One Tribe
Blood Dawn, Part IX
by
Rich
Wulf
The Burning Sands…
“The
Emperor’s brother, his guardian, his shugenja, and his betrothed, all lost in
the desert far from their home,” Adisabah said, settling into his story.
“Adisabah saw them, from the spires of its castle. It saw the ambition, the
fear, the devotion, and the hatred painted on their souls and found this to be
an interesting display. So Adisabah collected them.”
Katamari
looked at the Rakshasa in surprise. “You… collected them?”
“Such
was not unusual,” Adisabah replied. “It was a vain and capricious creature in
those days, quite accustomed to its own superiority. It knew neither morals nor
allegiances nor any limits upon its power. It collected these four souls and
placed them in its castle, merely to… look upon them from time to time. Much as
you might collect fish in a garden pond.”
“Fish
do not practice maho,” Katamari replied.
“Neither
did Otomo Jama, really,” Adisabah replied. “Yajinden and Jama both knew much of
maho, this is true, but they did not practice it, not yet. The only one of the
four who was Tainted then was Suru. Jama was intrigued by the power of maho,
but did not wish for it to control him; until he could find a way to control it
in turn he learned its ways but never drew upon its power. He forced Suru and
others to use such dark arts in his stead, while he and Yajinden remained
pure.”
“Then
Suru was a fool,” Katamari said.
“It
is not so simple as that,” Adisabah said. “These four… they bore bonds between
them that it had never seen before, and has never seen since. Suru served Jama
with all his heart and soul, accepting the others with equal fervor merely
because Jama did. Tsugiko was a rare treasure – she loved Jama truly, shared
the devotion Yajinden then still had for the Fortunes, and sympathized with the
pain Suru endured in the name of his master. Yajinden worshipped Jama for his
keen mind, trusted Suru as a brother, and viewed Tsugiko with a covetous eye
that he would never admit to any, not even himself.”
“And
Jama?” Katamari asked.
“That is the best part,” Adisabah said. “Jama despised them all, but he needed them all, so they were ever by his side.”
“Even
Tsugiko, the one who was so devoted to him?” Katamari asked.
“Oh,
Jama loved her,” Adisabah replied. “He also hated her. These things are not
mutually exclusive.”
“I
do not believe that is possible,” Katamari said firmly.
“That
is why you are the Doomseeker, and I am a beast,” Adisabah replied. “At any
rate, for these four it crafted a special spell, a prison that entertained
Adisabah’s arrogant nature. So long as the four survived, all would remain
healthy and strong. If Jama attempted to escape in any way, the spell would
take his life but the others would be free. If any of the others escaped, they
would be free, but the other three would die. If any one of them attacked one
of the others, all four would perish. So bound by chains of their own devotion,
Adisabah reasoned that an escape, while not impossible, would at the least be
interesting – and remaining entertained is so important when one is immortal.”
“You
are insane,” Katamari said.
“It
was insane, this is true,” Adisabah replied. “It likes to think it has changed
since then, but it is difficult to see one’s soul from inside it.”
“So
how did they escape?” Katamari asked. “I assume that they did.”
Adisabah
nodded. “Jama left his home, remember, seeking khadi lore. This he found, in my
endless libraries. He did not learn enough to know how to remove his heart, but
he learned of people and places where he could find the knowledge that he
sought, he instantly made his escape.”
“How?”
Katamari asked.
“He
told Doji Tsugiko to take her own life,” Adisabah said, “and thus she did, and
they were free. He never thought of her again, though others did.”
“He
commanded his beloved to die?” Katamari asked, shocked.
“This
is the jailer, Doomseeker,” Adisabah said. “A man who makes others love him and
commands them to die without hesitation or remorse. This is the man you fight.”
Iuchi
Katamari did not reply for a long moment. “Go on,” he finally said.
Adisabah
smiled. “So Jama continued on his way to that most wonderful and wretched of
all cities in this or any world – Medinaat-al-Salaam…”
•
Elsewhere…
The
Nezumi looked at his reflection in the still water. Liquid black eyes gazed
back at him from a sleek, handsome face covered in short tan fur. The fur
around his cheeks was braided with beads, shiny bits of metal, and feathers.
