The Battle Ends, the War Begins

Greenbrook

The center of the village was chaos, spread all over the area between the shields of Western Forest. Each warrior fought hard, going for blood- but Greenbrook quickly noticed an anomaly. Every 5 attacks or so, pairs of warriors would pause the fight and turn to the Fire pit that lay at the very center of the village. That was where Chief Firmstone was fighting Chief Swiftfoot on the stones outlining the home of the Messenger.

When it was shown to the paused warriors that both chiefs still stood, they’d launch themselves at each other and continue their brutal battle. Spells were cast in the fight, but the warriors mainly used brute force and knives. The war-driven mind was too frenzic to use magic.

Longing to join the fight but unwilling to leave his post, Greenbrook watched more of his People fall. They did take some Forest Glade warriors with them, but not nearly on a one to one ratio. Western Forest was running towards destruction…The pain of watching was almost inhabilitating. To relieve some of the it, Greenbrook trained his eyes on the Chiefs fighting in the center of the village.

Then it happened.

A spear, long and deadly, flew from behind the line of defenders. While the forest would have hindered its path, the open air of the village was perfect for it. Greenbrook watched in mute awe as it arced gracefully.

But it was heading towards Chief Firmstone.

When Trail read the trajectory, he straightened and shot at the spear. Several other defenders followed his lead. When none hit, Trail began trying to put up magic barriers to stop it. But every wall dissolved as the spear approached it and continued on its path of death. A thought crossed Greenbrook’s mind.

‘The perpetrator of the ungranted war must die. Then his People can live.’

Greenbrook watched in mute horror as the weapon of his birth people hit his chief in the side. Chief Firmstone gasped and slipped. He fell into the Fire pit- then an extraordinary thing happened.

Although the Messenger had been fully put out after delivering his message to Mother Moon, he flared up to his full height the moment the chief hit the soil. Every warrior yelled in fright and stepped back. Chief Swiftfoot jumped back himself. In the firelight, he looked genuinely scared. Fire wasn’t Aunt Forest’s messenger, after all. She was already surrounding her People. She had no messenger. But even Forest Glade knew that the celestial bodies did, and who their Messenger was.

A voice, clear and feminine, but firm and authoritative, flowed from the Fire. With each word, a ring of orange light rolled from the fire and over each person in the clearing.

“The Chief that wronged you is dead. Now leave my people. They will not pain their Aunt Forest with over hunting any longer. Chief Greenbrook will see to that.”

With his message delivered, Fire vanished as suddenly as he sprung up. The stones of his pit grew cold, and no embers showed. The only evidence that he’d been there at all were the charred bones of Chief Firmstone. Greenbrook motioned for his archers to let Forest Glade through, and the intruders left.

The women and children of Western Forest had heard the voice from their cabins and came out to see what had happened. They found their remaining husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons staring reverently at Greenbrook as the future chief walked slowly to the Fire pit. There he crouched, numb with shock, and removed the painted wooden necklace from the bones of his predecessor.

He straightened and turned to his People, holding the untouched necklace in both hands. Then he removed his half moon necklace and replaced it with the full moon.

The clouds moved from in front of the Moon, illuminating him and making the necklace shine. But that was only for the women and children’s sake. The warriors already knew, before they’d even seen that the chief’s necklace had survived. They were ready to raise their voices in a chant of their new chief’s name before the Moon came out of hiding.

Mother Moon had spoken to them.

It was surreal. Greenbrook had only been the future chief for about three-and-a-half weeks, and here he was, standing over the bones of Chief Firmstone and being cheered into chiefhood. The full moon necklace glittered in the light of the celestial body it represented.

This was the thing that convinced Greenbrook that this was real. Its weight pressed his new responsibility onto his neck. It would be impossible for him to do this alone. But as he looked up at his Mother shining above him, he recalled what Chief Firmstone had told him right before coming out to the Bonfire:

“I chose you, specifically, because I heard of your wisdom… The saying was that your father could die at any moment, and in that moment you’d take charge. Your People would be strong.”

There had been a genuineness to his voice that Greenbrook had never heard from his superior before. The old chief, for all his faults, trusted Greenbrook completely.

Greenbrook could only hope that he hadn’t messed up there, either.

* * * * *

Jaumes

It was amazing to be in the forest again. Even with the new purple mist that the Magic-chosen curse assaulted him with, Jaumes had to keep himself from taking too deep of breaths and bobbing his head like a maniac. He finally felt free- at least until Alfabe nudged him and he remembered that he wasn’t a spy apprentice anymore. He was a merchant apprentice now, and would spend the rest of his life in caravans, carrying and selling metal scraps to dipojico in the mountain nations.

Somehow that was more depressing than Mahela’s death.

Perhaps… no, Jaumes knew what he had to do. He couldn’t return with Reni to complete his training, not without Mahela training with him. So Jaumes trudged along, lungs burning, with the caravan.

Around noon, they stopped for lunch by a pool of water. Jaumes glanced over at Alfabe questioningly. Was now a good time to start her secret spy training? Instead of a nod or shake of the head, Alfabe informed him matter-of-factly:

“I would eat quick if I were you. The caravan doesn’t linger for slow eaters. We’ll be heading off in about 15 minutes.”

So, no. It wasn’t time yet. Jaumes nodded his understanding and quickly began to eat his dried moss beetle.

About five minutes later, a group of aljeny entered the clearing. The merchants quickly parted in front of them, giving passage to the river. Jaumes noticed that most of them gave the forest depojico disgusted or revolted looks. Alfabe looked repulsed as well, though Jaumes saw curiosity in her eyes. But instead of going to the river to drink, the band of aljeny paused at the clearing’s edge. Jaumes noticed that many of them were out of breath, and, though the Magic’s mist obscured most of their features, more beaten up than he’d ever seen them.

The other merchants seemed to notice, too. They began murmuring among themselves, and vandonov Samonu leaned down to Jaumes.

“Normally the sajicoy aren’t so scruffy. For their forest lifestyle, they’re surprisingly neat. Don’t mind this group,” he said.

The insult to the aljeny was like an insult to Jaumes himself. But he caught his anger and spread the green scales it caused as if they were generated by fear. Alfabe noticed and leaned over herself.

“Scared, vand Jaumes?” she asked.

Jaumes gave her a glare, for Samonu’s sake. Then the talking stopped as the caravan owner, Musutu Aljea, climbed onto a large stone to talk to the aljeny band. Jaumes was disgusted by the blatant show of superiority.

“What are you lizards doing? Haven’t we given you what room is needed to take a drink?” Musutu Aljea asked coldly.

Jaumes’ indignant anger was doused instantly by cold fear at the band leader’s reply.

“We aren’t here to drink. We’re fleeing from the esosa.”

To Jaumes’ shock, the caravan erupted into laughter. Once regaining himself, Musutu Aljea turned back to the band.

“You sajicoy are fools. The esosa don’t know that we are more than simple lizards,” he said.

“An aljeaberav apprentice was caught by them, and they forced him to speak through the power of the Moon,” the band leader said, “When his vandonov and fellow vand came, it was too late to save the depojico. The other vand is dead, and the vandonov and captured vand disappeared into the forest. After that night, the esosa have been killing all lizards, magic-struck or not. Some are killed by arrows. Some get their magic taken and scurry away as true simple lizards. Make no mistake, depojico of the mountains: our species is at war.”