Tales of The Primordial Dawn

The night wrapped the tribe in its dark embrace, the fire in the middle acting as a beacon of warmth. Rasha and I sat next to it, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows on our faces. Her silver hair gleamed in the firelight, the braid long and thick, as if it were showcasing the wisdom and experiences she'd gathered over the years.

"How do you feel about all this, Tak?" Rasha asked me, her voice filled with the quiet authority she'd wielded as an elder.

"I'm not sure," I admitted, staring into the flames. "We've started making more shields, and some of our warriors have begun practicing with them."

Rasha nodded slowly, her blue eyes reflecting the flickering light. "The Wulani men seem eager, hunting less to train more," she observed.

She then spoke of her late partner, Akara, and how he would've sought a peaceful way, not wanting to risk lives unless it was the only viable option. I agreed, adding that we should explore other ways to secure the captive Wulani women's release. 

Her response caught me off guard. "My voice doesn't carry weight anymore," she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. "My time as an elder has passed."

"Why did you step down?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

She sighed, her gaze falling on the fire. "Akara became leader when he was young. I was guiding him, standing by his side. I've seen many winters with the tribe...It was time for younger voices to lead."

Her reasoning made sense, but I still found it hard to fathom. Rasha was so integral to the tribe, her wisdom so valuable.

She continued, her eyes still on the flames. "I can spend more time talking to the young now, being a spiritual guide to help them find their way."

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked, looking at her profile illuminated by the firelight.

Rasha shrugged. "Someone has to do it," she stated, a wistful smile on her face.

Rasha was a marvel. A former elder, a healer, and now a spiritual guide, she embodied strength and wisdom. And though she claimed her voice didn't carry weight anymore, her words held a profound impact. I knew then, no matter her official position, Rasha's wisdom and guidance would continue to shape our tribe, just as it was shaping me.

Rasha's eyes, bright in the firelight, turned to me, her gaze as steady as ever. "You're brave, Tak," she said, her voice filled with conviction. "You're growing into a capable warrior. And a leader, too."

Her words stirred something within me. They were not the first time someone had mentioned my potential for leadership. I had heard it whispered among the tribe, some hopeful, others cautious. Yet, hearing it from Rasha lent it a different weight.

"Thank you, Rasha," I said, finding sincerity in my voice. "I'm trying."

She nodded, a slight crease forming between her brows. "I know many voted for you to become our next leader," she revealed. "But I was against it."

Her admission didn't surprise me. I'd heard the murmurs, the speculation. I'd known that not everyone agreed with the decision. I nodded, acknowledging her words. "I know."

Her eyes searched mine, a question hanging in the silence between us. "Are you upset about my decision?" she finally asked.

I shook my head. "I think I'm too young," I said, the truth of it settling on me. "And if the tribe believes that I should take on the responsibility when I'm older, then I'll do it."

A look of relief washed over Rasha's face. "Good," she said, her voice soft. "Being a leader has its burdens. Enjoy your youth while you can."

"I will," I promised, letting the firelight warm my face.

For a while, we sat in companionable silence. The world was a hum of nighttime sounds, the occasional hush of the wind, the rhythmic clatter of stone and copper against wood echoing in the distance. One by one, the members of our tribe retreated into their homes, their shadows flitting over us briefly before being swallowed by the night.

With a sigh, Rasha rose from her place by the fire, the coals casting an ethereal glow on her face. "Farewell, Tak," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the soft rustling of the wind.

I watched her retreating back, a steady force amidst the chaos that our tribe had become in the last few days. "Take care of our home while we're away, Rasha," I called after her.

"I will," she promised, her words carried on the cool night air.

After she had disappeared into the night, I was left alone by the fire, the familiar constellations winking down at me from a pitch-black sky. My mind wandered back to the events of the past few days, my thoughts swirling like leaves in an autumn breeze. It had been four days since our return and the delivery of the harrowing news of the captured Wulani women. Tomorrow, a large part of our tribe would venture back towards Vilthur's tribe. Uncertainty knotted in my stomach at the thought.

Mako, as the leader, held the tribe's course in his hands. But his final plans were still a mystery to me. I found myself hoping, praying to the spirits that guided us, that there would be no bloodshed. The mere thought of it sent a shudder through me. A vision, against the back of my closed eyelids, surfaced from the depths of my memory. It was me, from last winter, with a flint-tipped spear in hand. The spear was plunging into the chest of a Wulani warrior, the man's eyes wide with shock.

A shudder ran down my spine and I clenched my fists. The rough texture of the firewood I was gripping dug into my palms, a grounding sensation against the visceral memory. I pushed the vision away, the remnants of it clinging to the edges of my consciousness like a ghost.

