Death: Genesis

“This is unwise,” spat Raku Tomasi, stomping his hooves in a petulant show of irritation. He gestured to the gathered leaders, growling, “We are the People. We do not bow to two-legged abominations!”

Rasa loomed over the much smaller centaur and glared down at him. That was all it took to quench the fires in his heart. He didn’t cower – not precisely – but he was cowed nonetheless. She raised her voice, but she didn’t shout. She didn’t need to. Even at a normal volume, her voice carried effortlessly throughout the spacious tent as she said, “The signs are clear. The giants have fallen. The Knights stir. The savior has come. To deny it is to deny our oldest prophecies.”

“The prophecies never spoke of a human,” Raku insisted, regaining some of his vigor. “He is not the one.”

“I agree with your first point,” she said, crossing her muscular arms. “Yet on the second, I do not.”

“Senseless!”

“How can a human lead us?!”

“The People will never be tamed!”

Rasa let the gathered centaurs – elders all – argue like children. They should have known better. They ought to have been mature enough to see things clearly, rather than let appearances taint their opinions. That was asking too much, though. The Council of Elders had long since fallen prey to their own prejudices and preconceived notions. Expecting them to suddenly become reasonable was a false hope. Still Rasa watched silently as they worked themselves into a fervor, kicking their hooves like foals and screaming about the sanctity of centaur sovereignty.

It was all so ridiculous.

Because Rasa knew the truth that they refused to see. She had known it since the moment she’d met Ezekiel, and the brief war against the hill giants had served to cement her certainty.

Whether the Council saw it or not was irrelevant. Even Rasa’s opinion didn’t truly matter. Because the prophecy didn’t require their acquiescence. It said nothing about their acceptance. It only said that a powerful warrior would come and put an end to the conflict with their ancestral enemies. Then, that same warrior would submit himself to the Rite of Leadership, and when he emerged, he would lead the centaurs to unmatched greatness. There were even some interpretations of the prophecy – given by a long-dead seer – that mentioned ascension.

Finally, Rasa had had enough. So, she stamped her hoof, letting the barest hint of her Path of Authority out. The ground shook, and the walls of the tent flapped in an invisible wind. More importantly, the gathered Council ceased their bickering.

“I do not need your approval, acquiescence, or acceptance,” she said. “The prophecy is clear. Ezekiel is the Spear of the People, and he will strike out at our enemies and lead us to greatness. This is my declaration.”

“But he is human!”

“He is not,” Rasa stated firmly. “He looks like a human, but he is no more human than you or I. Likely much less.”

“How can you know?” Raku sneered.

It was in times like those that Rasa found it difficult to believe that they were siblings. In terms of their basic features, they looked alike, but regarding their temperaments, they could not have been more different.

And Rasa knew that Raku envied her.

He always had, though he’d long tried to hide it. His efforts were for naught, considering that he opposed her decisions at every turn. Usually, he cowered behind the barest pretense of doing what was best for the herd, but she – and everyone else – knew precisely what motivated him. Still, he had some modicum of support among the herd’s non-combatants, so she had little choice but to humor his borderline insubordination.

“The Seer has spoken.”

“Then let him speak to us!” Raku bellowed, raising his arms and turning in circles. His sycophantic supporters cheered. The rest of the Council of Elders – all twenty-two of them – remained silent. However, even the seven who’d thrown their lot in with Raku were surprising. Rasa intended to do something about that, but now was not the time. Not when her position was already so tenuous.

“The Seer does not speak to anyone but the Mistress of the Herd,” Rasa stated. “It has ever been so.”

There was a chorus of agreement, and for good reason. Indeed, it was one of their oldest traditions. The Seer – a feeble, old stallion named Ekan Tor – was almost entirely mute. He spoke to no one but his wife, who then passed his words on to the rest of the herd. As the Mistress of the Herd, Rasa was the only other exception to this rule, but even her ears had only been graced by Ekan Tor’s words on a handful of occasions.

