Two weeks later, the marriage between the oldest sons of the Zakhira chief and the youngest daughters of the Sakhatul chief was announced to all of Kudaldan. At roughly the same time, the proclamation of the coalition's final goals and the date when it would set out to war was made across the city, and riders were sent in every direction to inform the rest of the steppe. The capital was engulfed in the spirit of a new beginning, a departure for a brighter future.
There was more to this marriage than the union of two pairs. The Sakhatul tribe, roughly half the size of the Zakhira, moved their camp from the other side of Kudaldan and set it up next to theirs. Once the ceremony was concluded, they would join as one, and the Zakhira would grow to match the size of a great tribe. It was then up to Chief Amiro to make it as powerful as one.
Over the past weeks, Viyal became acquainted with the Sakhatul people. They were as colorful as the Zakhira, consisting of various species living in harmony under their chief, Zagaro. He was an elderly Mosyv with a completely gray mane, and his face was a map of wrinkles and scars. His narrow eyes gave him a sleepy appearance, but there was a sharp glint of life in them. Despite his wizened visage, his body still filled out his clothes, and his arms and legs were bulging with muscles. Even in his fifties, the old Mosyv remained at an incredible level of physical fitness.
Zagaro's twin brother died in battle, and his wife passed when giving birth to Savira and Vayari. All his other family members had already left the nest or passed on. If not for his martial prowess, their tribe would have been taken over by outside Mosyvvi long ago. He thwarted every challenge so far, knowing that the men to defeat him would take his beloved daughters as their wives even if it were against their will.
But Savira and Vayari finally found their destined ones. When Chief Zagaro saw how serious they were about each other, he had nothing more to say. As if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, his formerly harsh demeanor turned warm and caring. He already eagerly anticipated seeing his grandchildren.
Viyal felt like she had gained a grandfather but was reminded again that life moved faster for many species in this world. Shizuru's parents had already pushed their late forties when she was still a year away from her high school graduation. Meanwhile, Amiro and Nayavi were only a little over twenty years old. Her brothers, who were about to marry and found their own families, were about to turn ten. She had long since discarded her human logic, but sometimes, she still considered the absurdity of it all as if viewing it from an outside perspective.
Yunil stared at the absentminded Viyal with her head tilted and one of her floppy ears raised slightly. They sat outside their family tent, where Nayavi and Zalavi helped dress up Noro and Saro, listening to the voices inside while watching the coming and going of the people in the camp. The Sakhatul tribesmen greeted the Zakhira with words and gifts as part of the wedding ceremony tonight. Was her sister perhaps thinking of her own future?
When Viyal noticed Yunil's gaze, she smiled wryly. Here was another example: A humanoid dog a little over four years old, looking like a teenager with the energy to match. If she knew her thoughts, she would surely be bothered.
"What is it?" Yunil wondered, confused by her sister's expression.
"When can you tell me what you do every day?" Viyal asked to change the topic.
"Soon," said Yunil, averting her gaze. She ran off somewhere every morning and came back exhausted and covered in dirt in the evening. But it was not hard to imagine what she was hiding. There were only so many things one could do in this world that would leave one in her state. Viyal had the awareness not to let Yunil know that she had already seen through it.
"What are you two doing out here?" Gavro approached the two girls and asked with a toothy grin. "Should you not be in there with the women to help dress up the boys in pretty clothes?"
"I have no eye for those things," responded Viyal truthfully, earning a raised eyebrow from her uncle. He knew she was interested in politics and military affairs far more than the things that moved girls of her age.
"Well, how about taking a ride with your uncle to see the warriors' preparation, then?" He extended a hand toward her and smiled invitingly. The two tribes would parade the newlyweds through the camp and perform a traditional show on horseback on the plains outside afterward. Since they were connected to the tent city of Kudaldan, that meant marching through its entirety to show off the wealth of their tribe.
"Oh, I'd like that," Viyal took Gavro's hand and let herself get pulled up. He easily lifted her into his arms and placed her onto his right shoulder. She nestled into his bushy mane contentedly.
"How about you, Yunil?" He extended his other hand at the young Nokkoy, but she stood up on her own and nodded shyly. She had entered that age where she became overly self-conscious and felt too tall to ride on someone's shoulders.
Not thinking anything of it, Gavro carried his niece through the camp toward the Shinoona pen. Most were either in use or had been taken over the hills to graze since the vicinity of Kudaldan was largely barren. Only a few dozen remained here, mounts for the important people in case they needed to get somewhere fast.
Gavro placed Viyal onto the saddle and climbed on after. He then turned to look at Yunil, who had never ridden a Shinoon before and used to run beside the riders on her own two feet. To his surprise, she picked out a mount for herself and jumped on swiftly. It stepped in place nervously, but she quickly got it under control.
Viyal chuckled knowingly; this was what she knew Yunil had hidden from her for the past while. And there was likely much more than just learning to ride since she showed how capable she was at it already. Clearly, falling off a Shinoon was not the reason she came back covered in dirt and bruises every evening.
