“Yes, Master. It was common, mostly. A deer hunt. A bit fitful, I suppose, on account of the dream,” Maisen did his best to turn toward the Chieftain. Daysha could barely see the line of his face over his shoulder. “But the others needed me to keep a clear head, so I leaned into my training. It was successful and I've done the same ever since.”

The Chieftain, whom Daysha could see clearly, grinned.

“Who was your hunt lead?” he asked.

“Reiko,” Maisen answered without hesitation.

“Did you ever speak to him about the dream?”

“No, Master. I’ve never told anyone.”

The Chieftain nodded and stared wild-eyed at Maisen. Finally, he asked, “Where did you find the will to continue with the hunt after the dream left you shameful?”

Maisen did not answer right away, “I felt a duty to the men with me, for one. Hunts are dangerous, Master, as you know. I couldn’t bring myself to deplete the force when I was capable of continuing. For that matter, I knew I needed to provide for the tribe. As I said, the dream may have started as a hunt, but when it was all done, it felt like pointless killing. I was not providing sustenance to my people. There was no trophy to take as a sign of triumph; I didn’t prevail over the beast. I took advantage over it… when I had no need… no right to do it.”

It was awful to hear Maisen speak this way. Daysha had long viewed him as a proud hunter. He’d always seemed receptive to the honor due to him regarding every kill, save for this nightmare.

“Is it with this same resolve that you persist as a hunter?” The Chieftain asked.

“It is,” Maisen offered. “I have a duty to my people.”

The Chieftain continued to grin and he nodded approvingly. He placed his hands on his tree-trunk thighs and leaned forward, “You are a stunning rarity, Maisen. I’d like you to hear something before we continue.”

His gaze focused beyond the seated guests to where the three attendants awaited instruction, which the Chieftain gave, “Come.”

The three young men rose quickly and stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a line behind Keti.

“Oni, tell Maisen when you first had the dream,” the Chieftain commanded.

The young man on the far right, expressionless and solemn, spoke softly in a voice that hung just below a normal speaking volume, “On the eve of my first hunt, Master. I dreamed of a monstrous serpent that I knew to be the last of its kind. Despite knowing that I shouldn’t, I killed the beast and awoke with terrible shame.”

He ceased a stilted recollection. To hear him, one could deduce from words only that he felt remorse for his sleep-induced actions, for his tone matched that of bored, droning Elder women as they discussed balms and salves.

“I told the hunt lead about my dream. I told him I could not continue. He accepted this and prompted me to return immediately to camp, seeking no one but the Chieftain. I have been His Master’s attendant ever since.” Oni closed his mouth and waited patiently for his next prompting.

“What about you, Nile? Tell us of your dream,” the Chieftain commanded the young man in the middle.

In much the same manner as Oni, Nile recounted his dream, with a human warmth behind his voice that Oni lacked, “In a gray land, filled with mist, I slew the serpent beast that lay immobile – ready for me to kill it. Upon waking I tried to tell myself that not every hunt would feel this way. But my sleeping brother was snatched from our tent by a hyena when we were children. And I couldn’t stop thinking that I was no better than that scavenging coward. I told my hunt lead I would not become a hunter. He sent me to seek the Chieftain and I have lived here as an attendant ever since.”

“Tyrum, tell us of your dream,” came the Chieftain’s voice.

He seemed the youngest of the three. Tyrum’s retelling did not sound as practiced or as wooden as the other boys, “At the Southern Embankment, Master. I had a dream about hunting an enormous serpent with steam coming from its snout. After chasing the beast, it stopped and waited for me. I was eager to prove my valor and prowess. I stabbed at it without hesitation. After I did, there was an overwhelming fear that I needed to hide what I had just done. That I needed to thrust my spear into a river and disappear myself. But when I woke, I informed my hunt lead immediately. I was advised to seek the Chieftain. I have lived here as an attendant since.”

“You see, Maisen?” The Chieftain spoke once again and Daysha turned to face him. “You are not the first to seek my wisdom regarding a dream of this nature.”

He waved his hand, dismissing the attendants who returned to their waiting position at the far end of the room.

“And yet, here you are. Grown, an accomplished hunter, with a mate. The fact is, Maisen, we have customs in place to respond to an event that happens once every five courses or so. Whenever a hunt lead takes a new party to the Southern Embankment, I instruct him that if anyone should refuse the hunt, they are to be sent straight to me.”

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Despite the towering fire in front of her, Daysha felt herself go cold.

“Maisen,” the Chieftain continued, “if you had done like these other men and conceded the guilt and shame of the dreams events, you would have found yourself standing here beside them.”

Maisen turned his head to look back at Daysha. His face was pallid, but he smiled at her.

“I’d have had a very different life,” Maisen admitted.

“Very,” the Chieftain agreed. He then stood abruptly, causing Maisen, Daysha, and Keti to stand at attention so quickly that Daysha knocked over the log she had been sitting on. Nile, the attendant, set it back up immediately.

