Back to The Waterworks: Rayga’s Secret

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 1 PM -- Holymolders]

> The old Medicine Woman’s expression suddenly lightened and she
> chuckled as she added, “And yet, even though this is something that
> will take generations, some call *me* a radical who wants to tear up
> everything, just for the sake of change. No, young man,” she
> concluded, looking intently at Erik, “I am very glad our new allies
> see the injustice - but we must tread VERY carefully in correcting
> this problem. This is a LONG standing problem whose solution may well
> lie beyond the lifespan of everyone present.”

> She gave a wry smile towards the witch doctor corner of the Circle and
> added, “Well, beyond *most* of us, perhaps.”

After the fine feast was over and the younger members of the Holymolders
were clearing away the trenchers and serving trays, their hostess waved
the two visiting wizards closer, so that she could more easily address
all of her “Stone House People” visitors at once.

“Now,” Grandma Rayga said quietly to her guests, “Let’s get the four of
you back to my private quarters where we can continue to talk.”
Dutifully, both Tramma and Erik helped the old woman up onto her feet,
and one on either side, carefully followed as she led them to her nearby
wigwam, the two wizards following along behind.

Once everyone was comfortably seated within, Grandma Rayga turned to Sir
Erik. “Now then, young man,” she began. “First, I must swear all of you
to secrecy, and have your most solemn oaths to share nothing I reveal to
any other save the Great Medicine Chief Benjamin of the Kenobis without
his leave. There are many on the Councils who will be unhappy that I am
telling even you, especially you two they would call Witch Doctors.”

Rayga nodded toward Fin and Mithi. “I at least am wise enough to see
that wielders of arcane magic are far more trusted in your society, and
still have a flexible enough mind even with all my winters to adapt to
your ways.”

She peered hard at each of the visiting wizards, and asked pointedly,
“And you ARE both sane, and can be trusted?” She held their gaze until
each responded with a quiet, “Yes, ma’am.” Their hostess nodded, content
with what she saw. But mere words, and whatever prayers she might have
had running to verify their veracity, were not enough. More Divine magic
was required, and not just for the visiting wizards, but for all of her
guests.

Rayga first invoked her own prayer to the Corn Mother to seal the oaths,
then held the hands of each in turn and peered into the eyes of each of
the visitors as she listened to them swear to the secrecy she required.
Everyone present knew there was very real peril involved in violating an
oath sworn to the representative of a divine spirit who chose to
solemnize the agreement with an appeal to her patron. So they were
suitably impressed with the gravity the ancient Medicine Woman placed on
the information she intended to share with them.

“This is the deep secret known only to the members of the Grand Council
and the greatest of our Tribal Bards, which I may share only after
invoking these solemn oaths sworn before the Spirits - the same oaths I
have chafed under for most of my life.” Rayga brooded a moment, looking
around to catch the eye of all her visitors again. “I judge you all wise
enough to hear, and hopefully help my people solve a conundrum that has
plagued us for generations.”

All nodded, mutely showing their appreciation for the Great Medicine
Woman’s trust in them.

“Some of my peers are going to lose their narrow little minds when I
tell them what I have done,” Grandma Rayga continued, sounding not in
the least displeased at the notion, “but I am well within custom to do
so. Silverhair is a Tribal Bard, and is entitled to be told this by the
Bardic Circle if she asked the right questions,” the wise old woman
mused aloud. “Great Chief Erik is likewise entitled to this knowledge if
he knew it existed, and since he has brought up the issue of the Flying
Tigers, I judge he needs to know. Not even my harshest critics can
gainsay my judgement, even about swearing ‘Witch Doctors’ into these
secrets, since the Corn Mother was willing to bless your oaths. If they
have a problem with that, they are welcome to take it up with HER.”

The old woman brooded a moment before she continued. “The fears of the
Grand Council are not all theoretical,” Rayga explained sadly. “Though
only the loremasters of our people remember the truth, and perhaps the
leaders among the Flying Tigers themselves.” She shrugged as she mused
aloud, “who knows for sure how much of what is remembered by any of us
is indeed the full truth?”

“Who indeed?” Tramma reverently agreed, understanding better than most
how easily history could become legend, and legend, myth, each stage in
the transition losing accuracy and gaining a distortion of what some
tale teller or historian thought “ought to have happened”, rather than a
factual reporting of what HAD actually occurred.

The silver haired bard herself often struggled with the temptation of
tweaking the facts to harmlessly tell a better tale or emphasize the
points she thought were important. And, worse, sometimes there were
quite good and just reasons to shade the truth to deliver *A* truth
someone recounting the tale judged more important than the bare facts of
what actually happened. History, commentary, interpretation, dramatic
recreation, parable, parody - all valid in some situations, the problem
was always, of course, your motives driving your choices and whether you
had enough of the ‘big picture’ to make the right call which would stand
the test of time. In the end, everybody’s a critic, including yourself.
She pushed aside the fleeting thoughts, and sharply reminded herself to
pay attention to the revered Medicine Woman.

