Yichimet
01-10-2006, 04:58 PM
(( Cross-posted from this site's Journal--http://tn.yzeens.com/modules.php?name=Journal&file=display&jid=176--and from the Grim's home site. Is that the best way to do this? ))
Hidua put his hand on Yichimet’s forehead. The secrets the old bull had kept from his pupil and friend seemed to push up from his lungs to his throat, where they made a knot. Yichimet’s milky eyes made a brief, darting appearance as the young Shu’halo mumbled in Grimtotem and another language that Hidua did not recognize. He touched Yichimet’s sweat-spotted snout and then pushed aside the tent flaps to walk into the thrashing wind of the Needles.
His braids whipped his face. The list he had assembled from the parchment and kodo hide replies of his elders was hidden in his robe. The thought of its contents turned his heart stone-gray for a moment.
Swallows Rats Whole had taken the message that Hidua was ready to Snowfeather’s hands, and she had gathered the Grim, that much he could see from this distance. The faces of orcs and trolls and Forsaken and Shu’halo, almost all in the black and red tabard, all turned to him as he walked up. He heard Mohan say, “Here is the one who can answer the questions.”
Many, many faces he didn’t recognize. But he would take time to know their names later. For now, he explained why they were assembled and quickly moved on to the list. He looked at the list in his hands and blinked his eyes rapidly. He was an old bull, but he was still strong, and he would not show this weakness.
“I am not hopeful,” he said to Yichimet’s brothers and sisters.
“Look around you, old one,” someone said. “This is all the hope you need.”
It is true, he thought. “It is true,” he smiled weakly at them.
“From my elders I have gathered this list. But I must explain some things first.
“As some of you already know, Yichimet and I share a totem animal. In some of our first ceremonies together, we bound ourselves to the wisdom of the owls and then bound our wisdom to each other. I don’t know where Yichimet’s owl has flown to, and so we must search for him as his owl would.
“First, we are to make a medicine that will bind Yichimet’s spirit in place. It should calm his fever and allow him to rest easier,” he explained. I will not tell them that it also locks his spirit in a cage. “We will need large bundles of the plant you call swiftthistle, liferoot and the purple lotus flower. To grind them, I need a dulled kodo tooth. With that we will mix the medicine.
“But that is the easiest part. I am afraid the rest…” Murmurs filled the crowd: Mohan and Snowfeather encouraging him, another large Shu’halo looking confused and worried, many of the Forsaken ones watching him.
“The next part involves a ceremony, and for that we must gather more for the sapta we will mix for ourselves.
“Yichimet is lost, as you know. He is lost because of me, but now that does not matter. My elders say he must be somewhere in Nightmare. His spirit is in a broken piece of the Great Dream, and it will take much to bring him back to us.
“First, we must fashion a pouch to hold the sapta large enough for all of us, and it needs to be sewn from the scales of green dragons. Once that is pieced together, we must mix medicines of dreamless sleep and dream vision with the eyes of eagles and the claws of elder owls. After that is done, we must perform the ceremony.”
“Then there’s hope,” someone said from the crowd. Eelai shouted about knowing where to find the eyes; Pincus began discussing his laboratory and where to clip the freshest lotus; Ashreva called out the name of some swamp where dragons could be found.
“Hold,” said Hidua, softly but forcefully. “I have not finished.” The faces turned to him. So many faces were here. More had shown while he talked. There were near thirty of them. His heart pumped with love of these Braves, and then failed again when he thought how impossible their task was.
“For the ceremony, we will need the blood of an owl of the World Tree,” he said. Gasping and cursing erupted from the crowd. “And it must come to me fresh. It must be killed during the ceremony,” he choked out. Ceryna swore. “Because his sickness is tied to the Tree, because the Vision hunt that made him sick was to seek out answers about the Tree, it must be this way. The owl will help us find him.”
One of the Forsaken he had not met before looked at him coldly. “And we are to do all this to save one who can’t even save himself?” the dead man said.
“It is too much to ask, I know,” Hidua began before the Forsaken cut him off.
“And why should the weak be saved by the strong?” he said, crossing his arms over his poke-bone chest.
Murmurs from the crowd erupted and Snowfeather shouted, “Be quiet, Abric, or I will quiet you.” Mohan yelled a threat across the crowd at Abric, and love and fear for the hunter welled in Hidua’s chest. Abric’s eyes narrowed.
“Know this, dead one. If I were younger, I would be using your fingers as toothpicks right now,” Hidua said. Blood flushed Hidua’s skin and his ears hammered, drowning out what Abric replied, but he watched as the Forsaken ducked stealthily out of the back of the crowd.
“Also, before any of this can be done, I must get to the wildlands of Feralas,” Hidua finished when the crowd was staring at him again.
“Why Feralas?” someone asked.
“The Grimtotem,” Snowfeather muttered, and Hidua nodded at her.
