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Chapter 263
🕑 Added 2024-11-21 04:16:30 +0000 UTCLaugh and dance and joy and sing
Let all your greatest glories ring.
Enjoy the time our Gods allow,
But when they come then you must bow.
For they who the divine do scourge
Will find themselves put through the purge
And when the Absolute do reap
That is the time that we will weep.
-Misti Hawar children’s rhyme
Singing echoed around the fire, accompanied by discordant shrieks and trumpeting. It didn’t take long for me to identify the slurring songs of Shemira, and she stood in front of the fire with one hand holding a hank of oxfiend flesh, the other brandishing her cup of whatever the drink was called.
“I donnnn’t knowww any soooooongs, but I liiiike themmmmm!” Shemira declared to the surrounding indlovu in a tongue they did not speak. To them, I supposed our hisses and screeches sounded more like combat than music, but Shemira still threw herself into the “song” with gusto and reckless abandon. She spoke without rhythm or meaning, speaking about journeys, fights, life, and death, and her every word fell from her tongue with honest, pure feeling. The pure attempt at expressing herself shook me, and whether it was the influence of the alcohol on an empty stomach or merely the beauty of a child’s first song, I felt an indescribable emotion swell within me.
“For we have journeyed! We have fought! We have died, and some have not!
We are the keelish, Ashlani’s keelish, and we will fight until the night!”
Her simple chorus was echoed by a dozen keelish surrounding her, and all the keelish of my swarm quickly fell silent until the only sounds that interrupted the silence was the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the wind. All around, the keelish who could listen and understand bowed their heads nearly in unison as they remembered the sacrifices of hundreds who came before. I followed suit.
Oncli. My first friend.
Treel. The first khatif to die.
Redael. Though I’d killed him, I mourned him even so.
Rulac. Abrasive, powerful, and a friend.
Wisterl. A teacher and insane person.
So many more. Most of my brood, dead at my hand or under my command, and hundreds and hundreds of keelish who suffered from an extended attempted escape only to die at the hands of the humans and creatures of the Samutelia river.
In a moment of inspiration, I stepped forward. “Forged in battle and quenched in blood, we have come here. We will stride through the infernos of war and quash the beginnings of denial. We will reach our new home, and nobody will be able to take it from us. Never!”
“NEVER!” Echoed my swarm, and several of the indlovu visibly jumped at the sudden shout. I spoke in the human tongue, letting the indlovu understand better than my own swarm could.
“We thank the indlovu for their friendship, and wish to return it in kind! Please, enjoy the food, and if the fire grows cold or the spits run empty, take what is necessary to continue the celebration! In Nievtala’s name, as her Disciple, I bless you all to find victory in your endeavors and conquer every thing that dares to stop you!”
At my promise of more food, the indlovu cheered loudly and I saw one walk off towards a more sickly oxfiend. I didn’t watch as the warrior dispatched it or prepared it for the fire, though [Tremorsense] kept me aware of everything that was happening. Instead, I walked towards Foire, who stood with an arm around Trai. I was surprised that Trai was willing to stay still for so long, but heard their quiet discussion as I approached.
“--You do look a lot like her. More beautiful, though. Quicker. Talk a lot more. But sometimes, the way smile at me with a little joke only I understand you’re making, it’s just like her.”
I tuned out the conversation and walked away as Trai continued questioning her father about Treel. I’d never heard her make a joke, I realized. As a matter of fact, there weren’t many keelish willing to make a joke at all while in my presence, much less directly to me. The melancholy of the alcohol’s buzz settled over me, and I was forced to remember my generally depressive mood whenever drunk. I waved off the festivities, instead returning to a nearby sand bath where I was close enough to watch and hear the quiet murmur of conversations without being able to discern any of the specifics.
Maybe it was the comparative strength of my khatif body when looking back at my human one, but other than feeling a little lonely, the shwala, as I’d learned the drink was called, didn’t affect me otherwise. I lay back in the warm sands and let myself feel warm, calm, and unconcerned. Journeys and hunts and politics were things for tomorrow to worry about. For now, for the first time in what felt like forever, I actually stopped worrying about everything else that could or would or needed to happen.
Even under the influence of the shwala, I felt Sybil’s approach through [Tremorsense]. When she slowly sunk into the sands with a groan, I cracked an eye open at her.
“I never would have expected to hear you groan like that, unless it was under me.”
“And you would not usually make jokes like that where others might hear. I fear this drink–”
“Shwala.”
“Shwala,” Sybil allowed, though the barest hint of defensiveness crept into her posture, “changes the inhibitions of its consumer.”
“That is the primary function of it. Yeah.”
“I do not enjoy feeling as if I am unable to control myself. I am always under control.”
“Eh.” I hedged. “Is it really that bad?”
“Shemira is singing the song she refused to let any other hear because she thought it lacked polish. And she is presenting it to the whole swarm. When I confronted her about it, she merely wagged her tail at me as she continued. So yes, I would say that the ‘shwala’ is that bad. Nievtala grant me understanding and patience.” Sybil said after she realized the open sass she was giving me.
“I am happy to be with you, Sybil.” I cut in, keeping her from continuing her spiral. “I enjoy being with you, and this less controlled version of you is precious. Now, instead of complaining more,” I cut her off, “would you give me a good scrubbing? The wash you gave me before was a little lacking.”
Though both pairs of hands wandered as we washed, we didn’t do anything beyond enjoy the feel of the other’s body and the warm sands. Time passed strangely quickly, and we only finished with our bathing when the suns were setting. Then, with the fire dying down and hundreds of bodies finding rest wherever they found themselves when the exhaustion struck them down, Sybil and I laid down to rest.
I woke with the rising suns, my head pounding and complaining. With only that mouthful of shwala, I was hungover, and I mourned that there was no river nearby to dunk my head in. Qaqambi trundled up, apparently none the worse for wear.
“That was a generous celebration you offered us, Ashlani. We appreciate it! Now, we return to our ufudoluk and the rest of our tribe. We are happy to have met you and feasted together! I said that three days’ travel to the East is where you need to go to leave our lands, but an additional day’s travel to the North once in the Linqata’s stewardship from that border might be of interest to you.”
“We too are glad have met you.” I said, blinking heavily in the bright light while disregarding the last part he’d said. “I hope to see you again.”
“Ah, but we will. I’m sure of it!”
Then, with that, the Yegolide tribe disappeared into the surrounding grasses and was gone.
