Visions of a Dark Horizon

Chapter 1  – The Stars that Fall

It was a cool day in that place between the hot season and the barren season, when the sky above Linae Ka was filled with bright white stars, shooting and sparking across the red and purple dusk and passing to they east, beyond the horizon into the places beyond.  Na’tu was tending the central cooking fire, preparing Tikka leaves and a boar-like Toka freshly killed by the last hunting party when the other villagers began commenting, then crying out in fear and confusion.  Never before had anyone in all the tribe’s memory seen such a display in the skies above Linae Ka, and most saw it as an ill omen.  Of course, thought Na’tu, anything new or unusual was considered an ill omen by the tribe, though in her memory no calamity had ever befallen them.  Their valley spirit, the gentle and generous Linae Ka, had always provided them with all they needed and had secluded and guarded them from the places beyond.  For generations her tribe lived in peace and tranquility.  Stars shooting across the sky and falling into the places beyond could not change that.  Linae Ka would not let them.  Fear was like the green vipers of the forest, though – always ready to strike at least provocation.

By nightfall the whole tribe – over eighty adults strong – had gathered outside the Hia’ni , the place where the eldest and wisest of the tribe lived, sharing their wisdom and counsel with the people.  The tribe waited, patiently and reverently, for the elders to come forth and hold counsel regarding the stars that fell through the sky.  They waited for hours, past evensong, well into the darkness of the night, sitting quietly, torchlight flickering and illuminating worried and terrified faces, glinting off silver jewelry and feathered protection fetishes clutched by shaking hands.  Finally, in the hour of the second moon, the door to the Hia’ni opened and the five elders, led by Elder Taman, emerged from within.

There was an excited murmur through the crowd as one by one the gathered people realized that each of the Elders wore their robes of high ceremony, emblazoned with the sacred red geesa feathers, vestments flowing scarlet and green and turquoise in the torchlight.  The elders only dressed in these robes but once a year, for the scared festival of the spirit of Linae Ka, the most sacred and revered of celebrations. Na’tu felt a chill of fear grip her in spite of herself, in spite of her faith in Linae Ka to protect her people and her village. She stood silently and waited as the elders sat in their familiar semi-circle and began to address the people of the village.

“Children of Linae Ka.” Elder Taman said.  His voice was calm and serene, but it carried throughout the village gathering place as if he stood next to each and every person gathered there, talking just to them.  “The skies send us a message this day, falling stars touching the places beyond, far to the east.”  He looked around, his wise grey eyes scanning all the peoples of the village.  “The message the skies send us is not a message of peace, but a message of war.  The drums of war, so long silenced by the great spirit of Linae Ka, will once again ring clear and loud in the ears of her children.”

At these words the gathered crowds burst into nervous whispers and wringing hands, but Elder Taman continued and the silence returned as he spoke.  “The magic of great Linae Ka is strong, she has always protected her children here in her valley.   We of the Hia’ni have seen the war drums sounding strong in our great valley, but like the great storms of the barren season, we have seen them pass by, their great red eyes blinded by the spirit that protects us.  We must have faith, children of Linae Ka.  So it is said, so it must be.”

There was no further discussion.  As elder Taman had said, so it must be.  The elders had wisdom far beyond their years, they had the wisdom of all the elders of the tribe, and never had they led their people astray.

 

Chapter 2  – The Drums of War

The village returned to an uneasy quiet after Elder Taman spoke.  By the third day after the stars that fell, life had returned mostly to normal, with almost nothing being said about the stars or the ill omens they conveyed.

Na’tu had returned to her duties as muthrii – one of the village cooks and bakers.  Her mother had passed on all the ceremonies and recipes of their people, meals of jorum leaves and toka meat and the various fish that swam in the clear streams of Linae Ka valley.  It was an honored place in the tribe, and she took great pride in her work and her responsibilities.  Even in the leanest times, during the barren time after the hot season, or when the hunts returned time after time with no meat to smoke, Na’tu could always build a meal that was satisfying for her people and that gave them strength.  She looked forward to the day her belly swelled with life and she could pass her knowledge on to her daughter, should the spirits of the green and abundant life see fit to bless her with such.

She and the other muthrii – there were four in the village, with Ha’shi’s daughter also in training – worked on a special meal this night.  Nothing the level of their great celebration feasts, but more than what was normally prepared for an evening meal, with Na’tu preparing spiced Toka meat and Ha’shi mixing a salad of the ripe fruits and hyacinth flowers the valley had offered them in that morning’s gathering trip.  It was much work, making meals for such a large village, but it was sacred work too, and all the women enjoyed and respected it.

