The Chronicles of Gebia - Tsote

CONTINUED

Chapter 1 (CONTINUED)

Standing by the river, the Emperor carefully retrieved the Olko beads from his garment. The memory of N’dwoku’s words echoed in his mind: "When you get there, the bead’s glow will start throbbing in rhythm with your heartbeat." He inspected the beads’ faint luminescence before tucking them away again.

Turning to Captain Rensoso, who stood nearby, his one-eyed gaze steady and unreadable behind a carefully crafted patch, the Emperor spoke with resolve. "I will ascend Kobewa Hill first thing tomorrow morning, but I will go alone."

"Understood, you’re eminence," Captain Manwi Rensoso responded, his voice carrying the weight of authority. He adjusted the Kurotandi archer’s medallion hanging from his neck and checked the special bow and arrow gifted to him by the Emperor.

As the Emperor began to retreat to his Imperial tent, guarded closely by four of his personal Kurotandi warriors or fangs, he called back over his shoulder, "Don’t forget..."

***

In the grip of sleep, the Emperor was thrust into a distressing nightmare. He found himself standing barefoot on the sand beside a wild, rushing river. The sky above roiled with dark clouds, crackling with lightning that illuminated the storm's fury. The heavens rumbled as though the Napata giants were hurling colossal boulders into the great Anse wall or barrier separating the Shadowlands from the great evils of the wastelands of Zuberia. The wind howled, tearing through the encroaching tempest. Vultures wheeled in a menacing circle high above, their shadows flickering over the Emperor’s anxious form.

He glanced down to see a trail of bloodied footprints meandering toward the river’s edge. Intrigued, he followed the crimson path until it vanished beneath the turbulent waters. The river surged, a ghastly red that mirrored the colour of fresh blood. As the water lapped at his feet, he reached out, only to find his hands and clothes drenched in the same sinister stain. Panic surged through him, and he recoiled from the blood-soaked water, desperately scrubbing his hands in a futile attempt to rid himself of the blood.

Suddenly, the mournful wail of a newborn baby pierced the chaos. The Emperor spun around, his gaze locking onto a figure that resembled a Yakunko warrior. The figure was fading into the dense, mist-shrouded forest.

“Hey, wait! I order you to stop!” he shouted, but the figure continued its retreat, the child clutched tightly in its arms.

Driven by urgency, the Emperor plunged into the forest, leaping over rocks, ferns, and fallen logs. His breath came in ragged bursts as he chased the elusive figure, which flickered in and out of sight among the trees. Just as he thought he’d lost it, the baby’s cries echoed from within a gaping, hollow tree trunk lying across a clearing.

Breathless and bewildered, the Emperor approached the eerie sight. The sight of a newborn left alone in such a desolate, decaying trunk seemed absurd and deeply unsettling. What kind of father would abandon their child in such a forsaken place? The thought spun in his mind, a jarring disparity to the nightmare's surreal terror.

The area was encircled by towering trees with gnarled trunks and drooping branches, their shadows stretching ominously in the storm’s dim light. The sky above rumbled as the Emperor approached with deliberate caution. He knelt beside the hollow tree trunk and peered inside, half-expecting to see the crying child. Instead, a sickening sight met his gaze: the rotting remains of a vulture and a thick layer of moss choked the hollow’s depths.

A little further through the hollow space, the emperor spotted the bloodied legs of a woman who seemed to be seated on top of the opposite end of the trunk. Her legs hung off the edge, their red-streaked complexion catching the dim light. The sight was jarring indeed—a plain contrast to the expectations of a newborn. Startled, the emperor quickly lifted his gaze to see who the woman was but, - there was no woman.

Just to be sure he wasn’t getting delusional, he crouched and checked again. And why not, he could still see the mysterious woman’s legs. However, on lifting his head, a chilling sight froze him in place.

An evil, half-dead vulture perched on the log, its beak mere inches from his face. Its hollow eyes gleamed with a sinister darkness, mirroring the depths of the Shadowlands. With a shriek, the vulture’s beak gaped open, releasing a stench that made the Emperor’s head spin. The cry seemed to call out to many others.

Without warning, the vulture lunged at him, its claws raking across his face like the talons of a nightmare. The Emperor stumbled back into the undergrowth, but before he could regain his footing, a flock of murderous vultures descended upon him. They clawed and pecked at every part of him, - lifting him high into the air before dropping him back to the ground, and attacking again.

In the midst of the savage attack, a cool, wet sensation poured over him. The relief was immediate as the vultures scattered and the nightmare dissolved into darkness. The Emperor awoke with a start, gasping for breath as though he had just returned from a fierce battle. His bed was soaked, and he sat amidst a puddle of spilled milk, his nightgown tattered and clinging to him.

Captain Rensoso stood nearby, confusion etched on his face, holding an empty jar that dripped with gazelle milk. He had followed N’dwoku’s instructions to provide this remedy for the Emperor’s night terrors.

“I am sorry, you’re eminence,” Rensoso stammered, his eyes shifting nervously. “But what is Tsote?”

“Tsote?” The Emperor echoed, bewildered. “What is Tsote...?”

“Sorry, Your Highness,” Rensoso replied, his voice hesitant. “You mentioned it thrice before waking.”

The Emperor, still disoriented, simply nodded, signalling for the captain to leave. He remained silent, grappling with the lingering echoes of the nightmare and the early light filtering through the giant trees.