Resurrecting Tomorrow

By Tonya Tenfeathers

When a new breed of man attempts to conquer the wastes, an inexperienced war chief must unite the tribes and towns or witness a personal apocalypse.

Ranger Zha never gave much thought to becoming head chief of her tribe until it was tragically forced upon her. With only her best friend, Yama, having any faith in her, they set out to save the remnants of their tribe with much needed medicines. When two mysterious and technological men enter the region, Zha must abandon her personal desires and unite enemies in order to save all that the wastelanders have struggled to rebuild.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tonya Tenfeathers
• Release date: Jul 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465928139

Tonya Tenfeathers

Growing up in the cold war era probably had a lot to do with Tonya Tenfeathers’ morbid fascination with the end of the world. By the age of 13, she began to research survival techniques generally taught to military personnel...just in case. Tonya currently resides in Pre-Apocalyptic Spokane where she is finishing her first trilogy of Post-Apocalyptic novels.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Terra was dying.

It wouldn’t be weeks, or days, or even hours anymore. The life force within her was wilting and blowing away. Right now. Her chest moved shallowly and infrequently. Although breath did raggedly pass through her cracked lips with great effort, each exhale threatened to be her last.

The rasps, like a nest of hissing vipers, came and went slowly and alarmingly. No serenity or repose could be found between the laborious gasps. With a sudden force, her last cough projected a thick stream of blood-tainted mucus from deep within her lungs. The force of the cough sapped the remaining vestiges of will from the exhausted body and her eyes finally came to rest, fluttering closed conclusively.

Her sickness was over. No more would she feel the slow torturous pain of the lingering sickness that plagued the ruined desert. Like her mortal shell fading away, so did her burdens. The woman no longer pondered an uncertain future or dwelled upon insurmountable problems. Her duties, like her life, were simply gone with one finalizing cough...and now these unending dilemmas had passed by blood right to her daughter.

Zha stared at the corpse for countless heartbeats, a numbing sensation still welling in her body, seeping into her limbs like a cold chill that refused any form of warmth. The sensation grew, overtaking her like waves from an icy ocean as so many thoughts flowed in and out of her troubled mind. Though she tried, she was unable to grasp onto any of them for any length of time. It was like free falling from a treetop and being unable to hold onto any of the many branches that she tumbled past.

She abandoned the idea of catching herself and gave into the distress. Instead of thinking, she felt the overwhelming desperation and sorrow before her, as if it had literally came out of her mother’s departing soul and taken up residence in her own. It had not come as a surprise, not the death and not the inheritance or its complications. She knew she would have to prioritize her concerns soon, but the many perplexities seemed to overshadow her desire to mourn, stirring a type of anger within her that she couldn’t name.

No, it hadn’t been a surprise to anyone, least of all Zha. So why did she feel so unprepared? Why did she feel as if she were caught in a cyclone? She had lived with Terra all her life, and had been intimate with the slow transition of the coughing sickness. She had watched from its onset and had seen the dramatic change it had produced in the Chief. In the last few years it had whittled Terra away from the inside, sapping her strength greedily, creating a weak frailty of the body even if it could not touch the mind which had remained as sharp and cunning as ever.

She looked over the corpse numbly, smoothing the whitened strands of hair onto the matted pillow of animal skins. It felt so brittle and dry, like the desert scrub in her hands. It was not the true form of her mother who had always shunned hair fastenings to let the wind freely wrap its invisible fingers through her long tendrils of raven hair. She relaxed Terra’s wrinkled jaw with fingertips that were surprisingly steady and then unclenched the wiry hands, which still tightly clawed around the old woolen blanket like talons.

Zha felt as if surely she was being cheated and deceived by this illusion, this old woman who resembled her mother but surely could not be. It wasn’t so long ago that Terra was long considered the most beautiful woman of all of the tribes. Her suitors came from the most distant and unlikely places. Tribals, savages, wanderers, city dwellers, wastelanders, outlanders, it didn’t matter; they all came to try their hand at winning her heart.