Evening meal was a grand and energetic celebration.  The tribe knew that extra care had been taken in the preparation of the meal, even though no muthrii had said a word, and all gave thanks to the muthrii for their efforts.  Even though this meal was not part of any sacred celebration, Rotha and four of his best warriors spontaneously followed the traditions of celebration ritual and carried prepared foods up to the elders table, presenting the food to them with a deep and honored bow, and all there waited until the elders had silently blessed each dish before they ate.

After the meal, several villagers brought out skins of fermented fruit nectars and shared them with all gathered there. Mortha and Durat brought out drums and played the at the fire and drove many of the villagers to dance with joy and abandon.  Even Na’tu danced around in the warm orange torchlight, her heart full of joy and song, and she gave thanks to Linae Ka for all the blessings she had in her life.  The dancing and music went far into the night, past the time of evensong, past the time of torchlight, until finally all were tired and headed off, alone or in pairs, to love or to sleep.

Na’tu had taken Hanro, one of Rotha’s younger warriors, and guided him to her home, neither bothering to speak, their eyes and bodies communicating all that needed to be said.  They made love passionately, there in the dark, the sweat form their bodies making them slick, their breathing deep and rhythmic. Hanro brought Na’tu to her fill with his arching muscles and warrior’s energy, and then she brought him to his fill, feeling his body tense under her thighs, his muscles like braided chupa vines, strong and powerful.  He was silent – as was the warrior tradition – but she moaned with the pleasure of him, then kissed his firm chest and ran her fingers through his braided hair before laying beside him, listening to the sounds of the village and the spirit of Linae Ka around them.

Na’tu didn’t know if she had fallen asleep, or was merely in a waking dream when she heard the drums.  She thought it was her heartbeat at first, or the heartbeat of Hanro beside her, so faint and regular was the sound.  But it was too slow, too deep a sound to be a heartbeat.  She lay there, eyes staring into the darkness, and heard it again. A dull, deep boom that sounded as if it came from far, far away, deep in the places beyond.

She blinked her eyes several times, as if clearing the sleep and sex from them would enable her to hear more clearly.  It came again.  She counted her heart beats silently, listening, and heard it again. Eleven heartbeats. She breathed in and out, willing herself to be calm and steady, and counted heartbeats again. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Boom.

She didn’t know how long she lay there in silent panic, listening to the great, booming drums far off in the places beyond.  They were steady, rhythmic.  Almost always the same distance apart.  A drum beat, a deep and terrible drum beat that chilled and terrified Na’Tu.  Was she the only one who could hear it?  Or were there others in the village, laying silently as she did, listening as well. Listening to the great and terrible drums.

 

 

Chapter 3 – Daybreak

Na’tu was not the only one who had heard the drums.  By daybreak the village was buzzing with excitement, fear, and confusion. Na’tu could no longer hear the drums at all with all the sounds of the village around her, but people whispered of the drums in hushed tones, as if speaking of them aloud was a bad omen in itself.   All work in the village had stopped, the cookfires barely smoldered, and it seemed that people were meeting in darkened houses, talking of what they heard, what it meant, the prophesies of the elders.  People were afraid, worried now, and even though they could not hear them, the dark booming of the drums of war still echoed in every part of their lives.

At midday the elders gathered and called the village to hear their counsel.  All came, so that the area around the Hia’ni was full to overflowing, but there was complete silence.  No person there uttered a sound as the elders sat in their semi circle.  This time is was elder Shan’ti who spoke to the gathered villagers.

“As the skies had prophesied, so have the drums of war come to Linae Ka.  Even now, their sound rings through our valley, bringing with it fear and confusion.”  She scanned the crowd, her long grey hair woven with feathers and glittering beads.  “Children of Linae Ka, we must have faith that the spirit of this valley will protect us.  We must not neglect our responsibilities, for even as the drums beat far from here in the places beyond, do we not still need food, and drink?  Do we not still need to hunt the great Toka and Garun?  Do we not still need to gather the fruits and leaves that Linae Ka gifts to us each day?” Her voice took on a sharp, almost accusatory tone, and many of the villagers averted their eyes with the shame of neglecting their duties as they had.

