The Rising

by SC Huggins

Nobody moved or said a word in reply.

  Then Tafik shook his head from side to side slowly. He proceeded to address the Qiga, his brother. “You are too powerful to go, cap in hand, brokering for peace like a man racked with fear. You are our Qiga.”

  At this, murmurs of assent rose from the other council members. Turning slightly so both the council members and Rami were within his sights, Tafik continued. “Is it the first time, we have thought of and implemented different ways of dealing with the Chaldi?”

  Holding each of their gazes, Tafik continued compellingly, “No,” he answered his question. “If we don’t do something now, we will still hold a meeting for them tomorrow. I propose annihilation,” he said.

  The room went silent while the council members considered this.

  Tafik studied the chiefs as his words seemed to reverberate through the room. He lived for these moments by his brother’s side. He had Rami’s ear and the grudging respect of the villagers. Yes, he knew most of them didn’t like him, like Old Pena for instance, but none would dare disrespect him openly lest they suffer Rami’s wrath.

  Nose pressed to the door made of tightly woven fronds, Rork followed the proceedings with avid interest. He had to tell his mother so she can warn Wereu, the madwoman. Rork couldn’t remember when the trips to Chaldi started. Without his father’s knowledge, he and mother made the long journey every winter to Chaldi to see Wereu, rumored at one time to be the most powerful sorcerer in clan.

  Father said talk of her powers were exaggerations crafted to put fear into Virai. If she was as powerful as the rumors proclaimed, her village would not have fallen to Virai he’d say. Rork had to agree with father, she could not be that powerful. He had seen her and she was truly mad and very dirty too.

  But for some reason, Mother visited her caves almost every week, whenever she could make time. The last time they went to the caves of Wereu in Chaldi, he had seen his uncle, which made this talk of war all the more surprising.

  Mother would not be happy to hear uncle’s suggestion.

  In his bid to hear more, Rork unconsciously pressed his nose even harder against the door. Closing his eyes, he tried to listen very hard, only to jerk back in reaction when his father cut in sharply.

  “There’s an intruder here,” he announced suddenly.

  The council members looked at him with varying degrees of shock, disbelief and outright reproach.

  “Someone is listening in,” Rami added hastily.

  Rork blinked.

  “An intruder?” Tafik hissed at his brother. “Mind yourself brother,” he hissed out the side of his mouth without moving his head.

  Rami knew he had lost control of his meeting the moment he uttered the damning words. For the first time, he felt real fear. The sort of fear that could threaten the future of his house. Who in the village could be greater than he was? The throne room was protected by his power and position as the Qiga, only someone with powers greater than his could listen in.

  He turned to his equally terrified brother. “Yes, an intruder.” Rami looked out to his chiefs and saw their reproach, he would not get their support in this- not when they never liked him. “There is someone listening to this meeting,” he said somewhat lamely.

  They stared back with a neutral expression. Rami would have suspected their relatives but knew none of them had such power because he had made sure of it. If he expected support or sympathy, he would not get it here.

  “I would have suspected Rork, but even his magic would never be good enough to hear us from that distance,” Rami concluded, keeping up the pretense his son had magic.

  No one reacted to this.

  Tafik shook his head. “Please make sure. What you are suggesting is im—”

  “You dare to imply I would make a mistake in this” Rami spat scathingly.

  “Sema,” Tafik said, seeking to placate but angry that Rami would conveniently turn on the only one on his side to make himself look better. “It would mean the person is more powerful than you are."

  There it was, the one thought they all avoided.

  Everybody in the throne room tensed. The council members made no move, for this meant a shift of power. Old Pena gripped his cane tighter and remained seated but watchful. Anyone greater than Rami was welcome to the village and the throne room as far as he was concerned.

  “Ya!” Rami exploded, “I will destroy this person when I find him,” he fumed.

  If you find him, Old Pena thought with satisfaction.

  Carefully, pulse pounding an erratic beat, Rork began to inch back, but not before Pena cut in, “I urge caution, for if anything happens to our Head, our Qiga, what can the rest of the body do?”

