Challenge of leadership

The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the earth as if the heavens themselves were weeping. The sky was a curtain of dark, impenetrable clouds, casting a deep shadow over the land.

The men stood close together, forming a semi-circle around the open casket, their faces grim as they bowed their heads against the storm. Despite the conditions, they had gathered to pay their last respects to the former head of the clan.

A single man stood at the head of the casket. Kune Tanamuse, Pafe's uncle, the brother of the deceased. He was now the ultimate arbiter in the clan.

His eyes had a piercing glow, as if a fire were burning inside them. It is said this was a feature passed down from his distant ancestor, who had been a dragon.

Pafe stood to the side, among the group consisting of the top figures of the clan. His look betrayed his newfound confidence.

No more bad eye. He had gotten rid of the offending organ. A long cloth was wrapped sideways around the side of his head, covering the area where his right eye used to be. He felt he finally belonged.

The uncle, Kune Tanamuse, gave a long eulogy, praising the dead man's wisdom and prowess in battle. He stood solemnly before the assembled, his voice deep and laden with grief.

"Our great lord," he began, "was a man of wisdom beyond his years, a commander in times of war, and a steward in times of peace. In the hearts of his enemies, his name struck fear, his reputation reverberating throughout the lands."

The name resonated among the crowd.

"Okam Tanamuse, the lord of the Dragon clan," said Kune.

He paused there, taking a deep breath, before continuing.

"His leadership was not merely in the strength of his arm, though many a foe felt the bite of his sword, but in his wisdom and foresight," the older man said, his gaze focused on the casket. "He fought to restore the Dragon clan to its former glory, to lift us up to where we belong. In him, was the true spirit of knighthood, the embodiment of honor, valor, and fierceness."

Kune looked out over the faces of the mourners, as though drawing strength from their collective grief. "Through trials bitter and fierce, he guided us, ever mindful of the burdens placed upon him by our forebearers. In him was the flame of our ancestors, and it is by that light that we have found our way again."

He lifted his eyes to the sky, the rain still falling. "We shall not see his like again. But we, who are left behind, shall carry his legacy forward, as guardians of his memory."

The words were powerful, but ones that the men standing around the casket had heard before at countless similar occasions. It was a standard formula repeated at all the funerals of the clan's top brass.

Pafe's father had once summarized it: "Replace the person's name, add a few personal anecdotes, compare to the legendary figures of the past. Rinse and repeat."

Kune took those words to heart. Having given a myriad of these throughout the decades, the old chief's brother was a master of making the mundane sound extraordinary.

After this winded recounting of the dead leader's strengths, the uncle turned onto other matters.

"We are now faced with a pressing issue, one which the clan faces whenever its leader dies. We have to pick a new leader, one that will make us soar to newer heights. It's a procedure, with its own rules, but also obligations," said Kune.

Taking a deep breath, Pafe's uncle explained what was to happen next.

"As mandated by tradition, the most senior member will lead the clan for an interim period. This role falls to me. For one year, I will be your lord and leader," he paused, giving everyone time to reflect. "In the meanwhile, the council of elders will deliberate on the successor. The one who is most worthy will be chosen."

At the end of that sentence, his voice trailed off. His eyes swept over the crowd gathered there. Raising his hand to the sky, Kune looked up, the rain falling on his face. With the gods as his witnesses, it was a silent pledge that he, as leader, would honor the clan's ancient traditions.

"In one year's time," he continued, "the next leader will be chosen by the council."

Due to his age, the uncle was not eligible for the permanent role. Thus, the mantle was passing onto the next generation, with the candidates already having been announced beforehand.

Pafe was not among them. That didn't matter. In his mind, he wasn't out of the game yet.

Custom mandated every man with dragon blood be given the chance. That was a sacred right and privilege. It was traditionally announced by the man giving the eulogy to the dead leader.

"If anyone not nominated for leader feels worthy, speak up! Or forever hold your peace!" Pafe's uncle proclaimed.

It was Pafe's time to shine. Coming back, he had made a splash. People finally noticed him. He felt like a new man, like the shame of his previous condition had been lifted.

It was now or never.

Pafe took a powerful step forward and shouted: "I feel worthy!"

Everyone looked around, their surprise quite evident. No one had expected him to vie for the position. After all, he had been cursed since childhood.

This didn't faze Pafe. In his mind, his act had earned him a seat at the table. He was no longer the gruesome deformed creature of the past. He had cut out the source of his trouble. He had activated his dragon blood.

He should at least be allowed to prove himself in the games of wisdom and skill that precede the election. After all, he was the first born and only son of the former leader.

