Things are different since last time. The tone has certainly changed among my counsel, tonight they recommended I not go into the fiery western towns to appoint new Otena Chiefs. Recommend or forbid, I'm not sure which was totally meant. They say the endeavour has become too dangerous, yet danger is literally set out in my duties as a spiritual leader. Additionally, the Mîhkono have begun an assault on Tawaic. I heard their Predicean-styles fire in rows tonight at 22`30. With their torches they tried to set the Okipah garrison alight.
So let's not fool ourselves here, it will be dangerous no matter where I go.
Unfortunately my deputy the Chieftain has taken a more pronounced measure of leeway with my "security" or so he'll have it known. What was I to expect anyways, I have a family to protect. And I wish my son, Ayamweyn, would discuss with me how he is feeling about all of this. It's terrifying to see novel violence reduce his surroundings to such a barbarous state, it's something his country hasn't seen since the arrival of the . I should be more engaged with my own concerns over the Tusacaway, but it seems that ever since February, our Nistokamek has been growing very independent and especially divided. I fear this is the result of outlander tampering, but in any case I have no knowledge about anything right now.
So here we are, the consensual government established over three hundred years ago has taken what was originally thought to be a "provisional" absence. Conservatives, constitutionalists, federalists, kiwymacaniw, separatists, tribalists. They use their words like insults and launch arrows with their rage. Their names are platitudes that feed a machine wrought with agonizing fire. I'm sick of hearing about it. They talk of power, talk of money, talk of apowwen. It's all so unusual, people are frightened about what they may do. All my loyal government has done these past months is drive themselves crazy over the threat that was supposed to be minute. Their incompetence has let a bushfire turn into a forest fire. The Mîhkono, the Red Warriors, they let their ammunition on hundreds to prove but a point. They destroy our garrisons and make potheads of themselves in the streets merely to promote a message.
"To unfasten the restrictive binds that are wholesomely our confederation. To form a peaceful and undisturbed trinity of sovereign and powerful nations. To let the freedom of conviction be risen and to bury the senseless worship of ancient demigods."
I now know what binds to set on he who created this ugly aphorism. And I know this criminal's name too. Mico Atim, the rot that spreads disease. The cunning and skinny town-chief that went missing last year after I kicked the spirit chief out of office. My government would also know his name if they could overlook their selfish attitudes. I am tired of doing nothing, and I am tired of watching as my country tears itself apart. Kiwymacan, the disease of mankind! I will have my revenge!
— • —
THE NISTOKAMEK
The main atrium of the Nistokamek was plunged in deeply divided discussions in each corner of the room. The ambient noises of passionate and intimate debate seemed to make the place disorderly in the eyes of spectators who viewed with dubious expression, for it was bad practice to be so noisy. Though these were not normal times, and the emergency meeting had been exceptionally shocking, for one hadn't been called since 24 900`. The Chieftain, Kayacswin, knew this. But he was eager to finally bring the chamber together to discuss the new proposition dreaded by the kiwymacaniw, the so-called "opposition party". Still vehemently devoted to the ways of the old consensual government, the Chieftain and his conservatives refused to acknowledge the partisanship as anything more than an insurrection. Despite taking a partisan stance in acknowledging their presence in the house. It was an uncomfortable notion, and it often brought the house into chaos.
The Chieftain came up to the cave bear skin and stepped upon it, a spiritual action that represented a call to order.
"Pactawa, it is time we table our individual discussions. I will have the house come to peace now before we begin the introduction of the mawat and the first discussion."
The house tightened up. There were fifty one of the fifty three Otena Chiefs here today. Several other invited members were also present. Since February, there had been an unbroken streak of attendance records of over eighty percent. That was never something that happened regularly. Travel these days was still awfully perilous, but the future of the country seemed more of an issue. No one would disagree on that.
"I will have Chief Napis come to read the description of the legislation."
Kayacswin stepped off of the cave bear pelt and watched as his conservative colleague came to the pelt with the unwieldily binding of papers. He read the print at the top of his stack.
"Mawat proposition ninety-one, on Defence Measures." Napis began, paused, "To commence an expeditious deployment of Tusacwyan defence forces in all communities to eliminate the threat of cumulative internal resistance..."
Crass hollering came about from the other side of the room.
"Bloody! Bloody! Bloody!"
"... Pactaw, discussions have not commenced yet, I really must continue to read..."
"This is not consensus, this is repression!"
"Silence!" The Chieftain hollered.
Quietus achieved, the Chief continued to speak on.
"... and civil disruption at the hands of the Mikhôno... And to endue provisionally the extraordinary power of imparting Ispitameniyaw with the Okipah." He finished quickly.
"This is unnatural and cruel!" Someone cried out.
"I understand this proposition is more impactful than previous measures, and I understand the Nistokamek..."
Suddenly, from the ranks of seats and desks, another individual appeared. It was no surprise he had interrupted, being the flagrant leader the kiwymacaniw all flocked behind. Costacwyan, Otenahk Chief of Tastuweyas. It should also be noted that Chief Costacwyan was a look-alike of Kayacswin. The two held extremely similar features and in these troubling times were shamelessly dubbed "the brawling brothers"
"Chief Napis, do you mind telling me what Nistokamik means?"
"Chief Costacwyan, do you mind abiding by the procedures of this house?"
"Not just one house, Chief Napis."
Napis had tried to avoid the question. Of course, everyone knew that Nistokamik meant "the three houses" and everyone was painfully aware of how ironic the name was given the circumstances, but it was now that Costacwyan would try his luck in upholding his ludicrous dogma.
"Nistokamik does not mean 'one house', nor 'two houses', but it means 'the three houses'. Three houses representing the three pre-confederal nations upon which this mess, 'confederation', was dumped! Whether you like it or not, this country did operate on very independent lines."
"In medieval times!" A conservative member shouted.
"Yes, yes, in medieval times. But also in the early days of the confederacy," He began, "There was a time that the Nistokamek was sought out to be a body that only interfered in the means of the three pre-confederal nations whenever necessary. It was thought to be supranational structure by the very wise and trusted elders who devised it. Today this body stands as the central authority for all decisions in the country. Is this what our ancestors would have wanted? A shadowy lacrosse field at the centre of policy-making?"
Kayacswin sighed, but it is people like you who are making it such a 'lacrosse field'. He thought. He also did not believe the assumption that the elders had made the Nistokamek to be so devolved. Consensual? Of course, but never devolved.
"We are in the midst of a constitutional crisis. Dozens died last night at the hands of yoursupporters!" Napis alleged.
The house exploded. This was not the first nor the last time the conservatives would accuse the kiwymacaniw of supporting the Mikhôno. It was the commonest of tactics and it brought the most rage out of any accusation.
