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4 tribes of protectors within the kingdom, striving for perfect balance. Then comes Chaos. |
| Summer, of the 8th year of the reign of Kai'el Tehvark had reached the age of manhood. Tomorrow was The Day of the Choosing. If he was able to capture, and bond with, a stonewing, he would be chosen as Skyborn, a Windrider, protector of the cliff peoples. One of a hundred applicants might pass this test, and many would die in the trying. Many manchildren don't even attempt the test, accepting that they will only ever been stonewrights, fishermen, weavers of nets and nests, or even gatherers of the ballan, which grow on the steep rock faces. Tehvark swore to himself that he might die in the trying of the test, but he would not fail, short of that. He would be a Windrider. But he had to admit, to himself, anyhow, that the prospect of facing a stonewing mother while stealing her chick was a daunting, and nervous making, task. The stonewings, after all, were equipped by nature to hunt the skies and sea from above, with their leathery wing-hands, razor sharp elongated jaws full of rows of teeth, their legs' grasping, stabbing, tearing claws, bludgeon-ended tails. Not to mention their ability to spit a stream of acidic poison with precise accuracy, while on the wing, from up to 20 man-heights away. Even the stonewings that had bonded with Windriders were viewed with some trepidation by those of the people not bound to them by spirit, and the wild ones were always a danger. Several tribesmen, from children all the way to full grown men, were lost to hunting stonewings, every year. But at the same time, the Windrider warriors were responsible for the largest examples of their main staple, marine life, as well as being protectorate scouts and warriors. A stonewing could spot from the air, and stoop in an attack, the large ka'kaal, smallest of the top-breathing swimmers, when they surfaced to blow, and take their next breath. Or a settent, the large, aggressive predator often found just offshore, that liked to strike from below, sweeping upwards in a toothsome attack. Even the razorbacked windrack, with their huge dorsal fin, who corralled the baitfish, in schools, and made the best thick cuts of fishmeat. Windriders were even the greatest part of the team needed to bring in the huge ka'ger, the top breathers that could occasionally be found farther offshore than the drop of the floors of the sea. It was a Windrider who would carry, and throw, the barbed heavy spear, which would be leading a line to the winch systems on shore, used to spear, then pull in, these great beasts, so big that they couldn't even be threatened by whole families of settent. Yes, Windriders were the most glorious, respected, and even somewhat feared, members of the people of the walls. And Tehvark was going to be counted in their ranks, or be fish fodder, by sundown tomorrow. The sun rose with the golds of a fisher, long baked by the reflected sun off the water, and the pinks of a newborn's cheeks. Tehvark was up, drinking hot aole, before the sun was even half above the waves. The testing would not start until the sun was mid day high, when the mother stonewings were mostly airborne, and hunting. But he was up early, warming his body, limbering his muscles, preparing his mind, for the arduous task ahead. The test was never easy, with all that it encompassed. First, one had to swim across the Dragon's Tooth, a rock formation that jutted out to sea at the south end of the territory of the walls. It was a place of treacherous currents, undertows, waves that would suddenly surge, and smash a body on the Tooth itself. From there, wet and cold from the waters, one would have to begin the ascent along Terror's Face, a vertical wall of dense stone, with many overhangs, and not enough places to maintain a hold, and a shelf of boulders and large stones below, that were the shore they had come to after rounding the Tooth. If one made it as far as the Stone Lip, there was a place to rest...assuming there was time, and no stonewings were hunting for food where the small ledge could be seen. Then came the truly daunting part. Climbing the Face of Nests. Hundreds of stonewing nests covering most of the available stone facade, one of which would, hopefully, contain the juvenile stonewing a potential Windrider would capture, bring back to the Rider's Hall, and stay with, feeding, comforting, and warming the beast, regardless of pain and damages even the youngest of the stonewings could inflict, until it bound itself to the rider's spirit, in a form of imprinting. With luck, this process wasn't interrupted by a mature stonewing's protective instincts, and chance observation of the activities near the nests. Luck very rarely cooperated with The Test, though, which was part of why so few would pass, and why so many who attempted, died. But Tehvark was ready for these trials. As