2. Secret Council

Prebuha delayed her return until after Endsun, when darkness had arrived. Her shoulders drooped low and she crept through the shadows on the clay walls. What was she doing? She had to return to her Region at some point and tell the creatures—her furious mother—how badly the trade went.

But when she looked up, half the city had seemingly gathered before her very eyes. They didn’t care that the water came to their knees.

She didn’t know what to say. She threw the mysterious message into their midst and ran back to her soft bed. Her mother stopped her. Her disappointed stare betrayed that they already understood.

So she climbed onto a low wall and yelled at the crowd. “They refused to trade with me! We get nothing. Not my fault! That’s it. Good night.”

Their leader’s message rippled through the crowd. Disasters? Flee? To Sumiser? Every single part was unbelievable.

Larsh, the leader’s son, now also received the message in his claws.

Prebuha had turned the corner, only a few tiring jumps away from home, when he called her name.

“I want Prebuha, Clayskipper, and Megitas to come with me. Now!”

Ugh. Now she had to do the walk of shame all over again. This time she did understand their whispers. How all would die of hunger and it was her fault. How all would sleep on the cold floor, with no roof over their head, and it was her fault.

You see, mom, she should’ve stayed in bed all day.

She followed Larsh into a tall home with at least twelve stories. The entire group walked to the highest floor, where Larsh immediately barricaded the doorframe with heavy wooden planks.

“What I will say now,” he said, “cannot leave this room.”

Megitas was a Gosti with a long white beard, and you never knew if he looked at you or looked past you. But he was the oldest person of their entire civilization, and, some said, the most wise. Whoever was their Regionleader at any moment, he always stood next to them to give valuable advice.

So he was first to speak. “Then watch your words, my boy. Is it not more wise to keep secrets a secret?”

He was only a child. Not older than Prebuha. Why wasn’t the leader himself dealing with—oh, right.

“My … dad,” he said with a fragile voice, “has not left the city in years. And he died several days ago.”

Prebuha placed her paw on her mouth. The Clayskipper merely nodded, as if he had calculated this would happen. All his quills where still covered in wet clay. And the wooden remains of whatever crazy objects his son invented this time.

Larsh threw the message on the table as if it were too hot to touch. “This message cannot be his.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Prebuha asked.

“His death was suspicious. This message is suspicious. I am sure one of the creatures in our midst …”

“What,” Megitas said calmly, “makes his death suspicious? He was an old man, who died in his sleep. His wounds come from the fall.”

“My father doesn’t fall.”

Larsh’ eyes spit fire in Prebuha’s direction. “Additionally, we had to stay strong in our important trades. A divided Region without leader is not strong. But, well, then we sent this idiot.”

“Not fair!”

“The wolves told me everything. We clearly told you what you could and couldn’t ask. And then you started about five camels!? You’re a piece of garbage we should’ve kicked out of the region long ago. Like your father.”

Prebuha yelled something about keeping her father out of it and attacked him. Larsh was still a hyena who easily bested a slow sloth.

The Clayskipper had studied the signature all this time. He reached for Prebuha with his front paw. She used it to get up again—but that was not his intention. His paw remained outstretched until she returned the Bulla of their Regionleader that she still had in her possession.

He compared the two and nodded again. “This is his signature. Every detail. If it’s a fake, it’s from someone whose skill with the clay surpasses even mine. Though my calculations—”

“So … we listen to it?” Prebuha tried. “We flee for the disasters—and I saved us all?”

Larsh pushed her away again with his strong forehead. “If you think listening is such a good idea, then we should do the opposite. It’s a trick, surely. Sumiser wants us to walk away from our riches and take over our river. It’s obvious, right?”

“That is true,” the Clayskipper said. “All civilizations around the Twin Rivers are obsessed with power and conquering. We must consider ourselves blessed that nobody has tried conquering us the past thousands of years. But my calculations really do—”

Prebuha indeed hoped that their invention called war stayed where it was. She was not going to carry a heavy spear. Oh, and everyone dead also wasn’t great. On the other hand … if winning a war meant they would just get all their food and homes without having to work for it at all, that would be great!

“Yes, yes, obvious,” Megitas said. He stood up. His one hand leaned on his walking stick, while the other grabbed Larsh.

