Entrusted with protecting the oases from the threats of the East, Zenduali decided to lead a fast and agile force into the lands of the dead men, scout their numbers, assess the danger and find out as much as she can about the enemy and area both. Her wishes for speed, however, were soon put to the test.
Plagued by still and silent dreams that smelled of death, her people found the fervor of life abandon them with every waking morning. Following the advice of the representatives of the Cults with her force, she ensured her people spend every waking moment busy and occupied by hunting, tracking and battle training, finding out all they could about the land. Her efforts seemed to work until one scout was left alone on a patrol, despite her orders for everyone to work in pairs at all times.
Riding fiercely into the camp, Raptor Rider Akeena reported directly to Zenduali that previous reports were confirmed and that large tracks had been found in areas long thought lifeless. Excited by the prospect of wildlife even in these parts, Zenduali’s joy was quickly overshadowed by the notable absence of Akeena’s scouting pair, Oatti. Furious that her orders were not followed, she nevertheless allowed the scout to rest for a spell, before she rode with her to find Oatti.
The ride proved harder than any before. Haunted by the elements themselves, as a sudden sandstorm befell them, Zenduali was entranced by a whispering voice in the wind. Mystified and consumed by its lure, she listened to its words and despaired, as a cloudless rain mingled with the besieging sandstorm. With the very land and elements around her feeling lifeless and angry, Zenduali plunged into misery, with young Akeena trying desperately to pull her out of her own mind. She only succeeded when the storm died out and Oatti was found, her throat sliced and her bloodied dagger in her hands.
Influenced by her experience in the storm and consumed by paranoia, she declared the death a murder and started frantically to try and track the culprit. Eventually, defeated by her own exhaustion and Akeena’s desperate pleas, she accepted the death as suicide and returned with the body to the camp. There, the young scout was given a self-hands killer’s funeral. Struggling still with the ghost of the despair and futility she experienced in the storm, Zenduali ordered that all works would be done in groups of four.
Once she had established there was nothing to track and next to nothing to hunt, Zenduali realized how much time she had lost trying to battle the land of the dead itself, and just how little she had learned about her enemies. Pushing on against her own, haunted mind, she ordered multiple tracking groups of four and eight to scout deep into the Lost Lands and the lands of the dead, while she remained in camp to keep her force disciplined, as the rations were going dangerously low. Her patience was rewarded more than she wanted: not one but two forces of dead were spotted. One was engaged with her cousin, Yolmantok, who was forced to gather as many of the scouts as he could to confront them. The other was a larger force, settling and unearthing the ruins of an old city.
Sending word to the Oasis, Zenduali sent the main camp to meet with Yolmantok. Herself, however, gathered a small, agile force and went to observe the ruined city. There, she saw works of excavation being done. Moving stealthily, she observed numbers, watches and patterns but had no inkling as to their battle readiness and tactics. Having ensured that the oasis would be alerted first, she decided to follow the daring plan of one of her captains: a hit and run assault, aiming to gather as much information as possible about what the dead were digging for and how they responded to guerilla warfare.
The Battle of Divina Ruins proved to Zenduali that the dead would not be an easy enemy. While she was forced to retreat much sooner that she had hoped and before she managed to strike any significant blow, she did manage to observe that the dead seemed focused on uncovering tombs. She noted the speed and effectiveness with which they had responded to their surprise attack and the quiet coordination with which they moved. Equipped with some losses but armed with knowledge, Zenduali fled west, her mission only a partial success.
“The Ukunfazane mentioned you by name, Zenduali.”
Few things shocked her in her thirty first year of life. This did. Her good eye narrowed suspiciously then widened, as realization hit her. She suspected the Matriarch was about to send her away from the oasis but not even her would dare invoke the Ukunfazane’s name just to convince her; her Goddess had indeed mentioned her by name.
“She… she honors me, Matriarch” she said hesitantly.
“She does so more than you think” the Matriarch went on, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Had it been left to me, I would have at least sent you far from the oasis. She, however, insists that it should be your choice. She trusts your instincts more than I do.”
Zenduali smirked at this but said nothing. There was no love lost between her and Matriarch Indilla. Not that there was any real rivalry between them; they were simply too different. Zenduali had no patience for the Matriarch’s long talks and deliberations and Indilla disliked any person of action; troublemakers the lot of them, she always said. But for the Ukunfazane to give Zenduali such freedom… that must have hit the Matriarch hard.
“Wipe that smirk off your face, predator” Indilla barked. “I am still your Matriarch.”