ready as any man could ever be. And as determined as stone breaking a wave to pass them. At the stony water-break nearest the Dragon's Tooth, those who would face the tests began to gather, around halfway between first-meal and mid-meal. There was quite a bit of friendly chatter, semi-amiable trading of insults or challenges, other signs of boys and young men trying to bolster their confidence, and set their jaw, to undertake something that had them feeling like they had an unclothed toddler's control of their bladder. Tehvark joined them, but at a distance. Near, but apart, he observed, with some mild amusement. He did not have to engage in such bravado to ready himself, he did not have to create a rivalry for the simple purpose of driving him along the contests. HE was his own rival, and he had the courage to face himself...and to die, should he fail to meet his own challenge. Of course, one was free to exit the tests of choosing, right up until they entered the water to swim the Tooth, and many would find themselves unable to step from the safety of the beach. A fate worse than dying, in Tehvark's opinion, as it demonstrated publicly a lack of self-confidence and bravery...two qualities life on the Walls required. The Wingsroth, leader of Riders, approached the beach as the sun was crowing its peak, followed by several of the senior Riders, some of whom would stop to talk to an applicant here, a pair there, a small knot of nervous looking young men over there. One, though, took no notice of any of the other men, simply looked at Tehvark, standing calmly on his own idly fingering the few small instruments of aid he had thought to bring. There was no rule abut equipment, aside from you must carry it in, and out, the full trip. Often this lead to many challengers trying to carry well too much for safe travel, and dying, or being disqualified for not being able to meet requirements throughout the whole of the Tests, more often, it lead to challengers working much harder, and less safely, than needed...but with better results. Tehvark had decided on a minimum of very light "accessories" to aid him. Thin climbing line, treated g'hare-fish spines, with bladders at the base, that could be driven into a crack, then have the bladder inflated to fix them in place, by way of a ka'kaal gut tube, and retrieved by loosing the knot that kept the bladder from deflating, a windrack skin he, himself, had cured and treated, for this purpose, a small bladder-pouch of ground powderstone, from the northernmost beaches of the homes of the Stone Tribes, and a larger bladder of ka' oil, to spread on his skin, before approaching the Face of Nests, which would protect him from the acid excretions of the stonewings, and their chicks. The senior who had locked eyes with him continued straight to Tehvark's position, and gave him a long look, up and down his body. Tehvark unconsciously stood as straight and tall as he was able, a good handspan above the Senior's height. "You're an awfully large specimen, to be attempting the Tests, child. You do know that a Windrider has to be light, nimble, and, yet, strong? A man your size may be light enough, if he sacrifices strength, to ride, but then, what worth is he, as a warrior?" The senior asked, almost musingly. More defensively than he would have liked, Tehvark responded "Sir, I intend to find a steed that can bear my weight with no sacrifices, there are stonewings to be had that would generally be thought to be too large or too aggressive to be steeds, and I will have one of those number!" A raised eyebrow met this, with a pause, before an observation of "And you stand apart, neither chiding, nor challenging, nor talking yourself up. Are you so confident, then? A Windrider who is confident to excess is not long a Windrider." "No, Senior, I am not that confident. I am simply confident that I am my own chiding challenger, and I will have my place, as Rider, or as fodder." A nod met this, along with further comment, "Well spoken, lad, I hope to see you, with a tamed monster of a steed, soon. It would not do for the Windriders to lose one with such qualities as yourself." The senior walked away, humming to himself. Tehvark wasn't sure what had just been said, what qualities the senior referred to, but recognized a tentative and conditional compliment. The sun hit the mark of midday, and the Wingsroth, and his aides, gathered in front of the gaggle of men standing to be Chosen. The group fell silent, and gazed expectantly....this ceremony was private, only Windriders knew the whole of the Day, as those who made it through it became Windriders, and those that did not, if they lived to return, did not know any more of the Day's events and ceremony than the Commencement...and were sworn to silence, regarding that. The Wingsroth stood, central to the party of challengers, and spoke, in a firm baritone. "Today, I see before me a group of Men of the Walls, who