"Enough. Everyone, I will have this chamber resolve itself! Right now!" The Chieftain called out, "I believe myself, Chief Napis, and Chief Costacwyan do not wish to remain in the Nistokamek all night and so I must ask all of you to respect the procedures of the house, otherwise we will be trapped in here for eternity! Now please, let's begin with our first discussion."
— • —
SOMEPLACE IN THE DEEP WOOD
A black banner hung from above, dangling with the faint blow of the air conditioning. Being some few metres underground, it was important to get the fresh air down to keep everyone off edge. Mico was situated directly below the banner, tapping away at the electronic typewriter. His boney arms pulsed at every tap, and every draw of the carriage. Messages, codices, proposed militia movements all came fresh from his needle-like hands and were transmitted via envoys to where they needed to go. But the most exciting of propositions for the man to transcribe were precise, direct orders. 'Advance on the location', 'Eliminate the target', 'Ready the contingent at a moment's notice'. They were the kind of invigorating keys that made him feel so secure about himself, authority brought the malicious sneer onto his slim, pale face. Tonight he had scored big time. The attack on the Okipah precinct in Tawaic? It was an undoubted victory, and sure to throw his enemies into mayhem. Suddenly, a thick white door opened at the far end of the room, and a Mikhôno guard entered with his hand all the while on the handle. He held the door open for the pelt-cloaked woman. Her body was wrapped into dozens of expensive embellishments, her cape dragged soft furs across the hard metal floor. And her defining feature was the cave bear head, a sort of hood, which covered her eyes. Its teeth were more reminiscent of fangs, and they stooped below the nose, framing her shadowy expression. She could only look through the holes in the bear's eyes.
Mico stood up immediately, "Great Mother!"
He walked before his desk and supplicated before her. She did not speak, but crouch, and laid a packaged letter before Mico. The two slowly stood up, Mico now holding the important document. The cloaked Great Mother turned immediately and exited through the door with the Mikhôno guard following her as her long cape finally made its way out.
"Pactaw." The guard regarded Mico as the door shut.
Mico immediately ravaged through the letter. He was eager to know what the Great Mother wanted of him.
Câmawat Mistamek Mihkotim, Chieftain of the Mikhôno
He released the red strings from the sides of the letter and ripped off the concealing veil that masked the letter with a fake. Your work these past months has been commendable. Your dedication to this matter seems more than likely enough to satisfy my ends. You are now fully endowed the title of Chieftain. To you, I have entrusted the new goal of our organization. Morale. We require morale. Terror is no longer our objective, we have stirred enough trouble in Tawaic already. It is now time that we recruit and achieve loyalty among the people. This will be your greatest challenge in the coming year, and I am convinced you will be able to assemble sympathy well. You must, primarily, make the Nistokamek and the chiefly bastards of the land out to be the evildoers, those who embrace destruction, those who would kill to see themselves survive. In doing this, we will gain sympathy. Secondly, it is important that we eliminate individuals who inspire faith for the Great Mother and her administration. This will include plenty of military officials and commanders. Killing will never be enough, but it may serve as the final push to allow us to succeed.
Do this, and do it well, Câmawat.
The Great Mother
A shiver was sent down Mico's spine. It was still true that he enjoyed sending out orders, but receiving them was the one principle that could make him tremble. The sheer energy the Great Mother exuded was sufficient anyways, her murderous ambience was a skillfully crafted tool. Mico lankily charged over to his desk and shoved the letter into the finicky drawer. He snickered and went back to his typewriter, ripped out what he was previously working on, and begin to pound the keyboard furiously with his fingertips, writing out a new set of instructions and ordinances.
— • —
FOOTNOTES FROM THE TEXT
Mikhôno — The "Red Warriors", a rebel group formed in 1953 advocating for a reversal of confederation, and the abandonment of consensual government Predicean-style — A break-action shotgun Okipah — The national police and frontiersmen of the Tusacaway, established to enforce mobility restrictions and defend the Tusacwyan border Kiwymacaniw — Separatist partisans active from 1953 to 1954; Advocated for "kiwymacan", the reversal of confederation used synonymously with "tribalism" Apowwen — "Vengeance", a religious military vendetta targeted against an enemy nation or tribe on the basis of forfeited ethics or violations of moral law Mawat — A legislation passed in the Tusacaway, comparable to an "Act of Parliament" Ispitameniyaw — "Bring the body", the Tusacwyan term for habeas corpus
Câmawat — "Comrade", this term was most likely derived from the Predicean camerata
Black flags are waving around me like the spirits of cave bears.
Who dares to wage war? Who is it that attempts to reduce this land to a bottomless pit of brine and brimstone?
If the Great Mother is lost, the country is lost. My sway over the Nistokamek in recent days has grown useless. Chief Costacwyan and his band of scrupulous Kiwymacan antagonizers now have a great majority in the three houses. I have done my best to replace and reevaluate candidates, but I know that my position is now at stake. At any moment I could become a target. At any moment they could have me killed. As for the conservative partisans, though their passion distorts the precision and nature of our consensus, they have been my most faithful supporters. They too understand that I must reserve my authority if I am to remain a living force... But their perspectives I am certain are more constricted than my own.
But they confine me.
They suppress the true extent that my power knows. And though they are aware of my efficiency in the art of statecraft, they intervene at any moment they can to assure that I am not being too dastardly. At least once a day, Kayacswin pops his head into my chambers and requests a conservation about whatever I am working on. I am very easily able to hide my intrigues however. Alas, I am unable to resist their demands for their support will determine the future of this country.
As for my son, Ayamweyn...
He has grown more and more isolated from this world. No longer permitted to see friends, no long enrolled in his grand seminary, no longer permitted to appear in public. His security has caused him more harm than good. I fear he may have given up permanently. I watch as he comes to the table with dread upon his face. His hair is unbraided and weak, it falls out when wrapped around his feathers. His face bears the winkles of age at an age where they do not suit him. When he is finished with his bison he walks away without a word, grabbing a book or a magazine, locking himself in his quarters where he keeps but a single window open.
My son is wrought with the wolf-spirit. It has made him ill, and I am afraid the only cure I can offer for him is the consolation of my word. Ineffective, I suppose, but enough to keep him calm.
— • —
ASSIPISK
A wintry scene enveloped the town of Asspisk, with white flakes of snow proceeding to bury the rubble and bullet-holes of days past. The battle for Asspisk had been gruesome for all involved, but as the morning sunshine whispered through the mighty snowfall, its light revealed a town that was absent of any bloodshed at all. The factories went still, not a single ounce of productivity around the industrial areas. The all-too-familiar presence of the Okipah, now vanquished and exiled from the region. Their remnant corpses painted the bloody picture: weeks of guerilla combat at the hands of the vengeant Mikhôno warriors, who had finally ripped the beaten and abused town out of the hands of the imperious Confederacy. Although the silence was booming across the vast industrious landscape of Assapisk, there was a rally of great cheer around the centre of the town.
