“E’ranale, are you awake?” he asked. She stirred a bit but did not reply.
“E’ranale, are you awake?” This time he touched her shoulder.
She sleepily turned to him, thinking, Well, I am now. “What is it, Moc’Tor? Is everything alright?” She brushed the hair from her forehead.
“I am worried, E’ranale. I have been so focused on ensuring our survival that I forgot our first duty to Etera. Straf’Tor is right—we cannot breed so far with the Others that the Aezaitera is compromised. Whatever happens next, we must keep the two seed lines separate. For the protection of our offling and for the continuation of what is left of our Mothoc blood. I fear I have taken it too far already.”
“What are you planning to do?” she asked.
The next morning Moc’Tor sought out his brother.
“We need to talk.”
“What would be the point? We said everything last night.”
“I have given much thought to your words. And I have come to realize you are right. We cannot allow the Mothoc blood to be diluted much further. But there is room on Etera for us all, and the division between us, which I have seen as a loss, I now see as necessary protection of the different paths we are taking. I am truly humbled at the wisdom in the Order of Functions—that which you have rightfully accused me of abandoning, but which directs us without our conscious awareness.”
Moc’Tor paused a moment in reverie.
“I am calling the original Adik’Tars together,” he continued, “those who are still alive from when we started down this path. I believe there is a bigger plan of which we were unaware—something more complex than a disagreement between two brothers. We are the largest population, and what we do will affect the other communities as well.”
“I am glad you have come to your senses. What are you thinking?” asked Straf’Tor.
“I have a plan,” said Moc’Tor, “but it will take both of us, and perhaps others, to make it happen. I have already sent sentries out with word to assemble, and I expect that within several days we will have enough Leaders to meet. I hope Lor Onida will be able to attend. I have lost track of how far along her seeding is. She is an integral part of what has happened and can answer any questions.”
“I agree that we need her there. I believe she has some time yet before she delivers.”
“I will find out how Lor Onida is doing. I can send for Oragur or that female who is often with her, Irisa. Let me know when the Leaders start to arrive. But first—”
Straf’Tor listened as his brother laid out what he proposed they do.
Within days, there were enough of the original Leaders, including Lor Onida, for them to go ahead with the meeting.
Moc’Tor looked out at the circle of familiar faces. Hatos’Mok of the Deep Valley; Tres’Sar from Lor Onida’s community, the Far High Hills; Tarris’Kahn from the small group up the river—even Solok’Tar had made it from the Great Pines. Not everyone had come, but it was enough. Moc’Tor, E’ranale, Straf’Tor, Toniss, and Oragur brought the number to ten.
As Overseer, Moc’Tor spoke first. “Fellow Adik’Tars, I will get straight to the point. The path laid out before us for our survival, the path we all agreed to take, has now become a source of division. For many generations, we have used the seed of the Others to provide offling. As we all know, the longer we continue this practice, the greater the physical changes. But not just size; there are changes in physical abilities too. Some of us see these as positive, and others see them as negative. That is part of our division.
“My brother and I are on opposite sides of the matter. Our father died some time back, and I find it particularly hard that the only solution we can see will end up dividing forever what is left of my family. No matter—it is clear that a great division is about to come. But before that takes place, it is my hope that we can agree on a set of laws to collectively follow as the basis of our culture, so though our physical differences will increase, our foundational ones will not.
“If we agree that we cannot agree and the division has to go ahead, let us at least have laws on which we can agree.”
No one said a word. The silence told Moc’Tor everything he needed to know. He stepped down, and to start the discussion, joined the others at the table.
Accepting that the division might take place somehow helped them focus on what they needed to do. Before the day’s end, they had agreed on the rest of the laws.
* * *
The needs of the community come before the need of any one individual
Honor females and do not subjugate them
Show humble forbearance for the failings of others
No hand may be raised against another except for protection or defense
In conflict, use the least amount of force necessary
Protect, heal, and shelter the sick, helpless, and those in need
Offling are our future and are sacred
Never take more than you need
All contact with Outsiders is forbidden
Never without consent
These were declared the Sacred Laws and would be made known to everyone. Lor Onida recorded the laws as clearly as she could in symbols on a piece of hide for later transfer to the great wall of Kthama Minor. Memories were short, and she was a believer in records, as was her mate, Oragur.
Despite the progress made, a pall hung over the group when they disbanded for the evening. As hard as that day had been, the next day they would start the even more painful discussion of division and exodus from Kthama.
Back in their quarters, Moc’Tor sat with his family. E’ranale was there, as were their son Dak’Tor, their daughters Vel and Inrion, and their youngest daughter, Pan.
* * *
“Before long, Straf’Tor will be taking his followers and leaving Kthama. They will travel to Kayerm, the cave system we discovered generations ago when our numbers were so great that we believed we would have to split our community. Then the contagion came and reduced our population to frightening levels. How ironic that we now find ourselves back at a place of division.”
Sensing the heaviness hanging over Moc’Tor, none of the others spoke.