Her face was far lovelier than the fabled woman who started a war. Terra could stop one. Of course, her powers of diplomacy weren’t merely won on looks alone, and she had always been the smartest of them as well. That is what had set her tribe above the rest...but now, now she was as unanimated and lifeless as fallen timber and her legacy had drifted to her progeny.

The young woman swallowed hard, finding the source of her anger even though she had not actively sought it. Her mother had left her, left her in charge of a band of people as sick, or destined to be as sick as she had been. There was no direction that seemed feasible. There were no final charges, no final directions from the old chief to the new. There weren’t any solutions or choices; there wasn’t even anything that could be done differently. Zha could only continue to do the things Terra had done; send hunting parties, raiding parties, supervise rationing, solve the hundreds of unforeseen problems, which would certainly arise. None of these actions would help anyone in the long run. Eventually, everyone in this village would lie in their own deathbed coughing their final cough.

Zha bowed her head, realizing that she had accepted this destiny many years ago, even before the countless plagues and wars adding up wrecked what little hope the survivors clung to. Terra had reminded her often that Zha would one day follow her as chief, she had molded her for it since birth, and yet she was not nearly prepared enough for the responsibility. Zha realized with a heaviness in her heart that she had always resisted the obligation, and had forged her own life, putting thoughts of leadership so far away in the secreted recesses of her mind that the obligations now upon her shoulders seemed unreal.

Why had she even bothered with trying to make her own way? The reason was simple enough years ago when she took the first few steps away from the camp’s borders. Terra hadn’t needed her. No one here needed her. They had their beloved Chief. That woman had a fire inside of her that burned so strong and so bright, it seemed inextinguishable, and in Zha’s mind, her mother had been immortal, far too defiant and healthy to ever succumb to death’s black embrace.

She hadn’t ever wanted to become chief. It was too much of a responsibility for everyone to depend on her. It wasn’t too much of a burden to be disappointed with herself, but to have the entire tribe angry with her was unbearable. Her mother had never asked her if being a leader was something she wanted, but it was so much more frustrating than that. Zha realized, with a newfound twinge of guilt, that she hadn’t even wanted to remain here as a member of the tribe. She had fooled herself well by stowing away the thoughts of this birthright, suppressing it further and further throughout the years, and oh how easy it was to do as her legs took her to places none of the tribe had ever imagined existed.

Nothing could compare to the euphoric feeling of discovering a hidden cache of supplies nearly untouched by the Fall. None of the tribe had ever complained about her chosen profession either. She had brought them toothbrushes, combs, coins, uncountable treasures and trinkets, and had traded the surplus so well that it had catapulted the tribe into incomparable wealth.

She touched the simple badge on her camouflage jacket with reverence. Being a Ranger was the only thing that had given her purpose. It had set her free. It had made her feel like so much more than a great woman’s daughter. She needn’t answer to anyone when she wandered the wastelands and mapped ruins and features that had changed since the pre-war maps were made. She’d taught herself how to play the trading game with the foreign caravans and mixed freely with many of the other tribes and city folk who formed their own communities in the sparse pockets of near civilization within the region. It had strengthened her own people to be able to have an ambassador who spoke the crude language of trade and knew the land and its people so thoroughly. It had just seemed to be her true calling and she was devastated at having to give it up for a future that instilled no faith in hope.

Now her freedom was gone, and she would be bound to this burden as Terra had been before her. When Zha looked up once more at the corpse she saw herself at forty; too many worry lines to count, all luster faded from her hair, skin and eyes, a crippled body and a troubled mind. Dead.

You’re angry with her. Yama said faintly, self assuredly, from the other side of the death bed.

Startled, Zha tensed, having forgotten he sat across from her. She looked up at him and shook her head numbly as he dropped his own dark gaze and sat his chin upon his clasped hands.

I’m not. She protested firmly, wishing that she spoke the truth. Yama would comfort her no matter how callous or insensitive her feelings were. He would make her see the rationality of her thought and the worth of her soul, but self-comfort was her last desire. She was angry with Terra for leaving her, for dropping the troubles on the entire tribe upon her shoulders. She was disgusted with herself at such selfishness and wished only to wallow in that self-disgust for a while. If she could feel so revolted and infuriated with herself that she could no longer feel the loss of her mother’s passing.