The Big Lodge was the forefront of the vast township, a historic timber-laden fort which once proudly flew the banner of its nation at its highest steeple, now ripped from the wires and replaced with the black flag of doom: The Mikho Confederacy, with others like it hanging from the perimeter walls and adjacent buildings. Like a pirate flag, the flag was woven to bring fear and shock to those who observed it. Its radiant obsidian glow was unable to be mistaken in the shining light. The Lodge had also been consumed in the fighting. Chips of wood and bullet-holes spread out across the surface of the edifice. Broken windows, vandalized surfaces, ashes from the fires of the cold week. Before the Big Lodge was a grand stage that had brought the dozens of thousands of citizens, each calling out in support of the new administration in Assipisk. The long reign of the so-called 'capital' chiefs appointed to rule over the working peoples of Asspisk had now ended in a swift rebellion, to be replaced by the equally scorned and equally loved leader of the Mikhôno, Câmawat Mico Atim, the 'Red Soldier'—named such in spite of his mousiness and unease in the face of warfare.
He emerged from the Big Lodge accompanied by his lictors. He was dressed in a pelt tunic embellished with bright red string and silver accessories. Trailing screech-owl feathers adorned his thin, black hair. His death's head face was stern, and his smile was indicative of his spite. Having seemingly liberated Assipisk from the rule of the Tusacaway, he was now given the duty of addressing the people. He would need to inspire faith, inspire courage, but also inform the people of his newfound reforms, reinvented principles to appeal to popular morale. The old Chief and his counsel left the building in bondage behind him, standing just off to the left of the platform as Mico met the enthusiastic assemblage before him.
"Tânisi... Free Assipisk." He muttered into the mike.
The words were a joyous emancipation for enthralled the assembly. He continued on.
"The past months have been our greatest struggle yet. Free minds have come about from every corner of the nation... Calling for independence... Calling for kiwymacan! The movement has grown to a level that me and my peers in council have always dreamed of seeing. There was a time where our existence was suppressed. We were forced to operate in the depths of the forests, underground, in solitude. Fortunately, our existence now is no longer one that can be impeded. We are now a confederacy. A spiritual communion through the divinity of the Manitou!"
Mico smiled as he moved stage-right to grab one of the Mikho Confederacy banners being held by one of his aides. He lifted the banner and flaunted it lovingly.
"This is a flag that has a great bit of meaning. Designed by you, the people of Assipisk, our flag is one that draws in the terror and respect of the outer lands. A communion independent from the control of our violent oppressors, the flag that will lead us into an age where the Assipisca of this nation are guaranteed freedom and respect, and most importantly... The right to work and to own their own land!"
This was the kicker, the object of greatest appeal to his crowd, which now raised their hands with excitement. Several attendees had woven their own Mikho Confederacy flags, which they waved as high as they could to reach the view of their new leader. Despite this knew promise, Mico knew that there was going to need to be a heavy increase in the coming war effort. Although in this moment the Mikhôno controlled the entirety of the industrial mainland, the threat of the Tusacaway declaring an apowwen was now higher than ever before. The employment of relentless and bloody warfare was a contingency that needed to be averted at all costs.
"By the bold prerogative of our Great Mother, our clan is now Mistamek. We object to the falsehood of clanlessness! A man cannot be clanless! Not when his toils have led to the benefit of his country. Assipiscan is a mark of cruelty, meant to wipe away the true nature of everyone's heritage. Hence, In the likeness of our forefathers, the Mistamek Confederacy, we shall expand the Mikho so that it envelops the prairie, the jumping grounds, and all the splendour of the earth which you—the triumphant—deserve! And once that day comes, the dawn of a novel, truly Tusacwyan nation will occur, in which the tribes of the land will take back their own independence in a brilliant concert of allied confederacies, just as it was intended."
After Mico Atim's concise speech had ended, he retreated to the lefthand side of the stage against, making way for the greatest spectacle of all. This part of the performance was designed to acquire the immediate confidence of the Assipisca in fulfilling one of their bloodiest and contemptuous desires... To kill off the past.
In an instant, the old Otenahk Chief Tacawan was brought upon the platform by a pair of brutes. His head bowed before the crowd, the zeal and contempt of the people before their oppressive leader was now in full force. To the Assipisca, Tacawan was an autocrat. In every possible instance he attempted to circumnavigate the prescribed rights of the workers in the Northwest to maximize output. He saw his people as a means to his own end, as a man who hid away behind the regiments of the Big Lodge out of fear of humanizing his subjects. In the eyes of the Assipisca, he deserved what was to come to him.
As Tacawan was brought to the centre of the platform, he was placed upon his knees, with his hands interlocked through a tight cord around his wrists. One of the Mikhôno soldiers proceeded to come and rip at the old Chief's hair so as to force him to face his disapproving and hateful audience. Mico Atim then returned from his side of the platform, wielding a Mistamek longsword. He raised it above his head and attracted the uproar of the people, just before handing it to a soldier. After another minute of preparation, the soldier came up behind Tacawan and whispered "don't move" forcefully into his ear before placing his head into position. With a single heavy swing of the blade, the old Chief's head flew from his neck, flying in a straight line for a moment before plunging deep into a snowbank. The body fell over immediately, with the headless corpse descending from over the platform onto the ground below.
— • —
THE NISTOKAMEK
"Public executions are an unquestioned sin against this country! Mico Atim no longer deserves the respect of immunity in vendetta. Pactawa, what he has done today is a clear indication that he has no intent to adopt kiwymacaniw principles into his confederacy! He intends to adopt terror! Take... Him... Out!"
"Chief Napis, I'm afraid you are wrong about that. What Mico Atim has done is silenced a reactionary member of your obsolete conservative movement. Everyone in this house is familiar with the abuses that Chief Tacawan committed in order to service our deficit, the only difference now is that the majority of us are now in favour of recognizing those evils and allowing this legal confederacy to prosper! In having lost four major Otena Chiefs adherent to your futile preservationist measures, you no longer dominate this house." Costacwyan refuted.
"This house was meant to operate on the principle of consensus and not on majoritarianism. Your reprehensible political movement has caused this country to fracture into pieces, a land where men can behead others and walk free! What I am seeing here from Mico Atim is ambition of the highest order. An enemy of the state now controls our factories and his intent will never be to free the inhabitants there! I am officially proposing that Apowwen be considered!"
The house became uncomfortably silent. No one individual there was prepared to debate the highly sacred nature of holy war, despite its relevance becoming increasingly a concern. Costacywan, in an attempt to set his first foot into this territory, stood up again.
"Chief Napis, what you are suggesting here is a forced destruction of the Mikho Confederacy. You believe this is a suitable course of action?"
"This Confederacy an illegitimate entity in our eyes. But if the partisans in this house must force us into recognizing its sovereignty, we wish only to address its violations of sacred law. Legitimate or not, apowwen must be undertaken as soon as possible to destroy them and their dictator!"