Yunil gave Viyal a questioning look, then realized that she revealed part of her secret training and averted her gaze in embarrassment. Gavro smiled warmly at the two girls and turned his Shinoon around toward the pen's exit. The Nokkoy followed him closely, showing her talent at directing her mount after only learning to ride for less than two months.
They rode out of the camp and soon saw a gathering of some of the two tribes' elders on top of a hill, seemingly holding a picnic. Gavro jumped off his Shinoon and helped Viyal down. They crested the hill, and she found that the elders were watching the warriors' preparations on the other side.
Odaron was among them, smoking a pipe and sitting beside a Jagul woman from the Sakhatul who looked even older than he did. She turned her head slowly and revealed a face with more wrinkles and folds than an unmade bed. Her eyes and mouth were barely visible, but Viyal sensed her gaze on her when they approached.
"This is Daruna, an honored elder of the Sakhatul," Odaron introduced the wizened woman when he noticed the young Mosyv's questioning expression.
"The Omen Child," Daruna muttered, raising one of her bushy white eyebrows slightly to reveal the sunken eye underneath. Her surprisingly sharp glare was fixated on Viyal, who shrunk underneath it. She felt her heart racing. How did she know?
"No, that is Viyal, daughter of the Zakhira chief," another Sakhatul elder corrected her patiently. "Don't mind her. She has been senile for a long time now."
Daruna's eyebrow dropped again as she turned away, her toothless mouth moving as if chewing on something and mumbling incoherently. Viyal stared at her, suppressing any emotions from showing on her face. It was unlikely that her secret had been spread since only her parents and the monks of the Temple of Time knew it. But was it really just her senile ramblings?
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"How does it look? Are they getting ready?" Thankfully, Gavro changed the topic. He looked across the field where the warriors of the two tribes rode alongside each other and waved their spears in an elaborate dance as if fighting each other.
"Both tribes have observed the tradition countless times. No need to worry," responded Odaron with a laugh, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.
"Yes, but this is the largest ceremony we've ever had. And it's going to be seen by the entire coalition," Gavro voiced his concerns, scratching his mane.
"It's alright. The preparations are all done," said a Bavadi elder reassuringly, laughing at the Mosyv's incessant worrying.
"This will be the largest marriage ceremony since the Snowblood's," an elder of the Sakhatul tribe added with a proud expression. "With this, we are growing into one of the greatest tribes of the steppe."
Ivakha the Snowblood made a show of the Shaankhor might by calling countless tribes to Kudaldan and holding her lavish marriage ceremony under their watchful gazes. The Zakhira and Sakhatul union was not quite the same since they only happened to be in this city when their heirs fell for each other. Still, as one of the major driving forces behind this historic coalition, Amiro needed to make a statement that he could stand on the same stage as the Shaankhor chief.
"It's only natural. Brother was always destined for such greatness," declared Gavro proudly. Viyal looked up at her uncle warmly; he was such a great brother, supporting Amiro with all his heart and not asking for anything in return. She then lowered her gaze and considered that she would have been born with a sibling like that if she had not eaten them. Blinking her eyes a few times, she pushed the thought out of her mind and looked at Yunil. No, she had her sister right here.
"It is truly a sight to behold," Odaron said, blowing smoke from his nose. He gestured at the field below where the riders separated into two camps, turned their Shinoona around, and charged at each other for the climax of the show. Viyal watched in wonder as they stood on their saddles and jumped past each other onto the mounts of their counterparts. Not one person fell or crashed. It was a show of skill like no other.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Gavro noticed Viyal's amazement and stroked her hair. She nodded, her mouth hanging open as the riders turned around one more time and repeated the feat as if once was not enough to impress. They then tossed down their padded spears and cheered as one, a sign that the two sides reconciled after the battle. The two tribes became a family after setting aside their differences.
Of course, there had been no enmity between the Zakhira and the Sakhatul. They had not even known each other until a month ago. It was the steppe people's tradition, a reminder of their wartorn past and the relative peace they had achieved through tribal unions and their collective belief in Azakhal.
"The brides and grooms are ready," a messenger came by on a Shinoona and announced. The elders stood up from their seat cushions, and their attendants quickly cleaned up after them as they slowly made their way back toward the camp. Gavro remained with Viyal and Yunil, watching the warriors gather at the bottom of the hill and sing each other's praises. The Sakhatul unit's leader separated from them and climbed the slope to meet Gavro. She was Yava, a female Khevelir, a species of lizard people the current Akhma Merkheleh belonged to. She stood almost as tall as the Mosyv but had a wiry physique.
"Your warriors are excellent," Yava asserted with a nod. Lizard people did not have the facial muscles to smile, but her tone was warm.
"And so are yours," Gavro returned the compliment. He then addressed the warriors gathered at the bottom of the hill, looking up at their leaders expectantly. "Well done! You will make your tribes proud today! And when we ride against the Gadat, I have no doubt that you will make all of the steppe people proud!"
They let out a thunderous roar at his praise and encouragement. Then, they quickly organized into ranks and rode back toward the camp. Gavro lifted Viyal onto his Shinoon and climbed up afterward. He noticed Yava's gaze on his niece and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, don't mind me. It is my first time seeing a Mosyv born of moonlight," she explained to him, but her piercing yellow stare remained on the albino Mosyv for a moment longer before she finally tore herself away and turned around.
