Diffraction

Interlude - D'Ten

From the Eldest, life was given to the Newborn;
To the Eldest, life is given from the Bloodsworn.

The Ancient Rede filled D'Ten with pride as he drew the sharp side of his priestly blade along his left forearm. Pain seared his nerves. His eyes widened, but he kept silent and finished the cut.

The sun stood at its peak over the ziggurat, shining down upon the elevated platform at the top. It glistened on beads of sweat atop the shirtless priest's shaved head and tanned skin. D'Ten stood before a stone altar, a golden goblet placed on the flat rock. He wore loose white trousers tied off with a hemp cord. And for the first time, the crimson mantle of the Chronicler rested over his lean shoulders.

The chieftains of the eight clans, five men and three women, watched the young priest's every motion. He met their eyes in turn, exuding confidence.

Among the Bloodsworn priests, D'Ten enjoyed a reputation of intensity. None of his peers and few of his elders could withstand his scrutinizing gaze. Kasheta, the previous Chronicler, was among those who met the challenge. He respected her for that.

Thousands gathered around the base and on the steps of the ziggurat. None spoke or moved, their eyes fixed above, waiting for a signal.

The morning breezes died off an hour earlier. The still, humid air hung stagnant over the jungle. No birds sang; no animals called out. The silence of the surrounding land felt as if nature itself looked forward to this moment with anticipation.

Blood ran down D'Ten's extended arm, warm and wet. It dripped off his fingertips onto the stained stone altar. All eight chieftains thrust their hands into the air in praise. A collective roar went up from the gathered crowd on the steps below.

D'Ten looked out over the masses. Over my people. They would follow him now. They would look to him as they once looked to Kasheta. They would trust his wisdom as they once hung on her words. Already seven of the eight chieftains committed to his new vision in private.

He raised the glittering goblet in his left hand, and the blood streamed toward his elbow. "Kasheta abandoned the old ways," he said, loud enough for those around him to hear. "She forsook the sacrifices meant for the Eldest Ones, dismissed the power and truth of the Rede."

Under Kasheta's guidance, we became docile, quick to withdraw and slow to respond as the spawn of the Cerunae once again came across the mountains. "Not the will of the Life-givers," she would say whenever he pressed her to attack. "This Cycle will end in trouble enough for all; we need not add to it. We will depart, and not engage them."

Foolishness. Weakness.

Kasheta was one of many Chroniclers to interpret the Rede in a figurative sense. She taught the people to give their lives—their time, resources, and energy—in service to the Eldest.

He locked eyes with each chieftain in turn. "I know the truth of how wrong she had been. I have seen the trials that will come. And I know the—no, I am the will of the Life-givers."

One spoke to D'Ten directly, granting revelation about the long-forgotten paths his people once followed. Paths we will follow again.

He paused his speech, watching Anaxa's reaction. For the others, this was mere formality. But for the only chieftain he hadn't won over, this was a final opportunity to conform. Her eyes wandered from his face to those of the other chieftains. She needs faith. I must help her see.

D'Ten continued. "Blood is required, for the blood is life. For centuries, the devout among us offered up a portion of our lives back to the Creators: a fitting tribute, an offering of thanks for the life the Eldest Ones first gave to mortals, a completion of the cycle that satisfied the Life-givers and turned away Their wrath."

D'Ten shuddered at the thought. He almost spilled the precious contents of the goblet. If the cycle was ever broken—if blood was not offered to the Eldest—then the Creators would return to undo what they began. The world would be shattered, all life extinguished. For those who gave life could surely take it away.

That must never be.

"Kasheta led the people astray," D'Ten said. He noted how Anaxa flinched at the condemnation. "Through pandering ignorance," he added for effect. "It is time to correct her error."

He waved the goblet toward each chieftain, Anaxa last. "You each know what I have done, what this contains. If I am also in error, may the Eldest drain my life away even now where I stand."

Each nodded their assent.

Then he turned his gaze to the gathered masses, raising his arm high into the air. "The lifeblood of the new Chronicler now blesses this altar. I join the ranks of those who have gone before, giving of myself to satisfy those who gave us life so long ago."

Then he waved the golden goblet for the crowd to witness. "Offerings shall be made once more," D'Ten called out, "now and forever. In accordance with the Rede and the ancient ways, in accordance with the words of the Eldest, it shall be done."

He tipped the goblet until a steady stream of crimson splashed across the altar, mingled with his own blood. Another cheer burst from the crowd, but D'Ten's deep voice rose above them all.

"To the Eldest, life is given from the Bloodsworn!"

D'Ten poured out the last drop of Kasheta's life from the goblet, and the words of the Life-giver's revelation echoed in his mind.

Who said that the offering had to be your blood?

His people cheered and sang, some cutting themselves in praise. Anaxa met his eyes and seemed to consider a thought, then nodded.

D'Ten grinned wide. My people, truly. They focused on their ritual and celebration. But his mind wandered west.

To the mountains where those elemental abominations and their human allies swarmed like gnats in spring. To the broken plateau and city they called Aelwyn, where once his people worshiped on the peaks. His sources estimated the population of Aelwyn at twenty thousand humans and ten thousand elementals, mostly those of earth called Duns.

Not a perfect offering, but an appropriate beginning, at least.

The offerings to the Eldest had been neglected for so long. D'Ten could feel Their angry glare burning down behind the noonday sun.

Wewill give You life for the life You granted us. The cycle will not beforgotten. You will have sacrifices to repay our debt, with interest.