She exhaled slowly, rubbed her face hard and then returned her gaze to the dead woman that separated her from Yama. There would be time to ponder her own misery later, plenty of it in fact, and Yama’s gentle accusation had made her very aware of that fact. Right now, she should grieve for Terra. She had certainly earned it. She willed her tears to come, but they refused to cooperate, and that made her feel like even more of a villain.

Zha thought about Terra in life, and recalled not so long ago that the thin, mohawked woman with the crooked grin and animated hands conversed at the evening fires, telling great tales of days long passed. She told them so often of the days when her ancestors roamed the lands North of their home, content and rich in the earth’s bounty. Her stories of life long before the Fall were almost unbelievable, and yet every eye sparkled as Terra spoke of the legendary Buffalo they hunted to the far North, of the tipis they dwelled in to the East, the bountiful fishing and foraging in lands once covered in green.

They lived on the land, had been good to it, and in return the land had been good to them. It had never failed to produce enough food or materials to live comfortably. Then the outlanders had come, made false promises and lies, brought disease and deception, utterly conquering her ancestors and taking their very land. That was the beginning of the end, and end that had stretched over two hundred years until at last the Fall had ended their reign and threw all of the people back into the days of buckskins and bows, except...they had ruined the land in the process of their catastrophic war.

She had told them the facts, Zha had believed that whole-heartedly, but she also told them that times had changed. The time for pointing fingers and shouting blame was over; instead they should embrace one another. Terra’s tribe was her life. It didn’t matter that almost none of the people within her tribe were even partly aboriginal Americans. What mattered was that they were now one people united, huddled together for protection and kinship.

Zha thought of the great amount of work Terra had done, and her parents before her. She recalled the beloved stories of her grandparents. They had taught their daughter to hunt and fish, to track and forage. They had kept ancient ways alive by their ways and their words over blazing fires as their own ancestors had for centuries. They instilled their tradition in Terra’s heart and it had never faded, it had only grown in the hearts of others as a consequence. The former Chief had been a remarkable protégé to her parents who in the onset of the Fall had founded the tribe and now it’s dying breath was Zha’s legacy.

Zha knew with a painful certainty that she was not the only one who doubted the strength of her ancestral line. The bond of the band, the very beginnings had been well laid by her grandparents. Her mother had only enforced it as she embraced all of the cultures, ethnic lines and religions of those in the tribe and magically wove them into their own new culture. Zha wondered hesitantly if she would be the one to unravel it. That scenario seemed an almost obvious fate. Her heart wasn’t in it. Her head wasn’t in it. If those reasons were not enough, all she had to do to completely convince herself of a disaster was to visit the shelters of the sick and dying people that comprised the Ghost Blade clan.

The ranger closed her eyes, picturing her mother only a couple of years ago. The daughter was coming back from a long journey to the eastern rivers and the mother had sensed her presence before she’d even hit camp. There was yet another gift she seemed to have not passed on to Zha. She knew things, sensed them, both good and troublesome. It was like the woman either had an extra way of perception that few understood, or the very spirits whispered things to her that only she could discern. Zha couldn’t even begin to explain it. It was far easier to simply chalk it up as another shortcoming, another ability she lacked.

Zha closed her eyes, letting a past image present itself again to her. The chief had emerged from her cold weather home, a large tipi, which bellowed welcoming smoke through its gaping top hole. Wrapping herself in blankets once colorfully patterned, the chief smiled easily. The fall winds picked up then, as if responding to the relief of the chief at seeing her child home safely and it whipped through her dark hair like a thousand unseen caresses. Terra closed her eyes and sighed, loving the feel of the wind through her hair more than almost anything.

Zha remembered thinking that as she came down the steep embankment into camp. She remembered feeling that everything was perfect in that moment. That was how Zha would remember her, always beautiful and strong, smiling peacefully with her moccasins laced tightly over her fatigues.

