T'aakshi

Two weeks was a long time by any measure, but it was an eternity out in the Deep Wastes. Especially when you never quite had enough food to sweeten the bitter tang of failure. T’aakshi’s group had made it to the hunting grounds five days ago with little trouble beyond their cold-stiffened muscles, weakened from too much walking on too little sustenance.

At first, the excitement of finally being somewhere they might find some trace of the beast fuelled them. They set up a more permanent and comfortable camp up within the confines of the stone circle usually used for baiting in plainsdeer, its towering stone boundary affording an illusion of security. Then came the search.

T’aakshi had most of his party walking in circles around the stones, carefully searching for any hint or sign—fur, footprints, scat—the beast might have left behind. Each time they completed the loop, they went again, this time in a slightly wider circle, covering as much ground as thoroughly as possible. A creature that size would need more sustenance than an occasional hunting party could provide, so while the others circled, T’aallin and S’aari ventured out, searching for signs of its usual prey.

They found nothing. Not a single trace of the creature that had killed so many right here in this very spot remained, nor was there any sign that such a creature even existed in the first place. If it wasn’t for the fact that each and every one of them had seen it with their own eyes, T’aakshi would have already begun to wonder if the whole thing hadn’t been some terrible dream.

The silence of night this far north, only broken by the gentle crackle of a genuine, wood-fuelled campfire—their first since they had left the village—filled their ears like a screaming child they were all desperate to ignore lest it got its way. Hota’s head was resting on Kachi’s shoulder, and both were so still they could have been asleep if not for the glimmer of firelight reflected in their eyes.

S’aari sat apart from the rest, holding a waterskin as though she were about to drink, but as far as T’aakshi knew, it had never actually made it to her lips since they had stopped their search for the evening. Jiro was the only one of them absent. T’aakshi could see his silhouette outside of the stone circle, patrolling the border of their camp, shoulders hunched and head down.

T’aakshi bit his lip, wringing his hands in his lap. Finding something here had always been unlikely. Between the wind and the snow, animal-sign might not last an hour, let alone days or weeks, but it had been a plan. Something to focus their minds. To keep them going. Today, it had been clear that even that glimmer of hope had died. There was nothing here, and they all knew it, and now they waited in cutting silence for a new plan from somebody that had none.

A copper tang flooded his mouth from his lip, and he hissed, wincing, and wiping away a streak of blood with the sleeve of his furs.

“Lad?” T’aallin’s voice sounded as defeated as he felt, only a hint of concern bleeding through.

“It’s nothing,” T’aakshi answered, waving him away. “Can I speak to you for a moment? Alone?”

T’aallin’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded and allowed T’aakshi to lead him away from the campfire, under the wordlessly watching gaze of the rest of their party. They arrived at T’aakshi’s tent, built larger than if they had been travelling the next morning, and seated themselves inside.

T’aakshi extended a finger towards the small blubber lamp he kept inside, and a flash of fire lit the wick, bathing the tent in a faint amber glow. Channelling such a small amount of self took far less concentration than what he had done at the lake, and didn’t need for him to consciously access a memory. He simply used some of the frustration he felt now, like skimming the froth from a mug of ale.

“T’aallin,” he said, keeping his voice low, meeting the older man’s grey eyes firmly. “I’d like you to tell me what you know about this.”

He reached back and took his father’s spear in hand, laying it across his lap. The jewel shimmered ethereal blue, even under the dim firelight. T’aallin studiously avoided looking at the tanae, keeping his eyes locked intently on T’aakshi’s face.

“Your father’s spear.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” T’aakshi answered.

T’aallin sighed, running his hands through thinning, ash-grey hair.

“You’re considering using it, then.”

The words were more a statement than a question, and the disappointment and resignation in them stung at T’aakshi like barbs.

“How could I not with what’s at stake?” he hissed, the heat in his voice only tempered by a need to keep this private.

“You know, lad,” T’aallin said, tone suddenly light and off-hand, as though just now remembering something. “I was there for your father’s trial to become Chief.”

T’aakshi blinked, breath caught in his throat, blind-sided by the sharp change of subject. “I—what?”

“Aye. I won’t get into the details—they’re not so important right now—but what they asked of him? It was impossible. I remember how terrified I was when he chose us and told us what we were to do. Thought for sure I’d be following him to an early grave.”

“But it can’t have been, obviously. He became Chief.”

“Exactly!” T’aallin exclaimed, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Exactly that, lad. They set for him an impossible task—but it was only so right until the moment he accomplished it. Did you think earning the name of Chief would require anything less?”

