“Now,” the newcor said, “what brings you down here, to the land of the dead?”
Leon, still unsettled from seeing the vision or whatever it was, wasn’t quick to answer. Gaius and Marcus, on the other hand, were a little faster on the draw.
“When you say, ‘the land of the dead’,” Marcus hesitantly began, “what exactly do you an by that?”
The newcor gave him an almost pitying look. “It ans what it ans,” he said. “This is my land, and I am dead.”
“Can you explain how we got here?” Gaius asked.
“By walking,” the newcor answered.
Gaius frowned but didn’t press the issue.
Leon jumped back into the conversation in his stead, asking, “Might we have your na?”
“You might, I can’t know that,” the newcor replied with a cheeky grin.
“Is there any question we can ask that you will answer in spirit as well as in letter?” Marcus testily inquired.
“There’s only one way to find out,” the newcor replied. “Ask questions and I will ask you questions in turn. One for one. I will begin. My question is the sa as the last I asked: why have you co to this place?”
Without missing a beat this ti, Leon stood a little straighter, subtly adjusted his rather simple clothing, and projected just a little more of his aura—enough to be, by his standards, impressive, but not overbearing.
“I am Leon Rai,” he said. “I am the last living descendent of the Thunderbird. I have co seeking support to rebuild my Clan.”
The newcor’s smile thinned and his deanor cooled. “The form this ‘support’ takes, I’ve heard, is to restore you to the old lands and titles that your forebears, well, bore. Is this accurate?”
“It is,” Leon admitted. “But that’s not all. The Ancestral Harts have been stuck on Aeterna for just as long as my family has. I would have us all depart this plane to reclaim what we once had.”
The newcor scowled slightly. “Why? Is what we have here not enough? Revanchism, in my experience, leads only to more death and suffering.”
“As opposed to now, when the Ten Tribes are locked in perpetual war with the Empires? How many have died over the past eighty-thousand years due to those conflicts?”
“Twenty billion, six hundred and thirty-seven million, nine hundred and nineteen thousand, two hundred and six,” the newcor imdiately said, taking Leon by surprise. “Just from war in the past eighty-thousand years. Would you like to know how many died following your Clan in more remote wars?”
“Many more than that, I take it?” Leon asked.
The newcor smiled, though there was no warmth in the expression. “Many more. And you would return us to that state. Following the Thunderbird Clan, we have never known peace, and the tombs of our greatest mages have always overflowed.”
Leon went quiet for a mont as he contemplated the newcor’s words as well as the newcor himself. There was sothing off about him, and not just his self-proclaid status as a dead man and his complete lack of aura. Leon wanted to know what that was.
As Leon paused, Marcus picked up the slack. “So what? War is a fact of life and prosecuting it with honor and duty brings glory to oneself and one’s kin. Is it not the greatest glory in the world to die fighting for a cause one believes in?”
“For so,” the newcor said, a note of bitterness in his deep, baritone voice. “For others, it is to live, to grow, and to create. It is in the things one passes on that brings the most joy and fulfillnt.”
“How many of them are down here?” Marcus wondered. “And how do their numbers compare to those who gave all they had to give to ensure the prosperity of their people?”
“More than you could ever count,” the newcor spat.
“You seem to have an accurate idea, though,” Marcus responded. He seed like he wanted to continue, but Leon held up his hand, silently ordering him to stop.
He made no excuses for Marcus, but he did smile and say, “We do not wish to disrespect anyone’s calling, nor their burial here. I have co here to ask for the Ancestral Harts to make good on their old oaths of loyalty to my Clan and to join in restoration. If the Ancestral Harts do not wish to take part, if they are content to simply stay here and restrict themselves to a single plane—not even as that plane’s masters—then that is their decision. But I will ask for their support all the sa.”
“You would only lead them to death,” the newcor stated.
Leon was silent for a long mont, so Marcus jumped in.
“Leon has not led us to death,” he said. “He doesn’t value war. He treats us honorably and I believe he will do the sa for your people. He will work to maintain peace for all those who join him.”
Leon gave Marcus a grateful look, but it was quickly erased by the newcor.
“And yet you intend on reclaiming what your Clan has lost? That will not co without death, and that death will be borne by those beneath him. I have seen this all before, young man, I have heard these promises many tis.”
“Were those promises not kept? Gaius asked. “Was the Thunderbird Clan cruel to your people? Did they act dishonorably? Did they make unreasonable demands of you? Treat you like slaves? Force you to be party to grave cris?”
“Look around you, boy,” the newcor demanded, his anger clearly growing. “My people died in numbers beyond counting in the na of the Thunderbird and her descendants. In their wars, over their whims, for their amusent. The Thunderbird Clan brought us great pain.”
“A reasonable complaint,” Gaius conceded with shrug. “But I would join my voice to Marcus’: Leon treats us honorably. He does not demand we die for his amusent and he is not needlessly cruel. As far as Lords go, he is the best I’ve ever served.”