One of those had occurred the night before when the Seer had told her of Ezekiel’s true nature. The man was not the human he appeared to be. Instead, he was something else. A blend of corruption, divinity, and humanity that, as far as Rasa was aware, had never before existed. The Seer had also revealed that Ezekiel was meant to take his place as the first and only Spear of the People.

But that wouldn’t happen until after he completed the Rites.

“You would allow an outsider to usurp your position?” her brother asked incredulously. “A human?”

“He is no human,” Rasa repeated.

“So you say.”

“So the Seer has said.”

“Only to you.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I am the Mistress of the Herd, brother. Do you doubt my integrity? If so, feel free to challenge me. You may attempt the Rites yourself. You had that chance once, did you not? What happened then?”

He flinched away, presumably at the memory. The official story – and the one he’d stuck to for most of his life – was that an injury had prevented his challenge of the Rites. However, everyone knew the truth. Raku was, at the core of his very being, a coward. It had ever been so, and he’d feigned an injury so he wouldn’t have to challenge the potentially deadly Rites. No one ever pointed that out, though. It was easier to let him save face by pretending he would have gone – and succeeded – had he remained healthy.

“If I were still a colt, I would,” he insisted.

“But you are not,” Rasa said. “That means that I am still the Mistress of the Herd. I rule here. My word is law until someone proves me unworthy of holding such authority. And I say that the man Ezekiel is no human. I say that the Seer has declared him Spear of the People. I say that he will challenge the Rites, and if he succeeds, I will step aside so that he can lead the Herd to dominance!”

A few of the gathered centaurs stamped their hooves in agreement, but the reaction was more subdued than Rasa would have liked. However, it was not unexpected, given that she had just suggested giving control of the herd over to an outsider. Even if Ezekiel was not human – and he wasn’t, she was certain – he still wasn’t one of them. As such, it would take more than a war against the giants to establish his credentials. It would come, though. She was as sure of that as she’d ever been of anything in her long life.

A colt stuck his head into the tent and announced, “He comes!”

Rasa nodded, then backed away to stand in the center of the tent. The rest of the council arrayed themselves to her flanks. Even Raku knew better than to show anything less than solidarity, and he adopted a placid expression as he took his place at the end of the line to Rasa’s left. He was the weakest among them, and yet, he still had influence – a rarity among the centaurs.

She shook her head, pushing thoughts of her contrary brother aside as she readied herself to meet the man who was destined to usher the herd to unmatched prominence.

* * *

Zeke had fought alongside the centaurs for months in the war against the hill giants, but he still wasn’t comfortable being surrounded by so many of them. Still, as he walked through the camp – or mobile city of tents, really – he resisted the urge to adopt his colossal form. It was more regal, more powerful, and it obviated the need for a wardrobe update. And yet, it was also aggressive, especially since the centaurs almost assuredly associated it with battle. So, he strode forth in his cambion form, shoulders back and looking neither right nor left.

The centaurs, for their part, chose not to bar his way.

Perhaps that was because Silik marched alongside him to his left, while Pudge had taken a position on the other side. The pair had developed a reputation of their own, and the centaurs wanted nothing to do with barring their paths. Behind Zeke came Jasper, Eta, Kianma, and Sasha. The others, like Bracken and Kala, remained within the tower. Neither had wanted to stray far from their responsibilities, and the dwarf had plainly said that he had better things to do than to play with a bunch of horses.

The city of tents was much as Zeke would have expected from his previous experiences with centaur camps. The tents themselves were made from multi-colored cloth, and most were large enough to accommodate even his colossal form. A necessity, he reasoned, considering the size of the centaurs.

But the people themselves were a lot more varied than he’d expected. Not only were there a wide variety of colors and patterns in evidence, but there was a wide range of body types as well. Some were no bigger than ponies, while others were twice the size of even the largest draft horses had been back on Earth.

