by J. Thorn
Anger and confusion flashed across Machek’s face. He contorted his mouth and belched before responding to Fasha’s question. “I do not know. Maybe I do not belong on this inner council any longer.”
“You are a most critical component of our group,” said the chief elder. “Your divergent thoughts and honest heart may save us. Did you think you could walk away and live the life of a common villager? Would you close your eyes to reality and await our collective destiny without action? I don’t think you could, Machek. However, there is no binding power on this council. If you do not think you can serve the People of the Sun, walk the path to your dwelling.”
Machek studied the faces around the fire.
“When will we consult the Soothsayer?” Trojen asked the chief elder.
“We have summoned him and await his reply. It is very likely that we will hear from him before the next moon.”
Machek welcomed the change in the conversation and took the opportunity to drain his flask.
***
A crowd gathered in the village center, men and women crawling from their huts like frightened ants. An elderly man stood on a raised platform, addressing nobody in particular.
“The omens have begun. Our time draws short. There are forces on the move at this very moment, powers beyond our comprehension.”
The villagers listened to the ravings. Some rolled their eyes while others nudged the people next to them. Children continued to play, women continued to gather firewood for the day, and the men continued to pretend.
***
Machek left the meeting without lingering to catch up on gossip. He needed to visit the Soothsayer and help arrange his appearance in front of the inner council. Machek had volunteered for the duty, and none had objected. Before going to the Soothsayer, Machek stopped at his dwelling. He threw a quiver and bow across his back while mounting his sword on his left hip, a polished dagger hanging from his right. He tied his long hair back and covered his forehead with the band of the Jaguar Knight.
People he passed on his way into the forest did not even glance in his direction. Most considered him so odd that it did not concern them that he dressed for battle. Machek watched children playing. He convinced himself that it was for the innocent future that he acted in these times, not for the ungrateful people of his tribe. The Soothsayer’s tent exhaled a tendril of smoke as Machek approached it and entered.
“What am I to say to the council?” the Soothsayer asked.
“You are the one who interprets the omens, the writings of the prophet. Why do you ask me this question?” replied Machek.
The Soothsayer noticed a jump in Machek’s step and a sharpness in his eyes. He did not see the flask of alcohol that usually hung from Machek’s belt. “Are you expecting trouble in the village?”
“Do not concern yourself with my affairs, old one. You have an important task before you that will require all of your energy. I am here to escort you to the inner council, and I am prepared to do whatever it takes to get you there.”
Chapter 8
Acatel led his regiment through the vast expanse of the Great Waste, which had already claimed some of his forces. The rays of the Sun God seared the ancient sands, scalding skin crimson with pain. At night, the Great Waste exhaled the frigid breath of the gods of the White North. Spiny lizards ran through brittle brush, leaving men with no game to hunt and no foliage to fill their stomachs. Delirium attacked the weak of body, tormenting the dying souls with visions of water and forest. Men shrieked with joy while tasting imaginary water before going beyond the Region of the Dead.
Acatel spent the endless, torturous days conversing with Gishwan. Her father taught her many of the disciplines, even though custom forbid it. Acatel could not decide what to do with her.
***
Two moons had passed since the scouting party of the Dog People last saw another village. The warriors waved their swords at the mocking dunes, eager to leave the Great Waste and its murderous ways. As they approached the edges, expansive desert rolled into rising hills. The hills turned into mountains and the scouting party moved closer to the forest of the People of the Sun. They descended a winding trail created by herds of deer. Ancient pine trees rose into the sky and forced the Sun God to take a higher path on his journey. Men conversed and laughed for the first time in many moons.
“It is beautiful. I have never seen anything like it,” said Gishwan to herself, hoping to avoid another slap by Acatel for speaking without permission.
“Yes, it is very different than the Great Waste.”
In the excitement of crossing the desert, Acatel forgot the rules of engagement he had enforced with Gishwan earlier. His commander approached.