"After but a day of their existence, you are judging the Mikho Confederacy as wrought with violations of spiritual customs. Pactaw, Chieftain Mico Atim's execution today was a means to ablate an authoritarian department of this very government. He is not a dictator, you and your old guard were the dictators. Here is my answer to your appeal to war, Chief Napis. Your conservative faction is a devolving, dwindling power in this assembly and your attendance is unnecessary when confronted with the truth of power in partisanship. I don't care if you recognize the Mikho Confederacy or not. With each coming day you recommend violence, violence, and more violence, dedicated to dominate and destroy a fledgling confederacy who's people have been freed of decades of state intervention on your part. Even suggesting apowwen is where we as a house draw the line, Pactaw. You are too bold. peak of such contemptuous things in this Nistokamek again and I will petition your removal from the house."
"I'm sorry, did you just say what I think you said, Pactaw? Let us not forget who the Chieftain of the Tusacwyan Confederacy is!" Kayacswin started.
"Sure, but how do you intend to direct the nation when your house is against you, Pactaw?" Costacwyan asked.
"I will fulfil my duties as Chieftain, prescribed by the Great Mother who selected me for this position."
"You may perform those traditional duties, Chieftain... But I will perform the duties entrusted to me by my allies in government." Costacwyan laughed, "Kiwymacan, Pactaw, is the order of the day!"
— • —
FOOTNOTES FROM THE TEXT
Tânisi — "How are you?", the standard greeting in the Tusacaway Pactaw — "He who fishes", a male honorific title in the Tusacaway Câmawat — "Comrade", this term was most likely derived from the Predicean camerata
Apowwen — "Vengeance", a religious military vendetta targeted against an enemy nation or tribe on the basis of forfeited ethics or violations of moral law
I am happy to announce that my son has come home unscathed from his pawakan.
It is always a good day for a mother to see that her children have taken control of their environment and understood the majesty of the land. Great changes are happening all over the Tusacaway. Just this week I had a television installed in the household. We also recently had a bathing room put in, next to the toilets. Additionally, I sent one of my chaperones out to Tawiscayew to buy a vinyl-player, a breakthrough device that plays music off of plastic discs. It has been said that Tawiscayew is the city of music, with bands and musicians flocking to the town en masse to realize artistic visions. I've heard that the town is absolutely swimming in these new vinyl discs. What a privilege we have in this generation, to be able to record and listen to music without assembling a choral group. The toils of outlander war are not heard from our shores anymore. The great warships that have barged through our seas barge no longer. And yes, indeed I have heard from our exterior intelligence that the war against domination has come to an end in the lands abroad. Although we may never truly accept or know the systems and principles of the lands faraway, I am delighted to know that the notion of liberty has triumphed in this global struggle.
This all reminds me, I was scheduled to meet with the Spirit Chief today.
Somehow in his independent and sacred duties he has urgently sent me message after message demanding a conference with me and the Chieftain. This does frighten me truly, such demands never come unless in a situation of dire circumstances, and in this time where we should be embracing our highs, I fear something terrible with happen. Whatever the Spirit Chief has to present to me today, I just hope that it can be resolved quickly and without waste.
— • —
THE TAWISCAYEW ATAKAMEK
"This kind of illicit behaviour is why you were nearly ousted from the congress of elders, Wapan. The College of Mitouyews will never agree to proposals that haven't had as much as a spelling check. And when it comes to serious matters such as these... Well... You're really pushing it this time."
Wapan carelessly nodded his head as though he were truly listening to the Mitouyew before him in his chambers. They both stood upright, between the two was a clustered bureau of tangent papers, antiquated texts, scripts in blasphemous tongues, and tapestries bearing vague motifs. His adversary, the College of Mitouyews had been scorning his irregularities since he had been appointed as Spirit Chief by the Great Mother, sending messengers weekly to express the impatience and disapproval of his council. As the Mitouyew went on and on, Wapan could only bear to think about what great power he would hold as Spirit Chief if he could simply dismiss the College.
"Pactaw, every time the College arranges an inquiry here in Tawiscayew, I grow more and more frivolous. Lets make this quick, the discrepancies and centuries' worth of research here on my bureau have been simply held off, put away... For the longest of times. This project was never to be finished for fear of offending you."
Wapan then raised an orange-purple tapestry and shook it in front of the Mitouyew.
"That's something I'm not afraid to do here. And if your opinion of me is self-involved, then I will sit and bellow as you very well accept yet simply refuse that the people of this land deserve to follow a uniform religion, one which inspires the essence of collectivity and mutual responsibility, one which shares a common heritage, perhaps? For that reason, messenger, I will certainly be passing a report without the indication the college once more. If you let them demonize this relief, I will have no choice but to strip you of your office."
The Mitouyew before Wapan let his palms slide up onto the bureau and he placed them on his head before nodding.
"You offend and surprise me in every way, Wapan. I have never known a more pompous and power-driven individual in my entire career and faith... Violating the holy word, ripping apart the Masinah. Yes of course, I am in fact completely aware that the people desire a uniform religion, Wapan. But what you desire is not a uniform faith but for our faith to be uniformly..."
The Mitouyew paused and sharply whispered, "Mistamek!"
"And so it should not be that way?" Wapan replied.
"If the Manitou's life and his gifts to the earth had been as simple as you shape them out to have been, the College of Mitouyews would not exist to examine your work in the first place. Wapan, I can do nothing but tell them that you have totally relinquished your identity as the humble chief."
Wapan chuckled.
"Tell them that and more, messenger, that their efforts will not prove to be of any worth. Before you kick yourself out of my Atakamek, you dreadful waste, remember who the true rulers of the land are and always have been... The Mistamek. We did not die off simply because our identities were changed and our lands were fused together. We still tread the earth till this day and as such. Our dominion is not a perspective, it is written into our way of life."
The Mitouyew quickly turned away from Wapan and stirred directly for the door, not even sharing the faintest glimpse with Wapan as he left. Wapan proceeded to return back back to his seat and slightly rearranged the mess upon his desk. Composing himself after such a compelling and fiery argument, he swiftly realized what kind of precedent he had set with his guest. He recalled his past impeachment, wherein an envoy had discovered his intrigue in adding fifty new scriptures to the Masinah proper, all without the approval of the council. Once it had been discovered that Wapan was also overseeing over a hundred new holy artefacts inducted into spiritual canon without their approval, it was obvious that the College of Mitouyews was no longer willing to deal with him. The only safeguard to his removal was the Great Mother, who had generously intervened on his behalf to pacify the College. It seemed like the same thing was going to happen again, and this time it was certain that the Great Mother would not so happily dismiss his case. An embarrassing end was now in sight, and Wapan had to act sooner or later.