“I don’t understand, Matriarch” Zenduali said, not commenting further. “What does the Ukunfazane want me to do?”
Indilla did not reply immediately. She looked at the predator before her thoughtfully; a hardened woman, if ever there was one. Effective and cunning, even if too readily brutal, by the Matriarch’s standards. Fear was a word unknown to her. There was no prey she had not brought down and had even bonded with an Apex. Indilla could see why the Goddess had chosen her.
“The dead move” she said, in the end. “Already Huitzilin is leading the rover tribes beyond the western mountains but we will not abandon the oases. Not ours and not the others. Yours is the task to protect them and yours is the choice of how to do this.” She paused, as the one-eyed predator frowned, thoughtful, troubled. “The Ukunfazane trusts you with this, Zenduali, and I agree with her; you are the woman for the job. My advice is leave; study our foe like you would any other prey. Then we can hunt them, rather than be the hunted. But there is merit in preparing the oases first as well; talk to the tribes, help them be ready for what is coming. For make no mistake, predator; it may not be tomorrow or the month after but a war with the dead is inevitable.”
Choice
Stalk the dead: Zenduali forged a hunting party and travelled east, studying her prey. This option will explore the lands beyond the control of the W’adrhŭn.
Her heart and mind were drowning in the thrill of the hunt, her blood boiled in the promise of prey. She was like a novice again, having a hard time to think straight, she realized, and rather than planning she was dreaming; dreaming of the lands in the east and the Great Turtle, the stalking under the moon, the spying, the killing…
A raptor snarled, reacting to her instincts and she snapped out of it; a reaction developed by all successful hunters. If one can’t control one’s own emotions, one can’t hope to control some of the most intelligent and savage predators in the world. She sang soothingly to the raptor – “singing” was her word for it, even if others named it different things – and the beast eyed her for a while longer before choosing to ignore her.
With her composure regained, she concentrated on the task ahead. Her choice had been made even while the Matriarch was speaking. Of course she would venture east. The Lost Lands were a hunting ground few had the opportunity to roam and there was good reason for this; once a land settled by the nomadic tribes that roamed the Wastelands, it was now a barrier filled with the dead. There was the Last Oasis beyond, of course; if that too had not succumbed to the corruption of unLife, she could perhaps use it as a heaven. She would need Braves and Hunters, a few Bound too probably. And Beasts, of course, but not heavy ones. Raptors mostly, fast agile and deadly in a fight. Then she’d need…
She spent the next waking hours and most of the sleeping ones in planning, organizing, sharpening her weapons and mending her armor. But all the while, she hummed songs about the Lost Lands and when finally sleep found her, she dreamt once more of the hunt ahead.
“There, my little Canul” she said, butting her head against his neck. The raptor crowed lowly, softly, then clicked excitedly, returning her gentle headbutt. Any outsider would think of it as a loving pet. They would be wrong. They were allies, members of a hunting pack even, one with well-established boundaries on both sides. Tensions would come and go, of course, challenges would be extended regularly but in the end those served to reaffirm the relationship, not undermine it. No, Canul and his pack were not pets. Pets were broken things, twisted. Zenduali did not understand their purpose.
Hunt?
She expected the question. But the answer still eluded her. She had an uncommon freedom in her choice of what forces she would take with her on her mission. Normally, it would take her less than a few seconds to know exactly what she needed for any given hunt. One was not named Predator for one’s social skills. But this prey and this hunt were different. Part of hunting was the ability to understand the instincts of your prey and predict their behavior. But what possible instincts could something without life have? How could you track it? Could you mask your scent and flank it? Could you overwhelm it? Should you try to outrun it?
How did you hunt the dead?
Choice
Speed and Agility: When in doubt, speed and agility serve best. A medium force forged around experienced hunters and Raptor riders would serve best.
Hunt.
Canul growled with excitement to Zenduali’s response and she laughed, even as inside she feared that the Raptors wouldn’t be thrilled when their prey was finally confronted. She would not blame them. Her own thrill for the hunt was waning fast. What thrill could hunting the dead bring? What victory, if any, could be achieved, what glory was there in killing what had already been killed?
Still petting Canul, she caught herself eyeing the East. The more she thought about it, the more it grew in her mind, this haze, this shadow. Once the excitement for the mission had subsided, the East had slowly but steadily become a presence, an entity in her mind. And every step she took, every action, every preparation, brought her closer to it. It was not fear of the unknown she felt. No. It was the unnerving feeling that what should remain an unknown, the great unknown, death, would no longer be so for her and her people.