“My lord, a shallow stream runs through the floor of the valley. I recommend we establish a camp there, allowing the men to rest and drink before we push into the forest of the People of the Sun.”
Acatel winked at Gishwan and replied to his commander. “I agree. Send two or three men to hunt fresh game and the rest may do what they like, at least until the Sun God begins his journey tomorrow.”
“What of us?” asked Gishwan. She tilted her head down and batted her eyelashes. The commander smirked and rode off.
“We will rest also, in my tent,” Acatel replied.
He removed the bindings on Gishwan and allowed her time to bathe in the stream. The other men had strict orders not to touch her, so they did so with their eyes. Gishwan stripped her ragged clothes and stepped into the mountain stream. Her nipples became erect as the cold water prickled her dark skin. The weary warriors gawked at her naked curves before she returned to Acatel’s tent, throwing a seductive smile at the lonely men standing in the stream.
“I see you have no fear of the mountain water,” he said, drinking in the sight of Gishwan’s wet, naked body. “The Sun God has almost finished his journey. We must start a fire and prepare for the night. Put your cloak on and find some firewood.”
“Unbound?”
“We stand many moons from any land that you know. I have no reason to keep you bound. Go.”
New fires dotted the floor of the valley, casting light and pockets of dry warmth. A hunting party shot rabbits and squirrels, and the warriors tasted fresh meat for the first time in many hungry nights. The salty flesh and dry air relaxed the most hardened soldiers, stories of women and battle circling the flames along with the flasks before the gods of night reclaimed their land and the warriors returned to their bedrolls. Acatel planned to have them up with the Sun God for another day’s march into the forest.
Gishwan entered the tent. Acatel stretched atop his bedroll, wearing nothing but a short sword. Gishwan stared into his eyes as she dropped her clothes to the ground, knelt and crawled onto his body. Acatel felt the heat between her legs and his fires ignited as well. She pressed her breasts on his chest as he explored the soft touch of her skin and the scent of woman. With her right hand, she guided him towards her most private place. Acatel pushed his hips up and felt the petals of Gishwan’s flower, warm and slick.
“Stop,” he said.
“What? You must, Acatel. I cannot wait any longer.”
“I told you to stop!” He grabbed his short sword and managed to find his coverings. “Wait here. Do not come out of this tent unless I am taking you out with my own hand, do you understand?”
Gishwan picked up her clothes and hid in the corner. She brushed her hair from her eyes and nodded in affirmation.
Acatel stepped from behind the flap and into his commander. “You heard it too?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. The men grip their weapons and they feign sleep in their rolls. Maybe we can use the weapon of surprise on them.”
“Numbers?”
“Not sure, a hundred or so? They could be a local band of thieves. We just don’t know.”
“How long do you think they’ve been watching us?”
“I thought I felt a presence when we entered the valley, but I cannot say for certain. Chances are t
hat they know our numbers and our weapons.”
Acatel wiped sweat from his brow and released the grip on his sword that turned his knuckles white. His eyes darted around the camp and into the mumbling darkness. “How long before another regiment catches up with us?” he asked the commander.
“A day or two, at the earliest. We picked up the pace at the edge of the Great Waste. They will not be able to catch us with the cannon and weaponry being transported.”
Acatel turned to look at his tent when his survival instinct took over. In a sudden burst of motion, he dove to the ground, an arrow brushing past his shoulder and striking his commander in the throat. The dying man attempted to speak, but could not as blood spurted from the wound with every heartbeat. The arrows infected the night air. Acatel heard muffled cries as the attack stole life from his warriors, unable to scream with arrowheads lodged in their throats.
A cry escaped Acatel’s tent as flames devoured it. He saw fear in Gishwan’s eyes as a man dragged her from the inferno. Acatel crawled on the ground towards a fallen tree. Time had hollowed the trunk, allowing him to crawl inside of it, spinning to face the camp.
