Member
Fe’ris
and
Tekret
Shun Tzao was gray in the fur. In his lifetime, he had seen many Lapites come and go. When the tribe grew large, some would go their separate ways, striking off into the gently bobbing plains to make their fortunes. When some of the tribe were born with horns, he treated them no differently than he treated any other. When times were plenty, he gave thanks to the sun for every seed, nut, and blade of grass that kept the tribe healthy and full. When times were harsh, he still gave thanks, for he believed with all his soul that the gods were out there, watching. It was like his great-grandfather had said: The gods were among them, watching. They were being tested. And Shun Tzao liked to think he was doing a pretty good job at passing the test. He was sure there were other leaders out there, ones wiser and cleverer than he. But he kept the tribe together as best he could, and he doubted there were any among them who could do better.
He looked out over the rippling fields of grass where his Lapites worked, harvesting the useful plants that could be woven into a great many things. The setting sun set the prairie ablaze, a million wavering fronds painted gold and red by its rays. One far off, hunched over Lapite raised a paw in greeting. He raised his own back, twitching one long ear noncommitally. Yes, it had been a good life. And when he looked out over what he had helped build, his nose full of green growing things and peat, he felt good. They had fresh snowmelt to drink, miles and miles of foodstuffs, and the cold days were finally over. When the time came, they would do alright without him. Though, there was still one thing gnawing at his list of worries….
The back of his scruff stood on edge, and he hit the dirt, narrowly avoiding a cascade of pebbles that whizzed over his head, peppering the ground right in front of him like a vicious spat of hail. Still on all fours, he whirled around to see the mountain was enraged, chucking forth volley after volley of massive boulders, all on a collision course with the various huts, camps, and people below.
“Scatter!” He bellowed. “It’s happening again!”
For many cycles of the sun, the mountain that had birthed them had seemed determined to end them. Without warning, it would plague the valley below with quaking earth, mudslides, and rockfalls. He could only assume it was their fault, that they had angered the gods somehow. But without knowing how he could fix it, all he could do was tell them to run and hope for the best.
He sprinted one way, then sprang the other, paws slipping on the slick grass, constantly battling to hurl himself out of the way of one boulder, only to find himself in another’s path. The squealing of terrified Lapites haunted his ears, worsened only by the death shrieks and crunches of snapping bone. They were only reminders of how old he was, how his joints weren’t what they used to be, how--
His leg twisted in a knotted hole of sod, and he went down hard, chin thumping violently against the packed earth. Well, Shun Tzao thought as he lost consciousness, at least I won’t feel my body being crushed.
He woke up to darkness. No, not darkness-- a cloudy night sky, devoid of stars. A slightly less gray muzzle loomed over him, beady black eyes full of concern. His speckled brown eyebrows knitted themselves together, surely thinking of how they couldn’t bring themselves to worry so much about their old leader for much longer.
“Shun Tzao,” whined Lu Bu, “you shouldn’t have been so close to the Angry One. You know how volatile it’s been. That’s the third disaster this cycle. The does are afraid.”
“I’m sorry,” Shun Tzao replied, running a paw over his aching jaw, “but I couldn’t get a good enough view of the valley otherwise. Is everyone alright?”
Lu Bu’s eyes told the answer before his mouth even moved. He chose not to answer the question. “It’s been happening more frequently. I think… I think you should reconsider my idea.”
“Absolutely not,” huffed the older Lapite. “This valley has always been our home. Do you really think that life below the ground, beyond the rays of the Bright Mother, is a life worth living?”
“At least it’s life!” Lu Bu folded his arms, furious, refusing to help the injured Shun Tzao to a sitting position. Even in the dark, he could see the destruction the mountain had wrought. Their beautiful fields were pocked with craters, and the falling rocks had gouged massive trenches through their stream of drinking water, flooding some huts and waterlogging many sleeping nests. And all that annihilation didn’t include the lives lost in the chaos. Shun Tzao continued to rub his hurt jaw, not wanting to look Lu Bu in the eyes. “It’s more than what those who’ve died got! You don’t have the right to condemn us all to death, just because you’re the descendant of the first leader.” He was so livid, his whiskers trembled with every word. “It’s too dangerous up here, and you know it.”
