50,978

I have added almost 1000 more words, and done some really minor edits. I estimate that it will be another 1500 words to complete.

I will not post anymore excerpts because then you will know the end, silly.

If you want a copy of the mostly unedited rough draft, you can say so in the comments, or you can email me at theglob@comcast.net

msc

more more more

Sylk reflected on the fact that everyone assumed The Arbiter had been eliminated. As he had walked through the crowd, he had given a dismissive “Bah” to the crowd in response to any question or solicitation from the crowd. Now Sylk realized that it had given The Arbiter the opportunity to leave and not be followed. Brilliant!

He wondered what could possibly be on those sheaves of parchment. And why were they just now called for, instead of at the beginning? More and more questions were being introduced into Sylk’s world and precious few answers. While his mind was thus occupied, his Mentor came into the hut. This startled Sylk, as he had not noticed his Mentor’s approach. And he had been trying to pay attention. Wondering when he had lost track, he decided to go to Moa’qi and ask. But, again, when he approached Moa’qi, his Mentor glided away. Disappointed, he returned to his original vantage point, and waited for The Muktai, like everyone else.

A stirring in the crowd brought him to the present, and he watched as The Muktai filed in. The first Muktai stood and announced “We will vote. Since there are four candidates, the potential exists for a tie. In such event, the persons with the most votes will remain, be that two or three people. The fourth will leave. We repeat until one man is standing.” With a smile for the crowd, and a nod to Steropé, he added, “Or woman.”

He then formally addressed the crowd, “Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”
The next Muktai stood and stated, “Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Herbalist.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

The first Muktai stated “Herbalist, you are not selected.”

Visibly relived, and heaving a sigh of release, The Herbalist rose and eagerly joined the crowd. The Muktai all filed into a different room to re-haggle the vote.

The mood in the Deciding Hut was changed. The crowd had caught its second wind. The tension and excitement was palpable. They would have a First Chair soon, and it would be of these three. As the field narrowed, alliances were shifting. While The Arbiter was still far and away considered the most obvious candidate, he was no longer touted as the obviously better candidate. Both Buitre and Steropé were beginning to have their champions. No one really knew how this was going to turn out, which was a far cry from the morning common wisdom that Moa’qi held an automatic lock on the position. Many felt a sense of ‘good riddance’ toward The Herbalist. Others were dismayed at the fact The Arbiter had not been an obvious choice, and was currently in a three-way tie.

A hush fell as The Muktai filed back in. The ritual proceeded as before, each Muktai in turn calling out their selection.

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select The Arbiter.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Steropé.”

“Tribe, I of The Muktai select Buitre.”

The first Muktai stated “Steropé, you are not selected.”

Before she could move from her seat, The second Muktai stated “Buitre, you are not selected.”

Before he or she could move from their seats, the third Muktai bellowed to the room, “Tribe, First Chair; The Muktai summon the Moa’qi and The Nominees to the Deciding Hut at once.” As one they rose and went to the center alcove. Buitre and Steropé sat in some confusion while the New First Chair rose and gave direction to people standing nearby. Runners were dispatched to retrieve the nominees and Moa’qi. Meanwhile, he and Buitre and Steropé brought the chairs of the Nominees into the center Alcove. Sylk and The Herbalist, who were still in the Deciding Hut, were pressed into service to arrange the seating.

The chairs were arranged in a stylized manner. There were three rows, alternating three chairs, five chairs and three chairs. The middle row was extended to allow for more or less even spacing. The top chair of the middle column faced down that column toward the next. That faced the same direction as did the next two. The last face back toward the head. The two outer columns were mirrors of each other. The top two faced each other. The next two face each other as well. The bottom two however were angled such that they faced the very bottom chair of the middle column. The middle column was spaced such that the outer columns could see each other without impediment.