“ The drums of war beat far from here, but the omens and talismans say that the drums will come closer, they will beat louder still, until the very ground of Linae Ka shakes with their fury.” Elder Shan’ti said, raising her wizened hands for emphasis and intimidation.  “But the spirit of Linae Ka may yet grant us a boon.  The spirits have demanded that in five nights’ time, we shall have a ceremony.  It shall start as the sky is painted purple and red, the same time that the stars fell, and it will continue until we are granted a sign by Linae Ka herself. We must all prepare for this ceremony, and in five days time, we will pray to Linae Ka to grant us her great boon.  So it is said, so it must be.”

 

Chapter 4  – Preparations

The village moved into high gear after the counsel of Shan’ti and the elders.  Rotha and his hunters prepared for a great hunt and left the village with much fanfare, bodies painted green and yellow as was tradition, spears and blowguns hefted over their shoulders.  Na’tu waved to Hanro as he walked by, strong and proud, and he smiled at her, faintly.  It was not the warriors way, showing emotion such as this before the hunt, but Hanro was young, he had only two seasons of the hunt behind him, and he and Na’tu had shared much in the past day and night.  The looming fear of the drums and what was to come heightened the connection between them.  Na’tu was ten seasons Hanro’s elder, but he was strong and honorable, and would make a fine father for her child, should the spirits bless her in such a way.

The muthrii went into the valley and into the fruit groves and gathered fresh fruit and leaves and mushrooms until their woven kurts were full to bursting with the bounty Linae Ka granted them.  They gave thanks to Linae Ka as they returned to the village to begin preparations for the festival.  It was decided that two of the muthrii would prepare regular meals for the village each day with part of what they gathered, and the other muthrii – along with Ha’shi’s daughter – began preparation of the festival foods that would be needed for the celebration. The elders had said that they must celebrate until they receive a sign from Linae Ka, and there was no way of knowing how long that might be, so Na’tu and the other muthrii were determined to make enough food for five festivals, so that their people would be able to keep up their strength and energy no matter how long it took for great Linae Ka to grant their boon.

By evening meal, the drums of war could be heard clearly, even over a low din of conversation.  People did not speak of it openly, but there was an air of growing tension in the village, a nervous energy that made women wring their hands and men rub their hands in the dirt of Linae Ka as a ward against evil.  Also adding to the tension and the fear, the elders did not leave the Hia’ni for evening meal as they usually did, but requested that a meal of shak’ni leaves, boro mushrooms, and kota nuts be prepared and brought to them, along with two skins of fermented nectar.  Once brought, they shut the door and put out all the lamps within the Hia’ni, so that no sign of them could be seen or heard.

People ate the modest evening meal that the muthrii had prepared and then those who had festival preparation work to do kept doing it, and others simply went home in silence.  The village was as quiet as the barren season moon by evensong, and even Na’tu, not one for sleeping early, lay down and listened to the night, listened to the war drums beating, far off somewhere.  They were different tonight – not just louder, but the cadence had changed, as if more beats were added to the rhythm.  It was an unnatural sound, an unhealthy sound, like the heartbeat of a dying garun.  Sleep did not come easily for Na’tu, or any of the village that night.

The louder the war drums got, the quieter the village got.  Everyone went about their tasks, preparing for the ritual, gathering food, doing anything that would keep their thoughts away from the sound, from the incessant beating of those terrible drums of war.  Shortly after midday, elder Taman came to the muthrii’s cook fire and requested another meal of shak’ni leaves, boro mushrooms, and kota nuts be prepared for the Hia’ni dinner that night.  He then told the muthrii who were preparing for the festival – this included Na’tu – that for the festival, no fire nor torch could be lit, and any cooking needed for the festival preparation must be done before midday.  This was a great shock, as part of festival was always to have a great cookfire with Toka or Garun or even a hill goat roasting over the pit, but elder Taman said that his instruction was from Linae Ka herself, and could not be doubted.  The muthrii bowed deeply and swore it would be done.

Evening meal was quiet, somber, the sound of the drums now unmistakable even over modest conversation, always that deep, unnatural sound, a dark sound, somehow sinister in it’s regularity.  Everyone knew what it meant, yet none would say it aloud – they were getting closer, the drums of war. Closer to Linae Ka, closer to their village. But what they meant, none could say.  Linae Ka had always protected her children from war, hadn’t she?  There had not been a war in more generations than could be recalled.  Elder Mal’ki had once said that her great, great grandmother had witnessed a terrible war, a war of fire, and of strange weapons, and of much death, but it was told like a fable, like one of the great stories of her people, of how great mother Ka’Na’Sie hung the moon in the sky, or how Red Doe had gained her spots.  War was myth.  War was legend.  And as the drums droned on, Na’tu thought, war was coming.

