Topic: The Adventures of Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun
Subject: Flashback: Cub'dau - The Ritual of Choosing
7th K’pita Jua, M’sha K’Jani, Ku’ge’ka 3003
(7th Day, Iteran, 435 E.R.)
Range of the Stalking Ghost Clan; Twilight Forest; Capasha
Khan Jh’gou lounged beneath the roof of his ramada and gazed out at the tents and pavilions that comprised his clan’s camp, watching silently as his people gathered near the forge. He paid particular attention to the cubs of a certain age, today. According to Khr’dun M’khar’s interpretation of last night’s shooting star and the star that lingered in the sky just below Khr’a’s Right Eye, this morning, it was time for those who had seen their seventh Turning to be given over to either the Kh’urs’ War Camp or placed under the tutelage of M’khar, himself. It didn’t seem, though, that there were many cubs, this season, who were of age.
“Only six,” Jh’gou rumbled, stroking his whiskers in contemplation as he turned his eyes to the khr’dun who stood to the left of his divan, “you are certain?”
“I am, my Khan,” M’khar nodded, leaning heavily on his spear and scratching absently at the greying fur of his cheek, “I personally visited their dams, this morning, as Khr’a opened her eye and Her tear did not fade.”
“Hmm,” Jh’gou grunted, his gaze turning now to Kh’ur Ti’han who stood to his right. “And you, Ti’han, are prepared to make your selections?”
“I am, my Khan,” the massive, black-furred Kazari nodded.
“Call them forth then,” Jh’gou commanded, rising from his couch.
“As you say, Khan,” Ti’han grunted, striding forward and pulling his falcata free. As he cleared the edge of the ramada’s roof, the black Kazari raised the blades above his head and stuck them together seven times. A short, barking roar followed in the wake of each tolling of steel and, before the echo of the last roar had faded, the entirety of the Stalking Ghost Clan had gathered before the Khan’s pavilion.
A soft murmuring of chatter rippled through the congregation as M’khar emerged from the ramada to stand at Ti’han’s side. The old Khr’dun chuffed, thumped the butt of his spear on the ground, and issued a short roar of his own. The buzz of conversation faded, then, and a total of six cubs were ushered to the front of the gathering.
The first cub was a male called Faur’khun, named so in honor of the great Ancestor, Fa’ur’qan. He was a large cub for having seen only seven Turnings, standing a full head taller than any of the others who would join him, and easily outweighing most of them, as well. His size, orange eyes, and the grey fur dark enough to almost match the broad ebon stripes that streaked it though made his lineage easily enough to identify; this was Kh’ur Ti’han’s own son. Faur’khan stood, fiercely proud, before his father, the old Khr’dun, and Khan Jh’gou and growled his respect before sinking to a knee and bowing his head.
Next, another male stomped forward from the crowd and came to a stop, flanking Faur’khan. This one lacked the height of Ti’han’s son but was somewhat broader and heavier. The thin obsidian stripes that rippled through his orange-yellow fur marked him as Rrow’cus, grandson of Rrawdas the smith. His own father, Rraw’qath, had gone to The Hunt only months ago; sent there in a border skirmish with the Far Eye clan. His sire’s death had made an angry cub of him, of late, and it showed in his posture, in the way he held his tail, and in the way his ears seemed perpetually pinned against his head. Even the growl he offered, louder but shorter than Faur’khan’s, seemed to carry more rage than respect when it was offered. It was offered, though, and Rrow’cus took a knee beside Faur’kahn.
A pair of twins followed Rrow’cus in joining the line, then. Each of them had ruddy orange fur banded with jagged, deep brown stripes, and they also shared the same bent tails and yellow eyes. These traits they had inherited from their mother. These were Jh’nkei and Jh’gteth, sons of Majasi, one of the Stalking Ghost clans most honored warriors. As with everything the pair did, they offered their snarls of honor and respect in unison and, then, looked to one another and nodded before they, too, sank to a knee.
A tawny furred female called Z’yama presented herself next. The elegantly jagged streaks of grey in her fur and the piercing ice-blue hue of her large eyes made her readily identifiable as the daughter of Khr’dun M’khar’s apprentice, Majhara. She was shorter and slighter, of course, and her growl of devotion was of a higher pitch than the males who had come before her but she seemed no less ferocious for it. As she bent her knee and bowed her head before the Khan, she also spread her arms wide and bared her claws. This was Mofi, great-granddaughter of M’khar.