As the Summoned Ones came into the Central Alcove, First Chair ordered the Deciding Hut cleared. This was an unpopular pronouncement. Unrest seethed through the hut. It was late, people had not eaten, it was Deepest Dark out, and the curiosity of the Tribe was bordering on insurrection. Cooler heads managed to clear the hut, but the hubbub outside seemed to just get worse. Inside the Deciding Hut, the mood was a combination of grim and confused, excited and worried.

Buitre asked, of no one in particular, “Why is Moa’qi here? You summoned the Nominees.”

First Chair replied, “Moa’qi was the first Nominee, nominated by you Buitre.”
Buitre opened his mouth, closed it.

Sylk could feel the crowd outside growing more and more restless. He commented to the room that the Tribe seemed angry. Moa’qi spoke up, saying, “Yes, Sylk, we all hear them, but cooler heads will prevail.” Until that moment no one had been paying much attention to the crowd noise, as they were occupied with impending events inside the hut. Had Moa’qi not commented on the noise, and caused everyone to focus, they probably would not have noticed the change in the crowd, and heard Gwadi’s rhyming.
Gwadi, fearing the worst, had determined to make an effort at crowd control. She was waddling about under the burden of an enormous basket of cheese, in itself presenting a comical sight. She had robbed her stores and had virtually any kind of cheese someone might ask for. She walked through the crowd, waving pungent chunks of cheese under the noses of the hungry people. At first she was reduced to just pressing hunks of cheese into people’s hands, bidding them, “Eat!” Finally people’s hunger, aroused by their olfactory sense, crowded out any sense of outrage, and they began clamoring for this or that type of cheese. Responding to her captive audience, she began singing a kind of sing-song rhyme, somewhat suggestive as all her rhymes were, and of course somewhat diverting.

“Thootr Thootr
“Rhymes with Hooter
“How could anything else be cuter
“Than a bright red rigid Thootr?”

day aftermath

Haven't typed anymore on the story, but here is an excerpt:

“In fact, sirs, I only know that Moa’qi has a reason. I do not know the reason as he would not tell me. He did explain that it would make sense at the end of the day.”

The next Muktai in order addressed him, “Sylk, why did you accept the nomination?”

“Sirs, the answer to that is very like the first.”

The next Muktai actually stood and asked, “Sylk, do you expect to be elected?”

“Sirs, I do not expect to be elected. In point of fact, I think that would be a grave mistake. I have no credibility, and there would be chaos.”

The next Muktai passed on his question, as did the next. The sixth then addressed Sylk, “Sylk, you are talented and wise. One day you will be First Chair. I foresee this. If, that is, you remain with The Tribe. That eventuality is not seen in my cards.” Mumbling low to himself he added, “Which means that you exercise considerable control over your destiny.” Louder and to the room as a whole, he added, “Today, you are not elected. Return to the crowd.” The seventh and final Muktai simply stood, and began the procession out into the main room.

Sylk followed, and kept walking past the remainder of the nominees, and into the crowd. Nodding to his mother, he kept on going out one of the entrances. He wanted to find Moa’qi, have a word, and be back in time for to witness who was among the final for the vote. Each nominee would be questioned in turn. If any one of The Muktai felt they had potential, they would return to their seats, and await either more questioning, or the actual vote. Each round of questioning could result in a narrowing of the field. Sylk felt he had plenty of time, as he perceived at least two legitimate possible First Chairs, and at least one, maybe two wild cards. Homing in on his Mentor, he broke into a trot, full of questions.

As he went running, he detected that Moa’qi went running also, but away from him! Sylk stopped, and Moa’qi stopped. Sylk started again, and Moa’qi walked away as well. Sylk angled to intercept, and his Mentor changed course to avoid. Stopping again, this time his Mentor kept walking, but in no hurry, and sort of randomly. Sylk squatted and attempted to decipher what was happening. His Mentor must know he was trying to meet him. He could read the sign better than Sylk could. It could not be happenstance that he had maintained the same distance from him for the last several moments. Tardily he came to the realization that Moa’qi did not want to meet with him at this moment. He stood and turned back toward the Deciding Hut. He would watch the selection continue, and trust to Moa’qi to contact him when it was time.