 

Chapter 5 –  The Fire that Burns the Sky

After evening meal, after evensong, Na’tu was grinding soka beans into meal to bake flatbreads when she heard a yell.  She heard another and it almost sounded like a scream.  She ran to the source of the sound, and already people were gathered, looking to the east, into the night sky.  Na’tu saw it immediately, and her heart leapt with fear.  Never had she seen anything like this, and she could not understand what it could mean.

The sky to the east – far, far away, past the valley, deep into the place beyond – was orange and flickering as if lit by torchlight.  It was dim, but as evensong passed into night proper and the sky turned onyx black, the thin flickering ribbon was clearly visible to the naked eye.  It was an unnatural thing that terrified Na’tu.  For the first time, she felt a fear like she had never encountered in all her seasons.  The drums were louder as well, again their cadence changed, beats added as if more drummers had joined and began playing their own terrible rhythms.  The people stared at the sky, whispering to one another or else praying to Linae Ka, and began to gather outside the Hia’ni, to hear the counsel of the elders.  The people waited for hours, the air filled with both the sounds of the terrible drums and frightened whispers and murmurs, but the lamps in the Hia’ni remained unlit, the elders did not present themselves.  The people were afraid.

Na’tu did not sleep at all that night.  The drums were loud enough now to disturb her slumber, but even if they were not, the sight of the burning ribbon in the sky still terrified her.  She prayed to Linae Ka, begged the benevolent spirit of the valley to protect her, to protect Hanro, to protect her family and her village from whatever evil was there on the horizon.

Morning brought further terror to Na’tu and the village.  Far to the east, where they had seen the ribbon of fire the previous night, there were now columns of black smoke rising high into the heavens.  Still far, far away from Linae Ka, the columns of smoke mere ribbons against the pale blue sky, but there were so many.  The eastern horizon was striped with them, as if whole forests were burning, being consumed by flames of war.

People wept.  Some families fled, gathering a kurt full of belongings and heading west into the valley, away from the drums and the smoke, hoping for safety.  Still the elders did not come out of the Hia’ni, and the people grew more and more afraid.  Even the other muthrii were afraid, not daring to head deeper into the jungle to gather more mushrooms and leaves for the festival.

Na’tu found herself thinking about Hanro, and she felt fear for him.  Were the hunters to the east? Were they safe?  Rotha was the strongest and the bravest of all Linae Ka and his men were sharp witted and well trained, but what did they face?  How could they challenge something that burned whole forests, that beat those cursed drums day and night, so loud that the ground itself must shake beneath their terrible rhythm.

At evening meal less than half the village came.  The rest were either hiding in their homes or had fled into the valley.  Na’tu and the other muthrii served those who came, but Na’tu didn’t have much of an appetite herself.  To everyone’s surprise, the elders all came out of the Hia’ni and sat at the elders table for evening meal.  They greeted people warmly and asked how preparations for the festival were moving along, as if nothing were wrong, even though they had to raise their voices now to be heard over the constant cadence of the war drums.

People asked them for counsel, begged them for words of comfort, but the elders simply smiled and said that all focus must be on preparation for the festival in two days time. That the people needed to complete their preparations, so that the spirit of Linae Ka would bless them and protect them from the drums of war. As the elders headed back into the Hia’ni, elder Taman turned and spoke to no one in particular.

“When Rotha returns tomorrow at midday, he is to knock on the Hia’ni door three times and enter.  He is to speak to no man nor woman before then.” And he turned and entered the Hia’ni.

Na’tu felt excitement at the thought that Rotha – and with him Hanro – would return by next midday.  She didn’t even wonder how elder Taman knew; she just trusted that he was right.  Even though the sound of the drums were still louder, the cadence more unnatural and terrifying than ever, and the tendrils of smoke in the east still grew thicker and – Na’tu knew – closer, she felt a renewed calm.

Na’tu actually slept that night, amidst the terrible and near thunderous din of the drums. She did not look to the eastern sky, though she knew from the talk of others that it was brighter and more pronounced, and that the yellow-orange flicker lit up the clouds and smoke over the whole of the eastern horizon like some great false dawning.  Na’tu slept, and she dreamt of Hanro and his strong arms, she dreamt of their strong daughter, who she would name Na’lia, which meant flower of the sky.  She did not dream of war at all.  She had faith in the spirit of Linae Ka.