Well trimmed whiskers hung evenly on either side of his snout. He was every bit
the image of a hale, healthy Nezumi – if a bit smaller than most. Even so, as
the Nameseeker studied his image, he could not shake the feeling that something
was slightly wrong.
“What
do you see, Te’tik’kir?” asked a deep voice from deeper in the cave. “You find
vision of the future or just stop-stop to admire your pretty fur?”
Te’tik’kir
looked over his shoulder quickly, surprised at the sound of the voice. A
massive silver Nezumi crouched by a fire at the far end of the cave. He wore
tattered, piecemeal samurai armor, spoils collected over a long life in the
Shadowlands. A metal tsuba covered one eye, but failed to cover the deep scar
that bisected the Nezumi’s face. It took Te’tik’kir a moment to recognize him.
This was Mat’tck, chieftain of the Crippled Bone, his greatest ally and perhaps
only true friend. The other members of the tribe never truly understood
Te’tik’kir, only truly valued him for his magic. Mat’tck was not like the
others. He was cunning, brave, not afraid to make sacrifices for the future of
the tribe. Of course, even Mat’tck sometimes did not go far enough. He thought
to much of Today. Te’tik’kir always thought about Tomorrow. Most Nezumi thought
of Tomorrow as death; Te’tik’kir saw greater potential than mere death in the
future’s mysteries.
How
strange, Te’tik’kir thought, that he should not have recognized his chieftain
right away.
“You
sick, Te’tik’kir?” Mat’tck asked, looking at his friend with a concerned
twitch. “You no look well.”
“Fine,
fine,” Te’tik’kir replied, shaking his head to clear his confusing thoughts.
“Not enough time to rest. Need to return to dream, commune with Transcendent,
find out safest path for tribe.”
“No
time to rest-rest,” Mat’tck said. “Scouts say Terrors still follow-follow close
behind. Need to keep moving.” The old chieftain sighed. “Need to keep running.”
“We
will come back one day,” Te’tik’kir said, an eager light in his eyes.
“Elemental Terrors can chase the Crippled Bone from their land, but the One
Tribe can take-take it back, spit on Heaven’s Grave, and steal the Shadowlands
back from Tomorrow.”
“We
talk-talk about this many times, Te’tik’kir,” Mat’tck said, fixing his red eye
on the shaman. “Even if all tribes band together, Heaven’s Grave dangerous
place. Other tribes… Tattered Ear… Third Whisker… they are not warriors like
Crippled Bone. I wonder-wonder if One Tribe is only a dream…”
“Only
dream, yes,” Te’tik’kir replied, “but dreams are powerful things. Lesser tribes
could be warriors again, like Crippled Bone… all they need is strong leader to
unite them.”
“To
conquer them you mean,” Mat’tck said.
“If
need be, yes,” Te’tik’kir replied. “Loss of a few Nezumi nothing compared to
strength of the One Tribe. I see-see it clear, Mat’tck.”
“Do
you?” the chieftain asked. “I dream, like you dream, Te’tik’kir. I dream the
One Tribe will return. I dream we will tear Fu Leng from Heaven’s Grave and
hurl him back into sky where he was born. I dream Shadowlands will grow-grow
green and lush and the Nezumi Empire be reborn from dream. But I will not
build-build that Empire on the bones of Nezumi. I will let the Terrors kill us
all before I raise a spear against my own kind.”
“The
One Tribe will never be if we let ourselves die,” Te’tik’kir said bitterly.
“So
we will die,” Mat’tck replied, though his voice was firm and strong. “And we
die-die without fear, spitting in Tomorrow’s face. Our final battle will shake
the heavens. The telling of the tale shall be heard from the Third Whisker
Warrens to the Green-Green-White Forests. All shall know the strength of the
Crippled Bone, and our Name be remembered forever. The other tribes will
whisper our names, and their fear will run away. So will the One Tribe be
born.”
Te’tik’kir
opened his mouth to reply, but the words would not come. He could not think of
a thing to say in reply to such a stirring speech…
“He
is a fool,” the Dark Oracle of Earth replied.