“I have offered them whatever supplies they need,” he continued. “Your roles tomorrow are to stay out of the way. No doubt tempers will flare. No doubt harsh words will be spoken. As I contemplate the events of the past generations, I can see the Great Spirit’s hand bringing us to this point. Although I fought this division for a long time, I now believe it is the best way—perhaps even orchestrated by the Order of Functions. And that leaves me to trust what is yet to come, however painful.”
“Do you think there will be a war between us?” asked Dak’Tor.
“That is the point of the division—to avoid such a war. Our people, our descendants who have been inter-seeded with the Others, are no match for Straf’Tor’s people.
Chapter 6
Straf’Tor could not sleep. The upcoming events were weighing on his mind. He was glad that Moc’Tor had come to his senses about their roles on Etera. Ushca lay sleepless next to her mate, feeling how tense his body was.
“Talk to me,” she said and rose onto one elbow to look at him.
“The day of division has come. You were there. I am prepared to take my followers and leave—I have been for some time. But once we leave, we will never return. Everyone and everything at Kthama will be lost to us forever. The other communities are also divided, so perhaps several dozen from those will join us.”
Ushca grew silent, knowing that her offspring by Moc’Tor would not be going with her but either staying at Kthama or dispersing to the other communities that embraced Moc’Tor’s philosophy. Already her daughters had chosen to be seeded by the Others and had produced the crosslings that Straf’Tor rejected.
“What will it be like at this new place, Kayerm?”
“It will not be as easy as life here. There is no Mother Stream running below, but the Great River is nearby. And there is plenty
of room. Our numbers are not that great, so it is right that my brother and his group stay here. And I have some peace now that he and I agree this division is necessary.”
Ushca listened quietly.
“My brother said something the last time we talked,” continued Straf’Tor. “He came to me and agreed that he had taken it too far but that he also wondered if perhaps this was not part of a greater plan. He mentioned the Order of Functions and that perhaps this division was all along meant to be. I do not know what to believe.”
“He is the Guardian. Despite our differences, we must have faith in his connection to the Great Spirit,” Ushca whispered.
Straf’Tor regarded her. “I can do this as long as you are by my side.”
“Always,” she said and pressed her lips to his, and for a while, Straf’Tor forgot his troubles. But morning found him still awake, going over and over what was to come and hoping they would all play their roles well.
All the Mothoc Leaders, the Adik’Tars, were assembled. Once they had agreed on the details, they would address the entire population of the High Rocks.
As usual, Moc’Tor opened. “Let us make this as thorough as it needs to be, but as brief as possible. Straf’Tor, tell us your plans.”
“Since we cannot agree on the collective future of our people, my family, my followers, and I will vacate Kthama. We will be leaving as soon as we can. The Leaders who are in support of continuing to interbreed with the Others, are you willing to release those within your communities who would join with us instead?” Straf’Tor looked around the group, unsure who was of the same mind as him.
“I support our current path, but any of my people who wish to join you certainly may do so,” said Hatos’Mok of the Deep Valley.
“I think we all would agree to that, Straf’Tor,” said Solok’Tar.
“I agree, too,” said Tres’Sar of the Far High Hills.
“That surprises me, Tres’Sar,” sneered Straf’Tor.
“Why would that surprise you, Straf’Tor? I do not wish to hold anyone against their will.”
“Oh, but you will allow your females to suck the male seed from the unconscious bodies of the Waschini without their consent! That is an interesting set of standards you have there. Who knows what matter of abomination your females are producing up there now!”
Tres’Sar had finally had enough of Straf’Tor’s insults and leaped across, knocking him against the wall. “Who do you think you are, Straf’Tor? Do you think you are above this? You agreed in the beginning that it was our only way. Would you rather we had all died out by now? Because that was our only choice!”
“I did agree!” shouted Straf’Tor, breaking away and spinning around to pull Tres’Sar’s hands behind his back. “But we are past that point. We have done what we had to do, and there was no need to take it this far. We have shamed ourselves. You and my brother have shamed us by bringing us into this age of darkness. Look at your offling. They barely resemble us any longer. They practically shiver in the halls of Kthama. Their modesty is hardly covered. In some cases, their skin is not even as dark as the Others. And all are so pale compared to ours—like the creatures that scramble in the deepest levels of Kthama, deprived of light too long. Is this your legacy to our future? Each generation becoming weaker and frailer? And what of the Aezaitera? Krellshar!”
The others stayed back, letting the two enraged warriors burn off their anger. They were well matched; it was unlikely that one would do irreparable harm to the other before they drained each other’s reserves.
Tres’Sar struggled and broke one hand free from Straf’Tor’s grip, spinning around in turn and slamming his free fist directly into Straf’Tor’s jaw. Straf’Tor released Tres’Sar’s other hand, which Tres’Sar then brought around, landing an uppercut to the bottom of Straf’Tor’s chin, snapping his head back.
Both males were thrown apart in opposite directions and collapsed, bent over on the floor, catching their breath.
Straf’Tor rose, his hand nursing his chin as he locked a bone-chilling stare on Tres’Sar. Tres’Sar pulled himself to his feet and circled, looking for an advantage.
