Read Traitor, Book 1 of The Turner Chronicles Page 31

  Chapter 17

  Birsae ak Mondar took the speaking stick in her hand. She studied its familiar swirls, its carvings and thought back on the history of this holy object. Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac, the Wand of War Unending, the holy wand, was in her keeping because she was the only surviving Shaman of the Thirty Clans.

  Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac. The words rolled off her mind as easily as they had so frequently tripped off her tongue. She had been the guardian of the wand for the last twenty years. Carrying the wand was a trust; it was an honor, and it was the heaviest burden Birsae had ever shouldered.

  She looked up from the wand to see them watching her. Tremon's eyelids were half lowered in thought. Tremon was a steady one. She was a chieftain who thought before she spoke. Tremon set her honor behind her when the time came for hard decisions. Unlike her, Delmac was young, hot-blooded, and empty headed. He cared for nothing but his search for personal glory. There were others too. All the chieftains waited for her, waited for her word, her decision. The future of her entire people rested upon her frail shoulders. They would argue her suggestion but in the end they would do as she wished because she was their Shaman. She spoke with the strength of the One God.

  "They come," she said. "Each year there are more of them."

  Letting her eyes roam over the gathering, she caught the eyes of the recalcitrant ones, the smart ones, and of those who were angry. She caught them with her gaze, and she fought to capture them with her knowledge.

  "These people do wondrous things. If we become their friends they will teach us how to be stronger than we already are. They will teach us how to be clever with our minds and our hands. They will-"

  "DIE!" Delmac shouted, rising angrily to his feet. "They will die before we are pushed off our own lands."

  "You have not the wand," one of the chieftains calmly said.

  Delmac sat down abruptly. "Forgive me, Shaman. My anger and fear have overburdened the sense of my mind."

  Sighing, Birsae inclined her head toward him. "You are forgiven." Delmac was the impetuous one. He wanted war and the trophy of new ears. Because of this, the words she was about to say pained Birsae. They were the words he desired to hear.

  "They will also destroy our homes and our lands. Their appetites are voracious. I have looked down the future. I have traveled the forks and seen our people dwindle until there are none left except for those who do the will of others. I have seen our deaths."

  Tremon held out her hand, silently asking for the wand's blessing. Birsae pointed the wand at her and shook it gently.

  "There are many forks," Tremon said. "Many ways. You have taught me this. Do all of these ways see our ending?"

  "I see only one path that does not," Birsae answered. "We must take on the trappings of what is called a nation. We must become one people. We must forgive our enemies and draw them to our cause, and we must accept those who accept us."

  "Does that mean the newcomers too?"

  "Those who have befriended us must become one of us. Those who despise our ways must be thrown from our land."

  "This is what he wants," Tremon stated sourly. "Are we to follow this man? Are we to turn ourselves into slaves for his war?"

  Birsae shook her head slowly. "If we wish to be a people we must follow his lead. This fork alone gives us hope. I have seen it."

  The arguments continued on throughout the remainder of the night. Birsae knew the arguments would continue for the rest of the new moon. Their arguing would continue, but they would be resolved, and the Clans would go to war. Despite centuries of tradition, Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac would soon be held in the fist of a foreign monster because she had declared him their Chief of Chiefs in War. There would be war and much glory would be gained, and much honor would be lost, and the best blood of the Clans would be slaughtered. When the war was over, the People would be fewer, they would be forever changed, but they would be, and eventually the Chosen would arrive to take up his mantle as Savior and advocate of The One God.

  It was the only path before them. Before the war's end her hand would touch the familiar curved and carved surface of Versase el Hectorate Mar Torac for the last time when she passed it over to the man who desired to destroy them as a people--to the man who wished to rule an Empire.