Dawsama took everyone to the other side of the slate, and there were seven to eight people gathered. Sora knew at first glance that the group was of important people, perhaps the most important ones as one could tell from their special apparel. The Great Chiefs of the tribe of Chin’Re were not into gorgeous outfits, so on formal occasions they would only wear plain white clothes, and then distinguished their identities based on the color and size of the feathers hung before their chests; however, this was not the case of the tribe of Hullhota, as you could tell the identity easily from patterns and details on their outfits. Except for Dawsama and Darcy, and other special staff, everyone else was wearing a robe, and children were in those with one or two colors, while teenagers and others were in robes with one or two colors, but with gold or silver piping. After coming of age, robes would be woven with more than three colors, some with a background color and some without a background color, while most people's robes just contained the colors plainly arranged together. For people with certain status, the colors on their robes were in patterns, with piping, in squares or circles. The people with the most distinguished status, like the people facing Sora’s family at present, had very detailed patterns on their clothes, with many lines, and highly complexed. Especially when Sora looked closely at a woman on the left, she was amazed to find that the pattern on her clothes was telling a story! It looked like a tiny person embroidered on her left shoulder, and around her chest seemed to be another person, a friend or a lover, and then she saw a giant beast around her waist. She could not get the whole story, but Sora believed she would understand the full story if the girl could narrate it. However, despite this, they did not have any extravagant jewelry, such as gold, silver, only necklaces and earrings made of some animal's teeth, and flowers hanging on their heads or bodies.
An old man sat among this group of people. His headpiece was extremely gorgeous, composed of many feathers, claws, teeth and plants, and almost twice as large as his head. But compared to his headpiece, his clothes were less eye-catching. Sparsely woven straps with beautiful piping and patterns hung on his body, making his hanging chest clearly visible. He was very tall, nearly reaching Dawsama's chest when seated, and, from his broad shoulders and muscle lines, one could imagine he must have been tall and strong at a young age, and a great warrior; but he grew old, his physical strength was declining, his muscles gradually slackened into fat, and in the end the fat also diminished causing his skin to sag; but his eyes did not change at all, and as he looked at Sora, she felt he could see inside her through a single glance.
“Great Chief,” Dawsama nodded gently, but very respectfully.
“Chief Dawsama,” replied the Great Chief.
An embarrassed look shown across Dawsama’s his face as he replied, “Great Chief, we have guests here. Do not call me that or they will misunderstand…
“Oh! I know what I am saying.” The Great Chief grabbed the leather sack filled with wine, and took some five or six sips at once. From the beginning, Sora had only seen the Great Chief drinking from the sack. “I only care for the character of a person instead of what accessories or outfit the person is wearing, or how the person is acting before people. All knew you had done more than a Chief, even a Chief would submit to you.” The Great Chief belched loudly from drinking, making Sora frown. “You are not just some leader of border patrol. Even our general sought advice from you, as if you were someone much greater than you are!”
Dawsama lowered his head silently, but people could tell by the expression on his face he was thinking, “Great Chief, you are drinking too much.”
“Who are the guests you bring?” the Great Chief finally asked.
“They are guests from the tribe of Chin’Re,” Dawsama said, pausing a moment to then say, “They are remnants.”
The Great Chief grew quiet, and then nodded, instructing Dawsama to step aside. The Great Chief looked at Sora’s family. “What are your names?” he inquired.
“I am Billogot of Chin’Re.”
“I am Rieza, wife to Billogot. She is Sora, our daughter.”
The Great Chief paused and said, “Are angels the reason for this slaughter?”
Billogot bowed his head.
The Great Chief sighed slightly, and grabbed the wine sack, took another two sips, then asked some people nearby to fetch a wine bowl and fill it half full with the wine to pass to Billogot. “Drink it,” the Great Chief instructed.
Billogot looked at the bowl and, stunned for a moment, drank in one gulp; after drinking, he sighed nervously.
"Worry not, just drink up. We have wine," the Great Chief said. "This is called the hunter's blood. This is offered to make people courageous, not for sadness and crying. If you want to mourn for your relatives and friends, we have other suitable wines. But not today, today is a day of celebration...to celebrate your survival, and to celebrate our survival,” he proclaimed.
“More than 300 years ago, when I was a child, I had exactly the same encounters as you had. But not by angels— well, there were a few angels, maybe one or two—the rest were human and some Beastkins. There were more than 30,000 people in the tribe of Hullholiet, more than twice as many as now, but now they are all dead. Only my wife and I, and some of my relatives escaped. At the moment, I had no other wine but this hunter’s blood. Legend has it the hunter’s blood was brewed with the blood of the greatest hunter himself and the claws of the most formidable and fierce beast. Therefore, the hunters drink it before they go for a hunt, and soldiers drink it before the war. Back then, I gulped it down, thinking about avenging my parents and siblings. Then, guess what? I cried like a baby instead! Hahahahaha!” The Great Chief laughed so hard he began to cough and so much so he spit out a mouthful of phlegm to the side. “Allegedly! According to the legend, the hunter’s blood was brewed from the herb of Blood Honeydrop. Nothing to do with beasts and stuff.”
