by Paul Kidd
*Oh Shadarii, pacifism was already the creed of your society. Look how weak and corrupt it has become!*
Shadarii gazed out across the darkened skies.
~Non violence requires moral strength. You must believe in it; be ready to die for it! They had forgotten why we had the creed. The elders hid the tales of war, and so our fear and loathing of it died.~
Starshine slowly settled down around Shadarii’s shoulders.
*And what of this ‘Kotaru’ Mrrimïmei so admired. Thou’st said thy pilgrims were nothing until he found them. What did Kotaru teach them?*
Shadarii’s eyes misted over as she unveiled the memory of her love.
~He found the strengths hidden inside each individual. Kotaru taught them to become proud of themselves.~
*Well then, perhaps Mrrimïmei no longer feels proud of herself.*
Shadarii was shocked.
~Why? You’ve seen what Tingtraka has become! She grows stronger in love every day. And Kïtashii, my little acolyte. So serious, so strong!~
*These two are not warriors. Thine other pilgrims are all fighters! They have learned to battle for their beliefs! They are ashamed, my child. Ashamed that they have abandoned the world they love.*
~But there is so much to teach these fisher people!~ Shadarii flung sand into the surf. ~They flock to me in thousands to see my sermons and my tales. My mission is being fulfilled!~
*Fulfilled? You waste thy time! You betray thy people, and still say thy mission is fulfilled!*
~I have told you…~
*Quiet! I shall have my say!*
Starshine seethed in a spiteful temper.
*Thy sister still has power over thee. Thou art afraid of her. Admit it! T’is easier to skulk here than face thy sister in righteous battle!
*Shadarii my love, you waste thy time! You preach of peace to a people who know no war! If thou must do good, then do it where it is needed.
Zhukora grows more powerful, Shadarii. Evil is like a fire; it spreads and spreads as long as there are innocent victims to give it fuel! It is time for us to go. Time to leave this hiding place and face the struggle thou were born for! If left unopposed, Zhukora will drench this continent beneath a wave of blood!*
Shadarii’s temper rose.
~What I did before was wrong! To fight, to hurt, to kill! See all the trouble that it led to? I murdered my own true love! If I hadn’t started all this trouble…~
*The results would have been worse! Stop sniveling. Either fight or turn thy back on everything thy lover died for!*
The Kashra closed her eyes and rigidly faced towards the sea.
~I have told you already that I have a vision. I know what I must do!~
*Oh really? And so this is why thou fly alone at night? How pleasant to indulge oneself when thy people are screaming for thine aid!*
Shadarii gave a hiss, but Starshine lashed relentlessly onwards.
*I have opened up the door to immense powers inside thee! Thy meditations are revealing the very secrets of power itself. You cross barriers thine ancestors never even dared to see! And yet thou do’st nothing to help thy people!*
~Shut up!~ Shadarii wrung her antennae between her hands. ~I order you to shut up!~
Starshine seemed to take a breath of indignation.
*Oppose force with force, evil with good! Sometimes violence must be used. It can be a tool for good as long as we use it for the moral right!*
~Right? How can murder ever be made right? ~
*If we slay a tyrant to prevent her killing thousands, that is right! If we take a man who beats his child and let him taste his own whip, that is right! Morality does not come naturally, girl! Justice is dealt out with the sword. A society needs laws; needs controls! A higher authority must dictate what is right and what is wrong.
*They need a vision. A holy leader! They need thee, girl! Take them! Take them forth and show them the glory of thy will!*
Shadarii reeled, clutching at her skull in agony!
~Shut up! Leave me be!~
*Thou art the ultimate force for good upon this earth. Reject thy destiny and thou’st betrayed everything thy lover fought for! Thou’st betrayed Mother Rain herself!*
Shadarii whirled, her fangs suddenly bared bright.