“For you see, there have been attempts in the past by one or another
Flying Tiger to take over,” Rayga explained quietly. “All the way back
to the earliest days as they became the stewards of our people. Some of
the secret tales preserved claim that Charlie the Great himself schemed
to become the paramount Chief of the Forest People by force; trying to
recruit the greatest warriors of his time to become weretigers
supporting him. Other conflicting legends claim that he ‘only’ lost
control of ‘the tiger within’ he had convinced his wife and true love
Sheena to grant him in the first Rite of Blood.”

“Whatever the truth of those generations old hoary legends,” Rayga said
heavily. “They all agree that it was Sheena and her son Tony who killed
him to put a stop to the madness. Most of my people do not know even
that much; even among the Flying Tigers most remember Charlie as a true
hero, though the hints are there in many of the tales about his exploits
that the reality was a bit more complex.”

“Perhaps there was a deliberate attempt to hide the truth,” Lord Erik
suggested. “They spread the story to blame his death on losing control
of the lycanthorpy or something instead of insurrection?”

“That is possible,” Grandma Rayga admitted. “Certainly the vast majority
of incidents of Flying Tigers stopping the abuses of another involve an
infected weretiger who gained their power in the Rite of Blood losing
control. The Bardic Circle has long known that nearly without exception
every Flying Tiger not born to the tiger blood eventually loses control;
theirs is the one Council that is overwhelmingly in favor of some
reforms. That knowledge is why so many reform minded leaders AND from
what I can tell a significant number of the Flying Tigers themselves
would like to end the custom of the Rite of Blood. Another case of the
traditionalists refusing to hear the truth we reformists and the Flying
Tigers would have them see.

“The ancient tale of Charlie the Great, though,” the ancient Medicine
Woman mused. “There, my own belief is that the grieving Sheena and her
children chose to remember him as the hero he had been before that final
madness. In a good cause, I think, to help create a legend to guide
their descendants. ALL these carefully guarded old tales ALSO make it
clear that it has always been other Flying Tigers who helped stop such
attempts, for there have been others over the generations since.”

“So the Flying Tigers have tales and fables amongst themselves of having
to fight their own for the good of the tribes,” Erik asked solemnly? “Or
were they pretty much sworn to secrecy about that as well?”

“As far as talking of those incidents to those outside the Elders of the
Councils, yes, that is forbidden,” Grandma Rayga informed him with a
note of asperity indicating she disagreed with that prohibition. ”What
our guardians say among themselves is another matter, and there I can
only speculate. There is much about their duties and abilities they do
not share outside their ranks. Who can blame them? It is no surprise
that they have lore and deliberations they choose not to share with the
Forest People leaders who refuse to confide in them.”

“You can see why that reinforces the determination of many to keep the
traditions which have served so well to preserve our freedom in place,”
Rayga sighed. “Yet, to my mind it also perpetrates a grave injustice to
the very guardians who have helped us preserve our way of life even from
the threat THEY represent.”

“I told you outside that the Flying Tigers have stood between us and
every threat we have faced,” the aged wise woman said heavily. “What I
could not say in front of so many of my people without breaking my own
solemn oaths is that some of the threats which they fought to protect us
from came from within their own ranks. Yet they have always kept their
honor, and fulfilled our trust. When the situation called for it, they
struck down even their own; brother warriors, brothers, siblings, or
parents; anyone who posed a threat to our way of life. Even if it broke
their heart.”

“I have long believed such nobility and dedication deserves better than
we give them,” Rayga sighed. “Not just because that is only right, but
also because it is the height of folly to mistreat and mistrust the
guardians who have dedicated their lives to the Forest People. My
greatest fear is that eventually enough of the Flying Tigers will come
to resent the suspicion and doubts of the leaders of the Forest People
enough to support a would-be warlord from among their ranks to improve
their own lives.”

“That,” Finfin breathed, “is not an unwarranted concern. History and
politics both have many tales of similar downfalls.”

Grandma Rayga nodded. “Over the years, the Spirits have given many in
the Medicine Lodge signs and portents that I think point to that
danger.“ The ancient Medicine Woman shook her head, and observed sadly,
“My own interpretation of those foreshadowings is they are trying to
guide us toward freely choosing to ease the restrictions. There are, of
course, others who read the signs differently than I, and as yet we
reformers have only been able to make limited gains. I will continue as
long as I am able, but I am a realist; at my age I have far less time
left than I will probably need. Those I helped train will have to carry
on for me, and perhaps you new allies from among the Wagon People.”

Finfin was watching the Lord of Fort Resolute intently. As both a Holy
Knight and one of the Gelmir Vale’s leaders, Erik had far more of a role
in the interactions with the Forest People than Finfin did. But the
Great Chief was holding his thoughts close to hand, and Finfin decided
that it was time for HIM to say, at least something. And there was a
pressing question or two on his mind.

“As relative outsiders,” he began, “before I can ask HOW we can help,
the more pressing question is, SHOULD we? Or would we just be making
things worse by getting involved?”