Billogot laughed nervously.
“But I remained drinking it until now, hoping to have some courage to avenge my family.” The Great Chief sighed again, revealing a smile. “I set up some goals of slaying 100 angels throughout my life.” Billogot lifted his head up as he heard this. "God knows, I literally slaughtered a few! It was so satisfying. But killing one after another doesn’t change things. Let alone a hundred, or a thousand angels, we are talking about. Even if the angels were not that reproductive, there were hundreds of thousands — when is it going to end? And would the Da’Khaee live if I continued to do so?"
"So I changed my mind. I wanted to build a paradise for the Da’Khaee. The dreaded angels have a paradise, so why can't we? I am building a paradise humans cannot find, even the damned Beastkins could not ferret it out. Guess what? I did it. This is just incredible.” He said, spreading his arms out in a gesture to say, look at all of this.
“It has lasted for more than 300 years—this place has never been found by anyone. You said your home—where were you from now?”
“Misty Rift,” Billogot said.
“So how was it there? How many times have you moved?”
Billogot pondered. “It was for more than 300 years. Never moved once.”
The Great Chief responded with a surprised look. “Ahh, now! We found someone as good as me,” the Great Chief said on second thought. “But you still got caught by angels. Such a pity. No idea how often you guys come into contact with the Da’Khaee out there. But as far as I know, to be safe, the camp site should be changed every ten to twenty years, and this with no contact with humans or the Beastkin! As soon as there is contact, it's time to leave. But we have survived for more than 300 years, and you have also hung around for more than 300 years, which is very …” The Great Chief stopped for a moment. "How did they find you?"
Billogot lowered his head.
“Alright. I shall spare you from it. Next time, I am opening some urns of nice wine and will cook several nice dishes to treat you; save the story for that.” The Great Chief once more poured another half bowl of wine. “Just relax and enjoy the fun today.” Billogot took a sip, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Eat up, drink up, and rest up." The Great Chief began to rise to his feet. He was really tall. Fortunately, he was slouching or otherwise Billogot would look half as tall if he stood straight. "There is no need to wait until the end of the celebration. Tell us when you are tired, and we will take you to the place for resting. It is a pity to miss the prayer dance, though."
“My name is Euloodoza.” The Great Chief took one step forward, stretching his right hand to hold Billogot’s hand firm. “Take care. Great Chief Billogot.”
“I…I am not a Great Chief.”
“You are when I say you are.” The Great Chief put down Billogot’s hand. “I will find some boy willing for a matrilocal marriage with your daughter. Soon you Chin’Re will be more and more people. You must try hard enough to give birth to children.”
Billogot muttered "Thank you ... Thank you ..." and nodded respectfully. The Great Chief said nothing, beckoned Dawsama and asked him to take them away.
There were seats settled there mounted with beautiful and soft cushions, almost the same as those used by the Great Chief. There were a few thin blankets, one carpeted at the bottom, and three other blankets provided to keep them warm at night. In the end, the most exciting thing for them was the piles of food in front of them. There was more than was possible to be consumed ten times over. They were treated so special. It seemed that the honored seats were arranged just for them.
"Don't think too much, take a good rest," Dawsama said. "Like the Great Chief said, you can go whenever you want after you are full; otherwise it is not bad to sleep directly here. Don't worry too much." Billogot thanked him several times. His emotions of gratitude mixed with the onset of alcohol made his face seem quite tearful. Upon seeing this, Dawsama stepped forward and hugged him with his one arm; while Billogot couldn't help wailing, and Rieza wiped tears aside. Then Dawsama explained that he had to leave, but reassured them that they could seek anyone for assistance. Before he left, he instructed the two people nearby to see to it that his guests would not be neglected and then he departed.
Billogot looked at himself, dusting off his clothes, fearing he would soil the cushion, and then sat down. He picked up the nearest food in front of him which looked like a smoked rabbit and took a huge bite. Delicious. It was so delicious. This is the taste of peace, he thought.
Rieza supported Sora and both sat down; Rieza helped Sora pull a blanket to cover her. As soon as Sora sat down, she became completely dizzy and could only lean directly against her mother, barely able to move; her exhaustion consuming her. Her mother took a piece of black bread and handed it to her. She was able to take but two bites. Although she was very hungry, she could not chew; she could only grab a cup of unknown yellow drink and swallow it. Then she ate nothing but slowly consumed the drink. At first Rieza was worried, but Sora said she was just really tired, but ate nothing; she had to be coaxed into drinking some more.
