Jechi: Part 1

The celebrations were over. 
Towards the edge of the village, where the large, incandescent houses flowered the terraces and sloped hills of Jechi with intoxicating reds, yellows and oranges, only a few remaining revellers were still taking to the light brown, dirt-laden streets with cheers, drunken roars and merry music.
On the outskirts of the town, where the high placed homes began to slope down into the grand valley that met the mouth of the Vetla forest, the was grass starting to grow. Thin, curvy, tubular trees shot up from the soil, and stretched out to the distant mountains along the horizon which shrouded the East. 
Life was peaceful, and it was how the villagers had always known it to be. Banked upon the slopes of a mountain with elegant bridges connecting bluffs built of stone were marvels of majesty, innovation and creativity that two humble species had collaborated to make. For as long as any Elder could remember, past down from their parents and their parents before them, their union had been strong and healthy for the both of them.
The bird-like, short and nimble Nevreans brought music, art and culture to the land. Their civility was unmatched, and any Sergal envied it. Their stout attention to detail, their jovial mannerisms and their authentic nature - they were, in every sense, beautiful to all. High-pitched falsettos rung around the township as dusk settled over them all, brought by eccentric, colourful men who dazed those who looked to them with oceanic blues, fire-like reds and evening-deep oranges. Even the women, dulled to their lame browns and blacks, found as much captivation in any male Nevrean as the far-off horned Agudners did.
The Sergals were large and bawdy; they brought hunting and fighting to the land. Over time, those that migrated from the North lost their dark black fur colors and found their pigmentation drifting in resemblance of their avian neighbors. They bore just as pretty looks; charming teals, captivating purples, and for one, a night-sky blue. Their migration down to the West had made their frames more supple and lithe, and their lavish for parties and change of diet had made their frames supple compared to their Northern folk. They never turned as many heads as Nevrean men did, but Sergals, whose men and women looked alike in look, always would have an appearance that would grow the envy of others � for good or for worse.
Jechi was at peace. As the sun slid over the horizon, and as people began to move back to their houses, one small, barely of adulthood Sergal snuck out from the confinements of his elegant hut house. He crept along the alleys and darted by late-night singers, his fur almost dancing in the darkness. He was the one who was night-sky blue, and he was the one named Tori Toto.
'Parsha,' he whispered, his back to a wall of a house and his head leaning up to a high window. He had to tip-toe to reach it. 'Parsha!'
'Who's there?' squawked an effeminate voice from within.
'It's me. Tori!' he replied.
'Tori?! It's not night-time yet, come back later!'
'Come on, Parsha. I'm already here! Rivus won't hear you if you're quiet. Come on! I wanna show you something.'
There was silence.
'Parsha?! Pleas-... oh!'
The small, shapely Nevrean had already started to crawl out of his window, his wings that sprouted from the back of his forearms slapping messily in an abundance of feathers against the sill. He was no older than Tori, and no younger, neither. His lovely purple feathers, more turquoise around his beak and front, melded nicely the night-light. He clumsily sat on the ledge, then hopped down with a gentle flutter, landing not as gracefully as he would like to the floor.
'Are you alright?' Tori whispered, his grey eyes peeking at him.
'Yes, yes. Come on, let's go.'
Like mice in the night, the two traipsed away from Parsha's hut, delicately slipping around corners and sneaking between beautiful terraces until they came to one of three great bridges which stretched across the small ravine along which their ancestors had built Jechi. (The city's leaders, and its rich and powerful, all resided on the central bluff, while the rest of the populace were crammed with the city's exit routes on the outer bluff.)  Here the stonework and gravel descended down towards the valley that led to the Vetla, and Tori and Parsha skittered across one of the bridges to the central bluff, mingling their fingers together and with the connecting ropes of the bridge, the skip in their steps betraying the youthful eagerness that stirred in their hearts .  When they reached the central bluff the two took off again, little more than blurs darting around the people who sang into the night for Szue's newborn Judda, and racing between huts in the alleys until they suddenly came to an abrupt stop near some boxes. 
'Why're you stopping?' Parsha quizzed.
'Because therere hunters.' Tori replied, and he was not wrong.
Near the very centre of the central bluff, where the grandest and most beautiful hut in the entire township stood, where Shin and Kipp ruled with unity over the townsfolk, the boys found themselves looking at the strangest sight during a night of celebration - no celebration at all. There was no gentle song from a Nevrean's high vocals praising the herald of beauty and life from Szue's body; there was no humble laughing and bumping of teal-furred Sergals as they walked together; instead, over these obstructing crates,  all six hunters of the town were gathered, blocking off the entrances to Shin and Kipp's residence. 