Patting Canul one last time, she bid her prepare her pack, before yelling to her hunters to do the same. Fast and agile. That was the way indeed. Get in then get out, as fast as they could.
The dream had come again the night before; although “dream” might not have been the word for it. It was more an aware absence of one. She was sleeping and very aware of it. Yet no image was conjured in her dreams, no story was told, no song was woven. She was there, wherever that there was, unable to move, unable to see, barely able to think, listening for a sound or voice that never came. At times she was consumed by momentary terror. Other times she was hopeful, even if just for a moment. But mainly, she just was. An empty husk aware of its inexistence, bathing in darkness and stillness and silence, for what seemed like an eternity before dawn came.
The very memory of it, now under the gloomy sun while she lazily rode Canul, felt empty. Like a bottomless pit in her mind, the memory of the dream devoured all thoughts poured into it for nothing would fill it. There was no hunger in it, there was no malice of even urge, yet as she was inadvertently trying to fill it with more sentiment and thought than she ever had while suffering through it, whatever touched it felt as little and meaningless as throwing a single drop of water in an ocean to cause a wave.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the feeling. It only worked for a moment, for in the eyes of some of her comrades she could see the same empty stares, the same fearful doubts. Even the raptors felt distant, as if unwilling to commune with their bonded riders and Canul’s growls this morning begged for comfort. Annoyed, with herself, with the dream, with this mission, she forced herself to concentrate to that task at hand and looked up, to the eastern horizon.
She gasped, shocked by what little distance they had covered since the morning. Fast and agile indeed, she thought bitterly. The grey mountains in the distance awaited as if they were moving purposefully away from them. Through a blizzard in the Wastelands they would have moved faster than this. This had to end, lest their mission be doomed before it even begun. She needed to find a way to shield her people from this feeling or find a safe heaven against it.
Choice
Talk with the other Speakers and those of the Cults. Find a way to fight the emptiness.
“This,” said Adini of the Cult of Death “is not a thing of Death.”
Zenduali nodded impatiently, as the woman was readying her next words. It could be frustrating, speaking to the Cults. Their minds were touched, she always thought, but it was among the Speakers that each Cultist could hear and feel things that even they could not, even as they remained blind and deaf to others. Adini was known as a slow speaker, as most Death Cultists were. It was as much of a strain to wait for them to finish a thought as it apparently was for them to speak one.
“Death is absolute. To describe it is to be silent. To show it is to be still. This thing is an impossible thing. It speaks in silence. It moves in stillness. It makes a finite of the absolute. This thing is a perversion of all things; an unThing, one that should not be but is.”
“This does not help me, Adini,” Zenduali responded. “How do we fight it? How can I shield our people from this… unthing?”
“What we see is not what is,” Chucklash of War said. “Our fight lies still beyond. This holds no steel or blade or fist. It is an echo of the silent voice Adini hears, nothing more. It is a ghost of the unThing. It is empty, a dream of something; no more.”
“Ah, but do not dreams shape us?” chuckled in a hoarse voice Zattuki of Famine. “They do, they do, my fellows in this story. One woken by a nightmare is not the same person as one woken by the dream of a hunt. Fear not the dream, Zenduali of the Manucode. Fear the waking.”
“Platitudes!” she blurted, annoyed. “I came for counsel, and I am offered riddles!”
“If you came to the Cults for answers, do not seek answers that befit a hunter,” Adini said. “Listen to what those assigned to advise you offer.”
“Then what do they advise?” she said, barely controlling her impatience.
“The dreams cannot harm our people.” It was Aokka of Conquest that spoke, for the first time since she came to them. “No more than any dream can.”
“There are incenses that help with dreamless sleep,” Adini said. “Chanters and low drums at night can remind our people that they are alive, even in their sleep.”
“This would alert everyone around us for miles, in the empty plains…” she mumbled.
“But it will work.”
“Alright, alright,” she nodded. “Incenses, chants. What else?”
“If the dreams are of this unsilent Death,” said Adini “then make their waking ours louder.”
“Have them hunt and fight,” said Chucklash.
“Have them sing and tell tales, lovely tales,” croaked Zattuki.
“Have them record the plants and animals they see,” said Adini.
“Lead them, Zenduali of the Manucode, as you were assigned to do,” said Aokka. “Give them tasks and keep their waking ours busy. Have them be W’adrhŭn more than they fear the empty dreams.”
“At least,” Zattuki whispered “for as long as the dreams remain silent.”
