Dream of Legends Page 7

  “Show them a warrior that is worthy to reside in Elysium, in the High Halls!” Goras urged Dragol with buoyant vigor.

  “That both of us shall be worthy!” Dragol countered. “I shall return, and join with you, that we may smash the Saxans together.”

  “If I leave any for you,” Goras retorted, rumbling with mirth.

  “Then I will show the tribesmen a fury to behold, and I shall return in haste,” Dragol replied, clasping the saddle, setting his booted foot into the bronze stirrup, and lithely mounting his Harrak, Rodor.

  “For now, farewell, may the High Gods ride with you!” Goras exclaimed.

  Eyes sparkling with a renewed vivacity, Dragol looked around at the throng of eager Trogen warriors around him.

  “In honor of the Highest God, it begins!” he roared to a fully deafening acclamation from all the surrounding Trogens, both mounted and not.

  Spurring his steed forth, he was the first to leave the ground by the power of the Harrak’s great wings.

  With zealous shouts, the envious Trogens remaining on the ground saluted their comrade warriors as they followed in the wake of Dragol up into the sky. Their ascent was like a rising thundercloud, blackened with ominous declarations of an imminent, violent maelstrom, that would manifest in a very short time to come.

  Once the full mass of flying warriors had ascended, Dragol and Goras exchanged salutes, before separating to continue onward to their respective destinations.

  As the wind whipped about his face, Dragol felt the bobbing and tilting of Rodor as the steed settled into its rhythmic pattern of flight. Dragol breathed a long, cathartic sigh of relief.

  He was beginning to feel like a Trogen warrior once again.

  *

  DEGANAWIDA

  *

  The Grand Council had been convened, and for perhaps the first time since the very genesis of the Five Realms, it would not be held within a longhouse of the Onan. The damage from the attack had been too extensive on the Place of Far Seeing, and the longhouse harboring the Sacred Fire had been destroyed. There were no alternate structures left standing in a condition that could house the traditional fifty Great Sachems.

  The remains of the village stood in a dismal pall under the cloud-saturated, ash-gray sky as dawn broke. The wreckage was like a lifeless corpse, once filled with the spirit of a vigilant and thriving people. The surviving Onan villagers had taken refuge within the deeper forest, aided by a diligent, tireless contingent of Onan warriors, and the calm resolve of the clan matrons.

  The Onan were not alone in the upheaval. Most other villages across the lands of the Five Realms had also been abandoned, their future destruction all but conceded.

  A good distance from both the village and the places where the villagers were encamped, close to the bank of a broad stream, the tribal sachems gathered in tense silence, ruminating on the dire situation.

  The sachems of the Gayogohon and Onyota, the Younger Brother tribes of the great confederacy, sat together on one side of the gathering. The sachems of the Kanienke, Onan, and Onondowa, the Older Brother tribes of the confederacy, sat just opposite them.

  Deganawida was greatly relieved that the Great Sachems from the other tribes had acted upon his warnings without delay, as few of the others had yet endured direct attacks upon their villages. It was a testament to the great respect that they and their village headmen, and other sachems, had for Deganawida. The Great Sachems had responded swiftly to attend the Grand Council, even as their villages were simultaneously emptied out.

  A numerous force of scouts had been sent towards the western borders of the tribal lands, to patrol and search out any signs of the expected enemy intrusions. If the enemy decided to move, the sachems knew that word would have to be delivered with the greatest of haste.

  The environment for the latest Grand Council was far different from what they had known before, yet it was still a surrounding that was both familiar and a part of them.

  The sounds of the gentle, constant flow of water that filled the air had a soothing quality, as the broad stream coursed over the lip of a wide rock a short distance from where they were gathered. The water fell several feet down to where it resumed its forward journey once again.

  The liquid sibilance was intertwined with the cracks and pops of wood within the fire that had been built in the center of the gathered sachems. Under the overcast skies, the mass of flickering red flames glowed in reflection upon their worry-ridden visages.

  A welcome relief to all, the wood had been set aflame directly from the Sacred Fire. Tradition held that the Sacred Fire had been continuously tended and kept burning from the very beginning of the Five Realms, all the way to the present age.

  The Sacred Fire had always been housed within a Grand Council Longhouse, located within a specially designated Onan village. It had always been carefully transferred whenever villages had been moved, and had become a deeply revered symbol of the spirit of tribal unity.

  Several of the great boulders that had rained down upon Deganawida’s village during the Darrok attack had smashed right through the center of the roof of the special Grand Council Longhouse. The barrage had brought the elm poles and bark panels crashing down upon the meticulously tended, and long-sustained, fire. The Grand Council Longhouse had been leveled in the torrent of direct impacts.

  Where rampant fires had swiftly merged in some of the other communal longhouses, the rock, dust, and other debris had nearly smothered the Sacred Fire. A few tribal warriors had acted very rapidly, seeing what was happening, reacting with a desperate urgency. They lighted torches and even some large scraps of wood from the dying fire, hurrying onward with the cluster of small flames to start a more stable fire far beyond the base of the village’s hill.

