Daughters of the Land

VIII.| Dressed In Black

For many years, Nukula had listened to many stories and folktales about death. Although she had experienced death of relatives, it was never in service but from natural causes such as disease and old age- all in the Almighty's commands. It was only when a classmate's father had died in war some summers ago, Nukula understood the difference of dying at home and dying as a Server. 

Though dying as a patriot seemed the greatest and most honourable death, it was not. Whether you died in your service clothes, smeared in the blood of theirs and yours, or fell to your knees with chest pain from being overworked in the market stalls, you were dead. Although a sudden quandary was forced upon families, for some it was remarkably bittersweet. These families were known as the real patriots. They would work and strive for the day they could fight for the land and Emperor; just to die in vain, be bundled onto a wooden float and sent out through the Bletsian river for fate to take its path. 

Seems honourable for a conscientious man. A man who would do anything to make his people proud, a man who would sacrifice himself for the land without thought of his family. A man who had no dignity left once he had left. A man whose fate was judged shamefully by those he loved and served faithfully. His body to be dressed in black, sent drifting into the left stream- just missing the passage home. The body sent into nowhere, eyes pulled open, pupils still physically centred; his journey to the unknown to be acknowledged. The body to suffer for his wrong doings; a failed service by an inadequate Server. A body left to rot, with no one there. The wooden float, no longer with its burden.

That man was the reason some patriots became survivors. Survivors that lived to only make it home after a long days labour and feed their families. Service was not a gift anymore, but a burden. It was said going to serve was inexorable as was death that would accompany them back. Only when luck prevented death, Servers would come home with little to no injuries, nonetheless Server's without such luck made it home, though with missing limbs. Praised and applauded they would return to their families with heavy gifts of coins and honour; a great accomplishment. The elation however, was more significant when a Server had performed to standards set by the Emperor, which in many cases resulted in death- of course. The approved deceased Server would be clothed but in white; a sign of purity. They would be laid to rest on a lined sheep wool wooden float, torches attached to the four corners to scare off unwanted visitors and to illuminate their arrival. Their eyes would be sealed shut in comparison to a failure, so they would not be frightened on their solitary travel back to their land. 

Yula was a failure and so being draped in black garments was expected. However, nothing could stop the growing pain that heightened with every second she spent staring at her lifeless mother. This was not the way she had imagined her reunion, not until Baron Winslor had shown up that unexpected afternoon. 

She could not let her mother's body drift through that passage; a passage that lead only to a sea of unwanted bodies, when she was very much wanted. It was said that bodies from all lands travelled to the Cwield ocean, once rejected from its people. All except one. The Qimor tribe. 

A tribe that prided itself on freedom and unity. The people with no past and no hair- a symbol of their loyalty and belief; to be truly free from judgement. A land that sat unaffected by the surrounding wars, eating well and living fairly. No Emperor and no exclusion, hence why many of The Yokiry/Travellers colonised for their own welfare. The richest of the four lands, Qimor made many attempts to coalesce but as expected from lands that throned rapacious Emperor's and families, Uta, Zicoto and The Yokiry threatened to bring war if they continued to indoctrinate their landsmen and women- and so they stopped. Although they could afford more weapons and had a growing number of tribe members- majority arriving from The Yokiry, they were labeled as peaceful beings with only love in their hearts. Although no one ever met a Qimorian or ever travelled to and back to confirm the tales. Many guessed the obvious; luxury and peace had won travellers over and so they resided.