Wapan of course had a contingency, the ambitious man that he was prompted him to devise a brief self-security plan before his appointment. He left his desk and moved slowly towards the telephone, quickly consulting with a phone book before dialling a number. As it rung, he went over to his desk and acquired two reports from the College, 'Concerning the Nature of the Sacred Wictowwen' and 'Injunction concerning the Spirit Chief's Proposition'. Suddenly, a voice picked up on the other end.
"Tânisi! These are the principal offices of the Achimowin Otâkosin, how might I help you?"
"Tânisi, Pactaw. I was wondering if I could speak to the Editor-in-Chief?"
"Have you made an appointment? Otherwise I'm afraid..."
"Oh no, no. I am the Spirit Chief, and Wakotyn is my friend from University."
There was a pause before the receptionist then began to giggle.
"Oh! Well in that case, let me just check with him. Please hold!"
The phone line cut for a moment. While Wapan waited, he bit his lip and went over the reports he held in his hand. Although he was already conscious that disposing private and unsanctioned information to the press was highly immoral, it was not until seeing the written notice of confidentiality that he truly had an idea of what tribulations he was stirring up. The cut-in of the receptionist quickly refocused his attention.
"Hello? Pactaw Spirit Chief? I am transferring you to our Editor-in-Chief."
"Fabulous. Ayhay, Pactaw."
"Certainly. Transferring."
There was a slight pause before a dial-up noise begun to sound.
"Hello?" A voice greeted.
Wapan smiled upon hearing his old friend's voice.
"Wakotyn, Wakotyn, Wakotyn." Wapan teased.
"Wapan Mockic! My good friend, how are you?"
"Tânisi, Wakotyn. I'm glad to hear your voice."
"Yes, you too! Wow... It's been a while since we last spoke to each other. I initially heard about you becoming Spirit Chief from our reporters last year and I was so pleased to hear it. Although I didn't know you were pursuing a religious career."
"I wasn't... I just happened to be appointed such. The prestige was... Well it was something a man could not refuse."
"I understand. It just seemed so odd for a person like you."
Wapan frowned for a moment. He was disappointed to hear such a yielding person speak with such honesty.
"What do you mean?"
"Well... I mean you were always a businessman, my friend. You were so incredibly excited about making a living off of something profitable. Like... Okay... For instance you talked about the business model of Miyo Miyo, and its whole 'legendary' history. I mean it isn't that we weren't bored or anything, but everyone in our class was really hoping you'd end up doing something you... You loved."
This highly irritated Wapan. What he didn't need was a personality-in-review from someone he wished solely to use. Although Wapan knew that eventually Wakotyn would realize that his old friend was still the heartless merchant he used to know.
"Well... Being Spirit Chief is in essence like business school. It's all about pushing your way through."
Wapan could feel Wakotyn wincing behind the receiver. It was time to apply the pressure.
"Anyways, I hate to say it Wakotyn but I did have a favour to ask."
"Oh? Yes, tell me more."
"You like a good scandal?"
"Scandal? Oh no, what did you do this time?"
"No, no. Not me. You see I need you to consider running a headline for me."
Wakotyn scoffed.
"Wapan, what on earth is going on?"
"Look, I won't give you fluff, because I can tell you're a bit sharper around the ears nowadays. I have dirt against The College of Mitouyews, and its in my interest to see them done away with for my sake, okay?
"Right. Well... I'm not so sure about that. Isn't the point of the College to challenge perspectives? Or is our religion just another opportunity for you?"
"Wakotyn, there needs to be a sense of consistency in this country, don't you agree?"
"I... I don't know, man."
Wapan picked up that he was speaking Wakotyn's language.
"The College of Mitouyews has rejected canonizing the Sacred Wictowwen. Did you know that?"
"No... No I didn't."
"It's not right. And I know you know it's not right. And you know a headline like that would absolutely kill them, are you hearing me?"
"Yeah."
"You know just as well as I do that this needs to happen. So I need you to obliterate on the College's reputation. I have the materials necessary to show you."
"Wapan, It feels wrong to denounce the religious arm of the nation."
"You will be rewarded for this as well. I can assure you that."
The other end of the line went quiet. Wakotyn's disquiet was obvious. Wapan waited a moment before speaking again.
"You've already made up your mind, Wakotyn, I can tell. You need not worry about sources, I will have plenty of them for you. And even so, I'm willing to go down on this for the sake of my vision. Haven't you had enough of all these crazy people boasting about the lies which bastardize our true faith? Let's do some real work here and put the College of Mitouyews in their place. It's completely run by the Cahcahkiwâwaso for goodness sake. Do the right thing and help me change that! What do you say?"
Silence. The offer beckons.
"Alright, Wapan... This better be worth it."
— • —
FOOTNOTES FROM THE TEXT
"War against domination" — Refers to the Fascist Wars which would have ended by the year 24 951` Achimowin Otâkosin — The Tusacaway's most popular nationwide news publication company Wictowwen — "Marriage", refers in this regard to the sacred union of the Manitou and the Sky-Woman, a canon of Mistamek animism Miyo Miyo — A Tusacwyan soft drink company, reputed for its unique success story Cahcahkiwâwaso — Clan Pelican, one of the four Tusacwyan ethnic groups Ayhay — "Thanks"
There is a deathly pit between me and all who come to bereave me further.
I am nothing anymore. I am an absence.
And yet I am surrounded still by the meaningless functionaries and chamberlains of the Grand Lodge to spread out an appropriate funeral...
For my son.
I was called to the Nistokamek yesterday to give a long, unwieldily address about topics such as unity... uniformity... oneness... All things considered, it was extremely monotonous and is best summarized as being as impactful as a summer breeze.
As his country fell apart and his health grew more dire, Ayamweyn went out of the house without warning and walked onto the frozen Tawaic which had been thawing as our great star emerged from his wintry slumber. As the ice broke the rapids underneath swept him through. A revolution of water threw the boy up, onto the ice-floor and drowned him. His body then sank into the depths of the Tawaic River, with not a soul around to please him before the world ushered in his heartbreaking fatality.
I know everyone is saying it was an accident.
Of course, Ayamweyn has been under the same rigorous confines which I have been subject to. I have not seen him eat. I have not seen him talk. It has torn him at the very core and ripped his spirit away prematurely. Perhaps he was dead before I truly found him gone. And I know my Ayamweyn would not dare tread on thawing ice...
... I feel I may be the only one who knew even a margin of what he felt as the ground broke through... Even this margin has destroyed me.
I can remain... At the very bottom of this nightmare... Perhaps not assured... But knowing in the fact that the great golden pelican has swooped down from the high, fresh skies and carried my child far off towards the constellations.
He will be the highest elder in a vast expanse of forest containing untold stories and adventures. And from it all, he will sit upon a mountain near the other great sons of our elderly dynasty, crowned and celebrated for his life here on Eras.
But who do I love now?
Now that you are gone, Ayamweyn...