 

Chapter 6  – The Tale from the Mountain

Na’tu woke happy and content from her dreams of her daughter to be and even the din of the war drums could not drown out the joy her dreams had brought her.  Dreaming of a child was said to be prophetic magic, a blessing of the spirits, and Na’tu hurried to the Hia’ni to tell the elders, as was the tradition. Elder Shinw’ai opened the door almost immediately, and smiled.  Before Na’tu could speak, elder Shinw’ai calmed her with her warm blue eyes and spoke.

“When Hanro returns from the hunt, go to him, take him to your home, sit with him.  Do not speak.  Wash his hair and begin to braid it.  He will tell you a tale.  Listen, do not interrupt.  At evening meal, bring him roast Toka and Linati stalks, then come to the Hia’ni and knock three times.”

“I will do as you ask elder Shinw’ai.” Na’tu replied, bowing deeply before heading to meet the other muthrii for daily duties.  She trusted the elders and her heart leaped in her chest thinking of Hanro’s return, beating so hard it nearly drowned out the terrible drums of war.

Na’tu’s joy was short lived as she learned that one of the other muthrii, Gi’al, had left in the night, unable to stand the drums and the terrible fires in the sky, fleeing to the west with a group of others.   So many had left now, the village seemed almost deserted.  Na’tu and the remaining muthrii barely had to make any morning meal, so few were there to eat it.  They served morning meal to the elders inside the Hia’ni as was custom, then went on preparing the food they had collected, still making many preparations for the festival the following night.

While preparing for the festival and for evening meal, Na’tu also made sure she had roast Toka and spiced Linati stalks prepared for Hanro, as elder Shinw’ai had instructed, keeping the meal in a woven basket near the cook fire, staying warm.  She had faith, faith in the elders, and faith in the spirits.  Even through the incessant drumming, that horrible thumping that never ceased, never wavered in its terrible, unnatural cadence, Na’tu had faith.

Just before midday, as predicted  by the elders, Rotha and his hunters returned.  Only eleven of the original twenty men were with the party however, and Na’tu had a moment of panic as she did not see Hanro.  He was there, though, towards the back of the group and helping to drag the blue-feathered carcass of a huge garun on a crude litter.  The villagers – those who were left, anyway – cheered the return of their heroic warriors as they came in, but those of Rotha’s men who had returned all looked haggard, weary, and frightened.

Na’tu walked up to the men as they moved into the village proper and relayed the elders’ message to Rotha, then took Hanro by the hand and led him to her home.  Na’tu sat with him, saying nothing, and pulled bits of vine and twig from his hair.  She unwound his thick hair from the tuli sticks traditionally worn by the warriors, then took scented stream water and washed his hair, which was trail-dirty and starting to mat from so many days on the hunt.  He smelled of dirt and sweat and fear, and Na’tu wanted to console him, to tell him of her prophetic dream, but she trusted the elders.  The trusted the spirits.

The horrible drumming their constant companion, filling the house and the world, Na’tu fought to block it out as she dried Hanro’s hair and began to braid it into wide, flat braids.  She had nearly finished the first when Hanro began to speak.  As instructed, Na’tu did not interrupt.

“We were on the trail east, following Rotha, on the trail of a garun.  Rotha was following its tracks, but it stayed ahead of us, always out of sight, out of hearing.  The drums – in the deep valley the drums are worse, they echo through the trees and rocks, they make you feel sick to your stomach sometimes.

“It was the second night, still on the trail of the garun, we saw the fire in the sky.  Several men fled, even though Rotha commanded them to stay.  They were afraid, so afraid.  I stood by Rotha, though – I did not fear.  I was young then, I did not know fear yet.  I did not understand.

Na’tu was confused – this had been but two days ago.  How could her poor Hanro have been younger by more than a sunset?  She did not interrupt, however – she just listened.

“The third day – this would have been yesterday, just after daybreak – we heard the call of the garun, and it was near.  We took our spears and Rotha led us forward, silent in the underbrush.  The garun was there, on a small foothill before one of the valley walls.  As we approached, I aimed my spear – I had a clear shot, and the beast was unaware.

“Rotha stayed my hand.  He looked at me and said not a word, but then broke cover and walked towards the garun.  It was huge – a head taller than even Rotha – and fat with meat.  And Rotha walked towards it, spear over shoulder in a relaxed manner, not hunting it at all.  The garun cried out then and turned – not running, but walking up the path of the valley wall.  Rotha followed, and some of us – myself included – followed Rotha.  We didn’t know what was going on, but we followed Rotha.  All the while was the sound of the war drums, our constant companion, a blasphemy against Linae Ka.

