Within the hour, the rain slows to a drizzle, and weakly at first, the sun shines through the clouds, the first time in fourteen days. From the palisade, it is easy to see that the Cheya Canal runs swifter than usual, swollen above its banks to the south, where much of the farmland sits under flooded water, the ground past the point of saturation. The Low City sits quiet, but beyond it, one by one, the smoke of cookfires snake into the air: whispy sputtering smoke, no doubt as the Frozen struggle with waterlogged firewood. Simlilarily, on both sides of a ragged gash within the forest, a few hundred yards from Eel Mound, more sputtering fires, scores, perhaps even more than a hundred of them.
To the north, the bonfire atop Monk's Mound has been quenched; the monks' former home sits squat and still.
Ashkesh makes his way through the streets, carrying the woman over his shoulder, surrounded by his soldiers, the leader's eyes darting under his mask from side to side. Your soldiers surround them, weapons drawn, pushing your people aside as they make their way - slowly - towards the High Hall. Suddenly, a rock streaks through the air, glinting in the sunshine, before it skids off the helmet of one of the honor guard, who draws his weapon, staring at the crowd, looking for the thrower.
Curses rain down on the Frozen, and you can feel the tension coursing through the air, like lightning bolts flickering through the clouds before a violent storm...
Imix's words are accompanied by a silent explosion of healing energy. he calls out. "There are eighteen of our lives dependent on the health of these men. Attack the Frozen and you attack them." he points at an old woman, a face he matches to a man on the log "Injure them and you injure her son." he points at a young orphan girl "You risk her mother!"
to know the relationships of the people still prisoner
"I shall miss Istiel." sighs Imix as the monk walks out. "She was very dependable."
"Mere days I've known her, and already I owe her a life. If things fall apart, if anyone could survive being with them, it would be her."
As Imix attempted to pacify the crowd, Naira assisted with her theatrics, spinning her spread arm out, and pulling it to her heart gracefully. Within moments, the clear skies were covered by dark clouds, foreboding as Imix boomed his warning.
Naira concentrated on her spell as she spoke, trying to just barely hold off the rain within her clouds above. "Our own lives hang on this. Swallow your pride and rage, we need neither to survive this ordeal." The engineer turns her head to Ashkesh, but can't bring herself to flash a friendly smile, even a fake one.
Imix and Naira's words ring true; the mob backs down, some cursing and epitaths thrown at Frozen - and the Suriname's - way as it does so, but your enemies, surrounded by Shadeholme's soldiers, arrive at the High Hall and climb the stairs to the Mayor's penthouse.
Ashkesh places the Tooyah woman, perhaps surprisingly with a bit of tenderness, into a plush chair and turns to Imix, removing his helmet. "I'll want to see the town, of course. And the supplies. And, if I could be so bold, I'd like to see where our champion was slain."
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The woman with you says little as you walk, and after half an hour or so, you stand at the summit of the mound. The practice green is muddied and torn, and its surrounding gardens have been pillaged; all of Domhnall's plants it seems, have been pulled.
In the center of the green, still smoldering, lies the remains of a great bonfire, twenty feet in circumference at least. Whole trees, it seems, have been placed into the bonfire, as well as - horrifyingly - people. Bones litter the bonefire's smoldering ash, the small wisps of black smoke curling lazily into the air.
A feast is prepared. Cured meat, groundnuts, other foraged delicacies; cattail reeds, charred, and hen-of-the-woods, lightly smoked and served with goat's cheese. Telowo politely declines.
The day winds into night, as you sit by the bonfire's remains, the woman speaking in her broken Takayan language, asking questions, probing about matters of faith. Telowo answers honestly, quietly, and without flourish; the priest's voice is flat as he describes the ritual and belief of your peoples.
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You've never been this far south, of course, but none-the-less you've spent hours, perhaps even days, of your young life pouring over the engineer's maps, to the point that every inch of the empire is nearly rote to you. The Cheya Canal, which flows north and east towards Te-Moak, will be difficult, the current being what it is this time of year, as the snowmelt brings the spring rise with it. Luckily, the canal is not wide - the keelboats can be pulled from the shore with rope, while a skilled pilot can steer the boat's rudder, keeping it on path. It will be two long days, maybe more, to reach the river, if those pulling the boats succumb to exhaustion.
Once you reach the Cheya River, the current will take you south and east, towards the cliffs at a fast pace. The ground you will cover will be much greater in one day, and the travel easier - for everyone but the pilots. The river is not - to your knowledge - managed, as it has little commercial or travel use for the Takayah. This means that hazards - in the spring rise the most hazardous being snags and collisions - will be plenty. Without accident, you should reach the cliff in another two days.
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Oios stares at Telowo and Isitel as they walk into the arms of the enemy. He does not even look at the other party as they come in, staring for a good long while at his sister still tied up on the cruel branch of the enemy.
He turns as Imix dispels the threat of violence from the crowd. It was probably good that the Suriname had taken the ire of the crowd onto himself rather than the anger attaching to him, the presumed leader of the beleagured community. He shook his head slowly, politics did bizarre things to a man.
Speaking of. Oios sends a message to the remaining leaders, requesting a quick audience.
At the meeting he looks around, missing Telowo's presence with a terrible deepness. If I could have stalled to convene the people here before negotiating I would have done so. But this was not possible. We had already decided to flee and I did what I could to make the circumstances of that flight as advantageous as possible.
He looks at the staff in his hand for a moment. A physical symbol of what that safe passage has cost. I will be blunt. Te-Moak is not an option. My sister lived there. I now see her tied to a tree outside, out of her mind with a grief that I can only imagine comes from seeing her home shattered and burned. I think... the time for my play acting as leader to draw out assassins is done. It seems like those outside want us gone more than they want us dead. As such the first order of business then is to decide who should be leader now.