She was the complete balance between the cruel reality of the wastes and the legend of rich tribal heritage long past. Zha wanted to be just like her in that moment, but now, when it counted the most she simply fell short in every aspect. The bottom line was simple enough, her heart was not with the tribe as the chief’s before her had been.

Is she free now? Zha asked, breaking the thick silence with a parched voice. Or is she just gone? The only other living soul in the room was Yama, and his response was slow to come, for he had been pondering the same question.

If you believe there is a better existence, then I know that woman must be there. His voice was mournfully tender as he mentally calculated his own next steps.

Zha knew that he had acquired his own burdens with Terra’s passing. Any pain of hers was a pain of his that he took willingly and without deliberation. Between the departed chief’s final needs and Zha’s lingering lamentations, she could see him steeling himself for the coming hardships.

Yama had developed his own faith over time, and though it could not truly be defined, there were aspects that clearly were derived from ancient far eastern religions blended with the unnamed spirituality of the indigenous people of this very land. He was strict and disciplined in his meditations and he actively sought the guidance and advice of the spirits. Yama wanted more than anything to believe in reincarnation, that one would continue to exist on this earth in various lives until a final enlightenment was attained.

There was however, a huge hole in his theory that had not escaped Zha’s critical eye. If people were reincarnated after death, where were they all now? The Fall had ended billions of lives by estimation of the self proclaimed historians and philosophers in the wastes. Yama didn’t have a direct answer for her, but he still cherished his beliefs and inner wisdom.

It’s not for ourselves that we make up such stories of heaven or rebirth. He said finally. It’s for those who care about us. It’s to comfort our loved ones. I cannot assure you of heaven or hell, nor of anything in between. I won’t try and argue that we come back in a different life. I know though, that we cannot simply blink out of existence. There is a spirit, a soul, and that cannot die. I know you believe this as much as I do.

No matter what awaits us after this life, I know that she was a great gift to us here on this earth. I know she will be rewarded for it. If you search your heart, find your own beliefs, I know you will agree. He hoped his words weren’t forceful. He hoped the context of his message adequately conveyed his convictions.

What am I going to do? She asked him, biting her lower lip and raising her eyes long enough to sweep over him. There is so much to do, and yet what difference will anything truly make? Where do I go from here? How can any of us continue as we were?

Yama understood exactly what she meant. The tribe was dying. Most of them had the same sickness as Terra in one degree or another, and it would only worsen with time. This damned sickness took all of their strength and left them lying on the floors of their huts and tipis shivering, dehydrated, unable to tend to their children or their work that was in such desperate need of attention. Those who were healthy enough ended up taking on the burdens of the sick and it drove them into their own state of weariness which quickly became comparable with the diseased.

We will do what we must. Yama insisted, his voice, which he had kept a soft velvet tone, slipped and took on an air of iciness and gravel for a moment. I had hoped I wouldn’t have to remind you that you aren’t alone on this. Quickly, he buried the disappointment and his warmth and strength took over again. The grit in his voice all but disappeared as he reached across the corpse to take Zha’s hand. I am with you always. We will make it through.

She wanted to thank him. She wanted to assure him that she knew he would be strong for her when she could not be strong for herself. Her lips trembled slightly and hesitantly as she struggled to word her appreciation and an apology.

Don’t even say you’re sorry. He cautioned with a faithful smile and a gentle squeeze on her hand.

She hated when he did that, when he knew instinctively what she would say and robbed her of her words before they could come. I was going to say we will have to leave the cabin now. She lied. It was easy enough to grasp another problem and present it to him.

Yama sighed heavily and his strong grasp faltered momentarily. That cabin had meant a lot to both of them. They had spent a couple of years now fixing up and securing the little hideaway that had been constructed probably sometime around the turn of the century. It had been a gift to Zha from Wenatchee’s mayor, a city they regularly patrolled and defended. Leaving it as well as their responsibilities as the city’s Rangers was a devastating blow, and bitter as the pain was for him he knew it wounded her even deeper.

