“My parents met when my father traveled to the Little River to trade tools and swap ideas with the toolmakers there. He was so smitten with my mother that he promised if she came back to Kthama with him, she would be his only mate. So she followed him back to Kthama. Everything was fine until she met Sorak’Tor, the father of Moc’Tor and Straf’Tor. She was already seeded by my father, and by then, Sorak’Tor had enough females and did not give her a second look. My father said it was never the same between them after that. He helped raise me, but the closeness between them never returned,” Ridg’Sor continued. “So the ‘Tors have been ruining my family’s life for some time.
“Straf’Tor does not deserve happiness. None of the ‘Tors do. But perhaps this is an opportunity to strike him a fatal blow. If he were unable to lead, then I think I have a chance of taking back leadership of Kayerm.”
“What are you planning?” asked Salus.
The others listened with rapt attention as Ridg’Sor explained his plan.
When he was done, Ser’Hun said, “I will have no part in this. You are going too far. What you are proposing goes against everything the Mothoc stand for. Reconsider. I know you want to lead Kayerm, but I did not believe you were a monster.”
Ridg’Sor jumped up and grabbed Ser’Hun by the throat. “Fine. I always knew you were a coward. But if you breathe a word of this, trust me, it will be the last breath you ever take.”
Ridg’Sor released the male and pushed him backward.
Ser’Hun rubbed his throat and glared up at Ridg’Sor. He stumbled slightly as he regained his feet. “From now on, leave me out of these meetings.” He looked at the others. “And if you were smart, you would also back out.” Then he turned and walked briskly away.
Ridg’Sor spat in his direction. “Rok! We did not need that PetaQ anyway. He was always weak. And now that he has offling of his own, his loyalty to the cause is gone.”
Ushca’s seeding seemed to have unified the community. Well-wishers frequently dropped off gifts for the offling—whether small wrappings, dried chews for teething, stacking rocks, and other items. She stacked them neatly in the corner of their quarters, taking them out to admire with Beala and other visiting females.
“We are so happy for you,” said Beala. “We know Straf’Tor had offling from other females, but you are his one true beloved. We feared you would never be seeded.”
“We have been paired for a very long time, and it was not for lack of trying,” she grinned. “Though some have an easier time of getting seeded, overall, since the contagion, it seems we are not the most prolific of species.”
“Whether the offling is male or female, Straf’Tor will be ecstatic,” said Beala.
Straf’Tor walked into their quarters and smiled at seeing Ushca chatting with her friends. The other females tactfully left them alone, and he was glad to see how happy Ushca was as she picked up one item after another, admired it, and set it back down.
“Your stack of presents has grown, as has your belly,” he remarked, sitting down and encircling her with his arms.
“I am so glad you are home. I think it will not be long.”
“Look at this,” she said and produced a long piece of hide with straps at each end.
“What the krell is that,” Straf’Tor asked as she held it up in front of him.
Ushca wrapped it around her and demonstrated how it would free her hands while holding the tiny offling safely.
“That is ingenious. Did you invent that?”
“No, Largoth did.”
Straf’Tor nodded. Largoth had the most Akassa blood in her of any there.
“Has there been trouble while I was gone? Is anything bothering you?”
“No, it has been fine. A bit of backache, but my biggest problem has been dealing with these gifts. See the pretty gourd that Tyria sent—it’s to help with my back.”
“Ah,” he nodded, then continued, “My meeting with my brother was good, although it was disturbing being back at Kthama. The longing to return is strong, even for me. Despite all our time here, in many ways, it still felt like home. I must soon return for a Leader’s meeting, after which, I believe our troubles with Ridg’Sor will end.”
Ushca raised her eyebrows, wanting to ask what they had planned but feeling that if Straf’Tor had wanted her to know, he would have told her.
“When you do go, I hope you will not be gone long,” was all she said. “In the meantime, I am going to take some of that drink Tyria sent to ease my back.”
“I will leave you to yourself, then. I will return later,” he said and kissed her sweetly before he left.