The night grew quieter, the sounds of the tribe fading into silence. But in the quiet, my thoughts were deafening. And amidst the turmoil, one thing remained certain: tomorrow was going to be a day of reckoning. Whether it was a reckoning of peace or violence, only time would tell.

☽☽☽

I awoke with the first light of dawn, the morning sun streaming through the small window of our clay brick home, casting a warm glow on the floor. Our fireplace, still holding the remnants of last night's fire, sat quietly against the back wall. Maeve and Zulu, my younger siblings, were still curled up in their furs, their faces peaceful in the soft light. Mother was already out, I knew, preparing the herbs and concoctions needed for the journey that lay ahead of us.

My mind drifted back to the stranger we had brought back to the tribe. The silent man who refused to speak, to engage. We did not want him to feel like a captive, yet our actions argued otherwise. The thought churned in my gut, heavy and uncomfortable. Were we no better than the savages Aiasha had spoken of? The Wulani woman's words echoed in my ears, a haunting reminder of what we were up against.

Zulu stirred from his sleep, his eyes fluttering open. His voice, still heavy with sleep, cut through my thoughts, "Are we leaving soon?"

I nodded, "Yes, but you and Maeve are staying here. With Rasha."

His hazel eyes, so much like my own, widened in protest. "I don't want to. I want to help," he insisted, his voice determined.

I gently ruffled his hair, trying to hide the pang of sympathy I felt. "The journey is long, Zulu. And your time will come."

He sighed, a weight of disappointment in the sound. "So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Protect our tribe," I said, meeting his gaze. "While the others are away, you'll be the man of the house."

His chest puffed up a little at that, the promise of responsibility making his eyes gleam. "I can do that, Tak."

"I know you can," I said, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. And with that, the morning began in earnest.

As I left the warmth of our home, the crisp morning air brushing against my skin, I almost collided with Enara. We stumbled, both taken aback. Her arms were full of arrows, an organized chaos. Seeing her struggle, I couldn't help but ask, "Do you need help?"

She looked flustered, her dark eyes wide. "No, I'm fine," she said hastily, trying to regain her composure. I couldn't just let it go at that.

"How are you doing?" I asked, genuinely concerned. She was part of the Wulani, the people we were planning to face.

She paused, her eyes meeting mine. "I'm... I'm sad. And angry. That my people are being treated this way."

I couldn't help but agree. "We will rescue them, Enara. We will."

"But how many, Tak?" she asked, her voice shaking. "How many have the others killed?"

"I... I don't know," I replied, feeling a pang of helplessness.

"The men, they might be killed," she continued, her voice hardened by bitter experience. "But the women... if they are young, if they can bear children... their fate is worse."

I nodded slowly, not knowing what to say. I could only imagine what she meant, the horrors those women must have faced.

"They can't understand," she went on, her voice just above a whisper now. "But even if they live... they might wish they were dead."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stood there, looking at her, thinking about the cruelty of this world. How fortunate we were, the Ashaya, to treat everyone as equals, not subjugating women in such a horrific manner. I couldn't help but wonder, what if the Wulani had attacked a different tribe? Would things have turned out differently?

Seeing the troubled look in Enara's eyes, I made a decision. "I'll speak to Mako," I said, determination seeping into my voice. "I'll talk to him about finding a way to end this without any more bloodshed."

Enara looked at me, surprise and confusion marring her features. "Blood has to shed, Tak," she argued, her voice hard. "So that those women will find some semblance of comfort."

The weight of her words hung heavily between us. "But fighting will only lead to more fighting, Enara," I pointed out. "Unless we can figure out a peaceful solution, the cycle will never break."

I was reminded of my conversation with Rasha last night, how she told me about the late Akara, our former leader who would have sought another way. She was right. We might have been too hasty in rushing to war.

"But what if we win, Tak?" Enara interjected, her gaze intense. "What if we eradicate the enemy?"

Her words struck a chord in me. It was a tempting thought, one that promised an end to all this chaos. But at what cost?

"Do we kill their children?" I asked, looking directly at her. "Do we kill their elderly, their women?" Her eyes widened, but she didn't respond. "Because if we don't, they'll grow older and the conflict will continue."

The silence that followed was thick, uncomfortable. But I needed her to understand the gravity of what she was suggesting.

"It's not right that only one side has to suffer," Enara murmured after what felt like an eternity. Her voice was softer now, filled with a sadness that tugged at my heart.

