Chapter XVIII - The Ferals' Feast

Passion had a bewildering way of enveloping the commander whenever the idea of feasting popped in his head. Trying to get him to speak on a nightly basis was about as successful as trying to get a tree to cut itself, but mention feasting and… well, you have yourself a maniac. Tonight was one of those nights when Kalah spoke with such passion, that it most likely confused the markins if he even was the same commander they all grew to know. A change in behavior this drastic still didn’t seem alarming to his brethren, for no one came to Gakeh in order to discuss the commander’s newfound vigor. Dagham had made sure to spread the word and sway as many markins to his side, and Gakeh trusted his plan. For one, Dagham is basically living now only for Gakeh, and two he had no better choice. The more hidden he stood, the smoother things would go for him.

A crowd of markins bowed before the commander, just like any other bloody night. He stood atop an elevated surface, surrounded by thick trees, spread evenly and densely in every direction. Around them, scattered like frenzied wolves, their chambers jutted from the ground, resembling more a pile of stones than an actual place to rest. Sacrificing the chambers of Leehaeel for the pitiful excuses of a mess their current ones were, seemed appropriate for the type of markin Kalah was. The only thing that kept Gakeh from not completely despising this night was the moon; that gorgeous towering disc which gazed upon him with care. Closer and closer it seemed to come to the ground lately, as if the moon desired to dwell among them. It’s white as pure as ever, blinding his eyes, but he gave no care to it at all. Nothing could keep him from admiring the sheer beauty the moon can have.

“Markins!” came a shout from Kalah, powerful enough to urge his eyes to focus on the commander. “I know you have been waiting… waiting for a new feast. Those last few nights we’ve travelled through these lands… and we starved,” he said, breathing like a crazed animal.

Gakeh’s positioning allowed him to freely watch those nearby, and his eyes landed on Dagham a few steps away from him, who also acknowledged his presence and gritted his teeth as Kalah kept speaking. To the right, Jharke sat further back, but didn’t turn to meet Gakeh. During the chaos that was about to unfold, he had to keep an eye on these two; hopefully they won’t return to old habits and fall deeply into the temptation of Anger. If so, he’ll have to make them come to their senses, no matter how he achieves that.

“So… prepare, my markins… prepare for tonight is a time for you to taste that sweet… sweet Anger. That sweet, sweet blood!”

As per usual, most of the markins stood in cries of rage, Kalah intoxicating them all with his devious desires. Even he—a markin who understood the complex nature of how Anger twisted and molded them into beasts—found it hard to resist the calling. That calling that was always there, waiting patiently for him to embrace the rage inside.

Everyone dispersed by Kalah’s command, balmaks screeching as they were forced to leave their dens—the excuses of dens to be more precise. Piling together a few leaves, strapping them together with braids and planting a few wooden pillars was not the most welcoming of places for those beasts to rest in. Then again, they as markins weren’t living in more lavish conditions, so why expect the animals on which they depended so much to receive better treatment.

He reached inside the expansive den, touched the balmak’s furred face softly and glanced towards the equipment he uses to ride the beast. Reaching for the saddle and reins, he mounted them atop his balmak and rewarded him with an apple. For such powerful animals, they were surprisingly soft and oftentimes scared. Who could blame them when they were forced most of the time to do the bidding of the markins, tugged and pushed to move even when they clearly had no interest in doing so, and rarely—thankfully—lashed? Markin stupidity was a concept that kept baffling him more and more.

One by one, each markin prepared for the raid. Extensive mapping had been done recently—Gakeh responsible for overseeing most of it—which concluded that they were surrounded by tons of smaller villages, a few bigger ones sprinkled here and there. Enough fresh blood to satisfy the commander, of course. Why do anything else with humans when you could simply devour them, like nothing more than a brainless animal? Kalah surely had no answer to that question.

“Lord Gakeh,” came a familiar voice from behind.

He turned sluggishly, releasing the reins and allowing the balmak to move forward and join others. “Dagham. A pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise, my lord. How are you… feeling about this?” he asked, pointing around them.

“It’s the commander’s wish, Dagham. We ought to follow it. I think you know how I feel about this,” Gakeh said and advanced beyond him, grabbing his blade and sheathing it.

He shrugged. “I… know. But why? Why… do this again? Why fall back into that… Anger?”

“What have those you spoke to said about this?”