Let me take care of it. He offered. And the Chief. He added, unable to keep his gaze away from the body between them for long. He released Zha’s hand reluctantly and stood slowly, feeling his muscles protest and hearing his left knee audibly pop, stiff and angry with the movement.

Go rest. You’ve gone too many days without it. He motioned towards the back of the small shelter. It was the most luxurious building in the camp, holding two rooms.

In fact, Zha hadn’t eaten or slept well even before Yama’s dream of her mother’s worsening health had come. He was able to sense her apprehension, just a vague feeling that something was not right. She hadn’t spoken about it, but when they lay down to sleep in the newly discovered mini mart sheltered within the deep crags of the Cascades the answer to her unnamable concerns came to him. He’d bolted upright that night, screaming the Chief’s name until the shouts became sobs and his eyes burned with grief. That had been only two days ago. He’d seen her with his inner eye, much like a flower in the arid desert, wilting and then simply blowing away on the winds.

They had marched day and night back to their home. Zha had insisted, and though Yama certainly didn’t object it did wear them doggedly to accommodate such a frenzied pace.

They had arrived only last night and Terra had been coherent enough to greet them, to politely see that Yama was fed and sent to a restful sleep in the back room. She insisted the visions of her illness were greatly exaggerated, but Yama had smelled the decrepit stench of death all around him.

He lie in the back room unable to sleep as Zha lay down beside her mother a final time and the two women whispered all throughout the night. They reminisced of happier times and with silent tears they each spoke keywords, which would inspire memories and gentle laughter, until the simple act of laughing brought forth great and terrible rushes of coughing from the depths of Terra’s lungs.

His eyes felt aflame and his vision blurred as he looked down on the two women and wondered how long it had been since any of them had rested. Terra was resting now, finally, and there would be no disturbing her. He wasn’t sure about his own last rest, as the days and nights seemed to blend together into one long confusing blur. He knew Zha had been restless and moody, unable to sleep even before that. Soon, if she didn’t sleep she would begin to hallucinate, and that was the last thing they needed. She needed respite, and that was all there was too it. If it took a bit of deception and skullduggery, so be it.

Please? He asked again. I’m not saying these things will remove your sorrow, but you have to be able to think clearly.

I can’t leave her. Zha whispered, shaking her head in protest as he had imagined. She could not stop staring at the woman and seeing her own lifetime pass before her eyes, picturing herself laying in the same deathbed in a number of years. He knew her thoughts as if they were his own, for he feared seeing her there as well.

Will you at least drink something? He tried once more. She did not respond and so he took her lack of an answer as an affirmation. It was then that he committed a small crime against her, but one in which he saw as completely forgivable. He had anticipated her stubbornness and had asked the healer ahead of time for something to induce sleep. He also had the foresight to powder it and stir it into her canteen. He crossed the room with it in his steady hand and stood over her, waiting for her to take it.

She received it and drank of it deeply and with great thirst. Yama tensed wondering if the medicines within it would add a questionable flavor. She swept away every drop of the intoxicant as Yama looked away; rocking on his heels in an almost comically innocent gesture. She probably thought the drink would keep her more awake.

She still sat there though as the minutes passed, shaking her head ever slightly, as if stuck in a continual loop of thought. When her head began to bob and droop he suppressed a look of relief and lifted her, expecting a great protest but only finding that her arms willingly went about his neck, her docile form limp in his grasp. She didn’t take her eyes from the body until a barrier of a tin wall physically separated her line of sight. She wept then, but only a couple of silent tears fell upon Yama’s bare shoulder. It was always easier to succumb to grief in someone’s caring embrace.

Awkwardly, the muscular man knelt. He still held the intoxicated woman as he spread a clean enough blanket over the aged mattress to conceal at least forty years worth of blood and urine. Tens of children not yet properly trained to go outside had left their marks upon the now faded gray and white striped mat. Countless stillbirths and wounds of the villagers also stained the resting place. Yama knew he had put his share of piss and blood into the mattress himself, and was sure Zha had as well. Nothing in this whole camp told their story better than this dilapidated mattress, he decided, and now Zha’s tears would fall upon it too.

