Oh elder, we do not weep; death’s just a beginning

Oh elder, love never fades; you are more than your bones

Oh elder, if you would; Rest beneath the waters

Oh elder, if you would; Rise again and serve

Gnawing on a bit of jerky as she watched and listened, Ipa used only her eyes and the slightest facial expressions to correct any missteps as Telemetrr went through their forms and vocal exercises. The child was talented; they inherited their parents’ strength and aptitude. But not their discipline or wisdom, if this trip had been any indicator at all. Hesitation between forms and poor flexibility betrayed chronic neglect of daily practice. In Ipa’s day, that alone was inexcusable and would disqualify an Erana hoping to advance meaningfully toward promotion. Worse than that, they performed moves without power, entered stances without depth, and even attempted to skip entire movements when Ipa’s eyes wandered and they believed themselves unobserved.

“Enough! Eat and we will be on our way.”

Just a hint of irritation made it to her voice.

The tension drained from Telemetrr’s body and they slowed, their breathing returning to normal. They shoveled a handful of berries into their mouth and cast a glance over their shoulder at Ipa. She was standing with her back turned, writing in that ever-present notebook of hers. Again. It would have long been taken and plundered for secrets if it did not hang at her waist at all times. If they could learn where grandfather Selentrr was interred or what Ipa’s cultists had done with his stolen things, bartering for faraway travel would be a real possibility. They'd never look back until it was time to return home to burn it all down.

“The youth are lost

They believe the sacred burdensome 

Our roots are as rotten as Orialas’s

Are those who cannot persevere 

And those who shun belief

Worthy of seeing?” 

The final words were scribbled with such frustration that the point of her charcoal pencil chipped; it had been years since she’d last been irate enough to commit the feelings to verse. Ipa stood and stretched to her full height and quickly shook off the stiffness from sitting.

They broke camp wordlessly and put foot to trail within thirty minutes.

In times past, faith and discipline alone were enough to drive young Eranas into fierce competition for ascension; Eldership was a universal desire for all that held any aptitude or ambition. Any hints of insubordination or laziness that managed to hang onto aspirants were driven away with the routine of pilgrimage, and any doubt or exhaustion creeping into their hearts during the rigors of the journey shattered upon witnessing the Great Tree, Babakai-Yon and the great worms it houses.

Ipa remembered her own pilgrimage almost thirty years ago, long before she was tasked with leading Eranas of her own. She remembered the names of the two that did not survive their journey, the solemn vows made by her peers to recover and see their bodies home, and the awe of witnessing the majestic creatures for the first time. She'd dreamt of them as a child, piecing together mental pictures from the stories of her elders and imagining what it would be like to be up close. Her wildest dreams could not prepare her for the sight, and she had to be reminded to breathe when she first spotted them. The stories did not do them justice: how could they? What could prepare someone to see gods older than time, so large they were visible from a horizon away? 

But times change. Culture unexplained can seem like madness to children caught up in wanderlust. A pang of sorrow struck Ipa as she considered how upsetting this entire process must be for the bereaved that do not know the truth of Eldersreach and the Choosing. In this contemplation, an idea struck Ipa: this was already an irregular pilgrimage and Telemetrr was her only Erana. Allowing them to see beyond the veil a few days early could only do -so much- damage, and one of them was as likely as not to die if the child acted on their poorly hidden impulses of escape. She decided to take the risk and called to the child behind her, not even breaking stride. 

“Telemetrr, do you know why we do not bury our dead like the faraway peoples in your books?”

“Because death is not the end, and to bury before the Choosing is to deny the soul a choice”, Telemetrr responded, in a cadence so dry it could be considered sacreligious. 

Ipa sucked her teeth in dismissal, not surprised by the indignant response. The child stiffened at the rare show of emotion, never having heard the sound from their always-dignified escort. 

“Yes, but do you know what the words you've memorized mean, young one? Speak freely”

Telemetrr paused and thought, face betraying their suspicion. Ipa had never engaged them in casual conversation in all the weeks they'd traveled. This felt like a trap, with some fresh hell of discipline waiting behind the potential heresy she invited. But they decided to take the bait. If there was a chance that this waste of time could end early, it was worth it. They engaged:

“I believe that it's foolish to mandate burial rituals. I think it foolish to keep secrets about where half of our loved ones rest after they've died.”, they started, voice growing strained and wild as they continued.

“And I think it's BEYOND stupid to leave whether or not I'd be able to visit my grandfather-”

“Grand-sire”, Ipa gently interjected.

“-up to some stupid water divination. I don't know what it is exactly that you all do after you've sent everyone else away, but I know the cultures I read about would call us barbaric and probably accuse us of cannibalism if they saw what most of us see.”

“What do you think the Choosing is?”

Telemetrr was shocked into silence by the gentle response to their almost-screaming. They stopped walking and stared at Ipa as she continued forward. Her eyes were calm and scanning the horizon as they always did, but the wrinkles at the corners betrayed a bit of mirth that her voice did not. They kept pushing.

“I think it's cogey old magic that's held together by tradition and will not survive beyond my generation. And I suppose this is the part where you threaten to report me to the Elders, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

With those last few words, the young Erana drew a blade from its hip sheath and fell into a low, defensive stance and contemplated the madness of the current situation. The hammered metal glinted in the sunlight despite the thin layer of rust creeping along the edge. Their right hand, hidden from Ipa’s sight, slowly grasped a small rock and tensed for throwing. As they looked beyond their still-relaxed mentor at the path back down the mountain, a loose fight plan took shape. There was no hope of defeating the older woman outright, but that wasn’t the only win condition here: feint step left, throw the stone high, then aim the blade at a leg to injure her enough to escape- 

Their mind was awash with combat strategies when, for the second time in two minutes, Ipa turned the world upside down with a word. 

“I miss him too, you know. I only agreed to walk with you so I could see him again. The old man taught me that stance you're holding. He's the reason I chose to be a woman.”

The words gave Telemetrr pause. They released a shaky breath but still didn't move, didn't blink. They were waiting for a lunge that was surely coming. Why else would a cultist betray such information, change their tone so quickly? 

Wait– see him again? What did she mean by that? 

“Here, maybe you'll behave if you know what we're doing”, 

Ipa called as she tossed a ring from her satchel to the terrified child. Blade and throwing stone both clattered to the ground as Telemetrr recognized it in mid-flight and leapt to catch it, mouth agape.

The child landed on shaky legs, tears already forming as they clutched the missing heirloom close to the chest. This ring was supposed to be buried with the old man

“Why do you have this?!”, the words came out in a low growl, rage beginning to boil.

Memories of his funeral five years ago flooded into the Erana. The stillness of their grandfather as he lay, the wails of the mourners that surrounded the family, and the distinct lack of tears from Ipa and those she traveled and spoke with. 

“Ask him yourself, we're almost there. Times change but the sacred persists for a reason.”

Telemetrr blinked away tears and met the eyes of the lightly armored woman once more; the wrinkles above her cheeks shone like copper in the setting sun and betrayed a smile that did not reach her lips; there was earnest compassion there. She was crying too. Anger and confusion gave way to curiosity, and Telemetrr released a long-held breath.

Ipa recognized the shift behind her pupil’s eyes, wiped tears, and gave them a soft smile with an almost imperceptible nod.

They continued forward in silence.