PtM Book 14 - Chapter 36: Three Days

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In the Runebound Clan, tradition dictated that grieving be limited to three days. A total of three days and three nights were allowed, starting from when you learned of their death, and ending exactly seventy-two hours later. It was a harsh but essential tradition for the nomadic people because in the desert, death was all too common. The tribe had to move or perish.

Merenthal was currently paying Drezil a visit. The young inkborn of the Runebound Clan was thin. Drawn out. Completely drained of energy. He had long since stopped eating and sleeping and only had eyes for the near-complete statue at the center of the room.

Merenthal had no use for such childishness. He had a duty to the tribe, and he could not continue protecting Drezil forever. So he stood there, not bothering to hide his presence, and spoke of matters that Drezil should be concerning himself with, in the hope that they would seep through by osmosis.

“Sedrannah has resecured the loyalty of many of our priests and priestesses,” Merenthal said. “She turned over a new leaf since her duel with Clear Sky and has begun instructing them. Since Clear Sky does not intend on remaining, and there are troops on our doorstep, they are looking for a spiritual anchor. And she has broken through to the fusion realm. It’s only a matter of time.”

Drezil seemed unconcerned. He continued as though he hadn’t heard Merenthal.

“Of course, if you intend on continuing your grieving, there’s nothing I can do,” Merenthal continued. “Just know that you aren’t doing your teacher’s memory justice with your current course of action.”

Drezil did not usually answer when Merenthal spoke to him, so he was surprised when the young man spoke. “I am not grieving.”

Merenthal sighed. He walked up to Drezil and kneeled beside him. “If this isn’t grieving, I don’t know what is.”

“I am not grieving,” Drezil repeated. “I have my work, and I will finish it. That is all. There is no point in involving me now.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Merenthal snapped.

“Do I?” Drezil said. “Tell me, in what way would I do better than Sedrannah?”

He stood up and began walking around the stone block, which was over ninety-nine percent finished. Only a few small details had yet to be carved. It was admittedly one of the most beautiful things Merenthal had ever laid eyes on.

The signstone, or whatever stone it was made of, shone a vibrant white. The creature Drezil had cut out from it had the torso of a deer, an ox’s tail, and the hooves of a horse. It had scales like a dragon, though these scales weren’t fully fleshed out.

It also had wings, and though the feathers had been smoothed out individually, they still lacked the individual filaments needed to perfect them. It was a winged qilin, servant of emperors. A holy beast, if there ever was one. Even incomplete, it made Merenthal want to prostrate himself.

“I’m not sure about anyone else, but I would definitely trust someone with the skill to craft such a masterpiece over Sedrannah,” Merenthal said. “Show them this carving, and they will change their minds quickly.”

Drezil let out a light cackle. “I’ve spent months of my life on this, Merenthal. In that time, I could have easily helped my brethren in place of the priests and contributed to the defense. I know this, yet here I am, carving. And they would accept me, just like that?”

Merenthal sighed. “Our clan needs you.”

“Our clan will be finewithout me,” Drezil said. “It was fine before I returned, and it will continue to be fine in the future.”

“We don’t have Shakkanah to lean on,” Merenthal said.

“And you say I’m the one grieving,” Drezil said. “It is best that you find someone else to take up her mantle. I have my duty, and I will complete it.”

“So this statue is your duty,” Merenthal said. “What is it worth? Years of your life, with no rewards to show for it?”

“It is worth my whole life and everything else,” Drezil said.

Merenthal sighed again. “A high priest would give the people hope. They don’t need grand speeches or grand deeds. You wouldn’t need to do anything, Drezil. All we need is your presence. Your words. Your reassurance.

“Shakkanah chose you before she died. That means something to the people. It means something to me.” He paused, then chose his words carefully. “We need a leader. The leader I am not qualified to be.”

“They need my leadership?” Drezil said, pausing in his work. “That’s the last thing they need, and you know it. As for your lack of qualifications, those are self-imposed. They would accept you if you chose to transcend your station and cast Sedrannah out.”

“We have our traditions,” Merenthal said.

“The people are living, and traditions are dead,” Drezil said. “But if you are too cowardly to take on the mantle of leader, give it to Sedrannah. She is selfish, but she can lead. Just as you could, if you stopped cowering.”

“What she is doing is not leadership and you know it!” Merenthal said, this time with a hint of anger in his voice. “She is a thief, and the only reason she is in our tribe is to steal your inheritance. The people follow her because it’s preferable to despair.”

“The people follow her because it’s preferable to your indecisiveness,” Drezil said. “Don’t make this about me, Merenthal. This is about you. I know my duty. You only think you know yours. The people need a leader, so lead.”

He turned back toward the statue and extended his claws. They were sharper than Merenthal’s, despite their rank disparity. Drezil ignored Merenthal and began carving again. This time, he began fleshing out the qilin’s scales.