Choice
Task: Hunting, tracking and battle training – This will give insight to the natural preys and dangers in the area, as well as scout for paths and trails.
“Thoani!”
Zenduali turned and looked for the one who had addressed her, the voice raised to be heard over a raptor’s galloping strides and the clamor of the training men and women surrounding her. Akeena, a young rider but competent and eager to prove herself, had called, her spear raised high in greeting from afar.
“We found tracks!” she said eagerly, once she was closer, bringing her raptor to a halt and patting her neck. Zenduali smiled but not because of the news; the young one’s voice was filled with zest, her eyes bright with purpose, her cheeks flustered by the ride.
It had proved good advice, what the Cults had offered, although it had taken some time for the effects to show. She had brought the party to a near halt, making more frequent stops and insisting that the permanent camp was set up properly every evening and gathered every morning. Until the… situation with the dreams had been addressed, she was loath to move much further east. So instead, she had her people do more thorough scouting, covering more ground and a near-meaningless number of patrols around the next campsite; usually only a handful of miles further from they had previously camped. Those not on duty were training; riding, spear throwing, combat and even theory and none was to stay alone. No one was to track, eats or sleeps on their own. Not while the dreams persisted. She always felt the effects of the dreams stronger when she was alone, and she suspected others would too.
Her people had proved slow to warm to the idea of extra shifts but after the fourth or fifth day, they had started seeing the point. Every day, the ghost of their empty dreams would be dispelled just a little earlier during the day, the weight of the void lifted from their shoulders more and more each day. There was a downside, of course. This mission would take much longer than she had anticipated; but unless the lot of them were wiped out by the Dead, she would have one of the fiercest and best trained W’adrhŭn under her command.
“A hundred or so Torrs northeast,” Akeena went on. “Big tracks, Thoani! Less than a week old. We think they were heading towards the tracks Ikkuu saw the day before.”
“Then perhaps she was right,” Zenduali said, nodding thoughtfully. Something bothered her. Something small but right in front of her. “Perhaps wildlife did find a way to live so close to death and they’ve found paths that stay clear of the Dead.” Akeena nodded excited.
“That is what we th…”
“Where is your second?” Zenduali asked interrupting her, eyes frowned.
“She…. Oatti stayed with the tracks,” Akeena said. “She insisted, Thoani, just as she insisted that I let you know immediately. There was wind coming and she feared we’d lose them. She is following them to see if they do merge with Ikkuu’s trail and leaving marks along the way. I will ride right back to her if you want me to, but Ichi needs a moment’s rest.”
Zenduali’s frown deepened. She opened her mouth, then halted. Three raptors were always kept fresh and ready, the camp’s rapid response team, if she wanted someone to leave immediately but she hesitated then, in the end, closed her mouth. She was becoming paranoid, she thought. Or she could be becoming paranoid.
That was the worst part. She did not know; she had no standard by which to measure this threat. If she was so jumpy, then probably so were most of her people despite the recent changes. A panicked reaction by her could undo all they had built these past few days. On the other hand, if something happened to Oatti, that would be even worse.
She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, then looked at Akeena.
Choice
“Rest but then we’ll ride to her together. No one is to ride alone again.”
Listen…
“Duststorm!”
Akeena screamed to be heard over the wind’s howling. And it was howling, Zenduali felt. Threatening, furious, as if with a terrible purpose. The eastern wind – a bad omen in and of itself – felt alive but it was not that which made her shiver and scowl. It was the whisper. Under the layers of screams and howls, the wind carried a whisper, one she doubted a non-Listener would be able to hear and even she could not discern what it was saying. She eyed Akeena as best she could but could not tell if she had heard it too, so she simply nodded in reply.
Listen…
“Thoani, I don’t like this” the young huntress yelled again. “It came too fast, without a cloud to herald it!”
She nodded again, absent-mindedly. Akeena had not mentioned anything but she had felt it, even without realizing probably. This was, possibly, good news. It meant she was not going crazy, probably. She shook her head, trying to dispel the whisper at the edge of her hearing.
Listen…
Despite the urge, she shifted her hearing range to block the whisper as best she could but no matter what she did, it was there. Ever there. It made it hard to focus and she needed to focus. Akeena was talented and capable but inexperienced. She needed the help in tracking Oatti.
Listen…
Or she could try and listen. Hone in on the voice, try to find out more, try to understand what it was that wind was whispering.
Listen…
Choice
Try to listen.
