Lord Zee
yoshua171Together, Again
For the second time the Alminaki met. Not all, but many. Most. Some had refused, unconcerned with the affairs of others, some had wandered too far to be found, and others? The world was not a kind place. That so many were here, or even elsewhere, was a miracle in and of itself.
It would have been a joyous occasion, were it not for the reason it was happening at all. Two groups wandering through the caves and crevasses of the great desert had met at an underground spring, and one had declared it was theirs. The other disagreed. Patience and diplomacy failed and the two came to blows. Passion made those blows violent.
Three had died. The group that had claimed the spring fled and spread their word, the one that had taken it from them shared their bounty and spread theirs. Now a mass of Alminaki met under a great ravine, the last vestiges of daylight lighting their grave assembly.
One shouted, “They’re murders! It was our spring, we found it!”
Another retorted, “Only to keep it secret! Water is precious, you can't hoard all you find! We have shared it, as it should be!”
There was a susurration, and though some sided with the first speaker the bulk seemed to acknowledge the logic of the second. To have water at all times was excellent, and a reward for finding it. None disputed this, but to keep it all for yourself? That was… Different. The Alminaki needed little water, but in time they would die of thirst just like any other. The desert was unforgiving.
The murmurs were cut off as an older, deeper, voice echoed in the ravine, “Silence! We are here because of your dispute, but we will not sit and listen to you bicker. I will not. Our people have died, by the hand of one another, can we not agree that this is the greater issue? We must not take each other's lives, the sands already do that easily enough.”
“And yet, Ketalu, it has been done.” A ruddy skinned woman intoned, “We must consider the circumstances. They are not wrong to bicker. Who is at fault here matters.”
Ketalu scoffed, “They are both at fault. What matters is this does not happen again, Asmanaye.”
Asmanaye glared at him and spoke as cooly, “How do you expect it to not happen again if we don’t assign blame, and punishment? We all denounce the killing, but what is to stop it if there are no consequences for the killers?”
“Then we punish all of them.” Ketalu said matter-of-factly.
“Hah!” A young man, prominent among those who had taken the water, chuckled, “How, Ketalu? We have shared the water, look around you. Who here will punish us for sharing the water which keeps us all alive? Asmanaye is right, there is blame, and it belongs to them!”
The man pointed at the group that had first found the water. Many still bore bruises and cuts. They had been outnumbered and it was little surprise that two of the three dead belonged to them. One of the more badly injured rasped, “We did nothing! You had no right Takule! You attacked and killed us for something that wasn’t yours!”
The gathered Alminaki broke out into a raucous argument so loud sand began to fall from the edges of the ravine, disturbed by the noise. Many stood, some brandished rocks, and just when it seemed like disaster might strike another voice rang out, louder still than the accumulated fury of a people, “I believe, perhaps, that the trouble isn’t who to blame.”
Instantly the eyes of the Alminaki fixated on the speaker. How they hadn’t noticed him was a mystery, but in a darkened corner sat a porcelain Alminaki man without a face. Men and women alike recoiled, and more than one stone was thrown, but they did nothing to the sitting figure. Silence crashed down on the assembled and some among the Alminaki began to whisper, “God.”
For his part Tekret Et Heret only sighed, “Please don’t throw things, children. It will do you no good.”
Few had the courage to speak, least of all those who had thrown stones, Takule among them. Asmanaye regarded the god cautiously before asking the question on everyone’s mind, “Then, god, what would the trouble be?”
“It would be the fact that you never agreed on what to do about scarce water, and murder for that matter, in the first place, child.” The alabaster figure shrugged, “If there are no understandings, no agreements, how else can disputes be resolved if not with violence?”
Again, many began to mutter. Most saw murder as wrong, but was it murder? Self defense? Righteous action on behalf of all Alminaki? The god was right. They had never agreed on what even constituted murder, let alone what to do with the resources they found. Most saw the point, although some took the words as little more than validation. Takule, in particular, seemed quite pleased. It was a sad reality that some only heard what they wanted to.
Still, Ketalu was unsure and he said as much, “I don’t contest your words, god, but we are few. If we kill each other then we will be fewer still! There must be an example.”
Tekret met Ketalu’s gaze with a faceless stare before speaking again, “Perhaps, but if it is an example you must make, then why not use it as an opportunity to prevent such violence from happening again? I am Tekret Et Heret, the God of Contracts, and I have come to offer you my services.”
Silence, again. Many eyed Takule, who shouted, “The ones who hoarded the water must be punished! Sent into the sands! A god has come to see it done!”
