by John Migacz
CHAPTER 8
Skull Leader Tolrak made his way down the winding path to the eastern sentry outpost. The arid, rocky land lent little shade and the afternoon sun burned hot on his moss-green shoulders. His callused feet kicked up an occasional dust cloud and a light breeze sent it scurrying down the path before him. Glancing up at the position of the blazing sun, he grunted in anger. He was late making his rounds and that put him in a foul mood, not that it took much to put a Morgur in a foul mood.
He increased his pace, his seven-foot, four-hundred-pound muscle-bound frame moving more swiftly than would have been expected in such a hulking creature. He glanced again at the sun, his large upward-curved fangs thrusting forward as he gnashed his teeth. Muscles rippling, he smashed the ground with his war club in irritation.
Tolrak rounded a tall outcropping and spied Hotnac and Susnac sitting in the shade of an overhanging rock, playing knucklebones. Hotnac glanced up at the approaching Skull Leader and Susnac used that opportunity to turn an “eye” bone to a “fist” bone.
“You cheat!” screamed Hotnac. He jumped on Susnac and grabbed him by the throat.
“Did not!” yelled Susnac, punching Hotnac repeatedly in the ear. They rolled on the ground punching, gouging and biting – a normal activity for the Nac brothers.
Skull Leader Tolrak watched for a moment, then smacked both brothers with his club in non-vital areas until they ceased fighting. “You fools are to watch, not play!” growled Tolrak, looking down at the brothers. “Save knuckle bones for – ” A flash of black seen out of the corner of his eye made him cease his tirade and turn. Standing not fifteen feet away was a human, dressed completely in black. His left arm held the leg bone of a camar above his head – the Morgur parley symbol.
Anger flooded Tolrak. He was suspicious of anyone who could sneak up on a Morgur, distrusted anyone who knew Morgur symbols, and absolutely hated humans. Raising his war club, he fought the urge to charge and smash.
“You go! Now! We will not talk!” Hotnac and Susnac stood and flanked their Skull Leader, awaiting the command to attack.
“I will speak with Gorak,” the man demanded in the language of the Mogur.
“Clan leader no speak to humans!” spat Tolrak, waving his club. “Go! Or die!” For all his bluster, Tolrak was a little unnerved by a human who faced three male Morgurs and showed no fear. His brain advised caution. Remembered tales told around clan fires seeped into his consciousness. Stories of a man in black with great power, a man to whom clan chiefs opened their ears.
The human extended his right arm, palm up. A sudden humming noise preceded the appearance of a small glowing green triangle floating in the air above his hand. He quickly closed his fist and the triangle disappeared.
“Watcher-Who-Comes!” exclaimed Susnac. The Nac brothers lowered their clubs and stepped back.
“I will speak with Gorak,” repeated the man in black.
Council stories flooded Tolrak’s memory and he felt a cold tickle of fear growing in his stomach. It was a rare sensation for him and one he didn’t enjoy, but it decided him. “Come,” he growled. Without another word, he turned and walked back up the hill to the holding. The man in black dropped the bone and followed silently.
After a short walk, they neared a large rocky hillside, pock-marked by a series of caves. The area was devoid of trees with only dry brush adorning the scattered crevices.
As Tolrak and the man in black neared the holding, Morgurs burst from their caves like insects from a hive. A crowd formed in front of the largest cave and peppered the air with curses.
Tolrak stopped in front of the cave, held up his war club and announced, “Watcher-Who-Comes will see Gorak!”
The gathered crowd repeated the human’s name in hushed tones. Morgur mothers pulled their children to them and hurried to the safety of their caves. The mob melted away.
Tolrak entered the clan leaders’ cave and hurried toward the gathering room. He stopped short when he realized the man in black was not behind him. Watcher-Who-Comes had paused at the entrance and was offering homage to the carved image of Gris, the spirit god of caves. Embarrassment surged through Tolrak. That this human should remember to honor the gods when he had forgotten, rankled. As he waited, anger melted some of his fear and left a seed of hatred in its place.
