Chapter CCCXV: Child of the Moon ~Lich

The afternoon sun was very low on the western mountains, dappling everything in a golden light, slow and thick like honey. There was the sense of stillness in the air, a moment of restfulness and calm as the shadows began to crawl across the valley floor, quickening the further the sun dipped. The heat of the day was slipping away, leaving behind the coolness of dusk.

A young Yoshi, his skin a pale apple green, stood beside the altar on the dais, his back to the sun, eyes trained on a round mountain not far to the east, sparsely covered with trees. He was covered with lines and swirls and shapes hand painted in bright red, orange and magenta, with a streak of grey-black across his stomach. In his hands was one of the last surviving battle-horns of the war preceding the Banishment, made of an incredibly hard wood only found on the slopes of Mount Kappa. He had not yet fully grasped the events of the day, but he knew of their significance. The A’gul had waited centuries for this moment, and it was his job to rein it in.

The shadows of the mountains behind him passed through the village. He was waiting for the moment the last of the sun’s rays touched the ground as far as he could see around the village, so that all was cloaked in darkness. That moment would come when the eastern mountain was shrouded; it was not long before the line was rising up it.

Soon, the last of the trees were in the fading light. He raised the horn to his lips and stared.

The last tree shot its sliver of gold into its canopy, and off into the darkening sky.

He blew.

Loud and clear, the note’s sound bounced off the houses, the trees and the mountains. As he took a gasping breath, its fading echoes could be heard up and down the valley. He gave another blast.

The Yoshies of the village streamed into the central area before the altar, each coming in their own time. Children chattered excitedly to each other as their elders did likewise in a murmur, drowned out by the third, fourth, fifth and sixth blasts of the horn. By the time the seventh came around, everyone was seated on the ground. There was silence until the eighth, when Ung’grl emerged from the Chieftain’s Hut and raised his arms.

“Behold!” he shouted, the hornblower lowering the instrument. “The A’gul and the banish’d tribes resideth in the darkness of G’lirer; people without the sun of peace, the light of plenty, and the warmth of happiness. The A’gul left the Islands of their own volition, unhappy with the actions of Recugrian, whilst the others were removed from their homelands and brought here. We have not known peace for nine generations, with war and bickering rife among us. We have not known anything save despair.

“Yet have we hoped, and have had faith that one day, we would once again know peace, and that we would have the chance to return to our homelands.

“For the Prophet Aggli saith: ‘A power shalt emerge in the vales and move to the seas, its wake extending until the end of time.

“‘Every tribe requireth a choice: acceptance of the power, or denying of the power.
“‘Those who favourest it not and yieldest not to its will shalt endure great misery, as will their children, children’s children, and many generations thereafter.

“‘But worry not in this dark hour, for lo and behold, an appointed one will descend from the mountains with the great spirit at his side and the Hunter on the other, and he shalt reign over the tribes, giving them great harvest and bounty for many seasons.

“‘And with him shalt be beasts of great power and a curved blade that shineth in the darkness; beware his powers, for he too shalt be of the stock of the misery-giver.

“‘These are the signs that truly proclaimeth that the appointed one is true and worthy, not like the fools who arise in each generation that speakst falsehoods.’

“This I declare fulfilled this morning.”

“Lo, I declare another of the Prophet’s foresights to already be true!” Hl’garng continued, beside him. “‘Be wary, young warrior, that creatures shalt be taken away from thee when thou expectest not their removal.’ Mine eyes hath seen fulfilment this very morning.”

There was a slight murmur from the crowd.

“Thus,” Ung’grl proclaimed, “‘we are in the presence of a guest mightier than any mortal Yoshi can ever hope being. The Great Spirit, the Guardian of All Yoshies, Markior, is among us, and seen by us, his children this very day. We await midnight, when the Hunter, the Appointed One, and he appeareth at the beginning of the progression to the sunrise of a new day; a sunrise of hope.”

Grey in the last of the twilight sunset, the long grass rustled as the breeze caressed it, spilling its wordless secrets. There was the sound of rapid footprints and heavy panting approaching, before a shirtless figure stooped, his hands to his knees, and caught his breath.

