Chapter 17 - Grand Elder's Woes (Patreon)

[Previous Chapter  |  Index  |  Next Chapter]

Chapter 17 - Grand Elder's Woes

Thundham Elmar Earthloch, the Grand Elder of the Earthloch clan and one of the three remaining sky realmers of the Siorrakty, sat somberly on the seat of honour at a clearing about five hundred meters away from the Loch Sagathan Temple.

The site was bustling with thousands of tribesmen of all backgrounds. They were seated on the tree branches or standing on the fringes and slopes all throughout the valley as far as the eyes could see. Anywhere with an unrestricted view of the projection of the Loch Sagathan Temple on the Scrying Curtain in the sky, and people scrambled to make themselves comfortable there.

Talking articulately on Thundham's left were a group of branch House Elders and Headsmen, all low nobility, from the lowest Onthoakts to the Reanakts. Finally, the Loch Pailakts wearing attire a few levels fancier than those sitting on his right.

"I can hardly understand it, my good lords." A beefy man with gravel-jagged skin spoke while running his fingers over his shiny cuffs. "What could the Siorrakt be thinking?"

Another Dhionne, wrapped from head to toe in the coat of a bear, expressed with a melodramatic sigh, "Only the ancestors may know, Headman Laerock… I fear the day the other noble clans learn of this! Ah, we won't be able to show our faces in the Yuriel Impelakty's grand jamboree in shame."

"I concur, Onthoakt Ursan," Elder Sonora, who sat right beside Thundham, lamented, "A herb tenderer, of all things! I spoke to her in the presence of the Siorrakt, her feeble son hiding behind Lord Bromwyn like a scared birdling. You should have seen their unlettered display! It was simply appalling."

Elder Sonora clasped his forehead with one hand and steadied himself to the ground with the other. As though he, a mid-oceanic realmer, would suddenly lose balance and fall while sitting cross-legged on a putuan.

The antlered noble returned to his denunciation with vigour.

"What can such absence of talents bring to the mighty Earthloch? How can one of such lowly bloods be worthy of our spirit gifted princess, who bears the finest intrinsic manna-born crests and cultivation roots on her person?!"

The antlered Dhionne shot a questioning glance at Thundham, with the other Elders on the left gasping out loud their shocked drawn-out exclamations in various dramatic poses.

The haughty lords of his dominion were far more dissatisfied by the clans' choice of heir consort than he thought. But complain as they might, the three leaders decision of heir consort will never be taken back once finalized. Well, in this case, to those outside of the main house, the heiress and heir consort would have to be respectfully addressed as princess and prince consort.

Thundham almost chuckled at the thought, imagining these folks who put pride before life having to refer to a former servant's son in a subservient manner.
Truth to be told, he too was once vastly disappointed in Elrhain's potential, especially that in cultivation.

The status of a servant wasn't an issue. Many a time, the clan accepted the marriage of talented lowborn men and women with their scions. It granted new weight to their bloodline. Many noble families even encouraged it since it also brought a variety in their inheritance.

Yet this boy's various roots of cultivation were simply pathetic.

The nodes in his flesh and soul overlapped as haphazardly as imaginable. The channels of his lattice felt knotted, thin, and shrivelled, like a withered bush in the barren south-west rather than a shrub of the woodlands of the north.

Last but not least, of the frames he could actually form in the future, the circles looked more like rhombuses, and the triangles were never not skewed in the weirdest possible directions—the twisted channels from one node to another seemed like they had love affairs with nineteen other nodes in the neighbourhood.

A talent so poor it was impressive, even for a servant.

An extremely mild affinity for wood, earth, and water, and even that was a cluttered-up wreckage with fluctuating aspects of soul, mind, and flesh magic trying to vie for dominance.

Not to mention, the Ichoric chamber in his heart was as scraggy as a cracked eggshell.

He had the lowest farmhand servant's capability through and through, with no actual path or technique of cultivation in the clan's archives that he could follow. The sole redeeming quality he had was the tethered totemic soul—as recently identified by the Grand Shamanka, he shared with Agwyn.

