Chapter 4
Pioneer is true to who I am. After centuries, I have finally found a way to keep my demons at bay, at least for a time. It is unfortunate the experience I must go through, and that I must force it on so many innocent creatures is a shame. Some are more receptive than others, but with this intention I've kept experimentation quiet.
One young vessel, primary of growth, had been allotted a right to experimentation so long as he worked towards my ends. I even held him from Ascension for a time, and the fool was such a zealot that he considered it a holy gift. Before I allowed his Ascension, he created a new species. This wasn't the first species to be created, but it was one of the first non-floral.
It was canine in base. Many primaries in growth started from canines, because despite our new transcendent abilities, fifty thousand years of forced evolution to better suit the needs of mankind gave many of the desired traits one would seek in a creature designed to our ends. After a perverse series of experiments, finally the Garrulous Ruina-Rutilo came to being.
He dreamed then. He was being carried somewhere; he was in a cage. He was waiting for his mother to bring him fish, he was a grizzly, but still just a cub. He had just woken, he was trapped, his mother wasn't there, and he was hungry. He sniffed, smelling man all about the chamber. Then, he was somehow out of the cage, in his own private cave. He was alone, but there was fish. He didn't know much of anything, but he did know he was hungry. He interested himself in the fish, when light burst into his cave. The outline of a man backed by light. He said, “So sorry little cub, but you won’t ever know the difference.” Then the black came.
Dorian woke, startled at his dream. He sat up, seeing blood on his hands, and bandages across his body. The blood smelt… well, it made him kind of hungry. A woman popped up seemingly out of nowhere, a bowl of water in hand. She was a few years older than Dorian, and wore an expression that was lighthearted and pretty. She whetted a cloth rag, and began speaking as she cleaned him up. “You're at the caretaker's house, your brother and mother brought you here. Quite a scare you gave them.”
Dorian felt groggy, but no worse for wear. He looked about and asked, “What happened?”
Still spot cleaning spots on his face and arms, she said, “You got a few cuts, and for some reason they didn't clot which led to a lot of blood loss. Sometimes we must take special actions. Luckily for you, your cuts stopped bleeding before that happened. You'll need to be on the lookout for the next few weeks. If you feel dizzy, or sick, you need to come right back. Also, if you have a craving for anything strange. Otherwise, if you're feeling okay, you should be able to make it to the post sermon dinner. If you hurry along, you might be able to make it before village announcements, try to eat some red meats.” She stood as she finished speaking, then walked away. Dorian got the sense that he was somehow intruding, so he gathered himself and made his way to the town center.
On the way there, Dorian passed the tanner house. As he did so he caught the scent of blood again. It made his stomach remind him of how empty it was, which in turn hastened him to make his way to the communal dinner. His family usually didn't partake in the communal dinner, a luxury provided by a proliferate hunter and a fantastic cook. On days like today, however, he looked forward to the large gathering. Usually, this meant that his work for the day was done, and he didn't have to do this again for a few weeks, but today it was the end of his body's primitive protestations.
As he approached, he noticed the relatively high turnout. Most of the people that technically “belonged” to Metan were considered deep trappers, which really meant they lived in the wilds as they pleased. Most of the time, Deep Trappers, and their families, wouldn’t show up for the communal gathering, and often avoided the sermons. There must have been more than seven hundred people there. There was an entire second half of the area that was seldom used, now sported as much as Dorian had initially assumed would show.
He headed towards the comm
unity tables which made a semi-circle around a center feature that the village heads would make announcements from. They would typically eat after a brief prayer from the priest, and a little while later, they would break for announcements. If you wanted to eat your food warm, you did so before announcements. When he arrived at his typical spot, the tables closest to the village heads, his brother shot him with a mocking look.
