Chapter 89: Chapter 89

Silence descended upon the cave. I considered the old priest’s words. It didn’t seem like he had thought through the entirety of his guess, but it seemed largely plausible. If the human Jora tribe killed the elfin Jora tribe, that would explain the pile of bones and skulls behind the old priest. But what about how the human Jora tribe learned elfin magic? Or how they ended up taking the Jora name for themselves. We couldn’t pin the blame for either of those on the immortals, because the humans’ magic was awful and there was no benefit for the immortals in giving the humans the Jora name.

“I don’t think that explains everything,” I said. “But I do prefer this sort of honesty over the more diplomatic honesty from before.”

“Then, will you let me down?” asked the priest.

“A few more questions first,” I said. “The elves were divided, just like your own people. We had many tribes, not just the Jora. Do you know anything about the other tribes? Or do you have any more truthful guesses?”

“There are no mentions of other tribes in the official stories that I was taught,” he said, “but I would imagine they did not come with the ancient Jora tribe. If we could pass down the Jora name, why wouldn’t we pass down the name of another tribe too? Perhaps as some sort of fixture in our myths and legends.”

“That makes sense,” I said, “although we may never know for sure. Just because they passed down one elfin name doesn’t mean they had to pass down any others. Your language seems so distinct from the elfin language that I doubt your language absorbed a single other word from the elfin one. Which brings me to my next question: how did your people learn magic when they could not understand the elfin language?”

The old priest thought for a moment. “Our stories do not dwell on this question. Nor have I ever thought about it unprompted. I unconsciously assumed that the ancient elves shared our language, perhaps they had even been the ones who taught it to us. Yet, if what you say is true, and our languages are completely distinct, then that can only mean that our stories are false. We did not learn magic from the elves, because we never learned the elfin language. But our people clearly know magic.”

“Which means somebody else must have taught your ancestors,” I said. “But why make up the story about learning magic from the elves? If the God of Evil taught your ancestors magic, surely he would like to be worshiped by more than just a few priests and elders once every summer solstice?”

“I do not know anything about the God of Evil,” said Oxi. “But our secret solstice ritual was meant to honor our ancestors. Yet, you said we were actually worshiping the evil god.”

“So if you have other rituals that are meant to honor your ancestors, they might actually be worshiping the evil god too,” I said, “but that still doesn’t explain why the stories about elves became so prominent.”

“Another guess,” said Oxi, “that I can make based on my own experience, is that my ancestors may not have known about the evil god, either.”

I frowned. “I find that hard to believe. There is no way a bunch of magic-less humans exterminated an entire tribe of magic wielding elves, many of whom had been hunters for multiples of your lifetimes, without the support of an immortal. In fact, I think your ancestors learned magic before they fought with the elves. To defeat the elves, they would have needed magic. And if they got their magic from an immortal, it explains why my magic is so different from yours.”

Priest Oxi nodded. “That would make sense, yes. However, it doesn’t explain why the stories say we learned magic from elves. But what if our ancestors simply found themselves able to use magic one day, and assumed they had gotten it from the strangers who could use the same power? And what if they were driven by greed. With mistaken beliefs about how to strengthen their power or to gain more of it, they may have sought to conquer or kill those they considered the harbingers of magic.”

“And then, after realizing that this wasn’t the case, they omitted it from their stories,” I said, “and the official, truthful narrative became one where the humans learned magic from the kind and honorable elves. From the elves who ascended into immortality, by being buried on the peak of a mountain at the roof of the world.”

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My words lingered in the air as silence descended once again. I considered the guesses we had made so far, and although there were still a bunch of holes the story we’d constructed, and not much of this could be verified, it was at least plausible. It explained why the elves were dead, why the human Jora tribe could use a different kind of magic from mine, and why they thought they had been taught by the elves even though they seemed to be worshiping the God of Evil.

One of the last loose threads was why the Roja tribe’s magic had been so similar to the elemental magic I’d invented. The reason the Roja tribe had wanted our help in the first place was because the human Jora tribe’s magic was more powerful than the Roja tribe’s magic. It seemed this was because the human Jora tribe had received their magic from the god of evil, while the Roja tribe had somehow learned elfin magic, after all.

“Great one,” said the old priest, “I have answered all of your questions. I have rejected my own tribe’s history and traditions to give you the answers you were seeking. But my old bones cannot endure this punishment any longer. Please, could you let me down?”

I stared at the elder hanging from the silver restraints on a wall lined with elfin skulls and bones. I could feel Noel, still frozen with my hands around her shoulders. I did not know what she was thinking, or if she’d even heard the conversation I’d just had with the old priest. Still, Oxi’s explanation had been good enough. I liked to think I was a decent judge of character, and could tell when most people were lying to me, but then again, that’s what everyone thinks. What was happening to the old priest felt like torture. And to me, with my twenty-first century sensibilities, that sort of treatment was kind of hard to watch.

I sighed. “Alright,” I said, “I will let you down. But you are coming back with us to Bek Tepe, where you will tell everyone what you just told us.”

The old priest hesitated. “To put my ancestors’ shame on full display like that… it would be terrible.”

“Well, it might be too late to worry about that,” I said, “when we left, people had already started calling the Jora one of the dishonored tribes, alongside the Nare and the Jenin.”

“The dishonored tribes?” he said.

“For having attacked an elf,” I said, “in this case, me. Funny how your own warped history came back to bite you, huh?”

The old priest sighed. “The only reason we attacked you was because we believed you were going to cut us off from our ancestors by destroying the red orb. All three of us did not believe the elves were real, until we met you. We valued our ancestors more than we venerated the elves. Sunki had been the most conflicted. He had wanted to tell you about the secret ritual, but elder Rann and I disagreed.” The old priest looked me in the eye. “It is difficult for people like me to let go of our roots. We have spent many decades locked in our ways, stuck in the rigidity of our beliefs. Our entire way of life revolves around our family, and its history. The ancestors are far more personal to us than gods and immortals. It is painful to lose that connection. It is painful to entertain the possibility of their cruelty and falsehood, yet I have done it. I will share this version of history with my people.” He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps we can atone for the crimes of our ancestors, by being honorable towards you.”

I nodded. I was sure this was the best I could hope for from the old priest. He could help us root out anyone else who had been worshiping the God of Evil through secret rituals, and would help us rewrite the history of his own tribe. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but at least there was a way to move forward.

I lifted my hands from around Noel’s shoulders, and began to take a step. Suddenly, there was movement. I turned my head just as something whooshed past my hair, sending it rustling into my face. A garbled cry rang out in the cave. I turned towards the cry and my heart dropped.

The old priest was twitching against the wall like a wounded insect. His eyes darted from side to side, before rolling back, lifeless. The Dragon’s Tooth protruded from his neck like a skewer on a fresh piece of meat. Noel stood beside me, her hands outstretched, breathing heavily, her eyes bloodshot with anger.