  The other sachems had reacted with anguish and dismay at the dire news of how dangerously close the Sacred Fire had come to being extinguished, regarding it as a very dark omen. The air was thick with their brooding anxiety, and no amount of talk from Deganawida would easily allay their apprehensions.

  It was almost indisputable that the Unifier had chosen that particular village of the Onan for a very precise reason: to be the first major target of the assault upon the tribal lands. The fact that the Sacred Fire was kept there, a symbol at the heart of all the tribes, was not lost on the other Great Sachems.

  Taking place as the attack had during the night, the sachems also sensed that the Dark Brother had likely had a part in guiding the attack, or in identifying the village. That thought was very troubling, all the sachems knew that their longtime nemesis was both merciless and unpredictable. If the Dark Brother was openly aiding the Unifier, then it promised much more tragedy to come.

  Those that had listened to tales of the brutal attacks from the night sky, from the mouths of those that had endured and barely survived them, were stricken to an even greater extent with a paralysis of worry. Deganawida could see the powerful grip of anxiety taking hold upon their faces.

  As much as they could, the Great Sachems labored to hold onto the traditions of the Grand Council. The circumstances surrounding them were nearly overwhelming, as they started the meeting very early in the day to address the many matters at hand. They desired to gain every moment that they could when the powers of the Dark Brother were believed to be at their most reduced.

  The Grand Council had passed through the early rituals, including the sharing of the symbolic tobacco pipe that was reverently passed among the tribes’ Great Sachems. The convocation offered open prayers of thanksgiving to the Creator for the formation of their confederacy. Much was rendered in the form of solemn songs and chants, the singing evoking the deep emotions resonating within the tribal sachems.

  The great wampum belt of the Five Realms, made of highly treasured colored shells, was prominently displayed. The rectangular belt had five images fashioned upon it. A prominent image of a white tree resided in the center of the sacred belt, symbolic of the Tree of Peace. It heralded the spirit of the Grea
t Law, which had brought such harmony amongst the five tribes.

  Two pine trees, each made up of stacked white triangles, stood upon either side of the larger tree image. All four pine tree images and the Tree of Peace depiction were set against a purple background.

  The group of trees represented the endurance of the five tribes and their fellowship with one another, with the central image specifically representing the Onan as the Keepers of the Sacred Fire.

  Oral tradition held that the mysterious, seemingly divine founder of their confederacy, who had vanished from among them unexpectedly, had bequeathed that very belt to their ancestors when the first Grand Council was formed. That patron Wizard had long been gone from sight, but the belt still remained, even in the wake of the recent, devastating tragedy.

  Nearby there were a couple of other items on prominent display.

  One featured five long strings of white wampum shells that were bundled together at one end. The individual strings had been brought together by a designated sachem of each tribe, to be ceremonially bundled at the beginning of the Grand Council. As a group, they symbolized the coming together of the Five Realms’ confederacy.

  Another cluster of wampum strings was also in evidence, with similar connotations. Arranged into the semblance of a complete circle, fifty separate wampum strings had been used. Each of the wampum strings signified one of the Great Sachems present, the circle complete only if all fifty were present.

  Most of the Great Sachems were very familiar with each other. The golden age of harmony that had continued to exist among the five tribes of the confederacy had resulted in the continuance of many wise sachems being appointed to the Grand Council, all with a wealth of life experience.

  Like those of Deganawida’s own tribe, the clan matrons of the other villages and tribes, in such a climate of peace and stability, had had to make few changes or appointments of new sachems. What few appointments had been made in the recent years leading up to the attack were largely because of a particular Great Sachem’s death.

  With the terrible aftermath of the attack upon the village, involving the suffering of so many, and the deeply troubling omens such as the near extermination of the Sacred Fire, it was fortuitous that many of the Great Sachems held a common friendship and history together. Consensus, as at all Grand Councils, would be utterly vital before any collective action on the part of the Five Realms could be undertaken.

  All who wished to speak, would be given time, and any single disagreement would be enough to bring an initiative to a complete halt.

  Beyond the need for full agreement, there were some new challenges facing the Great Sachems at the makeshift Grand Council. Death, with no regard for either friendships or history, had abruptly caused the need for five new faces to be raised together to the Council for the very first time.

  Subsequent attacks, taking place before the alarm had been fully spread across the woodlands, had visited several other villages. The Darroks had returned, and nothing had challenged their presence this time. Only the swift dispatch of messengers had likely spared a great number of other villages, whose matrons and sachems had wisely sought refuge in the forests before their own villages were visited with the death and devastation that had come down from the skies. The more recent attacks had caught some villages unawares, resulting in even greater burdens for the maintenance of a proper Grand Council.

  The Grand Councils were normally convened once each year, with the exception of the times needed to raise a new member or to address a special, urgent situation. The deadly attacks upon the other villages had left no less than five Great Sachems dead in their wake, each of whom required a traditional ceremony and the immediate raising up of a new Council member to their place.

  Beyond that immediate need for new Grand Council sachems, Deganawida’s gravity regarding what the attack represented and heralded, reinforced by the signs of looming invasion, was reason enough to formally call the Grand Council together.