Imix raises an eyebrow at Ashkesh's bold statement. In slow Abyssal he replies, including the guards in his statements.
"I am the Suriname, Imix. Let there be no confusion between us, Ashkesh. I consider you my guests, but you are also Hostages. The people in this town hate you. You have killed and enslaved their family. Their friends. You have upended their lives. Any time you leave this area, your lives - and therefore the lives of the Hostages you have - are at risk."
"I will certainly request that the leadership provide you with sufficient guards that you can look around without being murdered. Hopefully with some time and diplomacy the populace will calm down."
Imix looks meaningfully at Ashkeh "Until then, I intend to ensure you are treated well. This is the finest room left in this town. If you and your guard will give your word to stay here, I will leave you your weapons. "
"Now, apart from a tour, do you have any other requests before I go to arrange a feast?"
If Nat is damaged, the heal earlier might have helped
Wo'tah/Frozen Etiquette
Trying to be polite.
"We do not need more chaos among the populace. So long as you are a mouthpiece for this council, I believe you should remain leader."
He nods to Oios "Have no fear - you negotiated well."
"If we have an agenda: We need to discuss who will be going south. Lady Bellet? Ashkesh wants to see the city, and where Thom died - I wonder what he's looking for there. Do we trust this woman who has been amongst them - she certainly needs to be interrogated. I need to organise a welcome feast. I'm hopeful that with enough food, wine and companionship they may let slip something important."
On this last he shrugs "I'm not practised at such subtlety. I need someone who can put them at ease long enough to get answers. It is a pity we do not have Rigel."
Nat slowly regains consciousness, although the blood has rushed to her head so she's...upside down? She opens one eye, and sees a pair of boots. Not hers. Ashkesh's. He's carrying her. She tries not to think about that.
She hears shouting - but not in Wo'tah, or the Frozen language this time. Tkoyah. Her people, or nearabouts.
And then a single voice, loud, calling for calm - a man's, resonant with power and pride. The mob backs down, and they continue walking.
A dwelling. Ashkesh places her down in a chair. She struggles to sit upright, but her injuries and bruising make it difficult.
The man - the Suriname - speaks with Ashkesh in his own language, allowing Nat time to regain some breath and some dignity. She sits, quietly, to the side. The Suriname's healing power washes over her, and the flesh at her shins and calves heals, the bruises fade, although there's still a trace of mottling around her throat and neck.
At a pause in the conversation, she speaks, addressing the Suriname and ignoring Ashkesh completely.
"Oy'm Nat, Priestess of Ayida-Wedu, perhaps the last one - but you'd have to ask him to know for sure." She indicates Ashkesh with a quick nod of her head. "Moy thanks for the healing - could you tell me where Oy am?" Her voice is quiet, but carries authority - it's entirely believable that she's a priestess, despite her obvious youth.
Nat has never really got the hang of Tkoyah, although she understands it perfectly. There are few Tooyah who speak it without an accent.
For all the obscure, archaic languages he's learned, Imix has never learned Tooyah. When the potential infiltrator speaks, Imix listens carefully. He speaks slowly and carefully.
"Hello 'Nat'. You are in Shadeholme. The Flame has offered to let us flee, in exchange for our absence. After some negotiation your presence here was included in the price."
He sighs a little "Before you celebrate, you are not yet free. We have unearthed a number of infiltrators amongst us. Until you have been cleared you will be treated with all due caution."
"In a moment I will take you to be healed, clothed, fed and interrogated."
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The quietness is shared by all parties on the walk out of Shadeholme proper. Istiel is focused on identifying any threats that could rise against Telowo, and there were certainly many avenues for that.
The tense monk's stomach flutters as they begin walking towards Monk's Mound- finally, she would see the fate of her home. If she were to die, there would be no better place. Her thoughts turn to Dohmnall- What do you make of this, Master? You saw this fork in the river of time days ago.
As they reach the base of the mound Istiel wishes she could have a moment to appreciate its grandeur. While it may just be dirt taken from the digging of canals, to her it represented The Three People's industry and order. The Frozen were stealing this generations of hard work and planning from them, squandered on a barely functional society. A wave of anger, which seems to be continually present today, washes over her- the thieves would be punished, one day.
Istiel begins up the steps of the mound for what she believes to be the last time. Perhaps they will tear each other apart. Hundreds of tribes that never cooperated before. Once they have their prizes they will begin eyeing their neighbors. She thinks with a heavy dose of schadenfreude.
At the crest of the mound the view is gut-wrenching for many reasons. The practice yard looked like the rest of Shadeholme; a churned, horrible mess. The bonfire she once believed to be the dojo aflame is ghastly but expected. She knew it was prisoners that fueled the unholy flames and had witnessed the horrors it summoned.
Worst of all was seeing Dohmnall's garden destroyed. A sinking sadness slowly replaced her anger as her eyes swept over the remenants of the carefully tended herbs and flowers. She was fond of those plants and spent many hours coxing them from the soil after the first thaw of the season. Now they went into some Frozen's stew for flavor instead of being mixed into Domhnall's potions. In her Master's study was a cabinet of dried seeds they used and replenished every year, and the thought of raiding it crossed her mind... but she knew that this store was likely gone as well. The Flame seems to consume all.
Dinner is declined for the monk, though not quite as polite as Telowo. She openly eats the trail rations she brought along to hide her melancholy, crunching hickorynut meat and deer jerky behind her mask throughout the duscussion. The monk, a prodigious eater, brought enough food for Telowo as well.
At some point, she does ask a question. "I have seen the lizard-birds your flames summon. What are they?"