The group eyed the sitting figure, but Tekret made no comment. Takule hesitated, and in that moment Asmanaye guffawed and retorted, “A God of Contracts you idiot. He’s here to help us come to an agreement on what should be done in the future, the punishment is ours to decide. And I wouldn’t be so arrogant, Takule, your ilk have killed just as they have. Maybe Ketalu is right.”
There was, again, almost a fight. The one difference being none forgot the god in their presence. In fact, it seemed that for all they shouted the more they came to agree. They all knew murder was wrong, but they also knew you had to defend yourself. With that they came to agree that the ones who had hoarded the water were innocent of murder, but they also knew that the water could not belong to any one Alminaki. If it did they would all surely die. So both sides were guilty, but as the debate raged on Takule’s allies seemed to fade.
Hoarding water was one thing, yes, but Takule and his people had not been particularly thirsty. They had resorted to violence, murder even, over principle rather than need. It was agreed, in the end, that they merited the greater punishment. Not death, though. There were too few Alminaki. The shouting died down and the discussion turned to the punishment for each of the two tribes. It was a talk cut short.
Takule cried in outrage, “You can’t blame us! We shared our water, you, you traitors! I won-”
The young man’s voice went weak as the sitting good nodded and stood. Tekret Et Heret spoke in a booming voice, to all the Alminaki, “And so you have come to an agreement, minus a few details. It is not perfect, but it is enough. You have agreed to a code, children, and I expect you to follow it.”
Tekret stepped towards Takule, and the man tried to run. He didn’t get far, as he and his tribe were all but pushed at the god. A hand whiter than death fell on Takule’s shoulder and gripped hard.
Takule screamed and writhed in an attempt to get free. Many winced, but a minute passed and still the boy squirmed. The assembled grew confused, and though Takule seemed to be growing weaker none could tell what exactly the God was doing beyond holding him there. At least, not until something caught Asmanaye’s eye.
On the smooth stone wall of the ravine dark red symbols began to take shape. They cut themselves deep into the rock and… Began to drip. Rivulets of red blood ran down the stone and Asmanaye glared at the god, “We did not agree to kill him.”
“No,” Tekret agreed and let go, allowing Takule to fall to the ground, “But he has given all that he took. He will not die, if you allow him to drink and rest, but the fruit of his crime has left him.”
Others looked up at the symbols in horror and awe. It was not unfair, in its way, even Takule could not say it was a truly painful thing, but it was gruesome. Many averted their eyes. None stopped Tekret from moving from person to person. All those to be punished contributed blood to the symbols on the wall, some less willingly than others, but none escaped.
When it was done even Ketalu was unsettled. Tekret looked around and addressed the assembled, “Be aware, Children, that this is the one time I will do your work for you. I am not the God of punishment, and I do not wish to be either. You asked for an example, you forged a contract, and I provided you with what you wanted. Now! Look!”
The Alminaki did, and they understood. The bloody symbols sunken into the ravines wall turned to meanings in their minds, and they realized that there before them was the code they had argued and agreed on. Murder was to be punished, except in defense of ones self or people. Water was to be shared, freely and equally. Failing to do so was to invite punishment.
There was but one addition they hadn’t added. This wall of blood was to be the place of new contracts. If again the Alminaki found themselves at an impasse, unable to decide what should be done, they could come here and an accord could, would, be struck.
Asmanaye sighed, but nodded. None of the punished would die, and a divine code had been laid down. It was everything the Alminaki had gathered to do. No matter how it felt. She stood and addressed the god, “Very well. Tekret Et Heret, God of Contracts, I accept your action. I do not enjoy it, but I do accept it.”
The sentiment was echoed, and when Tekret spoke again, their voice was melancholy, “It is not what I wished either, Asmanaye of the Alminaki. It is what was necessary. As is this.”
The god held out a hand, and in it were nine blood red pendants that shined like jewels. Asmanaye took them, hesitantly, and Tekret explained, “You have sworn a contract to keep the peace, but it was not easy. Your people would have come to blows, were it not for my presence. So, I give you these. Already you represent your tribe, as Ketalu and Takule do theirs. Distribute these to the others who command their peoples respect, who have sworn to defend their interests. It will grant you the power to do as I have done here. As I said, I am not a god of punishment. That falls to you.”
With that the god walked off, and the male Alminaki features he wore faded to nothing. None followed. Almost at once Asmanaye was beset upon by tribes that desired one of the pendants, but where there might have been violence before there was only discussion.
It was three days before the nine Elders of the Alminaki left that ravine with what were new, more sizable, tribes. They had not done so with blood, but on the ravines wall, opposite the God's contract, they had left nine carven marks arranged in a circle.
It was, for the Alminaki, another beginning.