The Hunter was running across the valley fields, following the stream to its root. His brother was asleep in Ung’grl’s mansion of a hut, as he should have been also. They weren’t going to get much tonight, in all certainty. But Ark had business.

His black shirt around his waist, his lungs heaved as his heart raced, still worked up from the run so far. Surely, no-one would know he was gone. He turned his head to the side and spat, the globule sticking to the grass.

Some Hunter you are, Eriuch teased him.

“Shut up,” Ark breathed out. “I’ve got until midnight to get back.”

He sat down and put his bare back against a rough-barked tree, and waited for his breath to return. Unfortunately, Ark was unfamiliar with xenobiology.

Sweat trickled down his back, and into the cuts between the bark pieces. It was not long before there was a sweet smell that was vaguely entrancing. Then came that particular moment of dread realisation (much like that feeling a split second after realising you’ve stepped in some stray dog’s nature call) as something sticky touched his back.

Ark turned – or at least tried to. The plant’s honey-like sap had reacted to the sweat that had entered it, and out came the glue that the A’gul used to stick things together.

“Great…this always happens to me!” he yelled to the air.

Putting the Spear down by his side, he tried to move forward, but the tree held him fast. He struggled for a few minutes in vain.

“Gulto!”

In blinding anger, he shut his eyes and drew on Salamando’s powers; the red circle of light surrounded him. He raised his fist, turned his fingers towards the tree and flicked his middle finger with a grunt. A fireball formed from his fingertip and sped into the wood, burrowing itself slightly before exploding. Bark chips flowered around him as the tree caught fire.

His irrationality passed as the pent-up energy subsided; the energy passed only momentarily as the roboticist assessed the situation he had created: he was glued to a burning tree. Anger turned to fear, and he began to struggle once more, although more frantically now.

Reacting to the heat, the glued sap began to turn syrupy once more, beginning to form sticky bridges between Ark’s back and the tree. Several fervid wriggles later, the strands broke.

With the warm sap clinging to his skin, Ark leapt to his feet and ran for the stream, just ahead of him. He dived in with a rather ungraceful flop, submerging his back. He surfaced to stomach height, then squatted and turned to look at the tree. The magic fireball had done its work, its flames destroying only the tree without harming anything else around it. He could just make out a charred, broken stump.

A clinging pressure around his legs told him that his shirt was waterlogged. He untied it and raised it above the surface, noting beads of sap scored across it, glistening in the moonlight. He scowled. He had liked that shirt. Sighing, he relegated it to sit in his Mana Storage, mentally throwing it on the cluttered pile of used wrapping paper, broken robot parts, old bank statements, worn-out shoes and other bits of rubbish he did not feel like parting with.

He took out soap and a scrubbing brush in its place and set to work on his back, periodically removing the loosened gunk from its bristles. At least two hours later, by his judgement, he was clean. Business would have to be cut short due to this inconvenience, but that was alright. The less he had to engage in it, the better.

He stepped out of the water and sneezed, the night air now cool. After drying himself off with a Storage-supplied towel, he returned it and searched through his cluttered mind for another shirt. Deciding that the black “Welcome to Mandala” t-shirt would do, he took it out and put it on.

“My last evening in clothes,” he muttered to himself and sighed, bending over and picking up the Spear.

Once more he took up the run upstream, headed for the pool where one of his masters waited.

“Ah, so the so-called ‘Hunter’ arrives,” sneered the Dark Lich as he hovered above the water. “But, he comes without his brother.”

“Yes, master,” said Ark, hesitating as he remembered to bow.

“Why?” Dark growled.

“Master, I have come to report that we – my brother and I – have not been alone at all since your request this morning. I don’t think I can afford to kill him with a witness present.”

“Of course you can, fool!” Dark scowled, his eyes flashing. “Kill the witnesses also!”

Ark shuddered. He hated it when Dark was angry.

“Master, I cannot kill an entire village of Yoshies as well. And if I were to get him while we were alone with the village elder and I killed him, or anyone else, where could I run, master? I don’t know where the other tribes are, and I don’t know if they would accept me too.”