— • —
SIPYK
The marshland in Sipyk was beaming with sunlight. The wet muddy terrain was spread out and overwhelmed by good sturdy grass and thistles. The Longtail river flowed with the voracity of the ocean, it was the roaring bear of an age all-too forgotten from the years of organized labour in the area. The children were free to go by the river and play as the snowcaps melted into the vicinity. Work had been ended early, and the men of the factories were free to come home and relax, even go out with friends to fish or hunt—something which was impossible to do with the constant pressure of work. The soldiers marched up and down the streets with their Mintorian-styles, smiling and laughing as they kept in mind their friends were pushing out victoriously on the wartime frontier as though the enemy were but the trees themselves.
The black banners of the Mîkho Confederacy fluttered from the wooden lodge-poles surrounding the Grand Lodge, having now been eviscerated of its hardened Tusacwyan chieftaincy. Mico Atim himself had even seemed to catch a bit of colour around the cheeks and the arms. He himself seemed a bit leaner and a bit more ostentatious. Before him in his bureau was the former Spirit Chief of the Tusacaway, Wapan. He was a legendary figure now for the Mîkhono, a true patron of the kiwymacaniw and a dissenter of the modern way. Having spent two years by his lonesome in exile, he was now present before Mico Atim, Chieftain of the Mîkho. Mico was well aware of just what kind of a person he was dealing with, although he couldn't help but feel indebted to him for his gentle and appeasing touch as well as his intoxicating desire to use his assets for the good of his new country.
"I was basically living near Wisakwac, there wasn't much to do but sit around, and go into town every once in a while."
"The Okipah did not find you there?" Mico inquired.
"They were already being amassed for the violence happening in the principal areas of the country," Wapan began, "There were a few times I met face to face with some Okipah in Wisakwac, but they either didn't know what I looked like or couldn't recognize me under the dirt and grime. Besides, living by yourself in the Deep Wood is just as good as living in prison. And what would you know! I'm here in prison now! Although it looks certainly a lot more cheerful than I was told."
Mico smiled, "The new administration here has made some alterations to the labour platform. It was an obvious path to win popular support."
"Oh yes, I can see that. Although you might not see that on the front lines. I was surprised to see your bandanna-sported rebel-folk all the way in Wicitoweyn. They're pretty sour about having to fight still, I can tell you that... But you've really moved in that far, huh?"
"Obviously. The Nistokamek is too busy fighting amongst themselves to assert an effective force out here. We have been on an absolute roll ever since the Mîkhono moved in on Assipisk."
"And how about the Assipiscans? What has been done... About them?"
Mico scratched his head.
"Well... Nothing yet. Appeasing them has been our biggest strategy to gain their favour. Although once we resettle the remnants of the Mistamek motherland, I'm sure it wouldn't be difficult to put them back in their place."
"That's a risky strategy, Câmawat," Wapan began, "You don't think they'll know they're going to be funnelled right back into those factories?"
"Nothing was as brutal as the Confederacy's neglect of the Northwest. They let it get so bad that the workers would fall asleep right in their stools, waking up to the sounds of the conveyor-belt reactivating and the dreary sun dripping through the barred windows. Remember that we control the Northwest now, and not the Tusacwyan. It wouldn't matter if we even decided to lay them off for a while... The Tusacaway has no guns. Of course we would never let Assipiscans move around here freely. They don't know any other place than right here in the industrial heartland."
"Perhaps... Perhaps..." Wapan said, noting a sound coming from beyond the hallway.
In a fiery rage, a chaperone of the Great Mother burst into the bureau and gave way for Mico to bounce from his seat. Her face was disputative and venomous, red as a berry. Mico remained silent.
"Câmawat?" Wapan eventually said.
"The Great Mother has many words for you, old man!"
Mico shivered as the shadowy figure of the Great Mother emerged from the hallway in her purple-black robes. Her mouth sported a toothy grin than trembled with comedic spite. Wapan immediately bowed his head, Mico gasped and quickly followed in his likeness. She revealed a notice from her robes and handed it off to the other crone with her sharp, beldamesque hands.
"The Great Mother is displeased with revelations of your internal affairs. While your contributions to morale have been favourable, supplies are coming to a halt on the eastern front. Ammo, food, and munitions are needed to hold off against the Tusacwyan Army in Tawiscayew. Your 'Holiday of Liberation' has caused a shortage, already crippling forces in Kicinisca and causing them to retreat. We are in a war, not a pansy portrait! Get your act together as soon as possible!"
The Great Mother turned sharply and began to leave the room. The elderly chaperone followed and let the note flutter through the air towards the ground as she stormed from the bureau. Wapan raised his head slowly and turned to see Mico in a sweat. It was in this moment that he understood what kind of a person Mico atim was, and what kind of an individual he could be for him. He smirked.
"I see you're in a bit of trouble, Mico. I can handle this for you if you're ready to grant me asylum here."
"What!?" Mico burst, scowling.
"I know how to run a tight ship and I can milk these factories dry, my friend. Heck! You won't even need to worry about these angry people, I've got that covered too." Wapan smiled.
"What? How?"
"A good old fashioned trick I like to call 'bread and circuses'. I have the bread... You have the circuses. You understand me?"
"I... I don't."
Wapan sighed.
"Do I have to spell everything out for you? I know how to satisfy the rabble, you know how to keep them entertained. Kill some vagrant soldier every once and a while... Heck, throw them into the crowd and watch them beat him to a pulp. Even you'll get a sickly smile to your face."
"That sounds so... So..."
"Outlander? Yes... I know it certainly seems vicious, some barbaric precedent those disgusting outsiders live by... But we're not in civilized times anymore, Atim. This confederacy you've built can't last forever without a good solid foundation that's not at risk. And that foundation needs grooming. You'll only need it 'till the old confederacy lets up its hands and abandons the war effort like the bumblebees they are. Only then will you know what its like to rule something more than a confederacy... An empire."
— • —
TAWAIC
The rain poured heavily as masses of citizens gathered around the Great Lodge from without the wilderness to see the Great Mother kneeling over by the funerary pyre. It burned with such expediency it seemed to reach out into the clouds, and the heat could be felt from far away. As the summer raincloud washed over the sky, the wind strengthened the blaze.
Yiscosykanis watched penitently as the husk of her child was finally eviscerated by the flame, leaving not a feature to be seen as his soul was carried off with the smoke, into the clouds. All that seemed to remain by that point was bone and soot, as the flame continued to roar. She rose to her feet as the final image of her child was cleansed. Her chaperones followed, as did the assemblage of the chiefs behind her. Chieftain Kayacswin was there, dressed in his native regalia, although his colours were far more muted on this day, as were those of his worthy opponent, Costacwyan, who seemed to be using this event as an opportunity to challenge Kayacswin's authority in image. He wore a majestic headdress with blazing colours, with a trail of black pelt and deep brown fur, something only an opportunist like him could acquire in such an exceptional time.
