CircleSlurry/ChapterOne
Part 1: Rax from a sinking ship =
Rax, who is most assuredly either the most devoted (to his own view) or frightening (in the view of the sane) of the Unconquered Sun's Chosen, had the bad luck to exalt in a small town in the Lookshy Protectorate, perhaps ten miles from the city proper. He was a priest. To be fair, he was a sniveling charlatan who knew no more about dealing with spirits than anyone else (ie, turn the obsequiousness up to 11 and lie like hell) but took any and all donations the poor people around him spared for such things intangibles as luck, fate, and favorable spirits. Then, one day, giving a seasonal ceremony with his usual unctuous dishonesty, the wind-borne dust (ubiquitous in that part of the world at that time of the year) caught the light in a very strange way and distracted him from his usual tirade. He watched the various flecks dance in the wind long enough to make everyone attending (the entire village, perhaps 20 people) fairly uncomfortable, though none dared to interrupt his reverie, so rapturous was his expression. At length, he began to speak again.
There are no records of what was said. In the brief time remaining in the audience's lives, they would not speak of it. Rax remembers the time in a haze. He felt less like an orator and more like a performer's instrument, a flute, a trumpet, a tool through which divine breath now streamed, inhuman fingers manipulating stops. But to judge from evidence, he said something to the effect of what Revelations his Second Breath passed to him, to wit:
- There is One God, the Sun.
- And I am his Prophet.
Yes, Rax had become perhaps the only Monotheistic Priest in Creation. Or rather, Monolatrist, because while he did not deny the existence of other gods (Or, as he would call them, from the smallest wood spider to the Kukla to Luna, 'spirits'), he acknowledged only one God, only one being who was worthy of veneration and worship. Even the mightiest of Celestines, to his view, were like Apostles, Saints, or Magi, intermediaries to the Chiefest Divinity.
The people, hearing whatever it was, disbanded briefly to arm themselves, then abandoned their homes and children and elderly to begin a march to Lookshy. Rax walked with them for a time, and they probably never noticed that he had ditched them. When they reached the walls of the city, they made a brave showing of themselves and fought to the last, though it was not long in coming.
Rax had already realized that the shadow of Lookshy was not the best place to foster sun-worship, and that rapid movement was a smart move for a recently revealed Anathema, so he caught a passing trawler and paid a fare to sunnier shores with the last savings and heirlooms he could loot from the village. He stayed on the trawler, taking care to speak as little as possible for fear of spontaneously converting the sailors. Not that even they must not someday devote their lives to praising the perfect majesty of the Lord of Light, but Rax was yet a small, frightened godling, and he did not want to give his pursuers any more leads than he had to.
Part 2: Native Sun
I am often at pains to point out that Inuki was not stupid, or even simple. He was simply a man naturally kin to joy and wonder and laughter.
And dashing people's brains out. He had a real gift for that.
Once, when he was perhaps 8 years old, the men of the island left to make war on a neighboring Island. As was his wont, he wandered the jungles of his home, climbing trees, swimming pools, catching birds and fish with his bare, only to release them a moment later unharmed. He wanted only to mock and chide them, saying they must be ashamed of themselves, so slow, so witless, not at all a credit to their fellows. This continued all day, until, as the last exhausted slivers of daylight fell through the vines, he came upon a leopard.
There is a sensation peculiar to such a situation which those who have not felt it name cliche. Inuki's people called it the waters of death. One is tired, but happy. At peace and safe, king of one's space. Then there is a noise. In this case, a languid growl. All motion ceases. The waters of death wash upon you, leaving no trace as they pass through your skin, but sucking all heat from your blood. You feel an intangible shower pour upon your skull, silencing all thought, leaving only a singing fear that engulfs all else. You cannot move until this fear recedes. Then, against all instinct, you turn and look, because the last thing you will do in this world that matters is to face death without cowardice, because to run would be to die tired.
