Chapter 7: Chapter 7 – Veriside (Blood Brother)

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The councilors sat around the large oak table in the middle of the massive main room of the Manor. This table has served as their meeting table for as long as Ta'rak has been on the council. It now served as Rodan's meal time table as well.

Whale oil fueled lanterns hung from several hooks on a wheel that was suspended above the table, while stone pillars and posts cast shadows throughout the room. Beeswax candles on the table brightened the room even more.

Each chair had a slot carved into the side, to hold a sword, a dagger, or the handle of an ax. It was not uncommon for a person to go about their daily lives with a sword or weapon on their belt. It was less common to see a person without a weapon for self defense.

Rodan had the old murals on the walls repainted, trying to spread a bit of the wealth he earned from his position to others with less then himself. The scenes were familiar to everyone in the village, but their lore didn't tell them from what era it was from, or what it was about.

There were stories told of their fallen friend, mugs of wine being raised to his memory, but there was a darkness hanging over the celebration of the young man's life. This darkness invaded Rodan's thoughts, and spilled into his mood.

He sat at the head of the table, his wine in his hand, and glowered darkly at the councilors in front of him. These people tended to walk all over him, but looked to him when they needed protection. It was this attitude that slowly turned him very hostile.

Nongul raised his glass to salute the memory of his fallen friend, but discreetly watched the silent interactions of the Elder and Mia. The fool sat smugly in his chair, no song on his lips to show respect for Furlon, but he watched the Elder boil. He worked behind the scenes, made himself the person that people went to for help, instead of Rodan. Nongul kept silent.

Both Rodan and Mia had yet to learn that a Raaka with the title of Elder was the king of that village. He could not be removed unless another Raaka took his place.

The more that Rodan watched the council sing, watched them give him no respect, and pay him no heed, the closer he came to losing his temper. Rodan seethed inside, and the more he tried to control his emotions, the more they ran away from him. Since this type of behavior was so far away from Rodan's normal demeanor, years later he would wonder who had been pulling his strings.

“RODAN! Get a hold of yourself!” Nongul jumped up from his chair as he watched the surface of the large oak table in front of him suddenly ignite. The councilors pushed themselves away from the table in a rush. Ta'rak kept his seat, the surface in front of him strangely absent of flame.

“Sorry! I don't know what came over me!” Rodan said excitedly. Ta'rak chuckled to himself while Rodan extinguished the flames with a short blast of cold air. It was not a good thing to have their Elder so keyed up.

“Its alright, Rodan. Its been a trying day, for all of us.” Only a fool would think that an angered Raaka was a good thing. Push him one too many times and the most even tempered man will attack or lash out.

'It would be a welcome change for Rodan to throw his weight around. We live too close to the Jakt Agor, and the Elder needs to be able to use his leadership like a sword or a hammer.' Nongul thought, but didn't voice his concerns.

A leader leads, but Rodan almost refused to lead, which was a bone of contention for both Ta'rak and Nongul.

“Since I have your attention, I might as well keep it. Everyone here knows of Furlon's death, and you've heard how he died.” He closed his eyes for a brief second. “The news is correct.” Rodan took the bag that he had tied to his belt and tossed it onto the middle of the table.

Ta'rak looked down at the bag. He had heard directly from A'ton that Furlon had been killed but was too wrapped up in his grief to find out how it happened. He reached out, plucked the bag from the center of the table, and looked inside. He face turned deathly white. He sagged back down into his chair. He placed the bag back on the table slowly, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Ta'rak was tormented by all too familiar memories and the reality of his friend's death.

Another councilor picked up the bag, feigning some sort of bravery, only to sit the bag back down after a brief look inside. Another councilor did the same, only to curse out loud. He too sat back, ashen faced, and disturbed.

They had only an inkling of the pain the man must have endured, but the item in the bag showed that it was a gruesome death. No one saw fit to pick the bag up and look inside after they witnessed its affect.

Rodan swore a few curse words under his breath, grabbed the bag from off the table, and placed the item on the table on top of the leather bag.

Silence.

The councilors were several different shades of color, mostly white, to gray and pale. There had not been a confirmed attack in near to a decade. Every time they heard of a Crossing, they put it down to fear mongering.

Sometimes a wannabe warrior would say he fought and killed a riivaaja, a braggart that wanted some unearned glory. Not one single person has ever killed a beast of the Jakt Agor and lived to tell the tale.

