Chronicles of Akhani - 14 - Never to Return
Akhani walked over to the dragon and, with his blade, pried a large fang free from its skull. His hand was barely large enough to fully grip the sharp, white, hollow fang. He turned the fang over and over again in his hands. He held the fang up, and peered through the hole through which the poison dripped and gave a satisfied grunt.
Zhorovna watched Akhani with a bewildered and impatient air. All she wanted to do at that moment was to get to a new location, but Akhani did not seem to be troubled by the fact that their camp was known by all of their enemies.
“Do you have a necklace?” Akhani asked Zhorovna at last while walking over to her.
“What?… Yes. I am wearing the seal of my patron at all times,” Zhorovna replied in confusion while displaying the pectoral icon that she kept hidden under her dress. “Why?”
“You are now a Xotokian warrior. Slaying a sand dragon is our rite of passage for those who wish to be warriors. Until now, only Xotokians have successfully defeated the dragons, and I see no reason that is not still true.” The cool composure of Akhani told Zhorovna everything she needed to know about this statement. Akhani pulled out his own necklace which, too, had a fang hung from it through the venom shaft. “You are one of us now and we never stop wearing the fang of our fallen foe.”
Zhorovna received the fang from Akhani with a small amount of hesitation, but she did not wish to offend her master. Taking off the chain, she was unsure if what she was about to do was sacrilege, but there was no way around it. She just turned inwardly and prayed that, in bearing this fang, her actions would guide Akhani to the gods.
Donning her trophy, she felt a new connection to Akhani that she couldn’t explain. Not only to Akhani, but to the very place in which she stood. No longer did she hold a pining for her homeland in her heart, but felt that this was her homeland. This very sand was now precious to her in a way that she could not explain. As she contemplated these things, she watched Akhani approach her with yet another gift.
“This is the fruit of the land. The fruit of your land. In eating this fruit, you are one with us. Now take, eat, and commune with the Xotokians of old,” Akhani ceremoniously ripping a large, flat mushroom in two. He handed half to his companion – his peer – and the other half, he kept for himself.
Zhorovna took the small, flat, yellow mushroom and placed it in her mouth. She could not remember which mushroom that this was, as she had forgotten most of what Catoblia had told her, and nervously chewed the morsel. The flavor was that of milk and honey spread over a rich rye bread. The texture was not spongy like most mushrooms, but, instead, more reminiscent of a crisp pear. The mushroom contained no juices, but it also did not deprive the mouth of saliva. As she swallowed, the familial ties which she had experienced while putting on the fang overwhelmed her in that moment.
A new connection to the whole region infused itself deep into her psyche. In this, she suddenly became aware just how connected that she had been to the Silver Mountains. How much she had been longing to return to her homeland. How much pull that the region itself, even more than her love for her community, had a hold over her. Now, in this moment, with these two actions of putting on a fang and swallowing a mushroom, all those connections changed and were redirected towards Achinos. The urgency to save the land filled her soul, and with that, a deeper understanding of her task came along with it.
The prophetess had always known that the lands of Amythro were sacred. However, for the first time, she now felt the very pulse and breath of the region. Her vision of Catoblia and Olvgani now became more clear in her mind. In Akhani’s eating of the fruit, and now her eating of the fruit, tied the fate of the region to them. With this came a horrifying realization.
She, too, would now be a target for corruption by the evil spirits. However, unlike her master, she was aware of and trusted in the gods. With her faith firm in her conviction that the gods will prevail, she accepted the burden to be shared with her master.
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Trudging through the sands, they wound their way down to the very hills at which they had met Catoblia. This time, however, they were much more cautious as they neared the road that lead from Akraessi to Karioni. Akhani, having spent his whole life in the region, knew exactly which areas of the road were the most blind, and they took advantage of that.
Though no people had been encounter, and no signs of life were anywhere to be found, they still took every precaution that they could as they made their way into the forests that divide the Southern Savanna from the desert sands. These hills were often the hunting grounds of the occupying Doiketian forests, as the woods was full of boars, antelope, deer, and a variety of other prized game. Several times along their journey, Akhani stopped and examined the trees.
Curiosity overwhelmed Zhorovna at last, and she asked, “What are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for signs of stress.”
“Stress?”
“Yes. All the foliage of Achani show signs of stress with the presence of the Doiketians. They are not one with our land and exploit it. Everything feels this, but the vegetation show it the most,” he calmly replied. He began to run his hands on the bark and continued, “Look here. See how this area is dry, but this area feels lush and vibrant?”
Zhorovna leaned in for a closer inspection on the bark. Akhani was right. Parts of the bark looked fresh like that of new growth, while other portions gave impressions of having been long dead and dried in the sun. She looked at Akhani and nodded.
“Good. Well, as you can see, the dry areas are slowly gaining fluid back as we stand here. This means that the Doiketians that were in here have left. How long ago, I can’t fully tell, but it’s been over an hour to be sure. Now, this only applies to the Doiketians that exploit the land,” Akhani explained.
“Don’t all of them exploit the land?” Zhorovna asked with her brow furrowed.
“No,” Akhani replied still caressing the bark. “In fact, I know one who restores the land.”
“Who?” Zhorovna inquired.
“I’ll let him tell you himself,” Akhani said pointing towards what appeared to be a vineyard on the distant plain.
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