The Inner Circle: The Knowing

by Cael McIntosh

‘There are nine elders to each cleff, eight regular elders and the elected high elder. Every eight years, four selected elders from each cleff accompany their high elder to another cleff for Gis’el’yadawn. Eight years ago, it was the year of the Fifth and as tradition dictates, we’re today gathered together for the year of the Sixth.

  ‘This you already know. These are the ways of the Elglair and you’ve understood them since infancy. However, you could not be blamed for asking, “Why is it that for the first time in countless eighths the hidoan is being assembled and addressed?” You might be wondering this especially when considering that this time is intended as a peaceful one. The answer is quite simple.’ Far-a-mael took a steady breath and cast his gaze over the waiting crowd. The storm had calmed since earlier to leave an eerie silence upon the land. The group of men leaned forward, captivated by his every word.

  Far-a-mael stood on a great bolder so that the added height would help project his voice. ‘We are under attack from an ancient enemy.’ He indicated the ruined city. 'Our ways must be changed accordingly. Things that have never been done are now taking place with great haste. I have come before you today with news of a new elder existing among the cleffs.’ The gathering an’hidoans heaved a unified sigh of disbelief. ‘I speak the truth.’ Far-a-mael was forced to further raise his voice in order to be heard. ‘Some of you may remember me as Gil’rei Far-a-mael. I shall be spoken of by that title no longer. I am now your War Elder of the Unified Cleffs.’

  If the crowd had been loud before, now it boomed like thunder. The cheering tone was one of support and yet their voices maintained an element of disbelief. Far-a-mael waited until fists had stopped being pumped patriotically and the group had again calmed to a dull roar.

  ‘There is more, my friends. My first order of duty as the War Elder of the Unified Cleffs is . . .’ He paused for emphasis. ‘. . . is that we wait no longer to crush the Jenjen threat!’ Thunderous hoots and cheering began all over again. Far-a-mael’s throat felt parched but he pushed on nevertheless. ‘Eat and sleep well while you can, brave men, for we will be moving south before the week is done. I have already sent the order and soon we’ll be joined by the hidoans of the other cleffs. Together, as the truly unified cleffs, we shall take Jenjol by force.’

  The cheering became deafening. ‘People, people!’ Far-a-mael struggled, waving his arms about extravagantly to quiet them. ‘Then . . .’ He could hardly hear himself think, let alone speak. ‘Then, when we have made their army a part--although a lesser part--of our own hidoan we will . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘We will not return to the Frozen Lands! Oh, no, but we will surge farther south. Yes, I can see it in your eyes, the hope. Well, I am here today to speak the truth. Young men before me, you’re soon to be a part of the great unified hidoan, which will cross over the borders into Old World. There we shall conquer the silts and retake what is rightfully ours!’

  Old World had never belonged to the Elglair, but the silt borders had long been creeping north, taking over more and more human land as the decades passed. Far-a-mael had spat the word 'silts' with every last remaining bit of strength.

  Far-a-mael stepped down from the giant boulder, a smile spreading across his features. His plans had fallen into place better than perfectly. The silt was very likely dead by now and Seteal would soon become his weapon of choice. It saddened him a little that El-i-miir, too, was almost certainly dead. He’d once been quite fond of the girl.

  In between receiving pats on the back, Far-a-mael hobbled toward his insulated tent. It was easily four times the size of any sy’hidoan’s tent and perhaps even twice that of the gil’hidoans’, but he needn’t worry about gils anymore. It seemed strange no longer having the word in his title.

  Far-a-mael pulled open the flaps and stepped inside. The space consisted of three rooms. One was designated sleeping quarters, another was for the storage of his possessions and the largest was a place for him to hold meetings. It’d been set up early due to the fact that he’d lost his place of temporary residence when the Dome of the Sixth had collapsed. Naturally, Far-a-mael had been offered a place in various peoples’ homes and at high-class inns, but he’d respectfully declined, deciding he’d be better off getting used to his soon-to-be-permanent lodgings.

  Bones creaking, Far-a-mael hobbled through the first room and into his sleeping quarters. Servants had prepared the raised bed as if it were for a king, which, Far-a-mael mused, he wasn’t far short of. He touched the bed tentatively. It seemed comfortable enough. A contented smile graced Far-a-mael’s lips as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.