“This is why,” Dark fumed, moving towards him, “you should have killed him…EARLIER!”

Those two red eyes, hate incarnate, were inches from Ark’s snout. He flinched. He realised a moment later that Dark was waiting for his reply.

“I…I nearly killed him, master,” Ark gulped. His tongue felt as if it were fizzing, the words bitter and acidic, making him wince.

“True,” Dark growled, after a moment’s thought. “But you should have known about the Cup in his pocket. Nearly is not good enough.”

Ark gulped once more, and began to blubber, “…I-if –”

“Yes?”

“Ifikilledhimonthespectrumtheotherswouldhavekilledme,” Ark gushed in a whisper.

Dark leaned closer. Ark’s skin crawled as he physically felt the hatred.

“If you had killed him on the Spectrum – no, wait, if you had killed him on Zolott, like Havering and I told you to, none of this would be happening!”

“I don’t remember Zolott,” Ark murmured.

“Don’t you dare lie to me!”

Ark flinched once more, forcing a tear out of an eye.

“Your dreams tell you what your memory needs to know!” Dark continued in a low growl. “He knows that; why do you think he’s so knowledgeable about Zolott? Why do you think he has a passing memory of me? Why do you think he knows you were in my service then? The Rip Watcher may have distorted people’s memories, but he did not get to the subconscious. You know, Ark. You remember the agreement. Years and years of hard work, Ark – years! – and when we get close to its fulfilment, you turn yellow-bellied, just because he’s your brother and therefore, you feel compelled to love him. What in the universe has he ever done for you?”

“He loves me,” Ark whispered.

Dark cocked his head. “Pardon”?

Another tear dropped. “My brother loves me…I’m compelled to give it back because no-one else puts up with my faults…”

The sorcerer breathed through his teeth. “I. Have. Put up. With…your faults. For ages,” he hissed. “I have given you mercy. And now, you throw it back in my face!”

With an ascending growl, Dark steadily raised a skeletal hand towards the sky, a yellow flame surrounding it. He then made a sideways sweep with it, his fingers splayed and facing Ark.

A small whirlwind spun from his fingers and crashed into Ark’s side. Within its small space, the wind was strong enough to yank at the threads of the t-shirt, ripping a hole in it, and then shearing cells from his skin until a cut formed. Ark yelped as his blood began to ooze out.

Dark gave a dismissive sweep with his hand and the miniature tornado stopped.

“Be thankful I didn’t kill you right now, lizard.”

Ark winced as he held a hand to the cut. “Thank you for sparing my life, merciful master,” he said by rote.

“Get out of my sight,” Dark growled. “And don’t come back without your brother, preferably dead!”

“Yes, master.”

Ark fled.

* * *

The trumpet flared again as the Second Moon leapt into the sky from the round mountain, a full silver disc to accompany its rotund larger brother, hovering over the western ridge. The ground was bathed in silver, almost as bright as the golden sunshine. The Feast had begun.

The A’gul was gathered before the altar that had been set up, seated on the ground, lit by the bonfire. Young Koyoshies were struggling to stay awake as they lay across their parents’ shoulders, while the older children fidgeted beside them. Their guest, Naaro, sat at the back of the crowd. No-one wanted to miss the ceremony.

Ung’grl stood on the dais and extended his arms like a priest, the Second Moon turning him into a silhouette. He would no longer be elder after this, but it did not concern him in the least. He considered himself to be blest to see and to actually ordain the Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood, and that was better than chieftainship any way he looked at it.

“Lo, the darkness of G’lirer hath shown its truth,” he proclaimed, using words passed down for nine generations. “The Second Moon hath arisen; the Moon that Home hath not. We bathe in its light with chagrin; we long for the day when the skies of Home are o’er us once more.

“But, that day truly cometh soon. The Great Spirit Markior, God of Wisdom and Guardian of Yoshies, and The Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood and the Hunter hath – and no longer ‘will’ – appear’d,” he continued, beginning to deviate from tradition. “Hope hath returnèd to the lands, and to the Banishèd Tribes, and the Tribes That Remain.”