“Hello sleepy head,” Kurt smiled and gestured for Dorian to take his seat. “I took the liberty of getting your plate ready, knowing it wasn't like you to miss a meal.” He smirked at Dorian, thinking he was the wittiest person alive. “You're damn right,” Dorian replied, trying not to give rise to Kurt's chiding. He could tell Kurt suddenly felt bad about it. Kurt looked about, hoping he hadn't made a scene. Dorian sat just as the priest took center stage. He held his hand up for silence. When it came, the Priorius priest began.
“As we spoke of earlier, how Matae had taken her pride of change to Gwendos and was rejected. In her shame, she stole it away, for fear that Kressor would call to it, she hid it under her succor. Her pride, her sin, there was nothing to have if it were to be stolen by death. In her pride she left all her faith, and when Kressor did show, for he will show to us all eventually, he did so with the same rejection Gwendos had. For the sin of pride, Gwendos and Kressor, as the first of the gods, punished her. They took her pride, and imbued it with the essences it lacked, imbued it with life and death. This stole her pride and left her alone and gave the world Priorius to exact their will on this earth. Let us prove death-” the crowd then answered, “By praising life.”
That was always the signal that it was time to eat. He did so, with vigor. He overheard an elderly couple at an adjacent table commenting on the bread. Apparently, it was the best bread they'd had since they were children. It brought a smile to Dorian's lips.
Speaking through a mouthful of soup, Kurt asked, “What’s got you in such a good mood?”
“I made all the bread early this morning, it's why I left before dawn. I didn't want to spend the whole day rushing around to make it all.” Replied Dorian before taking another bit of bread and dipping it in his soup. It was good bread.
“Yeah, instead you spent your day getting nursed back to health. I knew you didn't look so good earlier, had me outright spooked.” Kurt paused to swallow his mouthful. “And I wanted to show you an abandoned den, the house keeps it there, so we know what to look out for. You probably won’t ever have to know, but I still think it's neat. Wanna check it out after dinner?”
Dorian shrugged, “Do you think we'll have time?”
“Yeah,” Kurt pointed to the platform, “Mom said she'd have two announcements tonight, said she'd have to stay late regardless. We should have time while her and Da are here doing whatever it is they do at these things.”
“Two announcements? I thought we were just going to get an update on the Steelfyre thing?” Upon hearing the word Steelfyre the rest of the table got quiet.
Garrin, the tanner's husband, raised an eye and asked, “Know something we don't?”
Dorian, feeling abashed, put on his most innocent voice, “No sir, just that me Ma would be speakin' 'bout it tonight.” He looked at his hands. The older man wavered, then said, “S'pose I'll have to wait just like the rest of us. Shouldn't be long now anyhow.” Almost on cue, everybody else at the table resumed their respective conversations.
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The old man was right, not five minutes had passed before the village head, Agatha Weaver, began walking up the spiral staircase that surrounded the platform. The Priorius priest followed shortly behind her, holding his robe up as he took each step. She stood there, hand up, waiting for silence.
It took the crowd several moments to calm, but when they did, Agatha gestured to the priest.
“We spoke of Metae today, and for good reason. Though she has always been one of change, the one to break the cycle of Kressor and Gwendos, she has always been the outsider. As such, it is divinely inspired that Metan would take this first step towards change. Metan has always been the furthest from the head of our faith, and always the different. Not only are you all furthest from the Priorius, but you also have the lowest population, the highest yield in furs, hides, breads, and herbal collections, and you stun our valley with the most prodigious crafts as well. It is as though each of you holds the ember of change in your hearts and it fuels your resolve. Through diligence, labor, skill and aptitude, you show homage to the gods. It is because of this that we wish to provide your village with a boon. The first of which is to support the search for Steelfyre.”
The entire village shouted out in an uproar. Cheering people standing and clapping, the sound was so great that the table Dorian sat at began to shake from the cacophonous vibrations. The priest then gestured for everyone to quiet down, the crowd did so but reluctantly.
“What is the boon of support without its faculties, you may ask. You would be wise to do so, and so, for you the faithful, we bring those faculties. Show me your faith, and it will be rewarded. Let us prove death,” the crowd erupted in turn, shouting “by praising life!” The priest repeated this twice more, and the table shook again with the sound of the roaring crowd.