Viyal wondered how many Mosyvvi existed in general, considering they had no tribes of their own. Judging by the number of chiefs gathered in Kudaldan and how many among them were of her species, perhaps she was the only albino Mosyv currently in existence. Compounding on her rarity was her being born an only child, too. Was that why Daruna thought she was the Omen Child? Was the combination of traits she exhibited part of a prophecy only the eldest of the steppe people knew?
With these thoughts swirling in her mind, Viyal did not even notice that they had already returned to their tent, where Gavro helped her off the Shinoon. Right then, Noro and Saro emerged in full wedding regalia, pushed outside by Nayavi and Zalavi because they were too shy to leave the safety of their tent.
They wore the traditional wedding robes in bright orange, featuring golden threads at the joints and hems. A Zanyema, large red flowers symbolic of love and prosperity, adorned their chests. Their unruly manes were held back by orange headbands with a phrase praying to Azakhal for happiness and fortune embroidered on them in black.
"Hey, you look even better than your father and I did at our wedding," commented Gavro. The Tekhema tribe, at their greatest, was much smaller than the Zakhira at their smallest, so they did not have the wealth to spend on fine clothes. It was a sign of how far they had come in life to be able to provide the next generation with the best garbs available on the steppe. "You are growing up to be men among men!"
"Where is Father?" inquired the twins with bashful looks, trying to change the topic.
"He is with the Sakhatul chief," Gavro responded and gestured behind them. "You will ride to pick up your brides from their tent."
Two attendants brought the twins' Shinoona, now with bright red lacquered saddles, large orange tassels dangling from their necks, and red cloth strips hanging down almost all the way to the ground from their antlers. The two boys stared with their mouths open. They had seen plenty of marriages among the Zakhira, but this was the most lavish one yet.
Gavro helped Nayavi and Zalavi onto their cart, then placed Lavaro and Layavi in their laps. Viyal and Yunil mounted their own Shinoona, and they departed for the other side of their camp to pick up the brides. Along the way, Tashi joined them silently on his mount, nodding gratefully for being allowed to attend as a member of the parade rather than a mere onlooker.
All eyes were on the grooms as they passed by. Some of the Zakhira tribesmen handed them small earthen cups filled with wine to wet their courage. Others threw flowers in their path, paving their way toward a colorful future. With this reception, their initial embarrassment soon grew into self-confidence, and they rode with their heads held high.
As they approached the Sakhatul chief's tent, now cleared of all the surrounding abodes, an attendant announced their arrival. A moment later, Amiro and Zagaro emerged from within and held open the tent flap for the brides. They were equally dressed in bright orange garbs, and their hair tied back with ornaments woven from single thick red strings. On their breasts sat a Zanyema each to match the grooms.
Traditionally, the mother would symbolically hand over the bride while the groom's father pushed his son into her arms. Savira and Vayari's mother could not take the role, so Zagaro had to do it as their only family. He took them by each of his rugged hands and walked with them toward Noro and Saro, who got off their Shinoona and met them halfway. When they stood before the gray chief, his overbearing presence seemed to press down on them. But he broke out into a warm smile and let go of his daughters' hands.
Amiro came around behind his sons, put a hand on their shoulders, and squeezed them reassuringly. They looked back at their father, then at the brides standing before them with their hands outstretched in expectation. A light push from behind, and they were let go. The coming-of-age ceremony meant they were adults. But marriage meant that they were truly ready to leave the nest.
As the couples embraced each other, the gathered onlookers from both tribes broke out in thunderous cheers. Flower petals danced on the breeze. Hundreds of Shajina, gourds filled with pebbles, a traditional instrument of all steppe people, were rattled wildly. Shinoona hide drums were beaten without rhythm, a sign of the drummers' unbridled elation.
Several attendants brought over the bridal cart. It was richly ornamented with small orange flowers and trailing red bands. All of it was done so no one could miss who the brides and grooms were. The Shinoona ridden by Noro and Saro were hitched to it and would draw them through Kudaldan.
The two boys lifted their girls onto the carts and climbed up after them. They sat on the single bench and looked around expectantly. The drums suddenly ceased, then began again shortly after, sounding in a slow rhythm. The Shajina were rolled to create the sound of wind rustling the grass of the steppe. A loud bang rang out, and everybody let out a collective howl.
Riders flooded the camp: The Zakhira and Sakhatul warriors who were to form the parade arrived. They raised their padded spears, now adorned with red tassels, in salute to the brides and grooms. Amiro and Zagaro mounted their Shinoona, and the two chiefs led the parade out of the camp toward Kudaldan. Their people followed them while trilling at the top of their lungs as if trying to announce the joyous occasion to the whole world and Azakhal above.
Viyal was pulled along by the atmosphere and joined in with her voice, surprised at herself. Yunil let go of her inhibitions, too, howling toward the sky. Today, they celebrated the greatest day in the lives of their brothers.