Shun Tzao looked around, still taking in the demolition. Much had been leveled, and with there not being much of a settlement to begin with, it was especially devastating. Weak fires had sprouted up all around their living site. If they were willing to light tinder near such flammable grasses, just for a bit of warmth, they really must’ve been in a sorry state. It was heartbreaking.
“I will think on it, my friend. But in all honesty? It is not a decision I wish to make. I feel my time with the living is growing ever shorter.”
Other Lapites peered out of the springy stalks, their noses having brought them to the side of their hurt leader. They surrounded him, dozens of pinpricks of reflected eyelight, each pair of eyes and pair of ears attached to every word. Somewhere among them was his son. He took a deep breath.
“When I am no longer for this world, and have gone to be with the gods, Fengxian will take my place. He is ready to lead you all.”
“No! The boy is too young. Shun, your head is rattled! You’re not thinking clearly. Let’s get you to a nest, where you can recover and mull this over properly.”
“My mind is made up. Lu Bu, you will serve as his confidant, and aid him in his decision making.”
Lu Bu’s eyes glittered. They both knew that that meant he could have a hand in deciding whether they stayed in danger on the surface, or dwelled in safety underground. “Very well. The people have heard you. But you are not done with this world yet, old timer! Come, rest.”
The Lapites surged forward and wrapped him in comforting paws, whisking him away to a place of soft grasses and soothing woodsmoke.
The old lapite awoke to the rustling of leaves above him, each one given an amber glow by nearby fire that was now little but a smoldering pile. The steady light of embers was an orange red beacon in the night, warding off the cold and illuminating not only the rare tree above Shun Tzao, but a peculiar marble coloured Lapite sitting on the other side of the fire from him.
The odd Lapite seemed to be waiting for him, and as the elder woke a feminine voice spoke to him, its pitch and flow mirroring the crackling of the waning fire, “I’m glad to see you well, child.”
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t speak! In all his years, he had had many glimpses of the gods, but none so direct. Rather than stand, he knelt at the wide, flat feet of the alabaster Lapite.
Finally, he found his voice. “And I am glad to see you, Great One. I am humbled by your presence.”
There was a long pause before the, as Shun Tzao now noticed, faceless white Lapite replied, “You’ve served your people well, child. Better than they know. Were you only as naive as them, you might well consider what I have come to bestow on you a gift.”
“A gift?” Shun Tzao was honored, but confused. “My days are not many. If I am to receive a gift, I would prefer it go to my son, so that they may all know he is truly divinely selected.”
“Were it only that simple,” The voice grew gravelly, male, and rose with the flames of the once dying fire, “You have lived a life worthy of what I come to give. Your son has only taken his first steps. It is unfair, yes. Cruel? Perhaps. I have been both of these things in the past.”
The porcelain Lapite held out a hand, and in it a golden band materialized. It hung from the outstretched hand, growing as if it was alive, branching out until it sported two gleaming antlers. The god continued, “But only when it was necessary. I am sorry, child, for the burden you must bear. I am sorry that you will not have the rest you yearn for, but know that you are not alone in this world. Others have been chosen. They have only rarely found joy in my gift, this is true, but all of them have played a greater role than they might have without it. So too, will you.”
Shun Tzao took the band, his furred fingers trembling. “If you say I am best suited for the task ahead, then it must be true. I will lead my people for the rest of my days. I can only hope that I fulfill the role you have laid out for me.” He slipped the band onto his head, folding his ears through the gold loop. A great sense of trepidation washed over him. “I thank you for this gift. But who, may I ask, is the one giving it?” He stared deeply into the expressionless canvas of a face that the god bore. “I would like to share the name of a god with my kin.”
“I am Tekret Et Heret,” a thousand voices of every kind and creed rang out in a disjointed harmony, “God of Contracts, and the living furtherance of Order. Remember me if you will, forget me if you must, but take comfort in the knowledge that your gift is more than a symbol. That which you wear now will keep your people safe, for you will know of the danger that approaches them long before it reaches your tribe. It will do this for any man or woman your people see as their leader.”
The voices died down, and a fire that had been renewed was left once again a tiny city of embers. Again Shun heard the soft voice of a woman in the crackling of the dying fire, “Perhaps in time your son will be that Lapite, child. There is yet work to be done, but all find rest in time. Rule well, Shun Tzao.”