“Many… never saw it from that perspective. They claimed Anger was all they knew and so it felt natural to use it. To succumb to it.”

“Then why ask about this like you don’t know? Dagham…” Gakeh said, turning to meet him, “our commander’s eyes are still shut. He still lives with those… ideals. Terrible ideals.”

Dagham shifted his eyes downcast and rubbed his chin. “Could he be shown… there’s a different way?”

Gakeh shrugged and folded his arms. “I doubt it, markin. He’s… not himself anymore.”

“But what if there’s a chance?” he asked, glancing back at Gakeh.

He shook his head. “Can you honestly say there’s a chance to make the commander see? Considering how he looks, how he acts?”

“Maybe…” he replied.

Trying to give the commander the same treatment Dagham was inspired to give others could prove an interesting sight to see, true. However, the chances of something like this succeeding were below zero. Forcing his eyes open could prove deadly. Not even his body resembled that of a markin anymore, let alone his wits. No, Dagham’s idea is far too dangerous. Curiosity nudged him into wishing to see such a scene unfold, but the unpredictability of the commander is a variable that kept him from engaging in this conversation any further. An invaluable asset such as Dagham must understand that its role is far more important than he believes and he can’t throw it all away by doing such a rash thing. Hopefully he understands that.

Before he knew it, he was already atop his balmak, awaiting the commander’s signal for them all to descend upon Nuria—the settlement Kalah chose. Mostly for convenience—it was among the closest from their camp—but also because of its size, which—of course—rewarded them with many victims on which to feast. There’s a peculiar settlement which captivated Gakeh—named Faye. The maps they stole pointed it out with a big, black dot, but only vaguely; presumably because it was quite far from where they stood. But its placement reminded him of the direction in which those soldiers from a couple of nights ago went, which led him to believe it was most likely their city. Or to be more precise—their kingdom. Thankfully, they won’t leave for that place anytime soon; the commander had not been informed about their meeting with the soldiers. Although the idea that Faye could be a kingdom with such a powerful army aroused thoughts in his mind—more specifically, it aroused his desire to meet them again.

Accompanied by stirred markins left and right, with some still holding Anger at bay, they marched in the darkness at Kalah’s shout. Riding his own balmak, the commander had much more than vigor; he was as revitalized as a mutt watching a man dangle his food in front of him. Functioning solely on Anger, while on the nights when a feast doesn’t occur, he is as active as a lettuce. Glancing behind, Gakeh’s eyes landed on Onhik; lately he’d been less interested in his plans, ever since they engaged the soldiers. Soldiers scaring a markin? That would’ve sounded hilarious before, but not the case with what Jharke fought. Blaming Onhik for wanting to step back after that encounter was not wise of Gakeh, yet he ought to keep an eye on him. Ideas might strike him—ones in opposition to Gakeh’s.

For as long as the eye could see, there was nothing else but trees. The path on which they rode was surprisingly wide; trails of carts were fresh, giving away that men use those roads often. Above them stood a natural canopy made from thin but wide enough leaves; the moon being forced to pierce through them as they galloped. Nature couldn’t cease impressing Gakeh with its diversity and complexity; Leehaeel had nothing of this sort, nothing but massive boulders, mud—both wet and solid and hills surrounding a beast of a mountain. Here on the other hand, life took on too many forms for him to even count anymore.

Balmaks began crying out, the lashes some received physically hurting Gakeh. Why even bother handing such a delicate, magnificent beast to a markin that couldn’t control himself? He twirled, finding out the culprits; it was as he suspected. Gritting teeth and flushing faces, with drool already dangling at the corners of their mouths, their excitement unable to be controlled anymore. Anger stirred within him as well, for he envisioned himself taking away the balmak out of such a markin’s imbecilic hands; not yet though. Not yet.

The road took them over a hill filled with high bushes, before descending them into a valley covered in a carpet of violet flowers. Out in the distance, placed at the foot of a cliff, surrounded by a few boulders, was Nuri—a sweeping village, encircled by tall walls made from wood, with rocks at the base. Watchtowers acted as protectors with bonfires lit inside, yet few archers. Few things could be examined from where he stood, made worse by the constant movement of the balmak beneath him, but as he tried squinting his eyes Kalah bellowed, a sound so powerful that Gakeh’s balmak cried out in pain and veered him to the left. Calming down his balmak and halting for a moment, the commander continued descending upon the city like a bear hunting deer, a company of markins—from which some roared in response to him—by his side. A scene which has tainted their race and was tainting it further still. Imagining what the poor humans will feel the moment they notice them nudged Gakeh into gritting his own teeth.