Even acknowledging that, he would at most reach low earth if he lived long enough. Though, if he ever siphoned in more manna through the link than his body could handle, he would explode like a fish's bladder.

That was what worried Thundham the most on that fated night three cycles ago, when he had just finished scrying Elrhain's potential with the help of the shamans of the rites.

The storm of negative thoughts scoured his soul like the vengeance of an unjustly felled foe, and he had almost carried out the worst mistake of his life.

What would his granddaughter do with a fated who had a lifespan one-tenth of hers? Who would peak in prowess weaker than her weakest of fingers?

Those who fate tethers together never survive long after their fated dies; this was a fact written in stone in Uoris Diosca with the Yuriel founder as the greatest example. The man, a powerhouse far above sky with a lifespan spanning thousands of cycles, had died of grief not seven days after his sky realmer wife had passed away of old age. Even if his granddaughter was a genius that would make the current Yuriel Impelakty green in envy, this would still be her destiny.

The disc had blessed her a high affinity in all the nature's elements, with innate manna-born crests covering her body, a spirit's ichoric chamber, a marrow core harder than the hardest metal known to Dhionne, and the flesh of a Faediaga. Finally, the tethered totemic soul far more symmetrical than her fated's with deeper nodes, more elegant lattice and well-aligned frames.

Indeed, her spirit manifestation in the future would be anything but ordinary with such a magnificent set of roots. The soil was simply too fertile for a harvest to fail, even if she tried.

Although she was not a supreme talent in any of her roots, she only had a marginally less breakthrough possibility. A supreme was all but assured of breaking through the last circle and were the envy of all. But she, his beloved granddaughter, had an assemblage of roots many times more flexible than even a supreme's.

In fact, in most cases, a supreme talent would only have the highest quality in only of their cultivation roots. In contrast, Agwyn had more roots than the whole clan could poke a stick at.

With Earthloch's resources, her breakthrough beyond the sky was all but assured.

So, if she, the clan's hope and future, passed away of grief like the Yuriel founder, would his son and Cyra have to risk their lives again to sire another inheritor? When they almost lost both mother and child this time? Could Bromwyn even pass the position of Siorrakt to Stormfelt's—Thundham's elder brother's grandchild?

No! He would never allow it. Not because he scorned his nephew and grandnephew or his deceased brother and sister-in-law. He loved them both as a family should. Not to mention, that child was a bona fide supreme.

It was because that child had the blood of the royalty of a foreign, hostile disc. The child's mother was a war prisoner of war whom his nephew released in the blind name of love. He had to give up achievements and concede war spoils of the last disc war to stop the other high nobles from forcefully executing the father and child.

In nobility terms, that was the same as begging and kneeling.

An enemy's royal blood having legitimacy on Uoris Diosca?

The clans and dominions of the other seventeen Juyakts, eleven Eyrshakts, four Siorrakts, two Diuvakts, and the Impelakt would see the Earthlochs razed before that happened.

So, if Agwyn died in the future before Thundham himself perished of old age, then their clan would be without a direct successor.

He had virtually given up hope that day. Nearly ordered Elrhain to be bounded into a necromantic vessel, transmuted into a small living bead by the Naeman Witches who lived in the boundary of disc and void.

Agwyn would never meet her fated face to face. She might never love another, but one didn't requirelove to sire children.

Responsibility was sufficient for that.

Better still, she would not fall to suicide or an untimely death either. Since her fated would live right by her side as a ghoulish accessory.

It had been merely a few hours since the babes were born, and the boy's father and mother had not yet laid their eyes on him.

Thundham would frame it as a tragedy like so many others in the clan. The babe was weak, ill, and eventually died uncrying, unbreathing.

Agwyn would never find out either. She would live on with an eternal ache in her heart, not knowing why she woke up every night to weep her soul out.

But she would live, and that was enough.

Not even her parents would inform her. Why should they when the result was the girl most certainly ending her own life?

