Firstblade.
When I reached my tent, I wondered for the first time. I would never know why Malan had called the whole First Pack that morning. Had he been planning to carve me three times and dispose of me, or to give me the leadership of the Blades anyway?
I had no answers. Only a new title. And a wineskin.
XLV.
Hunger
Twentieth spring. Firstblade.
The Legend of the Annihilation
The Fourth Season of the World
Darkness. First. Light. Birth. Enaka. Battle. Demon. Darhul. Sun. Men. Victory. Domination. Birth. Tribe.
All this came and passed, and then began the Third Luminous Season, that of Birth.
From the fragments of the Goddess, the first-ever men and women were born. They were not warriors; they had no enemies. They lived off the hunt, and the food was plentiful, always from the hand of the Goddess.
Until the Black Autumn of the Annihilation, when Darhul came to take his revenge. There in the black sea depths, he had hidden for hundreds of winters. He emerged stronger than ever. With vengeful fury, he cut and unleashed his most gruesome head, the Cloudarken.
It was the beginning of autumn, only six generations before, and it all came down on midday so fast. The Cloudarken, a white-headed snake with a red tail of fire, tore the Sky with ominous speed. A tiny dot at first, it grew as high as the tallest mountain before it crashed into the land. The Earth shook and trembled for countless breaths. Valleys opened in half and became desolate crags of fire and dust.
And then the Sun was gone.
The Cloudarken had covered him with a cloak of ash and poison.
Blind and blinded, the first male Sorcerers of the Tribe scarred their faces with knives in the faint light of the torches and called him back, but the son of the Goddess was lost, wounded for ten and five moons. A thick black cloud, which rained death, soot, and brimstone, swallowed him. As the Sun, so Enaka too was lost.
Thus began the Fourth Season, that of the Annihilation, which lasted only ten and five moons but was the deathliest of all. The Season that Enaka abandoned us.
It took only a few nights for the sun-orphaned autumn to turn into black winter and frozen death. The frost burned the grass. With cudgels, fists, and the warm entrails of the dead, the people tried to break the ice in the dark, if only to uncover a little grass for the animals.
The animals died first. In the beginning, only those that were to be eaten. Then in the days to come, our ancestors were forced to slaughter most of the horses as well and eat them on their way south. The raging warriors stoned to death the powerless men Sorcerers and abolished them forever. Never again would our Tribe honor a false Sorcerer.
Few of our Tribe saved themselves by fleeing south. From countless thousands, only three times a thousand were left alive. Some say fewer. They wandered around like demented wind-ghosts. Some began to beg for mercy in the name of the cursed Darhul, forgetting the Goddess. Ten and five moons passed traveling under the clouds of darkness. But the day and the night had become one, so no one could know how long the Season lasted.
The Goddess had not abandoned us. One night, she rushed with the chariot upon the celestial cloudbreaths of Darhul and separated day from night once more with lightning fire. Then another bright star appeared—hers, next to the Sun and Selene. Day and night, the star ran furiously toward the West with a tail of fire. Our warlords followed this first sign of Enaka and so were saved, leaving the black cloud back in the East.
It was six generations ago when the first men of the Tribe burned their lifeless children, women, elders, and mothers, all who had perished. And they gathered close around the fire, to savor the heat of the dead. The living continued until they finally came upon the other tribes of the South. That was the beginning of the next and greatest misery. Hunger was the agony that had prevailed until then, but it was followed by despair and rage. Because the othertribers they came upon were servants of Darhul. They had taken control of the lands of the South, where the fertile soil could still feed many. This was the only way open to them, as Darhul had placed the Reekaal in the West and the Drakons in the North as guardians.
Everyone, now listen carefully to these words, because the remembrance of yesterday will be tomorrow’s salvation: Never allow yourself to be fooled by the false words and gifts of the othertribers. Only their deaths will breed a future for our Tribe. Annihilate the othertribers however and wherever you may find them. Show no mercy because they bear no such mercy for you. They are servants of the One Monster. They are not human. Their souls have been long lost.