==================================
High Hall, Imix, Nat (and others if they came along)
==================================
Ashkesh waves his hand, dismissively, switching over to Tkoyah, perhaps for Nat's benefit, the language coming fluently and without thought. "I can kill anyone in this town. We'll wander where we like. But, I understand if you don't want us wandering alone, for your people's safety. You're welcome to provide us with an escort. We'll begin our survey and tour on the morning. Otherwise, some food would be nice. We'll make ourselves at home while you are out."
Giving a sideways glance to Nat, Ashkesh, frowns, ever-so-slightly. "Oh, you're awake. There's one more of your clergy, at least."
==============
Monk's Mound
==============
"Մաքրել վաննաներ. Կատարել այս մեկը տանը: Ներդրեք այն ետ, ինչպես դուք գտել այն, կամ հնարավորին չափ մոտ"
Three Frozen stand from their seats around the bonfire, and head towards your old rooms, where they enter the baths. The woman continues, this time, addressing you. "I would think so. You killed one. They are called Garr, and we bring them from beyond our world through fire. Through more fire, we bond them to the souls, and bodies, of mortals, and make our champions."
Taking some blood pudding, the woman spoons it into her mouth with her fingers, and then licks them clean, before settling back against a log. Removing a wooden pipe from her satchel, the woman packs it with an herb and lights it, drawing deep, and sighing as she exhales.
Eventually, the Frozen return. "We've prepared your bath and quarters, monk. I figure you would like to visit it one last time. You should take this chance to bathe and meditate in peace, before you begin your journey."
===================
High Hall, Meeting, without Nat
===================
Lady Bellet looks around the table, finishing her stare on the Suriname. "We will be headed to Cornucopia. Best of luck to you." Her eyes land briefly on Oios. "Most of you."
"However, we will wait a couple of days for your feast. Best fill the bellies of my guards before we go, and besides - I can flatter like no other. Let me know what you wish to accopmlish, Suriname. I will help."
===================
High Hall, At the conclusion of the meeting
===================
Hamfatten yawns, bringing a huge hand up to his mouth. "Shall we bring the woman in, then? See if she's really who she says she is?"
I... would not recommend it. Oios says neutrally. From all we can tell Cornucopia has not survived. Certainly the Frozen seem to have no worry of Cornucopia's soldiers coming in to drive them out. Instead they are settling in without fear. But it is your decision.
The currents of Damballah flow oddly indeed. Oios says I was not certain from a distance, but now I am certain. I know this woman. Or knew her at the very least he looks at the newcomer carefully. Nat.
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=============
With Imix
=============
For all the obscure, archaic languages he's learned, Imix has never learned Tooyah. When the potential infiltrator speaks, Imix listens carefully. He speaks slowly and carefully.
"Hello 'Nat'. You are in Shadeholme. The Flame has offered to let us flee, in exchange for our absence. After some negotiation your presence here was included in the price."
Nat nods, wearily. So they took the deal. "Oy know. It's the reason Oy was knocked out, so as not to interfere." She carefully doesn't look at Ashkesh.
He sighs a little "Before you celebrate, you are not yet free. We have unearthed a number of infiltrators amongst us. Until you have been cleared you will be treated with all due caution."
"In a moment I will take you to be healed, clothed, fed and interrogated."
A nod. "Foyne. Oy come from Cornucopia, boy way of Te-Moak. Oy have news to share - but not in front of him." Again, she doesn't look at Ashkesh but it's clear who she means.
For all the obscure, archaic languages he's learned, Imix has never learned Tooyah.
=============
With Everyone
=============
The currents of Damballah flow oddly indeed. Oios says I was not certain from a distance, but now I am certain. I know this woman. Or knew her at the very least he looks at the newcomer carefully. Nat.
The ghost of a smile tugs at one corner of Nat's mouth. Finally, some good news. "Alroyt, Ancient One; Oy see even the End Toymes haven't brought you down. Oy'm afraid Oy can't say the same of Damballah's other Shadows, though."
She looks around, marking who is there. "Cornucopia is gone - the King, the priests, the Stonecloaks, the Shadows, all of it. Oy saw the King's body hanging from the palace walls when Oy was escorted out, just the same as Oy saw the hanging body of the bird-woman they said was Ayida-Wedu reborn. The city belongs to the Wo'tah, now."
Her dark eyes hold Oios' own. "Oy'm left living thanks to Ayida-Wedu; and Ashkesh, who said Oy had some value as a bargaining chip. So tell me what the bargain was, Shadow of Damballah. Tell your story to the last Priestess of the Three Peoples."
Technically, Nat's not a Priestess yet - her ordination as one of Ayida-Wedu's favoured was due to take place later this year, on the longest day, in the temple at Cornucopia in the presence of the High Priest. But there's nobody to correct her in this place, and it is unlikely she'll be welcome at any services due to take place in Cornucopia this year - or possibly evermore.
Istiel's head tracks the Frozen as they leave the bonfire- watching them walk around with complete ownership of the mound was a unique torture she was not prepared to endure. Pursing her lips, she turns her head back towards the Crone. Yes, that was what those raiders called her. Fitting. I hope one day I am not simply known as "Monk".
She listens without a hint of acknowledgement, simply looking into the crone's eyes. "I see." Istiel says after a moment's deliberation. "Why do the Garr bring their world with them? They spread it. Why did Thom undergo this binding? If he had a choice."
The offer of a bath and he quarters comes as a surprise, and catches her off guard. She is briefly tempted- the thought of the old, warm, pitch-black bathing quarters... the salves and oils she would rub on her torn up hands and broken fingers after hours of punching wooden dowels...