After the first few steps, he realized that Moa’qi was shadowing him back to the Hut. Evidently his Mentor wanted to remain close, but not too close. This relieved Sylk somewhat, and so he focused his attention on the Deciding Hut, and by the time he could confirm with his eyes, he knew what progress had been made. As he entered the hut, he watched The Tanner meld into the crowd, and Vela Maker summoned to one of the rooms. The Herbalist was sitting on his stool. Buitre would be next, followed by Steropé and finally The Arbiter.

In Sylk’s estimation of things, The Herbalist was one wild card for First Chair and Steropé was the other possibility. True candidates he had decided were Buitre and The Arbiter. He watched as the Vela Maker returned after a brief moment, and entered the crowd. Buitre was summoned, and disappeared into an alcove with The Muktai. They stayed and stayed. A request for water was received and water was delivered. The crowd began to be restless, wondering why the delay. Buitre emerged at last, looking drawn. He took his stool, and Steropé was called. She disappeared into the next room, and was gone for approximately twice as long as what Sylk estimated his time had been. She also sat down and The Arbiter was called.

Unless something truly odd happened, Sylk reckoned that The Arbiter would join the other three, and then there may be a vote. Of course, The Muktai may choose to subject each to additional interviews.

The Arbiter emerged after only a few moments. This seemed odd, because he should be a prime candidate, and they should have a lot to ask of him. But, the Arbiter not only left the room, he walked past the other nominees, and left the Hut! The crowd was silenced until the Criers announced the news. A general sense of consternation pervaded the air of the Deciding Hut. The crowd was uneasy, and the folks outside were getting restless. Of the three candidates, there were those with strong objections to some or all.

Buitre was a solid member of the tribe, but it was acknowledged that he desired power. The Herbalist was simply not liked. Steropé was, well, a woman. The Tribe was a bit unnerved, having expected and been looking forward to Moa’qi and willing to fall back on The Arbiter. There seemed to be no consensus on the current nominees. It seemed that regardless of whom was picked, much of the Tribe would be unhappy.

The Muktai emerged from their room. Usually they all came out at the same time as the nominee, but the exit of The Arbiter had so distracted they crowd that they were unaware The Muktai had not emerged. This caused a nervous stir among the crowd. None of the older members could ever remember such a strange Deciding Hut. A lady to Sylk’s left commented, “How very very weird. Suppose The Herbalist is named First Chair. His first official act will be to decide on the conflict between The Herbalist and Gwadi! How is he going to do that?” There were murmurs of acknowledgment to this comment, and it traveled around the room, becoming such a prevalent topic that one of the Criers actually shouted it out to the crowd waiting outside.

“Silence!” Bellowed the Muktai on the far left. “The Arbiter has not been eliminated. He has asked for brief recess while he gathers some information he says The Muktai need for the decision process. When he returns, the selection process continues.” He sat amid sounds of dismay and disbelief. Many common proceedings were being set aside, or bent to what some felt were past the breaking point. The level of anxiety became palpable.

The Arbiter returned, carrying sheaves of parchment. He handed these to the Card Reader, and The Muktai, without the nominees, went to the middle alcove for conference.

They were gone a really long time.

more later!

For now, I am off to THE HUNT!!

Day 30, this am; 50,096

I did it!!

No, it's not actually finished yet. Pretty close. Probably will be in another 1000 words or so.

Excerpts later. Woo hoo!

Day 28, am, total word count, 47,549; 2083 this morning

well, I don't see how I can't get to 50 k by the 30th. I'd have to deliberately not do it.

The story won't be finished at 50k, I don't think. I need about another 5k to wrap it up.

excerpt:

When they had a moment of relative privacy, Moa’qi allowed himself a small congratulation. “Two wild cards came through there, Sylk. The Sacred One, and Steropé. Very nicely it did play. This afternoon we see if our plans bear fruit.