Lich waited in the shadows beside the elder’s hut, listening to Ung’grl speak, waiting for his entry. As much as he would rather to get the ceremony out of the way, tradition demanded he “appeareth” at the appointed time. He was bare, minus his trademark thongs and even his usual zinc cream. Even though his anatomy made provisions for decency, he felt naked without the A’gul’s paint.

Footsteps coming around the back of the hut made him instinctively clutch the Boomerang tighter in his hand, but he relaxed his grip briefly when he saw it was Ark, his hand pressed to his side, still clothed. He clutched it tightly again.

“Where, by Drepatos, have you been, Ark?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Out for a run,” Ark answered in a murmur. “Needed to get rid of some excess energy.”

Lich saw his brother wince and push his hand in tighter. “What happened?”

“Ran against a spiky bush,” he lied. “Took me some time to get untangled.”

He reached over to his younger brother and removed his hand, and then studied the wound. Ark flinched and drew in breath sharply.

“Here, have this,” he said, withdrawing a Round Drop from his storage and giving it to him. “What happened to your supply?”

“Ran out,” Ark answered, as he unwrapped and swallowed the candy. The wound began to close up.

How many am I down to? I’m going to run out soon with all that’s happening, Lich wondered.

“You’d better get out of those,” Lich said, pointing to Ark’s clothes. “Any moment now, he’ll an–”

“– and thus, I evoke Markior, the Great Spirit, to be present among us.”

Markior floated down into the village, as if he was descending from the heavens.

Ung’grl and a young male acolyte bowed low and the Yoshies all kowtowed; even though his back was to Lich, he could sense his friend’s slight disdain.

Where had he been? How would he know all that was happening? How did he know what he had to do?

Well…he was the God of Wisdom, after all…

“I am the Markior,” he announced. “I have beheld the birth of stars and the death of galaxies, I have fought in battles combating hideous fiends; I have even journeyed to the corners of the universe – and beyond. And you know that I gazed down upon the Homelands after the Great Cataclysm and revived your ancestors with my blood; I am the first of the commenced, and your great father. And yet, it saddens me to see my children hide their faces from me. Please, lift your heads. Surely, your parents do not demand you to kneel before them – and neither do I.”

The A’gul looked to each other unsurely. Heads began to pop up slowly at first, until everyone’s was raised. Ung’grl unbent himself.

“Li– the Spoken One, knows this fact well. I give my thanks to you.”

Lich smirked in the darkness as he heard Ark’s rustling behind him as he got undressed, along with his sad sighs.

“My children,” he said, then paused as he turned his head briefly to one side, as if he was having a brief reflection, “much has changed in the Homelands. The Tribes That Remain have done great things, some of which border on the fantastic. They learnt about the Lands-Across-The-Sea, and have forged a great alliance with the Ll’grhng’shi.”

The crowd murmured. Lich remembered from his Yamauchi Studies classes that the “Walking Fungus People” had sent explorers to the Islands just before the Banishment. Some tribes exchanged gifts; others exchanged blows. It was the Ul’mng tribe who had acquired the boots from the Mushrooms that became almost inseparable from the Yoshies back home.

“They have machines that allow them to watch people and things in far-off places,” Markior continued, “to fly through the air, and to even fly through the darkness beyond the sky from world to world. There are even new gods and goddesses.”

The murmuring increased dramatically, particularly on the mention of the new deities.

“However, The Spoken One appeared to me as if by accident; but, it was his destiny that he did. He was sick and weary, and I took care of him. We soon became good friends, and that friendship continues today. I know that he will lead you and guide you well, bringing you on to greater things, just as the Tribes That Remain have done.”

Lich blushed and shuffled his feet.

“And now, I ask Ung’grl to continue with the Feast.”

Markior moved to one side of the dais. This raised a small gasp from the crowd: they had expected him to hover above the altar in a place of veneration. Lich was also surprised. He realised that he had done this so that he and Ark were the centre of focus, and smiled slightly, abashed.

Ung’grl turned to face the crowd and cleared his throat, his hands by his side. “The darkness of G’lirer hath shatterèd by the promis’d light; the light that appeareth to us, today.”