Istiel sighs, and shakes her head. "Your hospitality is noted. But it is my duty to stay with Telowo. In any case-" The destroyed garden, mere yards away, flashes in her mind. A drop of vitriol enters her monotone voice, the words slowly enunciated. "This is no longer my home."
Oios blanches "The Sky People? Kalfu burn me!" the old man swears crudely "Is there anything we did not know? We cared only for the Valley! And then we cared only for Cornucopia! We were blind to ALL else!" he turns around to try and calm down. Turning back with a grunt he says "Imix, if you wish to question her on her priestess duties and Cornucopia for your own satisfaction than go ahead. A question for you though Nat Oqueva from me before I answer yours. What happened when you were apprenticing with me for possible induction into the Shadows?"
He has another thought. His eyebrow quirks Also. What is your first name? The full one now mind.
Nat stifles a groan at the old Shadow's question: she's spent the better part of almost two decades trying, but even here, at the End of Days, she cannot escape her name. Giving Oios a baleful look, she states flatly: "Oy'm called Nat. But moy name is Manatele, as you well know." She just hopes that the others are ignorant enough of Tooyah folklore that this conversation will mean nothing to them.
She folds her arms across her chest. "And to answer your other question, you told me to pick moy battles carefully, and Oy reployed that Oy don't deal in half-truths."
Oios nods I believe she is who she says she is. I also believe that Shadeholme is all that is left of the three people. Is everyone else also so satisfied? he looks around.
When you refuse the bath, the Crone's stare grows flinty. Drawing on her pipe, she exhales and frowns. "Yes. It is no longer your home."
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The reflection of flames dance in the eyes of the doubtful mountain man, Drazan, the charred flesh and bones of the kindling for the bonfire just visible from his hiding spot among some rocks that were once a part of a larger structure long ago near the Monk mound. He lies there in waiting, appraising Istiel and the enemy, a part of him anxious for a reason to set his axe to maiming the lot of them and leaving them to suffer, though caution and an uncomfortable feeling in his gut stay his aggression. The consequences for violence here would extend much further than himself and it is a long moment before he is able to recognize the matter. Visions of Helaya, Lijart, Sarre, Jalya, Rheumy, Fulton and Istiel's mask flash in his mind over the long and uneventful night. As the evening gives way to night, and the cramping becomes too much to bare, Drazan surrenders to the helpless feeling, and sets himself to returning to the secret entrance to Shadeholme and sneaking back into town.
Over the next three days Drazan meets with Lijart to discuss the future he has in mind for his family before heading out to gather up Fulton and Rheumy to complete his Blood rager training and see to summoning the shape changing wolf to translate the book in Fulton's possession. Drazan also sets to visit and spend time with Helaya, Sarre and Jalya each to discuss matters individually. With Helaya it would depend on Lijart's talk the day before, Sarre to talk potential candidates combat preparation, and Jalya to see what she plans to do and convince her otherwise to stay with Shadeholme's people if she was not going to.
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=============
Penthouse (Imix, Nat)
=============
"Very well. I will take you now. Ashkesh, please inform my man Chukix if you have any special requirements, and I will arrange for food."
With that Imix takes Nat - politely but firmly - down to be processed. The first task is to have Chukix lay out some clothes less worn before her interview.
=============
Meeting (Everyone but Istiel?)
=============
Imix stands very still. The revelations about Cornucopia shook him. Enough that his typical composure is cracked. Worry lines appear in his brow. His eyes tighten, as if they wish to close, but he is afraid to look away.
Finally his face relaxes into its normal look of faint arrogant disdain.
"Presuming that you speak the truth Manatele - that your mind has not been tampered with, and that what you saw was not a trick, then certain conclusions flow on. Let me explain."
The Suriname takes a deep breath - a trace of a shudder the only indication that he was all but sick from adrenaline.
"First. The Emperor is dead."
"Second. When I was present very recently, it was obvious that the strategy to be employed was to commit to defending Cornucopia. If it has fallen, then we are the last vestiges of the Empire - as Oios, Chief - and only - Shadow implies. The gods have seen fit to gift us with a Priestess, a Shadow, Engineers, A noble and even a Suriname. All the castes exist, so the empire is not dead, so long as we live."
"Third. The first and second points imply that we must assume all citizens outside Shadeholme are dead, or have defected to the Wo'Tah, and are thus no longer citizens. "
"Fourth. In this room, then, lie the two strongest claims to the throne. Myself, and the Lady Bellet."
"Fifth. Suriname are forbidden by ancient law to ascend to the Throne under any circumstances."
"Sixth. Barring some mistake in my understanding, and contingent on a comparison of bloodlines, The Lady Bellet is now Heir Presumptive to the throne."
The Suriname falls to one knee. "Citizens. The King is dead. Long live the Queen."
Nat scoffs. "Queen of what?! There's nothing left to be queen of. If'n you haven't noticed that, perhaps you should keep quoyet and let others do the talking. Or at least the thinking."
She turns back to Oios. "Oy'm guessing you're in charge here, Ancient One; what's the plan?"
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Imix stands, fury writ upon his brow.
"What do you think the Empire is? Statuary? Land? People? The Empire is patterns. The Empire is knowledge."
"Do you think our circumstance coincidence? A priest? Yes, perhaps - there are priests everywhere. Engineers? Possible - though we have enough to represent an entire school! A Shadow? How many backwater towns have a shadow? How many have enough monks to restart a school? A noble - and not some half-blood with a shadow of claim to nobility, but one of the highest nobles in the land? A Suriname? There was one Suriname in three generations. He just happened to be here? One of the longest studied of any Suriname? One who lived amongst the Wo'Tah? One who knew of the Nargun? One who studied sieges and guerrilla tactics? Who knew the history of the Skinwalkers. What are the odds of that?"