“You do not want to continue with this, fine,” Tres’Sar said. “But do not tell us what we can or cannot do. You lead your people; I will lead mine, as will the other Leaders. But do not come crawling back to us when, five generations down the road, you are back to where we were before, with grieving mothers cradling deadborn offspring and imbeciles who do not know any better than raping their sisters.”
“Enough!” shouted Moc’Tor stepping between the two males. “Enough! Nothing good is being accomplished. You are not listening, Tres’Sar. There are two paths open to us. No, we do not agree, but we can at least part on good terms instead of creating this bitterness and division between us.”
“It is too late for that, Moc’Tor,” said Tres’Sar. “Bring your message to my people, Straf’Tor. Anyone who wants to is welcome to leave with you. But once you have had your say and collected your following—if any—they may never again return to the Far High Hills.”
Though they were not part of the inner council meeting, by now, guards had entered the room and stood ready to intervene at Moc’Tor’s command.
Moc’Tor addressed them, “Your services will not be needed; this is nothing more than a friendly dispute between family members.”
The guards stood down but remained against the wall.
Having had his final say, Tres’Sar spat at Straf’Tor’s feet and stalked to the back of the room.
Moc’Tor turned to those remaining.
“Nothing more will be accomplished here. Tres’Sar is right. The best we can do is go our separate ways as soon as possible. Make your arrangements, Straf’Tor, and let me know when you will be leaving. I will address the people of Kthama this afternoon.”
With that, almost all the others dispersed to their respective corners of Kthama.
Almost all.
The room fell silent—more silent than seemed naturally possible. Quiet and still under the weight of the heavy mantle carried on the shoulders of those who remained. They had decided. Enough. It had fallen to them to bring the end to Wrak-Wavara, the Age of Darkness, and to protect the future of Etera.
After a moment of reverence, Moc’Tor’s voice broke the quiet. “Now, we wait. Once the division is complete, we will put an end to Wrak-Wavara.”
Straf’Tor’s sentries had visited the other Mothoc communities and returned with those who agreed with Straf’Tor’s ideas. It was time for the division to take place and the Great Chamber was a sea of activity. Heavy bodies, some with darker coats and some with lighter, moved among smaller ones of similar variation. Some were saying their goodbyes; others were only watching the activities. Moc’Tor stood to the side with First Guard Dochrohan, observing what was taking place.
“At the end of the day, Kthama will consist only of your followers. It will feel empty by comparison,” said Dochrohan.
“We are fortunate they chose to leave. Their numbers are less, but an argument could have been made that by their physical size alone, they should retain Kthama. And we would have been hard-pressed to win that battle.” Moc’Tor turned to face his first guard. “Thank you for secluding my family elsewhere.”
“Of course. They are safe, Adik’Tar.”
The Leader nodded as he watched his brother enter. Leaving Dochrohan, he walked over.
“We shall be out by midday,” said Straf’Tor.
“That argument with Tres’Sar was a nice touch,” said Moc’Tor. “It truly set the mood for the division.”
“Well, it was not planned if that is what you are thinking.”
“Oh no. I was not thinking that. It was far too convincing to have been staged. Now we must wait until the division is complete and hope that in time everything we have set in motion will come to fruition. I only regret that I will not be alive to see it.”
“I do not know why you would say that. You are the Guardian. I will n
ot live to see it, but no doubt you will. Through you, we all touch the future. And it is for the good. When the time comes for the Age of Shadows to fall, both our communities will need all the help they can get.”
“Have you decided what you will be calling yourselves?” asked Moc’Tor. “You and your generation are Mothoc, but your offling are not.”
“We will be known as the Sassen, and we are calling you the Akassa.”
“As in, people of a smaller build?” Moc’Tor asked.
“No, as in people who are frail or feeble,” Straf’Tor answered with a grin.
“The frail ones? Not very flattering. Especially compared to Sassen, the righteous?”
“Oh, we have other names as well if you would like to hear them—”
Moc’Tor chuckled, glad for the good-natured sparring between them. “No, thank you. Since we will never cross paths again, the Akassa it is. My intention is that you and your people should pass from our history.”
As they were speaking, Wosot entered and hurriedly approached Straf’Tor. “Adik’Tar, there is a problem at Kayerm.”
“Well, speak up,” grumped Straf’Tor. “What is it?”
“The scouts went to check on Kayerm and have just returned. It is occupied.”
“By what? Bear? Cougar?”
“By Mothoc.”
“Rok! Who? Another community traveling through? That is unlikely. But it would be good news for our bloodlines. Do the scouts know who they are?”
“Yes. It is the band that was following Norcab.”
Straf’Tor turned to Moc’Tor, “Those you exiled from Kthama after you killed Warnak. At the time, it did not occur to me that any scouts who could lead them there were in that group.”
“I doubt you will receive a warm welcome. What will you do?” asked Moc’Tor.
“I will take a group to confront them. Wosot, did the scout say how many were there?”
The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Page 10