They shared a brief glance, although Kayacswin was not eager to focus his gaze for long. He turned back to find the Great Mother Yiscosykanis turned back before the assembly of chiefs. She held a contemptuous glare.
"You sycophants! You disgusting people!"
There was a sudden shock among the crowd.
"I won't put up with your advisors, nor your messengers, nor your own ridiculous faces! There is a reason that the Great Son is dead, and that reason follows a delicate timeline... All the way back to where you all decided that violating the principles of this nation was an acceptable way to combat the spread of a venomous familiar. A familiar which has haunted us since the day we as a people chose to adopt a commonwealth rather than to continue the endless plight of war. The people have had enough! The people are starving! The people are being forced to fight a war against their own people! People we have forced them into believing are different from our own selves. You truly are disgusting..."
There was a shameful silence as the Great Mother seemed to demand a response other than the monotonous bowing of the head. There was nothing but silence.
"Have you nothing to speak? Nothing to say for yourselves?"
Again, no reaction other than that of shame. Yiscosykanis quickly turned to her chaperones. There was no longer a place for false innocence in her mind. She was no longer content knowing that corruption and the shadows of alternative interests was plaguing a body of men which was—by tradition—meant to serve her. She knew how she would have her revenge.
"Get that Kayacswin child up here." She muttered.
Efficiently, her chaperones descended from the funerary pyre and acquired Kayacswin, lifting him from his supplication and bringing him forward. His face fell as he was ushered up onto the platform near the searing blaze. The rest of the crowd watched, including Costacwyan who kept his surprised stare upon the rival chief.
"The so-called 'chief' of the Kiwymacaniw, am I correct in making such a presumption?" The Great Mother demanded.
"Yes, Anisco... Why?" He asked.
She ignored the request.
"So it is true, then. You admit that you have sponsored a separatist movement and this preferential mockery of the ancient consensus?"
"No... Anisco, Great Mother... I can only admit I have served..."
"That accounts for three moral cataclysms! A proponent of division, of partisanship, and worst of all... Mendacity in the presence of the Great Mother."
The great mother smirked, "I will do to you what I should have had the courage to do a long time ago, Pactaw."
Suddenly, the Great Mother tilted her head in a way that notified the Okipah-guards surrounding her to take the place of the chaperones. Kayacswin at this point was now very distressed, and began to squirm in the grip of the frontiersmen. As they held him near the blaze, the Great Mother revealed her own personal cutter. Kayacswin began to kick and writhe as the Great Mother approached him closer.
"The Manitou knows it well, Pactaw... I am free to unleash my revenge."
Yiscosykanis took the blade and held it an inch away from his forehead.
"In the Mîkho Confederacy, they take their traitors up onto platforms just like these and hang them from their necks. And... In the ancient days, they would take blades just like these and cut out the offending men's eyes!" She hollered.
"No! No! Please! I am innocent! Do not do this to me, Great Mother, I beg you!"
Yiscosykanis frowned as the man began to weep. The assemblage of chiefs began to look elsewhere in fear. They shook as she moved the dagger closer and closer to Kayacswin's face.
"And... Yet I would never do such a thing," She muttered.
She suddenly turned away from the man and tossed the knife into the pyre.
"We don't live in those days... And we don't live in the Mîkho Confederacy among those who have decided that what is best is to resort to the abandoned ideals of the godless days."
Yiscosykanis tilted her head once again, and watched as the Okipah quickly proceeded to drag the exhausted man away from the funerary pyre. She wiped her face as she turned away from the blaze.
"Indeed... I will have my revenge."
— • —
FOOTNOTES FROM THE TEXT
Grand Lodge — The residence of the Great Mother and her family, situated on the Tawaic River between Wasaw and Tawaic. Mintorian-style — A pump-action shotgun "The Old Confederacy" — The Tusacaway, as dubbed by patrons of the Mîkho Confederacy
It has been a rough campaign so far. Little did I know that being such a renegade would require endless courage. I am so exhausted. Endless demands and plaints come to me through my generals. There is little food, there is little fresh water—the Mikhôno have flooded the Spouse and the Longtail with filth and brine to slow us down. It seems they are willing to do anything to stop us. A sign of weakness, perhaps? A sort of desperation? All I can say for the moment is that the decision to lead the naval armada through the Spouse River around the Sky-Door has been an instant success. The separatists may have mastered the art of degrading a government which caves in at the slightest inconvenience, but they have not mastered the wrath of a Great Mother... Or at least this Great Mother.
Yes, I am beginning to have suspicions that these Mîkhono have their own Great Mother. Mico Atim's usual onslaught of small, precise legions directed at our outposts has suddenly evaporated. Now we are seeing entire armies assembled outside key locations. And yet we haven't even penetrated enemy territory... Either Mico has seriously reconsidered his military training, or another figure looms far-off in the distance. My good familiars bounce around and shake at this thought, I know there must be some truth to this—two is one, one is none, so they say.
The plan is very simple. We have a fleet of small river gunboats and one longship carrying my brigade of fierce, mobile warriors. There will be a blockade outside Wicitoweyn. Our scouts have not reported any instances of this, but in my heart I know there will be obstacles on the river. It would be foolish to not prepare for an encounter. Our gunboats will manage to pull through, we have the privilege of more customized and experimental weaponry which the Mîkhono would not dare waste time fabricating when the country is at stake. Then, our men will disembark at Wicitoweyn and fight to gain control of the town. Wicitoweyn is a town of impressive size but it is not like Tawaic or Menykawn, it is mostly spread out and quiet. I expect there will be traps and potentially even explosives involved. I have made sure our soldiers are freshly informed of their dangers.
Ah! But the surprise of course... I have not yet spoken of our surprise...
I have personally met with the director-principal of Defence Manufacturing who has fled to Menykawn. He has developed as a side project something of value to me—an aeronautic device. This surveillance apparatus he calls "the Hawkeye" is capable of propelling itself through the air and taking pictures from above Wicitoweyn. This means we will know about every encampment in the town, every enemy position, every target. We must make these things count, they are of immeasurable value to both the military and to me. I had to go to great lengths to secure them from the director... Lengths which mustn't be spoken of... What a cruel and resentful world we walk even in our own private moments—I must think it has influenced the cruel world we inhabit in public.
I regret nothing except the loss of my child. My virtue is of decrepit and impotent concern. I will do anything to preserve this land that nurtured my son so well.
— • —
THE SPOUSE RIVER
It was an overcast day. The light of the sun travelled in spotlights across the vast grassy plain that sprawled out from the dense forest, peering through tunnels within the clouds in distracting glares. Yiscosykanis was safekept within her steel-longship that came accompanied by small, sprawling gunboats beyond the ship. From a great glass casement, she watched along the river as small houses began to pop into view more and more frequently.
"We have returned with the experimental airplane, Anisco." An officer stated.
Yiscosykanis turned to see the man standing with his arms crossed in his beige jumpsuit. Two other jump-suited soldiers stood behind him with a number of dossiers.
