Hideg Fekretu crouched on the thin mat in the Gathering Square of Multvaros. He raised his long, slender arms toward the pale pink-blue Aukam sky. And then he screamed. It was a deep, bellicose roar – the cry of a jungle beast that has scented blood. It carried within the toxic rage that inevitably built up inside with each passing day.
Every day the ruling council of the Cepelem denied the Aukami the chance to follow their true nature.
Every day his people remained shameful pariahs burdened by a glorious past that went unfulfilled.
Every day he remained nothing more than one of three representatives from the Southeastern District of Multvaros within the 33-member body of the Cepelem.
We live too long to suffer the blight of mediocrity, he thought. We are the true children of the Kamir. We are their legacy. The time must soon come when we embrace it. Thus far, the Cepelem resisted all overtures by Hideg Fekretu. They refused to reopen studies of ancient Kamir artifacts. They refused to open the Four Eyes of the Ascended. They wouldn’t dream of writing a declaration of principles that would cast aside peace agreements reached with the Hekayti after their last great war. The Cepelem, chastened by universal disdain for acts deemed “atrocious” by outsiders, had settled for a position of weakness. They allowed their allies and former enemies to see them as flawed, broken people, hungry for redemption and acceptance.
For all these reasons, Hideg Fekretu raged at the sky along with dozens of strangers gathered for the afternoon emotional outburst. When the bells chimed for the return of peace and humility, the screaming came to an end.
Hideg Fekretu’s shouts faded last.
Once silence reigned, he gathered his mat in a roll, tucked it under his left arm, and left the square in favor of the sidewalk leading north to the Cepelem. One more council meeting before calling it a day. Mustn’t keep them waiting, he thought.
As he walked, though, he opened his mind to the churning surf of thoughts floating amidst the old amber spires and wedge-shaped collossi that comprised much of this ancient city, which fought a perpetual battle for survival against the encroaching jungle. It was a pasttime of many Aukami, eavesdropping on the thoughts of friends, neighbors, enemies, strangers. Outside of the twice-a-day rages, Aukami prided themselves on total mastery of their emotions – as far as outward appearance went – but their emotions still seeped out. Hideg grasped at these tendrils of thought that hung thick in the air like fruit from a blossoming orchard. He kept his own musings in check as he sampled the wavering emanations from the city’s inhabitants.
Feeling so lazy today. WHY am I watching this awful B’hiri holovid? I can’t believe she did that to me. With HER? What did I do? Am I getting sick? I think I’m getting sick. Why won’t this laundry fold itself? They all hate me. I deserved that promotion. They don’t pay me enough to endure this. The towers rising, I feel fat. What? The zammek pissed on the sofa again? I will kick it to the stars. I can’t bear to watch her slip away like that. Maybe I should end it. He’s not telling me something. I hate them all. I’m full. I’m famished! Where did the time go? I didn’t even eat!
He stopped at the corner of Ascendant Plaza and Bright Temple Row, withdrawing his mind from the emotional soup that swirled around him. So pedestrian, he thought disdainfully. The petty whining of a beaten people. They could be so much more. They used to be. He turned his flat gaze toward the waiting temple and thought: “They will be again.”
The resurgence of the Aukami couldn’t wait for action from the Cepelem. Hideg Fekretu would lead the charge himself, as soon as Vard Bokren collected the last of the artifacts. Then, when the time was right, the Four Eyes could reopen and the thoughts of Fekretu’s people could turn once more to the promise of glory and galaxy-spanning power that was forever their birthright.
After receiving clearance from the security golems flanking the ornate golden doors of the Grand Cepelem Hall within the Bright Temple, Hideg made his way across the main rotunda to the aisle leading up to the sixth row and took his seat on the end, next to Olus Fanj, the latest appointee from the Southeastern District.
“Master Fekretu,” the newcomer said, the faintest of smiles upon his face as he bowed his head in deference to the senior representative. “Refreshing release, I hope?”
Doing his best to mask his loathing, Hideg pressed the fingertips of his right hand to his temple and inclined his head in acknowledgement to Fanj. The necessities of social interaction in the political arena set Fekretu’s teeth on edge.
“I must confess, I have found little in my heart or mind to inspire rage of late,” Fanj continued. “I am honored to be counted among the elite of Multvaros. It is pleasing that my voice is heard by Elder Mudem and that I may bring her word to the citizens of our district.”
Hideg seethed behind a shield of complacency. Redlana Mudem, figurehead of the Cepelem for more than a century, was chief among those who sought to help Aukam remember its subordinate position in the galaxy. She opened every session with a call for humility as their people struggled to make recompense for the sins of their ancestors. Redlana is the face of our failure, he thought.
As if on cue, Elder Redlana Mudem strode into the chamber with her attache, Lomat Creend, close by her side. Following protocol, all members of the Cepelem – including a reluctant Hideg Fekretu – rose and bowed their heads in respect to the senior leader of the governing council. She wore humble gray sackcloth robes, brown shaiir-leather sandals, and a loose crown of green rope braided into her shoulder-length silver hair. Before taking her seat on the riser at the bottom of the Cepelem well, below the arch of the rotunda, she inquired of the assembled representatives: “Are there any new matters for consideration in this session?”
Fekretu raised his right hand, crossing the left hand over his elevated wrist to signify his request to be heard. The Elder saw him, but continued looking around the chamber for others wanting to speak. When it became apparent that no one else would be heard, Redlana finally deigned to acknowledge him. “Master Fekretu, speak and be heard.”
He rose to his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. “Elder Mudem. Honored colleagues of the Cepelem. It is my honor as a representative of the citizens of the Southeastern District of Multvaros to propose a day to celebrate our heritage as Aukami. One day in which to reflect and remember all that is good about our society. To recall the many wonders that our geneticists and medical practitioners have accomplished on behalf of the galaxy at large. We move that this day be approved by the Cepelem and that it be called Aukami Pride Day.”
Elder Mudem fixed Hideg with a barely discernible grimace. “That would seem more in keeping with a more arrogant mindset that we have long since left behind,” she said.
“Is it arrogant to do something that doesn’t amount to self-flagellation for wrongs committed centuries ago?” Hideg shook his head, grunting. “Elder, I hold you in the highest esteem, you should know this. But we live many years longer than most other denizens of the galaxy. They would gladly forgive and forget our trespasses if only we allowed them the opportunity to do so.”
Redlana tilted her head as she laced her fingers before herself on the table. “Why should we let anyone forget? Why should we expect anyone to forgive? We were monsters, Master Fekretu. We have much for which we must atone.” She allowed herself a taut smile. “However, it is not my decision alone. As you have correctly noted, this is a matter for the Cepelem at large. Do we have a second for Master Fekretu’s motion on behalf of the Southeastern District? Master Fajn, perhaps?”
The newcomer shook his head, a sheepish grin on his face as he met Fekretu’s gaze. “No, I am sorry, Master Fekretu, but I concur with Elder Mudem. Every day that we atone for the atrocities of our past is a day that we can proclaim a day of Aukami pride.”
Lomat Creend opened his mouth to speak familiar words, but Hideg beat him to the punch: “The motion dies without a second. Yes. Heard that before.” Unsurprised, he returned to his seat. Patience, he cautioned himself.