Imix - now thoroughly caught up in his rant - starts to turn more personal.
"Suriname are made for a Purpose. Those Purposes have changed the Empire. I am the only Suriname for three generations. I have wondered all my life what that purpose is. I am old, for a Suriname. I know just how few reach my age without their Purpose being revealed."
"When I saw a town about to defy the Law, I thought my Purpose was to save it from punishment. It was not.
"When I saw the Frozen invade, I thought my purpose was to warn the Empire. It was not.
"When I found out they were summoning creatures from beyond, I thought it was to learn about them, and it was not.
"I thought it was to learn of the Flame. To Warn the Emperor of the infiltrators. To unmask the Skinwalkers. Any of these would be a Purpose fit for a Suriname - but not my Purpose."
Imix speeds up, his normal cadence falling away "I have held back the Frozen. I know what broke the world. I know how to bring peace with the Nargun - a war older than recorded history. I know who built the ancient barrows. Now I seek to save the last remnant of the Empire." Anger surges in Imix's voice " the Gods do not reveal it! Take heart, Priestess. If none of these were my Purpose, the Gods must be saving me for something I cannot even imagine."
Imix pants a little, and his voice calms.
"'While the Empire stands, Suriname are Bound'. What is there to be Queen of, Manatele?" he shouts ""
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Nat closes her eyes for a long, long moment. Ayida-Wedu, give me strength. Give me wisdom.
Opening them, she looks at Imix. "Is your Purpose to make moy brain hurt? If so, you can Ascend now. Otherwoyse, keep soylence. And where's your keeper? Whoy is he allowing you to wander round unsupervoysed? Suriname should be seen and not heard." She recites the old law. "Go, foynd your keeper and tell him you've been talking without permission. When he's finished punishing you, send him to me."
She fixes Oios with an astonished look. "You've been letting a Purpose-less Suriname wander round loyk a real person? Oy hope you're not going soft, Ancient One."
The conversation, if it could be considered one, abruptly ends there. Istiel sits quietly next to Telowo, absorbed in thought about why Thom would betray them. What did he have to gain? Perhaps he cared for his silkworm grove above all else.
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Up till now Oios grouses. I was a Shadow. And Shadows served the crown, they did not rule. The only reason I took up the guise of leadership was to ferret out the skinwalker which had assassinated the Mayor of Shadeholme and act as a shield for the Council.
Oios looks at Imix I speak in the past tense for a reason Suriname. If you wish to stick closely to tradition then by tradition between the times of the death of the old King and the official succession of the new one the Shadows paused all activity except for the most critical of functions. Then the highest ranking of the priesthood officially anointed the successor and the wheels of state resumed turning all in Cornucopia
Oios turns to the newcomer Nat, you asked what was the price of your freedom. The price for the freedom of the last priestess of Ayida-Wedu was the hostage taking of the last priest of Damballah. The high priest of this place, Telowo, is now among the Frozen for three days. Three days in which only Damballah and Kalfu knows what will happen.
Oios brandishes Telowo's staff He has given up his staff. He has given up his mantle for, even if by some miracle he comes back to us unscathed and unscarred, he would still be hopelessly compromised. Thus you are the highest ranking of the priesthood, and you would need to anoint the Lady as the new Queen so we can maintain some shattered semblance of the old ways.
The old man sighs And would even this be following the letter or even the spirit of the law? Everything in the laws of succession requires this ritual to happen in Cornucopia, for the procession to make its way to the Highest Hall, glistening in Obsidian, on the Great Crocodile Mound Of Cornucopia. The law scholars, if they were still alive, would delight in arguing themselves hoarse on the question of whether any of this could even validly happen in any other place let alone Shadeholme. Everything was built upon the assumption of Cornucopia. Everything.
Oios shakes his head There is no time for this debate. We are still engaged in a struggle to survive. If we do and if we can stick together to establish a new community outside of the Valley then we can have the discussion on how the new community would be led.
Oios rubs the holy symbol around his neck. On the matter of how we are led until then? As I said the Shadows only act on the most critical of functions in the case there is no King and I could very easily argue that ensuring the survival of the remnants of the Three People qualifies as that a hundred fold. But I will NOT do so. I will NOT have us tear ourselves apart over squabbles of leadership when we are to be focused on not being massacred. So. I propose we appoint a Master of Flight. Whose sole purpose is to ensure the people of Shadeholme, and the other of the Three Peoples currently residing in Shadeholme, NONE of whose loyalty is to the Flame, escape out of the Valley and establish a new community elsewhere. At that time the authority of the Master of Flight ends and some other more permanent arrangement can be made. We have no other choice but to choose such a leader now. So decide.
Oios takes a deep breath Lady Bellet, are you and your still to make your way to Cornucopia to treat with the Wo'tah? Or are you to join Shadeholeme on the flight south that the Council decided on?
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So...much...talking...
Nat rubs at her eyes. Mere hours ago, she was tied to a log, barely conscious, kept up and moving only by the kind efforts of her fellow prisoners. Now she's in discussion with the leaders of the community. Still.
She never thought she'd miss that log.
She looks at Oios with both respect and resignation as he talks of the loss of his friend, the priest of Damballah. "Oy'm sorry. You faced the Midwoyfe's Choice and it cost you. It always does."
She takes a deep breath. "But listen to me, Ancient One. Oy saw Cornucopia fall, Te-moak burned, Frozen or Wo'tah everywhere, one leader who held them off, held the Three People together. Just one. You don't want to be in charge? That's woy you have to be. There'll be an almoyty row to replace you and we've no toym! You want a Master of Floyt? You're it."