He commanded the balmak to move and it responded, galloping towards the village, wind whipping at his ears. The village had taller structures—a mill loomed in the darkness; a trail of water visible behind it as it descended from the cliff. Smoke escaped from chimneys; dim candle lights gave the village some life. Life that was about to be taken viciously. Approaching, they were met by a wooden bridge, creaking violently under the balmak’s pressure and as they crossed above the body of water below, the gate came in sight; massive, true, but opened. No resistance met them, for no one knew what would befall them.

Passing in front of them was a younger woman, probably still a child from what Gakeh could tell. At first, she was oblivious to what was occurring, but slowly her eyes shifted towards them and noticing what came running at her, her eyes widened in dread. The girl froze; Gakeh was struck by a vague sensation of… pity. Stupidly vague. Every inch of him wanted to stop and turn back, his balmak even slowing down under his command, but Kalah pressed on; he climbed atop the balmak mid-gallop, he dug his nails into the poor creature’s neck and jumped at the girl, headfirst. A shadow engulfed her and moments later, Kalah made contact, biting off her head and leaving her body to quiver as life was being drained from it. The commander sat like a mutt and munched on her head, the sound of bone cracking echoing through the village. Eventually, Gakeh stopped and watched, but his brethren pressed on, and soon enough screams began piling up, overwhelming his ears. Kalah munched and munched, blood drooling from his mouth, breathing harshly, eyes filled with rage. Even a predator had more respect for its prey than he did for the girl’s head. This was an image unlike any of the past; this much monstrosity had never been part of the markin race. Anger was beyond a curse at this point. Anger… was their doom.

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Attention was quickly demanded from him as some pitiful replacements for soldiers began trying to protect their settlement—the fear in their eyes visible without even looking. One of them swung his blade, meeting his balmak, the animal crying out in pain and rushing Gakeh forward. No longer was it responding to commands, for there was only one thing the beast desired—to escape. Pulling on the reins, eventually the balmak slowed as it went down a twisting pathway, homes left and right and he dismounted by jumping. Gakeh landed in front of an opening door from where a man was exiting. As he noticed Gakeh, his breathing intensified, his arms began shaking and he retreated slowly. Right before Gakeh could decide what to do, a raging markin came from behind him and entered the home by leaning and squeezing inside and splitting the man’s head in two with his axe. Blood painted the walls inside and a few screams emerged, but the door closed with the markin still in. Soon enough, the last breaths were being drawn from within.

His body began jolting, rage brewing. Feasting like miserable and delirious animals—that was what they were doing. How long? How long was he supposed to endure it all? How long until they open their sealed eyes? How long… must Kalah be allowed to rule? How bloody long?

Gakeh released a thunderous roar, a few of his brethren’s rage diminishing as they were stunned by him. His breathing strengthened, his eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared. He gripped the hilt of his blade, unsheathing it violently and smashing its tip in the ground below, an echoing clang coming out of it. Briefly, there was only one thing his eyes focused on—Kalah. He held the body of two men, his nails digging in their torsos, blood seeping down his hands as he ate away at their flesh. He marched steadily, wishing to end it all. To plunge his blade in the markin’s back, to tear him to shreds like he tore so many souls, to humiliate him and finally… finally show the markin race who… who should lead them. Who deserves to lead them! He… he does!

His sight was suddenly distracted by a man approaching, blade held high. Gakeh groaned in frustration and struck sideways, the man’s head hitting him on the shoulder as it fell to the ground. Anger filled him to the brim, and it felt… so… good. So… liberating. Like this… was what he was meant to be. He needed… to feast.

His head swirled to the left, where men, women and children were being chased through buildings, on stairs, even on rooftops. Fire began to engulf some structures, the wood burning peacefully. He paced towards the action, thirsty for blood. A man fell from a roof, and he caught him, piercing his chest with the blade before tossing him aside like a log. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed a few children huddled together under a thatched roof, watching, terror noticeable on their faces. He approached and they began shivering, looking for an escape, pushing on one another, crying out to be left alone. With one swing of his blade, he managed to chop down one pillar of the roof, and it leaned sideways. Their screams intensified and so did his desire to feast. He gripped the hand of one of them, pulling him viciously and flung him in a wall behind, bones smashing in the process. Turning, he saw the child’s body limp, groaning, most likely on the verge of dying. But not yet. Gakeh’s shaking hand turned him on his back and the moment he saw the child’s disfigured and crying face he halted. It finally struck him that he was… not present anymore. The Anger took control. The Anger did all of this.