“We reached an overlook – we were higher up on the valley wall than I had ever seen, than I even knew was possible.  It was past midday, the sun hot above us, our shadows hidden by our feet.  We looked out, and saw, and knew. Knew fear.Knew death. “ Hanro was shaking now, and Na’tu was embarrassed to realize he was also crying, tears stinging his face.   He was terrified, quaking with fear, but he continued, though Na’tu wasn’t sure she wanted to hear whatever he had seen, whatever had made him shake so.

“They were on the horizon. Monsters from the depths of shaika’na.Demons. I didn’t know what to call them.  I still do not have the words that describe the horrors they were.  They were twice the height of the tallest makala tree, taller still than even the valley walls, fifty times the height of a man at least.  It was as if they mocked the very clouds with their height.  They glinted in the sun – like sun-stones after a rain. Smooth and shining, a silvery-gold color unlike any fur or feather that covers the good creatures of the valley. They walked on four legs, like a Toka, but each leg was as massive as two trees, and the body was squat and angular, like a house or tree stand.

“The heads moved side to side as if they were sniffing for something, though no mouth or nose or ear was evident, so smooth and angular they were.  The closest to us – still many days away by trail – had what looked like a single huge red eye, the size of a massive boulder, glowing like the morning sun burning before a storm.

“The demons breathed out shafts of light, pure white and a sickly green color, and left fire and smoke in their wake.  Whole regions of the places beyond were left destroyed and barren as they passed through, the lands left burning and dead, nothing but ash remained.”  Hanro was shaking now, quaking with fear in Na’tu’s arms as he recounted the tale.  He breathed deeply and seemed to calm his nerves before he continued.

“At the sight of those blasphemous… things… Kataru leapt from the height of the mountain onto the rocks below.  Others ran screaming into the forest, driven mad by the evil of the things.  I was terrified beyond understanding, beyond movement, amd I am glad for it, or else I may have joined them had I been able.”  He turned to look at Na’tu, looking deeply into her eyes.  She looked back at him, touching his shoulder, adding her strength to his own.  He averted his gaze and continued again, his voice gaining strength.

“Finally, Rotha turned to us with an… understanding in his eyes.  Not fear, not the terror I felt corrupting my very soul, but a warriors understanding.  He had a look that said ‘we cannot defeat this enemy, we dare not try.’  He looked to those of us who remained and, in a voice as strong and clear as befits our warrior-cheiftain, said simply ‘our place it with our tribe, there is where we must return.’ and he headed back down the mountain.  We followed him, still in a daze, still in the grip of terrors that…

“And then, when we were at our darkest, the spirit Linae Ka provided us a gift, a token to show she is still with us.  As we reached the bottom of the path, the great garun lay there, dead.  No hand nor spear had struck it, but it lay there for us just the same.  Rotha told us to build a litter to carry the beast back, that we would offer up Linae Ka’s bounty for the good of the tribe.  He didn’t say the words, but we all felt that it was a funerary feast we were carrying between us as we trekked back to the village.”

He was quiet for a time and Na’tu finished braiding his hair into tight black cords, tying the braids off with twined varu root.  She kissed his muscled back and listened to him breate, then a question occurred to her, sometrhing she didn’t yet understand.

“And the war drums?” she asked.  She couldn’t help herself, she was shaking and terrified from the description of the great beasts that even now lumbered toward Linae Ka. Hanro turned his head, his eyes meeting hers again, red and wet with tears, filled with shame for his terror.

“There are no drums, Na’tu.” He said in barely a whisper.  “It is the sound of their feet against the earth.  That cursed drumming we have been hearing is nothing less than the sound of their footfalls as they walk across the world.  The drums of war are their blashpemy against Linae Ka and the places beyond.”

Na’tu could not speak.  Her mind, as learned as she was in the ways of the valley, of her people, simply could not accept what she had been told.  The drumming sound, that horrible unnatural cadence, was the footfalls of some demonic titans?  It was madness, it was blasphemy, but somehow Na’tu knew it was the truth, and it shook her faith.  More than anything Hanro had told her, the truth of those terrible drums had shaker her faith to it’s very core, for how could the great spirit of Linae Ka, their great protector, stand up to such a thing?  How could any of them survive?

Na’tu breathed deeply and closed her eyes, willing the tears away, and said nothing.  She thought of her dream, of her child prophesied, and held onto that one thing, that one golden sliver of hope, of faith.