Tori recognised two of them - two twins, with spears and beautiful armour that danced across their purple forms - as Zara and Phara, two stalwart Sergal defenders of the town; the rest, however, were strangers. Also present were Kipp - a deep brown feathered, tired and pudgy looking Nevrean - and Shin - a sky blue furred, middle-aged and consummate looking Sergal - who both together lead the city of Jechi, and who now stood side-by-side in front of a stranger who had deep, midnight black fur and pale brown eyes, unlike Tori or Shin or any other of his kind that he had ever known
They could only barely hear the conversation within:
' ... offer I simply cannot hand over such prized heirlooms no matter how much you say you trade.' concluded Shin, his hands clasping behind his waist.
' And it seems doubtful that you or your people would ever be capable to offer that, anyway.' added Kipp, who was Shin's better-half in matters such as these.
'I cannot leave without bringing back something to my people,' rasped the strange sergal, his hands clasping together like a beggar pleading for food. 'I will give you what I can - what I have offered - for but a trinket, a ri-'
'The answer is no.' Shin stubbornly said. The Northerner was taller than any of them, but the intensity in his eyes made even this strange, brown-eyed visitor feel like he was being stared down.
'But-...'
'We have come to a unanimous decision; you will not take anything,' started Kipp, ready to lay down her terms-- and it was at that moment that Parsha and Tori felt handson their shoulders, making them start and whip around to see--
'You're not supposed to be this late out.' Cycil's voice snapped with agitation. His deep green fur danced in the night-light, and his silver eyes snapped from the young Sergal to the Nevrean at his side-- who quickly unclasped his hand from Tori's and began fumbling his fingers together. 
'Parsha?' He could hardly believe it.
'Cycil, we were just singing and playing with the other people who're still awake. Parsha just wanted a moment away from Ruhk and Suze's new-born-'
'I don't care what your excuse is, Tori, you two are out past curfew. You're both going back home with me.'
'No.' came Parsha's voice, firmly. Cycil stared at the Nevrean in surprise-- and so did Tori, for that matter.
'What?'
'Leave us alone, Cycil. You get to spend time with Tori all day. Just because we're having fun and you're not invited doesn't mean you have to act like such a jerk about it.' Though small, his words stung.
'Shut up.' he snapped, quickly thrusting his hand over the back-end of Parsha's head in a swift slap. He then tried to grab his wing and his wrist, too, until Tori shoved him back with a forceful push.
'Get off of him.' quietly snarled the blue-fur. Though their spat had begun, they were still only yards away from Kipp and Shin and the hunters, who would be less tolerant than young Cycil was about their delinquency. They had, however, all but forgotten the conversation they were having.
'Don't you touch me again, or I'll call your father over here and we'll all be in big trouble,' Cycil growled. 'You're both going back home.'
'No, we're not,' Tori replied; ire had grew across his features more and more to Cycil's out of character behaviour, so much so he was starting to scuffle with the other Sergal. He slammed his hands to his chest again, and the two started to wrestle. It wasn't long before Tori found himself underneath Cycil's larger body and stronger grip, and that his mane met the floor, too.
'Get off!' Tori's voice was starting to grow louder. Dust swept up between their fur, and although Cycil had the upper hand and had managed to pin down his wrists, one sudden and unexpected kick into his side from a scaled foot-- Parsha's-- knocked the wind out of him and sent him rolling off of Tori.
'What're you-...?'
'Go away, Cycil.' Parsha's beak clapped. 'Leave us alone. Go off and look after Rukh and the Judda like the good, perfect hunter-in-training you pretend to be.'
Cycil was simply at a loss for words. It was almost surreal, actually, for Tori especially. He had never known Cycil to be a type of person to get fussed over sharp words or insults, because he usually always fought back at them with his strength, but as Parsha helped him up with a hold of his hand, he could honestly see him nearly choking on his breath. The Nevrean's near venomous words dug deep in his hide, and seeing their hands clasp together at nightfall, with none to spectate, nearly made tears swell in his eyes.
'Yip, yip, yip!' cried Cycil at the top of his voice, his vocals shaking on emotion. He made off as soon as his cry of danger rung across the ears of those nearby, and he scuttled noticeably towards the bridges with his tail flippantly shaking behind before Zara and another hunter suddenly threw down the boxes behind Tori and Parsha and stared at them both with aggravated eyes.
There was no time to even think of an excuse. In an instant, Zara snagged her grip around Parsha's wrist and yanked him off to the side, while the cuff of Tori's nape was snatched violently by the other hunter, who dragged the youngling over to Kipp and Shin and then tossed him down onto his knees.
Kipp looked unrelentingly aggravated. Her horns made her scowl even more pronounced, and it only served to remind Tori of her viperish attitude. Shin, on the other hand, only regarded the youngling with solemn disappointment. Neither of them had words to say to Tori, or to Parsha. 
Shin looked away and waved his hand. 'Take them back to their huts. Now.'
Category:Fan Fiction