“He only saw them from a distance, and they kept moving about. He saw perhaps eleven or so. They were outside talking, so there could have been more inside. He does not think they saw him.”
“Very well. Arm twenty of our males with spears. I cannot take my followers there without dealing with them first. Whichever way it goes.”
“Whichever way it goes? Surely you are not going to let them take over Kayerm?”
“No.”
“Then what are your choices?”
Straf’Tor turned back to face his brother. “Remember, brother, they disagreed with you, not me. You exiled them with no regard to whether they perished or not. In fact, I believe you preferred they did. But we are not in a position to lose any more Mothoc.”
“I am afraid you will find rebels are rebels, Straf. Whether it was my decisions or my authority to which they objected, I fear you will soon learn for yourself,” said Moc’Tor. “If you need more guards, I can send some of mine along.”
“No, thank you. Our paths are diverging. The sooner and the cleaner it happens, the better.”
Straf’Tor sent word through his followers that they would not, after all, be leaving that afternoon. The same group who had just finished saying their goodbyes, their bundles of belongings stacked by the entrance, now milled around, worrying and speculating about the reason for the delay.
Straf’Tor, Wosot, and twenty of Straf’Tor’s largest males left for Kayerm. Wosot took them behind a small grass ridge to the place where the sentry had crouched and observed the other Mothoc. Now there was no one to be seen.
“I do not want to confront them inside the cave,” said Straf’Tor. “We need to bring them out.”
“I could go in and ask to speak with their Adik’Tar,” Wosot whispered. “With Norcab gone, I wonder who that is now.”
“No,” said Straf’Tor flatly. “We must bring them out into the open. By now, they know Kayerm’s layout, and we could easily be ambushed. Although we may outnumber them, I would prefer a more relaxed meeting. I do not believe they are going to welcome us, but there is no point in riling them more.”
“A distraction then.”
Straf’Tor nodded, and Wosot signaled to several of the others to come with him. They moved out of sight until they were perched above Kayerm’s entrance. From that position, they began throwing large boulders, landing them just outside the entrance. Each thud also sent up a dust cloud. Within a few moments, several of the rebel Mothoc had come out and stood staring at the huge rocks.
They turned abruptly when they heard Wosot call out from above. “What are you doing here, and who is your Adik’Tar? I wish to speak with him.”
Straf’Tor watched the exchange carefully, sizing up the response and waiting to see what numbers would appear. If their Adik’Tar was wise, he would not send his entire group out at once.
“Wosot?” one of them called back, recognizing him.
“Yes. Ser’Hun?”
“Ridg’Sor is our Leader,” said Ser’Hun. “What are we doing here? You should know. Because that PetaQ tyrant, Moc’Tor, threw us out of Kthama after he murdered Norcab and Warnak in front of us all. So what are you doing here?”
“Bring Ridg’Sor, and we will talk,” Wosot answered.
Ser’Hun glanced around at his fellow Mothoc and shrugged his shoulders.
The rebel leader, Ridg’Sor, strode out of Kayerm, immediately defiant.
“What is it you want, Wosot? We left Kthama as Moc’Tor ordered. There is no need for more trouble.”
“I do not come bringing trouble. We only want to talk.”
“We? How many are we?”
Wosot thought for a moment. Is Ridg’Sor sizing up our numbers? Perhaps he prefers to fight rather than talk. “Follow me to the clearing down the first path to the Great River. We will talk there.”
Ridg’Sor looked Wosot up and down. “Alright.”
Ser’Hun stared at his Leader. “Surely you are not going down there?”
“No, we are going down there. There is no other choice; whatever they want, they will not go away because I refuse to talk to them. Best we get this over with and find out what it is about.”
A few moments later, they were in the clearing, and Straf’Tor and his remaining males silently crept closer.
“Now tell me what this is about,” Ridg’Sor demanded of Wosot, his voice edged with steel.
“No, I will tell you what this is about.”
Ridg’Sor spun around as he heard Straf’Tor’s voice behind him.
Straf’Tor coolly eyed Ridg’Sor before continuing, “We have come to a point of division within the population of Kthama. My followers and I are moving here, into Kayerm.”
Ridg’Sor frowned hard. “How many of you are there?”
“Far more than there are of you,” answered Straf’Tor. “Looking at the condition you are in, I am willing to bet that my people are healthier than yours, too, and far better prepared for battle. I suggest you think before you let the next words come out of your mouth.”
Ser’Hun looked at Ridg’Sor and nodded almost imperceptibly.
Ridg’Sor clenched his teeth. “So, you are leaving us no choice.”
“You have several choices, Ridg’Sor. You can take your band of followers and leave Kayerm to us. You can decide to fight us, though I can assure you that your group will be defeated—in which case those of you who survive will still be leaving Kayerm. Or you can make room and try to live amicably among us.”
“Ridg’Sor,” hissed Ser’Hun.
“KahTah!” Ridg’Sor snarled back, shutting him down.
The rebel leader rubbed his forehead. “Very well then. When will your group be coming, and how many are there?”