Nat stands as tall as her short frame will permit and looks Oios full in the face. "But your Suriname was royt: we're not all here boy axident. Damballah turned away from the King, not His people. Oy see that clearly." And only long, long after the King (and the Priesthood) had turned away from Damballah. She sees that clearly, too.
As he listens, the hunter's face grows grave. "Aye, there's been a lot of chatter here at the 'Wolf. Most folk seem to think there's not much left for us here. We'll die a slow death inside these walls. If'n they'll let us leave, we have to do it, right? We'll be with you, regardless. Honestly, I don't think I can protect my daughter out there." The man's eyes widen. "But you. You can. You're the scariest warrior I've ever seen, Drazan. What you think is best, we'll follow."
"What are your plans, son?"
-----------------------
You find the Rheumy where you last saw him, in his cell. Most of the man's wounds seem to be healing, the bumps and bruises, but the Rhuemy still lies on the floor. "Water, master," he says, weakly, waving an arm absently in the air. "No one visits me anymore but yourself. Which is probably for good, given your peoples' hospitality. Some food would be good too, lest you wish to see your defeated waste away like a beaten cur."
Five Frozen arrive and settle in around the fire. Most of them cast furtive glances your way, though one sneers and draws a long bone toothpick, picking at his filed teeth. Seems you'll have company tonight.
"How much training did you actually receive?" Imix, annoyed, asks of Nat. "My Keeper is the one who Keeps things for me. You speak as if I'm some child who must be shepherded. I have not Ruled. I have not sought to learn the Forbidden Art. If you are too ignorant to understand the wisdom of a Suriname's Advice, others are not!"
He turns to Oios "As for Oios, he said himself he took up the guise of leadership." he turns back to Nat "I begin to understand now why the Flame was so eager to have us trade Telowo, a great and wise man who stood between a Frozen horde and his people, for you, an ill omen who brings disaster to every place you have been."
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Naira attempted to hide her devastation. Cornucopia, her home more than anywhere else, gone. How was it that they allowed it to be taken siege? Shadeholme she could understand, she reasoned with herself, but Cornucopia? Te Moak? These cities were, well, cities, and closer to the center of the Valley than Shadeholme was. They were supposed to be protected, their people were supposed to be safe.
It had hardly been two weeks since she was sent from Te Moak. Dread crawled up her throat, choking the Undine. How much of the world had changed since she was gone? Could there only be but a handful of Engineer alive?
The others talked up a storm in High Hall. Words could barely escape the Undine's lips, however, and instead, she searched the High Hall for whatever maps or documents that the engineers of Shadeholme had left for the Engineers of this new civilization that they intended on building to the south.
When Imix called Nat an 'ill omen,' the engineer could not help but intrude. "And how am I different? Te Moak burns when I leave, Shadeholme crumbles when I arrive. Am I but another misfortune the Flame brings?"
Naira smiles to the priestess, trying to reassure the woman. "I arrived not a week ago, most of my number ambushed and slain. Even then, the Suriname had beggers whom barely escaped with their lives, "prove" who we were to him. You're getting a proper Engineer's Welcome, it looks like." Turning to the Suriname, the Undine appears cold. She turns her attention back to the priestess, warming up.
"Naira of the," she falters. If the lady told the turth, the Fox Mound was no more. It wasn't easy for her to skip over her first title. "Uh, Sorceress of Stream and Storm. Engineer," she states, "one of the last."
"No, Naira Boatbreaker. You were sent to save us. Without you the Frozen would have come through the wall. Te-Moak burned after you left. Shadeholme was crumbling before you arrived, and you have repaired it."
Imix frowns "Rigel died because I did not test a dying man. I do not intend to make another such mistake."
Who is a good omen and who is a bad we leave for the future to tell us Oios says shortly. We decide on a Master of Flight. We find out if the Lady's people are coming with Shadeholme and then this meeting is over. You can test Nat later Suriname. This meeting has lasted too long already.
Imix waves Oios offer aside. "You have already checked she is not a Skinchanger. If she's a Contractor or Infiltrator I can do nothing."
Drazan grabs Lijart's shoulder "If you ask for your daughter to be protected, then you will have it. One day you will ask to return home; you only need to decide which one it will be. I will retake both our homes. The First Flame may have brought us war, but I will bring them peace even if it means raising them to ashes." The fire burns in Drazan's eyes as he nods his agreement. "Helaya, will fear nothing when I am through."
Without the slightest delay Drazan passes Rheumy a ration and his gourd, eyeing the prison as he reaches for his axe. "You're coming out of there. Your penance will be repaid, but not in this way. Stand back, I will cut you out of their if that's what it takes."
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Nat raises an eyebrow. "If'n you don't want to be treated loyk a choyld, stop woyning loyk one. Oy tell you about the death of the entire kingdom; and your response is 'what about me? What about moy Purpose?' - that's the mewl of a spoilt brat. Grow up, Suriname. Soylence would be a good start."
She looks at Oios. "If'n you won't be Master of Floyt, who has the best skills for it?"
She smiles at Naira; one corner of her mouth is scarred which makes the smile crooked, but it's warm nonetheless. "Oy'm glad to meet you, Naira of Stream and Storm, and sorry for your losses; and for the news Oy bring. Oy'm Nat Oqueva, Priestess, midwoyfe, and healer; and guardian of this."
'This' is an ancient, fringed prayer-shawl that Nat pulls reverently out of her pack; though clearly ancient, the weaving and markings on it (religious iconography and scenes from the mythology of the Three Peoples) are as fresh and legible as the day they were dyed.
Anyone with any knowledge of religion or the priesthood would immediately recognise it: it's the Prayer-Shawl of the Arch-Priest, the symbol of office of the High Priest; it radiates magical power.
