The Rising

by SC Huggins

  “If Mother doesn’t react and destroy us,” Tosa replied.

  “Or if the greater power you spoke of doesn’t destroy us and your precious stone,” Ager snapped.

  “So, it’s my stone now,” Yas returned grimly.

  “I’m just saying they are more questions than answers and it will be foolish to ignore them.”

  “She could have used her gift of foreknowledge to—” Tosa began.

  At that Yas burst into laughter and after a moment, the others joined in.

  “Enjoy my friend,” Yas said, clasping a hand on Ager’s shoulder. “Give yourself a break.”

  “I should.” Ager gave Yas a sideways glance. “You have actually pulled off the impossible,” he said softly.

  “We have pulled off the impossible—”

  “And yet, nothing scares me like being too powerless to break the seal and return to my home,” Ager glanced up in the direction of the ancestral realm, “and I have not even been barred yet. Why do I feel like that is greater punishment than if Mother actually did bar us?”

  “After this, that’s what you’re worried about, going home?” one of the Dejis asked with a laugh.

  “You still consider the ancestral realm your home?” Yas shook his head.

  “Why did she allow us break the seal, give us the key and locate the black stone?” Tosa asked with an uneasy expression crossing his face.

  “Can you feel the pulse of the stone, as if it breathes?” one of the Dejis asked fearfully.

  Tosa turned his gaze upward. “What I feel is its power. What’s this thing, this blackstone—”

  “Does it matter?” Yas asked defensively. “It is to our advantage that it might be more powerful than we think.”

  “There’s something else we haven’t thought of,” one of the Dejis said softly.

  Yas sighed. “What now? I have told you to forget the gift of foreknowledge as we are not even sure if she has it—”

  “You’ve grown too disrespectful Yas,” Tosa said grimly.

  “We’ll need to feed now we are on Uwan!” The Deji practically shouted.

  Ager smiled faintly. Yas stiffened, his wings drawing up behind him at the slight movement. “The Questions keep piling up, don’t they Yas?”

  Yas drew himself up. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Will we?” Ager shook his head. “There’s something else.”

  Yas cursed under his breath. “I begin to wonder whose side you’re on.”

  Ager regarded him coldly. “The only thing we share is a common course. You are no ruler of mine to control my tongue.”

  Yas swallowed. “Very well. What is it?”

  “I dislike the usurper from Virai. Is there a reason you picked him out after he wiped off your lineage during the holocaust?”

  As the other Dejis leaned forward, Yas chose his next words with care. “He alone has the greed and ruthlessness to go against Mother. But I fully intend to kill him after he’s served our purpose.”

  “That makes sense.” Ager glanced up. “I wonder what is happening up there. We are on the outside, Yas, and that makes me feel like we didn’t win.” He cut his eyes back to Yas. “We lost big today, the moment we found the stone—”

  “Then why are you still here?”

  Ager sighed. “I don’t know.”

  He returned his stare to the ancestral realm.

  THE MATRIARCH BOWED low before her creator. When she looked up, The Ancestral Mother stared at her with a small smile playing about her lips.

  “You’ve seen something,” she said.

  The Matriarch nodded. “You can be saved—”

  The Ancestral Mother burst into laughter. “Go on.”

  “You might be saved by something that is promised if it remains untouched by the one more powerful. The promise will rise out of darkest deep to the light.”

  Smile disappearing, The Ancestral Mother went still. “That’s your vision?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” the Matriarch replied eagerly, “we can stop this. The vision makes it clear we can—”

  “What’s your interpretation?”

  The Matriarch frowned. “My interpretation?”

  “Yes.”

  “The principals of the prophecy are the Yasre, the promised one and you. The Yasre are the darkness. You are the one more powerful, You can be saved if you chose, but who is the promised one?”

  “It’s your prophecy, so tell me about this promised one who would save the creator.” The Ancestral Mother bared her teeth in a mocking smile.