He sat her gently upon it and caught her head before it toppled and crashed onto the pillows. Pulling the twin sticks from the coil of hair upon her head he managed a fleeting smile, a reassuring one. When her hair cascaded he smoothed and untangled it with his hands and guided her head back down to the mat when she tried to resist, still uncoiling her hair until it stretched out to its full length at her hips. He hoped it would relieve even a little of the tension she undoubtedly felt in her head. She closed her eyes then, just as he sighed aloud, wishing she would just sob and get the mourning over with. He knew it would make her feel better. Instead of telling her that, he simply covered her up with the cleanest blanket he could manage to find and then stood to leave.

I should be taking care of her. Zha objected, lifting her head and brushing away a tear.

You should be taking care of yourself. There isn’t anything here that I can’t do. He promised her. I have responsibilities too.

She lay there almost as motionless as Terra until his mournful gaze became too painful to bear. When she finally closed her own eyes to escape his gaze she felt as if she were caught up in a hurricane that spun her around out of control, and she felt as if she were falling again and again. She was unconscious before Yama could even assure her of the next days to come, his voice and words tumbled in their familiar soft gritty tone around in her mind as she transcended into an intoxicated hibernation.

Death was not uncommon in the Ghost Blades village. Funerals had evolved over the years, and by modern terms it usually consisted of a family privately mourning and disposing of the body. The rest of the tribe’s members were free to come and pay their respects during the ceremony, or to stay in the lowlands of the village. There were no standards of uniformity, which demanded regard.

Of course, the rest of the tribe made themselves readily available to pitch in and help the mourning family. Sometimes that entailed taking on extra children, providing extra food or simply giving the survivors a familiar shoulder in which to cry on.

Terra had been their chief for so long that no one could recall proper etiquette on the final ceremony of a beloved leader. Yama had not ever even known another leader in his lifetime, and so in lieu of formality and tradition he took the approach, which seemed most natural and respectful in his heart.

It was common that a corpse was stripped of its possessions. Any valuables, any clothing were taken and dispersed as needed to the living. Many times, the dead person’s hair was cut and braided into cords and ropes. Those with pre war dentistry had their fillings pried to be used as currency, but of course so few survived that remembered the days before the Fall, and any who did had likely ripped their own teeth out to barter with long ago.

I can’t do any of that for you, Terra. Yama said quietly as he sank into the chair Zha had occupied moments ago. He chose to forgo these procedures out of respect. He wanted no act he committed to show anything less than undying reverence.

Biting his lip hard enough to drawn blood, he braided a thin strand of her hair. Holding its end tightly he sniffed back a tear before reaching into a cargo pocket to produce his hunting knife and severing the strand of hair. He formed it into a loop and secured it then held it up towards Terra. This is for Zha. He explained, and then placed it into his breast pocket for safekeeping.

I know if you were here now, you would be accusing me of wasting time. He said slowly and stood to retrieve a recently laundered pair of sheets. He cut them into thin strips as he stood at the foot of her bed and began to wish he were not alone. He half grinned looking at Terra and imagined her telling him that he wasn’t alone at all.

We all knew the spirits walked with you, spoke with you. He nodded, looking down at her. I hope you will walk with me now. I know you’ll be beside Zha, and I’ll make her listen, Terra, to whatever you have to say. She hates herself right now, you know. She hates thinking of staying, hates thinking of going. Sometimes I don’t know what to say to her, and right now I don’t know how to make it any better.

He gently began wrapping the body feet first, careful to hide any sign of flesh or clothing. He took great care to be respectful and honorary when he did so, and he made quiet conversation that he would have let no one else hear.

I know you wanted me to take care of her, be with her. Maybe the only person that wanted it more than you did was me, but to tell you the truth Terra, I feel a coming darkness. She’s pulling away, and I’m not sure how to hold onto her anymore.