The wind howled now, angry and menacing, promising doom to all caught in its furious embrace. Dust and sand whipped at Zenduali’s face, and she could hear them cracking against her skin. Blood was drawn as a pebble or two thrashed her face, no more than two thin lines, only to be washed a moment after by water. It was no kindness, this water; no balm for the dryness of the wastelands. It too was angry, roaring as it fell, thousands of thousands of small thunders rolling viciously and intense.
“I have never seen anything like this, Thoani!” Akeena chuckled almost, her shock with what she was witnessing dispelling fear for the moment. “How does it rain? We saw no clouds! Did you see clouds, Thoa-..? Thoani?”
Zenduali gave no reply. She made no motion and gave no sign of even having heard. She was just sitting there, on her saddle, her eyes widened, horrified. Her raptor was snorting violently, afraid of this wet sandstorm, afraid more while sensing her mistress’ condition but too loyal to throw her off and flee. Still, Akeena rushed to her side, grabbed the reins, and spoke soothing words to both animals. And still, Zenduali simply sat there, oblivious to Akeena calling for her or her raptor’s fearful growls.
All she could hear was nothing.
All this noise, this chaotic symphony of sounds, each element an instrument and yet… each instrument was broken. Each of them missed notes. Each of them left gaps in their tunes, suffered silence in their voices. She could feel the rain splashing but now and then for a moment – just a moment! –its splashes were muted. She could feel the wind against her skin, violent and unrelenting; but its howl had gaps, instances of silence, irregular and awkward. They never coincided, so one ever covered for the others, hiding the silence in the cacophony. But it was there. And it was impossible.
She was sure now. There was no whisper in the storm. How could there be? Her mind had made it up, tried to fill the void with sanity where there was none – so she heard a whisper, not the howl she would expect but wind still, even if quieter, gentler. But when she tried to listen to it, focus on it, there was nothing. This wind was dead. This rain was dead. The sand was dead. They were all just pretending to be alive, only they did not know how; not properly.
No. She tilted her head, feeling her skin at the back of her neck crawl as a thought dawned on her. They weren’t dead. They were being murdered; brutally, maliciously, purposefully murdered, each stab a moment of silence and…
She shook her head, turning to look at Akeena, her eyes snapping back to focus on her. She told her something about tracks being lost, finding cover and waiting it out. The youth looked at her concerned while she nodded but did as she had been told. She did the same, her moves mechanical more than deliberate and all the time she wondered: By the Ukunfazane, was she going mad?
After the storm died out and some hours had passed, they found Oatti. Sheltered behind a bolder, her raptor missing, the scout had a clean cut across the throat and her blade was in her hand. Putting her hand on crying Akeena’s shoulder, she gave no answer to the youth’s questions of why. She knew the answer.
Choice
Oatti had been murdered. Try and track the area.
“We will never find anything here,” Akeena said. “The storm erased any tracks, Thoani. And I am not sure we would even if…”
“We would,” she snapped to cut her off. “The cut is clean, precise and with no hint of hesitation. She did not do this herself. Keep looking.”
“But there is no one out here!” the young huntress protested confused, all the while going over the area around Oatti’s body one more time. “There is nothing out here. Who then? And how did they approach her and manage such a cut?”
“That is for us to find out,” Zenduali responded. She was trying to sound calm, composed but the subtle tremble in her voice betrayed she was anything but. She felt confused, desperate but above all she felt angry. Whether angry at this mission, angry at the impossible weather, angry at the young huntress or angry at herself, she could not say. She just felt angry. “Keep tracking. Unless you don’t want anything to be found.”
“Wha..?” The young huntress muttered something, her expression first confused, then shocked then hurt. But as the thoughts settled in her head, her face turned to stone, expressionless and strong. “I will look, Thoani,” she said flatly in the end.
Thrice had the young huntress told her they’d check everything in the vicinity and thrice had Zenduali snapped at her, telling her to go over every inch again. Now the sky was turning gold and red, dark blue already spreading in the east, as the night’s shadow crawled eagerly towards them, halted solely by the fading power of the setting sun. Only then did Zenduali admitted there was nothing to be found, cursing loudly and screaming angry and annoyed. Akeena’s grim expression mellowed for a moment.
“Thoani Zenduali,” she said softly. “Let us return.”
“No!” she burst. “One of ours was murdered, huntress. Do you not care?” Akeena’s resigned expression only taunted her more. “Her raptor! It must have fled. We widen the search, look to where the storm did not touch. We…”
“The two of us would need days to cover such ground,” Akeena said with some effort behind her calmness.
“Excuses!” Zenduali blurted angrily. “Do you not want this murderer to be found, Akeena?” The young huntress looked down for but a moment, her expression mellowed.
