Callisto

Bad Wind Rising

"Father-Mother!" Ragged-Brow could not help but exclaim. "We must run to Rain-Born's aid."

"No, Ragged-Brow," Father-Mother snapped, and the crack of their voice was the roar of thunder that fanned the flames of the braziers beside her. Ragged-Brow cowered in fear.

"The girl is doomed," one Elder spat from behind Ragged-Brow's back. "Just as we thought!"

"Then come what may," another agreed, staring directly at Ragged-Brow, who met their gazes with growing fear. Why did their eyes look so filled with pity?

Then when he heard the voice of the Great One address him again, he instantly felt himself transfixed. His eyes were for theirs now, only:

"You will serve us, dear Ragged-Brow," they said gently. "But it will not be in the rescue of your sister. Rain-Born has had four days and has not returned. She has failed us. But these men and the wyrm they ride upon have done us a service in their ignorance: they have left the Guthra bleeding, licking their wounds. And this is when we shall strike them down."

The assembled council nodded in agreement. Or, at least, that was what Ragged-Brow assumed. Perhaps not all of them believed as the Great One did, but they were not foolish enough to question their judgment or that of their brethren. It would be like questioning the whole tribe.

It would be like questioning their very identity.

So Ragged-Brow waited, listening with awe.

"Take one week to train your best warriors," Father-Mother said. "Sharpen their blades and their minds for war. Then, you shall carry a message to Quiet-Storm, the Guthra Elder. You will tell them to come before us here so that we may deliver aid to them and their people in their time of trial. Take an offering of meat with you to seal our promise. They will not refuse. And when Quiet-Storm comes before us, then you shall strike the killing blow. The Guthra Elder will perish, and we shall cross the Canyon to burn the rest of their villages. This, we have seen. Our dreams do not lie.

Ragged-Brow nodded, but his face was grave. He tried to hide his shock at Father-Mother's words. Surely, this would bring great dishonor upon them all and the Great Spirit. Could a Hanakh warrior deceive an Elder and slice their throat behind their back?

Was this the future the Hanakh were destined for?

"Do not fear, Ragged-Brow," Father-Mother said, rising to their full height to touch the tent's roof. "The world is changing, and like the wind, we must rise to change with it. A warrior of the Tribe must forsake their pride to ensure the survival of the Tribe."

Father-Mother rose, their ancient bones creaking under the weight of their body. When the Elders ran to help them, they held up a single, aged hand.

"Go forth, my loyal Hanakh – you Hawks that fly on the truest winds, that shepherd our people through the worst storms of the wasteland. Go forth, and tell your hunters this: Father-Mother has whispered on the winds of the Deadlands that a great storm is coming, and this time it is we who shall be at its head."

Ragged-Brow nodded. He turned from his Elder to march sadly out of the tent with the others. Perhaps this truly was the future that was meant for them all. Maybe it truly was a time when honor had to die, and a man was permitted to break his word to save his family.

"Ragged-Brow."

The voice of the Great One called him back as the rest of the Elders made their hurried exits. He knew, then, that his gait had betrayed him.

"Blood will be shed no matter the outcome," Father-Mother said gravely. "But you must put your sister from your mind. She is lost to us. A snake cannot eat a dragon."

They placed a firm hand on his broad shoulder, and he bowed. He was not worthy of their touch; that was what he told himself.

In truth, a new emotion was welling up inside him. Something that, later, he would be able to articulate, even if he could not form the words now: Disgust.

"Our tribe"s journey to glory waits for no one, Brother," Father-Mother said. "Not even her."

After Father-Mother said this, they resumed their meditations, and Ragged-Brow was left to exit through the tent flap and once again breathe the dead air of the Great Canyon. He paused momentarily, looking up at the sky and picturing Rain-Born: brave, bold, and skilled, in a place unbeknownst to all of them, suffering to complete her quest and perhaps knowing it was futile.

He sighed. Maybe it was better her spirit left this world. She showed too much compassion for her enemies when they hunted together. And she was the only one amongst the womenfolk who looked directly into the eyes of Father-Mother when spoken to. He could not believe she had been chosen to find Callisto. But then, perhaps she was the one most suited to venture into the Old World.

Truthfully, he had always thought she was failing the tribe. And yet, standing here and looking at his brothers and sisters living in disarray, moving between their tents to visit their neighbors, hoping they still lived, he recalled those moments when Rain-Born had cared for her brethren and offered them comfort even as they lay dying, riddled in Guthra arrows or torn by the vicious teeth of the Stalkers. He thought of her gazing up at the star-filled tent of the Teller, listening to stories with the younglings, and even telling a few herself. He thought of her question to him on the ridge of the Great Canyon – her wonder that perhaps there may be some good in this world that had been left to them. Then he thought of her face on the day she departed, buffeted by the rain-that-bites yet still firm. Determined.

In the end, she had been more than worthy.

Ragged-Brow felt the chill winds of the night caress his tangled locks like a caring mother. But he did not deserve their embrace.

He had thought Rain-Born was failing the Tribe. But as he walked towards his warriors to deliver to them the will of their Elder, he cursed himself for his prejudice. If the Tribe was now nothing more than a den of treachery and slaughter, Rain-Born had surely leaped at the chance to leave it behind. And she had been right to.

Maybe all this time, he thought, the Tribe had been failing her.