Lich drew and released a breath as he began to walk out of the shadows, and onto the dais. He twitched as he felt a Presence nearby, and turned his head to see a black sphere sitting on a small mat among a collection of bowls. He took up his place centre-stag and surveyed the crowd, looking at all of the eyes trained on him. He could see the glimmer of hope in them. Up the back, he could see Naaro smile slightly.

“And the Prophecy hath come true, for he cometh with the Hunter and the Great Spirit.”

Ark emerged from the shadows, Spear in one hand, Emerald pendant in the other. He stood beside yet slightly behind his brother and rammed the butt of the Spear into the ground. He blushed slightly in his bareness before the crowd, clenching the Spear tighter for support. He looked out at the Yoshies. Was that a girl gossiping about him to her friend? His cheeks turned redder.

“And he holdeth the curved blade that shines in the darkness.”

Lich took his cue and extended his arms outwards above his head. He thumbed one of the Ruby’s facets, and smiled as the crowd oohed as it shone its cyan hue, a streak of blue in the silver light.

“It hath come true, for the great beasts were with him. Yet another of the Prophet’s foretellings hath come true since his arrival, witness’d by some of us here.”

He sighed mentally. He would have loved to impress the Yoshies with his Pokémon. How was he going to get them back from Malachai?

“The signs art true. This is the Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood.” Lich turned off the blue light and lowered his arms as Ung’grl moved and stood beside him and Ark. “Yet, Recugrian’s blood is A’gul blood, for he was born to our tribe, in the shadow of Mount Kappa by Lake Shi’alg. The Spoken One and the Hunter are brothers, and thus A’gul blood runneth in their veins. As we welcome our journeying family back into our homes, do we welcome them back into the A’gul?”

“Yes!” the crowd cried in unison.

The acolyte picked up a wooden bowl made from the husk of a coconut-like fruit and some brushes made from a stick and a piece of fur from some creature. He stood beside Ung’grl and held the bowl out to him. Lich looked into it and saw green paint and blue paint where two large seeds would have sat.

Ung’grl took the brush from the acolyte and dipped it into the green paint. He turned to Markior and held it out towards him, saying, “Bless this paint, for it is what maketh the warrior.”

Markior seemed to flinch. Lich remembered that this was a prayer during the Banishment, and that Markior, if he was listening during that time, would not have heard it for five hundred years. “It is so,” Markior answered, slightly surprised.

Ung’grl turned back to Lich and stood before him, a friendly smile on his face. Lich confirmed his readiness with a nod. The elder reached out and began to paint on Lich’s stomach, his strokes forming an upside-down “V”. He returned the brush, took another, dipped it in the blue paint, and made an oval along what would be the crosspiece of an “A”.

He returned that brush and moved to Ark. He repeated the process; Ark shut his eyes tightly from the coldness.

Ung’grl moved back beside them and turned to the crowd. “They are welcomèd with the symbol of the A’gul: Lake Shi’alg in the shadow of Mount Kappa. Once more, they are one of us.”

“Welcome home,” the crowd chorused.

The acolyte moved again, putting the brushes and paint on a tray made of lashed sticks. More bowls and brushes were on it. He picked up the tray and returned to Ung’grl.

“Our ancestors were painted as warriors,” Ung’grl spoke, going on to the next part of the ceremony. “But we, though warriors we remain, paint for another reason. In our sadness, our skin hath faded, and thus we paint to stay as colourful as the Tribes That Remain. Our ancestors used painted codes to show importance, rank, and identity; we still use these codes today. When one hatcheth from their egg, they are named; when they come of age, they are given a second name. The Spoken One hath two names already, Dyluck Thanatos, and Lich. But the Hunter hath only his hatching name: Ark Beruga. It is the role of the elder to give the second name, and thus I beseech thee, Spoken One, to test and name him tomorrow.

“Now, I ask the Hunter to come and lay himself down upon the altar; it is time he was painted.”

Lich turned his head to Ark and noticed his nervousness. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered. “It’s not as if they’re going to sacrifice you.”