  The Matriarch stiffened as the ridiculousness of her statement hit her. “They have found the stone—”

  “Good,” The Ancestral Mother nodded, “let Wereu know it’s time.”

  “Mother,” the Matriarch hesitated, “t-t-they will use the key—”

  “Surely,” Mother replied, “I expect them to.”

  The Matriarch threw up her hands in frustration. “Mortals—”

  “Aren’t my priority right now!”

  With the dire tones of the Matriarch ringing echoes of her destruction, The Ancestral Mother barely kept still as the Matriarch took her leave. She flew to the slatra of worship, anger at the mistakes she’d made dodging her every movement.

  The Ancestral Mother closed her eyes. “let me go, please.”

  “No matter how far a child runs, she can never escape the shadow of her mother,” a voice replied.

  The Ancestral Mother stiffened and replied with a growl, “I can and I have. I left your bosom more than a million years ago—”

  “An I want you to come home where you belong.”

  “Why, after all these years so you want me back? This is my home now. I should be allowed to rule my world as—”

  “Please,” the voice snapped. “You live and exist because I allow it.”

  “So you decided to destroy me?” she returned bitterly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “One of my Dejis with the gift of prophecy foresaw me getting destroyed.”

  “You are sure about this?”

  “She won’t lie to me,” The Ancestral Mother replied. “So, if it’s not you, it’s him.”

  “Suki—”

  “And you want me to come home? To my destruction?”

  “Why would you create something capable of destroying you, something beyond your abilities of control?”

  “It wasn’t my intention,” The Ancestral Mother grumbled.

  “Come home and I will teach you the balance of power.”

  The Ancestral Mother shook her head. “You think I will return after everything that has happened?”

  “Yes, we will sit down and have the talk we should have had years ago.” The voice goes oddly quiet. “But now I want you home. Suki, come home.

  “Not when you still think me a greedy thief.”

  VIRAI

  Rork took a step forward and stopped. The hairs on his nape suddenly rose until they stood on end. He reached out and dropped a heavy hand on Dago’s shoulder, halting him. Dago turned to frown at him, for they could hear the bleating sound of the anu still. Desperate, he shook off Rork’s hand and pushed him back roughly, he knew how much Rork needed that meat and here he was, hesitating. Without that meat, his friend was in trouble because it meant no coins and the heavy hand of the Qiga’s punishment. It said a lot about their ruler that his son provided for the family. His eleven-year-old son. Yes, there was almost nothing Rork couldn’t do, but still.

  The two boys were good hunters. The best in Virai. An art mastered from the hours spent roaming the bushes and competitively tracking animals. Rork’s hesitation left Dago puzzled, for he was the better hunter, even though Dago would never openly admit it.

  With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed Rork by the shoulders and dragged him back, away from the tracks to where they had started. “We were very close, very close,” he muttered into Rork’s face, each word emphasized by bringing his thumb and forefinger close together to sho
w exactly how close they had been. He knew without a doubt that the anu would have scampered off by now. Contrary to what most people thought, the animals weren’t stupid, far from it. Some were even more sensible than some mortals, like Rork’s uncle, Tafik. The man disgusted him, though he took care never to show just how much in Rork’s presence. The man was his uncle after all and Rork would stand up for his family.

  Rork swatted the hand away in irritation. “Wait, listen to me—” he started, then paused and closed his eyes as if listening for something.

  Dago laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no, you better remember why you called us out, because I must—”

  “Yes, yes, your threats have become much like the air we breathe, too common.” Rork cut in “But can you hear anything? Wait listen—”

  “Is that why you called us out of a good game. To wait listen to me,” he mimicked perfectly and mockingly.

  Rork the taller of the two, met his friend’s eyes. “I’m serious,” he reiterated, steel gray eyes glinting in the faint light filtering through the trees. “The forest is is-alive,” he finished lamely.