“Thoani, I do not wish to stay here for the night,” she added pleading almost, as she searched for Zenduali’s eyes. “This place does things to one. We all know it for we all have sensed it. I feel despair and loneliness even in your presence, even in the presence of the camp. Maybe Oatti… Maybe it affected Oatti too. She was my sister in hunt, Thoani, and her death pains me but to see you like this pains me more.” She threw her spear to the ground then did the same with her daggers.
“I will stay here if you ask,” she went on. “I will look for weeks if my Predator commands me so. But I believe it a fool’s task, both this night and tomorrow. So, I say, Thoani, let us take her back to the camp. You can take me back as a killer, if you want. Or we can accept this place killed her, one way or another.”
Choice
Go back to camp and offer Oatti the gentle rest of the self-hands.
The funeral was sad and beautiful. Comforting songs were sang, soothing the tormented soul of the self-hands killer. Once the songs were over, a mask was prepared, the work accompanied by joyful paeans. Usually, it would adorn her beast but since she was lost as well, it was added to the great tent. Then, the body was cleansed and prepared. Flesh for the beasts, bones for tools and weapons… Nothing from the body of a self-hands was allowed to go to waste; a capable hand had been stolen from the Tribe, so compensation was needed.
Zenduali allowed herself to participate in all stages of the ritual. Whatever cloud had taken hold of her mind was not gone, not completely. It loomed over her, ready to slide and drown her in frantic dark thoughts at every opportunity. So when the farewell was over, she cleaned her gear and sharpened her weapons. When that was over, she brought her tent down only to put it back up again, this time, she claimed, sturdier. Then she brushed her beasts once more, before she sought the company of Akeena and the life it offered. Before exhaustion claimed her, she thought how all of it, all the tasks and all the pleasures of the day, rang hollow and tasteless in this place. When exhaustion finally claimed her, she almost welcomed the emptiness of sleep, the very thing that once unsettled her.
The next day, she ordered that all must hunt, track and train in parties of four. For the next days, she participated in each for two gongs, then spent her evenings going through all reports, frantically looking for something in their words. By the end of the week, she knew all there was to know about the area; nothing. The beasts were scarcer in this land than raindrops in the desert, there were no paths save the half-buried old ways of cobble and stone and food would soon run very short indeed. And she still knew nothing about her enemy, none of the patrols had seen any of the dead roaming the land.
This far from the oasis, there had always been straggler groups of them. Something was moving. She just couldn’t see it. Yet.
Choice
Send patrols of four to eight.
“Priorities are as follows, hunters: If you find game, you are to hunt and mark its paths, ideally find hunting grounds and lairs. If you find the dead, you are to mark positions, observe and retreat. If there is anything that moves out there, be it with the blessing of nature or against her virtue, I want to know its paths, its lair, and its purpose. And I want four accounts for each, so you all better bring your ugly mugs back.”
She sighed quietly as they chuckled with her words, her smiling lips pressed thin by the weight on her chest, before she continued flatly.
“I am not going to lie to you, Hunters. Your mission is neither easy nor pleasant and it must lead you to uncharted territory. You are to venture further than any of the Åsiss-born. Further than most W’adrhǔn have ever set foot since the Lost Lands were stolen from the Tribes. This is your privilege and honor, as much as it is your peril.
We have all witnessed the dangers these land hides. Better hidden than a scorpion amidst rocks, slyer than a Murderfang curled among the grass, cannier than an uzibukhali luring in the hunter while the pack awaits. It is a danger within that is stirred from without. Remember to stay active. Remember to keep your mind awake, save for the hours of sleep. Remember to keep your hands busy and your hearts strong. And above all, remember to watch out for your fellow hunters. You are their shield as much as they are yours.
But I see you now, before me, four times four and two times eight, and raptors to match; as lucky and blessed as a number can get and with no better company to envy. And in seeing you, I know that you will remember what it is you are: W’adrhǔn, hunters of the Ukunfazane, heralds of her might and wisdom. Neither dead humans nor dead thoughts can conquer your body or your hearts. Ukund!”
“UKUND!”
Choice
Operation Success.
Youths often mistake the respect hunters possess in their societies as admiration and recognition of their prowess and their ability to bring food. This, Zenduali believed, should only be partly true. Any fool, more or less, could wield a spear and kill a thing. What separated hunters from braves was patience; the ability to command the fire in every W’adrhǔn belly, rather than be commanded by it. Spears were the tools of killers. Patience was the tool of the hunter. And as the days were passing without news, Zenduali had to summon all her mastery over it.