Finally, the sixth and last cub to have seen its Seventh Turning scampered forward with such eagerness that he almost overshot the line of his peers. For a male of his age, he was rather small in stature and build, scarcely larger than the female who had preceded him. Unlike the rest who sported fur and markings more common among the clan, this one had fur that bore an almost silvery sheen with glossy black stripes that crackled through it as lightning might cleave a night sky. This cub’s eyes, too, were unusual among the clan; as opposed to the oranges, greens, and yellows that predominated the Stalking Ghosts’ families, this little one had eyes of a crystalline turquoise hue. Half-suppressed snorts of laughter and chuffing sighs of disappointment susurrated in equal measure through the congregation as the odd colored little runt skidded to a stop just shy of breaking the line drawn by his contemporaries.
A thump of M’khar’s spear and a gruff bark from Ti’han quelled laughter and sigh alike, though, and, once the silver-furred cub rectified his position, he didn’t just growl his respect to the council, he roared it. This was Ch’dau, an orphan of the Standing Lightning clan taken to foster and reared to age by Kh’ur Jc’kei and Kh’ur Ak’sha, a mated pair of mid-level warriors in service of Jh’gou. As Ch’dau took his knee alongside Rrow’cus, the smith’s grandson jabbed out an elbow, catching the silver-colored cub in the ribs, nearly upsetting Ch’dau’s balance.
“You will be no kh’ur, p’ka m’dogo,” Rrow’cus taunted under his breath, “When the khr’dun’s blade passes over your head, it will glow brighter than it ever has and you will be fetching leaves and sniffing piss for M’khar the rest of your days.”
“V’yo v’yo’te,” Ch’dau snarled softly in reply, not bothering to return the sidelong glance Rrow’cus had cast his way, “I will be a kh’ur and, Rrowl willing, I will kill or cripple you in doing so.Then you will end up the piss sniffer...” the bold little runt almost laughed, then “...or, worse, you will be better suited for nothing more than wiping Jh’gou’s pu’nda.”
Rrow’cus snarled, ruffled his fur, and bared his teeth. The tip of his tail flicked madly, though he managed to keep it from altogether lashing in anger.
Ch’dau responded in kind, seeing to it that his growl was loud enough to be heard by all in the line, neither did he bother to still his tail nor manage to stop his ears from flattening against his head. In fact, at the other cub’s challenge, Ch’dau allowed his eyes to lift from the ground they were expected to be focused upon and turned his narrowed gaze fully on Rrow’cus. The silver-furred cub didn’t simply bare his teeth, he gnashed them and let loose a threatening bark of a roar.
It frustrated the smith’s grandson that this runt of a foundling challenged him so; thus, Rrow’cus let the volume of his own growl rise and, in an attempt to cow the orphan cub into submission, extended his claws into the earth between their knees…
The Khan, his Khr’dun, and his Kh’ur’a Ju’mla all saw it happening. Ti’han and M’khar both had even taken steps forward before Ch’dau launched himself at Rrow’cus. Neither reached the cubs soon enough to forestall the attack - it all happened too fast - but they did manage to stop the fracas before too much of the clan became aware of it. Ti’han snatched Ch’dau up by the scruff of the neck and ripped him free of the thrashing form of Rrow’cus. At the same time, the old Khr’dun stepped in and leveled the spade shaped tip of his spear at Rrow’cus’ throat.
Confronted with M’khar’s spear, Rrow’cus fell into silence and, immediately ceased his flailing, submitting to the elder kazari’s authority. Conversely, and despite being hoisted forcefully from into the air and having Ti’han’s claw-tips painfully piercing the nape of his neck, Ch’dau continued to rage. The silver-furred cub snarled and roared and tore at the air with his claws as if, somehow, he might manage to wrestle himself free of the warrior’s grip and be allowed to finish his enemy.
Amused and annoyed all at once, Ti’han turned the furious cub in his grasp, determined to glare Ch’dau into obedience when the cub met his eye. Instead, the Kh’ur’a Ju’mla earned a wild slash to the cheek and an impromptu trimming of his whiskers for his trouble. The silver cub’s rage subsided only when Ti’han soundly swatted Ch’dau’s head and flung him violently to the ground at his feet. There was a pained squeak and a rasping moan that came from the silver cub as he thudded to the earth and, then, he lay still, eyes wide and mouth open, gawking dumbly at the broad leaves of the forest’s canopy above as he fought to remember how to breathe.
As he tried to convince the air to fill his lungs. Ch’dau was vaguely aware of M’khar chastising Rrow’cus before, finally, lifting the spear away from the other cub’s throat. He caught glimpses, too, of Rrow’cus returning to his pose of genuflection before the Khan. Then, his vision was filled with the snarling visage of Kh’ur Ti’han as the elder Kazari snatched him up, again, and thumped him forcibly down into a rubbery facsimile of the obeisance he was meant to display.
“This is no time for games, little kitten,” the black Kazari barked once Ch’dau managed a breath, “This is the rest of your life or the day of your death!”