As she was told by the elders, she gave Hanro a meal of roast Toka and her spiced Linati stalks, then left him at her home and walked to the Hia’ni.  She knocked three times, and was allowed entrance into the Hia’ni.  The door closed behind her.

 

Chapter 7 – From Dawning until Dreaming

The interior of the Hia’ni was hot with insense and spices, with the sweat of the elders.  The air was charged with energy as Na’tu entered.  Elder Taman bade her sit on a prayer mat and offered her kota nuts and fresh water.  They let her sit and eat and drink before they spoke, and once she was prepared they simply asked her to tell them the tale that Hanro had told her.  She repeated the tale as best she could, though she was careful not to discuss Hanro’s fearful reaction to the demons when she recounted the details of the hunting expedition.  Once she had recounted the tale, the elders thanked her and she left the Hia’ni, breathing deeply, the cool outside air clearing her head and her senses after the humid and heady atomosphere of the elder’s rooms, after the terrifying tale of the drums that were not drums.

The day had slipped away from Na’tu and the other muthrii were already serving evening meal to the few people who would still leave their homes under the now thunderous pounding of the drums of war, the hideous footfalls of the approaching monsters.  She returned to her home to find Hanro sleeping soundly in her bed, so she left him some roasted flatbread and leaves for when he woke, then returned to the meeting area to help the other muthrii.

They had decided – or been told by the elders – to roast the garun overnight, that it would be the centerpiece of the great festival the following evensong.  The drums continued their blasphemous cadence as the women worked deep into the night, past torchlight, through the depths.  The sky burned, Na’tu could see the smoke and the orange glow filling the wide skies overhead, smell the burning fields and trees  The air was thick with ash.  It was close now.  It was so near that the ground shook as the women worked, as they stoked the ovens.  None slept – Na’tu didn’t even feel tired as she kneaded dough and chopped stalks and prepared leaves and mushrooms.  As the dawn came and the great sun burned through the false-dawn of the war fires, the muthrii began laying the great feast bowls and plates on the great celebration tables while the heat and smells of the great ovens and cook-fires began to rouse the rest of the remaining villagers out of their terrified slumber.

At midday all the fires and ovens were quenched, as was decreed by the elders, and the villagers who remained – Na’tu felt they were less than thirty adults strong now – sat in prayer and ate a modest meal of nuts and leaves and water from the spring.  Hanro had wakened refreshed and resigned to whatever fate the spirits had chosen for him, and was helping Na’tu and the other muthrii finish the preparations for the great ceremony, until finally all was in readiness.  They all sat and listened to the thundering drums as they drew nearer and nearer, the scent of great fires and ash and smoke filling the air around them.  Hanro held Na’tu in his strong arms as they sat and waited.  Some of the villagers prayed.  Some wept.  All eyes were on the door of the Hia’ni, waiting for the arrival of the elders, the beginning of the ceremony.

Finally, as the sky turned to purple and red and orange and the sound of the drums, of those hideous footfalls, were so loud they drowned out all but shouted conversation, the door of the Hia’ni opened and the elders filed out in their finest ceremonial robes.  Elder Taman wore deep reds and greens and carried a staff of carved makala wood and blue and white gurun feathers.  Elder Shan’ti wore deep blue and purple, a robe made of feathers and tanned hides, and a headdress of the rarest of gems and feathers.  The other elders were similarly dressed in their finest ceremonial robes, and their procession wound through the assembled villagers slowly and reverently.  They made three circuits around the ceremonial area, then sat in a semi-circle and closed their eyes.  They sat in silence, the pounding of the drums ringing through the air, and the elders said nothing.  Did nothing.  They sat, and they waited.  Waited for the spirits to answer their prayers, or waited to die, Na’tu had no idea.  She held onto Hanro and closed her eyes and, with thoughts of her daughter and faith in her heart, faith in the spirit of Linae Ka, she waited as well.

Na’tu had no idea how long they sit there.  She knew she had been awake for more than a night and a day, yet she wasn’t tired.  There was an enery in the air, an energy of terror from the hideous drumming, from the monstrous things that bore down on them.  But, from the elders, still sitting in a semi circle, eyes closed in reverent prayer, there was another kind of energy.  An energy that held them all there, together.  Could it have been…. hope?  Hope that maybe, impossibly, they might survive this night?  Or at the very least, they would all perish together and walk hand in hand into the sunderlands, into the grey mists of forever…

Na’tu wasn’t sure when or how things changed, she just realized that the elders were on their feet, and then the rest of them followed, getting to their feet and then, as one, looked to the North.  They saw it then – the demon, glinting in the firelight, it’s massive legs pistoning up and down, each footfall a deep thrum that shot through the earth itself and made Na’tu’s chest ache.  It moved slowly, ponderously, this impossilbly huge thing, this monster of monsters.  Then there was another, to the south.  Impossibly huge, a monstrous nightmare some to life.  Na’tu heard cries, screams, fear and terror like she had never encountered in all her thirty seasons.  There was no escape, there was no hope, there was only death.  Nothing else existed in the world but the noise, and the flames, the fear, the screaming.

