Back in the Leader’s living area, Tyria was helping Pagara and Beala prepare Ushca’s body for her Good Journey. They worked together silently and reverently. Tyria tried to oust Ridg’Sor from her mind and her heart.
He was a monster, after all. The goodness she saw in him must have been an act, an illusion. But how had he fooled her? Perhaps her Healer’s seventh sense became clouded when strong emotions were in play. It was the only explanation for her failure to see his true nature. To murder a female? And a mother at that, about to bear offling. What greater cruelty could there be? I fear he has destroyed Straf’Tor as well as himself. And if that is so, what will become of our people?
The next morning, Straf’Tor moved immediately to Ridg’Sor’s execution. Wosot gathered everyone and had Ridg’Sor brought to the front, bound hand and foot. Though in a lot of pain, the rebel no longer had to be supported and was now fully alert. According to his word, Straf’Tor had sent a message to Tyria, telling her to stay away. She busied herself looking after some of the offling who had been gathered together in one of the larger rooms.
Straf’Tor stood rigid, one fist clenched at his side, the other behind his back.
The crowd shifted nervously.
Only the cawing of crows in the treetops broke the silence. Straf’Tor looked up and counted them. Seven. The number of perfection, of divine order.
Too bad I do not believe in you any longer, Ravu’Bahl, or the one who sent you,” he willed his words to the sky above. “If I did, your appearance would be reassurance from the Great Spirit that no matter how tragic, events are unfolding as they should. And they are not. They cannot possibly be.”
It was time.
Straf’Tor turned to face those gathered before him.
“You are here to witness the penalty Ridg’Sor has brought on himself. You know that though he has caused many of you to turn against me, I have repeatedly spared his life. And for what. For it to come to this? So that he could murder my mate and our unborn offling? That is what my mercy towards him has cost me. Everything.”
Ridg’Sor looked defiantly at Straf’Tor.
“And just what do you think I have done now, Adik’Tar.” His words were slurred.
“I know what you have done. You murdered my mate, Ushca,”
“And just how did I do that? I have not even been near her,” he mumbled.
Straf’Tor turned to the crowd.
“Do you hear that? More lies. That is all he has ever given you. Even to the last moments of his last breath, he lies. This is the hero you have been blindly following.
“But no more.” And Straf’Tor brought his other hand from behind his back. In it, he grasped a razor-sharp blade with a wooden handle.
“Drit the Fixer made this for me eons ago, but it is so dangerous that I never found a use for it and had it stored with the other weapons. Now, today, it fulfills its purpose.” Straf’Tor brandished the blade, which caught and reflected the sun’s rays. It was remarkable workmanship, a testament to Drit’s skills.
“Ridg’Sor, for murdering my beloved and my unborn offling, your punishment is death. May your soul spend an eternity in krell. Be grateful; this is quicker than you deserve,” and with that, Straf’Tor grabbed Ridg’Sor by the hair and yanked his head back.
“I told you, you would pay for your crimes,” Ridg’Sor managed to gasp out.
“And now so will you,” growled Straf’Tor
He looked into Ridg’Sor’s eyes while pressing the blade into the rebel’s neck and drawing it across the skin. He heard Ridg’Sor gasp and felt him struggle as his life’s blood came pouring out.
Straf’Tor whispered the last words Ridg’Sor would ever hear on Etera, “I will see you in krell.”
He released the rebel leader’s body and let it slump to the ground. A crimson river of blood flowed down the hillside, and the onlookers’ eyes were irresistibly drawn to the spread of deep red.
Ridg’Sor’s body jerked and twitched as the last of his life force drained from it.
After a few moments, Straf’Tor spoke. “Wosot. Take this piece of trash and throw it into the Great River.”
The crowd gasped.
“Adik’Tar,” said Wosot. “What of his mate, Tyria?”
Straf’Tor closed his eyes. “You are right. I promised her she could attend his ritual. Very well. He does not deserve a proper Good Journey, but for her sake, I will allow it,” he relented.