If I am chosen then I would accept carrying on the mantle of leadership for real rather than as a ruse until we are safe. It would not be much different I think. The Council has accepted my recommendations thus far and I believe the people have accepted me as leader for the moment. It would be the least disruptive choice Oios grimaces in response to Nat's question. He hates politics so much but here he is campaigning.
His obvious discomfort changes to wonder when Nat brings out her charge. He touches it reverently. How was this kept safe from the Frozen?
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Istiel watches the Crone go into her master's old house, not responding to the taunts. A bit of anger bubbles up through the stoic wall she had built against the melancholy inflicted on her by the rape of her former home.
The Frozen settling in by the fire are met with a stiff glare. Especially the one with the toothpick that sneered at her- she should have sneered back if her mask could convey such emotion. Instead, she stared back at him.
Start something. Your blood will be my final gift to these grounds. She thinks, tensing at the perceived threat.
Echoing into her mind, a familar voice lightly remarks- The Frozen have bloodied these grounds enough. Will you follow their ways, do exactly as they want, and add another layer? Istiel stops looking at the Frozen, her gaze shifting and looking at the fire unfocused.
It was Domhnall's voice. His voice has been in her kind a long time, but it was always things her Master had said before. Bits of remembered wisdom and lessons from the past.
But lately, the voice has started to comment on her current actions and thoughts. ... are you there, Master? She thinks... Prays...? After a moment's hesitation.
The monk stares into the crackling fire, orange light dancing off the lacquered paint off her mask. Nothing answered her, but she continued anyway. Are you not upset? You see what they have done to our home. Our garden. Our family. Do they not deserve revenge?
The sounds of crackling embers and blackened bones slowly breaking down was the only response.
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================
High Hall
================
When Nat had shared news of Cornucopia, the Lady Bellet stood and stared into the hearth, barely moving, while others bickered about leadership. Her hand was bone-white as it gripped the mantle above the hearth's slowly dying embers. The Lady stared into the steam slowly curling from the pot of simmering mate dangling from the cured wooden rod strung across the hearth. The rod was blackened over the generations, thousands of licks of flame coloring it year after year after year, as that rod had held countless pots of warming drink on cold, cold winter nights, year after year after year.
It was Tkayah ingenuity and skill that had kept that rod from charring and breaking. Ingenious design, starting with the stonepine whittled down, chip by chip, and then smoothed, a process that given ironpine's tough nature, had surely broken many flint blades. Then, there was the magic, enhancements laid upon that rod to toughen it, prepare it for the deluge of fires to come. Finally, there was the oils applied, that would soak into the ironpine, bringing about its almost midnight shine over the years of contact with fire.
The Lady Bellet knew this because a similar rod hung over her hearth, back at her manor in Cornucopia. If the others could read the woman, they'd know that it broke her heart - the thought of leaving this rod to them[i], just as the one in her manor surely did now.
Clearing her throat, the Lady Bellet turned and inserted herself into the discussion.
"Enough bickering. Truth be told, I probably owe my life to the Shadow. You see, Oios had my son executed - [i]wrongly, I might add. When you arrived for the Excise, I saw an oppurtunity for my revenge. I would come to Shadeholme, bide my time, and when the chance presented itself, find a reason to accuse the Shadow of some crime, and relish as his fate became that of my son's."
The Lady Bellet pauses. Looking around the room, she waves her hand in a circle, indicating the world outside the High Hall. "And then, this happened. And now I know, had I remained in Cornucopia, my body would likely dangle from my manor walls."
"So, the world, the gods, whatever, they work in mysterious ways. There is more, for lack of a better word, talent, in this room, than there probably ever has been."
"My skillset does not lie in traversing the wilds. There may come a time when I stake my claim as Queen, but it won't be tonight. There may come a time when I seek restitution for my son, but it won't be soon. Oios will be Master of Flight. When things are not," - the waving of the hand, again - "this, then we will discuss a proper government."
The noble's eyes blaze, almost literally, as she looks once more at you all. "Now, lets get the rakk out of this gods damned Valley!"
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Naira
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Like most engineers' offices, Shadeholme's is neat, if obviously untouched for quite awhile, as your finger streaks across a desk and comes up grey with a fine layer of dust.
The map cabinet stands out; large and made of tiger oak, honeycombed with finer pine latticework, stained reddish with berry juice. The feet of the cabinet ends in claws, and stylized wisps of wind gust along its sides. It will be a shame to leave it to the raiders.
Pulling the maps one by one and spreading them out on a nearby drafting table, you find many navigation charts, mapping out various river and canal systems' levees, bluepools, wing d+~@s. Others are for the Valley's roadways, with gradients and elevations, and detailed - and no doubt accurate - scaling. Still others, topography, from Western Teeth to Eastern, and Tooyah swampland to cataclysm cliffside. Towns and cities, thorps and hamlets, High Halls and Way Points.
In the end, you have an impressive collection of nearly every facet of life in the Valley - but nothing to note what lies beyond it.
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============
Engineers' Offices
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Naira looked over the maps, laying each on the table one after the other, reading the scribbled notes that Shadeholme's engineers had left her.
The Undine unclasped her scroll box, removing her personal maps. Those that she carried were more general than those left in the offices, and often remnants from the Engineer's own past projects. She laid them atop the others, inspecting them for some worth.
A general map of the valley, one of her oldest, a hand-me-down she personally updated and maintained at her time at the Engineers' College. With a sigh, she dropped it to the floor. The ones she found were better, more detailed. Now was not the time to be prideful.
A map of the village she was born, entirely drawn from memory. Naira stared at a small rectangle. Her farm, her home. A thin smile stretched over her lips, remembering the days when she danced in the rain. She rolled up the paper. If only for her, it still had value.