The othertribers whom our ancestors encountered were ruthless, green-eyed, and evil. Our people pleaded for mercy but were murdered and enslaved. Our people pleaded for food, but the othertribers demanded the flesh of our children. What can one expect from the servants of Darhul, the abominations who bury their dead unburned with clothes inside the worm-infested soil? How can one ever live in the same land with the Deadwalkers?
Outside the walls of their most prosperous cities camped two-thousands of our ancestors to beg. The last survivors. They had lived that long by opening the veins of their horses’ necks and sucking the blood of their animals. Whoever had many children in our Tribe lost some of them to the slave market of the Deadwalkers to buy millet for the rest.
The First Ouna-Ma, the daughter of Khun-Nan, shed rivers of tears and cried to the Unending Sky for Enaka to hear: “Enaka, Enaka, why have you forsaken us?”
And the Goddess appeared before her, in her golden brilliance and rage.
“I have not forsaken you, and I will lead you to victory. You journeyed south and saw the servants of the Demon. Now you will become warriors and defeat them. Listen to me:
“Your father will become the First Leader of the Tribe.
“You will be my Voice, the Voice of the Sky.
“Keep only the strong and head north. First, you must defeat the Drakons; then, the Buried; and last, the Reekaal in the West.”
And so the Fifth Season of the Leaders began.
Thus declared the Ouna-Mas, the Voices of the Unending Sky.
Six hundred and forty-nine men of the Blades I counted as mine.
I had gathered all their Chiefs in front of my tent. This would be a quick conversation; the evening north wind pierced our bones. They were all men older and more experienced than I. I had earned the respect of some of them because the First had triumphed in the trials and because they knew I had been an Uncarved until a few moons ago.
I had won the leadership of all the Blades by stepping over the older Chiefs, those who commanded the other sixteen Packs. They hated Malan and the hunger he had brought, they hated everyone who was Malan’s favorite and younger than them. One more reminder that they were closer to death. That’s all I was to them. I had to get this over with fast.
“Do not challenge them all at once because that could turn all the Packs against us,” Leke said to me. “Be just.”
I decided to listen to his advice.
I stood on the westerly side of the fire with my most faithful, forcing the Chiefs to take the opposite side. The wind was blowing that way, and they would have the warmth but also the smoke in their faces. Their eyes would water and hurt; they would pay much less attention to how young I was.
“Chiefs of the Blades, I will speak to you plainly. The Reghen came this afternoon and told me that the supplies here will last for a few more moons. After that, it’s death or living on the blood of your horse. I give you a choice. The Reghen said that a thousand of our men are already moving far north and east to command the outposts there. They have grain, flax, sheep and women and they gather more. I must send a few men as well. Go there. You will be free to do as you please, far from my orders.”
“We have heard those words before, and then whoever turned to leave was butchered,” said one of them.
“By Enaka’s glory, I will keep my word. We need brave men in the East. Whoever goes there will no lo
nger be a Chief of his Pack, but his belly will be full.”
“And if we refuse?”
“Or you can refuse, and stay as Chiefs here. And learn to live with hunger. You will endure hardships without complaint and remain faithful to the Khun and me. You must have enough faith to last for all the forty men each of you commands.”
One Chief got up to leave without giving me an answer.
“Hey you, wait! Listen to me,” I cried and ran after him. I didn’t even know the name of some of them yet. At my signal, Noki, Leke, and three more of my men followed after me.
“What is his name?” I asked Leke.
“Korban of the Eleventh.”
Eleven will be the breaths you have left, Korban.
One. I caught up with him when he was well out of sight of the other Chiefs.
“Korban, I plead with you. Make your choice but don’t leave like this. This is not honorable,” I said, my hand resting softly on his shoulder. Five. I tapped his shoulder. “Are we good?”