It had been a difficult decision for her, to remain behind. But, as the Cults had advised, their few remaining provisions was where her attention was required most. She had sent one of the teams back to the oasis to resupply but until they returned, a firm voice to govern and a strong arm to enforce the rationing were needed. It was small consolation to know her decision had been a wise one for it did not take long for tensions to rise in the main camp; nothing too bad, nothing that could not be handled, but nothing she would have felt comfortable with others handling either for she knew more would follow. Still, every dusk, she would take her rations – pointedly a smaller portion than the rest – and sit alone on a rock, overlooking the east and scanning the horizons for one of her scouts, humming songs to keep the quiet at bay, while wishing she was with them.
When news came, however, they came before dawn and she had to be woken up. Even as the young hunter was rushed into her tent, even then she did not allow the fire in her belly to flare up. She listened patiently, passively even, to the report, offered through panted words. She did not react when she heard that the dead were gathered at the ruins of an old city, far to the east; not stragglers, but an organized force, apparently, albeit not perhaps an invasion army yet. She asked calmly, clinically even, about numbers, positions, equipment and did not flinch when the answer was not satisfactory, nor did she stir when she heard that her cousin Yolmantok had recalled most teams before more information could be gathered. He had already been attacked by another, smaller force, sporting different colors, and closer to the shore and he had been forced to gather most scouting teams to him to fend them off.
When the young hunter – that was perhaps unfair, but they all looked young to her – finished his report, she realized her calm and patience were no different than waiting for days on top of a tree or observing a trail. She was hunting and in her gut she had known. Just as she knew, now, that the time to throw the spear drew close. All she had to do is pick the when and where.
Choice
Lead a team to observe the undead army.
“Predator, if you leave now, the situation is only going to deteriorate in the camp.”
There was truth in those words, she knew. But she hoped she had an answer to this. She hoped she had made the right call.
“I think war is coming, Uduanu,” she said, her hands busy with the straps of her raptor’s tack. “Keep reminding them that. Keep the camp mobile and head south and east, towards where Yolmantok was last known to be. This is no longer an expedition; I want warcamp conditions. And keep them drilling every morning and evening; nothing too harsh but not too lenient either. If anyone is idiotic enough to cause trouble about a growling belly, feel free to treat them as dissidents.” She paused, turning to look at the Brave warrior, hand resting on her raptor’s neck.
“If the report is true, then this is different than the scattered patrols we’ve seen before,” she said. “With Yolmantok missing, I need to see what this truly is. In the meantime, I need you to send word to the Oasis and tell them what we know. Better to raise a false alarm than fail to raise a proper one.”
“I’ll need raptors for that,” Uduanu said, motioning at all the remaining raptor riders preparing with her. “By your order, I can’t only send one.”
She sighed, cursed, then nodded reluctantly. She looked around, as the last of the riders were climbing on their saddles, spears ready and provisions packed.
“Majokk. A’undh,” she shouted then whistled a command and the faces of the two riders dropped. “You can have them, no more,” she said to the Brave.
“You will not miss them?”
“If all goes well, I will not need them,” she replied. “My intention is to observe, not fight.”
With a swift move, she settled on her raptor’s back and whistled the march.
“Not yet, anyway.”
Choice
Operation Success.
“They barely have any watches…” Shishina almost chuckled nervously, “as if completely unafraid. Are we a joke to these things?”
“We came unseen. They have no reason to even suspect we are here,” Zenduali said absentmindedly. “You are certain these do not carry the colors of the ones Yolmantok engaged?” Zenduali asked the other hunter next to her. U’ngu nodded, interrupting his glaring of Shishina when he looked at his leader.
“It is so, Predator,” he said. “But they were not as many nor as equipped as this lot are,” he added. “More of a scouting force, I’d gather, or on a mission.”
“But not stragglers either?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Could they be different units?” she muttered, more to herself, than the hunters. “Or then we may have two such forces somewhere in the Lost Lands, not one. If we do, I need to know about it. If we do, the Oasis is in danger.” She paused, sighing while shaking her head. “We know way too little about the dead ones. We need to know more.”
“The city is surrounded by our watchers, Predator,” Shishina said, “and we remain unseen. We will know more soon enough. U’ngu can tell us if he sees any resembling the ones Yolmantok fought. If he does, we can ensure your cousin’s enemies get no more reinforcements from the city. If he doesn’t, we can assume there is another player somewhere. And all the while, we watch and learn about the dead ones.”