“That doesn’t change the fact that we have a gap in our leadership. I see you learned a lot from your father. I nominate you as the next Regionleader.”

This was supposed to be a decision that the entire Region took together. But what if he was right? What if someone wanted to destroy them from within? One or multiple creatures … had killed their leader. Was it smart to let them vote?

And so the choice was made in this tiny room. The Clayskipper agreed, though his mind seemed elsewhere.

“My first command: Prebuha is exiled from our Region for laziness, stubbornness, incompetence, and any other sins you can think of. I ask all other Regions to exile her all the same, for their own protection.”

“Excuse me?” she yelled.

“Maybe she invented this whole message! And falsified the signature! So she’d return from the trade with something.” His strong paws pushed her away one last time, flat against the doorframe. “Disappear!”

“No, no, please! Give me a second chance.” She was on her knees now, under the devastating glare of Larsh. Her heart pounded in her throat. Nightmarish images of a life in the Wilderness, without a soft bed, without water and food, sharpened her mind.

“I almost had them,” she exclaimed. “All their metal and food, in exchange for almost nothing! If they hadn’t been so picky about the camels …”

“Not an option—”

“She may have a point,” Megitas interrupted. “I believe her that she wanted to push the trade, but went too far. All is learned through trial and error, is it not? Give her that second chance.”

“I must vote against,” the friendly Clayskipper immediately said. “If you knew how little grain we have left according to my calculations—”

Larsh growled and glared at Prebuha. “Find the killer and make sure our next trade is legendary. If not, you’re worthless. And anyone who can’t provide, can’t enjoy the benefits of our civilization.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Larsh turned around and instantly forgot she existed.

A young echidna stormed into the room, straight through the planks blocking the door frame. His dripping quills splashed water on everyone as he passed.

“Sorry! But did a great invention! Father must know!”

He pushed a wooden apparatus inside. It barely fit through the opening, until his dad—the Clayskipper—suggested turning it around.

Prebuha found them both odd. Always creating and calculating. They even pretended to be able to predict the weather and the waves. But they were no gods, right, like Ardex, Feria, and all the halfgods?

Welpon had installed his apparatus with a loud bang. A long wooden beam was attached to a sort of bowl containing a large feline. She kept walking out of it, until Welpon sighed and replaced her with a large stone.

“Hmm. The cats aren’t working with me. I’m still calling it a catapult! Look, if I jump this way, then—”

“NO!”

His father acted too late. Welpon shot the stone far into the sky, faster than Prebuha could follow. It left through the window, hit a tower of the Great Bath House, and shattered part of a roof.

Using his teeth, his father pulled out just the right beam to make the entire apparatus collapse.

“Sweetling,” he said. He was nervous and sweating, more so than he was annoyed. “What was our agreement? What had the Region forbidden? Make no more … what did you call it?”

“Weapons! Like my name!”

“Make no more weapons! Bring them to the hut where we store them all.”

“But—”

“Your mess, son. Clean it up yourself.”

Reluctantly, Welpon carried away the debris of his catapult. Everyone in the room was relieved to have survived another encounter with him. That weapon storage with his creations became fuller every day. They had to regularly burn the content to make room, although nobody dared tell sweet Welpon.

Larsh stayed composed. “What are your findings this time, Clayskipper?”

“Hmm. The water flooded much further than previous years—again. But that’s not too bad. We catch more resources and can use a larger area to grow our grain. If this continues, our shortage might be solved in a few years.”

He took out a clay tablet containing endless rows of short lines, as if using it to take quick notes. “Thirty clay homes demolished. Fifteen dead. Though most seem to have happened due to a large tear in the ground, not the floods.”

Larsh closed his eyes and leaned against Megitas, who barely held the weight. “Yes, yes, yes. How do we solve the food shortage now?”

The Clayskipper stared at Prebuha.

In this time, dear reader, the world wasn’t connected yet. Agriculture was invented multiple times, in different places, at different times, without knowledge of each other. While the Twin Rivers already had entire civilizations who lived off grain, they hadn’t even invented it on Origina. As there were only two ways foreign information could reach you: trading … or being conquered by another folk.

“We must have a successful trade very, very soon,” he said solemnly. “If not, the message is right anyway: we have to leave.”