“Take it out of my sight for now,” and he turned back to the crowd. “Now. For those of you who followed Ridg’Sor, there is no place for you here. Take your mates and your offling and leave Kayerm forever. If any of you return, you will be killed on sight, females and offling both. The days of my mercy for your disobedience and rebellion are over. I will give you until tomorrow morning to pack up your belongings and get out.”
Everyone assembled stood frozen. Fear, awe, grief distorted their faces. Never before had a Leader threatened females and offling. Straf’Tor turned to them and met each gaze one by one. Those who were willing to meet his eyes looked away quickly.
Knowing the crowd would not disperse any time soon of its own volition, he allowed them to remain. Let them share their shock between themselves. Let them go over it and over it and over it until it is burned in their memories forever. If fear and death are all that will control them, then fear and death are what I will give them.
Straf’Tor walked off, returning to Kayerm, the place he had done his best to make his home. But without Ushca, it now meant nothing to him.
Ushca’s body had been prepared for burial. Flowers adorned her head, and garlands of wildflowers encircled her ankles and wrists. Her arms were protectively folded across her belly. The ritual had been set for later that morning, following Ridg’Sor’s execution. Once again, a crowd had assembled, and once again, deathly silence filled the air.
Straf’Tor approached his mate’s still body. Her spirit had gone, but it was all he had left of her, so he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. He brushed the hair back from her forehead. He took her one hand in his, and with the other, he softly caressed her face and then her swollen belly. Onlookers turned away as tears fell down their cheeks. Paired mates reflexively grasped each other’s hands.
He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “You were my world. You are my world. There is now no place on Etera for me. There is nothing to hold me here any longer, beloved. Wait; I will come to you. I will find you, wherever you are, and we shall never again be parted.” With that, Straf’Tor rested his head on her shoulder. He stood there for what seemed like forever.
Finally, composed, he raised his head and stepped back. He signaled to Pagara, whose place it was as Healer to continue the ritual. After she began, he slowly walked away and let them finish without him.
Straf’Tor had no need to attend Ridg’Sor’s ritual. Instead, he sought out his son, Nox’Tor.
“Walk with me,” he said, and Nox’Tor followed his father.
“The age of darkness is almost behind us. What is about to happen will pave the way for easier times. In leading Kayerm, you will not have the struggle I have had,” said Straf’Tor.
* * *
“Why do you say this? What is about to happen?” asked Nox’Tor.
“I cannot tell you. But you will recognize it when it takes place. Ridg’Sor’s followers will be gone tomorrow and will give you no more trouble. Focus on improving life at Kayerm as I have tried to do these centuries; after this, you will have everyone’s cooperation. Reinforce the Sacred Laws that we agreed on with the Akassa before we left Kayerm. Do you remember them?”
“Yes,” answered Nox’Tor.
“Good.”
“Are you handing leadership of Kayerm to me?”
“Yes.”
Nox’Tor frowned.
Straf’Tor reached out and drew his son to him and placed an arm around his shoulder. “I have not told you often enough how proud I am of you. What a fine Leader you will be. I am honored
to have someone like you to pass the care of our people onto. Seek out only those you trust, whom you find to also be of good character. Listen to their council, but in the end, always do what you decide is best for our people.”
“How will I know what that is?” he asked.
“You will know. And what you do not know, you will learn, I promise,” answered his father and released him.
“But—” said Nox’Tor.
“No more questions. From now on, only look forward, my son. Now be on your way, into the future of your making.”
Straf’Tor watched his son walk off. I should have told him what will happen. But it is not often our way to coddle the next Leaders too much; we allow them to grow strong in the fires of testing. It is his path to weather this on his own.