“Go see your mother. She will be looking for you.”

On the trip back to his hut, he found his mother walking along, talking to Gwadi. He greeted them, hugging his mother and smiling at Gwadi. His mother was congratulating Gwadi on her nomination of The Herbalist, but asked, “Do you think this will heal the rift?”

“No, it is just a start. But all things take time. Rushing things only spoils them. I should know.” She turned to Sylk, “How you holding up? Must seem odd being nominated…” She let it hang there, seeing if he would take the bait.

“I’m as surprised as anyone. Frankly, it seems to be to be a wasted nomination. No one is going to vote for a man barely out of trial for First Chair. I have no track record, no influence, no – credibility.”

Gwadi scanned his face, looking for clues as to his mindset. She was unable to find any, and this caused her to comment, “Maybe, maybe not. You are more assured than you should be. Which means you know something, or are very composed.”

She smiled at Anuncia, “Pardon on old cheese making fool. I’m just very used to looking at things and judging their readiness. He’s readier than most would suspect.” With that she turned down the path leading to her hut, and Sylk and Anuncia walked on, arm in arm. They did not talk, the time for talking was through. They walked alone with their thoughts, each with a concern about the upcoming vote, and the aftermath. They would just have time for a midday snack, and then it would be back to the deciding hut for the separate evaluations, and the vote.

Anuncia prepared a simple meal of bread and cheese, and they washed it down with water. Sylk then changed into less worn, more appropriate garments, a kind of cover up over his chest, and a longer more concealing breechclout. Suitably attired, he joined his mother, who he noted had taken time to change into a red and orange wrap, with flashes of green. He stopped and stared, trying to determine if it was just coincidence. “Come along, Sylk. What are you gawking at?”

“Mother, I have not seen that wrap before. But it reminds me of something from my trial. Where did you get it?”

Her eyes distant, Anuncia replied, “Your father designed it and had it made after his trial. He kept it until we married, then he presented it to me.”

‘After his trial?’, thought to himself. “Mother, who did Father’s Stand and Watch?”

“Jedediah himself.”

Sylk was quiet after this, his mind whirling through the possibilities. Their arrival at Center Village crowded out all other thoughts, and he collected himself, went inside to center stage, and took his former seat. Steropé came in and Sylk noted that she had also dressed for the occasion. She came up to him, shook his hand, and complimented his garb. Suddenly feeling flush, Sylk stammered a response, noting that she was very pretty. That was not what he meant to say, it had just come out, and was reduced to just sitting there looking up at her foolishly. Steropé laughed and thanked him, said she didn’t know he had noticed, turned away and, was that an exaggerated wiggle?, took her seat at the opposite end.

Sylk didn’t really notice anyone else coming in, he just sat staring at the dirt in front of him. He barely got through the reconvening of the Deciding Hut, and allowed himself to just be carried along with the flow of the events. He did not actually fully return mentally to the Deciding Hut until his name was called to go into one of the chambers off the main stage.

Single file, The Muktai filed off center stage and entered the first alcove. Sylk followed, trying to bring his head back into the game. He focused on listening with his feet, and identifying the various players of note within and without the hut. Strange, Moa’qi was not in the Deciding Hut. This revelation snapped his mind to where he was, and the plans unfolding even now. He caught sign of his Mentor on the edge of the village, coming in to the Hut. Where had he been off to? Sylk was now angry at himself, and sent his memory racing, trying to determine where his Mentor had gone, and when.

Bitterly, he realized that he had been so caught up with Steropé that he had no memory. Filing this fact away, he focused on being where he was now. All The Muktai took their seats, and Sylk stood front and center.

The Muktai that had summoned him after his nomination began The Query. “Sylk, why were you nominated?”

Day 27, total word count 45,466 as of 10am Saturday the 27th.

2,047 words this morning, 1801 yesterday.