Ark paced slowly to the dirt altar, the top of it now covered by a bamboo-like sheet. He sat down on its edge, drew a breath to calm his nerves, then lay down, placing the Spear beside him.

“A good hunter is one who hideth and watcheth without the prey knowing their presence. Thus, the colours of the hunter are black, green and brown: black of death, green of abundance; the brown is of their skill.”

After asking Markior to bless the paint again, Ung’grl began his work. Ark shut his eyes and remained rigidly still as Ung’grl’s brushes danced across him. Lich could sense he was uncomfortable with the whole experience. Ark looked towards the future, finding solace in machinery that would be beyond the wildest dreams of the A’gul; here, he was thrown back five hundred years. Lich knew that Ark wore clothes as a form of security blanket, separating his inner self from the harsh world around him; here, he was without them, as if his soul was bare and his thoughts were naked and exposed. Judging by his recent behaviour, particularly on the Spectrum, he wanted to hide away from the world and close the door to it. But, as Ung’grl continued and asked him to turn over so he could paint his back, he seemed to relax. Maybe the camouflage was making him able to hide himself away in front of everyone, like he wanted.

“It is finished,” Ung’grl spoke. “Rise, Great Hunter.”

Ark turned over again and stood up, clutching the Spear tightly. No trace of his magenta skin was on him anywhere: all of it was covered with green, brown, and black patches. It even extended onto his belly and cheeks, leaving only a white ring around the A’gul symbol. White dots made lines down his arms and legs, a symbol of his being the huntmaster for the tribe. Ung’grl whispered something to Ark, and he nodded.

“Do…do you accept me as your huntmaster?” he asked nervously.

“Yes!” the crowd replied.

Ung’grl motioned Ark to stand to one side of the dais. Ark sagged in relief.

“Now, it is the turn of the Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood,” Ung’grl announced, turning to him.

Lich walked towards the altar. He could feel the weight of his ancestors bearing down upon his shoulders. His father, Reuben, back in Kippo, had no idea that this was even happening, but along with Spekkio, his grandfather he had never met, and his father, his father, his father, his father, whose names he did not know, and the legendary Tepaki, Gleran, and Recugrian, figures within the Palimpsest, it felt as if they were here now, watching him. The A’gul’s hope that they were thrusting upon him was almost tangible in the air.

Ung’grl dipped the brush and asked Markior to bless the paint once more, before smiling at him again. Lich looked at Ung’grl, then at Markior. The god nodded to him and flashed his eyes.

And thus, Ung’grl began his work upon the flesh of the Spoken One.

Lich closed his eyes, feeling the brushes sweep across his body, running across him in lines and dancing back and forth in shapes. The wetness congealed on his skin, leaving a clammy, clingy feel. The bristles stroked his stomach, his chest, his arms, his legs, his face; he was floating in the darkness, pulled by the currents of euphoria, and bathed in the smell of soil, fruit, ash and wood smoke. This was one of the happiest moments of his life.

“I give unto thee my leadership,” Ung’grl’s voice spoke, cutting across the darkness after a blissful eternity.

The sound of something being dipped in water and the rubbing of skin nearby slowly brought Lich back from his trance. He kept his eyes closed, wanting to savour the feeling as long as he possibly could as Ung’grl erased some of his own markings.

“And now, it bringeth upon me joy to fulfil what the chieftains before me have procured,” the old chief continued, as the acolyte picked up the mat holding the black sphere and brought it to him. “In the strife of the Banishment, the Erg’hng was split asunder, the Bllg’hng choosing Recugrian’s path, the Ig’hng choosing the path of Rebellion. They attack’d our ancestors; for we gavest life to Recugrian, and the Ig’hng considered this as warranting the A’gul’s destruction. They faced us in battle; the battle lasted two days for the Ig’hng were numerous. But the A’gul prevailed and the Ig’hng chieftain was slain by our ancestor’s hands. Recugrian gavest the remaining Ig’hng no pity, and sent his armies to slay them. This is one of our grievances, for we are a people of forgiveness.

“The Ig’hng chieftain held a prize. Knowing that the Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood would be of A’gul blood, we pass’d it from one chieftain to the next, as a symbol of our hope of the new light. It hath now reached the end of its journey.”