The man in black finished and motioned for Tolrak to proceed. Tallow candles placed in notched recesses dimly lit the long winding tunnel leading to the gathering hall. Its walls were black with two hundred years of soot, and the floor rubbed smooth by thousands of hard, callused, Morgur feet. The deep sound of the slow-beating summoning drum echoed down the tunnels.
When they arrived at the chamber, the drumming ceased. The cave elders sat by rank along a bench carved into the far wall, Gorak in the center with sub-tribe leaders Moloch and Visnac on either side. Six other cave elders, each representing their respective holdings, flanked them. The elders sat silently, fanning Tolrak’s unease. He squelched his fear by channeling it into his growing hatred
Lit torches surrounded the center ring in front of Gorak and smoke drifted to the ceiling. Mindful of correct protocol, Tolrak stepped into the center of the ring. He scanned the crowd and turned to the elders. “Watcher-Who-Comes would speak to Gorak. He has shown the sacred symbol.”
Tolrak stepped out of the circle and sat at the feet of Gorak. He would watch this stranger and wait – as any good hunter would do. He grunted at his own cleverness.
Gorak rose. “Watcher-Who-Comes will speak with Gorak!”
Dieya entered the ring and strode to its center. “Gorak, it is good to see you again. I see that your fangs remain sharp!”
Gorak barked what passed as a laugh among the Morgur. “And I see you forget none of our ways, despite your long absence.” Gorak stepped down into the ring and placed a hand on the man in black’s shoulder. “It has been a long time, Watcher-Who-Comes, since the Dark Wars. We remember your aid and will hear your words.” Gorak returned to his seat.
Morgurs continued to filter into the gathering chamber from the many adjoining tunnels until the room barely contained them.
Dieya lowered his head for a moment, then raised it and spread his arms wide. His voice, unnaturally loud, carried to all in the chamber. “Watcher-Who-Comes needs the aid of the Rak tribe!”
“Point us to your enemies and we will destroy them!” yelled Gorak. The crowd howled their agreement.
Dieya continued. “The Rak know their land like the Torbu know their backsides.” This drew a round of Morgur laughter. “Watcher-Who-Comes seeks something on Rak land.”
“Name the cave and it is yours,” barked Gorak.
“Watcher-Who-Comes seeks a place. A place the flying creatures shun. A place the camar shun. A place you cannot see, but feel. And the feeling is of evil.”
Gorak nodded. “Our hunters have heard of such a place one fist of days walk from here to the North. We thought it just the frightened talk of women. Tell us, Watcher-Who-Comes, is it a danger to the tribe?”
The sorcerer hesitated as if unsure how to answer, then nodded. “It is not only a danger to the tribe, but a danger to the entire world.”
Gorak leaped from his seat. “We will gather the tribes and kill this danger!”
The assembly roared agreement and pounded their war clubs on the earth. Their loud cries echoed off the cave walls.
Dieya held up his arms for silence and his voice rose above the din. “This place cannot be smashed even by the mighty clubs of the Rak tribe. This place must be destroyed by spells.”
The uproar changed from wrath to whispers, driven by their atavistic fear of magic.
“Watcher-Who-Comes, what will you have us do?” asked Gorak.
“I need a brave Morgur to lead me to this place to observe it. The way the Rak watch the Torbu before they attack,” said Dieya.
Gorak smiled. “Ah, Watche
r-Who-Comes, you are true Rak!” He eyed the crowd and shouted, “Who will lead Watcher-Who-Comes to this place?”
Tolrak hoped no one would come to the aid of this human. It would leave the human humiliated in front of the entire tribe. He growled deep in his throat when Hotnac jumped to his feet.
“I will lead!” cried Hotnac.
Susnac, not to be outdone, shouted, “I, too, will go!”
A few younger Morgurs also volunteered.
Gorak stood and pointed with his war club. “Watcher-Who-Comes, Hotnac will lead you to this place.” He gestured toward the brothers. “But take Susnac also, as he will be intolerable without Hotnac.”
The Sorcerer smiled and nodded.
The Morgur tribe leader rose and opened his arms. “I – Gorak – Leader of the Rak tribe – declare this gathering over, and in honor of the return of Watcher-Who-Comes, declare tonight a Bacapik Feast night!”