I have three more days to go, and only 4,534 words to go. Which means, at 2k per day, plus a little, I will finish Monday. If I write anything at all tonight, which I may not, since we are doing the tree thing and having Leon's woman over for cookie baking etc., I will finish a full day early!!

Oh, Tracker1 is now named Buitre. Tracker3 is named Steropé. Tracker2 seems to have dissappeared.

excerpts:

He resumed his trek toward Steropé. As he got nearer something began to bother him, but he could not tell what it was. He slowed and closed his eyes, listening, listening. He just couldn’t place what was bothering him, so decided to systematically check on everyone he cared or was concerned about. Buitre was at The Herbalist’s. Nothing seemed specifically wrong, though he felt there may be some kind of stiffness, or strain of some sort between them. But it was not the source of his unease.

Next he checked on his mother. She seemed to be fine, just walking about the hut, doing whatever. Wait. What was that? In a flash, he was running for home, pounding down the dirt path as fast as he had ever run. Someone was stalking his mother, and they were close. Rounding a hut and speeding down the lane, his hut came into view. He slowed, determining to walk casually to his hut, and ‘accidentally’ surprise whoever it was. He realized that Moa’qi was approaching from the left as well, and felt an inward relief. Whoever, or whatever it was, was on the other side of the hut, near one of the windows. “Anuncia!” It was his Master. Or Mentor, rather. That still bothered him inside, but he couldn’t worry about that now. “Anuncia!” “Coming”, his mother replied from inside the house, and Sylk felt the intruder melt away in the opposite direction. Then the sense stopped, as if it had been lifted away.

His mother came out of the hut, and Sylk decided to hang back and circle around to see what he could see in the dirt behind the hut. Moa’qi continued on toward the hut, and engaged in some conversation with Anuncia. Sylk picked up the trail around back. It was some more of those foot prints left by someone in those food coverings. But, he had been completely unable to place it. There was something wrong about the stride as well. The foot fall didn’t look right, and the weight distribution was all wrong. He had no idea what he was looking at. The footsteps went on for some distance, then just disappeared. Sylk retraced, trying to see where he had lost them. Nothing, there they were, then there they weren’t. Stepping back he scratched his head and gazed blankly without focusing. Then he realized. The foot prints had joined together as if the person or thing was standing. The surrounding area had a mild blown back look, like a localized wind had blown down on to the foot prints. This was very confusing, and he didn’t know quite what to make about it, or what else to do about it. He decided to file it away, and quiz Moa’qi about it at day’s end. In the meantime, he decided to check on things at his hut, make sure mom was OK, and then continue on to Steropé.

At his hut, Moa’qi and Anuncia were talking about nothing at all in the entryway of the hut. Moa’qi appeared totally relaxed, and would not respond to Sylk’s subtle attempts to broach the subject of the intruder. Giving up on the attempt to get Moa’qi aside to quiz him about the stalker, Sylk advised his mother that he had made a barter with Gwadi for some quesocabra. He also explained that it would be delivered, then told his Mentor he would see him that afternoon at the Deciding Hut, and went on his way.

He walked away feeling decidedly uneasy. Something very unusual had come into the village, undetected by all save Moa’qi and himself. It had left as mysteriously as it had arrived, and the fact of its deliberate self-concealment seemed ominous. And was it coming to his hut on purpose, or just any hut? And if his hut, was it interested in him or his mother? And why would Moa’qi not make himself available for discussion? None of it made any sense. And it seemed particularly ominous in light of the coming events at the Decision Hut. A portent of things beyond control or influence, Sylk felt it vital to assess. Yet Moa’qi seemed uninterested. The extra uncalculated fluky nature of the event made Sylk extremely uneasy. Why was Moa’qi so reticent?