  At that cryptic remark, Rami stared hard at Pena and rose from his seat. The council members watched closely but fearfully as Rami walked up to where Pena was seated and looked down at him.

  He saw the signs of another holocaust in the older man’s carefully neutral look. “Don’t even bother hiding your schemes, old fool,” his bulbous lips twisted like a living thing independent of his body, “I can assure you with my life that your family would never rule this village.”

  Not while he lived. Thank the Yasre it would be averted.

  As long as he had breath in him, there would be no holocaust. The last one had cost everyone dearly. With rulership over Wakay up for grabs, the powerful witches of the opposing clans channeled their powers towards victory without a care for their people. The blood of children, men and women were sacrificed to power ancient objects. The Mapu family were guilty of the same, even more, as they did everything to win the war. But it was the thought of the children that left him cold. Killing the adults was no problem, but children? Rami shuddered.

  Obedience to the Yasre would give him more magic than any mortal including the fool eavesdropping, and ensure that the Chaldi Holocaust be the last, ever. For a rare moment, his mind took him back to the events that led to the bloodiest days in the history of the village.

  Chaldi had produced the greatest witches for so long that their rulership remained uncontested. And would have remained so. How could the other villages fight a clan far stronger than they could ever hope to be? Chaldi had produced the great Matriarch- the first Deji and the only witch blessed with Hikea and the gift of prophecy. Wereu, the mad witch was rumored to have the gift, though it was nearly impossible to be certain of anything when the person in question was out of her mind, thankfully.

  Other villages were content; they were fair rulers after all, but Virai led by the Mapu family were not.

  The Mapu family waited patiently for a break in the Chaldi dominant lineage. Any break, they were desperate- silent but watchful. Rami insinuated himself as a close friend of the Qiga, a clear vantage point to observe the ruling family. Their patience paid off when Wereu was born. She was so powerful they nearly gave up until the rumors were confirmed- her powers slowly rendered her incapable of rational behavior and thinking until she went mad. The depth of her magic was unbelievable, but her madness provided what they needed- a weak link.

  The Mapu family struck.

  What followed was a bloody war the likes of which the Wakay clan and the surrounding twelve clans had ever known. During that time, their food, tunic, and water reeked of blood, so much that Rami still smelt it in his dreams. He struggled to pull away from the past; the hot smell of tension in his own council bringing him to the present. With a blink of his brown eyes, Rami stared at Old Pena.

  In the carnage, none had given a thought to the mad witch. But reports of her death reached them almost immediately after rulership was wrestled from Chaldi. Evidently, grief and loss did not mix well with madness.

  None of these thoughts showed in his craggy face

  Heavily lined face carefully expressionless, Old Pena met his Qiga’s eyes with guileless and bold ones. Then he called out in a deep but weak voice, making sure to sound especially weak so Rami would rule him out as a threat.

  “Sema,” he bowed deeply a
nd with obvious difficulty from the waist, trembling with exertion as he rose.

  Rami remained unsmiling and unmoved. Then suddenly, he threw back his head and let out a full-bellied laugh. He turned around to look at his brother seated at the other end of the room, close to the door that led to his home. Tafik looked nervous. He laughed again.

  Tafik joined in on the laughter, sounding awkward, for he knew not what caused his brother to laugh so.

  Abruptly, Rami turned towards the door linking the throne room to his home.

  Rork inched hurriedly to his bed and quickly scrambled under the covers. He was just in time, for not a moment later, the door to the room sprang open. He didn’t need to crack open an eyelid to know it was father.

  Rami studied the sleeping form of his son. Whoever had been listening had done it from within the house. But Rork was the only one in the room.

  Puzzled, Rami’s bushy brows furrowed as the identity of the eavesdropper continued to gnaw at him. Impossible, but his eyes returned again and again to the sleeping form of his son. Venturing fully into the room, eyes tracking every corner for the unexpected, Rami stopped before his son.