Ung’grl lifted the sphere from the acolyte’s mat. He held it out to Markior and prayed, “May those A’gul who died in battle for its protection blessèd be.”

“They are,” Markior said, a little uncomfortably.

Ung’grl turned to Lich, and placed the sphere on his stomach. He flinched, not expecting it to be soft and squishy.

“It is finished,” Ung’grl spoke. This one seemed to have an incredible finality behind it. “Open thine eyes, lord.”

Lich slowly opened them. He looked down at his nose, covered in squiggles and jagged black lines filled with pinks and blues and greens between bands of his orange skin. He turned his head and looked down his chest to his stomach, seeing the multitude of gaudy lines and shapes and symbols. He raised an arm to study it and noticed the same; if Ark’s paint was for camouflage, his was for catching attention.

Now that he could see the black sphere better than when it was on the ground, he realised that it was the preserved remains of some animal’s stomach. He flinched again.

“Take what we have kept for thee, inside it,” said Ung’grl.

Lich brought both of his hands to its sides and winced. He did not want to put them inside the offal to retrieve whatever was making the presence, so he squeezed. The contents were hard; he felt a sharp point prick his stomach as it exited. He pulled the remains away, and gaped.

“Behold the Child of the Moon!” Ung’grl cried.

Glittering in the moonlight was a diamond in a princess cut, roughly the same size as the Ruby. Lich stared at it, and then touched it with his left hand. He could feel the great power within it. Could it be…?

He brought up the Boomerang with his other hand and held the Ruby against the diamond. He flinched again as the two stones began to glow. The crowd oohed again.

“The Diamond of Gokar,” Lich whispered. “Here?”

Ark was also stunned by it, and looked at the Emerald of Loparo. It glowed faintly. As his brother pulled the Boomerang away, the three Jewels stopped glowing.
Ung’grl bent over and whispered into Lich’s ear, “Astounding. Whilst thou hast their attention, thou shouldst ask them if they accept thee.”

Lich took the diamond in his left hand, swung his multicoloured legs over the side of the altar and stood up, drawing a breath. “Do you accept me as your chief?” he called.

“Yes!” came the reply, stronger than Ark’s. They kowtowed.

“Then,” spoke Ung’grl, “it is truly finished.” He whispered in Lich’s ear, “Sayest thou something to them – they want to hear their chief speak.”

Lich stepped forward and got himself ready to proclaim to his people - his people! - and closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened them to see them raise their heads again.

“It goes without saying that I am truly honoured,” he said. “Only yesterday, if I was told that this planet existed and that you lived here, I would have taken it as nonsense. Back in the Islands, the stories of the Banishment are myth and legend. Over the years, the name for this place became G’lirr, and, yes, it is true that in some ways this is like purgatory for the Banished, but at Home, they believe the ‘myth’ to say this. It is amazing what only a simple mispronunciation can do. But, I am the Spoken of Recugrian’s Blood. I will find a way home for the A’gul and the other Banished tribes.”

This raised a cheer from everyone.

“Ung’grl, the journey of the Diam – Child of the Moon is not complete. I am certain it will play a part of the process.”

Ung’grl nodded.

“Now, I believe that there is Feasting to be done.” He shut his eyes briefly as he remembered what Ung’grl told him. “I invite you to join me.”

The crowd leapt to their feet as drummers began the beat for a dance. Lich stepped down off the dais as the Yoshies began to intersperse.

Markior came over to him and laid a ghostly hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Who really would have thought?”

Lich shook his head. “All I know is that it’s happening.”

Markior nodded. “Congratulations. And also to you, Ark,” he said, nodding to the Hunter who came over to his brother.

Ark nodded in return.

“Let the fun start,” Lich smiled, and stepped into the dancing crowd, dragging Ark along behind him.

They disappeared, blending in to the throng of Yoshies. The party went on and on, as it should have. The tribes had waited five centuries for him; he didn’t dare want to disappoint them now. For once, Lich decided, Fate had smiled down on him.

This has to be Paradise, he thought.