Feeling the need for some sort of positive action, Sylk determined now to follow-up on Steropé. He did a quick sensing and headed on over to The Herbalist, which Buitre had left, and Steropé was approaching. This he thought fortuitous, and hurried his pace to arrive shortly after Steropé. He went over in his mind again the plan designed by Moa’qi. A lot depended on Moa’qi’s read of how certain people would vote. He was particularly counting on Steropé, but Steropé had not been brought into the scheme. Sylk disagreed with this, feeling enough was in the hands of chance as it was. Moa’qi felt the character and relative quick wits of Steropé would suffice, and further believed that any overt attempt to establish a plan with multiple people could compromise Steropé, and actually endanger her.

Sylk was disinclined to agree; he would honor his Mentor’s wishes, but he still wanted to see and talk to the woman before tonight.

While on his way, he reviewed what he knew about Steropé. She was the only woman to be counted as a New Man, and a Warrior of the People. She was not one of the Sacred Ones, either, though she, like Moa’qi had no mate. Sylk had no idea how old she was, she seemed ageless in some way. There had been much consternation when she had demanded the right to Trial. Jedediah had made one of the few unpopular decisions of his reign as First Chair by permitting it to happen. Over the years, however, the fact of Steropé had become accepted, and, for the most part, no one thought much about it any longer. She was certainly among the most skilled in the tribe, both mentally and physically. She had been accepted as an equal by The Muktai, and was able to participate in all Tribal Rulings. She was a man in that respect, except she was a woman. The anomaly had ultimately been set aside as unimportant. Sylk realized as he thought about her that he was becoming totally fascinated by her, and the emotion confused him a bit. Now that he was a new man, he for the first time allowed himself thoughts of her as a woman. She was, he realized, a very striking woman at that. Sylk was not quite sure what to make of that. He kind of liked the emotion he was feeling, but wasn’t really sure what to make of it. Deciding to ignore the emotion for now, he made his way to The Herbalist.

No one in the tribe really liked The Herbalist. He was cold and distant, and could be petty and even mean. He was however, extremely talented regarding medicinal herbs, and herbs of general sana. He never failed to provide the right recipe for pretty much anyone ailments, whether it be an external bruise, or some internal injury, or broken bone. He was renowned for his headache recipe, which he had discovered on his own, and was some formulation from a certain tree bark. And, he was available to provide pain relieve of worse variety, and even, if need be, permanent pain relief for those terminal patients. This was the only time he seemed human. It genuinely affected him to have to use his herbs to kill. He did not like it, and resisted in all but the most extreme cases. He did truly have a gift. Some thought he had maybe sold his ama to the Giant Roble Tree outside of the village. In truth, he did in fact look like an old gnarled roble tree. While not liked, he was very respected for his skills and gifts, and being his apprentice would be quite a coup for the individual and a great benefit to the tribe.

He spied Steropé and The Herbalist up ahead. His hut had an additional room built onto the front, and it acted as a counseling/examination room, and medicinal formulary. He was inside the little room, with the oversized front flap propped up, creating a kind of bar area. Steropé was outside the hut, sitting on a stool, leaning over and talking earnestly to The Herbalist. He caught a fragment of the conversation as he walked up. “… how do you feel about gaining an apprentice?”

“Bah. I will live longer than anyone, as I know how to prepare my herbs and bark and roots. The tribe has no worries regarding how long I will be around.”

“Ok, but still, as a precaution…” hesitation, “never mind, that is not of any matter anyway. What matters is tonight. We can talk about what our children need tomorrow.” Here Steropé shifted position, and Sylk was suddenly aware of long supple brown legs. His arrival however, seemed to damper the conversation. He took a chance.

“Are you looking for an apprentice?”

The Herbalist turned away, making a production of looking for some specific herb for Steropé. She took advantage of this moment to flash Sylk a warning glare from angry eyes. Sylk was not sure how to read this. “Guess not”, he muttered. Turning to Steropé, he inquired after her health. She smiled and replied that she was “…fine thank you, and you?”

“I’m good”, Sylk replied. “A little tired, but looking forward to my first Decision Hut. Do you suppose my Master will be put forth for First Chair?”