“Your experience is with their warriors. Now, you’re seeing the breadth of their society,” Eveline pointed out. “Craftspeople, merchants, hunters – they don’t need the physical capabilities of those they send to battle. You could learn from this as you guide the kobolds forward.”

“I’m sure Kianma and the Broodtenders have that well in hand,” Zeke said within his own mind. He had no interest in involving himself with that level of minutiae. He’d only just grown accustomed to being their leader, and he didn’t want to drown in the details. Besides, he chose to trust his subordinates to do what was necessary.

“Sure. That’s what it is. You’re just delegating as a leadership strategy and not because you’d rather jump off a cliff than deal with that kind of thing,” Eveline said with a mental smirk.

Zeke didn’t respond. Instead, he continued on his route through the tent city, observing everything out of the corner of his eyes. Yet, he saw nothing new before he finally caught sight of the grandest tent in the city. It was at least fifty feet tall, constructed of bright red cloth, and bore a triangular flag depicting a galloping centaur at its apex. Zeke followed his guide – a small, sleek mare with wheat-colored hair and matching fur – through the tent flap.

Inside, Zeke saw the Mistress of the Herd, Rasa Tomasi at the center of the tent. Arrayed to either side were fifteen other centaurs, both male and female. Most wore no expression, but there were a few that glared at Zeke with outright hostility. The space was lit by flickering torches, though Zeke felt no heat from the ones near the door. He also noticed that they emitted no smoke.

“It’s like magic,” Eveline deadpanned.

“Shut up.”

Zeke stepped forward, Pudge and Silik to his sides. Finally, he stopped in front of the Mistress of the Herd and said, “I have come to request an extension of our alliance to fight against a mutual enemy, the Knights of Adontis.”

“What quarrel to we have with them? They remain in their forest, while we do not stray from our plains,” she said. “It has been so for decades.”

“How long do you think that will last?” Zeke asked. “They have already enslaved thousands – perhaps tens of thousands – of beastkin. Elves, too. They view anyone who isn’t human as little better than monsters. Or beasts. Do you believe they will spare you and yours? No. They will come for you, sooner rather than later, I am certain. It’s better to take the fight to them.”

That much was especially true for the centaurs. They didn’t build castles or walls, and as such, they were ill-suited for a defensive war. Instead, they were swift and strong, which meant they were built for attack. Zeke was banking on them knowing their own strengths.

So, he was more than a little surprised when Rasa Tomasi said, “No. We will not continue our alliance.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we wish you to embark on the Ancient Rites. Then, after you survive the challenge, we wish to follow you.”

Zeke wanted to know more, but he was very cognizant that doing so would undermine the entire exchange. That conversation was best held in a more private environment.

“You’re learning,” Eveline said. “I thought I’d have to step in to keep you from doing something stupid.”

Zeke ignored her. Or he tried to, at least. Still, he felt an undeniable wave of satisfaction at her approval. He knew precisely how he came off. Most people would see him as a dumb brute, and having his reasoning ability acknowledged was a nice change of pace – especially from Eveline, who usually took a decidedly different and far more sarcastic approach with her commentary.

“I will do it,” he said with a slight bow of his head. Just enough to show respect – for the Mistress of the Herd as well as the Rites in question – but not so much as to establish himself as her subordinate.

“Good. Follow me, then.”

With that, the centaur turned around and walked to an exit at the back of the tent. Zeke followed, but as he did so, he couldn’t help but notice that a few of the glares – particularly from the slight stallion at the end of one of the lines – had only grown more pronounced. There wasn’t just disapproval there. It was something akin to pure hatred, though Zeke had no idea what he might’ve done to offend the centaur.

When he exited the tent, he followed the huge mare to yet another, much smaller tent that was clearly Rasa Tomasi’s residence. Once he was inside – leaving Pudge and the others outside – he asked, “So, what did you just get me into?”