I know you worry about her, about all of us. She may be confused, but she won’t just walk away. I know it. Yama sobbed then, dropping the remainder of the wrappings onto the floor and sinking back into the chair. His thoughts were contradictory, and he half expected the dead woman to sit up, cock her eyebrow curiously at him and chuckle at the way he minced words.

Okay. I’ll be honest. He confided to the silent figure. I have never loved anything the way I love her. I have never wanted anything more than I do her, but it’s not enough. I’m not what she wants. The tribe isn’t what she wants. I’m afraid, I’m afraid of what she’ll do. What if she does leave? What will I do? What is my greater duty? Is it Zha or the tribe? I wish I had asked you that before, but I bet I know what you would say. A combination of a laugh and a sob choked Yama and he covered his mouth unsure if he were laughing or crying. You’d look at me and tell me that I already knew the damn answer, then you’d wink and tell me to stop wasting your time. I’m sure you’d be torn between giving me a hug or a kick in the ass.

His tears fell freely for several minutes, and once he’d finally wiped them away he stood, going back to the task of wrapping Terra tightly. His vision blurred several times during the course of the project and when the time came to cover her face he could no longer see straight. His final act was to retrieve her tribal leader’s insignia, a necklace adorned with feathers, shells, spent ammo casings and various other trinkets around her neck. He sat at the edge of the bed and took a long moment to compose himself before taking the next step. Zha was chief, he did not dispute that, but tonight, and any other time she needed him to, he would be chief. She might be furious with him when she woke and found Terra had been taken care of, but he believed she would be relieved as well.

When he began to feel as if the walls were closing in, he pressed the rusted old door open and staggered out into the bright sunlight. The handful who had gathered outside to chant prayers greeted Yama with a variety of responses from silent looks of worry to mournful wails, but all hung their heads and followed him. With a sudden flash of embarrassment he blushed at the words he had spoken to Terra moments before and knew that all of them were most likely overheard. He didn’t blame them for their curiosity, and he probably hadn’t said anything that they didn’t already know. It was a small enough community and his relationship with Zha had been a popular topic of conversation for long enough, he just hoped his words hadn’t made her look weak in such a crucial time. Ashamed, he broke away from them and sat quietly beside the river, waiting for Zha to wake.

When the Shaman’s entourage began beating the drums, he looked towards his Chief’s dilapidated dwelling and frowned mournfully until Zha peered through the threshold. That was his que to begin his grim procession. Brushing gently past the new chief, Yama collected the former leader and prepared himself. He set his vision on the highlands and all but put his kinsmen out of his mind. They grew in numbers as he passed their huts and tipis, their cooking fires and sun beaten gardens, making a grim caravan of mourners that led up the steep banks to the already erected pyre above.

When a clan member died, it was quite often in the harshest periods of winter when the ground was too cold to dig. Even in the summer, the majority of the soil, even upon the riverbanks was too rocky and full of debris to create a proper grave; anything that could be dug was reserved for those who attempted to grow crops. The land is for the living, not for the dead. Terra had said once and it had become law. It had come to be under her reign that the dead were disposed of by fire.

The western plateau that overlooked the bend of the river had become the customary funeral site. A strip of land, scarred and blackened by too many pyres was the first noticeable feature from miles away. It had become a sacred site so high in the protective basalt cliffs that towered over the village. Yama began to softly chant as he cautiously scaled the weather-beaten natural ramp of mud and stones towards it.

He understood, as he studied the layout of the dead lands so carefully, why it was a spiritual place. They didn’t simply burn corpses there; they laid their people to rest. The dead stood watch here on this pass and when an eastbound wind swept across the plains from the mountain above it brought the soft murmurs of ghosts descending upon the village. He had always felt that, but now he knew it.

The tall, muscular Ranger placed the body of the departed chief upon the carefully constructed pyre. There was nothing ornamental about it, it was purely functional, but it had been constructed with great respect. Yama bowed low to the chief once she was laid to rest, and everyone in observance followed his lead, scraping nearly to the ground as they did so. Weariness and sorrow took their toll on him and he crumbled, Zha’s sturdy grasp saving himself from falling over on his butt, just barely. He knelt upon a knee and held the position while Jeanyar; the Shaman, spent the reserves of their precious fuel on the timbers that had been gathered from far away.