In all the excitement, something stole over Dorian. An aching pressure at his temples caused a tingling sensation throughout his spine. Everyone in the crowd had begun speaking at each other, and somehow, he knew he was the only one with eyes still on the priest. He had rolled up one sleeve, holding his forearm out in front of himself. He pulled something out of his robe and held it gingerly. From this distance Dorian couldn't make out what it was, save that it was straight and dark. The priest pulled back for a moment and sunk the questionable object into his forearm.
For a moment nothing happened, then the priest shouted at a volume Dorian didn't think was possible. “Then let the gods hear their faithful! Let us prove death!” The crowd shouted back “by praising life!”
On cue, the priest shot both arms down, and began to rise off the platform. There was a light in his eyes, which seemed ever more dominant by the darkness that silhouetted his shape. With darkness writhing around him, he was fully twenty feet off the platform, hovering nearly fifty feet from where Dorian sat. His arms shot out before him, the crowd had gone silent, then the old man groaned.
The sound was the first thing he noticed, like stones grinding against each other, then the smell of fresh earth. The priest put his hand out and a beam of green-white light shot out from his palm. It illuminated the smith's craft house, raining light over the structure as though it were mid-day. Then, like vines out of the earth, black stone grew upward. Shifting, coiling, and melting pursued, until the blackness seemed to suck itself in to the light, like lodestones, they met and pulled back to the priest. Left behind by the light and dark, was a building.
Descending from the sky, the Priorius priest spoke again. “And the gods did hear you, Metan! They bid me to bestow on you a stronger forge, for the Steelfyre you find will provide for all the valley! Know the burden you carry, to find the Steelfyre, and to give it back to the world that has supported you. The gods have shown me their desire to see you succeed, Metan! Prove death by praising life!”
The crowd, and even Dorian, roared with approval. Some pumped fists, others clapped and cheered whooping over the display. Noticing the older man stagger out of the corner of his eye, Dorian thought the old man would topple off the center platform, but Agatha Weaver was there to hold him up. They exchanged some words while she steadied him. He reached inside his robe, pulling out a stone flask. He unfastened the top and took a long drink. Suddenly steady, he raised a hand and spoke.
“Please, people of Metan, I humbly beg you heed the warnings of the gods. If the Steelfyre isn't found within one year, the gods will take their price.” The crowd, now silent as stone, held their collective breaths. “Fear not, just know that even the Gods barter. If you allow lethargy to stymie this divine favor, then their vengeance shall be swift and brutal. I am done speaking for tonight. Heed your leaders, praise your gods, and fulfill your duties. Agatha.” The priest bowed his head at the village matriarch and made his way down the stairs.
Before the priest had finished leaving, Agatha spoke clearly, but nothing as pervasive as what the priest had done. “Thank you, high priest. Praise be to the gods.”
After a reverent moment, Agatha began her announcement.
“It is with great pleasure that the Priorius, and thereby the gods, support this endeavor. The long-awaited maps have been concluded!” The crowd, already assuming this, cheered a bit, but quieted down quickly. “The Hunts have concluded their work, finding a total of forty-seven different entrances to caves lining the southern valley wall. We will begin scouting parties within the month, so expect some changes. Remember, we're not just doing this for self-gain anymore. Our children will need this, and their children as well. This will bring prosperity to our village, it will strengthen us. Despite our size, I believe we can become the envy of the valley, and this path can take us there.” A few people murmured their agreements. “Here, with the wilds at our front door, we know how treacherous a path can be. Luckily, in our small community, we have the most prestigious Hunt in ten generations to guide us. Rita.”
The village leader left the stage, allowing space for Dorian's mother to take center. This was the usual routine as far as announcements went. The specific craft heads would take stage, announcing anything of import, and yielding to the next head. Past the third speaker announcements were generally voluntary, but the first three carried information that would be pertinent for the next foreseeable future.
