The oath-sworn

Morgan had tried his best to endure the sobbing. After all these hours, he'd thought that by now he'd be used to it. But the wails of the newly widowed still rattled him. Funerals within the tribe had been so few and far between, until recently, that he had never gotten used to them or the sound of those left behind.

Morgan sat alone at the back of the grand hall, at the northern end of the village, a lone building made of grey sea stone. The coral-carved lanterns, lit to soothe the mourning, having long been doused the was room illuminated only by what little moonlight shined through the dense, dome-shaped barrier of water surrounding the village. He absently sharpened his dagger with a whetstone, looking across ever so often to the small semi-circular clearing adjacent to the hall, and just before the Barrier-Reef.

There Varia knelt alone at Brunwin's funeral stand, her small shivering frame shaking against the grey ocean-stone coffin, with her arms flung across it, as she bawled.

The others had gradually left long ago, returning to their homes to be left with their grief. Morgan had chosen to stay, to be closer to the last mourner, Brunwin's wife, the same way he'd been close to her husband. Brunwin had been an exemplary Elementalist, and adored in the tribe for his heart. He'd been the one to teach Morgan most of what he knew of the forge, and even managed not to laugh when Morgan's first weapon had been a terribly sharp toothpick rather than a dagger, the same he sharpened now.

Outside the hall Morgan heard footsteps approaching and looked out to see his father and his Uncle Tallus, making their way to Varia with one of his uncle's attendants close behind.

Morgan hadn't seen his father since he'd left that morning with the other tribesmen in search of Brunwin. When he'd left he hadn't looked optimistic, but now his face was expressionless and reserved in a way that looked out of place on the tanned man. His muscular build that Morgan mirrored to a lesser extent, weighed him down now and his long black hair was unruly.

Beside him his shorter, spindly older brother's wrinkled face was pulled taut in a frown, his slight frame appearing even smaller next to Typhon's and his greying hair just as disheveled. Tallus' purple robe and shawl, that identified him as chief, were loose and slipping off his shoulders despite the cold of the night but his distant eyes made Morgan doubt he felt it at all.

"It's time you got some rest." Typhon said placing a hand on Varia's shoulder.

"Yes, it's been hours since the funeral ended..." Tallus said.

Typhon offered a hand to her but Varia shook her head, meekly refusing his outstretched hand as she clung to the coffin.

Tallus got down onto his bony knees to kneel beside Varia and met her gaze with a softened expression. "Varia, please, you have to get some sleep." Reluctantly, Varia relinquished her grip and Tallus' attendant stepped forward, took her arm to help her up and began leading her home.

After they left, the brothers stood in silence before the coffin, faintly lit by the soft white glow of the coral within the looming wall of water, and the last of the lit lanterns resting on either side of the funeral stand.

"Brunwin didn't deserve this," Typhon said.

"Yes, he made the finest daggers we've seen in a long time. He...was irreplaceable." Tallus agreed.

"Now, he's gone. Taken on a routine harvesting trip we've all done dozens of times, barely past our sired isles and then returned to us in pieces."

Tallus turned and stared up at his younger brother, who still looked forward, eyes locked on the coffin. "If you have something to say, Typhon, then say it."

"I have nothing to say. I understand that as Chief your decisions have to be informed by certain traditions and policies....." Typhon began.

"Oddly diplomatic of you," Tallus scoffed.

"...and I've already told you what needs to be done, thousands of times."

"No, you've told me to forsake everything we are, thousands of times," Tallus corrected. "You've told me to turn my back on all of the weapons, armor, and innovations that have helped our people survive and flourish these past centuries, not to mention the god that gave us the power to make them. And even crazier than that, you want me to tell our entire tribe to do the same thing!"

"Do you mean the weapons that we can't use to defend ourselves? The armor we're hunted for? That Brunwin and the ones before him were slaughtered for? What kind of god leaves his people defenseless or better yet, takes there means of defense away? What kind of god lets this happen?" Typhon said motioning toward the coffin.

"Not even Avitide's protection is infallible, brother. What happened to Brunwin was a tragedy I agree, but we cannot let fear destroy our faith!"

In that moment, Typhon's gaze left Brunwin's coffin for the first time since the conversation had begun and he locked eyes with his brother.

And in a tone Morgan didn't recognize, he heard his father ask: "Fear? Is that what you think this is?"

His uncle didn't respond.

"This is grief, Tallus. This is sorrow, anguish and rage for the loss of my chosen brother that loved me more than you."

Surprised hurt flashed across Tallus' face. Morgan expected his uncle to fly into a fit of rage, as he had for lesser remarks but he simply looked deflated.

"We have survived for millennia as we are now, Typhon. No creature or tribe can penetrate the Barrier Reef and no ship can navigate our seas. So who are you scared of, the kingdoms of dull men? I knew you had been rattled by the outside, but this is pathetic." Tallus spat.

Typhon glowered down at his brother.

"You've never breathed a single breath without the privilege of your power, or our god's protection, Tallus. You've never truly feared for your life. That is why you can't imagine men with nothing, or even just less than you actually being a threat. You've never seen what life is like past the isles surrounding our own, so let me inform you once again, brother. The twisted creatures, and the men that put their savagery to shame, are far worse than anything our sired isles have ever conceived. And if they truly came for us, we would pay in full for your ignorance, and Brunwin is proof of that," Typhon said.

Morgan could see his uncle was at his wit's end, the veins on his forehead swelling as he turned red, in his struggle to hold his composure.

When he finally spoke it was in strangled voice that failed to mask his anger and contempt. "I'd like to remind you that I am the Chief of the Khantani and your superior, Typhon. So find my due respect or I'll have you stripped of your titles again. Or better yet, exiled back to the world you're so scared of, for treason against our god and our tribe."

Morgan had seen the two bicker and argue many times, using words his Mother had him swear not to use afterward, but none were ever this raw.

Without another word, Typhon turned and left, beginning the walk down the grey tiled street they had come, until he noticed his son staring down at him from the hall. He motioned for Morgan to come down and when he came, Morgan was met with a familiar stiff smile.

"You heard everything, right?" Typhon asked looking down at his son.

"It was hard not to." Morgan replied.

Typhon furrowed his brow.

"Do you..?" he began, and then thought better.

Instead he placed his hand on Morgan's shoulder, squeezing softly and smiled meekly.

"Let's just return home for now. We can go get those materials you need for that axe you've been making tomorrow."

When they arrived home, Typhon entered first, their wooden door squealing their arrival.

They dipped their bare feet into the small rectangular pool of water just after the door and proceeded as quietly as they could to the kitchen. There, father and son parted ways. Typhon turned left to scale a flight of stairs and Morgan headed down a hallway to their right.

He peered into the room he shared with his little sister, Tory. As the stairs protested against his father's weight, he looked at his sister to see if the sound would wake her. When she didn't stir, he slowly eased the door open as deftly as he could before stepping in and shutting it. From there he crept slowly, avoiding wooden toys scattered on the floor, till he got to his bed.

Morgan had expected the weight of the day to make his head drop to his pillow, for grief to drag him into a slumber that he'd never want to leave, but it never came.

Instead he sat at the edge of his bed with his dagger and whetstone in hand. A bloated feeling had filled his chest. A swollen tightening that squeezed his heart, forcing it into grim excitement, persisting from the moment he'd heard of his mentor's fate, to now. The throbbing danced in his limbs, making him restless enough that even the thought of sleep was impossible.

So Morgan lay back onto his bed and looked out of the window above him. He stared up into the depths of the barrier reef, and for the rest of the night, gazed at the ominous shapes lazily drifting within, thinking of a time they used to grant him sleep.