The thieves did not approach the hiding spot as they raided. One of Acatel’s best warriors charged a group of three bandits. He wielded his long sword, which removed the head of one. The other two slashed the back of his legs, and he fell to the ground. The two bandits stood over the fallen soldier and stabbed his head and chest. Within a matter of moments, all of Acatel’s warriors lay dead or dying. He heard the thieves talking, but did not understand the language, and he pushed himself further into the rotten tree. The bandits looted what they could from the dead warriors, including their weapons, piling the remaining clothes and the bodies of a few fallen compatriots before they set them afire and left. Acatel saw Gishwan glance over her shoulder, her eye swelled shut and blood trickling from her nose.
***
Birds chirped, saluting the rise of the Sun God, and Acatel shook his head, dazed and unsure of what had happened. A smile reserved for a new day disappeared as memories of the previous night rushed back, chasing the grin away forever. Acatel crawled from the rotten tree. He wore tattered clothes, his short sword, and nothing else. The thieves had taken his rations, bow, arrows, armor, and drink, not to mention Gishwan. He stood and looked at the ashes of his tent.
Acatel decided to wait for the regiment that would be two or three moons behind his scouting party. He walked amongst the smoldering tents and the dead, though he had difficulty comprehending the scene. Former friends and compatriots lay strewn amongst the trees. He found a few wild berries and pieces of a rabbit from their previous dinner, and sat on a smooth rock above the stream to eat his morning meal.
Acatel looked up. Twenty paces away stood his dead commander, an arrow protruding from his throat and dried blood covering his chest, his pupils stolen by the white orbs of death. He walked towards Acatel, who sat locked to the earth. Acatel grabbed his short sword and raised it in one motion, but the commander disappeared.
“I must be falling ill,” he said to the forest.
He looked back towards the stream. Two of his most fierce warriors climbed out. Missing his head, the first one managed to climb the bank. The second corpse walked in flame with five arrows lodged in his chest. Acatel ran back towards the camp. On the way, he spotted four more corpses on the move, all coming towards him. He broke through the trees and stood in the clearing that used to be his scouting party’s camp. The remaining members of his regiment faced him, and time stood still. The creatures of the forest froze. Acatel could hear nothing but the gurgling of the shallow stream and his own accelerated heartbeat.
“What do you want from me?” he asked the lifeless bodies.
“This land is cursed. When the regiment arrives, turn them around, and go back,” said his commander, with his mouth closed.
“What do you mean?”
“The Dog People that die here are cursed. We must wander these lands for eternity. Turn and head back.”
“You know I cannot. You know I must continue on, towards the Great Sea and the domain of the People of the Sun.”
“As you wish, my lord. You must carry the burden of conquest.”
A gust of wind blew through the camp, forcing Acatel to cover his face. When the gust was over, he removed his hand and looked out across an empty camp. Birds sang again and squirrels chased each other through the trees.
***
The next morning, as the Sun God prepared for his journey, Acatel saw the first scouts from the reinforcements.
“My lord, are you injured?” asked the lieutenant on horseback.
“No. I was able to kill many thieves and escape injury.”
“Are there any other survivors?”
“Just me.”
“You are a brave and courageous leader, and we are fortunate to have you with us.”
Acatel nodded and looked down at the bloodstained ground.
Chapter 9
Machek lent his arm to the Soothsayer, whose weak body held a sharp mind prisoner. The effects of extreme fasting made it difficult for the Soothsayer to rely on his own legs, so Machek guided him to the next meeting of the inner council. Villagers avoided the two men, fearful of spiritual repercussions. Some protected themselves with ritualistic chants, while others used hand gestures to ward off evil. Machek looked into the eyes of his fellow citizens, but none returned his gaze.
The chief elder sat and waited for Machek and the Soothsayer. Trojen and Fasha claimed their seats, and Desi had not yet arrived. In a show of respect, the elders reserved the elevated seat for the Soothsayer. All men smoked their pipes in silence as Machek helped the old man to his seat. The Soothsayer smiled toothlessly as his stare drilled through the souls of the other men.