~You leave Kotaru out of this! He was perfect. He was gentle! Do you think for a moment he would want me to crush these people beneath my will?~
*Crush? No, liberate! Take these little creatures by the hand and rule them as a mother should. It’s what Kotaru would have wanted.*
Shadarii shivered with rage.
~I told you never to mention Kotaru again!~
*He was nothing but a lover! Take another and found a dynasty!*
~Kotaru was my soul mate. I shall never love again. Each moment without him is pure agony!~
*And every moment with him was pure ecstasy?* The spirit flipped insiolently through the air. *Ha! I have sampled the pathetic wrigglings Kashra go through when they breed. Take a lover if thy loins are itching for a stretch! Rut to thy heart’s content. Thou’st betrayed Kotaru’s memory, why not betray him once again?*
Shadarii let her power roar out in sudden hate. Starshine screamed and reeled from the blow, ïsha dripping from her wounds like blood. Shadarii gasped in fright, scrabbling for contact with the Ka.
~Oh Starshine! Starshine, forgive me! I’m sorry…~
The spirit drew back from Shadarii’s touch, sullenly sitting back to lick its hurts.
*It seems thy creed of ‘love’ is very thin, my girl. Who hast thou been fooling? Thou’rt as violent as the rest of us.*
Shadarii hesitantly probed at her companion, fearfully searching for any signs of harm.
~You-you aren’t hurt?~
*It will heal. It seems we can still tap thy anger after all.*
Shadarii hung her head in shame and tugged miserably at her fur.
~Please forgive me. I offer my humblest apologies. I have no excuse to offer you. It’s just that-that Kotaru…
~Please don’t mock my memory of him. It is all I have.~
Lady Starshine coiled in the ïsha and heaved a little sigh.
*Of course not, my dear. We shall not speak of it again.*
The sea foam washed slowly back and forth, as serene and timeless as the dancing of the stars. Shadarii watched the ebb and flow of bubbles in the moonlight.
~Forgive me, Starshine. I shall pray that I grow stronger. I shall pray that I become more pure. For you are right, It is time. I feel the death growing slowly in the air.
~I will return to the forest.~
The girl closed her eyes and turned her face into the Wind.
The dawn saw Shadarii trudging up the dunes, her heart still weary from the agony of decision. Tingtraka and Kïtashii walked in silence at her side, their travel packs bulging with their few small scraps of goods. Behind them came the other pilgrims; eleven followers with wise, calm eyes. Mrrimïmei slunk at the rear, glaring hatred at Shadarii’s back.
Shadarii slowly crossed the sharp crest of a dune, gazing across the crowd that she had known would be there waiting for her.
There they were; a hundred fisher-folk. Sister Mouse and Brother Fish knelt next to Fengahïl and her son. There were healers and teachers, grandmothers and fishermen. Those who had been blind or mad, those who had been touched and healed.
At their head sat Lady Zareemah-Kha: She whose son had been raised up from the dead. The noblewoman bowed and held her wings before her eyes.
“Revered one, we know that you are leaving. All these folk have gathered here because of our love for you. We ask nothing but to follow our beloved Silent Lady.”
The woman kept her eyes riveted on the ground, and her wings quivered as she clutched her son tight against her chest.
“If you will have us, we shall follow you to the far ends of the earth! If you will allow it, we shall help you spread your precious Word. Your teachings have meant much to us. The fisher folk will never be the same. You have not faile
d.”
Shadarii swayed, and a single tear sparkled in in the corner of her eye. She drew a breath, turned on her heel, and launched herself into the desert air. Her little band leapt skywards and followed on the tail of their dream. They bore the word of peace towards the bleeding heart of war.
Chapter Twenty Two
Even through her tears, the girl’s beauty cast a marvellous spell. Namïlii of River-Bend wept before the tribal council and shook with terror. Fifty councellors watched as an inept old nobleman tried to still her fears.