His head shook and he pushed down on his desires, on his rage, on everything that was pulling him into this massacre. Sounds came from behind him as the children managed to dig their way out from the settlement, their desperate bodies crawling under the fence. Knowing what they were plotting, he decided to let them go. Their parents were most likely going to be murdered, but at least they… they can have a chance. That same dim feeling of pity came back as the child next to his feet struggled for his last breaths, his crippled body pouring blood. He cannot show mercy; Kalah would find out and that wouldn’t be wise of him. So, he glanced at his blade, lifted it and pierced the young boy’s torso, finishing his suffering. Not even in such a moment could his nature allow him to shed a tear. To be the one that would bid farewell to this poor soul with a semblance of… what made them humans. Not even now.

Lifting his blade and wiping away the blood on his armor, he joined the others, fighting against his Anger as his blade took more lives. Arrows came flying at him, two of them piercing his skin but the pain was manageable. With his free hand he pulled them out and glanced in the direction of the archers, the towers keeping them safe and out of reach. For now. More arrows flew towards them and Gakeh hid behind a wall, this time avoiding getting hit. A few markins took the hits without care and soon enough, one tower began to shake at the pressure of one of his brethren. At last, it began to tilt, the archers up top scrambling to find a safer way down, but it was too late. The tower fell with a loud thump, vanishing under a cloud of dust, but not before hitting another nearby tower who rocked back and forth a couple of times, before also collapsing onto a few homes.

Flames engulfed multiple structures, men and women littered the ground with their sliced limbs, pools of blood began to form in which Gakeh unfortunately stepped as he advanced through the rows of homes. Controlling the Anger in such a situation was mostly impossible. Only seeing and hearing what was going on was enough to set him ablaze, but with each new victim, the Anger inched one step closer to fully take over him. All around him, markins drooled like starved wolves, their teeth gritting and reflecting the moonlight, their eyes bulging with thirst for more. More of everything. Which reminded Gakeh about Dagham and Jharke.

He glanced around; no sight of them nearby. He paced through stained walls, the blood on them still fresh, the clatter of blades and the sound of flesh pierced following him, the smell of corpses unwavering in its strength, and reached a wider alley. A fountain stood in the middle; limp, headless corpses bathed in the bowl of water underneath. Another cry sounded nearby—monstrously powerful, like a hundred beasts all became one and lost their wits. Gakeh followed it and arrived in another alley; splintered wood, broken glass and burning thatch covered the floor. Through flames he made out the figure of Kalah—still on all fours, still gorging on humans. Making sure the fire didn’t reach him, he marched through the chaos, reaching Kalah and a few more markins, but Dagham came into sight, and he stopped. Anger brewed in every corner of his face, and he approached Kalah hastily, not even acknowledging Gakeh. Foolish markin! This was not the time for Gakeh to be so noticeable. Whatever Dagham was about to do, signaled to him that he must hide in between other markins.

Retreating steadily, he glanced around and found more markins watching Dagham and abolishing their rampage. Gakeh moved behind what little remained of a home and emerged on the other side, further from the commander.

“Kalah!” yelled Dagham, his voice enhanced by rage.

More markins ceased the feast and were captivated by what was happening. Boldness radiated from Dagham, for he was doing something no other markin dared to before him—calling the commander by name directly. Kalah paid no attention to him and still ate away at what little remained of the poor soul in his grasp.

“Kalah!” he shouted, already beginning to shake with Anger.

Finally, the commander acknowledged him and turned sluggishly, his mouth holding a hand in its jaws, blood still dripping wildly from it. He spat it on the ground and walked towards Dagham, growling.

“You… what… did… you call me?” he asked, barely able to mutter words at this point.

Uncertainty struck Dagham briefly, his advancement being impaired, but he clutched his free fist and pushed on. Idiot! A massive, massive idiot! Why do this, Dagham? When Gakeh had been explicit in his opinion about trying to talk sense into the commander, that fool still thought he knew better and was about to do something… that could cost Gakeh everything.