The next morning, Straf’Tor, Wosot, and Teirac, who was Wosot’s right hand, watched as about fifty of Ridg’Sor’s followers and their families packed and prepared to leave. Only after the rebels had gone did Straf’Tor discover that Ser’Hun had been left behind because he walked out on the group when he heard Ridg’Sor’s plan to poison Ushca. He was allowed to stay, though as punishment for not telling anyone, Straf’Tor ordered him severely whipped, leaving him partially crippled.
Straf’Tor looked at the crowd of females with their offling and hardened his heart against them, refusing to feel pity as they shuffled off into the unknown.
“Do not be concerned. Our sentries will follow until it is certain they will not double back,” explained Teirac.
“I doubt they will,” said Straf’Tor. “I made it clear there was nothing here for them but death. I am counting on you both, Wosot and Teirac, to make sure that Tyria is not mistreated. Neither of you is paired. Perhaps one of you should consider courting her.”
Just then, movement caught his eye, and he turned to see Tyria walking toward them.
“Please, Adik’Tar. A word.” Her voice shook, and her glance darted to each of them in turn before fixing on Straf’Tor.
“What is it, Tyria?” asked the Leader.
“I am sorry for interrupting, but please, please contact your brother and ask if I may go to Kthama?” Her eyes were wide and pleading.
“Go to Kthama?”
“Please, Adik’Tar. It is not safe here; I need to leave.”
“Wosot and Teirac will look after you.” And Straf’Tor motioned to the males standing beside him.
“I do not doubt that. But they cannot be everywhere. And—” her voice trailed off.
“What has happened, Tyria?”
“I was hoping I was wrong, but there is no longer any doubt. I am seeded. Soon it will be obvious that I carry Ridg’Sor’s offling. It is not so much for me, but my offling should not be made to grow up in a community that will always eye him or her with suspicion. Our people have long memories, and those memories will not be kind.”
Straf’Tor closed his eyes and sighed.
“Pack what you need and be back here as soon as you can. I will take you to Kthama myself.”
After Tyria had left, Straf’Tor turned to Wosot and Teirac. “From now on, Nox’Tor will lead Kayerm,” he said. “He is untested and inexperienced, and he will need your counsel. I expect you to show him the same loyalty you have shown me.”
Wosot and Teirac looked at each other. Somehow, they knew what was coming, and this was a time for acceptance, not questions.
There was only one more thing for Straf’Tor to do, and for that, he had to return to the place where this long journey had begun. When Tyria returned with her satchel, there were no words to be said. Straf’Tor hoisted her bag over his shoulder and turned his face toward Kthama.
After making preparations in their own communities, the Leaders had arrived back at Kthama. Everyone was there but Straf’Tor, but Moc’Tor’s watchers had alerted him that his brother was on the way and that he was bringing a female with him, but she was not Ushca.
A cold chill passed over Moc’Tor. Something terrible has happened at Kayerm. Straf’Tor is in great distress.
Moc’Tor asked Pan to walk with him and led her to the meadow where they executed their duties as Guardians.
“Are we here to join with the Aezaitera?” Pan asked sharply.
“Yes. And the Order of Functions,” Moc’Tor answered.
“No, I refuse. Mother is dying; why should I serve the Great Spirit? Or Etera?” she cried out.
“It is not a choice, Pan; you are a Guardian. In time you will be the only Guardian. Accept your mantle. Surrender to it as you have surrendered before to the Aezaitera and the Order of Functions.”
“I will not,” she shouted.
Moc’Tor stormed over to his daughter, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her, his face inches from hers.
“Stop. You must do it. This is that to which you were born. Your Mother would be ashamed to see you act like this. She has always done her duty, never shirked it. Through the terrible years when Kthama was falling apart. Through the arguments with my brother and the other Leaders. Through the hardest days when we had to watch our cousins, sisters, brothers, and children leave our home. She stood by my side when I killed the rebel Norcab before you were born. All of it was as hard for her as your duty is for you.” he shouted back.
“Even this? Even to this?” she cried.
“Yes, even to this. And now it is even more important that we enter the Order of Functions,” he said.