“A better approach is that you show me how many are in your band. The last I remember, you had only about twenty,” said Straf’Tor, motioning for the rest of his crew to show themselves.
Seeing their numbers and knowing full well that Straf’Tor would not have brought his entire following, Ridg’Sor’s upper lip curled, revealing his sharp canines. “Alright.”
Straf’Tor and his group followed Ridg’Sor and Ser’Hun back to Kayerm. When they reached the entrance, Ser’Hun went in and called for the rest. They piled out, blinking against the light, their faces contorting as they saw what was waiting for them.
Straf’Tor counted eighteen without Ridg’Sor.
“What is going on, Ridg’Sor?” demanded a smaller ruddy-colored male.
“We have guests, Laborn. Or rather, we are taking in new members.”
Straf’Tor’s glance passed quickly over the group, logging the somewhat emaciated forms, darting eyes, and shifting stances.
He stepped forward. “I have no direct quarrel with you. But my followers and I are taking over Kayerm. If you accept this and we come to a truce, you will be permitted to stay. If not, then you will be removed, though I will not be as lenient as my brother was.”
He took another step forward, and the group took a step back. Good. They recognize my superiority. There is no need to fight—not today.
“You no doubt took over the living areas closest to the entrance. I suggest you relocate further in. I will be back at twilight and how we proceed is entirely up to you.”
Straf’Tor turned to leave. Once they were out of sight, he took Wosot aside. “Stay here. Do what you can to make sure we are not returning to an ambush. I do not want to expose the females to harm, and I may leave them at Kthama for a while longer until we can get more of a feel about the situation.”
“From what we just saw, I do not believe they will accept our terms,” said Wosot.
Moc’Tor was alerted that Straf’Tor had returned. “Is there a problem?” he asked, concerned.
“Nothing I cannot handle. I may need to leave the Mothoc females and offling here for a few more nights, though.”
“Of course.”
“And all the Sassen.”
Moc’Tor said nothing as he realized th
at Straf’Tor had larger problems than he was letting on.
Ridg’Sor stormed around Kayerm’s entrance, pounding up dust clouds with each step.
Ser’Hun followed after him, raising his voice, trying to get a response. “There is nothing you can do. Perhaps this is a good thing.”
Ridg’Sor stopped, and flinging his arms high and wide, whirled around to face Ser’Hun. “Straf’Tor is no better than his brother. They are both arrogant, and I am the Adik’Tar here!”
“Apparently not for long, and it seems you had better get used to your change in station. It is not worth dying over. At least we will have shelter, and perhaps they will bring females.”
“KahTah! That is all you have ranted about since we came. We have no females. We have no females. You act as if that pitiful rod of yours will fall off if you do not stick it somewhere.”
Ser’Hun glared at Ridg’Sor and came to a stop. “Well, Adik’Tar, do you have a better idea? Do you intend to fight him? Our numbers are, without question, smaller than his, and we have struggled with everything since we came. I could use a good meal provided by some females. And a good ’rokking too! Yes, I admit it.”
“Well, you can forget about that. No doubt whoever he brings will already be paired, and if not, they will have no interest in such a pathetic scrawny male as you. Remember the days are gone when we get to decide who and when to mate.”
“We are suffering here. It is better than having no shelter, but not by much. I, for one, am glad they are joining us.”
Ridg’Sor slammed Ser’Hun against the nearest wall. “Joining us? They are not joining us. They will take over. We will be lucky to get the scraps from their leavings.”
He abruptly released Ser’Hun and spat at his feet. “Go. Tell the others to move their quarters farther back and make room for our guests. Straf’Tor is smart; he has chosen the living areas closest to the exit, ensuring that he and his intruders are in no danger of being trapped by us.”
Straf’Tor returned to Kayerm just before twilight, meeting up with Wosot before going any closer.
“I was able to get near enough to listen,” Wosot explained. “So far, there is only grumbling and a fair amount of moving around. They are pitiful; I doubt they have much real fight left in them.”
“That may change after they have had some relief from their current struggle,” replied Straf’Tor. “The Mothoc were not designed to live in small numbers.”
“They will see us as intruders for quite some time yet. Perhaps they will never accept us,” said Wosot.
“I am tired of battle and division. We will share our stores with them as a show of goodwill and hope for all our sakes that Ridg’Sor influences them to accept the change.”
“We are forgetting. Your brother exiled this group before the females started cross-breeding. They know nothing of cross-breeding with the Others.” Wosot paused. “If they could not accept the rise in status of the females, how are they going to accept the Sassen?”
“It will no doubt come as a shock, but it cannot be helped. We must be prepared for a battle.” Straf’Tor let out a huge sigh before turning to leave. “Let us get on with it, then. We will move in almost all our Mothoc males and give it a few days before fetching the Mothoc females and the offling. The last group to bring in will be the Sassen.”
“That raises another issue.”
“I know, Wosot. I also saw no females among them.”
That evening, Moc’Tor stood in the silent emptiness of the Great Chamber. Straf’Tor’s females and offling, and as his Sassen followers were still at Kthama but in their quarters.