The Herbalist snorted while turning around and addressed them both, “I am sure he will be nominated. In fact, there are not many who think there is any other choice. I for one realize that he surpasses any likely candidate. Yes, he will be put forth. Here is your formulation.” Sylk looked at the contents, hongos, sticks, some kind of root, sliced thin, some bark from a tree he recognized, but could not place, and something black and rubbery he had never seen.

“Thanks”, said Steropé. “Everything looks very fresh. Prepare in the usual manner?”

“Yes, put 1/3 of that package in the earthen pot I gave you, and boil with three measures of water for as long as it take you to add three more measures, while maintaining the original water level. After the third addition, remove from heat and drink it as soon as you are able to withstand the heat. That will be in the morning. Reserve the contents of the pot, and repeat the process tomorrow at Dark Fall. You may discard the contents at that time. Repeat next morning with the next third, and the day after, the next third. By the third day, you will want sleep. You should wake up on the fourth day with no complaints.”

“Thank you. I surely am indebted and grateful.”

“Bah”, was his only reply. He then turned a white bushy brow toward Sylk. “Well?”

and some more:

The Muktai to the immediate left of the one that had spoken, that would be to the right from the crowd’s vantage point, stood and announced they were accepting nominees for First Chair. Buitre immediately stood forth and nominated Moa’qi. There was a murmur in the crowd, and as the Criers called out to the village, Sylk could feel nervous movement outside. No one was surprised at the nomination, the were surprised at the nominator. Everyone there fully expected Moa’qi to be First Chair when it was all said and done. They just had not expected the nomination to come from Steropé or one of her ilk. The village was unaware of any affinity between Moa’qi and Buitre. To the people inside the Deciding Hut, it was a tad more unexpected as the body language of Buitre had revealed an unsuspected dislike for Moa’qi only moments earlier.

Moa’qi stood, and again addressed the gathering formally, “Muktai, Tribe. I respectfully decline Nomination for First Chair. I claim right as Eldest of The Tribe, to nominate someone in my place. I nominate Sylk, and relegate myself to Mentor of Sylk.”

This shocking announcement was met by a perplexed silence. The crowd outside began clamoring for word, and as the Criers began bellowing out this unexpected turn of events, the inside of the hut became riotous with shouts of dismay and surprise. Some were insulted, some felt it must be a joke. Many people just made angry noises. It was an insult and a slap to decline First Chair and nominate a child, some said. Others gathered their wits, and argued Moa’qi was well within his rights. Still others were just angry, and did not really know why. Many in the Deciding Hut were just excited. This was drama, and there was an affinity for drama and excitement among the Tribe.

The next Muktai in line stood and held his arms up toward the smoke hole. Slowly, for he was quite old himself, he approached the fire and threw a yellow powder into the flames. There was a roaring sound, and the flames leaped and expanded, and everyone felt a rush of heat. This was followed by an influx of air through the seven openings, and as the heat sucked wind and exhaled through the top of the hut, the crowd quieted. When the flames damped down to their former flicker, he addressed Moa’qi.

“You do not mean to mock the Deciding Hut?” It was phrased such that the crowd was unsure if it was a statement or a question.

Moa’qi stiffly replied, “I would not mock the Deciding Hut.”

The old Muktai turned to the other six and stated, “He is within his rights.” He returned to his seat, and the next Muktai stood and bellowed, “Sylk is nominated for First Chair. Sylk! Present Thyself!”

Trying to walk with calm confidence, struggling with butterflies and quivering legs, Sylk approached center stage and sat opposite the first of The Muktai to speak. When the last noise of the Criers had relayed this to the tribe outside, a hush fell. The pause grew turgid with expectancy. What would happen next?

The next Muktai stood and bellowed without ceremony, “Nominees!?”