T’aakshi’s grip on the shaft of the spear in his lap tightened. He had never been told of his Father’s trial. It had been before he was born, and for T’aakshi, his T’saamu being Chief had simply been how things were. He was a great leader, so of course he had been. To T’aakshi, that had been as much of a natural part of his Father as his hair colour, or how tall he was. He had never thought much about how he had become that man—he just was.

“But I’m not him, T’aallin.”

T’aallin smiled. “Neither was he, until he had to be. I know something about the temptation you face,” he said, nodding towards the spear. “Your Father faced it too, lad. They were not his father’s memories, mind you.”

T’aakshi found himself nodding, despite the tension wracking his body. His father had claimed the title ahead of the previous Chief’s son—much as T’aarak was trying to do now. Given that he had never met the man that had opposed his father, T’aakshi could only assume he had passed either during the attempt or since.

“But, when it seemed like all was lost, when our backs were up against the wall, that tanae was always there, promising answers and salvation.”

“Did he ever use it?”

T’aallin shook his head, sucking in a frustrated breath. “No, lad, that’s the entire point. That crystal—the tanae—it’s a crutch, a coddling mother solving your problems for you. T’saamu didn’t resist temptation and become an outstanding leader. He became an outstanding leader because he resisted the temptation.”

T’aakshi’s head dipped, and his eyes fell upon the swirling surface of the crystal. He could almost feel the memories reaching out to him. Memories of his Father, tugging at his heart, and he longed to give in. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what T’aallin was trying to tell him. His Father had not given in and learned that he could accomplish great things without something like the tanae. He hadn’t allowed it to become the bedrock of his leadership and instead, it was merely a very useful weapon in his arsenal.

The trouble was, in his heart of hearts, T’aakshi wasn’t interested in leadership, or greatness, as his father had been. He was here to save his people and, somewhat selfishly, to claim the memories of his Father he longed for. Self meant that he had the best chance out of everyone of killing the beast, and so there had been little choice. He had to succeed, no matter what, or else his people would suffer and die—the beast finding and attacking their village had proved that for a fact. There would be no running from this.

“I can’t hang the future of our tribe on the possibility I might become as great as my Father was. I’m not him, T’aallin.”

“No, lad. T’saamu was like nobody I’ve ever met,” he replied, and the look in his eyes reminded T’aakshi of when they had spoken outside of his family’s ruined home. “I loved that man like a son. I would have gone to the grave at a word from him with a smile on my face. You aren’t him, lad. But—and understand what it means for me to say this—I believe you have it in you to be better.”

T’aallin stood, leaving T’aakshi sitting wide-eyed on the floor, and reached for the tent’s opening.

“Nobody can tell you what to do, lad. This choice is yours to make and yours alone. But to use that now would be an insult to your Father. You swore an oath on more than just your own honour, and I won’t be a part of you breaking it. I’d follow you until death, like I would have your father—but I will not follow there.”

He held T’aakshi’s gaze for a moment that seemed to stretch on for an age, and then disappeared out into the night. T’aakshi slumped, as though a spell on him had been broken by T’aallin leaving. His head felt heavy, the entire act of holding himself upright a feat of strength and endurance.

T’aallin’s words cut at him deeper than he’d expected them to. He had practically worshipped the man as a boy, and as a man, respected him beyond words. To have this man turn his back on him would be a wound T’aakshi did not think he would recover from.

But what choice did he have? Despite the faith the older man claimed to have in him, T’aakshi did not know what to do next. There was no hint of where the beast might be; no way of deciding where to go or what to do next to find the answers they needed.

There was, of course, Self. He did not know how it was possible, but channelling large amounts of it had caught the beast’s attention over an enormous distance. But this had its own problems. He had no idea what the connection between the creature was, or how it worked, and at the lake, it had made him lose control and fall unconscious. If that happened again, he risked not even being awake when the beast arrived, let alone being able to fight.

T’aakshi’s head fell into his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair, balling up into fists and yanking hard at his hair. He trembled, trying to focus his thoughts. He needed to think, to consider his options, but trying to concentrate on any one thing was like catching mist. Each time he got close to something coherent, it slipped through his fingers, intangible, and each failure drove home the one thing that he was cripplingly certain of: he was not like his father—he could not do this.

At least, he couldn’t without help. He had sworn an oath, and his and his father’s honour hinged upon him keeping it. But, when he passed on, and his soul was reunited with his Father’s, which would shame him more to say: that he had broken his oath, or that he had allowed their people to suffer and die so that he might keep it?

T’aakshi raised his head, thoughts suddenly still. He looked down at his father’s spear and took a single, deep breath. After this, there would be no turning back. This was not something he would ever be able to undo. But, even as his hand reached towards the shimmering blue of the tanae, he had not been as certain of any decision he’d made on this hunt as he was of this one.

He would do what must be done, no matter the cost.