GallantAug 08, 2014Aug 08, 2014 at 03:13 AM
#1
It rained.
The smell filled J’vani’s nostrils, soaked her fur. The heat of the desert squall made her pant in her armor and leather. The sky wept fat tears today, a rare occasion for the northern deserts. Accompanying it, the stink of horse – Swish-Tail, beneath her, splashed through the puddles left upon the normally dry, caked road leading to Dune, and the Two-Moons Dance temple, his flanks drenched with rain and sweat, for the humidity had become unbearable from the hot deluge.
She could make the city out in the distance as a few glints of gold set against an otherwise gray expanse. Before the day crept away and gave way to stygian dark, she would be in the place closest to what she could call a ‘home’. This filled her with as much trepidation as it did excitement. The journey should never, ever have been necessary, but it was.
The message she had sent had been returned. The Mane had not seen to the clan’s issue personally; instead, one of the leading acolytes had written on his behalf. Now J’vani had to make her claim in person, to the head of her order, so that her issue could be appropriately seen to and so that the clan could be made whole again.
She could not be Clan-Mother untrained.
The secrets were claimrights, passed on from clan-mother to clan-mother. And she had to know all of them before the Mane would recognize her claim, blood lineage or no, which meant that she had to seek tutelage from another – a daunting prospect. Even if Ni’saba-dar were to return, J’vani could not train her. There would always be the possibility of training her incorrectly. And Ri’sari could not know that J’vani could not train Ni’saba fully, because it would likely spell the end of J’vani.
Though clan politics shifted as often as the sands did, J’vani had noticed that she did not particularly fit in with most of the clan. A few had sought her tutelage, and she had taken them as students. But Ri’sari expected her to be more than a teacher; he had wished for her to do all ceremonies, all claimings, all business that should rightly be a clan-mother’s business. But Ri’sari would not send for another clan-mother; doing so would challenge his power-base, and to Ri’sari… power was an aphrodisiac.
She could turn back. Keep on as she had. Go back to sleeping with Ma’zura, and bantering philosophy with Qa’iit, and training her students as best she could. She could live out her life and die in relative peace; at least, as much peace as this clan could promise.
But…
Something in the blood called to her. The Golden-Sand in her demanded this. As though she were being watched by the spirit of her own mother, Riona-dar. Could she stop, here? No. There were things still to do, to make this right.
The killing of a clan-mother could not go unanswered. If this could not be corrected, what would the Mane do? What would the barbarous Clan leaders, her cousins and kin, of Anequina, do?
War. War and raiding and bloodshed. Sren-ja would become the epicenter of another violent clan battle. The Sugar-Claw clan needed legitimacy – and J’vani would claw her way into the files, into the records kept by her temple, and make that claim.
J’vani looked up from beneath her hood, and marked the distance. The sound of the rain pouring seemed to be the only thing audible, washing away all other sounds including the clop of Swish’s hooves. An endless gray. Had the glimmer of the city just been the glimmer of raindrops?
I will leave this thread open for comments and posts. However, please be sensible, reasonable, and courteous.
The smell filled J’vani’s nostrils, soaked her fur. The heat of the desert squall made her pant in her armor and leather. The sky wept fat tears today, a rare occasion for the northern deserts. Accompanying it, the stink of horse – Swish-Tail, beneath her, splashed through the puddles left upon the normally dry, caked road leading to Dune, and the Two-Moons Dance temple, his flanks drenched with rain and sweat, for the humidity had become unbearable from the hot deluge.
She could make the city out in the distance as a few glints of gold set against an otherwise gray expanse. Before the day crept away and gave way to stygian dark, she would be in the place closest to what she could call a ‘home’. This filled her with as much trepidation as it did excitement. The journey should never, ever have been necessary, but it was.
The message she had sent had been returned. The Mane had not seen to the clan’s issue personally; instead, one of the leading acolytes had written on his behalf. Now J’vani had to make her claim in person, to the head of her order, so that her issue could be appropriately seen to and so that the clan could be made whole again.
She could not be Clan-Mother untrained.
The secrets were claimrights, passed on from clan-mother to clan-mother. And she had to know all of them before the Mane would recognize her claim, blood lineage or no, which meant that she had to seek tutelage from another – a daunting prospect. Even if Ni’saba-dar were to return, J’vani could not train her. There would always be the possibility of training her incorrectly. And Ri’sari could not know that J’vani could not train Ni’saba fully, because it would likely spell the end of J’vani.
Though clan politics shifted as often as the sands did, J’vani had noticed that she did not particularly fit in with most of the clan. A few had sought her tutelage, and she had taken them as students. But Ri’sari expected her to be more than a teacher; he had wished for her to do all ceremonies, all claimings, all business that should rightly be a clan-mother’s business. But Ri’sari would not send for another clan-mother; doing so would challenge his power-base, and to Ri’sari… power was an aphrodisiac.
She could turn back. Keep on as she had. Go back to sleeping with Ma’zura, and bantering philosophy with Qa’iit, and training her students as best she could. She could live out her life and die in relative peace; at least, as much peace as this clan could promise.
But…
Something in the blood called to her. The Golden-Sand in her demanded this. As though she were being watched by the spirit of her own mother, Riona-dar. Could she stop, here? No. There were things still to do, to make this right.
The killing of a clan-mother could not go unanswered. If this could not be corrected, what would the Mane do? What would the barbarous Clan leaders, her cousins and kin, of Anequina, do?
War. War and raiding and bloodshed. Sren-ja would become the epicenter of another violent clan battle. The Sugar-Claw clan needed legitimacy – and J’vani would claw her way into the files, into the records kept by her temple, and make that claim.
J’vani looked up from beneath her hood, and marked the distance. The sound of the rain pouring seemed to be the only thing audible, washing away all other sounds including the clop of Swish’s hooves. An endless gray. Had the glimmer of the city just been the glimmer of raindrops?
I will leave this thread open for comments and posts. However, please be sensible, reasonable, and courteous.
Edited Oct 29, 2014 at 09:23 PM by 0