Inuki stood in the center of a clearing, one sacred spot of dozens on an island that needed every god it could get. He sat upon a massif no taller than himself, dedicated to a god of rocks or clearings or something else that he never paid attention to. He enjoyed watching the sun set from that rock, because it had been carved or perhaps weathered in such a way to give it a gentle curve that served as an inordinately comfortable seat.
The great cat had not growled until it had moved two full lengths into the clearing. It crouched cautiously 8 yards away, at a boundary marked by a circle of black pebbles. It looked at Inuki and saw a young boy without fire or spear or friend. Inuki looked back and saw the end of all things. This was a veteran, a wise cat, tree-climber, cave-dweller, twice his age, three times his weight, ten times his strength. The hunter flexed one paw, resheathing his claws, and the young boy involuntarily imitated the movement, clenched the hard stone beneath him, felt his puny fingernails bend from the effort.
In that moment, he was as naked and alone as the day he was born. With exaggerated care, he stood up. With exaggerated non-chalance, he dusted his hands and rear, stretched, and balanced himself. "I will wait," he thought distantly, "and then when this old tom strikes, I will put out one of his eyes, or perhaps a tooth, and all those who see him in his later days will know of my passage."
The chance to leave his only mark on the world besides an island of slightly more wary wildlife was never afforded him. The beast crouched and snarled, the leap sure to follow, when an angel fell upon it like a bolt of dark lightning, snapping its back in an instant. An immense eagle, seafaring, spirit-born, feathers the dark grey of a roiling stormclouds, pecked twice at it's meal to make sure it wasn't going to give any more of a struggle, and regarded Inuki with gold-flecked eyes the size of coconuts. It gave a deafening cry, challenging him to take anything he saw here, if he dared, then lumbered into the sky, the force of his wingbeats nearly knocking the boy off the rock, clutching the ex-leopard in it's claws like an unlikely but edible species of fish. Inuki knew that the clearing was dedicated to this creature, and that he had been shown a powerful omen.
From that day forward, He dedicated himself to being like the eagle. He would be make his superiority beyond dispute. He would owe no fealty, no chiminage, no nothing to anyone. In his every motion and word would be written his invincibility. I hope that I've made it sufficiently clear just how seriously he took this.
For his family and tribe, it just meant he grew from a small bother to a large pain in the rear. Not only would he refuse to participate in most religious rituals, not only would he get into severe fights with his tribe-brothers over the smallest things, but he would constantly think of ways to turn even the simplest chores into the severest possible test of strength, endurance, skill, or (preferably) all three.
For example: His mother would ask him to go to the spring to fill a gallon-pot of water, a round trip of ten minutes. Ten minutes later, not having moved, he had decided on the best plan. Thirty minutes later, He had found an unused grain pot, fully as tall as he was at that age. An hour later, he had found someone who could teach him how to construct a rope harness for it. This he strapped to his back and ran up the hill, just barely out pacing his mother, furious at him for wasting so much daylight. He filled the jug slowly, emptying one small cup of water into it for every situp he completed. And so forth.
He would fish without a spear, he would climb trees to cross the island, he would tie one hand behind his back (alternating hands each day) for weeks at a time. He would dodge blows and cuffs directed his way (and return them, when prudent). When forced to stand still for any reason, he would tense his muscles, one at a time, to develop control. After several months, these motions and ways became second nature, subconscious, ever-present.
In his spare time, he developed his own form of unarmed combat. When it came to the science of applied force, he started a natural and became a savant of the highest order. He eschewed all forms of weaponry, thinking that, sometimes, the Jaguars of the world appear when our weapons and friends are elsewhere.
His tribe, quick to dismiss these eccentricities as a phase through which he would soon pass, watched with amazement as the stringy youth began winning his fights, out-rowing and out-lifting fully grown men. Amazement was quickly cashed in for respect. Inuki attained his dream. He was not a wrathful person, and none of the islanders tread lightly around him for fear of his ire, but they universally regarded him with pride, for he was the single most impressive creature in their history.
more to come later!