Far later that evening than he had planned, Straf’Tor returned with some food, only to find Ushca sleeping soundly. He was happy to see her resting so comfortably, and he eased in next to her, carefully wrapping his arm around her swollen belly.
Within seconds he flew into a sitting position.
“Ushca. Ushca,” he said.
“Ushca, wake up!” He shook his mate with no response.
“No, no, no, no,” he wailed, the piercing sound echoing through the tunnels. “Nooooooo!” His cry echoed through every level of Kayerm.
Within moments others came running in, breaking all protocol about entering another’s quarters unannounced and uninvited.
Beala was first to reach Ushca; she crouched down and tried to help Straf’Tor rouse her.
She raised Ushca’s eyelids and peered into her eyes. She placed her hand against Ushca’s neck, then laid an ear to her friend’s chest.
“I cannot hear her heartbeat, Adik’Tar,” she said, her voice cracking.
Straf’Tor flew to his feet. “Quickly, go find Pagara and Tyria!” Then he went on a rampage, knocking over everything in sight. He kicked the pile of offling gifts, sending them scattering everywhere, and pounded his head with his fists. “This cannot be. She was fine when I left her earlier.”
Beala had turned to leave when the Healer Pagara and her apprentice, Tyria, came rushing into the room. Tyria moved to one side to give the Healer the space she needed. Pagara pushed through the concerned group of people and, taking one look at Ushca’s form on the bed, flew to her side.
After checking the still form, she looked up at Straf’Tor. “I am so sorry, Adik’Tar. She is gone.” She then gently placed her hand on Ushca’s swollen belly. “Safe journey, to you both,” she said quietly.
“I do not see how this could have happened. She showed no signs of any problems other than slight backache.” Pagara shook her head before standing and facing Straf’Tor. “What changed? Was she doing anything differently? Did she fall?” She looked to the others for answers too.
“I have been away; I do not know. She was fine when I was here this morning,” Straf’Tor mumbled, rubbing his hand over the crown of his head.
“She was so happy and excited. She was enjoying going through everyone’s gifts and preparing the nest for her offling,” Beala offered quietly from the back.
Straf’Tor’s head jerked around. “Her gifts. She was talking about her gifts before I left her. The last thing she said—” Straf’Tor turned to stare at Tyria, his eyes angry slits. “The last thing she said was going to use that drink you sent her.”
Tyria stared blankly at him.
Straf’Tor took a menacing stride toward the young apprentice, and she stepped back, her lips trembling, as the giant male towered over her, his face inches from hers.
“Where is the container it was in?” Pagara asked.
Beala searched Ushca’s sleeping hide and found the gourd lying almost hidden underneath. She handed it to the Healer.
Pagara smelled it. Then she ran her finger around what remained and carefully tasted it. “Oh no.”
“What is it?” Straf’Tor demanded. “Tell me!”
“I know this preparation, Adik’Tar. I know it well. I promise you that neither Tyria nor I could have had anything to do with it,” she stated.
Straf’Tor grabbed the gourd out
of her hand and sampled it as she had. “What is this?”
“It is not the mixture itself, but it contains an ingredient from A’Pozz seeds. It is a plant that blooms early and through the summer—a Healer’s staple. We use it to ease pain. But taken in quantities that are too large—”
Straf’Tor threw the gourd against the rock wall, where it shattered. The others cowered away from the flying shards.
“I cannot explain it.” Tyria’s face was deathly pale. “Straf’Tor, on my life, by the Great Spirit, I promise you I had nothing to do with this. I did not even put any A’Pozz seeds into the mixture. It was to relax Ushca’s back, not to take away pain,” she stammered.
“Ridg’Sor. Did your mate know about this—where to find it, and what it could do?” Straf’Tor demanded.
Tyria gasped. Then she squeezed her eyes closed and nodded. “Yes.”
“How?” Straf’Tor bellowed.