  Silver blond hair contrasted nicely with very dark brows and high cheekbones, and all but ensured Rork looked nothing like him with his shaggy brown hair and even more brownish and shaggier brows. Rork took his mother’s features, but where she was dull and unattractive, he shone. His eyes tracked Rork’s form, so much for marrying from a dominant lineage. He’d given up any hope his wife might pass on the sacred gift of prophecy that was rumored to have appeared in her family, the Klauser family, to their son.

  He dropped on his haunches before him. Carefully, he raised his hand and just before he could place it on Rork’s forehead to feel whether it was hotter than usual- a normal reaction if he had used magic, Rork opened his eyes.

  Steel-gray eyes glinted and Rork stared up at his father, unblinking while his heart thudded in his small chest, for he had no idea what his father’s reaction would be if he found out he had listened in on the meeting.

  Though warned against going into the throne room with his friends, he’d once sat on the throne without father’s knowledge. Lowering his gaze, Rork avoided Father’s probing gaze.

  “Father,” he whispered worriedly, “is something wrong?”

  His bushy beard twitched slightly and he shook his head in the negative. Rami laughed and rose to rejoin the council. “I think your father is getting old for I’m beginning to imagine things,” he told the boy with a smile. Dropping back on his haunches, he kissed Rork’s forehead and pinched his cheeks playfully.

  Rork yelped and laughed out, steel-gray eyes glinting like the sun reflecting off the blade of a sword.

  Rami smiled. “Why are you still sleeping?” he asked. “You are sleeping in when your mother might need your help. Now rise, Hikeeeaaa,” he playfully drew out, using the resurrection magic word of old to the delight of his son.

  Giggling, Rork also tried to rise as the stories speculated the resurrected rose. He sat up with all the works- vacant look, stiff posture and frozen expression. His theatrics got Rami laughing. When their laughter died down, Rork looked his father over, wondering why he was such in a good mood. He asked with a curious expression on his sleep-worn face.

  “Are those stories really true, did the resurrection magic ever did work at any time?”

  Rami paused.

  Giving his beard a quick tug, Rami studied his son and allowed his expression to turn serious. “The resurrection magic is the most powerful and most dangerous of all. If it existed, it never appeared in our family lineage, but there are rumors it appeared a long time ago in your mother’s.” Lowering his bushy eyebrows, Rami’s voice dropped as he sought to impact the importance of his next words to Rork.

  “If anybody will be blessed of that power of resurrection, the person will be the single most powerful person in our universe,” he finished.

  “What of the gift of prophecy, is it bigger than the power of resurrection?” Rork asked in a loud whisper.

  Rami’s lip twitched in reaction.

  “Yes. But I don’t believe it exists, I don’t even think the power of prophecy even exists,” Rami replied, amused at Rork’s rapt expression.

  “Do—”

  Putting up a hand, he halted his next question and adopted a stern look. “Your mother,” he reminded.

  “Just one, father,” he begged. Has father ever paid him such attention? No, but Rork would take what he could get. To survive deep hunts in the forest, you didn’t choose- you aren’t in a position to, you managed.

  Rami glanced at the door and nodded. “Was any witch in Chaldi ever blessed with the power of resurrection or prophecy?” he asked.

  He looked at his son. His mind wandered briefly to the story told by his father’s father. Of how the great Matriarch had indeed resurrected the only son of her friend’s only daughter. The story described it as a glorious event. No doubt, it must have been. Even when the story was told, it sounded glorious.

  His eyes narrowed on his son’s. “No,” he answered shortly.

  Without missing a bit, with no hesitation, Rork moved to shake out and fold his bedding.

  Rami stood there, in the middle of the room, eyes absently tracking his son’s movement as the identity of the eavesdropper continued to gnaw at him. He gave his beard a particularly sharp tug and winced. His expression grew wooden when his mind unwittingly tracked back to the meeting, and Pena. Their gift of the five-edged sword died out more than a generation ago, he shouldn’t be worrying about a powerless man. As ruler, he was entitled to the power of any witch in all the clans under Wakay. Unlike other lands were the villagers submitted farm produce and coins to their Qigas, in Wakay, they submitted power. So, he knew well all that Old Pena had to offer, the man had no power.