“N’sa’mehe, mwa’limu” the cub wheezed, his head still lolling from the impact with the forest floor. He tried to focus on Ti’han’s eyes but was unable to do so; thus, as his vision had yet to clear, Ch’dau bowed his head again and tried to make sense of the loamy earth between the fuzzy images of his knees.
With a snort in reply, Ti’han stomped away, retaking his position at the edge of the Khan’s ramada. M’khar followed, though not as silently.
“Each of these that you see before you,” the old shaman rasped, addressing the congregated clan, as he strode toward the ramada’s edge, “you see as cubs. For seven turnings have you nursed them, hunted for them, and taught them what it means to be a Kazari of the Stalking Ghost...” regaining his position, M’khar turned and gestured at the kneeling cubs with the blade of his spear “...That each has lived long enough to see this day is an honor to you as much as to them!”
“Tu’li’hsh’miwa!” The clan called back.
“Today, as proclaimed by the tear that falls from Khr’a’s Right Eye,” the khr’dun continued, pointing his spear to where the morning star glittered in the sky beneath the sun, “those lessons are no longer yours to teach! Today, these cubs take their honor and their lives into their own hands!”
“Ni’hs’ma ye’tu!” The chosen cubs chorused.
“Today, with a tear in her eye, K’hra sees them as cubs no longer,” M’khar’s spear lowered, its blade leveled at the cubs before him, “and, beneath the heat of her gaze, and with counsel from the Ancestors, each will be offered their path to the Eternal Hunt!”
“Kw’a un’daji!” the clan answered.
Again, M’khar thumped the butt of his spear into the ground and then nodded to Ti’han. The black-furred warrior stepped forward as the shaman chanted softly under his breath, sprinkling herbs and powders over the blade of his spear. Kh’ur Ti’han positioned himself between the kneeling line of cubs and the rest of the gathered clan and drew his blades. “Life has meaning only in the fight,” he barked, raising his falcata high, “Victory or defeat is in the hands of Rrowl! So, on this day, let us celebrate the fight!”
A collective roar went up from the assembled Kazari and, as that roar’s echo faded into the Twilight Forest, a low chant took its place on the air... “M’sha k’to’ka Keziri… Damu kwa Rrowl…”
The chant continued as M’khar stepped forward once again. The khr’dun whispered to a stop before the line of the chosen and, over the soft, snarling chanting of the clan, he called out; “Khan Jh’gou, Khr’a has seen the paths that these Kazari will follow in service to you and your clan! Will you, too, see what The One has ordained? Will you send these forth, knowing that their honor is owed to you but is now their own?”
From beneath the ramada, Jh’gou answered with three barking roars which, for a moment, drowned out the persistent chanting of the clan.
With the khan’s assent given, Ti’han now turned his back on the chanting Kazari and watched as M’khar padded to one end of the line of cubs. The shaman stood before Faur’khun, muttered something under his breath, and held his spear over the dark-furred cub’s head for a moment. The blade didn’t waiver. “Rise, Kh’ur Faur’khun,” M’khar rumbled, “and take your place beside your Ancestors.” Faur’khun did as he was told and rose to his feet. He crossed his arms over his chest, bowed his head to Khan Jh’gou and, then, left the line to go and stand beside his father as M’khar moved on to the next cub.
Standing before Jh’nkei, now, the old khr’dun repeated his murmured incantation and lowered the spear over the first of Masaji’s sons. As had been the case with Faur’khun, the spear’s blade neither flickered or faltered and, as with the first cub, Jh’nkei was ordered to rise and take his place alongside Ti’hun. Unsurprisingly the divination of M’khar’s spear also identified Jh’gteth as a warrior and, at the shaman’s bidding, he got to his feet, honored his Khan, and went to stand beside his twin, again.
Next, M’khar found himself standing before his own great-granddaughter and, even before he finished his incantation, was sure that he knew what the result would be. Khr’a’s Gift ran strong in his bloodline, after all, and there had been but a few in the past one hundred turnings who had not embraced it or had it denied them. Still, the old Kazari’s ears flicked in anticipation as he lowered the spear over the female cub’s head. As the blade leveled, green and blue sparks danced along its edge before the entirety of it shone a brilliant white, gleaming golden as it illuminated Mofi’s fur. “Rise, Mofi,” the shaman purred, his tail swishing happily, “Keziri calls you to accept Khr’a’s gift. Will you answer?”
Little Mofi’s ears and tail also twitched in expression of her glee. “I will, babu m’kubwa,” she purred in reply. The tawny-furred female honored her Khan just as the males before her had but, rather than taking a place alongside them, she slinked toward the ramada and sank down beside her mother, Majhara, joining the ranks of the khr’dun.
