The two months to the harvest festival were eerily quiet, and the village had fallen into an unsettled routine. No raids, no reprisals, not even from Khardi’s settlement. They had not heard much of anything from any settlement, though the communication between Erezo and Khardi’s Mekhe Garot had been going strong. Togeg forbade any acts of vengeance against that village, astonishing some of the elders, and word was that Khardi did something similar in his own village. But between Togeg and Erezo, all enraged hawks that desired blood on the mountainsides were quieted. There was farming to do.

Togeg had spent time training all men of age – and indeed some over and some under, and even some who were girls – in the ways of the bow, the spear, and the knife. This too took some cajoling from the Elders, but they gave their pass on it. What they did not give their pass on was the Mekhe taking additional apprentices. So many soldiers, and so many mekhe! It would not have left many for the humble professions of the hammer, the plow, or the crook. Many elders opposed letting the Mekhe and the Chief have so much power, especially when they were working together, and even more so when the Chief was inclined to sit on the warriors and not use them. In fact, they were now in a meeting with the elders on the very subject, within the Chief’s abode.

“Why have you trained so many if you do not use them, Togeg?” said an elder of the crook.

“I’ve told you, it’s to protect the tribe from danger.”

“What danger!?” said a elderess, “There have been no attacks by any other village. We live in a time of objective peace!”

“This isn’t peace, it’s the calm before the storm!”

“So you keep telling us,” said an exasperated elder, the youngest of them who had only just had his first grandchild, “but where have been the attacks! You’ve been telling us there would be a storm for two months now, since you came back from that stupid expedition! And by all accounts, the war with Khardi’s tribe is over!”

“Yea, he’s right,” said another Elder, “We’ve not heard anything, and yet we’ve been working harder than ever!”

“And if you intend on continuing to wait,” said the elderess, “Why not use this opportunity! Use the forces gathered to destroy Khardi while he’s unawares, once and for all! Don’t you still have any spine at all, Togeg?”

Togeg shot a pained look at Erezo, who was leaning against the wall, arms folded. The light of the fire lapped at his face, making his eyes look more sunken than they usually were, and his beard gleam. He looked ever-the-mekhe, when he said, “Esteemed Elders, please…”

“No, please to you, sacred one, but we simply cannot keep living like this. It frightens my children and grandchildren, and I loathe seeing them worked to the bone. The harvest festival is coming up, we ought to abandon the training to prepare for that.”

Togeg hoped the spirits would embody Erezo once more, but Erezo simply closed his mouth and gave a small nod to Togeg, and Togeg said, “Very well, we shall have much to do as Khardi’s village will be in attendance.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Spirits forbid!”

“The fuck, is this a joke?”

The sounds of exasperation quickly turned to a cacophony rage: inviting an enemy tribe into the camp for a harvest festival?

“Elders, elders!”

“You truly are a fool, Togeg! A cowardly, cravenly fool!”

“I cannot believe this…”

Erezo and Togeg tried to calm down the tribal elders, but they could not. Eventually, a loud voice said, “All in favor of dissolving the chiefship!”

A silence hung in the air. And then…

“I’m for it.”

“Yea, I as well.”

“No, I trust him.”

“He’s taken all leave of his senses! Strip him.”

“Agreed.”

A trickle of yeses became a chorus, with few dissenting. All twenty-three elders had now said their piece, and it was decided: Togeg was chief no more.

Erezo felt heartbroken. He saw it coming out of nowhere – Togeg was trying his best as a chief, and he may have made some missteps, taken some things a bit too far, but who didn’t? And suddenly, poof. He was chief no more.

Togeg took off his poncho, leaving his bare chest underneath, and gave it to Erezo. Then, he handed the knife and the crook of the village over (both embellished with spirit-metal fittings), with a frown on his face. He retired to his bed-room – a separate room in his lodge for his bed was a luxury that only the chief had – to try and configure his thoughts. Trying to figure out what to tell the village with his final plea. Trying to figure out how to explain this to his wife and children. Erezo could only think about the dark days that lie ahead.

He was not aware that the chief’s lodge had gone quiet, expecting something from their mekhe.

“Ahem, pardon me. I was, err, lost…”

“We know he was your friend, sacred one, but he had a good long run – it’s always tragic when one falls to senility,” said an elder.

“Senility?!” spat Erezo, “what do you know of senility?! Foolish man, spirits forbid anyone you love have such a curse!”

The elder shrunk, and Erezo composed himself, “Whether you agree with his views or not, Togeg was a friend to all of us, and lead us through a period of turmoil in the village. He deserves respect and dignity.”

A mutter of agreement.

“And let us not make this decision before the harvest festival,” Erezo said.

“You’re bartering for time, sacred one, and I won’t have our decision eroded by you. Spirits shall not interfere in these processes.”

“No,” said a younger elder, “I agree. A change in leadership may break a harvest festival.”

“Hear, hear,” said another Elder. Eventually it was decided that while Togeg was chief no more, his nineteen years as chief entitled him to leading the village into the harvest festival, so that they may avoid the turmoil of too much change in too little time. The Elders began selecting his replacement, and Togeg walked with less vigor in his step. The days passed by as the harvest festival drew closer, with the raised warriors being disbanded and left for the final bits of preparation for the festival. But it was about four days before the festival that the attack came.

The tribe had barely any morning. A hunter had returned in a panic, his dog lost in the woods, reporting dozens of warriors descending on them. “Impossible,” said the Elders, but Togeg sprang into action.

“No, leave the spears, take what food you can!” he shouted at some couples, and he tried to get the shepherds to abandon their prized pulukh.

“What are you doing, Togeg! Defend us!”

The flames started taking root at the outlying houses, and some warriors were now descending and shooting arrows into men who tried to defend. Looting was already happening. Togeg said, “Do you not understand? We cannot fight! We must run!”

The man he was shouting to was already dead, so Togeg went back to trying to get the children to escape, and organize enough defenders so that they would be safe on their flight.

Meanwhile, Erezo was hiding what he could from the Mekhe’s grotto. He saw firsthand what they would do – they had no respect for the sanctity of a grotto. They would strip it bare.

He grabbed is servant by the poncho and said, “Do you understand what is happening, boy?!” The boy nodded, and Erezo went on, “Good. Run as fast as you can to Khardi’s village. Let him know what has happened. Do not delay, go!” He shoved the boy, who stumbled but took off. Erezo would not know that the boy was immediately captured and bound. All he would know is that it was too late for him to run. When the malevolent chief came in, wielding the knife, he knew he would not survive.