“When you argued with each other, and you twisted his arm behind his back, you almost dislocated Ridg’Sor’s shoulder. His throat was also deeply bruised. He was in a great deal of pain, and Pagara prepared the A’Pozz mixture for him. He knew that if he took too much, he would drift off to sleep and return to the Great Mother.”
“The Great Mother?”
“Yes. That is who we answer to, Straf’Tor,” answered Pagara. “Females and female Healers call on the Great Mother, the giver of life and love. Though we not often openly—”
“Bah,” he interrupted. “So Ridg’Sor knew about this and could easily have slipped it into what you prepared for Ushca.”
By now, Tyria was weeping. “Yes. He knew I was making something to give to Ushca. But how could he be capable of this? There is nothing I can say, Adik’Tar, except that if it is any consolation, she did not suffer. I doubt she even knew what was happening.”
“It is no consolation at all! I will deal with your mate. Prepare yourself, Tyria. I will do what I should have done long ago. Only his passing will not be peaceful, as you say my mate’s passing was.”
He turned to Beala, Ushca’s closest friend, who was in the corner silently crying.
“Stay with her. I know she is gone, but still—” Straf’Tor said.
Beala nodded. “I understand, Adik’Tar,” she replied softly.
“Tyria, come with me,” he barked.
Straf’Tor stormed out of his living quarters with the young apprentice moving as fast as she could to keep up with him. Near the entrance of Kayerm, he called out for Wosot, who came running.
“Find Ridg’Sor. Now.”
“If he fights you, break his legs. Do whatever it takes to get him here, but bring him alive,” snarled Straf’Tor.
Before long, Wosot and three of the sentries returned, dragging Ridg’Sor with them. He was barely conscious.
“Once he figured out we were there to take him against his will, he started fighting,” explained one of the males supporting the rebel. “We had to hit him over the head to quiet him. Look, he is starting to come around.”
“Bind his hands and feet,” Straf’Tor roared at the sentries. “Wosot, bring me the jhorallax. Now!”
One of the males whispered to Wosot, “What is this about? I have never seen Straf’Tor so upset.”
“I do not know,” said Wosot before he left to do as Straf’Tor had ordered, “but whatever it is, I believe Ridg’Sor’s time on Etera has run out.”
Wosot returned with the jhorallax, a thick multi-tentacled whip embedded with obsidian chips and fragments, designed to cut through a thick coat to the flesh underneath.
Straf’Tor moved into position and raised the brutal weapon. “Step back,” he ordered the others.
Straf’Tor repeatedly whipped Ridg'Sor, who had sufficiently come around to feel every excruciating lash. Seldom warranted, the whip’s use was a cruel and visceral punishment. When he was done, Straf’Tor had reduced Ridg’Sor to a moaning matted and bloodied hump.
The Leader threw down the jhorallax. “Take him and hold him somewhere and keep him bound; do not worry about his comfort. Make sure there is no way he can escape; post two males outside wherever he is being held. No, make it three. One to stay in the room with him, the others outside.
“No food, no drink. No relief of any kind. He deserves to suffer as much as possible,” he added.
Straf’Tor left Kayerm and wandered through the night. His wails of grief echoed through the dark hills and mountains that surrounded Kayerm. Coyotes in the distance heard his cries and echoed his loneliness with cries of their own.
The next morning at first light, Straf’Tor had everyone awakened for an announcement, but by the time they were gathered, most had heard the news of Ushca’s death.
The very first rays of the sun lit up the hillside where Straf’Tor was standing, the place from which he always spoke. He ordered Tyria to his side, and her hand flew to her mouth as she watched her bloodied mate dragged up to lie next to Straf’Tor.
The crowd became deathly quiet. Seeing he had their full attention, Straf’Tor began.
“People of Kayerm. For years—centuries—I have asked for your allegiance, your faith in me. Yet instead, some of you have listened to the lies of the rebel, Ridg’Sor, choosing instead to believe that when we split our community, my brother and I did not have in mind your best interests and the best interests of the Sassen and the Akassa. I have done my best to lead you with integrity, but, yet again, some of you chose to follow this Soltark in a quest to try to take what is not ours to take—Kthama Minor.” Straf’Tor pointed to Ridg’Sor, now held up on display by the guards.
