Pridemaster Arhi Ghaust’s body had been adorned in the finest dark purple silk before the servants brought it to the grand pyre. A raised platform of sandstone that was charred from the previous Pridemaster’s funeral had been replenished with palm fronts that were drenched in oil on the previous night.
The grieving Feliskins of the Grenga Desert gathered the night before to say their final words to the fallen king, and bring offerings in the form of small jars of oil to anoint the fronds in their symbolic tears. But now, in the heat of the afternoon sun, the crowds awaited the procession of their new Pridemaster.
Ayuri Ghaust had weathered the worst of the Drestvin War, but had managed to come back to Drik’Kir Castle in time to be with his father during his final months. The young Feliskin saw brothers in combat with grievous wounds. He carried several of the fallen to the healers. Others, he watched, petrified, as they took their last breaths. He bathed in the blood from slaughtering scores of encroaching humans. But nothing could have prepared him for what he witnessed in Drik’Kir.
In his old age, Pridemaster Ahri had become blind-but still could not recognize his own son’s voice. Despite witnessing his son’s homecoming as one of the last festivities to behold with his own eyes.
Ayuri had arrived in Drik’Kir that evening when the underground castle was in chaos. Truth be told, he had taken over as the new Pridemaster as soon as his father lost his sight-and mind. He was settling in with the new protocols and had finished the final preparations with his father’s advisors. Once the old Pradmaster was dead, Ayuri hoped to bring a new age of expansion to his people.
Pridemaster Ahri’s death was not going to be a quiet, bedside evening, for clearly he was haunted by shadows of his past mistakes. And Pridemaster Ahri was going to fight them to the bitter end. Ayuri ordered his mate, his brother and his brother’s mate to the eastern tower. The tower that his father had reviled, despite fruitless attempts to decorate the courtyard below in the most beautiful and aromatic foliage that could thrive in the desert.
“I will only need two guards,” Ayuri assured the gathered staff and guards. “The rest of you, tend to-”
“You won’t be alone to face this, brother,” Ayuri winced at the familiar comfort of his adopted brother’s paw on his shoulder.
“What about Narhyn?” Ayuri turned to face the smaller stature of the Feliskin who shared his age.
“She and Rhen are in good paws,” Ayuri’s brother grinned.
“I think you underestimate your father,” one of the guards could not hide his concern much longer.
“He will burn out the brightest,” Ayuri sighed. “But he will burn out. You have done all you must to get him to the Sanctuary. Those doors are not meant to take the onslaught of a Son of Ghudduri. The rest of the staff must go to the East Tower. My mate will need protecting and I do not wish to lose any more of you to my father’s death throes. Guards, leave me to talk with my brother for a moment, and we will meet you at the Sanctuary.”
The servants and guards cast final concerned glances at their future Pridemaster before finally leaving Ayuri alone.
Ayuri held his brother’s gaze for several moments when they were completely alone. He was trying to piece together the right words.
His brother heaved a sigh that sounded more like a shudder of fear. “N-no...no I-I can’t-”
“I am glad you are able to stand with me to face him,” Ayuri said slowly. “But you had to know that I would ask this of you. I need your help Daesyr.”
Daesyr looked down at his own, shaking paws and balled them into fists. “He’s your father, Ayuri...I-”
“Daesyr, he was our father!”
“Ayuri?” Daesyr’s voice cut through the humid afternoon air at the Temple of Ghudduri.
Ayuri shook away the fatigue and nightmarish memory that seemed to cloud his mind. “Hm?”
Daesyr tried to paint a reassuring smile, though he too was weary. “Rhen will be fine, the cub is healthy and--well, I’m sure she would have been by your side if she could.”
Ayuri sighed, drawing a corner of his feline mouth upward in a quiet, rueful smirk. “These past few weeks have been hell for us all, Daesyr. But at least you are here. We’ll be facing the crowds alone. At least you have the choice to go to Narhyn. She needs you as well.”
“She knows that her Pridema-” Daesyr gasped, swallowing nervously.
Ayuri eased himself to his feet and grabbed a firm grip on the handle of a wooden mallet. With one powerful swing, he channeled his annoyance to smash the head against a large bronze gong that had been fastened with leather straps in the topmost room of the temple.