I lowered my eyes, and so did he with a dejected sigh. Eight. He was still shaking his head. I hadn’t convinced him.
“Eleven,” I shouted to him.
He cut a confused stare at me. I kneed him in the groin with a fast move. As he curled in pain, I grabbed him by his rich long hair and plunged my dirk in his neck vein. Gurgling sounds and blood spurting. The rest of my men followed with the blades. I ran back to the other Chiefs who were arguing among themselves trying to choose a fate. They had come all alone without their warriors. Leke was behind me holding Korban’s dangling head from its rich long hair. He threw the head and it rolled awkwardly close to the feet of the Chiefs, and I repeated myself.
“I praise you for your silence, and I will say it again: you have only two roads before you. Either you leave now for the East, or you stay here and do whatever I say. Whoever wants to stay here only to spread fear and curses will meet a similar fate.” Once again, the head of the Eleventh chose not to listen. It had already closed its eyes wearily as it lay on the dirt, warming by the dung fire.
Three Chiefs chose to abandon Sirol and leave for the East. I ordered my men to supply them with good horses and dogs.
“No one is to lay a hand on them. You give them strong horses and dogs,” I said for all to hear.
The other twelve remained.
“Tell us what to do, Firstblade,” said one of them.
First, I’d better learn their names.
Every Chief wanted me to know that his patience was exhausted. They all wanted to join the next campaign away from Sirol.
But where could we go? To the ice mountains of the North?
To the endless wooden forest walls of the West?
“The sign of the rowan cannot be ignored. We cannot go West,” added another.
To the East, the steppe of Nothing and dust?
We had raided and burned the South many times and had taken all there was to take.
“The South is deserted.”
“Only if we reach the great cities with the impregnable walls.”
“To Sapul,” said one of the Chiefs.
Sapul. The name my Tribe had given to Thalassopolis. The mythical capital of the Southeastern Empire. With walls built by giants. We didn’t have siege machines to bring down those walls even if it took us a thousand summers. There were many cities farther south and east, but the only land passage was through the reigning city of Thalassopolis.
“This is the third moon of darkness,” said the Chief of the Sixth Pack.
It was the third full moon in a row that remained hidden behind thick black clouds.
“Enaka cries and hides her face from us,” the Chief of the Sixth said again. He was a short and ugly man who had the reputation of being a great horseman. One of his arms was scarred from battle. Half of his teeth were missing, and half of his beard was white.
“The darkness of Darhul returns,” added yet another.
“It is winter. The clouds cover the sky and hide Selene. Don’t speak foolish words as if you are talking to twelve-wintered boys of the Sieve,” I said.
“We are too many for Sirol to feed us all. This cannot go on.”
“Tell Malan we should leave for the campaigns on the first day of spring.”
“I will do so, but we are still in Sirol. You will lead your men and give them courage,” were my words to the Chiefs. “We will go where we are told. Khun-Malan has promised me that we will begin our campaign in the spring.”
This was how I was earning respect and admiration. By admitting that I was Malan’s most faithful dog, the one who knew ahead of the others.
Whenever I was in danger of losing my faith, I would go watch the Sieve of the twelve-wintered. I usually got there before nightfall to see who would remain standing. I wanted to find the strength that could withstand anything, the kind that I had stolen from the Goddess in the Sieve. The children were looking at me as if I was a Legend come alive. So many winters had passed, but it seemed like only one breath since I had been in their place. Everything was the same. Except for the meat. The meat they got was much less than what it had been in my time.
“That makes them stronger,” I said to one of the Guides.
“They look like skin and bones to me,” he answered.
“Stronger,” I said to him again.
Hunger spread from the belly and became a sickness of the mind. False prophecies had poisoned every dung fire, every tent, and every Pack. The hungry men fed on rumors and curses.
“The Ssons steal children from the tents and eat them.”
That is why the children were fewer. Not because there was not enough milk for them.
“Khun-Malan was an orphan, paler than the men of our Tribe. Who sent him here?”