“Hello all. I generally don't take stage so early on, so I appreciate this rare opportunity.” Rita nodded at Agatha. “So, before I begin explaining exactly how we're going to engage in this hunt for riches, I sadly will not be able lead the venture personally.”
Looking around, people were confused, muttering concern to each other. Dorian looked back to his mother. She met his eye and smiled. “As verified by the gods earlier tonight, the cooks will be cooking for one more.” For the briefest moment, the yard quieted. The silence broke when Dorian's father, Rand, sprayed the ale he was drinking. He followed that up by coughing and sputtering. Comprehension dawned on the crowd, and laughter erupted outward. The other village heads joined in, patting Rand on the shoulders. His eyes were plates of marble.
Smiling, Rita held a hand to her stomach and stretched the other one outward, asking for quiet. She carried on. “The last twenty seasons have been outrageously challenging. Our previous maps no longer held accuracy, considering how thick and dangerous the woods can be, we took much longer than expected. That said, after the maps were completed, we set up several safe stations along the trails. The cleared paths may be able to get us through the woods quickly, but the back trails are rough rugged terrain. So much so, that mapping the southeastern area took four days to hike through. My point is, this will be dangerous, so only volunteers that are healthy enough will be joining the cave scouts. Nobody younger than majority, nobody with dependents, excluding my scouts of course. That means roughly less than half of you will be available to go. Excluding those of you that are advanced crafts-women-or-men, leaves us roughly one hundred and fifty candidates. I know this sounds small, but it's more than one sixth of our current population. We will be having discussions with the various trade houses to provide support for this endeavor. So, in a way we all will be volunteering time and energy, so don't feel left out. We need everybody if we're going to provide for the valley.”
Somebody four or five tables down took the opportunity provided by Rita's pause to shout, “And for the Cooks!” Several people followed the comment up with a “here here!” His mother just smiled toothily, and proceeded to fill in more details about how things would change in the coming months. She was a good speaker, the crowd seemed to hang on her every word. It was like his mother had something divine to her now, an iridescence. Like this was the exact place and time she should be. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Dorian saw the village head and the priest make their way quietly away from the head table. They drifted away, speaking quietly after they were out of the torchlight. The priest was escorted off somewhere, his strides shaky. He stopped for a moment, and looked back, directly at Dorian. His eyes were lit with a pale green, there was little, if any, sanity in the gaze.
Dorian snapped his attention away from the priest abruptly, and when he did the area where the priest had darkened and lost all clarity. He looked back to his mother, who was just finishing her announcement. As she was the last of the first three, she had to finish it by saying, “May Matae show kindness.” It was ritualistic, he remembered the priest talking about the phrase some several weeks ago. Something about how change is inevitable, but it was best to hope for good change over bad, though Dorian was sure it was usually a toss-up.
She said the words, and most everybody leaped up, starting conversations with their families and friends. There was an excitement to the air, an electricity Dorian wanted to rejoice in. He and Kurt made their way to their father, their mother meeting them at the other side of the head table. His father was red faced, and teary eyed.
Rand suddenly vaulted the table in front of his shocked family. Dorian always had a suspicion the old man was surprisingly athletic underneath his baker's gut. Rand stood tall, looking his wife in the eye. He grabbed her shoulders, let out a nearly inaudible sob, and embraced his wife. Even as a child, Dorian knew he was intruding. Kurt piped up, “Can we, ugh, go and-,” Their mother cut Kurt off quietly, but in a way that made her sound louder than the priest. “Go,” she said, gesturing with a hand but keeping her eyes on her husband. She didn't have to say it twice.
Turning to run, she voiced a noise from her throat that all young boys know as the “stop whatever the hell it is you're doing and pay attention” sound. They stopped, started to turn together, when she said, “Not too late boys. Before mid-moon, first moon, not the second.” The two of them looked at each other, looked at the moons, and ran off. Dorian could swear he heard chuckling from both his parents as he and his brother raced away.