"I agree, Enara," I replied, my voice equally soft. "And if we can't find another way, then it will come down to war. But remember, no one truly wins in war. We all lose something."

I hoped that she understood this, because I was only now realizing it myself. Truthfully I should have known and looked at this from a different lens, but what I saw in their camp blinded me. Humans are supposed to be rational creatures, but most of the time we find ourselves letting our emotions cloud our judgment and thinking irrationally. Would we risk the lives of so many to save five?

There had to be a solution to this that did not involve us killing any we thought were cruel, even if it were true. I had to ask myself, why was I brought back to this time, this period in human history? It was still a question I had to figure out.

Following my conversation with Enara, I found my feet taking me towards the Elder Hall. Constructed from fired clay bricks, it was the largest structure in our newly reformed tribe. Inside, the hall the elders should have been present for their morning meeting, but now only Mako and Garan remained, engaged in deep conversation.

"Mako," I called out, my heart pounding as I approached the two.

"Tak," Mako returned my greeting, his eyes lighting up at my presence. "You've come at a good time. Garan was just praising your creative work with the shields."

Garan nodded, an approving smile gracing his weathered face. "It's a unique idea. Only you could have thought of using the materials we have in such a way."

I returned the smile, grateful for the praise but preoccupied with the matter at hand. "I had history to guide me," I answered, trying to keep the conversation light.

"What brings you here, Tak?" Mako asked, his gaze serious as he turned his attention back to me.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I wanted to know... what you're planning to do about Vilthur's tribe," I confessed.

Mako's brow furrowed. "We've already discussed this, Tak. We want to rescue the captured Wulani women, remember?"

Garan nodded in agreement. "We're following your lead on this, Tak. You're the one who proposed it."

"I know," I admitted, the weight of their words settling on my shoulders. "But I've had some time to think and... I'm not sure if we should risk our entire tribe for this war when there might still be another way."

The silence that followed was deafening. "And what do you suggest we do?" Mako asked finally, his voice steady. "The Wulani want to save their people, no matter what."

I took a moment, the silence stretching on as I formulated my thoughts. "We could try a trade," I proposed, my voice echoing in the vast hall.

"What do you mean, trade?" Mako asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"Consider this," I began, "if you want clay and you don't have any, you could go to Garan and ask for some. In return, Garan might ask for one of your clay pots. This is a trade. You give something to get something."

Garan shook his head. "But that's not how our tribe works. We are one people. We don't barter with one another. We share what we have, and everyone benefits."

"That's true," I conceded, "but what about other tribes? We don't know if they share the same values. Maybe we could negotiate with them."

Mako sat back, his gaze thoughtful as he considered my words. "Perhaps you're onto something," he said after a moment of silence. "But what do you propose we trade?"

I thought for a moment. "We have copper weapons, they don't. Maybe we could--"

Garan cut me off, shaking his head vigorously. "That's a terrible idea, Tak. If we give them the weapons we've worked so hard to create, there's nothing to stop them from turning those weapons against us. We'd be handing them the means to destroy us."

Mako nodded in agreement. "Garan's right. We have an advantage, and we should hold on to it."

I sighed, feeling the weight of the problem on my shoulders. I knew they were right. I had to think of another solution. The concept of trade could be the answer, but the commodities we had to offer might be as dangerous as going to war. My mind whirred with thoughts, but no clear solution presented itself yet. The path to peace was proving to be a complex one, a maze where every turn could lead to potential danger.

"Can I take some time to think?" I asked Mako. The man nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation.

"You have time, Tak. But remember, if we can't find an alternative, we must prepare for war. We owe it to the Wulani."

I nodded in agreement, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on my shoulders. As I stepped out of the hall, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of responsibility for the crisis we faced. I had given my people an advantage by introducing copper weapons, yet I knew deep down it wasn't enough.

As I wandered through our tribal land, my thoughts raced. Even with the new shields, the Ashaya and Wulani were at a disadvantage. Not because they lacked the tools, but because they lacked time. Time to train, to grow accustomed to the new tools, to master the various tactics that a shield could provide.

We were ready to fight, yet, we weren't ready at all. The shield was a new concept, something alien to most of our warriors. The idea of forming a shield wall, of using the shield as more than just a piece of defensive equipment, hadn't fully sunk in. We were moving too fast, progressing faster than we could adapt.

Lost in thought, I found myself standing at the river's edge, staring into the reflective water. The ripples, caused by the gentle wind, seemed like a metaphor for our current predicament - each decision causing ripples, some reaching far beyond our immediate perception. I knew that the choice we were about to make would ripple out, affecting not just the Ashaya and Wulani, but every tribe we interacted with.