A stillness settled over the gathering. The silence was deafening, the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst.

Pafe didn't mind. He knew what was his. His actions spoke louder than words.

His uncle stared at him intently. After a long pause, he finally uttered out loud what everyone else was thinking.

"No, you cannot. Your curse precludes you from taking part."

Pafe looked on defiantly, not budging.

His uncle continued to speak, staring intently at the young man in front of him.

"It has been decided already long ago. You are not eligible for the clan's golden sword."

The golden sword rested between the dead man's fingers, a symbol of power as much as tradition. It was not just a blade. It was a promise, a weighty heirloom that carried the burden of command.

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Soon, Pafe's uncle would take it, holding its hilt for a year, a temporary guardian of its legacy. Then it would be passed on to the next leader, elected not by birthright, but by the will of the council.

In a clan like this, power was never simply inherited. It was contested, claimed, and sometimes bled for.

Pafe was ready to face the challenge. The weapon should be his to lose.

The young man gazed at the golden sword. His one eye zeroed in on the blade with an intense focus. A long, hard stare followed.

Then he glanced at the face of his father. It reminded him that his mother had passed away a few months earlier. Despite the way he was treated, he still loved them dearly. A shot of pain struck at his heart.

He must concentrate. Now is not the time to greave. He cannot show weakness. It was a test of will. He focused his gaze on the sword again.

"Step back," his uncle commanded.

Pafe did not budge.

"Step back, I tell you," repeated his uncle.

Pafe kept on standing in his spot.

"Now! Do it," shouted the man standing at the head of the casket.

Finally, Pafe came back with a one word question: "Why?"

"Only ones with the dragon blood can lead," was the response.

Pafe clutched his fists, as if trying to demonstrate his will to fight.

His uncle continued: "Tanamuse are the Dragon clan. We descend from dragons. The blood of dragons flows between our veins."

In the minds of the clan elders, Pafe had no dragon blood. His curse proved it.

This brought Pafe to the boiling point. He exploded: "Yes, but is any one of you a dragon? You are mere men, mere mortals, with ordinary powers. Not one of you is a dragon!"

With this display, the young man made his final stand.

He was done. He knew, they would not allow him to compete for the position. He just needed to show them what he thought of the whole thing.

Pafe pointed at the sword, and then at his heart. Then, he stepped back, to place himself behind the semi-circle of men. It was over. He lost without even getting the chance to fight.

No one had expected this. Defiance against the rules set out by the elders was unthinkable. The crowd had watched the entire spectacle with their mouths wide open. As Pafe conceded, many of the men turned their heads towards their neighbors. A wave of whispers followed.

After a few minutes the murmurs died down, and Pafe's uncle continued the proceedings. Acting as if nothing had happened, the new interim leader praised the gods and recounted many old legends of the clan.

Pafe removed himself to the background, out of the line of sight of the crowd. Keeping his head down, and his hands close to the body, the young man seemed frozen in place.

As he stood there to watch the rest of the formalities, the juices in his belly were stirring. A pain began to develop deep inside his stomach.

"Hopefully, my bowels will explode," he wished, quietly murmuring those words under his breath. In that instant, all he wanted was to be done with this embarrassment of a life.

--

Failure is not an option

The ceremony was over. The men were now free to go about their way. The crowd dispersed quickly. Only Pafe was left standing, looking intently at the now closed casket.

Today was the last time he had been able to look at the face of his father. Just like he had looked upon the face of his mother, a mere months ago. They were no more. He could now only grieve for them.

He was alone once more. He had always been alone, yet his parents' presence somehow comforted him. Now, it was gone.

A series of images of the few happy moments he had spent with them flashed through his head. These memories stirred something inside him. A small tear ran down his cheek.

A glance at the feet imprints in the mud strewn in a semi-circle around the casket snapped him back to reality. Damn, it all! A sense of rage built up inside him, beginning in his stomach, with the sensation spreading to the rest of his body.

He had been deeply shamed that day. Only rarely are those who step up at this moment denied the chance to compete. In fact, from reading the history books of the clan, he could not recall a single name or instance.

The lone figure standing in the middle of a muddy field looked up at the sky. Tilting his head upwards, he tried to spot the gods that apparently live there. To no avail.

Had they abandoned him? Did they just want to torture him? Did they even exist at all?

All kinds of thoughts raced through his mind. They provided no comfort, only worry. Was he a failure? What should he do with the rest of his life? Did it even make sense to continue?

