Topic: The Adventures of Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun
Subject: Flashback: Cub'dau - The First Test
8th K’pita Jua, M’sha K’Jani, Ku’ge’ka 3003
(8th Day, Iteran, 435 E.R.)
Range of the Stalking Ghost Clan; Twilight Forest; Capasha
Following the Ritual of Choosing, Ch’dau and the other cubs destined for the K’mbi Ya V’ta were allowed the remainder of the day with their families. It was a time meant for saying goodbyes and swearing personal oaths to the elders who had reared them; a time for having one last meal and one last place to sleep prepared for them; and a time for letting go of all the things they had not made for themselves. After this night, they would be cubs no longer and, as such, they were expected to begin life anew and with nothing but what they themselves had earned. Their places in the clan would no longer be determined by the heritage or hierarchy of their kin but, rather, by the strength of their own spirits. That strength would be continually tested, now and until such a time as they were called to join the Ancestors in The Eternal Hunt.
The following day, even before Khr’a’s Right Eye opened on the Twilight Forest, the first test for the newly chosen wa’kh’ur’i had been prepared. When Ch’dau and the others joined Kh’ur Ti’han beneath the banyan tree, each of them found a heavy, elephant-hide pack awaiting them. The packs were sewn shut and each weighed at least as much as the cub who was to carry it.
“All that you will need to find your way on the warrior’s path,” Ti’han had told them as he motioned for the cubs to take up the packs, “can be found within the m’koba you have been assigned.” The big Kh’ur’a Ju’mla’s ears and tail flicked in what have been amusement as he watched the younglings struggle to shoulder the things. “You will carry your m’koba at all times,” he continued, “and will set it down only when and if I command it. Also, you will not open your m’koba until we have reached the k’mbi ya v’ta or if I command it. Failure to abide by these two, simple rules will result not only in dishonor upon your name but, also, in punishment that, by Rrowl’s teeth, you do not want visited upon you. Am I understood?”
“Yes, khan,” the cubs grunted in unison under the weight of their packs as they gathered around Ti’han.
“N’zuiri,” Ti’han rumbled, pacing the line the chosen wa’kh’ur’i had formed. “The camp is a four day march into J’kal’s Jaw,” he continued, “but, if you believe you can keep my pace and keep your m’koba in doing so, I think we might make it in three. What say you?”
Some of the cubs, already straining and swaying beneath their burdens, looked uncertain but, regardless, answered as Ti’han expected; “As you say, khan!”
“Hmm,” Kh’ur Ti’han’s smirk was tinged with skepticism, “we shall see.”
He motioned for the young warriors-to-be to turn around, then, and, as they did, a familiar form emerged from behind one of the banyan’s twisted roots. Ch’asi One-Paw was yellow eyed, tall and lanky, with bronze fur chased through with curling stripes of dark-brown. He had been a kh’ur, once, as evidenced by the single falcata that hung from the broad belt of his dak’tar but, many Turnings ago, he had lost his left arm just below the elbow to the poisonous bite of a Sleeth. The bite had cost him his arm but the infection that followed sapped his strength and, some said, his sanity. Even though he fought his way through the sickness, Khan Jh’gou felt that Ch’asi would never again be able to survive the battlefield and, so, since that time, and despite having no hint of Khr’a’s Gift, Ch’asi had kept with the ranks of the clan’s khr’dun where he had learned the art of healing and served as one of Jh’gou’s most trusted advisors.
“Ch’asi will serve as khr’dun on our s’firi,” Ti’han said as the younglings saluted the older Kazari, “Just as you now refer to me as khan, you will refer to him as either khr’dun or uw’ngo. His word is mine, yes?”
“As you say, khan,” the young warriors chorused. They repeated their salute of the khr’dun and, in one voice, said; “Kr’ibu, Ch’asi Uw’ngo!”
“Sa’lama,” Ch’asi returned, tipping his spear in the direction of the cubs, “M’sha k’to’ka Keziri.”
“Damu kwa Rrowl,” the cubs answered.
“Blood for Rrowl, indeed,” the khr’dun chuffed, leaning heavily on his spear as he moved closer and scrutinized the cubs for a long moment, “There will be plenty of that in the seasons to come, little warriors, spilled by you and from you in equal measure, I think…”
Rrow’cus snorted derisively. “My blood will never be spilled,” he grumbled under his breath, drawing narrow-eyed glares from both Ti’han and Ch’asi.
“Then you are no Kazari,” the khr’dun pointedly retorted, “and, so, will never be a kh’ur!”