Darhul. Who else?
“This Khun-Malan, he has put up three tents, and outside each one of them he has three spheres as his emblem.”
Nine demon heads altogether.
That was what was seeping through ears all over Sirol.
I couldn’t stop the rumors. Malan called me and put the Blades in charge of keeping the order across Sirol. We strove all day to stop the stealing, to ration the supplies that arrived from nearby settlements, and to stop disputes before they became bloody.
Sani told me, “If anything happens to you, Firstblade, or to Khun-Malan, they will pounce on us and eat us alive on the same day. I have never seen such rage and hunger in the Tribe.”
Fortunately, that winter passed surprisingly mild and magnanimous in its mercy.
“Tell Khun-Malan that our days are dwindling,” I said to the Reghen a few days before the Great Feast of Spring.
“Sah-Ouna will speak at the Feast,” he said.
“If we make it till then. If the ten thousand Archers revolt, I will not be able to stop them with a few hundred Blades.”
“They won’t. Their last Leader, Druug, was not a man of great faith. Sah-Ouna chose a loyal Leader to replace him. One who kneels to the First Witch, and is afraid of Enaka’s rage,” said the Reghen. “Sah-Ouna will announce the new campaign at the Great Feast of Spring.”
The word soon spread everywhere and gave Malan some time. The sharpened blades were sheathed, and the dung fires glimmered with faint hopes one more time. I was sure that Malan would announce the new campaign. He had told me so himself. The days of being trapped in Sirol were over. But where to? That, I could not imagine.
The Feast of Spring arrived. Every worthy man was summoned to the Wolfhowl that had been rebuilt under Malan’s orders. I made it to the arena from the eastern entrance, along with the rest of the common warriors. The Wolfhowl rose huge to fit all the men of the Tribe: the strong, the worthy, and the few women Archers and Witches. The Craftsmen had worked night and day for many moons and had created a miracle. The ring field was a big hole dug into the earth, a thousand feet its perimeter. All around were rows of seats to fit over ten thousand warriors. Seated upon stones placed on the dirt, thirty round rows filled with war
riors from top to bottom. The best from each Banner. Archers, Blades, Trackers. We were stacked next to each other.
“I don’t think these stands will last the rains. They will collapse by next spring,” said Sani.
“I think the Khun built it just for tonight,” I said. “We won’t be here next winter.”
In the center of the Wolfhowl, was a round, wooden platform with Sah-Ouna alone on it. Malan was on the steps that led to the platform but not next to her. The four Ssons were all on one knee, each one on a corner of the platform.
Around the platform in a wider circle, eight stunningly beautiful Ouna-Mas stood on the ground. They were too far away for me to see their faces but there were two in front of each Sson, so they looked beautiful to me. I counted again. Eight Ouna-Mas. And Sah-Ouna. Nine Witches altogether. The weak at heart and mind would blabber again about secret dealings with the Demon.
Another circle of men, twenty and four Reghen, enclosed the Ouna-Mas. They were just ten paces in front of those of us watching from the front stands. Each Reghen was about ten paces away from his identically dressed brother. They were the tongues of the Khun and the First Witch, and had to recite the Truths that Sah-Ouna would reveal.
After that, an even larger circle. Countless Rods, almost two hundred of them, with tall spears, looking straight at us from three paces away. Ready to open wide anyone who dared threaten the Khun again. No man had been allowed to bring bow or blade into Sirol.
A torch flickered next to each of them: Rod, Reghen, or Ouna-Ma. Two torches to the left and right of each Sson illuminated their monstrous-looking heads that spurted out of their robes. About two dozen torches around Sah-Ouna, lighting the platform brilliantly as if the Witch was Selene herself, and everyone else around it a star. And thirty rows of men; all the Tribe’s warriors waiting. For their fate and their Story. Everyone had encircled everyone else, as the Red Sun, the greatest circle of life, was setting.
Drakon Book II: Uncarved Page 33