“Why… why do this, Kalah? Are we nothing more than beasts? Are we that… unable to control our Anger?”

“What… what are you… how do you have the courage to talk to me? Like… that?” asked Kalah, dumbfounded. Clearly unexpected for such a grave thing to be done by a markin. By one whom he led.

“Cease this! We can be better than this! Anger is a curse, not a gift. This… all of this,” he said, gesturing around the destruction, “is not benefitting us whatsoever.”

The commander stood, his gaze shifting downwards, as if actually pondering on what Dagham was talking about. Unbelievable. Was the commander—that monstrous entity—actually considering a markin’s words? Others displayed the rage retreating and their blank faces returning, but something told Gakeh they too were dwelling on Dagham’s words.

“Markins!” Dagham turned and shouted, raising his arms. “We… are better than this. Anger should not be controlling us! Feasting should not be… what we live for. Think about it… think about all the things that we could do to expand who we are!”

Silence overwhelmed them all, the occasional popping of flames, distant screams and Kalah’s ceaseless growling the only audible sounds. No one moved. Dagham simply captured them whole with his words. Fascinating. He actually was doing… what Gakeh never could but wished. What a sight!

“But,” he continued, “to do all of this, to become better… a mighty nation… we need,” he glanced at Kalah, “new leadership.”

Instantly, Kalah’s gaze darted on him. Gritting teeth were on full display, the dirt beneath his nails mounding as he dug in it and in the blink of an eye, with a vile rage, he leaped, gripping Dagham’s head in his jaws. Gakeh felt a nudge to intervene, to get him out of the commander’s grasp but he controlled himself. Nothing else could be done from now on.

Dagham fought back, trying to strike the commander with his axe, but Kalah blocked and bit harder, until eventually, after moments of twitching, blood began pouring down the markin’s neck and shoulders and he ceased moving. A loud crack and half of his head stood in Kalah’s mouth, while the limp body collapsed to the ground. The commander chewed and chewed and spat what little remained of Dagham’s upper head.

He perked up, his wretched eyes darting back and forth as he eyed the markins before him. “Anyone… anyone… any of you want to challenge me? Your commander?” he shouted.

Tension surged through Gakeh’s body, Anger on the verge of boiling and he began showing his teeth. Imbecile! That bloody imbecile! Abandoning everything they built and deciding on his own to face the commander, when Gakeh explicitly told him to be mindful. Fists began clutching, the blade in his hand jolting sporadically. His nostrils flared and all he desired was to cry out and strike down that monster. That wretched monster that stood atop Dagham’s corpse. A plan so long in the making—collapsing in an instant. Barely anyone stood by their side at this moment; Jharke wasn’t even present, he still most likely massacred people, Onhik stood oddly silent and Rihik had been clear on his stance ever since they departed from Leehaeel. When there was so much still left to do, when Dagham’s usefulness was in full swing, when his plan finally took some shape, he threw it all away. Idiocy was too kind a word to be wasted on Dagham. Replacing him was the obvious next step, and one Gakeh ought to be fully devoted to.

“No one dares speak?! You… you believe yourselves to be better than me? None of you are, markins! You’re here to follow me and do my bidding! Let this be your reminder of that. Anyone else who wants to lose their lives… this,” he pointed down at Dagham, “is how you do it!”

Kalah turned and joined back in the slaughter, leaving the circle of markins which formed to watch their encounter behind. Anger hasn’t receded from Gakeh, his narrowed eyes still latched onto the monster of a commander that even now still sat on all fours. Next to him, suppressed growls began to demand his attention. He glanced and saw a few of his brethren scattered around, their blank faces morphing steadily into rage. They were succumbing to Anger because of… the commander? His actions? Or because Dagham challenged him? Examining them further, Gakeh concluded that they were eyeing the commander leaving as Anger brewed within. Kalah’s actions were the reason. Eyes were beginning… to open. To see. To understand who the commander is. At last.

Suppressing his own Anger, others beginning to disperse, Gakeh’s eyes landed on Dagham which now sat in a pool of darkened blood. Death grasped him too soon; a price he was beginning to accept. Handing Gakeh so many potential allies with whom he could advance his plans was a massive achievement. Finding a replacement shouldn’t be as hard as he initially thought. In the end, stupidity wasn’t the only thing that represented Dagham.