  The clan matrons had understood the severe nature of the crisis, moving with great haste to reach consensus in appointing new sachems to the Grand Council. Despite their own losses and pain amid the sudden chaos, the clan matrons focused upon the need to repair the Grand Council to wholeness. They saw the extreme importance of preserving one of the greater traditions that bonded all of their tribes and peoples together.

  The new men chosen for the Grand Council were sent with haste, to be raised up to take the place of those who had fallen. As it had always been, there had to be ten Gayogohon, nine Onyota, fourteen Onan, nine Kanienke, and eight Onondowa sachems present to complete the Grand Council. With calm hearts, and drawing upon their richness of wisdom, love for their people, and reason, the matrons had succeeded in naming five exceptional men to heal the Grand Council, and regenerate its strength and authority.

  An ancient staff, carved with symbols representing the fifty sachems, had been presented at the Grand Council along with an oration covering the Great Law. In other less tumultuous times, the staff would have then been presented at the villages of the Great Sachem who had died, at which time the traditional titles of the fifty sachems would be given along with a recitation of the Great Law. Village clans that were not of the clan that the dead Great Sachem had belonged to would then come forward, to give a special oration of rebirth, consolation, and reformation. They would also serve to aid in the task of the burial of the Great Sachem, relieving the sorrowing clan of the onerous task.

  It was a grand ceremony that honored the one who had fallen, cherished the unity and bonds among the tribes, and gave hope and consolation to the grieving village. It was a tradition that brought forth the compassion and fellowship that the tribes had for each other within those of their own tribe and village. In such a dark and foreboding time, it now seemed to be an absolute necessity for the great numbers who were personally grief-stricken by the devastating attacks.

  It was all very unprecedented. Never before had five sachems been struck down at once. The widespread suffering among the attacked villages, including those that had not suffered the loss of a Great Sachem, created a seemingly insurmountable task for the bringing of such a ceremony to the villages.

  Clans serving to arrange for burial and make the address of rebirth for the grieving clan of a slain sachem, in turn, would be the clan attended to for the loss of their own sachem. So many had been scarred that it strained the best intentions of their traditions just to provide a little comfort and spiritual healing among their people.

  While there seemed to be not nearly enough time, and too many pressing needs, the Great Sachems were resolved to try and salvage as much as they could of their traditions, and the special spirit-healing ceremony. The new members of the Grand Council, at the very least, had been raised up, and a complete, restored Grand Council could now see to the needs of the Five Realms. The most urgent of those needs was about to be addressed by the greatest among the exalted sachems: the Onan Great Sachem who held the first place on the Grand Council, Deganawida.

  With a bundle of five arrows in one hand, Deganawida stood resolutely next to a raised pole, on which he had placed an elaborate belt of shells. White shells formed the outline of a man against a purple background. Within the outline of the man was a representation of a flame.

  It was understood among the sachems that the image represented Deganawida’s position, as the honored sachem of the Onan in whose village the Sacred Fire had been kept. The other sachems had similar belts, with varying symbols arranged in colored shells upon them, which were cradled reverently in their hands.

  He stood with a solemn expression on his face and looked to each of the other tribal sachems. By the time that he stood to address what was the most precarious matter, there was not much time before night arrived, raising another cause for concern in regards to their traditions.

  Grand Councils always disbanded before dark fully settled, as the night was held to be the dominion of the Dark Brother of their sacred lore. No discussi
ons or decisions could be made at night, the sachems believed, without the risk of the Dark Brother’s malignant influence.

  With critical decisions of great magnitude facing them, Deganawida knew that another breach of long-held customs would be too much of a burden to levy upon the badly shaken men; especially one involving deep-seeded fears of the Dark Brother’s ability to infiltrate minds and hearts, and sway them to his will.

  He could only hope to gain their full consensus before the shroud of night had settled into place, for even if just one of them objected there would be no decision rendered.

  “We gather together, away from our villages … as if we were a council of war. There is no Council Longhouse for us to go to. The villages themselves are no longer homes, but places of danger and death,” he began in a level, strong voice, looking slowly around the full circumference of gathered sachems. “A time has come upon us that no ancestor of ours ever saw. A war is coming upon us all … it comes to destroy us … it is a matter for our war sachems … it is a matter for our Grand Council.”

  He paused for a moment, letting the distressing words sink in.

  “This war does not come to conquer us, and seek that we may bend our knee to a new ruler of our people. As we have rejected the Unifier, so He has decided to rid us from these lands,” he continued. “This war comes to slay every one of us, from the greatest of our warriors, to the child just born. It cannot be reasoned with. It cannot be traded with. It wishes to take our soul. Nothing less.

  “I know that many of you cannot believe that this is happening. Yet it would be your death not to believe, and the death of those you love of your village, your tribe, your clans, and all of your greater family in the Five Realms.

  “I know that many of you will have strong thoughts and feelings. I only hope that we may reach consensus in the manner of our great people.”

  Deganawida concluded for the time being, sensing that there were some among the throng of sachems wanting to voice the thoughts in their heads and the feelings of their hearts. As he took his wampum belt up for the moment, another member of the Grand Council rose to speak.