“I guess it is true. When men see the end, they find spirituality.”
The chief elder slumped in his chair and waved a hand towards the Soothsayer. “We are not here to accept smug insults. Urgent business awaits, and we have no time for this.”
“Of course,” said the Soothsayer. “I would not want to get in the way of our salvation, would I?”
Machek shifted in his seat and glared at the old man.
“You have summoned me. You know the omens have begun. You know other forces move to strike out against the People of the Sun, that our way of life is about to end. We cannot continue on this path.”
“Yes, you speak the truth,” replied the chief elder.
“Then why am I here?” the Soothsayer asked.
“Do not make us grovel, old man,” said Trojen. “You know why you are here. How can we mobilize our people and prepare for this threat?”
The Soothsayer threw his head back, laughing with an open mouth. “You think it’s that simple, do you, Trojen? You think we can barter our way out of trouble? Maybe trade into the favor of the gods? There will be much suffering to endure. Many of our people will go beyond the Region of the Dead.”
“These things we know. You waste our time,” said the chief elder.
The Soothsayer’s jaw cracked as he turned to face Machek. “My lord, time is not yours to waste. Machek has seen the first omen. Why don’t you ask him about it?”
Machek stood and walked towards the Soothsayer with his fists clenched.
“Machek, is this true?” asked the chief elder.
“Yes, my lord,” he replied.
“Why didn’t you mention this, Jaguar Knight?” asked the chief elder.
“I confided in the old man and sought his guidance when you formed the inner council.” The words rushed from Machek’s mouth in staccato bursts, and the council erupted with questions and comments.
Before Machek could continue, Desi entered. “I am sorry, my lords. A stubborn piglet caused my delay.”
The Soothsayer stole the attention from Desi and spoke to the rest of the council. “Machek was just telling us about the omens.”
Desi blinked and his mouth opened as he looked at Mach
ek, who slumped in his chair and exhaled a labored breath. He straightened his back and looked up from a tilted head.
“I was hunting on the edge of the forest hinterlands of the Northern Wood. As some of you may know, our hunting grounds can no longer provide us what we need. I stumbled upon a distraught man, not of the One World. He blabbered guttural nonsense and then slit his own throat. Before I could come to grips with what I had witnessed, the smell of burning leaves filled my nostrils. The forest grew quiet as if all creatures had frozen in fear. I stumbled down a sharp slope to a point where I could gaze out over a still lake. At that moment, the Sun God’s heat blazed upon me. A spiraling ball of flame danced underneath the Sun God and tickled the surface of the lake. The arms of the fire spread out, and within the center of the flame, I saw a great eye. It blinked at me, and I could hear mocking laughter within the silence of the forest. My flask fell from my hip, spilling ale down my leg. The running liquid shook me from my hypnotic daze. I turned my back to the burning sky over the water, and dashed through the trees towards my camp.”
The inner council maintained silence, allowing Machek the opportunity to continue.
“I could not trust my senses. Therefore, I went to the Soothsayer to get his interpretation.”
The chief elder noticed Machek’s fingers massaging an empty flask on his hip. He looked into Machek’s bloodshot eyes before speaking.
“Jaguar Knight, we thank you for sharing with us. We understand how difficult this must be.” The chief elder spun to face the Soothsayer. “It is your time to talk, Soothsayer. We have acknowledged that we need you. If you would continue to ridicule us, or remind us of the way we have treated you, please leave us to our own demise. If you are here to help us save the People of the Sun, then speak.”
The Soothsayer relit his pipe and exhaled. “There are forces at work beyond your comprehension. Some of these forces I do not understand myself. I do know that suffering awaits us. I cannot say if the People of the Sun will survive, living the way they do now. Our people may live, but our lifestyle will die.”