M’khar stood now before the two remaining cubs, Rrow’cus and Ch’dau, whose antics had briefly disrupted the beginnings of this honored ceremony. He offered a snort of irritation and a sigh of resignation, calling upon his spear’s divination, again, as he eyed the two. The invocation complete, M’khar leveled the blade once more and passed it over the cubs’ heads. A gasp of surprise punctuated the chanting of the clan when red and yellow sparks flickered over the speartip as it hovered above Rrow’cus, despite being taken aback himself, though, M’khar waved the clan into silence. As the sparks continued to ripple over the spear and fall down about the angry cub’s shoulders, the old shaman regarded him curiously for a long moment but, rather than commanding Rrow’cus to rise, he simply moved the spear slightly to the left and allowed it to float above the silver-cub.
The sparks faded as the blade passed over Ch’dau, only the gleam of the spear’s honed edge remained, and M’khar nodded faintly. “Rise Kh’ur Ch’dau,” the shaman rumbled, “and count, now, the Ancestors of the Stalking Ghost as your own. Honor us and take your place among our warriors.”
Ch’dau bounded to his feet so quickly that M’khar scarcely had time to move the spear and the rambunctious cub’s head nearly slammed into it as a result. “Blood for Rrowl,” the silver-cub snarled, his arms flashing across his chest in salute to Jh’gou before he scampered off to fall in line beside Faur’khun and the twins.
A look of confusion played on Rrow’cus’ features as he remained, kneeling alone before the Old Khur’dun, and his tail thrashed almost angrily as M’khar sighed heavily and took a few steps away.
“To your feet Rrow’cus, son of Rraw’qath,” the shaman rumbled, punctuating the command with a thump of his spear against the earth, “and face your Khan.”
The bewildered expression etched itself deeper into Rrow’cus’ features as he did as he was ordered and, as his young gaze flicked from the shaman to the Khan and back again, it seemed as if anger had begun to co mingle with confusion. “Am… am I not to be a kh’ur,” he almost demanded, “I am to be a warrior like my sire! I..”
“Silence,” M’khar chuffed, “and hear me!
You will join your brothers at the war camp,” the Khur’daun told the scowling cub, “but it is not your destiny to be a kh’ur. Khr’a has put in you a great fire, Rrow’cus, but it is not the fire of the fight; it is the fire of the forge. As this is so, you will go to k’mbi ya v’ta with these others,” M’khar made a sweeping gesture to the cubs flanking Ti’han, “but you will spend no longer than a turning, there. Long enough to learn the weight and worth of steel and blood. When you have come to know these things, you will leave behind the wa’kh’ur’i and return to the clan. I, then, will teach you to use the spark of Khr’a’s gift that is within you and you will follow your path to the Hunt as m’cha’wi m’weu’si!”
“I do not wish to be a blacksmith,” Rrow’cus fumed, “Khr’a’s gift or not! I have spent enough of my life at the bellows already and…”
“Silence,” M’khar demanded, once again thudding the butt of his spear against the ground for emphasis. “Do you dare, son of Rraw’qath, to dishonor your father with your mewling? Do you dare dishonor your babu, Rrawdas, by demeaning his path?”
“No, Khr’dun,” Rrow’cus said, his tone humbled just a bit, “It is just… How does a p’ka m’dogo orphan like Ch’dau get to join the wa’kh’ur’i and I do not? It is not fair!”
“Si’taku m’jusi,” Ch’dau growled at Rrow’cus’ back, “k’tombat’u!”
The epithet earned the silver-cub another swat to the head from Ti’han and a disdainful glare and challenging growl from Rrow’cus.
M’khar ignored them both. “It is fair,” the shaman rumbled, narrowing his eyes and showing his teeth to the scowling, ochre-furred cub, “or do you also seek to challenge She Who Made Us?!”
Rrow’cus’ shoulders slumped and he hung his head. “I do not mean to dishonor The One,” he pouted, “nor Rrowl or Keziri or my Ancestors...”
“Then honor them,” M’khar demanded, “and honor your Khan! Take your first step on the path before you with pride!”
Chuffing in defeat, Rrow’cus forced his gaze from the ground to meet Khan Jh’gou’s. He made his best attempt at the salute the others had given but, even in this, his dejection was obvious and the salute seemed half-hearted at best. He didn’t even wait for the Khan’s nod of acknowledgement before he turned and trudged to where those who had been chosen as wa’kh’ur’i waited and, as he stomped past the Ch’dau, he made sure to jab an elbow into the silver runt’s chest.
Ch’dau staggered back a step from the impact and snarled Rrow’cus but, rather than attack him again, he allowed the snarl to melt into a snorting chuckle. “Who sniffs the piss now, m’weu’si?”
“I will kill you before the turning is through,” Rrow’cus growled.
“Hmm,” the silver runt smirked, “you may try...”
Posted on 2020-01-13 at 16:00:10.
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