--

Siblings of the clan

As he sneaked back into the castle, Pafe passed by the shrine dedicated to the gods. A big object, proclaimed to be the tooth of an ancient dragon, was placed in the middle of the altar. Surrounded by panels cast in gold, it was meant to remind everyone of the Tanamuse clan's dragon origins, and their ties to the invisible divine rulers of the universe itself.

Pafe paused to look at the tooth. His clothes muddied, and water dripping off them onto the ground, he was a sorry sight.

In that instant, his younger sister was passing by. Engaged to be married to the heir of the Tiger clan's domains, she was to be shipped off to her future husband's castle in two weeks.

Barely a teenager, her fate had been sealed at birth. In this world, noble-born women often served as barter objects, in order to solidify alliances between families. Years ago, she had been promised to the son of the old leader of the Tigers.

Their domains stretched to the west, and were rich in minerals and timber. This union would strengthen the Dragon clan's borders on the side of the setting sun, and provide them an easier access to valuable resources. Resigned to her destiny, the young girl had never lost her talkative character.

Her face seemed to be sparkling. Her bright eyes radiated warmth. With her presence, she could brighten up even the gloomiest of days.

Seeing Pafe, she waived.

"Pafe, you look like you have been rolling around in the swamps all day!" It was the type of remark that only she had the ability to make.

The young man smiled. It was probably his first grin in months.

"Hi, sister! Yes, the weather is quite shit today," he replied.

"Sister! How formal. Don't you know my name?" She always liked to tease.

"Yes, of course. Nadia! How are you?"

Well, considering our dear old father had been buried today..." Nadia's voiced trailed off.

Pafe took a long look at her. He knew the pain she was feeling. He wanted to give her a hug. However, he kept his distance.

"I didn't see you at the ceremony," stated Pafe.

She almost burst into tears: "Oh Pafe. Don't you remember that you and me attend different ceremonies. You were there at the closing of the casket, with all the other noble men. We women and the common folk only come in later, when the casket is buried beneath the ground. It has always been like this."

It was a reminder of his world's strict social hierarches and traditions, where different people are separate and not equal.

"Ah, yes," concurred Pafe. He then tried to move the conversation onto other matters: "So what are you doing now?"

"As you know, I am off to leave this place in two weeks. Just walking around, trying to soak up as much of the castle as possible. I might never see it again," she reminded him.

Pafe closed his eye for a bit. It was true. His oldest sister was going to leave soon. His two other sisters would follow not many months thereafter. They too will be wed into noble houses. His siblings will be far away from him in the not so distant future.

The young man looked at the big dragon tooth, and let off a sigh. Then he turned to face his sister again. He wanted to know how she felt about the move, so he spun her previous statement back to her.

"You will be leaving soon, right?"

Nadia gave him a sad look: "Yeah!"

Pafe turned his head away, as if not wanting for her to see him sad: "How do you feel about it?"

"It is what it is," Nadia didn't show much emotion.

"I know you are hurting. Can't you do something about it?" Pafe knew his sister didn't want to leave. However, she was already resigned to her fate.

"You play the cards you are dealt," stated the sister.

The young man didn't understand this attitude. For him, fate was something you create, not something you submit to. He had rebelled against the deterministic, almost fatalistic, worldview of the world he lived in.

In his day and age, the common wisdom was simple. You can't swim against the current. If you try, despite flailing your arms as hard as you can, it will just pull you back down. In life, you need to swim with the current. Accept your fate. Go with the flow.

This is how his sister viewed her role. She had been destined for something, and couldn't do much about it. This was the prevailing notion circulating in society, and she was not going to fight it.

Pafe didn't buy it. He needed to believe in free will. It was his actions that would determine his fate. For him, his situation was different from that of Nadia. His sister was hemmed in, but he still had a choice.

Despite not assenting to the philosophy his sister seemed to profess, Pafe didn't try to convince her. In this case, the only thing he could do was say a few words to cheer her up.

Her future husband was many years her senior. And even though he was already reaching the twilight of his career, he was not yet the leader of the Tiger clan.

His father was still alive, but probably not for long. Feeble, and sickly, the old chief was likely to die in the not so distant future. Pafe knew this.

"You will be queen soon! The Tiger clan doesn't have the same traditions as us. There, the eldest son always inherits the mantle," said Pafe.

Nadia smiled: "Yeah I guess. It's every girl's dream!"

For Pafe, seeing his sister's warm laugh always did the trick. It was a balsam for his soul. If only for a brief time. Pafe's existence was a world of hurt, full of pain. Yet interspersed in between this suffering, you could find instances of joy, however fleeting they were.

Unfortunately, this time not even a smile could tear him away from his agonizing reality.