The Oumari Succession

The Death of a Chief

Isinne sank to her knees beside her father's body, clutching his cold, limp hand between her own. His once rich brown skin had faded to a dull ashen gray. Around them, Oumari nobles and priests bowed their heads in mourning, but she barely noticed them. Grief clawed at her insides, as sharp as the wounds she had sustained in the succession ritual combat.

She longed to abandon propriety and weep openly for her beloved father, Eche, Chief of the Oumari. But many eyes were on her, expectant, and judging. She knew she must not falter now, when people needed to see strength.

"Make way for the purification rites!" a priest commanded.

Blinking back tears, Isinne gently laid her father's hand across his broad chest. His embroidered azure tunic was damp with holy oils used in the final rituals. With immense effort, she steadied her breathing and rose to join the procession of nobles, keeping her chin high. There would be time to properly mourn this great man later. For now, she had a role to play, an image to present. She would not dishonor her father's memory by crumbling before his people. As the chanting priests guided Eche's body away for preparation, Isinne turned to find her mother. But her view of the crowded ceremonial chamber was obstructed by the hulking frame of Taharaq, Eche's eldest son. He stood next to his mother, the beautiful Jameela, first wife of Eche.

Taharaq's bare torso and muscular arms were etched with sacred uli symbols, his waist wrapped in a vibrantly patterned cloth. A cruel smirk twisted his lips when Isinne's reddened eyes involuntarily met his cold, flinty gaze. By rites, he was now Chief of the Oumari. He had claimed victory in the succession tournament after Isinne finally collapsed, ravaged by both her wounds and shock.

It took all of Isinne's discipline not to reach for the twin swords she carried on her back as rage boiled up inside of her, then she remembered weapons hadn't even been allowed at the purification ceremony. Unbidden, she pictured slicing that smug look off from Taharaq's face. But she would not dishonor her father's legacy by injuring his first son outside ritual combat. Clenching her jaw so hard it ached, Isinne inclined her head in the proper greeting, as much as it galled her. She turned swiftly, weaving through the crowded chamber with her spine held straight.

Taharaq's gloating look followed her, his previous taunts echoing in her head over the renewed chanting. But Isinne did not falter or look back. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other until she reached the blessed solitude of the temple antechamber.

It was dusk by the time she was able to steal away to her private sanctuary in the depths of the temple. Finally alone for the first time since her devastating loss, she sank down beside the statue of Ani of the wild lands, patron goddess of Oumari. Here, with cold unyielding stone and faint flickering lamplight as her only witnesses, she finally broke. Hot tears spilled unrestrained down her cheeks as guttural sobs wracked her lean muscular frame.

"Why?" she demanded hoarsely of the impassive stone statue. "You were supposed to protect him!"

But the goddess remained silent, offering no answers or solace for the abrupt and suspicious death of the father who had shaped Isinne's world. Isinne swiped angrily at her cheeks with the back of one hand. There were rumors of unrest in the east, sightings of unnatural creatures by lone hunters, and skirmishes along their northern borders. Eche's leadership had been needed now more than ever. Instead, he had perished overnight, unexpectedly taken by some inexplicable illness that stole his life before Isinne could even say goodbye.

She looked down at her own hands, calloused from years of dedicated training under her father's keen guidance. The cuts and vicious bruises she had sustained during the grueling succession tournament had already faded from her skin, leaving no trace whatsoever that her skin had ever been cut very deeply in some areas.