“He will not,” Jh’nkei half-chuckled and half-grunted, shifting the weight of his pack on his shoulders, “Rrow’cus is to be m’cha’wi m’weu’si.”
Jh’gteth’s ears flicked in amusement and he, too, chuckled at the barb his brother had aimed at the smith’s grandson.
Rrow’cus’ tail stood up and bristled and a low growl welled in his throat as he glared in the direction of the twins.
“Not without spilling his own blood,” Ti’han snapped, cuffing Jh’nkei behind the ear for the intended slight and doing the same to Jh’gteth for daring to laugh along with his twin.
“Your khan speaks the truth,” Ch’asi nodded, “there is as much blood spilt upon the forge as on the field, little ones. Blades are forged from it, after all, and how can one know how to craft a blade if one has never been cut by one, hmm?”
The khr’dun waved down any presumed responses to his question as he stalked along the line and came to a stop before the silver-furred cub who seemed to be struggling just to stand with the weight of the pack on his shoulders. He watched the foundling stagger and sway for a moment, then, with something of a knowing expression painting his features, let his yellow eyes skim over the others. “This one,” he said, lightly tapping Ch’dau’s chest with the butt of his spear and causing the silver cub to stagger back a step, “already knows more of what it means to be a kh’ur than most of the rest of you might learn in a turning.”
All along the line, looks of shock, disbelief, and, perhaps, indignation painted themselves on the young warriors’ faces.
“Ch’dau?” Faur’khan asked incredulously. “Forgive, uw’ngo,” he continued in the wake of scowls he received from his father and Ch’asi, “but I have handed that runt his own tail more than once…”
“Hmph,” Rrow’cus interjected with a snort and a sneer, “we all have.”
“...How can he already know more about being a kh’ur than the rest of us?”
“How can he not,” Ch’asi asked in return, watching as Ch’dau struggled back into his place in the line and angrily hitched his pack higher on his shoulders. “He has already spilled more blood than the rest of you combined.”
“Most of it his own,” Jh’gteth quipped.
“Perhaps,” the khr’dun nodded faintly, offering a shrug, “but, in doing so, he has already learned how to bleed more than you others, has he not? And I ask you all, little kittens, when have you ever handed Ch’dau his tail and known him to accept it willingly? Has he ever purposely shown you his belly?”
Faur’khan’s gaze turned to Ch’dau, then, and he considered the defiant, blue-green glare that met him in return. Then, with something of a newfound respect for the runt, he offered a shake of his head. “No, uw’ngo,” Ti’han’s son confessed, “he has not.”
Murmurs of agreement wafted from the line, then, some, perhaps, with a more dejected inflection than others. Ch’dau chuffed, snorted, and then grunted as he fought against the weight of his pack again.
“I thought not,” Ch’asi smirked, padding around the line to come to a stop behind the silver cub, “nor do I expect that ever he will.
This runt, as you call him, whose blood you have all spilled, is battle-born, after all. That is an honor that none of the rest of you can claim, is it?”
A susurration of astonishment rippled along the line as all eyes turned to regard the equally surprised Ch’dau. “What,” the bewildered cub blinked, wrestling his pack in order to turn and gawk up at Ch’asi, “Battle-born? Me?”
“Mm,” the khr’dun nodded, “You were not found after a battle, little one, you were born into it. Jc’kei and Ak’sha did not tell you?”
“No,” Ch’dau shook his head.
“Then, perhaps, I will,” Ch’asi chuckled, turning away and moving to stand beside Ti’han, “but not now. Khr’a’s Right Eye climbs higher in the sky and we have wasted enough time with words.”
Kh’ur Ti’han nodded to Ch’asi, then turned his gaze back on the chosen. “Wa’kh’ur’i,” he barked, snapping the cubs’ attention to him, “ku’ende’lea!”
“Ku’ende’lea!” the young warriors barked back.
At that, Ti’han broke into a run, sprinting nimbly through the forest toward where the foothills of J’kal’s Jaw awaited. His charges, weighed down by their packs, chased behind him and, behind them, Ch’asi jogged along, chuckling to himself as he watched the silver-furred runt overtake the ever-angry Rrow’cus.
“Battle-born or not,” Rrow’cus snarled as Ch’dau rushed by him, “I will still kill you before the turning is over, p’ka m’dogo!”
“You cannot kill me,” Ch’dau laughed, suddenly unaware of the weight of the pack on his shoulders, “I am already dead!” The silver-cub flicked his tail tauntingly at Rrow’cus and then left him behind, his little legs churning as he surged forward on the heels of the twins.
Posted on 2020-01-21 at 10:48:44.
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