Leon had to work hard to keep the grin off his face. He would have to find a way to express his gratitude for his retainers later. “I apologize for any cris committed against your people by mine. If what I’ve been told of those old days are true, then I can understand not wanting to return to them. What is it you want, then?”
“To live peacefully,” the newcor responded.
“No one can live peacefully,” Leon quietly protested. “Sooner or later, that peace will be ruined. Soone will want sothing that you have, or so old grudge from before your ti will be invoked—for none of us spring from nothing, our lineage free of carnage. That soone will then co to your ho and slaughter your kin, no matter how peaceful you have been living, no matter how far away from civilization you are, no matter how much of a threat you pose.”
Leon took a deep breath to steady himself, and the newcor didn’t take the opportunity to press him again.
“I want to live peacefully, too,” Leon continued. “But by virtue of my blood, that’s impossible. I need help, I need to band together with like-minded peoples, join their strength to my own. If I could just go off into the woods and live peacefully, I would. But that isn’t an option. I can’t live peacefully. I have to go the Nexus and rebuild the Thunderbird Clan.”
Leon paused for a long mont, giving the newcor a chance to ask his own questions. The newcor seed to be pondering his words, though, and had nothing yet to ask.
“So,” Leon said after the silence stretched long enough to turn awkward, “let ask you sothing if you’re not going to ask anything. Do you consider my Clan to be your enemy?”
The newcor frowned for a long mont and stared holes into Leon, though his gaze wasn’t as baleful as Leon might’ve expected. When he finally spoke, he simply said, “No.”
Leon cast his gaze around the graveyard, then gave the newcor a aningful look.
“I don’t want to fight the Thunderbird Clan,” the newcor said. However, a mont later, a dark look crossed his face, and he took a few threatening steps toward Leon. “However, if harm befalls my people…”
As the newcor advanced, Marcus and Gaius took a few steps forward to et him, each drawing their weapons. Leon, however, reached out and stopped them, though neither looked any less willing to throw down if it ca to that.
“Your n are loyal to you,” the newcor stated, no emotion in his voice.
“I trust them with my life,” Leon responded.
“As I do with you,” Marcus replied. “I owe you my life anyway. I will never forget that.”
“You have my unconditional trust,” Gaius said, seeming to choose to leave it at that.
“You both honor ,” Leon responded as he turned back to the newcor and desperately tried not to let his pride and happiness show on his face.
The newcor sighed and took a few steps back, his expression returning to normal. “I hope such loyalty is rewarded as it deserves. A Lord who abuses his vassals will soon find himself alone.”
“They have nothing to fear from ,” Leon replied. “Neither does your Tribe. I seek their support, not to enslave them.”
“Good. An easy thing to say, but good to hear nonetheless,” the newcor said as he took another couple steps back. He cast his gaze about the graveyard, a distant look growing in his eyes. “The Ancestral Hart,” he said. “Do you know how he got his na? The power that was passed down through his blood?”
“I confess that I don’t,” Leon replied, feeling slightly confused at the change in direction but chose not to ask yet.
“We are in tune with those who ca before us,” the newcor said. “Our mories are longer than most as a result. So many of my Clan have died in the Thunderbird’s wars that it’s hard for to give my blessing for this… reunion.”
The newcor paused, and Leon fixed his narrowing golden eyes upon him. “Who are you?” he asked, his tone suspicious and demanding.
The newcor smiled sadly, but there was no surprise in his expression. “I suppose it was too much to hope the heir of the Thunderbird would let continue like this, wasn’t it? Your Clan has ever held a disdain for subtlety.”
As he finished speaking, his body began to glow, rapidly becoming so bright that both Gaius and Marcus had to shield their eyes. Leon, however, watched in fascination as the newcor’s body expanded and grew. Horns sprouted from his head—or rather, Leon realized as they grew, antlers—and fur sprouted from his body. His hands and feet turned to hooves as his spine bent, turning him from a biped to a quadruped. His skull lengthened and bent.
The newcor was the Ancestral Hart. He now towered over Leon and his retainers, standing an impressive twenty feet tall with antlers that glowed with white light. His eyes, however, were black as a moonless night, and he seed to be perpetually crying black tears.
Despite being the progenitor of one of the Ten Tribes, he hardly looked the part. He was of impressive stature, to be sure, but he looked old and decrepit. His fur was matted and patchy, his body was thin and emaciated, and much of his exposed flesh was wrinkled and looked half-rotted.
“You see now, as I was in my final monts,” the Ancestral Hart spoke, still speaking audibly using so unidentifiable magic. “My body destroyed by my service to the Thunderbird. And now here I am, in the land of the dead, always watching over my Clan as a new Thunderbird arrives, demanding we spill our blood for him as we did for his predecessors.”