Grandma Rayga considered the question. “I will admit not everyone will
appreciate the settlers speaking up,” she conceded. “But... Erik here
has been admitted to the Chief's Council, your carpet riding Abbot
Kenobi is respected and considered part of the Medicine Council, and
even some of your bards are being admitted.” She gave a lopsided smile
and added, “So you see, you are already part of the tribal society,
whether the hidebound traditionalists like it or not.” The smile turned
into a conspiratorial grin as she quipped, “Besides, I’ll take help
anywhere I can find it.”

“If we get a speaker for the Flying Tigers on the Grand Council,” Erik
mused thoughtfully, “but keep the same local tribal power structure it
would give them representation, but prevent a Flying Tiger from
gathering too much influence over a local tribe and using that as a
power base for more nefarious reasons.”

“I am glad you understand that,” the wise old Medicine Woman sighed. “If
only some of the old fuddy-duddies on the Councils could follow that
simple logic, this all might have been solved a long time ago. Who
knows, maybe they will listen to you better than me. Sometimes a
different voice making the exact same arguments will let some of the old
fools save face and finally see reason, stranger things have happened.”

“So there certainly ARE some Stone House people with standing to speak
on this matter,” Finfin mused. “And now, a very eligible volunteer.” Sir
Erik nodded. This might not be an actual dragon in need of slaying, but
this WAS a task that needed doing. And a nod from a Paladin Lord was as
good as a bond.

Finfin then glanced at first himself, and then his apprentice Mithralia.
“But likely not Witch Doctors like myself who have no connection to
either The Spirits or to the administration of the Stone House kin.”

“Yes,” Grandma Rayga admitted, “that probably wouldn't go over well.” A
grin lit in her eyes as she added, “But I would support it just to watch
heads explode, and make up some popcorn for that meeting!”

“But ultimately,” Finfin speculated, “as much fun as that might provide,
it would probably be rather counter productive.

“Oh, sure,” the old Medicine Woman pretended to pout, “deprive an old
lady on her last legs of her pleasure…”

Finfin looked mortified at the insult he had just provided. “Ma’am…?” he
began, but Grandma Rayga waved him into silence with an amused chuckle.

“To see you fuss, so,” she chortled. “Almost as bad as my two acolytes.
I actually feel fine, and am hardly standing with one foot already in
the Beyond. No, it is merely with all I have seen, it is evident to me
that my time approaches, and that the many of the usual challenges and
travails that a younger, healthier girl would endure are more likely
than not to be the ending of me. And that is fine. I only take on so to
help the younger ones around me realize that the day WILL come when
their Grandma will no longer be at their side, so that they may be
better prepared for when that time DOES happen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Finfin replied solemnly. “Though I hope that we will still
be able to meet again on THIS side of the Great Mystery.”

“We’ll all find out together, sonny boy,” the old Medicine Woman
observed. “But now, you and that lovely lady at your side have some
pressing business before you, helping out Josie Who Wails. You are both
very brave. Go with my blessings, and those of the Corn Mother.”

She sketched a glowing figure of a wheatsheaf in the air, and the tent
was filled with the wholesome scent of baked cornbread. “Blessings for
your skill, your strength, and your endurance. Both of you.” She winked
at Finfin and added slyly, “And I’d take it as a personal kindness if
you gave that saucy redhead a FINE time, doing things my acolytes would
probably be horrified to know that I still remember *quite* fondly!”

Grandma Rayga then turned her attention from the Witch Doctors to the
Paladin Lord. “And you, Great Chief Erik, go too with my blessings, and
those of the Corn Mother.” The glowing figure was once again traced in
mid air, and again the tent was suffused with the warm scent of baking.
“You especially I hope to see again, and soon.” She winked at Tramma,
and added, “But before that, I have a hunch that Tramma Silverhair and
you need to have a talk first. So go in peace, and hopefully return in
the same.”

The old Medicine Woman gestured to the two stalwart lads present, and
both swarmed to their feet to help her to her feet. “We’d best go
outside, or else my two acolytes will start to FUSS.”

Once outside, Finfin and Mithi turned to the revered Great Medicine
Woman. “Ma’am,” the elf began, “I fear we now must return so that we may
take Abbot Kenobi to his next destination tonight.”

“Aw,” Grandma Rayga pretended to pout. “And here I was certain that
Morden or Sabia were SO hoping that you would stay.” She smiled happily
at Mithi, and added, “That you *both* would stay, if I know them.”

The acolyte known as Sabia whispered something in the Medicine Woman’s
ear, and Rayga’s eyebrows shot upwards. “You have both promised to help
Josie Who Wails with her moon urgings? You *are* brave.” She chuckled,
and added, “Though I am sure Josie will not mean you any harm. But it
would not surprise me if the young girl got… shall we say,
*enthusiastic* at times.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Finfin could confirm.

“Well, I’m sure it will be nothing that Kenobi cannot fix in the
morning,” the Medicine Woman concluded airily. “So go with my blessing,
you two. And be sure to give Josie an extra special ‘hello’ from me.”

“Ma’am,” Finfin confirmed, and saluted. A moment later, the two wizards
were on their way, leaving Erik and Tramma behind with the Holymolders.