Tiqaa stepped out of the truck, a hand tugging on his cloak so that the thick, fur collar could sit around his jaw. The wind of the tundral steppe lashed with an almost animalistic anger, biting and clawing at his exposed cheeks under his glass shades. His dark lenses protected him, but just enough air got in to dry his eyes from time to time. He blinked, hard. A single tear rolled down his right eye, freezing against his cheek.
“Mourning for their loss, Tiqaa?”
The commander in chief turned to her voice, his State Military Commander closing the door to the truck. He smiled to her, “No, it’s this god forsaken wind. The land makes you cry whether you like it or not.”
Kayanne rubbed a tear away from her own eye, catching it before it got below her shades. She wore a similar uniform to Tiqaa, but her leather had been dyed a brilliant white, as opposed to his regal black. Her stern, yet sly eyes squinted behind her own pair of shades, “Serves you right, you’ve never cried for anyone before.”
“Neither have you.”
“Did I say I was judging you for it?”
The Commander laughed, a tight and reserved gesture as he turned towards the obelisk in the distance, “No, I suppose you didn’t.”
The Thousand Man Obelisk was a tall, dark structure constructed of black marble and framed around the seams with rose quartz. It had been constructed astonishingly recently, only within the last century as Leviathists began to disseminate from the mountains into the Republic of Rabba and the surrounding area. They wanted to honor the Leviathans in the Graveyard, but pressure from Rabbans turned the project into a memorial for the people lost to the Orb. Tiqaa thought it was disgusting, really, that they’d care so much more for the Leviathans than the people. What a waste of a good cult, he thought.
This landmark was the tallest structure for many miles in every direction, standing in stark contrast to the steppe of the Clans. Normally, the land was decently empty, only a few roaming elk to see. Today? It was the Day of 1 Thousand Dead. People from all over the world had gathered to see Kondor’s apology.
“We should probably get moving,” Kayanne said, patting Tiqaa’s shoulder.
He only shook his head, “I have some time before I have to speak.”
“Nervous?”
“Petrified. I’m ending a cycle, it’s my first year in this office and this will already be a huge break in tradition.” Of course, he didn’t show it, hardly a shudder in his body.
“You shouldn’t be scared of that, you’re saving us all a lot of trouble. We don’t need to apologize for what we never did.”
“Rabba won’t see it that way. The Clans sure as hell won’t see it that way.” His hands shifted and adjusted themselves. One hand pulled up, stiff and urgent, bright yellow energy flaring around his fingers for a brief moment. He did it again, every few seconds, punctuating himself with it. “This is dancing on a line we’ve never crossed, Kayanne, we can’t just… jump into it; you of all people should know that.”
His companion changed face, her soft expression turning rigid like ice, “Do not tell me what I do and do not know, just because of my Trait; you of all people should know about that.”
There was a potent, sour pause between them, staring into each other’s shades with cold, cold tension. Finally, Tiqaa turned back towards the obelisk, and began his slow and silent march towards the end of an age.
As the frosty ground crunched beneath their feet, the crowd came out to meet them. The royalty and the leaders, every face that ruled every country on the continent, excepting a few.
“Tiqaa! It’s been a long time, I haven’t seen you since you were this tall,” Archivall offered a low gesture around his waist and a bright, welcoming grin. “Welcome to the world of politics, never thought I’d see the day.”
“Neither did I, Your Highness, neither did I.” The commander offered a similar grin, a shallow bow.
The Babernian Warrior-King laughed deep from within the crowd, people making a way for him as he approached to offer a hand, “Allow me, Erdem Batur, to offer you a most humbling welcome into the Council. How was the ride up?”
Tiqaa shook the larger man’s hand, “Slow, if nothing else.” Already all the attention was pushing his psyche, his back beginning to heat up and the itch of sweat spreading over his shoulders. He began to wring his hands, adjust his gloves, consciously control his breathing to maintain as much control as he could muster. He just wanted this over with.
Too much, too much! Tiqaa grimaced, pulling his hat down.
Very suddenly, the Babernian King seemed to pale a little, “Oh! Goodness, we’re making him anxious everyone. Come, let’s take our positions, no need to ruin his poor speech.” Erdum nodded to Tiqaa as he dispersed with the rest of the leaders.
Breathe in.
It was going to be fine, he’ll be fine.
Breathe out.
Show time.
The Commander in Chief adjusted his cap, leveled his shoulders, fixing his eyes on the podium. Kayanne fell in step with him, just a moment behind him as he made his way. Camera drones whirred to his left, the leaders turned their heads to him from his right. The world was watching, waiting, witnessing another year in history. Everyone held their breath, even though they’d seen this every holiday before. Yet, somehow, this time it felt different. Tiqaa held himself tall, shedding his emotions, his anxieties, steeling his body for the show. This was it. It would finally be over.
Then he stood at the podium, the firm, cedar wood rectangle. He took a moment to feel the surface, slowly removing a glove to run his palm over the flat and edges.
And he felt sick.
He felt sick of the cycle, sick of the derision, sick of the fear.
But he felt sick of the consequences. What was he bringing upon Kondor?
Tiqaa must have been turning green, because Kayanne rested a hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look in her eyes, she nodded to him, silent but clear.
His eyes turned back to look over the crowd, the drone that hovered directly above them, its beady black lens glaring directly into his own. He pulled off his shades, took off his hat, let the freezing wind wash through his hair as he addressed everyone he may ever know. “Ladies and gentlemen, people of the Council, today we gather here…”
Was this right? Should this be the end?
“... To put an end to the cycle of Kondor’s abuse.”
Kayanne breathed a sigh of relief and the people in the crowd recoiled. But not Erdum.
“The apologies: they end here. The nation of Kondor no longer needs to be held responsible for actions we didn’t take, the creation of the Arnicite Orb was the creation of a dead woman. My family, my nation, the mere descendants of people we never met, should not have to be sorry for things their grandparents weren’t even alive to witness!” Heart beating, lungs burning against the frigid breeze, his words stung like fire, “If you want us to grovel at your feet, we will stand with a strength that you have never seen!”
Tiqaa pushed with all the might in his body, sending the podium sailing straight into the nearest drone, destroying it in a shower of sparks and sending the wooden box to tumble a distance away. He breathed hard, standing in front of the black tower.
“Sir, it's time to go.” Kayanne grabbed Tiqaa by his cloak, pulling him close and began to walk him out towards the truck.
It took him a moment, but he got the message, and they broke into a run.
Finally, the cycle was over.
It was done!
GLORY TO KONDOR!
Comments (0)
See all