The Axe’s Lesson
© 2024 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  baroncoon, color by  marmelmm


“Acolyte Kifan?”

Kifan g’Shal turned, his blood-colored robe swishing subtly, and bowed to the senior priestess. “What may I do for you, Priestess?” the onetime soldier and general asked. His rehabilitation had been completed, and he was living with his wife as he attended the local Temple for instruction.

The Priestess smiled and indicated the younger kam beside her, dressed as a Novice. “Novice Zhemed has a question, and he’s told me that he’s embarrassed to ask you.”

G’Shal’s ears and tail flicked. “Why embarrassed, Zhemed?”

The younger kam’s tail swished and jittered, betraying his discomfort. “Aka, ‘embarrassed’ might not be the word, Acolyte.” He looked down at the floor and took a breath before looking up at the older male. “’Afraid’ might be better.”

A broad smile. “You have no reason to fear me. What is your question?”

“Can you tell me about Trackers?”

The corners of g’Shal’s mouth quirked upward for a brief moment, and his eyes wandered to the Priestess, who smiled encouragingly. “Of course,” g’Shal said, reassured. “Come and sit by the fire with me.”

Every Temple held a fire, a symbol of life that was tended constantly. The coaming around the pit that housed it bore icons of the Kashlanin pantheon as well as a stand for the klath. G’Shal sat near the axe-stand and gestured for Zhemed to sit as the Priestess looked on. “You know that the word ‘track,’ kotham, is in our – their - name.”

Zhemed gestured affirmatively. “The Trackers are named for House k’Tham, who were among the first to enlist in the Savior’s cause when he set out to unify the Race.” He paused and bowed toward the fire. “They were a mountain clan, and they did so well that the name of their House passed into regular speech.” He looked momentarily at a loss before he glanced at the heavy bearded axe on its stand. “Aka.”

He stood, gesturing for the young Novice to stay where he was, and approached the klath. He bowed to it before reaching out and removing it from its supports. “What is the klath, Novice Zhemed?”

“It’s an axe.”

“And an axe is?” A short distance away, the Priestess was smiling.

“A weapon?”

“Exactly. But no weapon is useful unless it has a living will to wield it.” His grip on the haft tightened and he raised the axe. “In this case, the will is that of the Sovereign, the Son of the Savior.” His gaze roamed over the weapon in his hands. “The axe itself, its weight and power, is the Race, civilian and military. Guided by the Sovereign’s will to its target.”

“But this,” and g’Shal’s tailspur looped up to point at the klath’s edge, “the axe’s edge, honed sharp and ready – willing – to draw the blood of the Race’s enemies, those are ka Kothamarheki." Zhemed’s eyes were wide as the klath was replaced on its stand. G’Shal bowed to it and resumed his seat facing the younger kam. “Do you understand?”

“I-I think so, Acolyte. And you were one of them?”

G’Shal gestured affirmatively. “I was, yes.”

“But you’re a gentle kam.”

The former general smiled. “I was before I became a Tracker. I am returning to that, and I have felt the desire to serve the Sovereign by pledging my service to the Deities. Will you pray with me, Novice?”

“Of course.” The younger kam scooted to a position beside the older, and the two knelt and grew silent as they prayed.

The Priestess smiled, bowed toward the fire, and slipped away silently. She was pleased with g’Shal’s use of the klath to illustrate his words, and thought that Zhemed would understand it. As an Acolyte, g’Shal was encouraged to help teach his juniors, and with experience he would eventually make a good Priest.