Groups split to gather the medicines. Pincus took Apachrune the shaman to collect herbs after a young warlock named Nomas had offered a small amount of swiftthistle to Hidua. Ceryna and a large, shaggy shu’halo Trilok flew as fast as possible to the swamp to gather dragon scales. Eelai and Gluush, a thickly-plated and thickly-skulled orc, went to gather the eyes and claws. Ashreva and several younger Grims went to gather the tooth from the kodo.
After they all left, several of the Grim stayed behind to escort Hidua to the wildlands. His heart performed the same dance it had been all night: flush with courage and hope, dead with desperation.
* * *
The group walked into Camp Mojache more numerous than when they left, and Hidua gathered the herbs that Pincus and Apachrune had brought along the way. Slowly, all the Grim were trickling in with their gathered things, and still no one spoke anything but brave words about heading in to Teldrassil. Hidua could see, though, that some were not as steeled as they claimed.
Slowly the others trickled in with their assigned tasks finished. They all stood around him, watching, most anxious or curious, some disdainful or apathetic. He turned to the hearth oven and put the herbs in a bowl, then placed the kodo tooth into the oven. While it warmed in the fire, he sung a rhyme in Taurahe from his childhood. It seemed appropriate—it had to do with finding another’s “spirit” in a game—and it calmed him for the next step. He placed some of the eagle eyes into the bowl and reached into the oven for the tooth. It seared his fingers and palm, and he gritted his teeth as he mashed the herbs, flowers and eyes together into a paste. He spit in the bowl when the medicine was ground to his satisfaction, and then he cupped the bowl with his hands and walked to Mohan.
“Please, spit in the bowl,” Hidua said, and Mohan took the bowl and spat in it. When Hidua took the bowl into his hands again, he walked to Snowfeather, who repeated the act. He walked around the circle, asking each of the assembled to spit in the bowl. Several of the undeads’ ichor made Hidua’s gag reflex rise, but he stifled it and continued around the circle, hoping that nothing of the plague remained in their fluids.
He ground the paste with the spittle and fluids and passed it to Mohan. “You are like his brother, Mohan. Run this to him, put it in his mouth and on his forehead. He should calm.”
Others volunteered to ride with Mohan, and they set off, urging their mounts to run as fast as they could. They disappeared into the trees very quickly.
“What do we do now?” asked Ceryna, who was the first to find his son wandering in the Kaldorei lands.
“Now, we must plan our next step. We will think about how to get an owl of the World Tree. But tonight I am tired.” Hidua’s hand ached, and he knew that no small spell of healing would help the feeling. Again, worried glances passed around the circle. Hidua didn’t know if they were worried for him, or about him, but they were worried. And so was he.
Hidua put his hand on Yichimet’s forehead. The secrets the old bull had kept from his pupil and friend seemed to push up from his lungs to his throat, where they made a knot. Yichimet’s milky eyes made a brief, darting appearance as the young Shu’halo mumbled in Grimtotem and another language that Hidua did not recognize. He touched Yichimet’s sweat-spotted snout and then pushed aside the tent flaps to walk into the thrashing wind of the Needles.
His braids whipped his face. The list he had assembled from the parchment and kodo hide replies of his elders was hidden in his robe. The thought of its contents turned his heart stone-gray for a moment.
Swallows Rats Whole had taken the message that Hidua was ready to Snowfeather’s hands, and she had gathered the Grim, that much he could see from this distance. The faces of orcs and trolls and Forsaken and Shu’halo, almost all in the black and red tabard, all turned to him as he walked up. He heard Mohan say, “Here is the one who can answer the questions.”
Many, many faces he didn’t recognize. But he would take time to know their names later. For now, he explained why they were assembled and quickly moved on to the list. He looked at the list in his hands and blinked his eyes rapidly. He was an old bull, but he was still strong, and he would not show this weakness.
“I am not hopeful,” he said to Yichimet’s brothers and sisters.
“Look around you, old one,” someone said. “This is all the hope you need.”
It is true, he thought. “It is true,” he smiled weakly at them.
“From my elders I have gathered this list. But I must explain some things first.
“As some of you already know, Yichimet and I share a totem animal. In some of our first ceremonies together, we bound ourselves to the wisdom of the owls and then bound our wisdom to each other. I don’t know where Yichimet’s owl has flown to, and so we must search for him as his owl would.
“First, we are to make a medicine that will bind Yichimet’s spirit in place. It should calm his fever and allow him to rest easier,” he explained. I will not tell them that it also locks his spirit in a cage. “We will need large bundles of the plant you call swiftthistle, liferoot and the purple lotus flower. To grind them, I need a dulled kodo tooth. With that we will mix the medicine.
“But that is the easiest part. I am afraid the rest…” Murmurs filled the crowd: Mohan and Snowfeather encouraging him, another large Shu’halo looking confused and worried, many of the Forsaken ones watching him.
“The next part involves a ceremony, and for that we must gather more for the sapta we will mix for ourselves.