Sitting, they waited for the next nominee. No one moved. Buitre was standing with a blank look on his face. All his plans had been laid low in one movement. This was a totally unexpected turn of events. He looked about, lost in his mind, trying to determine a way to salvage what had happened.

Gwadi the Cheese Maker stepped forward. “I nominate The Herbalist!

Now there was a sense of excitement in the hut as the news was transferred by the Criers to the anxious crowd outside. Again, a not unexpected nomination, and again a totally unexpected source of nomination. A party atmosphere began to grow outside the Deciding Hut. Inside the tension was of a different nature. However, there was a murmur of approval as it was realized this may heal the rift between Gwadi and The Herbalist. The next to last of the Muktai stood and bellowed, “The Herbalist is nominated for First Chair. Herbalist! Present Thyself!”

The Herbalist came forward with a bemused expression on his face, acknowledged The Muktai, nodded to Sylk, and took his place amid a buzz from the gallery. Again, The Muktai had to prompt for nominees, as none were forthcoming. The final Muktai stood and bellowed, “Nominees! And let us continue with alacrity!”

Two more people were nominated and summoned, taking their seats. One, the Tanner, was a good man. The other, the Vela Maker, was in the minds of many, kind of a throwaway nominee. They had to fill seven after all, and he had been nominated and lost before. But there were certain rights to having been nominated, and the Vela Maker was deserving of those rights, and no one wanted them to go away. The people were actually happy to see him up there again.

In the midst of the relative calm, Steropé stood, “I nominate Buitre!”

This again created a stir and as the Criers shouted out to the village, there was some dismay. Buitre was clearly a good man, very talented and knowledgeable. But, he seemed to be drawn to power, and there was some concern among the tribe. First Chair was a servant position, in essence. Many wondered if Buitre had the temperament for the position.

Buitre was visibly livid. He came forward, acknowledged the nomination, and sat gruffly, folding his arms and glaring at the ground before him.

Sylk had turned to watch as Steropé had made her nomination. He caught a glimpse of momentary triumph in Moa’qi’s eyes as she named Buitre. Sylk realized that Steropé had performed as Moa’qi had planned. He turned back around while Buitre approached center stage, and thought through the ramifications.

The last Tribal Sacred One stood and nominated Steropé. All the old wounds were torn open at that point. A woman could not be First Chair! It was unheard of, and unthinkable. Many thought Steropé was destined to be one of The Sacred Ones, as she had no mate, and seemed uninterested in men. Others noted she seemed uninterested in women as well, and therefore she was not likely a Sacred One. This started many side conversations regarding The Sacred Ones and their place in the Tribe. Often over the years there were no Sacred Ones. The anomaly that was a Sacred One just did not manifest that often. They were regarded as a sort of treasure, as they had sensibilities and a world view that often was beneficial to the Tribe. They were considered a gift, because, as noted, they were not always in place. It was not an elected position. A person was born to it or not.

The far more pressing issue was the fact that again the ranks of “Man Only” jobs were being threatened by a woman.
Steropé stood and strode majestically to center stage, and all the noise petered out. She was in fact well liked by all, and no one wanted to insult her, at least not to her face. She was the essence of composure as she took her seat.

The final nomination went to The Arbiter. This was the only other serious contender to First Chair after Moa’qi. The Arbiter was skilled at negotiating and conflict resolution. Many would support him and the crowd began to believe they were watching the New First Chair approach center stage.

The eldest of The Muktai stood and addressed the Tribe, “Behold, your nominees for First Chair! Let their names be remembered as they stand to present themselves.” One by one the nominees were called in reverse order:

Day 25, Thanksgiving night, total words: 41,618

Total words typed today: 2,299. Why not one more word and make it 2300? Dunno. That's where I stopped.

I sleepy. L-Triptophan at work. Madame Bovarie, not being a bird eater, is sleepy from l-Triptoham.

Had a Happy Thanksgiving. Good Night. fb

ps What no excerpts? Please see my pay site, SignoftheScreamingforMoneyHead.com

har har de har.