Jakixt still had not grown used to the giant spiders the nobles of Machaka used to ride about upon. Only too recently he had faced them in battle and strained against their webs, felt their poison throb in wounds they had inflicted. No
it would take awhile before he was used to their fearsome alien presence. Despite this, he now marched resolutely next to one of the largest specimens of the eight-legged beasts he had ever seen. He, and what little remained of his unit, were returning to Machaka with one of his nations former enemies under honour guard. It was up to him to ensure that the guarded noble returned to the people of Machaka safe and whole.
To Jakixt, the sequence of events that had led to him providing such honours and protection to a former enemy seemed to blur together in a industrious blend of warfare, diplomacy, politics and, like all things in Mictlan, religion. Less then four months ago, Jakixt had been one of many who wore the eagle cape and faced off against the Machaka spider-riders. He remembered receiving the blessing of the obsidian chrysalis, fire and fury burning in his veins and even flickering up and down his skin and obsidian scimitar like a lovers impassioned kiss. He remembered calling upon the favour of his lord and feeling the familiar but still so strange lifting sensation as his eagle-feather cape transformed him, changed him, favoured him. With swiftness and fury he and his fellow eagle-warriors had fallen upon the enemy like their namesake upon the hare, hewing here and there with cinder-spewing obsidian weapons, the first of the enemys sling-bullets bringing holy fury and mindless violence to his mind and sword-arm. For hours he was nought but a creature of blood and fire, blade and fury. He faced sticky webs spewed from enemy spiders, fangs upon his shoulder and chest, toxic venom fighting with the blessing of his master within his very veins and even his beating heart, arrows pierced his muscles, his guts. He did not realise it at the time but ultimately, it was the sacred blood-rage of men like him that won the battle even as the pathetic slaves and even the mighty priests had fled. The cost had been great. His unit had lost too much and now, he and 12 other men were all that was left.
Too small to effectively fight the enemy any longer, they had been sent westward, back to the capital, and once there they had met Zacha-Lui, a Machaka noble, and his fearsome spider-mount. Zacha-Lui was a new breed of Machaka. He was of noble blood and his words were held sacred by his people but he had adopted a new way. He retained Machaka culture and none could say he acted like a beaten people might be expected to act; nay, he was haughty and arrogant, noble to the core. But he was changed. He had witnessed the obsidian chrysalis, had felt its undeniable power. The priests had spoken at length with him and now, he returned to his people not only as a favoured son, but as a priest of the obsidian chrysalis, as a noble ally to the Mictlan people. And this is what made his so valuable to the Mictlan priests and their bureaucracy and this is what made him Jakixts charge. As a priest of the obsidian chrysalis he held authority over Jakixt and his fellow eagle warriors even though he represented a recently conquered enemy.
Even as Zacha-Lui seemed pre-occupied with is own thoughts and with his arcane prayers Jakixts thoughts were of a much more mundane nature. He was a military man and his mission was of a military nature. Not all the Machaka would adopt the word of men like Zacha-Lui. Some would consider the new breed of nobles elevated to positions of authority in the Machaka government patsies to the Mictlan priests, sell-outs to the Machaka way. Jakixt knew that those sorts of people would lose influence as more and more of the common population saw the wonders their own nobles wrought in the name of the Mictlan empire and the obsidian chrysalis, saw them prosper under Mictlan guidance, Mictlan commerce, Mictlan law. He knew that loyalists Machaka like Zacha-Lui would find favour and wealth while the rebels would be slowly strangled, their influence and wealth drained to help prop-up the loyalists
but in the mean-time the new breed, the loyalists nobles and their men would be vulnerable, as so too were the men and soldiers of Mictlan itself.
He knew that even as he marched through the jungles of the Jaguar people and the tall grass of the Machaka that a rebel ambush could strike at any moment, punishment decried by the rebels upon the nobles and governors sympathetic to the occupiers, vengeance upon the men who had slain their brothers and taken their lands and women.
Perhaps it was his philosophising in regards to the rebels and loyalists, his intellectualising of something that should have been the sole realm of reflexes and training that left him off his guard but the next thing Jakixt heard and felt was the low whistle of an arrow streaming towards him and the hallow thunk as it buried itself, fletching-deep, in his right lung. He was the first to be struck but not the last. Suddenly the air was alive with more thirsty arrows, the sound of Machaka battle-cries and the almost translucent webbing of war-spiders webs as they glittered in the sun-light, suspended in mid-air before they fell upon his fellow bodyguards.
Jakixt attempted to order an organised response but all that came to his lips was a burst of pinkish bubbles as his lifes blood quickly filled his lung. Another low whistle and Jakixt attempted to raise his cloak and ward himself from another of the arrows. His strength failed him however as the shock of his wound froze his movements. Another hallow-sounding thunk and another arrows fletching was buried deep in his gut. From the rhythmic spurting bleeding of the wound he knew that his livers artery had been hit. Soon he would be dead. Jakixt willed himself to step towards his attackers even as he drew his scimitar but instead he fell, his knees too weak to fulfil his command.
Kneeling before the tall grass, one hand grasping at the lifes blood pouring from his gut while the other feebly waived his obsidian blade, Jakixt knew it was time to finally join the dozens whos lives he had taken in the afterlife. He tried to speak, hurried prayers for his soul directed to the obsidian chrysalis, a request for mercy and salvation but again all that came was a rich bloody froth he choked and sputtered on. He blinked his eyes, once, slowly as red began to cover the periphery of his vision and time seemed to slow.
And when he opened them, less then a second later, his vision was filled with the hairy legs of a Machaka spider. Someone leaned from the stirrups, placed a hand on his forehead and whispered Glory to the Chrysalis that lies Deep Within the Stone. You Alone We Worship. From you Alone Comes All Blessings. We Pray for Your Blessing Upon this Warrior So That He Might Serve You Best. Grant Us Your Strength in Our Hour of Need The prayer was in Mictlan but the accent was unmistakably Machaka.
Suddenly Jakixt was filled with new vitality. The arrows that pierced his body were quickly expelled by some divine energy. He gasped on bloody froth, spit out a clot, and took a deep breath of fresh clean air. He had no chance to appreciate his second life, to be thankful, already he felt the familiar rush, the intoxicating divine bloodlust that filled his veins with fire and fury.
No time for thought, he heard the familiar low whistle of incoming arrow fire and this time lifted a fiery obsidian scimitar to meet the missile, hewing it from the air. Without thinking he jumped into the tall weeds landing astride a rebel spider cavalrymans mount, his blade cleaving at the enemy flesh with a fiery sizzle even as it sunk deep between the spider-riders ribs.
Later, as his men recovered around him and the enemy lay dead, Jakixt turned to the Mictlan priest and thanked him. The Machaka nobles devotion to the Mictlan god had saved them all. He knew that henceforth the people of Machaka and Mictland would face the enemy together, stronger for their shared faith. Yes, today was the first day of a new and brighter future they would face, with the blessing of their god, together.
Disclaimer:
i don't actually have a spider-riding priest unit- its just a story thing.