  “Alive?” Dago parroted in belief. He shook his head and ran his hand through his short brown locks, leaving it standing on end. “Let’s get the anu first before we discuss this,” he said and walked out with impatient steps, dragging his long hunting stick behind him.

  Rork snickered, for his hunting stick was taller than he was. “I’m not the one afraid of getting beat in a hunt,” Dago shouted back without looking backwards as he walked stealthily back into the same position they had stopped.

  The two boys roamed the forest, making no sound, they jumped over obstacles and barely disturbing the leaves, moved farther into the dense brush. Great hunters as they were, it was unsurprising for the villagers to find them asleep in the forest. The boys were known to spend two to three days hunting. There was no danger since they had their magic for protection. Or Dago’s magic protected them both, but nobody knew this. After the last dance of the ganga, they suspected, but weren’t entirely certain.

  Uneasy, Rork restlessly ran his thumb along the sharp edge of his hunting knife as he moved even more soundlessly than Dago through the dense forest. He could hear the sounds very clearly. It would have been better they go home, he would have preferred it as unease caused his thumb to move faster along the edge of his knife. If he insisted they go back, he would never live it down. He would bear the brunt of jokes among his playmates until something else piqued their interest.

  So, they continued tracking the anu, moving deeper and deeper into the forest. The farther they moved, the more the lump of unease in his throat increased. The thick brush surrounding Virai and the entire Wakay clan was densely populated by the docile animal, anu. Subsequently, the unfortunate anu found its way into the cooking pot of most families almost every evening.

  The farther they moved into the brush, the faster Rork ran his hand over the sharp edge of his knife. A nervous habit. His friends joked the skin covering his thumb had become too thick for sharp edges to penetrate. His senses were over sensitized, in addition to the forest sounds that seemed magnified to his ears, there was a roaring sound and the strong smell of faeces.

  Rork stopped and closed his eyes. The roaring sound were the waters below the far mountain pass bordering Virai to the west, he realized in disbelief. The faeces were from the dump in the northern part of Virai. How come he could hear and smell these from so far off? His blood pounded thickly through his veins and in slow, reverent movements, he threw his head back, exposing the lines of his throat. He swallowed with difficulty, well aware of the vulnerable position. So many animals met their end at his hands when they threw their heads back to allow food wiggle down to their stomach easily. All of a sudden, the wind picked up, raising leaves and sand from the ground and blew his hair across his face, above his head. The sounds were louder in this part of the forest, it rang in his ears. Clearer. He grimaced at the sudden pain in his temples and pushed his hair impatiently out of his eyes.

  “Dago,” he called out softly.

  Dago turned and growled at the strange look on Rork’s face who continued to glance around warily. Dago stopped, turned around and paused to listen. Nothing.

  “Go back,” Dago whispered, furious and dismissively. He took a step into the bush.

  Rork muttered angrily under his breath and followed. After only a few paces, he froze. His head went back, his nostrils flared and his dark blond brows drew together sharply. “Dago,” he mouthed.

  Dago turned around in anger, exasperation underlining the movement. His feet made a squishing sound as it crushed the leaves littered ground. A few feet from Rork, he stopped abruptly at the expression on Rork’s face.

  Perhaps, something about Rork’s expression alerted him, for he no longer looked impatient or exasperated. Instead, he flushed, turning pale, the stark whiteness a sick contrast to his brown hair. He looked to the direction where Rork’s eyes were directed and blinked.

  Once, twice.

  Rork would have laughed. But a ball of fear was lodged somewhere his tongue used to be.

  The sides of his face tingled and his gray eyes widened to their fullest extent at the creature just left of the motionless Dago.

  It looked like a man. If a man was that huge. It was an ewr, a half-animal, half-khorn creature. From the right side, it looked mortal, until you noticed its single huge eye planted right in the middle of its forehead. Fascinated, Rork stared. The description of the ewr in stories passed from many a parent to their children before sleep time was nothing compared to the reality. It was very tall, twice the height of and uglier than Father. Its long black hair was more beautiful than any of the girls’ in Virai and poured over its big ears to stream past huge shoulders.