The last beast crossed their bridge ten years ago. Both Ta'rak's wife, and his father were killed in the attack. The beast had also managed to damage large portions of their village while they tried to kill it. Homes had to be rebuilt, two or three men were made lame, and several more were killed.

“There can be no doubt about what killed Furlon. I see no reason to endlessly debate the existence, or the result of the attack, like we normally do in this chamber.” Rodan sneered.

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The paw sat on the table, its long and sharp claws serving as a ghastly reminder of what the beasts from the Jakt Agor could do. It was fairly obvious why Furlon died. He did not hear any voices of dissent in the room, so he plowed on.

“What we can talk about though is what we plan to do about it!” Rodan said angrily.

Nongul, who had seen the paw earlier, looked towards his Elder.

“What do you mean Rodan? Its dead, isn't it?” There was the momentary fear that maybe he missed something, that there was perhaps more then one Crossing.

Rodan nodded his head, his closely cropped hair did not move, but his shaggy beard got a little twisted in the top knot of his robe. He smoothed his beard with a grumble before he continued.

“Yes, its dead, but there is the whole Jakt Agor across that bridge and every denizen within its confines would love to cross over and kill as many of us as possible!” Rodan said, and didn't seem to calm down. He only got angrier.

“And what would you suggest? Invade the Jakt Agor?!” Mia sneered. He had been quiet so far, but he couldn't help but try to further his own desires, and this was not the time or place to do that. Rodan's eyes glinted dangerously. The air in front of Mia suddenly got very cold, and his breath turned to vapor in front of him.

“Show some respect, or I will teach it to you,” Rodan said, while he tried not to growl like an animal. His temper was stretched thin, and to have this polkkypaa poke at him would only be hazardous to his health. Nongul gave Mia a significant look.

“Continue, Vanhin.” He put some emphasis on Rodan's formal title, trying to remind the sekopaa, the insane fool, that Rodan had power and he could use it if he wished to do so. Nobody at the table would stick up for him so it would not be wise to anger Rodan further. Secretly, Nongul was applauding the Elder for finally raising his sword and accepting the challenge.

“Thank you. As I said, they want to kill us. They love killing us. I don't know why there aren't more Crossings as there is no gate, no guards, and no way to stop them if they decided to come across and start killing!” He let that sink in and hoped they might see it his way now. They couldn't deny those facts, and didn't have anything that could refute his words. He kept on rolling with it.

“We need a way to either stop those beasts or some sort of signal to let us know that one came across.” As soon as he offered a course of action, someone spoke out. Eska shook off his fear.

“We've already talked about this Rodan. You know we can't afford something like this. Why do you keep bringing it up?” Eska snorted.

“We have to talk about it again! Something must be done!” Rodan said, showing how upset he was. He would not beat on a dead horse like this, but he couldn't let it go.

Ta'rak kept his eyes closed, and kept his thoughts to himself. An anger burned in him, simmered just beneath the surface, but threatened to engulf him at any time.

“What do you propose we do? We don't have the resources the city has. We barely get by! Tax income for the village is too low.” Stig, another councilor said. Rodan had to admit that Stig spoke the truth.

“Yes, taxes are low, but the village's income increases during the market, and we receive half of the entrance fee from the Fighter's Ring Ta'rak sets up. If we plan well, we might be able to afford something. It can also be so much more if we had something in place to protect innocent people who would want to settle here. We can't get many farmers to break ground near here, and our market could be bigger if we had more farmers to sell, or we could export some food. If we had something, anything, it would tell them we mean to protect them!” He pounded on the table with his hand.

The council was starting to come back to its normal ways again, and were passed the shock of the Crossing. They wanted to fly in the face of more conventional wisdom by trying to do nothing.

“How can we afford something like that, Rodan?” Eska himself was one of those farmers who lived outside the village walls. He couldn't hire people to help him open more ground as there weren't enough laborers available. His reserves of silver barely lasted him from year to year and he couldn't see that something there would help him as well.

Rodan's eyes opened in surprise.

“How can we not afford it? People are dying!” Rodan was dumbfounded about how this group of people could not see they had to do something.

“That was just one man! We all know he shouldn't have been anywhere near that area just to go hunting!” Mia jumped up from his seat, trying to silence his opponent.

The room went deadly quiet. Mia just broke one of the few taboos the Ostyr Ago had. Do not place the blame for a man's death upon his shoulders, or insult him when he wasn't there to protect himself. His family could take his honor upon their shoulders, and erase that stain with the blood of the offender.

Ta'rak, his blood bonded brother, his honor bound Veriside, opened his eyes.

 

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