A map depicting the effects of a proposed dam by Te-Moak. Naira fought tooth and nail for this project, it took her over year just to obtain permission to pitch the idea to her Chief Engineer. Useless. She swiped it, and it danced to the floor.
A sketch of the fetish and the surrounding corruption of the grove. Perhaps Ashkesh could provide the answers she sought. Naira rolled it back up.
The Undine stuffed as many scrolls as she could into the box. Of the ten papers, only two of her own personal items made the cut. She clasped the container shut, sealing it.
============
High Hall
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"Do not be sorry for what tragedies you report," she told the priestess. Naira's smile was fleeting. While sincere, the Undine tried her best to hide her dread. "Thanks to you, now more than ever, we are certain where we must go next."
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Imix nods in understanding when the tapestry is revealed. "Another of the great treasures of the Empire. Who can doubt the Gods when they arrange for it to be delivered to us." He looks at Nat with new eyes "I see now why the Gods sent you to us."
Imix turns to Lady Bellet, reluctance writ upon his face. "I must say this. Oios has proven wise in the past. His judgements have proven inspired. Further, the Gods have chosen him - of all the Shadows - to survive this Apocalypse. He has been judged, by the Gods. Please meditate on this: admirable as your son may have been, could he have been led astray just once?"
He looks to ceiling, then down, and sighs "I do not like ignoring the old ways. Once one change is made, all is in question. I do acknowledge the need, and Oios is the best candidate. You say 'Master of Flight' is a role with a single purpose - to get us to safety - and given ultimate authority to do whatever is needed until that is done." he shakes his head, his face resembling someone who has drunk bad milk "You do not need to mint some new role, then try to explain it to a people already in chaos - there already is one. Every conceivable requirement has been met. Emergency? The survival of the Empire itself depends on it. You have the unanimous support of the Nobility, the Priesthood, the Shadows and even the Suriname. The shawl - here, now - is a sign from the Gods. The chances of all this at once being coincidence... it is impossible."
Imix's composure has slipped, his eyes glinting with unshed tears "Take the proper Title, and fulfil your Purpose, brother."
Oios grows agitated as the Lady speaks. Her presence in Shadeholme had always been a source of extreme discomfort to him. His persecution of the Lady's son had been the most careful work he had done as to accuse a noble of a transgression was grave indeed. While Cornucopia had fought and Te-Moak had burned and Shadeholme had held, Mohson Kahni had most probably crumbled with almost no resistance to the Flame because of the careless greed of the Lady's son.
To have her throw her support behind him should caused him relief. Instead it caused him embarrassment.
The Suriname's interjection gives him an excuse to move on without having to address the Lady directly. Suriname, as far as the people are concerned I already have assumed leadership in a time of crisis. They do not need to be told anything. All the new title signifies is that once we are no longer in crisis some more permanent arrangement will be made. Which would of course happen in any case. As the Lady said further discussion is pointless. Now we prepare to flee.
He starts to give his orders.
Naira, Imix, with the survey of people and supply done you two will determine how best to flee, by road or by water. How many goods and how much food we will carry into the unknown and how best to use the skills of those who are not in the armed forces. Imix you will also continue to be a liaison for Ashkesh of the Flame. I worry about what they plan to do here. If you need the support of any one of us here to keep an eye on him or engage with him then you need to but ask. He is an open viper in our midst.
He turns to Nat
Nat, you know more of the invaders than all of us combined. Tell us what you know of them, most especially Ashkesh. The other part of the deal we struck with them was that they could try and persuade as many of our peoples to stay as they wished and we would let them with their portion of the supply. How... persuasive could he be in the next three days? How best do we blunt his propaganda? Would it be wise to carry the Shawl of the Arch-Priest throughout town to bolster the spirits of the townsfolk and keep them safe in the light of Damballah and Ayida-Wedu and their children rather than being tempted by the Flame? As well you are new to town at a suspicious time. Aiding the sick and the needy will help with that as well as make them stronger for the rough journey ahead.
--------------------
Jayla raises an eyebrow as you and The Rhuemy approach, but says nothing. On hearing your question, she sighs. "You know, as do I, that many of our people are not..." She waves her hand towards the camp lying in the woods beyond. "Like these. It has been a long time since you've been home, yes? Did you know that our sheep have had a sickness? The attacks of drakes have increased? As have avalanches? Timurid's tribe was buried two years back, every last man and woman, when the snows came down on their valley."
"Soon, our people will be down here, but things won't be better. The flensers and fire priests from Fire Peaks are cruel."
Sighing, the woman looks around the Coywolf, before continuing. "Your family has been kind to me and the weaponsmaker, but I fear that I at least, will never be accepted. Certainly not your defeated. Where would we go, Drazan of Peklenc?"
Your mouth runs dry, you urgently have to pee, but yet you sit, your legs tingling with exhaustion. As the rays of the morning light come, you find yourself nodding a bit, your head slipping into sleep, before you jerk yourself awake, again and again. Fearfully, unable to fight it, you worry as your eyes shut that you'll fail in your watch, when a familiar voice crowds itself into your head. Domhnall. Do you think they are inherintly evil? What of their children? What of little savage girls lost in the woods? Are they doomed to grow up to be cruel? Your eyes fly open, new energy filling your body as your master's voice had just filled your head.
"I will see if I can draw him out." Imix agrees, dispiritedly. "Naira, I have an idea - but I will need to know exactly how far the cliffs are from here by land, by sea and by air. Distance, not time."
Drazan sighs and shrugs turning his palms up as he surrenders, But if you have something else in mind, I will not stop you. You will still be my friend, even if no one else accepts you for your blood. Maybe one day, you will visit.