No, he alone would atone for the sin. He would ennoble a Pailakty to the lovely Eluned and brave Dofnald in penitence. Then he would sacrifice his very life to the Tainted Disc-eater, Haar'zhist the Frigid Wormgod down below, with an eternity to suffer in the being’s infinite poisonous stomach.

Thundham's fears had spiralled out of control, the darkness in his head feeding the devil's mirth.

It was then that the Grand Shamanka, another of the sky realmers of his clan, and his maternal aunt by blood—even though he was older by age, persuaded him to "Cross the cavern when they got there."

He relented no less than an hour of spittle flying, one clash of sword and staff, and a psychological breakdown later.

And now, he thanked the disc and all the spirits that he did.

His granddaughter was everything her talent promised. Barely three cycles now, yet already halfway to earthen with her nodes filling up almost as if the disc was pushing manna into them.

Elrhain, the lad, was… strange.

His natural progress in cultivation was just as he had predicted. He merely had forty-one specks ignited; even with all the superior elixirs he gobbled up each meal like a fish-gremlin with an unceasing appetite.

His wisdom, on the other hand, was unorthodox, to say the least. Brilliant if Thundham was to praise it.

Glints of revelation in his daily talks with a lisping Agwyn, his commentaries on the nature of the world, and reactions to everyday mundane details of the clan.

How he rebuked Bromwyn's mistakes as a chieftain when they discussed clan matters during their suppers, even though anybody else would believe Bromwyn right.
It was as if he regarded the world around him from a bird's perspective. Noticing obvious details they had all been missing for hundreds, no, thousands of cycles.

Others would mock him a loon, mad in the head. Speaking in strange made-up tongues and conversing with imagined companions. Finding faults when there were none and stuttering long-sounding fake words to impress the adults.

Thundham would not.

Because in his childhood, he was the same!

Now, all those who derided him looked on in reverence, as the nine great lakes of the hundreds he dug up with but a few trusted companions sprouted spirits of their own and fed the clan with thousands of gheist manna-cores and spirit spawn ichors every cycle.

Thundham was convinced in his heart. His grandson-in-law was a thinker! Just like him, and like the Star-seers of yore. Their forefathers have blessed him with sagely wisdom. Nothing like those fake scholars of the Yuriels who had not the eyes to understand the truth of the world.

So, what if his talent was worse? They were the Earthlochs! The strongest Siorrakt, the greatest noble after the Yuriels!

They had more talents in brawn than they needed. But thinkers, they had so pitifully few.

If Elrhain had no skill to fight or cultivate, they would throw more Elixirs at him.

If even that was not adequate, it only meant they threw too few elixirs. History has shown that dhionne could break through beyond the sky with nothing but wealth, and the Earthlochs had the wealth to replicate that feat.

He was the Grand Elder, his son was the Siorrakt, his daughter-in-law a great Faediaga Eldress. They had the right and authority to use the clan treasury however they pleased.

Not to mention the Grand Shamanka, who had been complaining incessantly about how she could not meet the two children because of her duties.

Who else had the qualifications to oppose his decision? Who would dare directly challenge him for explanations?

Thundham would applaud them first before crushing them into bone gruel.

Thus, he answered not Elder Sonora's unworded questions. 'that spineless coward. Only bringing shame to his house name.'

Thundham just listened. Listened and remembered each utterance.

He was aged and weary, but hardened. Sometimes senile, coming to hasty conclusions. But he was also patient and learned not to feed the provocateurs.

Alas, not everyone had his restraint.

"You insult the Siorrakt while sitting right beside the Grand Elder. Have you people no shame?" A woman seated on the right, the tallest person in the clearing, snarled with bared fangs.

"The Grand Elder himself bestowed upon us the responsibility of guiding the clan and the Siorrakt. It is our holy task to point out all his mistakes." Replied Elder Sonora with a mocking grin. "But an unwed woman like you have no way of understanding the gravity of our obligations towards clan and family, nor the proper manner to speak to your betters, Onthoakt Gairmsnarl. You should learn some from Onthoakt Ursan if he is even willing to teach you."