The God stood and there was a rustling from above, a branch bowed under an unseen weight, and soon Tekret Et Heret was in the distance, casually taking steps that seemed to propel the divine across the ground.
The old hare was asleep, Lu Bu was sure of it. If he wasn’t sure, he wouldn’t have dared slink back up the mountainside that had caused so much strife, but he was sure, and so he did dare. The rugged terrain was home to many dangers, not limited to the occasional rockslide and avalanche. It was rife with ferocious, deadly creatures, like the stocky stonebirds and strange, terrible Embryos. If one survived those, eventually the air itself would turn against them, growing bitter and thin. But thankfully, Lu Bu wasn’t going to the peak. An hour or two of hopping his way up the slopes, and he had found his goal.
A small patch of dried blood, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding brown dirt. To any other creature, it would’ve been unnoticable, completely impossible to make out amidst all the miles of granite, gravel, dirt, and snow. But to a Lapite, it was like a beacon. Something in their instincts, something deeper than thought, told them that that was their birthplace. That that patch of blood was made of the same stuff that pumped through all their veins at a million miles a minute. He crouched down and stuffed his paws in it, coating them thoroughly in the iron-rich dirt.
“Please,” breathed Lu Bu, “I don’t know if you’re out there, or if you’re real, but please hear me. Shun Tzao is an old fool, and his son is a young idiot. We have been lead well for many cycles, but I fear that that time has come to an end. He has proclaimed to them all that his son shall follow him, not me. Please, if you’re out there, give me a way to save my people.”
A chill ran down him, setting every tuft of fur quivering. Was something watching him? Was it a stone bird? A wolf? An embryo, even? His bony knees knocked together uncontrollably, sending up a cloud of shedded fur. Something was out there. Something not necessarily nice. His heart beat so hard, he thought it might burst. Every part of him screamed to run away, to tear back down that mountain before they found his mauled corpse spread out across the valley floor.
He gulped and found his resolve, tenderly smoothing back down his ruffled chest fur with his dirtied paws. No. He was desperate, and desperate people didn’t run. The gods would protect him during prayer, he was pretty sure of that.
“I promised no such thing.”
Gasping with fright, Lu Bu whirled around frantically, searching for a source that was not there. All he could see were stones and sky
“Hello? Who’s there?”
“You prayed to me, did you not?” The voice flowed down his spine like a trickle of ice water, already sounding annoyed. Not a good start.
“If you are a god, yes, I did! If not, s-show yourself!”
“I give in to no demands.”
Lu Bu gulped again. This was clearly a god. He had to be more tactful! He didn’t want to get turned into a frog, or worse, a worm. He needed to be more polite.
“My deepest apologies, O’ mighty god. Can you help me?”
Footprints appeared in the grit, neat and severe in their impressions. Every new print threatened to stop his heart, but he did his best to remain calm. He was rather old himself, and he had no idea the next time he might meet an actual, real, god.
“I would prefer you helped yourself.”
That gave Lu Bu pause. A god who didn’t do godly things, like help mortals? What sort of god was THAT?! That wasn’t very godly at all. What was even the point of answering a prayer, then? He scuffed a back paw in the dirt, trying to hide his confusion and irritation.
“I have tried, your godliness, but no such circumstance has arisen. Every time I have tried to take power, the rest of the Lapites have deferred to Shun Tzao. There are only a small minority of us who are not entranced by the sun, who would prefer safety, even if it means darkness.”
“Darkness.” The god’s chilly voice was an ominous purr. “I am quite fond of darkness.”
“Will you help me?”
His heart beat a hundred times. Then two hundred. He was starting to wonder if the god had abandoned him, when a pair of reflective, black flint chips floated up into the air, a few ear lengths in front of his face. Before his eyes, they yellowed, turning shiny and golden, fashioned by an invisible force into a fat, gleaming, embossed rings, streaked with veins of reddish ore.
“I give to you the Band of Want. It will further enable you to pursue your desires. You will be incredibly driven, and your strength and energy will be far greater. Those around you will also feel its influence, so you must be careful, lest they covet it for themselves.