The rock was hard, and Merenthal wouldn’t be able to damage it even with his full strength. But somehow, Drezil was able to work it with all ten of his claws to carve out the tiniest features and textures. Whatever their arguments about leadership, Drezil had a gift for this.

“She’s devouring our tribe with her selfishness,” Merenthal said. “You simply do not see it.”

“If chaos is the alternative, it is better for her to take control, is it not?” Drezil said. “Or will you step up? Will you be the rock that they need, instead of pretending you are helpless and begging my teacher to intervene?” He laughed. “Of course, Teacher is right. My obsession will be the death of me. But if it is a worthy death, all will be worth it.” He wiped the dust off his claws, and this time, he picked up a chisel to remove a few larger pieces he’d been avoiding.

“As beautiful as this stone is, I could destroy it,” Merenthal said.

Drezil paused. “If you destroy this statue, I will personally hand over the tribe to Sedrannah, ask my teacher to hand her Shakkanah’s inheritance, then kill myself.” He put a claw to his chin. “Wait, that would solve all your problems. Why don’t you just do it? Unless… unless it’s not me who’s still grieving, but you.”

Merenthal bit his tongue. He’d never met a more unreasonable person. “You have a duty, and you’re shirking it. Shakkanah would be rolling in her grave!”

“Yes,” Drezil said softly. “She would be.”

Merenthal gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He wanted nothing more than to beat up this hatchling and destroy his work. Traditions were there for a reason, and they couldn’t be changed on a whim.

And yet… he knew deep down that the boy was right. The only reason Sedrannah was succeeding was because of his own inhibitions. So he left, and their impasse continued. For now.

***

Merenthal left Drezil’s quarters in an even worse a mood than when he’d entered. The other inkborn tried their best to reassure him, but this only made him more irritable. After all, if they could get their act together, why couldn’t Drezil?

Things only got worse after that. The first piece of bad news game from a soldier from the Star-Eye Clan called Gray Arrow. “Commander Merenthal,” Gray Arrow said with a stiff bow. “Urgent news.”

“Go ahead,” Merenthal said.

“The humans did not show up for their shift on patrol,” the officer continued.

“What?” Merenthal asked. He reached out with his senses and discovered that he could no longer feel their presence. Not anywhere. Wherever they were, it was too far for mere marching to take them.

“At first, we thought they were just late. Strategist Shacklebolt said it would be safer for you to verify,” Gray Arrow said. He awaited Merenthal’s response.

“They’re gone,” Merenthal said, disbelieving. “Just like that. Without warning.”

“Should we file a report?” Gray Arrow asked. Merenthal pushed past him and rushed out the door. Gray Arrow was part of the scouting division, and as such was easily able to keep up.

They soon reached what used to be a joint encampment. There was nothing left of the human portion of the camp, and not even campfire ashes remained. “They packed up and left during my evening nap,” a voice said. The speaker was old. Old and human. “My personal guards say it took all of three minutes, which is impressive given the logistics involved. It took several high-level casting classes and hundreds of portals, I’m sure.”

“Your troops didn’t think to wake you up?” Merenthal asked.

The strategist shook his head self-deprecatingly. “It seemed I trained them too well. I often sent orders to only the human part of our camp to throw them off enough times that they didn’t even notice anything was wrong.”

Merenthal hissed softly. “Verdict?”

“We’ve been abandoned. Not officially, but in practice,” Shacklebolt said. “I had expected at least some notice so I could adjust our tactics.” He furrowed his brow. Something must have happened to provoke such a sudden and unexplained reaction. “Tell me, Merenthal, is Oster moving?”

Merenthal reached out with his senses and shook his head. “No.”

“Then he likely isn’t responsible for their movement,” Aaron said. “That’s good. He’s a cautious one and will spend time assessing. I should be able to adjust our combat strategy by the time he strikes. My only concern is what the republic’s troops are up to.”

“If they were pulled out so quickly, they were probably needed somewhere,” Merenthal agreed.

“I anticipate we’ll be doing a lot of falling back in the upcoming days,” Aaron said. “Please petition Verdant Crossroads for reinforcements to fill in the gaps. Put aside non-priority issues; every resource is that much more precious. Also, please activate the emergency measures we discussed. Collapse any ore-rich tunnels in the mines and begin moving our stock.”

Merenthal was no stranger to necessity. A harsh desert lifestyle had shaped his opinions on these matters. You did not mope about when things got tough.

He began barking out orders, mobilizing troops, and coordinating with Aaron. Since they’d lost a significant portion of their defenses, they had no choice but to fall back and consolidate, giving up positions they’d bled to keep and spent energy reshaping.

As he worked, he naturally thought of Drezil and how to settle that problem. The answer came quite naturally. Three days, Merenthal told himself. Three more days, and I’m… I’m doing something. If Drezil wasn’t back to his old self, he would have to take matters into his own hands. The tribe needed a leader. They needed commitment.