"And what has it produced, General?" She asked.
"We have found immeasurable weakness points and potential targets for securing the town. It is in my professional opinion that this battle will be swift and conclusive. We have already planned a possible encirclement."
She turned back to the window-frame, "Yes, I knew this would benefit us after all... Although I am sensing a great danger ahead... I know there will be a blocus."
"Anisco, would you like me to disseminate this information to the ranks?"
"Do it at once, and quickly. Have each detachment assigned a point in your encirclement, we are going to make a show of ourselves here for certain. I also want the gunboats charged and prepared for any encounter that may approach in the distance. Our first battle will not be a failure, take every precaution."
"Yes, Anisco." The officer obeyed.
Any affront with a blockade would be a cavalcade. Without room to strategize, the objective would be to work as fast as possible to disarm as many vehicles as soon as they came into view.
"I don't want to lose any of our ships..." She muttered.
"We are bound to lose at least ten of our gunboats. Our ship is going to take some heavy hits as well, Anisco." One of the captains replied.
"We've travelled so far on such few imperatives or motivations and now we are about to feel a loss."
"You have worked tirelessly to rally the troops, Anisco."
Yiscosykanis nodded as she continued to scan the vast river beyond the glass.
"Well. I need to retire regardless of my exhaustion. Concentration will certainly be obscured in combat with the Great Mother here on the bridge. Am I wrong captain?"
"You are not wrong, Anisco."
"Assumedly... Then I must leave."
Yiscosykanis whistled for an officer to enter the bridge. At once, a beige jump-suited young man came to her side with a small pistolet at his side.
"Take me to the quarters. I need to rest if I am going to lead us into the town today." She whispered.
"Yes, Anisco Great Mother." The man affirmed.
The Great Mother fled down endless corridors and stairwells with the dedicated young man until coming across her chambers.
"I've hardly touched this room since I embarked... Mostly I sleep at my bureau."
"If the alarm sounds, Anisco. We advise you remain here for your own protection."
"Go fight the good fight, lieutenant." She smiled.
The young man bowed with deep admiration before running away.
"What was that man's name again...?" She whispered to herself, watching his legs rush with such strength down the corridor.
Suddenly she realized she had been distracted. She looked towards the large steel door which gave way to the small room hosting a fabric cot and a tea-table absent of any decoration or material. It was no better than a prison cell, although the Great Mother accepted it for what it was and laid upon the thin, firm mattress. Within an inch of closing her eyes, the sound of canons resonated through the fuselage.
"Us... Or them...?" She whispered.
The sound of a bell came tearing through the hallways. A vibrating metallic shriek which indicated the start of some violent affair. Yiscosykanis had the instinct to immediately run to her post, although she quietly subdued herself by grasping onto a bedpost with all her strength. The sound of canons reverberated through the hull again, this time with the additional symphony of gunboats firing. Suddenly there was a great boom which shook through the walls. The Great Mother jumped to her feet and curled into the wall as the thundering martial roars gave way through all areas of the craft.
There were images of Ayamweyn everywhere at once. Instances and reminders flooded through the Great Mother's mind. It was danger... Danger had always presented her with the unending hallows of her past. With each crack of the gun-shell, a crack in the ice tore through her mind. She fell through and through. Cold water seemed to immerse her soul, ice trapped her senses deep within her body. There was an endless expanse of void around her with untold ancient evils watching her every step like the delinquent boy who watched the ant suffocate in the sap of the cedar tree.
"Ayamweyn!" She called out, "Ayamweyn, where are you my son? I am so lonely. Your mama needs you home!"
"I am here, mama." He calls out through the mists of time.
"My son! Are you... Listening? I am so scared."
There was another crash in the distance. Perturbations of the metal carried dust through the air and bombastic contortions of life sent out shrieks unheard from the overpowering boom of the countless explosions. Yiscosykanis was trapped in her own arms.
"Where are you, Ayamweyn?"
His face was on every soldier's skull. On every boat he stood, waiting to jump into the water and flee the land through passageways to the unknown ends of reality. The water was red, no air, no breathing, no seeing. The grasp of the death-spirit around his neck severed mind from heart and dragged the remains into the endless stream of immeasurable demise. Wash-away, wash-away.
"Please Ayamweyn! Come back to me! I'm so scared!" She screamed.
"Anisco!" A voice called.
A pang of the real world. The senses returned.
"Anisco! Anisco! It's me!"
The ground was cold, the air was hot and smelled of distant fires seeping through a smoggy aperture in her chamber.
"Anisco, may I come to you?"
"Ayamweyn! Please!" She shrieked.
The arms of a provoking force came and surrounded her. They were not her son's, but to whomever they belonged, they felt reassuring. The Great Mother opened her eyes as the rattling of guns continued outside.
"You're safe, Anisco." The man muttered.
"Who... Who are you?"
"I'm your escort, remember me?"
Yiscosykanis turned with red-cheeks and dampened eyelids to see the recurring face of the man who had brought her to her chambers.
"I... I do... I must've... I must've been dreaming..."
"In my experience, that kind of reaction is common. I won't... I won't speak of the Great Son if it disturbs you..."
She remained silent. Her mind still recovering. The sudden whistle of another canon sent the Great Mother into distress again and she collapsed into the man again.
"Take me away!"
"Listen... Listen... Anisco... There's a town at the foot of the Black Tawaic, far far away from here called Mistakesew, do you know it?"
"Y... Yes..." She cried.
"It's this wonderful place, so lush and so family flowers blooming outside the town. It's a military town, so the place is guarded with these imperious ebony towers showered with guns and arms... But at night it is possible to get past those defences to see the outside. And me and a few of my friends go there every so often to see the moon shine over the distant towns in the Outlander country."
He laughed for a moment. The Great Mother turned her head to him again.
"They're very bright. There are towering structures illuminated with multicolour lights, they go all the way up and stop at the very top. Then there are these flying lights that come down and land right nearby like giant fireflies. You can see it all happening right from the hills. Sometimes me and my friends stayed there all night just to see the town swell with sunlight. Unfortunately, once that happened, there was only ten minutes to go until your wake-up call, so you had to be very alert and very swift when navigating your way back to your cot in time."
The Great Mother opened her mouth, "You are admitting delinquency to your commanding officer?"
"I..." He frowned.
The Great Mother smiled for a moment, "I am kidding, lieutenant."
"Do you feel better, Anisco?" He asked.
"Yes... Yes I do. Has the blockade been... Destroyed?"
"I'm unsure, I've just been with you the whole time." He admitted.
Yiscosykanis laughed, she got up uneasily from the floor and supported herself against the bedpost.
"I should probably let you go... I'll be fine, Lieutenant."
"Are you certain?"
"Go serve your country, Pactaw." She ordered.
The officer beamed before getting off the ground and placing his hand on the Great Mother's shoulder.