would be men of the Winds. The days that follow will be arduous, or short, one. A Windrider, a Skyborn, is not a man who lives a peaceful existence, and, most often, a Windrider will not die in his bed, of old age." One of the seniors, apparently cued by this, said in an undertone meant to carry, "A few die in OTHER people's beds, of overindulgence, though". The snickers such a comment required as response rippled up and down the audience, but Tehvark, looking at the Wingsroth, not the senior who had spoken, or his compatriots, saw the wicked sparkle of his eyes, and knew the comment had been a plant...one to break the tension and anxiety of the moment, Tehvark thought. The Wingsroth continued, as if this pause had never happened, "The tasks a head, today, will be arduous, but know, even if you succeed today, there is a great time of pain, hunger, and thirst to come after, as, while you bond with your stonewing, you MUST not leave its side, and bringing food near an untamed youngling 'wing will cause it to become viciously agitated, as will having other people enter your bonding cocoon in the Hall of Wings. You will be scratched, burned, bitten, and bruised, by your charge, during the bonding. If you persevere, and if you survive, all of this, you are a Windrider, born to the Skies, from the moment you emerge. Should you fail, once begun, well, there has never been one to survive failure, once 'round the Tooth, in the written history of Windriders. You now have two hours to meet on the other side of the Tooth...if you dare enter the Choosing, with this knowledge." Tehvark felt the eyes of the senior who had approached him on him as he walked calmly to the edge of the waves, and kept walking in, forcing the waves to break on him, and he relentlessly strode forward, until the frigid water was mid-belly deep. Once he dove forward, under the water, in a long curve skirting the underside of the waves' troughs, as he had seen seelah do, to avoid having to fight the surges of the ocean, when they took to it, he felt nothing but a hot core of determined steel in his soul, ready to be cooled, and tempered into harder, and more resilient material, through the Choosing. He struck out with the body movement of a ka', occasionally sliding his hands ahead of him in an arrow, then sweeping them to the side, for more forward momentum, or a course correction. When he could no longer hold his breath, he started to let it trickle through his nose, pushing himself through the water until he had no choice but to surface or drown. He surfaced, and took a moment to orient himself against the Tooth. The currents had moved him, without his realization, almost a third of the way across its width, and they had, surprisingly, actively assisted him in gaining the distance from shore that he had so desperately hoped for. Tehvark did not expect luck to remain with him, though, and, already, he could see some of those she had not favored being crushed against the Tooth, as they tried to skirt it too closely, or being pulled under by crosscurrents he had used to his advantage, through swimming under the breaking surges of the surface. Expecting coming currents to fight his progress to the other side of the Tooth, and hoping he didn't have to fight a riptide on that side similar to the one on this side that had helped him away from the monolithic stone outcropping, Tehvark struck out across the surface, angling across the bulk of the tooth towards a far distant point of the stones below Terror's Face...far away from where he intended to put to, but the point he judged he needed to strike out for, if he hoped to cross the bulk while approaching the beach, without either breaking his body. He made it about another third of the way across the Tooth's bulk before the currents gave him any real resistance, but when they did, it was almost disastrous. An updrafting current of extremely cold water lifted and propelled him towards the Tooth, while a shifting current born of the splitting of breaking waves by the Tooth itself, and the receding undercurrents spun him erratically off course. Fer several moments, he fought these currents to maintain his orientation and focus, before he reminded himself that fighting all of these currents would likely leave him too spent to continue the Test. At that point, he relaxed himself to the flow of the currents, felt them, let them move him as they wished, until he knew which to ride, which to fight, and which way to go about it. With a huge breath taken after a half a minute's worth of hyperventilating, he dove deep, and crosswise, in the vague direction of the point he had chosen as "target" on the far beach, cutting through the updrafting current, and allowing the sinuous current of the mismatched surges to carry him as it would, while he strove towards the floor of the waters. He was almost to the depth at which the darkness closed off already murky waters, he had