Epilogue: Heir
Fifteen hundred years ago.
Sesom’s eyes snapped open, his mind momentarily panicking at remembered pain before realizing he felt almost nothing anymore. The darkness surrounding him reminded him of his first moments after transferring his consciousness into this body. But unlike back then, this darkness didn’t fade. He was alive for now, though he knew he didn’t have much time left before his body shut down for good.
Hopefully, he would have enough time to… do something to protect the Egeilen.
Strange, uneven, masses pressed against him from above. Something simultaneously hard and soft, with patches of slickness. He tried to shift under the weight with little success, his body weak from his ordeal. However, in his attempt to move he learned something about the weight above him. A limp hand pressed against his side. He was in a pile of corpses.
On his way to be recycled.
The bodies shifted around him and he slid with them, dropping briefly before stopping against corpses below as they hit the ground. Desperately he tried to pull himself upward, grabbing at bodies with his hands, his feet seeking a solid foothold among the limp forms. More from the shifting of the bodies than from his efforts, his hand broke the surface of the heap and Sesom felt the cool night air.
Twisting beneath the weight, he pulled himself upward, freeing his head and shoulders from the sea of the dead.
The cart that dumped him and the corpses stood motionless at the edge of the pile of the dead and a Priestess of Dytie stepped around it. She wore the garb of the priests, a cloak with a mask that had Dytie’s handprint cut out of it, her face painted over beneath that cutout. Their eyes met in the darkness. He knew by the color of the face paint, red, that it wasn’t one of his own, but one of Maharba’s. They were near Mahkram, so that made sense.
Of all diordna, priests were the least discriminatory against diordna of a different metal. Especially when those diordna were corpses. They were taught to respect all dead as children of Dytie, and besides that, every corpse eventually made its way to Maharba’s lands to be recycled.
The priestess’ shoulders slumped, and she pulled a spear from the cart driver’s seat. They had the weapon at all times for just such a case as this, when one of the dead wasn’t yet dead.
“Wait,” Sesom croaked, barely able to speak after shifting so much energy and material to extend his life. “Please.”
The priestess didn’t reply as she approached, climbing over corpses to get to Sesom. He glanced from her face to the hand holding the spear, noting that the skin was a blend of copper and iron, giving her the unique grey, copper, green, and red patterns of a half skin.
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“Please,” Sesom repeated. “You can kill me, but first hear me. Please. I’m as good as dead anyway. Grant me a final request.”
The priestess raised her spear above Sesom. “Speak your request.”
Sesom twisted to show the nawo the Mark of Dytie on his shoulder. “I am Egeil Sesom. Without leadership my nation will be destroyed. I know you see death every day but please have compassion on them. I won’t live long enough to return to my people and select an heir. Please, I need to know my people aren’t left to death without leadership. It’s a lot to ask I know, but please…”
The priestess lowered her spear hand, and Sesom thought he saw sorrow in her eyes, though it was difficult to tell in the darkness. “What would you have me do? I won’t lie and say all will be well, even though you are dying. I have no way of entering Egeilen land. I have no aluminum in my skin. I’ll be killed as soon as I’m seen.”
“There is a way for you to be safe in my land.” Sesom said. “Please be my heir. There is no one else who can.”
“I’m no leader of diordna.”
“I wasn’t either. I was a merchant.” He tried to laugh but felt a crunch in his chest instead and buckled in pain. “Please. If I could I would find another.”
The priestess nodded. “How will they know you sent me?”
Sesom released a relieved sigh. “First go to the southeast. Along the cliffs of the damned there’s a natural harbor with an oasis of sorts nestled against them. It can only be reached by boat. There are six caves, one for each of Dytie’s fingers. Enter at the third finger of the hand. I can’t tell you the exact path to take in that cave, but at the end of a passage there is a fissure in the wall. Put your hand inside until you feel warmth, and it will open a tunnel to you. There is a room at the end of that passage and a table with Dytie’s Mark on its surface. Place your hand in that mark give you one of your own. While your hand is on the table you can choose where to place it. Place the Mark on your shoulder like mine, and show that to my diordna. When they see it they will accept you as my heir.”
The nawo nodded again, though her eyes were pale and fearful.
“Everything in that room belongs to you now,” Sesom said. “And with it the burden of protecting the Egeilen. In that room, I left my notes detailing my plans and work. If you can, finish it for me. Will you do this?”
“I will try,” The nawo said softly.
“That’s all I can ask. My closest advisor is Nayer. Tell him that the other Chosen killed me, and that I’m sorry. Tell him I call AI ‘humans’ and he’ll know I sent you. He will be a great ally to you.”
“I... think I understand.”
“You will,” Sesom said, cringing at a stabbing pain in his side. “One last thing. Without you, my death will be slow and painful. Will you speed the process for me?”
The nawo nodded, raising her spear once more.
Sesom raised a hand. “May I ask your name before I die?”
“Nagemai.”
“Thank you, Nagemai. And I’m sorry my burden falls to you. Please do what I cannot.”
“I will. Go to Dytie in peace,” the priestess said.
Then she drove her spear through Sesom’s chest, and became his heir.
The End of Animalis Inteligentia Part 1