The Dhionnes on the left agreed with him and hurled all kinds of fancy insults with their unbridled laughter. Ursan was thumping his trunk and rejecting Sonora's well-willed suggestion with regret.

'Heh, manners.' Thundham found it somewhat ironic.

The taller woman was about to stand up in a rage when a shorter, unassuming-looking man stopped her with one of his four arms.

"And a Yuriel dog like you would know manners and obligations to our clan?" He spat, looking Elder Sonora up and down.

"You wear the robes of the Impelakty, you paint totems in their practice on your body, and you wed, no, sell your daughter out for a price of manna-core like a Naeman trader, against long-standing clan traditions. Even the lowest farmhand servant of Earthloch has higher rights to sit here than a renegade like you."

"Surely you jest, Lord Sabhalan. I am simply doing my duty by rectifying our outdated traditions and bringing a much-needed progressivechange to the ways of Earthloch. A wise man knows that stubbornly clinging onto unneeded customs is the true obstacle that stops meaningful progress. The scholars of the Impelakty have proven this time and time again, and yet you, as a Pailakt, still cannot grasp that meaning." Elder Sonora closed his eyes and slowly shook his head left and right as if he had never seen anything more tragic.

Pailakt Sabhalan laughed, raising all four of his arms. "Here this, my good brothers and sisters. Elder Sonora here declares that he is too embarrassed to show the practices of our ancestors openly. If we let this renegade be more sacrilegious, what next will he say? That womenfolks have no rights to a title, or to be warriors, and should remain behind walls, bearing children and obeying their husbands? He preaches Yuriel tradition right to our faces, on this sacred ceremony of our Earthloch Princess!"

That won a solid round of cheers and salutes from the Dhionnes on the right.

Even Thundham couldn't help acknowledging that point. Elder Sonora's disdain towards womenfolk could not affect the sentiments of the clan right now. Yet he knew that many generations ago, the Yuriels too were also not like they are today.

Of course, he never showed a shred of his inner thoughts outwards. Just staring at the alter expressionlessly. He and the Grand Shamanka had planted it on the highest surface of the Loch Sagathan Temple earlier that day, with only the Starloch spire floating above.

Elder Sonora, on the other hand, was the opposite of silent.

His snort resounded like an avalanche, and the derisive sneer on his face warped into a furious scowl as he snarled, "Do not twist my words, Cave savage! I merely speak of discarding the old and bringing in the new! Yet I fear concepts like these will sound like Hymns of yore to one such uneducated as you."

"Aha, Cave savage he says. Do you hear that, my brothers and sisters of Earthloch, how he scorns me by my ancestry and not by my deeds! Do you see him repressing me with his self-entitled Impelakty rights?" Palaikt Sabhalan shot back, hoisting the skull full of aged fruit pulp in Elder Sonora's direction.

This time, the Dhionnes sitting on the left were the ones who raised their fists and wings in complaints.

And so it continued, on and on. Like children, fighting in the mud pits over who gets to keep the shiniest rock.

Thundham thought it might have been the long wait that agitated these monkey brains. Or the hunger, as the feast could not be served before the blessing. Not to mention the blessing itself, which would span hours depending on the number of spirits that showed. Although,

"Hmm?" Thundham grunted, and everyone else quietened.

He shifted his position slightly as he glanced at the many waterfalls pouring out of the Loch Sagathan Temple.

A slight ripple and a rush of blue.

The moons aligned on the apex as the midnight stars flickered brightly.

In that small junction, the last moon, signalling the end of spring and the start of the ritual, had started to unveil itself.

Beneath the silvery moonlight, the Grand Shamanka stood up from her kneeling position in front of the stone stairs of the temple. The metal rings on her staff echoed with a serene chime.

"It is time." Said her oriole voice as it drifted out like the spring breeze in all corners of Lochuir.

A storm of water and green had materialized right beside the Grand Shamanka, revealing the final remaining sky realmer of Earthloch, the happy-go-lucky daughter-in-law Cyra.

Alongside whom stood a composed Dofnald.

And perched on Cyra and Dofnald's arms were the two befuddled toddlers who were the stars of the show.