“Why
would you throw your life away so, Nezumi?” the Dark Oracle of Water finished.
The
vision of Mat’tck faded, to be replaced with four oracles, standing in the
depths of their volcano. The air was polluted with searing ash and acrid smoke.
Bubbling lava scorched the earth in rivulets, emptying into pools of steaming
muck. The four figures stood in the heart of the conflagration, unaffected and
uncaring of the destruction their presence wrought. Te’tik’kir stood before
them, spear held in both hands. Nezumi magic drew upon the power of Name, one’s
sense of self as well as one’s ability to fulfill one’s greater purpose. When
Te’tik’kir’s path was clear and focused, few other shamans could match his
power. Today, in this place, the elements could do him no harm.
“You
cannot kill me,” Te’tik’kir said.
“Burn,
vermin” the Dark Oracle of Fire said.
Green
flames washed over the Nameseeker, but he stood untouched within them.
“How?”
the Dark Oracle of Earth asked.
“Your
secrets easy to find-find for one who sees the depths of dream and nightmare,”
Te’tik’kir replied. “I know your rules. I take no action against you, I pose
you no threat. You cannot kill-kill me.”
“Yet,”
the Dark Oracle of Air replied.
“Let
me speak-speak, you will no wish to harm me,” the Nezumi said.
“Then
speak,” the Dark Oracle of Water answered.
“The
power of Name magic is strong,” Te’tik’kir said. “Stronger, even, then the
elemental magic that binds you. Aid me, and you can be free.”
“How?”
the Dark Oracle of Earth asked.
“I
will unite the One Tribe, who once ruled all these lands,” Te’tik’kir said.
“The humans cannot destroy Heaven’s Grave – they cannot come close without
losing their Name to Fu Leng. But Nezumi… Nezumi are too strong for Fu Leng to
take our Name away. With the One Tribe, we can destroy the demons. We can fight
back the goblins. With the One Tribe, Nezumi can pry Fu Leng from his grave and
throw-throw him back into the heavens. You will be free.”
The
Dark Oracle of Air frowned. “Interesting. What do you ask of us, Nezumi?”
“Chieftain
of Crippled Bone is wise and strong, but afraid to command other tribes as he
should,” Te’tik’kir said. “Unleash your demons on Crippled Bone Tribe. Force us
to march north, out of Shadowlands. Once we have lost our home, Mat’tck will
see the truth. He will conquer the tribes, as is fitting one of his Name. One
Tribe shall be reborn.”
“A
desperate, but intriguing gambit,” the Dark Oracle of Fire replied.
“Then
my time has come to ask one question, as is my right,” the Nezumi said. “Will
it work? If we drive the Crippled Bone north, will the One Tribe be reborn?
Will I live to see it?”
The
Dark Oracle of Earth nodded. “Yes.”
“Then
let the bargain be sealed,” Te’tik’kir said, bowing to the Oracles in the
manner of a Rokugani.
When
Te’tik’kir straightened once more, he stood in the center of a field of
corpses. Fallen Nezumi warriors lay strewn in every direction. The shambling
forms of horrid beasts, creatures built of solid stone hounded the fleeing
survivors. He tried to summon his magic, to call upon a bolt of lightning to
slay one of the beasts… the magic could not come. He had failed his people,
failed his purpose. His Name was weak. Te’tik’kir felt the strength drain from
his small body. He fell to his knees, clutching his spear in his hands. He had
been a fool. A stupid, arrogant fool. His tribe had been right to shun him. And
Mat’tck…
“Te’tik’kir,”
whispered a hoarse voice.
The
young shaman looked up hopefully at the sound of his chieftain’s voice. The
hope left his eyes just as quickly. Mat’tck lay at the base of a large boulder,
a stone shard piercing his body. One arm lay on the earth nearby, torn from its
socket. The Terrors of Earth had not been merciful. Te’tik’kir ran to Mat’tck’s
side, summoning his magic to numb his chieftain’s pain.
“I
am sorry, chieftain,” Te’tik’kir whispered.
