Cynetia/Literature/The Tribal Wake

The Tribal Wake was a story written by native Matorian author Manes Fulesna in 1897.
== Story ==
=== Anglese ===
In Southern Matoria, there lived a native tribe. They had overcome several hardships with the Anglese settlers that occupied the land, even after the country escaped Anglese rule years prior. The tribe was growing devastated due to all of the damage they had endured. It was a quiet, foggy morning when the tribesmen were committing to their normal routine. 
Suddenly, a silhouette emerged from the heavy fog. By the sound of their marches and the way they were traveling, the tribe could tell they definitely were not animals. A man wearing a hat and long, gray facial hair so thick it muffled his speech approached the tribe. They were disgusted by how often he smoked and how bad he smelled. “Rutherford, hm. Sir Thomas Rutherford,” he spoke lightly then coughed heavily and spat on the ground. “Hmm, so erm, you see here, you’re the one part of Cynetia untamed, simply vile.” He refused to elaborate further. Communicator Pookateet, who learned the Anglese language and was one of the only ones who knew it in the tribe, stepped up to the men. 
“Why fight us? You lost those many years ago.” Sir Rutherford spoke no further word. “Please reply,” said Pookateet.
“I will not commenta-” Rutherford’s sentence was interrupted by his own coughing and spitting. “I will not commentate any further.”
“Why won’t you?” yelled a voice in the corner. A strong man who also knew Anglese stepped forward by the name of General Batshet, named “general” for his bravery and willingness to fight in these situations. “We as a native tribe deserve to know why us as major Cynetian people are still being fought after all this time.” He stood there as a small beam of sun touched him, almost like an angel to some of the Anglese soldiers. Rutherford made a hand motion indicating he wanted the conversation over.
“How about the subject at hand?”
“Subject? You made no clear indication other than wanting to fight us and be done!” yelled Batshet. He then revealed a rifle in his hands. The little sun beam went away and all was now gray and dark. “If your men do violence, we can defend.” Rutherford was annoyed and pulled out a rifle as well. He pointed the gun at himself and pulled the trigger several times. Nothing came out.
“Why isn’t this working?” he said muffled but clearly in frustration. A soldier came up and whispered what he was doing wrong, and at that same time, another one pointed a rifle and shot at General Batshet. He fought back as the other natives ran for cover. The two kept shooting until eventually, Batshet fell and the soldier took his final shots. Hidden in a bush, General Batshet’s brother, Numattani, witnessed the entire situation. He was scared to come out until the Anglese left. When they did, he rushed over to General Batshet and saw his lifeless, gory body. Numattani cried next to him, and in his vision, he saw the world grow darker and darker. Batshet was one of his last family members to truly survive and he was the strongest one. 
Numattani went into a terrible state. He stole from Anglese weapon and alcohol supplies. He spent many days in his hut alone. Some days, he’d walk through the village or would go on hunting expeditions and the members were disgusted by his drunken behavior at times, sometimes uncomfortable when he talked about self-injury. They eventually ignored him and stopped making contact with him. However, a friend of Numattani, Hunahatsa, still had faith in him. He tried to help him out and reason with him. “I can understand you well. We’re in tough times. We all are.”
“I cannot think of anyone else who has all of their family dead.”
“If anything, that’s why you should grow stronger and join the fight. Maybe they would have been happy if you honoured them in such a way.”
“My brother was the only one who could have helped me through a state like this. Now he’s gone too.”
“At least I’m here. We all care about you, but not everyone else understands you.”
“I’m not sure if you should care all that much.” His vision grew dark around Hunahatsa, as it did with everyone else. Hunahatsa went back to his hut and Numattani spent the night without sleeping.
A few days later, the Anglesmen arrived again, Sir Thomas Rutherford again leading them. The Matorians were disgusted by his smell once again. “I’d like to talk about our religion, Christianity,” he said. He rambled on and on and the smell grew worse around the Matorians. 
Some of the tribesmen yelled negatively in the crowd. Communicator Pookateet stepped up and translated for the Anglesmen. “They are protesting your religion. They want to remain as a tribe with none. Some are saying you’re too forceful, some are saying you’re wrong about the world. I think you’re wrong about the world.” 
In the back of Numattani’s dark thoughts, another was more prominent. “That’s not what General Batshet would have said… he would have appreciated acceptance of faith…” He then decided to join the fight and asked the tribesmen if he could fight off the Anglese himself. They all denied and called him nutanaka, too insane to fight. Regardless, he took a rifle and shot at the Anglese. An uproar came from the entire army, and gunshots were going left and right. He eventually stopped and pointed his rifle toward the tribe. They stopped, petrified. Numattani started to cry. “I couldn’t. I can’t do this to them.”The original version of the story (written on the morning of May 24th) involved Numattani shooting at his own tribe. Due to the Uvalde, Texas shooting that happened the same day this was written, I decided to rewrite this to not promote disrespect to the tragedy or to suggest anything about the shooter. His vision was darkest of all. Everyone was dark around him, but the tribesmen were flashing between white and black. Sir Thomas Rutherford, shook by his actions, struggled with pointing a rifle. He got assistance from another soldier and shot Numattani as he was standing there. In panic, Numattani shot through the rifle, but the shot went nowhere. His thoughts made him feel as though he went nowhere in life. “I tried to honour… soon I lost… now I’m gone… gone…” 
Thomas shot him another time, his jaw still dropped. “What a dangerous man. What a dangerous man he was. We’ll arrive another time.” The army marched away and the tribe was left with a terrible, grim feeling. After this, several others had health issues as Numattani did. The tribe could never grasp how to deal with these individuals and eventually lost to the Anglese. Gone.
== Reception ==
== Credits ==
Category:Literature
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