“Did any of you ever stop to question if his mission was one of honor? Did any of you who followed him, who still follow him, consider whether this is someone worthy of your homage? As a result, your stubbornness, your defiance, your willingness to follow him instead of me has cost me that which I hold most dear.”
No one spoke, but everyone exchanged glances. Her body wracked with sobs, Tyria had covered her face with her hands.
“My beloved mate, Ushca, who was also carrying my offling—our offling—is dead at his hand.”
The crowd was silent.
“Listen to me. Ushca has returned to the Great Spirit and has taken our offling with her. But it was not her time. She was fine earlier when I checked on her. Yet when I returned last evening, she was gone.” Straf’Tor turned and glared at the young female. “Tyria, tell them who murdered my mate.”
Tyria tried to compose herself and lowered her hands. She took a few hitching breaths and turned to look at her mate, Ridg’Sor, suspended between the three sentries. He was slipping in and out of consciousness after the whipping Straf’Tor had delivered the day before.
She turned back to face the crowd. “My mate, Ridg’Sor, poisoned Ushca.”
No one moved as she explained how her mixture had been tampered with and how Ushca had died. Then Tyria lowered her eyes, unable to continue.
“Pagara says Tyria had no part in this, and I believe her,” Straf’Tor announced. “And despite the fact that Tyria is paired to Ridg’Sor, I do not hold her accountable for my mate’s death—and neither should you,” he commanded the crowd.
“On the other hand—” Straf’Tor walked over to Ridg’Sor and roughly grabbed his hair to jerk his head back. “On the other hand,” he repeated, staring into Ridg’Sor’s glazed eyes. “You will pay the ultimate price for what you did. But I want you to suffer a while longer before I end your life,” he said. He roughly released Ridg’Sor’s head, which dropped forward. Then Straf’Tor turned back to the crowd.
“Execution will be tomorrow morning. Everyone is required to attend. Leave your offling with their older siblings or make other arrangements. I expect everybody else to be here without fail. You are dismissed.”
Straf’Tor turned to those still propping up a bleary Ridg’Sor.
Tyria averted her eyes as they dragged her mate away.
“Straf’Tor,” Tyria asked softly, glancing up at him. “M
ust I be present for that? He is my mate, after all.”
The Leader thought a moment before answering.
“I will excuse you. But only because that is what Ushca would want. Despite your pairing with that piece of ’Rok, Ushca always believed in the goodness of your heart and your dedication to your calling. If you wish to be present for his Good Journey, I will let you know when it is to take place.”
Tyria nodded. “Thank you for that, Adik’Tar.” As she walked away, huge sobs once again shook her slight frame.
Now that his anger had been appeased for the moment, the reality of what had happened washed over Straf’Tor. He walked away, hurrying to get as far away from Kayerm as he could.
When he was far enough to be assured of privacy, he dropped to his knees and wailed. Then he threw his body to the ground and grabbed tufts of the winter grass in his hands.
“Why? Why? Why?” he demanded, cursing the Great Spirit as he ripped clumps of grass from the soil. “Why would you allow this to happen? She was everything to me. Is everything to me. This is my payment for sparing Ridg’Sor’s life, which I did out of allegiance to you? So there would not be one less Mothoc walking Etera? If I had killed him long ago, my beloved would still be with me.”
“I cannot live with this,” he shouted. “I will not live with this. I am done serving you. I have one less duty to discharge, and then I wash my hands of you and your great plan.” He stood up and grasped the closest tree, tearing its roots from the ground and hurling it as far as he could. Then the next and the next, until his body was finally exhausted. He dropped back to the ground and let out the rest of his heartbreak, knowing that his grief would never end as long as he lived.
The sun traveled across the sky overhead, and still, Straf’Tor lay there. If he was hot or cold, he did not feel it. Numbness had replaced his grief, but his resolve had hardened, and he knew what he had to do.
The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Page 20