  Rork moved before thought. And Father said to always have a plan.

  Dago’s eyes shifted slightly to the left and behind the ewr, and his eyes widened comically. Rork stood there, knife extended, prepared to strike. How had he gotten there so fast?

  The ewr moved, dropping down on all fours, the sound of the paws hitting the ground caused a vibration that streamed from the ground and up through Dago’s motionless body. It attacked, coming straight at Dago who was rooted to the earth even more than the trees who called the forest home.

  Rork sprinted forward and jumped on the back of the ewr, his small hands grasped desperately for and caught on the ewr’s long silky hair for traction, for dear life. He screamed at Dago to run. Fear and disbelief warring within him, Dago turned to do exactly that when he heard a hissing sound behind him. He shouldn’t look back, but he turned, hesitation in every movement and was almost blinded by the quick movement of the ewr.

  Rork caught on the hairs of the ewr with his left hand as he hung precariously from the back of the seven-foot creature by sheer desperation. He gripped his hunting knife tightly and plunged it into the ewr’s exposed back. A silvery white fluid flowed down its back, drenching Rork with it’s coolness.

  It hissed and lurched to its full height in an attempt to dislodge Rork from his back, but he held on, just barely. The ewr twisted, raised his arms to scratch at his back at Rork who turned and twisted his body far from the long, dirt smudged talons.

  Chest on fire, Dago looked down in puzzlement, and stiffened in shock. The ewr had cut a deep swathe across his chest. Large as it was, the ewr was known for its speed of movement under threat. Blood flowed freely. From that distance? He blinked, stunned. Rork screamed at him again, pulling him from his unusual dullness.

  He ran.

  Rork hung on, a blond haired tiny form compared to the darkness of the ewr, he clung to the animal. Desperate, he pulled out and plunged his knife in and twisted it just as fast. Each plunge of the knife made a sickening wet sound going in and he repeated the action over and over again.

  Plunge. Twist. Pull out.

  Over and over.

  This was his only advantage, if the ewr turned on him, it was over. And Rork was not
ready to die.

  He wished to live.

  Father’s disappointment, mother’s well-hidden indifference, his responsibilities as the heir and the expectation of the village faded away in that instant. He had to survive this. Something had changed at home, something wasn’t right. Father and Tafik held more meetings outside the council, in unusual spots, without the council chiefs.

  The licks of thinly veiled disgust and disappointment he got from father was no longer there. It scared him, not because he enjoyed it- but because it wasn’t normal. He actually missed the beatings, the looks of disappointment, the mocking gleam in his uncle’s eyes. Something had changed and not knowing scared him.

  For his sake, he must live.

  Dago ran all the way to the open part of the forest and doubled over, pressing a palm to his burning chest, he suddenly remembered he had power. With a curse, he turned back. In his desperation, he didn’t spot the ewr and Rork immediately. Panting, he ran further into the forest and stopped.

  He spotted them.

  Oddly, the first thing he noticed was how the khorn, the ancestral essence from the ewr matched the silvery blond color of Rork’s hair. The ewr finally managed to fling Rork off his back and now stood over him. Eyes tightly closed against his own impending death, Rork waited with his breath suspended. Drenched in the silvery-white khorn of the ancestral creature where it flowed from deep cuts down it back, Rork wondered how and where it came from.

  Dago placed his hunting stick on the ground beside him and closed his eyes. The long stick with its pointed end trembled slightly and rose to his height. Eyes still shut, Dago thrust his right hand forward, palm out with an audible exhalation.

  The stick flew across the distance and struck the ewr, embedding deep into the ewr’s muscled bleeding back. It roared, back bowed outwards, staggered over Rork and jumped into the forest.