Welcome to Chapter Twenty of Silvanus and Empire, my serialized Steemit fantasy novel (no whales were harmed in the writing of this story).
Today is a momentous one in the world of the Silvani. Last chapter, we caught up with Caddoc finally, and now it's time for the Great Moot. Hammerfist is holding court to tell his people the news. What news, exactly? Well, read on and see!
Silvanus and Empire
Chapter Twenty
Illustration by Tuomas Korpi
Sparrowflight slipped from the woods and entered the clearing. He blinked from the sun setting over the westward trees. He was nearly late; the Great Moot had been called and representatives from nearly every tribe in the clan had arrived, judging from the number of tents and pavilions that had been erected in the clearing. Even now he could see a tight knot of people clustering around the bonfire near the northern edge of the clearing next to Hammerfist’s large pavilion. The tall, rangy Silvani paused long enough to brush some travel-dust from his leathers before wearily staggering over to join the group.
“There he is!” someone shouted out as Sparrowflight dragged himself over. “Better late than never, eh Sparrow? Did you get lost again?”
“No, I stopped off to help give your mother another bastard child,” Sparrowflight groused. Everyone laughed; when someone else offered him a waterskin, he gratefully accepted, drinking deeply. “My thanks,” he gasped, wiping his mouth and handing the skin back. “When does the Moot start?”
“Soon,” said the Silvani to whom he’d handed the skin. He was short and stocky, with big hands and a face that would have seemed brutish if it wasn’t split by a large smile. “As soon as the sun hurries to bed. It will give the rest of the laggards time to arrive.”
Sparrowflight snorted. “Some of us have farther to travel than others, friend. Is your tribe from nearby? I don’t recognize you.”
“You wouldn’t,” the other Silvani replied, “judging from the direction you came from. My tribe lies west of here.” He held out a ruddy, well-worn hand to the taller man before him. “Roots-of-Mountains,” he said.
Sparrowflight took his hand and grasped it firmly, introducing himself in turn. His thin hand was dwarfed by the stockier Silvani. “You look to be a sturdy one, Roots; have you been stealing your brothers’ suppers?”
Roots-of-Mountains laughed, his voice deep and booming. “I don’t steal them,” he said. “I offer to wrestle them for their share and they simply give it to me. It’s the damnedest thing.” He motioned Sparrow over to the bonfire. “Come on, my skinny friend, let’s put some deer meat on your bones before you waste away to nothing!”
Sparrowflight followed Roots-of-Mountains to the edges of the crackling fire and gratefully accepted some dried venison that was handed to him. He passed the time with the others gathered there, eating and talking, until the sun slid down below the western treeline. The crowd grew slowly but steadily, and soon the tent flap of the pavilion was thrown back. Hammerfist emerged, tall, broad-shouldered, and weathered like an old oak. Behind him came two much younger Silvani females, barely old enough to be called women. They were followed by a regal middle-aged woman that Sparrowflight found hard to tear his eyes from.
The murmuring crowd grew quiet as Hammerfist stepped into the illumination cast by the bonfire. “My brothers and sisters, welcome,” said the Silvani chieftain. His strong, clear voice carried over the crackling roar of the fire. “It does this tired old man’s heart good to see so many of you tonight,” he went on. “It’s been far too long since last we met. I trust you are all tired from your journeys; please enjoy the hospitality of this camp well. Feast and rest while you can, brothers and sisters, for you will bring more than just news back to your tribes before you leave tomorrow.”
Hammerfist paused to look through the crowd. “So few of us there are,” he sighed. “Once, in my father’s father’s time, when a Great Moot was called this clearing was filled with a sea of faces. Now, our numbers dwindle; fewer and fewer of us remain who remember what our home was like before the coming of the Stonehearted. For over five generations have our people been beset with suffering visited upon us by our unwelcome neighbors on the southern banks of what was once our river. For countless seasons have the Stonehearted destroyed and desecrated the forests of Silvanus to their own ends - from the southern bank to the foothills of the mountains, they have broken and enslaved the land. They spread like wildfire through dry grass. We have tried to stop them. We have tried, and we have failed. But we have failed for the last time. Our hour has come at last. We will finally have peace between our people, and we will reclaim Silvanus for our own.”
A startled murmuring had broken out as the crowd listened to Hammerfist’s words. Sparrowflight shifted uneasily, looking around at the people around him - he saw sadness, confusion, and helpless rage on the faces of his fellow Silvani. “Hammerfist,” he cried, “what do you mean?” He stepped forward out of the crowd and into the firelight. “We cannot do anything to stem the tide of the Stonehearted! You cannot parley with a rabid bear! How can we have peace?” The crowd echoed Sparrowflight’s question in a hundred different voices.
“Brothers, sisters, please!” Hammerfist waited until he could speak easily again. “You are right, Sparrowflight. You cannot parley with a rabid bear. But you can claim his den if he is gone. We have the power to drive the Stonehearted from this valley forever.” He turned to look at one of the young Silvani women behind him. “Lost One?”
One of the young women stepped forward. She had long hair tied back with a thong, and she was dressed in ill-fitting hide skirts. She looked at the crowd nervously for a moment, blinking in the firelight, before carefully pushing up her right sleeve. When she bared her right shoulder, the crowd gave a collective gasp before erupting in confused shouts and exclamations. Sparrowflight stared in shock as the people around him shouted.
“The Mark! She bears the Mark!”
“But we haven’t had one marked in nearly--”
“It can’t be real. Hammerfist! Who is she?”
The girl shrank back as the crowd’s volume grew. Hammerfist took her by the arm and gently pulled her back behind him. She slipped her right sleeve back down with a grateful look to the older man. “Please, all of you, calm yourselves! Yes, this one bears the Mark of Silvanus upon her, as did her farther, and his mother before him.”
Roots-of-Mountains interrupted. “But the last one to bear the Mark disappeared years ago!”
“He was killed.” The older woman stepped into the ring of firelight and there was silence in an instant. Her voice rang through the clearing. “Betrayed by his most trusted friend, a Stoneheart, one who we had honored with our friendship. Murdered. Owl was murdered, his infant child taken from him. Our infant child.” The woman took a deep, ragged breath, and turned away, shoulders hitched with silent tears.
Hammerfist laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “This is Spirit-of-Vengeance. She was Owl’s wife. For nearly twenty summers, she has been looking for her daughter, for her Lost One, for the last of the line of those who have borne the Mark of Silvanus. She has been looking for the salvation of our people. Finally, with the power of the forest, we will drive the Stonehearted from our valley. Who will stay when their wells run dry? When their crops fail? When their animals sicken and die? Soon their settlements will be abandoned; they will have no choice but to flee west. And then we can reclaim the land stolen from us and return it to the forest from whence it came. Through the power of the Mark, Silvanus shall be free!”
Sparrowflight reeled as the crowd cheered, caught up in Hammerfist’s oration. He was shocked by the revelation. Dazed, he turned to where Roots-of-Mountains was shouting next to him.
“We’re saved!” The stocky Silvani’s broad face was split with a wide grin. “Sparrow, did you hear that? No more Stonehearted!”
Sparrowflight grinned at his new acquaintance’s infectious good cheer. “Now you can steal their suppers instead of your brothers’!”
The crowd quieted again as Hammerfist motioned them to silence. “So please, all of you, bring this news back with you to your tribes tomorrow. Tonight though we celebrate: as darkness falls, a new dawn for the Silvani approaches!” The rest of his words were drowned out in cheers.