The loud clang seemed to make the room vibrate. Its sound carried through the chattering masses and quieted the chattering crowd.
Daesyr’s ears flattened from the sound, but also in shame. He knew when his brother was upset, but he hoped Ayuri would speak once the procession ended. Daesyr followed Ayuri’s long strides down the steps and to the main floor which witnessed countless gatherings. Many thanksgiving rituals had been performed here. So many offerings to Ghudduri had been placed upon the marble altar. But now the room was darkened and empty save for Daesyr, Ayuri, the Matrik of the Pearl Grotto and two of her acolytes.
The Matrik was a withry gold and black spotted Feliskin, much like Ayuri. She had even matched the young Feliskin in height. Her face had been painted a dark purple with red to cover her natural black tear lines. Unlike Ayrui, who wore the plain white robes to signify the birth of a new reign, the Matrik wore the mourning colors of purple as a quiet prayer to Ghudduri to take the old Pridemaster into her vision. In the Matrik’s paws, she held the red painted bronze collar that the new Pridemaster was to bear alone.
The Matrik’s closest acolyte held the lit torch while the remaining acolyte remained focused upon his prayers. The young acolyte’s paws were folded, and his words were slow, quiet, but steady. “Blessed Ghudduri, Mother Moon who gave us life…”
“You have ended your grief, Ayuri Ghaust, son of Arhi Ghaust, and grandson of the first Drik’Thir Son of Ghudduri Ayren Ghaust,” the Matrik strained her husky voice over the prayers. “Now you must be measured and judged by those you seek to rule in place of your fallen father.”
“Yes, Matrik Oryila,” croaked Ayuri.
“Kneel to bear the Collar of Khanis, for he is the angel who will walk with you on this day,” the Matrik ordered.
Daesyr watched in stolid admiration of his brother’s strength as Ayuri fell to one knee and lowered his head to the Matrik. The legend of the collar was that it came from the heavens as a fragment of Khanis’s armor--forever stained crimson by the blood of a demon, or one of his own fallen brethren. Khanis was the angel of Judgement and it was said anything red drew his attention.
Only those in the higher echelons of Drik’Thir society knew the truth. Red was a very dangerous color and it drew the attention of most-mortal and immortal. Though the Temple of Ghudduri kept a fragment of Khanis’s armor that truly fell from the heavens, the object was not large enough to drape over the neck and shoulders of a grown male Feliskin.
“May you stay your brother’s hand and have him look upon Ayuri Ghaust, son of Arhi Ghaust and grandson of the first…” the praying acolyte continued further amid the metallic tingling as Ayuri rose to his feet.
“Take the flame, and prove to them that you will carry on the legacy of Ghaust,” the Matrik said before opening the bronze gilded doors.
Daesyr stayed five paces behind his brother, his gaze cast downward and away from the gawking populace. All while Ayuri had to keep the posture he had been taught since he was old enough to walk. Ayuri was bred and trained to be the new leader, Daesyr had known that. He had to admit though, he wondered if Ghaust Feliskin blood was really molten iron.
Ayuri kept his solemn, stolid expression forward. He ignored the naysayers, the quiet sobs...the ones who reached for him to take on his burden of judgment. He kept a firm grip on the torch that threatened to extinguish at any moment. And perhaps that was part of the ceremony, Daesyr also wondered. Would Khanis not find him worthy by taking the flame? And if so, what then?
Daesyr trudged along, trying to drown out the quiet murmurs and sobs of his people that judged their future Pridemaster. He had the choice to stay behind. Rhen and Narhym bonded like sisters through their respective pregnancies. Rhen’s daughter was born a fitful, sickly cub. But if she had any of her father’s blood in her, she would earn her life soon.
The main road seemed longer than usual. Crowds flanked either side of the two brothers and were held back by either the respect of the solemn ceremony-and the presence of the guards who were prepared to shed their blood for their future Pridemaster.
Though he was instructed to ignore the gaping onlookers as well, something caught Daesyr’s eye. Among the sea of dark purple clad mourners, Daesyr caught a flash of silver…