Never before had he felt so alone. From wall to wall, there was nothing but empty space. He remembered a time when there were so many bodies pressed together that when one moved, all had to shift in unison.
“Is this your will?” he asked. “Was this your intention all along? In my core, there is peace, but in my heart, there is none. My community, my people are divided, and now half of us are cast out to find a new life, to create a new home. My brother and I, perhaps never to see each other again for centuries? Yes, we survived. We are still here. But our differences are now greater than our similarities. There is no longer anything to bind us. We are the Sassen and the Akassa, and as a result, comparatively few Mothoc still walk Etera. What will become of Etera when the Mothoc no longer walk this realm? Surely you have a plan, but it is beyond my understanding.”
E’ranale had entered the Great Chamber, but on hearing Moc’Tor speaking into the void, she turned to go.
“Do not leave me,” he said without moving.
She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into his back. “You feel cold. I have never felt you cold before.” Her voice was filled with concern.
“It is nothing; I am merely tired. The Order of Functions is taking a great deal of my strength. Perhaps it is time to take Pan to the next level of being a Guardian. I could use her help right now.”
“When did you last take time to enter the vortex, the Aezaitera, and replenish yourself, my love?”
“Too long. Too long; you are right. I have spent so much time dealing with this and training Pan that I have not taken time for myself.”
“You have led us well. No one could have seen this coming, just as, despite our seventh sense, when there is this much turmoil, none of us can feel what is coming. But it has always been our faith in the Great Spirit and the Order of Functions that things are unfolding as they should.”
Moc’Tor did not correct his mate, though he wanted to. It was not true that no one could see what was coming. He could. And it was a path he did not want to walk.
Pan trudged up the path from Kthama to the great meadow where her father was waiting.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, father. Are we going deeper into the vortex again?”
“No. Today you are to learn about the Order of Functions.”
“I have heard you speak of it, but I have never understood it.”
“Then sit and listen as we begin the next phase of Guardianship.”
“Before I can continue,” he started, “you must remember that Etera herself is alive. Everything is alive because everything that exists is created from the living force of the One-Who-Is-Three. Even objects like rocks have the life force in them; it is just moving so slowly compared to our own vibration that we do not think of them as having a life force. Everything in existence is made up of the creative life force, though not everything has awareness. And that is often what we are unknowingly referring to when we say something is alive. What we mean is that it has some level of awareness. And at higher levels, that becomes self-awareness.”
Pan interrupted. “Does Mother know all this?”
“Yes. She has heard this speech many times. Now, hush.”
Pan sat silent as told.
“What we call life and death is the life force, the Aezaitera, moving in and out of Etera like the inhalation and exhalation of a breath. I have already covered this. So life and death are the life force—the breath of the Great Spirit—entering and leaving this realm.
“The three aspects of the Great Spirit work together in this ongoing creative act. The Great Heart is the creative substance, Love, from which everything is formed. The Great Mind is the unfathomable intellect that effortlessly thinks everything into existence in infinite combinations, complexity, and order. Through the Great Will, the creative force of the Great Heart and the exquisite design of the Great Mind are continuously called into being.
“Without the entry and exit of this life force, the Aezaitera, Etera will stagnate and die—just as does the physical body if breathing ceases, though much more quickly. Etera would not fail all at once, but system by system over time.”
Finally, we are getting somewhere, Pan thought impatiently.
“Daughter, I know you know most of this,” Moc’Tor said, sensing her impatience and hearing Pan’s not-quite inaudible sigh.
“Sorry, Father.”
He continued. “The Order of Functions is the collective rules, patterns, and inherent wisdom in each cell and piece of Etera that knows its place and works together to create the complex creation that surrounds us—and beyond, even to the halls of the Great Spirit. No doubt you can remember cutting yourself and how quickly your body heals. That is the inherent wisdom built into each of the tiniest pieces of what makes us and everything in our realm. Pieces so tiny that we cannot even truly conceive of their size. It is this same intelligence that sends the ants into collective action the moment their hill is damaged. It is this same intelligence that lets the birds flock together in the sky, swooping back and forth in patterns without ever getting in the way of each other. So, this pattern of intelligence is everywhere; it is inseparable from life itself because it is the intelligence willed and knitted into being by the creative force of the Great Spirit”
“The Three-Who-Are-One.”
“Yes, and the One-Who-is-Three. We have many names, but they all point to the loving intelligence that created us and sustains us.”
“Now, the Order of Functions. The Order of Functions is the pattern built into all of creation. But like the Aezaitera, it can be affected from within this realm. You have played games with other offling, stacking stones as high as you could without toppling them. As long as they are balanced and carefully placed, the tower stands. And like that example, all life on Etera depends on balance. Because imbalances occur, you must connect to the Great Spirit and use your life force to bring it back in line.”
“How is that possible?”
“That is a very good question. And the answer is that I do not know. I only know it is given to us to do, and it is part of our function here. It is the role of the Guardian, in addition to cleansing the Aezaitera before it leaves our realm, to strengthen and realign the Order of Functions when needed.”
“How do you know when it is needed?”
The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Page 11