Through all the madness and terror, without thinking, Na’tu took Hanro’s hand and held it.  She felt his strength, felt his energy, his power.  And then she felt to her other side and took someone else’s hand – she wasn’t sure whose, it was slick with fear-sweat, but it was warm, and the grasp was firm.  Then she saw that Hanro was holding someone else’s hand as well, and one by one, in the shadow of death, under the deafining sound of the cursed war drums, her tribe held each other’s hands, connected there, from cleaner to hunter to mutrii to elder, all of her tribe, all of the children of the spirit of Linae Ka, were joined as one.  There was a renewed energy that filled the space as they looked at one another, and then back to the nightmares that bore down on them.

The demon’s eye looked at them, massive and burning with a sickly red glow, like the dying embers of a weak fire.  It scanned across the village, looking straight at them as it lumbered impossibly huge, it’s glinting silver-gold body filling the sky.  The villagers, led by the elders, began singing the Cho’ni’Ka, a prayer of thanks to the spirit of Linae Ka, and Ta’nu waited for tongues of demon flame to shoot out of the thing and burn them all to a cinder.  She gripped Hanro’s hand tightly and closed her eyes, still singing into the night, her voice hoarse from the smoke and the crying, but never wavering.  Her faith never wavering.

There was no flame.  No tongues of death.  The creatures never stopped, never slowed, and as they passed through Linae Ka valley, their war-fires went unlit.  The war drums thundered, the ground shook, several of the smaller houses were damaged or partially destroyed by the violence of the things’ passing, but the things, the demons, passed through the night and by dawn had moved beyond Linae Ka valley, to the west, into the barren lands where no man dare walk.  Finally, as the dawn sun began to brighten the sky, elder Taman held his arms out for silence, and he spoke.

Chapter 8  –  The Blessings of Linae Ka

“Children of Linae Ka” elder Taman spoke.  The sound of the drums was still loud enough that he had to shout, but his voice was loud and confident.  “Blessings be upon you all.  Blessings from the scacred spirit of Linae Ka.  She is pleased with her children.  The demons will trouble us no more.  So it is said, and so it must be.”  And with that simple address, the village erupted into cheers and celebration, tears of relief and joy.

The children of Linae Ka feasted for five days, until the sounds of the war drums finally faded into nothingness and the fires on the horizon burned out.  Some of those who had run to hide in fear returned to the village and were welcomed back by all.  The elders did not set foot back into the Hia’ni until evensong of the fifth day, and the people cheered and honored them as they took their leave.  Na’tu took Hanro by the hand and led him again to her hut, where they loved one another until the stars themselves left the sky in preparation for the sun’s return.

For many years the villagers told the stories of the drums of war and of the blessings of Linae Ka, their protector spirit.  There were scars, reminders of those times, of the war drums and the monsters that stood as tall as the sky and burned all they touched.  Though their fires could not scorch sacred Linae Ka, they left behind them might prints where their monstrous feet fell.  One of these is now a fresh spring used by the village, named for elder Taman, who passed away two seasons after that night, after the monsters, the demons.

In the season following the time of the drums of war, as it had come to be called, Na’tu’s belly swelled with life as she had always hoped, and she was blessed with a daughter, who she named Na’lia.  Na’.lia was followed a season later by a boy child, who Hanro named Daris, which means spear of makala, both powerful and sacred.  They were strong and fine children, and they made their parents, and the village, very proud.

When they were of age,  as was the tradition, Na’Lia and Daris would sit by the fire and listen to the elders tell of the time of the drums of war, and of the monsters, and of the great gaurdian spirit of Linae Ka.  After a time, the children began to think it was a  fable, a great story of the people, like the tales of how great father Ka’Na’Sie hung the moon in the sky, or how Red Doe had gained her spots.  Na’tu said a silent prayer to the great spirit of Linae Ka, praying that her children would never know just how real that time was.  That the great demons and the time of the drums of war would always remain just that – a story to tell over the fire.

Copyright – Chad Anctil 2010