“But we just did! And what came of it but that my mother is dying,” Pan sobbed. “And I told you that if there was a chance she could die, then I would never engage the Order of Functions again.”
Moc’Tor released his daughter and let out a long, heavy breath.
“I cannot force you to meet your obligation, but I will remind you that your life does not belong to you alone. You are a Guardian. You know that one day you will be the only Guardian. It falls to you to serve the Great Spirit in ways that only you can,” he said. “Now, more than ever, you need to engage with both the Aezaitera and the Order of Functions. But I cannot force you. You must come to accept the mantle in your own time. You may go,” he added before lying down and closing his eyes.
Pan stood over her father as she saw his body go limp, knowing he had entered the Aezaiterian flow and would shortly engage the Order of Functions. How vulnerable he looked; she had never fully realized the need for the guards while they did this. Finally, she could stand it no longer. I cannot leave this burden on his shoulders alone.
She, too, lay down and surrendered to what was her duty.
Within moments she was swallowed up in the blissful ecstasy of the creative life force. She surrendered more fully than ever, steeling herself against the nearly unbearable desire never to leave. But this time, they stayed the longest they ever had. And their melding with the Order of Functions was the longest it had ever been. Over time, Pan had learned to bear it, but she was greatly relieved when it was over. She opened her eyes to see her father watching her from his customary place a short distance away.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Why was it so important, Father, that we did this again so soon?” she asked.
Moc’Tor sighed and sat up.
“I have explained it to your brother and your sisters, and now it is time for you to know what lies ahead.”
Pan sat up too and held her breath.
“You must prepare yourself to walk Etera without me. You and Dak’Tor will lead the People now.”
“No,” she frowned. “This cannot be true. Where are you going?”
“The division between the Akassa and Sassen must be sealed. The Leaders and I are preparing to take care of that. I do not expect you to understand, but you will in time. I will tell you no more, as it will not soften the blow. Be strong, Pan; the people need you. Etera needs you.” He put an arm around her and held her close.
They re-entered the Aezaiterian flow, and later, together, they walked silently back to Kthama.
Chapter 12
B
y the time Moc’Tor and Pan returned, Straf’Tor had arrived. Upon seeing his brother, Moc’Tor dismissed everyone else from the area and walked briskly over to him.
“Something terrible has happened. What is it?” Moc’Tor asked, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder and glancing at Tyria at his brother’s side.
“Ushca is gone,” he said. Moc’Tor frowned.
“She is gone,” he repeated. “She was murdered by Ridg'Sor.” Straf’Tor’s face was expressionless.
Moc’Tor shook his head. This cannot be happening. I am losing E’ranale, and he has lost Ushca. At a loss for words, he turned to Tyria.
“Why have you come to Kthama?”
“Adik’Tar,” she said, eyes lowered, “I have come to ask for asylum.”
Moc’Tor looked to Straf’Tor for an explanation.
“Tyria was the mate of the rebellion leader, Ridg’Sor, and carries his offling,” Straf’Tor explained. “It was her potion, poisoned by Ridg’Sor, that killed Ushca. Under the circumstances—” His voice trailed off.
Moc’Tor signaled to a male nearby. “Take her to one of my daughters and ask them to have quarters prepared for her. Make sure she has all she needs.”
“You will be safe here, I promise,” he told her.
Tyria thanked both Leaders before following the escort.
Moc’Tor turned to his brother. “Why are you here?”
“To finish what we started,” said Straf’Tor, “To complete our mission, so I can find peace.”
“Brother. There are no words. We are both facing tragedy. You have lost Ushca, and E’ranale is not far behind.”
“Both our beloveds taken. And their offling with them,” said Straf’Tor.
“I cannot bear it. And I know now what we must do. I know what we both must do. Hear me out.” And Moc’Tor explained what he knew must take place.
“Are you certain?” Straf’Tor asked.
“I have never been more certain in my life. I have never before felt so in line with the Order of Functions,” Moc’Tor answered.
The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness) Page 21