Mat’tck
frowned. “Te’tik’kir…” the chieftain said, single eye staring desperately at his
old friend. “Did we… did we shake the heavens?”
Te’tik’kir
bowed his head. A single tear ran down his snout and hung from his whiskers.
“Yes, Mat’tck,” he said. “We did.”
Mat’tck
sighed and his lips curled in a smile. His tail twitched a final time and his
good eye fixed unseeing on the sky. Te’tik’kir buried his face him his paws,
overcome with shame and guilt.
“All
great leaders make a single mistake,” the Dark Oracle of Earth called out from
behind him. “Mat’tck’s mistake was trusting you.”
Te’tik’kir
looked up from where he crouched as the Oracle approached, surrounded by her
stone demons. She looked down at Te’tik’kir with a mix of pity and disgust.
“I
did not want this to happen,” Te’tik’kir said, sobbing.
“Idiot,”
the Dark Oracle replied. “You are not the first mortal who believed he could
use us against the Ninth Kami. You will not be the last. Your Crippled Bone
Tribe will perish before this day has passed, and one more of Fu Leng’s enemies
will fade into your Tomorrow.”
“Then
kill me,” Te’tik’kir said, defeated.
“I
will,” the Dark Oracle replied. “Once you have watched us exterminate your
tribe. I promised you would live to see the One Tribe united and you will… one
tribe, united in death.” The Dark Oracle of Earth extended one hand toward a
fleeing Nezumi.
“Die,”
she said, summoning her magic.
Nothing
happened.
The
Dark Oracle blinked, confused. Her Terrors shifted uneasily. The fleeing
warrior looked back in terror, equally confused that he was still alive.
Te’tik’kir
rose to his feet and turned to face her, anger blazing in his black eyes. He
held his spear out defiantly. An aura of power swirled about him with quiet
menace as the shaman drew upon his magic.
“No
more Crippled Bone die today,” he snarled, his voice echoing with power. “I
will burn a path into Tomorrow and carry you with me, Oracle!”
“Kill
him!” the Dark Oracle said, gesturing at the shaman desperately.
Te’tik’kir
brought his staff down on the ground with a thunderous crash. The Elemental
Terrors screamed in agony as the shaman’s magic tore through their bodies,
returning them to the earth that created them. The Dark Oracle remained
unscathed, standing amid piles of rubble.
Their
magic evenly matched, the Oracle slowly drew the katana from her hip and
advanced toward the shaman. She cut the air with a neat slash, cutting his
spear in two. Te’tik’kir tossed the broken halves aside before she finished her
stroke and leapt upon her, shrieking like an animal.
The
Dark Oracle of Earth crumbled in a fury of flashing teeth and savage claws.
Te’tik’kir
awakened as he always did, sitting at the crest of a mountain, overlooking the
Shadowlands. The world spread out in every direction before him, blasted
plains, surging seas, jagged mountains reaching for the sky. He had only really
been to this place once in his life, when he was only a pup. Overcome by the
teasing and insults of his littermates he had snuck off alone and found himself
here. It was here that he had first realized how big the world really was,
bigger than the cloistered world of the tribe. Though the landscape was dead
and polluted he could see beyond it, see the beautiful world that had existed
here before Fu Leng fell from the sky and corrupted all.
He
had only been here once, and the memory had remained. He could not truly say
for certain where this place even was… such facts mattered little in I-thich,
the Realm of Dreams. Here, all his brightest memories were as fresh as the day
he found them, as were his deepest failures. The old Nezumi looked down at his
paws, now creased with age. His once tan fur was not shot through with white.
“How
much longer?” Te’tik’kir whispered to the empty air.
“Silly
Nameseeker,” the spirits replied. Te’tik’kir could feel, if not see, their
presence. They were the Transcendent, shaman like himself who had become
powerful beings of pure dream, guiding and protecting the Nezumi race. “All
your life you wished to live, to rule, to be remembered forever. You live twice
as long as oldest Nezumi before you. You rule Crippled Bone, mightiest of the
tribes. Your Name echoes through myth and legend. Is this not what you wanted?”
