The Primeval Era-Chapter 35: The Great Hierarchy II

Grandmother Essun walked in front of him silently in the beginning. Her staff struck the ground in steady rhythm, the rings clicking with each impact. Her breathing was even and unhurried despite the pace she set.

Damian’s senses, enhanced by the Mana now flowing through his systems, barely captured her serious gaze when she occasionally glanced back to ensure he followed. There was something in those ancient eyes that he could not quite read. Something that suggested she knew far more than she had revealed.

After a few minutes, she broke the silence with her sharp voice.

"What is it, Tokoloshe?"

Her tone was almost amused.

"I can feel your eyes boring into my back."

Damian blinked.

He had not realized he was staring so intently. But his curiosity had been building since they left the village, and her comment gave him the opening to voice it.

"I was just wondering how your ability works."

He kept pace with her easily, his newly empowered body responding to the demands of the journey without strain.

"And whether you have a Land and Sky Physique."

...!

Grandmother Essun smiled.

It was a knowing smile, the kind that old people wore when young people asked questions that revealed how little they understood about the world.

"Tokoloshe..."

She did not slow her pace, but her voice took on a weight that had not been there before.

"There is much more in the Lands of Stone than just Land and Sky Physiques."

Her staff struck the ground with particular emphasis.

"But an old woman like me, or you, or any of us in the tribes that move with mountains..."

She paused, and when she continued, her voice had grown cold.

"You know the name that the grand Neolithic Empires out there call us, do you not? You know how those with grand Land and Sky Physiques, those who rule over the thousands of miles of the Lands of Stone, view us?"

She glanced back at him, her ancient eyes sharp despite the darkness.

"To them, we are only and will always be Dross. Lesser things to be used as slaves when needed, whether we have Mana or not."

Her yellow teeth showed in something that was not quite a smile.

"But I think you already knew this, O Great Tokoloshe."

...!

They crossed the ensuing darkness as Grandmother Essun said such heavy things.

Damian’s eyes flashed sharply as he thought of her words.

The Lands of Stone are not merely vast.

They are stratified.

From the mightiest Neolithic Empire to the smallest wandering band, every group of people exists within an unspoken hierarchy that determines their worth, their rights, and their chances of survival. This hierarchy was not created by decree or conquest. It emerged naturally from the fundamental truth of the Lands of Stone.

Power determines everything.

Those with Mana rule. Those without serve. Those with Land and Sky Physiques command those with mere cultivation. Those with vast territories and armies look upon those with single mountains and small tribes as little more than animals who happen to speak.

This is the way of the Lands of Stone.

This is the Great Hierarchy.

When it came to what Grandmother Essun was referring to, Dross, Damian actually hated this word. But it was a word commonly used in his former home. Many who lived in Neolithic Empires looked down on the wandering tribes that followed mountains, viewing them as primitive and worthless.

Because the empires had enough power to anchor down grand ancestral mountains filled with Mana. Because they could claim territories and hold them against all challengers. Because they had risen above the desperate nomadic existence that the Unbound Tribes still endured.

The countless small tribes scattered across the Lands of Stone, following moving mountains, surviving on the edges of imperial territory, living and dying without ever being noticed by those who hold true power, are called the Unbound Tribes.

They have sworn no oaths. They pay no tribute. They are connected to no empire.

Their Tribesmen are called The Dross.

The term is ancient and deeply insulting. Dross is the waste material that forms on the surface of molten metal, the impurities that must be skimmed away to reveal the pure substance beneath. By calling the Unbound Tribes and their people Dross, the Neolithic Empires imply that they are the waste of the Lands of Stone, the impurities that remain after the worthy have been separated out.

The Dross have no rights in imperial law. They can be enslaved, killed, or driven from their lands without consequence. Their lives are worth nothing to those above them. Their deaths are not mourned by anyone beyond their own small communities.

Most Dross do not even know they are called by this name. They live their lives following the mountains, farming the fertile soil, fighting off beasts and rival tribes, never realizing that vast empires exist beyond their limited horizons.