  The Mapu family had the gift of magic and the blood of mighty warriors flowing in their veins. Their gift for sorcery was the most powerful and most feared in all the families now in existence. Other families prayed for the gift of Hikea or prophecy to be manifested in their children to have an equal footing with the powerful Mapus. In particular, the family of the five-edged sword headed by that old Pena, Rami thought, wide lips pulling downwards like he just tasted something bitter. If all had remained as it stood, with a powerless Rork, they would have lost the rulership in a hundred years, if not less. Any powerful witch would have seen the weakness of his heir as an opportunity just as his family did Chaldi during the holocaust. To avoid it, he murdered the powerful witches. The dangerous act secured his throne, and left him vulnerable as he no longer had access to their power.

  The Yasre came at just the right time. With the support their power gave him, which was considerable more than those of the whole Wakay witches combined, he no longer needed them. So, Rami killed them all.

  There wouldn’t be another holocaust. Not if he had anything to do about it, Rami thought with a ruthless bite, he would sit on that throne for many years, die on it even if that was what it would take. Rami decided, bulbous lips compressed into a tight line of resolve.

  His brown eyes narrowed on his son and he considered that Pena had subtly threatened him before his own throne. Oh, the old man tried to be cunning about it, but he was no fool. All because of a weak son. It didn’t escape his notice that Dago was Rork’s best friend as well as Pena’s last child.

  And the boy had power.

  Abruptly, Rami turned away to the throne room.

  “Is it Rork?” Tafik asked with a mocking glint in his blue eyes. He was as handsome as his brother was craggy, smooth where his brother was rough, always well-groomed and put together where his brother couldn’t care less about his appearance.

  “No,” Rami replied shortly, still annoyed that someone was successfully pulling one over him.

  “Not likely anyway,” Tafik piped in with a quirk of his lips, his well-tended beard quirking with the movement of his lips.

  Rami lowered his huge
frame to the chair and gave his brother a look of extreme annoyance. He belched loudly and relaxed his frame on his throne. “The boy only needs time,” he said though his words lacked conviction. If the boy was to develop into a strong man, worthy of rulership, the signs should have been there from birth.

  Tafik nodded respectfully, faced wiped clean of any expression.

  “Can you still feel the person close by?” Tafik asked.

  “Yes,” Rami bit out and looked away from his brother’s searching gaze, to turn a narrowed glance around the trimmed bushes lining their compound, almost expecting the culprit to pop out.

  “Go back to your homes. Do the aimless nothings and schemings you usually do,” he dismissed without a look of acknowledgment in the chiefs’ direction.

  Like reprimanded children all the chiefs quickly filed out, for none liked visiting the throne room.

  VIRAI NEEDED ANOTHER Qiga.

  Old Pena shuffled home, far behind the younger chiefs. His bones and heart complained each time he made the long, useless trip to the throne room.

  There was never a time when any chief under Rami’s reign rejoiced at the prospect of appearing before their Qiga. Usually, it was an honored invitation under previous Qigas, especially before the holocaust. Not anymore.

  What a self-centered man.

  Pena feared Virai would come to rue their part in the Chaldi Holocaust sooner than they realized.

  Rami’s discomfiture at the eavesdropper amused and worried him. The man thought himself clever? He should look no farther than his own son. If the man thought himself a great ruler, again, he should follow Rork’s direction. The boy had no power but ruled his age group easily.

  But the suggestion of an intruder scared him because Rami would react surely. The Mapu family ruthlessly shed the blood of almost a whole village to become rulers and would never lose it without another holocaust.

  It meant the Throne room had lost its power. Rami no longer had power, or whoever the intruder was- if there was an intruder, he was more powerful than their Qiga. The implication caused Pena to pause in the middle of the path and breathe in the fresh smell of harvest time. Sweet. As far as Old Pena was concerned, his decision to war against Chaldi for no reason underlined the need for a new Qiga. The fine young heir was best friends with his son, Dago. From the little he learned interrogating his son, he knew the boy had no power.