“It
is not,” Te’tik’kir replied.
“Then
you have gained wisdom, Te’tik’kir,” the spirits replied. “The Dark Oracles
promised you would live to see the One Tribe, for they foretold the destruction
of the Crippled Bone. In the end, your Name was strong enough to alter the fate
they foresaw, yet their promise holds you to the mortal realm. Soon, that
promise will be fulfilled. You will take your place among us.”
Te’tik’kir
looked up, his ancient eyes lighting with a flicker of long-forgotten hope.
“The One Tribe?” he asked. “I will live to see it?”
“Awaken,
Te’tik’kir,” the spirits replied, and as the dream world faded the old shaman
almost felt he sensed a strange sadness in their voices.
•
The
Meeting Place was silent today. The Nezumi warriors who stood guard here were
nervous, watchful. Only Te’tik’kir seemed unconcerned, kneeling in meditation
by the fire.
“This
is foolishness,” Kan’ok’ticheck growled, pacing the earth near the shaman’s
meager fire. “We should go from this place. Tsuno march with Dark Lord. They
cannot be trusted.”
“Tsuno
are not of the Shadowlands,” Te’tik’kir replied, not opening his eyes. “They
are older than Heaven’s Grave.”
“What
difference does that make?” Kan’ok’ticheck retorted. “Taint is Taint. If you
march with Taint, you are enemy of all Nezumi. That is all we need to know.”
“Would
you condemn the Stained Paw as well?” Te’tik’kir asked.
“Yes,”
Kan’ok’ticheck said fiercely.
Te’tik’kir
opened his eyes and looked up sadly at the large white Ratling. “The Stained
Paw are not evil, Kan’ok’ticheck.”
“They
stand-stand with Dark Lord,” Kan’ok’ticheck said.
“Because
their Rememberers die,” Te’tik’kir said. “Because they lose memory of Yesterday
they lose hope for today. We should help them.”
“Too
late to help them,” Kan’ok’ticheck replied flatly. “Obviously the tribes agree.
They make me Chief of Chiefs, ally behind me to wipe out Stained Paw. Even your
own tribe, Crippled Bone, say that Stained Paw should die.”
Te’tik’kir
scowled and returned his attention to the fire. Kan’ok’ticheck was a brilliant
leader and a wise chieftain. Five of the most powerful tribes, Tattered Ear,
Third Whisker, Green-Green-White, Chipped Tooth, and even his own Crippled Bone
had allied, naming him Chief of Chiefs in this very place. Under other
circumstances, the event would have inspired Te’tik’kir, rekindled his hope
that the One Tribe might be reborn. This alliance, however, had a single purpose
– to destroy the Stained Paw. Te’tik’kir was eventually forced to agree, or
risk losing his position in his tribe. It was a decision that did not sit well
with the old shaman. He knew better than most how a desperate situation could
force one to make foolish decisions. He could not abandon hope that somehow the
Stained Paw might yet be saved.
The
message from the Tsuno only created even greater controversy. It arrived in
dream, appearing simultaneously in the minds of shamans from every clan (save
the Green-Green-White, who had no shamans). Such was not unusual for the Tsuno,
whose mastery of the dream realm was rivaled only by the Nezumi. The Tsuno
claimed that Daigotsu was no more, that a new master, Iuchiban, had seized
command of the Shadowlands.
The
Tsuno, ever hateful of humans, did not trust this new Dark Lord. Instead, they
offered an alliance to the Nezumi. Together, they could gauge this Iuchiban’s
strength. Once the new Dark Lord had wiped out the human Empire, Tsuno and
Nezumi could stand as one and cast him down as well, retaking Rokugan for their
own.
The
idea of turning against the humans, disturbingly enough, had not been met with
as much resistance as Te’tik’kir had expected. Many Nezumi only expressed
regret that their friends in the Crab Clan would suffer, and hoped that some
bargain might be made to find a place for them in the new Empire. Most of those
who argued against the alliance only did so out of a natural distrust of the
Tsuno, rather than any misgivings about destroying the humans.