“Or we get flanked by that other force,” U’ngu cut in. “And we get pinned between them. We are no proper fighting force but we can harass these diggers. See up close.”
“What? That is madness, they are scores of them, what could we hope to achieve but die?” Shishina exclaimed.
“We don’t fight them proper,” U’ngu snorted. “We find out more about what they are digging for. How responsive they are to surprise attacks and guerilla warfare. What equipment they field. Who commands them. The more we let them dig us those walls, the harder this task will get. Ruined or not, the walls will obstruct vision and limit the raptors in hit and runs.”
“But then they will¸ put up guards,” Shishina retorted. “We will have to pull back some, that is assuming we won’t be followed. And if we are forced to fall back or go find Yolmantok, again we might get pinned between two forces and so will Yolmantok and the camp, if they have reached him by that time.”
“Enough, hunters,” Zenduali said calmly.
Choice
Give the word. I want a closer look. – Zenduali will attempt a “hit and run” to see the excavation up close and check her enemies’ reactions.
The plan was simple: approach as close as possible without being observed, then destroy as many and as quickly as possible while observing their response and operation in the ruins, before withdrawing. In and out. Quick and quiet make easy.
Too easy. Too quiet.
It was often said that there was a silence that came with the hunt. The moments before the kill, when all but the prey seem to have noticed the predator and the jungle holds its breath. This, Zenduali knew to be false, a tale spun by storytellers rather than hunters; hunters knew the silence was made up, not real; one was attuned to it because one feared the sounds they made. But as the raptors and hunters rode behind hills and ruined walls, covering their approach, there was a silence and that silence was different. There is no breath to be held, Zenduali thought with a shiver, but when rational thought prevailed, she frowned. She raised her palm backwards and the hunters halted behind her.
Predator? Shishina asked, her hands moving in the signs of hunters, as her throat made the soft sounds fit for W’adrhŭn to compliment the gestures.
Too quiet, Zenduali replied then Why are they not working?
Shishina frowned, then shrugged.
Do we keep going? she asked in the end. Without answering, Zenduali climbed off her saddle and started crawling upwards, to the top of the hill that hid them.
She had never tried so hard to be silent before in her life. In the jungle, even in the plains, there was always some sound. A bird calling, a breeze whispering, or even the soft murmurs of leaves. But in this place where the dead walked, there was nothing, as if the wind had gone stale and lazy, eager to let her be discovered. Every stone she moved, every spec of dust that rolled under her weight, they sounded like thunders falling on a clear summer day to her ears. But she did not slow down; if they were expected, worse, if they were to be ambushed, she needed to know fast. Holding her pants with considerable effort, she reached the top of the hill and dared a glance.
The dead were there, alright, unmoving, as if in waiting. She almost motioned behind her to fall back, fearing it was them they were waiting for but then she noticed it. None of them were looking their way; none of them, not even the watches, were even looking outside the walls. Turned, to the last man, to the same direction, the entire undead army, spread thin in smaller work groups – she held a sigh of relief at this – they were all looking towards the ruined city, where a metal-clad warrior was standing with an officer at his side.
At a loss with what was happening, she did not have the luxury of observation. If this was a distraction, she would exploit it. Scanning the area with the speed of an experienced hunter, she noticed three targets near paths the raptors could use: a large tent, not too far from the warrior everyone was staring at but deeper into the ruins, an excavation site behind a temple, sheltered by a marquee, presumably to keep the elements from stalling the work, and a group of cloth-wearing people, camped a way further than the works, with only daggers through their belts.
One target. In and out.
Choice
The excavation site.
The Battle of Divina’s Ruins
And so it was that Predator Zenduali of the Manucode launched a surprise attack on the Warlord’s camp at the ruins of Divina. Her goal: investigate up close the excavation site, monitor the reactions and fighting abilities of the dead ones and disrupt their operation as much as possible. Or so she thought; Raptor growls and war chants filled the night, a stark contrast to the deathly silent, composed response of the Warlord’s army. But their silence was not one of shock or fear. Guided by the will of their Warlord and fueled by the newly awakened memories of their past lives, their reaction was near-instant and precise. Still, not all was lost from the beginning for the W’adrhŭn. Equipped for excavation work, rather than combat, most of the Warlord’s army had to arm themselves; and in that narrow and rapidly closing window of time, Zenduali’s raptor rider’s charged to their objective, while her hunters and warriors kept a path clear for their escape.
The reports from the survivors were clear:
Choice
Old Dominion Victory