While Jeanyar spoke of Terra’s life, Yama zoned in and out, catching a few of the words and mulling them over. He wondered if anyone there could actually pay full attention to the beautiful but equally long-winded speech. There was too much heaviness in the air to even breathe, let alone focus on everything that Jeanyar spoke of. Yama was no stranger to last words. He had been through too many to count, and as he bent down in the dirt, awaiting the end of this one he struggled hard to remember the faces of loved ones long past.

He could nearly remember his mother’s face, dark and rich like the old trees in the forest he and Zha longed to explore together. Her hair had been black as winter’s night and twined into intricate, thin ropes of dreads. Her eyes, even though also dark in color had a shine and sparkle that reflected a silvery white glow when she looked down at him with love, but he had not seen that face since he was a boy. His mother’s visage came and went in the spans of a heartbeat and it was replaced with Terra, shooting him a mischievous grin as she always did, no matter if he had done right or wrong.

When Jeanyar placed the torch into his hand he let a low pitched sob escape his lips, and when he silenced himself by pressing them together into a straight line his eyes watered profusely. With a simple movement of his wrist the pyre was lit and the weeping began. Jeanyar began the chant, which would set her spirit free, and when Yama was able he joined in, a gruff voice droning meekly in the background. He rose then, willing his voice to work harder, to sing, and to give him a focus besides death. It was his responsibility to do this after all, to set her spirit free. He felt Zha stand beside him but her voice failed her, choked with sobs. He took her hand and raised his voice higher, booming for the both of them as he searched the darkening sky for a glimmer of a ghost.

When it was over, he walked Zha silently back to the village, allowing her some time among her mother’s possessions. He wiped futilely at a collection of tears that stained her cheek. More were sure to flow and replace them.

Before his own tears could begin, Yama forced himself down to the outskirts of the village to sit on top of the single rock in camp. It was a gray boulder with smooth contours, and easily could fit three men on it, but for the most part it was known as Yama’s thinking rock and was seldom used for any other purpose. He climbed onto it and hugged his knees, letting his head droop onto them with a slight thud.

He closed his eyes and let the buzzing conversations drift to him. Each tongue now seemed to wag impatiently about the uncertainty of the future. Many portions of the conversation that made their way were tinted with uneasiness in regards to Zha. Would she leave them? Could she be even half the woman Terra was? Sure, she knows her way around, but being able to shoot a gun and out drink a man doesn’t make a leader.

Yama scowled but remained silent. Talking, disagreeing, arguing was no way to alleviate fears. Surely, these people had valid concerns. He wanted to tell them that their concerns were unwarranted, that of course Zha would stay, would be the best-damned chief they had ever seen, but he couldn’t be sure of it himself. He knew Zha couldn’t stand being tied here, and maybe that was the sole area where they differed. If he’d had his way, they would have officially paired and would be leading the Ghost Blades together, but he had the strong feeling that there was too much change and adversity in the wind for any such thing.

Yama was overwhelmed with desperate longing for the old days. It didn’t seem like so long ago that he could sit on this rock and look out over the bend of land to watch the people of his tribe cook, grow food, and bring in game. They had been hunters, trappers, traders and warriors. They had been valiant people, noble and rich with laughter and family. It had not been an easy life, but they had gotten by, nearly seven hundred of them working together for the betterment of all.

Scarcely could a day go by without watching a dog run excited circles around its young master or mistress, eagerly yelping and performing for treats of dried bear or deer. Now the voices of those children and dogs were but memories. In fact any dog the people might find was lured in with scraps only to end up within the cooking pot rather than getting a taste of its treasures. Even Yama’s own Shepherd met its fate in this way two winters ago.

There were no more playful puppies. There were no more educated, vibrant children. There was hardly anyone at all. Zha’s last count had brought the tribe up to seventy-eight. Seventy-Seven now, Yama realized