The crowd whooped with glee, pounding the earth with their war clubs. Drums pounded as the Morgur began to dance, and, of course, broke into an occasional fight.
Smiling, Dieya joined Gorak and sat next to him. “I see the tribe has done well by you through the years.”
“Yes, and I by the tribe,” said Gorak, handing him a clay jug filled with tanga root juice. “We have had no wars since you last came, and plenty of rain and game. There have been a few encounters with the Torbu, but that has worth. It gives our young males a way to prove their value to the tribe.”
The Sorcerer smiled. “I see you have learned not only to be war leader but tribe leader as well.”
Gorak nodded. “It took me a while to see that cracking a head was not always the best answer, but I learned.”
“Would that all leaders had such wisdom,” said Dieya, taking a long drink of tanga.
Eating, dancing and boasting went on through the night, punctuated by ear-splitting Morgur “music” consisting mainly of howling to the beat of clubs on rocks or the occasional neighbor. Even though the elders accepted Watcher-Who-Comes, the younger Morgurs were leery of this human in their midst and they watched him with suspicion.
A river of tanga could not dull Tolrak’s growing hatred. His need for action heightened as he observed Watcher-Who-Comes being treated as an equal among the elders. Tolrak listened as an elder told a story of Watcher-Who-Comes during the Dark Wars. He saw how the younger Morgurs glanced with growing respect toward the human. They had once looked at Tolrak that way. Now, he was lowered in stature because of this human.
He could stand these insults no longer. Pushing his way to the center of the ring, Tolrak shouted, “Silence! Silence!” As the crowd quieted down, he raised his arms for their attention. “A human has come among us to drink our tanga and eat our grob. I see no war scars on this human. I have not seen him kill a Torbu.” He pointed a finger at the man in black. “I challenge this human to the Sathnee!”
The crowd stirred.
“Tolrak!” bellowed Gorak. “Watcher-Who-Comes is our guest! You dishonor us all!”
Dieya stood. “It is Tolrak’s right to issue the challenge.” He stared at Tolrak. “And I accept.”
The hooting throng moved outward, forming a circle around the ceremonial ring. Encouraging shouts bolstered Tolrak’s confidence and he played to the crowd. He knew his challenge would be fodder for many clan fire tales to come. After this night, his name would be spoken with respect.
Removing his camarskin tunic, Tolrak flexed his massive chest and arms for the crowd. They howled back and spirited wagering commenced. Dieya stood and removed his cape. As he placed it on his seat, Gorak touched his arm. “Watcher-Who-Comes,” Gorak said quietly, “Tolrak could be tribe leader someday,” he hesitated, “and a leader needs some pride.” The Morgur leader shifted his eyes. “He is also my son.”
Dieya nodded. “I will leave him as much pride as he can carry. It is up to him to see how much that will be.” Dieya entered the circle and stood at the center. Tolrak strode around the ring extolling the crowd to greater exuberance by more flexing and posing. He reveled in the Sathnee and rarely lost.
Tolrak walked to the center of the ring, extended his hands and growled at Watcher-Who-Comes. The Sorcerer clasped Tolrak’s upraised hands and interlocked fingers. “There is a lesson here if you can learn it,” said Dieya.
Tolrak snarled, “I will crush you, human!” Watcher-Who-Comes was dwarfed by the large Morgur and wagering increased.
Gorak stood and spoke the ritual words. “The fighters, having clasped hands, agree to the Sathnee.” Picking up a torch, he walked one-third of the way around the ring and waved the flame in a triangular pattern. “The first to touch a knee is loser.” Moving two-thirds around the ring, he stated the second rule. “The first to be forced from the ring is loser.” Moving to the third position and completing the triangle, he stated the last rule. “The first to release hands is loser. The tribe will witness the Sathnee so that all will know the place of the winner.” He eyed both combatants. “Anyone starting before the signal is given will be thrown from the cave.”
Tolrak, a veteran of dozens of Sathnees, chose his strategy. If his opponent was strong, he pushed him from the ring. If he was weak, he lifted and tossed him from the ring. If he wanted to humiliate his opponent, he drove him to his knees. This was his choice for the human – humiliation.
