Martyr or Monster: 02

The ri'a shamaness circled the fire slowly; her eyes assessed every one of the assembled crowd. As she stepped she shivered her wing-arms -- her feathers created a susurrus that blended with the chimes of her headdress and the barely audible beat her acolyte played on a drum.

Asha sat cross-legged before the fire in front of his assembled acolytes. The shamaness moved closer -- every step was deliberate and sinuous, while her arms kept up the susurrus and slid through their own arcs. Asha took in every motion of the slow dance as she approached. Her circuit eventually brought her before him and she stopped. The shamaness knelt so they were face to face, and he breathed deep and took in the heady scent of her perfume. She reached out with her delicate long-fingered hands and grasped the sides of Asha's head.

The shamaness began to intone in the fluttering warble of the ri'a tongue, "We are the descendants of ravagers! The living curse -- our ancient parents only gift. Long have we hid high in the emerald canopy, or on the backs of stone giants. Constant is the fear of what lurks below us: the beasts that hunt the restless earth. Long have we payed for the sins of our parents!'

"And now the gods have come to our world! The Three, the Great Snake, and the Seven-Armed Prince. Charlatans all!" Asha frowned. His acolytes would not take the insult to the Triumvirate well -- he heard them muttering already. The shamaness caressed his cheek with her finger, stood, and stretched her wing-arms to their fullest extent. Her emerald and sapphire feathers eclipsed the light of the fire and drowned Asha in shadow.

"Hear me!" The display had its desired effect; Asha's followers fell silent. "Snake, Prince, and Three. Yes, great is their might, but they are not all powerful! Why do they live shoulder to shoulder and quaver at the howl of the sarai? Why do they use honeyed words and pit us against our brothers? Why do they demand our loyalty while they ask us for help?'

"We have no need for thugs; our lives are hard enough. Here loyalty and respect are earned!" She turned a full circle with her wing-arms outstretched and let her words sink in.

"But this man -- Asha -- is no god! And I respect this man!" the shamaness said as she motioned towards Asha, and her pinion feathers brushed his face. "We've all heard of his journey -- and called it myth. But now I believe it all! From the land of the gods and the Three, he and his army have circled our world! They traveled as we do: crossed branch and bough, braved the half-light and the beasts of the world below, and faced the talons of the sky-lords. And all because they believe in us!'

"A beast has lain in hiding all these years. It births the horrors that stalk the shadows and gnaws at the heart of the world. It even spews its pestilence into the deep sky to infect the stars! Asha seeks the beast to drive his blade into its heart! And his quest will not end until he destroys the beast, and breaks our shackles of fear!'

"But Asha needs our help. He doesn't ask us to give up our freedom, and he and his followers will lay down their lives so we can have it. Asha doesn't want us to bend our knees, but asks us to raise our spears!"

The shamaness turned again and put her back towards Asha. She addressed her people; and Asha eyed the throng he had tried and managed to forget about until now. The amphitheater was packed -- every seat was full and then some. A veritable wall of people seemed perched on the edge of their seats waiting for the shamaness. "So what is your reply my brothers and sisters? Do we slink back beneath the leaves, or do we raise our spears? Do we live in fear of the beast, or do we fight -- and make it fear us?!"

A roar leapt from the crowd and shook the night. Asha let the emotion wash over him; he closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then, unbidden, the roar transformed into a chant: "Saeberon!" -- the angel of justice.