Leon frowned, then transford himself. In a mont, he stood not quite eye-to-eye with the Hart, but still much taller than just a mont before, and in his Thunderbird form his aura grew stronger as well.
[I make no demands. I but offer my hand, in exchange for their own. If they like what I have to offer, then they will support . If not, then I will leave them alone. It’s as simple as that.]
The Hart stared at him, its black, weeping eyes remaining locked unblinkingly upon him.
“Allowing my Clan to follow you again would only lead to this graveyard growing even faster. You would lead them to doom.”
[That’s not your decision,] Leon responded. [That is for your Tribe to decide. Not for , not for you. For them. Whatever decision they make, whether to accept or not, I will respect.]
The Hart seed to ignore him, instead turning to Marcus and Gaius in turn. “You have so truly loyal vassals. That they think so highly of you is a credit to you. Rare was loyalty back when your Clan held the title of ‘Storm King’.”
[I am blessed with good friends,] Leon modestly replied. [Your Tribe could be among them.]
The Hart sighed. “I suppose this is it, then, isn’t it? My descendants have spoken much of their desires to , both of you and of a certain ‘Thunderer’, and though I always caution them, try to steer them to the path of wisdom, it seems their mory of a ti when they followed the Thunderbird in the Nexus and through the Void is more attractive than my words of caution.”
Leon cocked his head and locked eyes with the Ancestral Hart.
“I will not stand in their way,” he continued, bringing a rush of relief to Leon’s heart. “Though I will not endorse your rule, either. I will always caution my descendants against placing their trust in you too readily. And if you do not fulfill promises you make to them, I will urge them to abandon you.”
Leon notionally smiled and he replied, [Fair enough.] He transford back into his human form.
Once he was fully dressed, Marcus asked, “Uh, out of curiosity, how do we leave this place?”
“Where even is this place?” Gaius responded.
“That is not for you to know,” the Ancestral Hart replied.
“Sothing to do with your inherited power, then,” Leon said. “Keep your secrets. Though I am fascinated by them, I understand wanting to keep sothing like that to yourself. However, I would like it if we could be shown the door. I would make haste in returning to those outside; we have much to discuss…”
The Hart sighed again. “Patience,” he murmured, “a resource ever in short supply…”
Leon heard so clicking from behind him, and when he turned, he realized it was the grave tender returning, his shoes clicking against the paved road that had returned from whence it had disappeared. When Leon turned back to the Hart, however, he found that he was gone. In his place, however, were countless more n and won, all staring at him. Unlike the brief glimpse he’d received just a few minutes ago, however, they lingered on as the grave tender approached.
Both Marcus and Gaius raised their weapons again but were quick to lower them again when Leon raised his arms to block them.
One of them, a man dressed in relatively extravagant clothes and who stood in front of the rest, said, “Our Ancestor is wise, but cautious, and his mind is clouded by the… violence of the Thunderbird’s conquest. We hold different mories of our ti as honored vassals of your Ancestors. Though our Ancestor will not support you, Heir of the Thunderbird, we will.”
---
Leon breathed a sigh of relief as he walked out of the tomb, though he kept himself from being too overt about it. Marcus, however, nearly collapsed as soon as they stepped out into the light, and even Gaius’ relief was evident from the massive smile plastered on his face.
It hadn’t taken them long to return to the surface with the grave tender only leading them a few hundred feet before the stairs back to the entrance were revealed. He didn’t speak much to Leon’s group, so without much further ado, Leon led his retainers back to the land of the living, without much idea of what in the hells they had just experienced, magically speaking.
Upon exiting the tomb, he felt Maia’s relief surround him like a hot bath, while similar feelings were expressed in Valeria and Cassandra’s expressions. He cast his gaze about, noting that most of his people, while relieved, seed more apprehensive than anything else.
Sar was the person his eyes landed upon. The man sprang to his feet when Leon exited the tomb and, after cocking his head as if listening to sothing again, strode forward.
“Leon Rai,” he intoned, “I have heard of the power you hold that allows us with Inherited Bloodlines to beco closer to our Ancestors. Is this true?”
“If you’re speaking of transformation, then yes,” Leon said as he transford right then and there.
Sar nearly fell over himself as he scrambled back to make room and to better take in what he was seeing. After a quick inspection, he then looked to the rest of Leon’s supporters, and there among them stood Hawks, Eagles, Jaguars, and Lions in their beast forms.
His head snapped back to Leon after taking in that sight. “Share with us that power and our support is yours,” he declared.
Without hesitation, Leon replied, [Done.]
Leon had barely finished the word before Sar was already lowering himself. He didn’t simply take a knee, however, but dropped to the ground in a full kowtow.
“The Wisdom of the Harts is yours, my King,” Sar said. “The Ancestral Harts have long held the Thunderbird in great esteem! We will not break faith now!”
And like that, the Ancestral Harts—or Sar, at least—were sworn to Leon.
User Comments
0 comments from readers