Sora leaned on her mother, enjoying the taste of peace and security. With what little stamina she had left, she let her eyes drift, barely able to look around. Then she saw Darcy. He took off some gear and sat on the edge of the slate. He did not eat or drink, let alone see what everyone was doing in the middle. The girl somehow disappeared, and, occasionally as someone came to him, he just randomly blew them off with few words, so the people who went to him did not stay long.
Why was he there alone?
She wondered about it in her head, and her consciousness slowly clouded, sinking into her mother's arms; and the cup on her hand, as if it was not intending to wake her up, slowly slipped out of her hand.
Tribe Concerns
“Great Chief. Are you looking for me?” Dawsama said. The Great Chief beckoned him, and he walked forward and stood next to him with respect. The Great Chief gestured to the servants, dismissing all those near him.
The Great Chief took a sip of the wine, but merely a light sip. Then he poured half a bowl of the wine, and passed it to Dawsama. Dawsama said nothing and drank it up.
“I am old,” said the Great Chief.
Dawsama did not respond.
"Three hundred years, it is a tad too long,” he sighed greatly. "But if I can live, I will continue to live; for the sake of the Da’Khaee. However, I know my physical condition better than anyone."
Dawsama wanted to say something, but he could not. The Great Chief had been so tall and heroic since he was a child, but he was a bit haunting; no matter what stage of his life he was in, the Great Chief was and will be a role model he could never become. Now that he was old and his strength was not as full as before, most people knew that Dawsama could easily replace him, even Dawsama himself knew this well; but the awe from the bottom of his heart could not be wiped out. In a childish place in his heart, he was convinced that even if the Great Chief died and were buried someday, if a malicious angel were to pass by his grave, he would break the ground from underneath and tear the angel in half.
"I think it is you who are the right fit for the Great Chief."
Dawsama's shoulders flinched; something gripped his chest, tight and constricting.
"No ...say no more about that. There will be candidates who are more suitable,” Dawsama replied.
The Great Chief turned to Dawsama, revealing his eyes as if he wanted to spit out disdainful words, but he was unable to draw any words, whether from age or fatigue, so he merely spit upon the ground instead. "If you are unwilling to take it, Qinza will."
“No! Anyone but Qinza!” Dawsama exclaimed.
“Who do you think will be the right person?” the Great Chief said. “Lugarza? He can fight. You might not have the odds of winning when you duel him! However, he does not have what it takes for leadership. If we give him power, he would just feed it to his anger. Necfloss? Everyone loves him but he has limited abilities. And most important—the most important thing of all…” The Great Chief turned his head in a deliberate stare. “They all have no power against Qinza; he could simply dethrone them, or make them his own puppets. Only you, Dawsama, his elder brother of blood, could counteract his power.”
Dawsama lowered his head, saying nothing.
“Dare you not, I might as well hand him the throne to refrain us from wasting people’s energy and resource by revolutions and battles or something.”
“Papa Euloo, I know! But I…” Dawsama stammered.
The Great Chief waited for him to reply, but Dawsama said nothing. “No more excuse to find? I have heard a lot of excuses and it is enough,” the Great Chief sighed. “It is about time— time for you to forget the curse from your dad.”
Dawsama did not respond.
The Great Chief looked into the sky. The sun had already set and what remained above were the weak red beams in the sky. “Did you know I was a good friend of your father?”
Dawsama looked at the Great Chief. “Maybe…”
“Maybe? Blast it! We had become friends for so long.” The Great Chief paused for a bit. “We had been in good relationship. He might have been paranoid over the blood crafts, but, damn, we needed him anyway. Just struggle your way, but never struggle yourself to death. ‘My adorable son—,‘ he’d say, who later found had he no talents for blood crafts. So disappointing! Such a happy boy, until that time he found out," the Great Chief continued. “I told him over and over how special his boy was—and he could be a huge success in the future if he would but listen to me! But he never took me seriously. I was then so tough on him, to the point of violence! I beat him in hopes he would see things my way.”
Dawsama looked surprised.
“We were no longer friends afterwards. He was willing to do things…I thought he would not lose control.” The Great Chief paused for a moment. “But this is beside the point. The thing is, I saw how he treated you. You may not fully believe what he has endowed you with.”
Dawsama said nothing.
“Enough said. You better think about it when you return. If possible, ram your head against the wall, to help you make up your mind— some decisions are not easy to make.” The Great Chief concluded, “Next time I see you, you will give me a clear answer; let me hear what I want to hear. You will regret any other choice when I am no longer here to lead.”
Dawsama remained quiet.247Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs7asO4Oj9A