In
the end, it was agreed that only with more information could a decision could
be made, and that an opportunity to learn more about the mysterious Tsuno could
not be missed. As the strongest of all shamans, Te’tik’kir was the natural
choice for a representative. Kan’ok’ticheck demanded to accompany him, as de
facto leader of the Nezumi tribes. Te’tik’kir wondered if that was the chief’s
true motivation, or he had just come along to make certain Te’tik’kir did not
show undue compassion to the former Dark Lord’s allies. It was a shame
Kan’ok’ticheck distrusted him so. He was a cunning, resourceful, and
charismatic leader, the likes of which the old shaman had not seen since
Mat’tck.
Perhaps,
Te’tik’kir thought wryly, it was to Kan’ok’ticheck’s credit that he did not
trust him.
Te’tik’kir
looked up from the fire, his black eyes piercing the darkness. “They are
coming,” he said simply. “Be ready.”
The
scouts crouching in the shadows looked from the shaman to their chief with
doubt in their eyes. Kan’ok’ticheck just scowled and gestured in curt
annoyance. The chief might argue with Te’tik’kir in matters of politics, but he
was wise enough not to dispute the power of his magic.
The
air rippled in the center of the Meeting Place, and the hideous form of a Tsuno
wove itself from nothing. It was dressed in overlapping plates of jagged steel
armor, leaving only its horned head exposed. Beside it stood a stooped figure
in thick robes, face obscured by a wide straw hat. It held a long spear in one
hand, similar to the one Te’tik’kir bore.
“I
am Sochi,” the Tsuno said in Rokugani, its voice surprisingly calm and clear.
“You are the Nameseeker?”
“I
am,” Te’tik’kir replied, replying in the human language.
“Where
is Tsuno Nintai?” Kan’ok’ticheck demanded suspiciously, speaking to Te’tik’kir
in the Nezumi tongue. “The Soultwister arranges this meeting then fails to
appear?”
The
Tsuno’s red eyes fixed on the chieftain, then returned to Te’tik’kir. “Your
servants are ill-trained, shaman,” it said, also speaking in Nezumi.
“Kan’ok’ticheck
is not my servant,” Te’tik’kir replied, now speaking in his native tongue. “He
is the Chief of Chiefs, leader of five tribes.”
The
Tsuno snorted derisively. “Those without magic lead you?” he replied. “You are
a race of children.”
Kan’ok’ticheck
sneered, but did not rise to the Tsuno’s bait.
“Forgive
them, Sochi,” the cloaked figure said. “My people have forgotten a great deal
about that which once made us great.” He pulled his straw hat away, revealing a
rodentine face with ghost white fur.
“A
Nezumi,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “Stained Paw, no doubt.”
“No,
Chief of Chiefs, I am not Stained Paw,” the Nezumi replied. “I am Ikm'atch-tek,
of the One Tribe.”
“There
is no One Tribe,” Te’tik’kir said.
“There
will be,” Ikm’atch-tek replied.
“You
have strange name, ‘Tomorrow-Chieftain,’” Kan’ok’ticheck said.
“That
I do,” Ikm’atch-tek answered. “By your tradition a shaman rarely leads his
tribe, though there are always exceptions,” he nodded toward Te’tik’kir, “and
by your tradition Tomorrow is synonymous with death, a word of bad Name. But
not all your traditions are mine. Forgive me for contacting you in so peculiar
a manner, but since our meeting, the Tsuno have been eager to aid me in any way
they could.”
“Who
are you?” Te’tik’kir asked.
Ikm’atch-tek
smiled faintly. “I am no Rememberer,” he said, “yet this tale is one that is
well known to me, and will aid you in accepting who I am. Many ages ago, Five
Races crafted this realm from nothing. The civilization these Five Races built
crumbled, due to their own short-sightedness, and in time others came to
replace them. Among these were the Naga and our own race, the Nezumi.
“In
those days we were a rough and primitive creature, no better than animals. The
Naga used us as food and as beasts of burden and, in time, forgot about us. We
slowly learned from the legacy they left behind and, when the ogres came to
dominate, we took our place as their servants. But the ogres underestimated us,
and in time we conquered their civilization from within. The Nezumi Empire
ruled these lands for centuries, before Fu Leng fell from heaven.”