had to forcibly change pressure behind his ears several times, before he felt the lifting current quit its claim of his body, and he immediately reversed his dive, and struck for the surface, lungs searing, and unconsciousness bearing down on him. He burst forth from the surface, a gasping wreck, just trying to breathe, for several moments. Once his wits were around him, again, the body's physical reaction to near-killing exertion under control, he again took stock of his position. He was beyond the width of the Tooth, now, but short of "far enough" beyond...a simple cross current, or odd surge, coupled with the confusion of waves breaking on the Tooth, could slam him shatteringly against the stone, should he break out straight for shore, now. Once again, he picked a point on the beach to orient on, this time halfway between his original point, and the Tooth, itself, and struck out. Less than 5 strokes later, Tehvark saw behind him, as he took a breath from underneath a reaching arm, a sharp triangular edge breaking water in front of it. As he saw it, it began to angle towards him. Settent! HUNTING Settent! Hunting HIM! First, he tried to power himself through the water, as if he could escape such a vicious and efficient predator, in its element, but then thought better of it, as his threshing the water in an attempt to move more forcefully would undoubtedly simply excite the beast further. Instead, Tehvark, let his body go restful, but curled in such a way that the water itself turned him to watch the oncoming dorsal fin. He waited until it started to slide below the surface, the settent's preparation from the "attack from under" that was characteristic of them, then turned his body into an arrow of ballast stone, sliding off to the side, as sharply and deeply as he could manage, in hopes of not being where the beast wanted him to be, and, by preference, where it wouldn't notice him again, if he stayed inert, floated to the surface as a "dead" body, and rolled to a back float that would make him just another piece of flotsam, from the eyes of a predator. This would make reaching the shore very problematical, of course, and he could feel the sluggishness of cold sickness coming on, which was very bad news, indeed. By some miracle of the Salts, it worked, perfectly. To the effect that, having lost its prey, the predator came back to "hunting depth", and Tehvark was able to gauge its movement away by watching the dorsal fin recede at an angle. When he felt it was far enough away, he rolled, and blew a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding since surfacing, before noting how close the currents had carried his "dead" body towards shore. And, devastatingly, back towards the bulk of the Tooth! It appeared the Tooth and the sea were conspiring to retire him from the trials, early on. Most assuredly, it seemed he was soon to be crushed to paste against the Tooth, or stony outcroppings near her, and have that paste dragged away with the currents of the water. His only choice was to strike out as hard as he could to ride the crest of a wave that would break at the "elbow" of the beach and the Tooth. It was a hard, slick, smooth expanse of stone, there, washed over by every wave, then sucked dry as the waters surged away, and a very dangerous place to land a body, as the footing would be treacherous, and a fall could be killing, but it was his only choice. He had committed to the action almost as he was recognizing it as the only option, and found himself sailing along the crest of a wave, its white-watered crown breaking alongside, and slightly above, his shoulders. He was lifted above the surface of that smooth landing of rock, and pushed along it, enough speed gained that when the water could reach no further, itself, he skidded, bare-chested, across the slick, smooth, but most decidedly NOT forgiving joint between beach and rock. When he came to a tumbling rest, his chest burned, and felt raw, as did patches on his shoulders and back, where he'd tumbled along, and both elbows and his skull were howling in pain from the various strikes of the stone they had received. But he was there, he was breathing, and he could, if he was smart, clear the reach of the water without being drawn back OR having his feet knocked out from under him by a surge. He made his body a plane lifted from the stone on fingers and toes, and cat-crawled across the stone surface, towards the bone dry portion of the landing, moving to create more resistance against the water when it surged in, pushing him forward faster, and less, as it pulled back, so as to slow or stop forward progress, but avoid regression. When he was safely dripping on dry stones, he walked to a largish boulder that lay in the sun, and prostrated himself across it, eyes closed, to breath, corral his thoughts, and marshal his strength and skills for Terror's Face. |
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