“Yichimet is lost, as you know. He is lost because of me, but now that does not matter. My elders say he must be somewhere in Nightmare. His spirit is in a broken piece of the Great Dream, and it will take much to bring him back to us.
“First, we must fashion a pouch to hold the sapta large enough for all of us, and it needs to be sewn from the scales of green dragons. Once that is pieced together, we must mix medicines of dreamless sleep and dream vision with the eyes of eagles and the claws of elder owls. After that is done, we must perform the ceremony.”
“Then there’s hope,” someone said from the crowd. Eelai shouted about knowing where to find the eyes; Pincus began discussing his laboratory and where to clip the freshest lotus; Ashreva called out the name of some swamp where dragons could be found.
“Hold,” said Hidua, softly but forcefully. “I have not finished.” The faces turned to him. So many faces were here. More had shown while he talked. There were near thirty of them. His heart pumped with love of these Braves, and then failed again when he thought how impossible their task was.
“For the ceremony, we will need the blood of an owl of the World Tree,” he said. Gasping and cursing erupted from the crowd. “And it must come to me fresh. It must be killed during the ceremony,” he choked out. Ceryna swore. “Because his sickness is tied to the Tree, because the Vision hunt that made him sick was to seek out answers about the Tree, it must be this way. The owl will help us find him.”
One of the Forsaken he had not met before looked at him coldly. “And we are to do all this to save one who can’t even save himself?” the dead man said.
“It is too much to ask, I know,” Hidua began before the Forsaken cut him off.
“And why should the weak be saved by the strong?” he said, crossing his arms over his poke-bone chest.
Murmurs from the crowd erupted and Snowfeather shouted, “Be quiet, Abric, or I will quiet you.” Mohan yelled a threat across the crowd at Abric, and love and fear for the hunter welled in Hidua’s chest. Abric’s eyes narrowed.
“Know this, dead one. If I were younger, I would be using your fingers as toothpicks right now,” Hidua said. Blood flushed Hidua’s skin and his ears hammered, drowning out what Abric replied, but he watched as the Forsaken ducked stealthily out of the back of the crowd.
“Also, before any of this can be done, I must get to the wildlands of Feralas,” Hidua finished when the crowd was staring at him again.
“Why Feralas?” someone asked.
“The Grimtotem,” Snowfeather muttered, and Hidua nodded at her.
Groups split to gather the medicines. Pincus took Apachrune the shaman to collect herbs after a young warlock named Nomas had offered a small amount of swiftthistle to Hidua. Ceryna and a large, shaggy shu’halo Trilok flew as fast as possible to the swamp to gather dragon scales. Eelai and Gluush, a thickly-plated and thickly-skulled orc, went to gather the eyes and claws. Ashreva and several younger Grims went to gather the tooth from the kodo.
After they all left, several of the Grim stayed behind to escort Hidua to the wildlands. His heart performed the same dance it had been all night: flush with courage and hope, dead with desperation.
* * *
The group walked into Camp Mojache more numerous than when they left, and Hidua gathered the herbs that Pincus and Apachrune had brought along the way. Slowly, all the Grim were trickling in with their gathered things, and still no one spoke anything but brave words about heading in to Teldrassil. Hidua could see, though, that some were not as steeled as they claimed.
Slowly the others trickled in with their assigned tasks finished. They all stood around him, watching, most anxious or curious, some disdainful or apathetic. He turned to the hearth oven and put the herbs in a bowl, then placed the kodo tooth into the oven. While it warmed in the fire, he sung a rhyme in Taurahe from his childhood. It seemed appropriate—it had to do with finding another’s “spirit” in a game—and it calmed him for the next step. He placed some of the eagle eyes into the bowl and reached into the oven for the tooth. It seared his fingers and palm, and he gritted his teeth as he mashed the herbs, flowers and eyes together into a paste. He spit in the bowl when the medicine was ground to his satisfaction, and then he cupped the bowl with his hands and walked to Mohan.
“Please, spit in the bowl,” Hidua said, and Mohan took the bowl and spat in it. When Hidua took the bowl into his hands again, he walked to Snowfeather, who repeated the act. He walked around the circle, asking each of the assembled to spit in the bowl. Several of the undeads’ ichor made Hidua’s gag reflex rise, but he stifled it and continued around the circle, hoping that nothing of the plague remained in their fluids.
He ground the paste with the spittle and fluids and passed it to Mohan. “You are like his brother, Mohan. Run this to him, put it in his mouth and on his forehead. He should calm.”
Others volunteered to ride with Mohan, and they set off, urging their mounts to run as fast as they could. They disappeared into the trees very quickly.
“What do we do now?” asked Ceryna, who was the first to find his son wandering in the Kaldorei lands.
“Now, we must plan our next step. We will think about how to get an owl of the World Tree. But tonight I am tired.” Hidua’s hand ached, and he knew that no small spell of healing would help the feeling. Again, worried glances passed around the circle. Hidua didn’t know if they were worried for him, or about him, but they were worried. And so was he.