“Oh!” the Chieftain groaned, “We won't be doing all that now. You have sought me as my people, but sit with me now as guests. Sit! Please, sit!”

Deeply disturbed to sit in the Chieftain's presence, and yet unwilling to refuse a direct command, the three awkwardly lowered themselves back to the seats. The Chieftain walked to his throne of boulders and from the crown of the backrest retrieved a black stone. It was egg-shaped, yet flat. The Chieftain's large hands wrapped around its edges, his fingertips nearly meeting in the middle, but its girth was wider than Daysha's head.

He brought the stone plate back to his seat at the fire. In the light, streaks of dark green glistened in it like jade.

Daysha squinted at the somewhat-familiar object then gasped with recognition. She felt her mother earnestly grip her arm with concern, and the Chieftain released a booming laugh.

“You know this, don't you?” He laid the item on his lap and ran his hands across it admiringly.

“It's a scale…” Daysha breathed.

Maisen let out a nervous putter of a laugh. Keti retracted her hand from Daysha, clapping it over her mouth.

“It is,” the Chieftain growled, his voice far away as he stared hungrily down at the scale. “What you encountered in your dream, Maisen, was the remnant of an event that still echoes its wounded cry in the heart and dreams of our people. As you said before, this is no hunting trophy. It is a memorial… Keti?”

She jumped at the Chieftain's address.

“Did either of your parents ever speak of The Follower and how it looked when they were children?”

Keti swallowed hard, but then she smiled, “My father did. He said it was always covered in wispy clouds. But at night it was twice as bright because it had lights like The Far Constants on its surface. And the lights were gold, not white. When it shone in the day, he said that it had color, green, blue… not like the white, gray orb we see. He –” Keti paused to recall, “he never spoke of why it changed.”

“It is likely that he did not know,” the Chieftain offered.

He had sat upright, leaning back ever so slightly and cocking his head, as would a child, listening eagerly and casually assisting along a tale he already knew.

Keti, however, was finished with her story. The Chieftain seemed to awaken to this and leaned forward again, addressing the group, “In our tribe, I can tell you that there are currently eleven people alive who know why The Follower is now barren, a carcass that won't float from our shores, following us to mock this world for her crime.”

He sighed deeply. Hanging his head, he continued, “There are lands, far beyond our own, that tell this story to every man, woman, and child. They begin by telling the children in their beds. Then the instructors of the children will tell them more details as they grow. The adults know and remind one another through cautionary parables of the horrors they could repeat without diligent care. For you see, it was their ancestors, those who inhabited the far lands, who made it possible to destroy the Aydo.”

Daysha and the others exchanged glances as the Chieftain lifted the scale upright on his thighs. A green column flashed across its ebony face.

“The serpents you encountered were once living beasts,” the Chieftain continued. “The Aydo. I will tell you the story of their collapse, but first, you must understand a few things. For one, Maisen, how far west have you traveled?”

“Not very far, Master. Only to the shore of the Great River.”

“Do you know what lies beyond it?”

“Other lands? I'm sorry, Master, I've never thought to ask.”

“Other lands, indeed!” The Chieftain erupted with laughter. “Tribes, cities they call them, tenfold our numbers. They build their huts of stone! I hear that even their commoners have luxuries to rival my own." At this he roared raucously.

"And beyond them, a place I visit in my dreams – daydreams, mind. Where men fly aboard sky ships and ride on man-crafted beasts faster than cheetahs."

The Chieftain's words had dissolved into indiscernible drivel to Daysha. A deep laugh bubbled from his throat. “I apologize. I know this is hard to understand. I am getting ahead. In fact, I will tell the story over a meal.”

With swift, practiced movements, the attendants assembled a seating area for the four of them between the fire and the baskets of food against the wall. One after the other, they plopped down items as if they were driving a post in stacked, timed rhythm.

The four remained seated as there appeared before them a long wooden plank, upholding baskets of flatbread, nuts, dried fruit, fresh fruit, root vegetables, and stone slabs with smoked fish and a deer shank. Atop the antelope-skin flooring, the attendants set up round piles of cattails draped with fox skins: four leaning cushions, one at the far end of the wooden plank for the Chieftain, two to his right hand for Maisen and Daysha, one at his left for Keti.

They each reclined at the table as they did on feast days. Daysha placed her left elbow on the leaning cushion and extended her legs to the side. Maisen's legs lay behind her back and she felt him nudge her playfully with his toe. Keti lay at the far end, extending her legs toward the fire, respectfully keeping her own feet from pointing toward the face of the Chieftain.

Tyrum carved the meats, laying slabs on banana leaves in front of each diner. Oni poured a black tea into polished clay goblets, first to the Chieftain, then circling around to the rest. Nile dutifully cleared scraps from the leaves, so that each diner could fill the vacant space with more delicacies.

It would be highly disrespectful to leave the Chieftain's table sprightly and energetic. It was expected that one would eat to their full. Once satiated and lethargic, teas were traded for wine, and stories were told.

It was in this custom, prostrate and wielding a goblet of sloshing mulled wine, that the Chieftain began his tale.