“Oh now now now. Please my dear, don’t cry so. It isn’t really so very bad…”
The council of the Ochitzli tribe were in a state of shock. A world that had stood unchanged for a thousand years had suddenly overturned; the savages had burst out of legend bringing back the plague of war. The nobles stared in horror at the empty seat once held by the Speaker of River-Bend.
Namïlii retched with fright. She clutched herself in agony, her slender body wracked by tears.
“She came for me! The black empress came for me! She-she showed me m-my own dead Mama, then she laughed when she heard me scream! She laughed! The-the witch calls the evil spirits! She-she had one speak to me. It told me it would eat my soul unless I gave you all a message!”
“Hush child. There’s no danger here.”
Namïlii’s eyes rolled white.
“It’ll find me! It said it would find me! It lives in dreams. I have to tell you! I have to…” The girl rocked back and forth, tearing at her hair. “Oh Mama! I want my Mama!”
The handsome young Speaker of Thistle-Field rose from his place and dried Namïlii’s tears. He drew her down beneath his arm and tried to stop her trembling.
“Poor child. How you must have suffered.”
Namïlii snuffled, making a brave show of choking back her tears. She nestled against the nobleman and peered up at him with great soulful eyes.
“I-I do feel a bit better now…”
“That’s grand. Now why don’t you just tell us all about this message, hmmmm?”
Namïlii allowed the lord to stroke her hair as she miserably repeated Zhukora’s ultimatum.
“The dark Empress lays claim to all the lands of the Ochitzli. She said we are her subjects now. We-we have one week in which to come to River-Bend and pay our homage. We are to follow the orders of her chiefs. Our nobles are to report to her for briefing and assignment.”
“And-and if we refuse to spread wings to her?”
“Then what happened to River-Bend shall happen to every village on the plains.”
Namïlii’s words fell into silence. The council of the Ochitzli tribe sank into apathy.
The refugees from River-Bend had staggered into Marsh-Stump only three days before - half a dozen shepherds, a few tired men and the village children were all that remained. A single nobleman had flown grimly at their head with a wounded girl borne up in his arms. Their leader had kept his people all together, tending to their needs in dour silence.
Slowly the word had spread. Almost eleven hundred people had died. The border villages were no more; their people were butchered and their houses burned.
After a thousand years, war had risen from its grave.
Every village had heard the news; every nobleman had scoffed, and messengers had flown to River-Bend to see the disaster for themselves. Each group had undergone the same terrifying ritual; black demons had surrounded them and lead them into the village, and the horrified plainsmen had been forced to view a parade of butchered corpses. News of River-Bend’s fate had spread; a horror so overwhelming that it numbed the very soul.
The Ochitzli tribal council had convened in panic, and now the High Speakers milled about the sacred grove wondering what to do. Disgusted by their inactivity, the Speaker for Flint Wash slammed his shepherds staff against the ground.
“Does this-this Zhukora think us mad? Why should we give in to a few hundred savages?”
Namïlii jerked forward.
“No! The spirit, he-he gave me a vision. I saw them! The skies black with demons! Spears numbering like the stars up in the sky! The mountains are alive with savages!”
Speakers began to bleat and tremble. One youngster shot up to his feet.
“It’s true! At night we can hear their drums! The plains crawl with their camp fires!”
“Thousands of them!”
“Butchers!”
The ancient Speaker of Flint-Wash slashed his stick out at his cowardly neighbours.
“What of it? There must be at least as many of us! Throw her demands straight back in her face!”
“He’s right!”
“Sit down!”
“Order! Order!”
The Chairman leapt up and down in fury, then jabbed his staff towards the fat Speaker for Silver-Leaf.
“You there! If you have words to say, then request permission of the Chair.”
The Chairman’s victim tugged at his jewelled collar.
“Honoured Speakers, revered Chairman, I ask the indulgence of the house. I propose the motion that we accede to the savages’ demands.”
“Never!”
“Silence in the house!”
“Order! I will have order!”