The Purple Stone Tribe is an Unbound Tribe.

It is Dross.

Above Unbound Tribes existed the Vassal Tribes.

Below the Neolithic Empires but still recognized by them, these are tribes that have formally pledged allegiance to an empire. They pay tribute in resources, Warriors, or other valuable goods in exchange for protection and recognition. They exist in a complex relationship with their imperial masters, neither fully independent nor fully integrated.

Those belonging to Vassal Tribes are called The Sworn.

The term reflects their oath of loyalty to their patron empire. They have sworn themselves, accepting a subordinate position in exchange for the benefits that relationship provides.

The Sworn occupy an uncomfortable middle ground in the Great Hierarchy. They are looked down upon by the Neolithic Empires, who view them as useful but inferior, like well-trained beasts that have learned to serve their masters. Yet they also look down upon those below them, The Dross, taking pride in their connection to imperial power however tenuous it might be.

And above all of them, the true rulers of the Lands of Stone, where Damian Vakochev used to belong, were the Neolithic Empires.

These are vast dominions controlling massive territories, often encompassing dozens of moving and anchored mountains and the lands between them. They are ruled by imperial families whose bloodlines have been cultivated over generations to produce the strongest possible Warriors, the most potent Physiques, the greatest concentrations of power.

Those born within the borders of a Neolithic Empire are called The Anointed.

This term reflects the belief, deeply held by those in the empires, that they have been blessed by the Ancestors themselves to rule over the Lands of Stone. They are not merely more powerful than those outside the empires. They are fundamentally superior. Chosen. Set apart from birth by virtue of where they drew their first breath.

The Anointed view themselves as the inheritors of the First People, those legendary beings who supposedly walked the Lands of Stone before history began. They believe their bloodlines carry traces of those ancient origins, making them more human than those who dwell in lesser circumstances.

The Vakochev Bloodline was considered an Anointed Bloodline.

It was.

It was.

Damian’s jaw tightened as he ran through the darkness behind Grandmother Essun.

For twelve generations, his family had stood at the apex of the Great Hierarchy. They had ruled an empire that stretched across many moving mountains and all the fertile lands between them.

And now?

Now the last of that bloodline ran through the night like Dross, following an old Wisewoman toward an uncertain destination, hoping to save a Chieftain of an Unbound Tribe that the Anointed would not deign to acknowledge existed.

The irony was not lost on him.

But neither was the determination that burned in his chest alongside that heavy heartbeat.

DUM!

The Vakochev Bloodline had fallen, but it had not ended.

He was still here.

And now, for the first time in eight years, he had power.

"Grandmother Essun."

His voice cut through the darkness.

The old woman glanced back, her eyes glittering in the light of her staff.

"You said there is more in the Lands of Stone than just Land and Sky Physiques."

He met her gaze steadily.

"What did you mean by that?"

...!

The Wisewoman cackled, that same unsettling sound she had made in the village.

"Ka ka ka! Curious Tokoloshe, are we?"

She turned her attention back to the path ahead, navigating around a particularly large Spirit Stone with practiced ease.

"Perhaps if we survive the night, I will tell you. Perhaps not. The Ancestors keep many secrets, and not all of them are meant for young ghosts who refuse to stay dead."

She picked up the pace.

"Now stop asking questions and run faster. We have Warriors to save and darkness to challenge. The Lands of Stone wait for no one, not even Tokoloshes with heavy heartbeats and eyes that see too much."

...!

Damian followed, his questions temporarily set aside.

But he filed them away for later.

The night swallowed them as they ran, two figures moving through darkness toward an uncertain fate. Behind them, the Roaring Stone Mountain groaned in its eternal slumber. Ahead, somewhere in the vast expanse of the Lands of Stone, a Chieftain and his Warriors moved toward a danger they did not yet know was coming, or the danger had already found them.

And above them all, the Ancestor Road blazed across the sky, watching as it had watched for countless ages.

The Great Hierarchy stood unchanged.

But change was coming.

Whether the Lands of Stone were ready for it or not!