“I am grateful, but I cannot discern how I am supposed to lead my band of Lapites with this ring. It’s not like it makes me strong, or a good leader, or anything of the sort.”
“Patience,” hissed the voice. “It amplifies what is already within. You will become a tireless, diligent worker, and others will rally around you. If you wish to delve into the caves, you must be willing to carve a new life for yourself. Are you willing?”
“I am willing.”
“Good,” rumbled the voice, sounding much like a snake that had finally cornered its mouse, “this pleases me greatly. But I give no such gifts without proper recompense.”
“Recompense?”
“You will do something for me, in return. You and your coven of cavedwellers shall value hard work above all else. You will honor the horned ones. And you must worship the moon.”
“The moon? Your holiness, I don’t understand, how can we worship the moon if we can’t see the sky--”
“Unfaithfulness will render your ring useless! Now begone. I tire of your questions.”
Too scared of the deity to argue further, Lu Bu snatched up the rings and skittered away, back into the safety of the darkened fields.
Fe’ris stood there, invisible, his gaze on the valley below. If they were smart, they would leave, for the wide spaces of Galbar remained many, and there was more than enough room for all the fledgling races to sprawl. But he had made them as stubborn as they were skittish, and should they be gripped hard enough by tradition, they would stay until every one of them was crushed by the residual rage of the mountain. It was as frustrating as it was inevitable.
He went to return to his domain form, to spread his sinewy wings and renew the search, when he felt it. The same presence he had felt in the Blood Basin, only a thousand times stronger. It was near! His journey was over!
It ended on a hill. A simple mound of dirt covered in golden tallgrass that was far from the Lapites, though near by the reckoning of gods. Upon it a god sat cross legged. Gone was the form of a Lapite, Human, or Vrool. The divine had assumed another shape. Lithe, tall, bearing the ever common two legs and arms, but topped by a narrow head with sunken holes where wide eyes might have been; it was the form of a memory half forgotten. Nothing that lived now looked like it, and it was not a perfect copy of anything that had ever lived. Still, it was close. Close to the beginning.
“Greetings,” said Fe’ris tentatively, approaching like one would approach a deer. “You are the God of Contracts, correct?”
The porcelain figure that was a god looked up to its peer, and voices that had only ever sounded once called out from the wind, “Yes. And you are Fe’ris, though what you are a god of I know not.”
He willed himself visible and spread his arms wide, dark cape fluttering around them as a hot and heavy wind swept down the mountainside, carrying with it the scent of heavy metals, of copper and iron, of blood. “I am the God of Ambition. Where mortals are desiring, I am there. I pick no sides, neither good or evil. And I feel you are the same.”
“The same?” The wind questioned, “Perhaps they see it that way, sibling, but I fear I am ever a creature of sides. I exist to further Order, to uphold the Contracts that define it, yes, but I do not act towards that goal without reason. There must be Order, for Order is respite. A peace from a world in which there is nothing but competition, violence, ambition.”
There was a pause, and the wind stilled with it, before a breeze carried the god’s message, “I fear, sibling of mine, that you rule over a far greater world than I.”
The red god’s arms fell to his side once more, and while his expression didn’t change, his sharp voice took on a tone of disappointment. “It seems we are less similar than I anticipated. Your constrictive Order and my freeing Ambition are at odds. It would take a conscious effort to keep the two of us from following suit, sibling. May your gifts bring prosperity, as mine bring intrigue.” The wind kicked up again, stirring around a cloud of russet dust, and his humanoid body fell away to reveal a towering, hulking beast of fur and scales. He nodded his angular head at Tekret’s true form, then turned to fly away. Perched on an outcropping of stone, he hesitated, hoping the voices would leave him with a parting gift of sorts, perhaps a promise of peace between their opposing values.
Tekret grasped a single stalk of grass and tore it free. The god casually regarded the simple thing, and as it did an assurance was carried on the tepid gusts as they moved across the plains, “I wouldn’t worry, Fe’ris. I cannot stamp out the chaos in which you thrive, nor would I. Life requires pain, change, and more besides. All I seek to provide is a break when it’s needed. A moment of peace in a greater story, if allowed.”
He swished his tail in response, and with a great gust of wind, the bat dragon was whisked away. He was off to meet the one he’d always wanted to find.
He was off to meet Gibbou.
