A sadness swept over her, realizing that she might be looking at the last of their kind—the last pure strain of Mothoc.
Tarris’Kahn rose to speak. “We have talked about your proposals, Moc’Tor. We are ready to hear what the workgroups have to report before we make any comments of our own.”
Moc’Tor nodded to his brother to continue.
“As Moc’Tor has explained,” Straf’Tor began, “we have combined the efforts of both groups. Those of us working out how to plan pairings between young adults as they mature—well, we quickly discovered that while this is an excellent option, our limited numbers might bring us back to this exact point in several generations. After the sickness, we simply do not have the numbers to spread our seed widely enough. So there is no choice for us; we must bring in new seed or perish altogether. That may not be the news you want to hear, but it is the truth.”
Lor Onida added, “We will not go into the details, but our plan for crossbreeding with the Others has been well-thought-out. If we do it as planned, the damage to our relationship with the Others will be minimal or nonexistent.”
The Leaders looked at each other.
“If you do not mind our asking—” An unidentified male spoke up.
“I do mind. I understand your natural curiosity, but what we will be doing is best kept between those directly involved. I know we have not earned your trust in this matter, which makes it harder for you to accept.”
“The Others will know eventually,” added the same male.
“Perhaps. But we only rarely have direct contact with them. Generations ahead, they may figure it out when the effects of their seed line are showing in us. But by then, the crossbreeding will be firmly established and completed.”
“It is the end of us.”
Lor Onida ignored him and continued. “Those in your communities who are producing healthy offspring will continue as they have been. Any female who has had a deadborn will be offered the chance to participate in our plan. Once we have it working, we will move to other communities and share our knowledge so they can do the same. If we are smart, if we are swift, if we are wise, within a few generations we will be far enough down the path that leads away from extinction.”
Moc’Tor surveyed the room. He could read their reactions even if his male seventh sense hadn’t been able to gauge their state of receptiveness. About half were convinced. Another quarter or so were still not committed either way, and the last quarter was mostly against it but for reasons having to do with the males’ further loss of control. The Others are our wards. We have always protected them, looked after them without their knowledge. If there were any other way—
Moc’Tor took the floor once more. “You have heard from both workgroup Leaders. They will continue to work on their plan. As they said, once it is perfected, they will come to your communities and work with you and your people, if that is what you wish. I do not expect you to embrace this idea enthusiastically. But without your support, we will fail. It will require our collective effort to bring it about.
“This is not a tale to be told to offling at night to entertain them,” he continued. “This is our reality. We change, or we die off. Forever. The choice and the power are in your hands. Once you leave here, it will be up to you which path you lead your own people down. But the truth is we cannot afford to lose the support of any of you. Our numbers are so low that we now need every one of our people if we are to survive. But I also cannot force you to participate.”
The Leader walked down into the audience, intentionally heading toward the pocket where he had observed the most resistance. “You are all-powerful Leaders. Many of you said at the start that your people look to you for answers, but you know that the answers are not always easy. Sometimes we can soften them, but this is not one of those times. This will be difficult. You will meet resistance from members of your communities, just as I have met resistance from many of you.
“Before behavior can change, the thinking behind it must change. When you go back, remember your own process, your own struggle with this. And consider the alternatives. You can go back and help them understand that this is a solution, a path forward, and then work with us. Not an easy solution, no. Not one to be proud of. But there is one.
“Or you can go back and tell them there is a solution, but that you do not support it. You owe it to your communities at least to let them know there is a way forward. And to give them time to adjust. If you do less than that, you are not a Leader; you are but a tyrant who uses lies as a shield to protect himself from conflict. They deserve to know the truth, and they deserve to hear it from you.”
The room was quiet; Moc’Tor’s words hung in the air. E’ranale felt the spirit move in her, and she knew she must speak to the group. She caught Oragur’s eye and stepped forward, cueing him to stand beside her as a Healer and also as a male.
“I do not understand what it is like to be male,” she began. “I do not pretend to bear your burdens or face your struggles. I do know that you have been taxed considerably over the past decades. And to hear what we are planning only adds to the weight you carry. The idea of our females, your females, using another’s seed is no doubt repugnant to you.
“However, it is not too long ago that you openly shared us, not caring how many of you mated us or whose seed ripened in whose belly. This is not so different. But if you still struggle with what lies ahead, try to remember, this is not our choice. This is not something we choose willingly.
“We would never ordinarily seek out the males of the Others. You are our males. You are the ones we desire and long for. You are the ones in our hearts and the ones with whom we share our beds, our bodies, and our lives. We do not wish in any way to replace you. We can never replace you; we only wish for our people to survive, and therefore we must fill our purpose to produce offling for ourselves and for you. Offling for us all to raise as sons and daughters of our people. Nothing more. You will always be those around whom we build our lives. The rest will pass into history and be forgotten, just as the waters of the Great River flow downstream and disappear from view. If we do not take this path, the Mothoc and our responsibilities and gifts to Etera will cease. Consider those consequences. Which is the path you can most easily live with?”
E’ranale exhaled and released her tension. In her heart, she felt they had done all they could. Whatever happened next, it was out of their hands.
Through the upcoming years, the Mothoc females gave birth to more and more cross-bred offling. Knowing that the process worked, the two Healers, Lor Onida and her mate, Oragur, traveled to the other Mothoc communities with local populations of Others and taught the process they had devised. As far as they were aware, the Others did not know what the Mothoc were doing. To begin with, the Mothoc had seldom interacted with the Others, and in time, if the Others became aware of the Mothoc’s alte
red appearance, they might never make a connection between that and the past.
The first two generations of cross-breeding had produced offling still very much like the Mothoc. As the second generation was again crossed with the Others’ seed, the Others’ influence started to come to the forefront. As the years passed, each subsequent generation was bred as soon as possible. Eventually, there were two distinct new seed lines living at Kthama; those who resembled the Mothoc more—the Sassen—and those who had more of the Others’ influence—who would become known as the Akassa.
As their population became stable, the sense of urgency faded, and unrest stirred among the two factions across all the communities—almost in unison.
Moc’Tor and his brother stood by their father’s bedside. Sorak’Tor lay very still, his breathing growing more and more shallow. Moc’Tor bent over and drew the hide covers higher under his father’s chin. The Healers, Oragur and Lor Onida, were standing with them for these final moments.
Sorak’Tor stirred and opened his eyes. He looked up at his two sons as they stared down at him.
“My sons.” He reached out a hand. “I know my time to leave Etera is close. I am sorry to go during such great upheaval. Trust yourselves. Trust each other,” he whispered. “I will wait for you on the other side.”
Moc’Tor took his father’s hand and squeezed it just as Sorak’Tor turned his head and let go of his last breath.
Kthama was in mourning over the loss of the male who had once been their Leader. As word spread, Leaders from the other communities sent consolation messages, while others came in person to pay their respects to Moc’Tor and his brother.
I cannot believe he is gone, thought Moc’Tor. Now he and Straf’Tor must carry on without their father. If our faith is true, he is now reunited with my mother, and in time, when I also return to the Great Spirit, I will see them both again.
For a while, there was quiet as they were all reminded of the preciousness of all life and that not even the Mothoc were immortal.
The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Page 7