The Chairman’s patience was being sorely tried.
“A motion is before the house. According to custom, the aggrieved party must speak in public before any vote is taken. Is there a spokesman here for the village of River-Bend?”
“Yes! Keketál speaks for River-Bend!”
The whole assembly craned towards the door. A single tall figure stood silhouetted by the portal; a heavy, savage male with his fur all scarred by fire. The nobleman glared at the council through hard young eyes.
“Keketál will speak for his home! What nonsense iss this about surrender?”
It was him; the river gift! Men stood for a better glance as Keketál marched ever deeper through the room. The Speaker for Silver-Leaf mopped his neck and pointed a finger down at Keketál.
“You, sir? What right have you to speak in place of the house of Ingatïl?”
“Right of survival! Keketál iss alive.”
“Where is Lord Ingatïl?”
“We found him wandering mad in the fields after the slaughter. If you wanting to speak with him, you will get no sense.” Keketál sneered up at his foe. “You should make him Chairman!”
There was an explosion of outrage. Some laughed, some swore; Speakers shouted and shrieked across the hall. The Chairman leapt to his feet and shook with indignation.
“Lord Keketál, you have no right to mock this house!”
“If it deserves mocking, then Keketál will mock! I am listening to you squeak and squeal like mice! You want to surrender to the demon-bitch? You want to grovel at her feet and plead for your miserable lives?”
Another man threw up his hands.
“What else can we do? How can we stand against such evil?”
“Can there be any doubt? We fight!” Keketál clenched his fist and roared. “We take a life for a life! We show them we are free! They kill our blood, I say we pay them back with sling bullets, fists and fire!”
The Speaker for Silverleaf tugged regally at his robes. Where Keketál raged in anger, his own voice blew rich and cool.
“Lord Keketál, you are a stranger among us. We are a people of peace. It takes two sides to create a war. There shall be no death and slaughter if we all behave with reason.”
“The moment you give in, you are lost!” Keketál pounded his points home with his fist. “Once you bow, she will grind in her heel. You will be hers forever!”
“But if it avoids a war…”
“Some things are worth a war!” Keketál snarled and bared his fangs. “Your homes are worth a war! The lives of your children and your wives. Your people’s freedom to live the way they want to live. Yes, these things are worth dying for!”
The other speaker whirled to face the house.
“Exactly! We have seen her pow
er, and so we must give in.” He contrasted Keketál’s passion against his own sweet reason. “In troubled times, hasty decisions can be damaging. What does this Zhukora ask? Is it so much? Is a tiny loss of pride too much to ask for everlasting peace? We should take this as an opportunity for growth and friendship. A joining of hands as two peoples come together.” The fat nobleman opened out his arms and gave a smile. “Gentlemen, we face a time of change. Keketál calls for war, but I say let us call for peace! Let us grow and prosper, my brothers. Let us do service to our people.”
All around the room heads nodded wisely as they heard the words of peace. Keketál’s supporters leapt up to their feet, waving their staves to snatch the attention of the Chair. The Chairman stood and hammered with his staff, swiftly taking advantage of the pause.
“We shall take the vote! The motion will be judged. All those in favour…”
“Mister Chairman! We insist that Keketál…”
“NOW! The motion will be put to the vote!” The Chairman stood and lifted up his hands. “All those opposed to declaring war, raise your staves!”
Staves flashed. All around the council hall the Chiefs thrust up their rods of office. A mere handful of men kept their arms proudly folded. The old Chief of Flint-Wash stared at those who voted ‘yea’ and spat upon the ground, then resolutely made his way to stand by Keketál.
The Chairman made a great show of counting votes, his sparse antennae wagging in the air.
“Forty six to four. The will of the tribe is cooperation with the savages!”
A relieved storm of applause swept the hall as cowards slapped each other on the back. Keketál gazed about the room and then simply turned to go, and a flock of jubilant nobles hooted at him from the upper seats.