“We
know this already,” Kan’ok’ticheck said.
“Do
you?” Ikm’atch-tek asked. “Were you there? I was.”
“Impossible,”
Te’tik’kir snapped. “What you say happen forever yesterday ago.”
“Impossible,
Te’tik’kir?” Ikm’atch-tek asked. “Is it so difficult to believe that a shaman
who has forced his own destiny astray might be forced to live until he has
redeemed himself? Is my tale so strange to you?”
“Maybe
not so strange,” Te’tik’kir replied, “but if what you say true, where have you
been? Why wait to reveal yourself?”
“When
Fu Leng fell, I used my magic to save what I could,” Ikm’atch-tek replied. “I
moved my home and my tribe to I-thich, but my magic erupted beyond my control,
and we were unable to return. There, lost in an eternal realm of nightmares
beyond even the reach of the Transcendent, I watched my brethren wither and die
from hopelessness, unable to return home again. I was beyond hope myself, when
Nintai and his order finally discovered me.”
“The
Tsuno,” Kan’ok’ticheck said, eyeing Sochi warily.
Ikm’atch-tek
nodded. “Sochi, leave us, my friend,” Ikm’atch-tek said. “Clearly your presence
here is only disturbing the skittish.”
The
Tsuno nodded, retreating into the shadows.
Ikm’atch-tek
waited a long moment before continuing, as if making certain the Tsuno was
gone. “Surely you have heard the tales of old Nezumi ruins returning from
nothing, appearing spontaneously as if from dream? This is all my doing. I have
found other places, like my own home, relics of the old Nezumi civilization.
They will be the home of the One Tribe. Once the humans have been exterminated,
we can move into their homes and cities as well. The Tsuno are more than eager
to aid us in this endeavor; they have much to gain here as well.”
“We
will not ally with the Tsuno,” Kan’ok’ticheck said.
Ikm’atch-tek
shrugged. “You are irrelevant,” he said. “You are a warrior, a mere servant. It
is magic that has forever determined the destiny of our people, thus
Te’tik’kir’s opinion is the only one that matters. Will you aid us, Te’tik’kir?
Will you see the One Tribe restored?”
“The humans are our allies,”
Te’tik’kir replied. “The Tsuno will betray you, as they betrayed their Dark
Lord. What you offer comes at too great a cost.”
Ikm’atch-tek frowned. “Pity,” he replied. “You carry a great deal of influence among these barbaric throwbacks. Your Name is powerful. Weighed with mine, we could determine the future of our race. Weighed against me… well, something must be done.”
Te’tik’kir’s
hands tightened on his spear. Beside him, Kan’ok’ticheck tensed. “Is this a
challenge?” he asked.
“A
test,” Ikm’atch-tek replied. “I do not know the extent of your power,
Te’tik’kir, and as we know all power comes from Name. So I shall test the
strength of yours. As we speak the Stained Paw, armed with weapons from my lost
empire and accompanied by Nintai’s Soultwisters, have ambushed your tribe, the
Crippled Bone. As we speak, Sochi’s Ravagers have surrounded this place, prepared
to murder the Chief of Chiefs and his followers. With your magic you could race
to your people, save them from my Stained Paw, or you could save the only
Nezumi who can lead the tribes against me.”
“Or
I could destroy you,” Te’tik’kir replied. The shaman lifted his spear in the
air and a bolt of white lightning erupted from the sky, striking Ikm’atch-tek
where he stood.
The
Tomorrow Chieftain remained where he was standing, though the smoke and dust
roiled through his image. “That was never an option, Te’tik’kir,” he replied.
“I was never here. Now make your choice, Nameseeker.”
The
Tomorrow Chieftain faded away among the metallic war cries of the advancing
Tsuno.
“What
will you do, Nameseeker?” Kan’ok’ticheck asked Te’tik’kir grimly.
The
shaman did not say a word, but held his spear ready, standing back-to-back with
Kan’ok’ticheck as the Tsuno advanced.
Thunder
echoed above, and blood rained from the sky.