Gorak checked the combatants for the correct starting position. He raised his hand and a hush fell over the crowd. “Sathnee!” he yelled, his hand falling swiftly.
The crowd exploded with shouts, cheering their chosen champion.
Tolrak knew he had gotten the jump on his opponent when he felt no immediate pressure from the hands of Watcher-Who-Comes. He grinned as he forced the human’s hands back an inch. Using his height advantage, he brought his weight to bear, but Watcher-Who-Comes moved no further. Tolrak increased the pressure. Sweat began to pour from his brow into his eyes. Still, Watcher-Who-Comes did not move. Tolrak’s arms began to shake with exertion, but the human’s arms were rock steady. The crowd noise surged.
Tolrak changed his attack. He pulled his arms down to push his opponent out of the ring. It was as though he pushed a mountain. Tolrak’s eyes widened as he realized that Watcher-Who-Comes wasn’t struggling at all; he was simply watching him.
Unable to push the man in black, Tolrak shifted for the third attack. He tried to lift his arms to hurl Watcher-Who-Comes out of the ring but as soon as Tolrak ceased his pressure, Watcher-Who-Comes applied his own, bending Tolrak’s hands back. The crowd’s cacophony increased. Slowly, Tolrak’s hands and arms were bending backward, further…further.
His knees buckled. Looking into the eyes of Watcher-Who-Comes, Tolrak realized he was dealing with an unknown force, not a normal being. His strength was nothing against this power, but he could not give up. His knees moved closer to the ground. The crowd grew louder. He was Skull Leader. He could not let it end like this.
With a final burst of power, he struggled but still couldn’t move. Watcher-Who-Comes nodded almost imperceptibly, then lessened his downward pressure. Tolrak slowly straightened his knees.
The crowd roared.
Watcher-Who-Comes changed his attack and began pushing Tolrak from the ring. The Mogur dug his clawed toes into the ground and resisted with all his strength. Claw marks appeared in the hard-packed earth as Watcher-Who-Comes slowly forced Tolrak toward the edge of the ring.
Looking into Watcher-Who-Comes’ confident eyes, Tolrak realized he had been doomed from the beginning. It would have been easier to move a mountain. Inescapably, their hands still locked, Tolrak’s feet slid outside the ring.
The combatants released their grips and the cheers echoing from the cave walls were deafening. Much to Tolrak’s surprise, the tribe surrounded him and pounded him on the back as if he’d won.
As he stared at the retreating back of the h
uman, understanding flooded his mind. Watcher-Who-Comes could have humiliated him if he had chosen. That he did not opened Tolrak’s eyes. This could be a new way to lead warriors. It was a way to assert his strength and position yet still leave an underling some pride – pride that could become loyalty. Even though he lost the Sathnee, he felt that he had won something more valuable. Tolrak pushed away from his admirers and walked to the center of the ring. “Watcher-Who-Comes!” he bellowed. The crowd grew silent. “I have learned!”
“And what have you learned?” asked Dieya quietly.
Tolrak looked into the Sorcerer’s eyes and a flicker of understanding passed between them. The Mogur grinned. “Why, I have learned not to challenge Watcher-Who-Comes to Sathnee!”
The crowd laughed and clustered around Tolrak once again, pushing jugs of tanga juice into his hands. Tolrak stared thoughtfully at Watcher-Who-Comes until the crowd pulled him away.
This signaled the end of the night’s activities. The assembly drifted out of the gathering chamber to their nests. “Watcher-Who-Comes,” said Gorak, “we have prepared a fine sleeping chamber suited for humans.”
“Thank you, Gorak. The hospitality of the Rak is to be envied.”
“Come,” said Gorak, “you must rest. I will lead you to your pallet.”
Gorak and Dieya walked through the crowd, a few Morgurs venturing pats on the human’s back as he passed. A young Morgur, barely grown into his fighting fangs, touched Gorak’s arm. “Elder, why is he called ‘Watcher-Who-Comes’?”
Gorak looked down at the youth then back at the man in black, who had stopped to speak with Elder Molak. “Because, young one, he is one of those who watch, and when he is needed – he comes.”